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Enduring Will (9-1-1 Holiday Gift Exchange)

For the 911 Holiday Gift Exchange 2022, arranged by @paranoidbean, as a gift for @yelenasbuddie. They asked for buddie, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers, love confusion. I did my best, though it didn’t turn out to be very angst-y. Whoops.

Title: Enduring Will Length: 7.6k Read on AO3

Eddie doesn’t think about it in the well. Does not think, “What happens if I don’t make it out?” He simply can’t allow the thought into his brain. Once he gives up, it’s over.

No. That thought comes after.

He thinks of the moment he knew he had to fight. The memory of Shannon, leaving again, but not because she wanted to. Telling him to take care of Christopher. So, he had to live.

But what if he didn’t?

The question begins to haunt him.

Eddie isn’t entirely impractical. His whole life, his careers haven’t been safe. He made his first will before he went into the Army. The decisions had been simple then – he had a wife. Even when things were rocky, he trusted that Shannon would take care of Christopher.

Of course, Shannon got Christopher. Of course, Shannon got everything. Of course.

The clauses about what happens in the event they both pass at the same time leave their assets in a trust, managed by Eddie’s parents. But that was a remote scenario, then. It was much more likely he’d go first. He’d been prepared for that.

He hasn’t changed his will since Shannon died. That’s stupid of him. But not disastrous. After all, they’ve already included a clause about what happens if both of them die. Eddie’s parents get Christopher. That’s still the plan. It’s not as though Eddie really has any other options. His sisters? With their own families, already trying to make it work? Abuela? Pepa? At their age, with Christopher’s CP?

No, of course, Eddie’s parents make sense. They’re younger than Abuela, there’s two of them, they have the money. They want Christopher. It makes sense. Of course it does.

So, why does the thought of it make something in Eddie’s stomach twist?

Eddie really does not want to go to the hospital after the well. For one, he’s worried that they’ll decide he needs to be kept, and he’s not prepared to miss Chris’s class presentation.

For two, work injuries are hard on Christopher, and a hospital trip is going to make it worse.

He allows Hen and Chimney to check him out, and wrap him in mylar to raise his body temperature. He doesn’t even protest when Bobby tells him to take the rest of the shift off.

It’s when Buck is getting changed into his civvies alongside him that he gets a little exasperated.

“Buck, you’re not coming home with me. I’m fine.”

Buck flashes him his best puppy eyes. They’re admittedly lethal. Hen doesn’t compare him to a golden retriever for nothing.

“I’m not saying you’re not fine,” Buck said, his tone implying he definitely didn’t think Eddie was fine. “I just think it would make everyone feel a little better if you had someone with you tonight. For just in case.” He looks innocent. “Bobby already approved it.”

“And you’ll what? Sleep on the couch?” Eddie asked, dryly.

“I’ve had worse beds,” Buck said, stubbornly.

Eddie pointed a finger sternly. “Stay.”

But when he exits the locker room, Buck is trotting at his heels. Eddie raises an eyebrow at Bobby, who is watching them with an amused expression over the balcony railing. Bobby simply raises his coffee cup in a good-luck salute, and Eddie realizes that Bobby probably already had this argument with Buck, and lost.

Eddie sighs through his nose, and gives up. Bobby is the only one who has ever had a chance at steering Buck to do something he doesn’t want to do (besides Athena, but Athena doesn’t count, because she’s Athena and can do anything). If he’s already lost, Eddie doesn’t stand a chance.

Eddie just shakes his head, and gives Carla a call to let her know he’s coming home early.

When Eddie wakes in the morning, it’s to excited chatter in the kitchen, and he groans an buries his face in his pillow. Christopher must have woken up to discover Buck on the couch. No doubt they are now making a much more elaborate breakfast than Eddie could ever manage by himself. He’s pretty sure he smells French toast.

He takes a bleary look at his clock, and realizes he’s running late. Buck must have turned off his alarm, the sneak.

He rises from bed only reluctantly, dragging on a sweatshirt and shuffling to the kitchen.

Buck is indeed flipping French toast on a pan Eddie’s not even sure belongs in his kitchen. Christopher is beside him, leaning against Buck’s hip as he peers into the pan while Buck mans the spatula.

Eddie can’t resist ruffling Christopher’s curls, and bites his tongue to do the same to Buck, because his morning hair is a sight to behold, and the curls are just as ruffle-inducing as Christopher’s.

“Daddy, Buck slept over! You didn’t wake me up!” Christopher accused.

Desperate to hide his grin, Eddie makes for the coffee pot, where a pot is already brewing. “Growing boys don’t need to be up in the middle of the night,” he settles for.

Christopher scowls at him. “I bet you just wanted to do grown-up sleepover stuff without me.”

Buck and Eddie share a look across the stove, amused at the thought of having a grown-up sleepover together.

“What happens at a grown-up sleepover, buddy?” Buck asked, sliding two more finished pieces onto a plate that’s already quite full. Eddie would say it’s too much for three people, but one of those people is Buck, so it’s probably just about right.

Christopher thinks about this for a second. “Like, pillow forts.” He makes a face. “And kissing games.”

“Hm. Probably still a little young for kissing games,” Eddie said. “But a pillow fort is in the realm of possibility.”

“But you and Buck already had your sleepover!” Christopher protests. “And I missed it.”

He looks so hangdog, it’s a look that he must have picked up from Buck, and suddenly, Eddie is faced with it in stereo, as Buck is looking at him with an identical expression. The twin pairs of blue eyes are a combination that provide a staggering blow to Eddie’s steel resolve.

“Okay, buddy,” he relents. “How about a sleepover with all three of us, the next time we have a 48-hour off. Pillow fort included.”

Buck and Christopher cheer, and share a high-five.

“Yes!” Christopher says. “And you and Buck can still play kissing games if you want,” he assures Eddie. “Just after I fall asleep, because kissing’s gross.”

Eddie coughs into his coffee, and Buck blushes and almost drops the plate of French toast he’s ferrying to the table.

“We’ll keep that in mind, buddy,” he says, hiding his own blush behind his cup of coffee.

Christopher, satisfied, sits down with Buck and starts loading his plate as he chats with Buck about his upcoming show-and-tell. Buck listens with rapt attention, though his cheeks are a little pink. Eddie feels his heart squeeze with love for his little boy, and he mentally scolds himself about not updating his will. It’s Christopher. There shouldn’t be any question about doing something, even something hard, if it’s for Christopher.

He resolves to find a lawyer. Today.

Eddie hates lawyers.

He has perhaps never felt the same about the profession since that disastrous stretch of time when Buck was suing the department.

But he’s come to accept that lawyers are a necessary evil, especially when it comes down to things like making sure Christopher is taken care of. He’s dealt with more for less.

He looks up family law attorneys in L.A., and settles on Katya Ward for her estate planning specialization.

She has an early opening, and Eddie feels like he’s ready for it. He updated his will when he became a firefighter, so there’s not much to change, but at the same time, everything has to change, because of Shannon.

Still, he feels prepared, with his most up-to-date financial information, and the idea that he’s going to be putting Christopher in the hands of his parents, if anything happens to him.

Katya Ward opens her office door to let out her previous client right on time, and gives Eddie a professional smile. She’s younger than he expected, with blonde hair meticulously styled in waves around her face and wearing a blouse and black slacks instead of a power suit. She gives none of the sleezy vibes of a Chase Mackey type, and Eddie feels himself relax, only slightly.

“Mr. Diaz?” she greets him, and holds out a hand for a shake when he nods. “I understand you’re interested in updating your will?”

She invites him into her office with a gesture, and he prepares himself.

She settles behind her desk and opens a yellow legal pad. “Now, how extensive of a review are you interested in?”

Eddie swallows. “Pretty extensive. My primary beneficiary…my wife,” he bit his tongue to prevent him word-vomiting the messy nuances of the relationship at the end, “has passed away.”

Katya put down her pen. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Eddie fidgeted. “It’s been about a year.”

“And you haven’t updated the will since?” There was no judgment in her voice, but it was the carefully judgment-less tone of someone who was, in fact, judging.

“It’s been kind of a rough time.”

“Well, I’m glad to help you work through the update. Do you know who you want your new primary beneficiary to be?”

“My son. Christopher. He’s eight.”

“And did you and your wife have a provision for who was to take care of Christopher in the event of your both passing?”

Here, Eddie fell silent, his mouth dry.

“Mr. Diaz?”

Eddie swallowed. “We did.”

She waited, but when he didn’t say anything further, she prompted, “And would you like to have them hold your assets in trust for Christopher?”

The pause stretched on longer this time. It edged on close to too long, and then tipped over that edge.

Katya sat back in her chair. “Mr. Diaz, I’m happy to have a conversation with you about your choice of beneficiaries, or we can reschedule, if you need more time to consider.”

Eddie rasped out a laugh. “It’s been a year. I can’t keep putting it off.”

“I agree. But it is also a decision that shouldn’t be made lightly.”

Eddie nodded. “It’s my parents. My parents get Christopher, if both Shannon and I die.”

“And that’s what you still want?”

Eddie’s silence was louder this time. Katya nodded. “Why don’t we reschedule, then.”

Not sure why, since his options wouldn’t have changed in a day or a week or a month, Eddie could only nod, clutching his folder, and trying to calm his heart, which had started to race in his chest as he came face-to-face with the realization.

He didn’t want his parents to raise Christopher.

He just didn’t have any other good choices.

Carla Price is a saint, and this isn’t the first time that Eddie’s had that thought.

When she arrived for her shift on Friday, he was attempting to get Christopher to eat his cereal, which today, for no reason Eddie could discern, was suddenly a problem.

“What do you mean you don’t like Frosted Flakes?” Eddie asked, baffled. “You just had them yesterday, and you liked them fine then.”

“They’re not symmetrical,” Christopher said, seriously.

Eddie took a breath. Christopher was eight. Eddie was pretty sure he hadn’t known what symmetrical meant when he was eight, much less applied it as a standard to measure his breakfast by.

“I don’t have any symmetrical cereal for you, buddy.”

He reminded himself that people were allowed preferences, and those preferences were allowed to change. Christopher wasn’t being defiant or rude by suddenly not wanting Frosted Flakes, and just because Eddie had just purchased a new box didn’t justify getting frustrated with him over it.

“I could make you some eggs?” Eddie said, dubiously. He was pretty sure he could handle an egg. Well, maybe scrambled eggs. If Christopher wasn’t too picky about the burnt parts.

Christopher gave him a skeptical look.

“Toast?” Eddie offered in compromise, even though he was sure that Christopher needed more than bread in the morning.

It was at that moment the doorbell rang, and Eddie breathed a sigh of relief at the incoming reinforcements, abandoning the negotiations to let Carla in. She greeted him with her usual sunny smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“We’re dealing with a suddenly picky eater,” he muttered to her in a low voice as he gave her a hug.

“Hm, we’ll see if that stands up to Carla’s famous French toast,” she said, amused.

“Ooh, I don’t know about that. You’ll be going up against Buck’s famous French toast, and it set a pretty high bar.

Carla pursed her lips. “Hm. I’m probably not winning that fight. Luckily, my pancakes are also famous, and symmetrical.” She gave the top of his head a critical glance. “I’ll deal with breakfast. You go comb your hair.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

Eddie sprinted to the bathroom, trying to comb his hair and brush his teeth at the same time, eyeing his watch and cursing his late start.

In my day, we ate what was in front of us, and no whinging, Eddie thought, looking in the mirror in frustration.

Then, he paused, hair still sticking up on one side, and toothbrush clenched between his back molars. Because that was it, he thought. In Eddie’s parent’s household, there was no breakfast negotiation. You ate what was on your plate, or Papi would hear about it when he got home.

There was no negotiating, because his parents knew best, always. Any other opinion was always seen as argument or back talk, even with his mother, who was by far a softer touch than his father.

Eddie didn’t want Christopher living in a house where his voice wasn’t heard.

Eddie finished brushing his teeth with unusual vigor, finishing his morning routine in a rush. Identifying the problem wasn’t the issue, though. He’d known for certain since he’d been sitting in his lawyer’s office what he didn’t want. He just didn’t know what else to do about it.

Eddie was exhausted when he arrived home, tired from a long day and the thoughts whirling in his mind for much of it. It was late, and when he pulled up, Carla was knitting on the couch.

“Christopher asleep?” he asked, shucking his jacket and tossing his keys in the bowl by the door.

“Like a baby.”

“And how did dinner go?”

“There was a debate whether meatloaf was symmetrical, if it was served as a square.”

Ah, so it was going to be a thing. Eddie shook his head, and reminded himself to enjoy these moments, the charming childhood quirks that only lasted so long, and were funny in hindsight, if not for the next few weeks while he ran down his limited cooking repertoire with geometric foods.

“Would you like a glass of wine before you go home?”

Carla studied him, her perceptive gaze taking in his tired appearance. “Do you need to have a glass of wine?” she asked. “And maybe a talk?”

Eddie swallowed a lump in his throat. “You’re not my therapist. I don’t want to dump my problems on you.”

“Mm-hm. I’m not your therapist,” Carla agreed. “Just a friend. And you seem like you need one at the moment.”

A hot sting developed behind Eddie’s eyes, and he nodded, clutching Carla’s offered hand in comfort.

He poured Carla a glass, and fetched a beer for himself, and they sat down at the kitchen table.

“You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” Carla asked.

Eddie cleared his throat. “When Shannon died, I didn’t update my will,” he said, starting with the bare facts.

Carla nodded, as if this were a perfectly understandable response, and not utterly irresponsible for a single father.

“I was trying to get it squared away the other day. Because of what happened in that well. It was…close. Closer than I wanted to admit to Christopher even. And it made me think that I really needed to address it. Except when it came down to it, I couldn’t do it.”

“What’s the block?” Carla asked. “Are you having trouble letting go of Shannon?”

“No. It’s more…concrete than that.” He paused, picking at the label on his beer bottle. Carla waited him out. “Right now, if something happens to me, my parents get Christopher.”

“Okay,” Carla said. And waited. Eddie picked at the label on his beer, before he raised his head and took a breath.

“I love my parents,” he started, because he wanted that to be clear. “But I don’t always agree with the way they do things. The way they did things with me. The way they do things now, with Christopher, sometimes. It’s not that I don’t think they wouldn’t treat him with love. But I don’t know that they’d always treat him with respect.”

Carla was silent for a while. “I don’t know your parents, Eddie. But I’ve worked with a lot of families. Sometimes there’s a blindspot around kids with disabilities. It’s not impossible to overcome, if they’re willing to work at it.”

Ramon Diaz wasn’t afraid of hard work, Eddie knew. But he also wasn’t particularly interested in turning a lens inward. They had had enough arguments now that Eddie knew his parents had simply taken some of his points of view on the matter of Christopher, and on Shannon, and decided to agree to disagree.

But even then, they couldn’t help the occasional jab.

“There’s also Shannon. They didn’t like her. They never liked her, but after she left…it was sometimes nasty. Especially my dad. He would make comments. No matter how many times I set that boundary, there was always something to say. God, even right after her funeral. And he’ll say he’s sorry, but he never learns from it.”

Eddie shook his head. “I can’t have Christopher growing up in a household that’s not understanding towards his mother. They excuse me from doing what I did because I was ‘providing for the family.’”

And, of course, Ramon could never say a word against a man abandoning his children to provide. Could never acknowledge what a burden that could be to a partner, to the children left behind. That resistance to that internal lens would never allow that.

“But in the Diaz household, it’s the wife’s job to care for the children, to keep the house. They’ll never forgive Shannon for not being able to tough it out. And I don’t want Christopher to grow up with that mindset.”

“Okay. So, you know what you don’t want. What do you want?”

This was a list Eddie knew intrinsically.

“Someone who supports him. Who doesn’t automatically say no to every new thing he wants to try. Who’ll make him square breakfast foods when he decides Frosted Flakes aren’t symmetrical. Who’ll let him stay in his current school with his friends. Someone who understands him. Who will…who will fight for him.”

“Hm. And who is that?”

You, is Eddie’s first thought, but of course, he knows that’s not the right answer. Carla is everything he needs in a support system. She’s invaluable to him. But she’s not who Christopher needs all the time.

Christopher needs someone high energy. Someone who can meet him in his mindset, who can spend hours enjoying coloring or Lego, or support Christopher when he wants to do something physical.

He needs someone who can look at a situation, and know what Christopher needs and then get it for him. Like when Christopher needed a Carla.

Eddie opens his mouth. Closes it.

Carla seems to be waiting for him to reach a conclusion.

“Buck,” Eddie finally says. “You knew it was Buck, didn’t you?”

Carla sipped her wine. “It didn’t have to be Buck. But he does fit the bill rather nicely.”

“Is that a crazy thought?”

“I don’t see why.”

“Well –” Eddie struggles to come up with a reason. “He’s single. And his job has long hours.”

Carla waits him out on that one, eyebrows raised.

“Okay, yes, I’m single, and we have literally the same job, I get it.” Eddie gropes for another excuse. “He’s young.”

“Not that young. Only a few years younger than you. You were certainly younger when you had Christopher, and he’s in a significantly more stable place than you were when you had him.”

Eddie sorts through his other potential issues. Buck doesn’t have any experience with children, except for how he’s amazing with them, and particularly Christopher. He might want to start his own family, except for how he pretty much already considers Christopher and Eddie family already.

And any other excuse runs into the brick wall that is the fact that Buck adores Christopher. That Buck is supportive of Christopher’s activities – that, in fact, Buck had introduced Christopher to more than one of his activities, and found places that would work with an adaptive program. That he genuinely enjoys taking Christopher to the zoo and the botanical gardens, so much so that sometimes he’ll take Christopher there just the two of them when they have a rare shift that doesn’t overlap.

Eddie runs his hand over his face.

“Because it’s weird,” he finally said. “It’s weird that I would go to my male, single, best friend over my family.”

“But is it what’s best for Christopher?”

And Eddie knows that it is.

Carla patted his hand. “Follow your heart, baby.”

The more Eddie thought about it, the more it made sense to him.

He pictured that morning after the well, Buck making French toast for Christopher, fostering Christopher’s interest in cooking, rather than lecturing him about being near the stove without his crutches, which Eddie has seen his mother do on more than one occasion, even when Christopher had the counter for support.

It’s a nice picture.

It could be a forever picture, and the more he considers it, the more he realizes he’s okay with that. That it’s in fact what he wants, if he can’t be the one there.

He just knows that his parents aren’t ever going to be okay with that choice. He can hear his father’s voice ringing in his ears, even now.

“A stranger, Edmundo? Over your own family?”

And his mother, with tears in her eyes: “Were we so awful, Eddie? That you would take Christopher away from us?”

It’s giving him a headache just thinking about it.

Or maybe it’s the party music. Abuela is hosting a block party, and Eddie had been forcibly recruited into decorating and hauling duty all day, and now that the party is actually here, he’s exhausted. He rubs his eyes, trying to wake up a little. He’s not gotten much sleep over the past few days, as he’s chewed on the question of what to do with his will.

Suddenly, as though she can sniff out weakness (he’s not entirely sure that’s not the case) Pepa appears in the lawn chair next to him, eyeing him with concern.

“That’s not a very happy face for a party, Edmundo,” she says, voice colored half with concern, half scolding. “You should have said if you were not feeling up to it.”

Eddie doesn’t roll his eyes, but only because no one rolls their eyes at Pepa and gets away with it.

“I’ve just got something on my mind, is all.”

He may as well have dumped chum in front of sharks.

“Oh?” Pepa asked, her eyes sharp. She had a nose for gossip of all kinds, and she particularly thought that Eddie needed a little more meddling than he preferred.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Eddie tried.

“Edmundo,” she said, sternly. “We’re family. We worry. Now, you don’t have to tell me. But that is only going to make me worry more.”

Eddie smiled wryly.

“Anyone ever tell you that you are a force to be reckoned with?”

“Daily. Now, what is this problem that has you sighing like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

Eddie hesitated. Pepa had grown up with his father, and certainly knew his faults. She had taken Eddie’s side in arguments more than once.

“What would you say if I told you I wanted to change my will, so that someone besides Mom and Papi gets Christopher, if something happens to me?”

Pepa didn’t respond immediately. In fact, she seemed to actually be giving the question some thought.

“I would say that whoever it is had better have a will of iron, because Ramon won’t be happy about it,” she said, finally. “But that it’s probably for the best.”

“Really?” Eddie asked, surprised.

“Edmundo, they don’t like to admit it, but your parents aren’t getting any younger, no matter what Ramon tries to tell himself. And Christopher isn’t getting any smaller. He needs someone young and fit and with lots of energy. Your parents did their part in raising you and the girls. They’re Christopher’s grandparents. They can still be his grandparents.”

These were all arguments that Eddie had made himself over the past few days.

“I know. But they’re going to hate it.”

“And just who are you thinking of?”

And here was the real test.

“Do you remember Buck?”

Pepa quirked an eyebrow. “Well, I only met him the once, but I may have heard about him a time or two from a certain great-nephew of mine. Apparently they’re quite the fast friends. And I heard something about a sleepover he’s been promised.”

Eddie couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. He’s…he’s just great with Christopher, Pepa. You have no idea. Even before the tsunami, they were thick as thieves. But afterward…there’s a bond there, now. It’s different from my bond with Christopher, but it’s just as strong. There’s…trust.”

Pepa folded her hands in her lap.

“He’s certainly a strapping young thing. No problems helping Christopher when he needs it.”

“Right.”

“And we certainly know he’ll fight for Christopher.”

By now the whole family has heard about Buck and the tsunami through Christopher’s, admittedly very biased, lens.

“Exactly.”

“And apparently you two are going to play kissing games at this upcoming sleepover.”

Eddie sputtered. “We’re not…that’s not why…”

Pepa patted his hand, consolingly.

“I think you should stop worrying about what your father and mother are going to think. There’s someone else whose opinion matters more.” Pepa cast her glance to the yard, where Christopher was kicking a ball around with some younger children from the neighborhood.

“And for what it’s worth, I think he’s a fine choice. For the both of you.”

And then, before Eddie could rally, she was swanning off to Abuela, probably to share the several pieces of juicy new gossip she’d acquired.

Eddie dropped his head back into his hands and groaned.

Pepa had of course hit the nail on the head, the way she always does. Eddie has been focusing on the wrong person.

Eddie was off for the next 48 hours, and he intended to spend every one of them with Christopher.

These days, spending time with Christopher often meant spending time with Buck, and this weekend included the promised sleepover. But before Buck arrived, Eddie decided to take Christopher to the park for a heart-to-heart, praying he wasn’t about to make a mistake.

Christopher made a beeline for the expanse of sand, complete with buckets and sand molds. He was in a building phase. Lego, modeling clay, and Play-Doh were all current favorites. They doubled as good occupational therapy, so Eddie could only encourage it.

Eddie dutifully set aside Christopher’s crutches so he could get down to the business of building, going for the classic sand mountain, before he decided to wade right into the conversation.

“Hey buddy, do you think we could have a serious conversation?” Eddie asked.

Christopher didn’t seem phased. The phrase was something they three of them had worked out with Christopher’s therapist to signal a potentially heavy conversation. There had been a lot of them after the tsunami, and after Shannon.

Christopher kept piling sand in front of him. “Yeah, okay,” he said.

“Do you remember when Mommy died, we talked about how she had left you some things in her will? And I’m taking care of them for you until you’re an adult.”

“Yes,” Christopher said, patting the sand into a mound. “She left me some money. And Grammy’s jewelry.”

“Right. Well, I thought maybe we should have a conversation about what would happen, if I wasn’t able to take care of you.”

“If you die, too, you mean?” Christopher looked up from his ever-growing mound of sand. Eddie’s heart squeezed, but he didn’t want to lie to Christopher.

“If anything ever happened, like I was sick, or hurt, or, yes, if I died. I’m not planning on anything happening to me. You know that I try to be as careful as I can at work. I have my whole crew looking out for me. Everyone does their very best to make sure everyone else gets home.”

“Like Buck,” Christopher said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, Buck especially watches out for me. We’re partners. So, I try to be very safe.”

Christopher, satisfied with his mound of sand, began scooping out a tunnel through the center.

“But sometimes you’re very careful, and it doesn’t matter,” Christopher said. “Mommy always made me look both ways before she crossed the street. But she got hit by a car anyway.”

Eddie swallowed. “Yes.”

“And Buck is always careful, too. But he got all cut up in the tsunami. Because you can’t plan for a tsunami.”

Eddie closed his eyes, stomach churning as it always did when reminded of that day and the retroactive terror he’d felt when he’d spotted Buck – Buck, what is Buck doing here, where’s Christopher? – cut to ribbons with a familiar pair of small glasses hanging by a lanyard around his neck.

“No. Sometimes things happen that you can’t plan for. And no one wants them to happen, but they do anyway. Which is why we make plans, just in case. That way, even if something really bad happens, we know what’s going to happen next. And sometimes that makes things a little better.”

“Like the home safety plan!” Christopher enthused. He’d been very involved in the process of mapping out all the potential exits in the house, and which ones he would use in an emergency. He’d been highly selective of their emergency tool kits for both the house and Eddie’s truck.

“Exactly like that,” Eddie said.

“Okay. So, what’s the plan?” Christopher asked.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Because you have a lot of people that love you. So, you have lots of choices about who would take care of you if I couldn’t.” Eddie swallowed. “Like Abuelo and Grandma in El Paso.”

Christopher concentrated on his tunnel for a moment, widening the sides until he could pass his arm through.

“I love Abuelo and Grandma,” he said, finally. “Even when they’re fussy. But I don’t want to move back to Texas. I like my school.”

Eddie internally bit back a sigh of relief. “Well, like I said, we have lots of people who love you. Not even just family. And I was thinking –”

“Couldn’t I just stay with Buck?” Christopher asked, with the simple guilelessness of a child. Eddie’s breath left him in a whoosh, with a strength he hadn’t experienced since entering that fight club with Lena Bosko.

“You’d want to stay with Buck?” he said instead, trying to keep a level tone, so that Christopher didn’t pick up his own feelings on that matter.

“Buck’s my best friend,” Christopher said, as though it were obvious.

“I know. You’re Buck’s best friend, too.” Christopher grinned at that. “But when someone is taking care of you, they can’t just be your best friend. Sometimes they have to do things like tell you to clean your room.”

Christopher looked at him like he was crazy.

“You don’t have to tell me to clean my room. It’s on the chore chart.”

“Right.”

“I clean my room every other day.”

“It was just an example, buddy.”

“Oh.” Christopher thought about this for a moment. “Well, I think that if I couldn’t have you, I’d still want Buck, even if he did have to tell me to clean my room and stuff. He’d take good care of me. And he cut the crusts off my French toast, so it’s a square.”

As if those were the only qualifications needed to be a good parent.

But, Eddie supposed, as he started to dig a tunnel on the opposite side of Christopher’s sand mountain, weren’t they?

Buck arrives for their sleepover armed with a bag of stuff he insists are “sleepover surprises,” and Eddie should really stop bening astounded by this man.

Christopher, of course, immediately wants to investigate the bag, and Buck has to hold it above his head to keep nosy fingers from delving inside immediately. Except he then puts it down in the living room almost immediately, too excited to share to bother with being mysterious for longer than twelve seconds.

His treasures include a game of Trouble – obviously new – and a thick stack of Uno cards – obviously well used – a box of popcorn and a mix of popcorn seasonings, a copy of “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” and three pairs of red long-john style pajamas, one set conspicuously smaller than the other two.

“Oh, no,” Eddie protests, the moment he sees them.

“Oh, yes,” Buck replies.

“Daddy. We can match,” says Christopher, absolutely delighted. And Eddie stands no chance.

He delays the inevitable, by halting out the stash of blankets and pillows he and Christopher spent all afternoon scouring from every corner of the house.

“Who’s ready for a blanket fort?”

“Me!” Christopher shouts, and Eddie can see from the gleam in Buck’s eye that the pajamas might have fled Christopher’s mind for the moment, but there’s no chance Buck is going to forget. “How big can we make it?”

Eddie looks at Buck, who holds up his hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me,” he offers. “This is my first blanket fort.”

Sometimes Buck will say things that seem absolutely crazy to Eddie, but with a total lack of understanding that there’s anything odd about it. For instance, a surprising amount of popular culture references fly over his head. And there are certain childhood milestones Buck seemed to have missed out on.

“Never?” he asked, surprised. Eddie would classify his father as strict, but he and Sophia and Adriana still made their share of blanket forts.

“My mom was not really a fan of mess.”

Buck says it like it’s not a big deal, even seems to think it’s not a big deal, but Eddie marvels at a childhood that precludes blanket forts. And who knows what other activities, because they were “messy.”

Kids are messy. Inherently. Eddie’s heart squeezes at the thought of Buck’s big personality being squished down to avoid being a bother.

Eddie had been planning something simple, a blanket draped over a few pieces of furniture to create a tent, and a nest of blankets and pillows underneath. Suddenly, he’s overtaken with the urge to utterly destroy his living room while in the pursuit of the most epic blanket fort of all time.

He claps his hands. “Well, we better get to work, then.”

The fort requires the re-arrangement of a significant amount of furniture and an ungodly number of safety pins to make the blankets stretch far enough to create the Taj Mahal of blanket forts. The cushions get pulled from the couch to create a tunnel annex to a second room that encompasses the television, for a late-night movie, which Christopher insists is crucial to the sleepover experience.

Then, there’s no more delaying, because Christopher is adamant that one cannot properly snuggle in a blanket fort in jeans, insisting on switching to the matching pajamas.

Eddie, predictably, folds like a shaky house of cards, and puts his on.

He looks ridiculous.

But it makes Christopher and Buck so ridiculously happy.

He decides it’s easily worth the potential blackmail material Buck is sure to get from it this evening. The unfair thing about Buck is that he has no proper sense of shame, and so it makes it very difficult to embarrass him. He’ll probably post a selfie on his Instagram in the long-johns, himself. Probably with Eddie and Christopher included, and captioned “Twinning!”

Hen and Chimney are going to have a field day with this.

Buck mans the microwave to make the popcorn, because Christopher insists Eddie will burn it. It’s not Eddie’s fault – he pushes the button marked ‘Popcorn,’ why would it come out burnt?

This starts Buck off on a rant about the history of the popcorn button, and how some microwaves use a humidity sensor to assess when the popcorn is done, and others just use a standard time that’s basically a best guess. And is sometimes wrong.

Christopher looks at Eddie accusingly, vindicated. Eddie shakes his head, because it’s so typically Buck to know something like that.

Buck portions the popcorn into several small bowls so they can try all the popcorn seasoning flavors, and Eddie says a small prayer for his rug, because there’s no way they’re making it to morning without at least a little popcorn ending up ground into it.

But he finds he doesn’t really care.

They make their way through the popcorn and two rounds of Uno, and one of Trouble (during which Buck attempts to shamelessly cheat, but they still get trounced soundly by Christopher) before snuggling together in the annex to watch Finding Dory.

It’s not quite a midnight feature, but by the time the movie winds to an end, Dory reunited with her parents, and settled back home in the ocean, it’s an hour past Christopher’s usual bedtime, and his eyes are fighting to stay open.

Buck and Eddie share a knowing look, and Buck breaks out “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”

“No fair,” Christopher whines, rubbing his eyes. “You’re trying to make me sleepy so you can play kissing games.”

Eddie flushes. “Where is this obsession with kissing games coming from? Buck and I aren’t going to play kissing games.” Eddie’s going to have to pay closer attention to what media Chris is consuming if he has even a passing knowledge of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

Christopher looks skeptical, but gives in, burrowing in one of the many blankets that make up the living room floor and looking expectantly at Buck, who opens the book, and starts reading about the adventures of four British siblings and their adventures in another world. He doesn’t even reach the part where Lucy Pevensie discovers the lamppost at the entrance of Narnia, before he’s nodded off.

Buck closes the book, giving a loving pass through Christopher’s hair before carefully removing his glasses and setting them aside. He does it naturally, as if he’s done it a thousand times before.

“You’re so good with him,” Eddie finds himself saying.

Buck laughs, softly. “It’s easy when he’s such a good kid.”

Eddie’s not sure what comes over him in that moment, but he leans over, and places a chaste kiss on Buck’s lips, a split-second meeting over the top of Christopher’s sleeping head.

Buck blinks, and then touches his lips, briefly. “What was that about?”

I just wanted to, Eddie thinks. Instead, he says, “Christopher seemed to think it was an integral part of the sleepover process.”

Buck blinks at him again, before grinning. “He’s going to be mad that we ended up playing kissing games after all.”

Eddie knows that’s not a particularly normal reaction to getting kissed by your male best friend, but it feels normal for them. As though it were inevitable, a natural progression of their relationship.

Eddie laughs himself, laying down next to Christopher, Buck bracketing him on the other side. It’s late for Christopher, but a little early for them to go to sleep, but he doesn’t mind. The three of them together, here, feels like family.

When Eddie walks back into Katya Ward’s office, he’s prepared with arguments.

He and Buck haven’t kissed again since the night he slept over. They haven’t even mentioned it. But something has shifted between them. They stay a step closer to each other now, circling each other like they’re caught in the other’s orbital pull. It’s only a small closing of the gap, but considering how closely they invaded each other’s space before, Eddie can feel a significant difference.

Buck shows up for breakfast quite a lot now. He bought a set of geometric cookie cutters and has been making Christopher breakfasts shaped like squares and circles and triangles, before driving into work with Eddie.

They have never eaten so well.

Eddie knows he and Buck are on the cusp of something, and maybe that something won’t manifest for awhile. Maybe not ever.

But he thinks of those cookie cutters, and he knows. Whether their relationship shifts, or it doesn’t.

Buck is the choice. Of course he is.

There’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.

He should have known then.

“Mr. Diaz. Welcome back.”

“Ms. Ward,” he acknowledges. “I’m sorry about last time. I didn’t mean to waste your time. I can only say that I honestly thought that I knew what I wanted when I walked in. And please, call me Eddie.”

She smiled at him. “Katya, then. Have you made some decisions since our last meeting?”

He readies for battle. “Yes. I want to leave everything to Christopher in trust to Evan Buckley.”

He expects questions. Who is this Evan Buckley? A family member? Christopher’s uncle? Grandfather?

He nearly deflates when she simply nods and picks up her pen to make notes.

As it turns out, the question never comes. She accepts him at his word that Buck is the best choice for him to leave in charge of all his worldly goods, plus the most precious thing in his life.

Instead, she narrows in on the specifics. Does he want the house managed until Christopher turns 18, or does he want it sold and the profits added to Christopher’s trust. It’s a question that symies him. In the week he’s been imagining it, he’s been imagining Buck and Christopher in his house, not in Buck’s loft or some other, nebulous location.

But he doesn’t have the kinds of savings that would pay the mortgage for the next ten years, and leave Christopher with anything left over.

Buck could afford to take over the property, but it’s hardly fair to ask him to pay the mortgage for the next ten years on Christopher’s behalf.

Buck should get the house, he decides. If he wants it. He chose that place to raise Christopher, and that’s where he wants Christopher to be raised. It’s close to Carla and Pepa and Abuela, convenient for a commute to the 118, and to Christopher’s school.

She advises she can made that conditional on him accepting taking custody of Christopher, a provision that startles Eddie out of his thoughts.

“I mean, yes. Of course,” Eddie says, because he’s not naive. “But there’s no way he wouldn’t.”

“I’m sure,” Katya says, making her notes. “But even though he may have agreed to it now, I should make it clear that there is actually no obligation on his part to accept the provisions of your will. It’s merely a precaution.”

“He hasn’t.”

Katya looked up. “Pardon.”

“He hasn’t. Agreed. Technically.”

She assesses him. “Eddie, if you need some more time, we can arrange that.”

“No. It’s Buck. That’s who I want for Christopher. I trust him.”

“Clearly.” Her voice is bone dry. “But you may want to have a conversation with him about it first. As I said, he isn’t obligated to accept. And, as we discussed last week, this is a decision that’s best not made lightly. You should be sure.”

Eddie considered this. There was no universe in which Buck said no, he knew that. Faced with Christopher, in need of a home, of a parent, and knowing that Eddie wanted that to be Buck…there was no way he said no.

He was equally sure that if Eddie asked him, Buck would break out all the arguments Eddie had for why he was a bad choice.

It didn’t matter how Eddie countered him, Buck would insist Eddie find someone else. Not because he didn’t want Christopher. But because he didn’t trust himself to be the best choice.

No. Eddie wasn’t risking it. It had to be Buck. If that meant evading Buck’s baffling self-esteem issues by just…not asking him, then so be it.

“I’m sure. He’s it. Do you need his authorization, or something?”

He’d certainly talked to his parents before naming them in his previous will. Which, he grimaced, he probably needed to address at some point, too. His father was not going to be happy.

Katya hesitated. “No. It can be done without his authorization or even knowledge. But I will strongly advise you that if you want your wishes followed, that you make them known to the people involved.”

Eddie can see how it might go down. That his father might raise a fuss, that his parents might argue with Buck that Christopher needs to be with family, with them.

He’s equally sure that Buck, who would probably make the same arguments to Eddie now, won’t, if Eddie was gone and no longer there to argue with. He’ll fight for Christopher, and he’ll fight for Eddie, in a way he won’t fight for himself.”

Eddie thinks of the way Buck’s lips felt on his, for that brief moment, underneath Buck’s first blanket fort, his son sleeping between them, exhausted by a day with his favorite people.

That’s what he wants for Christopher, always. That complete picture. Both he and Buck.

But if it can’t be that, than at least Buck.

He looks Katya in the eye, determined.

“I’m ready to sign.”

And, he realized, as a feeling of peace settled in his chest at the words, he was.

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