Chapter Text
The sink’s cold water doesn’t help.
Buck braces his hands on the edge of the basin, breath shallow, throat raw. He closes his eyes, let’s the water run over his fingers, and counts to ten like it’ll settle the nausea.
It doesn’t.
Another round of dry heaves come over him, dropping back down to the floor, leaning over the toilet seat.
The bathroom light buzzes faintly above him, abrupt in the silence of the house. He hadn’t closed the door all the way - he was trying to be fast, not to wake anyone.
It didn’t matter now though, not with someone knocking gently on the door.
“Buck?” Eddies voice whispered through the crack, “You good?”
“Yeah,” He calls back, gripping the counter and pulling himself back up. “Yeah, just…something i ate probably. I’m fine.”
There’s a pause on the other side of the door.
“You’ve been saying that for weeks now Buck.”
Shit.
Buck pulls the door open a few more inches, just enough for them to see each other in the dim light, just enough for Eddie to see he’s fine and back off slightly. He doesn’t want to wake Chris. Doesn’t want to explain that. Not again.
“I’m okay,” he says, quieter now. “It’s not a big deal. You should go back to bed.”
Eddie looks at him for a moment, and Buck knows what he must look like. Skin pale. Eyes sunken. Body sweating and shaky.
But Eddie just nods. “Alright.”
When the door clicks softly shit, Buck exhales.
He doesn’t look in the mirror this time.
He’s covering a B-shift the next day. Someone’s out sick, and honestly, he needs the distraction. Just something to keep his hands busy, to keep his brain from circling back to the same old arguments he’s been having with himself for weeks now.
He and Eddie still hadn’t talked about any of it. They’d been living together for a couple weeks now, since he and Chris finally got back from El paso. It was just temporarily, just until everyone settles. But time keeps passing, and no one’s asked him to leave yet. He cooks. Helps with school drop-offs and last minute homework. Does grocery shopping for 3 and puts away laundry that isn’t his.
It feel right. Being here, the three of them together. But he keeps waiting for something to shift.
Before El Paso, things had been… complicated. He was still reeling from the whole thing with Tommy, and Eddie had been unraveling in his own way since Chris left.
They’d just been two ghosts, silently orbiting each other.
And then somehow, they’d collided. First once. Then twice. Then more.
Maybe it was the sadness. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was inevitable.
But it hadn’t been casual. Buck knows that.
It couldn’t have been, not with the way Eddie touched him. Soft. Tentative. Reverent. Not with the way he’d held Buck at night, arms holding tight around his middle, breath warm on the back of his neck. Not with the kisses. Slow, careful, like they might fall apart if they moved too fast.
There hadn’t been words. Eddie hadn’t given it a name. But still, Buck knew they were starting building something real. Something permanent.
Then El Paso happened. And when Eddie came home, everything slowed.
They’re always together now; eating meals, cleaning up, folding towels, watching movies with a beer in hand. They're a team. A unit. A family.
But they're not… together .
No kisses. No late-night touches. No whispered goodnights or lingering looks across the breakfast table. And that’s fine. It’s fine. They’re taking it slow. This is all still new, and Buck knows Eddie needs time. He's prepared to wait, to go at his pace. Even if that pace is…slow.
Eddie’s still adjusting. Chris is still adjusting.
And Buck is still trying not to ask for too much.
Still, he wants - God, he wants .
Which is how he finds himself here, hiding out on B-shift, dry-heaving behind the engine after their first call.
“Hey, you okay man?”
The voice barely registers. Carter, he thinks. The new B-shift medic. He’d only met him that morning.
“Yeah,” Buck says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just tired. Haven’t been sleeping great.”
Carter gives him a once-over, skeptical. “Come on. Let me give you a quick check, alright?”
Buck wants to argue. He’s fine. Probably just a stomach bug or whatever. But he’s tired of people giving him looks . At least this might get them off his back.
Inside the ambulance Carter moves efficiently - blood pressure cuff, thermometer, questions. The usual. Buck just breathes slowly, waiting for it to be over so he can disappear for a nap before their next call.
He sees Carter pause for a moment. Tilt his head a little.
“You said the nausea’s been on and off for a couple weeks?”
“Yeah. Comes and goes. Worse in the morning though.”
Carter hums, rummaging through one of the draws. “Probably nothing,” he says casually, pulling out a Doppler. “Just wanna check something. Mind lying back for me?”
Buck doesn’t question it, complying without complaint. He’s been poked and prodded enough in his life to not question it too hard.
The gel is cold against his skin. Carter presses the probe to his lower abdomen. For a moment, there’s just static.
He’s about to give in and ask what they’re listening for when he hears it.
Fluttering. Fast. Too fast.
Buck stiffens. Thats… no. No he- he’s not- what…
Carter doesn’t say anything immediately. He meets Bucks eyes, calm and steady as if he’s done this a thousand times before.
“Have you ever been told you’re a carrier?”
Buck blinks, the words not processing right in his brain.
He’s not. He knows he’s not.
“No.” He says eventually. “No, i- i can’t be. I’m not.”
“Buck-”
“No, i got screened. Seals training, screening was mandatory. They said- they… I can’t be.”
He can feel it building - heat behind his eyes, pressure in his chest, rising like a wave he can’t hide from.
“I’m not,” he whispers, barely audible. “I’m not.”
Then he’s up off the gurney, fast and panicked, moving on instinct. Carter calls his name, but Buck doesn’t stop. Doesn’t look back.
He locks himself in the bathroom stall and sinks to the floor, head in his hands.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there.
The lights buzz overhead. The tile is cold against his back. The water drips from the tap. His mind just won’t stop.
This doesn’t make sense.
None of this makes sense. They had told him he was all clear. He had seen his results with his own eyes. It had a big, bold M . Not M/C . Just M . It had all been there in black and white.
He was Male. Non-carrier.
He couldn’t be pregnant.
He couldn’t.
But if he was…If in some, crazy, hypothetical world he was…
What the hell is he supposed to do? He should take a real test, right? A proper one. He could stop by a pharmacy on the way home.
Home.
To Eddie’s house.
He had to tell Eddie.
God, what was he going to say. They hadn’t talked about it yet, about any of it yet, and now Buck was supposed to show up and just… what, exactly? Say surprise, you might not be ready to come out but we’re having a fucking baby together so you don’t have a choice really.
He can’t do that to him. That’s not fair. Thats not-
Wait.
If he is pregnant. And thats still a massive, blinking if, then…
How far along was he?
It’s been what, 12 weeks since he and Eddie had last slept together. 13 maybe.
It’s been 16 since Tommy dumped him. 16 since they last…
No. No fucking way. There’s absolutely no fucking way. But what if- no. No .
No he was getting ahead of himself. He wasn’t pregnant. This was all some incredibly fucked up misunderstanding that he’ll be laughing about by next week.
Yeah. Definitely.
His shift couldn’t be over quick enough.
Literally. He got sent home early considering how ill he’d been all shift.
He picks up a test on his way home. Two, actually. Then throws in a third for good measure. The cashier gives him a weird look, but he doesn’t care. He pays and leaves, hands still shaking slightly as he climbs back into his truck, plastic bag crinkling loud in the silence.
The drive is a blur. LA traffic, sunlight through the windshield, some old song on the radio he can’t remember turning on.
By the time he pulls into the driveway, his stomach’s churning again.
He can’t do this. He can’t.
Every time he runs it through his head, it makes less sense. And the worst part - the part that makes him want to claw out of his own skin - is that even if the test is positive, it still won’t tell him whose.
Whose is it?
Eddie’s? Tommy’s?
God. Please don’t let it be Tommy’s.
But if it is Eddie’s…
Then what the hell is he supposed to do with that ?
The front door swings open before he even makes it to the porch. Eddie’s standing there, brows furrowed, eye’s looking him up and down, assessing.
“You’re home early.”
Buck shrugs, tries to make his voice sound casual. “Got sent home. Too sick to work apparently.”
Eddie leans in the doorway. “You really need to see a doctor, Buck. This has been going on too long.”
“I got checked,” Buck says quickly, stepping past him and into the house. “The new guy, Carter. He ran all the usuals, said i was fine.”
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Wow. So you’ll let the new guy check you over, but not me?”
His voice is teasing, light.
Buck lets out a tired laugh and drops the bad on the couch. He turns to look at him, finally really looking, and it hits him all at once.
He looks… good. Like, stupidly good.
Freshly shaven. Shirt tucked in. Hair done. His cologne lingers faintly in the air, subtle but sharp.
“You going somewhere?” Buck asks, trying to keep his voice neutral.
Eddie glances down at himself like he was just now realizing. “Uh, yeah. I’ve got a date.”
Buck blinks. “A date?”
“Yeah,” Eddie smiles, kind of sheepish. “Her name’s Delia, met last week on that call with the tree, remember?. Well we got to talking and she invited me out, figured why not.”
Buck just stares at him for a moment, because what on earth is he supposed to say right now. His b- Eddie is all dressed up to go on a date. With someone else. With a woman.
“Oh,” Buck says eventually. It’s all he can manage. Just one stupid syllable that doesn’t come close to expressing everything he wants to say.
They’d been… something. Right? Sure, they never said it outloud, but they were… it was…
Was it just sex?
Just a placeholder for Eddie’s grief? A warm body in a cold bed?
He can see Eddie’s mouth still moving, probably talking about where thye’re going, or when he’ll be back or something. Buck doesn’t hear any of it. His ears are ringing. He feels sick again.
“Anyway,” He eventually hears Eddie say, grabbing his keys. “You sure you’re alright?”
Buck nods, still stuck in that weird in-between space where everything’s too loud and too quiet all at once. “Yeah. Fine.”
Eddie offers him a smile, gentle and familiar, and then he’s out the door.
And Buck is alone.
He stares at the door like maybe Eddie will come back and say just kidding , or this was all a mistake , or of course it wasn’t just sex, of course I love you, of course this means something .
But the door stays closed.
A date .
Eddie is going on a date .
With someone he’d met recently. Someone new. Someone he liked well enough to get dressed up for. To shave for. To leave Buck for.
Delia.
What…the…fuck?
Buck folds his arms across his torso, like maybe he can hold the pieces of himself in. Like maybe that will help.
What had it all been for then? Was it really all in his head? Had it all really just meant nothing to Eddie?
Had it just been sex?
Had he just been sex?
No, no Eddie wouldn’t just…
He didn’t know how to finish that thought. Cause really, what had Eddie done wrong? He had consentual sex with a friend. That was it.
And Buck… well he’d done what he always does.
He can feel it rising - hot and bitter. Shame, mostly. Stupid, aching shame.
He thought- God, he really though this would be the one he didn’t screw up. The one person who saw him. Who chose him.
But he was wrong.
Eddie hadn’t chosen him.
Eddie had moved on.
And Buck had been left behind, too stupid to see it coming, too hopeful to protect himself.
He dug his nails into his palms. His eyes burned.
Why did he always do this? Why did he always want too much ?
Why did he always make people into homes just before they locked the door?
He rubs a hand over his face, jaw tight with grief.
And then-
Fuck.
The tests.
Right.
Cause to make this all even more fucked, he might be pregnant.
He moves on autopilot, scooping the bag into his hands and heading for the bathroom. He doesn’t look at himself in the mirror. Can’t. Doesn’t want to see the panic in his own eyes.
He tears open the first box with shaking fingers. Reads the instructions. Again. And again.
He knows how this works. But he reads it a third time, like maybe it’s changed.
He takes the test. Sets it on the counter. Starts a timer.
Sits on the edge of the bathtub and stares at the tile.
Three minutes.
He thinks about Eddie.
About Delia.
About the soft smile on Eddie’s face when he said her name.
He thinks about the Doppler. The sound of that fluttering heartbeat, too fast to be his.
He thinks about Tommy.
God. Tommy.
If it’s Tommy’s… He’s completely screwed. The thought of going back - of even talking to him again - makes Buck want to crawl out of his skin.
But if it’s Eddie’s?
He doesn’t even know what’s worse anymore.
A baby with the love of his life who doesn’t love him back?
Or a baby with an ex he can’t bear to look at?
Either way, it’s someone who doesn’t want him. Not really. Not in a build-a-life-with-you kind of way.
Not in a have-a-baby-together kind of way.
And he wanted kids, yeah. God, he wanted them. He wanted to give them everything he never had. Safety. Belonging. A family who actually wanted them.
How is he already failing them.
The timer buzzes.
He jumps.
He gets up slowly, legs stiff, feet heavy. He doesn’t want to look. He really doesn’t want to look.
But he does.
A cross.
Bold. Clear. Undeniable.
Positive.
“No,” he breathes. “No, no, no-”
He scrambles for another test. Takes it. Waits. Watches the lines appear again. Then another.
All positive.
All of them.
He sinks to the floor, knees to his chest, shaking hands gripping the edge of the counter.
He’s pregnant.
And he’s completely, utterly alone.
He doesn’t move for a long time.
The tests still sit on the counter. All three, all positive.
He thinks maybe if he stares at them long enough they’ll change.
He knows they won’t.
He keeps staring anyway.
But eventually, he gets up. It feels like he’s dreaming. Like his body is moving and he has no control over it. He watches his hand wash themselves in the sink. Watches them throw all the evidence in the trash. Watches his legs move, one infront of the other.
He sits on the couch, grabbing his laptop and opening it up.
If his life is going to fall apart, he at least wants to understand why.
He types fast. “Carrier pregnancy symptoms”, “i didn’t know i was a carrier”, “carrier misdiagnosis military screening”, “can a non-carrier become a carrier later in life?”
“Carrier pregnancy is a rare biological phenomenon in which one or more offspring gestate inside a genetically male individual’s secondary uterine structures, know as an accessory uterus or carrying sac. This condition occurs in people assigned male at birth (AMAB) who possess a dormant genetic variation that supports conception and gestation under specific hormonal conditions.
Conception may occur through anal intercourse, or assisted reproductive procedures. Natural conception in carriers has estimated odds of 1 in 5,000-10,000 per sexual encounter due to narrow fertility windows and unpredictable hormonal cycles. Carrier pregnancies may end in live birth, miscariage, stillbirth, or an elected termination. Delivery typically occurs preterm, between 30 and 35 weeks gestation. A full-term carrier pregnancy (37-40 weeks) is exceptionally rare and usually medically managed via early cesarean section.
Implantation in a carrier typically occurs 8-10 days post-fertilization, with the embryo attaching to the vascular lining of the accessory uterus. An embryo refers to the developing offspring until roughly 10 weeks’ gestation, after which the term fetus is used. A carrier's hormonal profile may shift dramatically following implantation, with physiological changes mimicking early pregnancy symptoms in cisgender women.
Early signs of a carrier pregnancy may include nausea, fatigue, frequent urination, food aversions or cravings, hormonal sensitivity, and abdominal discomfort. These symptoms are often mistaken for illness, stress, or unrelated endocrine conditions. Carrier pregnancy is usually confirmed via hCG testing and imaging such as a transabdominal or transrectal ultrasound.
Carrier pregnancies are medically complex and associated with a significantly increased risk of complications, including miscarriage, preeclampsia, intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR), placental abnormalities, and premature labor. The first trimester carries the highest risk of pregnancy loss, often before the pregnancy is even confirmed. Viability - defined as the ability of the fetus to survive outside the body - can be achieved by approximately 24 weeks with intensive neonatal care. However, premature infants born at this stage are at high risk for respiratory, neurological, and developmental challenges.
Carrier pregnancy is also associated with a higher-than-average incidence of multiple gestations due to atypical hormone surges and irregular ovulation patterns. As such, twin or triplet pregnancies, while rare in the general population, are more commonly reported in confirmed carrier cases."
Optimal outcomes for carrier pregnancies require early diagnosis, continuous prenatal care, hormonal support, and often bedrest or physical activity restrictions. Nutrition, stress reduction, and medical supervision play vital roles in supporting both the carrier and the developing fetus. Elective delivery is generally recommended between 30 and 36 weeks depending on fetal health and maternal stability. ”
He scrolls for hours. His tabs multiply; articles, medical journals, forums, blog posts. He finds a reddit thread called r/UnexpectedCarriers, and it feels like looking in a mirror.
“Found out I was pregnant before I even knew I was a carrier.”
“Military got my paperwork wrong.”
“Didn’t know i was a carrier until i was almost 40.”
He’s not the only one this has happened to then. That’s at least somewhat reassuring. Mistakes happen. Medical classification isn’t always perfect.
But he can’t ignore all the risks. The more he looks, the more he finds. Complications that sound less like science and more like horror stories.
God, he can’t do this.
He thinks about the last few weeks. He’d barely slept, lived of caffeine. Taken back-to-back shifts until his body felt like it was falling apart. He’d barely eaten. He knew he was just going to throw it all up anyway so he hadn’t seen much of a point in being full.
He’d been in burning buildings and dangling from harnesses. He’d worked out hard, pushed himself to the limits. He’d drank beers with Eddie, and far more than he should have with Ravi. Hell, he had sushi yesturday.
He hadn’t been careful.
He hadn’t known to be careful.
But if he’s pregnant, he’s got to be through the first trimester already, right? The last time he slept with anyone was the night before Eddie left. That was 13 weeks now.
He was at least 13 weeks. 2nd trimester.
Panic claws up his throat again. His mind won’t stop jumping from timelines and catastrophes like a broken record.
But…
But he could fit it.
He could just… make an appointment tomorrow. A quiet clinic. A quick pill. Done. Gone.
No one would have to know.
No awkward conversations. No disappointing anyone. No baby.
He could just… go back to the way things were.
Sort of.
Not really.
But maybe.
Maybe that’s better than bringing a baby into this mess. He knows what it’s like to grow up with parents who never wanted you.
He promised he would never let that happen to his own kids, should he have them one day.
Granted he never thought he’d be on this side of it.
He doesn’t know if he could do the co-parent thing. Like what’s he supposed to do, bring this baby into the world, love it, and then send it to live with someone else every so often?
At least if it’s Eddie’s he can trust they’d be safe, well cared for, close.
But if it’s not Eddies…
He couldn’t do that.
His phone buzzes.
The sound it too loud in the quiet.
He looks down at his phone. Its 2:55. It’s been almost four hours.
He looks at the notification. It’s a text.
Eddie: Hey, running later than i thought. Can you grab Chris from school? Sorry.
Buck stares at it.
For a second, he forgets how to breathe.
Of course. How could he forget. While he’s sat here, trying to figure out all of this, Eddie’s still with her. On a date. With Delia. The one he met a week ago. The one he shaved for. Got dressed up for. Worth staying out late for.
God, how could he have forgotten? How could he have ever thought he was the one?
He presses his palms to his eyes, hard, like that’ll make the ache go away. He lets out a sharp breath, slams the laptop shut, and pulls himself to his feet, sending Eddie a quick thumbs up.
This isn’t about him. Not right now.
Chris needs a ride.
And dispite whatever is going on right now, he’s always going to show up when Chris needs him.
He grabs his keys and heads out the door.
The dishes are almost done.
Buck stands at the sink, sleeves rolled up, water too hot against his hands. The kitchen smells like garlic and pasta sauce, the air still warm from the oven. He’d only made a quick diner for him and Chris, not exactly being in the mood to cook. They’d played mario kart together for a while before Chris eventually went to his room.
And so now he’s here, washing dishes along, trying not to think about the three positive tests he threw in the trash. Should he have kept those?
He scrubs harder.
The front door opens quietly. Keys jingle. Footsteps. Eddie’s home.
Buck’s heart kicks up and he hates that. Hates that even now - especially now - part of him still reacts to the sound of him.
He hears him go to Chris’ room first. Hears the muffle of quiet conversation. He tries not to listen in.
Then theres footsteps again, closer this time.
“Hey.” Comes from behind him.
Buck doesn’t turn around. “Hey.”
“Thanks for picking Chris up.”
“It’s nothing.”
Eddie walks into the kitchen, unbothered, his voice light. “Smells amazing in here, by the way. Kid said you made garlic bread from scratch?”
Buck gives a small shrug. “Just used what was left of the loaf.”
“Still,” Eddie says, leaning against the counter. “You didn’t have to. Thanks.”
Buck doesn’t reply. Just keeps washing. One plate after another.
And then Eddie starts talking.
“I gotta say,” he says, almost laughing, “I didn’t expect today to go so well. Delia’s great. Like, really great.”
Buck’s hand freezes on a glass.
“We ended up grabbing coffee after lunch, then just... kept walking. Talking. I think we spent the whole day just kind of wandering around. And it didn’t feel forced, you know? Like we just... clicked.”
Buck starts rinsing again. Harder this time. His jaw clenched.
“She’s funny. Smart. Way too into trivia nights, but I can forgive that.” Eddie grins to himself, totally unaware. “And the weirdest part was I didn’t want it to end. Like, we were out for hours and I still wasn’t ready to say goodnight.”
Buck can feel it building. The heat under his skin. The dull roar in his head. He knows it’s not fair. Eddie doesn’t know . He doesn’t owe him anything.
But God, it pisses him off anyway.
He’s here, holding a secret too big for his own chest, while Eddie’s off falling in love with someone else.
He dries a plate. Hard. Too hard.
The plate slips from his fingers and shatters on the floor.
The sound is sharp. The room goes quiet.
Eddie jumps, startled. “Shit, you okay?”
Buck steps back, staring at the pieces.
Eddie moves to help, but Buck’s voice is sharp. “Leave it.”
Eddie blinks. “Buck-”
“I said leave it.” Buck’s voice is tighter now, harder. “I’ll clean it.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow. “What’s your problem, man?”
Buck laughs. He shouldn’t. But he does. “My problem?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, standing straighter. “You’ve been off for days. Now you're snapping at me for trying to help? What’s going on?”
Buck turns to him. “You really want to know?”
Eddie nods slowly. “Yeah. I do.”
Buck opens his mouth. Closes it. Something ugly twists in his gut, and he says, “I’m not your personal babysitter for when you wanna run of with some new girlfriend y’know. Never mind if i had plans.”
He’s not sure what he’s saying exactly, but he knows it isn’t true.
But he can’t stop himself.
Eddies expression shifts, confused then defensive. "I asked you to pick him up. You said yes. You could have said no if it was such an issue."
"Yeah," Buck says, not meeting his eyes, "when you text me five minutes before schools out. No heads up. I wasn't gonna leave him there while you were too busy with her."
He's not mad about picking up Chris. He loves Chris.
He hates that he had to pick him up so Eddie could stay out with her.
Still, his words hang in the air like smoke. Acrid and entirely unfair.
Eddie’s face hardens. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what ?” Buck snaps.
“Don’t turn this into some bullshit accusation,” Eddie says, his voice rising. “You know damn well I always show up for Chris.”
“You didn’t today.”
“That’s not fair-”
“No?” Buck says, eyes blazing. “You stayed out. With some woman you just met. All day.”
"What are you really mad at here Buck? Cause i know damn well it's not picking Chris up for me."
Buck's voice is shaking. "I'm mad that while i was here dealing with finding out im-, dealing with taking care of your son, you're off playing happy couple with some woman you don't even know. A little warning would have been nice at least."
Eddie’s eyes narrow further. “Don’t act like I left him on some street corner. He was safe. With you.”
“Yeah, he was,” Buck snaps. “Because I showed up. Because I always do.”
“Don’t make this about him.”
Buck’s breathing quickens. His hands ball into fists at his sides.
“I’m not,” he lies. “But maybe someone should.”
Eddie’s eyes flare. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t even think to come back for him, Eddie. No, you just called me to deal with it, to fix your mess like i always do. Like i don't have enough of my own fucking messes to deal with right now.”
Eddie’s jaw tightens. “That’s not fair, Buck.”
“No?” Buck says, his voice sharp. “Maybe not. But neither were you.”
And then, he says it.
The thing he knows he’ll regret the second it leaves his mouth.
“You’re supposed to be his dad, Eddie.”
The silence after that isn’t quiet. It’s deafening.
Eddie goes completely still.
Buck sees it the moment it hits him.
“I am,” Eddie says, voice low. Controlled. Dangerous in how calm it is. “And I don’t need you to remind me.”
Buck's throat tightens, but he doesn’t speak. He can’t.
“You think I don’t carry that with me every second of every day?” Eddie asks. “You think I don’t agonize over how to be enough for him?”
His voice wavers. Buck feels something inside himself fracture.
“I didn’t ask you to pick him up because I didn’t want to,” Eddie says, quieter now. “I asked because I trust you. Because Chris trusts you.”
“I know,” Buck says, too late. Too small.
Eddie laughs, short and bitter. “You wanna be mad at me, fine. I can take that. But don’t you dare question how much I love my son. Don’t turn this into that.”
“I wasn’t-”
Eddie cuts him off. “You were. And if you don’t wanna help anymore, say it. But don’t act like it’s some burden. I thought you liked spending time with him.”
Buck’s stomach twists. “I do. You know I do.”
Eddie shakes his head. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
The silence stretches, both of them standing there, watching each other.
Then Eddie exhales, turning away. “You know what? Whatever. Be pissed at me all you want. But don’t drag my kid into it.”
He storms off.
The bedroom door slams.
The kitchen is silent again.
Buck stands in the middle of it, shattered plate still on the floor, dish towel in his hand, chest heaving.
He leans on the counter, both hands braced against the edge like it’s the only thing holding him upright.
His eyes sting. His hands are shaking.
What the fuck had he just said?
Of all the things he could’ve thrown, he went for the one thing that’s never been true.
He knows what kind of father Eddie is. He knows Eddie would move the world for Chris. Buck’s seen it, lived it, loved it.
But he knew it would hurt.
He wanted to make him hurt.
Fuck.
He’d apologise tomorrow. He was off anyway, could make him an apology breakfast or something.
But he did have an appointment booked. He’d called after dinner, made an appointment for 3pm.
But right now he just needed to sleep.
He walked over to the couch, grabbed the fraying blanket, and was out by the time his head hit the pillow.
Buck wakes on the couch, eyes seeled shut from sleep.
For a split second, he doesn’t remember where he was. Why his neck hurts, why the bed feels different, why his mouth is dry like cotton.
Then it all comes rushing back. The fight, the broken plate, his more then unfair comments.
The tests.
He groans, rolling onto his side, fumbling for his phone. The screen lights up: 9:47pm
Jesus. He slept for nearly ten hours.
He shoots upright too fast. The nausea hits instantly. He stumbles to the bathroom and barely makes it in time, emptying what little was in his stomach into the toilet.
His forehead rests on his forearm against the cool porcelain. He breathes through it, waits for the shaking to stop.
When he finally rinses his mouth and leaves the bathroom, he realizes he’s alone.
The living room is still. The shoes are gone from the front mat. Chris’s backpack is missing from the hook. The house has that hollow, echoing quiet it only ever gets when no one else is around.
There goes the idea of an apology breakfast.
He checks the time again. Yeah, Chris would be at school by now. And Eddie? He has no clue. Maybe on walk. Maybe shopping. Maybe... with her .
Buck doesn’t think he has the right to ask.
Instead, he makes himself some toast. Plain, dry. Safe. Easy. The bread tastes like cardboard, but he forces himself to eat it anyway. He has to. Not just for him anymore.
He sits at the table and opens his laptop. He has a few hours to kill before his appointment.
Honestly, part of him had hoped when he woke it would have all been a bad dream.
But it wasn’t.
This was really fucking happening.
He was really fucking pregnant.
So he goes back to the research spiral.
Back to the pages with conflicting data and horror stories and Reddit threads full of strangers sharing stories and traumas.
He types in new search terms:
“Carrier pregnancies complications.”
“Abortion at 13+ weeks.”
“D&E risks.”
“D&E risks in men.”
“How do you know if you’re ready to be a parent.”
The results are endless, exhausting. For every answer he finds, there someone else saying the opposite.
He learns that he’s likely past the window for a medical abortion - 13 weeks would mean a dilation and evacuation. It was more invasive. Requires a clinic. Is often done under anesthesia.
But that’s not even the part that’s stuck in his chest.
It’s the question behind all of it.
Is this what he wants?
If you asked him a week ago if he’d want to have Eddie’s baby, he’d have said yes no questions asked.
Because back then he though Eddie loved him the same way he loved Eddie.
Now he knew he was wrong.
Plus, there is always the chance it’s not his. Could he do that instead? Co-parent a baby with an ex he was kind of hoping to avoid for the rest of his life?
It’d be easier to end it. Cleaner. Simpler. No conversations. No judgment. No rejection.
He could quietly erase the mistake before it ruins everything else in his life. That’s what this is, right?
A mistake.
But… was it?
Was it really?
He thinks about those nights. About Eddie’s hands on his skin. The way he had whispered Buck’s name like a promise. Like he meant something.
That night hadn’t felt like a mistake.
But maybe it was to Eddie.
Buck rubs his face with both hands. It’s too much. Too big. Too fast. How is he supposed to decide anything when everything hurts and he’s so, so tired?
He spends the next few hours unmoving on the couch, until eventually it’s time to go.
Time to go and see with his own two eyes if this is all actually real.
He drives in silence, sunglasses blocking the afternoon sun. He checks in at the clinic and waits, fingers twisted in the hem of his sleeve, heart pounding as he watches the clock hands tick by.
The receptionist eyes him, polite but curious. He catches the looks from a couple other patients too. The quick, surprised glances that get quickly buried in phones or magazines.
He knows what they see. A man. Alone. Holding a pregnancy folder.
Carrier pregnancies are rare. Even in LA, even in this clinic that claims to be inclusive.
He doesn’t care.
Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
After a few minutes a nurse calls his name.
He follows her down the hallway into a private room, and a couple minutes after, a woman enters, mid-fifties with a soft smile, kind eyes, grey streaks in her pulled-back hair. Her name tag reads Dr. Morales.
“Hi, Evan,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’ve read your intake. Before we begin, do you have any questions?”
He nods. Too fast.
And then he’s off , launching into everything he’s been holding in: the risks, the percentages, the miscarriage rates, the chance of uterine rupture, what it means to be thirteen weeks and how he didn’t even know until yesterday that this was possible for him, and the firefighting , the lifting and the fires, the vomiting, the zero prenatal care - every word spills out like it’s trying to outrun his own fear.
She listens, her smile never fading.
Then, gently, she lifts a hand.
“Those are all valid concerns,” she says, calm and clear. “And I promise we’ll talk through every single one. But why don’t we start with the ultrasound? Let’s see how baby’s doing, check if they’re healthy first. Then we can talk next steps and what to expect.”
Buck swallows hard and nods.
He lies back. Cold gel on his abdomen again. The same buzz of static in the room.
And then he sees it pop up on the screen.
It looks like nothing at first.
Then he sees them.
Them.
Two shapes. Two sacs.
Two babies.
His brain doesn’t catch up.
There’s just static again - but this time in his own skull.
He stares at the screen.
And then he starts laughing.
He laughs . Loud and sharp and almost manic. Covers his face with both hands and just loses it. The kind of laugh that turns into something too close to a sob. The kind that only happens when the universe has absolutely, 100% lost the fucking plot.
“Twins?” he gasps, laughing harder. “ Fucking twins? Are you kidding me?”
Buck wipes at his eyes. He looks over to the Doctor, still holding that same gentle smile. All he could think was ‘She must think i’m crazy’.
“Sorry. I just… I can’t believe this is real.” He said eventually.
Dr. Morales chuckles warmly. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first laugher. I’ve had screamers, runners, the whole lot.”
That’s reassuring at least. He may be a little crazy but at least he’s not the only one.
“I just- i really didn’t expect it y’know. Like i knew carriers have a higher chance of it, but it somehow just didn’t even cross my mind.”
“And that’s perfectly normal,” she says kindly, moving the probe carefully. “Multiples do normally come with a little panic, it’s a lot to take in. But as you said, it’s quite common in carrier pregnancies, and every hospital or birthing facility will be more than prepared for it, so no need to worry.”
He nods, still breathless. His eyes never leave the screen.
They’re small. But whole . Moving. Hearts beating. He can see their heads, the small curves of their noses. Their bodies are small, barely bigger than their heads. He watches as their legs move slightly, stretching in and out.
These we’re his babies.
She measures both. “I’m measuring about fourteen weeks for each. Good movement. Strong heartbeats. No obvious issues. Everything looks healthy so far.”
Buck lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Fourteen weeks.
Eddie’s . They’re Eddie’s.
The thought hits him like a punch and a promise at the same time.
But the relief dies almost instantly.
Because even though they’re Eddies, it doesn’t change anything.
They’re not speaking. They just had the worst fight they’ve ever had. Eddie’s dating someone new. They’re strangers again, orbiting in opposite directions.
There’s no room in this mess for a baby. Let alone two.
Dr. Morales finishes the scan and helps him sit up. “You’re handling this really well.”
He huffs. “I’m not.”
She smiles. “Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”
They go through the paperwork, prenatal options, dietary notes, when to come in for bloodwork. She refers him to a specialist clinic for carriers, and then - gently - asks if he wants to talk about other options.
He does.
Not because he’s sure.
But because he’s not.
She answers every question kindly. No judgment. Just facts.
When he finally leaves, the sun’s gone behind the clouds, the air outside cool and still.
He stands on the sidewalk outside the clinic for a long minute, staring up as the rain starts to hit his face.
The folder under his arm feels heavier than it should.
Inside it, two sonogram printouts.
Two heartbeats.
Two lives.
And a choice he still doesn’t know how to make.
He runs a hand through his hair, sighs. He doesn’t know what he did to piss off the universe so badly.
Because this?
This is getting ridiculous.