๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐จ
๐๐๐ฉ๐ก๐: ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐จ
๐๐๐๐ง๐๐ฃ๐: ๐๐ซ๐๐ฃ "๐ฝ๐ช๐๐ " ๐ฝ๐ช๐๐ ๐ก๐๐ฎ & ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ฟ๐๐๐ฏ
๐๐ค๐ง๐ ๐พ๐ค๐ช๐ฃ๐ฉ: 6.4๐
๐พ๐๐๐ง๐๐๐ฉ๐๐ง๐จ ๐๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐๐: ๐พ๐๐ง๐๐จ๐ฉ๐ค๐ฅ๐๐๐ง ๐ฟ๐๐๐ฏ, ๐๐๐ฃ๐ง๐๐๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ "๐๐๐ฃ" ๐๐๐ก๐จ๐ค๐ฃ, ๐๐ค๐ฌ๐๐ง๐ "๐พ๐๐๐ข๐ฃ๐๐ฎ" ๐๐๐ฃ, ๐ฝ๐ค๐๐๐ฎ ๐๐๐จ๐
๐๐ช๐ข๐ข๐๐ง๐ฎ: ๐๐๐๐ฃ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐จ๐๐ฎ๐จ "๐ฃ๐ค" ๐ฉ๐ค ๐พ๐๐ง๐๐จ๐ฉ๐ค๐ฅ๐๐๐ง'๐จ ๐ฅ๐ก๐๐ ๐๐ค๐ง ๐ ๐๐ค๐, ๐พ๐๐ง๐๐จ๐ฉ๐ค๐ฅ๐๐๐ง ๐ฉ๐ช๐ง๐ฃ๐จ ๐ฉ๐ค ๐ฝ๐ช๐๐ , ๐ฌ๐๐ค ๐๐๐ฃ'๐ฉ ๐ง๐๐จ๐๐จ๐ฉ ๐ข๐๐ ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐๐๐ง'๐จ ๐๐ง๐๐๐ข ๐๐ค๐ข๐ ๐ฉ๐ง๐ช๐. ๐ฝ๐ช๐๐ ๐จ๐๐๐ง๐๐ฉ๐ก๐ฎ ๐๐๐ค๐ฅ๐ฉ๐จ ๐๐๐๐๐ก๐๐จ, ๐ ๐จ๐ฌ๐๐๐ฉ ๐๐ค๐ก๐๐๐ฃ ๐ง๐๐ฉ๐ง๐๐๐ซ๐๐ง ๐ง๐๐จ๐๐ช๐, ๐ฌ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐ฉ๐๐จ ๐ ๐๐ค๐ก๐, ๐ฌ๐๐๐ ๐จ-๐ก๐ค๐ฃ๐ ๐จ๐๐ก๐๐ฃ๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐ง๐๐๐ฉ๐ข๐๐ฃ๐ฉ ๐๐ง๐ค๐ข ๐ ๐๐ช๐ง๐๐ค๐ช๐จ ๐๐๐๐๐. ๐ฝ๐ช๐ฉ ๐๐๐๐๐'๐จ ๐จ๐ฉ๐ช๐๐๐ค๐ง๐ฃ ๐ฌ๐๐ก๐ก๐จ ๐๐ซ๐๐ฃ๐ฉ๐ช๐๐ก๐ก๐ฎ ๐ข๐๐ก๐ฉ ๐๐ช๐ง๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ ๐จ๐ฉ๐ค๐ง๐ข๐ฎ ๐๐๐ฉ๐๐ง๐ฃ๐ค๐ค๐ฃ, ๐ก๐๐๐๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ฉ๐ค ๐ ๐๐๐๐ง๐ฉ๐ฌ๐๐ง๐ข๐๐ฃ๐ ๐จ๐ช๐ง๐ง๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ง ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฉ ๐ฝ๐ช๐๐ ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐พ๐๐ง๐๐จ๐ฉ๐ค๐ฅ๐๐๐ง ๐๐๐ฉ๐๐ ๐๐๐ข ๐ฉ๐ง๐ฎ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐ฉ๐ค ๐๐๐๐.
๐๐๐ง๐ฃ๐๐ฃ๐๐จ: ๐๐๐ก๐ ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ ๐ง๐๐๐๐ก๐ก๐๐ค๐ฃ, ๐๐๐ข๐๐ก๐ฎ ๐ฉ๐๐ฃ๐จ๐๐ค๐ฃ, ๐๐๐๐ซ๐ฎ ๐๐ข๐ค๐ฉ๐๐ค๐ฃ๐๐ก ๐จ๐ฉ๐ช๐๐๐ค๐ง๐ฃ๐ฃ๐๐จ๐จ, ๐๐๐ก๐๐ฃ๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐ง๐๐๐ฉ๐ข๐๐ฃ๐ฉ, ๐๐ฃ๐๐ฅ๐ค๐ก๐ค๐๐๐ฉ๐๐, ๐๐๐๐-๐ฅ๐๐ฉ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ค๐ ๐ซ๐ค๐๐๐/๐๐๐๐ฎ ๐ฉ๐๐ก๐ ๐ช๐จ๐๐ ๐๐ฎ ๐ ๐๐ง๐ค๐ฌ๐ฃ ๐๐๐ง๐๐๐๐๐๐ฉ๐๐ง, ๐๐ญ๐ฉ๐ง๐๐ข๐ ๐๐ก๐ช๐๐
A/N: Not really much to say, thought I would make a fluffy/hurt type one shot, so enjoy and let me know what you think!
The morning sun in Los Angeles never crept into the Diaz household; it barged in. It sliced through the slatted blinds of the kitchen window, casting long, geometric bars of gold across the scarred wooden dining table and highlighting the gentle, swirling steam rising from Eddieโs mug of black coffee.
Eddie Diaz sat with his chin resting in his palm, his eyes tracing the rim of his mug. He was tired. Not just the physical, bone-deep exhaustion that came with pulling a grueling twenty-four-hour shift at Station 118, but a quieter, more domestic kind of weary. The kind of tired that came from navigating the shifting, unpredictable tectonic plates of raising a teenager.
Christopher was fourteen now. The sweet, easily appeased little boy who used to build Lego towers for hours had gradually been replaced by a young man of sharp angles, heavy sighs, and sudden, fierce declarations of independence. Eddie loved him more than his own breath, but lately, it felt like they were speaking two different languages.
The rhythmic, uneven thud-drag of Christopherโs crutches echoed down the hallway, signaling his arrival. Eddie straightened his posture, pasting on a warm, inviting smile.
"Morning, buddy," Eddie said, sliding a plate of freshly scrambled eggs and buttered toast toward the empty seat. "Sleep okay?"
Christopher didn't answer immediately. He negotiated his way into the chair, leaning his crutches against the wall with a clatter that felt a little more forceful than necessary. He looked at the eggs, then at his dad, his expression guarded.
"I slept fine," Christopher said, his voice carrying that scratchy, adolescent pitch that still caught Eddie off guard. He picked up his fork but didn't eat. He just pushed the eggs around, drawing a circle in the yellow yolk.
Eddie took a slow sip of his coffee. He knew that look. It was the "Iโm prepping a speech" look. "Something on your mind, Chris?"
Christopher took a breath, puffing out his chest. "I want a dog."
Eddie blinked. Of all the things he had been preparing himself for, requests for a higher allowance, questions about high school parties, requests to go to the mall unsupervised- this was not on the immediate radar. "A dog?"
"Yeah. A dog," Christopher said, his tone instantly defensive, as if anticipating the hurdle. "Everyone at school has one. Toby has a golden retriever. Maya has a lab mix. Iโm old enough to take care of one, Dad. I can feed it, I can brush it, I can keep it in my room."
Eddie sighed, the weariness settling back into his shoulders. He set his coffee mug down with a soft clink. "Chris, weโve talked about this before. A dog is a lot of work. A lot of responsibility."
"I just said I would do the work!" Christopherโs voice rose, a sudden spark of anger igniting in his eyes. "Iโm fourteen. Iโm not a baby anymore. I can handle it."
"Itโs not just about you handling it, Christopher," Eddie explained, trying to keep his voice calm, level, and reasonable. "Dogs need to be walked multiple times a day. They need to be trained. What happens when Iโm on a twenty-four-hour shift? What happens when youโre at school, or at physical therapy, or doing extracurriculars? A dog can't just sit in a crate all day."
"We could figure it out!" Christopher insisted, leaning forward. "Buck could help. Buck would love a dog."
The mention of Buckโs name sent a tiny, familiar pang through Eddieโs chest, but he kept his focus. "Buck has his own life, Chris. He has his own apartment, his own shifts. We canโt just assume heโs going to babysit a dog because we decided to get one. And what about the expenses? Vet bills, food, grooming, shots. Itโs a lot."
"You always do this," Christopher muttered, his shoulders slumping, his face darkening into a scowl. "You just say no to everything. You treat me like I canโt do anything because of my CP. You think I can't walk a dog."
The accusation felt like a physical blow. Eddieโs chest tightened, his jaw clenching. He had spent Christopherโs entire life trying to prove the exact opposite: trying to empower him, to give him every opportunity, to never let his diagnosis limit him. To hear Christopher weaponize it now, in a moment of teenage frustration, stung fiercely.
"That is not what this is about, and you know it," Eddie said, his voice dropping to a low, stern register. "This is about the reality of our schedule. It is about the house we live in. It is about the commitment. My answer is no, Christopher."
"Itโs not fair!" Christopher yelled. He shoved his chair back. The legs scraped loudly against the linoleum. He grabbed his crutches, his movements hurried and angry. "You never listen to me! I hate this!"
"Christopher, get back here and finish your breakfast," Eddie ordered, rising from his chair.
"No!" Christopher shouted over his shoulder. He swung himself down the hallway with surprising speed, his bedroom door slamming shut a second later. The force of it rattled the framed photos hanging in the corridor.
Eddie stood alone in the quiet kitchen. The scrambled eggs were growing cold. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache blossoming behind his eyes. He wanted to go after him, to force him to talk, but he knew Christopherโs temper. Right now, any further discussion would just be throwing gasoline on a fire.
He sank back into his chair, stared at his lukewarm coffee, and wished, not for the first time, that raising a child came with an instruction manual.
Inside his bedroom, Christopher was vibrating with pure, unadulterated teenage rage. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't. His dad still looked at him and saw a little kid who needed to be protected from everything, who couldn't handle the responsibility of a living, breathing pet.
He paced the limited space of his room, his crutches thudding against the carpet. He needed an ally. He needed someone who actually listened to him, someone who didn't immediately jump to "no" and "responsibility" and "schedules."
He grabbed his phone from his nightstand, his thumbs flying across the screen. He bypassed his dadโs contact, bypassed his friends, and went straight to the person he trusted more than anyone else in the world.
He hit dial.
It only rang twice before a bright, cheerful voice filled the receiver.
"Hey, buddy! Whatโs up? Shouldn't you be eating breakfast?"
"Buck," Christopher said, his voice cracking slightly with the leftover adrenaline of the argument. "Dad is being completely unreasonable."
In his loft across town, Evan "Buck" Buckley stopped half-shaven in front of his bathroom mirror. The sheer distress in Christopherโs voice immediately put him on high alert. He wiped the shaving cream from his jaw with a towel and walked out into his living room, his brow furrowed.
"Whoa, hey, slow down, Chris," Buck said, his tone softening into that warm, protective frequency he reserved almost exclusively for the Diaz boys. "Whatโs going on? What did your dad do?"
"I asked him for a dog," Christopher vent-splurted, the words tumbling out of him in a desperate rush. "I told him Iโm fourteen, that I can take care of it, that I can feed it and do everything. And he just immediately said no. He didn't even think about it, Buck! He said we don't have time, and then he basically said I couldn't do it because of my legs."
Buck winced. Knowing Eddie, he highly doubted Eddie had actually said that, but he also knew how Christopherโs mind worked and how any boundary could feel like a limitation imposed by his cerebral palsy if he was already feeling frustrated.
"Chris, I'm sure your dad didn't mean it like that," Buck tried to placate gently. "Eddie knows how strong you are. But dogs are a huge responsibilityโ"
"Not you too," Christopher groaned, sounding deeply betrayed. "I thought you were on my side. I thought you got it."
"I am on your side!" Buck said quickly, panic flaring in his chest at the thought of Christopher being mad at him. "I am, Chris. Always. Iโm just sayingโฆ your dad is looking out for the house. It's a lot of work."
"It wouldn't be if we did it together," Christopher pointed out, his tone shifting from angry to suddenly very quiet, very calculating. "Youโre always at our house anyway. You basically live here. If I got a dogโฆ you could help me. We could train him together. It would be our dog."
Buck froze in the middle of his living room.
Our dog.
The words wrapped around Buckโs heart and squeezed. He loved Christopher like his own. He loved Eddie deeply, quietly, in a way he still struggled to put into words even to himself. The idea of a dogโฆ a dog that belonged to them, a dog that he and Christopher could train, a dog that would run around the backyard while they grilled on weekendsโฆ it sounded perfect. It sounded like the missing piece of a picture he had been staring at for years.
"Chrisโฆ" Buck started, his resolve crumbling like dry cookies. "I don't know. Your dad said no. If I go behind his backโ"
"He won't be mad once he sees how happy it makes us," Christopher pleaded, pulling out the big guns. "Please, Buck. I really, really want this. I can do it. I just need you to believe in me. Do you believe I can do it?"
Buck closed his eyes. It was a low blow, playing the "do you believe in me" card, but it worked with devastating efficiency. Buckโs chest swelled with a fierce, protective urge to give this kid whatever he wanted, to prove to him that he could have a normal life, that he could have the things other kids had.
"What kind of dog are we talking about?" Buck asked quietly, a small, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
On the other end of the line, Christopher gasped. "Really? You'll help me?"
"I didn't say that yet," Buck lied, already knowing he was entirely doomed. "Iโm just asking. Hypothetically."
"A shelter dog," Christopher said instantly. "A rescue. Someone who needs a home. Like we do."
Buckโs heart melted into a puddle on his hardwood floor. "Okay. Okay, look. Don't say anything to your dad. Let me think about it, alright? Let me see what I can do."
"Thank you, Buck! You're the best!"
"Yeah, yeah. Just don't tell Eddie I said that, or heโll skin me alive," Buck muttered, though his heart was hammering with a mix of excitement and absolute, terrifying dread. He was going to get so, so murdered.
The plan took exactly four days to execute.
Buck spent his off-duty hours scouring local animal shelter websites. He didn't want a high-energy puppy that would trip Christopher up, nor did he want a dog so large it could accidentally knock him over. He needed a goldilocks dog: calm, medium-sized, gentle, and eager to please.
He found her at a small rescue shelter in Pasadena.
She was a two-year-old golden retriever and yellow lab mix. The shelter staff had named her "Waffles" because of her light, honey-colored coat and her incredibly sweet, doughy disposition. She had been surrendered by an elderly owner who could no longer care for her, meaning she was already house-trained, knew basic commands, and walked beautifully on a leash without pulling.
When Buck met her, she simply walked up to him, rested her chin on his knee, and let out a long, contented sigh.
This is the one, Buck thought, his eyes stinging slightly. This is Christopherโs dog.
He signed the paperwork, paid the adoption fees, purchased a crate, a plush bed, bowls, a leash, a collar, and enough toys to stock a small pet store, and loaded everything into the back of his truck.
He timed it perfectly. Eddie was scheduled for a double shift that ended on Saturday morning. Christopher was home alone, having been dropped off by Pepa an hour earlier. Buck had texted Christopher a simple message: Be ready.
When Buckโs truck pulled into the Diaz driveway, Christopher was already waiting by the front window. The moment he saw Buck get out of the cab, Christopher practically flew out the front door, his crutches swinging wildly as he navigated the porch steps.
"Buck! Is itโdid youโ?"
"Keep your voice down, the neighbors are going to think we're stealing something," Buck laughed, though his own adrenaline was spiking. He walked to the passenger side of the truck and opened the door.
Sitting on the passenger seat, wearing a bright red collar with a shiny silver tag, was Waffles. She blinked her big, soulful brown eyes at Christopher, her tail immediately beginning to thump a slow, rhythmic beat against the fabric of the seat.
Christopher stopped dead in his tracks. His crutches wobbled slightly as his mouth fell open. "Oh my god."
"Chris, meet Waffles," Buck said, his face splitting into a massive, proud grin. "Waffles, meet your new best friend."
Buck reached in and gently coaxed the dog out. Waffles hopped down, her paws landing softly on the driveway. She didn't bolt. Instead, she took a few cautious, sniffing steps toward Christopher.
Christopher slowly lowered himself down onto the grass of the front lawn, discarding his crutches beside him. He stretched out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly. "Hey. Hey, girl. Come here."
Waffles didn't hesitate. She trotted over, her tail wagging so hard her entire back half shook, and buried her wet nose directly into Christopherโs neck. Christopher let out a loud, breathless laugh, wrapping his arms around her thick neck, burying his face in her golden fur.
Buck stood over them, hands on his hips, feeling a profound sense of warmth and accomplishment. See? he thought. How could Eddie possibly be mad at this? Itโs perfect.
Ten minutes later, they had migrated inside. Waffles was exploring the living room with polite curiosity, sniffing the edges of the rug and the legs of the coffee table. Christopher was sitting on the floor, tossing a tennis ball a few feet away, which Waffles would gently fetch and drop back into his lap.
"Sheโs perfect, Buck. Sheโs the best dog in the world," Christopher beamed, his eyes shining with a happiness Eddie hadn't seen in him for weeks.
"She is pretty great," Buck agreed, sitting on the sofa, watching them. "Now, we have to set up her bed and her food bowls before your dadโ"
The sound of a key turning in the front door lock cut Buck off mid-sentence.
The air in the room suddenly felt very cold.
Christopher froze. Waffles, sensing the shift in energy, stopped squeaking her tennis ball and sat down next to Christopher, her ears perking up toward the door.
The door swung open. Eddie walked in, looking exhausted, his uniform shirt slightly wrinkled, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was rubbing his eyes, speaking before he even fully looked up. "Hey, Chris, sorry I'm late, traffic on the 101 was aโ"
Eddie stopped.
His duffel bag slipped from his shoulder, hitting the hardwood floor with a heavy, dull thud.
He stared.
He stared at Christopher sitting on the floor. He stared at the golden-yellow dog sitting right next to him. And then, slowly, his eyes drifted upward, locking onto Buck, who was sitting on the couch looking like a man who had just been caught holding a smoking gun over a body.
For a long, agonizing moment, the house was dead silent. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
"Eddie," Buck started, his voice squeaking slightly. He cleared his throat, trying to sound authoritative and casual. "Hey, man. Youโre home early."
Eddie didn't look at Christopher. He didn't look at the dog. His eyes remained fixed entirely on Buck. The look in his eyes wasn't just anger; it was a cold, simmering, white-hot fury that made Buckโs stomach drop straight through the floor.
"Buck," Eddie said, his voice dangerously quiet, dropping an octave. "Out. Now."
"Dad, waitโ" Christopher started, scrambling to his feet with the help of the sofa.
"Christopher, go to your room," Eddie said. He didn't shout. He didn't raise his voice. But the sheer, icy authority in his tone was terrifying.
"But Dad, sheโs Waffles, she'sโ"
"I said, go to your room, Christopher," Eddie repeated, finally turning his gaze to his son. It wasn't an angry look, but it was completely unyielding. "I need to speak to Buck. Now."
Christopher looked at Buck, his eyes wide with fear and guilt. Buck gave him a small, reassuring nod, though his own heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Go ahead, Chris. Itโs okay. Go on."
Christopher grabbed his crutches and slowly made his way down the hall. Waffles, confused by the tension, made to follow him, but Christopher gently closed his bedroom door, leaving the dog in the living room. Waffles whimpered softly, then trotted back to Buckโs legs, pressing her side against his shins.
Once Christopherโs door clicked shut, Eddie stepped fully into the living room. He didn't look at the dog. He looked at Buck.
"What did you do?" Eddie whispered.
"Eddie, listen, sheโs a rescue," Buck began, his hands raised in a placating gesture as he stood up. "Sheโs two years old, sheโs house-trained, sheโs incredibly gentle. Christopher was so upset, and I thoughtโI thought if I helped him, if we did this togetherโ"
"You thought," Eddie interrupted, taking a step forward. His chest was heaving. "You thought you had the right to make a major, life-altering decision for my family? Behind my back?"
"I'm part of this family, Eddie!" Buck argued, his own defensive walls rising, though they felt flimsy against Eddieโs rage. "I wanted to help him! He felt like he couldn't have anything because of his CP, he felt like you didn't trust himโ"
"Do not use his diagnosis to justify you undermining me as a parent!" Eddie snarled, his voice finally cracking, rising in volume. "I told him no! I am his father, Buck! I made a parenting decision, and youโyou walked in here, bypassed me completely, and bought him a dog!"
"I didn't buy her, I adopted herโ"
"I don't care!" Eddie yelled, slamming his hand down on the back of the kitchen chair. Waffles flinched, shrinking back behind Buckโs legs. Buck immediately felt a pang of guilt for the dog. "You do not get to do this, Buck. You do not get to play the fun uncle who sweeps in and gives Christopher whatever he wants while I have to be the bad guy who enforces the rules!"
"I don't play the fun uncle!" Buck shouted back, taking a step closer, matching Eddieโs proximity. "I love him, Eddie! I did this because I wanted to see him happy! You should have seen his faceโ"
"I don't care about his face right now!" Eddie barked, his eyes flashing with tears of anger. "I care about the fact that you betrayed my trust. You went behind my back. You made me look like an enemy to my own son. How am I supposed to teach him respect, how am I supposed to set boundaries, when you are standing right behind me ready to tear them down the second I turn my back?"
The words hit Buck like a physical punch. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a sudden, sickening wave of realization. He looked at Eddieโs pale, furious face, at the tight line of his jaw, and realized how deeply he had crossed the line. This wasn't just about a dog. This was about boundaries, about respect, about the delicate, fragile ecosystem of Eddieโs parenting.
"Eddieโฆ" Buck whispered, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. Iโฆ I didn't think about it like that."
"No, you didn't," Eddie said, his voice dropping back to that icy, quiet whisper. "You never think, Buck. You just act on impulse, and everyone else has to clean up the mess."
That hurt. It hurt worse than anything Eddie had ever said to him.
"What do you want me to do?" Buck asked, his voice barely audible. "Do you want me to take her back? Becauseโฆ because if I take her back, itโs going to break Christopher's heart. Heโll never forgive you, Eddie. And heโll never forgive me."
Eddie stared at him. He looked at the dog, Waffles, who was now peeking out from behind Buckโs legs, her big brown eyes looking up at Eddie with a mixture of hope and fear.
Eddie closed his eyes. He let out a long, ragged breath that sounded like it tore his throat on the way out. He rubbed his face with both hands, his shoulders slumping.
"If I make you take her back," Eddie said quietly, "Iโm the monster. Iโm the dad who took away his dog. You put me in a box, Buck. You and Christopher. You cornered me."
"Eddie, I didn't mean toโ"
"Get out," Eddie said, opening his eyes. They were cold, dead, and utterly devoid of the warmth Buck usually found there. "Justโฆ get out of my house, Buck. I don't want to look at you right now."
"Eddieโ"
"Go," Eddie commanded.
Buck looked at the dog, then at the closed door of Christopherโs room, and finally at Eddie, whose back was now turned to him, his hands gripping the kitchen counter so tightly his knuckles were white.
With a heavy, breaking heart, Buck walked to the front door, opened it, and stepped out into the bright, mocking California sunshine, leaving the dog behind.
The weeks that followed were some of the most uncomfortable, tense, and miserable days in the history of Station 118.
Eddie was furious.
It wasn't a loud, explosive anger that burned out quickly. It was a slow, deep, glacial freeze.
At the station, Eddie functioned with terrifying, robotic efficiency. He did his chores, he cleaned the trucks, he suited up for calls, and he worked seamlessly alongside Buck when they were on a scene, because when lives were on the line, Eddie Diaz was a professional. But the moment they stepped back into the firehouse, the curtain fell.
Eddie did not speak to Buck.
If Buck walked into the kitchen, Eddie walked out. If Buck sat at the dining table, Eddie took his plate to the locker room. If Bobby asked them to work on a task together, Eddie did his part in absolute silence, ignoring any attempt Buck made at small talk, apologies, or lighthearted banter.
The rest of the crew noticed immediately.
"Alright, what did you do?" Hen asked Buck on the third day of the silent treatment, cornering him by the coffee maker.
"Nothing," Buck mumbled, staring down at his mug.
"Buck, Eddie looks like he wants to use your skull as a bowling ball," Chimney chimed in, leaning against the counter. "And you look like a kicked puppy. Literally. Did you break his truck? Did you lose his favorite spatula?"
"I got Christopher a dog," Buck whispered.
Hen and Chimney both froze.
"You did what?" Hen gasped.
"I got Christopher a dog," Buck repeated, louder this time, his face flushing. "Christopher was really upset because Eddie said no, and he called me, and Iโฆ I found this amazing rescue dog, Waffles, and I adopted her and brought her over."
Chimney slowly let out a low whistle. "Oh, Buck. Oh, sweetie. You didn't just cross the line, you jumped over it on a pogo stick while flipping him the bird."
"I was trying to help!" Buck defended himself, feeling the familiar, desperate sting of tears. "Christopher was so unhappy. And sheโs a great dog! She really is! But Eddieโฆ Eddie won't even look at me. He told me to get out of his house. I haven't been over there in three weeks."
"You undermined his parenting, Buck," Hen said, her tone softening with sympathy, but remaining firm. "Eddie has to make the hard choices. Heโs the dad. When you went behind his back, you told Christopher that his dadโs rules don't matter as long as he can coax you into doing what he wants. Thatโs a dangerous precedent."
"I know," Buck groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I know that now. I apologized, but he won't let me say anything. How long is he going to be mad at me?"
"Knowing Eddie?" Chimney said, wincing. "Could be a while. Heโs a stubborn Texan, Buck. He holds onto a grudge like itโs a gold medal."
At the Diaz household, the atmosphere was barely any better.
Eddie had allowed Waffles to stay, mostly because, as he had told Buck, he couldn't bear to be the villain who ripped a shelter dog away from his disabled son. But he refused to have anything to do with her.
He didn't feed her. He didn't walk her. He didn't pet her.
If Waffles walked into a room Eddie was in, Eddie would politely but firmly walk out. If Waffles approached him, tail wagging, hoping for a scratch behind the ears, Eddie would cross his arms and look away, ignoring her completely.
"Sheโs your responsibility, Christopher," Eddie had told his son on night one. "You wanted her. You and Buck decided to bring her into this house. So you take care of her. I am not a dog owner."
Christopher, to his credit, took the job seriously. He fed Waffles every morning and evening. He brushed her golden coat. He kept her water bowl filled. He even managed to walk her around the block, Waffles walking perfectly at his pace, never pulling on her leash, as if she understood exactly what Christopher needed from her.
But the silence in the house was heavy. Christopher knew he had messed up. He saw the toll the fight had taken on his dad, and he saw how much his dad missed Buck, even if Eddie wouldn't admit it.
Buck hadn't been to the house in three weeks. He hadn't come over for Friday night dinners. He hadn't joined them for movie nights. The couch in the living room felt empty, a quiet monument to the rift that had formed between them.
One night, after Christopher had gone to bed, Eddie sat alone in the living room. Waffles was lying on her plush bed in the corner, her chin resting on her paws. She was staring at Eddie, her big, warm eyes reflecting the dim light of the television.
Eddie looked at her.
She was, objectively, a very good dog. She didn't bark. She didn't chew on the furniture. She smelled clean and sweet. And she looked at him with nothing but pure, unconditional affection, completely unaware of the political storm she had caused.
Eddie felt a sudden, sharp pang of loneliness. He wanted to call Buck. He wanted to hear Buckโs ridiculous, rambling stories. He wanted to hear him laugh. He wanted Buck to be sitting on the other end of the couch, arguing about what movie to watch.
But his pride, stiff and unyielding, kept him anchored to his spot. He turned off the TV, ignored the dog, and went to bed in the dark.
By week four, the raw, burning edges of Eddieโs anger had begun to dull into a quiet, exhausting apathy.
It was hard to stay angry when the target of your anger looked like he was slowly wasting away from guilt. At the station, Buck had stopped trying to make jokes. He had stopped trying to force conversation. He just looked sad, his shoulders perpetually slumped, his eyes quiet and hollowed out.
Even Bobby had pulled Eddie aside after a shift.
"Eddie," Bobby had said, leaning against his desk. "Iโm not going to get in the middle of whatever is going on between you and Buck. But I will say this: the 118 relies on trust. You two are a team. Right now, that team is fractured, and itโs affecting the energy of the whole house. Figure it out."
Eddie knew Bobby was right. He also knew, deep down, that he was ready to let it go. He was tired of being angry. He was tired of the silence.
The breakthrough happened on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
Eddie was off shift. Christopher was at an after-school study group, and he wasn't due home for another two hours.
The rain was coming down in sheets, drumming a steady, loud rhythm against the roof of the Diaz house. Eddie was in the kitchen, organizing the pantry out of sheer, restless boredom, when a sudden, loud crack of thunder rattled the windows.
A second later, a soft, trembling weight pressed firmly against the back of Eddieโs legs.
Eddie startled, looking down.
It was Waffles.
The poor dog was shaking violently, her ears pinned flat against her head, her tail tucked tight between her legs. She was panting softly, her eyes wide with terror at the sound of the storm. She had squeezed herself into the narrow space between Eddieโs legs and the kitchen cabinet, seeking shelter.
Eddie froze. His immediate instinct was to step away, to maintain his strict policy of non-engagement.
But as another deafening boom of thunder echoed outside, Waffles let out a tiny, high-pitched whimper and pressed her head harder against Eddieโs shin, burying her nose in the cuff of his jeans.
Eddieโs heart cracked.
He was a firefighter. He spent his life running into burning buildings to save strangers. He was not a monster. He couldn't look at a terrified, innocent animal seeking comfort from him and push her away.
"Hey," Eddie murmured, his voice softer than it had been in weeks. "Hey, itโs okay."
He slowly sank down onto the kitchen floor, sitting cross-legged on the linoleum.
Waffles didn't hesitate. The moment he was on her level, she practically crawled into his lap, her eighty-pound frame draping over his legs as she shivered against him.
"You're okay, Waffles," Eddie whispered, his hands moving automatically, driven by a deep, instinctual tenderness. He reached out and began to stroke her back, his fingers sinking into her soft, golden fur. "It's just some noise. It's just rain. I've got you."
He scratched the sweet spot right behind her ears. Waffles let out a long, shuddering sigh, her shaking slowly beginning to subside as she rested her heavy head directly on Eddieโs chest.
Sitting there in the dim kitchen, listening to the rain and the steady, comforting heartbeat of the dog in his lap, Eddie felt the last, stubborn icy blocks of his anger melt away.
He had been so rigid. So stubborn. He had been so focused on "rules" and "boundaries" and "respect" that he had completely ignored the love that had driven the entire situation. Buck hadn't gotten the dog to spite him. Buck had gotten the dog because he loved Christopher, because he wanted to make him happy, and because, whether Eddie wanted to admit it or not, Buck considered himself a part of their family.
And looking at Waffles now, feeling her warmth, Eddie realized he couldn't imagine their home without her.
"You're a pretty good dog, aren't you?" Eddie murmured, smiling softly as Waffles gave his chin a gentle, tentative lick. "Yeah. You are."
Two weeks later, the rain had cleared, replaced by a warm, golden Saturday afternoon.
Christopher and Buck had spent the morning at the park. It was their first official outing together since the "dog incident." Eddie had finally texted Buck a week ago, a simple, brief message: Bring Chris to the park on Saturday. We need to talk.
Buck had been terrified, but he had complied. He had picked Christopher up, and they had spent three hours playing fetch with Waffles, though Buckโs anxiety had been simmering the entire time, wondering what "the talk" was going to entail.
They pulled up to the Diaz house around three in the afternoon.
"Remember," Christopher warned Buck as they got out of the truck, Waffles trotting happily on her leash. "If Dad starts being mean, we just tell him how much Waffles missed him."
"Your dad isn't going to be mean, Chris," Buck said, though he was sweating through his t-shirt. He grabbed Wafflesโ leash, his hand shaking slightly. "Butโฆ let me do the talking, okay? I want to make things right."
They walked up to the front door. Christopher, who had a key, gently unlocked it and pushed it open, stepping into the quiet house.
"Dad?" Christopher called out. "We're back!"
There was no answer.
"Maybe he's napping," Buck whispered, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. Waffles immediately slipped her head out of her collar, a trick she had apparently learned recently, and trotted eagerly toward the living room.
"Waffles, wait, get back hereโ" Buck started, but Christopher grabbed his arm, his eyes wide.
"Buck," Christopher whispered, a massive, mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Listen."
From the living room, a sound was echoing.
It was a voice. But it wasn't Eddieโs normal, deep, serious voice. It was a high-pitched, goofy, incredibly embarrassing baby-talk voice.
"Whoโs a good girl? Is it you? Yes, it is! Youโre the prettiest, sweetest, most beautiful little princess in the whole wide world! Yes, you are!"
Buck and Christopher exchanged a look of pure, unadulterated shock.
They crept forward, moving silently down the hallway, peeking around the corner into the living room.
What they saw was a sight Buck would cherish for the rest of his natural life.
Eddie Diaz, former army medic, tough-as-nails Los Angeles firefighter, stern father, was lying flat on his back in the middle of the living room rug.
Waffles was standing directly over him, her tail wagging so fast it was a blur, her paws resting on Eddieโs shoulders. Eddie was holding a plush, squeaky dinosaur toy in one hand, squeaking it frantically, while his other hand was vigorously scratching Wafflesโ belly.
"Look at you! Look at those big paws!" Eddie cooed, giggling, actually giggling, as Waffles showered his face with wet licks. "Do you want the dino? Do you? Yes, you do! You can have it! Just give me a kiss! Give me a kiss, Waffles!"
Buck stood frozen, his mouth hanging open, a sudden, overwhelming wave of warmth and love crashing over him so hard it nearly took his breath away. Eddie looked happy. He looked relaxed. He looked completely, utterly soft.
Christopher, unable to contain himself, let out a loud, snorting laugh.
Eddie froze.
The baby-talk stopped instantly. Waffles, sensing the audience, hopped off Eddieโs chest and trotted over to Christopher, her tail wagging proudly.
Eddie lay perfectly still on the rug for three seconds, staring at the ceiling, realizing he had just been caught in the most compromising, uncool position of his adult life.
Slowly, painfully, his face flushing a bright, furious red, Eddie sat up. He cleared his throat, trying to smooth down his messy hair, and looked up at Buck and Christopher.
"Hey," Eddie said, his voice dropping back to his deep, masculine register. "Youโre back early."
"Dad," Christopher gasped, clutching his stomach as he laughed. "What were you doing?"
"I wasโฆ testing the structural integrity of the rug," Eddie lied terribly, rising to his feet and brushing dog hair off his t-shirt. "And checking the dog'sโฆ teeth. For safety."
"Right," Buck said, a slow, brilliant, teasing grin spreading across his face. He stepped into the living room, his heart lighter than it had been in a month. "And the 'sweetest little princess' part? Was that a clinical diagnosis, doctor?"
Eddie glared at Buck, but there was no heat in it. In fact, as he looked at Buck, really looked at him, the final remnants of the tension between them evaporated.
"Shut up, Buck," Eddie muttered, though a small, reluctant smile was tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I can't believe you," Christopher laughed, walking over to hug Waffles. "You said you hated her!"
"I never said I hated her," Eddie corrected, walking over to his son and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I said she was your responsibility. I was justโฆ supervising. In a highly interactive way."
"Sure, Dad," Christopher rolled his eyes, but his smile was huge. "I'm going to go put my backpack away. Come on, Waffles!"
Waffles trotted happily after Christopher down the hallway, leaving Buck and Eddie alone in the living room.
The silence that fell over them now wasn't cold or tense. It was warm, soft, and filled with a quiet, unspoken understanding.
Buck rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes dropping to the floor. "Eddieโฆ I'm really sorry. For everything. I shouldn't haveโ"
"Buck," Eddie interrupted gently.
Buck looked up.
Eddie stepped closer. He didn't look angry. He looked tired, but in a peaceful way. He reached out, his hand resting warm and heavy on Buckโs shoulder, his fingers squeezing slightly.
"Itโs okay," Eddie said quietly. "I'm sorry too. I was too stubborn. I was holding onto my pride because I feltโฆ I felt like I was losing control. Butโฆ look at them."
They both looked down the hall, where they could hear Christopher giggling in his room, followed by the soft, happy thumping of Wafflesโ tail against the wall.
"You gave him something amazing, Buck," Eddie whispered, his eyes returning to Buckโs face, soft and incredibly affectionate. "Andโฆ sheโs a really good dog. Even if she is a princess."
Buck let out a breath he felt like heโd been holding for a month. A huge, bright smile broke across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yeah. She is. And heyโฆ I promised I'd help. Iโm still going to help. I'll do the food runs, I'll take her to the vet, I'll walk her when you're on shiftโ"
"Buck," Eddie laughed, shaking his head. "We'll do it together. Like we always do."
Together.
The word hung in the warm air between them, perfect and solid. Buckโs heart swelled, his hand reaching up to rest over Eddieโs hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah," Buck whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Together."
From the hallway, Christopherโs voice echoed back to them. "Hey! Are you guys going to keep staring at each other, or are we going to order pizza? Waffles wants pepperoni!"
Eddie laughed, the sound bright and clear, filling the house with a music that had been missing for far too long. He looked at Buck, his eyes sparkling.
"Come on, Buckley," Eddie said, turning toward the kitchen. "Let's go feed the family."