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His head is spinning. There’s a lump in his throat ripping away the words he wants to say, so instead he gets to his feet. He pauses. Remembers his manners.
“Athena,” he manages, meeting worried eyes across the table, “I just want to say thank you for inviting me.”
“Buck, you don’t have to leave,” she says, even as he turns away, his chair scraping against the floor.
“Buck.” Bobby is standing too; Buck sees the way his hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out and catch Buck’s arm but thinks better of it. “Buck, hold on.”
He isn’t sure why he listens. Maybe it’s the part of him that’s still a firefighter, following commands from his captain. Maybe it’s the part of him that wants to make a scene, wants to face off against the hurt and the betrayal and yell until it fixes itself. Maybe it’s the part of him, the rational part he doesn’t really want to listen to, that wants an explanation. Maybe it’s the part of him that just doesn’t want to be alone.
No, he isn’t sure why he listens, but he does. He stops, his back still to them, fists clenched at his sides. He can feel himself trembling and there are furious tears pricking his eyes, but he stands his ground.
“Come and sit back down.” Bobby’s voice is calm, as if Buck had only got up to get a glass of water, as if he hadn’t just accused Bobby of sticking a knife in his back. Buck takes a slow breath. He blinks until the tears are gone, and God he’s tired of constantly being on the verge of breaking down, trying to keep from crying every time someone looks at him the wrong way, but he does his best to compose himself at least a little.
He can’t go back to the table, not yet, but he turns around to face them.
“Buck.” Bobby’s eyes weigh heavily on him. “I want you back as much as you want to be back.”
“Yeah?” Buck makes a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sniff. “Doesn’t really feel like it.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Buck hates how rational Bobby sounds, hates how he makes everything Buck says in response sound like it’s borderline hysterical. Maybe it is. He doesn’t really have the strength in him to care how emotional he sounds. “I really am. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before that it was my decision. But I’m not going to rush into things and bring you back before you’re ready.”
“I am ready,” Buck insists. They’re going round in circles. Truth be told, it feels like Buck’s been going round in circles for months, jumping over hurdles to get back to where he needs to be only to end up right at the beginning again.
“No you’re not.” The words fall so definitively from Bobby’s tongue, as if there were no question about them. “You’re not there yet. You might not want to admit that, but you’re not, and you know you’re not.”
“Buck,” Athena says before he can argue. Her voice is warm, gentle. It makes his heart hurt. “If Bobby let you come back before you were ready and something happened to you-”
“It won’t,” he protests.
“If something happened to you,” Athena continues, her voice raised a little louder than before, “Bobby would have to live with that. He’d put that on himself. Would you really want to put him in that position?”
Buck looks at his feet, his fists unclenching as his hands seek out the safety of his pockets. He feels oddly like a kid arguing with his dad while his mom tries to diffuse the situation.
“And what about everyone else who cares about you?” Athena continues. “Eddie? Hen? Chimney? Your sister? You think they want to see you get hurt again? Or how about the other way around? What if Bobby lets you back before you’re ready and someone else gets hurt because you’re not one hundred percent? Hmm?”
She’s right. Bobby’s right. He’s selfish and irrational and prepared to put his friends in danger to get his own way, and maybe Bobby’s right not to want him back on the team. Maybe he doesn’t deserve to be back on the team at all.
“Sorry,” he mumbles around the lump in his throat. He coughs to try and clear it, forces himself to look up, glances briefly at both Athena and Bobby in turn. “You’re right. Sorry for ruining your evening. I’ll go.”
“Hey,” Bobby moves towards him, and Buck almost flinches. Bobby rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezes, looks him in the eye with that unquestionable sincerity that only Bobby has. “You’ll get there. And as soon as you do, I’ll be the first one fighting your corner. Alright?”
Buck nods wordlessly.
“Come on.” Bobby leads him back to the table, and Buck lets him. “I meant what I said. I don’t want leftovers.”
“We’ll send it back with you in boxes if we need to,” Athena smiles. “You’re getting skinny.”
“People keep saying that,” Buck mutters, and Athena laughs, the tension in the room slowly thawing away.
Bobby pats him on the shoulder as he retakes his seat. It’s a throwaway gesture, and it lasts barely a second, but Buck is grateful for it. He’s grateful for Bobby, grateful for both of them.
Buck picks up his fork again and starts eating.