he doesn’t answer with words at first, rarely does when a moment is good and still. instead, he watches. it’s in his nature, trained into bone and blood ⸻ how to scan a room before stepping fully into it, how to measure quiet as a kind of intel. his eyes find christopher, he's seated at the table like a commander before his troops, taking to sorting through snack bags with the same methodical care eddie once used to clean his rifle. there’s something in the tilt of chris' head, how fingers linger on the bag of cookies like they’re more important than they actually are, that seizes eddie's attention a few beats longer. he notes it all, catalogues it with the care of a man who’s never been able to stop anticipating disaster, even in the middle of something good. it's not urgent, just watchful, ready.
when he steps back into the kitchen, it’s like sliding into formation. he moves with an economy of motion that betrays years of structure pressed into muscle memory. no excess in the way he retrieves the skillet or flips the tortillas already softening on the heat. his hands shift with certainty, his side-steps measured. he doesn’t need to inquire where anything is. he orients swiftly, in the same way that he always has. “ already warming, buck, ” his murmur is low and calm, like he’s reporting in. 'standard operating procedure.' but when he glances up, the corner of his mouth pulls into a gentle smile. not a smirk, but something warmer and quieter.
the shrimp hits the oil with a sound that echoes louder than it should in the half-finished kitchen. eddie doesn’t flinch, the heat doesn’t rattle him. he stands close enough to feel buck's body shift beside him, the heat from the stove rivaled only by the vivid kind of comfort buck brings with him. his gaze lingers for a second on the way his boyfriend moves ⸻ comfortable here, sure-handed, as if he’d cooked in this space a hundred times before. like he belongs. he lets the thought settle against ribs where it both stings and soothes.
“ keep this up and he’s gonna start asking why you’re not here for good. ” hand brushes the other's on instinct, anchoring without drawing attention. “ to be honest, i've already been asking that myself. ” tease neatly packaged in humor and affection, he could never ask buck to move to texas for them anyhow.
voice raises just enough to carry through the house. “ christopher, can you grab the red salsa? the one with the black lid. ” there’s a shuffle of movement, the sound of effort, and then a soft “ got it! ” soon after. his son responds and eddie’s shoulders ease. he turns to his boyfriend again, steps in close, not for warmth but for grounding. his hand finds the familiar strong forearm, like a lifeline in a storm that hasn’t come yet. “ you’ve already done more than enough, buck. what else you got up your sleeve? ” gaze holds, sharp and soft in equal measure. “ but i'll make sure christopher's in bed early. ” his mouth quirks into something between mischief and promise, eyes still locked on buck like he’s memorizing him all over again. “ you just worry about finishing these tacos. ”
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