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When Buck wakes up, it isn’t with a jolt from a nightmare or a surge of pain from an old injury that has become typical. In fact, there’s an unusually soft knock at his door that rustles him gently from his dreamless slumber. He waits a few moments to see if the noise will repeat and when it does, it’s followed by the telltale shuffle of small socks sliding over the carpeted floor.
A grin pulls at his lips then quickly turns into a yawn as his brain registers his newly awakened state. He stretches as much as possible, overly aware of the solid form next to him. He’s not sure what time Tommy had gotten home, but his phone flashes 5:30am from his side table. Even if Tommy had left shift on time, he probably would’ve just fallen asleep. He presses a gentle kiss to Tommy’s temple, resting his forehead on the same spot to whisper his love before finally getting out of bed.
He doesn’t bother tossing on any real clothing. Friday mornings are one of the only times the three of them can be together with almost no chance of distraction. He gives a special thank you to whoever decided on 4-day kindergarten. It’s not like he doesn’t like having the house to himself (or the house with his husband) but having an actual human being to take care of 24/7 for five entire years is enough for any parent to be thankful for the little things.
As if on cue, a sharp twang sounds from the kitchen. Buck guesses something metal, maybe a spoon clanging against the small step stool they gifted their daughter to start mornings on her own. He chuckles as he shuts the door softly behind him, one last glance at Tommy to ensure nothing has woken him up, but he’s out like a light.
By the time he makes it into the kitchen, the two socked feet he heard shuffle away are now tip-toed precariously close to the edge of her step stool. She’s reaching up toward the cabinet that contains the good cereal, kept just out of reach from their sugar-obsessed child, her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth in a way that is so similar to Buck, he can’t help but watch her for a moment more.
Then he sneaks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist to lift her exactly where she needs to go. She squeals, but Buck shushes her before there’s too much shouting, leaving only a waterfall of giggles to cascade from her mouth.
“Pop!” she exclaims, somehow keeping her voice quiet.
“Kid!” he says back, matching her volume.
“Pancakes?” she says simply.
She clutches the box of cereal to her chest, peering over her shoulder with wide, pleading eyes. Buck nods, rubbing his nose against her cheek before turning her around in his arms. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before booping their noses together, a small routine they’d mastered since she turned three.
“What are you doing up so early?” Buck asks.
“I woke up and thought about breakfast and then I couldn’t go back to sleep ‘cause I was hungry,” she explains.
“What about pancakes instead?” Buck offers. His daughter leaves the box of cereal behind in favor of wrapping herself tighter around her dad. Buck places her in her high chair before pushing it up against the kitchen island.
“I get to help?” There’s such brightness in the way she looks up at Buck that he can’t help but grin back down at her.
“Of course you do! You’re Chef Colette until your dad wakes up and makes us all lunch. How does that sound?”
Colette claps wildly, quieting when Buck holds a finger to his lips as a reminder. “He’ll wake up later!” Buck laughs and nods. “But we can have pancakes now?”
“Patience, Little Lettie,” he urges, patting her on her head.
She bounces up and down on her seat, but she’s almost silent about it so Buck doesn’t ask her to stop. He does, however, put on some soft music to fill the silence and give her some distraction for any downtime. He loves his kid more than anything in the world but she is almost too much like him. She can rarely focus under normal circumstances, let alone in the near-silence of a room she’s been told to be quiet in.
Once he finds Colette’s current favorite playlist–one called Dinosaur Songs for kids who love dinosaurs (Buck’s kid, remember?)–he starts to move around the kitchen. He easily finds all of the ingredients he needs for pancakes and places them in order in front of her.
Immediately, she reaches for the small bottle of vanilla and before Buck can ask her to leave it put, she pulls her hand back and rests it where the other is on the edge of the counter. Buck gives himself a metaphorical pat on the back for teaching her when it’s okay to grab. Cooking is one of those times she has to keep her hands to herself.
“Do you remember the first step?” Buck asks once he’s gotten the griddle set up and preheating. Colette nods and starts to reach toward the flour before glancing up at her pop for help. “Yes, the flour! Go ahead and grab it,” he allows.
“Can I scoop this morning, Pop?” There’s so much joy in her eyes for having just woken up that Buck doesn’t even think about saying no. He’s sure there’ll be at least half as much flour on the floor by the time she’s done, but he thinks it’s worth it.
“I can do this!” Colette reassures herself.
Then she pulls the tongue face again as she focuses on opening the flour container and reaching for the measuring scoop housed inside it. Buck can clearly see the effort she’s putting into the full scoop so he doesn’t stop her when she fails to flatten the top of the pile. He does have to hold back a snort when she misses the mixing bowl, but in the end, the amount missed is about how much extra she had scooped.
She does it two more times–until Buck tells her to stop–before placing the scoop back into the container and closing the lid.
“Nice job, Kid!”
He goes in for a high-five but when his hand meets her small one, a puff of flour fogs the air between them, a surge of powder leaving his daughter’s excited hand and hitting him right in the chest. Colette’s eyes widen, and for a split second, Buck sees fear. He’s about to reassure her that accidents happen when she bursts out into laughter.
“Was cleaning!” she squeals.
She points to the counter where it’s obvious she had attempted to pick up the small pile of flour she had created, fingertips leaving motes in and around the mess. Buck matches her laughter before nodding his head in understanding.
“Then this was just a happy accident for you, wasn’t it?” he teases. She nods anyway and grins up at him.
“Next ‘gredient?” she practically commands. Buck rolls his eyes good-naturedly before tapping a finger on the next three dry ingredients.
“Ingredients!” He corrects both her pronunciation and the plurality. “I need to melt the butter over there,” he points to the microwave only a few steps away, “so I’m leaving you in charge of pouring the next four ingredients.”
“Me?!” She claps her hands together so loudly, that Buck has to shush her gently.
“I’m going to measure them all out and then while I go melt the butter, you can pour them into the bowl, okay?” He begins to carefully measure out the sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt to place in four Colette-friendly small plastic dishes.
“I can do this!” she mutters to herself. Buck presses his lips together to keep from chuckling at her expense. They’ve tried to teach her as many positive affirmations as possible but this one seems to have caught on the most.
“You can! I’m gonna be right over there if you need me, though,” he reminds her.
She barely acknowledges him as he sets out on his own task. He cuts the butter into small pieces, watching Colette out of the corner of his eye as she carefully lifts the first two bowls off of the counter to pour. When she glances over, he quickly puts the butter into the microwave and presses the time, still watching her in the reflection of the microwave door.
Colette nods to herself like she’s satisfied with her independence and grabs the next bowl. Buck knows this one contains the sugar, and it’s clear his daughter does as well because she dips her finger in her mouth before pushing it into the sugar, pulling it out coated in the sweet ingredient. She glances at Buck again, grinning when she thinks he can’t see her, and sucks her finger into her mouth happily.
Buck revels at her resistance to another taste–she must get that from Tommy because he would’ve been going after it if he realized his parents weren’t watching. She also takes her job much more seriously than Buck ever would have. When the microwave beeps and Buck turns to walk back with the melted butter, she’s already dumping the last ingredient into the bowl.
“Can I pour the milk?” his ever-enthusiastic daughter asks before he can even set the hot bowl down.
“You’ve gotta mix it up first, kid.” Buck laughs. “Do you need help?”
Colette shakes her head and grabs for the whisk before Buck can even think to hand it to her. When she places it into the bowl, there’s a split second where Buck thinks the entire thing is going to fall over so he grabs it with both hands, almost knocking the vanilla over in the process. Colette smiles shyly up at him like she’s containing another laugh.
“Alright, alright. Mix while I measure out the rest of the wet ingredients,” Buck instructs.
“But I can pour?” she asks again, all too aware that Buck neglected to answer her first question.
“Do you remember what happened last time?” It’s a trick question. Colette knows exactly what happened last time, and the mischievous look on her face all but confirms it. “That’s what I thought. I still have to air out the kitchen when it gets too hot and sours.” He glares at her, an exaggerated squint of his eyes that’s accompanied by a scrunch of his lips and nose.
“I won’t do it again,” Colette promises. She nods so assuredly that Buck has no choice but to believe her until she–potentially, but most likely–proves him wrong.
“Stir,” he says with a small laugh.
She dives right back in, bopping her head along to the music chiming quietly from Buck’s phone. Every few stirs, she whips a puff of mix out onto the counter but she’s so focused on the music, she doesn’t even notice.
Buck couldn’t love her more if he tried.
Once he’s measured all the wet ingredients, he waits for Colette to turn her attention back to him. Once she sees her pop waiting for her, she sits up as stiff as possible, deserting the whisk behind in the bowl as she reaches for the milk. Buck clicks his tongue and blocks her hand before she can do too much damage.
“Excuse me,” he chastises, “is that how we work together on this?” Colette shakes her head, but Buck doesn’t miss the almost-roll of her eyes. She gets that from her dad. Before he allows her to grab the milk, he lets out a fake gasp that takes his daughter by surprise. “You didn’t even make the crater!”
“Crater?” Colette asks. Buck doesn’t think they got to that last time–the milk incident and all–so he leans close like it’s a secret.
“See how you mixed up all these ingredients?” She nods. “Well, now we have to make a little crater to make sure these other ingredients have a place to go.”
“We don’t have a comet,” Colette says worriedly. Buck snorts.
“Now, who taught you about comets?”
“Chris, duh!”
Buck chuckles because it’s mostly a rhetorical question. Chris had decided on his first day of high school that he plans to pursue a career in astronomy and he tells anyone who will listen about space. In this case–and most cases–Colette is always willing.
“You’re growing up to be so smart, Lettie.” She nods proudly, and surely, like she didn’t need her pop to tell her so. She already knows. “Okay, so since we don’t have a comet, why don’t we use…” Buck glances around the counter and when his eyes find the fruit bowl, he reaches for two of the oranges and holds them out in front of him. “Which one?”
Colette thinks really hard about it–Buck can practically see the wheels turning in her little head–before pointing to the slightly smaller orange.
“That one. Can I do it?” She’s already asking the question before Buck can even process her choice. He tosses the orange not chosen back into the fruit basket and holds out the other for her. She reaches so enthusiastically, he hears the legs of her chair struggle against the floor.
“Alright, kid, butt in chair,” he directs. “Now, you can do the crater, but Pop has to stir because you gotta have strong arms.” He flexes and enjoys the way she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s ready to argue.
Because, of course, that’s exactly what she does. “I’m strong!” She flexes her own arms as best as her small, uncoordinated body will let her, and Buck has to hold in his laughter. “Paaaaaaaaaaaaaaawp!” She draws out the name, whiny and annoyed, with a pout on her lips, but Buck just shakes his head.
“You can either do the crater and pour the ingredients or stir.” Anticipating her next argument, he adds, “Not both.”
She scrunches her lips together and pushes her mouth to the side, narrowing her eyes to glare at Buck who matches her stare with vigor. It’s a usual Friday morning routine. And sometimes before school, lunchtime, and dinner routine as well, but what can he say? They both have hard heads and are willing to wait the other out.
Luckily, Colette is only five and has a little too much impatience for her to win out on this one.
“Can I have the orange now, please?” She asks after a few moments.
Buck’s grinning when he says, “Of course you can.”
When it’s finally in her grasp, she can barely hold her smile back as she patiently waits for Buck to grab two eggs and a small bowl to crack them in. Sensing her jitteriness, he doesn’t waste time with his usual egg tricks–the one-handed crack, the hibachi chef spatula crack, and the two eggs at the same time crack (which usually takes a few tries.) Instead, he quickly cracks each egg into the bowl flawlessly and slides that bowl, the melted butter bowl, the rest of a gallon of milk, and the vanilla toward her.
“Ball’s in your court, Lettie,” he says with a clap of his hands, moving to stand beside her.
“What ball?” She asks innocently, tilting her head as she looks at each item in front of her.
“Only took eight years but you’re finally starting to pick up my basketball metaphors, huh?”
Buck didn’t hear him coming. There was no telltale door opening and closing, the creak in the bathroom floor that always seemed to echo directly into the kitchen, the shuffle of tired feet across the newly cleaned carpet. So he jumps when Tommy’s arm wraps around his waist before leaning back into his husband to welcome the touch. Tommy leans over to place a gentle kiss on Colette’s head, clicking his tongue when she gives him barely any greeting.
“Good morning, Daddy,” Buck says, more to Colette than Tommy. He taps on his daughter’s nose so that she pays attention to the way he’s mocking her.
“Good morning, daddy! I’m making pancakes, I’m focused!”
Tommy’s laugh rumbles in his chest and straight through to Buck’s core. Both his arms wrap around Buck now, leaning the brunt of his probably tired body on Buck to help keep him upright. Tommy’s chin nestles on Buck’s shoulder, his scruff scratching at Buck’s neck when Tommy presses a soft kiss to it.
“Good morning, Evan,” he whispers. Buck feels a shiver course through him. He’s amazed at how Tommy’s presence still warms him from the inside out even after so much time together.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” Buck says back. He leans his cheek onto Tommy’s head, smiling when Tommy seems to sigh happily into the touch. “She wanted to make you pancakes so I’m letting her do all the work,” he jokes.
As they chat, Colette keeps herself busy adding each individual ingredient perfectly into the crater she created. For all her fumbles with the dry ingredients, she’s extra careful as she adds the eggs, the butter, and the vanilla. When it comes time for the milk, she does exactly what Buck expects her to, and dumps the rest of it in the bowl.
“Did I do it?” Colette practically shrieks, turning in her chair as much as she can to see both of her fathers beside her.
“You did!” Buck cheers.
“That was so great, princess,” Tommy adds, much softer but just as full of love.
“Now, you remember our deal right?” Buck reminds her. She pouts, then looks from Buck to Tommy like she’s assessing them. “What’s that look for?” Buck asks, knowing she has to be up to something.
“You said strong arms can stir. Daddy should stir, then.”
The matter-of-fact way she says the words makes Tommy snort beside him, awake enough to burst into a fit of laughter while Buck gapes at the two of them.
“My darling daughter, are you saying that I’m not strong?!” Buck asks, faux anger in his voice. Colette, luckily, takes a lot of her cues from her dad and giggles along with Tommy, clapping enthusiastically. Buck thinks she might rock out of her chair if she keeps agreeing so much.
“I didn’t! I just said Daddy is stronger!” She reassures him.
Buck scoffs and holds the wooden spoon out to Tommy with a pout. His sleepy husband shakes his head subtly and hides his face in Buck’s neck again like he can’t bring himself to disappoint Colette but definitely can’t make the effort to stir batter this early in the morning.
“I, for one, don’t think daddy is stronger and I’m going to prove it by stirring the batter myself.” Buck nods his head once to finalize his decision and starts his duty. “Blueberries or chocolate chips?” Buck asks his family. Tommy mumbles something ineligible and Colette shrugs–Buck’s grateful he has a kid that likes fruit as much as chocolate. “Blueberries it is!”
He reaches for the fruit basket with one hand, still attempting to stir the batter bowl with the other. The batter is just a little too thick for that and the bowl starts to wobble leaving loud bangs to thrum through their ears. Tommy grabs for the bowl immediately, his face barely leaving Buck’s neck to do so. He holds it steady while Buck grabs a few handfuls of blueberries and places them in one of the previously discarded bowls for Colette.
“Once I’m done stirring and the pancakes are cooking, you get to put the blueberries on. How does that sound?”
Buck hasn’t let her do this before, too terrified of the heat of the griddle to let his 5-year-old get close enough. He’s grateful time and time again for Eddie’s friendship and fatherhood advice because if he’s absorbed anything, it’s that kids need to learn what they can and can’t do. Parents are just there to support.
And the fact that Tommy has already taken her up in a helicopter more times than he can count makes his fear of a small griddle burn feel a lot smaller in the scheme of things.
Colette’s eyes brighten excitedly at the prospect of helping with something new and she squeals as she reaches for the fruit.
“Alright, Kid. Can you hum along to the music while I finish stirring and check in with your dad?”
With a nod, Colette turns her attention to the spilled flour on the counter, drawing small patterns into it with strict focus.
“How was your shift?” Tommy grunts, lifting his head enough to press a kiss to Buck’s pulse point before hooking his chin over Buck’s shoulder. “That good, huh?” Tommy’s soft chuckle rumbles through him.
“It was long and exhausting. I’m getting too old for this,” he jokes. Buck tilts his head into his husband’s with a scoff.
“Yeah, you’re such an old man. Running into burning buildings and flying helicopters into raging forest fires and skyscraper disasters.” Tommy grunts again and Buck can’t help but relax further into him. “You know, after I pass the lieutenant exam–”
“Which you’ll ace with flying colors,” Tommy interrupts, sounding more awake than he had with any other sentence.
“After that,” Buck continues, nudging his elbow playfully into Tommy’s stomach, “maybe you could ask the Chief about a different role?” Before Tommy can argue, Buck shrugs. “Eddie worked as a Dispatch Liaison for a while when Christopher was going through some stuff and it was a really cool gig. I’m just saying…” He exaggerates before a retort can even leave Tommy’s lips, “that if you wanted to do something like that, I’d support you.”
“Me too!” Colette chimes in. It’s clear she hasn’t been paying a lot of attention to the conversation, but if she knows one thing about her family, it’s that support is a strong promise.
Tommy stands up straight, detaching himself from where he’s pressed against Buck’s back. A few years ago, Buck might’ve stiffened at the movement and felt a strike of cold air slice down his spine that told him his partner was leaving him once again. He’s so secure with Tommy, though, that he knows it has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with their daughter.
He wanders over to Colette’s chair and wraps his strong arms around her chest, resting his lips on the crown of her head. Colette grips his arms with such force that her fingers start whitening, but Buck doesn’t say anything. He knows that their daughter’s reaction won’t always be so affectionate and her response might not be so immediate. So they both let her hold on for dear life until her eyes meet Buck’s with a wide-eyed, pleading gaze.
“Alright, alright,” Buck surrenders. He swears those eyes will be the death of him someday. “You ready to finish our breakfast?”
Colette nods wildly just as her stomach rumbles loudly. She looks down with astonishment before letting out a wild giggle that echoes through the kitchen like the sweetest of music.
Tommy’s laughing along with her and, with a shake of his head, says, “She gets that from you.”
“The ability to be hungry at any time or the laughter?” Buck teases.
“Both,” Tommy decides. “Definitely both.”
“C’mon Pop!” Colette whines. “Daddy, stop detracting,” she adds for good measure. Buck meets Tommy’s eyes filled with humor and Tommy just shakes his head in response, knowing that correcting her now–she means distracting–would only make her pout turn further down.
“I need coffee,” Tommy mutters. He presses a kiss to Buck’s cheek, squeezing the junction between Buck’s shoulder and neck as he begins to move away. Buck reaches for his hand, stopping him before he can get too far.
“Not yet,” Buck says, a teasing tone to his voice.
Then, he does what he’s wanted to do all morning and presses their mouths together.
In most situations, a typical child might moan and groan about how gross it is that their parents are kissing in front of them. Not Colette, though. She’s too busy organizing her extra blueberries into groups of three on the counter in a system Buck doesn’t recognize–Buck makes a mental note to ask her about it later–while bopping along to a song about dinosaurs and meteors that couldn’t be more perfectly timed. Besides, in any other undistracted circumstance, she knows that each touch of affection and kiss of love means that her parents are happy.
And God, is Buck happy.
He sighs into the kiss without a second thought and Tommy smiles at the sound. He starts to pull away, gesturing toward the coffee pot like it's a lifeline, but Buck doesn’t let him go just yet. He abandons the wooden spoon in the batter and cups Tommy’s tired face in his hands, stroking his thumbs over the subtle scruff that has already started to sprout from his jaw.
One of Tommy’s hands tightens on Buck’s hip as he pulls his husband’s body just a little closer. He kisses Buck back like he’s powerless against the urge but his lips are just as gentle, just as affectionate as Buck’s are. It’s tame–they’re very aware of the 5-year-old in the room, thank you very much–but it still makes heat bubble in Buck’s stomach like lava getting ready to burst from the crater of a volcano.
That’s what being with Tommy has always been like. Before they met, Buck had always felt like some part of him lay dormant. Like something was brewing inside of him, hidden beneath the surface that he couldn’t quite identify no matter how hard he tried. He had never been unhappy with his surroundings, always among the best people and nature and goodness, but inside he felt like there was a part of him ready to break free.
From the first moment he met Tommy–and even more so from the first moment they kissed–Buck was molten. The part that smoldered inside him, that had been left untapped, undiscovered, had suddenly exploded. From that moment on, that part of himself couldn’t remain repressed or ignored. Instead, it had been… devastating.
Not in the way a volcano destroys everything around it until only destruction remains, but in the way that when the air clears of ash, there’s never been a more beautiful sight. Then the trees grow back, the houses rebuild, the people return and it’s almost the same, but this time, they know that the mountain isn’t just a mountain–it’s something much more.
Tommy is so much more.
“You okay, Evan?” The words whisper over Buck’s lips from where their foreheads press together.
“Yeah, I– I love you,” Buck stutters because even after all of these years together, he still can’t believe he gets to say it so freely. Tommy grins and rubs their noses together before finally moving to the far counter to make his cup of coffee.
“I love you, too,” Tommy promises. After a few moments of waiting for his coffee to brew, he turns to face Buck again. “And I’ll think about your offer. I selfishly would love more time with my husband and our daughter who I love and adore more than anything in the world,” he adds cutely, scrunching his nose at Colette who giggles in return.
“I love you more!” Colette shouts gleefully.
When Buck turns to see her again, she’s covered in blueberry mush and what he thinks is honey that he didn’t realize was within her reach, and all he wants to do is kiss it off of her. So he does. And his daughter giggles maniacally, and his husband shuffles over to join them–the coffee he so desperately needed abandoned on the counter–to join in on the affection until all of them are out of breath because of their hysterics.
And Buck? He vows to make every morning for his family as perfect as this one.