Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Okaaay, then goes in a teaspoon of—Ugh.” Buck put a palm on the kitchen counter to stop himself from doubling over. A foot pushed against the stretch of his belly, making him bring his other hand to the huge swell of his stomach to rub soft and slow circles. “You’re really not comfortable in there tonight, are you, button?” he muttered, caressing his bump. “It’s getting tight, hm?”

The baby kicked again as if responding to his question. It was gentler this time, compared to the one before, but especially to the thumps that’d awakened Buck from his evening nap earlier. But there was still some insistence in the way she wiggled, stretched, and moved in there. She’d been like this since the start of the week, active in a way that made Buck forget his usual paranoia about checking in on her every half an hour, and while he appreciated the camaraderie found in the suffering and the desire to pop this joint already, he could do without the way she was pressing against his spleen.

Blinking his eyes against the ever-present fatigue, he went back to his brownie mixture. Flour, salt, sifted cocoa powder mixed in with the wets; the batter stirred, poured, and spread. At this point of his pregnancy, knowing that his girl had a sweet tooth, Buck was a master at baking. Off the corner of his eye, he caught the two lemon loaves he’d fumbled earlier in the evening mocking him from the trashcan but who needed citrus when you could have chocolate? With some hot sauce. And feta cheese. The thought almost made the way his belly shifted the waistband of his pants less annoying. He was sure he’d told Eddie to remove all the tags from his clothes earlier this week because they touched his skin in a way that could make him lose his mind on a good day, but maybe Eddie had skipped this one. Maybe he’d used scissors instead of a razor like Buck had told him to because razors made the edges fray and turn soft instead of leaving them all sharp and irritating, but maybe Eddie hadn’t heard that part. Maybe he—

Buck drew in a breath and held it for a moment.

He released it slowly. He picked up the baking pan and threw it in the oven, then started cleaning half-assedly. His one hand was busy turning the pages of the book he had propped on the counter.

“What about Tara?” he asked into the empty room. “Tana? Tayla? Tatum?” He got a kick near his ribcage, particularly opposing. “Okay, okay, no Tatum,” he murmured, patting his side. “You have a lot of opinions today, don’t you? Hm, I don’t like Tamara. I don’t like Tiffany. Oh!” He beamed down at his belly. “What about Tilly? Tilly is so cute. You’d be an adorable Tilly. Tilly Buckley. Tee-Tee Buckley. Do you like that? Tilly—Ah!”

He couldn’t stop the crouch over the counter this time; the book slipped from his hand and knocked on the floor.

“Stop,” he moaned, almost lung-punched as he caught her series of kicks. “Hey—heyheyhey.”

Holding his belly, he waddled over to a chair with shaking legs and managed to lower himself. A long exhale ran out his nose as pain radiated up his spine and touched each vertebra on the way. Hands still supporting his belly, feeling the thumps inside his palms, he made reassuring – begging – noises.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he breathed. “It’s okay, baby.” The pressure on his side made him wince. “Look, I know you like it when the others are around, I do too, but bad news, kiddo,” he said, shifting his position. “Everyone has their own lives. Your auntie is even more miserable than me right now— not that I will be miserable when you’re born! But it’s busy work, so she can’t be here right now, and Uncle Eddie, well,” he huffed and grimaced into a smile. “Your Uncle Eddie is on a date.” He waited for a beat, rubbing his stomach. “You don’t know what a date is?” He took her silence as an answer. “Well, of course, you don’t. You’re too young to know what it means. Dating is something adults do when they’re too naive and genuinely think that true love exists. It’s a delusion, see, but they fall in love anyway, and then get really really stupid about it, like f—kissing in the restroom of a cursed Italian restaurant with no protection type of stupid, and then they get knocked up and then they get dumped!” 

A barked laugh left his throat, scraggy and sudden. His hand stopped on his belly as he felt overcome with the urge to blink again, and just like that, his throat was all scratchy, tied, and closed off with the need to cry. Thirty-seven weeks. He’d made it thirty-seven weeks, with a lot of tears, a lot of laughter, and a lot of thinking about Tommy early on but he’d told himself he’d stop. He’d stopped. He’d been so busy preparing for the baby’s arrival that he’d had no other choice but to stop, and he had, and he wasn’t going to start again at eleven p.m. on a random Friday just because the action taking place inside of him was running nausea up his throat, and under his collar he was burning up, and the balcony door was too far away to do anything about any of it.

“And you’re not gonna do it at least for eighteen years, okay?” he said, hating how choked up it’d come out. He cleared his throat. “No, for twenty years. Actually, twenty-five. Promise me—Aurgh.”

The need to cry got forgotten because Buck couldn’t breathe.

“Okay, okay,” he gasped, feeling her push against his diaphragm. “Daddy needs to breathe, baby girl, I need to—” He sat up to take in a deep breath, hold, and release it with a steady beat. Just as his doctor had shown him, with both hands on his belly, talking to her. “Just ease off the lungs, baby, yeah, yeah, just—”

A sharp screech pierced the night, making Buck jump to his feet.

“Oh fuck!” he cursed, then he cursed under his breath for cursing aloud, because the baby could understand everything at this stage, and he really really didn’t want her first word to be fuck. He turned to the direction the shrill sound was coming from and realized it was the fire alarm at the same he saw the smoke from from the oven.

He waddled back to the kitchen, almost tripping on his way, and felt tears burning at the corners of his eyes when he saw the brownie batter bubbled over and burnt on the bottom of the oven.

“Okay,” he said, telling himself the tears were because of the smoke and nothing else as he grabbed the mop handle secreted beside the fridge and started beating the detector till it went quiet. “Okay.” He turned back and looked at his brownie with sad eyes. “No brownie,” he said, a hand down the curve of his belly. Well, at least the adrenaline or the position change had made breathing a little easier now. “That’s fine, we don’t need brownies,” he murmured, cracking open a window. “Like we didn’t need the lemon loaves and the tiramisu that I couldn’t even get to make because there are no ladyfingers in this loft. None.” He sniffled. “But that’s fine, we don’t need dessert. What we need—” He got punted on the side. “Hey!” he exclaimed, then lowered his voice. “Hey. I know you want to leave, okay?” he said, eyes full-on stinging now. “I get that you want to be out of here, believe me, I do, because your dad – your other dad – did too. He couldn’t get out of that door—” His voice wobbled. “—fast enough. Like he was f-fleeing a fire.” He barked a wet laugh at the irony, hands tightening around his belly. “So I get it,” he gritted. “It's me, I get it, you want to leave.”

Tears crowding his eyes slipped out the corner and Buck shook his head. He wasn’t going to think about Tommy Kinard now. He’d been carrying a part of him like he had a pilates ball swallowed up for months now, but he wasn’t gonna think about Tommy Kinard, because Tommy Kinard had dumped him. He’d dumped him when it was just him, Buck, and he knew he wasn’t the easiest person, but now there was the baby too, and there was the pride of the matter, but there was also the chair Tommy had been sitting on that day and that fucking door Buck couldn’t stand the sight of some days.

“And you know what he’s probably doing right now?” he asked before he could even stop himself, feeling his hands tremble. “He’s—he’s maybe on a date too! Like Uncle Eddie!” He laughed, big and bitter. “Maybe he’s being someone else’s first which is just terrible! Because he was mine first, see. He was my first first, and he freaking did this to me—” His voice cracked. “—and then he left, and he doesn’t even know about it!” The nausea came back with even uglier laughs. “Isn’t that funny? He wanted to spare himself the heartbreak, he wanted a clean break, and he couldn't even do that right because he left me with you! And you’re great, you are great, the greatest thing, button, don’t get me wrong, but you’re hurting my spleen right now, and I wish I could tell your dad about it.” He licked his dry lips and slammed a hand on the counter. “I wish I could shout in his face about it! For everything that happened in the la–last eight and a half months! The–the drawer I broke the other day a-and the color of your nursery because I got excited with that coral but it looks stupid now!” He threw a hand towards what used to be the living area to show just how stupid it was. “It looks so stupid, coral pink is so stupid! I wish I could shout about that too! You wanna shout about it too?” he asked, voice wetter and angrier. “You wanna shout about it, baby? You wanna tell your dad how stupid coral pink is?”

He looked at the clock. He looked at his sneakers by the door he couldn’t put on without help anymore, so he looked at the easy slip-ons that’d become his crutch. His burning tears from earlier were paused at the edge, but the migraine of it remained, and the tag of his sweatpants felt murder-inducing, and the loft smelled nauseating, and the baby just didn’t stop rolling.

“Yeah,” Buck said, voice dropped to a shaky mutter. “Yeah, yeah, you wanna shout about it.” He grabbed the car keys and put on his shoes. “We don’t have brownies to take the edge off, so we really really want to shout about it right now.”

He laughed. Then the door was shutting behind him with a loud bang, and his knee was shaking up and down as he blinked against the blue LEDs of the elevator. He chewed on his nail when the 9th-floor symbol didn’t budge after he’d pressed the button. He pressed it again, then againagainagain. He glanced at the stairs, fuming, then he glanced back and saw the blue lights say, “Temporarily out of order.” With a shaky but determined inhale, he spun for the stairs.

It was just four floors. He had stamina, he had a big lung capacity, he’d been working till three weeks ago. And sure, he’d been the man behind for a while now, and even light duty left him gasping sometimes, and he was supposed to be getting some sleep right now instead of whatever the hell he was doing, but four floors were nothing for him.

One flight down, he was already thinking how it was more like eight floors because the lofts – duh – as ragged breaths left his lungs. The car keys shingled in his trembling hands and the baby kicked but Buck kept on.

“You know,” he said, supporting his belly with the hand not holding onto the banister. “Elevators are not good for the baby, you, so this is so much better. You won’t believe me, but I-I could run these stairs a couple of months ago.” He chuckled and shook his head. “I did. I ran into fires till a couple of months ago. You don’t even know the worst of it, baby, your daddy used to be so so badass.” He wiped the stupid tear that slipped from his eye. “But you don’t say that word, okay?”

He wobbled down, he stopped, he wobbled a bit more and took deep huge breaths. Finally he made it through the last flight of stairs, and the late-night air, despite how arid, hit his sweaty face like relief after all those floors. But the car was just there, waiting for him to hobble over.

“Your dad?” he asked, hobbling. “Well, your dad flies helicopters into fires instead. Because he has to be so cool, you know, sooo interesting, so chill, sooo—” He held onto the Jeep, pressed his head against the metal, and caught his breath for a moment. When he opened the car door his face dropped. “You know what?” he said, taking in the narrow space between the driver seat and the steering wheel. “We’re shouting at your Uncle Eddie too.” He nodded. “We’re shouting at him too.”

There was no way Buck was going to fit in there, and maybe Eddie forgetting the car like this was a sign from the universe for Buck to not do this tonight. But he hadn’t wheezed down eight flights of stairs for nothing, and he was… he was teaching his kid a life lesson.

His belly leading the charge he tried sliding in one way, then another. He threw in a leg, he got back out. He sat sideways, he stood up. He bumped his head, which made him suck in a breath, and his sweaty palms slipped on the car frame, which made the baby give a swift jab near his ribcage.

“You’re not helping,” Buck gritted out but kept holding her, careful of his bump in his attempts to concur the vehicle. After some twisting hips and strategic wriggling, he finally squeezed in there, breaking the laws of physics, and collapsed back. His spine twinged in pain and a whoosh of breath left his lungs, but he’d done it. He was inside.

He managed to reach the lever to adjust the seat which felt like another tiny win, then he pulled on the seatbelt with no trouble which made his eyes tear up in victory. The keys in the ignition, the baby relatively calm in the belly, he fired up the engine.

It roared to life.

It sputtered and stopped.

“What?” Buck exclaimed. He tried again: sputter and stop. Again: sputter and stop. “No, kick in, you idiot!” he shouted with a slam on the steering wheel.

The baby thumped near his ribcage again.

“N-no, not you,” Buck said with a headshake, resting a hand on his belly. “Not you, baby, just this–this stupid car. I’m gonna kill Eddie,” he murmured. “I’m gonna kill Eddie! What kind of repair did he do on this engine?!”

He slammed the steering wheel again and fell back. At this point, the wetness in his eyes was hot with frustration again and the pain in his back biting so much sharper. His head dropped on the headrest, he blinked his stinging eyes against the overhead lights, his ribcage heaving big. The clearest feeling within the jumbled mess of emotions running over him was exhaustion, yes, then fear about her nonstop kicking, but also anger. So much anger. Sitting there trying to soothe the ache of her ministrations, he tried to calm down, but then he was thinking about Tommy’s place only a mile from here and he was simmering.

“You know what?” he spat, shoving the door open. “We’re walking.”

He climbed out of the car, slammed the door for good measure, then turned around for the direction where Tommy’s house lay. It wasn’t too far away from the loft, with Tommy investing his meager savings on a shabby fixit near the 118 when he’d still been at the station and never moving out. If Buck glanced in the right – wrong – direction on his way back from work, he could see the exit leading to Tommy’s street, and wasn't that a new stab wound each time? That Tommy didn’t mind commuting cross-city to the Harbor for every damn shift because Tommy was the type of man who got attached to his things, like his stupid house, as long as he deemed them worthy. Some things – but only some things – he couldn’t let go.

With the adrenaline and rage pumping hot in his veins, Buck was convinced he could walk that mile to his place. It was late June, almost midnight, the weather sticky with choked heat, and he was thirty-seven weeks pregnant. He was thirty-seven weeks pregnant in late June, at almost midnight, with the weather sticky with choked heat, and he was sure he could damn as well walk that mile.

“Powerwalk, Buckley,” he muttered under his breath. “We’re making up for all the workouts we skipped in the last nine months.”

One hand on his lower back, one hand bracing his belly, he set out. The first few steps were fine, the street he was staring down not seeming impossible. He tried not to think about beyond that, he just walked. One level at a time.

The baby shifted and pushed, at unease.

“Don’t worry,” Buck told her, patting where he could feel her. “Your dad will love our surprise. He loves surprises. Did I tell you he surprised me with tickets to a Lakers game one time?” He chuckled. “I don’t even like basketball! Sure, I pretended I did at first, because I wanted him to notice me, and really, I didn’t correct him. Six months of basketball games I pretended I liked…” He laughed again. “And he left anyway! Six months! Wasted!” He waddled, in the dark, towards the end of the street, belly up to his nose, ankles already hurting. “God,” he murmured, smile slipping. “I pretended for six months. What’s wrong with me?”

The baby moved again, deliberate. As if reminding Buck of the eight months and some change he’d spent keeping from Tommy a bigger, more personal, more important secret which was sending fresh waves of discomfort through him right now.

“Oh, don’t even start,” Buck grumbled.

It wasn’t the time for this conversation again when he was on his way to tell Tommy now.

The hormones, the pain, and the relative oxygen deficiency made him let out a giggle about it. He was on his way to tell Tommy now. He was on his way to Tommy’s now. He could imagine his ex-boyfriend’s face, the sheer shock in his eyes at seeing Buck at his door. Seeing Buck very very pregnant at his door. It was going to be so cathartic, Buck thought giddily, like giving him back what Buck had got that day with the abrupt way Tommy had ended things with him.

He was at the end of his short street and grinning.

Then the baby moved again, and his grin fell. It wasn’t like he wanted to use his baby like this. She was the greatest thing; Buck hadn’t been lying. And she deserved to be loved by both her parents, and if Tommy didn’t love her… Well, Buck would demand Tommy loved her. Yes, he was going to force Tommy to love her, God help him, if that man decided he wasn’t going to love their daughter.

Spurred by his resolve, Buck sped up.

“We got this, baby,” he said, crossing the street. A car honked at him, and Buck gave him the finger. Sure, he was a lunatic pregnant man waddling through the Los Angeles streets in his pajamas, in the dark, talking to his belly, but this city had seen weirder things.

He was maybe half a mile into his journey when his breaths started coming out in shallow bursts, the pain in his back got white-clear, and his body started aching for rest.

He leaned against a lamppost. He took deep breaths. He pushed off the lamppost and continued.

His knees trembled, sweat beaded down his back, down his face, along the underside of his belly.

Buck shook his head, breathed, breathed, breathed, and walked.

The baby kicked again, a strong thump to Buck’s side.

Buck groaned. “Shh,” he said, clutching her tighter.

She gave another jab, sharper this time.

“Make this easier on us, would you?”

Only a block away from Tommy’s place, his steps started faltering. It was the breath and energy he was running out of but also the stark, and very late, realization that he didn’t even know if Tommy was home. His entire body was a throbbing ache, and he didn’t even know if Tommy was going to be there for him to shout in his face. His back was hurting, his ankles and knees were hurting, he was drenched in sweat in this disgusting California summer, and he didn’t know if Tommy was even going to be home to take on Buck’s onslaught. He could be on shift. He could have been called for an emergency. He could be at karaoke trivia with his buddies. He could be at a game. He could be over at a friend’s or out in a nightclub or on a date.

Buck felt sick.

Tommy could be on a date. They’d been broken up for longer than they’d been together at this point and just because Buck had chosen celibacy after realizing he was pregnant didn’t mean Tommy hadn’t been dating. Tommy could be fucking a guy hard and fast in a dingy bathroom in WeHo right at this second. Or be in another guy’s apartment, being his first kiss, turning his world upside down. Or maybe he was home, making soft and sweet love to his last he’d found after Buck.

The last thought made Buck want to puke by a nearby tree. It also made him lose whatever reserve he had because what the hell did he have to lose at this point? He wasn’t walking back this mile and he wasn’t gonna take those goddamn stairs without shouting at Tommy tonight. He was gonna shout. And—and ruin his date!

“Yeah,” he fumed with determination. He was going to ruin whatever love-making was going on in that house tonight because every bone in his body was hurting, and he was more sweat than human, and the baby Tommy had put inside of him was rolling in there like she was training for an Olympics gold. And Buck was hot with frustration, he was burning with anger, and he was marching down that last block.

The baby kicked like she was in on his rage.

“We’re near,” Buck told her. His back ached fiercely and he could barely breathe through the pain. He almost stumbled and fell but he continued. “W–we’re almost there.”

The baby kicked again, relentless, and Buck gritted his teeth. The pressure on his pelvis was nearly unbearable as he finally made it to Tommy’s door. He slammed on the buzzer. Then without waiting, he started thumping.

“Open it, Tommy!” he shouted, sweat running down his temple. “Open the door!”

He tried to kick but his knee locked. He hissed in pain as the baby jabbed him everywhere, adding to the whirlwind going on inside Buck. Running sweat became running sweat and tears down his cheeks, and Buck could only keep thumping, and shouting, and crying. 

“Open this door right now!” The lights of the nearby houses clicked; Buck couldn’t care less. “Open it, Tommy! Open it because I’m s-so sick of you never listening to me! You just think you know what’s right and y-you leave like it’s not my decision too! I don’t care if you’re busy shagging another dude in there, you hear me?” He screamed. “Because that firsts and lasts thing you said? That was bullshit! So you open the door so I can shout at you, because I know what I w-want, asshole!” His breath hitched. “I-I do! And fuck you for thinking otherwise!”

The door opened.

A sleep-rumpled Tommy murmured, “Ev– Buck?”

Buck couldn’t stop.

“And I know you were scared b-but fuck you for being scared because I’m scared too!” He spat, his words sounding wetter. “I don’t know what I’m d-doing and I’m in pain a-and—baby, please,” he begged, clutching his belly. “Stop kicking daddy, please.” He blinked his wet eyes, tears dropping, and looked back up. “And coral is so stupid, Tommy, so I already f-fucked up, and everyone ve-vetoed Tammy for being too on the nose and Tatum sounds so ugly and she doesn’t like a-any of the T names!” He shuddered in a big breath. “And fuck you for fucking me without a condom at Micelli’s that night!”

His chest heaved. His knee spasmed.

Tommy looked down at his belly. “...Are you pregnant?”

Buck nodded, blinking. “...I walked from the loft.”

Tommy’s expression didn’t change; he opened the door wider.

Inside, everything looked just as Buck remembered it. At least in the dim glow of the living room that Tommy preferred over the overhead lights. Everything in its proper place, everything practical and well-worn, everything unadorned but still personal. Tommy led him to the deep plush sofa in the middle of the living room, and Buck lowered himself with a deep long groan. He hadn’t even realized the stress his toes had been in.

Tommy stood by the coffee table. He was looking at Buck, in that classic way of his with no tells on his face or in his stance, but he was… piqued. If not weirded out, and Buck wasn’t sure if he could judge his expression right anymore. If he could ever judge it right.

“You walked all the way here?” Tommy asked, words marked with nothing.

“The Jeep didn’t start,” Buck said with a shrug.

Tommy nodded. He gestured towards the kitchen. “Do you want water or…?”

“The idea of drinking water makes me wanna puke right now.”

Tommy dropped his hand. He nodded again as silence settled between them.

He looked fine. He looked handsome. He looked so fucking cool, cool as a cucumber, but Buck caught the moment the fingers of his left hand started fidgeting. Catching Buck catch him, Tommy smoothed his palm on his shorts. He stared at Buck’s face, fixed, but his eyes dropped for a beat, just a beat, down to where Buck was bracing his belly.

His face did something; he looked back up quickly. “Is it mine?”

“No. I fucked the drummer of the band we were supposed to see together,” Buck said with a scoff. He shifted on the couch. “Yes, Tommy, she’s yours. I told you, she’s an anniversary baby.”

Tommy nodded again. It was clearer now he was out of water, not knowing how to proceed.

“Six months,” he said. “Not really the anniversary.”

And just when Buck felt just a bit ashamed for putting him on the spot like this.

“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “You know what I was doing on what was supposed to be our anniversary? Crying in the waiting room of my OBGYN because she hadn’t moved that entire morning and I had no one around to reassure me.”

Tommy’s face pinked.

He dropped his gaze.

Buck felt bad for a beat before the baby started kicking again. He groaned and stretched his legs, curling an arm under his belly as he tried to get them comfortable. It wasn’t like she’d really stopped moving since they left the apartment, but this series felt like a call for attention, and Buck feared – not for the first time – how much attitude this kid was going to have once she was out. Shushing her, he touched the little foot he could literally see through his t-shirt.

“Oh,” he heard Tommy whisper. He looked up, meeting his eyes, and Tommy huffed an awkward chuckle. “Is she always this excited?”

Buck shook his head. “Not like this. Just this week. She’s been just so haywire.”

“How far along are you?”

“Thirty-seven weeks.”

Tommy’s face did that thing again. It was gone as it’d come.

“Well, that’s close. And your little walk probably didn’t help.”

Buck’s head snapped up. “D-do you think I hurt her? I-I shouldn't have done that, right, w-why did I do that?”

“Shh no, no, no.” Tommy took a step towards him, putting on a smile. “I’m sure she’s fine,” he said. “She’s probably just picking up on your distress.”

Buck looked down again and braced his belly tighter as if he could hold her any closer. With his anger seeping out, all the other juices of the emotional cocktail he’d been stewing in slipped under his skin.

“No,” he said, sounding miserable even to his own ears. “She’s just aware of everything going around her now and she realized she doesn’t like my personality.”

Tommy laughed.

It got cut off with Buck's glare.

“I’m sure that’s not right,” Tommy said. He took another step like he wanted to close the distance between them, but he halted. His hand went to the back of his head. “Have you been alone?” he asked. “In the loft, I mean, with all those stairs?”

Buck rolled his eyes. “I’m pregnant, Tommy. Not a seventy-year-old with arthritis,” he said, ignoring the ache in his knees. “And she won’t be walking around for a while.”

“Hm.” Tommy said. “It’ll be sooner than you think.”

Buck didn’t answer. He knew. He knew it was going to be sooner than he thought, and the loft wasn’t going to be a suitable living space for her for long despite all the baby-proofing, but there were still three months left on his lease that he couldn’t just break because preparing for a baby on a single firefighter’s income was near impossible, and Buck essentially had turned his loft upside-down to accommodate, but fuck him if he was going to tell Tommy about any of it and make it look like he was here to trap him. 

“Ugh,” he heard himself groan. Not able to stand the ache in his legs anymore, he started rubbing his knees. Maybe being a seventy-year-old with arthritis would be better than this. At least he wouldn’t have baby puke waiting for him in his immediate future.

Then Tommy was there, looming over him. Then Tommy was there, kneeled in front of him. His eyes locked with Buck’s as if asking for permission.

Buck nodded.

Tommy’s hands came up and brushed his knees through the fabric of his sweatpants. Then he started caressing in deft, strong, moan-worthy circles. He used to do this a lot, whenever Buck’s bad knee acted up, giving Buck immeasurable relief. Buck’s head would drop back this time too, if he could only look away from Tommy touching him for the first time in months.

His jaw went lax in that tear-signalling way.

He cleared his throat and took it.

Tommy massaged him for a few minutes in just the right way. He took off Buck’s shoes, making Buck moan a little bit this time and melt into the couch, because his feet were too swollen even for his easy slip-ons, and the baby calmed down just the tiniest tiniest bit.

Her foot was still pushing at Buck’s belly.

Off the corner of his eye, Buck saw a smile flicked on Tommy’s face. His hand reached out before he even realized; Buck clamped it down just as instinctively.

Tommy looked at him with wide eyes. “S-sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I–I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Buck murmured. He relaxed his fingers.

Tommy waited for a beat, big eyes still on Buck’s face, before pulling back.

“E-eddie,” Buck said, needing to break the… whatever. “He usually stays with me. H-he does belly rubs at night, it soothes her, but he started dating this nurse last week and couldn’t be around much.”

Tommy’s face did something again. “Eddie?”

If Buck could still trust his judgment with this man, he’d say it was longing. Bitterness. Longing and bitterness.

“Well, Maddie has been busy with her own, you know?” He shrugged.

Tommy nodded and cleared his throat. He looked around, pushing Buck’s shoes under the coffee table. Then he fluffed a pillow and put it on the coffee table, urging Buck’s feet up.

He stayed kneeled.

Buck watched him, breathing deeply.

The baby gave a big kick.

“Ow.”

Tommy looked. “You okay?”

“Yeah, she just, uh…”  Sliding the hem of his shirt over his belly, Buck laughed at the sight of her insistent feet.

A hesitant smile found Tommy’s face again.

Buck caught a few more kicks.

The smile became a grin. “Well, she’s a thumper, this one,” Tommy said, his blue eyes looking shiny in the night glow from the windows. They blinked and looked up at Buck, happy. “Now that’s a T name.”

Buck laughed, loud.

The peals broke into sobs.

Tommy shuffled closer to him, his expression unbearably soft. “Shh.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck said, voice a blubber. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you.”

He hadn’t. He’d meant to tell him so much earlier. It’d just seemed unnecessary in the first trimester because male pregnancies rarely made it to term, a number that went down drastically for men older than thirty, and Buck had been so scared – of everything. Then the second trimester had come, and he’d missed Tommy so much between all the puking and the cravings, and the only thing that’d eased his heart a little bit was knowing that Tommy hadn’t broken up with him because he didn't love him, and Buck couldn’t handle spoiling that. Then it’d been the third trimester and it’d been too late. Buck hated to think he’d been too late, scared that he’d been too late, scared that they were too late.

“Well,” Tommy said, smiling. “You’re here now. And I’m glad you’re here now.”

It hit Buck like a freight train that this was Tommy with his soft smile, soft eyes, and soft way of talking. Buck was a snotty mess on his couch, after screaming at his door at midnight, but it was the way Tommy looked at him all gentle that made Buck want to go hide in a hole.

“I need to pee,” he said, pulling himself up on shaky legs for the bathroom.

He hadn’t realized but he actually needed to pee, as one did every second while pregnant, and after he was done he’d taken another ten minutes just sitting. He mumbled apologies to his baby girl for putting her through his erratic behavior tonight and for burning the brownies. At last, he murmured, “And I’m sorry for keeping you from your dad. Did I apologize for that before? I’m sure I didn’t, and I’m sorry, baby.”

When he finally worked the courage to get out, Tommy had a bowl of soup waiting on the table. On a scale of one to ten, it fell somewhere like two-point-eight in how much it made Buck want to barf, so he actually ate it.

Tommy sat there next to him, eyes flicking between Buck’s hands and his belly. He had a glass of water in his grip. He took a sip of it.

Buck took a sip of his own.

Tommy put the glass down.

Buck caught his eye.

A sudden and odd laugh left Tommy’s mouth. Like he was just taking in what this all meant.

“Ev—” He stopped. “Buck.”

“No.” Buck shook his head. “Please don’t call me that. It sounds wrong and I’m in enough distress already tonight.”

Tommy twirled the glass in his hands. He nodded. “Okay. Evan.”

Buck felt something in him surge at the sound of it. It wasn’t the soup.

He remembered the first time Maddie had called him by his name, two months after the break-up, and three weeks after he’d learned he was pregnant, and feeling a surge just like this. But it’d been a sob that day, an abrupt little thing leading to him curling up on Maddie’s couch and crying and Maddie crying with him.

This surge felt like an odd relief, bringing a twitching smile to his face. “Yeah.”

Tommy smiled back at him. It lasted a beat as his face shifted in a yawn and Buck realized – very late – that he’d probably startled him out of a much-needed post-shift rest.

“S-sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have come at this hour.”

“It’s fine.”

“You must be tired.”

“I am. And you are exhausted.”

Buck huffed an awkward laugh. He was exhausted, with some muscles he didn’t even know existed feeling sore and bruised after his long trek. He gave Tommy a shrug, not knowing what to say.

“Why don’t I make the bed for you?”

He startled. “That’s…”

“Just an offer,” Tommy said, hands raised.

“I, uhm…” Buck licked his lips. “I have my vitamins I have to t-take. And if s-she comes early…” He swallowed. “...The hospital bag.”

Tommy smiled. “I’ll give you a ride home if that’s what you want. You don’t have to find a way to convince me.”

Buck dropped his gaze to his lap. He traced a finger along his belly, licked his lips again, and looked up. A sigh left him. “I don’t think it’s you I’m trying to convince, Tommy.”

Tommy’s face softened. His gaze moved across Buck’s face before coming back to his eyes. “Finish your soup then. I’ll find fresh sheets for you.”

Buck nodded as Tommy left. Once he was sure he was alone in the room, he looked down at his belly and whispered, “What the hell am I doing?”

With the soup gone, the bathroom used again, and alone and awkward in this place he hadn’t been in for months, Buck stood in the middle of the living room and looked around. He was running a mental list of pros and cons. Pros of coming here tonight: seeing Tommy, not seeing a lover with Tommy, eating soup, feeling Tommy’s hand, hearing Tommy’s voice, seeing Tommy’s smile, seeing Tommy’s eyes, seeing Tommy’s nose scrunch. Cons: everything else, including likely breaking some public nuisance laws, and feeling incredibly incredibly raw and vulnerable.

That was why he wasn’t shocked when Tommy came back with a laughed, “Well, I have a spare toothbrush for you, but I don’t think I can find something you can sleep in that’ll fit,” and in response he heard himself say, “Can you give me belly rubs?”

Tommy stopped. His brows went up. “S-sure,” he said and shook his head. “Sure.”

Hands under his belly, Buck walked towards the hall.

Realizing he was in the way, Tommy stumbled aside and followed.

Once in the bedroom, Buck tried not to think about the first time he’d been here. The first time he’d slept over, the first time Tommy had fucked him, in the bed first, then against the wall later. He tried not to think about all the sweet things they’d whispered to each other in that moment suspended between pitch-black and dawn break, he tried not to think about his leg hair catching Tommy’s as they cuddled, or the way Tommy kissed his bare shoulder, or the murmured “Come over after your shift,” and “You want to make me coffee,” and “Be safe. Please.”

He just took the toothbrush Tommy offered and got ready for bed. Once he returned from the en suite, Tommy repeated the thing about not having clothes for him.

“It’s okay,” Buck said. “I’ll sleep in my boxers.”

Tommy’s throat moved with a swallow. “Won’t you be cold?”

Buck gave him a look. “You better hope I don’t tear my skin off from how hot I’ll get.”

Tommy swallowed again.

Buck undressed, down to nothing but his underwear. He sat on the bed, slow, twisted around with one knee up, and then collapsed on his side. His body gave a loud sigh of relief at achieving the rest position it’d been begging for all night and Buck groaned. Extending his legs, he rubbed his cheek on the pillowcase smelling like Tommy’s softener and revealed in the comfort.

When he realized Tommy wasn’t moving, he looked over his shoulder.

“Belly rubs?” he whispered.

Tommy stared, then shook his head, like startling himself out of a trance. With hesitant steps, he came closer and kneeled on the bed.

“Should I…”

“Just lie behind me,” Buck said, quiet. “Prop yourself on a pillow, so you can see her.”

Licking his lips, Tommy nodded. He shuffled behind Buck, and Buck realized he couldn’t really watch. Turning his face back to the direction of the windows, he started caressing his belly, and pondered again what the hell he was doing here. He barely stopped his shiver as Tommy settled behind him and he felt his presence from his bare nape down to his toes.

Tommy put a hand on his side.

Buck took it, gingerly, and moved it to his bump.

“Be gentle,” he said, swallowing. “We don’t want to start premature labor.”

Tommy nodded. Then his dry and soft palm was on the bare skin of Buck’s belly, and Buck wouldn’t be able to stop his shiver this time even if the world had come to a halt.

“Like this?” Tommy asked, moving his hand in a gentle caress down Buck’s bump.

“Y-yeah,” Buck mumbled. “Yeah.”

The baby kicked, as if she knew she was the reason they were here for.

“Was that?”

“Yeah.” Buck laughed. “Here.” He took Tommy’s hand again and moved it under his bump. “This is her favorite spot to abuse.”

She kicked again, in rapid succession. Buck couldn’t help but look at Tommy off the corner of his eye. The wonder he found on his face choked him up a little bit, the soft line of his brows, and his strong nose Buck wondered a couple times if their daughter was going to inherent.

He covered Tommy’s hand with his.

Tommy looked down at him.

“Just massage like this,” Buck whispered.

Tommy gave another nod. His hand glided in gentle moves on Buck’s skin. Anytime the baby wanted to say hi, he exhaled a little laugh near Buck’s ear, he booped the little foot when it pushed and massaged away the soreness Buck felt with hands warm and alive and not even a little bit foreign.

Buck was entranced.

“So, Eddie usually does this?” Tommy asked at one point, with no intonation in his voice.

Buck pressed his smile on the pillow. “Yeah. Are you jealous?”

Tommy didn’t answer.

They lay there like that, the three of them, as the baby’s excitement slowly died down. Buck was sure she was asleep when Tommy whispered, “I think she’s calmed down.”

“Hm,” Buck said. “You have that impact on people. Putting them at ease. Making everything feel… safe.”

Tommy’s hand slowed down on his belly; it stopped.

Buck waited with bated breath, hoping this wasn’t it and Tommy didn’t pull away.

After a heartbeat, Tommy started caressing him again.

“So, T names,” he said. “What about Tilly?”

Buck gave a slow exhale. He shook his head. “She doesn’t like Tilly.”

“Well, she doesn’t have much of a say right now.”

“No, but she should. I read this book in my first trimester about how kids develop agency, and it starts in the womb. They react to basic stimuli in a way that sets out their preference or repulsion over it and they influence their environment as early as their first kick, as you know my little button is very good at, and it’s really important for her to have a positive response to her name because I want her to feel comfortable in her identity as that’s what—”

He stopped, catching the way Tommy was watching him. With the most aching gaze Buck had ever seen on his handsome face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That I wasn’t there for it.”

Buck’s face crumbled, maybe into something as aching as Tommy’s. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance.”

Tommy’s thumb brushed his belly button, his fingers curled under the bump, he looked away with blinking eyes.

“You know,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat and looking back. “I meant what I said earlier. I’m glad you came here tonight. And if you wake up tomorrow wishing you didn’t, that’s fine by me. If you don’t want me in the picture, that’s fine. If you’d allow me in as a friend, that’s fine. If you want to co-parent, practically or legally, that’s fine. Whatever you want to do. It’s your choice.”

It was Buck’s turn to blink away. His gaze moved to Tommy’s hand, where he was still touching Buck’s bare skin. Buck moved his own near it. He risked a brush on Tommy’s pinky, then with a small inhale, laced his fingers through his, gentle, right.

“There’s another option actually,” he whispered, looking at Tommy. “The real reason why I walked here tonight.”

Because that was it, wasn’t it? What the hell he was doing was this, asking Tommy for a second chance. Asking Tommy to ask him for a second chance. It was that nurse Eddie had started dating, coming in and taking away his only single friend, leaving Buck alone with himself for long stretches of time to think and ponder and long. And think good too, because after spinning in that emotional cocktail every day, there was a moment of clarity, crystal clear where Buck saw what he’d done wrong, how he’d been done wrong, and what he wanted better than ever.

“Evan,” Tommy said with a sigh.

“No, Tommy, I…” Buck stopped and took a deep breath. “Look, I thought about this a lot, okay? I thought about you a lot. I wanted to reach out so badly at the beginning, especially at the beginning, but it was for all the wrong reasons back then. I didn’t understand what you said then. I just wanted to be not heartbroken. But I do now. I know you’ve been scared, and I jumped ahead at the first sight of a hurdle and scared you even more, but let me tell you, being pregnant? It made me know fear like nothing else before. And letting this go without even trying when deep down I know I love you, that I can love every part of you, even the one that doesn’t trust me to know my own feelings, scares me the most.”

Tommy blinked. He repeated, “Evan.”

“And if it doesn’t last or we’re not each other’s last, we can at least say we tried, yeah? And not for the baby’s sake, Tommy, I’m not asking because I’m pregnant. I’m asking because I want to.” Buck swallowed. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you want to?”

Tommy pressed his lips together. His gaze moved across Buck’s face, the blue of it miserable. “The way I left things off with you…”

Buck shook his head.

“...I’ve been so cruel.”

Buck unlaced their hands. “It’s okay,” he said, sniffling. “You don’t have to make excuses. I get it.”

He shifted but Tommy held his gaze, not removing his touch from Buck’s belly. Buck wanted to leave, feeling embarrassed for the first time on this embarrassing night, but he couldn’t, physically, emotionally.

Tommy let out a soft exhale. His head dropped.

Buck stilled.

Tommy looked back up after a moment and said, “What was it you said earlier? That I don’t think it’s you I’m trying to convince?”

Buck’s throat closed up with a wet hopeful lump. “Tommy…”

Tommy shuffled down the bed gently as Buck rolled on his back. He stopped, lips just short of Buck’s bump, and gazed at it – her – with those soft blues. “Hey baby girl,” he whispered. “It’s your dad. Other dad.” He looked at Buck with a wet glint in his eyes. “Papa?”

Buck shook his head.

“Not papa,” Tommy said with a quiet chuckle. “Your dad.” He caressed a line on Buck’s skin. “I’m so sorry I’ve been so late to introduce myself, sweetheart. But I am so happy to meet you.”

A tear slipped Buck’s eye. Then a stream.

Tommy held his hand with the one not busy loving their daughter. He didn’t look up. He continued. “See your dad here? Your incredible dad? I’ve hurt him a while back, and pretty badly too, but your dad is so big-hearted, huge, and he’s here to forgive me before I can even apologize. And I have to, baby, a lot. It’ll take a lot of groveling before it’s enough, and the only way I can start is with a kiss.” He looked up at Buck, as if Buck’s body trembling in a silent cry wasn’t enough of an answer, and whispered, “So, close your eyes.”

One hand bracing Buck’s belly, the other finding his curls, he leaned in, and Buck’s lips got the kiss he’d been longing for all these months. It was teary, snotty, too much saliva, too much teeth, nowhere near their best kiss, but it was the desperation slowly leaving its place to relief and contentment that made it the greatest.

Buck breathed it in; Tommy carded his hair. Buck licked into his mouth; Tommy stroked his teary cheek. Their hands meet over Buck’s belly, and Buck pulled back.

“I hope you know you’re groveling for all the shitty pregnancy bits you missed as well.”

Tommy hummed.

Buck giggled. “And you know she was asleep, right?”

“Shut up,” against his lips, Tommy whispered.

Buck laughed again, silent but oh-so-true, chest feeling at ease as he listened and shut up for the time being. They had a lot to talk about later, and all the time in the world for it.