Chapter Text
All things considered, Buck is handling adulthood really well.
They’re finally back to a non-apocalyptic world, and he’s got his footing under him, so to speak. The 118 has a pretty decent semblance of their old routine back, with some few minor adjustments. Buck finds he can leave most of his worry at the door. He can come home, decompress, and by the time his next shift rolls around he’s almost excited for what’s coming. The next crazy call of something stuck in a mask (though those calls are becoming less frequent), or a neighbor’s socially-distanced fist fight (he had that once, and he’s still trying to figure it out, but he knows he misses it).
The 118 seems to be the one steady thing Buck has going for him, but hasn’t it always been that way? Hasn’t this station always been his anchor point? These people that love him, that teach him and nurture him, haven’t they always been home for him? He figures as much. There’s nowhere else he feels as safe and grounded. Nowhere else he feels the most like himself, the most protected, the most wanted. And Evan Buckley has had a lifetime of being unwanted, so figuring out the opposite force to that has been nothing short of comforting.
That being said, he always figured he’d break that curse. The burden of being unwanted. He figured anyone he came into contact with would always know they were appreciated. He’d make sure nobody had to grow up the way he did, with the repercussions of that lifestyle following him unabashedly into adulthood. It’s why he loves Christopher Diaz as hard as he does. That boy is sunshine, and Buck’ll be damned if he sees that light fizzle out.
He can’t say he hasn’t wondered what it would be like if he had his own kids. Of course he has. A kid walking around with his eyes and penchant for knowledge. Hopefully his lack of attracting accidents. But maybe if he had one, he’d love them so fiercely they wouldn’t bleed for attention the way he used to. The way he still does sometimes, if he’s honest.
Especially now with Maddie and Jee Yun. Buck has living proof that not all Buckley kids are destined for disaster. He’s watched his sister bring life into this world, and he’s watched that life (albeit partly through Zoom) blossom into nothing short of incredible. He can’t help but think Maddie’s gonna make an awesome mom; she already was, way before her daughter.
So, yeah. Buck’s had time to think. Time to get his balance in an unsteady world. Time to find the place he belongs, the place he knows he matters, even if he doesn’t believe it in his darkest moments. He’s had time to wonder what his future might bring him if he stills long enough to let it find him. Had time not to shy away from the things that might be terrifying but so, so good for him.
All that being said, Buck’s not expecting to find her when he opens his door.
He’s running (almost) late for the shift he’d picked up. Someone from B ended up needing an emergent appendectomy, and since Buck’s got a knack for making friends everywhere, he’d exchanged numbers a while ago. He also agreed to pick up the shift, because after two days off he was feeling a little too wired, and there’s always something going on around St. Patty’s day.
He’d stayed up too late on Wikipedia the night before, though, nearly forgetting what he’d volunteered for. So this morning he’s short on time, but still not technically late. He’s grabbed his thermos and zipped his boots and is out the door with five minutes to spare before his last available second to leave when he nearly trips over the Graco seat, hot coffee dripping from the wearing seal on his travel cup.
“What the…” Buck mumbles to himself, catching himself before he kicks this thing down the hallway. When he’s upright on his feet, he opts to kneel down and inspect the sight before him.
It’s… a baby. A live one. Blinking at him with two eyes so big and blue there’s not really any wondering why she’s here. He assumes she- the baby’s got a pink hat- but when they’re this little he knows it’s hard to tell. There’s a manilla folder over the baby’s lap like a seatbelt. Buck blinks back at the kid for a minute before lifting the carrier and paperwork and bringing it inside.
He’s confused. He’s more than confused. Buck’s not sure he’s ever felt this completely off his axis. The last time he dealt with a baby it was on shift, running it out to the ambulance for O2. He’s never had to sit and hold one before, and he’s not sure he wants to do that right now, so he precariously sets the seat on his island counter. It rocks a little with the movement, and the baby coos, but otherwise remains quiet, steadily watching him.
Buck looks back. He thinks he wants to throw up. When he looks at the folder in his hands, then back at the kid, he’s certain he wants to, but can’t. And when he opens the folder, and he sees a birth certificate with his name on it, he’s glad he didn’t eat anything for breakfast.
He was right. Eleanor Buckley. Born late last year in November; where her mother’s name should be is a bolded black rectangle, one you’d see in court documents to block sensitive information. He’s certain CPS doesn’t do custody transfers like this, so he knows the baby was with its mother- her mother- until now. Until now - why is she- it - here? Why does this kid have his last name? Holy fuck, is he a father? This is a cruel fucking joke, even for the year he’s had so far.
Buck isn’t really sure what to do. He’s not sure where he’s going when he picks the car seat up, carrying it in one arm like he’s done something of the sort before, grabbing his coffee in his other hand with the folder, and leaving his apartment. He has half a mind to message B shift’s leading officer a you’ll never believe what came up, but I won’t be in to cover text, and he only realizes where he’s going once he’s there, and unbuckling his seatbelt from under this infant carrier and walking to the front door. He’s numb. His hands are shaking. He’s not sure when he last blinked.
“Buck?” Eddie asks when he opens the door. “What’s- is that a baby?”
Buck doesn’t know what to say other than, “Help.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Eddie says sometime later.
They’re sitting in his living room, both staring glossy-eyed at the infant carrier still on the coffee table. The baby- Eleanor- is staring back at them, like this is a game she’s perfected and the two of them are only just now getting the hang of.
Buck let Eddie look over the paperwork he was left with, wanting a second pair of eyes to help him determine if this is legit. If her medical records seemed to align with what a four month old would’ve had at this stage, see if Eddie can find anything Buck can’t.
“You didn’t hear anybody drop her off?” Eddie confirms.
“No,” Buck answers.
“There’s no cameras in your hallways for video evidence?”
“We can’t even have video doorbells,” Buck says. He uses finger quotes when he recalls what his landlord said at signing, “Invasion of neighbor privacy.”
“Okay, well,” Eddie says, glancing back through the paperwork again. “I can’t see anything that tells me who the mother is. If she is yours- and we can do bloodwork to determine that- then she belongs to someone you were with a little over a year ago. Any ideas who that would’ve been?”
“God, Eddie, no,” Buck huffs. He’s not really annoyed at his friend, and he hopes Eddie’s able to tell. He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and tries to think. “A year ago we were building Chris a skateboard. I wasn’t exactly lighting candles and playing Marvin Gaye.”
Eddie snickers. When Buck musters enough courage to look at him, Eddie’s smiling. “That’s how you do it? Marvin Gaye?”
Buck sighs, but he feels his smile creep up on him anyway. “You know what I mean.”
The room lapses into silence for a few moments. Buck takes the time to let out a long suffering groan and flop back on Eddie’s couch, wiping his hands down his face. He’s not sure what to say. What does a person say when handed a baby and the possibility of having to raise it?
Eddie, gracefully, gives him the moment. Buck can tell he’s still here- the room thrums with a different kind of energy when Eddie’s in it- but he’s mercifully quiet. Just breathing with Buck and the baby, likely running through a billion different questions himself. Buck knows he has his own immeasurable amounts of questions. The biggest, most glaring one is how the hell does he manage to fuck up so often and so grandly?
“Hey,” Eddie whispers after a bit. He knocks his knee into Buck’s, forcing him to crack an eye to look at him. “If you’re gonna take care of a baby, you’re gonna need some stuff. Starting with diapers.”
And, fuck. Buck hadn’t thought about how expensive this was going to be. He runs through a sluggish list now of things he needs, things like clothes and furniture and the car seat base he doesn’t have. Eventually, too, the kid’s gonna need to eat, and it’s not like he or Eddie are equipped with the right tools for that. What does a kid this small even eat? How does formula even work?
“You’re spiraling,” Eddie says. His hand comes down on Buck’s knee, tapping him a few times and shaking, like he knows the tactile ways to bring Buck back to Earth. “We don’t have the time for that. Let’s grab the essentials, and we’ll work from there, right?”
Buck stares at his partner in wide eyed fear. “Eddie, what the hell am I gonna do?”
If Eddie’s scared, he doesn’t show it. He just smiles, again, and makes Buck stand. He grabs the baby seat, easily slinging it into his arm, and waves Buck toward the door. “You,” Eddie says, grabbing keys and his wallet and leading Buck out to the truck. “You’re gonna Buck. It’s just what you do.”
Buck has thanked his lucky stars for Christopher Diaz more than once in his life, but he’s thankful for him now in a different way than he’s ever been before.
Christopher’s existence has been a comfort to Buck from the very beginning, but the knowledge that comes with that existence is what’s grounding him right now. The knowledge that has Eddie flitting around Target with a confidence Buck can’t grasp, steering the shopping cart towards things like burp cloths and swaddles and other shit Buck would’ve never thought of. He trails him like a puppy, watching how Eddie leans on the handlebars of the shopping cart and makes faces at the baby. He’s seen Eddie shop before- the 118 grocery runs are legendary - but it’s never felt quite like it does right now. Buck hasn’t had this gnawing expanse unfold in his belly when Eddie turns to him, holding two clothing sets on tiny hangers, and asks Left or right? This aching, hollow pit that opens up when Eddie knows which brand of bottles are better, and which formula she should start on, and tells Buck things absentmindedly like I’ll give you Chris’ pediatrician’s number and a Pack 'n Play will work for now, but we should think about a crib and we’ll try a couple different diaper brands until you find which one works better for you.
Buck should feel like he’s alone in this. He should’ve taken the baby to the closest hospital and used Safe Haven, really, but since he somehow wordlessly decided he’s trying this, he should feel like he’s in it on his own. But he doesn’t. Eddie’s here, pinching the baby’s toes in his fingers and smiling back when she squeaks, and Eddie’s turning around to check on him and he isn’t asking when Buck’s leaving but instead is asking what he wants for dinner, and can he look in the cart and think of anything else they need, and he’s so dizzyingly not alone that he isn’t sure what to think.
Buck’s waiting to wake up, that’s got to be it. Because there’s no way this is real. There’s no way he’s standing in the Target parking lot, watching Eddie kneel on his backseat bench and pull the strap taut on the carrier base. No way Eddie’s turning around, tongue between his teeth, and wiggling his fingers at Buck for him to hand the carrier over. Zero chance that Eddie’s smiling when the seat clicks in, and no shot he’s wiggling her socked feet again and smiling and turning back to Buck, asking for the bags so they can load up and go.
“What’s going through your head, Buck?” Eddie asks sometime on the ride home. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet.”
And Eddie’s uncharacteristically at ease . He knows Eddie’s not the kind of guy that panics, knows his hands are always steady on a call, knows without a shadow of a doubt that Eddie’s got his back no matter what they’re doing. But this isn’t a routine MVA or a risky drop down a rocky cliff face. This is a child, with Buck’s name and his eyes, and the possibility of a lifetime of change. This is the start of what could be an entirely different next 18 years than the ones Buck might’ve considered he’d have, and Eddie’s taking it in complete stride. He’s glancing back at the mirror he installed in the backseat to watch the baby, who’s sleeping. She hasn’t done much other than coo at Eddie and stare mindlessly since Buck found her this morning, but Eddie watches her like he’s enthralled with her existence. Like he’s excited about it, the possibilities she brings.
Buck can’t mirror the enthusiasm. He can’t even touch her. He doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to, like he’s supposed to. The kid’s four and a half months old; she obviously had a family before this. She has updated vaccinations and isn’t emaciated or otherwise visibly neglected. By all accounts, the baby- Eleanor, he keeps hearing his mind say, but what did Chimney say about naming puppies?- is happy and healthy and has no reason to have shown up on Buck’s doorstep unannounced. Yet here she is, sleeping in the backseat of Eddie’s truck, surrounded by bags full of the things Eddie knew she needed and Buck couldn’t pull names for. Maybe she’d be better if Buck left her with him. But then he’d have to flee town, obviously, which means quitting the LAFD and losing all access to Christopher and yeah, okay, Buck isn’t going anywhere.
“Hey,” Eddie says. His hand is on Buck’s knee again. The contact makes Buck startle, but he doesn’t push him away. He catches his eye when Eddie offers it, flickering between him and the road. “Talk to me.”
“What are we doing?” Buck asks, a little breathless, a lot terrified. “Me, especially, but I dragged you into this, so that makes it we, or us, whatever-”
“We’ll go to the courthouse tomorrow,” Eddie says, and the plan he’s made helps Buck catch his breath a little. “Ask for a paternity test. And when we get the results, that should help you make a more solid decision. Right?”
“I don’t know, Eddie,” Buck says, shaking his head. “I mean, have you looked at the kid? I may not have any baby pictures, but I’m sure they’d look just like that, ‘cept the baby’s in blue.”
Eddie smiles softly. He rolls the truck to a red light and uses the time to look Buck head on. “I see her. What are you saying?”
What is he saying? He knows what he thinks he means, what he thinks the right thing to do is. He tries to articulate it to Eddie through words and not the constipated look he must have on his face. “It’d be pretty shitty to pawn her off again, wouldn’t it?”
“You wouldn’t be wrong to, Buck,” Eddie tries.
“Wouldn’t I?” Buck counters. “I mean, sure, the test is helpful. We should do it. But let’s go off the assumption she is mine, somehow. I can’t throw her to the wind and run. She already had one parent do that. I don’t wanna… she should know someone wants her. No kid wants to grow up knowing they’re not wanted.”
It’s a loaded gun Eddie knows not to stand in front of. So he sidesteps. “Okay. So you crash course parenthood. Means you’re gonna need to take some time off. Have you told Bobby?”
Buck sighs. Eddie looks back at the road, rolls the truck easy down the street. “You’re the only one that knows. I… I didn’t know who else to go to.”
It’s a sheepish confession. But it’s honest. Buck can feel the tips of his ears flush hot, the apples of his cheeks. He risks a glance in the rearview to the baby sleeping in the backseat and realizes she has his pout, the same curve to her ears that he has, the same scrunch of her nose as she dreams. He feels something chip away at his heart when he thinks about someone watching him as a baby, knowing it was Maddie who loved him the most from the start, but wondering why.
Yeah. He’s fucked out of giving her up. But how the hell is he supposed to keep her?