Chapter Text
It started, like most things in the Diaz-Buckley household, with a YouTube rabbit hole.
One minute, Christopher had been watching animal rescue videos on the couch while Buck and Eddie did the dinner dishes together, and the next minute, the algorithm served him up a Bondi Rescue compilation.
Bright blue water.
Aussie lifeguards.
Dramatic ocean rescues set to fast-paced music.
By the time Buck and Eddie had finished cleaning the kitchen, Christopher was halfway through his second video, eyes wide, legs bouncing excitedly.
Buck dropped down onto the couch next to him, ruffling his hair, while Eddie leaned against the doorway, arms crossed.
“Whatcha watching, buddy?” Buck asked, his voice light but curious.
“Lifeguards,” Chris said immediately, eyes still glued to the screen. “At Bondi Beach! They’re so cool, Dad.”
Buck smiled, his gaze flicking to Eddie, who let out a soft exhale.
“They are pretty cool,” Buck agreed, even as his stomach twisted slightly watching a clip of a teenager getting pulled out of the rip.
He remembered those waters, remembered the tug of the current and the burn in his lungs.
“Did you know they do, like, rescues every day?” Chris continued, his hands gesturing now. “There’s so many people and so many waves.”
Buck chuckled, sliding an arm around Chris’ shoulders. “Yeah, the ocean can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Chris looked up at him, hopeful.
“But you do, right, Buck? You know how to surf!”
Eddie’s gaze sharpened, and Buck’s heart skipped.
“Well, yeah,” Buck admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “A long time ago. Before I joined the 118, I used to surf a lot.”
“I wanna learn,” Chris said immediately, twisting so he could face both of them. “I wanna surf.”
Eddie pushed off the doorframe.
“Chris—”
“Please?” Chris interrupted, eyes wide. “Please, Dad? I can do it! I saw this kid on one of the videos—he had one arm, and he surfed just fine! I know I can do it.”
Eddie crouched down so he was eye-level with his son.
His tone was gentle but firm.
“Buddy, surfing is really physical. You have to keep your balance, and there’s strong currents, and big waves—”
“I can balance on my board at therapy,” Chris protested. “I’ve been practicing!”
Buck bit his lip, torn.
He could see the excitement in Chris’ face, the determination sparkling behind his glasses, and he knew—knew—what it felt like to want something so badly and be told no.
But he also knew Eddie’s fears weren’t unfounded.
Eddie sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Chris, it’s not the same as therapy. The ocean is unpredictable. And if something happens out there—”
“Nothing’s gonna happen!” Chris argued, his lower lip trembling. “You always say to try new things. To be brave.”
Eddie looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.
His jaw tightened.
“I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Chris’ eyes welled up.
“Please, Dad. Please.”
Eddie shook his head, his voice low.
“I’m sorry, Christopher. It’s not safe.”
And just like that, the conversation ended—for that moment, anyway.
Chris went quiet, slumping back against the couch.
His lip wobbled, but he swallowed his tears, biting the inside of his cheek the way Buck had seen him do since he was little.
Eddie stood, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Buck, you wanna help me fold laundry?”
Buck hesitated, his stomach twisting again.
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
They left Chris on the couch, but Buck’s eyes lingered.
The rest of the night was tense.
Chris barely picked at the popcorn Buck made.
Eddie tried to joke around with him, but the mood was off, and Buck knew it was his fault just as much as it was Eddie’s.
Later, when they were brushing their teeth in the master bathroom, Eddie caught Buck’s gaze in the mirror.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Buck blinked, foam on his lips.
“Think about what?”
“You know what.” Eddie spat into the sink. “Saying yes.”
Buck rinsed his mouth.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to. I know you, Buck.”
Buck sighed, leaning his hip against the counter.
“He’s not wrong, Eddie. There are adaptive surfers.”
Eddie shot him a sharp look.
“He’s not them, Buck.”
“I’m not saying throw him into the deep end. I’m just saying—”
“I said no.”
Buck bit the inside of his cheek, his stomach in knots.
He didn’t want to undermine Eddie.
They’d promised each other years ago—when Buck became Christopher’s stepdad, when they started this whole marriage-family-life thing—that they’d be a team.
No permanent good cop, bad cop.
No splitting sides.
But then again, Chris always knew how to get to Buck.
And Buck had always been terrible at saying no to him.
It took less than twenty-four hours for Chris to try again.
This time, it was just the two of them—Eddie had gone for an early run, and Buck was still padding around the kitchen in sweatpants when Chris cornered him by the coffee machine.
“Please, Buck?”
Buck swallowed, his heart aching.
“Chris…”
“I know I can do it,” Chris whispered, his eyes wide and pleading. “I know I can. And you’ll be there, right? You’d never let anything happen to me.”
Buck’s throat tightened.
“No,” he whispered. “Never.”
Chris beamed, sensing a crack in the armor.
“Then will you at least try? Just once?”
Buck hesitated.
He knew he should say no.
He knew he should back Eddie’s play.
But Chris was practically vibrating with hope, and Buck had always—always—been weak when it came to that kid’s smile.
“I’ll talk to your dad,” Buck finally said, his voice soft.
Chris lit up, launching forward to hug him tight.
Buck closed his eyes, guilt swirling in his stomach, but he hugged Chris back anyway.
Convincing Eddie was not easy.
They argued in the bedroom that night, hushed but heated, both of them careful not to wake Chris down the hall.
“This isn’t about you wanting to be the fun parent, Buck.”
Buck’s jaw clenched.
“That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it?” Eddie hissed, pacing by the bed. “You know why I said no.”
“I know you’re scared.”
“I’m not—” Eddie cut himself off, his hands flexing at his sides. “Okay, yeah. I am. I’m scared. Do you have any idea how hard we’ve worked to get him where he is?”
“I do,” Buck said quietly. “I’ve been there the whole time.”
Eddie’s shoulders sagged.
“I’m not trying to go behind your back, Eds. I just—I think we should give him a chance. We can take it slow. We can be careful. I would never do anything to put him in danger.”
Eddie looked away, his jaw tight. “I know that.”
They stood in tense silence for a moment.
Buck reached for Eddie’s hand. “Let’s try it. Together. We’ll go down to the beach, scope it out, stay in shallow water. If it doesn’t feel safe, we pull the plug.”
Eddie swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “And if he gets hurt—”
“He won’t.”
“But if he does,” Eddie whispered, eyes glinting with something that made Buck’s chest ache, “that’s on me, Buck. That’s my kid.”
“He’s our kid,” Buck whispered back.
And finally, finally, Eddie’s shoulders dropped.
He squeezed Buck’s hand.
“I don’t like this,” he murmured. “But fine. We’ll try.”
Buck leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “We’ll be careful. I promise.”
That weekend, they packed up the Jeep and drove to the beach.
Buck’s old board had been gathering dust in his garage then in their garage since before Chris was born, but he’d cleaned it off the night before, waxed it up like he used to, and strapped it to the roof of the car.
Chris bounced in the backseat the whole drive, sunglasses on, grinning ear to ear.
Eddie was quieter, jaw set, knuckles tight around the steering wheel.
Buck kept a hand on Eddie’s thigh, thumb brushing small circles, hoping it helped.
When they got to the beach, the sun was already high and the waves were breaking clean and slow—a perfect day for beginners.
Buck shot Eddie a look, and Eddie gave a reluctant nod.
Chris cheered when they unloaded the board, his excitement infectious.
Buck spent the first half hour alone in the water while Eddie and Chris sat on the beach. He caught a few easy waves, letting the saltwater settle over his skin, reminding his body what it felt like to glide again.
Eddie watched from the sand, sunglasses on, but his gaze never wavered.
And God, Buck thought, when he paddled back in—he wasn’t sure Eddie had ever looked at him with that particular mix of love, lust, and terror before.
When Buck helped Chris onto the board, adjusting his stance and explaining how they’d tackle the waves together, Chris beamed so wide it was impossible not to smile back.
They caught a few small waves, just gentle rides toward shore, Buck’s arms bracketing Chris the whole time.
Eddie sat on the sand, eyes locked on them, hands flexing restlessly.
Buck couldn’t hear him over the crash of the surf, but he could imagine the mantra running through Eddie’s head:
Please don’t fall. Please don’t fall. Please don’t fall.
For a while, everything was perfect.
And for a while, Buck let himself believe that it was all going to be fine.