just to sit outside your door

Eddie has never been fond of Christmas, and this year only goes from bad to worse.

It’s a time of year that he should adore, filled with family and presents and cheer. Eddie likes all those things! Well, he’s pretty sure everyone does. But as he wraps presents early on Christmas Eve, running through the list of gifts he’s bought in his head for the hundredth time, it feels the same way it always does. Like pressure; like expectations.

Eddie rocks back on his heels. He’s kneeling on the carpeted floor of the bland rental living room, metres away from a rather pathetic looking Christmas tree. It’s the best he could find this year, and as grateful as Eddie was Chris agreed to help decorate it…

Well. It's nothing like the one they had last year, that's for sure. Eddie wants to be grateful that Chris didn’t care about the perfect tree this time - except he knows it means Chris doesn’t care at all, and that’s worse. It means he’s finally given up on Eddie ever managing to get it right.

Eddie feels like he’s been waiting for the pin drop since he was a kid himself, trying to be on his best behaviour for the Diaz Christmas with the whole extended family. Those years were nothing like Christmas at the 118.

Christmas as a kid meant Eddie being on his best behaviour, because his parents wanted to show off how wonderful and perfect their whole family was. It was needing to be the perfect big brother, getting his sisters presents that they would love but that wouldn’t outshine the half-hearted gifts Ramon picked up on his way home from work, helping Helena cook but staying out of her way because she didn’t trust anyone else’s hand but her own. 

When Eddie got older, Christmas got worse. It became a reminder that he was too young to start a family, but he’d made one anyway, and he didn’t have the money to provide for them. It was shitty video calls that paid merely lip service to his obligations as a father, and then it was being a clumsy imposition on the traditions Shannon had already created with their son. 

Christmas had always been the expectation of perfection. And that meant Eddie always fell short.

Now Chris knew it too. His last few Christmases had been a struggle, Shannon a gaping hole in their lives and Eddie’s life a mess with work and emergencies and dead comrades and leaving friends. He hadn’t even wanted to think about how awful it would be this year. This year, when Chris hadn’t forgiven him for kissing the doppelganger of his dead mother, Eddie had to spend the festivities with his parents. Somehow, the apathy Chris seems to have towards the whole thing is worse than any tantrums in the past.

Anyway. He’s not expecting Christmas this year to be anything good, is the point. His expectations are practically on the floor… but he’s still not expecting it to get as bad as it eventually does. He’s still not ready for this to become the worst Christmas of his life.

Eddie stands up, shaking out legs gone numb with pins and needles, and surveys his work. There’s a decent pile of presents under the tree, all a little wonkily wrapped because Eddie’s never been good at the corners. He’s not sure why all his experience folding bandages hasn’t translated to presents, but Buck’s always been the much tidier wrapper of the two of them. Eddie tidies up the house in silence, no one else there to insist he play annoying Christmas songs all day at home, or in the car on the way to work. Eddie’s not watched a single awful Hallmark movie yet this year, and it’s Christmas Eve.

Eddie begged Captain Murray for Christmas Day off and counted his blessings when the old captain took pity on him. Eddie’s content to work the public holidays before and after - so long as he has the chance to salvage Christmas itself. It’s better than Buck managed, apparently. Buck is working Christmas Eve, Christmas, and then covering for B-shift on boxing day. How that’s even allowed, Eddie has no idea, and he hasn’t gotten much explanation from Buck.

Actually, that’s the other thing. As Eddie heads to work early, loading his duffel on autopilot and mentally running through the lists of gifts he’s already sent by post to LA, he can’t help but dwell on how little he’s heard from Buck at all in the last week. Buck’s been pulling back.

Eddie’s stomach twists at the mere thought; he twists his keys in the ignition of his car with more force than needed as he sets off for the 201 for the day.

Buck’s not pulling back from Chris, of course - they facetime twice a week to do homework, and inevitably it devolves into conversations about movies and museums and games that Eddie doesn’t even try to keep up with. He’s sure he would only ruin them anyway.

No, Buck’s been pulling back from Eddie.

He tried telling Perry about it yesterday at work; Perry had given him the usual strange wink he always made when Eddie took a phone call from Buck on shift, and asked how Eddie’s partner was. Perry always seemed strangely invested in Buck, seeing as he’d never met the guy and presumably never would, but then again Eddie supposed Buck was an interesting guy. Eddie frowned, tapping his phone against the palm of his hand and looking around to see if Burns or Lowe were around before replying. He didn’t want the resident house assholes overhearing his concerns.

“Something’s up,” he murmured, half to himself.

“With your partner?” Perry asked, tone concerned.

Eddie hummed in agreement. “We’ve barely spoken in two weeks.”

A moment’s pause. “Did you not…just call him?”

Eddie pointed a finger at Perry, their voices echoing as they walked out of the lounge and towards the locker room. “Exactly. Normally, Buck calls me.”

“Okay…” Perry had hesitated. “But he called you on Friday last week, right?”

Eddie nodded. “Yep, and then we only spoke once over the weekend! Only once! And on Monday, before he spoke to Chris, we only spoke for like….ten minutes or so. It’s like he doesn’t even want to talk to me anymore!”

Now, Eddie sighs, running a hand through his hair as he pulls into the house parking lot. Perry had seemed pretty sceptical last night that there was anything wrong. Apparently, people got ‘busy’ and ‘calling three or four times a week is still a lot, Eddie’, and Perry ‘doesn’t even talk to his own wife that often’. Whatever. Eddie doesn’t care about Perry’s wife. He knows Buck, and he knows something’s wrong.

Last time they spoke, Buck didn’t teach him anything. Not a single fun fact, not unless you’re counting a rundown of his favourite Saint Nicholas legend, which Eddie doesn’t because they have that conversation every year. So something’s wrong. Eddie just doesn’t know what, and he doesn’t know what to do to fix it.

“Mornin’ Diaz,” a cold voice calls. “Glad to see you deigned to join us lowlifes for the holiday shifts.”

Eddie looks up to see Burns swaggering over, tilting his chin forward in what is either acknowledgement or challenge. Eddie ignores his mocking tone, giving nothing more than a silent nod before striding past Burns into the house. Burns mutters something - probably an insult - and follows behind him. Burns still hasn’t warmed to Eddie, and calls him exclusively ‘LA - zy boy’ like it’s some kind of witty nickname.

Eddie pays no attention to Burns….but it seems the other man’s bad mood is infectious. Everyone is grumpy at having to work on Christmas Eve - a 24, no less, meaning they have to go join their families at 6am on Christmas day. Evie is quiet as she nurses coffee, fidgeting when they’re working and melancholy when they’re not. Diana glares at everyone and anything like they’re personally responsible for her missing her ‘much more interesting plans’, as she sneers to Eddie on more than one occasion. Even Perry seems a little down, face set in a way that belies no emotion beyond determination to get through the shift.

Partway through, Eddie gets a text from Buck. It's a picture of the 118 setting up tables for a big house family, even though they’re working.

Eddie’s stomach twists, and for once, he doesn’t respond.

That’s the beginning of the worst Christmas Eddie’s ever had. From there, it gets worse. Eddie has the thought - just the silent thought, inside his head, so it really shouldn’t count as a jinx even if he did believe in those, which he doesn’t - that at least the calls are pretty easy, when the bell rings. And then the blaring alarms keep ringing and ringing and ringing as a crackling intercom calls out a three-alarm fire a few blocks from the firehouse. 

The 201 leap into action, cool professionalism overtaking every grumpy frown except Burns, who works just fine with a permanent glare affixed to his face. It’s a short drive, and Eddie tries not to trace the route in his head - they get about halfway along his usual commute to pick up Chris from school, and that’s not at all a helpful thought to have while he’s at work.

Eddie resolves to put Chris out of his head as he jumps out of the truck, focusing on the hard tarmac beneath his thick army boots and the fierce friction of a hose in his gloved hands. There’s heat and smoke, and shouted commands, and Eddie is nothing and no one, just another cog in the machine fighting to keep people alive. He’s a focused soldier, an instinctive fighter, a lifesaver…

And then his focus slips.

Eddie catches sight of a small child in the corner of the room; he’s at the west corner of the residential apartment building, only Perry at his back.

“Copy Cap,” Eddie radios, and his voice cracks. “Captain Murray, we’ve got another kid back here. Conscious but trapped. Prep an ambulance and Perry and I will get him back.”

His throat hurts, and it’s not the smoke. The kid is Chris’ age - and Eddie knows better than to think like this. Victims on calls can’t be compared to loved ones, not if you want to keep your mind intact. But Eddie misses his son, and his best friend, and right now the kid has Chris’ brown hair, and Chris’ red glasses, and the way he’s trapped by fallen furniture forces him to hold his arms in the air like Chris used to do after falling over, before his independent streak and hard physio work taught him to get up on his own.

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, but his hands are shaking as they approach the kid.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, voice a smoke-filled rasp. “How you doin’ down here?” 

His voice sounds more Texan, he realises distantly. More Hispanic; he’s got the drawl his mother hated and the tail end of Spanish consonants littered anxiously through his words. 

The kid doesn’t reply, too busy crying. Eventually, Eddie wheedles the kid’s name out of him; Joshua, apparently. It’s not Chris, it’s nothing like Chris, but that doesn’t help the wrench in Eddie’s gut.

Joshua’s wearing a yellow shirt.

Eddie wants to pick him up, to hold him close, to protect him from the fire and the water and everything that’s wrong in the world. But Perry is right there, already pulling furniture loose and assessing the damage, so Eddie forces himself to get it together. He can be upset later; right now the kid needs him focused.

Between Perry and him, and eventually Evie and Diana when they swing by on their own sweep of the house, they get the broken coffee table and armchair lifted safely away from the kid. He’s got a broken wrist, from the look of it, but nothing too severe and he seems more frightened than in pain. It doesn’t stop Eddie from lifting the kid to his chest the minute Joshua asks. Eddie carries him from the burning building, barely noticing the strain in his arms, and doesn’t set him down until they reach the ambulances parked outside.

Joshua sits on a stretcher, blinking ash out of his tear-stained eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers, and then, louder, “Mum?”

Eddie’s shouldered out of the way none-too-gently by a woman with brown hair blackened with smoke and eyes red with fear and grief. “Josh? Oh thank god…”

Eddie stumbles back, away from their reunion. He blinks and sees Chris sitting there, drenched from the tsunami years ago, blinks and sees Josh embrace his mother. Another blink, and Chris is scared from the earthquake, another blink and he’s crying as he sits on Buck’s hospital bed last year. 

Eddie rubs his eyes. Josh and his mother are safe now, and Eddie forces the visions of his son away. He’s not normally like this; not normally trapped between the past and the present like leftover glue on broken ceramic, fixed half-heartedly years ago and left to crumble over time.

A hand on Eddie’s shoulder makes him flinch; he turns to see Perry frowning towards him. “All right, Diaz?”

Eddie nods, swallowing hard. “Yep. Sorry. Where to next?”

Perry gives him a searching stare, but the heat from the crackling fire is pressing at their backs. There’s no time for further questioning right now, and Eddie takes the opportunity to lose himself in work again. He’s nothing and no one, just protective gear and strong arms wielding a hose, one of several clearing floors, a cog in a machine, no thoughts left hanging around to haunt him.

Eddie knows he’s quiet and withdrawn the rest of their shift, but thankfully Perry doesn’t ask again. Maybe it’s because Eddie’s not the only one missing his family on Christmas Eve, or maybe everyone else is simply too distracted to ask. Whatever the reason, Eddie’s grateful for it. 

He spends the remaining time counting down the hours, checking for messages from Buck or Christopher and shoving down a piercing disappointment when none arrive. He’s not surprised; what reason would either of them have to reach out? How would they know he’s busy driving himself insane with visions of one or the other of them hurt, or of them looking back on their past Christmases and being glad Eddie’s not there this time to ruin it again?

When there’s only an hour left to go, the calls finally slow to a stop. They drive back to the firehouse, hang around under the hot shower water until it begins to go cold, stretching aching muscles and exchanging tired chatter. Eddie finds a corner of the shared living space, and sinks alone into one of the couches. The firehouse here isn't rundown, exactly, but it’s certainly a lot less cared for than the 118. The couch is faded and stained, sagging in the middle. Eddie doesn’t care, and he’s about to close his eyes when Perry finally comes to join him

Eddie tries not to sigh visibly. His throat aches, and he’s trying to blame the smoke inhalation.

“You gonna tell me what’s up with you, today, Diaz?” Perry asks, flopping down onto the low couch with the kind of disregard Eddie normally associates with Buck’s casual movements.

“Merry Christmas to you too,” Eddie snarks halfheartedly, but waves off Perry’s immediate reply. There’s a muted cheer beginning to spread through the house - belated, muted by fatigue, but still tugging up the corners of his coworker’s mouths, lining their faces with anticipation. Somewhere in the middle of the long calls night began to shift towards morning. Technically speaking, it’s Christmas day.

Eddie shrugs, pursing his lips as he thinks it over. “Long shift,” he offers half-heartedly.

Perry hums quietly.

Eddie can see his brain turning the day over, can see him forming the questions Eddie doesn’t want to answer. Doesn’t think he can answer, at least not right now.

“You mentioned your wife a few times,” Eddie says instead, stopping Perry’s curiosity in its tracks. He meets Perry’s warm brown stare, traces the shadows under his eyes that contrast the easy line of his broad shoulders. “Are you spending Christmas with her today?”

Perry’s smirk tells Eddie the other man knows exactly what he’s doing with that segue, but there’s enough light dancing in his eyes that Eddie knows Perry’s always happy to talk about his wife. Indeed, he launches quickly into a story about her meticulous Christmas shopping, hardly stopping for breath and always with that same humour in his eyes. It makes Eddie’s chest feel tight to watch, like he’s witnessing something he shouldn’t, like he’s performing someone else’s part in a long-established play. Before long, Diana and Evie wander over to listen, joined at the hip like always.

Evie snorts at every one of Perry’s jokes, and Eddie finds himself distracted from Perry’s story by the sight of her and Diana. Diana watches Evie like she hung the stars, like she can feel every laugh Evie gives deep within the cavern of her chest. She watches, and watches, but she doesn’t do anything more than lean in, soaking up Evie’s warmth and whatever else Evie’s willing to give her. It’s a little frustrating, honestly - Eddie doesn’t get why they won’t just admit to being in love with each other. He refuses to believe neither one of them has noticed the way they move like a binary star system, locked in each other’s orbit.

The thought makes Eddie’s gut twist with something ugly. Fun fact, he hears in Buck’s voice, like a devil on his shoulder, like an angel just hidden from view. If binary stars get close enough, their gravitational fields can permanently alter the surface atmosphere of the other. Even if they eventually fall out of orbit, they will always be marked by their partner.

Eddie’s chest is so tight. He’s still smiling and nodding along to Perry’s story, but he hasn’t heard a word in the last five minutes. He’s never felt quite like this before; so unmoored, so solitary. Like he finally found his own gravitational axis, but now it’s gone again.

The bell rings just ten minutes before their shift is due to end, and for once Eddie can’t bring himself to mind.

----

Eddie finishes his shift an hour and a half late, making it past 8:00 am by the time he’s finally showered, picked up his presents from his house and driven to his parents’ house. It’s not a good start - even though he messages Helena as soon as he could manage apologising for his tardiness, she gives him a stern glare when he finally pulls up in the driveway.

She comes to meet him on the front porch, and Eddie’s stomach twists. 

“What time do you call this, Edmundo?” She sneers.

Eddie’s always hated the way his mother says his full name. The extra syllables are simply further vehicles for her disapproval; she twists her tongue around it like she’s found some great irony, like the name has high aspirations that Eddie fails to fulfill.

Eddie sighs, hefting his presents out of his backseat. “I already messaged, Ma. It was a long call, just bad timing.”

Helena doesn’t reply, but he hears her mutter ‘bad timing yet again’ under her breath as she snatches the closest present from his hand. 

“You missed Santa Claus,” she says archly. “Your gifts will have to wait until after dinner.”

Eddie doesn’t complain, doesn’t say how unfair that is when most people will only just be waking up right now, doesn’t even let himself yawn to give away how tired he is right now. He just follows his mother into the house he grew up in, toeing off his shoes at the door.

From there Christmas turns into a bit of a blur. He can’t check in with Chris for nearly half an hour, stuck as he is greeting his sisters and cousins and aunts and uncles and a dozen relatives he barely remembers the name of. Tia Pepa and Abula aren’t here, choosing instead to have a quiet Christmas in L.A, and Eddie pretends to himself that he doesn’t miss them keenly.

When he does finally see Chris, his son steps back from the hug Eddie offers. He greets Eddie, offers little more than a ‘How was your shift’, and barely waits for Eddie’s repeated apology before running off to go play with some of the other kids running around. Honestly, Eddie has no clue who the other children are - maybe the neighbours? School friends?

It’s been years since he was so out of the loop on his son’s life; he’s trying not to let it feel like deja vu.

Christmas passes in a myriad of pointless, repetitive conversations, and snatches of quiet Eddie rations out for himself on the front porch. He tries a few times to look in at Christopher, watching as his son plays with other children Eddie doesn’t know, with toys he doesn’t recognise, playing games utterly foreign to Eddie… but he knows better than to hover. He knows it would only make it worse.

They make it through dinner uneventfully; by now Eddie’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, but it doesn’t matter. He answers questions when he’s asked, studies Chris’ face across the table, trying to track lines of impatience or joy in his son’s bright eyes. Helena and Ramon make jab after jab about Eddie being late, being wrong, not being there at all, and honestly? Eddie’s too drained to care. He stays awake, he stays pleasant, he watches his son. That’s really all he can ask for. He’s counting down the minutes until he can leave. He gave up on making this special Christmas somewhere between his shift running late this morning and realising he’d have to spend it here three months ago.

Eddie’s entirely uncaring, that is, until it’s finally time to give out the rest of the presents. By now lots of the extended family and friends have left, thank god, or Eddie would never be able to live this down.

Helena and Ramon gather Chris into the living room. Eddie’s just gotten back to the bathroom, and he nearly misses the first present Chris opens. He’s hurt but not surprised his parents don’t bother to wait for him.

Eddie holds his tongue at the gifts his parents give his son; a chess set, even though Eddie used to think Chris hated the game; a school bag with Chris’ new school colours on it, which Eddie pretends not to notice; and new trainers that Helena insists will be better for him to walk in, as if Eddie doesn’t buy every pair of Chris’ shoes specially from a podiatrist. It’s fine, honestly. Chris has chosen to live with his grandparents; he’s chosen their particular brand of love and care. Chosen it over Eddie’s, technically. And as much as it fills Eddie with fear to admit it, he knows Chris is old enough to get a say in what he wants now.

Eddie’s stomach is positively roiling by the time it's turn for his own gifts to be open. Christopher is quiet with his thanks as he picks up the first wrapped gift, a small box about the size of his palm. He weight it in his hand, and Eddie tries not to smile - Chris opens presents the exact way Buck does, starting with the smallest gift and always guessing the contents before unfolding the paper with care.

Chris doesn’t guess aloud, merely tilts his head as he approaches the small parcel. Eddie’s pulse picks up as he watches, irrational though it is. Chris seems to take forever to remove the paper, refusing like always to tear it to shreds. Finally, he takes the lid of a small white box, looking inside….and his face falls.

Eddie flexes his fingers, trying to resist pinching himself, digging in his nails until it hurts. “For the house, mijo. So you can come and go - so you can make it your own.”

Christopher looks from the small metal key in his hand to Eddie, and Eddie fights to keep his voice calm. Chris must be unimpressed - it’s not really a gift, after all, it’s a given. “Go on and open the rest, Chris. So you can start thinking about decorating-”

He doesn’t get to finish. Eddie never gets to hint at the posters he and Buck spend hours designing, photographs they’d found of all of them and all of Chris’ friends and the whole 118; at the gaming and marvel paraphernalia Buck helped him find; at the arts and crafts they’d thought would be perfect for Chris to start designing his own space. Eddie wants Chris to like his room at the new house - he’d been hoping decoration would be a good start.

But it doesn’t matter; none of that matters.

Chris’ face contorts, cheeks flushed and eyes flashing bright and dark.

Eddie’s stomach plummets. “Chris-” He tries, but it’s too late.

“When will you learn?” Chris cries, and its not in a voice Eddie would have expected. Chris sounds more than hurt; he sounds bitter. “When are you going to stop doing this to me?” he shouts.

Eddie steps forward, hand out, an olive branch reaching-

His mother tugs him back. Physically, with a hand digging into his shoulder and a solid jerk that pulls him away from his son. 

“Chris, sweetie, let your Abuelo take you to your room. I’ll talk to Edmudo and come chat to you later, okay?” Eddie tries not to bristle at her patronising tone, but Chris goes without protest. He was always a better peacekeeper than Eddie, always more able to give people the benefit of the doubt. Well. Until now, that is.

Eddie shakes his head, trying to force the tears down, down, down, trying to hide his childish need to shout and rage and cry. Crying never got him anywhere as a kid; he knows it will only make everything worse now.

He clears his throat, turning to his mother. Maybe they can at least have a conversation about this, maybe…

Helena glares at him. “I don’t know what you expected,” she says smartly, and it stings so cruelly Eddie has to lock every muscle so as not to flinch.

His voice cracks when he speaks, but the tears blurring his vision don’t fall. “I thought he’d appreciate the independence,” he tries, but that isn’t what he wants to say. Eddie clears his throat, tries again. “I don’t understand what he wants,” he says instead. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Eddie looks to his mother, knowing she won’t ever let him forget this admission of failure, but no longer caring. Helena can hold his inability to fix this on his own for the rest of their lives if it means she’ll help him somehow, if it means this can be fixed. He looks from Helena’s frown to the empty doorway his son disappeared down - anything’s worth bringing Chris back to his side.

“Please,” he whispers. “He must have told you guys something - just help me fix this.”

He feels distant from his limbs, feels like he;s watching from outside himself.

Helena shakes her head, once, twice. Her glare is disapproving, her tone derisive as she replies. “You cannot fix this, Edmundo. You do not have anything to give him that he can’t already get from us.”

Eddie chokes down a retort, pushes down a sob, shoves shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Ma. Please.”

All he wants is his son back. All he needs is his son by his side again. All he is, is his family. Eddie is a soldier, a father, a husband, a protector. A firefighter, a father, a friend.

What is he now, with no one left beside him to protect? 

Helena steps back. There is no warmth in the flint of her gaze, no sympathy in the harsh set of her narrow shoulders. “It is time for you to go, now, Edmundo.”

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s Christmas, Ma, you can’t-”

“Leave,” Helena snaps, and this time Eddie does take a step back. It’s been years since his mother made her judgement so blatant, free from the veneer of parental concern.

Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but there’s nothing left to say. No one wants him here. There’s nothing he can do, nothing he can say. He can’t fix this mess if no one’s willing to let him near the pieces.

Eddie turns his back on his mother, and leaves. He drives in silence the whole way home, watching the rear-view mirror instead of the road. No one watches him from the living-room window; no one comes out to wave him down from the porch.

Eddie goes back to his empty house, and sits alone in bed, staring at his facetime call logs. He doesn’t bother to call anyone; he sits in the quiet and stares at the empty white walls of his room. This Christmas was probably a contender for his worst one yet - the only thing worse than being apart from his family is being right beside them, knowing its too late for them to let him in. At least it's over now, though, Eddie reasons. At least the New Year is coming; at least things can't get any worse.