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Buck is barefoot in Eddie’s kitchen, flipping a pancake that is supposed to be a dinosaur but looks more like a lopsided continent.
Christopher squints at it from his seat at the table.
“That’s not a T-Rex.”
“It’s abstract,” Buck argues, reaching for the spatula again. “Modern art. Very advanced.”
“It looks like Texas.”
Eddie snorts from the doorway before he can stop himself.
Buck points the spatula at him accusingly. “Don’t encourage him.”
Morning light spills through the window over the sink. The coffee pot gurgles like it’s fighting for its life. Buck’s hair is still damp from a too-fast shower, curling at the ends. He’s wearing one of Eddie’s old LAFD shirts like it belongs to him.
Maybe it does.
Christopher drums his fingers impatiently. “You promised dinosaurs.”
“I delivered dinosaurs,” Buck says. “You’re just ungrateful.”
Eddie pushes off the doorframe and steps fully into the kitchen. He reaches for a mug automatically—the blue one Buck always uses—and fills it before handing it over without thinking.
Buck accepts it the same way. Automatic.
Familiar.
Christopher watches this exchange with the kind of knowing smile that makes Eddie nervous.
“Relax,” Buck says lightly when he catches Eddie staring. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The words are tossed out casually. Easy. Teasing.
Eddie swallows for reasons he doesn’t entirely understand.
Christopher beams. “Good. Because you still owe me help with math.”
Buck salutes with the spatula. “I live to serve.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t move away when Buck brushes past him to set the plate down. Their shoulders bump. It lingers half a second longer than it needs to.
It’s just another Tuesday.
****
At the station, everything is normal.
Chim complains about the coffee. Hen teases Buck about being “domesticated.” Bobby pretends not to notice when Buck and Eddie gravitate toward the same space in the kitchen.
“Diaz,” Chim says, watching Buck steal half of Eddie’s fries at lunch. “You gonna make it official or what?”
Eddie doesn’t look up. “Make what official?”
Hen arches a brow. “Whatever that is.”
Buck chokes on a fry. “We’re just—”
“Gross,” Eddie mutters, but there’s no heat in it.
The alarm cuts through the room before anyone can push further.
Apartment building fire. Two-story. Possible residents trapped.
Routine.
They move.
****
The building isn’t fully engulfed when they arrive. Smoke pours from second-floor windows. Neighbors cluster across the street, shouting conflicting information.
“Possible child inside,” Bobby calls.
Buck and Eddie exchange a look.
They’re already moving.
Inside, heat presses in from every direction. The hallway visibility is garbage.
“I’ll take left,” Eddie says.
“Right,” Buck replies.
It’s muscle memory.
They split.
Buck forces open a bedroom door near the back and hears it immediately—soft crying.
“Hey!” he calls, dropping to his knees. “Fire department!”
The crying gets louder.
He finds her in the closet. Eight, maybe nine years old. Curled up between winter coats.
“It’s okay,” Buck says gently. “I’ve got you.”
He scoops her up, coughing as the smoke thickens.
“Found one!” he shouts into the radio.
“Copy,” Bobby responds. “Get out.”
Buck adjusts his grip on the girl and heads for the stairs.
The building groans.
He’s halfway down when he hears it—a crack that doesn’t sound like fire.
It sounds like something giving up.
“Buck—” Eddie’s voice echoes from somewhere above.
The floor drops.
It isn’t slow. It isn’t cinematic. One second he’s stepping, the next there’s nothing under him.
He twists on instinct, shielding the girl.
They crash one level down.
The child lands clear, rolling hard but alive.
Buck doesn’t.
Pain detonates through his chest.
For a second, he can’t breathe.
Then he can—and he almost wishes he couldn’t.
There’s weight across his torso. Something heavy. Burning. Pinning him.
The girl is screaming.
“I’m okay,” he tries to say, but it comes out wet.
Boots pound overhead.
“Buck!” Eddie’s voice is raw.
“I’m here,” Buck manages.
Eddie appears through smoke like something feral. He shoves debris aside, drops to his knees.
The beam across Buck’s chest is thick. Splintered. Embedded.
There’s too much blood.
Eddie knows it immediately.
“No,” he breathes. “No, no, no.”
Buck blinks up at him. The world feels distant. Edges blurry.
“Hey,” he says.
“Don’t,” Eddie snaps, hands already pressing down, trying to find where to help, where to stop it. “You’re fine. Chim’s coming. We’re getting you out.”
Buck almost laughs.
Eddie’s hands are shaking.
The girl is pulled away by other firefighters. Voices blur. Orders barked.
The beam doesn’t move when they test it.
“Need stabilization!” someone shouts.
Buck swallows.
He can’t feel his legs.
“Eddie.”
“I’m here,” Eddie says immediately, leaning close. “I’m right here.”
Buck’s hand twitches until Eddie grabs it. Their gloves slide against blood-slick fabric.
“You remember,” Buck says slowly, each word deliberate, “when you told me I didn’t have to keep proving I was staying?”
Eddie’s jaw clenches. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.”
Buck’s vision narrows around Eddie’s face. Soot streaked across his cheek. Eyes wide. Terrified.
“I didn’t say it,” Buck whispers.
“Save your energy,” Eddie orders, voice breaking. “You can say whatever you want later.”
Buck smiles faintly.
There isn’t going to be a later.
“I’ve always loved you.”
The words land between them.
Soft.
Certain.
Eddie freezes.
Everything else—the crackle of fire, the shouting, the sirens—falls away.
Buck is looking at him like he’s waiting.
Like this is the most important thing.
Eddie inhales.
“I—”
Buck exhales.
It’s quiet.
Relieved.
His fingers loosen.
The monitor someone has finally clipped on shrieks a flat, unbroken tone.
“Buck?” Eddie says sharply.
No response.
“Buck.”
Hands are pulling Eddie back.
He fights them.
“Buck!” he shouts, voice cracking open.
****
The house is dark when Eddie unlocks the door.
He doesn’t remember the drive.
His uniform is still on. There’s dried blood on his sleeves.
Christopher is sitting on the couch.
He’s wearing Buck’s hoodie.
He looks up immediately.
“Hey,” he says, relieved. “You’re late.”
Eddie closes the door.
He doesn’t move.
Christopher studies his face.
“Where’s Buck?”
Eddie’s mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Christopher pushes himself upright. “Is he at the hospital?”
Eddie nods once because that part is true.
“Oh,” Christopher says, processing. “Okay. So we can go see him.”
The hope in his voice is unbearable.
Eddie’s knees give out.
He drops hard onto the living room floor.
Christopher startles. “Dad?”
Eddie presses his hands over his face, but it doesn’t stop the sound that tears out of him.
Christopher moves closer, slow and cautious.
“Is he hurt?”
Eddie nods again.
Christopher’s voice gets smaller. “Bad?”
Eddie forces himself to look at his son.
He has faced burning buildings. Collapsing structures. Active shooters.
This is worse.
“I’m so sorry,” Eddie says.
Christopher stills.
“No,” he whispers immediately.
Eddie crawls forward and pulls him close.
Christopher feels how hard he’s shaking.
“No,” Christopher says again. “He promised he wasn’t going anywhere.”