#title *sounds* romantic but its not fjjfjd

[fruitydiaz-archived]

with the comfort of a billion stars (and you)

chimney and eddie get high in eddie's backyard and talk about what it means to be a good father

because of @hetheybuck's tags on this post about chimney and eddie being blaze buddies

drug use | sweet conversations | stargazing

1,691 words

AO3 link

Chimney wrapped his arms around himself instinctively as he slipped out into Eddie’s backyard, rubbing his hands rapidly along the tops of his arms as he breathed out, watching his air puff out into the cold like white smoke before quickly dissipating. The bite of the cold air against his skin was a welcome reprieve to the flush brought on by too many bodies in too small of a space.

He thought he was alone for a moment, leveling out his breaths and staring up at the sky, squinting as if he could stare just long enough to actually be able to make out some stars in the black of the LA sky—before he heard another sharp intake of breath from his side. He turned, staring down the line of Eddie’s backyard, surprised to find Eddie there, alone, curled up on a lawn chair, head tipped back as he blew out a soft puff of smoke, a joint dangling from his fingers. Chimney blinked, hesitating just for a second, before he stepped off Eddie’s porch and made his way over to the chairs.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Chimney called out as he neared him. Eddie’s head tipped back forward, eyes wide, then squinting in the dark as he tried to make out who was approaching him. The corners of his lips curled up into a soft smile.

“Every once in a while. It was a bit much in there,” He explained with a shrug. Chimney smiled back at him before settling down into the chair next to Eddie.

“I hear ya.”

Eddie smiled again, glancing down at the ground and nodding a bit before stretching his arm out towards Chimney. He shuffled the joint between his fingers, holding it out in offering. Chimney considered it and then looked back at Eddie, eyebrows raised.

“You sure?”

“Course, Chim. It’s my house. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t share?”

Chimney nodded appreciatively, taking the joint and holding it up to his mouth, inhaling gently. It’d been a while since the last time he smoked and he struggled to maintain a cough, tipping his head back against the chair like Eddie had and releasing the smoke back into the air.

“God,” He said on the exhale. “It’s been a while.”

Eddie hummed in acknowledgment, taking the joint back from Chimney’s stretched out hand.

They didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, both of them staring up at the night sky, trading off the joint every once in a while, in comfortable silence.

It was nice, Chimney thought, getting to have this quiet moment with Eddie. They didn’t get to do this often; always racing off to different emergencies or juggling conversations with everyone else on the team. This was nice. He felt loose and relaxed—and maybe that had something to do with the weed—but he was also pretty sure it had something to do with Eddie, and maybe something to do with how dark the sky was, and how instinctively he knew that staring up there were actually billions of stars in the sky, and how actually he wasn’t staring at some flat surface but rather the entire universe that expanded all around them, and how even though he couldn’t see any stars, light from those stars was currently traveling at speeds he’d never ever be able to comprehend, and how some of those stars that he couldn’t see but could see under different circumstances were actually dead, like long dead, and how some stars were dying at right this very second, and how some stars were being born this very second, and how all of that made him feel very small and comforted and insignificant and important all at the same time.

He was a little high.

When Eddie’s hand knocked against his, joint stretched out between his fingers, Chimney laughed a little and waved him off. Eddie smiled, taking one last drag before tapping it out on the ashtray next to him and setting it down.

Another moment of silence stretched between them. Chimney furrowed his eyebrows.

“I’m scared of being a terrible dad,” He said suddenly, no idea where the thought came from. He saw Eddie nod slowly from the corner of his eye, like he was fully expecting Chimney to say that.

“How do you do it?” He asked, turning to face Eddie, who turned back towards him, eyebrows raising. “With Christopher. How do you...how do you...not mess it up?”

Eddie snorted and took a deep breath before answering, the corners of his lips curling softly.

“I mess up all the time, Chim.”

Chimney frowned. That’s not at all what he wanted Eddie to say.

“You’ll mess up,” Eddie continued, turning forward again, his face serious. He looked back up at the sky and sighed, rolling his neck from side to side. Chimney waited for him to say more but he didn’t.

“That doesn’t actually make me feel better, Eddie,” Chimney pointed out. Eddie giggled a little. It made Chimney giggle a little, though he kept trying to force his face back down into a scowl. This was serious. He was serious.

“No, I know,” Eddie straightened up in his chair. “I think...I think the sooner you realize that you will mess up—the less you’ll...mess up.” Chimney blinked and Eddie frowned, face scrunching up like he was trying to work exactly what he was trying to say. “I mean. We’re in charge of this...little life, now, you know? Sometimes I still feel like a kid myself but—I’ve got to be responsible for my actual kid now. And...I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. My parents weren’t...the best examples. So I’m just...doing my best. That’s all we can do.”

He nodded again, more confidently this time, solid. Eddie turned back to Chimney.

“I think Christopher’s okay, right?”

“Eddie,” Chimney said, voice stern. “Christopher is amazing. And you do this all on your own. I can’t imagine. I’m...so lucky to have Maddie.”

“I don’t really do it alone,” Eddie smiled. “Buck helps a lot. And we have Carla.”

“You're his dad,” Chimney felt the need to remind him. Eddie ducked his head, smiling wider, prouder.

“I am.”

There was a pause. Chimney watched, transfixed as Eddie dug the heel of his shoe into the dirt in front of him, dragging abstract patterns into the ground. It was fascinating.

“I think we’re too hard on ourselves,” Chimney said. Eddie snorted again.

“That’s what Buck says.”

“He would know.”

“He would know.”

Another pause.

“I don’t want to be like my dad.”

“You won’t be.”

“Are you sure?”

Eddie sighed, flattening his foot and dragging it through all of the lines he had just made. Chimney was pretty sure he heard his heart break. Over the dirt art.

“Well, you will be, sometimes, in tiny ways. But you’re not him. You’re...parts of him, parts of your mom, and parts of you, you know?”

“I hope I’m mostly parts of my mom.” His voice sounded wistful.

“You’re mostly parts of you.” Eddie didn’t see the way Chimney’s face pinched in disappointment, still staring at the patch of dirt on the ground.

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“It is,” Eddie’s tone was determined and final—and with that he pulled his legs back up into the chair and leaned back, blinking back up at the stars. He looked strikingly childlike, loose and relaxed.

Chimney sniffed. He felt—he felt warm. It was cold out but he felt this warmth radiating from somewhere in his chest or maybe his stomach—somewhere in his core, he wasn’t really sure—and it spread everywhere throughout his body. He almost felt like it spread even further, encompassing Eddie and his backyard and his house along with everyone inside it and all of LA.

The last few months had been hard. The last couple of years had been hard. Hell—life had been hard. And sometimes it was easy for Chimney to get lost in that; to look at Maddie fighting to pick herself back up, to look at Albert pushing to become a firefighter, to watch the Lees take on his kid brother and watch him go through the same process their dead son had, to watch Eddie and Bobby recover from their shootings, to watch Bobby and Athena mend their relationship, to watch Buck fall apart and stitch himself back together, to watch Hen and Karen grow attached to Nia only to lose her when they had expected it all along and somehow that hurt worse, to pretend through it all that he could shoulder the responsibility of having it all together, to be the friend and partner and father that he knew he needed to be.

It wasn’t about him—but it was. And he felt heavy and tired.

But sitting next to Eddie, a little high, comforted by Eddie’s sincere words—Eddie who would never sugarcoat it, would never lie, who always chose his words with careful intention—he felt lighter. Looking up at the sky, feeling the presence of stars young and old, alive and dead, feeling but not seeing, knowing that just inside were all his friends and family, laughing and reconnecting and healing after months and years of trauma, knowing that all around them billions of lives were being lived. And while bad things happened and people got hurt—good things happened too.

Good things like his baby girl being born. Good things like his baby brother making it out of a terrible car accident.

Good things like survival and healing and happiness and love. Things that persisted.

It was all around him constantly. He didn’t feel it all the time—but he did then.

“Hey, Eddie? I love you.”

Eddie stilled for just a second before his face cracked into a wide grin and his shoulders started to shake as he giggled, again.

“I love you too, man.” Chimney swiveled around in his seat.

“No, seriously, I mean it. Family we chose, right?”

Eddie’s giggles died down and he studied Chimney’s face carefully, smile softening, before nodding.

“Yeah, Chim. Family we chose.”