If you see this, you didn't

"What do you mean? It looks great!" Eddie's voice lifts at the end, grasping at any straw that might make Buck feel better. It does, at least a little. Eddie doesn't know a thing about baking, and he'll eat anything Buck makes, but still. He's trying, and that means everything.

Buck lifts his head to offer Eddie a small, grateful smile. Eddie returns it with a quick kiss to his cheek.

"The cake itself is fine," Buck says, his gaze drifting to the three-layer chocolate cake he'd painstakingly prepared the night before. He sighs before admitting, voice small, "I can't get the icing right."

He'd spent most of the previous afternoon baking so they could be chilled and ready to decorate this morning. Now it's almost nine, and people will be arriving in two hours, and Buck just can't get it right.

Eddie peers over Buck's shoulder into the sink, where the bowl of blue icing sits. "It looks fine to me?"

"It's meant to be Bluey blue, see?" Buck points to the reference image he had printed (professionally, of course, to ensure accurate color accuracy). "That's more like…Bridgerton blue."

“Bridgerton?”

Buck shrugs, “Maddie likes it. Anyway, that isn’t the point. The point is the icing is the wrong color, and now we don’t have a cake and everything is going wrong!”

He can’t keep the panic from rising in his voice. Can’t keep his hands from shaking either, so he grabs the edges of the counter just for something to occupy them.

Eddie is steady as ever. Always is, in times like these. When he can see that Buck is seconds away from falling apart, Eddie is right there to hold him together with his bare hands.

“So it’s not the perfect shade,” Eddie says, giving Buck’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze, trying to massage away some of the tension there. “That doesn’t matter. Theo will love it anyway.”

At the mention of his son (his son—it still doesn’t feel real, even though it’s been almost three months since Buck formally adopted him, and eight since he became his emergency foster) Buck’s throat closes up around a sob. He almost chokes on it.

“It has to be perfect, Eddie.”

“And it will be! Your chocolate cake is his favorite.”

“But I promised him a Bluey cake, and this isn’t that!" Buck throws his hands up in the air, then brings them down to press his balled fists against his eyes like that might dull the sting. "How can anyone trust me with him if I can’t even get something as simple as a birthday cake right?”

“Buck,” Eddie breathes his name, hands stilling. “Is that what this is about?”

Shame prickles Buck’s skin. This isn’t about him. Why does he always make it about himself? This is about Theo and what he deserves for his birthday.

Buck shrugs away from Eddie’s grip to pace the length of the kitchen.

“No," is all he can bring himself to say. Can’t look at Eddie while he says it because then it will feel like a lie.

“Buck,” Eddie repeats, more firmly but still laced with affection, the way it always is when Eddie says his name. “You gotta be honest with me here so I can help you, bud. I don’t know how to fix it if I don’t really know what’s wrong. And don’t try to bullshit me about the cake.”

“You can’t fix it!” It slips out before Buck can stop it, the words swelling up and crashing over him like a wave to the shore.

He didn’t mean to raise his voice, especially not at Eddie, who was only trying to help. Buck turns to apologize, beg for forgiveness if that’s what he needs to do, only to find Eddie already crossing the room to pull him into a hug.

Buck lets it happen. Lets himself be held as he buries his face in Eddie’s neck and inhales the familiar musk of him. It smells like home.

When they first crossed the line from friends to more, Buck lived in Eddie’s clothing. Loved to drape himself in Eddie’s scent and the feeling of being known, flaws and all, and still being chosen. Now that they live together, there is no such thing as Eddie’s or Buck’s—there just is, and it all smells like them. Like a life together.

Usually, it’s soothing, but Buck still feels like an exposed wire ready to spark a flame.

“You can talk to me about anything. You know that, right?” Eddie whispers into his hair, then peppers it with kisses.

“I know,” Buck nods, holds on a little tighter. He never wants Eddie thinking Buck doesn’t trust him it’s just—he doesn’t know how to talk about this. For Eddie, he’ll try. “I know, Eddie, I’m sorry. I—“

“Is everything okay in here, mijo?” Pepa’s voice floats in, and Eddie releases Buck from the hug to stand beside him instead, though he keeps a hand on Buck's bicep.

Buck lifts his head to see Pepa standing in the kitchen doorway. Chris is at her side, and in her arms is Theo. It almost shocks Buck that she can still pick him up because he’s so big now—five years old as of yesterday—but he’s still so, so small.

“Hi Buck!” Theo gives him a wave and a toothy grin, and tears spring to Buck’s eyes again, but this time with a force so strong and so sudden that he can’t hold them at bay.

His breathing goes shallow, and he doesn’t know what to say because it’s not okay, it will never be okay, and Buck doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to make it better, to make it right.

"It's okay, Tía," Eddie says, saving Buck yet again. "We're all good here."

"You're sure?" She asks, adjusting Theo on her hip.

Theo waves again, to Eddie this time. Eddie waves back, smiling in that way that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Buck wants to sob again.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Why don't you help Theo pick out his birthday outfit?" Eddie suggests, and Pepa nods in understanding.

"You yell if you need me, okay, Evancito?" She says, and she waits for Buck to agree before she leaves.

Chris stays, hovering in the doorway, watching Eddie watching Buck. There's a little scrunch between his brow like he's thinking, and he looks more like Eddie than ever.

"Dad, don't you need to pick up Grandma Irene from the airport?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, eyes flitting between Buck and the rest of the family. They land on Buck, hesitant. "I was just on my way out."

Grandma Irene is Kameron's mother, and the only living relative she or Connor had any kind of meaningful relationship with. The first time Buck spoke to her was not long after the accident, when the social workers were still trying to find next of kin and Buck had just taken Theo in for emergency fostering. The first time he met her was at the funeral, and it was clear to both of them—though neither wanted to admit it at the time—that she was not equipped to handle the rambunctious four-year-old full time.

She'd trusted Buck with Theo and the promise of an ongoing relationship, which is something he would never deprive her of. They'd taken Theo out of state to visit not long after the adoption was finalized, and she was flying in for his party today. He'd been looking forward to seeing her again, and he knew how excited Theo would be to see her, but right now the mention of her made Buck feel like the worst person in the world. Eddie was picking her up from the airport, and they'd arranged to have her set up in a hotel because they didn't have the space for another person in the house—it was already a tight fit with the four of them. What kind of parent was he that he couldn't even house his kid's grandmother?

"It's alright," he tells Eddie, even though none of this feels alright, but being late to pick her up from the airport would only make Buck feel worse. "You can go. I'll be fine."

Eddie looks back at Chris, then back at Buck. He presses a kiss to Buck's cheek and promises to text him when he's got her. Makes Buck promise to call him if he needs to, and then he's gone too and it's just Chris in the doorway, and Buck in the kitchen, and Theo's failed birthday cake like a physical manifestation of all the ways Buck will never get it right.

"What's up with the cake?" Chris asks. Buck sighs.

"The icing is wrong."

Chris raises a brow. "What icing?"

"It's in the sink."

Chris crosses the threshold, crutches clacking against the tile as he heads to the sink. Buck watches him lift the bowl of blue—the wrong blue—icing out and set it back on the counter.

"Looks fine to me," he says, then he swipes some off the edge of the bowl and says, "Tastes good."

"It's the color," Buck says for what feels like the nth time. Why does no one else see that the color is off? And if the color is off, then the whole thing is off! He can't make a Bluey cake that's not the Bluey color.

Chris scoots the bowl across the counter until it's right beside the cake stand. He grabs a spoon and scoops out a large dollop, plopping it atop the cake. It's the wrong utensil—he should really be using a scraper, or at the very least a flat silicone spatula—and that should fill Buck with even more dread. It's already imperfect, and he needs it to be perfect, but as Chris slathers it across the top in one messy, uneven layer, Buck isn't upset. Not even a little bit.

"You know, I still remember my first birthday after my mom died," Chris says, and Buck's heart drops into his stomach.

"Yeah?" Buck replies quietly, coming to stand beside Chris. He doesn't stop working on the cake, but he does nod. "How was it?"

It's a stupid question—of course it was awful, how could it not be? But he doesn't know what else to say and, selfishly, he wants to know how bad it'll be for Theo. Wants to know what to expect, as if this nightmarish milestone is something that could be prepared for.

"It sucked," Chris says, and Buck is about to apologize for bringing it up, ask Chris to forget he asked, but he continues, "I was really sad. I know she wasn't always there for my birthdays, but when she died, it felt different."

"Of course it did, Chris," Buck says gently, "that's normal."

"I know. And I know it's not the same for Theo, but still…I kind of get it. Do you know what made me feel better?"

"What?"

Buck wants to know—needs to know. If there was something that worked for Chris, then maybe it'll work for Theo too. Maybe it won't even matter that Buck has ruined his first birthday without his parents by failing to give him the one thing he asked for.

"You made me a cake," Chris says simply, and it is so far from what Buck expected that it almost knocks him off his feet.

He remembers that, though it wasn't exactly a cake. At least, nothing like what he can do now. Back then he wasn't a baker, could barely cook himself a meal, but he had mastered breakfast foods. So, on the morning of Chris's eighth birthday, Buck showed up at South Bedford Street and made a stack of chocolate chip pancakes as tall as he possibly could. Then he stuck a couple candles at the top and proudly declared, "It's a pan-cake!"

Chris had smiled so brightly, Buck felt ten feet tall.

"It doesn't need to be perfect, Buck. It just matters that you tried," Chris says. Buck tries not to sniffle too loudly as the tears he's been holding back finally fall.

"When did you get so smart?" He says, ruffling Chris's hair. Chris laughs and ducks his head, then he shrugs. "I, uh, probably owe your dad an apology for snapping like that, huh?"

Chris scoffs. "Nah. You could yell at him way worse and he'd still look at you with those gross lovey eyes. He'd probably start apologizing for whatever he did to piss you off."

"Language!" Buck chides, but any authority he might have is undercut by the quiver in his voice and the way he's wiping at his wet eyes.

"I am a teenager now, Buck," Chris deadpans.

"Yeah, yeah, just don't tell your dad I let you get away with it this time, deal?"

"Deal. Now, are you going to help me ice this cake?"

Buck nods, and he grabs a spoon. It's still the wrong utensil. The icing will be imperfect and lumpy. It'll be far from the perfectly smooth, exact-right-shade-of-blue Bluey cake that Buck promised, but it will be made with love and maybe that will be enough. It won't fix anything, but Buck knows, realistically, that nothing ever will. Theo will always miss his parents, but Buck and Eddie and Chris will always be there to make sure he knows he will never be alone.