Work Text:
Sausage Ragu
with pappardelle pasta and sourdough garlic bread
“Whatcha makin’?” Christoper chirps, casually bouncing into the kitchen like Buck hasn’t been dreaming of this exact moment for months.
He’s home.
Well, he’s home for now.
He’s home for Buck.
“It’s that pasta you and your dad like,” Buck offers, wiping his floury hands on his apron.
“With the good bread?” Christopher confirms, hovering around the side of Buck’s shoulder.
“Of course,” Buck scoffs. “I’m not a monster.”
The wince-worthy scrape of a chair against the kitchen floor pulls Buck’s attention to the viewing spot Chris has made for himself as he plops down beside where Buck’s working at the kitchen counter.
“Did Bobby teach you how to make it?” Christopher asks, craning his neck up to see what else Buck has on the counter.
Buck pauses. Hearing Bobby’s name still makes him pause — stop breathing, for just a second.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “He’d always make a different pasta dish on Wednesdays. This one was always a hit.”
“That’s cool,” Chris says. “Maybe we can do that.”
“Pasta Wednesdays?” Buck smiles, looking back at Chris over his shoulder.
Chris nods.
“That’s a great idea,” Buck grins. “I’d like that.”
Chris smiles, pleased, but doesn’t ask any further questions, so Buck turns back to the task at hand.
Chris stays behind him, watching quietly. Buck has never been so happy to have someone sitting in the middle of his kitchen while he’s trying to cook.
He’s squeezing roasted garlic cloves into the garlic butter when Chris breaks the comfortable silence.
“Can you show me how?”
“How to make the pasta?” Buck asks, thrilled at the prospect of a sous-chef for the evening.
“Yeah,” Christopher confirms. “And all the rest of the things you make.”
Buck turns fully towards him, cocks his head.
“I just thought since your Bobby taught you, maybe you could teach me,” he shrugs, and Buck somehow manages to stay standing.
“Yeah?” Buck croaks. “You’d want to do that?”
“Yeah,” Chris shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like Buck isn’t drowning, drowning, drowning, and just seeing Christopher’s face feels like coming up for air.
“Yeah,” Buck breathes. “Yeah, I’d love to do that.”
Chris nods once, happy with the answer. “Can we do mac n cheese next?” He asks.
“Uh uh uh!” Buck tuts. “There’s a system. We start with breakfast.”
“ Breakfast? ” Chris groans.
“We start with breakfast,” Buck confirms.
Soft-Scrambled Eggs
with too-sour sourdough, cheese, and chives
“Hey, that’s pretty good!” Buck grins, watching as Chris pushes some eggs around the pan with a spatula.
“Even dad can scramble an egg, Buck,” Christopher rolls his eyes. “It’s not hard.”
“Hey!” Eddie huffs from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table, bleary-eyed and perfect and exactly where he belongs.
“Maybe,” Buck concedes. “But it’s hard to do it well. Good cooking doesn’t have to be complicated. It’s about doing the simple things well.”
“Is that what Bobby said?” Chris asks, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration as he scrambles.
“Mm. Yeah,” Buck chuckles. “I wasn’t very patient when he started teaching me. I didn’t graduate from breakfast food for months.”
“Months??” Christopher gasps.
“Yep. But now I make an egg- cellent scrambled egg.”
Chris and Eddie groan in unison.
“How did he know when you were ready to graduate from breakfast?” Chris asks.
“I don’t know,” Buck admits. “Bobby had this knack for knowing what people needed, and when they were ready for something new. I guess he just knew I was ready.”
“To tackle lunch,” Chris deadpans.
He’s grown up so much since the last time they bantered over breakfast. He’s a teenager now. A proper one, with his dad’s sense of humor. Buck loves him so much he might cry.
“Exactly,” Buck laughs. “That’s a big deal for a team of hungry firefighters. Can’t mess up lunch,” he shares, grabbing their pre-prepared bowls of herbs and cheese. “Okay, now we add a little bit of cheese and the chives we chopped up earlier.”
Miraculously, Christopher is suddenly very busy when it’s time to clean up after breakfast. He disappears before Buck can even finish his coffee, offering something about his friends waiting for him online.
Buck, who, again, is just utterly thrilled that Christopher is here and real and in front of him in the flesh, doesn’t even flinch. He’ll do the dishes for the rest of his life if he gets to have just another morning like this one.
As Christopher shuffles out of the room, a sink full of dirty dishes behind him, Buck catches the smirk Eddie tries to hide behind his coffee cup.
“What?” Buck asks.
“Nothing.”
“No, come on, what?”
“He’s smore-ing you,” Eddie says, as if that means something.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Eddie shrugs.
“What does that mean?”
Eddie sips his coffee. Grimaces. “You bought the shitty oat milk.”
“I know.”
“And the too-sour sourdough,”
“Yep.”
“ You don’t even like the too-sour sourdough.”
“I thought it’d be fun to change things up.”
“You thought it would be fun?” Eddie repeats, brow raised.
“Yes,” Buck confirms, refusing to budge.
“Okay. Sure. And the single ply toilet paper, that’s for fun too?”
Buck sniffs. “It’s better for the trees.”
“Is it?”
“Probably,” Buck offers, avoiding eye contact.
“Probably. Okay. I’ll be sure to tell Chris that no one’s being passive aggressive, we’re just saving the trees.”
Buck cringes. The shitty toilet paper had seemed like an evil genius move at the time. In retrospect, it’s a very uncomfortable sacrifice his ass definitely wishes he hadn’t made. “I’ll go to the store today. In my defence, I didn’t know Christopher was going to be here.”
“Oh you would’ve gone for the 3 ply if you knew my kid was gonna be your passive aggressive collateral damage?” Eddie sasses.
Buck huffs. “ Obviously I wouldn’t have bought the weirdly sour bread if I knew.”
Eddie chuckles. “We’ll grab the toilet paper. Chris wants to go to Trader Joes anyway.”
“Can you get more bread while you’re there?”
“Already on the list.”
“And you might want to get more organic fruit leather.”
Eddie narrows his eyes at him. “What did you do to my fruit leather?”
Homemade Crumpets
with honey and/or raspberry jam (from the farmer’s market)
“You’ve never had a crumpet before?” Buck frowns, blinking at this almost fifteen year old child in front of him.
“No?” Christopher frowns right back.
“Eddie!” Buck gapes, blinking between the two Diazes who are, by some miracle, still sitting in his kitchen. “Are you allergic to joy and whimsy? Why is your child crumpetless?”
“To be completely honest with you both, I don’t really know what a crumpet is,” Eddie confesses from his spot at the kitchen table.
Buck gasps. “It’s okay, Christopher. I care about your culinary education, unlike some people.”
Eddie throws his hands up in surrender.
Buck abandons his best friend’s lack of culinary consideration to deal with another time, and turns to the young prodigy beside him who still has hope.
“Crumpets are surprisingly easy to make,” he explains. “It’s kind of like making pancakes, but we’ve got to use these metal rings to hold the shape so they rise,” he says, holding up the crumpet rings Bobby had gifted him during their crumpet lesson. “It’s all about finding the perfect heat level for maximum crumpet holes and minimal burning.”
Christopher nods along, following the simple steps to whip together the crumpet batter.
“Who taught Bobby how to make crumpets?” He asks as they carefully pour some of the batter into one of the rings.
“Have you ever been to Seattle?” Buck asks. Christoper shakes his head. “Bobby had an old friend there, I don’t remember how they met, but she was an older lady, and every time he visited, they’d meet up at this place that only sells crumpets.”
“Just crumpets?” Chris frowns.
“Yep! All types of crumpets. Sweet ones and savory ones — all these different fancy toppings. They’d drink tea, eat crumpets, and catch up.”
They both stare at the crumpets in the pan, watching as the bubbles give way to the crumpet holes.
“A few years ago, Bobby found out that his friend was sick,” Buck continues. “They didn’t see each other very often, they were pen pals, mostly, but Bobby took a few days off and went to visit. But before he did, he taught himself how to make crumpets, and he took them with him. He made sure that they could still catch up over crumpets and tea, even though she couldn’t leave the hospital.”
“She must have really liked crumpets,” Christopher notes.
“Yeah,” Buck smiles. “Bobby said she’d told him they were the best she’d ever had.”
“And then he taught you?”
“He did,” Buck confirms. “But it wasn’t just the crumpets,” he continues, eyes flicking to Eddie who is pretending not to be listening in over his cup of coffee. “He taught me how important it is to show up for people. Sometimes that’s as simple as some tea and some crumpets, you know?”
Chris thinks about it. “Yeah. Like, doing something small and thoughtful can be even more special than doing something big.”
“Yeah,” Buck grins, his heart somehow expanding three sizes in his chest. “Exactly.”
To no one’s surprise, Christopher disappears after the last bite of his crumpets. Eddie raises a brow at him like he’s the one who should force him to clean up, which is absurd because he just got him back and he desperately needs teenage Chris to think he’s cool.
“These are really good,” Eddie says through a mouthful of crumpet.
“Thank you,” Buck says, then forces himself to heed Bobby’s advice and add, “for the other night.”
Eddie blinks at him, still chewing his crumpet.
“Flying Chris in. Inviting Pepa. That was - - it was what I needed.”
Eddie swallows his food. “I know.”
“I know I - - I haven’t been - - I’ve been difficult,” Buck admits. “To be around.”
Eddie shakes his head. Opens his mouth - -
“I have,” Buck cuts him off. “I’ve - -”
“You haven’t,” Eddie cuts in. “You’re not difficult, you’re grieving.”
“Yeah, well, I think I’ve been doing it wrong.”
Eddie looks at him, studies him, then lets out a breath. “I want to say there’s no wrong way to do it, but I do have some notes.”
Buck huffs out a weary laugh. He lets out a breath of his own when Eddie cracks a small smile right back.
Eddie leans across the table towards him. “You’ve gotta stop trying to do it on your own,” he says. “It’s not very Buck of you and it’s freaking the rest of us out.”
Buck sniffs. “I thought I was making it all about me?”
“You’ve been destroying yourself as a punishment for not saving him,” Eddie counters. “Or - - or as some deathbed promised duty to him. It doesn’t work like that.”
Buck brings his arms across his body like a shield. He’s forgotten, without Eddie here, without Bobby, what it’s like for someone to see right through him.
“You wanna know what Bobby would say in this situation?” Eddie continues. “Cause I can tell you. He’d tell you that you don’t have to lose everything before you can allow yourself to feel anything.”
“I’m not - - that’s not what I’m doing,” he argues. “I don’t want to lose anything else.”
“I know,” Eddie adds, softening. “And you’re not going to. You don’t have to keep it together, Buck. No one needs you to. Actually, I - - I need you to fall apart.”
Buck shakes his head, confused. That doesn’t make sense. Bobby told him they’d need him. They need him to keep it together.
“I’ve done this before,” Eddie reminds him. “The lonely grief. It’s - - I don’t want to do it again. I need you to let yourself fall apart so that you can meet me down here. I need you to be in it with me, Buck.”
Tears sting at his eyes and, without waiting for permission, spill down his cheeks. He desperately blinks them away. “I don’t know that I can - - if I do that, I don’t think I’ll ever come back.”
“You will,” Eddie promises. “For a long time it might feel like you won’t, but you will.”
Buck nods, wipes at the tears staining his face. “Okay,” he agrees. He’d do anything for Eddie. Go anywhere. “Okay.”
Pancakes (from scratch)
half blueberry/half chocolate chip with maple syrup + fresh fruit
“Pancakes or waffles?”
“Pancakes,” Chris grins.
“Excellent choice,” Buck nods. Bobby preferred pancakes, too.
Buck walks Christopher through the steps for making the pancake batter. He’s seen Buck do it plenty of times, waiting for his turn to drop the chocolate chips onto the pancakes when he was tiny and would sit on the counter.
He ladles the first scoop of pancake batter into the pan, waits for the bubbles, then Buck instructs him to flip it. It’s too flat and a little burned.
Christopher frowns at it.
“First lesson,” Buck says, nudging him with his shoulder. “The first one is always bad. It’s part of the process.”
“Every time?” Christopher frowns.
“Every time,” Buck confirms. “It’s your sacrificial pancake.”
Chris chuckles. “A sacrificial pancake?”
“Yep. It’s too gooey or too burnt or too stodgy so the rest of your pancakes can thrive. It’s all about getting the heat of your pan right. It’s a learning pancake.”
Christopher watches as Buck scoops the spatula beneath the bad pancake.
“It’s not a bad pancake,” Christopher notes. “It’s done its job. Saved the other pancakes. It’s a good pancake. A brave pancake.”
Eddie chokes from where he’s seated at the table behind them.
Buck plops the sacrificial pancake onto the plate.
“You’re right,” Buck agrees. “We thank it for its bravery and sacrifice.”
They take a moment of silence. It just feels right.
“Okay, so what have we learned from the learning pancake?”
“The heat’s too high.”
“You’re a natural, Chris.”
Chris hangs around a little longer this morning, chatting with them about his plans with Denny, and how excited he is to go to the beach on the weekend.
Eventually, when Eddie starts stacking plates, Chris makes his mumbled excuse and bounces. Buck cares even less than usual because he needs someone else to confirm that - -
“Is it just me or - -”
“It wasn’t subtle,” Eddie confirms.
“Bobby’s the - -“
“Yep.”
“Huh.”
“My dad speaks in metaphors,” Eddie explains. “He’s picked it up.”
Buck squints. Replays the conversation. “I don’t know that I’m following the lesson.”
“Bobby’s a brave pancake, Buck,” Eddie grins. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
Buck snorts. “He’d like that, I think. He’d laugh.”
“I think he would too,” Eddie chuckles.
Which makes Buck chuckle.
Which makes Eddie giggle.
Which makes Buck giggle.
And now they’re giggling, and Buck can’t quite get himself to stop giggling. Every time he almost does, Eddie starts up again, and Buck follows him.
He’s wiping tears from his eyes — happy ones, when he says, “I haven’t - - I don’t think I’ve laughed since he died.”
Eddie lets out a breath. “Yeah. Me neither.”
“It feels wrong,” Buck notes. Because it does.
Eddie nods. Shrugs. “This whole thing is kind of ridiculous. I think Bobby would want us to laugh.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just - - Bobby’s dead?? I mean - - what the fuck is that about?” Eddie scoffs.
Buck hums in agreement.
“And, what? He was trapped in a top secret lab with a super mega deadly virus? While you were in a helicopter chase, dodging the military and the FBI? While I was driving some asshole to the airport? It’s - - it’s fucking ridiculous, man. It’s absurd. I mean, how did we even get here?”
Buck barks out a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t know. I was there and I really don’t know.”
Eddie breathes out a sigh. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
Buck shakes his head. “I’m glad you weren’t.”
Eddie looks at him. Cocks his head.
“I’ve gone over it a million times,” Buck confesses. “There’s nothing we could have done. The lab always explodes. There’s always only one vial of the antidote. Bobby always chooses Chim — or Hen, or Ravi, or me. You not being there just means one less person in the room with the super mega deadly virus. One less person I thought I’d lost.”
Eddie reaches across the table and finds Buck’s hand. He squeezes.
“I’m sorry you had to find out like that,” Buck continues. “I should’ve - -“
“Buck. It’s not your fault,” Eddie says, ducking his head to catch Buck’s eye. “It’s just shitty. It just fucking sucks. Even just - - after . You needed me, and I wasn’t here.”
“You’re here now,” Buck reminds him.
“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “And I’m really fucking thankful you weren’t in that room.”
Buck sucks in a breath.
“If it’d been you - - Buck - - I,” Eddie sniffs. He grips his hand tighter. “I need you. So you can’t - - don’t act like we don’t. We do. I do.”
“I’m sorry,” Buck swallows.
Eddie nods. “Me too.”
Buck stares at where their hands are piled together on the table — Eddie’s hand still covering his own, still holding tight.
He jumps as a giggle bursts out of Eddie. “We can never tell anyone that he called him a sacrificial pancake,” he giggles.
Buck snorts. “He said it with love. That’s important to note.”
Eddie hums, eyes sparkling. “He’s trying to make you feel better, you know?”
“Yeah,” Buck nods. “I know.”
“Is it working?”
Buck lets out a breath. “Of course it is. He’s - - he called me his Bobby, did you know that?”
Eddie hums.
“Like he - - like I…”
“He does. You are.”
Buck shakes his head. “I’m not Bobby.”
“No one needs you to be,” Eddie shrugs. “You’re our Buck.”
“I don’t think that’s enough,” he whispers.
“Of course it is,” Eddie tuts. “You’re Buck.”
Banana Bread French Toast
with maple syrup, toasted walnuts, caramelized bananas
“This seems more like a dessert than a breakfast,” Christopher notes as he dips the banana bread into the eggy batter.
Eddie snorts from the table.
“French Toast is a bonafide breakfast food,” Buck insists. “And this is one of Bobby’s specials.”
“It’s true,” Eddie chimes in. “You could smell it from anywhere in the firehouse and you knew it was gonna be a good day.”
“I guess that means today’s gonna be a good day,” Buck grins.
“And then I put it in the pan?” Chris asks.
“Yep! Look at you go!” Buck cheers as Chris adds the eggy bread into the sizzling pan.
“It does smell good,” Chris concedes. “But I’m pretty sure dad would never let me eat this for breakfast usually.”
Eddie stays suspiciously quiet behind them.
“Well, it can be a special occasion breakfast,” Buck suggests.
“What’s the special occasion?”
“You’re here,” Buck grins. “And I’ve missed you.”
A pleased grin breaks its way from the corner of Christopher’s mouth into a full, beaming smile. He ducks his head like he’s trying to hide it.
“Yeah. I missed you, too,” he mumbles.
“Hey, maybe we can set up a day to FaceTime when you’re back home!” Buck suggests. “I can keep teaching you the rest of breakfast. Send your dad the ingredients list ahead of time?”
He’s been thinking about it, and he’s pretty sure it’ll work. He’ll just have to drag Eddie in from the snarky kitchen table sidelines to be his long distance chef’s assistant.
“Sure,” Christopher agrees. “But wouldn’t it be easier if we did it here?”
“I don’t think we’d be able to eat it all before you go, bud,” Buck chuckles. And that’s just breakfast . There’s so much more to teach him.
“Can’t we just stay?” Chris sighs. “You can keep teaching me and dad can go back to work.”
Buck drops the spatula. He whips his head around to see if Eddie’s hearing this too, or if he’s maybe hallucinating.
Eddie blinks up at them, coffee hovering in front of his mouth like he was about to take a sip.
“You want to stay longer?” Eddie asks.
“Can’t we just stay?” Chris repeats, like he’s annoyed to have to repeat himself.
“You want to move back?” Eddie clarifies.
Chris shrugs. “You don’t know how to make crumpets.”
Eddie blinks. “You want to move back for crumpets?”
Chris sighs. “It’s just easier, isn’t it? Buck’s here. Our house here is better. You like your job here more. It’s not as hot. Mom’s here.”
The banana bread french toast is definitely burning, but the spatula is on the floor and Buck can’t currently move.
“You want to move back?” Eddie repeats.
“Why are you being weird about it?” Chris groans.
“I just - - Chris, are you sure? Because we can’t keep moving back and forth. If we move back, we stay.”
“Yeah. I know. That’s fine.”
“You want to stay?” Buck chokes.
“Yeah,” Chris shrugs. “Can we?”
“Yeah, bud,” Eddie croaks, returning his coffee to the table with a shaky hand. “Yeah, we can stay.”
“Cool,” Chris nods. He looks down at the burned french toast in the pan and makes a face. “Buck, when do you think we can move on from breakfast?”
Egg Bake (with Tater Tots)
with crispy bacon, hash browns, the good sourdough toast, fruit salad
“This is… a lot,” Christopher says, taking in all the ingredients still left out on the counter.
“My guys are coming home!” Buck grins. “We’re going all out.”
Chris rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Did Bobby make this to celebrate things?”
“He did! The first time he made it for me was when I passed my probie year,” Buck recalls fondly.
“Like when we had that party for dad at the firehouse?” Chris asks.
“Yeah!”
“I don’t remember yours,” Chris notes.
“I didn’t know you yet, bud,” Buck reminds him. “But Bobby even made me a cake — it was a really fun day.”
“Did your family come?” Chris asks.
“Nah, Maddie couldn’t make it, but almost everyone who mattered was there.”
“But not me and dad,” Christopher reiterates.
Buck chuckles. “No, but I didn’t know you were missing back then. I remember being really grateful for the people who were there, though. No one had ever made me a cake before. Or a special breakfast.”
“What is it?” Chris frowns, looking at the casserole dish filled with eggs, sausage, cheese, and miscellaneous other things, all topped with tater tots.
“It’s a Minnesotan classic,” Buck grins.
“Minnesota?”
“Bobby was from there,” Buck explains, returning the egg bake back into the oven to finish browning. “Did you know that?”
Chris shakes his head. “I’ve never been there.”
“Well, maybe we should go sometime,” he says. Swallows, then, “Visit Bobby.”
“Yeah!” Christopher grins. “We can bring him crumpets and tea!”
Buck is nearly knocked over by the force of how much he loves this kid. He’s floored by it. “That’s a great idea, bud,” he chokes.
“Sometimes we have picnics with mom,” Chris adds. “Maybe I can bring her some crumpets, too.”
Buck smiles. “I bet she’d love that.”
“Dad?” Chris says, turning toward Eddie’s designated drink-coffee-while-waiting-for-breakfast table spot.
“Yeah, bud?”
“Did mom know about crumpets?”
“I’m not sure,” Eddie hums. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. That’s okay,” Chris shrugs. “I’ll tell her.”
Eddie nods, and sips his coffee.
“Do you talk to Bobby?” Chris asks, turning his attention back to Buck.
“I - - I tried to,” he admits. “I don’t, uh. It didn’t really feel like he was there.”
“Hmm,” Chris nods knowingly. “You have to start with your smores.”
“Smores?”
“Mhm,” Chris nods. “We used to make smores all the time, they were her favorite. After she died, we made them, like, every night. And we’d always make an extra one for mom. And it made me sad, at first, because sometimes I’d forget that she wasn’t really there. Cause it felt like she was and it - - it smelled like she was. But now it makes me happy. Because every time I eat a smore, for a little while, it’s like she’s still here.”
Buck is in a losing battle with the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. “That sounds really nice,” he croaks.
Chris nods. “So when you can’t find Bobby, maybe you’re just not looking in the right place.”
“Yeah?” Buck breathes.
“Mhm,” Chris continues. “He’s right there,” he says, pointing to the hotdish in the oven. “You can’t feel him?”
Buck sniffs. “I - - I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You gotta sniff it,” Christopher prompts.
“What?” Buck laughs.
“It’ll smell like he’s here.”
“Alright,” Buck agrees. He opens the oven and pulls out the casserole. He puts it on the counter, leans in, and sniffs.
And he sniffs.
And he sniffs.
And he sniffles.
And he bursts into tears.
“Told ya,” Chris nods sagely.
“Why don’t you go wash up before we eat?” Eddie says, ushering Christoper out of the kitchen. Buck hears the scrape of Eddie’s chair before he feels a steady hand on his back, guiding him into a broad, safe chest. Eddie’s arms wrap around him. Buck sobs.
“Hey. You okay?”
Buck nods against his chest.
“You can feel him?”
He nods again. Keeps sobbing.
“Good. That’s good.”
Buck sniffs. Sucks in a breath.
“He smored me,” he sniffles into Eddie’s shirt.
Eddie chuckles. “I told you he was smore-ing you.”
“You’re staying,” Buck sobs.
“We’re staying.”
Buck lets out a shaky breath. Eddie holds him tighter.
Breakfast Burritos
with leftover egg bake, avocado, and fruit salad
“Leftovers?” Chris asks, blinking at the burrito station Buck has laid out in front of them.
“Leftovers!” Buck grins. “Bobby was a master at making sure nothing ever went to waste. Yesterday’s egg bake is tomorrow’s breakfast burrito. Always remember that.”
“That’s cool,” Chris agrees. “Dad hates food waste too, but he never turns it into anything else. We just have to eat the same thing for a week.”
“I know I’m not part of these lessons, but I’m right here ,” Eddie sighs.
“And you look so pretty,” Buck grins. It might just be the morning light filtering in through the window, but he could swear that Eddie blushes.
“Ew,” Christopher groans. “Can we get back to fighting the war on food waste please? Dad, maybe you should be taking notes on this one.”
“A guy just tries to drink his morning coffee in peace,” Eddie mumbles. “Attacked by my own flesh and blood.”
“It’s important to get the good quality, fresh tortillas,” Buck instructs, ignoring him. “They make all the difference.”
Christopher takes his breakfast burrito to eat in his room, citing that he “can’t be expected to eat in these conditions,” which Buck’s still confused about.
Eddie stays in the kitchen, though, and they chat about moving-back logistics and what Eddie’s missed at work while he’s been away.
They fall into a comfortable silence when Buck is struck by the sudden need to find out - -
“Do you talk to Bobby? Can you feel him? I never asked.”
Eddie blinks. Looks away. “Yeah,” he coughs. “I, uh. I knew where he was gonna be.”
Eddie, for some reason, continues to avoid Buck’s eye. Suspicious . “Is it a secret?” Buck prods.
“I - - don’t know,” Eddie whispers.
“Mysterious,” Buck squints. “Did you guys - - did you have, like, a secret hobby you’d do together? Without me?”
Eddie sighs. Rolls his eyes. Meets Buck’s. “It’s you,” he says.
“What?” Buck frowns.
“For me. For a lot of people. You’re - - he’s still alive in you, Buck.”
“What?” He breathes. Gobsmacked. Flabbergasted. Floored.
“And don’t - - no one wants you to replace him,” Eddie’s quick to remind him. “To be him. You don’t have to do anything — he’s just - - I look at you, and I can feel him.”
Buck shakes his head. That can’t be true. It’s too much. Buck’s not good enough for that to be true. “Eddie…”
“He saved my life,” Eddie says, cutting him off. “A few times,” he adds, holding Buck’s eye. “He gave me you.”
Buck stares at him. None of this makes any sense.
“Whenever I didn’t know what to do, I’d go to Bobby. And he’d always know — he’d always have the answer,” Eddie continues. “And I’ve been talking to him, these past few days, and I think that this whole time he’s been trying to tell me the same thing.”
Buck is grateful he’s sitting down, because otherwise he’s certain he’d have hit the floor by now. He blinks, sucks in a breath, and gathers the courage to ask:
“What?”
“It’s you,” Eddie says, like it’s simple. “The answer’s you.”
Buck stops existing, for a moment, he’s pretty sure. One second he’s here, and the next he’s not. Because he doesn’t know how to exist in a world where Eddie looks at him and says - -
“I thought I was broken, for the longest time. Nothing ever fit — I was - - I would try so hard to do the things I was supposed to do, but they never felt right. It was always wrong. Until you. You and Chris. That’s - - I think that’s the answer. That’s what I want.”
“ Eddie ,” Buck breathes.
“It doesn’t have to be anything more than it is,” Eddie smiles, shaky. He’s so brave. He’s so beautiful and so brave and he’s staying.
“But it - - it could be?” Buck stutters.
“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “I think it - - I think it could be.”
“You - - you’d - - you’d want to…with me?” Buck clarifies, because he’s not entirely sure that he’s reading this right.
Eddie swallows. Nods.
Buck heaves out a breath. Grips the table. Stares at the man across from him — his best friend, his - - Eddie.
Eddie who’s lost so much and who’s grieving and can’t possibly need Buck in all the ways he needs Eddie.
“Is this - -? You’re grieving,” Buck whispers. His fingernails dig into the table. “We both are.”
Eddie nods. Leans back in his chair. “Like I said,” Eddie shrugs. “It doesn’t have to be anything more than it is.”
And Buck - - Buck is a live wire. He’s a tether worn down to its final, gasping string. He’s an open, gaping wound and he’s bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.
“Can I hug you?” Buck chokes.
Eddie, who’s been sitting so straight and patient, softens at Buck’s gasping request.
“Come’re,” Eddie beckons, standing up to meet him, opening up his arms just as Buck all but collapses into his chest. Buck melts against him, drops his head, presses his face into Eddie’s neck. He breathes. He clings.
Eddie clings back. He holds him so tightly that it squeezes something free within his chest. The thing, the feeling, escapes from somewhere deep and hidden and rips out of him as a choked sob. Eddie’s hold on him never falters, just holds steady, like he’s something precious. Something worth anything at all.
And this thing, the thing Eddie cracked open in the space between their chests, propels him forward, pushes him closer. Tells him that he’ll survive this, if he lifts his head, just a bit, just enough to ghost his lips across Eddie’s stubble, and further, further, until his breath finds Eddie’s.
The thing doesn’t have to do any more than that, because Eddie does it. He presses forward and kisses him. It’s everything that it already is and it’s more. It’s familiar because it’s Eddie and it smells like Eddie and it feels like Eddie, feels like home. But he’s never felt the slide of Eddie’s lips against his or the warmth of his hands as they slip beneath the fabric of his shirt. It’s new and it’s more but it’s them.
Bobby’s Famous Mac n Cheese + Bobby’s Famous Four-Cheese Lasagna + Bobby’s Famous Bolognese
with garlic bread and a side salad (for health)
The next morning, Christopher finds Buck unpacking groceries onto the kitchen counter bright and early before work.
“We’re having pasta for breakfast?” He frowns.
“We’re skipping ahead because it’s a special occasion,” Buck grins.
Christopher’s frown transforms into Buck’s favorite grin in the whole world. “Pasta Wednesday?”
“Pasta Wednesday!” Buck confirms.
“Pasta Wednesday for breakfast?” Chris giggles.
“Pasta Wednesday for lunch,” Buck clarifies. “And I’m gonna need your help.”
At 12pm on the dot, the HONK HONK of a prius horn echoes through the firehouse.
“They’re here!” Buck grins, making a break for the stairs.
“Who’s here?” Hen blinks, scrolling through the UberEats app on her phone that Buck is going to hack into and delete the next time she’s asleep in the bunkroom.
Hen’s question is answered as Christopher and Eddie appear in the engine bay, Eddie’s arms stacked with giant, steaming containers of pasta.
“It’s pasta Wednesday!” Christopher announces with a grin.
“Pasta Wednesday!” Chimney gasps. “I love Pasta Wednesday!”
“When did you do all this?” Hen laughs, taking in the rest of the containers in the trunk of Eddie’s car.
“This morning,” Buck grins. “My sous-chef has been keeping an eye on it all day,” he adds, winking at Chris.
“This all looks incredible, Chris,” Hen says. Christopher beams.
“Woah! What’s all this?” Ravi asks, appearing behind Eddie with a takeout container in his hands.
Buck steps closer, narrows his eyes, and points a finger right at Ravi. “You throw that takeout in the trash right now .”
Pasta Wednesday is almost perfect. As perfect as it can be without Bobby. There’s laughter, and stories, and family, and Buck has missed this so much.
He also gets out of cleanup, with a crew of full and happy firefighters raving over Bobby’s recipes, happy to take on dish duty.
He slips away to the rooftop to catch his breath. To talk to Bobby.
Eddie finds him there 15 minutes later, arms looping around his waist from behind him. “There you are,” Eddie says. “Chris is looking for you. You okay?”
“Yeah,” he smiles. “Just talking to Bobby.”
Eddie presses a smile into the side of his neck. “I can come back.”
“No. Stay,” Buck says, covering Eddie’s hands with his own, keeping him in place. “I was just about done anyway.”
“He say anything good?”
“Didn’t put enough mustard in the mac n cheese,” Buck jokes.
Eddie chuckles. “He’s a tough critic.”
Buck laughs, leaning back into Eddie. Pulling his arms tighter around him.
“You really want to do this?” Buck asks, looking out over the streets of LA.
“Mhm,” Eddie hums. “I know I said nothing has to change, but now that I’ve kissed you, I’m less sold on that idea.”
Buck ducks his head. Chuckles. “Yeah. I can relate to that.”
“Did you talk to Bobby about me?” Eddie asks.
Buck nods.
“And?”
“I think he already knew,” Buck admits.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm,” Buck smiles. “At least about me. How I felt about you. I think he knew before I did.”
Eddie pulls him impossibly closer. “How do you feel about me?” He whispers.
Buck lets out a breath. “You really wanna know?”
“Yeah,” Eddie kisses just beneath his ear. “I really wanna know.”
Buck closes his eyes. He feels Bobby. He lets himself say the scary thing out loud. “I think I’ve been in love with you my entire life,” he confesses.
Eddie sucks in a breath right beside his ear.
Buck blinks away the tears stinging at his eyes. Continues. “I think I’ll be in love with you for my entire life.”
Eddie loosens his hold on him just enough to spin him around until they’re looking at each other. He expects it to be harder, to say the scary thing right to his face, but it’s Eddie. It’s banging on his chest, begging to spill out of him again and again and again.
“Will you let me love you back?” Eddie asks, like it’s that simple.
Maybe it is.
“Yeah,” Buck breathes. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”
Eddie raises his wrist in front of them. “For the rest of our lives, yeah?”
Buck grins, and taps his fist against Eddie’s wrist. “Deal.”
Homemade Crumpets (reprise)
with airport jam sachets and tea from a thermos
Eddie has consumed a lot of crumpets this last year. Like, a lot. And he’s not complaining. He loves crumpets — even the ones that Christopher assures him are bad, because he didn’t get the heat quite right — because anything smothered in jam is a good time to Eddie.
But these crumpets, today’s crumpets, are the most important crumpets of his life. He’s standing in a cemetery in Minnesota, a mostly packed away picnic in front of him, Buck and Chris taking the first trip back to the car with the leftover food and the blankets.
It’s cold — a crisp enough day to make his nose feel like it’s running, and it might be, he can’t really feel his face to tell.
He doesn’t think Bobby would mind, though. He’d let him blubber all over him, snot and all.
“I’m, uh, I’m gonna ask him to marry me, Cap,” Eddie laughs, wiping at his nose with his sleeve. “Chris and I, we have this whole plan, he’s gonna love it. He’s gonna cry. I probably will, too.”
Bobby’s grave looks back at him. It’s a beautiful grave in a beautiful place. Peaceful. Bobby would like it.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you for making him who he is. Thank you for choosing me to be his partner. Thank you for saving my life, so that I get to live this one,” Eddie sniffs. “And thanks for the crumpets,” he adds. “They’re really good. Your friend was right.”
The grave remains. Bobby’s name stares back at him, carved into stone.
“Alright. Uh. Thanks for the picnic, Nashes. I’ll let you get back to it. We, uh, we all miss you, Cap. But we’re - - we’re all doing okay,” he smiles. “I think you’d be proud.”
He hears the thumping steps he’d recognize anywhere before he hears Buck say:
“Hey, you okay?”
Warm arms wrap around him and Eddie lets the tears threatening to spill over fall down his face. He’s so thankful. He’s so thankful for Bobby.
“Yeah. Sorry, I’m coming,” he smiles, wiping the tears from his face. “Just packing up the picnic rug.”
Buck hums, leans in and kisses him. “Chris is cold. He’s requesting hot chocolate.”
“We can do that,” Eddie grins, gathering up the picnic rug and the last of their stuff. He turns back to the gravestone. “Uh, thanks, Cap. We’ll see you next time.”
Buck leans into his side. “Marcy,” Buck nods. “Robert, Brook, thanks for having us.” Eddie watches as he walks up to the grave and taps it. Holds his hand there. “Love you, Bobby. Hope you enjoyed your crumpet.”
Eddie laughs. “He’d have things to say about that airport jam.”
“Yeah, well, I have lots of things to say about the homemade jam that’s currently coating everything in my carry-on,” Buck groans, in reference to the mid-air broken jam jar disaster that had Buck pouting and Chris cackling through the Saint Paul airport.
Eddie presses a kiss to his cheek. “It’s just stuff,” he reminds him. “We’ve got everything we need.”
Buck softens, turning to pull him into a kiss. “Yeah. I do,” he winks, turning to pull Eddie towards the car.
It turns out a lack of subtlety runs in the family. Buck definitely knows about the ring in his pocket.