Brenda

The station is louder than ever. Radios compete with each other. Dispatchers juggle several calls at once. Police officers start arriving within minutes.

Buck barely hears any of it. The chaos is just a dull roar in his ears. He stares at the security camera still from your school. The image is blurry, but it's enough. The dark SUV. The fake uniforms. The counterfeit LAFD badges on their belts. His heart pounds and his thoughts race: Why wasn't I there? How did I miss the signs? He clenches his jaw until it aches. Guilt weighs on him, heavy and familiar, and memories threaten to surface. He remembers her laughter in the kitchen that morning, the promise he made to keep her safe. The fear that he has failed her takes over everything else. "They planned this."

Nobody argues. Bobby rests a hand on Buck's shoulder. "They knew she'd trust anyone wearing one of our badges."

Buck's face twists with guilt. "They used us."

"They used her love for you," Bobby corrects quietly.

No matter how they say it, Buck doesn't feel any better.

Eddie stands beside the school secretary as she wrings her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know," Eddie says gently, though his own voice is tight.

"They looked real." She nods miserably. "The badges...the uniforms...they even knew Firefighter Buckley's name."

"Did they sign in?"

"Yes."

"Can I see it?" She gives him the visitor log. The signatures are neat and professional, but clearly fake.

The secretary swallows. "I'm sorry."

Eddie shakes his head. "This isn't on you."

But whoever did this was well prepared.

You have no idea how long you've been in the SUV. Maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour. It feels endless. Your head rests against the cold glass, and your breath fogs up the window. Every muscle is tense, your shoulders tight, and your hands shake in your lap. Your heart beats fast and uneven, each bump in the road making you more afraid. The city is long gone, lost in the rearview mirror. Now, only quiet roads and stretches of woods pass by. You force yourself to keep track, silently counting: left, straight, right, bridge, railroad crossing. You try to remember the order, even as panic rises and your mind races with worry about what will happen next. You don't know if it will help, but Dad always says, "If you're lost, notice everything." So you do, holding on to every detail and trying not to let fear win.

The driver finally speaks. "Almost there."

You don't answer. The woman beside you watches you carefully. "You've been very quiet."

"I'm not talking to you."

She smiles without humour. "You've got spirit."

You stare out the window. "My dad's going to find me."

Her smile disappears. "He'll try." The certainty in her voice makes your stomach twist.

Buck never sits down. He paces the room, makes calls, and asks for updates every thirty seconds.

Athena arrives from the precinct less than twenty minutes after the report comes in. She doesn't waste time. "What do we know?"

"Dark SUV."

"Fake LAFD uniforms."

"Counterfeit badges."

"They knew her name."

"They knew Buck worked today."

Athena nods once. "This wasn't random."

Buck looks up. "I know."

She meets his eyes. "No." Her voice is calm. "They didn't just take a teenager. They targeted your daughter."

The words linger in the room. Everyone understands what it means. Someone planned this. Someone waited. Someone watched.

You finally arrive at what looks like an abandoned warehouse. The building is old, with boarded-up windows. Chain-link fencing surrounds most of it. The SUV drives through an open gate and stops. Your heart races.r pulse races.

The driver gets out first. The woman opens your door. "Come on." You don't move. She sighs. "Don't make this difficult."

"I'm not getting out."

She crouches until you're eye level. "I'd rather not drag you."

Your heart pounds. "You'll have to."

For a second, she studies you, then she nods. "So stubborn." She reaches for your arm.

You jerk away instinctively. "Don't touch me!"

The driver appears beside the door. Without warning, he grabs your wrist. You kick hard. Your shoe catches his shin.

He stumbles. "Ow!"

You break free just long enough to scramble across the back seat, but there's nowhere to run. The doors are locked and the windows are tinted. The woman grabs your other arm. "Enough."

You fight anyway. You think of your dad, of Eddie, and of every self-defense lesson your dad made you learn after the fire. "Never stop making it difficult." So you don't. You stomp on someone's foot, elbow another in the ribs, and scream as loud as you can. "HELP!" Fear rushes through you, almost overwhelming, but underneath it, you feel a spark of pride. For a moment, you know you are not helpless. Even as your chest aches and your limbs shake, you hold on to that defiance and refuse to give in.

A hand clamps over your mouth. "No one's around to hear you."

Tears blur your vision. You bite down. Hard. The man yells, jerking his hand away. Blood wells instantly where your teeth broke the skin. "You little—"

"That's enough!" the woman snaps. She looks almost impressed. "I told you she'd fight."

The man glares at you. "You'll regret that."

You lift your chin, even though fear grips your chest. "My dad's going to arrest you."

Neither of them answers. Instead, they lead you inside.

Back at the station, a detective rushes in. "We got traffic cameras."

Every conversation stops. Buck is already moving. "What've you got?"

"They caught the SUV leaving the school." The detective lays out several photos on the table. "There." One image, then another, then another. The SUV at an intersection, at a toll camera, at a gas station.

Buck leans closer. "Can we enhance the plate?"

The technician shakes his head. "Stolen vehicle."

"Damn."

Athena studies the map. "They're heading north."

"How far?"

"We don't know."

Buck feels like he can't breathe. Every minute you are farther away. Every mile makes it harder. Eddie sees Buck's hands shaking and quietly steps beside him. "We're going to get her."

Buck laughs bitterly. "I told her I'd always keep her safe."

"You still will."

Buck's voice cracks. "I wasn't there."

Eddie doesn't hesitate. "You couldn't have known."

"I should've."

"You couldn't."

Buck closes his eyes. The memory comes back in a rush. Smoke. Fire. Shouting your name until his throat hurt. Finding you. Pulling you out. Almost losing you. And now, someone has taken you anyway.

The warehouse smells damp and stale. Dust floats in the air. The metal door slams shut behind you with a loud clang. You flinch as the sound echoes through the empty building. The woman takes off her fake badge and tosses it onto a table. "So much trouble over one teenager."

The man snorts. "You haven't met her father." Your heart skips. They do know Buck. One of them notices your expression. "Oh." He smiles. "Didn't know that part?"

You stare at him. "...Who are you?"

He steps closer. "Someone your dad made very angry."

A chill runs through your entire body. "You..." Your voice is barely a whisper. "...You started the fire."

The day starts off feeling painfully normal. After everything that happened last night—the note, Buck's confession about the fire, the quiet promise that things would be okay—you almost expect something bad to happen. But first period passes. Then second. By lunch, you start to think maybe your life can still have ordinary days.

Halfway through history class, the door opens.

Your teacher looks up. "Oh."

A woman you don't recognise stands in the doorway next to a man in navy uniform pants and a dark polo with LAFD on it. Both have department badges clipped to their belts. Your stomach drops.

The woman gives you a sympathetic smile. "Sorry to interrupt. We need to speak with Y/N Buckley." Everyone in the room looks at you.

Your teacher frowns. "Is everything alright?"

The man answers gently. "There was an incident involving Firefighter Evan Buckley this morning."

Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor. "Dad?"

The woman steps closer. "Can we talk outside?"

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. You barely remember walking into the hallway. The woman closes the classroom door behind you. "I'm afraid your father was injured on a call."

The words hit you hard. "Injured?"

She nods. "He's alive." You let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding. "But he's asking for you."

Your eyes fill with tears. "Is he okay?"

"We don't know yet." The man speaks softly. "They're transporting him now."

Your hands start to shake. "I have to call Eddie."

"We already notified the station," the woman says quickly, as if she's said it before. "They asked us to come get you because it was faster."

That makes sense. Or does it? You look at their badges, the navy uniforms, their calm voices. Everything looks official, but something suddenly feels wrong. "Okay."

The woman gently puts a hand on your shoulder. "We'll take you to him."

The school secretary hardly asks any questions. The visitors sign out. Someone copies their badges. There's a quick signature and a quiet apology. In minutes, you're walking across the parking lot toward a dark SUV, not a fire department vehicle. "I thought..."

The man notices. "Hospital parking is easier."

Right, that makes sense too. Your mind is too panicked to question anything. You get into the back seat. The doors lock automatically, and the sound seems extra loud. At first, no one says anything. The woman sits next to you, and the man drives.

You grip your backpack so tightly your knuckles hurt. "Which hospital?" No answer. "Is Eddie meeting us there?" Still nothing. You look up. "Hello?"

The woman smiles, but not kindly. Just thinly. "You ask a lot of questions."

Something twists in your stomach. "I just want to see my dad."

"You will." Her voice sounds different now, colder.

You look out the window. This isn't the way to any hospital you know. It's wrong. "We're going the wrong way." The driver doesn't answer. Your heartbeat gets faster. "I know this road." Silence. You reach for your phone, but the woman grabs it from your hands before you can unlock it.

"Hey!"

"No phones."

You stop breathing. "What are you doing?" She turns your phone off. "Please." No one answers. You try the door handle. It's locked. Your pulse pounds in your ears. "Stop the car." Nothing. "I said stop the car!"

The driver keeps his eyes on the road. The woman just looks at you. "We're almost there."

Your voice breaks. "You lied."

Across town, the school bell rings for dismissal. Students pour out the front entrance. Parents wait by their cars. Buses line the curb. Eddie parks in his usual spot. Buck had to leave for another emergency before lunch, so Eddie promised to handle pickup. He checks the time. Three twenty-eight. Right on schedule. He sees familiar faces—kids laughing, teachers waving goodbye—but not you. He smiles anyway, thinking you're probably talking to friends. Three thirty-three. Still nothing. His smile fades.

He walks toward the office. "Afternoon."

The secretary looks up. "Oh." Her expression changes immediately. "I thought she'd already left."

Eddie freezes. "...What?"

"Those firefighters picked her up."

Every muscle in his body locks. "What firefighters?"

"The LAFD officers."

Ice floods his veins. "What officers?"

She blinks. "The ones who said Firefighter Buckley had been hurt."

The world stops. "...Excuse me?"

Her smile disappears. "They showed badges."

Eddie is already pulling out his phone. His hands shake so violently he almost drops it.

Buck answers on the second ring. "Eddie?"

"Where are you?"

"...Station."

Eddie's blood runs cold. "You okay?"

"Yeah." A beat. "Why?"

Eddie can't breathe. "...Someone just picked Y/N up from school." Silence. "They told the school you'd been hurt." Another silence.

"...No." Buck's voice is barely audible. "No."

"They showed LAFD badges." A sharp inhale. "They took her."

Buck's breathing turns ragged. "They took my kid." The phone clatters against something on Buck's end. Voices erupt.

"What happened? Buck? What's wrong?" Eddie hears Buck shouting before the line even moves away from his ear. "They have Y/N!"

The station instantly explodes into motion. Chairs scrape. Radios crackle. Someone yells for dispatch. Bobby's voice cuts through the chaos. "What happened?"

"They took her!" Buck sounds terrified. "They said I was hurt and she went with them!"

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. He should have been here sooner. He should have picked you up early. He should have... "Buck." His own voice is surprisingly steady. "We're getting her back."

On the other end of the phone, Buck's breathing is uneven. Terrified. Broken. "...I already almost lost her once."

Eddie grips the phone tighter. "You won't lose her again." He doesn't know if he's trying to convince Buck, or himself.

Miles away, the SUV passes beyond the city limits. You stare out the window, trying to remember every road sign, every turn, every landmark. Your dad taught you that. Always pay attention. Always know where you are. Always look for a way home.

Buck stays quiet. You almost wish he would yell. When he opens his bedroom door and sees you with Eddie behind you, his face goes pale.

"Hey, Dad..."

He doesn't say anything. He crosses the room in three quick steps and hugs you so tightly you almost lose your balance. He holds on for several seconds. You notice his breathing is fast and uneven.

"You scared me," he says quietly, his voice rough.

You feel a heavy guilt in your chest. "I'm sorry."

He pulls back just enough to hold your face, checking you as if he's looking for an injury. "You okay?" You nod. "Nobody hurt you?"

"No."

"You weren't meeting anyone?"

"No."

"You didn't leave the property?"

"I got stuck on the fence."

Eddie gives a small, tired laugh. Buck turns to him. "You watched this happen?"

"I watched the least successful escape attempt ever."

Buck rubs the bridge of his nose. "Of course you did."

For the first time all night, the tension eases just a little.

The lecture goes just as you expected. Buck isn't angry or loud, just honest. By the time he finishes listing everything that could have gone wrong, you already feel bad enough to ground yourself.

"...I know."

"I don't think you do."

"I do now."

Buck sighs and rubs his face. "I just..." His voice breaks. "...I can't lose you." The room goes quiet.

You look down at your hands. "You won't."

"You don't know that."

The way he says it makes your stomach twist. He doesn't just sound upset; he sounds scared, like he's remembering something. For a moment, his eyes look distant, as if he's seeing flames or hearing your name through the noise of a fire. Whatever he's thinking about, it won't let him go.

The next morning, Buck leaves early for work. Eddie offers to stay with you until school. He says Buck asked him to, but you think it's really because neither of them trusts you near fences anymore.

You're halfway through breakfast when you notice Eddie staring out the kitchen window. "What?"

He blinks. "Nothing."

"You've been looking outside for like...three minutes."

"I know."

"...Is something there?"

"No." But he doesn't sound convinced.

After dropping you at school, Eddie sits in his truck for a minute before leaving. The uneasy feeling stays with him all day.

That evening, Buck is quieter than usual. Dinner is normal until you see him freeze as he checks the mailbox. There's an envelope with no return address, just his name.

"Dad?"

He doesn't answer. He opens the envelope. Inside is a single piece of paper, blank except for one sentence typed in the middle: You should've let the fire finish the job.

Your blood runs cold. "Dad...?"

Buck's face goes blank. He isn't confused or surprised. He's scared, really scared. He folds the paper before you can read it again. "It's nothing."

"It didn't look like anything."

"It's handled."

You know that tone. Conversation over. Except Eddie walks through the front door a few seconds later. One look at Buck tells him everything. "What happened?"

Buck silently hands him the note. Eddie reads it. His jaw tightens. "...Buck."

"I know."

"You kept this from me?"

"I didn't think it mattered anymore."

Your heart pounds. "...Kept what from you?" Neither of them answers. The air feels heavy, like a memory none of you wants to face has settled between you. For a moment, you sense something deeper, something old and painful, a secret you almost recognize. You look at them. "Dad." Buck closes his eyes. "Eddie..." Eddie gives a small nod.

Buck exhales slowly before sitting across from you. "There are some things I never told you about the fire."

Your stomach drops. "I thought it was faulty wiring."

"So did everyone else."

"Wasn't it?"

Buck glances at Eddie again. "After the investigation..." He pauses. "...they found traces of an accelerant."

You stop breathing. "...What?"

"The fire wasn't an accident. Someone started it." Suddenly, the room feels much smaller.

"No..."

Buck nods once. "The investigators couldn't prove who did it."

"They had suspects," Eddie says quietly.

"But no evidence."

You stare at them. "So..." You struggle to get the words out. "...Someone burned our house down?" Buck's silence answers for him. "They never caught them?"

"No."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You'd already been through enough."

You remember flashes. Thick, choking smoke burned your throat and stung your eyes until tears blurred everything. The heat was so strong it prickled your skin, wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. The ceiling creaked above, dust drifting down in warm flakes that stuck to your face. Every breath tasted of ash and metal. Through the chaos, you heard Buck's voice, raw and desperate, shouting your name. You remember the panic in every word, the terror that made your heart pound louder than the fire. His hands gripped your arms, pulling you through the darkness while embers curled in your hair and sparks chased your heels. The world shrank to smoke and the thud of your pulse. A loud crack shattered the hallway behind you just seconds after you escaped, heat rushing at your back like something alive. You always thought it was just bad luck, just an accident. Now, maybe it wasn't. Maybe someone wanted you there.

Your stomach churns. "...Were they trying to hurt you?"

Buck doesn't answer immediately. "They might've been trying to send me a message."

"Because of work?"

"We don't know."

"You've arrested a lot of dangerous people," Eddie adds. "You've helped put people away."

Buck nods. "It could've been retaliation."

"But..." Your voice barely comes out. "...I was inside."

Buck's entire expression crumples. "I know."

"If you hadn't gotten home when you did..."

He swallows hard. "I don't think about that."

"But you do."

Every day, you see it on his face. Every locked window, every extra phone call, every text asking if you got somewhere safely, every porch light left on, every time he looks over his shoulder. It was never just worry. It was fear. Fear from almost losing you.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. Buck looks up. "For sneaking out."

His eyes soften instantly. "Oh, kid..." He reaches across the table, taking your hand. "You never have to apologise for wanting freedom."

"Then what am I apologising for?"

"For reminding me what it felt like to think you were gone."

Tears sting your eyes. "I'm still here."

"I know. But I remember the smoke."

You squeeze his hand. "So do I."

It’s just after eleven on a muggy summer night, and the neighborhood is quiet. Only one porch light is still on. Tonight was supposed to be easy: climb the backyard fence, move through the shadows, and be gone for a couple of hours. If there’s a first rule of sneaking out, it’s not to wear squeaky shoes. You learned that too late. Now you’re stuck halfway over the fence, one leg on each side, your backpack caught on the wooden post. Seriously? You pull at it once, then again. Nothing happens.

A sigh drifts across the yard. "...Need a hand?"

You close your eyes. No. No, no, no. You know that voice. Slowly, you look over your shoulder. There’s Eddie Diaz, arms crossed, leaning against the back porch railing like he’s been watching your whole failed escape for the last five minutes. Most people call him a family friend, but by now, he’s basically part of the family. He’s almost another guardian, whether you want him to be or not. He doesn’t look angry. Somehow, that’s even worse.

"...Hi, Eddie."

"Hi." Silence hangs between you.

Your backpack remains stubbornly attached to the fence. "...This isn't what it looks like."

He raises an eyebrow. "You mean it isn't you climbing over Buck's fence at eleven-thirty at night?"

"...Okay, maybe it is exactly what it looks like."

"Thought so." You give the backpack another hopeless tug. It refuses to cooperate. Eddie watches for another second before walking over. "Hold still." Without much effort, he lifts the strap free from the splinter it'd gotten caught on. "There."

"...Thanks."

"No problem." He steps back. "So..."

"So..."

"You planning on finishing the escape?"

You glance toward the street, then back to Eddie and the fence. "...I don't really feel like it anymore."

"I figured." You carefully climb back down into the "I figured." You carefully climb back down into the yard, trying to hold onto whatever dignity you have left. Mission failed. Big time. Eddie waits until your feet are on the ground before he speaks again. "Wanna tell me where you were going?"ug. "Just...out."

"'Out' isn't a destination."

"I know."

"You meeting someone?"

"No."

"Party?"

"No."

"Trouble?"

"No!"

He nods once. "Then why sneak out?"

You stare down at your shoes. "...Because Dad would've said no."

"Buck usually says no for a reason."

"I know." There’s a long silence. The porch light casts soft shadows across the yard. You rub your arm. "I just wanted one night where nobody worried about me."

Eddie's expression softens almost instantly. "There it is."

"There, what is?"

"The real answer."

You sigh. "Ever since the accident, and the fire, and the hospital..." you mumble. "Dad checks in every five minutes." You remember flashes: the smell of smoke, waking up to sirens, Buck pulling you out of the half-collapsed hallway while everything burned behind you. It makes sense he keeps looking over his shoulder.

"I know."

"He acts like I'm gonna disappear."

"He loves you."

"I know."

"You still get to be frustrated."

You blink. "You do?"

"Yeah."

"I thought adults hated when teenagers got frustrated."

Eddie laughs quietly. "No. We just hate when teenagers climb fences."

"...Fair."

He gestures toward the back steps. "C'mon."

You follow him onto the porch. He sits on the top step; you take the one below him. For a minute, neither of you says anything. The neighbourhood is quiet. Crickets chirp. A dog barks in the distance. Finally, Eddie speaks. "You know your dad would've been terrified if he woke up and found you gone."

“You don’t have to agree with every rule he makes."

"I don't."

"But scaring him isn't gonna help either."

You pick at the sleeve of your hoodie. "I wasn't trying to scare him."

"I know."

"I just..." Your voice gets quieter. "I wanted to feel normal."

Eddie nods. "I get that."

"You do?"

"I've spent a lot of years trying to keep people from worrying."

"Did it work?"

He chuckles. "Not even a little." That earns the first real smile from you all night, and it sticks. "You know," he continues, "Buck worries because that's who he is. He worries professionally, he literally does."

You laugh. "He'll probably ground me forever."

"Probably."

"Helpful."

"I'm honest."

You nudge his shoulder lightly. "Traitor."

"I prefer 'responsible adult.'"

"Boring."

"I've been called worse."

Another comfortable silence settles between you. Finally, Eddie stands. "So."

"So."

"You wanna tell Buck yourself..." You groan dramatically. "...or would you like me to?"

"You'd actually let me tell him?"

"I think hearing it from you means more."

You nod. "...Okay."

"You sure?"

"Not really."

"Fair enough."

Eddie smiles. "I'll be there."

"Even when he starts giving the world's longest lecture?"

"Especially then."

"You know he inherited that from Bobby."

"Oh, absolutely." You grin. "You think he'll ground you too?"

"I wasn't climbing fences."

"You were helping."

"I was preventing paperwork." You laugh again.

You both head inside, and things feel a little lighter between you. The house is quiet. Buck is still asleep. For a moment, you picture how quickly everything could change: your name shouted, the worry in his eyes when he wakes up. You can already see it - his face tense, trying not to sound angry but not quite hiding how hurt he is. The memories come back: how fast he moves when he’s scared, how his disappointment feels heavy between you. You know what’s coming: a hug that lasts too long, a voice rough from relief, and at least five questions before you even reach the hallway. Underneath it all, you worry that maybe this time, trust will be harder to earn back. You take a steadying breath. "...Wish me luck."

Eddie pats your shoulder. "You've got this."

You look toward the hallway where your dad's room is. "...If I'm not alive in twenty minutes-"

"You'll be alive."

"But grounded."

"Definitely grounded."

"...Worth asking."

The first time Buck sees your son, he forgets how to breathe. You notice right away. Just moments before, he was smiling in his firefighter uniform next to Theo, while a room full of six-year-olds watched in awe. Then your son walks over, and Buck freezes because your son looks exactly like him. Not just a little. Not maybe. Exactly. He has the same warm brown eyes, the same freckles across his nose, and the same lopsided grin. Even the cowlick at the front of his hair matches Buck’s. Theo stands beside him, grinning with pride.

“Dad!” Theo tugs Buck’s hand. “This is my best friend!”

Your son beams up at Buck. “I’m Noah.”

Buck swallows. “Hi, buddy.”

Theo looks between them and shrugs. “I always thought Noah looked like you.”

You laugh softly from the back of the room. “So have I.”

Buck turns, and when his eyes meet yours, something unfamiliar settles in his chest. You recognize that face, though you don’t know him personally. Years ago, when you decided you wanted a child, you spent hours alone in your apartment, scrolling through donor profiles. You remember this smile. You remember those eyes. You remember reading:

Donor #4271: Evan B.

You push the memory aside right away. It can’t be. Or could it?

***

After career day, the boys refuse to separate.

“Can we go get ice cream?”

“Please?”

Buck laughs. “Looks like we’re outnumbered.”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Sure.”

Soon, you’re sitting across from Evan Buckley while your sons argue about superheroes. Buck can’t stop staring at Noah. He tries, but every time Noah laughs, scrunches his nose, or says, “Actually,” Buck sees and hears himself. It’s a lot to take in.

“So,” Buck says carefully. “It’s just you and Noah?”

You nod. “Always has been.”

He fidgets with his spoon. “And his other parent?”

“There isn’t one.”

“Oh.”

You give a gentle smile. “I used a donor.” Buck’s spoon clatters against the bowl.

You blink. “You okay?”

He stares. “A donor?”

"Yeah." Your stomach drops. Oh no. This can’t be happening. No way. There’s just no way.

Buck rubs the back of his neck. “This is gonna sound weird.”

“That’s never a good start.”

“I was a sperm donor.” Silence.

Theo looks up. “What’s sperm?”

You and Buck both choke. “NOTHING. Adult stuff.” The boys shrug and go back to arguing about Batman.

You stare at Buck. Buck stares at you. Then you both start laughing. Because what else are you supposed to do?

***

The DNA test takes two weeks. Buck spends all fourteen days pretending everything is normal, but he isn’t. He paces, overthinks, calls Maddie, calls Eddie, then calls Maddie again.

“What if he’s mine?”

Maddie laughs. “Then congratulations.”

“What if he doesn’t want me?”

“You don’t know that.”

“But what if—”

“Buck.”

He sighs. “I already love him.”

***

You get the results on a Tuesday. Buck is standing in your kitchen. Noah and Theo are building a pillow fort. Your hands shake as you open the email. Buck is hovering.

“You wanna read it?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

You stare at each other. Then together: “One. Two. Three.” You open it.

Probability of paternity: 99.99%

Buck sinks into a chair. You cover your mouth. Neither of you says a word. In the living room, Noah laughs. Buck starts to cry, real and messy tears. “I missed everything.”

Your heart breaks. “You didn’t know.”

“I missed his first steps.”

“He doesn’t care.”

“His first words—”

“He says weird things anyway." Buck laughs through his tears. You kneel beside him. You didn’t abandon him. Buck looks at you. You smile. You found him.”

***

From then on, Buck is everywhere. Soccer games. Movie nights. Homework. Breakfast pancakes shaped like dinosaurs. Noah adores him. Theo is thrilled.

“You know what this means?” Theo announces.

“We’re brothers.” Noah grins, but then the two boys look at each other, a bit unsure. For a moment, they’re quiet, trying to figure out what being brothers really means. “Does this mean you have to share your Legos now?”

Noah scrunches his nose, thinking hard. “Only if you share your dinosaur stickers.”

Theo considers this. “Deal.”

Their faces break into matching smiles as the tension fades, and soon they’re arguing again about who gets to be the Red Power Ranger. Buck cries again. You start buying tissues by the box.

***

The first sleepover happens naturally. The boys insist. Buck pretends to consider it. “No.”

“Dad!”

“Nope.”

“Daaaaad!”

Buck sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

The boys cheer and run upstairs. You laugh. “They’ve been planning this.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Hours later, the house is quiet. The boys are asleep. You stand a bit awkwardly in Buck’s room, because apparently, Noah decided, “You sleep with Dad.”

You cross your arms. “Your son is very bossy.”

Buck grins. “Our son.” The words sink in for both of you. Our son.

Buck looks shy suddenly. “I like how that sounds.”

You smile. “Me too.”

***

Somewhere between family movie nights and Buck teaching Noah to ride a bike, you fall in love. It happens slowly, quietly, woven into the days you spend together. Sometimes Buck brings you coffee in your favorite mug, setting it on the table with a shy smile before you can even ask. Or you find a note tucked inside your book, his handwriting scrawled: "I hope today is a good day." He remembers how you like your toast and makes it while the boys argue over cartoons. One rainy afternoon, you all end up on the couch, Noah and Theo asleep between you, and Buck gently brushes your hair back from your face. He asks if you’re warm enough, even when you’re wrapped in two blankets. You watch him read to the kids at night, his voice soft, and sometimes, after the boys are asleep, he stands in the doorway with you, just listening to them breathe. Completely.

One night, Buck blurts: “Marry me.”

You blink. “What?”

Buck pales. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You did.”

“I did.”

“That wasn’t romantic.”

“I panicked!”

You laugh and kiss him. “Yes.”

***

The wedding is perfect. No guests. No planning. Just you, Buck, Theo and Noah at the courthouse. Buck cries. Again.

Theo rolls his eyes. “Dad cries at everything.”

“I do not.”

“You cried at a dog commercial.”

“It was emotional!”

Noah snorts. “You cried when I lost my tooth.”

“I was proud!”

You kiss his cheek. “I married a crybaby.”

Buck grins. “You love me.”

“I do.”

***

Months later, the boys corner you both at breakfast. “We want a baby.”

You choke on your coffee. Buck blinks. “A baby?”

“A sister,” Noah says.

Theo nods enthusiastically. “We need one.”

Buck looks at you, then at the boys, then back at you. His face slowly lights up. “Oh, my god.”

You laugh. “Oh no.”

“I could be a girl dad.”

“You already have two kids.”

“But a daughter.”

Buck’s eyes sparkle. “I’d have tea parties.”

“You hate tea.”

“I’D LEARN.”

“You’d buy tiny firefighter gear.”

“Absolutely.”

“You’d spoil her.”

Buck gasps. “How dare you.” You stare. He grins. “…I absolutely would.”

***

The team finds out by accident, of course, they do. Because Buck brings Noah and Theo to the station.

Eddie blinks. “Why are there two mini Bucks?”

Hen points. “Wait.” She points at you, then Buck, then the boys and then the wedding rings. Her eyes widen. “Oh, my god.”

Buck grins sheepishly. “So…”

Chimney screams. “YOU GOT MARRIED?! YOU HAVE ANOTHER KID?! YOU KEPT THIS SECRET?!”

Buck shrugs. “I was busy.”

“You built a whole family!”

“I did!”

Maddie walks in. Takes one look, smiles, and hugs all four of you. “I’ve been waiting forever for this”.

The frustration had been radiating off Eddie for weeks. Every time you two managed to find a sliver of privacy, a quick fumble against the kitchen counter or a heated make-out session on the sofa, something happened. A phone call from the station, a question from Christopher, or a sudden visit from Buck.

Eddie was usually the patient one, but lately, he was on edge. You could see it in the way he gripped the steering wheel or the sharp sigh he let out whenever the bedroom door swung open just as your clothes were hitting the floor. He was starving for you, and the constant teasing was driving him insane.

That’s why Saturday was non-negotiable.

You spent the afternoon preparing. You’d coordinated with Christopher to spend the night at Buck’s, ensuring the house was a sanctuary of silence. You dimmed the lights, lit a few candles scented with sandalwood and vanilla, and prepared a dinner that felt like a celebration. But the centrepiece of the evening was waiting under your robe: a sheer, black lace lingerie set that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, hugging your curves and exposing your nipples through the thin fabric.

When the front door clicked open, you were waiting in the living room, a glass of wine in your hand.

Eddie walked in, looking exhausted, his shoulders slumped. But the moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped dead. You let the robe slide off your shoulders, pooling at your feet.

His breath hitched. His gaze travelled slowly from your toes, up your thighs, over the swell of your hips, and lingered on your chest. The hunger in his eyes was predatory.

"No interruptions?" he rasped, his voice dropping an octave.

"Not a single one," you whispered.

Dinner was a blur of tension. You barely ate, too busy watching Eddie watch you. Every time your knee brushed his under the table, he groaned, his hand tightening around his fork. By the time you cleared the plates, he didn't let you finish. He grabbed your waist, hauling you against him, and crashed his lips onto yours.

It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was a collision. He tasted of wine and desperation. He backed you into the wall, his hands roaming frantically over your skin, gripping your ass and pulling you flush against the hard ridge of his cock.

"I've been thinking about this for a month," he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

He didn't waste time. He carried you into the bedroom, tossing you onto the mattress. He stripped out of his clothes with a frantic energy, his eyes never leaving yours. When he was naked, you saw how badly he wanted you—his cock was thick, pulsing, and leaking a bead of pre-cum.

Eddie crawled over you, pinning your wrists above your head. He started with your breasts, licking your nipples through the lace before biting down softly, making you arch your back. He moved lower, his tongue tracing the line of your stomach until he reached the lace gusset of your panties. He didn't remove them immediately; instead, he rubbed his tongue against your clit through the fabric, driving you wild.

"Eddie, please," you whimpered.

He smirked, finally ripping the lace aside to expose your soaking wet pussy. He dove in, his tongue swirling around your clit in wide, rhythmic circles while his fingers slid deep inside you. You screamed, your fingers tangling in his hair as he licked you clean, drinking in every drop of your arousal.

When he finally pulled back, he didn't give you a second to breathe. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock probing your heat. With one powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you to the hilt.

You gasped, your legs locking around his waist. He was so thick, filling every inch of you. Eddie groaned, a deep, guttural sound of relief, as he began to move. He fucked you with a primal intensity, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, slapping sound.

He shifted his angle, driving deeper, hitting your G-spot with every shove. You were sobbing his name, your body shaking as the tension built. He watched your face, his expression one of pure, concentrated lust.

"You're mine," he gasped, his pace accelerating. "Finally... fucking... mine."

The friction became unbearable, a white-hot heat blooming in your core. You clamped your muscles around him, triggering his own release. Eddie let out a loud shout, his body stiffening as he pumped load after load of hot cum deep inside your womb. You followed immediately after, your orgasm crashing over you in violent waves.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you drenched in sweat and gasping for air, the silence of the house finally feeling peaceful.

The next morning was far less quiet.

You and Eddie walked into Buck’s house to pick up Christopher. Eddie looked different—his posture was relaxed, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips, and he had a certain glow of contentment that hadn't been there for weeks.

Buck was in the kitchen, flipping pancakes. He looked up as you two entered, his eyes darting between your flushed face and Eddie’s smug expression. Buck’s eyebrows shot up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Well, well, well," Buck teased, leaning against the counter. "Look at that face. Someone actually managed to get some action for once."

Eddie rolled his eyes, but he didn't deny it. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close and kissing your temple.

"Shut up, Buck," Eddie replied, his voice sounding far more satisfied than usual.

Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't know, man. I was starting to think you'd forgotten how it worked. Glad to see the drought is officially over."

The ballroom is alive with excitement as the annual charity bachelor auction goes on. Laughter bounces around the room, glasses clink, and the crowd cheers at every outrageous bid. You know you should be enjoying yourself, but instead, you can't stop staring at the stage, annoyed.

"Next up," the announcer says with flair, "a man who needs no introduction. Firefighter, Army veteran, devoted father, and apparently everyone's favourite moustache owner. Eddie Diaz!"

The crowd goes wild. You clap, but only out of politeness. Eddie steps onto the stage, clearly wishing he could be somewhere else. He fixes his suit cuffs and gives the audience an awkward smile. You recognize that look—it's the one he wears when he wants to disappear.

Beside you, Buck snickers. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

You cross your arms. "He's miserable."

"He'll survive."

The auctioneer opens with five hundred. Right away, a woman near the front raises her paddle. "One thousand!" The crowd murmurs in surprise. Eddie laughs, clearly nervous. You glare at the woman. She's beautiful, blonde, and looks like she could afford anything. "Two thousand!" she shouts.

You sip your champagne, pretending you don't care at all.

"Three thousand!"

You choke on your champagne. "What?!" you blurt.

Buck is grinning now. "Oh no."

"Oh no, what?"

"You like him."

"I do not."

"You are literally glaring at that woman like she set Christopher's drawings on fire."

You ignore him. The auctioneer beams. "Three thousand! Do I hear thirty-five hundred?"

The blonde raises her paddle. "Four thousand."

The crowd gasps. Suddenly, you hear yourself shout, "Five thousand!" The room goes silent. Everyone turns to look at you. Buck's mouth falls open. Hen almost spits out her drink. Eddie's eyes are huge, like he can't believe what just happened. You can't believe it either. That was you.

The auctioneer grins. "Five thousand! We have five thousand!"

The blonde turns in her chair and stares at you. Then she smiles. The kind of smile women reserve for rivals. "Six thousand."

Your blood boils. "Seven."

"Eight."

"Ten!"

The room loses its mind. Buck grabs your arm. "ARE YOU INSANE?!"

"No."

"You skipped two thousand dollars!"

"I can do math!"

Eddie rubs his face with both hands. The blonde lifts her paddle again. "Twelve thousand."

You don't even think. "Fifteen!" Gasps. Actual gasps. Buck collapses dramatically into Hen. "She's gone feral!" Hen is cackling. The blonde hesitates. You stare her down. Finally, with a sigh, she lowers her paddle.

The auctioneer slams the gavel. "Sold! Fifteen thousand dollars to our lovely winner!"

The room bursts into applause. You instantly regret everything that led you here. Embarrassment makes your stomach twist and your face heat up. For a moment, you wish you could disappear or undo what you just did. Panic rises, mixed with a wild hope. Maybe he noticed. Maybe this is the beginning of something, or maybe it's a huge mistake. You can barely breathe, torn between running away and wanting to see his reaction. People start to gather around you.

"Wait," Chimney says. "You spent fifteen grand on Eddie?"

"It's not like that."

Buck is wheezing. "It's exactly like that."

"It's not!"

"Then why?"

You groan. "Because I know he doesn't want to do this."

The group collectively stares at you. Then everyone bursts out laughing. "Sure," Hen says.

"I'm serious!"

"Okay," Buck says, grinning. "And I only flirt with people for their personalities."

You glare, but nobody believes you - not even Eddie. He stands a few feet away, looking at you with a gentle, confused look that makes your heart ache. His hands fidget at his sides, and his shoulders rise a little, like he wants to come closer but isn't sure. For a second, you see hope in his eyes, so quick you wonder if you imagined it.

Because the truth? You would've spent twice that for him.

***

The restaurant is quiet. Small. Romantic. Which is unfortunate, because you are trying very hard to pretend this isn't a date. Eddie sits across from you, sleeves rolled up, smiling in a way you haven't seen all night.

"You know," he says, "you really didn't have to spend fifteen thousand dollars."

You groan. "Please stop reminding me."

He laughs. "I still can't believe you did it."

"I told you why."

"You expect me to believe you spent fifteen grand out of pity?"

"It wasn't pity!"

He leans forward. "Then what was it?"

Your heart skips a beat. You stare down at your glass, unable to tell him how you feel - not unless he feels the same. "I just..." you say quietly. "I hated seeing other women fight over you." The words come out before you can stop them. Silence fills the air. You freeze, then slowly look up. Eddie is staring at you, as if everything just changed. "Oh," he says softly.

Your face burns. "Forget I said that."

"No."

"Please."

A smile slowly spreads across his face. "No chance."

You cover your face. "Oh, my God."

"You were jealous?"

"I hate you."

"You were!"

"I’m leaving." You stand. Eddie grabs your wrist. Gentle. Warm. You stop. His smile fades, and suddenly he looks nervous. Really nervous. "I hoped you were." Your breath catches. Eddie swallows. "I've been in love with you for months." The world goes silent.

You stare at him, certain you heard him wrong. "What?"

"I tried not to be." His voice is soft. "You were my friend, and Christopher adores you, and I kept telling myself not to ruin things." He laughs weakly. “But tonight I saw you spend fifteen thousand dollars just because another woman was flirting with me.”

Heat floods your cheeks. "I wasn't-"

"You were."

"I hate you."

He smiles. "You already said that."

You shake your head, laughing nervously because your heart is beating so hard it might explode. "You love me?" you whisper.

His face softens. "So much." You lean over the table and kiss him. Eddie lets out a surprised sound, then kisses you back right away, as if he's been waiting for this. His hand rests on your cheek, and your fingers run through his hair. When you finally pull apart, you're both breathless, staring and smiling at each other.

Eddie laughs first. "I guess fifteen thousand dollars was worth it."

You groan. "If you mention that number one more time-"

"I'm kidding."

"You better be."

He grins. Then his expression softens again. "So... are we doing this?"

You smile. "Yeah." Eddie squeezes your hand.

The neon sign of the dive bar flickered, casting a rhythmic, sickly blue light over Eddie’s face. He wasn't drinking for the taste; he was drinking to silence the constant, looping reel of your face in his mind. It had been four months since the "Great Argument" - a stupid, pride-fueled fight over something so insignificant that he couldn't even remember the catalyst anymore, only the devastating silence that followed when you walked out the door.

"You're moping, Eddie. Seriously, you're practically radiating sadness," Buck said, sliding another shot of tequila toward him. "It was a stupid fight. You both know it. You're both miserable. Just call her."

Eddie scoffed, his voice thick. "It's been months, Buck. I can't just... show up."

"Then get drunk enough to forget you're scared," Buck countered with a shrug.

By the time Eddie stumbled out of the bar, the world was tilting on its axis. The cool night air sharpened the ache in his chest. His feet moved on autopilot, guided by muscle memory that refused to die. He didn't go to his own house. He went to yours.

When he reached your door, he didn't knock so much as lean heavily against the wood, his fist thumping clumsily.

You opened the door, your expression shifting from confusion to shock in a heartbeat. You were wearing an oversized t-shirt and leggings, your hair messy, looking exactly like the home he had been starving for.

"Eddie?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "What are you doing here? You're... you're wasted."

Eddie didn't answer immediately. He just stared at you, his eyes glassy and brimming with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He stepped forward, invading your space, the smell of agave and longing clinging to him.

"I can't do it," he slurred, his voice cracking. He reached out, his hand shaking as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with desperate tenderness. "I tried. God, I tried to pretend I was fine. I tried to move on, to find someone who didn't make me feel like my heart was being ripped out every time I breathed."

You tried to step back, but your heart wasn't in it. "Eddie, you're drunk. Go home."

"No," he groaned, leaning his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "I am home. Right here. I love you. I fucking love you so much it hurts, and I was too proud and too stupid to say it four months ago. No one... no one can replace you. There is no one else. It's always been you. It's only ever been you."

The raw honesty in his voice broke the dam you had built around your heart. A sob escaped your throat, and you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into the apartment and slamming the door shut behind him. You didn't lead him to the bed; you led him right there against the hallway wall, kissing him with a hunger that spoke of months of deprivation.

Eddie responded with a desperate groan, his arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off your feet, pinning you to the wall as he devoured your lips. He was clumsy, fueled by alcohol and grief, but the love was unmistakable.

Eventually, the exhaustion and the liquor won. You managed to steer him into the bedroom, stripping him down to his boxers and climbing in beside him. He clung to you in his sleep, his face buried in the crook of your neck, murmuring your name like a prayer.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and gold. Eddie stirred, blinking slowly as the haze of the hangover set in. As he felt the warmth of your body pressed against his and the scent of your shampoo filling his senses, the memories of the previous night flooded back.

He froze, suddenly terrified that he had overstepped, that his drunken confession had been a mistake. He started to pull away, but you tightened your grip on him, pulling him back down.

"Don't you dare leave," you whispered, your voice sleepy but firm.

Eddie looked into your eyes, seeing the same longing he felt. "Do you mean it? Or was that just the tequila talking for me?"

"The tequila just gave you the courage to say what we both already knew," you replied, a small, tearful smile touching your lips. "I love you too, you idiot."

Eddie let out a breath he felt he’d been holding for months. He rolled over, pinning you gently to the mattress, his eyes searching yours.

"I'm never letting a stupid fight come between us again," he promised, his voice low and steady. "I'm staying. For good."

The argument started over something stupid. At least, that’s what you told yourself later.

It started with a careless comment, then a misunderstanding. But it was never just about this one thing. The memory of last month's argument at the grocery store still stung, a fight that started over forgetting the shopping list but ended with Eddie storming off and you leaving the cart behind, both of you too proud to call first. That argument wasn't really about groceries, either. Both of you had let old frustrations pile up, and neither one was really listening by then. It was about feeling unheard, letting resentment build, and spending a whole silent week avoiding each other in your own apartment. Small fights kept piling up: the missed calls, the dishes left in the sink, the tone of voice that cut too sharply. Every little annoyance added weight, turning into something heavier, until you and Eddie were finally in the living room, voices rising more than you meant them to.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Eddie snapped, running a hand through his hair. His words stung. You felt your chest tighten. I can’t keep doing this. Not this fight. Not this conversation. Us. You swallowed hard, tears already threatening. “Fine,” you whispered.

Eddie looked frustrated and tired, but neither of you really listened. “Fine?” he repeated.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

His eyes widened slightly. “That’s not what I-”

But you were already grabbing your jacket. “Whatever, Eddie.” The door slammed behind you.

As soon as the apartment went quiet, Eddie wished he could take it all back. He stared at the closed door. His anger faded right away. “Damn it.”

He knew you. Knew how hard you were on yourself. Knew how every fight made you think people were one step away from leaving. You had once told him, on a quiet night long ago, about the day your father walked out after an argument. You were only twelve. You remembered the sound of angry voices echoing down the hallway, the front door slamming shut, and the weight of silence afterwards. For years, you kept waiting for that door to open again, but it never did. Since then, every raised voice, every tense silence, felt like a warning. He realised he had just given your worst fears more power.

He grabbed his keys.

Meanwhile, you sat at the end of a crowded bar, tears in your eyes and a drink in your hand. Then another. And another. You weren’t normally a drinker. Tonight was different. The bar buzzed with noise, glasses clinking, laughter and voices rolling together, the air heavy with the sharp scent of spilt beer and perfume. Your skin felt sticky under the yellowed lights. Tonight felt like heartbreak.

By the time Eddie found you, nearly two hours later, your vision was blurry and your thoughts were even messier. He spotted you immediately. Sitting alone. You looked small, even with the noisy crowd around you. His heart dropped. He approached slowly. “Sweetheart.”

You looked up. Your face lit up for a moment. Then sadness returned. “Oh, Eddie, you found me.”

He pulled out the stool beside you. “Of course, I found you.”

You laughed bitterly. “Why?”

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

You stared into your glass. “Because you’re breaking up with me.”

His stomach dropped. “What?”

You shook your head. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay.”

“It is.” Your voice cracked. “I get it.”

Eddie reached for your hand. You pulled away. That hurt more than he expected.  “You deserve someone better anyway.”

“Stop.”

You sniffled. “No.” Your eyes filled with tears. “I love you so much, Eddie.” Your words came out slurred and shaky. “And that’s the problem.”

You loved him so much it felt impossible, like there was only ever more to lose. Wanting him, needing him, made every argument feel like the end of something precious. You were terrified that your love was too intense, too desperate, the kind that would only push him away. It felt like being too much and never enough at the same time. But opening up about these fears, even through your tears, took a kind of courage you rarely admitted to yourself. Letting yourself be seen like this was terrifying and brave all at once.

His chest tightened. “What problem?”

You laughed sadly. “Because I don’t deserve you.”

Silence. Eddie felt his heart break. Years together. Years of loving you. And somehow you still thought that. “You think that?”

You nodded. “You’re brave. Eddie Diaz, firefighter, war veteran, amazing dad…” Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. “And I’m just me.”

His jaw clenched. “Hey.” You finally looked at him. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about yourself like you’re less than anyone.”

Your lip trembled. “But it’s true.”

“No.” His voice was firm. “So stop saying it.”

You looked away again. “I was waiting for the day you’d realise you could do better.” Eddie felt physically sick. He had spent years trying to show you how much he loved you, but you were still carrying this fear on your own. He moved closer. “Look at me.”

You hesitated. Then did. “I love you.” Fresh tears spilt down your face. “Eddie-”

“No.” He gently cupped your cheek. “I love you.” His forehead rested against yours. “And I’m not leaving.” You let out a painful sob.

The next morning, you woke up with a headache. And a lot of embarrassment. You groaned and buried your face in the pillow. A glass of water appeared beside you. You peeked out. Eddie sat on the edge of the bed. Watching you. He watched you quietly. You remembered everything. The fight. The bar. The crying. The drunken confession. “Oh, my God.”

Eddie smiled slightly. “Morning.”

“I embarrassed myself.”

“You really did.”

You groaned again. He laughed quietly. Then his face softened. “Can we talk?” You nodded. He took your hand. “Yesterday was awful.”

You stared down at your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Your eyes lifted. Eddie squeezed your hand.

“But listen to me carefully.” His voice grew serious. “Just because we fight doesn’t mean I’m leaving.”

You blinked. “Eddie-”

“No.” He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Couples fight. Relationships get messy. Sometimes we say things we don’t mean.” He swallowed. “But none of that changes how much I love you.”

Your eyes stung. “Do you mean that?”

“I do.” He leaned forward. “There is no argument big enough to make me stop loving you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. Eddie wiped it away immediately. “You don’t have to earn my love.” Your breath caught. “You don’t have to deserve it.” Another tear fell. “You already have it.” The room went quiet. And for the first time since yesterday, the fear in your chest eased. Eddie pulled you into his arms. You buried your face against his neck.  “I love you,” you whispered. He kissed your forehead. “I know.” His arms tightened around you. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The night had settled over the Diaz house like a warm blanket, the distant hum of the highway the only sound beyond the crickets. Eddie had sent Christopher to bed an hour ago, and now the living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. He sat beside you on the couch, his thigh pressed against yours, his hand resting casually on your knee. There was a quiet intensity in his dark eyes tonight, a simmer that hadn't been there during dinner.

You felt it in the way his thumb traced lazy circles on your inner thigh, in the way his breath hitched when you leaned into him. He turned, his face inches from yours, and you caught the scent of his cologne: woodsy, warm, familiar. But what you noticed most was the faint brush of his moustache against your cheek as he leaned in for a kiss.

It started softly. His lips met yours, gentle at first, but then his hand slid higher, fingers digging into the curve of your hip. The kiss deepened, and you felt the coarse hair of his moustache graze your upper lip, a sensation that sent a shiver straight to your core. Eddie pulled back just enough to look at you, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You like that?" he murmured, his voice low, rough.

You nodded, breathless, and he dipped his head again, this time trailing his mouth down your jaw, along your neck. His moustache brushed against your sensitive skin, a tantalising friction that had you arching into him. He knew exactly what he was doing; he always did.

The weight of Eddie's body pressed you into the mattress, his thighs bracketing yours as he settled between your legs. His uniform shirt was long gone, discarded somewhere in the hallway, leaving his bronzed skin warm and inviting under your fingertips. The coarse hair of his chest brushed against your nipples, making you gasp as he lowered himself, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your sternum.

But it was his moustache that had your attention.

That perfectly groomed line of dark hair above his upper lip, the one you'd watched him trim with such precision in the bathroom mirror, the one that made him look like a 70s pin-up come to life. Now it was dragging across your hypersensitive skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

Eddie's lips found your navel, tongue dipping in before he continued his descent. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he spread you open beneath his hungry gaze.

"Been thinking about this all day," he murmured, his breath hot against your inner thigh. The moustache tickled, teased, and you bucked involuntarily, desperate for more contact.

"Is that so?" Your voice came out breathless, barely a whisper.

He hummed in affirmation, the vibration rippling through your skin. "Every time I looked at you across the station, I imagined you spread out like this. All mine."

His mouth moved higher, closer to where you needed him most. The anticipation was torture, a sweet agony that had you clenching your fists in the sheets. Eddie seemed to revel in it, taking his time, pressing kisses along the crease of your thigh, the sensitive spot where leg met hip.

"Eddie," you whined, a plea that came from somewhere primal.

He looked up at you through his lashes, a wicked glint in those dark eyes. "What do you want, baby?"

"You know exactly what I want."

"I want to hear you say it."

Your cheeks flushed, but the need overrode any shyness. "I want your mouth on my pussy. Now."

A slow smile spread across his face, the moustache curving with it. "Good girl."

And then he lowered his head.

The first contact was devastating. He started with a broad, flat stroke of his tongue, from your entrance to your clit, the coarse hair of his moustache dragging against your most sensitive flesh. The sensation was unlike anything you'd ever felt: the softness of his tongue, paired with the scratch of those perfectly trimmed hairs, each a tiny spark of electricity against your slick skin.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed. Eddie's hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as he repeated the motion, slower this time, making you feel every inch of the journey.

"Fuck, Eddie."

He hummed against you again, sending shockwaves through your entire body. His lips closed around your clit, and he sucked gently, the moustache pressing into the sensitive hood, abrading it in the most exquisite way. Your vision went white at the edges.

He released you with a wet pop, his breath hot and ragged against you. "You taste incredible. I could stay here forever."

"Please don't stop."

"I won't." His voice was husky, rough with his own arousal. "I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your own name."

He dove back in, this time with more urgency. His tongue circled your clit while his moustache brushed against your inner lips with every movement, each pass sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. One hand released your hip, and you felt two fingers press against your entrance before sliding inside, wet and welcoming.

"Yes, right there," you gasped, grinding against his face.

Eddie curled his fingers, finding that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. At the same time, he increased the pressure on your clit, his moustache growing damp with your arousal as he licked and sucked with abandon. The dual sensation of his thick fingers stroking inside you and that scratchy hair rubbing against your pearl was too much, building a pressure that coiled tight in your belly.

"You close?" he asked, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice strained.

"God, yes. Don't stop, Eddie, please-"

He didn't stop. He doubled down, his mouth sealing over you, his tongue flicking rapidly while his moustache provided the perfect counterpoint of friction. His fingers pumped faster, curling, beckoning your orgasm to the surface.

And then it crashed over you.

Your hips bucked wildly, but Eddie held you in place, his mouth never leaving its target. He groaned against you as your walls clenched around his fingers, your juices flooding over his tongue. The moustache kept up its merciless assault, dragging against your overstimulated clit, prolonging every wave of pleasure until you thought you might shatter completely.

Only when your trembling subsided did he release you, crawling up your body with a satisfied smirk. His face was glistening, his moustache wet with your release, and the sight made your spent body stir with renewed interest.

"God, I love that thing," you breathed, reaching up to touch the damp hairs.

Eddie caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Yeah? You and my moustache have a good time?"

"The best time."

His smile turned wolfish. "Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."

The hospital waiting room smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee. You hated it instantly. Everything about it felt wrong. The harsh fluorescent lights, the uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the muted television that no one watched made the room unbearable. Nurses hurried by in scrubs, monitors beeped down the hall, and every second dragged on painfully.

Buck sat beside you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. He hadn’t stopped bouncing his leg in nearly an hour. “He’s gonna be okay,” he said suddenly, voice rough like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. You nodded automatically, even though fear still sat heavy in your chest.

Across from you, Christopher was asleep, Hen’s jacket curled beneath his head. They’d brought him as soon as school called, and no one could keep the truth from him anymore. Earlier that day, after the mugging in the elevator that left Eddie bleeding and barely conscious, your clothes had been splattered with his blood. The moment Christopher saw it, his face crumpled. “Dad’s alive, right?”

The question still echoed in your head. You’d told him yes immediately. Without hesitation. Because you refused to let yourself imagine any other answer. Buck scrubbed both hands over his face. “I should’ve been there.” You looked at him sharply. “Buck-” “I should’ve known something was wrong.” His voice cracked. “He called me before the shift ended, and I missed it.”

Guilt radiated off him in waves. “You couldn’t have known,” you said quietly. Buck stared at the floor. “Yeah, but Eddie would’ve known.” That nearly broke you. Because he was right. Eddie always noticed everything about the people he loved. If Buck was hurting, Eddie knew. If Christopher was lying, Eddie knew. If you were pretending to be okay, Eddie always knew. He saw right through you.

Eddie’s perceptiveness wasn’t just a quiet superpower; it anchored all of you. Around him, there was no point putting up a front, because he could sense the smallest shifts in your voice or glance—a soft word, a forced smile, a carefully steady breath. He checked in on everyone, even when he was carrying his own burdens. Sometimes, Buck joked that Eddie had a sixth sense for feelings the rest of them tried to outrun. The truth was, Eddie’s ability to see all of you, not just the strong faces but the cracks beneath, held your group together, especially during the hardest calls. When pain or guilt threatened to pull you apart, he found ways to quietly tether you all back to each other. In this moment, Buck’s grief pressed against your skin, but so did the ache of missing Eddie’s calm: his steady voice, gentle teasing, and the way he made you feel safe enough to admit you weren’t always strong.

Your throat tightened painfully. The waiting room doors finally swung open. Hen came in first, looking deeply exhausted. Chimney followed, his surgical cap still pushed messily over his hair. As soon as you saw them, you were already on your feet. “How is he?” you breathed. For one terrible second, nobody answered. Then Hen smiled softly. “He’s awake.”

Relief washed over you, almost knocking the breath from your lungs. Buck let out a strangled sound beside you, half laugh, half sob. “He lost a lot of blood,” Chimney explained gently. “And recovery’s gonna suck for a while. But…” He smiled tiredly. “Eddie’s gonna be okay.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying again until Hen pulled you into a fierce hug. “Can I see him?” you asked immediately. Hen laughed quietly. “He’s been asking for you every thirty seconds.” Of course, that was just like Eddie. You followed Chimney down the hallway on trembling legs.

As you walked closer to Eddie’s room, your heart beat faster. Even with the relief, fear stayed with you, sharp and raw. Seeing him alive couldn’t erase what nearly happened in that elevator. For a split second, you were back there: the small space crowded with panic, the flickering half-light buzzing overhead, dust swirling with each shallow breath. Blood pooled too fast beneath Eddie’s head, hot and sticky as it seeped beneath your knees, the metallic scent flooding your nostrils until you could barely breathe. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you pressed a wad of torn shirt against his wound, your palms slick and warm, fingers slipping despite your grip. The walls felt like they were closing in, cold against your back, each thud of the elevator cable above impossibly loud in the silence between Eddie’s ragged gasps. Eddie’s face was grey, and the sour reek of fear mingled with sweat clung to both of you, his jokes barely a whisper that you could barely register over the persistent wail of the emergency alarm. The emergency call button felt useless in your palm, the plastic edge biting sharply into your skin as your chest heaved with shallow breaths. Every second stretched on forever. When the doors finally slid open, and help rushed in, Eddie’s hand had gone cold in yours, and you weren’t sure if he’d ever squeeze it back. You almost lost him. Thinking about it left you empty all over again.

Chimney stopped outside the door. “He’s pretty out of it,” he warned softly. “But he’s awake.” You nodded. Then you pushed the door open. Eddie looked impossibly pale against the hospital sheets. Machines surrounded him, monitors blinking steadily beside the bed. His curls were flattened messily, bruises shadowed beneath exhausted eyes, and there was a tube running into his arm. But he was alive.

His eyes shifted toward the door the second you stepped inside. And immediately softened. "There’s my girl," he whispered hoarsely. You were never used to hearing that, but it always made your chest ache in the best way. The shaky breath that left you sounded almost like a sob. You crossed the room in seconds. "Hey," you said, though the word broke apart halfway through. Eddie’s hand lifted weakly from the blanket. You grabbed it instantly, holding carefully around the IV taped to his skin.

For a moment, you could only squeeze his hand and breathe. Even now, you wondered how surreal it must look, Eddie’s longtime best friend and, more recently, the person he somehow let love him back. Sometimes, it was still hard to believe how close you’d become, how he never saw you as just another firefighter on the team, but as his person. Maybe someday you’d get used to it. But not today.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whispered. His thumb brushed faintly against your knuckles. “Sorry.” The memory of him saying those same words in the elevator hit you like a knife. Your composure was shattered. “You don’t get to apologise like that,” you choked out. “Not after…” Your voice failed completely. Eddie’s expression crumpled. “Hey,” he murmured. “Come here.”

You carefully sat on the edge of the bed, terrified of hurting him. The second you leaned close, Eddie rested his forehead weakly against yours. And suddenly, the reality of it hit both of you at once. He survived. You felt his breathing hitch. “I thought…” Eddie swallowed hard. “I thought I was gonna leave you.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks immediately. “Don’t,” you whispered fiercely. “Don’t say that.” “But I did.” His voice cracked painfully. “I saw your face in that elevator, and I thought-” He squeezed his eyes shut. “God, I didn’t want that to be the last thing you remembered.” Your chest hurt so much you wondered how you could stand it. “You idiot,” you whispered through tears. “All I remember is you trying to make jokes while bleeding to death.”

A weak laugh escaped him. Then he winced sharply in pain. You instantly pulled back. “Sorry, sorry-” “No.” Eddie tightened his hold on your hand with surprising strength. “Stay.” So you did. You stayed while he drifted in and out of sleep. You stayed while nurses checked his vitals. You stayed when Christopher finally came into the room and immediately burst into tears at the sight of his dad.

And Eddie - exhausted, injured, barely able to keep his eyes open - still opened his arms for his son. Christopher balanced himself and slowly leaned down to hug his dad. “You promised movie night,” He said tearfully against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie smiled weakly and kissed the top of his head. “Still happening, buddy.” “You got stabbed.” “Technically true.” “Dad.” “Okay, fair.”

Christopher’s shaky laugh filled the room with a warmth that felt fragile but healing. Buck appeared in the doorway a little while later, hesitating like he wasn’t sure whether to come in. Eddie noticed immediately. “Buck,” he rasped. That was all it took. Buck crossed the room fast, eyes already glassy. “You’re such an ass,” he said thickly. Eddie grinned faintly. “Missed you too.”

Buck looked away sharply, emotion overtaking his face for one brief second before he got control back. Then he pointed at Eddie angrily. “You ever scare us like that again, and I’m actually fighting you.” “Noted.” “You stopped breathing in the ambulance!” Eddie blinked. “Okay, dramatic opening move from me.” Buck made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Suddenly, everyone in the room started to laugh a little. It wasn’t because anything was actually funny. But because Eddie was alive to hear it.

Hours later, long after Christopher had fallen asleep, and Buck finally let Hen drag him home, the room grew quiet. The city lights glowed faintly outside the hospital window. With the noise and chaos gone, you felt the edges of adrenaline finally fade, leaving only raw exhaustion and an aching tenderness that had nowhere else to go. Everything inside you wanted to collapse, but you stayed upright by Eddie's side, unwilling to waste even a moment while he breathed and existed right here. Relief pressed into your bones, heavy and strange; it made your shoulders shake with aftershocks of fear that still wouldn't quite let you go. There was hope, too, bright and trembling, filling the cracks where despair had settled just hours before. You wanted to memorise this quiet, this battered peace, the weight of everything you almost lost held gently in the hush between heartbeats. Eddie looked over at you sleepily. “You should rest.” You shook your head immediately. His mouth twitched. “Stubborn.” “You almost died.” “Yeah.” His voice softened. “But I didn’t.”

Silence settled between you. It was heavy and honest. Then Eddie looked at you with an expression so open it made your chest ache. “When I told you I loved you…” He said quietly. “I meant more than just tonight.” He was talking about more than the hazy words he’d whispered in the ER, or even after last year’s fire when you’d clung together, trembling and shaken. He was recalling confessions half-lost in laughter, desperate apologies on cracked phone lines, every time his hand found yours in the quiet between emergencies. Your breath caught.

Eddie swallowed slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time.” It felt like the world stopped for a moment. All the fear and exhaustion and adrenaline from the last endless hours suddenly narrowed into this moment. Into him. The way he looked at you was like you were something precious.

The air is thick with the scent of pulverised concrete and old dust, a gritty film that coats your tongue and clings to your skin. Outside the reinforced walls of the emergency shelter, the world is a jagged ruin, but inside, the silence is heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic wail of sirens and the frantic murmurs of survivors.

You are shivering, though the room is warm. It’s a deep, internal tremor that has nothing to do with the aftershocks still rattling the floorboards. You feel small, fragile, and utterly exposed in the wake of the devastation.

Then, you feel him.

He is a wall of heat behind you, his presence an anchor in the chaos. Eddie. He’s still in his turnout gear, the heavy, soot-stained fabric smelling of smoke and adrenaline. When he wraps his arms around you, pulling you back against his chest, the sheer solidity of him makes your breath hitch. He doesn't say a word; he doesn't have to. The way his large hands splay across your stomach, pressing you firmly into the hard planes of his body, tells you everything.

You lean your head back against his shoulder, closing your eyes. The adrenaline that has kept you numb for the last six hours suddenly crashes, replaced by a starving, desperate need for contact. You turn in his arms, your fingers digging into the rough material of his jacket, pulling him closer until there is no space left between you.

When his mouth hits yours, it isn't gentle. It’s a collision. It tastes of salt and desperation, a frantic confirmation that you are both still alive. You moan into his throat, your hands sliding up to grip the back of his neck, pulling him down as if you could merge your very souls.

Eddie groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through your chest. He lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively locking around his waist, and carries you toward the shadowed corner of the shelter, away from the prying eyes of the other refugees. He pins you against the cool, damp concrete wall, the contrast of the cold stone and his searing skin sending a jolt of electricity through your spine.

His hands move with a focused urgency, stripping away the ruined fabric of your clothes. He doesn't care about the grime or the chaos outside; his world has narrowed down to the heat of your skin. When his palms cup your breasts, squeezing firmly, you arch your back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

"I thought I lost you," he rasps, his voice raw and broken.

He doesn't wait for an answer. He drops to his knees, his face buried in the crook of your thigh. You feel the hot, wet slide of his tongue as he licks your inner thigh, moving upward with agonising slowness. When he finally finds you, his tongue flicking expertly against your clit, you scream, the sound muffled by your own hand pressing into his hair. He eats you with a hunger that borders on violent, sucking your swollen folds into his mouth, driving you toward a peak that feels as volatile as the earth beneath you.

You are shaking, your muscles twitching, until you shatter. The orgasm rips through you in waves, echoing the tremors of the city, leaving you breathless and sobbing.

Before you can even recover, Eddie is back up, his breathing heavy. He rips open his trousers, his thick, pulsing cock springing free, red-hot and demanding. He doesn't use a condom; there is no time, no caution, only the primal need to be inside you.

He grabs your hips, lifting you slightly, and drives himself into you in one powerful, singular thrust. You scream, your eyes flying open as he fills you completely, stretching you to the limit. The sensation is overwhelming: the friction of his skin, the weight of his body crushing you against the wall, and the sheer, raw power of his thrusts.

He fucks you with a desperate intensity, each slam of his hips against your ass sounding like a heartbeat in the silence of the room. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you can bite his shoulder, your nails scratching deep furrows into his back.

"More," you whimper, "Please, Eddie, more."

He obeys, his pace increasing, his movements becoming a blur of friction and heat. You can feel him hitting your cervix, a deep, blunt pressure that makes your toes curl. The world outside: the ruins, the loss, the fear - disappears. There is only the sound of your wet sliding, the scent of sex and sweat, and the rhythmic thud of your bodies colliding.

As the tension builds to an unbearable crescendo, Eddie lets out a low growl, his movements becoming frantic. He thrusts one last time, burying himself as deep as possible, and you feel the hot, thick surge of his cum filling you, pulsing inside your walls in great, searing waves.