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Buck startles awake to the thin, aching sound of crying.
For a moment, he blinks into the dark, confused—then he remembers: Chimney and Maddie’s trip. He and Eddie have Jee and Robbie for the weekend.
Baby Robbie's wails cut through the silence. The insistent sound fills their whole bedroom.
Eddie rouses beside him, groaning sleepily into his pillow.
“I’ve got it, baby,” Buck murmurs, sitting up and rubbing his hand over Eddie’s back. “You can go back to sleep.”
Eddie makes a low humming sound and burrows deeper under the covers. Buck smiles at the sight of him, at the mess of hair and the scrunch of his face against the pillow. He wants nothing more than to lean over and pepper kisses all over his skin. But there’s someone else who needs him right now.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and crosses the room. Poor Robbie is writhing in the travel crib at the foot of their bed, round face red and scrunched tight, little fists trembling in his baby-sized fury.
“Hey, bud. What’s the matter?” Buck whispers, scooping him up in a smooth, practiced motion. He does a quick sniff test—clean. Must be hungry, then.
He cradles Robbie against his chest, the baby’s cheek pressed to the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The cries don’t stop, but they soften, melting from miserable and frantic into muffled hiccups against Buck’s collarbone. His heart squeezes.
“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers, swaying gently. “I’ve got you.”
He pads toward the kitchen, socked feet silent on the floorboards. The house is still, save for the quiet whirr of the air conditioning. Buck flips on the vent hood light, illuminating the kitchen with a dim glow.
He opens the fridge, finds one of the bottles Maddie prepared for them, and slips it into the bottle warmer.
Robbie's fingers clutch at his shirt, tiny yet strong, tugging unhappily. Little distressed whines escape him into the silence. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, damp circles pressed into Buck’s shirt. Buck’s heart breaks a million times.
“I know, buddy. I know,” Buck murmurs, rubbing gentle circles up and down the baby’s back. “Just a few more minutes. We’ll get you fed, I promise.”
He sways there under the glow of the hood light. He can feel the baby’s heartbeat through his little pajamas, feel it sync almost unconsciously with his own. It seems to soothe Robbie enough that he stops kicking his feet in protest.
After a few minutes, the bottle warmer finally finishes with a soft beep. Buck tests a few drops of milk on his wrist—warm, not too hot. He settles into one of the kitchen chairs, adjusting Robbie in his arms until the baby’s weight fits snugly against his chest.
When Buck brings the bottle to his lips, Robbie latches right away.
The first few pulls are tentative—small, sleepy sucks that make the tiniest squeaking noise. Then Robbie relaxes, eyelids drooping, content. Buck feels the tension drain from his own body in kind. He leans back with a sigh.
“There you go,” Buck coos, rocking in a slow rhythm. “That’s it.”
Robbie makes a pleased little sound, and Buck feels his own mouth curve into a smile.
The kitchen is steeped in calm. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the soft, wet suckling sounds fill the air. The world feels like it’s shrunk to just this—quiet tranquility.
It’s such a simple thing, holding and soothing a baby, and yet it feels enormous. Robbie's whole body fits across Buck’s arm, and it hits him how impossibly small he is. How dependent.
Buck has always liked feeling needed—maybe more than he should. He knows that about himself. That pull toward people in pain, the way it fills something hollow inside him to be the one who helps. It’s what drives him on the job, in his relationships. He needs to be able to fix it when things are broken.
And holding Robbie—this tiny, warm, helpless life—it’s the purest version of that feeling.
Sometimes Buck feels like he loves too hard, that he could smother with it if he’s not careful. But with the baby, he can pour it all out, every drop, and it’s never too much. It’s exactly what’s needed.
There’s no question of being too much, no risk of overwhelming them. A baby doesn’t push him away. They just need him, utterly and without hesitation.
It tugs at something deep inside him. To be this essential to someone, to know his touch and his voice are comfort—it lights him up from the inside, like this is what he is made for.
He strokes a thumb along Robbie's cheek, brushing away a stray tear track. “Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s better, huh?”
Robbie's hand flexes against his shirt, tiny fingers curling into the fabric. Buck feels his throat tighten. He’s not going to cry.
He’s always loved kids, but this—this is different. His niece and nephew undo him in ways he can’t explain. They make him feel too big for his own body, overflowing with something he can’t contain.
It’s the same way that Chris makes him feel.
And he can’t help thinking about all the moments he’s missed—the ones that never belonged to him in the first place. He never had this with Chris. Never got to tenderly scoop him from a crib in the middle of the night when he cried out for comfort, or feel that fragile little weight tucked under his chin while the rest of the world slept.
By the time Buck met Eddie, Chris was seven—old enough to tell jokes, and lace up shoes, and brush his own teeth. Buck wouldn’t trade any of that for the world, but sometimes he longs for the beginning he never got to have.
He tells himself it’s fine. And it is. Or close enough anyway.
Their little Buckley-Diaz family is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he ever thought he could have. But even with all that love, there’s still this quiet pull in his chest, a yearning for even more.
He wants this.
To feel a life unfolding in his hands, to see the first smile, to be the one they reach for in the dark. It’s almost surprising that he hasn’t felt this sooner. Maybe it’s been sitting under his skin for years, waiting for a moment like this to make itself known.
He remembers, suddenly, the night he delivered Connor and Kameron’s baby. The wonder of holding that tiny, wailing miracle in his arms. The way something deep inside him recognized it instantly, claimed it, even knowing it wasn’t his to keep.
He’d handed the baby back because it was the right thing to do. Because it wasn’t his. But it still broke something open in him, and sometimes, like now, he can feel the echo of that break.
Oh.
Buck wants to have a baby.
The thought hits him so sharply it almost steals his breath. It’s not a vague ache anymore—it’s a need, raw and startlingly clear. He looks down at Robbie, tiny feet kicking lazily, and it’s like the universe has placed proof right in his arms.
Robbie squirms, giving a few more half-hearted kicks before sighing and settling again, the bottle still clutched between his small lips. Buck steadies him instinctively, brushing a finger up and down his little arm.
When he glances up, movement in the doorway catches his eye.
“Hey, Jee,” Buck says softly.
His niece stands there, peeking her head in from the dining room, blinking at him with wide eyes. Her purple pajamas are rumpled from sleep, one sleeve half pushed up her arm.
“Did we wake you up?”
She nods, solemn as ever in the dim kitchen light.
Earlier, he and Eddie had decided she’d sleep on the couch while baby Robbie stayed in their room. The idea had been to keep her and Chris from waking if the baby cried. It had been a decent plan—but not foolproof.
Buck gives her a gentle smile. “Everything’s alright, sweet pea. Robbie was just hungry. You can go back to bed now.”
Jee’s gaze drops immediately to her baby brother. Her small feet pad closer, the kitchen tile cool under her socks.
“I wanna help,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
Buck blinks. “Help feed him?”
She nods.
Buck glances at the oven clock. 1:13 AM. His body seems to hammer home that point with a yawn. Still, faced with those big, pleading eyes, he doesn’t stand a chance.
“It’s pretty late,” he tries halfheartedly. “You should go back to sleep.”
“Pleeeease.” She stretches the word out until she runs out of air, shoulders sagging in earnest.
Buck exhales a laugh through his nose. “Okay, okay,” he whispers. “You have to be quiet, though. We don’t want to wake up Uncle Eddie and Chris.”
Jee’s grin blooms wide and triumphant.
“Yay!” she whisper-shouts.
“Shh,” Buck chuckles, fighting a smile. “Alright, here’s the deal—you go turn on the lamp in the living room, and we’ll meet you out there. Okay?”
She nods, already scampering off toward the living room.
Buck stands slowly, careful not to jostle the baby against his chest. His eyes flutter open, bleary but calm.
“Wanna go hang out with your sister?” Buck murmurs, pressing a light kiss to Robbie's temple. “Come on, let’s go.”
The living room is lit now, the lamp casting a warm glow over the couch and the ocean of plushies Jee insisted that she couldn’t sleep without. The darker corners of the room are patterned with stars and moons cast from Jee’s moon-shaped nightlight that she brought from home.
She’s carved out a place for each of them to sit among the stuffed animals.
Buck sinks into one end of the couch, the arm holding Robbie braced on the armrest. The baby blinks up at him with unfocused eyes, still nursing lazily at the bottle.
Jee sits up on her knees at Buck’s side, facing both of them
“You wanna hold it at an angle, like this,” Buck demonstrates, tilting the bottle just so. “That way he doesn’t drink too fast.”.
“Daddy showed me one time,” Jee replies, her voice soft but certain. “He let me help feed him at dinner.”
“Oh, wow,” Buck says, impressed. “Didn’t realize I was in the presence of a professional.”
Jee giggles brightly.
“Got it?” he asks as he lets her take over. Her fingers close around the bottle carefully, steady in a way that surprises him.
He watches her work—how gentle she is. The thumb of her other hand strokes Robbie's little fist where it grips one of her fingers. Her voice is barely a whisper as she murmurs something unintelligible to her brother.
Warmth settles over Buck like a blanket.
He can see the Buckley in her—that desire to fix what is wrong, help someone in need.
“You’re really good with him,” Buck says genuinely. “You’re a good big sister.”
“I know,” Jee says without a hint of pride—just certainty. “Mama says I’m the best big sister ever.”
Buck smiles. “She would know. She’s kind of the expert on that.”
“Really?” Jee asks, wide-eyed.
“Really,” Buck says. “She used to take care of me when I was little—just like you do for Robbie.” He laughs softly to himself. “Actually, she still takes care of me. Little brothers never really stop needing their big sisters.”
Jee hums in quiet agreement, gaze refixed on the baby. And Buck watches her—this tiny person so full of patience and love—and feels something bloom and ache all at once in his chest.
“You’re good with him, too,” Jee says after a stretch of silence.
“Yeah?” Buck asks, caught a little off guard.
She nods earnestly. “That’s what Mama says to Daddy.”
Buck chuckles. “Oh, really?”
“Yep,” she says, voice sing-song. Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, “She also said she’s worried you’re gonna try to steal him ‘cause you want a baby too.”
Buck sputters, trying not to jostle the baby in his arms. “Your mom said that?”
“Yeah,” Jee says, matter-of-fact. “Don’t worry, she was joking.”
“Oh,” Buck says, amusement tugging at his lips. “That’s good, then.”
But something in him twists anyway—a flicker of embarrassment, sure, but mostly truth. Because Maddie’s teasing isn’t wrong.
He can almost hear her voice saying it, warm and knowing, like she’s peered straight through him the way only she can. She’s always been like that—seeing what Buck wants before he’s ready to admit it. Before he even realizes it himself.
Before he can dwell on it too long, Jee looks up at him again, all sincerity. “If you want a baby, I have some baby dolls you can borrow,” she offers, beaming with pride at her solution.
Buck feels his throat go tight. God, she’s sweet.
“Thank you, sweet pea,” he says softly, smiling through the lump in his chest. “That’s really nice of you. How about you keep them, though—and we can play with them together whenever I visit?”
“Deal,” Jee says.
The moment drifts quiet again. Jee leans her head against his arm, and Buck melts all over again.
Then Buck hears the faint shuffling of bare feet across the hardwood.
“What’s everybody doing up?”
Buck turns, peering over the back of the couch. Eddie stands at the edge of the hallway, barefoot and rumpled, hair tousled in a way that’s unfairly handsome for the middle of the night. The faint light from the table lamp paints him gold. He looks at them with a sleepy sort of fondness that makes Buck’s heart flutter against his ribcage.
“Hey, Eds,” Buck murmurs. "Are you spying on us?"
"Only a little," Eddie grins drowsily.
“Thought you were going back to sleep.”
“I heard some giggling,” he says. “Came to investigate.” His voice is low and gravely from sleep, and it makes Buck weak. He’s so deeply, stupidly in love with this man that it almost hurts.
“Jee’s helping me give Robbie a bottle,” Buck explains. “Right, Jee?”
Jee doesn’t look up, too focused on keeping the bottle steady. “Uh-huh.”
Buck smiles, shifting Robbie slightly and nodding toward the other end of the couch. “C’mere. Join us.”
Eddie steps closer, eyeing the couch. Jee's group of stuffed animals has completely taken over the last open cushion.
Eddie raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Is this seat taken?”
Jee glances up from where she’s still carefully holding the bottle. “Yes,” she says after a beat, then adds charitably, “But you can sit there if they can sit on your lap.”
“Deal,” Eddie agrees.
He lowers himself onto the couch beside them, rearranging the pile so the toys lie across his lap. One arm comes to rest along the back of the sofa, behind where Jee is sitting, fingertips brushing back and forth against Buck’s shoulder.
Their eyes meet over Jee’s head, and Buck feels that familiar rush he always gets when Eddie looks at him.
Buck’s chest aches with it, the beauty of this simple, fleeting moment.
He smiles. Eddie catches it, returns it, and Buck swears his heart might just give out from the sheer fullness of it all.
“I think he fell asleep,” Jee’s voice is hushed.
Buck glances down, and sure enough, Robbie's little lashes rest against his cheeks, mouth slack around the bottle’s nipple. His fingers remain curled loosely around Jee’s. There’s only a little bit of milk left in the bottle.
“He must be full now,” Buck says softly. “Ready for bedtime.”
Jee’s answering yawn is so contagious that both Buck and Eddie follow in unison.
Eddie chuckles, voice still rough with sleep. “I think we’re all ready for bedtime.”
He stands and leans down in front of Buck, arms open. “Here, I’ll burp him and take care of the bottle.”
Buck carefully transfers Robbie into Eddie’s hold, a little reluctant to let go. Eddie takes him and the near-empty bottle, moving quietly toward the kitchen. The low light catches on his profile as he softly coos at the baby, and Buck’s heart swells all over again.
He looks back at Jee, who is blinking slow, sleepy blinks, head heavy against his shoulder.
“C’mon, kiddo,” Buck murmurs, brushing her long bangs out of her eyes. “Let’s get you tucked in.”
She doesn’t resist as he maneuvers her under the blankets. Buck carefully rearranges the stuffed animals around her.
“There,” he whispers, smoothing the blanket up to her chin. “Comfy?”
Her eyes flutter half open. “Mhm,” she mumbles.
“Thank you for helping with your brother,” Buck says sincerely. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
She smiles, small and satisfied. “You’re welcome.”
Buck bends down and kisses her forehead, lingering a second longer than necessary. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Sleep tight.”
He reaches over to switch off the lamp, but leaves the nightlight glowing—a rotating projection that scatters stars across the ceiling. The walls of the living room shimmer faintly, transformed into a miniature galaxy.
Buck lingers for a moment in the doorway, watching Jee’s chest rise and fall in the subtle glow of the nightlight. The tiny hand curled around her stuffed bunny loosens as sleep takes her fully. The living room hums with warmth, and Buck lets himself breathe it in for just a moment.
When he glances toward the kitchen, the light is off. Eddie must’ve gone back to their room.
He pads down the hall, socks whispering against the floor, and pauses in the doorway of their bedroom.
Eddie stands at the crib, rocking gently side to side, Robbie nestled against his shoulder. The baby’s eyes are closed, his cheek pressed against Eddie’s collarbone, mouth slightly open. Eddie murmurs something under his breath that Buck doesn’t catch.
When Eddie lowers Robbie into the crib, he keeps one hand there, just long enough to make sure he’s settled. The motion is so tender it steals Buck’s breath.
Buck blinks hard, swallowing the lump in his throat. After the realization he had in the kitchen, it feels like Eddie might be trying to kill him.
He crosses the room and wraps his arms around Eddie from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. Eddie leans back into him without hesitation, their bodies slotting together perfectly like they always do.
“Bedtime?” Buck whispers against his ear.
Eddie yawns, body relaxing into Buck’s hold. “Bedtime,” he agrees, voice rumbling low and warm.
They crawl under the covers, the mattress dipping as they find their usual places—Eddie on his side, Buck curled close behind, arm around his waist, face tucked into the back of his neck.
He listens to Eddie’s breathing begin to even out, but his own mind won’t quiet.
Thoughts swirling in his mind of how seamlessly Eddie moves through fatherhood. Like it’s written into his bones, an instinct he’s never had to second-guess. Eddie had opened his heart and his home to Buck years ago, let him love Christopher like his own, and somehow made Buck part of their family.
He thinks of the baby in the crib across the room—the soft weight he’d held earlier, the warmth still lingering in his arms.
And he wants it.
Not just to hold someone else’s baby, not just to borrow the feeling for a night. He wants to have it—to build it, side by side with Eddie. To watch Eddie’s hands cradle their child, to see him teaching, soothing, laughing.
He wants to see Christopher look down at a baby sibling with the same wonder Jee had tonight. He wants to see that love multiplied, woven into the tapestry of their family. He wants the noise and the chaos and the quiet moments like this one, where it feels like the world has shrunk down to a heartbeat and a breath.
The feeling swells until it’s too big to contain. He can feel it pressing against his ribs, begging to be spoken.
Buck’s fingers twitch before he finally gives Eddie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Eds,” he whispers.
Eddie hums, half-asleep, but turns toward him anyway, eyes blinking open in the dark. “Mm?”
Buck hesitates. The words crowd his throat, too big, too full of all the thoughts he hasn’t figured out how to put into words yet.
“Eddie—”
“You want to have a baby,” Eddie says quietly, like it isn’t a question at all. Like it’s something he’s known all along.
Buck softens. “How… how did you know?”
Eddie sits up, dragging the blanket with him. “This sort of gave it away,” he says, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.
Buck sits up too, confusion knitting his brow, until Eddie turns the screen toward him.
It’s a photo—grainy and a bit crooked, taken in the living room from behind the couch. Buck recognizes the scene: him on the couch, Robbie in his arms, Jee perched beside him with that tiny, serious concentration. The lamp light softens everything, wraps them in warmth.
He looks at his own face in the photo—how he’s looking down at Jee and Robbie like his whole world has narrowed to them. How love shines so plainly in his eyes that it almost hurts to see it reflected back.
“Oh,” is all he manages.
Eddie chuckles softly, setting the phone facedown on the nightstand. “I do too, for the record.”
“Yeah?” His voice is a whisper of hope.
Eddie’s fingers rub slow circles over his skin. “We should talk to Chris about it. I don’t think he’d be against it. He used to talk about wanting a little brother or sister all the time.”
The lump rises in Buck’s throat again, stifling his breathing.
Something bursts open inside him—a dam giving way after holding too much for too long. He leans in and kisses Eddie, desperate and smiling, laughter trembling between their lips. The kiss is messy, joyful. Buck tries to pour every ounce of gratitude into it.
When he finally pulls back, their noses brush, breaths mingling. “You know I love you, right?” Buck whispers. His voice is thick, shaking. “So, so much.”
Eddie cups Buck’s jaw gently, eyes shining in the dim light. “I love you too,” he says, steady and certain. “I love our family. I can’t wait for it to grow.”
Buck chokes on a laugh that turns into a sob, tears welling before he can stop them. “Fuck,” he says, swiping at his eyes and laughing again. “I’m just—god, I’m so excited.”
He instinctively tries to turn his face away, hide his tears. Eddie catches his chin, guiding his face back, and kisses a tear as it slips down his cheek.
“Me too, baby.” His voice is rough with emotion. His eyes glimmer, and Buck can tell he’s fighting his own tears.
Buck buries his face in the curve of Eddie’s neck, the warmth of his skin. He can’t stop smiling—it tugs at his cheeks until they ache. His arms tighten around Eddie, holding him close, breathing him in.
Eddie’s fingers trace lazy patterns up and down Buck’s spine. For a long moment, there’s only the sound of their quiet breathing. Then Eddie’s voice breaks through, low and amused. “You know,” he murmurs, “watching you tonight… seeing you jump up the second the baby cried? It—” He pauses, a tiny laugh bubbling up. “It kinda got me going.”
Buck snorts, muffled against Eddie’s skin. He lifts his head, eyes flicking open to meet Eddie’s gaze. “Oh yeah?”
Eddie shifts closer until their noses brush. “Oh yeah. And then seeing you on the couch with them—two kids in your lap, you looking all soft and perfect—”
Buck’s laugh comes out bright and incredulous, warmth flooding his face. “You’ve got a weird kink for domesticity, Eds.”
Eddie chuckles, shoulders shaking. “Guess so.”
The laughter lingers between them, sweet and giddy.
“Well,” Buck says after a beat, his grin turning mischievous, “if we’re gonna have a baby, I guess we’ve gotta start trying to get you pregnant.”
Eddie scoffs. “No way. If one of us was gonna be pregnant, it would be you.”
“Hmm,” Buck hums skeptically. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“C’mon,” Eddie insists, eyes dancing. “You’d look so good pregnant.”
“Alright,” Buck says, laughing as he rolls his eyes and tugs Eddie closer. “We’re officially moving on now.”
They hear Robbie stir in the crib at the foot of their bed, a faint rustle of blankets and a sleepy little whine. Instantly, both of them fall silent, eyes darting toward the crib.
For a beat, the room holds still—then Robbie lets out a tiny grunt, resettles himself, and drifts back off to sleep.
Buck exhales quietly. Eddie’s shoulders drop with relief.
“Probably a sign we should go to sleep,” Eddie whispers, almost inaudible.
Buck nods, murmuring a hushed, “Yeah.”
They sink back beneath the covers. This time, Eddie wraps himself around Buck, arm snug around his waist, his chest pressed to Buck’s back.
Buck is on the edge of sleep when he hears the faintest whisper, a ghost of sound against his neck.
“I love you, Buck.”
He smiles, eyes still closed. He squeezes Eddie’s arm where it’s looped around him, scoots backward to get impossibly closer.
“Love you too, sweetheart.”