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He doesn’t blame Christopher for running away. A part of Buck knows, even if Chris isn’t aware of it himself, that the kid is more like his parents than anyone else seems to realise. He’s taken a page straight out of the Diaz family playbook: run away from everything that overwhelms you, and avoid it for as long as you can, everyone else’s feelings be damned. Buck knows that Eddie’s guilty of it as well, and it stands to reason that the former army vet (relevance: Eddie enlisted to escape) very well may be where Christopher adopted the bad habit from—and it is a habit, believe it or not, because this isn’t the first time Christopher has run away when things have gotten hard. It’s just the first time he hasn’t run to Buck.
(Which stings a little, if Buck dwells on it for too long).
And Shannon—Well, Buck never really got to know Shannon, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? She wasn’t around when Eddie and Christopher entered his life, because she had left. She ran. Granted, she had her reasons—just as Eddie had his before her, and Christopher has his now—but no matter the validity of any of them, Buck cannot fathom just up and leaving. He’s been on the receiving end of abandonment enough times to never want to inflict that type of hurt on anyone else.
But now it’s happened to him again, and just because Buck understands it better this time, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
Of course, there’s a part of him that is acutely aware of the fact that Chris didn’t really leave him, just like Shannon didn’t leave Chris; they both left Eddie. But, despite the fact that part of him—a horrible, terrible, selfish part of him—wants to, Buck can’t even bring himself to be mad at Eddie about it because he’s just—God, he’s just—He’s Eddie. And Buck can’t possibly be mad at Eddie, especially not when he’s so preoccupied with being so severely worried about him.
They had only had a short, ten hour shift together today, but Eddie had barely spoken to Buck at all throughout the duration of it. Gerrard’s incredibly sudden and unwelcome presence as the newly appointed Captain of the 118 may have had something to do with stifling their communication, since the senile old geezer had basically threatened to write the whole team up for recreational socialisation (“That’s not a thing,” Buck had argued, before being issued his first warning) any time they so much as opened their mouths. So, between that headcase and fairly frequent calls, Buck hadn’t had much of an opportunity to talk to Eddie.
Not that Buck thinks he would have been very conversational, anyway. He had been walking around all day like a shell of the man he used to be, going through the motions, barely engaging with the team. Eddie’s eyes had a distant, haunted look, and his movements were mechanical, as if he was operating on autopilot. Every attempt Buck made to reach out was met with a monosyllabic response or a weary nod. During one of the quieter moments, Buck had caught a glimpse of Eddie staring off into space, his brow furrowed with whatever thoughts were tormenting him. It was like Eddie was there physically but miles away mentally, and Buck’s heart ached for his best friend, knowing that whatever was eating at him—undoubtedly Christopher related, but the specifics of which Buck was not privy to—was deep and painful.
The end of the shift couldn’t come fast enough.
As they were finally getting ready to clock out, Buck decided he couldn’t let Eddie leave without at least trying to connect. He walked over to where Eddie was sitting in the locker room, lacing up his boots, and hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“Hey, Eddie,” Buck had started softly, careful not to draw Gerrard’s attention. “You okay, man? You’ve been pretty quiet today.”
He knew it was a dumb question as soon as he asked it. How could Eddie possibly be okay when his son had flown across the country to get away from him? Foot in mouth, thy name is Evan Buckley.
Eddie glanced up briefly, his eyes meeting Buck’s for a fleeting second before looking away. “Just tired,” he muttered, his voice flat and devoid of its usual warmth.
And that—Well, Buck hadn’t bought that for a second.
“I get that. I know you miss him,” he sympathised, trying not to make it about himself by adding I miss him too. “Hey, what do you say we go out and get a drink? Take your mind off it. Or, talk about it, if that helps.”
Eddie sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and something else Buck couldn’t quite place. “Thanks, Buck. I appreciate it. Just… not today, okay?”
Buck had nodded, though his concern only deepened. “Alright. But promise me you’ll reach out when you’re ready. Anytime, yeah? You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Eddie’s lips twitched in a semblance of a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah.”
As they headed out of the station together, Buck couldn’t shake the feeling that Eddie was teetering on the edge of something dark and dangerous. He resolved to keep a closer eye on his friend, determined to be there when Eddie finally decided to open up—because if there was one thing Buck knew for certain, it was that Eddie Diaz was worth fighting for, even if it meant fighting Eddie’s own demons alongside him.
Which brings Buck to his current predicament, set an hour later, as he lies on his uncomfortable couch and wonders if he let Eddie off the hook too easily by not insisting on keeping him company. He knows that Eddie and Chris need space to work through things alone, but Buck—maybe selfishly—misses them both too much to allow it for much longer. He’s very conscious of the fact that he has his own bad habit of trying to fix things that are not his place to fix, but every time he tries to deter himself from fixing this...
He can't shake the feeling that this particular situation feels like his to fix, not because he's responsible in any way, but because Eddie and Chris trust him, rely on him in ways they don’t with anyone else, and maybe, just maybe, he's the only one who can. The thought gnaws at him as he debates whether to reach out again, to offer his presence and support, or to respect their space and let them navigate this on their own terms.
Buck’s finger hovers over the top three pinned contacts in his messages; Eddie, Chris, and the groupchat he has with the both of them, aptly named two and a half men (because Chim made a joke about it in passing one time and Buck had thought it was kind of funny. He sees himself more as the Ashton Kutcher type than Charlie Sheen, to be perfectly clear). Fortunately, Buck’s indecision in choosing who to contact is made redundant when a picture of himself and Christopher in matching pink and green hats—taken at May’s graduation party—flashes across his phone. He recognises it as his saved profile picture for Chris, whose name is now headlining his screen in a FaceTime request.
He doesn’t hesitate in pressing accept.
“Hey Chris!” He greets enthusiastically, a goofy grin spread across his face. God, he misses this kid. “I was just about to call you and see how you were doing. Is everything okay?”
Buck’s not actually sure who he was going to call or text first, but the thought was there, and he would have gotten around to both of them eventually. So, technically, it’s not a lie.
“Fine,” Chris replies shortly.
Over the phone, Buck struggles to tell whether it’s just his typical teenage indifference or if there’s something specifically wrong—other than the fact that everything is wrong and Chris should be sitting in the apartment, next to him, rather than calling him from another state, 800 miles away—so he presses further.
“Are you having a good time in Texas with your grandparents?” His tone is hopeful, aiming for supportive, but his mind is full with seeds of doubt. “I heard you went to the lake yesterday.”
Chris just shrugs, looking solemn and distracted on Buck’s tiny phone screen. “Yeah. It’s alright, I guess.”
“Something on your mind?” He tries again, a little more straightforward this time. Chris’ gaze immediately drops to his own lap, and Buck can tell that he’s onto something; all he needs to do now is get Chris to open up. “You can tell me. Just lay it out. It’s just me and you.”
It’s a deliberate choice of words, and yeah, maybe he stole them from Spiderman, but if Chris notices—which he should, he loves those movies, and they watch them together all the time—he doesn’t say anything about it. It’s just me and you is a promise Buck isn't sure if he can keep, depending on what comes out of Christopher’s mouth next, but it’s his way of saying that it stays between them. No Eddie involved, if that’s what Chris wants.
Chris doesn't seem to know what he wants, though. He appears to be looking anywhere but into the camera; he won’t look at Buck, not even over the phone. He lets out a big sigh, and with a twitch of his nose, mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like, “I’m sorry.”
Whatever Buck had been expecting, it wasn’t that, and he’s aware the corresponding confusion is displayed plainly in his expression.
“For what, buddy?”
Chris tilts his head to the side tiredly and lets out a second, smaller sigh. “For not calling you.”
Even in context, it wouldn’t make much sense to anyone else, given that they’re currently on a FaceTime call that Chris initiated. But, in the broader context, Buck knows damn well that the kid doesn’t mean this call.
“Why didn’t you?” He asks, because the question has been burning in his throat for the past three days and it feels so good to finally get it out, to soothe the fire threatening to burn him alive from the inside out. “You know I would have been there for you.”
“I know,” Chris whispers, like he’s ashamed to admit it, or maybe he’s feeling a little guilty for making Buck doubt their bond. “But dad needs you more than me right now.”
And, oh, Buck wasn’t expecting that either.
Did Chris think that Buck only cared about him because he was friends with Eddie, and Eddie’s friends had to care about Eddie’s kid? Did he think that Buck valued his relationship with Eddie more than he did his relationship with Chris? And, perhaps most terrifyingly of all, did Chris assume that Buck was picking sides in this whole mess?
“Hey, I’m here for both of you,” Buck reassures, head tilted forward as if it will help him catch Christopher’s gaze through the phone. “You are two of the most important people in my life, and I will always come when either of you call. Doesn’t matter who, doesn’t matter when.”
Case in point: he had dropped everything and gone running when Eddie had called him to come and talk to Christopher, without even understanding the urgency or gravity of the situation at the time. And he would gladly do it again, if need be. He only wishes that Chris had called him first.
“I know, but I had to go far away,” Chris confesses gloomily, as if reading Buck’s mind and feeling the need to placate the concerns racing through them. “If I had come and stayed with you, I would have had to see dad all the time. Or I would have taken you away from him. I didn’t want to do that.”
Buck loathes to admit it, but that actually makes a good deal of sense. For a decision that he initially believed to be rash and fuelled by bitter emotions, Chris seems to have thought this out surprisingly logically. He’s definitely not wrong to believe that staying with Buck wouldn’t have given him the space from Eddie that he craved, because Buck and Eddie’s lives are so inextricably linked, that even without Christopher tethering them together, there’s no way they could have stayed away from each other outside of work.
Well, actually, they probably could have, but Buck wouldn’t have wanted to. He’s not choosing sides—he wouldn’t have abandoned Eddie in a time of need in favour of looking after Chris, even if Eddie approved it. That wouldn’t have been fair to anyone.
So, either Chris wouldn’t have been able to escape Eddie, or Buck would have had to forsake Eddie altogether. That wouldn’t have worked. It’s a perfectly rational, twofold reason for Chris to have chosen Texas.
But the last part of Christopher’s statement latches on to something in Buck’s brain and itches at it relentlessly. I would have taken you away from him. I didn’t want to do that. It seems like such a selfless stance to take on the matter, and Buck knows Christopher is a good kid—a good person—but he also has every right to be as selfish as he pleases under these circumstances. He’s smart enough to know that Eddie’s guilt would have pushed Buck away and on to Christopher, if that’s what Chris had said he wanted. So why had the freedom to be selfish led him to Texas and not to Buck’s loft?
I would have taken you away from him. I didn’t want to do that.
“Why not?” Buck blurts out, before he has the chance to think about it any further or let his mind and tongue stop him.
“Something’s wrong with him, Buck,” Christopher croaks out, and there’s a tremble in his voice that reminds Buck so painfully of Eddie. “I’m so mad at him. I’m really, really mad. And I wanted to hurt him by leaving, but—”
Oh. So the reasoning was threefold apparently.
“Chris—” Buck starts, in that sympathetic but disappointed tone that he had used only a few days ago, when his heart had dropped and he had muttered Oh, Eddie— but Christopher doesn’t let Buck get any further than a name this time either.
“But I’m worried about him too,” he interjects, “And you always take care of him. You’re the only one he’ll let help him.”
And holy fucking shit, this kid might just be the greatest human being that Evan Buckley has ever bee fortunate enough to meet. Even amongst all the pain, the anger, the trauma, he still finds it in his heart to be worried about the man that inflicted a great deal of it. At the ripe age of thirteen, he’s somehow managed to develop the emotional maturity to be able to remove himself from the situation, and recognise that not only is his dad hurting too, but that he needs help getting better.
And Chris believes Buck’s the one who can make a difference.
(If tears prickle at the base of Buck’s eyes, then that’s his business).
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, buddy. I’m going to help him, I promise.” He nods vigorously, swallowing the lump that’s made its way into his throat. “I think you could really help him too, if you gave him a call.
“I’m not ready for that yet,” Chris whispers brokenly. The phone is not tilted enough to know for certain, but Buck thinks that Chris is picking at a loose thread on his bed sheets as a distraction, the same way Buck used to do when he was a kid. “I’m still mad.”
Buck does his best to offer a sympathetic smile, but Chris doesn’t look at the screen to acknowledge it. “Do you think you’ll ever be ready?”
“I don’t know... I still love him. It’s dad,” Chris says, as if that explains everything and—Yeah, actually, it does. “I just don’t know if I can trust him again.”
“I get that. I think he gets that too,” Buck adds, undecided whether it’s a lie or not. He’s not sure where Eddie’s head is at the moment, but what he is certain of is that, “He’s going to work really hard to earn back your trust, because he’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”
“I know,” Chris says, voice soft and oh—so—innocent. One side of his mouth twitches up as if he’s trying to force a smile, but it doesn’t make it very far. “I just don’t know what he can do to make it better.”
Oh, what Buck would give to be able to jump through the screen and envelope this kid in a hug right now.
“It’s okay to feel that way. Trust takes time to rebuild,” Buck reminds him gently, knowing that he wouldn’t be doing Eddie or Chris any favours to try and rush the process before it’s ready to happen naturally. “And it’s okay to be mad and hurt. Just remember that you don’t have to go through this alone. We’re all here for you, buddy. Me and your dad included.”
“Okay,” is what he says. All he says.
Chris looks defeated, in a way that no thirteen year old ever should. But this is Christopher Diaz, a boy who has faced more trauma than anyone—child or otherwise—should ever have to endure, and has always unfailingly come out of it on the other side with his bright smile and resilient spirit. From the very first day they met—right after the earthquake, when Buck had driven Eddie to pick Chris up from school—he has brought so much light into Buck's life, especially during Buck's darkest moments when he has needed saving the most. It’s always been Chris, who has been there, full of light and love and energy and laughter, pulling Buck from the depths of his despair. And now it’s Buck’s turn to do it for him.
So, this won’t break him. It can’t.
But it’s still so jarring to see a boy typically so full of life suddenly feel so lifeless, as if he's been broken apart piece by piece and drained of all the vibrancy he once possessed. The thought of Chris being anything less than the bubbly and giggly carefree kid that he met the day of the earthquake is almost unbearable for Buck to witness.
Buck allows them to lapse into silence for a moment, never even considering hanging up, before a thought occurs to him.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” He poses hopefully. “You don’t have to answer.”
“Sure, I guess.”
“I know—I know your dad made a lot of mistakes in this whole mess,” Buck concedes honestly, fumbling over words that feel like a betrayal of his best friend, no matter how truthful they are. He thinks Chris will be more receptive to his opinion if he forgoes the route of blindly defending Eddie. He’s got Eddie’s back, of course, but that means he’s got Chris’ too, which is why he wants to know, “Which part are you mad about?”
“All of it,” Chris grumbles, and Buck worries he’s awoken an anger better left sleeping. “He made me think mum was alive again. That was the worst. But he also made you talk to me about not letting more than one girl think they’re special, and then he did it to Marisol, who is really nice. And he lied to us both about it the whole time. Why aren’t you mad at him?”
Valid question. Buck wishes he could explain it reasonably beyond the fact that he just can’t be, no matter how hard he tries.
“I know what he did wasn’t cool, Chris,” Buck admits. “I can’t really say I totally support all of his actions—especially not the ones that hurt you—but he’s hurting too, you know? And he’s my best friend. I just want to help him get better.”
Buck feels a little bit like a silly teenager every time he refers to Eddie as his best friend, but he thinks sometimes it needs to be stated.
“I hope he does,” Chris says, a little sheepishly, if Buck is detecting it correctly. “I want him to be happy.”
“I don’t think he can be one hundred percent happy without you,” he replies honestly, and then, a little pointedly, adds, “And I think you knew that when you left.”
Something akin to regret flashes across Chris’ face, and Buck knows that he’s hit the nail on the head. Chris may have had enough of a cooling off period by now to recognise that his motivations to hurt Eddie by leaving were ill judged and unfair, but that doesn’t detract from the validity of his other reasonings. He still might have ended up in Texas anyway, but the circumstances would have been different. Less of a sharp exit and more of a planned departure, one where the hurt wasn't as raw and the wounds not as deep.
“You make him happy, though,” Chris says after a beat, decidedly ignoring Buck’s accusation. “I don’t think mum ever did.”
If it is a distraction tactic, it’s working very well.
Buck frowns. “Why would you say that?”
“I don’t really remember much, but I remember them yelling a lot. And then mum left because she wasn’t happy, and she thought—she thought I would be happier without her.” Buck doesn’t bother to ask how Christopher knows the inner workings of Shannon’s mind. As much as he cares, some things are just none of his business; some things, like Christopher’s limited memory of his mother, are sacred and not for Buck to touch. “I think they were both always trying to be happy for me but not for themselves. But—But they never asked me what would make me happy. I would have been happy if they were.”
Buck has to pause. Just for a moment. Just for a damn second. And remember that Christopher is not a seven year old kid anymore. He’s a thirteen year old adolescent, with daring insights into the minds of his late mother and currently estranged father.
It hadn’t crossed Buck’s own mind that Chris’ thoughts were capable of being this profound.
How the hell was he supposed to respond to that?
“You know… when you’re a parent, your kid’s happiness and health is the most important thing in the world,” Buck decides on eventually, neglecting the memories of his own mum and dad—because, well, they never really did fit the role of parents anyway. Instead, he thinks of Maddie, and all that she sacrificed for him growing up; of Chris, and of everything Buck would do just to see him smile. He knows he’s not technically a dad to Christopher, but when he thinks of what it means to be a parent, he sure feels like one sometimes. “Everything else comes second.”
Chris looks pensive for a moment. Then his eyebrows crease in deep thought.
“But I think if mum hadn’t—Even if she were still alive, I don’t know if we would really be a family,” Chris declares, a little unsure. “That’s why I don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?”
“What dad was doing with the woman who looked like mum.”
Buck wonders, fleetingly, if he should help Chris put a name to the face; if calling her Kim, instead of ‘the woman who looked like mum’ would somehow help detach her from the idea of Shannon’s ghost.
He decides against it.
“I think it kind of made him feel like your mum was back too,” he offers instead.
“Bu—But she’s not. We wouldn’t have ever been a family again. Not with her,” he spits with disdain. “We already were a family, anyway. You, me and dad.”
If this isn’t the most bittersweet that Buck has ever felt, he doesn’t know what is. He smiles, and it’s ninety percent genuine, only ten percent painful.
“It’s not really the same thing, Chris.”
Chris scrunches up his nose in confusion, causing his glasses to perk up on his face. “Why not?”
“Well, for starters, your dad and I aren’t married,” Buck points out, allowing a dry laugh to escape him.
“Maddie and Chimney only just got married, but they were still a family before that,” Chris counters with irrefutable logic.
And—okay—touché. Maybe Buck is accidentally pushing some very harmful, traditional stereotypes in his endeavours to defend Eddie. He’ll have to try that again.
“Right, but Maddie and Chimney were in love,” he amends. “Your dad and I aren’t.”
Chris huffs somewhat exasperatedly. “If you say so.”
Despite Chris having his head turned so that Buck can only see his side profile, Buck swears he sees the teenager’s eyes roll.
Buck doesn’t think anything of it.
“We’re still a family,” he reassures Chris, not wanting him to doubt that the view is reciprocated. “Your dad was just… looking for a different kind.”
“I don’t need a new mum,” Chris huffs yet again, increasingly exasperated, like he’s sick and tired of Eddie’s repetitive bullshit. Buck can’t say he blames him. “I had one. She’s gone.”
The last part comes out a little biting, but Buck knows that none of the emotions that fuel it are directed at him, so he lets it slide.
“Well, maybe that’s something that you should talk to your dad about when you’re ready to speak to him again,” He suggests tentatively, because he’s not sure it’s a wise idea to open up that particular can of worms by himself, let alone over the phone. “I think it could really help him if you told him that.
Christopher looks perpetually fed up by this point, and—Was that another eye roll? Subtle. “I thought he already knew.”
“I don’t think he does,” Buck replies thoughtfully, tending to Christopher’s frustration with caution. “I think maybe he’s still trying to fill a hole in your lives, and this time he just… got a little carried away.”
“Buck, you filled that hole ages ago,” Chris asserts forcefully, and oh? Is that really what he thinks? “You’ve been taking care of us for years. I thought dad knew that after—” Chris’ eyes dart over to where Buck assumes his bedroom door is, then lowers his voice for good measure so that he’s not overheard, “—after he added you to his will.”
Buck shakes his head, certain he must have misheard.
“You—Hang on, you know about that?”
The super power maths skills that he had acquired after being struck by lightning had worn off a long time ago, but Buck tries to make the calculations in his head anyway. He hadn’t found out about his position in Eddie’s will until after Eddie was shot, but the changes had been made after the well collapse, which was, what? Four? Five years ago? Christopher couldn’t have been any older than nine at the time, if that.
And he knew?
“He asked me if it was what I wanted,” Chris explains.
Eddie had apparently neglected to mention that minor detail.
Buck frowns. “And you didn’t tell him you wanted to go back to Texas?”
“I said I didn’t want him to die in the first place,” Chris insists, like it’s a stupid discussion to be entertaining at all. “But if he did, I thought we would need each other.”
Buck feels his heart swell and shatter all at the same time. Christopher Diaz is too precious for this world, and must be protected at all costs. Buck is willing to undertake the role of human shield.
“Chris, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m supposed to worry about you.” Buck uses his finger to point to himself and Chris respectively.
“We can worry about each other and take care of each other,” Chris proposes as a counter argument, but he doesn’t say it in a way that suggests it’s up for debate. “Carla says that’s what families do.”
“You have family in El Paso too, though,” Buck points out the painful reality of the situation. “You’re with them right now.”
“I would never want to leave you, Buck,” Chris tells him, as if the notion is ridiculous. “I know I’m gone now, but I’m coming back home eventually.”
Tears well up in Buck’s eyes faster than he knows how to dispel them, and he has to bite his bottom lip to prevent a whimper escaping. His chest shakes with the sobs he’s trying so desperately to contain as he nods his head profusely to buy time to compose himself.
“That’s good to know,” he manages eventually, his voice breaking only slightly. “I really miss you.”
The wetness in Buck’s eyes does not seem to register over the blurry WiFi connection.
Chris just plasters on a smile—the first genuine smile that Buck has seen on his face since this whole mess started, fragments of the old Christopher beginning to reappear—and says, “I know you do.”
And if that doesn’t bring a smile to Buck’s face, what will?
“I’m pretty tempted to fly to Texas and drag you home, you know?” He teases playfully. “But I know, I know, you need your space.”
“And dad needs you.”
“Yeah, but he needs you too, buddy,” Buck points out gently.
Christopher grows quieter again, retreating back into his shell. “Not yet.”
“That’s okay. As long as you’re doing what’s right for you,” Buck assures him, and with a similar pointed gaze to last time, “And not just what you think is going to punish your dad.”
Christopher rolls his eyes, like he knew Buck was never going to let his earlier comment slide despite his best deflections. He doesn’t seem annoyed, though; maybe a little bit amused, if anything. “I got it, Buck.”
Buck trusts him enough to let it go. If there’s anything that he’s learnt from this conversation, it’s that Chris is old enough and emotionally mature enough to make his own decisions; even if the initial decision to leave may have been partially driven by a misguided desire to hit Eddie where it hurts the most. Buck thinks, if anything, the time and space is giving Chris exactly what he needs to reflect and heal.
Loathe as he is to admit it, maybe Texas wasn’t the worst idea.
And maybe, deep down, he always knew that.
Maybe that’s why Buck didn’t try harder to stop him from leaving in the first place.
“Alright, well, is it okay if I tell him you called?” He asks, because true to his word—or Aunt May’s, whatever—it’s just me and you. “I think it would make him happy to hear that.”
Christopher’s figure freezes on Buck’s phone screen, and he can’t tell whether the screen is buffering from a poor internet connection or whether the boy himself is buffering from ambivalence.
“Chris?” Buck prompts, waving a hand in front of the camera. “You still there?”
Chris begins to move again, but Buck’s question of the cause of interference is never properly answered.
“Can you tell him I said I love him? I didn’t say it back to him before I left, and I’m not ready to tell him myself, but I think he needs to know,” Chris blurts out, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of regret and urgency. “Will you tell him for me?”
And, oh look, there goes the waterfalls in Buck’s eyes again.
“Yeah.” It comes out almost breathless, so he nods in confirmation and repeats himself, “Yeah, I’ll make sure he knows.”
“Thanks,” Chris mumbles, then, like it’s not a big deal, and he hasn’t just made Buck cry, “I gotta go. I’m not allowed on my phone after eight. It has to go on the charging station in the kitchen.”
Buck can’t help but laugh at his obvious indignation of these newly implemented rules.
“Alright,” he chuckles. Then, his face turning a little more sincere, he makes sure to add, “Hey, it was really good to hear from you. Call again soon, yeah?”
“Okay.”
“Alright, goodnight.”
Buck’s finger is directly above the red button to end the call when he hears, “Wait, Buck?” and retracts it immediately.
He brings his face back into frame and looks to see Christopher’s small smile lighting up his screen. “Yeah, buddy?”
“I miss you too.”
“I know you do.” He winks with a grin. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”