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“-- and there’s a sign-up for concessions,” Buck says, flipping through the packet of paperwork he’d eagerly accepted from Christopher’s school’s Parent Teacher Association in the truck on the way home from Meet the Teacher Night. Christopher is in the backseat, playing on his switch - a present from Carla which Eddie had raised his eyebrows at. “And the meeting schedule --” he flips to that part of the packet -- “There are a couple of conflicts with work, but I think I can make most of them, and I already signed up to help with the Halloween carnival - they don’t do Halloween parties in middle school, they just do a carnival - you get to dress up, they encourage it, so I thought I would dress up as Obi-Wan Kenobi --” Eddie’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, and the tiny Buck that lives in his brain fistpumps, because definitely getting laid tonight - “because, you know, the kids in Chris’ class, they’re old enough for Star Wars and I think Obi-Wan would be a good costume.” He pauses, glancing over at Eddie. The Obi-Wan costume is definitely not because the first time Eddie fucked him, it was on the couch to the final scenes of Revenge of the Sith and now any time Buck hears “The Imperial March” he needs to make out with Eddie. Possibly more. Usually more. Definitely nothing to do with that and everything to do with the fact that Star Wars is cool and relevant again, and Buck wants to carry a lightsaber around. Eddie smiles over at him, and something in his smile catches and pulls - Buck still can’t believe it, how he got this lucky, how this happened. How he gets to be with Eddie , in every sense of the word, how he and Eddie held hands at the Meet the Teacher, following Chris through his class schedule, meeting his teachers, and Eddie had shaken the teacher’s hand each time and said hello, nice to meet you, we’re Christopher’s parents, I’m Eddie, this is Buck -- and while he’s technically Chris’ step-father (not even technically, not yet, because he and Eddie aren’t married -- yet, but he has plans to fix that), Eddie doesn’t get into it with the teachers, just says parents like he and Eddie are a unit, like it’s been the two of them since day one.
(Eddie gives the teachers more context later - fills them in about Shannon. Buck does not want to erase Shannon - he is not a replacement, and he doesn’t want to be.)
They’d talked to Chris before, to see how he wanted to go about it, and Chris had glanced between them. Buck’s my dad, too , he’d said, and Eddie had nodded. He is your dad , he had said, and Buck had nearly had to leave the room to keep from crying. I just want to make sure you’re okay with us introducing him like that. Chris had looked at both of them with that exasperated look on his face that said he was over the conversation and that Eddie and Buck were overthinking things again. I want you two to stop being so weird, Chris had complained. Nobody else has to talk their parents through how to introduce themselves to their teachers.
“I could grow my hair out.,” Buck tries, and Eddie raises an eyebrow, which could mean interesting in a horny way or interesting in a I’m not going to tell you what to do with your body but I’m not personally into that way, and Buck can’t tell which, so he turns back to his packet of paperwork. “I’m going to sign up. The first meeting is during our off stretch, so I can at least go and see what it’s like -- you know. See about signing up for the carnival, get our names on the list for working the concession stand at the games.”
“Hey,” Eddie says, “what’s this our names?” he asks, but he’s grinning. “Don’t go dragging me into working concessions, I don’t do hotdog sales.” He takes Buck’s hand across the console, lacing their fingers together.
“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Buck says, taking full advantage of Chris having his headphones on to flirt with Eddie, exchange innuendos, the paperwork forgotten in his lap for the moment. “In fact, I seem to recall—“
“I recall ,” Eddie interrupts, “that —“
“I can hear you,” Chris says from the backseat. “The headphones aren’t noise canceling, you know.”
**
The first PTA meeting is , admittedly, a bit of a shitshow. The classroom is full of women. That's not why it's a shitshow - just an observation. The captain of the shitshow appears to be the one at the front door who has a clipboard, and she stops him with the end of her pen to his chest and a raised eyebrow.
“Oh,” Buck says. “Uh - Buck. I’m Buck. Buck --” and then he pauses, because his last name is not technically Diaz (yet) but he doesn’t know if there are rules about only parents with the same last name as their kids, or if the women are going to be weird about the fact that he and Eddie aren’t married (yet) or if they're going to be weird about the fact that he and Eddie are together at all (which Buck doesn't care about (at all) but he knows kids are cruel, and he doesn't want people to be mean to Christopher about it). “I’m Christopher Diaz’s.. parent,” he says, and something blooms in his chest. Dad feels too big, but parents come in all shapes and sizes, and parent is easier to digest. The woman with the clipboard raises her other eyebrow.
“We don’t get many dads,” she says, and it’s like the entire room turns as a unit to face Buck. He offers them his best smile, the one he uses on little old ladies, the one Eddie calls his little shit grin and takes the paper the clipboard lady hands him with a nod of thanks. “I’m Kelly. Welcome aboard, Mr. Diaz.” Buck doesn’t correct her about his name.
**
“They were all looking at me,” Buck says that night, as Eddie’s doing his nighttime routine in the bathroom - washing his face, brushing his teeth. He’s just had a shower, his towel slung low around his hips as he brushes his teeth, the muscles of his back rippling and the little Buck in his brain is doing cartwheels.
“Of course they were,” Eddie says, meeting Buck’s eyes in the mirror with a little smirk. “I have the hottest wife in the PTA.”
Buck shivers, the cartwheels turning into backsprings, and he lets I have the hottest wife in the PTA curl through him like smoke. But then he’s back to the PTA and that disaster of a meeting. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s because I was hot - I think it was because I was the only male parent there.” He shies away from the dad word- the intimacy that carries, especially because he’s been thinking about this, had thought about it all the way home, all the way through dinner, while Chris and Eddie did Chris’ math homework (rip lightning math skills) and Buck cleaned the kitchen and started a load of laundry. Buck does not like to ruminate on things. He is a man of action. Unfortunately, there’s just simply not a lot of action to be taken.
Eddie clicks the bathroom light off as he comes into the bedroom, where he tugs his boxers on, hangs his towel up, and then crawls into bed next to Buck. Buck turns automatically to face him, and Eddie links their fingers together. “Okay,” he says. ‘So - you think it was because you were the only dad there. Go on.”
“Only male parent,” Buck corrects, and Eddie frowns, but Buck continues on. “They looked at me like I was an anomaly,” Buck says, because he doesn’t know how to explain it - the way Kelly and the other moms had kept looking at him like he was an outsider. Melanie, one of the other moms, had leaned over when Kelly had called a brief recess and said I think it’s really cool that you’re so involved in your kid’s life and Buck had frowned, because how could he be anything else, but he had nodded to Melanie. Yeah, Chris is amazing, I’m lucky to get to do this for him .
“Well, babe,” Eddie says slowly, reaching up to card a hand through Buck’s hair. “You are .” There’s something in Eddie’s eyes, something a little shadowed. “You don’t have to do the PTA, you know,” he says after a moment. ‘If that’s --”
“I want to,” Buck says, because he does. Because it’s important to him. Because even though Christopher had acted like he was too cool to care about Buck being involved, he’d said something about being excited to have a parent on the PTA, which had made the shadow in Eddie’s eyes a little darker and something had twisted, dark and ugly, in Buck’s chest, because he knows Eddie beats himself up about stuff - he knows. It’s easier with two parents , he’d said that night. You are a good dad, Eds, you’re a great dad. You’re the best dad. Just because you didn’t want to mess with a PTA meeting - because you had other shit, alright - doesn’t mean you’re a bad dad. It means I get to be this for Chris . “I do. I know I don’t have to -- I know Chris would understand. But I want to. I just--” He breaks off, shifting in the bed, sliding a leg between Eddie’s. “I just -- I don’t mind standing out when -- it’s -- not this. I dunno. I felt like I had a spotlight on me. Like everyone was watching and -- and I was — doing it wrong.” He leans into Eddie, resting their foreheads together. “I don’t like feeling like — like I’m on stage.”
“A performance,” Eddie offers with a little grin, and Buck remembers in the not-too-distant past, exchanging a glance with Hen when Eddie had said being on dates felt like performing. Nothing with Eddie ever feels like a performance - unless it’s the kind of performance that involves costumes and removing articles of clothing to music. Buck is all about that kind of performance.
“A performance,” Buck agrees, “but like I have the lines wrong.” He studies Eddie’s face in the dim half-light of the bedroom, watching the shadows play across his cheekbones. “Or — like I’m naked on stage. You know those stress dreams you get about being naked in an important place?”
Eddie hums his agreement, letting go of Buck’s hand to skate his fingers up Buck’s side. “You know,” he says carefully, and Buck can tell this is something Eddie isn’t sure he should say, but he’s doing it anyway, and Buck slides his fingers down to curl around Eddie’s hip, anchoring him. I’m here, I can take it , he’s saying. Eddie offers him a little grin of thanks. “What our family -“ the balloon in Buck’s chest fills painfully, presses against his ribcage- “does, doesn’t do, calls each other, functions … as long as Chris is loved and taken care of, as long as you and I — as long as we’re together , Buck, and on the same page?” He shakes his head. “That’s all that matters. To me. So, the other parents at the PTA? They can think whatever they want. I think it’s - I love that you - that this is important to you.”
Buck nods, and the balloon is in his throat. He can’t speak, just crowding into Eddie’s space, pressing his face into the warm skin of Eddie’s neck. This has taken getting used to; leaning in when instinct screams at him to pull away. Eddie brushes a hand up his back, cups the back of his neck, anchoring him to here, to now.
“Hey,” Eddie says, “hey. I love you,” he says, pulling back so he can look Buck in the face when he says it. “Alright? I love you.”
The balloon pops - too much pressure, too much good - and Buck presses his lips against Eddie’s, sliding his fingers into Eddie’s hair, lets Eddie crowd in and crowd out everything that isn’t the easy prayer of his breathing.
**
“So is Buck your given name?” It’s Melanie again, at the PTA meeting in October, and Kelly is busy mediating a fight between Stephanie and Olivia, so they’re waiting. Melanie is Fiona’s mom - Chris didn’t have much to say about Fiona, so Buck’s still trying to get a read on that.
“Uh —“ he still hasn’t told them that his name is technically Evan Buckley, not Buck Diaz, but the only person Buck wants to be is Buck Diaz and neither he nor Eddie have figured out the whole proposing bit yet, but once they do, Buck has every intention of becoming Buck Diaz in every single way he can. He just, hasn’t yet, and it feels like fraud. Like he’s pretending. “Buckley, actually,” he says, because that isn’t a lie. It isn’t exactly the truth, because given the context, Melanie is asking about his first name, but that’s privileged information, and very few people use Evan with him - he isn’t Evan, not anymore, he hasn’t been for a long time. He doesn’t want to ruin it - like hearing people call him Evan will take away from the times Eddie does it - as a joke, usually, or when he’s annoyed and wants Buck to pay attention - and, like Eddie had said when Buck asked him do people ever call you Diaz - people didn’t use Evan if they wanted him to respond. Except Eddie.
“Wow,” Melanie says. “Your mom named you Buckley in the 90’s?” she asks, and Buck recognizes it for the question it is - not about his name, but his age.
“She was,” Buck says carefully, “uh, a teacher. So, you know - hard to find a name that doesn’t have a negative connotation.” That isn’t a lie, either. She’d just landed on Evan , instead of Buckley . “Trendsetter,” he adds with a grin, and Melanie laughs, resting her hand on Buck’s arm, and Buck has tunnel vision for Eddie, but he isn’t stupid, and he freezes, because that’s definitely a flirty move, careful touches, and he clears his throat, moving carefully out of Melanie’s reach.
There’s a moment where Melanie looks like she’s about to say something, but then the conflict between Stephanie and Olivia has either been mediated or escalated, and Kelly calls their attention back to the front of the room.
When Kelly releases them, Melanie catches up to Buck as he’s getting ready to get in his Jeep. “Hey,” she says, her face bright. “Sorry - you were really ready to get out of there, huh? Babysitter charging you an arm and a leg? You know, they really should offer free childcare for us single parents,” and what ? There’s a record scratch, courtesy of the little Buck in his brain, and Buck combs through all of his interactions with Melanie - there haven’t been a lot - to figure out when he’d given her the idea that he was a single parent.
“Single parent?” he repeats with a frown. He tries to remember what Christopher had said about Fiona, Melanie’s daughter. Not much - something vague about the color of her hair, which to Buck, said that he and Fiona weren’t really friends, which means Chris probably doesn’t know a lot about Fiona’s parents - including whether they’re married or not. The little Buck in his brain is pulling fire alarms, screaming abort abort abort .
“Yeah, you know,” Melanie says. “Is Chris’ mom not in the picture at all? Or - I just assumed, you know, because you’re the one coming to the PTA, that his mom…”
“Christopher’s mom is dead,” Buck says, and his intuition is completely offline, still frantically digging through interactions for figure out when (and how) he’d let how much he loved Eddie fall to the back of his mind instead of alive in every single choice he makes, so he misses the context, that Melanie is asking about Chris’ mom because she thinks that Buck and Shannon had Chris together.
“Oh - oh, I’m so sorry,” Melanie says, and the sympathy in her voice is wrong - it’s for Buck , like Buck -- and then it all catches up with him, what Melanie’s saying, what she must think, and he shakes his head, taking a step back.
“No, I’m not - I’m not sad about it. I mean, I am, that’s not --” fuck, he’s fucking this up, but all he can think about is Eddie reminding him to get coffee when he’d left for the PTA meeting, and Buck promising to pick it and donuts for breakfast the next morning, and the love on Eddie’s face as he’d left, the way Eddie was so much softer these days, at least with Buck, so much happier, like the sun could shine in, cobwebs of guilt cleared after years and years, and now Buck’s fucking it up . “She wasn’t my wife,” he says finally. “She -- I’m Christopher’s step-dad,” he says finally. “I’m -- his dad’s my - my -” boyfriend is wrong, because Eddie is so, so much more than a boyfriend, but he’s told so many lies, and maybe that’s how he ended up here. “My partner,” he says. “I’m - I - I knew Chris’ mom, but not well. She died - she - I have to go.” He turns and gets into his Jeep, and then he’s gone, Melanie just kind of standing awkwardly in the parking lot.
The interaction plays over and over in his head - so much so that he forgets to pick up coffee and donuts on the way home - and by the time he gets to the front door of their house, he’s so guilty he wants to puke. What had he done? How had he managed to fuck up badly enough that one of the PTA moms thought he was single? Did they all think he was single? Is that why they’d watched him like that? Were they sizing him up? The last time he’d taken Christopher to the zoo, they’d gone to a talk about the hunting patterns of lions - how it was the lionesses who hunted, and how they isolated the weakest, the slowest, of whatever they were hunting, and chased it until it wore itself out. The Buck in his brain is bleeding out - the PTA lionesses circling him, moving in for the kill.
Eddie can read it on his face the second he steps in the house, and he stands from where he’d been paying their bills - the water bill was due, Buck remembers vaguely - and meets Buck halfway into the house. Christopher, Buck assumes, is in his room, and thank fuck for that. “What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, rubbing Buck’s arms, closing the door behind him. “What - you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong, babe? Is it Maddie? Cap? What happened?” And of course Eddie would think that someone’s hurt, but the only hurt is the kind Buck’s done and now has to confess, shaking his head, pausing in the doorway, like he can’t bear to come fully into the house, like this breaking has to be done as an exit wound.
“No, no, it’s - nothing like that,” he says finally. “Nothing - nobody’s -- everything’s fine,” he says, except everything is very much not fine - the little Buck that lives in his brain is in the fetal position in the corner, rocking back and forth. “Eddie --”
“ What ?” Eddie asks, and he’s so worried he’s nearly sick with it, Buck can see it on his face. “You get home, you don’t have the coffee, and you look like someone’s died -- what on earth , babe?” Eddie’s eyes are searching his face, his hands still on Buck’s arms, half holding him up.
“Melanie,” Buck manages. “I fucked up,” he says, and a shadow passes over Eddie’s face, like he’s thinking about pulling away, but Eddie - he loves Eddie, he loves Eddie - he leans into it instead of pulling away, because Eddie loves Buck and Buck loves Eddie.
“Who’s Melanie?” Eddie asks, voice calm and measured, like he’s collecting the facts at a call, refusing to make assumptions, leap to conclusions, and Buck wishes he would, to spare them this slow death by moments.
“She’s - Fiona’s mom, she’s at the - she’s part of the PTA.” Buck looks up at Eddie, can see the hurt start to blossom on his face, and Buck swallows heavily. “She -- was asking -- about my name, and she -- god, Eddie --” he covers his face with his hands, Eddie’s hands falling to his sides numbly. “She touched me,” he says finally, and he keeps his face covered, can’t look at Eddie.
There’s a long silence, stretching out between them, and Buck’s bracing for it - for the hurt he’s caused Eddie, for all of this pain to come spilling out between them, but Eddie is quiet, and then --
“-- and?” Eddie asks, and when Buck looks at him, Eddie just looks confused, and Buck shakes his head.
“No, Eddie, she - she -- she touched me,” he repeats, and Eddie tilts his head to the side.
“Did she-- touched you where ?” Eddie asks, and Buck shakes his head, because Eddie’s not getting it. All he sees on Eddie’s face is confusion and concern - but not hurt. Not anger.
“My arm, but - but Eddie, she thought I was single ,” Buck says, and he takes a step towards Eddie. “She thought -- she thought I was single ,” he repeats.
“Did you… correct that assumption?” Eddie asks carefully, like he’s still trying to figure out what, exactly, the issue is here, because that face - Buck knows Eddie’s angry face and his hurt face, and this is neither of them. He just looks confused, and a little concerned -- and, once Buck thinks about it, a little bit amused.
“ Yes , but -- but --” Buck sighs. “Yes, I told her - that I was - that I was with Chris’ dad, but --” he breaks off, because Eddie’s face is less confused and more amused, now, and he shakes his head fondly.
“Babe, are you -- upset because someone flirted with you at the PTA meeting?” he asks carefully. “Someone who - wrongly - assumed you were single?” And, said like that, yes - this was, perhaps a bit of an overreaction. The Buck who lives in his brain is sitting up, tugging his clothes straight, the lionesses backing off. Buck doesn’t do things in half-measures.
“I thought -- I had done something,” Buck says, because that’s what had happened. “I thought - she asked me about my name,” he says, dropping heavily into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, wiping at his eyes. “I’ve just --” he looks away, a little guiltily, “I’ve just been letting them assume Buck is my first name - they have me down as Buck Diaz.” He ignores the little wiggle of joy the little Buck in his brain gives at that. “So -- she assumed that, because I’m a male parent--”
“A dad, Buck,” Eddie says, very gently. “You’re Chris’ dad.” Buck pulls back from that, and Eddie shakes his head, crouching in front of him, cupping the back of his neck. “Hey. Hey. Look at me. You are . Chris said so himself. Chris said you’re his dad - that means you get to call yourself that. Alright? You aren’t - you aren’t overstepping, or -- or doing anything wrong. You are the only other person I trust to take care of our son. Alright? It’s - it’s you and me, and I love you, and Chris loves you, and that doesn’t change just because some bitch at the PTA makes a stupid assumption.”
Buck swallows heavily, meeting Eddie’s eyes, his face, which holds nothing - nothing but love for Buck. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Eddie, I --” He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to say lots of things - sorry, I love you, I am terrified of losing you, I can’t think when I think about hurting you, I love you, marry me - but Eddie shakes his head before he can speak.
“Come on,” he says, and Buck does, following him back into the bedroom, which Eddie locks behind them, because Christopher wasn’t fast, but he was faster than it took for them to detangle themselves and cover up, and after a close call involving the second half of Revenge of the Sith , memory association, and one-too-many lightsaber puns, they started locking the door.
Eddie has Buck up against the wall as soon as the door locks, something predatory in his eyes that is a little reminiscent of the lionesses he was thinking about earlier, but this time, instead of being isolated and worn down, Buck’s running towards the lionesses, and this makes him think, a little bit, of the Twilight saga, which he and Eddie binged one weekend (before - back when Buck was still thinking about Eddie’s ass in his uniform pants, but hadn’t acted on it), something about lions and lambs, but the metaphor shatters when Eddie shoves Buck to his knees ( shoves is a strong word; Buck goes willingly, Buck will go anywhere Eddie takes him, will thank him for it), tangles his fingers in Buck’s hair, and this - this - is release, this is penance, Eddie in his mouth, Eddie on his tongue, Eddie above him, saying mine, you’re mine above him like a prayer, and that’s all Buck’s ever wanted to be, is Eddie’s.
They’re on the bed and Buck’s got Eddie’s leg pinned back against his chest, and there’s this look on Eddie’s face, that Buck can’t place, but it hits him in a place he didn’t know he had. “I love you,” he says, and Eddie grabs the hand Buck is using to keep his leg in place, lacing their fingers together as Eddie’s leg flops to the side, Buck leaning in, their fingers locked together, and there’s a moment - just a moment - where Buck thinks he might explode (not in an orgasm way, in a I am so full of love and I cannot contain it way), and he makes a noise, which Eddie knows is his I’m about to come noise, and Eddie shifts, locking his leg around Buck’s waist, pulling him closer, and he brings his free hand - not the one that’s currently curled with Buck’s - to the back of Buck’s head, resting their foreheads together, and there’s the precipice, there’s the moment, the tipping point. “I love you,” Eddie says, and Buck groans or gasps or whimpers, and Eddie slides his hand around to the back of Buck’s neck. “I love you - you are it for me, Buck, you’re all I want, you’re the only thing I want.” His words are strained, but he meets Buck’s eyes, lacing his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re my wife,” he says, and Buck’s forehead falls to Eddie’s shoulder, feels it wash through him, “my - partner, my husband, the only person I’ve ever -- ever wanted, and I love you. I love you. I love you,” he says, moving his lips to Buck’s ear. “I love you,” he whispers, and Buck is gone.
They’re curled together in the aftermath, Eddie tracing designs on Buck’s shoulder, and Buck shifts, so he can look at Eddie, Eddie’s hand sliding off of Buck’s shoulder, offering him a smile, which Buck returns. Buck knows he shouldn’t - he knows it’s impulsive, but Buck doesn’t know how to be anything else - and he’s never been so sure about something. “Marry me,” he says, and Eddie smiles, soft and bright as the morning.
“Only if you marry me first,” he says, leaning in to rest his forehead against Buck’s.
**
“Tell me again why you signed both of us up for this?” Eddie says from the drivers’ seat of his truck, Christopher in the backseat with his headphones on. “Doesn’t the PTA have enough members to staff the concession stand?”
Buck is having a hard time concentrating, because Eddie is wearing his baseball cap backwards (they have to have a hair covering, and while Buck desperately wanted to get Eddie in a hairnet, he’d caved at the last minute and told him to wear a ball cap, because he wants Eddie to want to do this again with him, at some point) and that’s not something Buck realized he was into, but it very much is. He’s pretty sure he’s just into anything Eddie-adjacent at this point. “ Because , Eddie, it’s supporting a good cause. Also -- the only other person who didn’t have a partner to sign up with was Melanie.”
Eddie sighs, reaching across the console to squeeze Buck’s thigh, and he leaves his hand there, and Buck reaches down to link their fingers together, the ring on his left hand catching the light and Buck takes a minute to admire it, to bask in the moment - lean into it, let it wash through him, bring him home.
“Besides,” Buck says after a moment, “I really want to see you sell hot dogs. It’s important to me.”
“If I recall,” Eddie says, “there’s one particular hot dog--”
“The headphones still aren’t noise canceling!” Christopher says from the backseat, and Buck laughs, leans into it. Takes it in, lets it wash through him like peace. Like home.