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There’s no background noise for Buck; he doesn’t hear the hum of the fridge, of the AC, the sounds of the traffic outside, the sirens that occasionally wail through the night. Later in the morning, he’ll hear everything; when he turns the implant on and becomes Firefighter Buckley.
Eddie thinks of them as two separate people because they are. There’s the firefighter, who still laughs and jokes, throws an arm around someone’s shoulders and brightens their day. Then there’s Eddie’s Buck, who loses that edge when he’s home. He’ll be softer somehow, more inclined to press into Eddie’s space, let Eddie take away whatever stress he’s piled up throughout the day.Â
The Buck who signs his way through dinner, a movie, and then goes through the nightly routine with Chris. His last sign to Christopher is always goodnight and then Christopher’s sign name.
“Everyone has one,” Buck explains to a crowded dinner table. Eddie’s impressed with the regulation of Buck’s tone and wonders how long he practiced to speak at the right level. “Sometimes you can spell out their name,” and he does so, E-D-D-I-E. “Then there’s a combination,” he gestures to Maddie. Eddie recognizes the sign for sister and then something else.Â
“What’s the second one?” Eddie frowns. “Sister then what?”
Maddie looks surprised, but Buck grins. “You learned sister?”
“Kinda,” Eddie says, fumbling his way through the sign.
Buck laughs gently. “That’s brother.” He touches Eddie’s hand, still in the L shape, and moves the thumb from Eddie’s forehead to his jaw. “That’s sister. Forehead is brother, jaw is sister.”
“Oh,” Eddie says. Repeats the motion and Buck nods.Â
The rest of the table is silent, and Buck shifts in his hair. “The other is protect.”
Christopher’s sign name is one Eddie’s still figuring out. Buck’s too quick and Eddie can’t tell if it’s one sign or two.
Buck doesn’t have to sign Eddie’s name at home; he usually just calls Eddie an idiot which makes Chris laugh and Eddie rolls his eyes good-naturedly.Â
The Buck who wakes up next to Eddie in the morning is the same one who spends at least an hour every day teaching Christopher signs. It doesn’t always work; Chris isn’t able to make them all but he puts in a valiant attempt, and Eddie’s seen Buck turn on the implant more than once just so that Chris can talk to him. It makes something burn in Eddie’s chest, tucked away behind his ribcage.
“Morning,” Buck mumbles. Here, in the privacy of their bedroom, Buck’s volume dips and rises depending on his mood. He’s quiet this morning, shuffling forward, and Eddie slides an arm around him, Buck’s cheek to his shoulder.
Gently, he signs morning against Buck’s arm.Â
Buck huffs a laugh and kisses Eddie’s collarbone.
Eddie’s amazed, still, that he gets to have this; that Buck chose him, wants to stay with him.
“You didn’t see my deafness,” Buck says when Eddie works up the courage to ask. “I don’t know if it’s because of Chris or you just don’t care, but you saw me instead of the implant.”
Eddie remembers touching Buck’s face, fingers against his chin, and rubbing his thumb along Buck’s jaw. “Anyone who thinks less of you because you can’t hear them is stupid,” he says, mouthing the words as obviously as he can. Sometimes he knows he’s being ridiculous because Buck smirks at him, but he’s trying. Buck’s eyes soften, his hands light on Eddie’s hips like he understands. “You’re still my Buck.”
My Buck.
Possessive.
Eddie’s slow at learning Sign, but he’s getting there. He aims for simple, and always learns them in the firehouse, where the rest of the crew can see. He doesn’t want to reveal Buck’s preference to them; if Buck wants them to know, he’ll say, but Eddie can throw all the hints he likes. Buck deserves to be comfortable and even if he can’t turn off the implant, there are protocols, after all, he can guide their friends into accepting Buck’s deafness outside of work. Still, Buck will go to functions with his implant on; Eddie wants him to lose that tense line of his shoulder with the rest of their family as well.
“Show me again,” Eddie says, holding up his hands. He can feel Hen’s eyes on them as Buck moves his fingers through the sign, touching his mouth and then down to touch his wrist, then making the sign for a question mark. Eddie copies. Dinner?
“What was that?” Hen asks.
Buck looks surprised.Â
“Dinner,” Eddie says when Buck doesn’t. “Chris and I are learning Sign.”
Hen raises her eyebrows but then something in her expression clears. Eddie thinks maybe she knows; Buck’s not as subtle as he likes to think. “Show me some?”
Eddie’s watching; Buck’s mouth quirks up, his eyes dipping because he’s pleased, and nods.Â
Some days it isn’t so easy; Buck wakes up without saying a word, rolling out of bed, and putting his implant on right away. He’ll be soft and careful with Chris, but everywhere else he’s all hard edges and bitterness. Eddie reminds himself not to take it personally. He doesn’t know what it’s like to miss that vital touch. Sound is such an integral part of his world he can’t imagine not having it.Â
Those days, they come home from work, or from running errands, and crash on the couch. Later, when they’re falling into bed, Buck will press himself against every line of Eddie’s body and Sign. Eddie doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Buck trusts him to talk in the way he prefers, and that matters.Â
“What’s son?” Chim asks one day, leaning against the couch.
Eddie’s watching Buck’s hands. He frowns. “So what’s this?”
Buck watches him make the Sign and snorts. “Gold. Where did you see that?”
“Online,” Eddie blurts, his mind running over a Sign he’s seen Buck make every night before bed. His heart feels too big for his chest and he wishes they weren’t at work; he wants to crowd Buck against the wall, touch him gently, reverently, and promise to stay.Â
Buck shrugs and turns back to the TV, rolling his eyes at Chim’s sloppy attempts at Sign. He’s somehow determined that it’s the best way to appeal to Maddie and Buck’s refusing to be offended.Â
“She deserves to be happy,” he tells Eddie. “She saved me once.”
It’s not until they’re home, safe after a shift, Christopher tucked up in bed, that Eddie remembers the Signs from earlier.Â
“Your name for Chris,” Eddie says, meeting Buck’s eyes slowly. Buck swallows, Eddie watches the bob of his throat, but he seems to realize Eddie’s not mad. He shrugs easily and Eddie runs a hand through Buck’s hair, fingers stroking the nape of his neck. “Gold son?”
“I know it’s a bit,” Buck starts, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. “That’s okay?”
Eddie nods, not sure he’s got the words for this. “Of course it is.”
Buck watches his lips, smiles.Â
“So what’s mine?” Eddie asks carefully.
“Eddie,” Buck says, leaning across. He kisses Eddie softly, their foreheads pressed together, and take his finger, points at Eddie, then taps it three times against Eddie’s chest. You Heart, Eddie thinks, and then looks up. Buck’s eyes are bright. “You’re my heart.”
Eddie holds up a hand, circles a finger, pushes out his hand with thumb and pinky extended. Then taps his chest. Forever. Mine.
If Buck doesn’t have the words to reply, Eddie doesn’t mind; the searing kiss, the way Buck shakes beneath his hands, and the love sign pressed into the space between them do all the talking for him.Â
