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Assistant: Title: i love you, i'm sorry
        Author: jamespctters jamespctters 
        Chapter: 1/6 
        Summary: “Just say it, Chim,” Eddie replies, his tone clipped.Chimney winces but presses on. “Eddie…” He hesitates, glancing at Karen like he’s begging her for an out. She nods firmly. No turning back now. “Buck is dead.”The line goes silent. A heavy, eerie silence that settles over the room like a shroud. She knows what Eddie must be feeling right now—the cold shock, the hollow ache, the frantic disbelief. She remembers how it felt when Chim had told her Hen was dead, how her world had stopped spinning for one agonizing moment. Her hands curl into fists against the table. This is fine. This is part of the plan.But then there’s a screech through the phone, followed by an extended, blaring honk.Karen’s stomach drops. Her eyes dart to Hen’s, wide with alarm.F@ck.OR: When Eddie leaves for Texas on bad terms with Buck, their friends can't help but meddle.
            
            Buck accidentally lets Eddie’s plans slip to Christopher.
        Contents: Chapter 1: Christopher
    

    

        
          
          
            Buck accidentally lets Eddie’s plans slip to Christopher.
          
        

      
        
          welcome to 1 of 3 post 8a buddie fics i’m planning to write if i can pull my sh@t together and finish them before march 6th!!! (i won't)technically no beta reader but this fic was basically co written like chris is co parented. i’m eddie obviously because this is my child but gabby is buck because she stepped up to raise it as well (spent hours on facetime and at my house). cassie is shannon because she helped me bring the idea to life and nurture it while it was young. it was originally supposed to be a silly one shot from chimney’s pov but it got wayyy out of hand and i got stuck with this angst bomb instead, courtesy cassie insisting i add more chapters and perspectives. this metaphor is worse than eddie’s vat of molten chocolate proposal but f@ck it we balli’m also aware that this is kind of ooc because i don’t think buck or eddie would ever be okay with leaving on bad terms but i tried to make everything as in character as i possibly could while also steering the plot in the direction i needed it to goand i'm SORRY i know there are a lot of paragraphs at the start but this fic in general is actually dialogue heavy because it’s the only part i actually enjoy writing—the rest is just necessary context to justify the stupidity of what they’re saying. so pls persevere if ur bored at the start, i promise it gets good(title is i love you, i’m sorry by gracie abrams because there are a lot of people in this fic who have a lot to be sorry for)
            
            (See the end of the chapter for  more notes.)
            
      
  

  
  
    
    When Christopher left for Texas in the early summer, he didn’t really have a master plan of action.He still doesn’t, if he’s honest. He has no timeline and no one pressing him for one, so he’s kind of just been winging it—making things up as he goes and crossing his fingers that time will do what it’s supposed to: smooth the edges, patch the cracks, and bring clarity. Maybe it’s naive of him to bank on the hope that, eventually, he’ll just one day feel ready to face the deeper discussion of grief and pain that’s currently being avoided, but he’s not quite sure what else to do, given that every time he looks at his dad’s face, Chris’ brain concocts the image of  her  standing right beside him.And the worst part is—he’s never quite sure which  her it’s supposed to be.So, for now, he’s content to let life unravel in its own messy, unpredictable way, trusting that eventually, the wounds will scar over. Maybe it’s not the most proactive approach, but it’s the only one he can manage right now: find the space to breathe, let time heal what needs healing, fill in the cracks with something stronger, and leave him with the courage—and clarity—to face whatever comes next. To face Dad. To face  home.However long that takes. Because, despite the lack of a detailed roadmap, that’s always been the endgame—home. The only person he’s actually verbalised this to is Tía Sophia, whom he has sworn to secrecy on the matter. He’s thought about confiding in Tía Adriana too, but she’s a bit of a chatterbox. A well-meaning one, sure, but Chris is pretty convinced she wouldn’t hesitate to let his perspective slip in conversation—whether deliberately or accidentally—and the last thing Chris wants is for this tentative, half-formed plan to prematurely make the rounds among his loved ones.He’s especially not ready for his grandparents to hear it. They’ve done so much for him since he came to stay, and he’s not sure they’d take kindly to the idea that all their efforts might be temporary. So, for now, he’s keeping quiet, biding his time and postponing that conversation until it becomes unavoidable. He’ll deal with their reactions when the moment comes, just as he’ll deal with the thornier matter of his dad.  Chris isn’t ready to offer his dad the glimmer of hope that comes with a return date. In fact, he thinks that it’s almost crueler to let him have hope than it is to leave him feeling hopeless—not that Eddie doesn’t deserve it, with all that he’s messed up. But almost six months have already passed, and Chris is still unwilling to commit or confine himself to a timeline, let alone one his dad might cling to. He figures he’ll know when the time is right, and when it is, he’ll tell his dad.  Then  he’ll go home.  Then  they can talk. He has no expectations for anything to happen any sooner, or without him requesting it. Sometimes, on the nights when he’s missing him most, Chris wishes his dad would fly to Texas just to hold him and tell him everything will be okay, like he used to do when Chris was younger. And Chris is certain—no shadow of a doubt in his mind—that if he called his dad at 3am, and asked him to do just that, Eddie Diaz would be on the next plane to El Paso, Texas.But then the morning would come, and Eddie would arrive, and Chris would see his face and be reminded of all the reasons he’s not ready to confront him yet. All the reasons he left, and all the reasons he asked his dad not to follow.When the wounds have healed over, and the pain of it all isn’t so raw, maybe they’ll start to rebuild something—something that wasn’t shattered by the distance Chris created, but by the weight of his dad’s lies and betrayals, and the trust that  he  broke.(A trust that still lingers—perhaps  not  broken, just bent—its foundation too strong to shatter so easily.)Until that moment comes, it’s just easier not to say anything.The only other person Chris has considered sharing all of this with is Buck. But he doesn’t need to. Buck already knows.
   Not everyone goes away forever. Sometimes they come back.  
He was only ten when Buck first explained it to him. At the time, he hadn’t really understood, not in the way he does now. It wasn’t until  he  was the one to leave—aware, in the back of his mind, that there were people awaiting his return—that the words finally clicked.Chris knows that Buck knows. He doesn’t have to spell it out. Buck probably reminds Eddie every single day that this is just a temporary arrangement, that Chris isn’t gone for good, just figuring things out in his own time.
   And as much as we miss them, that’s how happy we are to see them again. 
It’s not an if but a when as to whether Chris will see them again. But the longer he’s gone, the more they’ll miss him. So, when that time eventually  does  come, Chris knows they’ll be happy to see him.Not that they wouldn’t be happy to see him now, but absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.He’s hoping that perhaps the same sentiment applies for the person who left. That the grudges will fade and the longing will settle in. That perhaps the longer he stays away, the more he’ll grow to miss everyone, and the happier he’ll be to return home and see them all again. So, really, just because he didn’t have a concrete plan, it didn’t mean the decision to flee to Texas was made on a whim. No, Christopher had thought it through—gaining time and space to untangle his thoughts and feelings, free from his dad’s hovering presence and endless apologies for something Christopher still couldn’t quite figure out how to forgive, was merely the tip of the iceberg. If all Christopher had wanted was to escape the suffocating proximity of living under the same roof as his dad, he could’ve just gone to Buck’s. It wouldn’t have been the first time—Buck had taken him in the last time he’d tried to run away, arms wide open and judgment-free, like always. But there’s the catch: Buck had called Dad then. And knowing the way those two operate, Dad would’ve been over at Buck’s in no time, because they tell each other  everything.Even if they had let Chris stay at the loft for an undetermined duration—much like his current stay in Texas—it wouldn't have been all that different from his usual life, since Dad and Buck were so inseparable. It wouldn't have been an escape if Dad was always over at the loft, or if Buck was constantly taking Chris back home so that he wasn’t left unsupervised while they hung out. Then, inevitably, Buck would’ve done that thing he always does—tried to smooth things over, to fix things, maybe even encouraged them to talk it out. He’d sit them down, nudge them toward some heart-to-heart that Christopher isn’t ready for, all while giving Eddie one of those overly earnest looks that screams something Chris can never quite interpret, but he knows his dad understands. And as much as Chris appreciates that Buck’s intentions would be nothing other than pure, he knows he wouldn’t have been ready to face that conversation as quickly as Buck would’ve wanted him to.Besides, while Chris had called his grandparents to set this whole lack of a plan in motion, he knew his dad had reached out to Buck. Because Buck is the one his dad depends on. The one he trusts. The one who always has his back. And, from what Chris can tell, his dad seems to need Buck more than ever right now—a support Buck couldn’t have offered if Chris had been monopolizing his time and attention.Because—well,  look—Chris understands his dad well enough to anticipate the guilt-driven sacrifices he’d make. If Buck asked how he could help—and inevitably, he  would—Eddie wouldn’t focus on his own needs. Instead, he’d deflect, asking Buck to prioritize Chris, to talk to him, to help him, rather than admitting to the support he so clearly required himself. His guilt would take center stage, sidelining the grief that had dragged them into this mess to begin with. Nothing would change.And then it would happen again. Not the exact same situation—because, seriously, how many clones of his mom could possibly exist?—but something equally absurd and damaging to Chris’ psyche would be bound to rear its head. Something that maybe they couldn't recover from.Without Buck at his side, Chris doubted Eddie’s ability to heal.So, Chris made a somewhat selfless choice—one that, frankly, deserved a medal, given how much he had every right to be selfish right now. But he didn’t  want  to take Buck away from his dad.Because, in the end, they were just better together.The choice to leave was then only reaffirmed by Christopher’s grandparents, who had encouraged the whole idea of giving his dad space. When Chris had called them, asking if he could come stay with them in Texas, they hadn’t hesitated. They had, however, gently suggested that the distance might be good for  everyone—for Chris, for Eddie, for whatever broken pieces they were both trying to figure out how to carry. They’d even hinted, in that subtle, adult way that made Christopher want to scream, that he reminded his dad too much of his mom. Like his very existence might be pouring salt in wounds that neither of them were ready to heal.Once, a long time ago, Chris had asked his dad if it was true.
   The things that make you sad—am I one of them? 
His dad had looked offended, almost hurt, at the mere suggestion that Chris could ever bring anything but joy to his life. And Chris had believed him then. He still does, even now, with miles between them, fights unresolved, and silence stretching in the space where words should be. Chris knows his dad loves him—has never, ever doubted it, even at their worst.But lately, Chris has started to wonder if his dad’s emphatic  Never  might not have been entirely true. Maybe neither of them knew it at the time, but somewhere, deep down, Chris is starting to believe he might be one of the things that makes his dad sad.Maybe his grandparents are right. Maybe staying away for a while is as much about Chris giving himself the space to heal as it is about giving his dad the room to do the same. Because, yeah, Chris is mad as hell about what his dad did—who  cheats  on their girlfriend with a woman who looks like their  dead wife? That’s not just messy; it’s diagnosable. Probably even certifiable. And yeah, Chris is  furious  about it, but as angry and betrayed as he is, there’s this tiny, annoying part of him that’s also… a little worried. Whatever is going on with his dad, it’s neither healthy nor normal, and maybe stepping back—for however long it takes—will give both of them the clarity they need to face it when the time comes. Maybe this time apart isn’t just for Chris, but for Eddie as well. Maybe he needs this space too, but would never push Chris away to get it. So, maybe Chris has to force his dad to be alone, to confront himself in an empty house every day, where he can’t deflect by focusing on fixing or healing Chris instead of addressing his own struggles.  However long it takes—that’s the mantra. His dad might  believe  he’s ready to move forward—for Chris to come home—but Chris doesn’t think either of them are actually there yet.Chris isn’t an expert on grief or healing. He’s not entirely sure what his dad needs to move forward, and he’s even less certain of what he needs himself. But he figured that since everything—the loss, the pain, the unraveling—tied back to losing his mom, maybe the answer lay in going back to the place where he felt most connected to her. Hence, the indefinite stay in Texas.It’s more of an abstract hope than a concrete plan. Chris knows his memories of his mom are few and fragile, and most of the time, they feel like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. But Texas—Texas is where they were together. It’s where his mom was a constant in his life, even if only for a little while. He spent his earliest years with her in Texas, and part of him believes that being there might jumpstart something, spark some dormant recollection of her voice, her laugh, her presence. The pieces of her he remembers are so faint, and the pieces he’s forgotten are often brought back in all the wrong ways—like through a woman standing in his living room on a random Tuesday evening, whose resemblance to his mother is more haunting than comforting.Chris doesn’t want to remember his mom through fragments or stand-ins. He wants to go back to Texas and be able to remember  her. The real Shannon Diaz. Did she even  like  being Shannon Diaz? Chris can’t even remember her maiden name, if he ever knew it in the first place.Texas seemed like the way to figure out what he was forgetting, but as it turns out, connecting with her is rather difficult when people won’t actually talk about her. His grandparents avoid the topic entirely, as if her name is a loaded weapon. When they do mention her, it’s dismissive, rarely positive, and they certainly don’t want to show him the photo albums or home videos they’ve kept tucked away. The memories he so desperately craves feel locked behind doors he doesn’t have the key to.His bisabuela is much more sympathetic towards his plight, but she too remains rather tight lipped on the subject of his mother. When Chris asks, she usually just pats him on the cheek affectionately and encourages him to talk to his dad about it, since he knew her better than the rest of them.The only person who talks about his mom with any real warmth and fondness is Tía Sophia. She and Shannon were apparently close even before they were officially family, but their bond was strengthened by years of supporting each other while Eddie was away at war. Sophia’s stories are full of kindness and understanding, a reminder that Shannon wasn’t just Chris’ mom or Eddie’s wife—she was a person with her own struggles and triumphs.Tía Adriana, who was only eleven when Chris was born, wasn’t as close to her and doesn’t remember as much, but she offers bits and pieces where she can, small snapshots of the past. Like the time Shannon convinced Adriana to dress as a witch for Halloween so Chris, dressed as a pumpkin, could ride in her cauldron-themed wagon. Or the time Shannon taught Adriana how to make chocolate chip cookies, laughing when their first batch came out burnt because they forgot to set a timer.Chris clings to these little anecdotes, hoping they’ll form a clearer picture of who his mom was, not just as a distant figure in his life but as a person. Someone real. Someone worth remembering.So, those are all the noble, rational reasons he tells himself for leaving: sorting through his feelings, giving Dad the space to do the same, letting Dad lean on Buck without him complicating things, and reconnecting with his own memories of Mom.But that’s not the whole story.A part of him—a small, shameful part that he tries not to dwell on but can’t entirely ignore. A part he regrets letting influence his decision in hindsight, yet one he still feels isn’t entirely unwarranted—wanted his dad to feel the same pain watching him walk out that front door as Chris had felt walking into it on that fateful Tuesday. That part wanted his dad to experience that same gut-wrenching ache of loss, the way it had hit Chris, sharp and unforgiving.  Going to Texas with his grandparents felt like a far cleaner way to twist the knife than crashing in the loft with Buck ever could.Was that petty? Probably. But, then again, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He is Eddie Diaz’s son, after all.  And from what Christopher’s seen, Eddie Diaz has a bit of a habit of running from his problems. Shannon Diaz, too, now that he thinks about it. He’s watched them both flee from their issues more times than he can count, and it’s never ended well. He’s rarely witnessed it working out for either of them—and those are just the instances he can remember. There are probably more from before he was old enough to fully understand or be told. But it’s the only pattern he knows—the only example of coping he's ever had to follow.Sure, Chris has been taught other, healthier ways to cope—talk things out, face your feelings, don’t bottle things up, no matter how hard it is to let them out—but those lessons were always spoken, not demonstrated. For as long as he can remember, his dad has been saying You can talk to me, you know that, right? And Chris has been responding with some variation of I know, Dad. Because he does know. He doesn’t doubt that if and when he’s struggling, his dad will listen intently to his feelings and try his very best to help him. Eddie’s always tried so hard to be there for him, to be a supportive father, and since Chris was old enough to realise those efforts, he’s tried not to take them for granted.But he can’t just  talk to his dad  about  this. He can’t lean on his dad for support, when he can barely look him in the eye.He can’t ask his dad for help, when his dad couldn’t even help himself.He can’t be honest about his feelings, when he doesn’t feel like his dad has been honest in return.And his dad can’t just listen to his feelings and conjure up some magical solution to fix everything, because he’s the one who broke it in the first place.Besides, Chris needs more than just a listening ear, and he’s not sure his dad is capable of giving it to him. He needs a relationship that goes both ways—a space where trust isn’t just given but shared. Instead, Eddie seems resolved to keep everything inside, bottling it up until it bursts, leaving everyone caught in the fallout when it does. Example numero uno:  dead mom lookalike jumpscare. It’s not that they’ve  never  spoken about Eddie’s feelings. When his dad was really struggling, he went to therapy, and for a while, Chris thought it was helping. They had actual conversations about hard stuff—stuff Eddie used to sweep under the rug—and it felt like maybe things could get better.
   Talking about things that are scary or sad can be exhausting. But it’s still a good thing to do. 
He remembers his dad explaining it to him. How draining therapy could be. And he gets that it’s not easy to talk about the things that make you feel bad— trust him, he knows —but he doesn’t know when his dad went from therapy advocate to lying, cheating hypocrite.Because it’s a totally valid statement in theory, but coming from a man who repressed his feelings so hard that he ended up cheating on his girlfriend with a budget knockoff of his dead wife? The words lose a little credibility.Chris sometimes wonders if his dad used to talk to him more when he was in therapy because he believed in it or because someone made him do it. Either way, he should get back to it—and stick with it this time. God knows he needs it.The point of all that is to say, although Eddie may encourage Chris to talk about difficult things, he also keeps secrets, and he lies, and he refuses to talk about his own sh@t—which just makes him a giant f@ck@ng hypocrite who Chris really does  not want to talk to right now.Why should Chris be expected to be open and honest about his feelings with his dad when his dad cannot afford him the respect and courtesy to do the same in return?So, instead of talking, Christopher ran. 800 miles in the opposite direction of what his mom and dad had done, returning to the place they had once escaped.Well, at least, he  thinks  his dad was running. He’s not really sure what from. But for once, Chris was just glad to be running  with  him.This time, though, Chris ran  away  from him. And now here he is, sitting alone in his dad’s childhood bedroom in El Paso—a space his grandparents have painstakingly transformed for him in an effort to make it feel like home. But it  doesn’t  . It  isn’t . It never will be.He shifts on the bed, the creak of the old mattress breaking through the muffled hum of the house around him. He can’t quite picture it—his dad as a kid, living here, maybe lying on this same bed, staring at the same ceiling. Was he miserable then, the way he so often seems to be now? Selfishly, Chris kind of hopes he was. At least then, his dad might have been telling the truth when he said that Chris wasn’t one of the things that made him sad. If he’d been this way his whole life, it couldn’t have been Chris’ fault for existing—or Shannon’s fault for dying, or getting pregnant, or leaving. Or whatever it was that f@ck@d Eddie up the most.  Chris wonders if the boy who used to live in this room ever dreamed about the future. Did he stare out that window and imagine a life far away from El Paso, or was leaving just something he did because he thought it was best for Chris? Did he want to be something other than a soldier and a firefighter, or were those just roles he fell into because there wasn’t room for anything else? Chris isn’t a fool to the timeline, either—Did he want to get married that young? Did he even want to become a dad? Or was that just what everyone expected of him?  The questions circle like vultures, picking at him, and Chris feels the familiar sting of frustration rising. He doesn’t have the answers, and he’s not sure he wants them anyway. It’s not like he can ask, and even if he could, he’s pretty sure his dad wouldn’t tell him the whole truth.  Sighing, Chris grabs his tablet, deciding a game might distract him. He opens  Subway Surfers, throwing himself into the comforting chaos of dodging trains and collecting coins. It’s a throwback to his younger years, recently redownloaded after seeing it endlessly paired with other videos in—what Buck had explained to him as—some strange, psychology driven bid to boost viewer attention. He’s just about to beat his high score when the screen abruptly changes. "Ugh, seriously?" Chris mutters.An incoming FaceTime call from Buck flashes across the display, derailing his run and his train of thought all at once.  He stares at it, thumb hovering over the glowing green icon. Buck calling isn’t exactly unusual. Buck and Chris have been known to Facetime each other—have even done so while he’s been in Texas. But right now? In the middle of  Subway Surfers  domination? He glares at the screen like it holds the answers. Why would Buck be calling  now ? The first chilling thought that crosses his mind is that something happened to his dad. That thought tightens something cold and guilty in his chest. Sure, he’s mad at his dad— furious  , really, and more than a little hurt by his actions—but that doesn’t mean he wants him to, like, die or anything. If something happened, it would totally be  his  fault for not being there, no matter how much the decision to leave was provoked by Eddie’s choices. He’s already lost so much. Chris isn’t sure he could survive losing his dad too.Or, worse—Well, not worse, but Chris would rather not entertain the thought of his dad dying while he’s 800 miles away and can’t say goodbye—what if this is some kind of setup? A trap, maybe— Buck knows he’s more likely to answer for him, and he’s using it to ambush Christopher into talking to Eddie. Like,  Oops, look who’s here!  That would be  so  like them, and honestly, he doesn’t know who he’d be angrier with if that’s the case.(Because, yes, Chris would hate himself forever if his dad died while he was in Texas. But no, he’s not about to let the slim—yet statistically  way  higher than average, given his dad’s job and frankly alarming history of near-death experiences—possibility of something happening guilt him into talking before he’s ready.)But then there’s this tiny, annoying voice in the back of his head, the one that points out the obvious: maybe Buck just… wants to talk. Maybe he misses Christopher. The thought softens something in him, and it’s ultimately the reason he tentatively opts to pick up before it rings out. “Hey, Buck.” “Hey, Chris,” Buck replies, straining to sound upbeat. Christopher knows him too well, though, and the effort feels hollow. Maybe Buck could have pulled off this façade when Chris was younger, but now Christopher sees right through it. His voice is too bright, too forced. Even through the screen, Chris can tell that Buck’s attempt at a cheery grin doesn’t reach his eyes, which are unmistakably red around the edges. “What are you up to?”Christopher narrows his own eyes, studying Buck carefully. It’s hard to read body language from the other end of a screen, but he thinks there’s an uncharacteristic heaviness in the way Buck is holding himself, like his whole body—which, admittedly, Chris can only see half of, so it’s really quite hard to tell—is carrying something invisible but crushing.  It probably wouldn’t be so noticeable if it was anyone other than Buck."Are you okay? You look—" He falters, unsure if he should say the words aloud.  Like you’ve been crying, he thinks, but something in Buck's expression stops him. "Sad."Buck freezes for a moment, his smile slipping entirely. Chris watches as Buck's shoulders drop a fraction, like he’s been caught in a lie he didn’t mean to tell.  Christopher’s heart clenches as he once again considers the very real, ever present possibility that maybe something has happened to his dad. Something bad. Something so bad, it made Buck cry.The idea lodges like a stone in his chest, heavy and cold, and he’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer or hang up before Buck can say anything at all.But then Buck plasters on another smile, the kind meant to make everything seem normal. It doesn’t quite succeed. Again, it’s too practiced, too stiff, and the cracks are obvious. Christopher isn’t fooled. There’s something heavy lingering in Buck’s eyes, something he’s trying—and failing—to hide.“Well,” Buck says softly, just a little unsteady. “I guess I just miss you.” There’s a faint hint of sadness in the words, like they’re heavier than he wants to let on.  “I miss you too, Buck,” Chris answers without hesitation. The sincerity in his voice seems to break through Buck’s defences, and this time, the smile that spreads across his face is different—real, even if it’s small. Chris is glad he can be the cause of it, even if he might also be the reason for Buck’s sadness in the first place.Because while Chris had known that leaving with his grandparents would twist the knife for his dad, he hadn’t considered that it would mean he would also be stabbing his Buck. His Buck.  Chris doesn’t really call him that to his face anymore—he’s too old for that now—but sometimes, he’ll still refer to him fondly as  his Buck in his own mind. Chris’ friends from L.A. sometimes do it aloud, too, and he’s never once bothered to ask them not to. His friends in Texas don’t do that, though. His friends in Texas have never met Buck.That’s not to say they don’t know  of  him—how could they not? How could anyone really get to know Chris without knowing Buck? Chris has been careful not to reveal too much about his messy, complicated life to his new friends in Texas—just this once, he wants to be  normal —but there’s no part of him that wants to hide Buck.In fact, Buck might just be the most stable constant in his life. And Chris has plenty of cool stories about him to share.Buck’s been in his life for so long that Chris can barely remember a time without him. He’s been there longer than his mom was. Almost as long as his dad, and sometimes Chris thinks of him as just as important. Buck isn’t just a part of Chris’ world; he’s stitched into its fabric in a way that feels permanent, unshakable.Leaving him behind felt almost like a betrayal—a broken promise—even though Chris and Buck both know he’s coming back."Hey, I was thinking… maybe… you and your dad could come back to L.A. for Christmas?" Buck seems hopeful but hesitant, the suggestion tentative as if he’s unsure whether it’ll land right. "Or–or I could come visit you in El Paso."Chris can’t help but crack a smile at the offer. The truth is, he’s already been toying with the idea of going back to L.A. for Christmas, but he’s been stuck on one glaring question: is it a visit, or is it the start of something permanent? It’s been weeks, and he’s still avoiding pulling the trigger. Classic indecision.Christmas has always been his favorite time of year with his dad, and even though he’s still mad at him, Chris isn’t ready to miss another holiday. He’s already skipped Halloween and Thanksgiving with him this year. Three strikes, and he’d officially be out of festive cheer.Still, Christmas in Texas has its own charm—or at least, it’s supposed to. Spending the holiday with his grandparents, his tías and tíos, his bisabuela, and a small army of cousins sounds nice on paper. Chris isn’t sure he wants to be the one to suggest it, but maybe his dad could even fly out, and spend Christmas with them there.  The catch is: the 118 wouldn’t be there, and they’ve always felt more like family than half the people who share his last name.He’s done Christmas in Texas before, back when he lived there, but his memories are more patchwork than picture-perfect. Most of what he knows comes from old photos and well-worn stories. And his dad wasn’t even around for some of those Christmases, off playing soldier halfway across the globe. The idea of another Christmas in Texas without his dad feels too familiar—and not in the warm, nostalgic way. This time, his mom’s gone too, and the loss feels sharper, more final.Christmas was always tied to her, especially the year she came back. Now that Chris knows Santa isn’t real, he can admit it wasn’t a magical sleigh that brought her home—it was his dad. It had to have been. But the specifics of how or why are still murky. Did she leave because she wanted to? Did his dad ask her to? Did she have to beg to come back, or did Eddie have to beg her? Who stole more time with her from Chris, and who granted him the little he had? It’s a mess of questions with no answers, and no one seems eager to clarify.And then, of course, there’s Buck. Christmas without Buck would suck, plain and simple. For all the Christmases in Texas with his mom that Chris can’t remember, there’s one in L.A. with Buck that he definitely does.Buck is practically the embodiment of Christmas spirit—fun, magical, and full of surprises. He gives the best presents, too, the kind that makes you feel like he’s been paying attention all year. But Chris already knows the odds: Dad and Buck are probably working on Christmas. They always are.Except, Buck  just  said—"Wait. Why wouldn’t Dad be in L.A.?" Chris blurts out suddenly, the words finally catching up to him.Buck’s face mirrors Chris’ confusion, his eyebrows knitting together as his head tilts slightly, like a golden retriever trying to make sense of a magic trick. It’s so  Buck  that Chris almost laughs, but the question hangs between them, heavy and waiting for an answer.“Because… he’ll be in El Paso?” Buck says, unsure, like he’s waiting for the punchline to land.“For Christmas?” Chris asks, baffled but— God, don’t tell his dad —a little hopeful. “For…” Buck wets his lips. “Um, Chris, have you spoken to your dad recently?”“Not since last week,” Chris replies, suspicion creeping into his voice. “Why? What’s going on? Why is he coming to Texas?”Buck shifts uncomfortably, clearly bracing himself. “Uh,” he starts, “To—to be with  you , buddy.”Chris’s expression flickers, torn between emotions he can’t quite untangle. He wants to see his dad again—of course he does—but at the same time, he’s not sure he’s ready to face him. Not  now  . Not  yet . “To bring me home?” he asks tentatively.Because, yeah, spending Christmas together sounds nice, and Chris is more than willing to entertain the idea, but the thought of going back to Los Angeles—back home— permanently ? He doesn’t know if he’s ready for that either. But then:“No. No, to—” Buck falters, rubbing the back of his neck. “He really hasn’t spoken to you about this?”“About  what , Buck?” Chris demands, a little sharper now as frustration creeps in.Buck sighs, his expression full of regret. “He— Chris, he’s moving back to El Paso.”And—Well, okay, there’s a lot to unpack there. So much so that Chris’ brain bluescreens for a moment, actually. He would not be surprised if Buck assumes that the connection has frozen.It doesn't really make any sense, and he has  a lot  of questions, but none more pressing than the very concerned, “What about you?” that he poses directly to Buck.Because Eddie might be okay with leaving L.A., but Chris doesn’t think he’d ever be okay with leaving  Buck.That’s just lunacy.So, either Buck is moving to El Paso too, or he’s got this whole thing wrong and Eddie isn’t actually  moving  at all.If Chris were to venture a guess, he would say that Buck looks a little guilty at that question. But for the life of him, he cannot figure out why.“I–I’ll be in L.A., but you can always come and visit me. Or–or–or, you know, I can come and visit you. The flight is only an hour, right? And you can call or FaceTime me whenever—”Buck keeps yapping, spurting reassurances that Chris doesn’t want to hear. He tunes them out in favour of piecing together what’s really going on.Because Buck’s talking like it’s  his  fault. Like  he’s  guilty of some wrongdoing. Like  he’s  the one who left, and  he’s  the reason that he and Chris are so far apart. And Buck is  sad. Buck has been  crying.  Because Chris left…and Eddie’s going to leave too… and Buck doesn’t think either of them are ever coming back.Which is just  wrong . It’s so wrong, and it’s so not fair, and Buck doesn’t deserve to be feeling like this when he hasn't done anything wrong! He doesn’t deserve to be feeling like this when he’s the only person who has ever kept his promise to not leave Chris.
   And until that happens, you’ve still got me. Because I’m not going anywhere. 
The promise echoes around Chris’ mind, filling him with unbridled guilt. One of the few people Chris could always turn to is now under the impression that he has chosen to turn away. Which, okay, maybe, he did for a little bit. But he was going to turn back!  Sometimes they come back. Right? That was literally the whole and only part of Chris’ plan, until his dad made a stupid decision and f@ck@d everything up again for everyone.He’s p@ss@d that his dad made Buck think that Chris was abandoning him for good, but more than that, Chris is p@ss@d at his dad for leaving Buck himself. He left and went to Texas so that  at least  they’d have each other. They were  supposed  to always have each other. That was the whole f@ck@ng deal. But now Eddie is leaving because of Chris, when Chris only left because of Eddie, and Chris doesn’t know who to blame anymore for making Buck sad. “Buck, I gotta go,” Chris interrupts, abruptly cutting off Buck’s nervous ramble containing more devoted promises than Chris thinks he deserves right now.Buck’s face falls, completely dejected. “Oh. Okay.”And  f@ck —that’s the exact opposite of what Chris wanted. He needs Buck to know he’s not trying to leave him—not really, not for good—but he also doesn’t want to explain anything before he’s had the chance to talk to his dad and unravel the mess they’re all tangled in.“Love you,” he says, a rushed attempt to reassure the man who has done nothing but exactly that since the day they met—Love Chris, unconditionally. Buck blinks, looking a little surprised. Chris knows he isn’t as free with his affections these days—certainly not as forthcoming as he used to be—and it seems to catch Buck off guard.“Love you too,” Buck starts to reply. “No matter—”Before Buck can finish his sentence, Chris accidentally ends the call.
   Oops. 
The moment the screen goes black, his Subway Surfers game blinks back to life. Chris doesn’t notice right away, but when he does, it’s already too late. His character collides head-on with a train, and his potential for a new high score vanishes in an instant.“Are you kidding me?” Chris grumbles, resisting the urge to throw his tablet across the room as his frustration boils over. The missed opportunity to reassure Buck, the game’s betrayal, the  news —it all spills out in one sharp motion as he switches back to FaceTime and calls his dad.The line connects on the first ring.“Chris!” Eddie’s voice is almost ecstatic, brimming with the kind of hope that makes Chris hesitate for half a second. It’s not often that he calls first, not without prompting. His dad doesn’t know, of course, that this call  is  prompted—courtesy of Buck.“You’re moving to Texas?” Chris blurts out, wasting no time on pleasantries. His frustration rings clear in every syllable.There’s a pause, then a cautious, “How do you—”“Buck told me,” he interrupts sharply. “He thought I already knew.”“Chris, I—”“You always do this!” Christopher snaps, voice rising.Eddie appears caught somewhere between defensive and baffled. “Do what?” “Make decisions without  asking  me.”Once upon a time, Christopher and Eddie Diaz were a team. It was the two of them against the world, figuring things out together, making plans together, promising each other that no matter how bad things got, they’d be okay as long as they had each other. His dad would crouch down, look him straight in the eye, and ask him—ask him , not tell him—if he wanted to do something, like move to L.A. or take a trip or try something new, and Chris would say yes because he trusted his dad and his dad trusted him, and they were a team as long as they were together.  But somewhere along the way—somewhere between tsunamis and snipers and a woman who looked so much like his mom it felt as though she were haunting them—they stopped being a team. Somewhere amidst all the trauma, they stopped communicating, stopped fighting the current together. They began hiding things, keeping secrets out of some misguided attempt to protect one another, and pushing each other away when they should have been holding on tighter. Maybe it was out of fear of losing each other. Maybe they were both just kind of cowards. But somehow they had reached a point where Eddie made all the decisions without Chris, assuming he knew what was best for both of them.  Chris doesn’t even know when that shift happened, only that it did.  He thought growing up would mean having more of a say, not less. He thought he’d be part of the big choices like he used to be, but instead, his dad kept leaving him out, and it felt like every new decision was just another reminder of how far apart they’d drifted, how much they were no longer on the same page. Quitting his job? He hadn’t asked, just assumed. Dating Ana? Chris had found out after the fact, like it wasn’t even a thing worth discussing. And now, moving to Texas? What else had his dad done without telling him? What else had he decided wasn’t worth including Chris in?  And yeah, Buck is part of their world now, and Chris loves Buck. He knows that Buck is always in his corner. That his dad is too, even though he f@cks up. He knows that they’d both fight to the death to protect him—but, half the time, it feels like the protection Chris needs is from them and their stupid decisions. Because somehow, at some point, Chris thinks that the team dynamic shifted. That what was once Chris and Eddie became Chris, Eddie and Buck—which was great, exactly the way he would want it. Except, lately he thinks the team has become just Eddie and Buck, and Chris is simply the one who bears the brunt of their shared decisions, who doesn’t get a say in stopping his two favourite people from doing dumb things—things that are still dumb, even when they think they are operating with Chris’ best interests at heart.Not that he thinks Buck was involved in the decision for Eddie to move to El Paso. Chris suspects his dad went solo on that one.While Chris seethes in silence at his father’s audacity to make such a huge decision without consulting him first, Eddie looks surprised—almost hopeful—at the fact that Chris seems to actually be protesting the decision. He seems almost... relieved? As if Chris' obvious frustration is a sign of something he’s been waiting for, waiting to see, like maybe if Chris cared enough to get angry, it would mean that there was still something worth fighting for.“Do you  want  to come back to L.A.?” Eddie asks, and the question lands like a punch. It’s loaded, heavy, like everything hinges on Chris’ answer.It hangs there, uncertain, vulnerable—like it’s something Chris should feel grateful for. Like he’s finally being included in the decision process. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? He’s not being included. The decision’s already been made; shared with Buck, which makes it real. His feelings are just an afterthought, considered only when he demands they be. Not because they matter, but because he’s finally made enough noise for someone to notice.But how can he answer that question? How can he even think about going back to L.A. when it feels like his dad’s been making decisions without him—again? What kind of home would that be if they still couldn’t have an open and trusting conversation?“No,” Chris finally spits out. “I’m  mad  at you.”It’s an honest answer, even if it's not the full extent of the truth. Taking away the option for Chris to go back home is half of the reason he’s mad in the first place, and he realises that by saying no, he’s only reinforcing his dad’s decision to chase him—but it’s not supposed to be a definitive answer.Saying no is the only way he can push back, but it’s not a  permanent answer. It’s just the anger talking. The no doesn’t mean never. But right now, he doesn’t want to be anywhere near his dad. He’s  so  mad, in fact, that if they tried to face the anger and hurt that has been brewing for the past six months, Chris would probably say things he’d regret, things that could never be taken back. He knows that there are unkind things that he could say to his dad that might irreparably damage their relationship, most of which he wouldn’t even  mean, but he’s self-aware enough now to know he has a temper, and he’s learned not to throw tantrums like he used to, in the hope that it will fix things.Distance and time and silence; it’s the only method Chris can currently rely on. Anything else right now feels like it would make things worse.He’s mad at his dad for leaving Buck; mad because his dad’s actions made Chris feel like he had to leave in the first place; mad because he misses him but can never reach the point of missing him enough to want to go back home—not when his dad keeps doing stupid sh@t that prevents it. (And if he’s honest, the fugly moustache didn’t help either).Chris misses home. He misses his dad. But he also resents them both a little, for all the ways they’ve f@ck@d up his life.“Right, well, then, you’re right. I’m not asking,” Eddie finally replies, voice faltering, and Chris doesn’t miss the hurt that flickers across his face before he masks it. He steadies, then, firm in his decision. “I’m coming to Texas, and you can be mad at me there.”So, either Chris goes home or his dad comes to Texas; there’s not allowed to be an option in which they’re not together.That  should make him happy. But Chris isn’t ready to return home, nor is he ready to eliminate the possibility of ever returning, so both options kind of  suck , in his opinion. Surely, there’s some secret (and mildly less insane) third option that doesn’t make Chris loathe the world around him. One that doesn’t put him in the direct blast zone of his dad, or worse—his dad in the direct blast zone of  him .  Why  are those the only two options?He tries to ask his dad exactly that. “Why?”Maybe he could have been a bit more specific, but he thinks he’s gotten his meaning across perfectly fine.“Because,” Eddie says emphatically, tilting his head towards the camera as if to capture Christopher’s gaze through the screen. “You’re my son, and I love you, and I don’t want to miss out on watching you grow up.”They’re words he’s heard a thousand times before, words his dad has never hesitated to ensure he hears, words he’s never doubted to be true. He still doesn’t doubt them, but maybe they’re beginning to lose some of their meaning.The sentiment in theory is touching—his dad loves him, and wants to be a part of his life,  great, that’s cool, and Chris is super lucky to have someone who genuinely cares that much—but the more he thinks about it, the more infuriating it actually is. Because Chris never wanted to  leave  in the first place. He never wanted to live in a world where his dad wasn’t a constant and active presence in his life. He hadn’t even  considered  it as a potential reality until Eddie had practically forced his hand with whatever cataclysmic, life detonating breakdown caused him to bring a body double of Chris’ dead mother into their home.The whole event had been startling for more reasons than one. Dead mom doppelganger aside, the hypocrisy of the cheating lecture Eddie had almost certainly forced Buck to give him was a bit of a kick in the face. As if he’s once again beyond practicing what he preaches.They’d also just recently had a conversation about Chris’ belief that people—women, specifically—were part of a revolving door, never sticking around long enough to be worth caring about or getting to know, only for his dad to confirm that theory by running Marisol out of their lives.Not to mention, that conversation, as well as few others succeeding it, had been centered around Christopher’s mother, and Chris’ grief in losing her and forgetting her—Wouldn’t have hurt for Eddie to be slightly more forthcoming about his feelings, when Christopher was pouring out his soul to someone he trusted to understand.Believe it or not, Chris wasn’t all that surprised to find proof that his dad wasn’t perfect. He could never have predicted that he would do something quite  this f@ck@d up, but Chris has long since been arriving at the conclusion that Eddie Diaz is a flawed man. It’s a stark contrast from the beliefs of that wide-eyed little kid who thought that his dad was basically a god who could do no wrong. Christopher’s hero, so to speak. That image had crumbled years ago, replaced by the harsh reality of human flaws and mistakes. And maybe, in a small, unspoken corner of his heart, his dad is still a hero. Just… a  flawed  one.Sometimes, he kind of thinks his dad is a bit like Tony Stark. Which is an imperfect comparison that his dad would likely resent— not because he disagrees with the character, but because Buck's the one who got Chris hooked on Marvel, and Eddie’s way more of a DC guy—but Chris stands by it. There’s something about the whole trying-to-save-the-world-but-scr@w@ng-up-a-lot vibe that just fits.The analogy might seem a little absurd at first—after all, Eddie Diaz isn’t exactly flying around in a suit of iron, saving the world on a global scale. But, hey, Eddie  does  have his own kind of uniform: his turnouts. They’re not shiny or high-tech, and sure, they smell like smoke and sweat instead of a fancy billionaire’s cologne, but they’re his version of a superhero costume. He’s out there running toward danger while everyone else is running away. Doesn’t matter if it’s a burning building or an emotional meltdown—Eddie’s there, trying to save the day, even if he occasionally messes it up.Eddie’s heroism isn’t just about his job. Chris sees it in his personal life, too, maybe even more than Tony Stark could ever quite manage. Eddie’s no stranger to sacrifices, big and small. Raising Chris alone after his mom left wasn’t the plan, but his dad never stopped trying to give Chris a life full of love, stability, and joy. He became a one-man superhero squad, throwing himself into being everything Chris needed—a provider, a protector, a constant source of love. He poured his heart into making up for the absence of a second parent, and even when Buck came into their lives and helped fill that gap, or his mom returned for a fleeting period of time, his dad didn’t let up. He still made sure Chris knew, every single day, that he was loved 3000.Eddie’s heroics extend beyond just his son, too. He’s always looking out for his family—his abuela, his Tía Pepa, Carla, and his found family at the 118. He’s the guy who’ll show up unasked, who’ll fix a broken pipe at his abuela’s house or spend hours rebuilding Chris’ science project the night before it’s due. He doesn’t stop there, either—strangers on the worst day of their lives get the same Eddie Diaz treatment. He’ll risk everything, whether it’s to pull someone out of a car wreck or lend a kind word when someone’s falling apart.He’d make the sacrifice play—snap his fingers with the infinity gauntlet, knowing it would kill him—without a second thought. Chris is sure he already has. That Silver Star Eddie earned in Afghanistan? Chris knows his dad got it because he put his life on the line for his team. And he doesn’t doubt for a second that Eddie would do the same for the 118, over and over again.But just like Tony Stark, Eddie makes mistakes. He f@cks up. He does stupid, rash things without thinking about the fallout, acting out of hurt or fear or  guilt  or some misguided need to fix things his way. He’s a guy who tries to fix things and sometimes just ends up breaking them more—like Iron Man does with the Avengers in  Civil War.  But his heart is always in the right place, even if his execution is sometimes... questionable. Chris wouldn’t describe his dad as cocky or arrogant—though, if he thinks about it, Tony and Eddie do actually have a surprisingly similar dry sense of humor—so the metaphor gets a little lost on him, but he stands by his overall contention. Heroes aren’t perfect. They’re just  really  good at pretending they are until they royally screw it all up. Heroes—real heroes, the ones you look up to as a kid—are often the most flawed of all. Maybe that's what makes them human, what makes them  real. Eddie is still Christopher’s hero, even if his pedestal’s a little shorter than it used to be. But, then again, maybe that's the way it should be. Heroes don’t have to be perfect. They don’t have to be flawless. They just have to show up and  try.(Chris also sometimes thinks about the fact that Buck is a little bit like Steve Rogers with his self sacrificial martyr b@llsh@t, but that’s besides the point.)The point is that Chris was never wrong to think that his dad was a good man, only foolish to think that he could ever be a perfect one. Chris knows that it matters that he tries, that he  wants  to be good—a good man, a good firefighter, a good father. He loves and respects him for it.But at the end of the day, like any superhero, Eddie Diaz is not immune to making mistakes, and he deserves to be called out on them, like any other regular person.“Well, it’s your fault,” Chris tells him matter of factly, trying desperately hard to keep the resentment from creeping into his tone. “I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t been so selfish.”He’s not even sure if selfishness is the root of the problem here—actually he’s pretty sure it’s almost certainly not—but it’s the first thing he thinks of, and his dad seems to concur with the interpretation.“I know. And I let you go because it  was  my fault, and you needed space,” Eddie relents willingly. Chris can see the guilt written all over his face.  Good  —it’s exactly what he should be feeling. “I get that. But I  hate  it, Chris. I  hate  not being with you. So, wherever you want to be, that's where I’ll be too.”And there’s a part of Chris’ brain that thinks  I hate it too. I hate not being with you. But there’s another part of his brain, the terrified, unprepared part that controls his mouth, that says, “What if I don’t want you to be?”It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with his dad ever again. That’s not what he means. He just… he needs more time.Time his dad is suddenly refusing to give him. And Chris knows the reasons are valid, knows they come from a place of love and wanting the best for them both. But once again, the choice is being made for him, and all he can do is ask, in the only way he knows how, if his feelings even matter. If his voice has any say at all in the decision being made.Because if it does—if, for once, his dad is willing to let him contribute to this life changing decision—then Chris wants him to stay in Los Angeles.  With Buck. And wait. Wait for him to come back when he’s ready. When they’ve both had enough time to breathe and can finally talk without Chris saying something he’ll regret.It’s not really a surprise, though, when his dad just doubles down. “Well, then, that’s all the more reason for me to come to Texas,” Eddie asserts firmly, softening only to add, “Because there’s… There’s a gap growing between us, and I don’t want to let it grow another inch.”
   Well, whose f@ck@ng fault is that?  
“You started it!” Chris accuses indignantly.There’s only a gap because his dad created it. Chris was perfectly happy in L.A., with his friends and his school and his Buck and—and even Marisol! But Chris can’t have  sh@t, because his dad just has to go and ruin it all. He can’t even have Texas, without his dad crowding him there too. Not even 800 miles can’t stop Eddie from destroying Chris’ carefully crafted peace. The gap will only grow if his peace is constantly being invaded, if his dad keeps pushing into spaces Chris isn’t ready to share. It’s as though no matter how far he runs, the calm he’s tried to carve out will always be shattered by Eddie’s well-meaning but suffocating presence. That peace, the one he’s barely starting to find in Texas, needs to be brought back to L.A. when he’s ready—when he’s had the time to stitch the pieces of himself back together. It can’t be rushed, can’t be forced, because if it is, there’s no peace to find at all.“And now I’m ending it.” Eddie’s voice is sharp with the kind of authority that only comes with years of perfecting the Ultimate Dad Tone.In the Ultimate Teenage Retaliation, Chris rolls his eyes and grunts. “Without asking me, like always.”“Chris, I did ask you! You said—”“Yeah, but you had already  made  the decision, and you didn’t even tell me!  Buck  did.” Eddie runs a stressed hand over his mouth. “Buck shouldn't have said anything,” “At least  someone  did. At least  he's  always honest with me.”Eddie sighs, his voice low and regretful. “I didn't mean to lie to you Chris. Some things are just hard to talk about.”And sure, Chris can imagine that talking to your son about having an affair with a woman who looks just like his dead mom probably wouldn't make it to the top of the ‘fun family discussions’ list, but Eddie Diaz In Therapy had always preached the importance of confronting the difficult topics, no matter how exhausting they might be.Unfortunately, Eddie Diaz Not In Therapy But Desperately Needs To Be clearly doesn’t share this healthy approach. Because, somehow, when it comes to permanently uprooting their lives and moving back to Texas, that same openness seems to have vanished. This time, it's not directly about a messy affair or a traumatic accident—it's about a decision that affects Chris, and once again, he's left in the dark.“You talk about them with Buck,” he points out bitterly. “Why can’t you talk about them with me?” Eddie and Buck are always the team, always the pair who share their thoughts, their struggles, their plans. Chris is left on the periphery, cared for and always considered, but never enough to be asked to contribute.And, look, he may only be fourteen, but he’s not stupid. He knows there are some things that adults talk about without their children; topics that they don’t think kids are equipped to handle emotionally and maturely yet. Whatever. Fair enough. He could understand not being consulted about things when he was younger, and probably a bit too naive and innocent to contribute anything of substance, but he’s older now—an official teenager—and lately, more and more of these discussions that he’s being left out of are affecting him more than most. (You know, like ladies coming to his house and dressing up as his late mother to seduce— is that what was happening?  Chris isn’t sure he needs all the details, but it would have been nice to have a f@ck@ng heads up on the situation—his father. Or, his father following him out of state in the aftermath of it all, uprooting their lives Chris is expecting to return to, when the thing Chris is craving the most is the space to figure out how to forgive and forget.)So, Chris doesn’t think it’s unreasonable to be frustrated at being left out of the loop.But then comes the admission, “I don’t… I don’t talk about them with Buck,” and Chris becomes frustrated for a whole different reason.His brows furrow, glasses perching up on his nose. “Then how come he knew that you were moving and I didn’t?” “I didn’t mean to—” Eddie stammers, his shoulders slumping in shame as he actively avoids Chris’s gaze. “I—He found out. He came over and he caught me looking at houses in El Paso.”“So you weren't even gonna  tell  him?” Chris growls, his frustration morphing into full blown outrage, the sense of betrayal burning on Buck’s behalf. “You were just going to  leave  him?” The thought of Buck being left in the dark, of being discarded like an afterthought, sends a fresh wave of anger crashing through Chris.It may seem like he’s projecting his abandonment issues onto the situation with his dad and Buck, but in reality, Chris just thinks that he and Buck aren't all that dissimilar. He’s never been privy to the full depth of it, but he’s watched people come and go from Buck’s life in the years that they’ve known each other, usually followed by a period of time in which Buck seems a little off—dejected, or obsessively upgrading himself like he’s some sort of software installment that will be able to keep people around for longer if improved.And when Chris shares his own insecurities, Buck is always there to comfort him, reassuring him with the unshakable conviction of someone who knows exactly what it’s like to be left behind—who shows his love through the simple act of staying.Chris  knows  Buck, knows the loyalty and commitment that he has to their family, and the idea that he’s being treated as collateral damage in this mess feels like a slap in the face. It bothers him much more than the simple notion of his dad moving to Texas.“No, I’d never leave him without saying goodbye. You know how important he is to me—to us, right?” Eddie's voice softens, a pleading edge creeping in, as if he’s searching for some kind of understanding. “But, like I said, some things are just… hard to talk about. Even harder to bring up.” Chris doesn’t reply, but Eddie continues, the words coming more quickly now. “But now that he knows, he's on board with the idea.”That level of absurdity is enough to elicit a snort out of Chris. “I doubt it,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, but his dad hears it anyway.“Why? Did he say something to you?” Eddie's voice shifts, an undercurrent of concern laced with a touch of defensiveness, as if he’s bracing himself for something Chris hasn’t said yet, something he’s afraid might be true. His words carry a weight that suggests he's trying to gauge where Chris stands on the situation, and it almost feels like he’s fishing for something—the subtle implication that maybe Buck is already putting doubts in Chris’ mind about this whole move.As if  any  of this is  Buck’s fault.Chris shakes his head, a frustrated sigh slipping past his lips. “He didn’t have to.”Buck shouldn’t have to explain any of this to either of them. Chris thought they both knew him better than that.“I know he’s going to miss us, just like we’ll miss him,” Eddie continues, trying and failing to push through the tension. “But he wants us to be together.”“Does he?” Chris’ skepticism sounds almost like a challenge.“Does he what?” “Want us to be together.”“Of course he does. Why would you—”“Without him?” Chris interrupts, barely above a whisper, but the impact is immediate.Eddie falters, his eyes softening with the weight of the question. “He knows how important you are to me,” he says quietly, his gaze locked on Chris.
   That doesn’t answer the f@ck@ng question, Dad. 
Chris reorients his approach in the hopes of yielding a more informative answer.“Does he know how important  he  is to you?”For a second, Eddie seems like he might deflect, but instead, he answers.“Chris, Buck is one of the most important people in my life. You know that. He knows that. But  you’re  the most important.” His smile looks sad. Chris hates it. “He knows that too.”Chris hesitates, the follow-up question teetering on the edge of his tongue. He doesn’t know what compels him to say it—it goes against everything he’s told himself about not being ready for a serious conversation. But some stubborn part of him, maybe the same part that keeps drawing comparisons between Buck and his mom, pushes the words out anyway.  “What about Mom?” His voice feels too quiet, like it doesn’t belong to him. “Was she important to you too?”His dad doesn’t answer right away. Chris can see the way his face shifts, like the question caught him off guard.“Of course she was,” Eddie says finally. “She gave me you.”Chris’s chest tightens. That’s not what he wanted to hear. “That’s it?”His dad falters, something flickering in his expression. “She was—” He takes a breath, and his voice is softer now, like he’s forcing himself to keep going. “She was the love of my life, Chris. I don’t think I’ll ever get over her.”The words sting, sharper than Chris expected. He looks away, letting the hurt bleed into his voice. “Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear.”“Chris—”“Why was she important to you?” he interrupts, not bothering to hide the frustration in his tone.Eddie hesitates again, but eventually, he answers. “She was my best friend.” His voice is quieter again now, more reflective. “She could talk for hours, and all I wanted to do was listen. Every story, every random fact—none of it was boring to me. She always knew how to make me laugh, even when I didn’t feel like laughing. And she—she helped me have fun. She believed in me, Chris, even when I didn’t deserve it. She encouraged me to be better, even when I didn’t want to hear it.”Chris doesn’t mean to flinch, but he does, just a little. His dad doesn’t notice.He doesn’t know why the words bother him so much. It’s not like his dad is  wrong. Chris doesn’t know enough to think that he’s wrong, or tell him how his own wife really made him feel. But Chris thinks, from the way his dad phrases things, and the little knowledge that he has of their relationship, that he’s talking more about their  friendship before they got together than about their actual marriage.But something about the way Eddie says it, the way he talks about her—Oh.It’s not her. It’s not really about her at all.It sounds like—he’s describing— Oh.Chris is going to keep this realization to himself. But, it does explain a lot.It also makes the decision to move to Texas much more confusing.“And she trusted me to be your dad,” Eddie continues, oblivious to Chris’ epiphany. “A lot of people didn’t think I’d be very good at it, but she did. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”Chris’s throat tightens, a lump forming that he can’t swallow down. He looks away, blinking quickly, trying to keep his emotions under control. He doesn’t want his dad to notice.“And, maybe people were right to doubt me. I know I’ve messed up, Chris—”“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Chris interjects abruptly.He knows it’s a little unfair, since he’s the one who brought it up in the first place, and since his dad is doing his best to be open and honest with him, which is all he’s been wanting for as long as he can remember. But he just—he just can’t .Eddie’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t push. “Okay,” he says gently. “But we should talk about it at some point, bud. Talking helps.”Oh,  now  he’s an advocate for talking about the hard stuff again?  After it’s all blown up. Too little, too late.Chris’ jaw tightens, and his next words come out sharper than he intended. “You never talk about things until it’s too late.”Eddie sighs, the sound heavy and tired. It’s a sound that is becoming increasingly familiar falling from his lips. “That’s why we should talk about it now. I don’t want it to be too late for you and me.”Chris knows what his dad means. He knows there’s no fixing it properly without talking about the hard stuff, even if he wishes it had been discussed before everything went to sh@t. But what Eddie doesn’t seem to understand, no matter how many ways Chris tries to signal it to him, is that Chris thinks he needs to heal  first—he needs to make sense of everything inside himself before he can let it spill out. He doesn’t want to talk about it right now. Not with his dad. Not with anyone.He thought he was—he thought maybe talking about his mom, learning more about her, would bring them closer, help him understand what his dad was going through without having to divulge too much of what he’s feeling himself. But now, as the words sit in his chest, Chris realizes he’s not ready to talk about her again. Not yet. Not after everything. Not with his dad, and not while her memory is still marred by that woman in Chris’ living room.He shakes his head. Tries his hardest to express himself. “I don’t want to—”“Chris—”“I don’t want to talk to  you!” Chris explodes, his voice breaking as he fumbles to end the call.He hangs up, the silence that follows ringing in his ears, sharp and endless, as his vision blurs. His hands tremble around the iPad, gripping it so tightly his knuckles ache, and a choked sob escapes before he can stop it.  He shouldn’t have asked about Mom.  Chris curls in on himself, pulling his knees to his chest and tucking his chin down, tears sliding unchecked down his face. He shifts on the bed until he’s facing the wall, burying himself in the shadowed corner, trying to make himself as small and quiet as possible. Grandma and Abuelo don’t like it when he cries.  “Don’t cry, Christopher,” they always say. “Big boys don’t cry, and you’re a big boy, aren’t you?”  It’s condescending, and it makes him feel like they think he’s made of glass—fragile, breakable. They treat him like he’s half his age, fussing over him when he doesn’t need it but never letting him just  be  when he does. And they certainly don’t let him act like a teenager. They won’t have mature, honest conversations with him about his feelings. But they also won’t let him cry. Not that the two are mutually exclusive, but Chris isn’t really sure how to win with them sometimes.Instead, they compliment his resilience, his toughness, and praise how strong he is for everything he’s been through—always with subtle digs at the failures of both his parents.He thinks their intentions are genuinely good, but it’s so different from what he’s used to and Chris isn’t sure he likes the change. He remembers the time, earlier in the summer, when his abuelo caught him crying over a movie. It wasn’t even something big—just some Disney movie Buck had said was  essential childhood viewing. But when he wiped at his tears, trying to hide them, his abuelo had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Come on, Chris, you’re tougher than that. No need to cry over a cartoon.”  That moment had stuck with him, even though it wasn’t the worst thing anyone had ever said. But it wasn’t about the words. It was the way they made him feel. Like he was disappointing them just by feeling too much.  His dad was never like that. Eddie didn’t mind when Chris cried. Well, he minded in the way that no parent wants their kid to hurt, but he never told Chris to stop. When Chris scraped his knee that time at the park and cried in his dad’s arms, Eddie hadn’t said, “Be tough.” He’d said, “Let it out, mijo. It’s okay. You’re okay.”  Chris swipes angrily at his tears now, but they keep falling, spilling over faster than he can brush them away. He remembers another moment—from years ago, but what feels like yesterday in his mind—when he had a nightmare about his mom in the tsunami. He had woken up screaming, and his dad had been there within seconds, sitting beside him and rubbing his back, telling him that he was there, Chris was safe, and it was okay to cry. Telling him that nightmares didn’t make him weak.  “It’s just a dream,” he’d said, but not in the way that invalidated Chris’ feelings and made him feel stupid for being upset—the way his grandparents had done more than once in the past few months. No, Eddie had said it in a way that made Chris feel safe and grounded, reassured that everything would be okay.Everything would be okay, because it was just a dream, and his dad was there to protect him.He still remembers that feeling like it was yesterday.But it was a lifetime ago, really. Things have changed since then. Everything feels so much harder, so much heavier, and Chris can’t seem to untangle it all.  His chest feels tight, like all the things he can’t say are crushing him. And the version of his dad he misses most—the one who would have sat beside him, held him, and told him it was okay to cry—isn’t here. Instead, he’s the one who made Chris cry, and it’s just Chris, curled up in the quiet, trying to hold himself together when all he wants is to fall apart.So much had spilled out in such a short conversation that Chris doesn’t even know what he’s crying about anymore. It’s everything, all at once—overwhelming, suffocating, too much to hold.His dad is moving to El Paso. He’s making Chris choose between going back home before he’s ready or losing the option to go back altogether. It’s not fair.And they’re abandoning Buck. Both of them. The one person who has always, unfailingly been there. The most important person in either of their lives, apart from each other—and they’re just leaving him behind. Abandoning the home they’ve built together, as if it’s something they can walk away from and pretend won’t leave a hole.Chris doesn’t even know who started it. He was the first to leave, sure, but his dad is the one making it impossible for him to come back. And now, the idea of going home—something he’s thought about so many times—feels even less like a choice and more like a demand. He could go back, but not like this. Not when it’s been forced on him.It’s all messy and unclear, and Chris doesn’t know how to make sense of it. Every thread he pulls only makes the knot tighter. And talking about it will just twist it all up even more, make everything worse than it already is.Talking about his mom definitely did. Chris still isn’t quite sure what possessed him to do that.Even though he thought he wanted to learn more about her—hear stories about her, connect with the woman he never really knew—he thinks maybe hearing about why she was important to his dad only made it worse.Because Chris doesn’t have a list. He doesn’t have reasons. He didn't know her well enough, or long enough, to have that.Her importance to Chris only exists as a concept, a symbol. She’s his mom, and she’s gone, and Chris is supposed to miss her. Which, he  does . But he thinks that maybe he misses the idea of her rather than the woman herself, because missing something requires remembering what he once had.He doesn’t. And isn’t that, in some ways, even sadder—missing someone so deeply, yet not even knowing what you’re truly grieving?Eddie Diaz is grieving a wife he knew but never had enough time to fully love, while Christopher Diaz is grieving a mother he loved but never had enough time to truly know.It’s not the same.For his dad, Chris imagines seeing that woman was an opportunity to find parts of his mom and bring them back to life. Not that that is in any way sane, or logical, or rational. But Chris supposes maybe his dad thought he had something to gain from the insanity of it all. He just didn’t stop to think about what he had to lose.For Chris, seeing that woman was as simple as seeing a ghost. He couldn’t get anything out of her, even if he had wanted to or tried. He wouldn’t have even known what to look for. There was nothing to gain, everything to lose. And he lost it, all over again, after for a fleeting moment, he thought he had her back.Chris is pulled out of his spiralling thoughts when his grandma knocks on the door. She doesn’t wait for him to answer before pushing it open and barging into the room. Of course, she doesn’t. Privacy, as far as Helena Diaz is concerned, is a concept for other people.“Hey, sweetie, are you okay?” she asks, stepping inside without hesitation.She cares. Chris can tell she cares. But there’s a sharpness to her tone, an undercurrent of suspicion, like she’s not just checking in—she’s searching for a problem, scanning the room for evidence, waiting for him to slip up so she can swoop in and fortify him. Chris doesn’t have the energy for it.“I’m fine,” he grumbles, trying—and failing—to bury the tears still caught in his throat.Helena isn’t convinced. Chris sees her tilting her head in the reflection of his bedroom window, studying him like he’s a puzzle missing half its pieces. He is. The other half of him is in Los Angeles. “Who were you talking to?”Chris hesitates for a beat too long. “Dad,” he answers flatly.“Oh.” Her eyebrow arches, and there’s something in her reflected expression that makes Chris’ stomach twist. “What did he want?”
   What did he want? 
The way she says it grates on him, like she’s already made up her mind that it wasn’t him who reached out first—that it was always going to be Eddie making the call, never him. And Chris wouldn’t ordinarily be so bothered by that, since it’s very close to the truth, except for the fact that she seems to prefer it that way.
   What did he want? 
It’s like she thinks his father would’ve only called because it was some obligation to fulfill, or because he wanted  something,  not because he wanted  Chris.
   What did he want? 
Or maybe—maybe she thinks Eddie doesn’t deserve to want anything from Chris. That he forfeited that right a long time ago.“Nothing,” Chris mutters, rolling to face the wall even more. He’s done with this conversation already, but Helena isn’t.Of course she isn’t. Because no one can ever seem to leave him the f@ck alone when he needs space.“What do you mean, nothing?” she presses, her voice picking up that slightly patronizing tone that sets Chris’s teeth on edge. “You must’ve talked about something.”Chris grits his teeth, trying to keep his voice steady. “He’s moving back to El Paso,” he says, hoping the casual delivery will keep her from digging deeper.There’s a pause, and then Helena beams. He doesn’t even need to see her face to know that she does. “Well, that’s wonderful news! You’ll get to see your dad more often. He can come over whenever he wants—swim in the pool with you, spend time with the family.”It’s not wonderful. It’s the opposite of wonderful, and Chris hates that she can’t see that. He hates that she’s already envisioning a life where his dad is around but  not there.  Because it’s clear, from her tone, that she assumes Chris will still live with her and Abuelo. That Eddie’s role in his life will remain supplemental, not primary.Chris clenches his jaw. “Can I just play my game now?” he asks, voice clipped.Helena sighs, clearly exasperated by his lack of enthusiasm. “Five more minutes, then I want you outside. You spend too much time on that thing.”She leaves, leaving the door ajar behind her, and Chris pulls the iPad out from where he’d shoved it under his pillow. He stares at the screen, but he doesn’t open his game. Instead, he finds himself scrolling through his favorite album in his camera roll, his fingers moving without conscious thought, flipping through snapshots of his life in L.A.—his friends, the 118, moments that feel impossibly far away now.There’s one of him and his dad at a Dodgers game, their grins so wide they’re almost identical. Another of him and his mom, her arms wrapped around him as they smiled for the camera. But there are no photos of all three of them together—not him, and his dad, and his mom.And then his fingers pause over a photo of him, his dad, and Buck. Buck, who’s beaming like he always does, arms slung around each of the Diaz boys respectively, in the middle like he belongs there.Chris stares at the picture, and the tears he thought he’d pushed down earlier start to rise again. He doesn’t fight them this time. When they spill over, hot and fast onto his screen, he presses the iPad against his chest and curls up on his bed.And when the sobs finally come, they’re quiet but relentless, filling the room with a grief he doesn’t know how to name.When Christopher left for Texas in the early summer, he didn’t really have a plan of action.The problem is, he still doesn’t.
  
  

    
      
        
        
          manipulating chris’ perspective to help fit the narrative of the rest of the story was so hard, not to mention the fact that i have no idea how to write from the pov of an emotionally turmoiled 14 year old boy. the poor kid is intelligent enough to rationalise some things but simultaneously severely misguided in his thinking on how to heal. he just has no one to guide him and give him advice. so, his thought process was often illogical and unreliable, but that’s entirely deliberate (it makes sense to him. sort of. don’t ask him to explain it. it’s complicated).this was NOT supposed to be 14k. it is NOT proofread. hopefully the other chapters are shorter so i can post them sooner.in the meantime, come chat with me about the gay firefighter show on tik tok @lanisfandoms, instagram @jamespctters or twitter @jamespctterswp. comments and kudos are appreciated and very motivating for me to write more!'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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