Work Text:
Eddie had kind of hoped that getting shot out of the sky in the middle of Afghanistan would be the most horrifying moment of his life. Unfortunately, he discovers at 3 pm on a Wednesday in the suburban streets of Los Angeles that, really, they should be handing out silver stars for gallantry in action against toddlers with absolutely zero survival instinct.
Because, no, the most horrifying moment of Eddie’s life is happening right now — a broken arm, a broken foot, five bruised ribs, and a toddler that snuck past the grocery delivery and is headed straight for the road.
A toddler, mind you, that usually isn’t very fast. But, sure. Let's choose the moment when Eddie is least equipped to catch an eloping toddler to learn how to sprint. Perfect!
Eddie had made the painful-ass journey from the couch to the front door, one crutch under his not-broken armpit, in a stubborn, and dare he say gallant, attempt to collect the groceries he’d had delivered.
He’d opened the door, bent down carrrreeeffuullllly, and ow, fucking painfully, and managed to scoop up one paper bag. In the meantime, Christopher had decided, for the first time in his entire life, to make a break for it.
Eddie looks up just in time to see him already halfway down the driveway.
Oh, fuck.
He drops the groceries and hobbles like no one has ever hobbled before. He’s fairly sure he’s rebreaking every broken bone and maybe breaking some new ones as he chases as fast as he possibly can behind Chris, who, although he does keep falling over, is somehow gaining speed every time he does.
“CHRIS!” He yells. “STOP, STOP, STOP.”
And of course, of fucking course, in that very moment, a car turns onto the street. Eddie waves his crutch in the air desperately as he continues to hobble-sprint toward Christopher. Thank fucking fuck, the car slows to a stop. Christopher tumbles over into a slow-mo toddler face-plant at the bottom of the driveway.
By some fucking miracle, no one gets hit by a car. The car door opens, and a man steps out — another adult human person with two working arms and two working legs. Eddie can’t breathe. Holy fuck, he kind of feels like his entire body is being electrocuted from pain and adrenaline and abject fucking horror.
“Whoa, buddy!” The man with all his working limbs says, bending down in front of Christopher, putting himself between the toddler and the road. “Roads are no fun for babies.”
And Eddie, as stated, already cannot breathe. When he does try to breathe, he’s sucking in burning flames. So it takes a minute to register that the nice man who just saved his baby’s life is - - fuck. Of course. Of course, it’s his hot new neighbor.
His hot new neighbor picks up Christopher and takes in Eddie with wide, worried eyes. He must look insane. The man reaches out a hesitant hand to steady him. “You okay, man?”
Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. That’s a great question.
He reaches out as best he can and runs a shaky hand over his living, breathing, alive kid. Christopher, the little shit, giggles at him delightedly. “Dada!”
He sucks in a breath and tries to take stock of his own ailments. The adrenaline still coursing through his veins is helping, probably, with the pain that he’s sure will come later.
“I think I just broke five more things,” he breathes, wincing. “But it could definitely be worse. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry. I was trying to bring in the groceries, and he just - -”
“Hey, no worries,” his hot new neighbor insists. “Let me help you back inside?”
Eddie nods, because it’s really his only option. This is mortifying. His hot new neighbor’s first impression of him is that he can’t even look after his own kid. He’s probably going to call the police — Eddie wouldn’t even blame him.
“Y’know,” his hot new neighbor starts as they shuffle slowly up the driveway. Eddie braces for the telling off — the ‘this could have ended a lot differently’, or the ‘you really need to keep a closer eye on your kid’. Instead, conversationally, he offers: “If this happens again, it’ll probably be easier if you just kind of drop into a roll. Knock him down like a bowling pin.”
Eddie barks out a surprised laugh. Ow, fuck. His ribs. Of all the things he was expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. The hot new neighbor grins at him goofily, seemingly happy to have made Eddie laugh. “Honestly, I was about three seconds away from it,” he admits. “Thank you so much again. I’m Eddie, by the way. You just moved in next door, right?”
“Yeah! I’m Buck,” he grins. He bops his finger over Christopher’s nose playfully. “And who’s this?”
“That little escape artist is Christopher,” Eddie sighs. “I swear he used to just sit in the one spot all day until I broke half the bones in my body. Suddenly, he’s a cross-country runner.”
“Dada!” Christopher grins.
“Yeah, buddy,” Eddie sighs. “No doing that again, okay? That wasn’t safe. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Well, hey,” Buck says, still walking beside him at Eddie’s snail’s pace. “I’m right next door if you ever need anything. I’ll give you my number — just shoot me a text, and I can bring your groceries in or whatever. Or if you need help with this cutie, I love kids,” he smiles, jostling Christopher on his hip. “Actually, do you like tofu? I was going to try out a new recipe tonight, but I bought way too many ingredients. I can bring you over some food?”
Eddie stops in his tracks.
Oh. He kind of wants to cry.
Everything hurts, and he’s so tired, and his baby could’ve been hurt, and no one has cooked for him in so, so long, and he is definitely experiencing an adrenaline crash right now, Jesus Christ.
It takes Buck a second to notice that Eddie has stopped shuffling, too focused on giggling along with Christopher.
When he does notice, he smiles back at him over his shoulder, Christopher tucked on his hip like he’s meant to be there.
Fuck, he’s so pretty. Eddie’s so fucking fucked.
“I, uh - -” Eddie stumbles, blinking out of his stupor. “I, um. Normally, I’d politely decline,” he manages to explain. “You’ve already done so much - - I can’t even begin to thank you,” he word-vomits. “But, uh, I have been living off ramen and frozen pizza for weeks,” he admits. “So if you’re genuinely offering, I will not say no to food.”
Wow. That felt foreign coming out of his mouth. Eddie Diaz, accepting help — this day could not get stranger.
“Okay!” Buck grins. He looks genuinely delighted. “Great! I’ll, uh. Let’s get you both inside. I’ll grab the rest of your groceries, and then I’ll be back in a few hours?”
God, the groceries. Eddie had forgotten about the groceries. Not having to try and haul groceries into his house sounds almost better than real, home-cooked food right now.
“Thank you,” Eddie breathes. He means it more than he’s ever meant anything. “I - - thank you.”
Three hours later, Eddie is even more dead on his feet than he already was, if that’s even possible.
He almost wants to return his silver star and ask them to reissue it for being a single dad to a toddler after getting shot out of the sky, with all the broken bones and limited mobility to prove it.
If he’s being completely honest, he forgets he even spoke to another adult today, let alone that he’s expecting company until the doorbell rings out.
It takes him a good five minutes, but eventually he swings the door open to find Buck, standing there smiling with an armful of Tupperware containers and two bags hanging off his wrists.
“Hey!” Buck grins. Pretty, Eddie’s brain supplies. Pretty pretty pretty. “I hope you don’t mind, but I did some baking, too. And I figured if I was baking, I might as well fill up the dishwasher, so I have some easy dinners you can just throw in the freezer. Just throw ‘em in the oven when you want to eat them — you won’t have to chop anything. These smaller ones are for Chris? I wasn’t sure what he liked, so there’s mac and cheese, one’s a veggie thing, and there’s these little quiche bite things that are apparently good for toddlers? Oh, and there are sandwiches! For both of you.”
He opens his mouth to keep going, but Eddie is going to have to cut him off, or he’ll try to kiss this handsome stranger who saved his son and brought him sandwiches.
“Buck,” Eddie breathes. “This is - - thank you. Come in.”
He could swear Buck’s shoulders drop in relief. Eddie shuffles out of the way of the door so Buck can squeeze past — a truly remarkable number of containers and bags on his person.
“And, obviously, I made dinner,” he continues, heading for the kitchen. “That’s a second trip, though. I didn’t want to drop anything. I also made sweet tea!”
Eddie hobbles along behind him, trying to even find the words. When he makes it to the kitchen, Buck is already unpacking trays and containers onto the counter.
“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” he lands on, blinking at the spread in genuine shock.
Buck lets out a breath, turning around to face him. “It’s not weird?” He winces. “I realized, like, as you opened the door, that this might be weird.”
Eddie snorts. Ow. “I don’t know, but I really appreciate it. This looks amazing. Please let me pay you back for these groceries.”
Buck waves him off, pulling more baked goods out of the bags. “I never have anyone to cook for, so it’s just as much for me as it is for you,” he insists. He turns, a stack of labeled trays in his arms. “Please tell me you have an empty freezer.”
Every week, for seven increasingly less terrible weeks, Buck fills his freezer. He doesn’t even need to order and one-hand-wrestle groceries anymore. And if all of that isn’t miraculous enough, Christopher has decided that, if Buck makes it, he even eats broccoli now.
Eddie’s favourite day of the week is the one with Buck in it. He stays for dinner, he makes Christopher giggle, he does the dishes, he makes Eddie want to bang his head against the wall with how much of a giant crush he has on him.
It’s as perfect as anything can be with a half-broken body and a toddler.
On the Monday of the eighth week, Eddie gets the cast taken off his arm.
He has never been more psyched about anything.
And, he has a plan. He has a plan for a gesture.
Eddie is going to cook for Buck. How about that, huh?
And, look. Can Eddie cook? Not really. Can he bake? Never has a day in his life. But does he try? Yes, and that’s what’s important to focus on. He really, really tries.
The moment he can hold a knife again, he sets out in his kitchen, chopping things in extremely non-uniform sizes and at odd, incorrect angles.
Christopher helps him with the cupcakes to such a degree that he’s not sure if they’re now considered a biohazard. Maybe he’ll pitch them as immune-building.
It takes a long time, and they make a giant mess, but he does it. He puts together something that looks like dinner, and that’s as good as it’s going to get.
He wraps it all up, stacks it into the back of Christopher’s stroller, straps Christopher — who is not allowed outside without being strapped to something — into the stroller, and knocks on Buck’s door.
Buck grins at them. “Hey! Look who it is!”
Eddie does not go weak at the knees, and the fact that he remains standing has nothing to do with the stroller he’s holding onto for dear life.
“Hi,” Eddie smiles. “We made you dinner.”
Buck frowns, a cute little wrinkle between his brows. “Eddie,” he frowns. “You should be resting. Did the doctors say you could do that?” His gaze drops to Eddie’s arm, down to his leg, like he has X-ray vision that could confirm or deny. “Come in, come in. Sit down.”
Eddie snorts and pushes Christopher’s stroller across the entrance.
“Yes, Buck. I have been cleared for non-strenuous use of all kitchen appliances. And Christopher helped. He made the cupcakes.”
“You did?” Buck grins down at Christopher. Christopher giggles at him. “Wow, that’s so special! You’re so clever, buddy.”
“Buck!’ Christopher agrees happily. “Buck, Buck, Buck!”
Wow. Look at that. He really is his father’s son.
“Fair warning,” Eddie supplies. “I’m not much of a cook.”
“Well, you’re out of practice,” Buck shrugs, kindly ignoring all the previous non-cooking weeks of his life. “I bet it’s still great!”
The food is…edible. Well, the baked ziti is. The cupcakes are as hard as rocks.
Christopher doesn’t even make it to dessert, zonking out after two half-bites of pasta and a tantrum about the bread knife Eddie wouldn’t let him play with.
He’s an awful, evil father.
It ends up being for the best, really, because even without Christopher awake to watch him, Buck is still, valiantly, pretending the cupcakes are even remotely edible.
“Buck, you do not have to eat that,” Eddie says, for the fifth time, from where they’ve relocated to the couch.
“But Chris made it,” Buck pouts, taking another hesitant bite. “For me!”
They’re somehow dense and crumbly at the same time?
Eddie grimaces as Buck chews. “Honestly, that’s all the more reason not to eat it,” he says, right as Buck bites down on something that audibly crunches.
Eddie winces. Buck makes lightly horrified eye contact with Eddie, then politely spits the mouthful into a napkin.
“I was trying to do, like, a gesture,” Eddie groans, watching Buck slip away to throw the napkin into the trash. “I didn’t plan on torturing you with a cupcake.”
Buck returns with two glasses of iced tea. Of course he does. He’s perfect.
“You wanted to do a gesture?”
“Yeah. Y’know,” Eddie shrugs, taking a sip. “A gesture.”
“Like what kind of gesture?” Buck asks.
Eddie feels his cheeks heat.
“Like a - - a ‘thank you for keeping us alive for these past few months’ gesture,” Eddie shrugs, avoiding eye contact. “An ‘I don’t know what I did to deserve you as my neighbor’ gesture.”
Buck smiles at him, small and amused and a little bit secret, like he maybe knows what Eddie is trying to work up to saying.
He sucks in a breath and tries to be brave. “And, um, if you would want it to be, it can also be a gesture gesture,” he lands on.
Buck bites down on a smile. “A gesture gesture?” He repeats.
Eddie nods. “Like a grand gesture. But just imagine the grand part in place of the toddler cupcakes.”
Buck chuckles. He cocks his head. “Like… a romantic gesture?”
He says it like it’s so easy. Like it’s something you can just say.
Eddie can be someone who just says it. He can be. He will.
Eddie swallows. “Yeah,” he nods. “Like that. Like an ‘I have a giant crush on you but I’m really bad at this, so if I’ve read this wrong, we can just pretend I never said anything,’ gesture.”
Buck grins. That’s good, probably. He’s not backing away in horror. “You have a giant crush on me?”
Eddie’s face burns. He nods. “Of course I do. You stockpiled my freezer.”
“Of course I did,” Buck shrugs. “I have a giant crush on you.”
Oh, holy mother of - -
Eddie chokes on air. “You do?”
Buck nods. “I do. And I actually can’t believe I didn’t ruin my chances when I told you to knock your baby over like a bowling pin five seconds after meeting you.”
Eddie snorts. Ridiculously, hopelessly endeared. “He’s tough. He’d be fine.”
“Hey, maybe we could save the cupcakes as backup bowling balls?” Buck jokes. “They’d probably do the job. Hefty.”
Eddie laughs, and Buck laughs too, and Eddie feels so many insane feelings that he has to duck his head like a blushing maiden.
“Hey,” Buck says, eyes twinkling when Eddie meets them. “What are you doing for dinner tomorrow?”
Eddie swallows. “Probably trying to convince a toddler he can’t play with knives?”
Buck chuckles. “Come over? I’ll cook. Or we could go out, but I figure with Chris - -”
“No, that’s perfect,” he whispers. He’s perfect. “It’s - - it’s a date,” he says. He means for it to sound like a statement, but it lands somewhere between there and a question.
Buck beams. “It’s a date.”