Archive of Our Own

Eddie has been a little safety-obsessed since the bridge collapse. Everyone at the 118 knows it, and they’re all better off for it, if you ask him. He inspects every inch of every piece of equipment, and then starts over again when he runs out of things to check on. He makes sure all of the chemicals they store at the firehouse are safely stored per safety regulation. He even checks on the bleach in the storage closet which they use in worst case situations when blood gets on any permanent equipment that can’t be cleaned otherwise.

Bobby tolerates this for a while, but eventually he pulls Eddie aside. “What’s going on, Eddie?” he asks.

“Just triple checking the winches,” Eddie says. “If the metal underneath the lines rust, we’re in trouble.”

“Right,” Bobby agrees. “Which is why we have a regular rotation of safety checks. Winches aren’t due for another check for two more months, and yet I believe this is the third time in as many weeks you’ve personally gone over every inch.”

“What can I say, Cap,” Eddie says with a forced smile. “I’m not keen on waiting, I guess.”

“Well, you’re making everyone nervous,” Bobby says, not unkindly.

“Nervous? I’m keeping them safe,” Eddie counters, not quite sure what to do with the flickers of anger bubbling up at this conversation. “We can’t control lightning strikes or bridge collapses, but we sure as hell can be on our toes about our equipment.”

“Eddie,” Bobbie says with a sigh. “We are on our toes about equipment already, before you started doing all these extra checks. This is bordering on obsession. When’s the last time our equipment failed because we weren’t diligent about checks?”

“What about when CAD was down and Buck was climbing the ladder to get that kid? And then I had to shimmy up a downspout to get him?”

“That was sabotage,” Bobby points out.

Eddie shrugs and goes back to his list of daily checks. “Then next time it’s sabotage, I’ll catch that, too.” He gives Bobby a tight smile and takes off for the power tools and battery packs.

Outside of work, Eddie has been a little obsessed with something else.

“So let me get this straight,” Hen says, then pauses and snickers. Eddie catches the joke a second later and chuckles, too, gesturing for her to continue. “You joined an LGBTQ parents support group because you want to learn about gender and sexuality, so that you can talk to Chris about it?”

“In a sentence, yes,” Eddie confirms, trying not to squirm under her amused gaze. “He’s getting old enough now that I figure, he’s gonna have questions, right?”

“Like you did?”

Eddie frowns, not sure where that leap of logic came from. “No, just—every kid goes through something, right? And I want to make sure he knows that he can talk to me, whether it’s about girls, boys, or… anyone.”

“That’s sweet, Eddie,” Hen says gently. “So what did you learn in the support group?”

“Well, that’s why I’m here, actually. They were talking about the importance of queer role models for kids, and I realized how lucky I am that you and Karen are already like that for Chris.” Eddie pauses to take a drink of his beer while Hen beams at him. “They asked us to share if our kids had queer role models. Some of the parents were able to talk about themselves, or their kids’ aunts and uncles, you know? And I got to tell some stories about the badass paramedic and her rocket scientist wife I work with.”

Hen makes an approving noise. “Mhmm, I bet you did!”

He shakes his head a little, smiling, and continues, worry creeping into his voice as he continues his story. “But then one of the moms said something that I’d never considered. She said it was important for our kids to have queer men in their lives, too.”

Hen gives him a blank look, waiting for his point.

Eddie spreads his hands helplessly.

Hen narrows her eyes, as if trying to figure out if he’s serious. “Uh-huh,” she prompts, sounding confused. “So you said…?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Eddie admits, feeling out of sorts. “What should I have said? It’s not like….”

Hen raises an eyebrow. “You weren’t ready to tell them,” she guesses.

Eddie frowns harder. “Tell them what.”

She snorts. “Eddie, come on. I can think of two queer male role models for Chris, pretty easy.”

He gives her a blank look, then cocks his head to the side. “Michael and David?” he says, scrunching his face up a bit. “In case you forgot, they moved to Miami. Besides, we were never that close to them. Michael wasn’t around as much by the time I started with the 118.”

Hen opens her mouth, closes it. Takes a long pull of her cocktail. “Michael and David, right. They’re not who I was thinking of. Eddie….”

Suddenly he wants to leave. He doesn’t want to know what Hen is going to say about this. He doesn’t examine it, doesn’t acknowledge it; in fact, there’s nothing to examine or acknowledge. “Actually, you know what?” he says, setting his beer down and standing up. “I forgot I have to go, uh. Chris is probably wrapping up that project and I don’t want to be late.”

“Eddie,” Hen starts, a knowingly compassionate look on her face.

“Thanks for the beer, and for being a great role model for my kid, Hen. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She sighs, and tries one more time. “Eddie.”

“Say bye to Karen for me,” he says, slipping out the door.

It’s just past four in the morning and Eddie hasn’t slept more than two hours since he went to bed around midnight. He’s sitting at his kitchen counter with his phone in his hand, looking through his messages, and his thumb hovers over a thread, buried under his more constantly updated contacts. Nathan Cao. He grimaces at the name and the preview of the most recent message, from Nathan, left unread. I’m so glad you made it out of that mess alive, man. Call me.

Eddie still talks to Frank for the big stuff. They have plans and goals for his therapy. He gets homework from Frank, and reports back on changes he’s making. But that kind of therapy is a level of care he keeps aside for those big things, the goals and plans and changes.

Like many veterans and first responders, Eddie is also plugged into a network of peer supporters. After leaving El Paso, he never got around to getting too involved in the veteran community in LA, but one of the homework assignments Frank had given him a while ago was to find out more about the firefighter peer support network in his area.

So, years ago now, he had signed up and taken the peer support classes, but then he never took the next step and registered himself as a peer supporter. He feels too weird about offering advice to someone when nothing in his world felt normal.

But when he was out healing from another set of broken ribs, he had caved and signed himself up to get a peer supporter. To be the mentee, not the mentor. And that’s how he ended up getting to know Firefighter Nathan Cao, from the 112.

He opens the thread and a wave of guilt washes over him as he scrolls through the last series of messages.

Nathan
Saw you on the news again
112 was there but we were SAR in the rubble south of you. How’d 118 fare

Eddie
pretty banged up, nobody unscathed. nobody dead, either. 112?

Nathan
Nothing to report.
I’m so glad you made it out of that mess alive, man.
Call me.

And above that—

Nathan
Pick up Eddie
I know that was you spotting that ladder, saw your name on the jacket on the news
Did he make it?
Buckley. Did he survive that?
Answer your damn phone dude

Eddie
I’m alive, he’s alive
I’ll call you later

Eddie had never called.

Weeks after talking to Hen about it, Eddie brings up the queer role models thing with Bobby. “Must be nice, having Michael and Hen for May and Harry,” he says.

“It is,” Bobby agrees. “May and Harry have no end of amazing role models, and people of many genders and sexualities to talk to if they want. Athena has built an incredible life for her family.” He flips an omelet and serves it, calling for Chimney to come and get it while it’s hot. “Alright, Eddie, what’s going in yours?”

Eddie assembles his order and hands it over to Bobby, who starts his omelet next. “What about you, Bobby? You’ve been there for those kids as much as Athena these last years.”

Bobby smiles. “I’ve been trying to learn, too, you know. I picked up some books in case Harry or May ever came to me about something to do with gender or sexuality—a lot like you’re doing. I didn’t exactly grow up in a family where that kind of thing was talked about, and when I moved out here to LA, I realized just how behind the times I was.”

“And what did you learn in those books?” Eddie prompts, peeking around Bobby to watch his eggs slowly forming a few bubbles in the pan.

“Well, nothing is binary, to start,” Bobby says. “It’s not as simple as gay or straight, boy or girl. It’s way more intricate than that.”

“Right,” Eddie agrees, feeling on solid ground. He’s got that part down. “So we can affirm for our kids that no matter how they want to express themselves, who they are, or who they like, it’s all normal and good.”

“Sure,” Bobby says. “But also model for them an understanding of our own gender and sexuality as more than binary. Show them that we can be authentic to ourselves, be safe and happy in our truth.” Bobby folds the omelet, and a moment later serves it up. Eddie takes it and sits next to Chimney, while Bobby yells for Buck to come place his order.

A few minutes later, Buck takes his spot next to Eddie. He peeks at Eddie’s plate, and sighs. “Man, I knew I should’ve asked for ham in mine,” he complains. “That looks so good.”

Eddie picks a piece of ham out of his omelet and taps it onto Buck’s plate, rolling his eyes at his friend’s exclamation of delight at this.

Chimney, who has finished his omelet by now, makes puppy dog eyes at Eddie. “Ham for me, too?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

“Fuck off, Han,” Eddie snorts, then rolls his eyes as Buck smugly reaches over with his fork and takes another piece of ham out of Eddie’s omelet.

Eddie absolutely does not make eye contact with Hen. There is nothing to acknowledge or examine, here.

(He’s not thinking about it at all, so he’s still thinking about it. Sometimes he thinks it takes more effort not to think about it than if he’d just—)

“I’m kinda surprised you called,” Nathan admits as they slide into a booth at the bar with their drinks. “It’s been a few months since we talked.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. Even though he’s talked to Nathan dozens of times, it always feels a little weird starting over with something new. He’s great—twelve years on the job, whip smart and funny. Insightful, too, always finding some perspective on what Eddie’s saying that makes him feel less alone, more… normal. “Yeah, well, you know what happened with my partner? The lightning strike?”

Nathan nods. “Sure do,” he acknowledges with a grimace. “That was nasty stuff. I texted you but you never responded.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says sheepishly. “I got so many messages and there was so much going on, I just—I didn’t even answer my sister for a month.”

“How’s he doing? Buckley, I mean.”

“Good. Better. He hauled us all out of that bridge collapse.”

Nathan shakes his head slowly. “The shit you get into at the 118,” he says with a sigh. “I can’t believe you’re all still alive after that.”

“Yeah, thanks to Buck,” Eddie says, and for a moment they sit quietly and sip their beers.

“So it’s not the lightning or the collapse that got you to call me,” Nathan says, leaning back and throwing his arms up, spreading into the space of the booth. “What did?”

When the words won’t come easily, Eddie takes a second and grounds himself like he’s worked on with Frank. Clears his mind with some deep breaths, waits for the words to start collecting before he finally speaks. “I’ve been having these nightmares,” he begins. “About our equipment.”

“Equipment?” Nathan repeats, then gives him a little grin. “Shit, Eddie. With all the things you’ve been through recently, I honestly did not see this one coming. Nightmares, sure, but why the hell are you dreaming about the equipment?”

Eddie snorts. “If I knew, we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“Ouch,” Nathan says, taking a pull on his beer.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean—I meant,” he restarts, emphasizing the word and then pausing to get both himself and Nathan to focus a little. “I meant, I was hoping you could help me figure that out.”

“Okay. What happens in the nightmares?”

Eddie spreads his hands, as if this should be obvious. “Things break. People get hurt.”

“People?”

Eddie frowns at him. “Yeah, people.”

Nathan raises an eyebrow. “You?”

“No,” Eddie says immediately. “Never me. I’m always watching it happen in the dreams. Just… close but not close enough to help or stop something from happening. I can see the ropes fraying or the saw blade coming loose or whatever, but then it all happens before I can warn him.”

“Him,” Nathan says. “Him, who?”

“I meant ‘them,’” Eddie lies.

“No you didn’t,” Nathan says calmly. “And you didn’t mean people, you meant ‘person.’ One person.”

“Can we talk about the equipment failing?” Eddie says a little desperately. “That’s what I want to talk about. Why is that happening?”

Nathan gives him an unimpressed look.

“So, Hen said something to me the other day,” Buck says out of the blue as they’re cleaning up from dinner a few days later. Chris is in his room, doing homework.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says, reaching around Buck to grab a roasting pan.

“Eddie, you uh… you know I’m bi, right?” he says cautiously, like he’s not sure what Eddie will say.

Eddie squeezes the sponge hard enough that it sprays soapy water up into his face. He sputters and drops the sponge and roasting pan, then wipes at his face with his sleeve. “Uh,” he says. “What?”

With the water wiped away, he squints over at Buck, who looks—who looks terrified, strangely, why is he scared? Eddie’s heart is racing, though, his breath seems to be coming in short.

“Eddie?” Buck asks, looking like he isn’t sure if he should flinch away or reach out to check his pulse. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, of course, sorry,” he says, pressing his fingers into his forehead. What is wrong with him? “You—you’re bi?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, sounding worried. “I, um. I thought you knew, actually?”

His voice is so hesitant, like he doesn’t know if Eddie will be mad or something. Is that who Eddie is? Someone his friends can’t trust with their true selves, as Bobby said? If Buck felt like he couldn’t tell Eddie his sexuality, how could he expect Chris to feel safe doing so?

“Hey, hey,” Buck says, stepping closer, concern for Eddie overcoming his hesitation. “Breathe, Eddie. Just take some breaths, man.”

“Why,” Eddie asks, then takes a moment to focus on a few slower breaths, and tries again. “Why did you think I’d know? Does… does everyone else know?”

“I mean,” Buck says a little helplessly, “it’s never really been a secret. I guess… I guess I thought everyone knew. Um.”

“Oh god,” Eddie groans, sliding down to the ground, his head in his hands. “I did it to you, huh. I did the. The. Thing. Where I just assume you’re heterosexual because I think it’s the default.”

“I mean,” Buck says, settling next to Eddie. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, it’s kinda a whole thing that our entire culture does.”

“How many times have you talked about men and I’ve just assumed…” Eddie bangs his head back against the cabinet. “Fuck!”

“Dude,” Buck shouts out in surprise, reaching his hands up to brace Eddie’s head so he can’t repeat the action. “You are kinda freaking out here.”

“No, no, it’s not—it’s not you, it’s. Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I didn’t….”

Buck’s hands are covering Eddie’s where he’s gripping at his own hair. And, and— he shrugs Buck off, stands up again suddenly, backing away. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Buck looks up at him from the ground, something hurt and soft and understanding on his face. “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to find his footing. And Eddie hates it, hates that suddenly they’re out of sync, that his idiocy got in the way of their easy rhythm of friendship and togetherness.

“I’ll, uh, head home,” Buck says after a moment. “See you Tuesday, alright?”

“It’s called heteronormativity,” Frank says. “And Buck is right. It’s a cultural force. None of us are immune to it.”

Eddie scrubs at his chin. “I’ve been trying, you know. I read about how you can just ask, or. Or. At least don’t assume. And I realized, it’s easier with strangers. You know? People we rescue, people I meet in coffee shops. I can remember, sometimes, to think, just because that lady looks normal, she might be anything.”

“Normal?” Frank prompts quietly.

Eddie collapses back in his chair. “Fuck,” he mutters. “That’s not what I meant.” That phrase again. He’s been saying it so often lately that he’s starting to wonder if he’s ever saying what he means.

“That’s the whole point, Eddie. The connection between ‘normal’ and ‘heterosexual’ is so, so deep in our culture. It’s something most of us have been socialized into since we were born. If someone dresses in a way that complies with what we expect for their gender, then they must be straight. Even the word ‘straight’ confers a meaning of normal, standard, proper.”

“Yeah,” Eddie mutters.

Frank waits, a thing he does sometimes, which drives Eddie a little crazy. It always works. Eddie always cracks first and says something else.

“I grew up in Texas, you know?” He’s keeping his eyes closed, not ready to see Frank take this in. “And not just Texas. El Paso is… West Texas in general is. Just. Nobody there is… nobody is anything.”

“Really?” Frank asks.

Eddie groans. “Of course not really. I know there must’ve been… must’ve been gay kids in my school, or. Or people in town. I’ve learned enough to know better than to think that only liberal cities produce queer people. That isn’t how it works.”

“How does it work?”

“People just—are. Who they are. Right? I mean, you’re attracted to who you’re attracted to, and where you’re born or what town you grow up in doesn’t really matter.”

“Doesn’t matter at all?”

Eddie opens his eyes now, to glare at Frank. “You know that isn’t what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?” Frank counters.

“I mean,” Eddie draws the word out dramatically, like Chris does when he thinks Eddie is being dumb, “that even if you grow up somewhere where it isn’t accepted, it doesn’t mean you just aren’t queer.”

“But it does make it harder, right? That’s related to something called ‘compulsory heterosexuality.’ And the more heterosexuality is compulsory in your culture, the harder it can be for a queer person to accept themselves.”

“El Paso is pretty high on the scale,” Eddie drawls. “The army, higher.”

“And Los Angeles, much lower,” Frank points out.

Eddie takes a deep, shaky breath. “You know how pressure cookers are little bombs we keep in our kitchens?”

Frank hums acknowledgement.

“Or—or when you’re scuba diving. And you’re way deep, and you have to come back up slowly. Or else it… it can kill you.”

“Right,” Frank agrees, drawing the word out.

“I’ve been… I’ve been coming up from really deep for a long time, now, I think,” he whispers.

“So deep, you married the first girl you slept with?” Frank asks quietly.

“I can’t,” Eddie says suddenly. He stands up. Frank raises his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair in surprise. “I can’t.”

“Eddie, Eddie,” Frank says like he’s talking to a spooked horse. “Take a breath. We don’t have to talk about anything you aren’t ready to.”

Eddie breathes. He sits down again. “I don’t even know what I’m not ready to talk about,” he says miserably.

Frank tips his head to the side. “Denial isn’t a good look on you, Eddie.”

“So we do have to talk about it,” Eddie accuses.

Frank raises his hands, disarming. “You brought it up.”

“What do you want me to say?” Eddie demands. “You want me to say I’m queer? That I like men?”

“Is that what you want to say?”

“Maybe it is!” Eddie yells, and fuck, he’s so angry. He’s so fucking mad. He misses punching people in the face, kicking their noses in. He flexes his fists so hard he can feel his nails biting through his palms. “Why do I feel like this,” he grunts out, because it hurts to be this mad, it feels awful, it feels like his chest is caving in.

“Eddie, I need you to focus on me for a minute,” Frank says, commanding, calm. Eddie looks at Frank. “Let’s breathe in together, like we’ve practiced. I’ll count.”

A few minutes later, Eddie has done a few sets of deep breaths, has named things he can see and touch and hear, and has talked about the safe place he and Frank always chat about. His couch, Chris next to him, Buck on his other side, games on the TV. Chris laughing as Buck and Eddie egg each other on.

“Am I gay?” he asks Frank, wiping tears off his face.

“I think only you can answer that,” Frank says gently. “But Eddie, you don’t have to know the answer right now. Give yourself some time to acclimate, right? You’re still coming up from pressure.”

Eddie pulls Hen aside as they’re stocking the ambulance. “You meant me and Buck,” he says. He’s counting the gauze packets for the fourth time to make sure they have the exact maximum they can stock.

Hen blinks at him. “What?” she says, looking over his shoulder at where he’s got his finger in between gauze packs to hold his place while he takes a break from counting to talk to her.

“When you said you could think of two obvious queer men role models,” he explains. “You meant me and Buck.”

Her face softens. “Eddie, I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t even know, Hen,” he whispers. She reaches out and squeezes his shoulder, a sympathetic look on her face. “Or… or, I wasn’t ready to know.”

She nods. “That’s okay. Are you ready now?”

“Getting there,” he says, reaching up to cover her hand with his own, gripping it gratefully. “I’m getting there.”

She smiles. “Good. That’s good. You take your time, kid. Everyone comes into their truth differently.”

“How did you figure it out?” he asks, returning his attention to the gauze packets. “About me, I mean. Before I'd even figured it out for myself.”

“Honestly?” she says. “It’s the fact that you and Buck do this weird self-destructive dance where if one of you has a girlfriend, the other one gets one. And then if one of you breaks up, the other breaks up. It’s kinda obvious. You both love being ‘single’ right up until the other one starts mooning after some poor girl who has no idea what she’s stepped into.”

Eddie loses count as his brain blanks. Shannon and Ali. Ana and Taylor. Natalia and Marisol. It didn’t map directly, but there was kind of a pattern, wasn’t there? And…. “What does that have to do with anything?” he asks.

She pauses, giving him a “you’re kidding, right” look. “Eddie,” she says, in that tone she uses. Then she shakes her head and goes back to checking the morphine vials. “You know what? You come back and tell me in a few weeks or months when you’ve figured that one out.”

Everything is different even though nothing has changed. Eddie notices himself noticing. He notices the way Buck blushes when the cute guy they rescue at a park hits on him. He notices that he notices the guy is cute. He notices that Buck ducks his head shyly when Eddie compliments his quick thinking that helps them find a missing kid fast enough to get her to the hospital. He notices the way his gaze lingers on Buck as he talks to the girl’s family before their ambulance ride.

It’s days of noticing before he follows the breadcrumbs far enough to have the epiphany that Hen predicted.

He feels—stupid.

Stupid to not realize it sooner, stupid that he didn’t recognize jealousy for what it was when Buck was dating Natalia, stupid for stringing Ana and Marisol along when they’d never had a chance. Stupid to risk losing out by taking his sweet time. Stupid because even with the epiphany, he doesn’t feel brave enough. He’s so scared. He’s deeply, profoundly terrified of these feelings. Of being… being in love with his best friend. A man.

“Eddie?” Buck says quietly, bringing his attention back to the present. They’re winding down a search and rescue after a nasty pile-up on the highway, taking a break to chug some water while the last of the debris is sorted through. Buck’s face is smudged with dirt and dust, his helmet unbuckled. Always unbuckled. Something that actually, truly haunts Eddie’s nightmares. It doesn’t matter how many times Eddie checks that their helmets aren’t damaged if the damn thing falls off his head.

Eddie reaches out and tugs on the chin strap that should be secured so that he’s actually protected. Buck sighs. “Alright, alright. I’ve already caught an earful about it from Cap. I’ll make sure it’s secure next time, okay?”

“You better,” Eddie threatens. “I barely survived driving you to the hospital after the lightning strike. I don’t think I’d survive scraping your gray matter off of debris because your helmet fell off.”

Buck ducks his head down, then looks up through his lashes at Eddie. “That won’t happen,” he says, but he looks—vulnerable. Uncertain.

“Not if you keep your helmet secured,” Eddie agrees, rapping his knuckles on Buck’s collar bone. He turns his hand around, presses his palm against Buck’s turnout coat, smoothing it down into place. Buck catches his eye, and they pause there, caught in some spell of unspoken words and desires.

Then Buck swallows, takes a step back. He punches lightly at Eddie’s shoulder and smiles. “Helmet buckled, got it.”

And suddenly he needs to tell Buck everything. He opens his mouth and he doesn’t know what confession is on the tip of his tongue, just that no sinner has ever been more eager to be absolved, when their radios crackle to life with an urgent call for more hands to lift concrete slabs off of a potential survivor. As they race toward the call for help, Eddie watches Buck secure the buckle on his helmet.

Eddie has been working himself up to this for days, so it’s no surprise that Chris catches onto him at dinner. “Dad,” he says once he’s swallowed a bite of chicken. “You’re being so weird. Just tell me what’s going on.”

Eddie freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, then sighs and sets it down. “Chris, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Chris says by rote. He’s heard that from Eddie enough times now that it doesn’t even raise any alarm bells.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie echoes, remembering all the times in his childhood he’d have been told to respond with a proper ‘yes sir’ when his father asked him a question. “Even things like girls,” he continues, and Christopher looks up sharply. “Or boys.”

Chris wrinkles his nose, clearly displeased with the turn this conversation has taken. “Ew, Dad. Is this the talk?”

“The t—no, Chris. I mean, if you have questions, you can ask them.” He pauses and raises an eyebrow at his son, his own heart thumping so hard in his chest he’s sure Chris must be able to hear it. He absolutely does not want to explain sex to his son right now, but in the support group they said it’s important to let the kids lead that conversation at this age. If he’s asking questions, he’s ready to know some answers.

“No!” Chris says quickly. “I’m never gonna have questions about that.”

Eddie quirks a little smile. “Well, that could be true. But you could change your mind and have questions later, and that would be okay.”

Chris stabs his chicken a little aggressively, as uncomfortable outwardly as Eddie is trying to hide inwardly. “Whatever. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Because,” Eddie says with another deep breath, “I wish that when I was your age, someone had told me that I could have questions about girls. Or… or boys.”

“Nonbinary people exist, Dad,” Chris says scathingly. “My friend Jessa isn’t a boy or a girl.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Eddie says, smiling. “And if you want to talk to me about that, or anything else about gender, or, or attraction, you can. I don’t know all the answers, and sometimes I still make mistakes, like only saying boys and girls when I mean everyone, people of all genders, okay? I’m learning, too.”

“Okay,” Chris mutters, glancing up and meeting his eyes for a second before returning his gaze to his chicken.

“Good,” Eddie says, but he’s not relieved. The hardest part isn’t over. “Chris, can I talk to you about anything, too?”

“Yeah, duh,” Chris says, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, bud. Um, can I talk to you now about it?”

Chris looks up again and frowns at him. “Okay. What are we talking about?”

“Me, I guess,” Eddie says. “And the fact that, well. That I sometimes like boys. Uh, men.”

“You do?” Chris asks, frowning harder. “But you married Mom. You said you love her.”

“And I do. I did love her, Chris. I loved your mom so much, that will never change.”

Chris tosses his fork onto his plate and throws his hands into the air. “But you just said you like men! If you’re gay, you couldn’t love mom.”

Perhaps it was naive of Eddie to not anticipate that the conversation would take this turn, but they’re here now. None of the support group talks or books covered this, so he feels a little on his own. “I’m not gay,” he says, and then winces at how defensive he sounds. He breathes in deeply, settling himself. “Most of the time, when men say they’re gay, it means they only want to be with other men, right?” Chris nods. “In that sense, I’m not gay. I like women, too. Like your mom. I loved her.”

“So you’re bi,” Chris says. “I know what bi is, Dad.”

Eddie shrugs, trying not to let on how surprised he is by how much Chris already seems to know. “To be honest, buddy, I don’t really think I am. I don’t have a good word for what I am yet. Maybe I will someday, but…. What I do know is that there are just some people I am attracted to, and some people I’m not, and it doesn’t really seem to matter if they’re men or women. I’ve never felt that way about a nonbinary person, but I think I could. I just haven’t met many of them that I know of, so I can’t say for sure.”

Chris considers this for a long moment, and Eddie has to hold his breath to stop himself from jumping in and continuing to explain, talk, try to make him understand. Let your kid lead, the support group people said. Let him ask questions.

“It’s like with friends,” Chris says at last.

“What?” This was not what Eddie expected.

“Some of my friends are boys, some are girls. Jessa isn’t either. But I’m not friends with all boys or all girls, just some of them. I don’t even want to be friends with some of them. Like Preston. He’s mean. I don’t like him. I could never be friends with someone who’s so mean.”

Eddie makes a mental note to ask Carla if she’s heard of this Preston kid before. “Right,” he agrees, then grins. “You’re a smart kid.”

There’s another long pause and Chris goes back to eating his chicken. Eddie has one more thing to say, though. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asks quietly, his heart in his throat. Chris nods. “I think I love Buck.”

“Love him… like how you loved Mom?” Chris asks.

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

Chris grins. “Oh yeah,” he says. “You can marry him! Then he’ll be here all the time!”

Eddie feels the color drain from his face. “One thing at a time, bud,” he chokes out.

Eddie thinks he might be sick. He had promised Christopher that he would talk to Buck today, and he is loath to break a promise to his kid. But that means he has to find a way to bring up the subject and unlike his son, Buck can just leave him behind forever if he doesn’t want to hear what Eddie has to say.

So of course the day goes to shit by breakfast.

The earthquake that hits is not very impressive, nowhere near the magnitude that could destroy buildings—at least not those built to California’s safety codes. And most of the buildings that wouldn’t have survived this quake collapsed or were condemned in the 7.1 a few years back, anyway, so it’s not really the buildings that are the worst of the problem.

The problem is that there was a construction site, a new highway overpass, and the concrete had just been poured the night before during the light traffic hours, so it hasn’t had time to set. Partially cured concrete sloughs off the sides of the new overpass and onto the highway below, where a school bus full of elementary kids is on its way to the natural history museum for a field trip. The ensuing pile-up and debris shower delays their response to the bus.

Eddie and Buck are moving through the debris now, underneath the construction site, when Eddie feels the first tremor of an aftershock. He braces, yelling out for anyone around him to do the same, but thankfully the tremor is small. It’s enough to shift some more of the semi-dry concrete down from above, crashing into a (blessedly empty) car next to him.

He turns to assess Buck, and that’s when he sees it.

The fucking chin strap. It’s loose.

He sees red. Marches himself over to Buck, who isn’t even looking at him, and snatches the helmet right off of his head.

“Wha—Eddie! What the fuck man, you scared the shit out of me!” Buck protests.

Eddie brandishes the helmet in Buck’s face, then turns it over in his hands and clips the two ends of the strap together. They connect with a succinct click. Eddie depresses the sides and the clasp releases. “Huh,” he says, voice of a volcano the second before eruption. “Look at that, it does work.”

Buck gives him an incredulous look for a second before rolling his eyes and putting his hands on his hips. “Eddie,” he starts.

“No,” Eddie interrupts through gritted teeth. “There is literally concrete falling from the sky right now.”

“Yeah. Wet concrete,” Buck scoffs.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eddie says, shoving the helmet forcefully back into Buck’s chest. “I didn’t realize that wet concrete weighs less than dry concrete. Oh—that’s right! It fucking doesn’t. Or is it that wet concrete falling from 100 feet above our heads onto your skull would somehow miraculously not snap your fucking neck? Are you a civil engineer now, Buck? Do you know things about concrete I don’t?”

“Can you relax?” Buck demands, taking the helmet. “Nothing happened!”

“This time! This time, nothing happened! What about next time? What about the next aftershock, or when a cable snaps, or the bus with those kids in it shifts?” And Eddie should know better, he’s been doing this job for years now and before that he was doing the same thing but in a literal warzone. He knows to keep his cool, to take his breaths, to disengage when he’s compromised, but somehow all of that fails him in this moment and instead he grabs his radio, pushes the talk button, and says, “Hey, 118, great news. According to Firefighter Buckley, we can all take off our helmets and other safety gear and proceed without caution!”

“Eddie!” Buck says, lunging for him. Eddie shifts his body so that Buck can’t reach the radio.

“Diaz,” Bobby’s voice crackles back. “You know this line is for serious, rescue-related information only.”

“Yeah, Cap,” Eddie agrees, staring daggers at Buck. “And I’ve got a serious problem, which is one Evan Buckley’s utter disregard for his own fucking safety.” Buck stops going for the radio and stares at Eddie, hurt and mortified.

There’s a pause on the line before Bobby’s voice comes through again. “Buck, get Eddie off the field. Gomez and Van Ess, you’re taking over their position.”

“Gomez and Van Ess reporting. Copy that,” Gomez says.

“Copy for Buckley,” Buck replies, watching Eddie with those big blue eyes.

Eddie grabs his radio and Buck says, “Eddie, don’t.” This time, Eddie listens.

Buck holds Eddie’s arm the entire walk back to the command post where Bobby is calling shots and overseeing the rescue efforts. As if Eddie will bolt or do something equally stupid if he doesn’t keep him in custody. Eddie only tries to pull his arm free three times, and all three times Buck manages to keep hold, and just says, “Eddie,” in a warning tone.

As soon as they see Bobby, Eddie shoves Buck off of him one last time, and Buck lets him. Eddie marches over to Bobby and plants himself in front of him, scowling, hands on hips. “Cap, this is ridiculous,” he starts. “I can—”

“You’re lucky if you don’t get formally reprimanded, Eddie,” Bobby interrupts, stern and exasperated. “Using your radio to say people can abandon safety gear? Do you even understand how serious that is?”

“What I understand,” Eddie protests, “is that Buck disregards his safety gear all the time! And I’m sick of it.”

Bobby turns his appraising gaze to Buck, raising an eyebrow and letting his eyes flick down to the helmet tucked under his arm instead of on his head. Buck quickly returns the helmet to his head and even clips the strap into place under his chin. “Alright, Cap, where do you want me?” he asks.

“You and Eddie need to go cool off. I don’t care if you sit in the engine or on it, but you’re both off this scene.”

“What, me too?” Buck asks, gaping.

“Did I stutter?” Bobby snaps. “Get out of my face before it really does turn into formal reprimands!”

Eddie storms his way back to the line of police cars, pulling his helmet and turnout coat off. He throws them into a pile on the ground behind the ladder truck and then sits on the back bumper step.

“What the hell, man,” Buck says, clearly pissed, as he shrugs out of his turnout coat, too. “Are you happy now? You got us benched!”

“I got us benched?” Eddie repeats sourly, elbows on his knees. “Your stupid helmet got us benched.”

“My helmet didn’t use the radio to roast its partner during an active search and rescue!”

“Well, somebody had to before you broke your damn neck out there. Or got one more concussion—”

“It’s just a concu—”

“Do not,” Eddie grits out, whipping his head up and glaring, “finish that sentence. Do you know how bad concussions are for you? Have you read any of the research? Do you pay attention to what happens to pro football players? If I never hear ‘just a concussion’ again, it will still be too soon.”

He drops his head back down and after a moment, there’s a slight dip as the truck takes on Buck’s weight too. Eddie glances to the side, just enough to see the long line of Buck’s legs now in seated position next to him, also sitting on the bumper.

“I hate this,” Buck mutters. “I hate having to sit here while the job needs to be done.”

Eddie can’t stand it. He can’t. He gets to his feet and grabs Buck’s suspenders, shaking him. “Then buckle your fucking helmet, man.”

“Eddie!” Buck protests, grabbing his hands and trying to get him to loosen his grip. “What has gotten into you? I get it, okay? I’ll be more careful.” Eddie stops shaking him, but Buck doesn’t let go of his hands. They stay there for a moment, Buck sitting, Eddie standing, their hands overlapping on Buck’s chest. Buck’s grip relaxes until he’s just holding on gently, and his thumbs moving soothingly up and down Eddie’s wrist. “But, man. You gotta talk to me. Something is up.”

Eddie stares down at him and sees every equipment mishap his subconscious has provided for his viewing pleasure during sleep in the last few months. Every way a rope could fray, a joint could give, a clasp could fail. Every way Buck has died in front of him, slipped out of his grasp, been crushed.

He blinks back tears he didn’t know were forming in his eyes, not quite able to look Buck in the eye. “I can check and double check all of the equipment, Buck,” he whispers. “But it won’t keep you safe if you don’t use it.”

Slowly, Buck stands up, keeping their hands in the same position. Eddie has to take a small step back just to give Buck enough space to stand, but they’re close now, so close. Buck’s hands rotate a bit so they’re holding his wrists while Eddie keeps his fisted around Buck’s suspenders.

“Eddie,” Buck says quietly, ducking his head until Eddie meets his eyes. “Is that what all the equipment checks are about?”

Eddie sniffs and shakes his head to clear his eyes, determined not to lose it any further. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“The things that have gone wrong, put us in danger… they’re not equipment failures,” Buck points out.

A shudder runs down Eddie’s spine as the other nightmares, the ones he does tell Frank about, flash in his mind. But those ones actually happened. Those are memories, not extrapolations. “Acts of nature, structural failures, freak accidents,” Eddie lists. “Can’t do anything about that. What’s in my control—that’s what I can focus on.”

“Diaz, Buckley,” Bobby’s voice filters over the radio. “Come in Diaz, Buckley.”

Buck doesn’t take his eyes off Eddie, but lets go of one of Eddie’s hands to grab his radio. “We copy, Cap.”

“Hen and Chim are on their way to you with a critical. Buck, you’re driving. Eddie, get the bus ready. You’ll keep the patient stable on the way to the hospital.”

“Copy,” Buck says again. He lets go of Eddie’s other wrist, and without further discussion they grab their coats and helmets and run for the ambulance.

After they hit the showers at the end of their shift, Eddie takes a moment to apologize to Bobby and the rest of the team for his inappropriate use of the radio. He’s painfully aware that this is not the only overdue conversation to be had; his promise to Christopher that he would tell Buck how he feels is only hours from its expiration date, now, and he hasn’t made good on it yet.

He texts Nathan.

Eddie
you were right

Nathan responds immediately.

Nathan
Usually am. What about, this time?

Eddie
the equipment dreams being about more than stress
i can’t control anything else

Nathan
Driving yourself and everyone else crazy with hypervigilance about the equipment doesn’t change what you can and can’t control

Eddie blows a frustrated breath out into his hair, feeling it flutter against his forehead.

Eddie
i can’t lose him

Nathan
You can’t control if you lose him in all ways but one, Eddie
Have you talked to him

Eddie
who made you so wise

Nathan
Pretty sure I learned that from a Taylor Swift song

And then he sends a link to a music video. Eddie snorts and puts his phone away without looking at it.

“Who were you talking to?” Buck asks, curious but not demanding.

“Ah, Nathan Cao? He’s a veteran over at the 112.”

“Oh—army?”

“No,” Eddie corrects. “I meant a firefighting veteran. He didn’t serve in the military.”

“Didn’t know you were close to anyone at the 112,” Buck says, taking a seat next to him on the bench. Hen, Chim, and Bobby have all rushed home to families at this point, leaving Buck and Eddie alone with the incoming B shift, who are upstairs working on their breakfast.

“I’m—Buck, I still haven’t apologized for how I reacted when you came out to me,” Eddie says, instead of answering. Buck looks surprised at the change of subject, leaning back a bit as if he isn’t sure if he needs to give Eddie some space. “I didn’t mean to make it about me, or make you think that I thought it was, I dunno. Bad, or, or wrong.”

“So what was up with that whole thing, then?” Buck asks.

Eddie closes his eyes, waits for the words to come. It takes a while, but Buck is patient with him. He knows Eddie, knows the words will come. “I was only halfway up from being so deep under the ocean,” he says, and then opens one eye to look at Buck. He knows the metaphor doesn’t make any sense like this, without context.

“What?” Buck tilts his head and furrows his brow, and oh, Eddie wants to reach out and touch, wipe those lines away, lay his cheek along the exposed side of Buck’s neck and bury his face there.

“Um,” he says, pulling his thoughts back to the moment. “Okay. It was a metaphor Frank and I used to talk about my, uh. My sexuality, I guess. Or my relationship to my sexuality? Fuck, this is hard.”

Buck’s eyes are so wide. Eddie has to look away just to keep his focus. He tries again—maybe the third time will be the charm. “It’s weird, Buck. I know I’ve always been this way, but at the same time it’s so new to me still. It was so deep, so pushed away, that I never had a relationship to it at all? Or, or… the only relationship I had to it was one of distance and denial. But I couldn’t keep that up anymore. So for a while I’ve been really trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m… I don’t know, I hate the labels, I don’t think any of them fit. But I’m not straight. I’m not gay. I’m something else.”

“Oh,” Buck whispers. “Okay.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath and turns to look at him again, a helpless smile spreading on his lips. Buck sees the smile and his eyes widen impossibly further, and then he starts to smile a little, too, like he can’t help it. Like seeing Eddie smile makes it impossible for him to do anything but.

“Ask me why I couldn’t keep denying it,” Eddie murmurs.

“Why?” Buck asks, leaning forward.

Eddie’s smile widens and he leans in a bit, too. “You,” he says. “It’s always been you. Every day I wonder, how could this keep growing? But it does, Buck. It grows and it grows and at some point it got so big that even so deep underwater, I couldn’t help but swim towards it.”

“What is it?” he prompts.

“Love,” Eddie says, his heart in his throat. “I love you, Buck.”

“Good,” Buck whispers, and closes the distance between them to press their lips together. He pulls back a second later. “I’m so in love with you, Eddie.”

Eddie stands up and pulls him up after him. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, nervous and excited all at once. “Let’s go home where I can kiss you without B shift watching.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Buck says.