(A 911 Buddie Fic) You Were Made From Scars

Chapter 2

Everyone in the firehouse knew that the kitchen was Bobby's domain. That wasn't to say that no one else was allowed to use it, but when Bobby was cooking, no one interfered. No one entered that kitchen, except for Buck. Buck, who would hover and press Bobby until Bobby relented and allowed him to help. And Bobby would play irritated, he would raise his eyebrows at Buck and tilt his head, but he would always give in, because that was something else everyone knew. Bobby enjoyed cooking with Buck.

"I'd like that," Eddie answered, pushing himself up to join Bobby in the kitchen, and he knew without either of them needing to say it, that it was as much for Bobby as it was for Eddie.

He was more of a hindrance than a help, trying to sidestep around Bobby so he didn't get in the way too much, but it wasn't about that. It wasn't about the breakfast or making sure everything was perfect. It was about so much more than that. It was about the small smile that crept onto Bobby's face and the way he shook his head when Eddie tried to fish broken bits of shell out of the eggs he had cracked. It was about the way Bobby tapped the back of his hand with a wooden spoon when he went to add sugar instead of salt. It was about the way that for just a short while, Eddie could push his grief away and remember what it was like to be alive.

It made it easier to get through the rest of the day, gave him the strength to face the looks of pity other members of the team would send his way every so often. It allowed him to not completely fall apart when Hen rested her hand on his and smiled sadly, a simple act to say she was there for him.

He found a little more strength each day, sometimes from inside himself and sometimes with the help of those around him. It didn't take away from the hurt, but it made it so that, when Maddie and Chimney kept asking him and Chris around for dinner, he eventually agreed. And he eventually went with Maddie to lay flowers at Buck's grave. It made it so that, when he entered the firehouse at the start of a shift, he could actually look at the memorial for Buck, instead of shying away from it.

There were bad days, as the weeks passed by. Days when a call hit too close to home. Days when Christopher would be exceptionally quiet at dinner and would snap at Eddie when questioned on it. Days when Eddie found himself resting his head against the wall in the shower, allowing himself to cry the tears he had locked away, allowing the warmth of the water to wash them away.

But, as he munched away on his cereal one early Tuesday morning in May, he did not expect today to be one of those days. He should have known though, by now, that he had no control of what would and would not be a bad day.

"What's this?" he questioned, as Chris dropped a flyer on the table in front of him in the kitchen.

"There's a game convention this weekend." Christopher beamed at him. "It's the one I've been waiting for."

Eddie sat back in his seat, abandoning his breakfast, and let out a deep sigh. He pulled the leaflet closer across the table, already shaking his head. "I'm working this weekend, Bud. You know that."

"All weekend?" Christopher whined, and it was moments like this that Eddie could see the teenager in Chris emerging.

"We'll go next time."

But Christopher huffed out. "No. I want to go this weekend. What if it doesn't come back?"

"I can't just not go into work, Chris. People depend on me."

"I can go with Carla."

Eddie shook his head. Carla had recently sprained her ankle, and she was already helping Eddie out loads by keeping an eye on Christopher when he was at work. He couldn't ask her to do that too, not when she should be resting. "You know she can't. It's not fair on her."