Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Buck had been fidgeting with his collar for the past ten minutes. He wasn't even aware of it, not consciously at least, but Bobby had been watching. Observing. The way Buck's fingers would subtly scratch at the back of his neck, how he'd tug at the seam of his uniform shirt with a barely restrained grimace. It was the same during every shift, and the more Bobby noticed it, the more it nagged at him.

He wasn’t the only one who had picked up on it. Hen had side-eyed Buck earlier during their morning briefing when he'd reached up to rub at the nape of his neck again, and Chim had elbowed him once during lunch with a muttered, "Dude, do you have fleas or something?"

Buck had scowled and swatted Chim's arm, muttering, "No, it's just—it’s the tag. It’s always so damn itchy."

That made Bobby pause.

The tag?

It clicked then. The standard-issue fire department shirts had those stiff, scratchy tags, and while most people could ignore them, Buck wasn’t most people. He’d always been sensitive to textures, preferring soft cotton over stiff fabrics, his sweatshirts worn-in and loose. Bobby thought back to how Buck always seemed to relax the second he was out of uniform, tugging his station shirt off with a relieved sigh before throwing on one of his well-loved t-shirts.

It was such a little thing.

But little things mattered.

That was how Bobby found himself alone in the station’s laundry room that night, a small pair of sewing scissors in hand as he carefully snipped out every single tag from Buck’s uniforms. He was meticulous, making sure to trim close to the seams so there wouldn't be any rough edges left behind. It was almost meditative, sitting there in the dim light, ensuring that something as small as an itchy tag wouldn't be bothering Buck anymore.

And it didn’t stop there.

Bobby had always taken on a sort of fatherly role with his team, and well, Buck—Buck was the one who needed looking after the most, even if he didn’t always realize it. So, the next time they did a team laundry run, Bobby made sure Buck’s civvies went through his hands too. He took his time, removing every single tag from Buck’s t-shirts, hoodies, and even his favorite flannel. He did it carefully, deliberately, and without a word to anyone.

Days passed. Then a week.

Buck didn’t notice right away, but Bobby wasn’t expecting him to. It was subtle, after all. The absence of irritation rather than the presence of something new.

It was during their lunch break the following week that Buck finally put it together. He was halfway through his sandwich when he paused, blinking down at his shirt. His brows furrowed as he pulled at the collar, rubbing the back of his neck absentmindedly. He twisted in his seat, then suddenly yanked his hoodie over his head, feeling around the neckline of his t-shirt with a look of pure, unfiltered surprise.

"Oh my god," Buck muttered, eyes going wide. "I’m not itchy."

Chim snorted. "Congrats?"

"No, you don’t get it! I’m always itchy in this shirt. But I—I haven't been scratching at my uniform either. Wait—wait, hold on." Buck shot to his feet, bolting toward his locker. The rest of the team exchanged glances, Hen quirking a curious eyebrow while Eddie just sighed in fond exasperation.

Seconds later, Buck was back, holding his station shirt in his hands, flipping it inside out. He stared at the collar, then checked the inside of his sleeves. His mouth fell open.

"The tags are gone," he whispered.

There was a beat of silence before Hen let out a soft, knowing hum. "Huh. Wonder how that happened."

Buck’s eyes immediately snapped to Bobby.

Bobby, who was taking a very calm, very innocent sip of his coffee.

"Bobby!" Buck’s voice cracked as he said his name, equal parts incredulous and touched. "Did you—did you do this?"

Bobby set his mug down and shrugged. "Seemed like they were bothering you."

Buck stared at him, completely stunned. It was such a simple thing. Something no one else would’ve even thought about. But Bobby had. Bobby had noticed, and he had taken the time to fix it without ever saying a word.

For Buck, who had spent so much of his life feeling like he had to take up space loudly just to be seen, this quiet kind of care hit him like a freight train.

He felt his throat get tight as warmth bloomed in his chest. "Bobby," he said again, softer this time. "That’s—" He cut himself off, shaking his head before launching himself forward, wrapping Bobby in a tight, heartfelt hug.

Bobby let out a surprised chuckle, patting Buck’s back. "Alright, alright," he said, though there was clear affection in his voice. "It was just some tags."

"No," Buck pulled back just enough to look at him. "It wasn’t just some tags."

The rest of the team watched with fond smiles, and Bobby gave a small nod, understanding the depth of what Buck meant. Because it wasn’t just the tags. It was the little things. The things that made them family.

And if Buck ever realized that Bobby kept an extra pair of scissors in his locker just in case the department ever changed uniform suppliers?

Well.

That was just between them.

Chapter Text

Buck had always been the kind of guy who loved learning new things. He’d fall down rabbit holes of random knowledge at the oddest times, reading articles and watching videos late into the night. It didn’t matter what the topic was—if it caught his attention, he’d absorb every detail like a sponge.

And last night, it had been firefighting facts.

Yes, he already was a firefighter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still learn more. Maybe it was because he always felt like he had to prove himself. Maybe it was just that he liked knowing things, liked being able to contribute. Either way, by the time the sun came up, he had a whole arsenal of cool, useful information he couldn’t wait to share with the team.

The problem was… no one seemed to want to listen.

"Hey, did you guys know that in really intense fires, the heat can actually cause water to split into hydrogen and oxygen? And if there’s enough heat, that hydrogen can ignite—"

"Buck, can you hand me that wrench?" Eddie interrupted, not even looking up from the engine he was working on.

Buck blinked. "Uh, yeah. Sure. But seriously, isn’t that wild? It means water can technically feed a fire under the right—"

"Thanks, man," Eddie cut in again, already focused back on his task.

Buck sighed, but shook it off. Maybe Eddie just wasn’t in the mood to chat.

Later, while they were cleaning the truck, Buck tried again.

"Did you know that in big structural fires, the smoke actually moves like a liquid? It flows through hallways and stairwells just like water would in a flood—"

"Yo, Buck, can you move? You’re blocking the hose," Chimney called, already dragging it toward the bay doors.

Buck stepped aside, deflating a little. "Right. Sorry."

It was fine. They were busy. He’d try again at lunch.

Except that when lunchtime rolled around, Buck barely got three words out before Hen cut him off, asking Bobby about the new shift schedule. Then someone else jumped in, and suddenly the conversation had moved on without him.

By the time dinner came, Buck wasn’t even sure if he should bother. It wasn’t like anyone was trying to be mean—no one was telling him to shut up or anything—but every time he tried to share, someone else had something more important to say.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

But it did.

Because Buck had spent his whole life feeling like he had to fight to be heard. And now, even here, with his family, it felt like his words didn’t matter.

He pushed his food around his plate, barely eating. Bobby noticed.

"Something on your mind, Buck?" he asked, voice calm and steady.

Buck hesitated. It was one thing to get ignored. It was another to openly admit that it bothered him. He didn’t want to sound needy.

"It’s nothing," he said quickly.

Bobby didn’t buy it. "Buck."

Buck sighed, setting down his fork. "I just… I learned a bunch of really cool firefighting facts last night. Stuff that actually applies to our job. But every time I tried to tell someone, they—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Never mind. It’s stupid."

"It’s not stupid," Bobby said firmly. "And I want to hear them."

Buck blinked. "You… do?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. Go on. Tell me."

Buck hesitated for half a second longer before sitting up a little straighter. "Okay. So, did you know that fire can actually move faster uphill than downhill? It’s because heat rises, and that preheats the vegetation above it, making it catch faster—"

"That makes sense," Bobby said thoughtfully. "That’s probably why wildfire crews set backfires to create a barrier."

Buck’s eyes lit up. "Exactly! And speaking of wildfires, did you know that some trees actually need fire to reproduce? Like, there are certain pinecones that only open when they’re exposed to extreme heat—"

Bobby listened.

Really listened.

He asked questions, nodded along, even chimed in with his own thoughts. And the more he did, the more Buck felt that tight, anxious weight in his chest loosen.

By the time he was done, his food was cold, but he didn’t even care. Because for once, someone had let him finish.

"That’s some really great info, Buck," Bobby said when he finally stopped for a breath. "You should bring some of those up in training. I think the probies could learn a lot from them."

Buck flushed, ducking his head. "Yeah?"

Bobby smiled. "Yeah."

Buck swallowed past the lump in his throat, gripping his fork a little tighter. "Thanks for listening, Bobby."

Bobby’s expression softened. "Always, kid. Always."

Chapter Text

The first sign was the lights.

Buck had been minding his own business, sprawled out on his couch, phone in hand, mindlessly scrolling through articles when the first flicker of distortion appeared in the corner of his vision. At first, he thought it was just the brightness of his screen, or maybe the way the sunlight was streaming through his loft window at the wrong angle. But then the flicker grew.

Like a crack in glass, the shimmering distortion spread across his sight, twisting and warping everything he looked at. Text on his screen became unreadable, faces in pictures blurred and smeared like wet paint. His stomach turned, an unsettling nausea creeping up his throat as he blinked rapidly, willing his vision to return to normal.

It didn’t.

Instead, a deep, searing pain exploded behind his left eye, radiating outward in sharp, pulsing waves. It was blinding, suffocating, an iron grip squeezing the inside of his skull. The nausea sharpened into something violent, his stomach twisting in a way that sent him lurching off the couch on shaky legs.

The loft spun around him.

Buck barely made it to the bathroom before he collapsed to his knees, body curling over the toilet as he heaved up everything in his stomach. His head throbbed with every pulse of his heart, the pain so overwhelming that he could barely think. The world was too bright, too loud, even in the silence of his empty loft.

He lost track of time.

All he knew was pain and sickness, his body trembling with each wave of nausea. At some point, he ended up on the cold bathroom floor, curled in on himself, arms wrapped tight around his aching head as he tried to breathe through it.

And that’s how Bobby found him.

It had started with a missed call.

Then two.

Then three.

Bobby wasn’t the kind of guy to panic immediately—he’d been through too much in his life to jump to the worst conclusions right away. But Buck not answering his phone? That was unusual. Buck not answering three times in a row? That was concerning.

So he drove over.

It wasn’t until he stepped into Buck’s loft and heard the faint, pained whimpering coming from the bathroom that real fear gripped his chest.

"Buck?" Bobby called, voice steady but urgent as he strode across the room.

There was no answer.

Just a weak, barely-there groan.

Bobby’s stomach dropped.

He pushed the bathroom door open the rest of the way, and what he saw made his heart lurch into his throat.

Buck was curled on the floor, his face pale, sweat-dampened hair plastered to his forehead. His body was trembling, arms wrapped tightly around his head as if trying to block out the world. The trash can next to him was full of bile, and the air smelled like sickness.

Bobby was on his knees in an instant, pressing a gentle hand to Buck’s back.

"Buck, hey, it’s me. What’s going on?"

Buck flinched at his voice, a barely audible whimper escaping his lips.

"Hurts—" he choked out, voice wrecked and raw. "Everything—Bobby, it—it hurts."

Bobby’s chest tightened.

"Okay, okay, I got you," he soothed, keeping his voice soft. "I’m right here. Just breathe, kid."

But Buck was barely breathing, each inhale shaky and strained, like even the act of pulling in air was too much for him.

Bobby had seen migraines before, but this—this was brutal.

He needed to get Buck somewhere dark, somewhere quiet. Carefully, he maneuvered Buck’s arm over his shoulders, helping him sit up. Buck let out a sharp, pained noise as his head shifted, and Bobby immediately steadied him, whispering reassurances.

"I know, I know. Just hold on, Buck. I’m going to get you to bed, okay?"

Buck nodded weakly, but he let Bobby help him up, leaning heavily against him as they made their way to the bedroom. Bobby eased him onto the mattress, pulling the blackout curtains closed before grabbing the blanket off the edge of the bed.

"You’re okay," Bobby murmured as he tucked the blanket around Buck. "Just rest."

Buck shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. "I—feel like I’m dying."

Bobby’s heart clenched.

"You’re not dying, kid," he promised. "You’re going to be okay. I’ll stay right here."

Buck made a noise that might have been gratitude, or maybe just exhaustion, before his body slumped further into the mattress. His breaths were still uneven, his face still tight with pain, but Bobby could see the tension in his limbs easing ever so slightly.

Bobby grabbed the trash can from the bathroom and set it beside the bed, then grabbed a cool washcloth, gently pressing it to Buck’s forehead.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Bobby didn’t move. He sat there, keeping watch, making sure Buck wasn’t alone in the darkness.

Because if there was one thing Bobby knew—one thing he had learned from years of loving and losing—it was that no one should have to suffer alone.

And Buck?

Buck was family.

So Bobby stayed.

For as long as it took.

Chapter Text

The thing about accidents was that they never gave a warning. One second, everything was fine—normal, even. And then, in the blink of an eye, everything shifted.

Buck had been at the station when it happened, which, honestly, felt like the safest place in the world. He ran into burning buildings for a living, faced collapsing structures, explosive gas leaks, and vehicles mangled beyond recognition. He had been shot at. He had almost drowned. He had been struck by lightning for God’s sake.

And yet, a simple maintenance task in the firehouse was what knocked him flat.

He’d been up on one of the trucks, reaching to adjust a hose that had come loose when he lost his footing. Maybe he had been distracted, maybe the surface had been slicker than he realized—he honestly couldn’t remember. What he did remember was his stomach dropping, the sudden freefall, and then—

Pain.

The back of his head struck the concrete floor with a sickening crack, the impact rattling through his skull. For a moment, the world went completely white, then black, then hazy. Muffled voices reached his ears, distant and blurred.

His stomach twisted violently, and when he tried to push himself up, the entire room lurched sideways, sending him back down with a groan.

"Whoa, Buck, don’t move!" That was Chimney, his voice tight with worry. Hands gripped his shoulders, keeping him steady.

"Jesus, he hit his head hard," Hen’s voice followed, a different kind of concern lacing her tone.

"Somebody get Bobby," Eddie said, his voice sharp, urgent. "Now."

Bobby had barely taken three steps into his office before Ravi came sprinting through the door, wide-eyed and breathless.

"Cap! Buck fell—he hit his head—"

Bobby didn’t wait for the rest. He was already moving, his heart hammering in his chest as he hurried toward the apparatus bay. He knew it was bad the second he saw his team gathered in a tight circle, blocking his view. The moment they stepped aside, his stomach dropped.

Buck was on the floor, pale and blinking sluggishly, a hand pressed to the back of his head. Chim and Hen were crouched beside him, while Eddie hovered protectively over his shoulder. There was a fine tremor in Buck’s fingers, and Bobby didn’t miss the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

"Buck?" Bobby dropped to his knees beside him, scanning him for any immediate injuries.

"Hey, Cap," Buck mumbled, his voice just slightly off, slightly distant. "I think I—uh—fell?"

Bobby exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. "Yeah, kid, you did. Hit your head pretty bad. How are you feeling?"

Buck blinked slowly, then made a face like he had to think about it. "Kinda dizzy. Everything’s… too bright. And loud. And my head—" He winced, bringing his hand up to press against his temple. "Hurts. A lot."

Bobby’s chest tightened. That was textbook concussion talk.

"Okay," Bobby said, keeping his voice gentle but firm. "We’re gonna get you checked out. Hen, do we need to call an ambulance?"

"We could drive him," Hen said, checking Buck’s pupils with a penlight. "They’re sluggish, but reactive. His vitals are stable for now, but I don’t love how disoriented he seems."

"I’m fine," Buck protested weakly, though the effect was ruined when he swayed slightly, his eyes briefly unfocused.

"Yeah, real convincing," Chim muttered.

Bobby sighed and made the decision for him. "Eddie, get the truck ready. We’re taking him in."

"On it," Eddie said immediately, already moving.

Buck groaned. "I don’t need—"

"Yes, you do," Bobby cut in firmly. "No arguments, Buck. You hit your head, hard. That’s not something we ignore."

Something in his tone must have reached Buck, because the fight in his expression faded. "Okay," he murmured, voice small.

Bobby softened. "Okay," he echoed, resting a steadying hand on Buck’s arm. "Let’s get you taken care of."

The hospital visit confirmed what Bobby already suspected—concussion, mild to moderate, with a solid dose of nausea and dizziness to go with it. The doctor gave them the standard spiel about rest, hydration, and avoiding bright screens, then cleared Buck to go home under supervision.

Supervision, which, as far as Bobby was concerned, meant him.

So that was how Buck found himself in Bobby’s guest room, curled under a blanket while Bobby hovered nearby like a mother hen.

"I can take care of myself, you know," Buck grumbled, though his voice was hoarse and exhausted.

"Not a chance, kid," Bobby said easily. "You’re stuck with me."

Buck sighed, shifting slightly. "I hate concussions."

"I hate them more," Bobby said honestly. "You scared me today."

Buck blinked at him, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. "Didn’t mean to."

"I know." Bobby hesitated, then softened. "You’ve been through a lot, Buck. More than most. And you’re always so quick to bounce back, to brush things off like they don’t matter. But they do matter. You matter. So when something happens to you, I’m gonna be worried. I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

Buck swallowed hard, looking away. "I know."

Bobby reached out, squeezing Buck’s shoulder lightly. "Get some rest, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up."

Buck let out a slow breath, then nodded. "Okay."

Bobby stayed until Buck’s breathing evened out, the tension finally easing from his frame. And as he watched over him, he made a silent promise:

As long as he was around, Buck would never have to go through anything alone.

Chapter Text

Buck had been running on fumes for days.

Bobby had noticed it almost immediately. The signs were subtle at first—slower movements, zoning out more often, rubbing at his eyes when he thought no one was looking. But as the shift dragged on, Buck’s exhaustion became impossible to ignore.

By the time they returned from their third call in a row, Buck was swaying on his feet, his body sluggish with fatigue.

"Buck," Bobby called, watching as the younger man scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Hmm?" Buck blinked up at him, bleary-eyed.

"Go get some rest."

"I’m fine," Buck said automatically, but his voice was rough, and there was a slight tremor in his stance.

Bobby sighed, stepping closer. "Buck, when was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?"

Buck hesitated, shifting on his feet. "Uh—"

"That’s what I thought," Bobby said before Buck could come up with an excuse. "Come on. Bunks. Now."

"Cap—"

"No arguments."

Buck groaned, but Bobby was already guiding him toward the sleeping quarters, a steady hand on his shoulder. Buck didn’t resist—not really. If anything, he sagged under Bobby’s touch, like just the act of being led was enough to make his body acknowledge the exhaustion he’d been ignoring.

"You’re not invincible, kid," Bobby murmured as they reached the bunks. "You need rest just like everyone else."

Buck huffed a tired laugh as he sat down on the cot. "Feels like I never have time for it."

Bobby crouched in front of him, resting a firm hand on his knee. "Then make time. You can’t help anyone if you’re running on empty."

Buck sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I know."

"Good. Now lie down."

For once, Buck didn’t argue. He stretched out on the cot, and before Bobby could even pull the blanket over him, his eyes were already fluttering shut.

Bobby watched for a moment, waiting until Buck’s breathing evened out before standing. He pulled the blanket up to Buck’s shoulders, then dimmed the lights before quietly stepping out of the room.

Because Buck might be stubborn, but Bobby would always make sure he took care of himself—even if that meant forcing him to rest when he wouldn’t do it on his own.

Chapter Text

The smell of garlic and onions filled the firehouse kitchen as Bobby moved around the stove with practiced ease. It was one of the rare slow afternoons at the station, and Bobby had taken it upon himself to cook up something hearty for the team. Buck had hovered nearby, offering to help, and Bobby—knowing how much Buck actually enjoyed cooking—had let him chop vegetables while he focused on the sauce simmering on the stove.

Everything was going fine until Buck decided to question Bobby’s method.

"You’re stirring it too much," Buck said, watching with his arms crossed.

Bobby arched a brow. "Excuse me?"

"The sauce! You’re over-stirring it," Buck insisted, setting down the knife he had been using. "You’re supposed to let it sit and thicken, not just keep messing with it."

Bobby sighed, shaking his head as he gave the sauce another deliberate stir. "Buck, I’ve been making this sauce for years. I know what I’m doing."

"Yeah, but just because you’ve done something a certain way forever doesn’t mean it’s the right way," Buck shot back, stepping closer.

Bobby turned, crossing his arms. "Oh, so now you’re a sauce expert?"

"I did a deep dive on cooking techniques last month," Buck said proudly. "Watched like five hours of videos on the best way to make marinara. And they all said to leave it alone and let it reduce."

"Buck, you also watched five hours of how to survive a bear attack and then spent a whole shift quizzing us on what to do if a grizzly wandered into the firehouse." Bobby’s voice was flat, but his lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile.

"That was important information! You never know when—"

"Buck."

Buck huffed, grabbing a spoon and dipping it into the sauce before Bobby could stop him. He tasted it, then made a thoughtful noise. "Alright, fine. It’s good. But it could be better if you just let it sit for like five minutes without touching it."

Bobby sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re stubborn!" Buck shot back, grinning now. "Let’s just try it my way once. If it turns out bad, you can say 'I told you so' and I’ll never question your cooking again."

Bobby gave him a long look, then exhaled. "Fine. Five minutes."

Buck beamed, setting a timer on his phone. "Trust me, Cap. This is gonna be the best sauce ever."

Bobby just shook his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You’re lucky I like you, kid."

The five minutes passed, and when they finally tasted the sauce again, Bobby had to begrudgingly admit—it was slightly better.

Buck looked way too pleased with himself. "Told you."

Bobby chuckled, clapping him on the back. "Alright, alright. You win this round. But don’t get used to it."

Buck grinned, and as they finished cooking together, the earlier argument faded into nothing.

Chapter Text

It started with a voicemail.

Buck didn’t even notice it at first—just another missed call, just another unknown number. He only glanced at it while he was pouring himself coffee in the station kitchen. But when he played the message, the blood drained from his face.

"Evan, it’s your mother. I see you’re still ignoring us—nothing new there. We did try to check in after that little meltdown of yours, though I’m sure you’ve convinced everyone around you you’re some kind of victim. Honestly, if you can’t even be bothered to show a shred of gratitude or decency, perhaps it’s time we stopped pretending you’re still part of this family at all."

Click.

Buck stared at the phone in his hand, barely breathing. His stomach turned. He hadn’t heard their voices in months, and honestly, that had been a gift. He didn’t know what possessed them to call now. Maybe it was some passive-aggressive need to remind him they still existed. Maybe they’d seen something on the news. Maybe they just wanted to twist the knife.

He deleted the voicemail before the rest could play.

"Hey," Bobby’s voice came gently from behind. "You okay?"

Buck jumped, nearly spilling his coffee. "Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine."

Bobby frowned. Buck was many things, but a good liar wasn’t one of them.

"That didn’t look like a 'fine' face," Bobby said, stepping closer.

Buck hesitated, then sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. "My mom called."

Bobby’s eyes softened. "Ah."

"I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to. I just—why now, you know? What do they want? They never care unless there’s something in it for them."

"Did she leave a message?"

Buck nodded, his throat tight. "Yeah. The usual. Guilt trip. Sarcasm. That tone that says 'you’re never enough and we’re disappointed but we’ll pretend we care so we can say we tried.'"

Bobby’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching. He’d heard enough about the Buckley parents to know what they were like. He’d seen firsthand what they’d done to Maddie—and more recently, the damage they’d left behind in Buck.

"You don’t have to call them back, you know."

"I know. I just—part of me wants to. Not because I want to talk to them, but because I still... I still want them to be different. I want them to say something kind. For once. Even though I know they won’t."

Bobby was quiet for a long moment, then gently reached out, squeezing Buck’s shoulder. "You don’t owe them anything. Not your time, not your energy, not even a phone call."

Buck looked down, blinking hard. "They’re still my parents."

"Being a parent isn’t about biology," Bobby said softly. "It’s about showing up. It’s about protecting someone. Loving them even when they mess up. And from everything you’ve told me... they didn’t do any of that for you."

Buck’s lips trembled. "It’s stupid that I still want them to."

"It’s not stupid," Bobby said gently. "It’s human. We all want our parents to love us the way we deserve. But wanting that doesn’t mean you should hurt yourself trying to get it."

Buck’s breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, he sank into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands.

Bobby pulled out the chair next to him and sat quietly, just being there. After a few minutes, Buck looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but clearer.

"Thanks for not... trying to fix it. Or telling me to just move on."

"You don’t just move on from that kind of hurt," Bobby said. "But you learn how to live around it. And you find people who give you the love you didn’t get from the ones who should’ve."

Buck looked at him, something breaking open in his chest. "Like you."

Bobby’s hand landed on his shoulder again, firmer this time. "Exactly like me."

Buck didn’t say anything else, but his silence was full of meaning—and when he leaned into Bobby’s side just slightly, Bobby didn’t move away.

They sat there like that for a while.

No more voicemails. No more guilt.
Just quiet, steady love.

The kind Buck had always deserved.

Chapter Text

The smell of grilled meat and the sound of laughter drifted lazily through Bobby’s backyard. Folding chairs had been set up in little clusters, kids darted through bubbles from a machine Chim had brought, and a big checkered table held enough side dishes to feed a small army. The 118 was scattered around, relaxed and sun-kissed, drinks in hand, smiles easy.

Buck stood near the edge of the yard, plastic cup in hand, a small smile on his face as he watched Hen and Eddie try to out-grill Bobby on his own turf. It should have been perfect.

Except his parents were here.

He hadn’t known they’d be invited. Maddie hadn’t told him.

It had been weeks since the voicemail. He’d kept it buried, moved forward, leaned on Bobby more than he’d like to admit. He was doing okay. Better, even. But seeing Margaret and Phillip Buckley sitting on Bobby’s patio chairs, sipping sweet tea and acting like they belonged here, cracked something fragile in his chest.

He kept his distance, choosing to watch from afar, trying to pretend that tension wasn’t twisting his stomach. Bobby had noticed—of course he had—but he’d kept a respectful distance so far. Let Buck lead.

“Evan.”

Buck turned. Margaret was standing a few feet away, looking as impeccably pressed and emotionless as ever. Phillip trailed behind, expression unreadable.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Buck said, voice tight.

“Well, your sister invited us,” Margaret said, a ghost of a smile on her face. "She thought it would be good for the family."

Buck didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself to.

Phillip studied him. "You’ve filled out. Looks like you finally started taking things seriously."

Buck blinked. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

“Just that for years, you were always so desperate. For attention, for validation, for someone to give a damn. It was pathetic, frankly. Maybe now you’ve finally figured out how to stop embarrassing yourself.”

It hit like a punch. His mouth opened—but nothing came out.

Behind him, Eddie started to move, jaw clenched and eyes dark. He stepped forward—but before he could speak, another voice cut through the crowd.

“That’s enough.”

Bobby.

He strode across the yard, every line of his body radiating controlled fury. The chatter behind them dulled to murmurs. Even the kids paused in their running.

“You don’t get to come into my home and talk to him like that.”

Margaret straightened, lips thinning. "I beg your pardon—"

“No,” Bobby snapped. "You don’t get to beg anything. I’ve watched your son nearly destroy himself trying to be good enough for you. I've sat beside him while he tried to figure out what he did wrong, why he wasn't worthy of your love. And now you show up here, uninvited by him, and insult him to his face?"

Phillip bristled. "It was just a comment."

"No. It was cruelty. Dressed up as parenting, like you’ve always done."

Maddie appeared from the side yard, confusion turning to panic. "What’s going on—"

Bobby turned on her, tone firm but quieter. "You should’ve told him. You knew what they’d do."

“I thought maybe... maybe it would be different,” she whispered.

“He deserved the chance to make that choice for himself,” Bobby said. "You of all people know what they’re like."

Maddie looked at Buck then—really looked—and her face crumbled. “I’m sorry. I just... I thought if they saw him now—”

“That they’d change?” Buck’s voice cracked. “They don’t change, Maddie. They never have.”

Margaret scoffed. “You’ve always been dramatic, Evan. It’s exhausting.”

Bobby stepped between them. "Get out."

Margaret blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Leave. You don’t speak to people I love like that."

That word—love—hung in the air.

Buck’s breath caught. His eyes stung.

“You’re making a mistake,” Phillip said tightly.

Bobby didn’t flinch. “The only mistake was thinking you deserved to be here.”

The silence was deep. The kind that made you feel every heartbeat.

Finally, Margaret turned with a huff, Phillip on her heels. Maddie followed them out, murmuring something Buck couldn’t hear.

When the gate shut behind them, Bobby turned around.

Buck was frozen.

“You okay?” Bobby asked softly.

“I—” Buck tried. Swallowed. Failed.

Bobby closed the distance between them, not caring who was watching. He placed a steady hand on Buck’s back.

“You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.”

Buck blinked hard. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did.” Bobby’s voice didn’t waver. “You’re family. And I’ll always stand between you and people who try to hurt you. Even if they share your blood.”

Buck nodded, once, hard. And then, because he couldn’t hold it anymore, he leaned forward into Bobby’s chest. Bobby wrapped both arms around him without hesitation, shielding him from the world.

They stood like that for a long time, while the sounds of the barbecue slowly picked back up. No one interrupted.

Because everyone there understood something that Margaret and Phillip never would:

Buck had never been more loved than he was right now.

Chapter Text

The station felt wrong the moment Buck walked through the doors.

It was quiet—not the usual morning buzz, not the scattered jokes from Chim or the low hum of Hen’s voice over coffee. It was hollow. Still. Too still.

Buck frowned, glancing around. Everyone was there—Chim, Hen, Eddie, even Ravi, all clustered by the table. But Bobby’s chair sat empty. No coffee cup. No clipboard. No Bobby.

Buck’s steps slowed. "Where’s Cap?"

Chim looked up. “Took the day off. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No.” Buck’s voice came out sharper than he intended. He tried to school it into something calmer. “He didn’t.”

Hen chimed in. “It was scheduled. Just a personal day.”

A personal day.

Buck nodded like that made sense. Like it was fine. But his stomach twisted in on itself, cold and anxious. Bobby never took personal days. Not without telling the team. Not without telling him.

It was dumb. He knew it was dumb. Bobby was probably just sleeping in. Running errands. Maybe even doing something fun with Athena.

But all day, Buck couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

He missed Bobby’s voice during morning check-ins. Missed his calm presence during calls. Missed the way he’d glance over with a barely-there nod that meant You’re doing good.

Every call felt heavier. Sharper. Like the world was off-axis. Like he was watching for something to go wrong.

And then it did.

A standard kitchen fire turned sour fast. A ceiling beam cracked loose, fell just inches from Chim’s head. Buck had pulled him back in time, but just barely. They were fine. No injuries. Just rattled.

But the whole way back to the station, Buck kept thinking: If Bobby had been there, that wouldn’t have happened.

By the end of the shift, Buck was twitchy with unease. Everyone else was winding down, laughing over leftover barbecue and passing around inside jokes, but he couldn’t shake the knot in his chest.

It wasn’t until he was in his Jeep, driving aimlessly instead of going home, that he realized where he was headed.

The Grant-Nash house was quiet when he pulled up. Lights on in the living room. Bobby’s truck parked out front.

He sat there for a moment, heart hammering like he was about to go into a fire.

Then he was out of the car, up the walkway, knocking once—twice—three times. Not urgent, but not casual either.

The door opened.

Bobby stood there in sweatpants and a T-shirt, barefoot, a tea mug in hand, eyebrows raised. "Buck?"

Buck opened his mouth. Closed it. Then said, too fast, “You weren’t at shift.”

Bobby blinked. “I took a day off.”

“I know. They said. It’s just—” Buck ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know.”

There was a pause. Then Bobby stepped aside. “Come in.”

Buck did, the weight of the day pressing into his shoulders like wet cement. The house smelled like chamomile and something baking. Safe. Warm. Bobby.

“I didn’t think I had to tell everyone,” Bobby said gently, setting his tea down. “Figured one quiet day might do me good.”

Buck stood in the middle of the living room like he didn’t know what to do with his body. “I thought something was wrong. All day. I kept thinking—what if you were in a car accident? Or sick? Or—God, I don’t know.”

Bobby's expression shifted. “Buck...”

“You’re always there,” Buck said, voice cracking. “Always. And I didn’t realize how much I depended on that until you weren’t.”

Bobby closed the distance between them, placing both hands on Buck’s shoulders. “Hey. I’m okay. I promise.”

Buck stared at the floor. “I think I freaked out more than I should’ve.”

“No,” Bobby said firmly. “You care. That’s not a bad thing.”

Buck’s lip trembled. “It felt like when I was a kid and my parents forgot to pick me up from football. I waited for hours. I think—today kind of reminded me of that.”

Bobby’s face softened with something close to heartbreak. He pulled Buck in, arms strong and sure around his shoulders. “You are never going to be forgotten here. Not by me.”

Buck didn’t say anything. Just stood there, fists curled into the back of Bobby’s shirt, eyes burning.

“You wanna stay for dinner?” Bobby murmured.

Buck nodded into his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Bobby said. “Because I made way too much lasagna. And Athena made pie.”

Buck smiled, barely. It hurt a little, but it was real.

“Next time I take a day off,” Bobby added, “I’ll make sure you know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And just like that, the weight started to lift.

Because Bobby was here. And he always would be.

Chapter Text

The first clue was how quiet Buck was during roll call.

He stood near the back, arms crossed over his chest like he was holding himself together, nodding along with half-lidded eyes. Bobby noticed immediately. Buck was always fidgeting—bouncing on the balls of his feet, cracking jokes under his breath. This version of him was unnervingly still.

Afterward, as the team dispersed, Bobby stepped closer. "You good?"

Buck blinked at him like he’d just come out of a fog. “Yeah. Just didn’t sleep great.”

Bobby didn’t press—yet. But something didn’t sit right.

Calls came in. A standard kitchen fire. A minor car accident. Buck pushed through all of it, but Bobby watched him carefully.

He was slower getting into gear. Less talkative. He flinched at loud noises. And when he thought no one was watching, he leaned against the rig with his eyes closed, swaying slightly.

By lunch, Bobby had made up his mind. He cornered him by the lockers.

“Buck, you look like hell.”

Buck gave a weak grin. “Thanks, Cap. Love the support.”

Bobby didn’t smile. “You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. And we’re not doing this dance.”

Buck’s shoulders sagged. “I didn’t want to let anyone down. We’ve been short this week.”

Bobby stepped forward and laid a firm hand on his forehead. Buck didn’t even try to pull away. He was burning up.

“That’s it. Grab your bag. I’m taking you home.”

Buck opened his mouth to protest, but Bobby cut him off. “Not a discussion.”

The drive was quiet. Buck sat slumped in the passenger seat of Bobby’s truck, flushed and glassy-eyed.

“Could’ve just dropped me at my place,” he mumbled.

“Not a chance. You’re too out of it to be alone.”

Buck didn’t argue. He barely had the energy to lift his head.

By the time they got to Bobby and Athena’s house, Buck was trembling. Bobby helped him inside, one arm braced around his back. Athena was working a shift, the house peaceful and still.

Bobby guided him to the guest room, helped him out of his uniform, and got him under the covers. Buck didn’t protest. That scared Bobby more than anything.

He took Buck’s temperature—103.8.

“You waited way too long to say something,” Bobby said gently.

Buck blinked up at him, expression foggy. “Didn’t wanna be a burden.”

Bobby sighed. “You never are.”

Buck didn’t respond. His eyes drifted closed.

The night was long.

Buck tossed and turned, delirious with fever. He muttered half-formed sentences, sometimes crying out, sometimes apologizing to people who weren’t there.

Bobby never left his side.

He wiped sweat from Buck’s forehead with a damp cloth, coaxed him into sipping water, and kept a steady watch on the fever.

“Sorry,” Buck murmured at one point, eyes unfocused.

“For what?” Bobby asked softly.

“For being too much.”

Bobby’s heart cracked.

He leaned closer, brushing damp hair off Buck’s forehead. “Buck. You are not too much. You're just... hurting. That’s okay. That’s what I’m here for.”

Buck whimpered, shifting restlessly. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m right here,” Bobby promised. “I’ll sit with you. As long as it takes.”

He held Buck’s hand until he quieted. Then he pulled the chair closer to the bed and stayed up, reading by the soft glow of the lamp, glancing over at Buck every few minutes, adjusting the blanket when he shifted.

Morning came slowly. The fever broke just after sunrise. Buck slept deeply, body finally relaxing.

Bobby dozed off in the chair sometime after that, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

That’s how Athena found them.

She’d come home from her shift, quietly letting herself in so as not to wake anyone. But the guest room door was slightly ajar, and what she saw inside stopped her in her tracks.

Buck, pale and damp with sweat, lay curled in the bed, tucked under an extra blanket. And Bobby—still in yesterday’s clothes, exhaustion written across every line of his body—was slumped in the chair, one hand still resting on Buck’s arm.

Her chest tightened.

She pushed the door open a little further and stepped inside. Bobby stirred, blinking blearily.

“Athena?”

“Hey,” she said gently. “You stayed all night?”

“He had a fever,” Bobby whispered. “Bad one. Couldn’t leave him alone.”

Athena looked at Buck, at the way he seemed more at peace now. “You did good.”

Bobby rubbed at his eyes. “I was worried.”

“I know.” She stepped closer and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Why don’t you go rest? I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Bobby shook his head slowly. “I’m okay. Just... want to be here when he wakes up.”

Athena smiled softly. “Of course.”

She left them alone again, closing the door with a quiet click.

When Buck woke, sunlight was streaming in through the curtains. Bobby was still in the chair, reading a book, a second mug of coffee sitting beside him.

Buck blinked. “You stayed.”

“Of course I did.”

Buck’s voice was rough. “Thanks.”

Bobby gave a tired but warm smile. “You’d do the same for me.”

Buck nodded, then whispered, “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

Bobby leaned forward, resting a hand gently on his arm. “We’ve all been there. What matters is you’re okay now.”

Buck swallowed thickly. “It meant a lot.”

Bobby squeezed his arm. “You’re not alone, Buck. Not now, not ever.”

Buck blinked hard, then let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

He settled back against the pillows, eyes drifting shut again.

And Bobby stayed right there, the silence between them filled with more comfort than any words could offer.

Chapter Text

It started small.

Buck forgot the code to the turnout locker room. He laughed it off, said he was tired. Then he hesitated when someone shouted for the oxygen tank. Couldn’t remember where he put it. Just for a second. A flicker of confusion, a brief freeze in motion.

But Bobby noticed.

Over the course of two weeks, the lapses stacked up. Buck missed his cue during a rescue, started mixing up names on paperwork, dropped a wrench mid-repair and stared at it like it was foreign. The team started teasing him, gently at first, but Bobby stayed quiet. He watched. Catalogued. Worried.

One morning, Buck stood in front of the engine, holding a checklist and blinking like it was written in another language.

"You good?" Bobby asked, walking over.

Buck startled. "Yeah, yeah, just zoning out. Didn’t sleep much."

Bobby frowned. "You’ve been saying that a lot."

Buck gave a weak smile. "You know how it is. Brain fog."

Bobby didn’t answer. But he didn’t walk away either.

The call was a multi-car pileup on the freeway. Loud. Chaotic. Mid-afternoon heat shimmered off the concrete. The team worked in sync like always—except Buck. He froze mid-rescue, crouched beside an overturned sedan, staring blankly as if he couldn’t process what came next. Hen shouted, snapping him out of it, and he jolted back into action.

Later, in the rig, Bobby sat across from him, arms crossed.

"You’re not okay."

Buck tried to argue. He really did. But his words tangled, too many at once, too fast. He rubbed his temples. "I’m just... I don’t know. Tired? Off my game?"

Bobby nodded slowly. Then he said, "You hit your head a few weeks ago. During that basement collapse in Echo Park. You didn’t want to file it."

Buck blinked. "I—I forgot about that."

And there it was. The last confirmation Bobby needed.

"Get in the truck. I’m taking you to the hospital."

The scans came back. Head trauma. Delayed symptoms. The doctors weren’t surprised. They said it could cause memory lapses, confusion, even irritability and sleep issues.

Buck was.

He sat on the edge of the hospital bed, scrubs replacing his uniform, fingers twisting the hem of the fabric. "I thought I was just being dramatic."

"You were injured," Bobby said. "And you ignored it. That doesn’t make you dramatic, Buck. That makes you vulnerable. And human."

Buck wouldn’t meet his eyes. "I didn’t want to let you down."

Bobby pulled a chair closer. Sat down. "You could never let me down by being hurt. But hiding it? Not letting me help? That’s what breaks my heart."

Buck sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I just... I didn’t think it was a big deal."

"It was. It is." Bobby leaned in, voice gentle but firm. "You’re not alone. You don’t have to fight through everything by yourself."

Bobby took him home that night. Not Buck’s place—his own. Athena made up the guest room, but Buck didn’t even argue when Bobby insisted he sleep in the den, where Bobby could keep an eye on him.

"This is too much," Buck muttered as Bobby handed him water and sat beside the couch with a small notepad to track his symptoms. "You shouldn’t have to babysit me."

"I’m not babysitting you," Bobby said, setting a thermometer nearby. "I’m taking care of my kid. That’s different."

Buck froze, throat bobbing. He looked away quickly, blinking hard.

The night was rough. Buck drifted in and out of sleep, wincing when the headache pulsed too hard, groaning when the nausea crept in. Bobby sat nearby the whole time, gently waking him every few hours, checking his pupils, keeping notes.

At one point, Buck murmured through half-sleep, "Sorry, I’m such a burden."

Bobby immediately took his hand. "You listen to me. You’re not a burden. Not now, not ever. You matter, Buck. I’d do this a thousand times over."

Buck didn’t respond, but he squeezed Bobby’s hand weakly.

In the early morning hours, Athena walked in, dressed in her robe, carrying a fresh cup of coffee. She paused when she saw the scene in the den: Bobby half-asleep in the recliner, Buck curled up on the couch, pale and sweaty, a throw blanket tangled around him, one of Bobby’s hands still resting on Buck’s arm.

Athena softened. Quietly, she walked over and kissed Bobby’s forehead. "You’re doing good. He’s lucky to have you."

Bobby nodded, eyes still on Buck. "I’m lucky to have him too."

And in the growing morning light, with soft breaths and quiet comfort filling the space, Buck slept. Safe. Watched over. Loved.

And finally—finally—not alone.

Chapter Text

The station buzzed with its usual rhythm: the sharp hiss of coffee machines, the crackle of radios, the low hum of conversation. But underneath the surface, something was off. Bobby Nash felt it in the tightness behind his eyes, the ache in his shoulders, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he thought no one was looking.

He hadn’t slept. Again.

The night had been a relentless blur of flashbacks, numbers, names of people he couldn’t save, and those he had—but barely. The ghosts had grown louder lately, clawing at the walls he’d worked so hard to rebuild. And this morning? A call from a caseworker, something about a report needing rewriting. Bureaucracy wrapped in guilt. He hadn’t even gotten to his coffee before another call came in.

And now here they were, back from a brutal fire. One child saved, another lost. The soot still clung to his skin like regret.

“Buck,” Bobby snapped, louder than necessary.

Eddie turned his head, Chim looked up from scrubbing his hands, Hen stilled in the middle of peeling off her jacket. Buck froze in place, holding the gear he’d just cleaned, blue eyes wide with surprise.

“You left the hose tangled behind the engine again. Do you even think? Or is that too much for you?”

The words sliced through the room like a sudden gust of cold wind.

Silence.

Utter, breathless silence.

Buck blinked once. Then again. His lips parted as if to say something, but no sound came. You could almost see the moment his heart cracked—it was there, in the way his shoulders dropped, in the way his mouth trembled just slightly.

“I—” he started, voice so quiet it barely registered. “Sorry.”

He put down the gear slowly, with shaking hands, and then turned on his heel.

No one stopped him.

No one dared.

“Buck,” Eddie called, uncertain, taking half a step after him.

But Buck didn’t look back. He walked straight past them all, out the side door of the station, as if the air inside had grown too thick to breathe.

The door shut with a soft click.

And then it hit Bobby.

Like a tidal wave of guilt, of horror, of what have I done.

Hen whispered, “What the hell, Cap?”

Eddie’s jaw was tight, fists clenched. Chim’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

Bobby didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The sound of his own voice echoed in his head, again and again:

"Do you even think? Or is that too much for you?"

It was too close to something else. Something he knew Buck had grown up hearing. Something Buck had shared once—after a rough call, when it was just the two of them in the engine, and the world was quiet enough for pain to surface.

"They always made me feel stupid, like I wasn’t enough."

Bobby’s heart plummeted.

He dropped the rag in his hand and turned toward the door.

“I’ll go,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

The station lot was quiet, the early evening light casting long shadows across the pavement. Bobby scanned the area and spotted him—Buck—sitting on the steps around the back of the building, arms wrapped around his knees, forehead resting against them like he was trying to disappear into himself.

He looked small.

He looked young.

“Buck,” Bobby said gently.

Buck didn’t flinch, but his voice came out raw: “Please go.”

Bobby hesitated, then sat a few steps away, giving him space. The silence stretched between them, heavy and aching.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Bobby whispered. “I was tired, and I was angry, and it wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

Buck didn’t lift his head.

“You just… you sounded like them,” he said, voice breaking. “Just for a second. You sounded like my parents.”

That was the moment Bobby’s heart shattered.

He turned to fully face Buck, who still wouldn’t look at him.

“I’m so sorry,” Bobby said, and it came out cracked. “Buck, I would never—I didn’t even realize what I was saying. But that’s no excuse.”

Buck’s shoulders started to tremble.

“I know what they did to you,” Bobby went on. “And if I ever became even a shadow of that pain—” his voice caught. “I failed you today. I hurt you. That’s on me.”

Finally, Buck lifted his head. His face was streaked with silent tears, eyes red, cheeks blotchy.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he said quietly. “I just… I need to feel safe with you. And for a second, I didn’t.”

Bobby scooted closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.

“You are safe with me,” he whispered. “Always. I’ll spend as long as it takes to earn that back.”

Buck looked at him, searching for something in his face. Forgiveness. Truth. Love.

And Bobby gave it freely.

Without condition.

“Come here,” he said, opening his arms.

Buck hesitated.

Then collapsed into him.

The hug was tight, full of shaking breath and unspoken grief. Bobby wrapped his arms around the younger man, cradling the back of his head, whispering quiet apologies into his hair.

“I’ve got you, son,” he said.

And Buck broke.

Years of being made to feel like a burden poured out of him. Bobby held him through it all—through the sobs and the silent trembles, through the shame and the release. The rest of the team didn’t come looking. They didn’t have to. They knew Bobby would make it right.

Later, they’d talk. They’d rebuild.

But for now, it was enough.

Bobby, the father Buck never had, holding him like he was something precious.

Chapter Text

The firehouse had mostly returned to normal. If you squinted hard enough, if you didn’t look too long at the cracks still healing beneath the surface, you could almost believe things were the same as before. Before the lawsuit. Before Buck’s name had become a source of tension and quiet, unfinished arguments.

He was back. He was Buck—cheerful, competent, dependable. A little more reserved maybe, a little more hesitant in the spaces between laughter. But still Buck.

They’d made it through the worst of it. Or so Buck thought.

They were midway through restocking supplies after a quiet morning run. Hen and Chim were laughing about something in the corner. Eddie was organizing gear with Buck, both kneeling on opposite sides of the supply bin, surrounded by coils of hoses and oxygen masks.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie said, tone casual. “Could you hand me the—wait, never mind. I’ll grab it. You’ll probably make it ten times more exhausting than it has to be.”

Buck froze.

The smile on his face didn’t disappear instantly. It faltered. Warped. Like it hadn’t been real to begin with. He didn’t look up—just handed Eddie the tool and shifted a little farther back.

Eddie didn’t notice. He kept working.

But Bobby did.

From the engine bay, Bobby had seen the whole exchange. He’d seen the drop in Buck’s shoulders. The way his hands trembled for just a second too long. How quickly he looked away.

The air shifted. Bobby stood, crossed the bay slowly, purposefully.

“Diaz,” he said, voice level but sharp.

Eddie glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”

Bobby’s arms were crossed now. “Walk with me.”

Eddie looked confused but followed. They walked out of the engine bay, around the corner, just far enough from the rest of the team. Buck didn’t look up once.

Bobby turned to face Eddie fully, no longer hiding the sternness etched across his face.

“What the hell was that?”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

“What you just said to Buck. ‘Exhausting’? After everything?”

Eddie frowned, defensive. “It was just a joke, Bobby. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Bobby’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The weight behind it was enough to still the air.

“Do you know what I saw when you said that?”

Eddie didn’t answer.

“I saw a kid trying to be okay. Trying to piece himself back together after months of being told he didn’t belong. I saw someone flinch because the person he forgave is still making him feel like a burden.”

Eddie swallowed. “I didn’t think it would hit him like that.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said, “and that’s the problem. You didn’t think. Buck’s not made of steel. He’s not immune to the things you say. And you—of all people—should know what he’s been through.”

“I do know,” Eddie said, quieter now. “I just… I didn’t realize.”

Bobby sighed, some of the fire fading from his face but not his voice. “He doesn’t say it, but he still thinks he’s too much. That he needs to prove himself to deserve being here. And when you, his best friend, call him exhausting? It confirms every worst thought he’s ever had about himself.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched. Guilt rising like a tide.

“He’s not exhausting,” Bobby said, gentler now. “He’s a pain in the ass sometimes, yeah. But he’s our pain in the ass. And he’s my kid. And I don’t let people treat my kids like they’re disposable.”

Eddie looked down. “I messed up.”

“Then fix it.”

They walked back in silence. When they returned, Buck was organizing gear with a stiff kind of focus. His face was carefully blank. Bobby’s heart ached.

Eddie approached slowly. “Buck?”

Buck looked up, guarded. “Yeah?”

Eddie hesitated. “I’m sorry. What I said—it was thoughtless. I wasn’t thinking. You’re not exhausting. You’re… honestly one of the best people I know. And I’m lucky you still talk to me at all.”

Buck blinked. His eyes glistened just enough to give him away. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Bobby said, stepping beside him. “But it will be. As long as people start treating you the way you deserve.”

Buck looked between them. His voice wobbled. “Thanks, Cap.”

Bobby put a hand on his shoulder. “Anytime, Buck. Always.”

The rest of the shift passed with quiet course-correction. Jokes were gentler. Conversations more deliberate. Buck smiled more by the end of the day.

And when he left, it was with Bobby’s hand clapping his back and a soft, “Call me if you need anything.”

Chapter Text

The call had been brutal.

An apartment fire, multiple units affected, chaos unfolding before the 118 could fully assess the scene. Buck had been first in through the door of one of the top-floor apartments, smoke thick in the air. There had been a family inside—a mother and two kids. The mother had been unconscious, the kids too panicked to follow direction. Buck had managed to get them out, one tucked under each arm, dragging the mother behind him, but not before the ceiling started to give. A beam collapsed just after he cleared the doorway, flames licking dangerously close to his turnout gear.

They made it out. They all survived.

But the mother had gone into cardiac arrest in the ambulance. And when Buck visited the hospital the next day—just to check in—he’d learned she hadn’t made it.

She’d died while Buck was filling out paperwork at the station.

He hadn’t told anyone. Not about the hospital visit. Not about the guilt that had wrapped its fingers around his throat and settled there, heavy and cruel.

Everyone had praised him. Eddie had clapped him on the back. Chim called him a hero. Hen brought him coffee. Bobby had said he was proud.

But none of it mattered. Because Buck couldn’t stop thinking that maybe if he’d moved faster—maybe if he’d gotten there ten seconds sooner, or carried her instead of dragging her, or started CPR right there in the stairwell—maybe she’d still be alive.

Maybe the kids wouldn’t be orphans.

Maybe he wasn’t a hero. Maybe he was just… not enough.

—

Three days later, the station had finally quieted. It was evening shift, post-dinner, everyone winding down. Bobby was washing the dishes in the station kitchen, Buck drying beside him. The station buzzed quietly around them—Hen laughing in the loft, Chim teasing Eddie about something—but the kitchen felt separate. Isolated.

Buck had been quiet all day. Distracted. Missing things. He’d gotten the hose coupling wrong that morning. Forgotten a key piece of equipment on a check. Lost in thought during drills.

Everyone assumed he was tired. Still catching up from the fire.

But Bobby knew better.

“Everything okay, Buck?” Bobby asked softly, handing him a plate.

Buck nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You’ve been off since that fire.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Bobby stopped scrubbing the next plate. “Evan.”

That tone—the parental one, the one that meant I see you, don’t lie to me—made Buck flinch.

His shoulders curled inward slightly. He set the dish towel down. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper.

“What if I’m the problem?”

Bobby frowned. “What?”

Buck’s eyes were fixed on the sink, but he wasn’t seeing it. “In all of it. The lawsuit. Abby. My parents. The fire. Red. Every time something goes wrong, I’m there. I’m the common factor. What if it’s not bad luck or circumstances or trauma or whatever excuse I’ve been using this week? What if the problem’s just... me?”

Bobby dropped the plate.

It clattered into the sink, water splashing up the sides.

And then, without a word, Bobby wrapped Buck into a tight, grounding hug.

It wasn’t one of those quick, half-shoulder things. It was full-bodied. Steady. Unyielding. The kind of hug that said I’m not letting go until you believe me.

Buck trembled.

“I can’t keep screwing things up,” Buck whispered into Bobby’s shoulder. “I’m so tired of messing everything up. I try so hard and it never seems like it’s enough. I couldn’t save that mom, Bobby. The kids—they lost their mom and I—”

“Hey.” Bobby pulled back just enough to cup Buck’s face. “Listen to me. You saved those children. You got them out. You got her out. You did everything right.”

“But she died.”

“And that’s not your fault.”

“I could’ve done more.”

“You did everything you could. I was there. I saw it. And I know you. You always give your all.”

Buck’s eyes were red, glassy. “Then why does it keep happening?”

“Because this job is brutal, and life is unfair, and you carry pain like it’s yours to hold alone. But it’s not.”

Buck shook his head. “I don’t know how to be any other way.”

Bobby drew him back into the hug. “Then let me remind you. Every time. As many times as it takes. I love you kid”

The rest of the crew lingered near the doorway—silent, respectful. Not interrupting. Chim reached over and touched Hen’s arm. Eddie looked away, jaw clenched, guilt flickering in his expression.

But Bobby stayed right where he was, arms around his kid, keeping him safe from the storm inside his own head.

Because no matter how many times Buck doubted it, Bobby would always be there to remind him.

Chapter Text

The call came in just before lunch—shots fired in a residential neighbourhood, structure fire reported, unknown number of civilians trapped. The 118 rolled out, lights blazing and sirens howling, adrenaline already beginning to hum in the air like a second heartbeat.

When they arrived, the scene was chaos. Smoke curled out of a two-story home, and LAPD had already formed a loose perimeter. One officer flagged them down with a tense wave.

“Shooter barricaded inside. Family of four. Fire broke out during the standoff.”

No time for fear. Just action.

They geared up, Bobby barking orders, everyone moving like clockwork. Hen and Chim worked on triage, Eddie covered the back with another crew, and Buck followed Bobby toward the front door, where the smoke was thickest.

They got the kids out first—a girl, maybe seven, carried out by Buck with his usual surety. He handed her off to paramedics and turned right back, as always.

The mother was next. Trapped in a hallway, unconscious. Buck and Bobby reached her, managed to lift her between them, dragging her toward the door—

—when the shooter reappeared.

Gun aimed. Shaking hands. Screaming something incoherent.

And Buck… froze.

Not from fear. Not like the freeze of a rookie who doesn’t know what to do.

It was different. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. His eyes dulled.

Like he was just… tired.

Bobby stepped in, shielding the woman with his body, shouting commands at the man until police swarmed and disarmed him. The moment broke. Buck blinked, came back online, helped carry the woman out like nothing had happened.

But Bobby saw it.

—

The station was quiet hours later. Everyone was winding down, decompressing from the tension of the call. The paperwork was done. Buck sat alone at the table, absently spinning a pen between his fingers. His food was untouched.

Bobby approached quietly, pulling out the chair across from him.

“You didn’t eat.”

Buck gave him a small smile. “Not really hungry.”

“Want to talk about today?”

Buck hesitated. “It was intense. But everyone’s okay.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Buck’s jaw tightened.

“I saw you, Buck,” Bobby said gently. “When he pointed that gun at you. You weren’t scared. You were… numb.”

Buck looked down. “I froze. I know.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Bobby said. “More than most. But that wasn’t a freeze of fear, and you know it. That was someone who didn’t care what happened to him in that moment.”

“I did care,” Buck whispered. “I just… couldn’t feel it.”

There was a long pause.

“I’m tired, Bobby.” His voice cracked. “Not physically. Not like a nap will fix it. I’m tired of… of trying so hard. Of messing up. Of caring too much and getting hurt anyway. I walk into danger every day like I’m supposed to, but lately it’s like… what’s the point if it never gets better?”

Bobby leaned forward, eyes full of quiet fire. “The point is that it matters. You matter. You save lives, Buck. You give people hope. But none of that is worth it if you stop valuing your own life.”

Buck's fingers curled around the pen until it cracked.

“I’m not trying to scare anyone. I’m just…” He shook his head. “It’s been building for a while. The lawsuit. Daniel. The crane. All of it. I thought I was over it, but I guess I just got good at pretending.”

Bobby stood up, walked around the table, and placed a hand on Buck’s shoulder. Solid. Grounding.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. You never have to pretend with me.”

Buck swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You couldn’t.” Bobby’s voice was steady. “But if you don’t let me in, I can’t help you. And I want to help you, Buck. Because you’re mine. You’re part of my family. And when my kids hurt, I don’t back away—I step in.”

That did it. The tears Buck had been holding back slipped free. Bobby knelt beside him, pulled him into a hug, and didn’t let go.

For a long time, they stayed like that. Just two people in the quiet aftermath of too many storms.

And when Athena arrived to pick Bobby up, she didn’t say a word—just offered Buck a soft smile and quietly fetched two to-go containers from the kitchen.

Because family took care of each other.

No matter what.

Chapter Text

It was sometime after midnight when Buck finally gave in.

The station was quiet—calls had slowed to a lull, and most of the team had already disappeared into their bunks or were pretending to be invested in whatever late-night rerun was playing on the TV in the lounge. Buck had stayed up longer than usual, insisting he had “just one more report” to file and “one more check” to do on the engine. But no one was fooled. The circles under his eyes had gone from concern-worthy to something bordering on haunting.

“Buck, go sleep,” Hen had told him around 11:30.

“I will,” he’d said. “In a sec.”

He hadn’t meant to lie. He just hadn’t meant to fall apart, either.

The truth was—he was exhausted. Not just in the “long shift, low on caffeine” kind of way, but the deep in your bones kind. The kind that came from everything piling up. From watching people hurt and bleed and scream, from holding a kid’s hand after a rescue only for her to ask him if her mom was dead, from trying to pretend that everything was fine when he hadn’t even opened a piece of mail from his landlord in two weeks.

He hadn’t meant to go to Bobby’s bunk. He really hadn’t.

It just smelled familiar.

Bobby had taken the lower bunk in the far corner of the sleeping quarters ever since he transferred to Station 118, and even though he’d been home recovering for the past few weeks, Buck still found himself drawn to that spot like muscle memory.

The hoodie had been draped over the edge of the bed. An old, soft navy one. Worn thin, but still smelled like home. Like firewood and black coffee and something Buck couldn’t name but trusted. He tugged it on before even really thinking about it, then sat down on the edge of the mattress to untie his boots.

He never made it any farther.

Chimney found him first.

It was around 2:00 AM when he went to grab an extra blanket from the bunk room, only to stop in his tracks at the sight of a tall, curled-up figure in the wrong bed.

At first, he thought someone had made a mistake. Then he took in the scene—Buck, fast asleep in Bobby’s bunk, cheek smushed against the pillow, Bobby’s oversized hoodie bunched around his neck like a security blanket. His hand was clutching the sleeve like it was something precious.

Chim froze, blinked twice, then backed out of the room with the kind of silent reverence usually reserved for museums or sleeping babies.

By 3:00, the entire team knew.

“I’m not waking him,” Eddie said, arms folded, standing just outside the door with Hen and Chim.

“No one is,” Hen agreed. “He’s finally asleep.”

“Did you see the way he curled into that hoodie?” Chim whispered like it was sacred knowledge. “He looks like a toddler in a thunderstorm.”

“Do you think he meant to?” Eddie asked.

Hen shook her head. “No. I think he was just tired enough to forget where he was.”

Chim smiled faintly. “Kind of sweet, though.”

Eddie didn’t answer, but his eyes softened. It was sweet. Buck was always so high-energy, so loud, so full of life—it was easy to forget he crashed just as hard.

And sometimes, he just needed somewhere safe to fall.

Bobby returned to the station early the next morning.

He hadn’t planned to. Athena had told him he needed to take at least another week off, but something in him had been restless, like he could feel the heartbeat of his second home calling out to him. He brought coffee and bagels and a gentle warning from Athena that if he didn’t sit down while greeting people, she’d personally arrest him.

He made it exactly fifteen steps into the firehouse before Chim intercepted him.

“Hey, Cap—uh, just a heads-up. When you go into the bunk room… don’t freak out.”

That was a sentence guaranteed to make any fire captain freak out.

“Why?” Bobby asked, setting the coffee tray down on the table.

“Nothing bad,” Chim said quickly. “Just… unexpected. And kind of adorable.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes but didn’t argue. He made his way to the sleeping quarters quietly, pushed the door open—

And stopped dead.

There, curled under the thin station blanket and still wearing Bobby’s hoodie, was Buck. Sprawled sideways across the mattress like someone who had simply run out of gas. The hoodie’s hem had ridden up, exposing a strip of pale skin and a scatter of old bruises. One hand was buried under the pillow, the other still loosely clutching the fabric like a kid holding a stuffed animal.

Bobby didn’t move for a long time.

He just watched.

Buck looked younger like this. Softer. Like the weight he always carried had slipped off his shoulders just enough to let him rest. Bobby remembered every time Buck had stayed by his bedside while he recovered. Every meal he brought. Every time Bobby had opened his eyes to find Buck already there, pretending to scroll through his phone while watching him like a hawk.

He exhaled slowly.

“Kid,” he murmured, not loud enough to wake him.

But Buck stirred anyway. Blinked blearily. It took a full ten seconds for him to register where he was—and who was standing above him.

His eyes went wide.

“Oh god—I—I didn’t mean—” Buck sat bolt upright, hoodie slipping down one arm. “Cap, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I—”

Bobby held up a hand, smiling gently.

“It’s okay.”

“I thought it was—mine, or something, I didn’t mean to—” Buck scrubbed his hands down his face. “I was just tired.”

“You were tired,” Bobby said. “Clearly.”

Buck flushed, pulling the blanket off and swinging his legs over the side. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“Buck,” Bobby said, stepping forward. “Sit down.”

Buck froze.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Bobby added. “I’m glad you felt safe enough to sleep here.”

“I shouldn’t have,” Buck said softly. “It was your bed. Your stuff.”

“And that,” Bobby said, lowering himself slowly to sit beside him, “is my old hoodie I was planning to donate, and a bed that’s empty more often than not these days.”

Buck didn’t look at him.

“You’ve been running yourself ragged since I got out of the hospital,” Bobby said. “Everyone sees it. You’ve barely slept. You’re trying so hard to hold it all together for the team, for me…”

“I’m fine,” Buck whispered, and it sounded like a lie even to his own ears.

Bobby didn’t call him out on it. He just reached over and gently placed a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“You’ve taken care of me,” he said. “Let me return the favor.”

That was all it took.

Buck’s breath hitched. His eyes welled up. He tried to blink it away, but the words came pouring out.

“I didn’t mean to be in your bed,” he said. “I just… I was cold. And it smelled like you. Like home.”

Bobby’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“I miss feeling safe,” Buck whispered.

Bobby pulled him into a hug before the tears could fall. Buck sank into it like it was the only solid thing in the world. And in that moment, maybe it was.

Later that morning, the team pretended not to notice when Buck came back out wearing Bobby’s hoodie and looking like he’d been crying.

But Hen set down an extra plate for him at breakfast.

Eddie slid him the bigger half of the bagel without saying a word.

And Chim winked when Buck finally smiled.

And Bobby?

Bobby just sipped his coffee, leaned back in his chair, and rested a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

Just to remind him—he wasn’t going anywhere.

Chapter Text

It had been a long day.

Not just exhausting in the way most shifts were, but the kind that left a mark.

The call had been brutal—an apartment fire, children involved, one father screaming for his daughter who hadn’t made it out in time. They’d tried everything. Buck had pulled a five-year-old from the flames only to feel her go limp in his arms on the way to the ambulance. She hadn’t even made it to the hospital.

Buck hadn’t spoken much after that.

The team had watched him with wary eyes. Eddie had offered him a ride home. Hen had tried to get him to eat. Chim had gently squeezed his shoulder.

But Bobby was the one who stepped in.

“Come to the house tonight,” Bobby said, voice low and steady. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

Buck had wanted to say no. He didn’t want to be a burden. He didn’t want to bring his grief into Bobby and Athena’s peaceful space. But his throat had closed up and the word never made it out.

So he nodded.

And now here he was—lying on the guest bed, curled under soft blankets, staring at the ceiling in the dark like it might offer answers.

Bobby had made tea. Athena had left a warm plate of food on the counter, covered in foil. They’d both been gentle, present, but never hovering. It was exactly what Buck needed.

He just… couldn’t sleep.

His thoughts were too loud. His chest too tight.

Eventually, sometime after 2:00 AM, sleep took him. But it wasn’t restful.

The dream hit hard and fast.

Smoke. Screams. The little girl’s face. Her eyes open, unblinking. Her small hand slipping from his grip. His boots sinking into melted carpet. He couldn’t breathe—couldn’t move fast enough. Everyone was dying. Eddie, Hen, Chim—Bobby. Bobby was trapped, calling for help, and Buck couldn’t find him, couldn’t move, like his legs had turned to stone—

“Buck!”

He jolted awake with a gasp.

The room was dark. Still. His chest was heaving. His heart was racing.

Bobby.

His mind scrambled to remember—was he okay? Had it just been a dream? Where was he?

The door opened slowly. Bobby stepped in, silhouetted by the light from the hallway.

“You okay?” Bobby asked gently.

Buck’s voice caught in his throat. “Y-Yeah. Just… nightmare.”

Bobby nodded. “Do you want water?”

“I’m fine,” Buck lied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Alright,” Bobby said. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

The door closed softly.

Buck let out a shaky breath.

That’s when he felt it.

The sheets were damp.

His heart stopped.

No. No, no, no.

He shoved the blankets off, feeling the cold, clammy wetness soaked into the sheets beneath him—and worse, into his borrowed sweatpants. His hands trembled as he sat up, eyes wide and horrified.

He hadn’t done this since he was a kid. Maybe once or twice during really bad fever dreams in his early twenties—but never here. Not at Bobby’s house.

He stood quickly, trying not to panic. His whole body buzzed with shame. His cheeks were burning. He grabbed at the comforter, yanking it off, then the fitted sheet underneath.

But the stain was still there, obvious against the mattress protector.

God.

His legs wobbled.

He couldn’t let Bobby see this. Couldn’t let anyone see this. He’d survived fires and floods and collapsing buildings. He’d held dying people in his arms. And now he was—

He scrubbed his face, furious with himself.

He took the wet sheets and bundled them into a tight ball, searching for a place to hide them. Maybe the laundry room? The trash? He could sneak out, hose down the mattress in the morning—he’d pay for a new one if he had to—

He turned toward the door.

And froze.

Bobby was standing there.

Holding a glass of water.

He looked down at Buck, then at the ball of sheets in his arms, then at the damp spot still visible on the bed.

Buck didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

“I forgot to ask if you wanted—” Bobby stopped mid-sentence. His eyes softened instantly.

Buck wanted the floor to swallow him.

“I—I’m sorry,” Buck stammered. “I don’t know why—I didn’t mean—I had a nightmare and—”

His voice broke.

Bobby stepped forward, setting the glass on the nightstand.

“It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” Buck said, shaking his head violently. “I ruined your bed, and I’m—what kind of adult—”

“Hey,” Bobby said, gently taking the sheets from his arms and setting them aside. “Accidents happen.”

“I haven’t—since I was a kid,” Buck whispered. “Not even after the truck, or the tsunami, or the —”

Bobby didn’t flinch. He just reached forward and rested a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“You’ve been through hell lately,” he said softly. “Your body’s still catching up.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.”

That did it.

The panic that had been pressing against Buck’s chest finally cracked wide open. His knees buckled, and Bobby caught him just in time.

Buck clung to him like he was drowning. Bobby wrapped both arms around him, held him firm and steady.

“I’m so sorry,” Buck choked out. “I’m so—so tired and I didn’t know where else to go—”

“You came to me,” Bobby said. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

Buck sobbed harder.

Bobby didn’t rush him. Didn’t let go. He just stood there, solid as stone, rubbing a slow hand up and down Buck’s back.

When the worst of it passed, Bobby pulled back just enough to look at him.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “You had a nightmare. You had an accident. You’re still mine, Buck.”

Buck blinked at him.

“Still your—?”

“My kid,” Bobby said simply. “You’re family. Nothing changes that.”

The words hit Buck like a fresh wave, but this time they didn’t hurt. They just warmed something deep in his chest.

“C’mon,” Bobby said gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He didn’t make Buck do anything alone.

He handed him fresh clothes and ran a warm washcloth under the tap. Helped him clean his hands with quiet dignity and then let Buck do the rest. Didn’t comment when Buck’s hands trembled or when his cheeks flushed bright red.

Bobby stripped the bed, wiped down the mattress, and replaced the sheets with practiced ease. By the time Buck emerged from the bathroom in dry clothes, the bed looked brand new.

The hoodie Bobby had given him last week was folded on the pillow.

“I’ll put the others in the wash tomorrow,” Bobby said. “And if you’re up for it, we can get breakfast early. Just us.”

Buck looked down at the floor, then back at Bobby.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Bobby stepped forward and squeezed the back of his neck gently.

“Anytime.”

Buck fell asleep again just before sunrise.

This time, he stayed dry.

And when Bobby passed by the room later that morning, he smiled at the sight:

Buck curled up in clean sheets, hoodie bunched under his chin like a shield.

Chapter Text

It all started with a scratchy throat.

Buck had woken up that morning feeling like he’d swallowed sandpaper. His head throbbed, his joints ached, and his body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of elephants. But it was his day off, and he figured a long nap, some water, and a good meal would pull him through. He wasn’t sick sick. Not really.

Except, by mid-afternoon, he was bundled in a hoodie, wrapped in a blanket burrito on his couch, watching reruns of old sitcoms with his nose red and tissues piling on the coffee table.

"Should’ve seen this coming," he muttered between sneezes.

And despite the haze of congestion, a thought bloomed in his stuffy head: Bobby had sounded off yesterday. A little hoarse. Slower than usual. He’d waved off Hen’s concern with a tight smile and a wave of his hand.

That was classic Bobby. Take care of everyone else. Ignore himself. Buck, sniffly and all, was suddenly filled with determination.

He would make soup.

Across town, Bobby Nash was regretting every decision that had led him out of bed.

The thermometer on the counter blinked a smug 101.9 back at him. His head was pounding, and his throat felt like it had been scraped with gravel. But staying idle was never Bobby’s style. He’d gotten as far as his kitchen before dizziness forced him into a chair.

He groaned.

He’d been worried about Buck yesterday. The kid had looked pale. Quieter than usual. He’d mentioned a headache. Bobby had told himself he’d check in today.

Soup. Buck always liked his chicken noodle.

With Herculean effort, Bobby managed to prep a pot. He nearly passed out while cutting carrots and had to sit down three times before the broth even simmered.

But by the time it was done, he had it packed in Tupperware, his car keys in hand.

They arrived at Bobby's doors at the exact same time.

Buck, pale and bleary-eyed, stood on Bobby’s porch with a thermos of homemade soup, his hoodie far too big and his sneakers barely tied.

Bobby, equally bleary and leaning against the doorframe, clutched a reusable grocery bag with containers of his own soup and a thermos of tea.

They stared at each other.

Then they both burst out laughing.

Buck coughed mid-laugh and had to brace himself on the porch railing.

"You look terrible," Bobby said fondly.

"Speak for yourself," Buck replied with a sniffle, then added, "I made soup."

"So did I."

Another round of weak laughter followed.

Bobby stepped aside. "C’mon in."

They ended up on the couch, wrapped in their respective blankets, sipping each other's soup and watching cooking shows in low volume. The living room was warm, the lights dim. Tissues were passed back and forth like currency. They didn’t say much. They didn’t need to.

At one point, Buck fell asleep with his head on Bobby’s shoulder, snoring softly. Bobby leaned his head gently against Buck’s and closed his eyes too.

The soup may not have cured their colds.

But for both of them, it was exactly what they needed.

Chapter Text

Bobby Nash had never imagined he'd be starting over like this.

He sat cross-legged on the carpet of the small living room, a tiny toddler perched precariously in his lap. Evan Buckley — two years old, wild blond curls, wide blue eyes that seemed too heavy with things a child shouldn't know yet — clutched a worn, stuffed elephant in one hand and Bobby's shirt collar in the other.

It had been a whirlwind process. Emergency foster placement, they had called it. Temporary. Just until they found a longer-term solution. Bobby had nodded, signed the paperwork, and the moment Evan had been placed in his arms, something had clicked into place deep inside his chest.

Temporary? Maybe for the system.

But not for Bobby.

"You hungry, bud?" Bobby asked softly, running a hand through the boy's tangled curls.

Evan blinked up at him, solemn and silent.

"I can make grilled cheese," Bobby offered, trying for a smile. "You like grilled cheese?"

Evan's tiny fingers twisted in Bobby's shirt.

"Okay," Bobby said, standing slowly and hoisting Evan onto his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Grilled cheese it is."

He made it one-handed, balancing the toddler against his side as Evan rested his head on Bobby's shoulder. Every so often, Bobby felt a warm puff of breath against his neck — a sleepy sigh — and he pressed a kiss to the top of Evan's head.

"You're safe here, kiddo," he murmured. "I promise."

The first night was rough.

Evan cried.

He didn’t wail or scream like Bobby had been prepared for. Instead, it was a low, keening sound that broke Bobby's heart clean in half. He sat beside the crib he'd hastily set up in the guest room, hand resting gently on Evan's back as the little boy shuddered with quiet sobs.

"I'm right here, Evan," Bobby whispered over and over. "Not going anywhere."

At some point, Evan's tiny hand crept out from under the blanket and clutched Bobby's finger.

Bobby stayed all night, sitting on the floor until the sun rose, his hand still caught in that desperate little grip.

Weeks passed.

And slowly, slowly, Evan began to unfurl.

He giggled when Bobby spun him around the living room. He babbled in half-words and wild gestures, dragging Bobby to show him treasures like rocks and interesting leaves. He clung to Bobby’s legs when new people came around and threw himself into Bobby's arms when he got scared.

He said "Dada" for the first time one sleepy morning, patting Bobby’s cheek with a sticky hand.

Bobby had to excuse himself to the kitchen so Evan wouldn’t see him cry.

The adoption papers came months later. Bobby had barely dared to hope, had tried not to get attached (what a joke), but the moment the social worker had smiled and said the words, "He's officially yours," Bobby had lifted Evan up into the air, laughing and crying all at once.

Evan giggled, throwing his arms around Bobby's neck, and that’s how they stayed for a long time — wrapped up in each other, a new family made from broken pieces and stubborn hope.

"Got you, little light," Bobby whispered into Evan's hair. "Always."

And he meant it with everything he had.

Chapter Text

It had been a quiet afternoon at Station 118. Paperwork, equipment checks, a few minor calls that hadn’t required much effort. Bobby had been at his desk, nursing a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold, when the tones had dropped.

"Vehicle accident, multiple vehicles, possible entrapment."

The team moved with practiced efficiency, climbing into the truck, securing their gear. Bobby settled behind the wheel, the calm anchor at the center of the storm.

He didn’t know — couldn’t have known — that today would be the day everything cracked wide open.

The scene was chaos.

Three cars twisted together, glass glittering across the pavement like frost. Flames flickered from the hood of one sedan. Civilians stood on the sidewalk, shouting, crying, filming. Hen and Chim jumped into action, heading toward the most visibly injured victim. Eddie grabbed the fire extinguisher.

Bobby scanned the wreckage, heart pounding in a way that felt... wrong.

And then he saw it.

A crumpled Jeep, sides smashed in, smoke curling from the engine.

His blood turned to ice.

"No," he whispered. He dropped the hose he’d been unspooling and sprinted toward the vehicle.

Buck’s Jeep.

He’d recognize it anywhere. The dent in the back bumper from the time Buck had misjudged a parking lot. The faded "Keep Back" sticker he refused to peel off. Bobby shoved past a bystander and reached the driver’s side.

Buck was slumped against the steering wheel, motionless.

"Dispatch, firefighter down!" Bobby barked into his radio, his voice cracking. "Requesting immediate backup and EMS support."

He yanked at the door. It groaned but didn’t budge. Without hesitation, he grabbed the Halligan tool and forced it open, metal screaming in protest.

"Buck!" Bobby shouted, reaching in. Buck moaned faintly, head lolling toward him.

There was blood trickling from Buck’s forehead, a sickeningly swollen bruise already blooming at his temple. His airbag had deployed but clearly hadn't spared him from the impact.

"I'm here, kid," Bobby said, voice low and fierce. "I'm right here."

Hands steady despite the terror clawing up his spine, Bobby checked Buck's pulse. Weak, but there. Breathing shallow but present.

Hen appeared at his side, eyes wide. "Oh God, Bobby—"

"Get the backboard," Bobby ordered. "Careful with his neck. We don’t know about spinal injuries."

Chim ran to grab the gear. Eddie hovered, jaw tight, looking like he wanted to rip the world apart with his bare hands.

Together, they eased Buck out of the wreckage. He whimpered when they moved him, and Bobby immediately leaned in.

"It's okay, Evan," Bobby said, using the name he almost never did except when it was just the two of them, private and soft. "I've got you."

Buck's eyes fluttered open for a second, glassy and confused. "B'by?"

"Yeah, buddy," Bobby said, kneeling beside him on the asphalt. "I'm right here. You're safe."

The ambulance pulled up with a screech. Chim and Hen rattled off Buck’s vitals as they loaded him into the back. Bobby climbed in without a second's hesitation.

At the hospital, time blurred.

Tests. CT scans. IVs.

The doctors spoke in clipped, efficient tones: "Concussion. Broken ribs. Possible internal bruising. Observation necessary."

Bobby barely heard them.

He sat at Buck's bedside, gripping his hand gently, terrified of jostling something important. Buck drifted in and out of consciousness, murmuring nonsensical things. Apologizing.

"Sorry, B'bby… messed up…"

"No," Bobby said firmly, squeezing his hand. "You didn’t mess up. You didn’t do anything wrong."

When Buck flinched in his sleep, Bobby smoothed a hand over his hair, murmuring nonsense in return. He stayed through the night, despite the nurses telling him he could leave. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Sometime in the early morning hours, Buck stirred more fully.

"Hey, kid," Bobby said softly.

Buck’s lashes fluttered. His gaze finally focused, and he winced. "Wha' happened?"

"Car accident," Bobby said gently. "You’re going to be okay."

Buck’s mouth trembled. "Was scared. Couldn't move."

Bobby’s chest cracked wide open.

"We always find you," Bobby said, voice thick. "Always."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against Buck’s shoulder. "You're not alone, Buck. Not ever."

Buck sniffled, his hand twisting in the thin hospital blanket.

Bobby pulled the blanket up higher, tucking it around him like he was two years old again. Like it would protect him from the world.

In some ways, Bobby thought, maybe it could.

When the team arrived later that morning, one by one they filed into the room quietly, bearing coffee, pastries, and worried smiles.

Hen sat at Buck’s bedside, smoothing his hair affectionately. Chim cracked a dumb joke that made Buck snort and then wince. Eddie hovered in the back, eyes suspiciously shiny.

And Bobby remained the steady presence at Buck's side, hand curled lightly around Buck's wrist, feeling the pulse there.

Alive. Warm.

Home.

The 118 wasn't just a team.

They were family.

And they took care of their own — no matter what.

Chapter Text

It started with a hum.

Buck was elbow-deep in sauce—literally, there was a suspicious streak of red across the sleeve of his 118 hoodie—and Bobby was fussing over how long the garlic had been in the pan. They were in Bobby’s kitchen, which had slowly become the kitchen for the 118. Somehow, Sunday dinners had turned into weeknight cooking nights, and Buck kept showing up whether he was invited or not. Not that Bobby ever minded.

“Is that Springsteen?” Buck asked, pausing to glance at the old stereo Bobby had just flicked on.

Bobby blinked, halfway to chopping parsley. “Yeah. You know The Boss?”

Buck looked vaguely offended. “Of course I do! I had the Born to Run CD on repeat for, like, two straight years.”

Bobby chuckled, setting the knife down and wiping his hands. “You've got good taste.”

There was a moment—quiet, but not awkward—where the music played between them and Buck just smiled. He’d been smiling a lot more lately. Not the bright, too-wide kind that meant he was overcompensating, but the soft, real ones. The ones that showed up in Bobby’s kitchen.

“I made you something,” Buck said suddenly.

Bobby arched an eyebrow. “You made me food. You’re currently making me food.”

Buck laughed and dug in his hoodie pocket, pulling out a phone. He tapped a few times and then slid it across the counter.

“Playlist. I named it ‘Cooking with Dad Rock.’”

Bobby stared down at the playlist on Buck’s phone. Bruce Springsteen, Fleetwood Mac, a little Bowie. And— “You put Simon & Garfunkel on here?”

Buck shrugged, cheeks a little pink. “It felt right. ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’? Kinda the whole vibe.”

Bobby’s chest ached, warm and full. He didn’t say anything right away, just nodded and sent the playlist to himself. Buck busied himself with stirring the sauce too aggressively, clearly unsure of the silence.

“I love it,” Bobby said finally.

Buck looked up, eyes lighting up just a bit. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I think we should listen to it every time we cook now.”

Buck grinned. “Deal.”

-----------------------------

Bobby didn’t expect it to be loud.

Which, in hindsight, was ridiculous—it was a concert. Of course it was loud. But somehow he thought maybe the outdoor venue would make it more manageable. It didn’t.

But what made it bearable—actually, more than bearable—was the way Buck looked beside him. Eyes bright, beaming like a kid at Disneyland. He wore an oversized band tee and kept leaning over every few minutes to say something Bobby couldn’t hear over the music.

Bobby nodded along anyway. That wasn’t the point.

They stood side by side in the crowd, swaying when the music slowed, bouncing when the energy picked up. Bobby wasn’t a dancer, but Buck didn’t care. He just reached out and tugged on Bobby’s sleeve until he was moving too.

During a slow ballad, Buck glanced over. “This one reminds me of you.”

Bobby blinked. “Yeah?”

Buck nodded. “It’s about someone who makes you feel like you’re finally home.”

The air shifted, thick with something unspoken. Bobby didn’t say anything for a moment, heart thudding against his ribs. Then he bumped Buck’s shoulder with his own.

“You make me feel that way too, kid.”

Buck smiled. Not the bright, chaotic kind. The soft, quiet kind. The kind that stayed.

----------------------------

They were cooking again. Sauce bubbling on the stove, the playlist echoing softly from the speaker in the corner. Buck was dancing around the kitchen like an idiot, waving a wooden spoon like a mic.

Bobby pretended to be annoyed, but his smile gave him away.

“I should’ve made you clean the grill instead of letting you stir the sauce,” Bobby muttered.

Buck grinned, unapologetic. “You could’ve. But then who would provide the kitchen entertainment?”

Bobby rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace.”

The words slipped out so easily that Buck froze the second he realized what he’d said. His eyes went wide, sheepish.

But Bobby didn’t hesitate. Just reached over, gently mussed Buck’s curls.

“Damn right you are.”

Buck laughed, and something inside him settled. Music played, the food simmered, and they just... were. Together.

Chapter Text

The first time Buck slammed a door in Bobby’s house, the whole frame rattled.

He expected yelling. Punishment. Maybe even a threat to send him back.

What he got was silence.

Not the cold kind that meant someone didn’t care—but the quiet kind that meant someone was thinking. Processing. Choosing words carefully instead of reacting with heat.

It was infuriating.

He had been in the Grant-Nash household for three weeks, and so far, Bobby hadn’t raised his voice once. He cooked dinner every night. Left the hallway light on. Woke Buck gently in the morning with a tap on the door and a soft, “Let’s go, buddy.”

It was like he didn’t know how to fight back. Buck couldn’t understand it.

Bobby found him hours later, curled on the floor of his room behind the bed, hoodie pulled over his head. The sun had long since set, and dinner sat cold on a plate in the microwave.

“You hungry?” Bobby asked from the doorway.

Buck didn’t move.

“I made that baked mac you like. The one with the crushed-up chips on top.”

A beat passed. Then: “You gonna kick me out?” Buck’s voice was small, scratchy.

Bobby sat down in the hall, back against the wall across from the open door. “Nope.”

“I slammed a door.”

“I noticed.” Bobby smiled slightly. “You wanna tell me why?”

Buck didn’t answer.

“That’s okay,” Bobby said. “You don’t have to. But I’d still like you to come eat. Even just a few bites.”

Buck poked his head out slowly, like a wary animal. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m not thrilled about the door,” Bobby admitted. “But I’m not mad at you. I know what it’s like to have big feelings and not know where to put them.”

Buck sniffled. “You do?”

Bobby’s voice softened. “More than you know.”

That was the start.

The arguments didn’t stop. Buck had a temper, and he hated rules, and he hated more that Bobby was... nice. Kind. Steady. It made everything harder. He wasn’t used to that. Every time Bobby didn’t blow up, it made Buck push a little harder, trying to find the line.

But Bobby never drew it in anger.

He set boundaries gently but firmly. When Buck came home two hours late, Bobby was waiting—but not yelling. When Buck snapped in the grocery store, Bobby didn’t embarrass him. He waited until they got to the car, and then calmly asked, “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Eventually, the fuse got longer.

One night, Buck came home with battered knuckles.

Bobby saw them before Buck had a chance to hide them.

“Sit,” Bobby said, gesturing to the kitchen stool.

“I’m fine,” Buck muttered.

“I didn’t ask if you were fine. I said sit.”

Buck did. Grumbling. Angry. Embarrassed.

Bobby cleaned the cuts gently, in silence, until Buck muttered, “They were talking crap about my friends.”

“I’m not saying it was right to punch him,” Bobby said. “But I understand why you wanted to.”

Buck blinked. “You’re not gonna ground me?”

“I’m taking your phone for two days.”

“That’s it?”

Bobby nodded. “And I’m proud of you for telling me the truth.”

Buck didn’t speak again, but when Bobby finished bandaging him, Buck didn’t pull away.

-------------

Months passed. The storms got quieter. The silences became conversations. The glares softened into eye rolls. Buck still slammed doors, but now he opened them again when he was ready.

And Bobby was always there.

One night, Buck sat on the couch beside Bobby, legs curled under him, Bobby’s hoodie two sizes too big draped over his shoulders.

“Why do you even keep me around?” Buck asked out of nowhere.

Bobby looked up from his book. “What do you mean?”

“I’m difficult. I screw things up. I pick fights. I make it hard.”

Bobby set the book down. “Buck.”

Buck didn’t meet his eyes. “I wouldn’t keep me around.”

Bobby reached over and gently turned Buck’s face to his. “You think I don’t see the good? The heart you’ve got? The way you try—every single day—even when it’s hard?”

Buck’s eyes filled. “What if I mess up again?”

Bobby pulled him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Then we deal with it. Together. Because I love you. That’s not conditional.”

Buck buried his face in Bobby’s shoulder. “Okay.”

They sat there for a long time. No storms. Just the steady warmth of being wanted. Being loved. Being home.

Chapter Text

The shift had been brutal.

It wasn’t just the heatwave that clung to the city like a second skin, or the string of back-to-back calls that kept the team constantly moving. It was the emotional weight of it all. A structure fire in a residential building, a CPR call that didn’t end the way they’d hoped, and a car crash involving three teenagers that left Buck’s hands shaking long after the victims had been wheeled away.

The sun was setting as Buck trudged into the locker room, silent and stiff. The others slowly filtered out, cracking tired jokes or offering quiet goodbyes. Bobby caught Buck’s eye, giving him a subtle nod, but Buck just gave him a tight smile and waved him off.

He didn’t want to talk. Not right now. Not to Bobby. Not to Eddie. Not to anyone.

But the grief and exhaustion were a living thing under his skin.

By the time Buck made it home, he felt like a shell. His loft was too quiet, too big, and too full of memories. Of good days and bad ones. Of laughter and loneliness.

So he grabbed his keys again.

He didn’t know where else to go.

———

Athena was in her kitchen, still in uniform, pouring herself a glass of iced tea when the knock came. It was quiet, hesitant.

She frowned. Opened the door.

“Buck?”

He stood there, rumpled and pale, eyes shadowed like he hadn’t slept in a week. His shoulders were drawn in like he was trying to make himself smaller.

“Hey,” he said, voice cracking. “Sorry to just show up. I, uh... I didn’t know where else to go.”

Athena’s heart clenched. She stepped aside. “You’re always welcome here.”

Buck stepped inside, blinking against the light. He looked like he might shatter at any moment.

She led him to the couch. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

He sat obediently, staring at his hands. They were still faintly smudged with soot.

Athena returned, pressing a glass into his hands, then sat beside him.

“It was a rough day,” he said finally, a tremor in his voice.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Athena said gently.

“I kind of do.” He took a shaky breath. “There was this kid... he looked like me when I was younger. Curly hair, blue eyes. Just... scared. Trapped in the backseat of a car. I pulled him out, but—his mom didn’t make it.”

Athena stayed quiet, letting him fill the silence on his own terms.

“I keep seeing his face. I keep hearing the way he screamed when we told him.”

He swallowed. His eyes welled.

“I’ve had calls like this before. I know how it works. I know not every rescue ends the way we want. But today it felt like everything I did was useless.”

“That’s not true,” Athena said, voice firm but soft.

“I know logically it’s not,” Buck said. “But it feels true. And I’m so tired of feeling like this. Like I’m never doing enough. Like I’m just dragging everyone else down with me.”

“Evan.” Athena reached out and took his hand. “You saved that boy’s life. You’ve saved so many lives. And when it doesn’t go the way we hope, it doesn’t mean you failed. It means the world is unfair and we do the best we can anyway.”

Buck’s chin trembled. “I didn’t want Bobby to see me like this tonight. I didn’t want anyone to. I couldn’t handle the look.”

“What look?”

“The one that says, ‘Here he goes again. Buck, falling apart.’”

Athena squeezed his hand. “That’s not what anyone thinks. Least of all Bobby. He adores you. But I understand why it’s hard to let yourself be vulnerable. It’s scary.”

“I hate being a burden.”

“You are not a burden,” Athena said, with the kind of force that made Buck’s breath hitch. “You are family. You are loved. And it’s okay to need someone to lean on. I’m here. Bobby’s here. The whole damn 118 would show up for you in a heartbeat.”

Buck’s tears finally spilled over. Athena shifted, pulling him into a hug. He curled into her, letting himself cry for the first time all day.

They sat like that for a long time.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Athena said, brushing his hair back gently. “You’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to be human.”

Eventually, Buck’s breathing evened out. His grip on her loosened.

“I think you need sleep,” she said.

He nodded, eyes heavy. “Can I... stay here tonight?”

“Of course you can.”

She helped him settle onto the guest bed, bringing him an extra blanket and a glass of water. As she turned off the light, he reached out and caught her hand.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Athena smiled down at him. “Anytime, baby.”

And she meant it.

As she left the room, she pulled the door almost closed—just enough for Buck to feel safe, but never alone.

Chapter Text

Buck was practically vibrating with excitement when he burst through the back door of the Grant-Nash house, kicking off his shoes without slowing down. Athena raised an eyebrow from her spot at the kitchen counter, where she was slicing strawberries into a bowl. Bobby, already sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, glanced up with a fond smile.

“Okay,” Buck said, eyes wide, hands flailing slightly as he talked. “You guys—oh man, you’re not gonna believe what Chris did today!”

“Hi to you too,” Athena said dryly, though the smile tugging at her lips softened the words.

“Sorry, hey, hi,” Buck said with a quick wave. “But seriously, listen! So Eddie and I took him to this science fair at his school, right? Just to walk around, support his friends—nothing major. But then one of the exhibits broke down. This whole hydraulic arm thing. The teacher was trying to fix it, but it wouldn’t work, and people started walking away.”

Buck paused dramatically, beaming. “And Chris just—he rolled up, looked at it for like five seconds, and then said, ‘Oh, the tubing’s pinched.’ Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Reached over, adjusted it, and boom. It worked again!”

Bobby chuckled into his coffee. “No way.”

“I swear!” Buck said. “Even the teacher was impressed. She was like, ‘Where did you learn that?’ and Chris just shrugged and said, ‘My dad and Buck show me stuff sometimes.’”

Athena let out a laugh, loud and warm. “Oh, honey. You should’ve seen your face just now.”

“What? I’m proud!”

“You looked like a cartoon dad who just watched his kid win the science Olympiad,” Bobby teased, eyes twinkling.

Buck grinned, sheepish but glowing. “I mean… he’s just so smart, you know? And confident. And kind. I love that kid.”

Athena leaned on the counter, eyeing him fondly. “Like father, like son.”

Bobby nodded, reaching over to squeeze Buck’s shoulder. “Exactly. You and Eddie are rubbing off on him more than you know.”

Buck’s eyes went a little glassy. “Yeah?”

“Buck,” Athena said, voice gentle, “he looks up to you like the sun shines out of your smile. Of course you’re part of who he’s becoming.”

Buck sniffled and tried to laugh it off. “Stop, I’m going to cry in your kitchen.”

Athena smirked. “We’ve seen worse.”

“Much worse,” Bobby added with a mock-serious nod.

Buck laughed, wiping at his eyes. “Okay, okay. Just—he’s amazing, and I’m really lucky I get to be part of his life.”

“You’re not part of it, Buck,” Bobby said. “You’re family.”

And when Athena came over to wrap an arm around him, and Bobby reached up for one of his big bear hugs, Buck just melted into it, feeling warm and loved and exactly where he belonged.

Chapter Text

The station was unusually quiet for a Thursday.

Buck sat alone in the bunk room, legs folded awkwardly beneath him on the bed. His shift shirt was slung over the back of a chair, a towel still hanging around his neck from the shower he’d taken over an hour ago. He hadn’t moved since. Not really.

His knuckles were raw. He hadn’t even realized he’d punched that wall at the scene until the pain caught up to him on the ride back.

They’d responded to a house fire. Routine. Kids trapped upstairs. Again, routine. Until Buck found the younger of the two—maybe six years old—curled in a closet with a blanket over her head, clutching a stuffed tiger and whispering the words, "I was bad. I'm sorry, I’ll be good, please don’t yell."

It was like a gut punch. Like looking in a mirror he didn’t know he’d left behind.

He’d gotten her out. She was safe. But something about the way she shrank from him when he reached for her—something about the apology in her voice—hit somewhere deep and unhealed.

And now he was here. Trying not to fall apart in a firehouse full of people who didn’t know he still could.

Except Bobby did know. And he noticed. He always did.

Bobby hovered just outside the room, eyes on the half-closed door. He hadn’t seen Buck this rattled in a long time. Not since Abby. Not since the lawsuit. Not since… the shove.

God. The shove.

He still remembered the way Buck looked at him after. Shocked. Betrayed. Small.

And then he’d tucked it all away. They both had.

It had been years. Buck had grown into one of the best firefighters Bobby had ever worked with—smart, capable, steady. But that look had haunted Bobby more than he liked to admit.

And today, when Buck froze at the sound of a child’s sob, Bobby saw it again.

So he knocked.

Softly. Gently. Like approaching a wounded animal you wanted to help but weren’t sure wouldn’t bite.

“Hey.”

Buck didn’t turn. “Door’s open.”

Bobby stepped in. Closed it behind him.

A pause. Heavy. Dense.

“You want to talk about it?”

Buck shook his head slowly. “Not really.”

Another beat. Bobby sat on the edge of the bunk across from him.

“I saw you at the scene,” he said quietly.

Buck huffed, a tired, bitter sound. “Yeah. Guess I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“She reminded you of someone?”

“Yeah.”

Silence again.

Bobby waited. Buck didn’t offer more. He looked exhausted. Haunted. And Bobby hated the ache in his chest that came from knowing—knowing—he might be part of what was haunting him.

“I’ve never asked,” Bobby said suddenly. “About that day.”

Buck’s gaze flicked up, startled. “What day?”

Bobby gave him a look. “You know which one.”

Buck stiffened.

“We… we never talked about it,” Bobby continued, voice quiet. “But I think about it. A lot.”

Buck’s jaw tightened. He looked away.

“You were scared,” Bobby said. “I know that.”

“Yeah, well, so were you,” Buck shot back, voice sharp. “You don’t shove someone like that unless you’re scared out of your mind.”

Bobby didn’t flinch. “I was. I was terrified.”

He waited. Buck said nothing.

“I crossed a line that day,” Bobby added. “And I’m sorry I never said that out loud. I should have.”

Buck laughed bitterly. “You think I’ve been waiting for an apology?”

Bobby tilted his head. “Haven’t you?”

Buck blinked. His hands tightened into fists in his lap. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe. Maybe I just wanted to forget it ever happened.”

“Did that work?”

Buck looked up at him, eyes glassy. “Not even close.”

And there it was.

The dam cracked.

“I didn’t even realize how much it messed me up,” Buck said, voice shaking. “Until I saw her. That little girl. Flinching. Saying sorry for something that wasn’t her fault. And I remembered me.”

Bobby’s heart clenched.

“I remembered that day. You were so angry. I thought—” Buck cut off. Swallowed. “I thought you were going to hit me.”

Bobby’s breath caught. “Buck—”

“I know you didn’t,” Buck rushed, like he was trying to take it back even as he said it. “I know that. But in that moment it felt like you would”

Bobby stood. Crossed the space. Sat beside him.

“I was starting to open up to you,” he said. “That’s what made it worse. I was scared of what you found out. I hurt you.”

Buck’s shoulders trembled. “You did.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bobby whispered. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Buck’s head dropped into his hands. “I was trying so hard to be okay,” he murmured. “To prove I was still useful. Still part of the team. Still worth keeping afterwards.”

Bobby reached over. Put a hand on Buck’s back. “You’ve always been worth keeping. Even when you weren’t okay. Especially then.”

Buck let out a choked laugh. “Took you a while to say that.”

“I know,” Bobby said. “And I hate that it took this long. But I’m here now. And I’ll keep saying it. Every day if you need me to.”

Buck finally looked at him. Really looked.

And something inside him cracked open.

“Okay,” he whispered.

Bobby wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a hug that felt like years overdue. Buck sank into it without resistance.

“I’ve got you,” Bobby said. “Always.”

They sat like that for a long time. Not fixing everything. Not pretending they could.

But maybe—just maybe—starting to heal.

Chapter Text

The station was quieter than usual.

It was late—well past the shift lull when the city seemed to collectively exhale for a brief moment between chaos. The engine was polished. Reports filed. The kitchen cleaned. Everyone was either catching some shut-eye or pretending to.

Bobby knew Buck wasn’t sleeping, not really. Not well.

Buck had claimed the bunk furthest from the door like he always did when things were off. When the edges of his usual energy dulled and his laughter didn’t quite reach his eyes. Bobby had seen it before—after the tsunami, after Abby left, after Chimney got stabbed. After everything that happened.

And now, after everything with the lawsuit and the department. After Buck came back but didn’t seem sure if he was allowed to stay.

He was trying. God, was he trying. Bobby could see it in how Buck pushed himself on every call, how he took extra shifts and made extra effort. But it wasn’t sustainable. Bobby had tried to talk to him, to tell him he didn’t have to earn his place back—it was already his. But Buck just nodded, made a joke, and said he was fine.

Now, bunkroom lights dimmed, the only sound was the soft whir of the overhead fan.

And then it came—sharp and broken:

“No—no, please don’t—”

Bobby was on his feet instantly.

He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling beside Buck’s bed. The younger man was tangled in his sheets, breathing ragged, arms flinching like he was trying to fight something off in his sleep.

“Buck?” Bobby said softly, his voice steady.

Buck whimpered, face scrunching in distress. “Don’t leave me—I didn’t mean to—”

It hit Bobby square in the chest. Whatever Buck was dreaming about, it wasn’t just a nightmare. It was grief. Guilt. Fear.

“Hey. Buck.” Bobby reached out, gently placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “You’re okay. Wake up, son.”

The word slipped out before Bobby could stop it. Son.

Buck jolted upright with a gasp, eyes wide and unfocused, chest heaving. His hands gripped the edge of the mattress like he was still falling.

“Easy. Easy, kid. You’re safe.” Bobby’s voice stayed low and calm, the same voice he used with victims after rescues. The voice of home.

Buck blinked, disoriented. “Bo—Bobby?”

“I’m here,” Bobby said, easing down to sit beside the bed now. “It was just a dream.”

Buck wiped a shaking hand across his face, trying to gather himself. “It felt… real.”

Bobby nodded. “They always do.”

Buck stared down at his hands. “I—I think I was back in the hospital. Or the loft. Everyone was gone. You weren’t there. Eddie—Hen—nobody. And I couldn’t breathe. I kept calling, but no one came.”

Bobby’s heart broke a little more with every word.

He reached out and gently gripped Buck’s forearm. “But I did come, Buck. I’m here now. We all are. No one’s going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck whispered, eyes filling with tears he tried to blink away. “I know I keep saying I’m fine, but I’m not. Not really. I keep thinking I’ll wake up one day and all of this—being back here—will be gone again. That you’ll all realize I’m not worth it.”

Bobby didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward and wrapped Buck in a firm hug. Buck froze for a moment before melting into it, like a dam breaking. His breath hitched, shoulders trembling as he clung to Bobby like a lifeline.

“You are worth it,” Bobby said firmly. “You always were. Even when you were hurting, even when you made mistakes. We never stopped loving you.”

The silence that followed was full—of unspoken things, of safety, of healing.

Eventually, Bobby pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Do you want to try and sleep a little more?”

Buck hesitated. “Can I… would you stay? Just for a bit?”

Bobby smiled softly. “Of course.”

He grabbed a nearby chair, dragged it close to the bed, and settled in with a gentle sigh. Buck, still shaken but calmer, lay back down. He didn’t let go of Bobby’s hand.

“You know,” Bobby said after a beat, voice light, “when I said you could always come to me if something was wrong, I didn’t just mean during daylight hours.”

Buck gave a small, watery laugh. “I know. I just… I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” Bobby said firmly. “Not now, not ever. You’re family, Buck. That means something.”

Buck was quiet for a long moment. Then, in a small voice, he said, “Thanks, Dad.”

Bobby didn’t say anything right away—just squeezed his hand.

Then he whispered, “Anytime, son. Anytime.”

And for the first time in weeks, Buck fell asleep with a sense of peace. His grip stayed firm on Bobby’s hand, and Bobby didn’t let go.

Chapter Text

Buck was sprawled across the station couch, head hanging off the edge in what he claimed was a “spinal decompression” position but looked a lot more like “I’m too tired to sit like a normal person.”

It had been a long shift — two calls back-to-back involving heat, smoke, and a lot of adrenaline. Hen and Chimney were across the room cleaning gear. Eddie was tossing a racquetball against the wall with mindless precision. Bobby sat at the table reviewing paperwork, and Buck, for all intents and purposes, was floating somewhere between consciousness and food-related daydreams.

That’s when the words slipped out — loud, casual, utterly unaware:

“Hey, Bobby? Do you think Mom’s gonna make lasagne for dinner?”

The room went completely silent.

The racquetball bounced off Eddie’s hand and hit the floor with a sad little plunk.

Hen froze mid-wipe.

Chimney’s head slowly swivelled toward Buck with wide, delighted eyes.

Bobby blinked. “What did you just say?”

Buck blinked back at him, still upside down. “Huh?”

Chimney leaned forward like a hawk honing in on a squirrel. “Did you just ask your dad if Mom was making lasagne for dinner?”

Buck blinked again.

Hen chimed in, grinning like a cat who’d caught the world’s biggest mouse. “And by ‘Mom,’ you mean Athena?”

Buck sat up a little too fast, nearly falling off the couch. “Wait—what? No, I—”

Eddie smothered a laugh. “Pretty sure you did, man.”

Buck’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “No. No way. That’s not— That’s not what I meant.”

“You absolutely did,” Chimney said, clearly having the time of his life. “You looked Bobby in the eyes and said, ‘Do you think Mom’s going to make lasagne.’”

Hen helpfully added, “And we all know Athena’s making dinner tonight, so…”

“Look,” Buck said, red blooming in his cheeks, “I was tired. My brain—sometimes it just—words happen.”

Bobby was trying very hard not to smile. “You know, Buck, I’m not offended.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Buck said, now absolutely flustered. “It’s just—I don’t know! Athena’s been cooking a lot lately, and she’s really good at it, and I guess I associate lasagne with her now because she made it that one time when I was sick and—”

Hen let out a soft “Awww.”

Chimney elbowed her. “You hear that? He’s imprinting.”

“I am not imprinting!”

“You definitely are,” Eddie said, now grinning, tossing the ball between his hands. “It’s okay. It’s kinda sweet.”

Buck buried his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

Hen patted him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family, baby Buck. You’re officially part of the household now.”

“I was already part of the household!”

“Not until you called Athena ‘Mom’ without realizing it,” Chimney teased. “That’s the final form of adoption.”

Bobby finally chuckled and stood. “Well, since we’re apparently headed over for dinner, maybe you should ask Mom yourself if she’s making lasagne.”

Buck groaned. “Can we not call her that now? Please?”

But it was already too late. Hen was texting Athena, and Chimney was muttering under his breath about buying a “World’s Best Mom” mug.

Later that evening at the Grant-Nash house

Dinner was already in progress when they arrived — the table set, the kids chattering, Karen sipping wine while Athena stirred something on the stove.

Buck was still internally cringing when Athena turned and greeted them all with her usual warmth. She gave Bobby a quick kiss, waved to the others, then turned to Buck with a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart. You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“He’s fine,” Hen said smoothly. “Just had a little… Freudian slip earlier.”

Athena arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Karen looked intrigued. “Do tell.”

“I said something dumb,” Buck muttered.

“He called you Mom,” Chimney stage-whispered across the kitchen.

Athena blinked. “Excuse me?”

Bobby looked like he was seconds away from laughter. “It was in reference to the lasagne. Apparently you’ve made quite the impression.”

Buck looked like he wanted to crawl into the floor. “I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

Athena blinked again, then smiled. “Well, I am making lasagne.”

“See?” Hen said cheerfully. “Your instincts were right.”

Athena walked over and cupped Buck’s cheek with one hand. “You poor thing. Did they tease you all afternoon?”

Buck nodded solemnly. “Relentlessly.”

“You’ll live.”

Buck brightened. “So… there is lasagne?”

Athena laughed and ruffled his hair. “Yes, there’s lasagne. Sit down, baby.”

That earned a fresh round of “Awww”s from around the room.

May walked in just in time to hear it. “Did Mom just call Buck baby?”

“She did,” Hen confirmed. “And he called her Mom earlier.”

May blinked. “Oh wow. That’s… actually really cute.”

Harry grinned. “So does that make Buck my big brother now?”

Buck, still red-faced but clearly warming to the chaos, looked around the table and shrugged. “I mean… I guess I wouldn’t mind.”

“Great,” May said, sitting beside him. “Now we can make you do our chores.”

Athena waved a wooden spoon in her direction. “Don’t push it.”

After dinner, the teasing had calmed. The house felt warm and full.

Buck sat beside Bobby on the back porch while the kids ran around inside and the rest of the team helped clean up. The stars were starting to peek through the sky. Bobby nudged his shoulder gently.

“You okay?”

Buck smiled. “Yeah. Embarrassed, but… okay.”

Bobby nodded. “You know… calling her ‘Mom’ — that didn’t upset her. You’re important to her. To me. To all of us.”

“I know,” Buck said quietly. “It’s just… weird. I didn’t even notice I did it.”

“Well,” Bobby said, “sometimes the heart knows before the brain catches up.”

Buck looked at him then, brow furrowing. “That’s… really corny.”

Bobby smiled. “It is. But it’s also true.”

They sat there in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of laughter echoing from inside. Buck exhaled softly, eyes on the stars.

“…She really does make the best lasagne.”

Bobby chuckled. “That she does, kiddo.”

Chapter Text

Bobby knew something was wrong the second Buck didn’t show up for his shift.

It wasn’t like Buck to be late—at least not anymore. Maybe a year ago, sure. But now? After everything? After Maddie, the lawsuit, the coma? Buck had grown. Had tried harder. Had rebuilt his place in the 118 brick by agonizing brick.

So when 7:00 a.m. rolled around and Buck wasn’t there, Bobby’s gut twisted.

“He’s probably running late,” Hen offered, glancing at her phone. “Traffic was bad coming in.”

Chim nodded. “He texted last night. Said he’d be here.”

Bobby tried to brush it off, but the unease stuck like tar in his chest. He called Buck. It rang. No answer. Straight to voicemail. Again.

Something was wrong.

By 8:30, Bobby had called Maddie, who immediately panicked because no, she hadn’t heard from him, and yes, she’d tried calling too, and no, it wasn’t like him.

The station buzzed with tension as Bobby paced the common area, his hands twitching for something to do.

Then Eddie called. “He never came home last night.”

Bobby stopped in his tracks.

“What?”

“He never came home,” Eddie repeated, his voice tight. Controlled. Too controlled. “He was supposed to stop at the grocery store after his run. I thought—maybe he stayed over at someone’s place, but—”

“He’s missing,” Bobby said quietly. “Call the police. Now.”

The footage was grainy.

A convenience store camera caught Buck walking out, bag in hand, phone in the other. It was dark. Late. He looked tired, but safe.

Until the van pulled up.

Two masked men. A struggle. A scream caught in a frame. Then Buck was gone.

Bobby stared at the paused video, fingers clenched into fists.

“I want every cop in this city looking for him,” he growled.

Athena put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find him.”

But her voice was brittle. Shaken. She had seen too many endings to promise anything more than that.

Buck woke up in the dark.

His head throbbed. His wrists were raw and tied behind him. His mouth tasted like copper. Something warm trickled down his temple.

He blinked. His eyes adjusted slowly. A basement. Cold, cement floor. His legs were numb. His breathing ragged.

Panic rose like a wave.

He’d been taken.

Why?

What did they want?

He strained his ears. Distant footsteps. Voices. Then nothing.

His entire body trembled. Not just from cold—but from knowing that no one knew where he was.

No one would find him.

Would they?

Three days passed.

The media got hold of it. Firefighter Evan Buckley Missing, Feared Kidnapped.

Bobby stopped sleeping. He barely ate. He followed every lead, watched every security feed. It wasn’t enough.

He was failing him.

“I should’ve done something,” Bobby said one night, slumped at the station table, head in his hands. “I should’ve—he was tired, he shouldn’t have been out that late alone—”

Hen sat beside him. “This isn’t your fault.”

“It is,” he whispered. “I’m his captain. I’m supposed to protect him.”

Hen looked at him, something soft and fierce in her gaze. “You’re not just his captain.”

Bobby didn’t respond. Couldn’t. The ache in his chest was too raw to name.

Buck stopped keeping track of time.

The men came in every so often. Asked questions he didn’t understand. Demanded things—names, places, information he didn’t have.

He told the truth. They didn’t believe him.

Pain became a constant. Cuts. Bruises. Cold water. Food withheld. Solitary silence.

He thought of Maddie. Of Eddie. Of Chris. Of Bobby—and the way Bobby always looked at him like he mattered. Like he wasn’t just the screw-up kid everyone thought he was.

“I’ll find you, Buck,” Bobby had once said, years ago, after the tsunami, after everything. “No matter how dark it gets.”

Buck clung to that.

Even when everything went dark again.

The breakthrough came by accident.

An off-duty cop recognized the van from the news. Called it in.

SWAT moved in fast.

Bobby was there before they even secured the perimeter. Athena tried to hold him back.

“You can’t go in—”

“He’s my kid,” Bobby snapped, something feral in his voice. “I’m going in.”

She didn’t stop him.

The basement door creaked open.

Buck flinched hard, curling in on himself. Bruised. Bloodied. Gasping.

But it wasn’t them.

“Buck,” came the voice.

It cracked something open inside him.

“Bobby?” His voice broke. “Bobby—?”

“I’m here.” Bobby was on his knees beside him in seconds, hands gentle but sure as he untied the ropes, as he cupped Buck’s face. “I got you. I got you, kid.”

Buck sobbed. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t speak.

Bobby pulled him into his arms and held him like he was something precious. Something fragile and loved.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”

At the hospital, they cleaned his wounds. Stitched his side. Treated the dehydration. The hypothermia. The bruised ribs.

But they couldn’t treat the fear in his eyes. The way he jolted awake from every sound. The tremble in his hands that wouldn’t go away.

Bobby stayed at his side the whole time.

“I don’t understand why they took me,” Buck said one night, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Bobby said, brushing a hand through his damp curls. “Sometimes the world is cruel, Buck. But you’re not alone in it.”

“I thought I was gonna die down there.”

“I would’ve torn this whole city apart first.”

Recovery wasn’t linear.

There were nightmares. Screaming ones. Panic attacks in the station shower. Flashbacks triggered by the wrong cologne or the click of a door lock.

Buck tried to come back too soon.

Bobby stopped him.

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I do,” Buck said. “I need to matter.”

Bobby gripped his shoulders. “You already do. You hear me? You're family, Buck. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be here.”

Buck looked down. “I’m not okay.”

“You don’t have to be,” Bobby said gently. “You just have to let us hold the pieces until you are.”

One night, weeks later, Buck sat on the couch at Bobby’s, blanket over his lap, tea untouched in his hands.

“You came for me,” he said quietly.

Bobby turned from the kitchen. “Of course I did.”

Buck blinked hard. “No one ever came before. Not when it mattered.”

Bobby walked over, sat beside him, and pulled him into a one-armed hug.

“I will. Every time. No matter how dark it gets.”

Buck rested his head on Bobby’s shoulder. “Promise?”

Bobby held him tighter.

“Always.”

Chapter Text

The station was quiet, unusually so. Most of the team had gone home after a long shift, and the lights in the common area had been dimmed. Buck sat on the couch with a half-eaten granola bar in his hand, eyes glazed over as the muted TV played reruns of something he wasn’t really watching.

He should have gone home too. Should have followed Eddie out and called it a night. But the silence in his apartment lately felt heavier than the noise of the city, and the dark felt too full of things he couldn’t name. So he stayed.
Bobby walked in from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel. He stopped just behind Buck, noticing the younger man hadn’t moved in a while.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Buck startled—just slightly—but enough that Bobby’s brow creased. “Yeah,” Buck said quickly, too quickly. “Just tired.”
But his voice had that tight, distant edge Bobby had learned to recognize. He sat down slowly in the armchair across from him.

“Want to talk about it?”

Buck shook his head, shrugging a little. “Just… long day.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the hum of the vending machine in the corner buzzing quietly in the background. Bobby glanced toward Buck again. His jaw was clenched, his fingers twitching, the granola bar forgotten in his hand.

Suddenly a loud noise rang out. Apologies followed soon after.

Buck flinched.

It was subtle—his body jerking just slightly, like someone had snapped their fingers too close to his ear. Bobby straightened.

“Buck?”

But Buck didn’t answer.

His eyes had gone glassy, far away, chest beginning to rise and fall too quickly. One of his legs started bouncing, his fingers digging into his knees like he was bracing himself for impact. Bobby knew that look—he’d seen it before. Not in Buck, not like this, but in soldiers, survivors, victims who’d lived through things they never should’ve had to.

“Hey, Buck,” Bobby said, voice gentle. He didn’t move closer yet—just kept his tone soft and grounding. “Where are you right now?”

Buck’s breathing hitched. His lips parted, a quiet, broken sound escaping. “There was… there was a sound. Like the bomb. It was like the—” He blinked rapidly, chest tightening. “It’s happening again—”

And suddenly he was curling in on himself, hands over his ears, shaking his head.

“No, no, no—”

Bobby was beside him in an instant, crouched down next to the couch. “Buck. It’s not happening again. You’re here. You’re safe. You’re at the station, okay?”

But Buck wasn’t hearing him. His whole body was shaking now. He was somewhere else—back in the blast of the fire truck bombing. Bobby eased himself onto the couch next to him, voice low, calm. “Buck. I’m going to touch your arm, okay? Just your arm.”
He waited half a second before gently resting a hand on Buck’s forearm.

“You’re safe. You’re with me. You’re not alone.”

Buck’s breath hitched again, caught on a sob. His head dropped forward, and he gasped for air like it was being stolen from his lungs.

“I—I couldn’t move—I couldn’t breathe, Bobby—God, I thought I was going to die—”

“I know,” Bobby said, his own throat tight. “But you didn’t. You made it out. You’re here. With me.”

Buck’s fingers grabbed at Bobby’s sleeve then, anchoring himself in the fabric like it was the only thing keeping him above water.

“It’s been years,” he choked. “It shouldn’t still feel like this.”

Bobby let out a slow breath, steadying both of them. “You went through hell. It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. Sometimes the aftershocks hit when you least expect them.”

Buck leaned forward, folding into Bobby’s chest, trembling. Bobby wrapped his arms around him without hesitation, holding him close like he had the night after Buck came home from the hospital. Like he had when Buck had cried in the supply closet after the tsunami, quietly and alone.

“I hate this,” Buck whispered.

“I know.” Bobby’s voice was a hush against his hair. “But you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m right here.”

They stayed like that for a long time, Buck clinging to Bobby like a lifeline, Bobby grounding him with steady breaths and calm words.

Eventually, the shaking slowed. Buck’s breathing evened out. His hands loosened their death grip on Bobby’s shirt. “Sorry,” Buck said hoarsely.

“Don’t be.”

“I just…” Buck scrubbed a hand over his face. “I thought I was past this.”

Bobby leaned back slightly, meeting his eyes. “Healing isn’t a straight line, Buck. You know that.”

Buck nodded, eyes red-rimmed. “Yeah. I just wish it didn’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Me too,” Bobby admitted. “But when it does, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Buck managed a shaky smile at that, and Bobby gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Come on,” Bobby said after a minute. “Let’s go get some air. Walk a bit.”

“Yeah,” Buck agreed quietly. “Okay.”

They stood together, and Bobby didn’t move far. Just stayed close, a quiet presence beside him as they stepped out into the cool night air. Buck let the wind hit his face, let his lungs fill again.

The fear had passed. The memories were still there, but they didn’t own him.
Not while Bobby was standing beside him.

Chapter Text

It started like all his worst nightmares did—with sirens in the distance, but none close enough to help.

Bobby stood frozen in the centre of the firehouse, but it wasn’t the firehouse. Not really. Everything was warped, too bright and too dark all at once. The lights flickered in a sickening strobe. Buck was lying on the ground, a blackened shape barely visible through the smoke and rain. His body twitched once. Then stopped.

Bobby ran. Screamed. But his voice made no sound. His hands passed through Buck’s chest as he tried to start compressions.

Buck’s face turned toward him slowly, eyes open, glassy.

“You weren’t fast enough,” the dream-Buck whispered. “I needed you. Where were you?”

Bobby jolted upright with a gasp.

His chest heaved. Sweat clung to his skin like glue. He shoved the blankets off and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force the images away.

They didn’t go.

They never did.

He stood, walked to the bathroom, splashed water on his face. But the reflection in the mirror looked as hollow as Buck had in that nightmare.

Months. It had been months since the lightning strike. Buck was back on shift. Strong. Healing.

But some part of Bobby had never stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Tonight, it felt like it already had.
He tried to go back to bed.
He lasted twenty-two minutes.
Then he grabbed his keys and drove.
—
It was almost 2 a.m. when Buck’s phone buzzed, sharp and unexpected in the quiet of his darkened apartment. He was just barely awake—hadn’t quite made it to sleep, if he was honest. The storm outside wasn’t loud, but it was flashing just often enough to make his skin crawl.

He glanced at the screen and blinked.

Bobby.

Buck sat up straighter, suddenly alert. Why would Bobby be calling this late? Unless something was wrong. He answered on the second ring. “Cap?”

“Hey.” Bobby’s voice was quiet. Strained. “Are you home?”

“Yeah. Is everything okay?”

A pause.

“Can I come up?”
—
Buck opened the door before Bobby had even reached it. The older man stood there, drenched from the light rain, eyes sunken and shoulders tight like he hadn’t taken a full breath in hours. Buck’s stomach sank. “Come in,” he said instantly,
stepping aside.

Bobby didn’t speak at first. Just crossed the threshold and paused in the middle of the living room, as if anchoring himself.
Buck moved slowly, like he might spook him. “Cap—Bobby—what happened?”

“I had a dream,” Bobby said at last, his voice hoarse. “About… the strike.”

Buck softened immediately. “Oh.”

Bobby didn’t sit until Buck lightly nudged him toward the couch. Only then did he lower himself with a sigh, hands clenching in his lap. Buck sat beside him, giving him space—but not too much.

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Bobby murmured, eyes on the floor. “You’re fine. I know you’re fine. But in the dream—God, Buck, you—” He choked off, pressing a hand to his mouth.

Buck’s heart twisted.

He knew that look. That hollow, hunted look. “It’s not ridiculous,” Buck said softly. “Nightmares don’t care about facts.”

Bobby shook his head. “I watched you die again. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t even touch you. And I just—” His voice broke. “I had to see you. I had to know.”

Buck’s throat tightened. “You could’ve called earlier,” he whispered.

“I wanted to,” Bobby said, looking up with watery eyes. “But it wouldn't feel real until I saw you. Until I could hear you breathing.”

Buck didn’t know what to say to that. So he just leaned forward and laid a hand over Bobby’s.

Warm. Solid. Real.

“I’m right here,” he said quietly. “I’m okay. You saved me, remember?”

Bobby didn’t answer. But his hand didn’t pull away.

—
They stayed like that for a while.

Eventually Buck stood, wandered to the kitchen, and returned with two mugs of tea—one of those things Bobby had taught him early on. “Not everything needs fixing. Sometimes people just need warmth.”

They sat with the mugs in their hands and the rain tapping softly on the windows.

When Buck yawned, Bobby looked guilty.

“You should sleep. I shouldn’t have come.”

“I want you here,” Buck said immediately. “You’ve stayed for less.”

Bobby looked down, ashamed. “I just… I guess it still haunts me. Watching you fall like that. All the time I thought we’d lost you.”

Buck swallowed, fingers curling tighter around the mug.

“You weren’t the only one who thought that,” he said softly. “I… I don’t remember the moment it happened. Just flashes. But sometimes, I dream about it, too.”

Bobby’s gaze snapped up. “You do?”

Buck nodded. “It’s not the same dream, but the feeling’s there. The fear. The helplessness. I don’t think that kind of thing just goes away.”

There was a long silence between them. Heavy. But not uncomfortable.

Finally, Bobby whispered, “It scared me so much, Buck. I’ve lost people before. A lot of people. But that—losing you like that—it broke something in me. And even though I know you’re okay, I think part of me keeps waiting for the nightmare to be real again.”

Buck set his tea down.

And then, without overthinking it, he moved closer and leaned his head lightly against Bobby’s shoulder.

“I’m still here,” he murmured. “You didn’t lose me.”

Bobby didn’t speak for a long time. But his arm slowly came up and wrapped around Buck’s shoulders, pulling him in close.
“Thank God,” he breathed.
—
They were still on the couch when Eddie let himself in later.

He paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of Buck, half-asleep, curled against Bobby’s side with a blanket around both of them. Bobby wasn’t sleeping, but his eyes were clearer now, his posture less haunted.

Eddie said nothing.

Just set the extra bag of groceries quietly on the counter—he’d offered to stop by with storm supplies earlier, not realizing how the night would unfold—and left them be.

As he stepped back out into the hallway, he smiled to himself.

Buck was okay.

Bobby was healing.

And for tonight, at least, they all still had each other.

Chapter Text

The last of the embers glowed faint orange in the firepit, casting long, sleepy shadows across the Grant-Nash backyard. The BBQ had ended hours ago, but Buck hadn’t left. Most of the others had trickled out, tired and full and happy, bidding their goodnights with claps on backs and tight, warm hugs. But Buck had wandered back to the patio chairs after helping Bobby carry the last dish inside.

Now, he sat with a beer in hand, staring out into the dark yard where fairy lights still twinkled above. Bobby stepped out quietly, setting a second beer on the table between them, and lowered himself into the chair beside Buck.
The silence was companionable, but thoughtful. It always was with Buck lately—like there were words tangled behind his ribs, waiting for the right moment.

“You okay, kid?” Bobby asked, not pushing.

Buck hummed, running a hand through his curls. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Bobby waited.

Buck glanced toward the sliding door, where May’s laughter had echoed earlier that night, where Harry had chased Denny through the hallway like a ball of energy on legs. “It’s… weird. Good-weird,” he added quickly. “Being here. Feeling like I
belong.”

Bobby turned his head toward him, face soft. “You do.”

“I know.” Buck smiled, faintly. “Took me a while to believe that.”

Bobby nodded. He didn’t need to say how far Buck had come. They both knew. The kid sitting here now wasn’t the same one who’d jumped into danger because it was easier than sitting with his own thoughts. He wasn’t the rookie who craved praise like oxygen because no one had taught him he mattered without it. This Buck was grounded, loved, home.

Buck picked at the label on the beer bottle. “May called me her big brother tonight.”

Bobby blinked. “She did?”

“Yeah. I mean, not to me. I overheard her saying it to Chim when they were inside. She was telling him how when she was younger and scared of going back to school after everything, I used to come sit with her after shifts. I forgot about that. I mean, I didn’t do it for recognition or anything. She said—” Buck’s voice wavered just a bit, “—she said I made her feel safe.”

He fell quiet, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“She’s not wrong,” Bobby said finally, voice warm and sure. “You’re a steady presence, Buck. Even if you don’t see it. People feel safer when you’re around.”

Buck let out a shaky breath. “Harry said something similar too. When I helped him with that school project. He told Athena that I’m ‘like a way cooler older brother’ than anyone he knows. I guess I just never really thought about it. That they see me that way.”

Bobby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re part of this family. Not just the 118. But mine. Athena’s. May and Harry’s. It’s not about blood.”

Buck looked down, then nodded slowly. “I always thought being a big brother meant… I don’t know, having it all together. Being someone to look up to. But sometimes I don’t feel like I’ve earned that.”

“Being someone’s big brother doesn’t mean you have to be perfect,” Bobby said gently. “It just means you’re there. You show up. You care. You protect them. You love them.”

“I do,” Buck whispered. “I love them so much.”

“They know.” Bobby smiled. “And they love you. You think Harry asked you to come to his school assembly because he had to?”

Buck snorted a laugh. “He said, and I quote, ‘You’re the only adult who doesn’t talk to me like I’m a baby.’”

“There you go.” Bobby chuckled. “And May—do you know how many times she’s defended you at family dinners? She once argued with her aunt for a solid ten minutes about how people underestimate you.”

Buck’s brows rose. “She did?”

“Fiercely.”

Buck took a slow sip of his beer, letting that wash over him. “It’s just… I didn’t really grow up with family. Maddie tried her best, but she was just a kid herself. And then I spent so long thinking I had to earn a place. At the 118, with you, even with May and Harry. I didn’t realize I already had it.”

“You did,” Bobby said firmly. “You have for a long time.”

There was a long pause, then Buck murmured, “Do you think I’d be a good brother? Like, actually? If I ever… I don’t know. Got the chance.”

Bobby turned to him fully. “You already are one.”

Buck looked down at his hands.

“I see it in the way you protect Eddie’s kid like he’s your own. The way you step in for Denny when Hen and Karen need backup. The way you light up when May asks you to come along for something, even if it’s a boring errand. The way you remember Harry’s favorite video game and make sure he’s got someone to vent to when school gets hard.”

Buck’s eyes shimmered, and he blinked fast.

Bobby softened his voice. “Family isn’t about who you’re born to. It’s about who shows up. Who stays. Who chooses you, every day.”

Buck let the words sink in, let them fill all the hollow places he hadn’t realized still ached. “Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with all of this.”

“Because you deserve it,” Bobby said without hesitation. “You’ve got a heart that gives more than it takes. And now you’ve found people who give it back.”

Buck’s voice caught. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For seeing me. For believing in me before I could do it myself. For giving me… this. All of this.”

Bobby leaned over and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve given us just as much, Buck. More than you know.”

Buck looked toward the house, where the soft light glowed from the kitchen window. May’s laughter still echoed in the back of his mind. Harry’s excited voice from earlier when Buck had challenged him to a video game rematch. The warmth of it all settled in his chest like a second heartbeat.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I’d like to start thinking of myself that way too. As their big brother.”

Bobby smiled. “Then it’s official.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the stars blinking softly above them.

Then Buck added, “You know… sometimes I think of you that way too.”

“As a big brother?” Bobby asked with a raised brow.

Buck grinned. “Nah. More like a dad.”

Bobby’s eyes warmed, and he let the moment stretch, unspoken emotion settling thick in the air between them.

“Yeah,” he said, voice gruff. “I think I like that.”

Chapter Text

Buck never wanted to be chosen for the calendar. Not really.

Not like this.

But when the conversation started around the firehouse—who might pose for the charity firefighter calendar—it took on a life of its own. Chim teased him. Hen rolled her eyes. Even Bobby raised an eyebrow at the very suggestion of Buck shirtless on glossy paper.

And then someone said, “I mean, Buck’s got the abs, but a few more weeks off those late-night burritos wouldn’t hurt, huh?”

They laughed. Buck laughed too. Like he always did.

But something in his chest tightened.

Something ugly whispered: They’re right.

Abby had barely spoken to him since she left. Months. Nothing. Not a call. Not a message. Not even closure.

Bobby still didn’t seem to trust him—not after the whole elevator rescue disaster and the impulsive choices Buck had made. Athena gave him these looks sometimes, like she could see through him, and Buck didn’t want to be seen.

So he focused on what he could control.
Food. Exercise. Body.

It started simple.

No late-night snacks. Cut out carbs. No more sugar. Extra reps at the gym. He figured he'd feel better once he dropped five pounds. Then it was ten. Then twelve.

He told himself he was fine. He didn’t need breakfast if he’d had a protein shake at 6 a.m. before shift. Didn’t need lunch if he’d packed almonds and an apple. And dinner? Well, firefighters were always grabbing something on the go—no one would notice if he just skipped it.

They didn’t. At first.

But exhaustion started creeping in. His gear felt heavier. His limbs ached even after rest. The caffeine he guzzled did nothing to keep him awake. He started zoning out during drills.

Once, during a structure fire, Bobby had to shout his name three times before Buck responded.
That was the first red flag.

It wasn’t even anything dramatic that tipped Athena off. It was just the way he sat on the couch one afternoon after a call—shoulders curled in, hoodie zipped up to his chin, hands trembling slightly even though the room was warm.

“You alright, Buck?” she asked.

He gave her a lopsided grin, eyes sunken. “Yeah, just tired. Didn’t sleep great last night.”

He’d lost weight. She hadn’t noticed how fast until that moment. His cheeks were hollow. His belt was tighter. His movements more sluggish.

Athena narrowed her eyes. “When’s the last time you ate something real?”

Buck blinked at her. “Uh… had a protein bar earlier.”

“That’s not real food,” she said, voice sharp but quiet. “You look like hell.”

Buck shrugged and changed the subject.

She didn’t push—but she made a mental note to talk to Bobby.

It happened during a training drill. Heat, stress, heavy gear—it all piled on top of Buck’s empty stomach like weights.
He was running the obstacle course when his vision swam. The sound of the team cheering turned into a distant echo. His legs gave out halfway through the crawl. He dropped hard. Tried to push himself back up. Failed. Everything went dark.

When he came to, he was lying on one of the bunks, shirt soaked with sweat, IV in his arm, and Bobby sitting in the chair beside him, arms folded and eyes like flint.

“Hey, Cap,” Buck croaked.

“Don’t ‘hey, Cap’ me.” Bobby’s voice was calm, but his jaw was tight. “You passed out. You were dehydrated, malnourished, and your blood sugar was dangerously low. What the hell is going on?”

Buck looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” Bobby snapped. “You’ve lost almost fifteen pounds in a month. You’ve been skipping meals, overexerting yourself—Buck, you could’ve died in there today.”

Buck flinched.

Athena appeared in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable.

“We’ve been worried about you,” she said softly. “And not just today. For weeks.”

“I just wanted to—” Buck’s voice cracked. He sat up too fast and winced. “I just thought if I looked better—if I was more—someone people wanted—then maybe…”

He trailed off.

Bobby’s eyes softened. “Is this about the calendar?”

Buck nodded, ashamed. “And Abby. And… everything. You still don’t trust me. I screw things up. I thought maybe if I just looked the part—if I made myself perfect—then maybe I’d be enough.”

Athena moved to sit beside him. “Baby, being thin doesn’t make you enough. Being you already does. Even when you mess up. Even when you’re healing.”

“You’ve been hurting, and instead of asking for help, you punished yourself,” Bobby said gently. “You’ve been starving, Buck. That’s not okay.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Buck whispered, voice breaking.

Bobby didn’t suspend him—but only because he made Buck a deal.

“You’re not going back on shift until you eat three real meals a day for a week,” Bobby said, firm. “No skipping. Athena and I will be checking in.”

Buck groaned, but secretly he was grateful. Maybe more than anything, he was relieved someone saw him.

Athena started dropping by with home-cooked leftovers. “You don’t eat, you don’t lift another hose,” she warned.

Hen brought protein-rich snacks and sat with him at lunch.

Chim gave him grief, of course, but his teasing had a different edge now—softer, more careful.

And Bobby? Bobby cooked.

He made breakfasts before shift. Sat with Buck during dinner even when it was silent. Checked on him. Didn’t hover, but didn’t look away either.

“You’re family,” Bobby told him one night. “You don’t have to be perfect to stay.”

Buck didn’t answer. He just took another bite of the pasta Bobby made, cheeks pink and eyes glassy.

A few weeks later, Buck got a text.
Unknown number: I’m sorry I disappeared. I hope you’re doing okay. – Abby

Buck stared at the screen. He thought he’d feel something—anger, longing, hope.
But all he felt was peace.

He put the phone down, walked into the kitchen, and joined Bobby and Athena at the table. There was chicken, salad, potatoes. His plate was full.

So was his heart.

Chapter Text

The firehouse was quieter these days. Ever since Chimney came back, there was a silence that wasn’t about noise. It was in the absence of laughter that used to echo from the bunks. In the awkward air at the lunch table. In the way Buck barely looked up when Chimney walked into the room, and Chimney didn't even try to bridge the gap.

It was hard not to notice.

Bobby had let it slide at first, assuming things would smooth out with time. But time was running, and the wounds weren’t closing—they were festering.

Then he heard it.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Bobby wasn’t that kind of leader. But he had turned the corner near the locker room just as Hen’s voice had cracked through the air, sharp and full of disbelief.

“You punched him, Chim?! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Bobby stopped in his tracks, his breath catching. Punched?

He heard Chimney’s voice next, defensive and exhausted. “He knew, Hen. He knew where she was and didn’t tell me. She’s the mother of my child—he lied to my face.”

There was a pause, a beat of silence, before Hen whispered something Bobby couldn’t quite hear. Then came Chimney’s reply.

“She told him not to say anything. I get it. I get it, okay? I just—God, I was so angry. And he just stood there and took it. Like he thought he deserved it.”

Bobby turned away, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He didn’t go in. Not yet. Not until he was sure he wouldn’t explode.

He found Buck later, sitting alone at the end of the shift, legs dangling off the tailboard of the engine. The station was mostly empty now, the rest of the team having cleared out after dinner.

“Hey,” Bobby said softly.

Buck startled slightly before looking over. His expression was guarded, tired in a way Bobby hadn’t seen since the lawsuit.
“Hey, Cap.”

“Can I sit?”

Buck gave a small nod.

For a moment, they just sat there. Then Bobby spoke, gentle but firm. “When were you planning to tell me that Chim punched you?”

Buck went still. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t.”

Bobby turned to face him fully, tone thick with concern. “Evan, that’s assault. You can’t just… shrug that off.”

“He was angry,” Buck said quickly, like it excused it. “I get it. He was worried about Maddie. He felt betrayed.”

“You were protecting your sister. Doing exactly what she asked you to do.”

“I still lied.”

“So did he, when Maddie left him and you didn’t punch him then,” Bobby shot back, voice rising before he reined it in. “You didn’t throw a fist. You were hurt. Confused. But you didn’t lash out.”

Buck looked away.

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Because I knew you’d be mad. At Chim.”

“I’m already mad at Chim.”

Silence stretched between them again.

“He didn’t even apologize,” Buck whispered after a long beat. “Not really. Not to me.”

Bobby felt something in his chest twist. “You didn’t deserve that, Buck. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

Buck gave a small, humorless laugh. “Seems to be a pattern.”

Bobby turned toward him, reaching out. “Look at me.”

Buck hesitated, then met his gaze.

“You are not expendable. Not to me. Not to this team. I should have made that clearer a long time ago.”

Something crumbled in Buck’s expression then—something brittle and tired—and Bobby swore to himself that he wouldn’t let this slide. Not again.

The next shift, Bobby waited until they were all in the kitchen. Chimney. Hen. Eddie. Even Ravi, who paused awkwardly with a mug of coffee halfway to his mouth. Buck stood near the counter, clearly aware something was brewing.

Bobby stood at the front of the room, hands folded, expression stony.

“We need to talk.”

The room fell quiet.

Bobby looked at Chimney.

“I know about the punch.”

Chimney froze, colour draining from his face.

“Cap—”

“No.” Bobby’s voice was calm, but his eyes were fierce. “You hit a member of this team. Not in the heat of the moment on a call. Not in self-defence. You hit him in anger. In betrayal.”

Chimney looked down, shame seeping into his expression.

“You were hurting,” Bobby continued. “I get that. God knows we’ve all made mistakes when grief gets the better of us. But Buck did exactly what you did when Maddie left. He respected her wishes. He protected her choice. And you—you, Chim—you didn’t get a fist to the face when you kept her secret from Buck.”

Hen closed her eyes. Eddie flinched. Ravi quietly backed into the hallway.

“You were scared. Fine. But that doesn't give you the right to hurt him. And worse—you didn’t even say sorry.”

Chimney finally looked up. “I know. I—I was wrong. I shouldn’t have—”

“You broke his trust. The trust I gave you. The trust this team depends on.”

Bobby’s voice cracked then, just a little.

“And he didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t want to make it worse. Because he thought maybe he deserved it.”

Chimney’s eyes widened, guilt washing over him in waves.

Bobby turned to Buck, whose head was bowed, hands clenched at his sides.

“You’re not alone in this. Not anymore. I’m sorry it took me this long to speak up.”
Buck swallowed hard but didn’t speak.

Chimney stepped forward, voice shaking. “Buck…”

Buck looked up, startled.

“I’m sorry. I was—angry, but that’s not an excuse. I was hurting, and I took it out on you because you were the only one who stayed. You always stay. And I—I broke that.”

Buck didn’t speak for a long time.

“I wanted to tell you. Every day. But I couldn’t betray her trust. Just like you didn’t betray her trust with me.”

Chim’s shoulders slumped.

“I know. And I made you feel like a traitor. That’s not what family does.”

“No,” Bobby said firmly, stepping between them. “It’s not.”

There was silence. Then Hen let out a long breath. “We need to do better.”

Eddie, quiet until now, nodded. “Yeah. We do.”

Bobby looked around at his team—his family—and let the silence settle.

“We rebuild. Together. But it starts with owning up. With healing. And with remembering that we don’t throw punches at the people who would take one for us.” His eyes found Buck again. “You’ve taken too many already.”

Buck finally gave a small nod.

Chimney stepped forward again. This time, Buck didn’t flinch when Chim pulled him into a hug. It was awkward, but it was real. Bobby watched the weight start to lift, just a little.
It wasn’t over.
But maybe, just maybe, it was a start.

Chapter Text

The plate in Bobby’s hand clinked against the counter when Buck dropped the question.

“So… she knows?”

Bobby glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Knows?”

“That I’m your son. Not your ‘ward’ or your ‘nephew’ or the kid you took in as a project. The real deal. DNA test and all.”

Bobby set the plate down carefully and turned. “Yes, Buck. She knows.”

Buck nodded once, too fast to be casual. “Just making sure. Last time I got introduced to someone new, I think they thought I was the mailman’s stray.”

Bobby’s mouth twitched. “You mean Marta?”

“She called me ‘sport’ and gave me a dollar bill.”

“Well,” Bobby said dryly, “Athena won’t do that.”

“Cool.” Buck paused, staring at the floor. “Do you like her?”

“I do.”

“Like... a lot?”

“Yes.”

Buck shifted on his feet. “Okay.”

Bobby watched him for a second, then said, “You don’t have to like her right away.”

“I *don’t* dislike her,” Buck said quickly. “I just—this is kind of... big.”

“I know.” Bobby’s voice was steady. “But she’s important to me. And so are you. I want you both in my life.”

Buck hesitated, then nodded, eyes flicking up to meet Bobby’s. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Athena had expected many things when Bobby said, “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

A son was not one of them.

“Wait,” she said slowly. “You have a son?”

Bobby nodded. “His name’s Evan. He’s seventeen. Lives with me now.”

There was something in his voice — weight and regret, stitched into every word.

“You never mentioned him.”

“I haven’t had the right to. Not for most of his life.” Bobby rubbed a hand over his face. “His mom and I weren’t together long. He stayed with her and her husband. I didn’t fight it the way I should have. I told myself it was for the best. But after everything, I finally reached out.”

“And he said yes?”

“He showed up on my porch with a duffel bag and a bad haircut. That was two years ago.”

Athena blinked. “You raised him?”

“I’m raising him. Still figuring it out.” Bobby paused. “I want you to meet him. But I want to do it right. He’s not just some part of my past — he’s my kid.”

That hit Athena square in the heart. Not just the way he said it, but the way he looked — scared, proud, and full of a quiet kind of love.

“I’d be honoured,” she said softly. “You think he’s ready?”

Bobby smiled faintly. “I think he’s terrified.”

Buck stood at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing like it might launch him out of orbit.

He wasn’t nervous, exactly. Just... keyed up.

Athena Grant was a force. A decorated officer. She had two kids. She was everything he wasn’t used to — composed, direct, impossibly graceful.

And she was dating his dad.

His dad, for once. His actual, blood-related father who had finally shown up after years of silence, and was now trying to make it work. And succeeding, more often than not.

Buck didn’t want to mess that up.

He came down the stairs slowly, sneakers loud on the wood.

Athena was sitting on the couch with May and Harry, laughing at something Harry said. Her laugh was loud and real. She looked up the moment Buck entered.

And then she stood.

“You must be Evan.”

Buck winced. “I go by Buck.”

She smiled. “Buck, then.”

He didn’t expect her to step forward, hand out. She had a firm grip, warm but steady.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“That’s... probably a first,” Buck said before he could stop himself.

Athena’s smile didn’t dim. “Well, I like firsts.”

---

Dinner was filled with a hundred tiny moments Buck didn’t know what to do with. Athena serving him first without a word, like it was instinct. May talking about her SATs and pausing to ask Buck what he was thinking about for college. Harry asking if Buck liked horror movies. Bobby watching them all with a look that made Buck feel like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t the spare part he thought he was.

After dinner, while the kids cleared the dishes, Athena cornered Buck gently in the kitchen.

“Mind if we talk a sec?”

Buck shrugged. “Sure.”

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed but relaxed.

“You love your dad.”

It wasn’t a question.

Buck stared at her, guarded. “Yeah.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“Also true.”

“I’m not trying to replace anything,” she said gently. “I’m just... trying to understand. So I can be part of it.”

Buck looked at her for a long time, really looked.

She wasn’t soft, not exactly — she was strong in a way Buck admired but didn’t know how to respond to. But her eyes were warm. She looked like someone who’d stay.

“My mom didn’t let him sign the birth certificate,” Buck said abruptly. “She said he didn’t deserve it. But she still sent pictures, sometimes. He sent money. And letters.”

Athena nodded slowly. “Did you read them?”

“I kept them in a shoebox. I used to pretend I lived with him, sometimes. When things got bad.”

She didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

“He wrote about books he thought I’d like. About how he wanted to teach me how to cook. That kind of stuff.”

“And now you’re here,” she said, voice thick.

“Yeah,” Buck said. “And he’s... actually him. Everything I made up, he is.”

Athena reached out and touched his hand — not gripping, just resting there.

“I see a lot of him in you,” she said softly. “That’s a good thing.”

Buck cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

---

Later that night, as Athena and the kids were getting ready to go, Buck followed her to the door.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Wait.”

She turned, and for the first time, he saw *nervousness* in her eyes.

He shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“You didn’t freak out or baby me. You didn’t act like I was some tragic project. That was cool.”

“I’m glad.”

Buck looked down, then up. “You’re not temporary, are you?”

“No,” she said. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Okay,” Buck said. “Then I guess I’ll try to like you.”

Athena smiled wide and ruffled his hair. “You’re already halfway there.”

Chapter Text

It started with a whisper. Well, technically, it started with a text.

May: “Father’s Day is next week. We need to do something big for Bobby. Thoughts?”
Harry: “Agreed. He deserves a castle. Or like, a really comfy couch.”
May: “We can’t afford a castle, genius.”
Harry: “We can if Buck helps us.”

Buck stumbled into the kitchen of the Grant-Nash household with an armful of groceries and a grin already forming on his face. He could sense it—a plot was brewing. May and Harry sat at the kitchen table, whispering conspiratorially and pausing only when they saw him.

“Okay,” Buck said, setting the bags down, “which one of you is trying to take over the world?”

“Neither,” May said, too quickly. “Unless Bobby’s world counts.”

Harry grinned. “We’re planning Father’s Day.”

“Oh,” Buck said, touched. “Nice. What do you need from me?”

May raised a brow. “Everything.”

Over the course of a week, “Operation Dad’s Day” took on a life of its own.

Buck became the unofficial project manager, standing in Athena’s backyard with a clipboard and three color-coded highlighters. May, with her spreadsheet and calendar reminders, scheduled time for gift planning, baking, and card-making. Harry created a secret Pinterest board titled “Bobby Appreciation Board” that was 80% grill memes and 20% emotional quotes.

Denny and Christopher were pulled in, along with Hen and Chimney. Even Eddie got involved, mostly by teasing Buck every time he got glitter on his nose.

“Are we crafting or starting a glitter-based war?” Eddie had asked, brushing gold sparkles off Buck’s cheek with a gentle swipe that left Buck blushing.

May’s Gift: A hand-assembled photo album titled “You Saved Us,” filled with pictures from the years Bobby had been in their lives. Baby pictures. First-day-of-school photos. Selfies with Bobby grinning at the grill. Little notes written in the margins: "You made this house a home."

Harry’s Gift: A hand-built model of a fire truck, painted meticulously in red and white. On the bottom was carved:
“Built Strong. Like You.”

Buck’s Gift: A wood-burned plaque that read: “You didn’t have to be a father to choose to be one. But you did. And you’re mine.” He almost didn’t give it, terrified it was too much, too raw. Athena found it in his backpack and said softly, “You give that to him, Evan. He’s yours, too.”

They pooled together for a custom-made leather grilling apron that read: “GRILL SERGEANT NASH – Master of Meat, King of Kebabs, Dad of the Year”

Bobby woke up to the smell of pancakes and the sound of shushed laughter downstairs.

He padded out to the kitchen to find Buck flipping blueberry pancakes, Harry scrambling eggs, and May icing a three-layer cake that said: “Best Bobby Ever (This Is Not Up for Debate).”

He stopped in the doorway, stunned. Athena appeared beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You’re not dreaming,” she whispered. “This is real. And you earned every second of it.”

They dragged him into the living room and sat him down in a big armchair decorated with streamers and a homemade paper crown that read “FATHER KING.”

Bobby put it on without complaint.

Then the gifts started.

One by one, they brought him pieces of their hearts. May’s photo album made his throat tighten. Harry’s model made him laugh and cry at the same time. And Buck—Buck handed over the plaque like it might shatter in his hands.

Bobby turned it over, read the words once, twice, then pulled Buck into a hug so tight neither of them could breathe.

“I meant it,” Buck mumbled against his shoulder. “You—you didn’t have to take me in like you did. But you did. You’re... you’re my family, Bobby.”

Bobby held him a little tighter. “You always were, Buck.”

By the afternoon, the whole 118 had shown up for the Father’s Day cookout. Chris and Denny played tag in the yard. Chimney tried to steal a rib off the grill and got smacked with a spatula. Hen gave Bobby a mock-serious salute and handed over a novelty “Dad of the Decade” mug.

Bobby stood over the grill in his new apron, flipping burgers with theatrical flair. “Who wants one medium rare?” he called, grinning.

“Only if it comes with a side of fatherly wisdom,” Buck joked, sipping lemonade beside Eddie.

Bobby turned and gave Buck a look only a dad could give—a cross between "You brat" and "I love you so much it hurts." Buck beamed.

Later, after the last of the hot dogs were eaten and the sun had begun to dip low in the sky, May gathered them in a circle.
“We just wanted to say,” she said, voice a little shaky, “thank you. For choosing us. For staying. For being exactly the person we didn’t know we needed.”

Harry jumped in. “You taught me how to reel a hose. And make French toast. And talk to girls without sounding like a weirdo.”

“And you made me believe I could do anything,” May added softly.

Then Buck stepped forward. “You saved my life,” he said plainly. “And then you gave me a place in yours. I’ll never stop being grateful.”

Bobby had no words. Only tears in his eyes and arms open wide as they all came in for a group hug, a mess of limbs and love and laughter.

That night, as the kids slept and the fireflies blinked in the yard, Bobby sat on the back porch with Athena beside him and Buck curled up on the porch swing, half-asleep with a blanket thrown over his lap.

“They got you good this year,” Athena teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

“They did,” Bobby agreed, voice thick. “I didn’t know I needed it until I had it.”

Athena smiled. “They’re yours. Every single one of them.”

Even Buck, who shifted, mumbled, “Love you, Dad,” half-asleep.

Bobby blinked hard. “Love you too, son.”

Chapter Text

They were just doing flu shots. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. The nurse came to the station like she always did, set up in the back with clipboards and alcohol swabs, and the 118 lined up like soldiers.

Hen made a joke about how Chimney always looked like he was going to cry. Eddie rolled his eyes and got it over with. Bobby helped Chris keep still when it was his turn.

And Buck—Buck bolted.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. One second he was joking with Hen, the next he caught sight of the needle, and something shifted behind his eyes. His shoulders tensed. His face went blank. And then he turned on his heel and walked out the back door.

Bobby found him sitting in the turnout locker room, head in his hands, shoulders trembling. He didn’t knock. Just sat down beside him. “Talk to me, Buck.”

Buck flinched like he’d been burned. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

Buck laughed—sharp and brittle. “Guess I’m not fine.”

It took time. Bobby didn’t push. He waited, offered gentle reassurances, kept his tone low and even. Buck eventually lifted his head, eyes rimmed red, and whispered, “I don’t know why it hits me like that. It’s just a shot. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Bobby said softly.

“I mean, I’ve seen worse. I’ve been through worse. I run into fire. But a little needle—” Buck broke off, jaw clenched. “Something’s wrong with me.”

Bobby shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Fear doesn’t have to be logical to be real.”

Buck nodded like he was trying to accept it. But then he said, too quietly, “I think it’s Daniel.”

Bobby stayed still.

“I mean—I don’t remember a lot, but I do remember the tubes. The needles. The machines. I remember how much it scared me. Watching them poke him, pump medicine into him, and he just... laid there. So still. And Maddie was always crying. I—I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. I had to be good. I had to be strong so they didn’t worry about me too.”

Bobby’s heart cracked open.

“I think I held all of it in so hard that it never came out. And now—now I see a needle and my brain just goes there, and I can’t stop it.”

Bobby didn't say anything for a moment. Just sat with it. Let Buck have the silence that didn't judge. Then, quietly “Your body remembers. Even if your mind tries to forget.”

Buck’s breath hitched.

“You were just a little kid, Buck. No one should have had to carry that. Not even for someone they loved.”

Buck let out a laugh. “But I did love him. So I didn’t mind.”

Bobby looked at him then—really looked at him. “Loving someone doesn’t mean you have to break yourself to keep them alive.”

And Buck—brave, broken, sweet Buck—started to cry.

Bobby didn’t leave him alone that night.
They went back to Bobby’s, where Athena had made soup, and May and Harry were out at a friend’s. Buck curled up on the couch under a blanket, looking smaller than usual.

Bobby made tea. Sat beside him. Turned the volume low on the TV. No pressure. No demands. Just presence.

Later, when Buck’s eyes started drifting shut, Bobby got him a pillow, helped him shift into a more comfortable position, and tugged the blanket up to his chest.

“You good?” Bobby asked.

Buck blinked slowly. “You know what’s weird?” he murmured. “I think… this is the first time I’ve ever been scared and not had to take care of someone else at the same time.”

Bobby reached out, gently brushing Buck’s hair off his forehead like he was still the little boy who once watched over a dying brother in a hospital bed. “You don’t have to do that anymore. Not with me. I’ll take care of you now.”

Buck’s eyes filled again. But this time it was quiet. Safe.

It was a week later when Buck came into Bobby’s office and said, “I want to try again. The flu shot.”

Bobby set down his pen. “You sure?”

“No,” Buck admitted. “But I want to try.”

So Bobby called the nurse, who agreed to come back quietly, after hours. Buck sat in the locker room again. This time, Bobby was beside him, hand resting lightly on his shoulder “You don’t have to do this,” Bobby reminded him.

“I know,” Buck whispered. “But I want to do it for me this time. Not because I’m not allowed to be scared. But because I am—and I want to move through it anyway.”

When the nurse came in, Buck’s hands clenched into fists. His leg bounced. But he didn’t run.

Bobby knelt in front of him, eye-level, and said, “Breathe. In with me. Out with me. I’ve got you.”

Buck nodded. The needle went in. Fast. Quick pinch.

And it was over.

He shook for a moment after. Shoulders tight, breath short—but when Bobby wrapped an arm around him, Buck let himself lean in.

Later that night, Buck sat on Bobby’s porch, a blanket around his shoulders, watching the sky go dark. Bobby brought him a warm drink and sat beside him.

“Thank you,” Buck said.

“For what?”

“For not making fun of me. For staying. For making it safe to be… not okay.”

Bobby smiled. “You’ve held the world on your shoulders, Buck. Let someone hold you for a while.”

Buck turned his head, eyes soft. “You do.”

Bobby placed a hand on his back, firm and steady. “Always.”

And maybe Buck would always flinch at needles. Maybe hospitals would always unsettle something deep and aching inside him. But now—now he wasn’t alone with that fear. Now he had someone who understood that trauma wasn’t weakness and that strength could look like letting yourself be cared for. And in that warmth, in that quiet, Buck finally began to stitch closed a wound he’d been carrying since he was too small to know what it meant to grieve.

Chapter Text

The hospital room is quiet, unnaturally so. Machines beep at soft intervals. The windows let in too much sterile light, and the flowers someone brought—Hen maybe—are already starting to wilt.

Buck shifts in the doorway, eyes scanning the room. Bobby is awake, propped up against the pillows, his arm in a brace, shoulder heavily bandaged. There’s still a tension in the room, the kind that doesn’t leave after a close call.

Eddie walks beside him, close enough that Buck feels the warmth of him. He hadn’t wanted to come. Not because he didn’t care—but because he did. Too much.

He nearly lost Bobby.
They both did.

Bobby turns at the sound of the door. His eyes brighten. “Hey,” he says, voice roughened but steady. “You came.”

Buck tries to smile, but it falters before it lands. “Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Eddie walks forward first, like he knows Buck needs a second. He claps Bobby gently on the uninjured shoulder. “You look better than I expected.”

Bobby chuckles, then winces. “Don’t lie to me in my own hospital room.”

“You’re alive,” Eddie says. “That’s more than enough.”

Buck finally moves, standing near the edge of the bed, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. His eyes keep darting around, landing everywhere but on Bobby’s face.

“You okay?” Bobby asks him, seeing it instantly—of course he does.

Buck swallows, nods. “Yeah. Just glad you’re alright.”

Athena chooses that moment to step back into the room, carrying coffee cups. Her eyes soften when she sees Buck, and without a word, she crosses to him and pulls him into a hug.

“You scared the hell out of us,” she murmurs into his ear. “Both of you.”

Buck breathes in shakily. “Sorry.”

Athena pulls back, studies his face. “You’re pale.”

“I’m always pale.”

“You look like you haven’t slept,” Bobby adds, frowning.

Buck shrugs, trying for casual. “None of us have, really.”

But Eddie—damn him—doesn’t let it go. He shifts, eyes narrowing. “Buck…”

And then Bobby notices it. Buck reaches to push his hair back and the movement pulls his shirt sleeve just enough for the edge of a bandage to peek out beneath the collar.

“Wait,” Bobby says, voice sharper now. “What’s that?”

Buck freezes.
“It’s nothing.”

“Buck,” Bobby says again. It’s not a request. It’s the dad-voice. The one that means: don’t lie to me.

Eddie sighs quietly, like he’s been expecting this moment, and Buck flinches like he wants to disappear.

Athena steps forward. “What happened?”

“I said it’s nothing—”

“You’re injured?” Bobby asks, voice rising slightly. “When? From the bridge?”

Buck shakes his head too fast. “It’s not a big deal.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. But he looks at Buck with that quiet, steady gaze—the one that says I know you’re hurting and I’m going to wait you out.

Bobby slowly pushes himself up straighter. “Where?”

Buck still doesn’t answer. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it might crack.

“Buck,” Athena says gently now, stepping forward. “Sweetheart. Let us help.”

And that’s what breaks him.

Not the demand. Not the concern. Not even Eddie’s unwavering silence. It’s Athena saying sweetheart like she means it, like he’s hers too, and he’s not even entirely sure when that happened.

He sways slightly on his feet. Eddie’s hand comes to his back automatically.

“Okay,” Buck whispers.

He shrugs off his jacket, unbuttons his overshirt with shaking hands. Underneath is a white tee, now stained with old blood across the side. When he lifts it, the room stills.

The bruises are deep and vivid—black and violet, blooming across his ribs and side. There’s a bandage that’s come partially loose, revealing angry, stitched-up gashes along his torso.

“Jesus,” Athena breathes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Buck mumbles. “I didn’t want to take up space in the ambulance. Bobby was—he was—”

“You didn’t want to take up space?” Bobby echoes, stunned. “Buck, you were bleeding.”

Eddie sits him down in the chair before he topples. “He refused to go to the hospital. Said he was fine. Hen did what she could. We’ve been keeping an eye on him, but he won’t rest.”

“I am resting,” Buck argues weakly.

“You are not resting,” Athena snaps, eyes brimming. “You’re pushing through the pain like it doesn’t matter that you’re human. Like we wouldn’t care. Is that really what you think?”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry about me,” Buck says, sounding tired and frayed. “You almost died, Bobby. You—”

“You almost died,” Bobby cuts in. “And you didn’t tell me. How is that fair?”

Buck looks up, and the guilt on his face is heartbreaking. “I didn’t want you to feel bad. I didn’t want you to think I made it worse.”

“Oh, Buck,” Athena whispers, kneeling in front of him now. “You think we’d blame you?”

Bobby’s eyes shine. “Is that what you think? That this was your fault?”

“You were the one buried. Not me.”

Athena takes his hand, squeezes it tightly. “No one blames you. You hear me? Not for this. Not ever.”

Bobby leans forward, wincing as he moves. “You saved my life, Buck. You being there—being you—that's what saved me. Don't twist it into something ugly because you’re scared to let us care about you.”

And finally, finally, Buck breaks.

His shoulders cave in. The sob hits him hard and fast, like it’s been waiting all this time. Eddie is already kneeling beside him, arms around his shoulders, pulling him in close.

“You’re okay,” Eddie whispers. “We’ve got you.”

Athena rubs his back, tears running down her face. “You’re ours, Buck. Whether you like it or not.”

Bobby reaches out with his good arm, resting it over Buck’s hand. “No more hiding when you’re hurting. Not from us. Not anymore.”

Buck nods into Eddie’s shoulder, choked with emotion.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Bobby says. “You just have to let us take care of you now.”

And for once—finally—Buck does.

Chapter Text

The call comes in like any other.

Structure fire. Residential. One possible suspect still inside—domestic dispute gone violent. Police on scene but haven’t cleared the interior yet. Bobby’s gut is tight as they roll out, but there’s no reason for the kind of dread clawing at his chest. Not yet.

Buck is across from him in the truck, pulling on his turnout gear with practiced ease, his brow furrowed but calm.

“Let the cops do their job,” Bobby says. “We don’t go in until it’s safe.”

Buck gives him a half-smile. “Come on, Cap. I know the drill.”

Still. Bobby watches him too long. Like he knows something’s about to go wrong.

And God, he wishes he’d been wrong.

By the time they arrive, the house is already in chaos. Smoke’s pouring from the upper floor windows, and a woman is screaming outside with a bloody towel pressed to her head.

Athena’s squad car is there. She’s shouting into her radio, but when she sees Bobby and Buck step out of the rig, she immediately gestures them back.

“Back! There’s still an armed suspect inside—we haven’t cleared the upper level!”

But then a child screams.

From inside the house.

It’s a cry no firefighter can ignore. Buck is already moving.

“Buck—wait—!” Bobby shouts, grabbing for him.

“I hear them!” Buck shouts back. “I’ll be fast—I swear—!” And then he’s through the smoke before Bobby can drag him back.

Bobby follows. He can’t not. The heat slams into them like a wall, but Buck’s fast, ducking under beams and calling out: “LAFD! Call out to me!” His voice is hoarse but strong.

The cry comes again. A child. Coughing. Second floor. They make it halfway up the staircase before everything goes to hell. The shot rings out hard. Echoing. Buck stumbles. Then collapses backward into Bobby.

There’s blood. Too much.

Bobby grabs him, arms going around Buck’s chest, pulling him to the ground as smoke thickens around them.
“Buck—Buck, talk to me!”

Buck’s eyes flutter open, unfocused. “Got… shot?” he mumbles, blinking slowly. “Cap…?”

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here,” Bobby says frantically, pressing a hand to Buck’s side where blood is pouring. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I got you.”

But Buck’s head lolls.
He’s not okay.

By the time they reach the rigs, the police have swarmed the place, and Athena’s eyes go wide when she sees Buck.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.

“Lower left quadrant,” Bobby tells the paramedics as he loads Buck into the back of the ambulance with shaking hands. “Entry wound—exit unclear. He’s losing blood fast.”

Hen is already in motion, gloves on, barking vitals.

Buck rouses briefly as they roll. “Still… here,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, you are,” Bobby says, gripping his hand, his own voice cracking. “You stay with us, Evan.”

Hen meets his eyes. “BP’s crashing.”

The monitor beeps faster. Then flatlines.

“No—no no no—!”

“Buck! Buck!” Bobby’s voice breaks.

Hen yells, “Starting compressions!” and climbs over the gurney.

Bobby can’t breathe.

It’s happening again. Not his kid. Not this one.
He was just fine this morning.

It takes three rounds of compressions. Three shocks.
Bobby nearly throws up in the corner of the ambulance.
Then—

“Sinus rhythm restored!”

Bobby sobs out a sound he didn’t know he was holding in.

“Easy,” Hen says gently. “You’re back, Buck. We got you back.”

Buck’s fingers twitch and blindly reach, and Bobby grabs them immediately. “I’ve got you, son. I’ve got you.”

They aren’t sure he’s going to make it for hours.
Bobby doesn’t leave the hallway outside surgery. Neither does Athena.

She sits with her hand on his back, rubbing slow circles as Bobby stares blankly ahead.
“He flatlined, Thee.”

“I know, baby.”

“He died. He died in the back of that ambulance.”

“And he came back.”

Bobby nods, but he’s shaking. “He was reaching for me. And I—”

“You were there,” Athena says, firm. “He wasn’t alone.”

When the surgeon comes out, Bobby is on his feet before she speaks.

“He’s stable,” she says. “We repaired the damage to the spleen and stopped the internal bleeding. He’s lucky. You all got him here in time.”

“He flatlined,” Bobby says hollowly.

She nods. “But he came back. He’s in recovery now. You can see him soon.”

Buck wakes up hours later, groggy, IVs everywhere, oxygen in his nose.

The first face he sees is Bobby’s. “

Hey,” Bobby says, voice raw.

“Cap?” Buck’s voice is paper-thin.

“You scared the shit out of me, Buck.”

Buck tries to smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get shot.”

“That makes two of us.”

Athena appears at the other side of the bed, eyes red-rimmed. She leans down, pressing a kiss to Buck’s forehead. “Next time you hear gunfire, don’t run toward it, sweetheart.”

Buck shrugs. “Kid… needed help.”

Bobby exhales slowly. “She’s okay, by the way. The cops got her out after we called it in. She’s safe.”

Buck nods, satisfied. “Worth it.”

Bobby brushes his fingers over Buck’s hand. “You flatlined.”

Buck’s eyes widen. “I—what?”

“In the ambulance. We lost you.”

“Oh,” Buck breathes. “That explains the dream.”

Bobby stiffens. “What dream?”

Buck blinks slowly. “Felt like falling. Like the world just... let go. And then I heard your voice.”

Bobby presses a hand to his face, overcome. “I never stopped calling for you.”

“I heard you.”

They’re both quiet for a long moment. Then Bobby leans forward, voice low. “Don’t you ever do that again. Don’t you ever leave me.”

Buck’s eyes fill. “Didn’t mean to. I swear.”

“I know.” Bobby squeezes his hand. “But I need you to stay. Got it?”

Buck nods.

“I mean it. You’re mine, Buck. You’re my family. You go down, I go down.”

“I’ll try not to go down again,” Buck whispers.

“Good.”

The rest of the team comes in waves. Hen is first. She hugs him so tightly the machines beep in protest. Chim follows, cracking bad jokes until Buck laughs and winces. Maddie shows up with tears in her eyes and refuses to let go of his hand for the entire visit. And Eddie—Eddie walks in silently, then drops into the chair beside him and leans forward, head bowed.

“You good?” Buck rasps.

“You died,” Eddie says hoarsely.

“I got better.”

Eddie glares at him.

Then he shoves Buck’s shoulder lightly. “Next time you want to die, give me some warning.”

Buck grins. “Promise.”
They sit in silence, but it’s warm.
Safe.
Alive.

Later that night, Bobby dozes in the recliner in Buck’s hospital room.

Buck stirs in his bed and murmurs, “Dad?”

Bobby is up in a heartbeat. “Yeah?”

“I just… I’m glad you were there.”

Bobby moves to the bed, brushes the hair off Buck’s forehead. “I’ll always be there.”

“Even if I get shot again?”

Bobby sighs. “Don’t push it.”

Buck chuckles, then winces. “Love you.”

The words are barely audible, but they’re there. Bobby’s breath catches. “I love you too, Buck.”

And he means it with every part of him.

Chapter Text

Buck missed home.

That was what the firehouse had always been, deep down—more than a job, more than a place to eat, laugh, sleep, or train. It was the first place in a long time that had ever felt like family.

So staying away—healing away—was harder than he liked to admit.

Sure, the doctors said he was recovering well, and sure, the meds were doing their job. But he wasn’t back yet. Not officially. And being home alone was driving him up the wall.

So on a clear Tuesday morning, with the air warm and the roads empty, he drove to the 118.

He told himself he’d just pop in.

He told himself he wouldn’t stay long.

He told himself he was fine.

When he walked through the big bay doors, the world clicked back into place.

“Look who finally escaped house arrest,” Hen grinned, practically leaping from the table to hug him.

“Buck!” Chim added, sliding out of his seat to clap him on the back. “Didn’t think we’d see you today, man. You look good.”

Buck gave a modest smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I got bored.”

“More like stir-crazy,” Eddie said, appearing from the hallway with a smirk. “How many houseplants are you up to now?”

“None of your business,” Buck grumbled. “And they’re thriving, thank you.”

Bobby stepped into the room just then, eyes narrowing when he saw Buck. Not in anger—just worry.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Bobby said gently, but his arms were already open.

Buck stepped into them before he could talk himself out of it.

He didn’t say it, not out loud. But God, he’d missed this.

---

It felt good. Being back. Sitting around the table, listening to Eddie tell a ridiculous story about Christopher’s science project, watching Hen tease Chim, feeling Bobby’s steady presence at his side.

For a little while, Buck forgot he was still healing. Forgot he was on blood thinners. Forgot he was *breakable*.

He felt normal.

Right up until his nose started bleeding.

---

It wasn’t dramatic at first—just a warm trickle he noticed when he rubbed at his face absently. He pulled his hand back and stared at the blood smeared across his knuckles.

His stomach dropped.

Buck stood up quietly, muttering “bathroom” as he went. No one really noticed. He didn’t want them to. Inside, he grabbed a wad of paper towels and pressed them to his face, heart thudding. He tilted his head forward, tried to breathe slow. Five minutes, he told himself. That’s what the doctor said. Apply pressure, lean forward, don’t panic.

But five minutes passed.

Then ten.

And the blood kept coming.

The trash can filled with soaked paper towels. His hands were shaking. His mouth was dry. There was a pounding behind his eyes that felt like it might never stop.

He tried not to panic.

He failed.

---

The knock on the door made him jump.

“Buck?” Bobby’s voice, calm but tight. “You okay?”

“I—no,” Buck called out, hoarse. “I think I need help.”

The door opened a second later and Bobby’s face changed instantly—from worried to *terrified*.

“Jesus, Buck.”

Buck stood awkwardly in the middle of the bathroom, blood down his arm, nose still bleeding, eyes too wide.

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Buck said quietly.

Bobby crossed the room in two strides, grabbed clean towels, and gently—so gently—guided Buck to sit on the closed toilet lid.

“Lean forward,” Bobby instructed. “Hold this here. Let me look.”

Hen and Chim were behind him now, eyes going wide when they saw how much blood there was.

“Call it in,” Bobby said without looking away. “He’s on anticoagulants. We’re not waiting.”

“Already on it,” Hen said, stepping away with her phone.

“I didn’t mean to freak anyone out,” Buck murmured, feeling lightheaded.

“You didn’t,” Bobby said, kneeling in front of him. “You did exactly what you should’ve. You asked for help.”

“It won’t stop.”

“I know,” Bobby said gently. “But we’re gonna take care of it. I promise, son. You’re not alone.”

Buck’s breath hitched.

Son.
He hadn’t heard Bobby call him that in months. Not since the accident. Not since everything changed.

---

Bobby insisted on riding with Buck in the rig.

He sat beside him the entire time, one hand braced gently on Buck’s shoulder, the other still pressing gauze against his nose.

“You scared me,” Bobby said softly, when it was just the two of them.

“I scared me,” Buck admitted, voice muffled and thick. “I thought it’d stop. It always does.”

“You’re not on blood thinners ‘always,’” Bobby said. “Everything’s different now. And I need you to take it seriously, Buck. You hear me?”

“I do. I just… I didn’t want to be a problem.”

Bobby’s jaw clenched. “You’re never a problem. You’re my kid. And if you think for a second I’d rather you bleed out in silence than call for help—you’ve got another thing coming.”

Buck looked away, blinking fast. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I’ve seen you hurt before.”

“Not like this.”

Bobby’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“I don’t care how you’re hurt. I care that you let me be there for you.”

Buck swallowed thickly. “I didn’t want you to have to worry.”

Bobby leaned in, resting his forehead lightly against Buck’s.

“It’s my job to worry. Let me do my job, Buck.”

---

At the hospital, the ER team packed Buck’s nose, took blood, monitored him closely. The bleeding stopped after a while, but the weakness stayed. The fear stayed.

Bobby never left his side.

Not when they stuck a needle in his arm. Not when they took his blood pressure again. Not when the doctor rattled off numbers about INR levels and dosage changes and appointment follow-ups. Not once. And when the nurse left them alone, Buck finally spoke again. “I hate this,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I feel useless. Like I’m made of glass.”

“You’re not.”

“Feels like it.”

“You’re made of stubbornness and heart and fire,” Bobby said gently. “Glass has nothing on you.”

Buck gave him a watery smile.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for being here.”

Bobby reached up, brushed a hand through Buck’s hair, and nodded.

“Always, Buck. Always.”

---

Three days later Buck got a package at his door.

It was a nosebleed first-aid kit. Custom. With notes written in Bobby’s handwriting.

In case I’m not there fast enough. But call me anyway.

Taped to the side was a small card. Handwritten, black ink. “You’re not made of glass. You’re made of strength. But even strength gets to lean sometimes. Let me be your safe place to land.” – Dad”

Buck sat down on the floor and cried for ten minutes straight.

Then he texted Bobby.

Buck:
I’m leaning. Just so you know.

Bobby:
Good. I’ve got you.

Chapter Text

The lights were still bright inside the kitchen when Buck walked in. He could hear laughter before he even reached the common area—the kind that fills a room and sticks to the walls, bubbling up with the clink of silverware and the faint hum of the TV.

He wasn’t expecting a hero’s welcome. He knew the team had cleared the scene nearly thirty minutes before he’d managed to get himself released from the on-site medic. A shattered window had sent a nasty gash along his right side, and despite his protests, the paramedic insisted he stay and get stitched before being let go.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

Still, his stomach clenched at the sight: the empty trays, half-empty soda bottles, the piles of used napkins. Chicken bones. Someone’s half-eaten cookie. Chim had even started cleaning up.

Buck lingered at the threshold, blood still drying against his side, shoulder aching, dirt smudged into his neck and jaw. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to dislodge the stiffness in his chest.

“You didn’t save me a plate?” he asked, light and joking, but it came out quieter than he meant. More like a whisper. More like a plea.

Hen looked up. “Oh—Buck. I thought you already ate with the med team.”

“Nope.” He smiled quickly, then shrugged. “No big deal.”

Nobody moved.

Chim glanced over at the trash. “I think there might be one rib left.”

“Really, it’s fine,” Buck said. He waved it off, fingers twitching slightly. “I’m not that hungry.”

He was. God, he was starving. But it wasn’t about the food, not really. It was about the absence. The assumption that he wasn’t coming back. That no one had noticed.

He forced himself forward, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. The ache in his side reminded him how long the stitches had taken, how cold the night had gotten after the adrenaline faded.

Eddie didn’t say anything. Just kept scrolling on his phone.

Hen returned to her conversation with Chim. Laughter resumed. The moment passed like a flicker.

Buck leaned against the counter and swallowed down the knot in his throat along with the water.

---

The night air bit at him as he stepped outside, duffel slung over one shoulder. His hoodie barely protected the gauze taped to his ribs. He kept walking anyway.

“Buck.”

Bobby’s voice was low, steady.

Buck turned, masking the slight wince as he shifted his weight. “Hey, Cap. Just heading home.”

“You’re in no shape to be driving.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve got six stitches and didn’t eat.”

Buck shrugged again, eyes avoiding Bobby’s. “Not a huge deal.”

Bobby studied him. The kid looked like hell—pale, smeared with soot and dried blood, the kind of posture that meant everything hurt and nothing was being said.

“C’mon,” Bobby said, gesturing toward his truck. “You’re coming with me.”

Buck didn’t argue. He didn’t have the energy to.

The kitchen lights were soft and warm. Unlike the harsh fluorescent of the station, this felt like something human. Grounded. Real.

Buck sat gingerly at the table, eyes half-lidded, hoodie peeled off and draped over the back of his chair. The t-shirt he wore was threadbare, sticking in spots where dried blood hadn’t been cleaned away fully. He didn’t complain.

Bobby moved quietly around the kitchen—pulling ingredients from the fridge, heating the skillet, chopping onions with practiced ease. He didn’t ask Buck what he wanted. He didn’t have to.

The smell of sizzling garlic hit the air.

Buck blinked slowly. “You don’t have to…”

“I know.”

“You probably want to sleep.”

“I do.” Bobby flipped the chicken in the pan, then glanced over. “But not more than I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Buck looked away. His hands trembled slightly in his lap, and he clenched them into fists to hide it.

He hadn’t even realized how empty he felt until someone looked at him like he mattered again.

The plate was full. Warm. Hearty.

Roast chicken with rosemary, mashed potatoes, green beans sautéed in butter and lemon. There was even a slice of garlic bread, toasted to a perfect golden brown.

Buck stared at it for a long moment before he picked up the fork.

Bobby didn’t say anything. Just sat down beside him at the table, coffee mug in hand, watching like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

It was kindness wrapped in quiet, and Buck’s throat tightened as he took the first bite.

He tried not to inhale the food too fast, but hunger won out. Bobby didn’t comment. Just reached over to gently pour him a glass of water.

Halfway through the plate, Buck’s hands finally stopped shaking.

---

Bobby finally broke the silence. “You want to talk about what happened back there?”

Buck didn’t look up. He was pushing mashed potatoes around the plate now.

“Nothing happened,” he muttered. “I was late. They ate.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Buck flinched.

Bobby leaned forward slightly. “You made a joke when you walked in. But your voice—Buck, you sounded...hurt.”

Buck laughed under his breath, sharp and quiet. “It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb if it mattered to you.”

Silence stretched.

Finally, Buck whispered, “I know I mess up sometimes. I know I can be loud. Reckless. A little much. But I didn’t think I was...forgettable.”

“You’re not.”

“They just—ate. No one thought to check in. Or leave me anything. Like I wasn’t part of the team tonight.”

“You are part of the team,” Bobby said firmly. “And that was a mistake. On all our parts.”

Buck looked at him, eyes glassy now, lips trembling slightly.

Bobby reached across the table and put a hand over Buck’s.

“You matter. And you were missed. I’m sorry we didn’t show it.”

The dam didn’t break—but it cracked. Buck nodded slowly, teeth sinking into his lip.

“Thanks for the food.”

“Anytime,” Bobby said. “Seriously. Anytime.”

---

Buck was curled up on Bobby’s couch now, a blanket pulled up to his chest, ice pack resting lightly against his ribs.

The food had helped. The warmth. The silence. The fact that someone had seen him.

Bobby sat in the nearby armchair, reading glasses perched on his nose as he flipped through a book. Every once in a while, he’d glance over—just to make sure Buck was still breathing easy.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Buck mumbled.

“Not babysitting,” Bobby said. “Just sitting. With someone I care about.”

Buck blinked slowly.

No one had ever really done that before—not like this. No agenda. No pity. Just presence.

He shifted, letting his eyes drift shut.

“I won’t let them forget you again,” Bobby added, quietly.

Buck didn’t answer. But the smallest smile curled at the edge of his lips before sleep finally pulled him under.

Chapter Text

Buck insisted he was fine.

Bobby and Athena exchanged a look that said otherwise.

The next morning after Buck “forgot” breakfast—again—they sat him down at the kitchen table like he was a teenager caught sneaking out. His protests about not needing a babysitter didn’t last long once Athena pulled out the scale.

He’d lost two more pounds. Despite everything.

“I’m eating,” Buck muttered, eyes fixed on the floor tiles.

“You’re pretending,” Athena corrected. “And you’re not a very good liar.”

So they made a decision.

“You’re staying with us for a while,” Bobby said simply.

Buck’s head jerked up. “What? No—come on, I don’t need that. I can—”

“You can pass out in the middle of a drill again?” Bobby’s voice was calm, but his eyes were hard. “You think I’m going to risk your life like that a second time?”

Athena’s voice was softer. “You’re not in trouble, Buck. But we don’t trust that you’ll take care of yourself on your own. Not yet.”

And that was that.

—

The first night was awkward.

Buck hovered in the doorway of the guest room, backpack slung over his shoulder like a kid on his first sleepover.

Athena had already set out fresh sheets. Bobby had placed a glass of water on the nightstand like it was second nature. It was quiet. Too quiet.

“I can still go home,” Buck offered one last time, voice tentative.

“Brush your teeth, Evan,” Athena replied without looking up from her book.

Bobby just clapped him on the shoulder and walked past.

—

Day two, Bobby handed him a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit. Buck picked at the toast.

“I’m not that hungry,” he said.

“You don’t eat, you don’t leave the table,” Bobby said, sipping his coffee. “This is non-negotiable.”

Buck took a tiny bite. Then another. It wasn’t even about the food—it was about the way Bobby watched without hovering. The way Athena sipped her tea beside him like this was just any other morning.

It was domestic. Calm. Terrifying.

—

By day four, the wall cracked.

It was after dinner—chicken stir-fry, Buck had eaten most of it—and he was helping Bobby load the dishwasher while Athena cleaned the counters.

“Why are you guys doing this?” Buck asked, voice small, like it had been living in his throat for weeks. “You don’t have to.”

Bobby looked up. “You’re family.”

Buck’s eyes filled. “I keep messing up.”

“So do we,” Athena said simply, drying her hands. “But we don’t walk away from each other over it.”

Buck stood still for a long moment. Then nodded. He blinked fast. “Okay.”

—

He had setbacks.

One afternoon, Athena found the dinner she’d packed for him still untouched in the fridge. When she confronted him, he panicked—mouth full of excuses, voice tight with guilt.

“I wasn’t hungry, I forgot, I was going to—”

“You don’t have to justify it,” Athena said. “But you do have to be honest about it.”

Buck looked so small in that moment. Ashamed. She sat beside him and put a hand on his back.

“Slip-ups don’t mean you’ve failed,” she said. “But hiding them means we don’t get to help.”

Later that night, Bobby added a sticky note to the fridge: “Progress, not perfection.”

Buck stared at it longer than he meant to.

—

Some nights were worse.

He woke once from a nightmare, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, breathing hard. He wasn’t even sure what the dream had been—just a feeling of being judged, rejected, not enough.

He padded down the hall like a ghost and found Bobby still awake, reading in the living room.

Without a word, Buck sank into the couch beside him.

Bobby didn’t say anything at first. Just offered the blanket draped across the armrest. Buck pulled it over his lap.

Then, quietly, Bobby said, “You don’t have to earn your place here. You already have it.”

Buck didn’t answer. But he stayed.

—

A week turned into two.

He started eating full meals, even if some took longer than others. Athena took him grocery shopping and made him pick out things he liked. Bobby taught him how to cook the family lasagne recipe—not because Buck needed to, but because he deserved to.

When Hen stopped by, she gave him a once-over and smiled. “You’ve got colour in your cheeks again. About damn time.”

Chim made a joke about Buck becoming their adopted son, then immediately apologized when Buck’s eyes went glassy. But Buck just laughed and said, “I kind of am, huh?”

He was starting to believe it.

—

One night, Buck hesitated at the threshold of the kitchen while Athena stirred something on the stove and Bobby chopped vegetables beside her.

He looked like he was going to say something. Then didn’t.

“Spit it out,” Bobby said, not looking up from the cutting board.

Buck fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Is it okay if… I stay a little longer?”

Neither of them responded right away.

Then Athena turned off the stove and crossed the room. She wrapped her arms around him, gently but firmly.

“You stay as long as you need,” she whispered.

Bobby added, “Or as long as we need you.”

And Buck—Buck buried his face in Athena’s shoulder and cried, really cried, for the first time in what felt like months.

Not because he was broken.

But because he finally felt safe enough to fall apart.

And even safer knowing someone would be there to help him put the pieces back together.

Chapter Text

The hospital had let him go hours ago.

He’d sat in the waiting area for a while, staring at the white walls and listening to the quiet hum of vending machines. Everyone had gone home—Hen to her family, Chim to Maddie, Eddie and Christopher home togehter. Buck had smiled and waved them off, saying he was fine.

He wasn’t fine.

The tsunami had stripped him bare.

Now he was standing outside the hospital, bag clutched in his hand, with no idea what to do next. The world felt too big. Too loud. The cars passing by on the street felt like waves themselves—threatening, unstoppable.

He had no one waiting for him.

Until he heard a voice.

“Buck.”

He turned.

Bobby.

Standing next to Athena’s car, arms folded but face soft. Athena was behind the wheel, watching quietly. There was something in Bobby’s voice—gentle but insistent—that made Buck’s chest cave in.

“I’m good,” Buck said automatically.

“Get in the car,” Bobby said, not unkindly. “We’re taking you home.”

“I don’t—”

“Our house, Buck.”

Buck blinked. “What?”

“You’re not going back to your empty apartment,” Athena said, leaning over so he could hear her through the window. “You almost died. You’re not spending tonight alone.”

Buck opened his mouth to argue—but the fight drained out of him.

He got in the car.

---

Athena handed him a blanket the second they got inside. He hadn’t realized he was still shivering.

“You want food?” she asked. “We have soup.”

Buck shrugged. “Not hungry.”

“Okay,” she said. “It’s there if you change your mind.”

Bobby gestured toward the couch. “Sit down. You want to shower, change, sleep? Whatever you need.”

Buck sat.

The blanket was soft. The house was quiet in a way his apartment never was—not sterile silence, but warm quiet. The smell of spices from the kitchen, the ticking of a clock, Athena moving around upstairs.

“You saved lives today,” Bobby said after a while, sitting nearby in the armchair.

Buck didn’t answer.

“You almost drowned,” Bobby added.

“I know.”

“You saved Christopher.”

Buck flinched.

“You kept him safe until help came,” Bobby said gently. “Eddie told me what happened, What Chris told him. He said he owes you everything.”

Buck’s throat tightened. “I lost him. For hours, I—”

“And then you didn’t,” Bobby said. “You found him. You protected him.”

Buck stared at the carpet. “It wasn’t enough.”

“Buck—”

“I didn’t know if he was dead. I didn’t know if I was gonna die.”

Bobby stood slowly and came to sit beside him. Close, but not touching.

“You can fall apart here,” he said. “It’s okay.”

Buck shook his head. “I don’t even know how.”

He didn’t cry. He just sat, gripping the blanket so tightly his knuckles went white. Bobby stayed beside him until Buck finally leaned just a little into his side.

---

Buck stayed one night.

Then one night became two.

On the third day, Athena walked into the living room to find him asleep on the couch, TV remote still in his hand, a plate of toast half-eaten on the coffee table. His face was less pale. His breathing was steady.

She covered him with a second blanket.

When Bobby came home that night, he found Buck in the kitchen helping May with her homework.

“What’s a mitochondria?” Buck asked, frowning at the worksheet.

“The powerhouse of the cell,” May said dryly.

“Right. I didn't do Bio in school.”

Bobby leaned in the doorway and watched them for a while.

---

The breakdown didn’t come until the sixth night.

Buck had just come back from a shower, dressed in clean sweats that Athena had quietly left on his borrowed bed. He was brushing his teeth when he looked at himself in the mirror and saw it.

The bruises on his ribs. The small, angry cut on his temple. The hollow look in his eyes.

And suddenly, he was gasping.

The toothbrush clattered into the sink. He dropped to the floor, trying to breathe, but the room was closing in. The water was rising. The panic was real, and he couldn’t stop it.

He didn’t even hear Bobby come in until hands were on his shoulders.

“Buck! Hey—hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Buck shook his head, unable to get air. “It’s still—I still feel like I’m there—I thought I was gonna die, Bobby—”

“You’re not there anymore,” Bobby said, gripping his arms tightly but steadily. “You’re here. You’re safe. You’re home.”

And that—that—was what shattered him. Because he wanted to believe that. That he was home. That someone would hold onto him long enough that he wouldn’t drift away.

Buck sobbed.

Not quiet tears. Full-body, shaking, years-of-loneliness sobbing. And Bobby just held him through it.

Athena came in halfway through and crouched beside them, rubbing Buck’s back like she would for any of her kids. They didn’t tell him to stop. They didn’t tell him he was being dramatic.

They stayed.

When he finally stopped crying, he was wrapped in a blanket again, sitting on the couch with Bobby on one side and Athena on the other.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Athena said softly.

Bobby nodded. “You don’t have to be okay yet.”

Buck looked down. “I’m just… so tired.”

“Then rest,” Bobby said. “We’ve got you.”

---

He started calling it their house.

Not out loud. Not yet. But in his head.

When he thought about going back to his place, his chest clenched. It felt cold. Empty. Like a place someone had once lived, not somewhere that still had a person.

But here—here there were voices. Laughter. Arguments about what movie to watch. Leftover containers with his name on them. A toothbrush next to the sink that no one had moved.

And when Athena handed him a house key without ceremony on the tenth day, he stared at her like she’d handed him something sacred.

“Just in case,” she said, with a shrug.

He held it tightly in his fist for a long time before putting it on his key ring.

---

It was late when he finally asked.

He and Bobby were cleaning up dinner—Athena had gone upstairs to take a call, May and Harry were at a friend’s house—and the quiet felt like something important.

“Why’d you let me stay?” Buck asked suddenly.

Bobby looked up from the sink. “Because you needed to.”

Buck nodded slowly. “I’ve needed before.”

Bobby dried his hands, then leaned against the counter. “I saw what that wave did to you. Not just physically. I saw what happened after. And I realized I never wanted you to feel like that again.”

Buck’s throat closed.

“You don’t have to earn a place here, Buck,” Bobby added. “You already have one.”

“I’m not your kid.”

“No,” Bobby said, voice soft. “But you’re family.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Buck believed it.

Chapter Text

It was a slow day at Station 118. The kind of quiet that almost felt suspicious — like the city was holding its breath, waiting to throw something catastrophic their way. The crew had been filling the time with the usual: polishing equipment, doing inventory, and passing a deck of cards between hands at the kitchen table.

Buck was sitting with Eddie, pretending to focus on their game but finding it harder than usual to concentrate. He’d been jittery since they got back from their last call — a small apartment fire where they’d found a kid hiding in a closet. Nothing out of the ordinary for their line of work. They’d gotten her out safe. The smoke wasn’t too heavy. The danger had been minimal. But for some reason, Buck’s chest had felt tight since then, like someone was sitting on it.

He told himself it was nothing. Maybe a lack of sleep. Maybe the coffee was too strong.

“Your turn,” Eddie said, snapping him back to the table.

Buck played a card without looking too hard at it, trying not to notice that his hands were shaking.

When the tones dropped, everyone moved automatically. Helmets. Jackets. Boots. The motions were muscle memory. Buck followed Bobby’s orders, sliding into the truck, heart hammering like they’d just been called to a ten-alarm blaze.

It wasn’t. Just a standard motor vehicle accident.

They arrived to find a compact car crushed between a delivery van and the median. Buck went for the passenger side, leaning in to check on the driver — a woman in her thirties with wide, terrified eyes. Her airbag had deployed, and the sharp tang of deployed airbag powder hit him like a freight train.

The smell. The taste. The pressure in the confined space.

He froze.

His vision tunnelled until the edges of the world went black. His ears roared with the sound of his own pulse. He knew he was still crouched by the car, but it felt like he was back there — somewhere else entirely — trapped, crushed metal around him, the acrid smoke of an accident stinging his nose.

A voice cut through the fog. “Buck.”

Bobby.

He felt a hand on his shoulder — firm, grounding.

“Hey,” Bobby said again, quieter now. “With me, kid.”

Buck sucked in a breath, but it caught halfway and turned into a shudder. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling. He realized he hadn’t moved in far too long, and Eddie was already at the other door helping the patient.

Bobby gently turned him away from the car and guided him a few steps back.

“Eyes on me,” Bobby said, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “Count with me. In for four.”

Buck tried.

“One… two… three… four. Hold it. And out for six.”

It took a few tries before Buck’s breaths stopped hitching, but Bobby stayed right there with him, never once glancing away to check on anything else. The chaos of the scene blurred into background noise.

“You’re alright,” Bobby murmured. “You’re here. You’re safe. Nobody’s trapped. You’re breathing.”

Buck swallowed hard and nodded, though his throat still felt tight.

“Good,” Bobby said. “Now, you want to sit this one out or stay close to me?”

Shame prickled hot at the back of Buck’s neck. “I can— I can help.”

“Helping,” Bobby said gently, “sometimes means taking a minute so you can help later.”

Buck’s eyes dropped, but he nodded again.

Bobby stayed beside him until the patient was loaded into the ambulance, then gave his shoulder a final squeeze. “Come on, let’s get back to the truck.”

The ride back was quiet. Eddie shot him a concerned look once or twice, but didn’t push.

When they pulled into the bay, Buck lingered behind as the others filed out. Bobby waited, leaning against the rig.

“You want to talk about what happened?”

Buck shrugged. “Just… smell of the airbags. Took me back. Didn’t even realize it was going to happen until I was already… you know. There.”

Bobby’s expression softened. “Panic attacks aren’t about logic, Buck. They don’t wait for an invitation.”

“I feel stupid.”

“You’re human,” Bobby said simply. “You got triggered. It happens. What matters is that you came back from it.”

Something in Buck’s chest loosened just a little at that.

“Next time it hits,” Bobby added, “you find me, alright? No matter what’s going on.”

Buck gave a small smile. “Alright.”

They headed inside together. The rest of the team didn’t ask questions, but Buck noticed Eddie sliding an extra mug of coffee his way, and Hen setting a plate of cookies in the middle of the table like it was just another slow afternoon.

The city could throw whatever it wanted at them. Buck figured as long as he had this crew — this family — he could find his breath again.

Chapter Text

The little blue spiral-bound wasn’t much to look at. Cheap, half-bent, cover already peeling at the corner where his thumb worried at it when he was nervous.

Buck kept it hidden at the bottom of his duffel, under extra shirts and socks. No one knew it was there. No one could ever know.

It wasn’t a diary. He wasn’t writing feelings, not really. Feelings felt indulgent. Dramatic. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to spill them onto a page when most of the time he felt like he was still trying to justify the space he took up.

No—this was a log. A record. Proof of every little thing people said about him, so he could fix it.

So he could be better.

The first few pages were about work. Missteps on calls. Things Bobby, Hen, or Chim pointed out. The kinds of things anyone on the job might hear—be more careful, check twice, don’t rush ahead. But Buck didn’t stop there.

Because it wasn’t just work. It was everything.

He flipped to a page in the middle. His handwriting tilted sharp and messy, letters pressing hard enough into the paper to leave grooves.

Eddie

* Too much. Always too much.
* Don’t call him so often. Don’t show up uninvited. He has Chris, he doesn’t need you.
* Stop being jealous.

Hen

* Talk too loud when you’re excited. Makes people tired.
* You push too hard when someone says no.
* Don’t make everything about you.

Chim

* Can’t take a joke. Too sensitive.
* Don’t laugh at your own stories. Not funny.
* Attention-seeking.

Maddie

* Needy. Always turning things back to your problems.
* She shouldn’t have to be your sister and your therapist.
* Grow up.

Buck stared at the words until they blurred. He didn’t remember when he’d started expanding the lists beyond the firehouse, but once he did, it was like he couldn’t stop. He thought back on every conversation, every argument, every sigh he caught in someone’s voice, and he wrote it down.

Because maybe they didn’t mean it the way he heard it. Maybe they didn’t notice. But Buck did. He noticed everything. And if he noticed, he could write it down, and if he wrote it down, then he could fix it before anyone got tired enough to leave.

His pen scratched against the paper again.

General

* Too clingy.
* Too childish.
* Not funny enough to be the funny one.
* Not smart enough to be the smart one.
* Always trying too hard.
* Too much. Always too much.

The page filled too quickly. He turned to a new one. His chest ached, but he pressed harder with the pen, like maybe carving the words deep into the paper would stop them from echoing in his head.

He didn’t notice how long he sat there, hunched over the little notebook in the silence of his apartment, just the sound of pen against paper and his own shallow breathing.

The notebook wasn’t full yet. But it would be.

Because Buck knew himself. And if he kept listening, kept paying attention, he’d never run out of things to fix.

Never run out of ways to try to be someone worth keeping.

Buck closed the notebook and then opened it again, restless. He thumbed through the pages, rereading each line.

The lists should have felt like goals—steps toward a better version of himself. But lately, they just looked like proof. Proof he was every flaw, every weakness, every annoyance. Proof they were right to sigh, to roll their eyes, to keep him at arm’s length.

Because if all the people who loved him still had this many complaints, what did that say about him?

He wasn’t angry. Not really. He was just… tired.

He traced the groove of one word with his fingertip: too much. He’d written it so many times, it was etched into the page like a scar.

He whispered it aloud to the empty apartment. “Too much.”

The word felt heavy. Familiar. Like gravity.

Sometimes he wondered if they’d all be better off without him around, if maybe the lists would stop once he wasn’t there to make more mistakes, to take up more space.

But he shook his head, shoved the thought back down. That was weakness. That was selfish. He couldn’t think like that. He just had to work harder. Fix more. Be better.

The pen was in his hand again before he realized it. He turned to a fresh page.

Tonight

* Talked too much at dinner. Eddie looked tired.
* Made Hen roll her eyes again. Don’t be the clown.
* Forgot to ask Maddie about her shift. Selfish.
* Texted Chim twice. Desperate.

He pressed the pen down hard enough the nib nearly broke. His handwriting was jagged, tearing little grooves into the page.

When he finally dropped the pen, his hands were shaking. He sat in the quiet, staring at the words until they blurred, until he wasn’t sure if he was reading them or hearing them in the voices of the people he loved.

The notebook wasn’t full yet. But it would be.

Because Buck knew himself. And if he kept paying attention, he’d never run out of flaws to list.

Never run out of proof that he was too much.
Always too much.

----------------

The notebook was getting heavier.

It wasn’t physically heavier, though sometimes Buck swore it was. Like the weight of every word he’d scrawled into it pressed down on the cheap blue cover, bending it, making it impossible to ignore.

He checked it every night. Sometimes twice. Sometimes more. He flipped through pages by lamplight, rereading old criticisms, reciting them like a litany. Too much. Too needy. Too loud. Too reckless.

The problem was, the more he read, the more he started to see it everywhere.

Eddie rubbing a hand over his face during a story—Buck was being too loud again.
Hen sighing after he jumped in too quickly with an idea—he was too pushy.
Chim laughing when Buck tripped over a chair—proof he was still clumsy, still the rookie they’d never take seriously.
Even Maddie, hugging him a second too soft—she was tired of him leaning on her, tired of the endless phone calls, tired of him being a burden.

He didn’t need to write every moment down anymore. He already knew what the notebook would say.

But he still did. His pen worked furiously at night, filling the margins, pressing too hard until the pages buckled. He stopped sleeping properly. He started pulling away before anyone could sigh, laugh, or roll their eyes, retreating before they had the chance to confirm what he already knew.

The notebook whispered louder than any reassurance did.

And Buck believed it.

Bobby noticed first. He always did.

Buck wasn’t cracking jokes anymore, not in the same way. His laugh came late, forced, and didn’t reach his eyes. He triple-checked equipment until Hen had to pull him away. He hovered too long at the edge of conversations, then backed out of them completely.

And when Bobby walked past the bunks one night and saw Buck curled forward on his bed, a little notebook open in his lap, his face pale in the dim glow of his lamp—he finally understood.

Bobby didn’t confront him then. He wasn’t sure what it was, not fully. But he saw the way Buck snapped the book shut the second he noticed Bobby, like a kid caught stealing. He saw the panic in his eyes, the flush of shame.

And Bobby knew.

It was after another call—a rough one, a pile-up on the freeway—that Bobby finally cornered him. The others had gone home, weary and bruised. Buck lingered, moving slower than usual, like maybe staying behind would delay whatever waited for him when he was alone.

“Buck,” Bobby said, voice steady, quiet.

Buck froze, half-turned toward his locker. “Yeah, Cap?”

Bobby stepped closer. “What’s in the notebook?”

Buck’s shoulders tensed. His hand faltered on the latch. “What notebook?”

“The one you keep shutting when I walk in. The one you write in after every shift.”

Buck’s throat bobbed. He forced a laugh, thin and hollow. “It’s nothing. Just… just notes. Doesn’t matter.”

“Then show me.”

That broke him. Buck’s grip on his bag tightened, knuckles white. His voice cracked. “No.”

The silence between them stretched. Bobby didn’t move, didn’t push. He just stood there, calm, unwavering. “Why not?”

“Because—” Buck swallowed hard, eyes shiny but defiant, “because it’s mine. And if you read it, you’ll see. You’ll see what I already know. And then you’ll agree. And then…” His breath hitched. “And then you won’t want me here anymore.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Bobby’s chest ached.

“Buck,” he said softly, “bring me the notebook.”

For a long time, Buck didn’t move. His jaw trembled, his whole body tight, like handing it over would be ripping out his own heart. But finally, with shaking hands, he reached into his bag and pulled it out. The cover was bent, the corners worn, the pages swollen from being turned too many times. He held it like something poisonous.

When Bobby took it, Buck flinched, like the loss of it hurt.

Bobby opened the notebook. His eyes skimmed the pages—bullet points, names, lists. Too much. Too needy. Too stupid. Always too much.

Every page carved deeper than the last.

His stomach dropped. He closed the notebook carefully, setting it on the bench between them.

“Buck,” Bobby said, his voice breaking despite himself, “this isn’t truth. This is pain. This is you taking every little mistake, every offhand word, and carving it into yourself until it’s the only thing you can see.”

Buck shook his head furiously, hands digging into his knees. “It is true. It has to be. They all think it. I am too much. I always ruin things. I always—”

“Evan.” Bobby’s voice sharpened, firm. The name rooted Buck still. “Listen to me. You are not a list of flaws. You are not too much. You are not unworthy. You are family. You are loved. And I will not let you destroy yourself with this.”

Buck’s chest heaved. His eyes brimmed. He wanted to argue, wanted to insist, but the words caught in his throat, stuck behind the lump of grief and shame that had been building for months.

When Bobby reached forward and pulled him into a hug, Buck resisted for half a second—and then crumbled. His whole body shook as he buried his face into Bobby’s shoulder, sobs ripping out of him he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

Bobby held on. Firm. Unshakable. “You’re not too much,” he murmured into Buck’s hair. “You’re exactly who you’re meant to be. And you’re not carrying this alone anymore.”

The notebook sat closed on the bench. Lighter now. Because for the first time since Buck started writing, someone else was holding the weight with him.

-------------------------

Bobby didn’t give Buck a choice.

The morning after the notebook came out into the open, Buck showed up for shift hollow-eyed and jittery, like maybe if he just acted normal Bobby would forget the whole thing. Pretend it hadn’t happened. Pretend he hadn’t cried like a child in his captain’s arms the night before.

But Bobby saw through him. He always did.

When the shift ended, Buck reached for his bag, but Bobby’s hand was already on the strap, pulling it away.

“You’re coming with me,” Bobby said, voice even but brooking no argument.

Buck blinked, startled. “What? No, it’s fine, I—I’ve got stuff to do at home, and—”

Bobby’s gaze silenced him. Gentle, firm. The look that meant there was no escaping this.

“You’ve been carrying too much by yourself for too long,” Bobby said. “You’re not going home to be alone tonight.”

Buck’s throat worked. He wanted to argue, but part of him was so bone-deep tired that all he could do was nod.

Athena was waiting when they pulled into the driveway.

Buck shifted uneasily on the porch, suddenly hyperaware of how awkward he felt, how heavy his presence was. But Athena just opened the door and gathered him in like she’d been expecting him all along.

“Come on, baby,” she said softly, her hand brushing his shoulder. “Dinner’s on. You look like you could use three plates.”

Buck managed a weak laugh, but his chest ached. He didn’t know what to do with the way her warmth didn’t falter, didn’t shrink back when she saw him frayed around the edges.

Inside, the house smelled like roasted chicken and herbs. Safe. Homey. Buck had been here before for team dinners, barbecues, celebrations—but never like this. Never like he was the reason the table was set for three instead of two.

Dinner passed in a haze. Athena kept the conversation light, teasing Bobby about his cooking habits, asking Buck about movies he’d seen, about the Dodgers game. Buck tried to answer, tried to keep up, but every time he faltered, Bobby filled in the silence without judgment.

For once, Buck didn’t feel like he had to perform.

Afterward, Athena shoved a blanket at him and pointed to the couch. “Sit,” she said, in that no-nonsense tone that dared anyone to argue with her.

Buck sat.

She tucked the blanket around him like he was still ten years old, then disappeared into the kitchen. When she came back, she set down a mug of tea in front of him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said when he opened his mouth to protest. “You need it.”

Something in Buck cracked at the simplicity of it. He ducked his head, staring at the steam rising from the mug. His throat tightened.

Bobby sat in the chair across from him, steady, calm. “You don’t have to earn this, Buck,” he said quietly. “Not the food. Not the tea. Not a place here. You don’t have to write down a single thing to deserve being loved.”

Buck’s eyes burned. His fingers clenched the blanket. “I don’t know how not to,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “It feels like… if I don’t keep track, if I don’t fix everything, you’ll all see how much of a mess I am and leave.”

Athena sat beside him on the couch, her hand finding his. “Sweetheart, we already see you,” she said firmly. “All of you. And we’re still right here.”

Her thumb brushed his knuckles. Bobby’s eyes held his, unwavering. And Buck—exhausted, overwhelmed, heartsick—let himself believe them. Just a little.

That night, Bobby insisted he stay. No arguments. A spare room, fresh sheets, and Athena slipping an extra blanket onto the bed “just in case.”

Buck lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The notebook was still in Bobby’s possession, tucked safely out of reach. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, it wasn’t whispering to him.

Instead, he could hear Athena humming softly down the hall. Bobby moving about, turning off lights, checking locks.

Normal. Safe. Steady.

And when Buck finally drifted into sleep, it was with the faint, unfamiliar thought that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t too much after all.

Chapter Text

The day had been one of those days that seemed determined to test Bobby Nash from the moment his alarm went off. Calls stacked up back-to-back—fires, traffic accidents, a domestic disturbance that had gone sideways before they’d even arrived. Paperwork piled higher than he wanted to admit. By the time they rolled back into the station just past eight, the crew was dragging their boots across the apparatus bay floor, every one of them worn thin.

Bobby tried to hold it together, as he always did. He kept his voice even during the debrief. He made sure the equipment checks were logged, every hose cleaned and rolled. He signed off the reports and gave the standard reminders about rest and hydration. His hands moved with the same practiced steadiness, but under it all, there was a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t quite shake.

The kids were joking, of course—they always tried. Hen slung an arm around Chimney’s shoulder, teasing about his “bad luck” drawing paperwork duty. Eddie was half-asleep against the lockers. Buck’s laugh was loud and easy in the way that it always was, filling the empty spaces of the firehouse.

But Buck wasn’t just laughing. He was watching.

It wasn’t unusual—Buck had this way of noticing when the people he loved weren’t at their best. He’d done it for Eddie more times than either of them could count, for Hen when Karen’s pregnancy was wearing her down, for Chim after Maddie left the city. Bobby was no exception.

And tonight, Bobby’s shoulders sagged in a way that told Buck he was carrying more than just the weight of the shift.

“Hey, Cap,” Buck called lightly as the others scattered toward the showers and bunks. “You, uh—you eaten today?”

Bobby looked up, brows knitting. “I had something earlier.”

“Coffee doesn’t count,” Buck said, stepping closer, his grin half-playful, half-serious.

That earned him a long, quiet stare. Bobby exhaled, ran a hand over his face, and didn’t argue.

Buck tilted his head toward the kitchen. “C’mon. Let me cook for you.”

Bobby should have said no. He should have told Buck he was fine, that he just needed to finish the last of his reports and then he’d be going home to Athena. But instead, he found himself following the younger man into the kitchen, pulled along by Buck’s sheer insistence that this was something that mattered.

The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee grounds and smoke—remnants of the day—but Buck moved through it with an ease Bobby had never stopped marvelling at. For all his chaos, Buck was at home here, hands pulling ingredients from the pantry, humming under his breath as though this wasn’t hours past dinner.

“You don’t have to—” Bobby started.

“Yeah, I know,” Buck interrupted, flashing him a smile over his shoulder. “But I want to.”

He set to work with a kind of unhurried confidence, chopping onions and garlic, pulling out a carton of eggs, a bundle of vegetables. He’d clearly decided on some sort of breakfast-for-dinner situation, and Bobby couldn’t find it in himself to stop him.

So he sat. He let the warmth of the stove, the steady rhythm of Buck’s movements, fill the silence between them.

“You always do this,” Bobby said after a while.

“Do what?”
“Step in when someone needs it. Like you’re… tuned to it.”

Buck shrugged, not looking up from his chopping. “Guess I just know what it feels like when no one notices. And I don’t want people I care about to feel that way.”

Something in Bobby’s chest pulled tight. He’d never quite gotten used to being on the receiving end of Buck’s loyalty. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it—he did, more than he could say—it was just that he was supposed to be the steady one, the rock. The captain. He wasn’t supposed to need someone stepping in for him.

But tonight, when Buck slid a plate of scrambled eggs, roasted peppers, and warm toast across the table, Bobby couldn’t deny how much it meant.

“It’s not fancy,” Buck said, scratching the back of his neck. “But it’s hot. And you need fuel if you’re gonna keep running the rest of us ragged.”

Bobby huffed out a laugh, soft but genuine. “You’re not wrong.”

He took a bite. It was simple, but it was good—better than good, because Buck had made it, because it carried the weight of someone seeing him when he didn’t ask to be seen.

Buck leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with that open, boyish pride. Like he’d done something important just by putting food on a plate.

“Better?” Buck asked after a while.

Bobby nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Better.”

The silence that settled this time wasn’t heavy. It was companionable, broken only by the clink of Bobby’s fork and Buck’s soft humming.

When the plate was empty, Bobby set his fork down and looked at him. “Thank you.”

Buck shrugged again, but his smile softened. “Anytime, Cap.”

And Bobby believed him.

Later, long after Buck had headed for bed and the station had gone quiet, Bobby sat alone for a moment longer in the kitchen. The empty plate still on the table, the faint smell of garlic lingering in the air.

It wasn’t the meal itself that had mattered. It was the reminder that even on days when the weight of command pressed down on him harder than he could bear, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

Buck had made sure of that.

And Bobby—finally, gratefully—let himself feel it.

Chapter Text

The silence after the Buckley's left was louder than any alarm bell.

Buck had done the polite thing—hugged his mother stiffly, shook his father’s hand, stood by the door until their rental car disappeared down the street. He’d plastered on the smile, even though it wobbled at the edges, even though his jaw ached from holding it too long.

When the door shut, the quiet was crushing.

He leaned against it, palms flat against the wood, as if holding himself upright required bracing. His apartment felt foreign—like their presence had seeped into the walls, left behind the faint trace of perfume and judgment, and now he didn’t know how to breathe in it anymore.

He didn’t hear Bobby come in until there was the soft scrape of a chair being pulled out at the table. “Coffee’s on,” Bobby said gently. “Sit.”

Buck turned. He looked wrung out, dark circles heavy under his eyes. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I did.” Bobby’s voice was steady, but his gaze was heavy with meaning. “Sit, Buck.” And because fighting him felt impossible, Buck obeyed.

For a long moment, the only sound was the drip of the coffeemaker. Bobby let it fill the space, his patience a shield until Buck could meet his eyes again.

“You did good,” Bobby said finally.

Buck scoffed. “Good?” His laugh was brittle. “They think I’m reckless. They think I’m selfish. They think—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter what they think. It never has.”

Bobby folded his hands on the table. “It matters to you.”

That landed like a strike to the ribs. Buck opened his mouth, then shut it again. His throat worked around words that refused to form. “They’re wrong,” Bobby continued. “About you. About what you do. About why you do it. But I know how loud their voices are in your head. And after everything this year—” He paused, letting the weight of it hang between them. “After the lawsuit—I need you to hear me.”

Buck froze. The word itself felt like a wound reopening.

The factory fire. The collapse. His lawsuit against the city. Against the department. Against Bobby.

Buck had told himself a thousand times it was just about fairness, about not being left behind, about wanting to belong again. But deep down, he’d known it was about betrayal. About the belief—however fleeting—that Bobby had chosen the job over him, safety over trust.

And Bobby had forgiven him. Buck still didn’t understand how.

“You don’t have to—” Buck began, but Bobby cut him off.

“Yes, I do. Because I don’t think we’ve ever really talked about it. Not all the way through.”

Buck’s chest tightened. He stared at the table, tracing the grain in the wood with his eyes. “I was angry. I was hurt. I wanted someone to blame and then you told me I wasn't cleared even though I was.”

Bobby’s voice was too soft, too steady. But the truth in it still made Buck flinch. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.”

Silence again. Heavy. Honest. Buck finally forced himself to look up. “Do you hate me for it?” The question was raw, a cut too deep to hide.

Bobby shook his head without hesitation. “No. Never.”

“Even when I made you the bad guy?”

Bobby leaned forward, eyes locked on his. “Especially then. Because you weren’t seeing clearly. You were scared. And when people are scared, they lash out. I’ve done it myself. Lord knows I’ve done worse. You made me the bad guy because I was.”

Buck blinked rapidly, fighting the sting in his eyes. “You still took me back.”

“I never let you go even if I wasn't exactly welcoming at first.”

The words broke something in Buck. He pressed a hand over his mouth, trying to contain the rush of emotion, but Bobby’s presence—the calm, the certainty—only made it harder to hold in.

Bobby reached across the table, resting a hand over Buck’s. Solid. Grounding.

“You are not a mistake, Evan. Not to this team. Not to me. The lawsuit didn’t change that. Your parents’ words don’t change that. The fire, the collapse—none of it takes away who you are. You’re a good man. A good firefighter. And you’re family.”

Family.

Buck had spent his whole life chasing that word, begging scraps of it from people who gave nothing back. And here Bobby was, offering it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I don’t deserve that,” Buck whispered.

Bobby squeezed his hand. “Yes, you do.”

The coffeemaker beeped, startling them both slightly. Bobby stood, poured two mugs, and set one in front of Buck. “Drink,” he said.

Buck huffed a laugh, shaky but real. “Yes, Cap.”

They sat together in the quiet again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was steady. Healing.

And for the first time since the lawsuit, since the fire, since the betrayal that had almost broken them, Buck believed that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t too much to forgive.

Chapter Text

The week that Phillip and Margaret Buckley decided to come to Los Angeles was already tense enough without the universe throwing more chaos into the mix. Buck had been trying—really trying—to play the dutiful son. He took them to dinner. He gave them the tour of the firehouse. He smiled through the pointed remarks, the questions that sounded less like curiosity and more like criticisms wearing a thin disguise.

The 118 saw it all.

Hen and Chim exchanged glances every time Buck’s shoulders tightened. Eddie hovered closer than usual, his protective streak dialled up to eleven. Bobby, for his part, did what captains do: he managed. He tried to create space, to give Buck the shield he clearly needed, even if Buck himself wouldn’t ask for it.

So when Athena walked into the station late that Thursday night, her expression grim and her hands tucked into her duty belt, Bobby knew before she opened her mouth that something bad had landed.

“Bobby,” she said quietly, eyes flicking toward Buck, who was halfway across the common room trying to politely explain to his mother why the recliners were scuffed. “We need to talk. Now.”

The urgency in her voice had Bobby crossing the room without hesitation. “What’s going on?”

She glanced at the Buckleys—still settled like royalty on the firehouse couch—and lowered her voice. “We got a trace on a number that called in. Belongs to one of the old suspects from that bomber call. Guess who they tried to reach?”

Bobby’s stomach dropped. “Buck.”

Athena nodded once.

For a moment, the room seemed to narrow. Bobby remembered the story Chim had told them all in pieces—the bomber who’d manipulated, the aftermath that had nearly cost lives. Buck had been in earshot that night, wide-eyed and horrified as Chim let the details slip. The idea that the man had his number now? That he’d tried to make contact?

“What did he say?” Bobby asked, voice taut.

“We didn’t let it get that far,” Athena assured. “We intercepted before the call connected. But it means he knows Buck’s name. Knows his number. We don’t know how far it goes.”

Bobby exhaled slowly. His gaze flicked across the room to where Buck was still smiling politely, his parents dissecting his every move with quiet disapproval. He didn’t know yet.

Athena followed his line of sight. “How do you want to handle this?”

The answer was: carefully.

Because telling Buck in front of his parents was a disaster waiting to happen. They’d already proven how little they understood—or cared about—the work he did, the danger he walked into daily. To have them hear about a bomber targeting their son? Bobby could already picture Margaret’s icy judgment, Phillip’s dismissive sigh. And Buck didn’t deserve that on top of the fear.
But secrets festered, and if Bobby had learned anything about Buck, it was that he needed honesty more than anything else.

“Team first,” Bobby said. “We’ll loop him in here. Without his parents.”

Athena gave a sharp nod. “I’ll run interference.”

It was Hen who managed the extraction. With a smile too bright to be real, she swooped in and announced, “Hey Buck, can you give me a hand with something in the turnout room? Just for a sec.”

Buck, eager to escape his parents’ scrutiny, hopped up without hesitation. “Yeah, sure.”

The moment he was out of earshot, Bobby turned to the Buckley's. “Mr. and Mrs. Buckley, Athena needs a word with you. Station protocol.”

It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t exactly false either, and the sharp authority in Bobby’s tone brooked no argument. They followed Athena with thin-lipped confusion.

Inside the turnout room, the rest of the 118 waited. Chim’s jaw was tight, Eddie’s fists curled at his sides. Hen leaned against the lockers, arms crossed. Buck looked around at all of them, frowning.

“What’s going on?”

Bobby met his eyes, steady and serious. “We got a call today. From the bomber Chim told you about. He tried to reach you.”
For a second, Buck just stared. His brain seemed to catch on the words, replaying them until they made sense. “Wait—me? He called my phone?”

Bobby nodded. “The call didn’t go through. Athena’s team intercepted it. But he has your number. He knows who you are.”

The colour drained from Buck’s face. He stepped back until his shoulders hit the locker behind him. “Why would he—why me?”

“He fixates,” Chim said roughly. “I may have told him some stuff about you.”

“That’s not fair,” Buck muttered, but his voice was thin, panicked.

Eddie stepped closer, grounding hand on Buck’s arm. “You’re not alone in this. We won’t let him get anywhere near you.”

Buck blinked fast, trying to pull air into his lungs. His thoughts spun: his parents in the next room, their voices always in his head telling him he was reckless, that he was too much, that he brought disaster on himself. If they knew about this, they’d never let him live it down.

Bobby saw it—the fear, but also the shame creeping in where it didn’t belong. He crouched slightly, pulling Buck’s gaze to his. “Hey. This is not your fault. Do you hear me? He chose. Not you. And we’re not going to let him take another inch of your life.”
Buck swallowed hard, nodding once.

Athena re-joined them then, her presence a steady wall behind Bobby’s words. “We’ve got patrol on your block. You’ll have a unit trailing you for the next few days. You’re protected.”

Buck looked around at all of them—the fierce set of Hen’s jaw, the guilt in Chim’s eyes, Eddie’s solid weight at his side, Bobby’s steady calm. His family.

And for once, he let himself believe them.

Outside, Margaret Buckley asked coldly why everyone had “rushed her son off like that.” Phillip muttered about “drama.”
But Buck didn’t hear them. Not really. Not anymore.

Because when Athena spoke again, voice even, eyes sharp, she didn’t just answer them—she drew the line that Buck had needed all his life.

“Because your son matters,” she said simply. “And if you can’t see that, then you’re the only ones in this room who don’t."

Chapter Text

The date circled on Bobby’s calendar had been haunting him all week.

He didn’t talk about it much—not to Athena, not to the crew. He never really had. The world had enough dates to remember: birthdays, holidays, anniversaries of happy things. This one, though—it was carved into him, permanent, no matter how hard he tried to sand it down.

The family fire.

Every year, when the calendar flipped to this week, Bobby’s chest tightened. He got quieter at work, slower at home. His smile was a little thinner, his shoulders a little more weighed down. And though Athena had learned to read him better than anyone, Bobby still tried to keep her shielded. She had enough ghosts of her own.

So he carried it alone. Or, at least, he thought he did.

Buck noticed first.

Noticed how Bobby’s hands lingered on the steering wheel of the ladder truck a little longer than usual. How he drifted at the station, looking not at the TV or the poker game but through them, eyes fixed on something no one else could see.

Buck knew what anniversaries could do. He knew about dates that sank into you like lead weights. He had his own—hospital visits, his parents’ barbed phone calls, the bridge.

So he watched Bobby carefully that day, the way you watch someone on the edge of an old wound you can’t stitch shut.

By the time the shift ended, Buck already had a plan.

At home, Bobby sat at the kitchen table, staring at his phone. The temptation was sharp, bitter at the back of his throat. He didn’t want a drink—not exactly. But the old craving was there, whispering like smoke curling under a door.

He hated anniversaries. They made him brittle.

He set the phone down, picked it up again, thumb hovering over the name that had been his lifeline for years. His sponsor.

He should call. He knew he should. But he couldn’t seem to press the button.

That was when the knock came at the door.

Bobby frowned. It was late. Athena was working a double, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He opened the door to find Buck, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, looking nervous but determined.

“Hey, Cap.”

“Buck?” Bobby blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Buck shrugged. “I was…uh, just in the neighbourhood.”

“You live twenty minutes away.”

“Yeah, well. I was hungry, figured I’d see if you needed company.” Buck tried for a grin, but it faltered when Bobby didn’t answer right away. “Look, I know what today is.”

Bobby’s chest went tight. “You don’t—”

“I do.” Buck’s voice was soft but steady. “You don’t have to say anything. I just…didn’t want you to be alone.”

For a long moment, Bobby just stared at him. Then, with a sigh that felt like it came from his bones, he stepped aside. “Come in.”

They sat in the living room, the silence thick but not suffocating. Buck rambled about nothing—new movies, Eddie’s stubbornness, how Christopher was lobbying hard for a dog. Bobby let the words wash over him, something grounding in the younger man’s presence.

After a while, Buck leaned forward, voice gentler. “Have you called your sponsor?”

Bobby’s throat closed. “I thought about it.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” Bobby’s jaw clenched. “I don’t…like dragging people into this. It’s my mess.”

Buck shook his head. “That’s not how it works. You’ve told me that before. We don’t do this alone.”

Bobby’s eyes flickered to him, surprised. Buck shrugged. “I listen, Cap. Even when you don’t think I do.”

For a moment, Bobby felt something crack inside him. He picked up his phone again, stared at the screen. His hand shook slightly, and before he could talk himself out of it, Buck gently reached over.

“Do you want me to call?”

Bobby blinked at him. “You’d…?”

“Yeah. Or I’ll sit here while you do. Whatever you need.”

The offer was so simple, so unflinching, that Bobby had to look away before the tears gave him away. He swallowed hard, nodded, and handed Buck the phone.

Buck didn’t hesitate. He dialled, waited, then handed the phone back once the line picked up. Bobby took it with shaking hands.

The voice on the other end was warm, steady. And suddenly, the dam broke.

Later, when the call ended and Bobby set the phone down with a deep, shaky breath, Buck was still there. Not prying, not pushing. Just there.

“Thank you,” Bobby murmured. His voice cracked on it.

Buck gave a small, crooked smile. “Anytime.”

They sat in silence again, but this time it was easier. Bobby leaned back, exhausted but lighter. Buck stayed, refusing to leave him adrift.

And in the quiet, Bobby realized—maybe he hadn’t lost everything, after all.

Some anniversaries broke you. But some, with the right people beside you, reminded you that you’d survived.

Chapter Text

The California sun had barely crested the horizon when Bobby Nash pulled into the station lot, the familiar rumble of the SUV echoing against the concrete walls. His travel mug steamed with coffee, and the passenger seat was already loaded down with snacks, bottled water, and a meticulously folded road map — because even though the GPS existed, Bobby didn’t entirely trust it.

Buck was late.

Of course, he was.

Bobby didn’t mind, not really. He’d learned a long time ago that “Buck late” meant “Buck lost track of time doing something well-meaning.” He took a slow sip of his coffee and waited, the morning air crisp enough to sting his nose.

Five minutes later, a familiar voice echoed across the lot.

“Hey, Cap! Sorry! Sorry, I know, I know, I’m late!”

Buck came jogging up, his duffel slung over one shoulder, hair sticking up like he’d only just remembered the concept of brushing it. He grinned sheepishly. “Had to help my neighbour jumpstart her car. Took a little longer than I thought.”

Bobby raised a brow, but there was no real reprimand behind it. “Let me guess — you also made sure her tire pressure was fine, her wipers were working, and reminded her to check the oil?”

Buck blinked, caught. “Maybe.”

Bobby chuckled. “Get in the car, Buck.”

Buck climbed in, buckling up as he eyed the road map spread out across Bobby’s console. “You know, there’s this thing called Google Maps. It’s pretty popular.”

“Google Maps doesn’t tell me where the good diners are,” Bobby replied, starting the engine. “Besides, part of the fun is the drive.”

Buck grinned, propping his elbow against the window as they pulled out of the lot. “Can’t argue with that.”

They’d been driving for about two hours when Buck first started to fade.

At first, Bobby thought he was just quiet — which wasn’t unusual, considering Buck had been up late on shift. But then he noticed the way Buck’s arm shifted from the window to his stomach. The way his usually bright complexion had paled to a shade Bobby didn’t like.

“Hey,” Bobby said gently, glancing over. “You okay?”

Buck swallowed hard. “Yeah. Just, uh— I think I’m good. Might’ve eaten too fast this morning.”

“Mm-hmm,” Bobby said, unconvinced.

A few more miles passed before Buck leaned his head against the window, his eyes squinting against the sunlight. “Hey, Cap? Can you maybe—turn the A/C up? Just a bit?”

Bobby reached for the dial without a word, turning the fan up until cool air rushed through the vents. He didn’t miss the way Buck took slow, careful breaths through his nose.

“You get carsick before, Buck?”

Buck groaned softly. “Not usually. I mean, I used to when I was a kid. Maddie said I couldn’t make it through a twenty-minute drive without demanding a grocery bag.”

Bobby bit back a smile. “Sounds about right.”

Buck gave a weak laugh, then pressed a hand against his stomach. “Guess some things don’t change.”

Bobby glanced at the nearest exit sign. “We’ll pull over up ahead, stretch our legs a bit.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Buck said quickly. “Don’t wanna ruin the schedule.”

“There is no schedule,” Bobby replied firmly. “There’s a road, a car, and you looking like you’re about five minutes away from regretting breakfast.”

Buck grimaced. “That’s…accurate.”

Bobby pulled off into a rest stop shaded by tall pines. Buck barely got the door open before leaning forward, one arm braced against the frame. Bobby stood nearby, offering him space but staying close enough in case Buck needed him.

After a few minutes, Buck sat back on the curb, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He looked miserable.

Bobby handed him a bottle of water. “Rinse and spit.”

Buck obeyed without argument, then took a few tentative sips. “Ugh. Sorry, Cap. That’s…not my proudest moment.”

Bobby sat down beside him on the curb, elbows resting on his knees. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be the tough firefighter, not the guy who loses a battle with his own stomach.”

“You run into burning buildings for a living,” Bobby said evenly. “I think you’ve proven your toughness.”

Buck gave a weak grin. “Thanks.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sounds of distant cars blending with birdsong. Bobby kept an eye on him — the kid looked pale, but his breathing had steadied.

“You eat anything weird this morning?” Bobby asked.

“Just a breakfast burrito.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “From where?”

Buck hesitated. “The gas station.”

Bobby groaned. “Buck.”

“It smelled good!”

“That doesn’t mean it was safe.”

Buck laughed softly, which turned into a groan as he pressed a hand to his midsection again. “Okay, okay. Lesson learned. No gas station burritos before long drives.”

An hour later, they were back on the road. Bobby had insisted Buck sit in the passenger seat reclined slightly, window cracked, a bottle of ginger ale within reach.

“Cap, you really don’t have to—”

“Drink,” Bobby said.

Buck did, though he made a face. “Tastes like flat soda.”

“Helps settle your stomach.”

“You sound like a dad.”

Bobby smiled faintly at that. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” Buck said softly, eyes drifting shut again.

The road stretched long and empty ahead of them, golden sunlight pouring through the windshield. Every so often, Bobby glanced over to check on him — the way Buck’s breathing evened out, the way some of the tension melted from his shoulders.

When Buck finally stirred again, they were parked at a small roadside diner, the kind with flickering neon lights and the smell of fresh pie wafting through the open door.

Bobby handed him a cool cloth from the glove compartment. “Feeling human again?”

“Mostly,” Buck admitted, pressing it to his forehead. “You really didn’t have to stop again.”

“I wanted to,” Bobby said. “You’re not exactly great company when you’re green.”

Buck laughed. “Fair.”

Inside, the diner was warm and quiet. They sat in a booth by the window, the sun casting long shadows across the tabletop. Buck poked at a plate of plain toast while Bobby sipped his coffee.

“Thanks for putting up with me,” Buck said after a while, his tone unusually subdued. “You could’ve just told me to tough it out.”

“That’s not how family works,” Bobby said simply.

Buck looked up, his eyes soft. “Yeah. I know.”

Bobby smiled, reaching for his coffee again. “Next time, you pick the breakfast. Just not from a gas station.”

“Deal,” Buck said, and the grin that spread across his face was worth every detour.

The rest of the drive was slower — deliberate. Bobby rolled down the windows, letting in the clean air, and Buck hummed along quietly to an old song on the radio.

And though they had miles left to go, Bobby couldn’t help but think — this, right here, with the road stretched wide and the kid beside him smiling again — was exactly where he wanted to be.

Chapter Text

If there was one constant in the universe, it was that Evan Buckley would trip over absolutely nothing.

It wasn’t even a firehouse cliché anymore. The team had simply learned to move out of the way whenever Buck started running. Chimney called it “The Buckley Buffer Zone.” Hen called it “self-preservation.” Eddie, on the other hand, just called it “Thursday.”

“Whoa—Buck!” Bobby barked just as Buck’s boot caught on the firehose laid out for inspection. It happened in slow motion—like some tragic ballet choreographed by chaos itself. Buck flailed, arms pinwheeling, a look of cartoonish betrayal on his face as gravity claimed him.

He hit the concrete with a dramatic thud that echoed through the bay.

Silence. Then:
“Ten points for enthusiasm!” Chim called, grinning over his clipboard.
“Negative points for grace,” Hen added.

Buck groaned, rolling onto his back. “I was testing the hose integrity. For science.”

Bobby’s sigh was long, patient, and laced with fond exasperation. He crouched down beside him, eyes scanning for any sign of injury. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just my dignity.” Buck grinned up at him, sheepish and boyish in a way that made Bobby’s heart ache a little.

“Buck, one day you’re gonna trip and take half the station with you,” Bobby muttered, offering him a hand.

Buck took it immediately. “Then we’ll rebuild it stronger. Together.”

There it was—that spark of sincerity that always caught Bobby off guard. The way Buck could make a mess of everything but somehow still make you believe in him.

Bobby chuckled under his breath. “Let’s try not to test that theory anytime soon.”

When Bobby offered to have the crew over for dinner, he forgot to add a crucial disclaimer: Buck is not allowed near the stove.

It wasn’t that Buck couldn’t cook—he could. Technically. But he cooked the way he did everything: fast, distracted, and full of unintended explosions.

“Buck, I said stir the sauce, not start a second career in pyrotechnics!” Bobby shouted, lunging toward the stove as flames licked up from the pan.

“It’s under control!” Buck lied, wielding a wooden spoon like a sword.
Hen yelped. “It’s literally on fire!”
Chim muttered, “He says that every time.”

Bobby grabbed the fire extinguisher with the resigned ease of a man who’d done this before. He doused the flames, glared at Buck, and took a long, deep breath through his nose.

Buck looked genuinely remorseful, a splash of tomato sauce streaked across his cheek. “Okay, in my defense, the recipe said ‘simmer gently,’ and I was trying to—”

“Simmer doesn’t mean ignite,” Bobby said dryly.

Eddie, ever the calm observer, leaned back against the counter. “You sure you don’t wanna just let him order pizza next time?”

Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Next time, Buck’s job is setting the table. Maybe. Supervised.”

Buck beamed like he’d just been handed a Medal of Honor. “Yes, sir!”

The thing about clumsy people—Bobby had learned—is that they don’t stop moving. They don’t stop trying. Buck didn’t know how to sit still, even when he should.

“Buck, you’re limping,” Bobby said as they returned from a call. It was early morning, the sky still pink from sunrise.

Buck waved him off. “Just tweaked my ankle a little when I jumped off the ladder.”

Bobby’s eyebrows rose. “A little?”

Buck shrugged, trying to look casual and utterly failing. “I’m fine.”

He wasn’t. Ten minutes later, Bobby found him in the locker room with his boot half off and his ankle swelling like a balloon.

“Evan,” Bobby said softly, crouching down beside him. Buck froze at the tone—gentle but unyielding. “You can’t just ignore it. Sit still.”

Buck bit his lip. “Didn’t wanna slow the team down.”

Bobby looked up, eyes warm and firm. “You are part of the team. Taking care of yourself doesn’t slow us down—it keeps us together.”

Buck blinked at that, a little stunned, like he wasn’t used to being told he was worth that kind of patience. Bobby wrapped the ice pack around his ankle with the same care he’d use for his own son.

“See? Not so bad,” Bobby said.

Buck smiled faintly. “Thanks, Cap.”

Bobby squeezed his shoulder. “You can call me Bobby, you know.”

The look on Buck’s face softened—something vulnerable, something grateful. “Yeah. I know.”

Sometimes Buck’s clumsiness wasn’t physical. Sometimes it was emotional—the way he blurted things out before thinking, the way he tried too hard to fix people who weren’t his to fix.

The call had gone wrong—trapped civilians, chaos, a rookie panicking. Buck had jumped in too soon, too fast, and nearly gotten himself crushed by falling debris.

Back at the station, Bobby’s anger wasn’t the yelling kind. It was quiet, simmering, the kind that meant he cared too much.

“You could’ve been killed,” Bobby said, voice tight.

“I saved her,” Buck shot back. “That’s what we do.”

“Not like that.” Bobby’s jaw clenched. “You don’t get to play hero by risking yourself every time.”

Buck’s shoulders slumped. “I just… I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Bobby’s tone softened immediately. “And you think I want you to?”

Buck blinked. The silence stretched between them, heavy with meaning.

“I’m sorry,” Buck murmured, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean—”

Bobby stepped closer, hand landing on Buck’s shoulder. “I know. But I need you to understand something, son.”

Buck froze at the word.

“You matter to this team. You matter to me. You don’t have to prove your worth by getting hurt.”

The air hitched in Buck’s chest. He nodded, eyes suspiciously bright. “Okay.”

Weeks later, Buck tripped again—this time on the station stairs, spilling coffee everywhere. The whole team laughed. He did too.

But Bobby noticed something different this time. Buck didn’t look embarrassed. Just amused, relaxed—like he’d finally stopped apologizing for being who he was.

When the laughter faded, Bobby clapped a hand on his back. “You’re getting better at falling.”

Buck grinned. “Guess I’ve had a good teacher.”

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need to be graceful, Buck. Just keep getting back up.”

Buck’s smile softened. “I can do that.”

Late that night, Bobby was cleaning up in the kitchen when he noticed Buck’s coffee mug still sitting on the counter. He picked it up, smiling at the smudged fingerprint on the handle, and thought of how far the kid had come.

Maybe Buck wasn’t clumsy at all—not really. Maybe he just felt too much, moved too fast for a world that didn’t always keep up with him.

And Bobby, for one, was grateful for it.

Because sometimes, the people who fall the most are the ones who teach everyone else how to stand.