Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.

The first time it happened, it happened over lunch.

Bobby was cooking, because of course he was. Even on shift, even with the station’s questionable pantry stock, he still managed to put together something that wasn’t just edible but actually good. Like always. Today, it was a big pan of pasta with sausage and peppers, plus garlic bread because Chimney had specifically begged for it.

The table was crowded, everyone digging in, conversations overlapping. Eddie and Hen were arguing about some documentary, Chim was telling Ravi a ridiculous story from before his probationary days, and Buck was half-listening to all of it, happily stuffing his face.

"Buck, pass the salt?" Bobby asked, not looking up from his plate.

Without thinking, Buck grabbed it and handed it over. "Here you go, Dad."

Silence.

For exactly one second.

Then the entire table erupted.

Hen let out an exaggerated gasp. Chimney choked on his water. Eddie put his fork down, covering his mouth with his hand, eyes crinkling with barely contained laughter. Ravi just looked vaguely alarmed, like he wasn’t sure if this was something that happened regularly.

Buck, completely unaware of what he’d just said, blinked at them all. "What?"

"Oh my God," Chim wheezed. "You did not just—"

"What?" Buck repeated, looking from one face to the next.

Eddie snorted. "Buck, man. Think about what you just said."

Buck frowned, mentally rewinding. He’d been eating, Bobby had asked for the salt, he’d handed it over and said—

Oh.

Oh no.

Heat rushed straight to his face. "Oh my God."

Bobby, for his part, was the picture of composure. He just shook a little extra salt onto his food and casually said, "Thanks, kid," like this was completely normal and not a life-ruining moment for Buck.

"You called Bobby Dad," Chim cackled, pointing at Buck with his fork.

"I did not—"

"You so did," Hen shot back, grinning.

"No, I—" Buck groaned, dropping his head onto the table. "I didn’t mean to!"

"Yeah, yeah," Chim waved a hand. "It’s okay, we all knew it was coming eventually."

"Shut up," Buck mumbled into the table.

Eddie clapped a hand on his back, absolutely no help at all.

"I mean, let’s be real," Hen mused. "Bobby’s been Dad™ for a while now. This just made it official."

Chim rubbed his hands together. "I feel like we should get a cake or something. Welcome to the family, Buck—oh, wait, you’ve been in the family. Guess this is just the adoption papers."

Buck groaned louder.

Bobby, still infuriatingly unfazed, just twirled some pasta onto his fork. "You guys done?"

"Not even close," Chim promised.

Bobby patted Buck’s shoulder. "Eat your food, son."

Buck lifted his head just enough to shoot him a betrayed look. Bobby just smiled.

And, okay, maybe Buck’s face was still burning, and maybe he was never going to live this down, but—

Maybe it didn’t feel so bad, either.

2.

The second time, Buck was too out of it to even realize what he was saying.

The explosion had knocked him flat on his back, the force of it rattling through his bones. One minute, he and Eddie had been moving through the collapsing structure, smoke thick and suffocating around them. The next, there had been a deafening boom, a shockwave of heat and debris slamming into him with enough force to steal the air from his lungs.

Everything after that was a blur of flashing lights and distant voices. Eddie’s face, pale with worry. Bobby’s firm grip on his shoulder, grounding him. The sting of pain sharp and unrelenting, stretching through every inch of his body.

By the time he was settled in the hospital, the meds had kicked in hard. He was drifting, caught between wakefulness and something heavier, his head lolling slightly on the pillow. The room felt too bright, the steady beep of the monitors blending into the background noise of distant chatter and the quiet rustle of movement.

Bobby was there, his presence solid and steady. Buck wasn’t sure when he’d sat down, but he was close, the weight of his gaze familiar as he glanced over the chart at the foot of the bed. Even in his half-conscious haze, Buck felt the lingering worry in the air, the way Bobby’s mouth was set in that serious line he always got when one of them was hurt.

A nurse entered, efficient and calm, checking his IV with practiced ease. Buck barely registered the movement at first, but when he felt the light tug at the needle in his arm, he made a faint sound of protest, his brows furrowing.

"Don’t—" His voice came out thick, sluggish. He blinked blearily, the words sticking in his throat. "Bobby?"

Immediately, Bobby’s focus shifted to him. "I’m right here, Buck," he said, voice even.

Buck’s fingers twitched where they rested against the blanket. "Tell ‘em not to mess with it."

The nurse chuckled, unfazed. "Just making sure it’s flowing properly," she assured him. "Almost done."

"They’re just making sure you’re okay, Buck," Bobby echoed, patient as ever.

Buck let out a slow breath, already sinking back into the warm, drowsy pull of medication. "‘Kay," he muttered. There was a long pause, his lips barely parting before he slurred, "Thanks, Dad."

Bobby went still.

The words had been soft, barely more than an exhale, but they hung in the air like something fragile. Buck’s eyes had already slipped shut, his breathing slow and even, utterly unaware of what he’d just said.

The nurse glanced at Bobby, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Bobby exhaled, the stiffness in his posture easing just a fraction. After a moment, he reached out, resting a light hand against Buck’s arm.

"Get some rest, kid."

Later, Buck would pretend he had no memory of the exchange.

And Bobby, kind man that he was, let him.

3.

The third time, it was a nightmare. The kind that clung to him, thick and heavy, even after he woke.

It wasn’t just scattered images or fleeting fear—it felt real, like he was still in it.

He was back on scene. A building collapsing around him, smoke curling through broken windows. The sound of sirens wailing somewhere distant, his team’s voices distorted, too far away. Everything was too slow. His limbs, his thoughts. Like moving through molasses, like trying to run in a dream.

There was a kid—a little boy, no older than six, small and coughing hard as Buck lifted him into his arms. "I got you, buddy," he promised, voice rough, the air too thick with smoke.

The kid clung to him.

And then the floor disappeared beneath them.

The sensation of falling hit like a punch to the gut, and Buck felt it—his stomach lurching, the weight of the kid still in his arms, the fire roaring, getting closer, swallowing them whole—

His eyes snapped open.

Buck gasped, his whole body jerking upright in bed. His chest was tight, breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. His heart pounded in his ears, his skin too hot despite the cool air of his apartment. The dark felt suffocating, the silence too loud. He could still hear the fire, the screaming—

He wasn’t there. He was home. He was safe.

His hands were shaking when he reached for his phone.

He barely looked at the screen, just pressed a contact and brought it to his ear, heart still hammering as it rang.

Twice.

Then—

"Buck?" Bobby’s voice was thick with sleep, rough around the edges but instantly alert. "You okay?"

Buck swallowed, but it didn’t help. His throat felt too tight, his whole body tense with something he couldn’t shake. When he spoke, his voice came out small, barely above a whisper.

"Dad?"

A pause. Just long enough for Buck to realize what he’d said.

He almost hung up.

But then Bobby’s voice softened, gentle in a way that cut through the noise in Buck’s head. "Hey. It’s okay, Buck. I’m here. What’s going on?"

Buck squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the blanket in his lap like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

In the background, he heard rustling, then Athena’s voice, quiet and questioning.

"It’s our eldest," Bobby murmured to her, voice low, warm.

Something about the way he said it settled something deep in Buck’s chest.

Athena made a sleepy noise of understanding before the bed shifted, and then Buck heard Bobby moving. The quiet creak of floorboards, the soft click of a door shutting.

"All right," Bobby said, voice still gentle but expectant. "Talk to me."

Buck took a shaky breath. "It was just—" He swallowed. "Bad dream."

Bobby hummed, listening. Not pushing.

"There was a kid," Buck admitted after a long pause.

Another hum.

"We didn’t get out." His voice caught. "I was holding him, and the floor—" He exhaled sharply. "We fell."

Bobby sighed, not in frustration, just in that way that said I hear you.

"But you did get out," Bobby said after a moment. "And so did the kid."

Buck nodded before realizing Bobby couldn’t see him. "Yeah. We did."

Bobby let the silence settle between them. He didn’t try to rush it.

"You been getting much sleep lately?" Bobby finally asked.

Buck let out a breathy, humorless chuckle. "Guess that depends on what you count as much."

"That’s what I thought." Bobby sounded just a little wry. "Listen, Buck. You did everything you could out there. You know that, right?"

Buck swallowed again. His fingers curled and uncurled against the fabric of his blanket. "Yeah."

Bobby waited a beat. "Do you believe it?"

Buck let out a slow breath. His grip loosened, just a little. "I’m trying to."

"That’s good," Bobby said. "That’s enough for tonight."

Buck exhaled again. Lighter, this time.

A beat of quiet, then Bobby asked, "You want me to stay on the line? Talk for a bit?"

Buck hesitated, the words getting stuck somewhere in his throat. He felt too much like a kid needing comfort, like he should say no, like he shouldn’t need this.

But he did.

"Yeah," Buck admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah, I’d like that."

Bobby didn’t say anything, just started talking, his voice steady, even. Nothing important—just small things. Something about a movie Athena made him watch, a story about May teasing him the other day, a memory about when Chimney first joined the 118.

Buck let his eyes drift shut, let himself listen, let himself breathe.

By the time sleep started pulling him under again, Bobby was still there. Still talking.

Still keeping him safe.

4.

The fourth time, it wasn’t dramatic at all. If anything, it was inevitable.

Buck should have known walking into the station that morning that he was going to get ambushed.

It had been less than twelve hours since his date with Eddie, and he’d barely stepped into the locker room before Hen and Chim were already on him.

"So," Chimney said, drawing the word out with a grin. "How was it?"

Buck rolled his eyes, tugging his sweatshirt over his head. "Morning to you too, Chim."

"Don’t stall," Hen said, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed. "We all saw you floating around here yesterday, practically vibrating out of your skin waiting for your shift to end."

"I wasn’t—" Buck started, but Chim cut him off with an incredulous look.

"Dude. You tripped over a bench in your rush to leave. We thought you were dying."

Buck groaned, slamming his locker shut with more force than necessary. "It was fine."

"Oh, it was fine?" Hen echoed, raising a brow. "Eddie Diaz finally takes you on a date, and it was just fine?"

Buck sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "It was great, okay? Happy?"

Chimney grinned. "Getting there. Where’d he take you?"

"A nice place," Buck said vaguely.

"Specific," Hen deadpanned. "Did he pay?"

"Yes."

"Did you kiss?"

Buck hesitated half a second too long.

"Oh my God," Chim gasped, grabbing Buck’s shoulders. "You totally kissed."

"Guys—"

Hen smirked. "How was it?"

"I’m not talking to you about this," Buck grumbled, pushing past them.

Chim called after him, "We’re your family, Buck! We deserve details!"

By the time Buck made it to the kitchen, the teasing was already in full swing.

Eddie was standing by the coffee maker, clearly having just endured his own round of interrogation from Bobby and Ravi, if the slight pink tinge to his ears was anything to go by. He shot Buck a look that was equal parts amused and exasperated.

"You too?" Buck asked, grabbing a mug.

"Apparently, us dating is a station-wide event," Eddie muttered.

"That’s because we had to suffer through years of pining," Hen said, strolling in behind Buck. "We’re invested."

Buck groaned. "It wasn’t years."

"Yes, it was," everyone said in unison.

Bobby chuckled, stirring his coffee. "Look, all I’m saying is, if you’re going to spend all shift smiling like a lovesick teenager, the least you can do is give us some details."

Buck rolled his eyes. "I’m not—"

"Buck, you walked in here humming," Ravi pointed out.

"I like music!"

Eddie snorted, taking a sip of his coffee.

Bobby just grinned. "Come on, Buck. Give the people what they want."

Buck huffed, leaning against the counter. "Fine. It was a really nice date, okay? Eddie took me to this little Italian place, we ate some great food, and yes, before you ask, we kissed. Happy?"

Hen nodded, looking satisfied. "Very."

Chim wiped away a fake tear. "They grow up so fast."

Buck reached over to smack him.

"Oh, come on," Bobby said, patting his shoulder. "We’re just happy for you. It’s about time you two stopped dancing around each other."

Buck rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. "Whatever, dad."

The second the words left his mouth, he froze.

The entire room went silent.

Bobby blinked, looking at Buck with an expression that was equal parts surprised and pleased. Buck, meanwhile, felt like the ground had just disappeared beneath him.

His mouth opened and closed, eyes darting around the room as everyone stared at him. Eddie was biting his lip, obviously trying not to laugh.

"I—" Buck started, horrified. 

Hen let out a delighted gasp. "Oh, this is way better than I expected."

"I don’t—" Buck sputtered. "That was—shut up!"

Chim was beaming. "Oh man, I’m gonna treasure this moment forever."

Eddie finally lost it, laughing into his coffee.

Buck groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I hate all of you."

"No, you don’t," Bobby said warmly.

And, well. Buck couldn’t really argue with that.

5.

The fifth time, it wasn’t funny at all.

The call had been brutal—one of the worst Buck could remember in a long time.

An apartment fire, smoke so thick it blurred the world into shades of black and gray. Screams echoing through the stairwell, parents shouting names into the chaos, desperate for answers. Buck had been inside, moving fast, calling out, searching, pushing past the sting of smoke in his lungs.

He’d found them in a bedroom—two kids, no older than six or seven, curled together in a corner, their tiny bodies pressed against each other like they could protect one another from the fire creeping closer.

He didn’t think. Just moved.

He’d grabbed them both, one in each arm, whispering reassurances even as their small bodies trembled against his. The girl coughed weakly, head heavy against his shoulder, while the boy clung to him with surprising strength, little fingers digging into his jacket.

"It’s okay," Buck had murmured, even though it wasn’t. "I’ve got you."

The way out had been slow, too slow. Heat licking at his back, the air so thick he could barely breathe, the weight of the kids pressing into him. Every second stretched too long, each one another moment where he was terrified he wouldn’t make it, that they wouldn’t make it.

But they had. Barely.

And now, Buck sat on the back of the engine, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground like it might anchor him somehow.

The kids had survived. They were on their way to the hospital, burns covering too much of their skin, lungs damaged from the smoke. They’d live, but Buck couldn’t get their faces out of his head. Couldn’t forget the way the little girl had coughed weakly against his shoulder, the way the boy had gasped for air, his arms wrapped so tight around Buck’s neck, as if he’d known, even in his panic, that Buck was the only thing keeping him safe.

His hands were still shaking.

He wasn’t even sure he felt anything anymore. Just a deep, hollow exhaustion, like something inside him had burned out along with the fire. He felt numb, and yet, at the same time, he craved comfort in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Like a kid, needing something solid to hold onto.

He didn’t even notice Bobby sitting down beside him until he spoke.

"You did good, Buck."

Buck exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His throat was tight. "Didn’t feel like it."

Bobby was quiet for a moment before he squeezed Buck’s shoulder, solid and warm. "I know."

And that was all it took.

Buck’s breath stuttered, his chest feeling too tight, too heavy. He blinked hard, staring at the ground, at his trembling hands, at nothing at all.

His voice barely made it past his lips. "Dad?"

There was no hesitation.

"Yeah, kid," Bobby said, steady and sure. "I got you."

Buck didn’t even think before leaning into him.

Bobby pulled him in, strong arms wrapping around him, solid and steady, and Buck let himself sink into it. He felt raw, too exposed, but Bobby didn’t let go, just held on, letting Buck press his forehead against his shoulder, his breaths coming out sharp and uneven.

Bobby didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances. He just held him, hand gently running over Buck’s back.

For the first time since they’d pulled those kids out, Buck let himself close his eyes.

And for the first time in hours, he let himself breathe.

Chapter Text

The backyard was alive with laughter, the warm afternoon air filled with the smell of grilled burgers and the sugary sweetness of birthday cake.

Bobby and Athena’s house had always been a place of comfort, of family, and today was no exception. Jee’s third birthday had everyone gathered—Maddie bustling around with Chimney, making sure everything was perfect, the entire 118 spread across the yard, and a swarm of kids running wild.

Buck, for once, felt good.

He sat on the porch steps, Christopher beside him, the two of them watching as a handful of the older kids chased each other around the yard. Eddie was standing nearby, one foot propped on the step next to Buck’s, close enough that their shoulders brushed when Eddie shifted. Buck reached out absently, twining their fingers together, and Eddie shot him a look—fond, amused, like this was something they’d always done.

"Don’t think I didn’t see that," Hen called from across the yard, raising an eyebrow.

"See what?" Buck asked, doing his best innocent face.

Hen smirked. "You two being disgustingly cute."

Buck groaned. "Hen, it’s been months."

"And yet," Chimney added, stepping up beside her, "the honeymoon phase continues."

Buck rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Shut up."

Christopher grinned. "Buck does talk about dad a lot."

"Oh, don’t encourage them, buddy," Buck groaned, ruffling his hair.

Christopher just laughed, adjusting his crutches and looking toward the grill. "Are the burgers almost done?"

"Patience, young one," Bobby called from his station, expertly flipping patties. "Good food takes time."

"Pretty sure Jee’s gonna riot if she doesn’t get cake soon," Chim pointed out. "Girl’s got a one-track mind."

"I wonder where she gets that from," Maddie said, appearing behind him with a teasing smile.

Chimney turned, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. "Are you implying I have a one-track mind?"

"Only when it comes to food and Jee."

"Fair."

The sound of laughter carried through the yard—kids squealing as Ravi let them chase him, Hen dramatically fake-losing a game of tag, Jee giggling wildly in Karen’s arms.

It was good.

It was warm.

Which was probably why Buck’s stomach dropped the second he saw a car pull up in the driveway.

He knew they were coming. Everyone knew they were coming. Maddie had told them, voice careful, gaze darting toward Buck like she was worried he’d spiral at the news.

He’d shrugged it off.

They’re coming for Jee, he’d said, like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t sting just a little, knowing they would never come for him.

Now, as the car door opened, and Phillip and Margaret stepped out, he felt that sting grow into something heavier.

The energy in the yard shifted.

It wasn’t dramatic—no one stopped what they were doing or made a big show of it—but Buck felt it. The way Eddie’s grip on his hand tightened. The way Chimney, who had been joking with Hen, went quiet, his shoulders stiff. The way Bobby, standing by the grill, glanced up and tracked the Buckleys’ movements with an unreadable expression.

Even Christopher seemed to pick up on it, his usual bright curiosity dimming just a little as he looked between Buck and his parents.

Maddie was the first to move.

She plastered on a smile—Buck could see how forced it was—and walked over, Jee still happily bouncing in Karen’s arms.

"Mom, Dad," Maddie greeted, hugging them quickly. "Glad you made it."

"We wouldn’t miss our granddaughter’s birthday," Margaret said, tone polite but cool. Her eyes flickered over the yard, the gathered crowd, before landing on Buck.

He felt twelve years old again.

He forced a smile. "Hey."

"Evan," Phillip greeted, nodding once.

Just Evan.

Never Buck. Never how his team—his family—said it, warm and full of something.

He could feel Bobby’s gaze on him from across the yard.

And suddenly, Buck wasn’t quite as hungry anymore.

--

The tension didn’t break so much as settle—a low, humming thing beneath the otherwise warm, easy atmosphere of the party.

Margaret and Phillip followed Maddie further into the yard, their sharp eyes sweeping over the setup. Buck could already tell what was coming just from the way his mother’s lips pursed, like she was holding back a comment.

She wasn’t.

"Well," Margaret said, surveying the decorations. "This is certainly... casual."

Beside Buck, Chimney muttered, "Here we go," under his breath.

Maddie, smile locked in place, shifted Jee on her hip. "It’s a backyard party, Mom. It’s supposed to be fun."

"I am aware, Madeline," Margaret said airily. "I just thought you’d want something a little more refined for your daughter."

"Maddie and Chim put together a beautiful party," Bobby cut in, tone light and warm. "Everyone’s having a great time."

Margaret turned to him with a tight smile. "Oh, of course, Robert. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise."

And yet.

Bobby didn’t so much as blink, just smiled back at her like he hadn’t caught the slight at all. "It’s been wonderful seeing Jee having so much fun. I think she’s spent more time laughing today than anything else."

Margaret’s expression twitched—Buck could tell she wanted to say something else, but she was cut off by Jee herself, who wiggled out of Maddie’s arms and ran straight to Chimney.

"Daddy, cake now?"

Chim beamed, scooping her up. "Soon, baby girl. We gotta eat first."

Margaret frowned. "She’s three. Do you really think she’ll sit through a full meal before cake?"

"Yep," Chim said easily. "We bribed her with garlic bread."

Jee nodded seriously, then whispered, "It’s really good, Grandma."

Margaret’s lips thinned, but she smoothed Jee’s hair with a practiced hand. "Well. At least someone’s enjoying themselves."

Buck clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take a slow breath. Eddie, standing close, pressed their arms together in silent support.

Bobby, however, was still smiling, still unshakable. "I’ll take that as a compliment," he said pleasantly. "I’ve been perfecting my garlic bread recipe for years."

Hen and Chim exchanged looks.

Margaret gave a thin-lipped smile. "I suppose it’s... charming, how much effort you put into these things."

Bobby’s smile widened just slightly. "Oh, I don’t mind. Cooking for my family is one of my favorite things to do."

He said it so warmly, so easily, that it left no room for argument.

Margaret only gave another one of those little hums before letting the topic drop.

The group made their way toward the food, where Bobby had set up a spread that had already been raided by most of the 118. Margaret and Phillip took their plates cautiously, as if uncertain about what they were about to eat.

"I didn’t realize you cooked so much, Robert," Margaret said, picking at her plate. "This seems like quite the... spread."

"Oh, I love it," Bobby said, ever unbothered. "Cooking’s a passion of mine. Nothing better than feeding the people you love."

Margaret’s brows twitched, but she said nothing.

Buck, still standing beside Eddie, was beginning to wonder if Bobby’s ability to stay perfectly polite in the face of obvious insult was some kind of superpower.

Phillip, meanwhile, took a cautious bite of his salad—then paused, chewing slower.

Margaret looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

Phillip hesitated. "It’s... different."

That was all the warning Buck got before Margaret turned to him.

"Did you make this, Evan?"

Buck stiffened, the use of his full name like nails on a chalkboard. "Yeah. I did."

Phillip blinked at his plate like Buck had told him he made it out of motor oil.

Margaret nodded, taking a careful bite. Then, after a pause—

"Well. It’s certainly unexpected."

Chim, who had just taken a big forkful of salad, looked up sharply. "Unexpected? It’s delicious."

Hen, already chewing, nodded in agreement.

"Buck’s been getting really good in the kitchen," Bobby added, still effortlessly pleasant. "He’s always eager to learn, and he picks up skills fast. Honestly, I think he’s a natural."

Buck felt his face warm, not used to the casual, genuine praise.

Margaret hummed again. "Well. I suppose even Evan has to be good at something."

Eddie went stiff beside him.

Phillip, as usual, said nothing.

Buck clenched his jaw, shoulders tensing, but before he could even think of a response—

"Oh, Buck’s good at a lot of things," Bobby said, still smiling. "His determination’s always impressed me. Doesn’t matter what challenge he’s up against, he never backs down. Always looking to improve. It’s one of his best qualities."

Margaret blinked at him, her own smile faltering just slightly, like she wasn’t used to someone countering her barbs with unrelenting praise.

The entire table was silent for a beat.

Then, Hen murmured, just loud enough for Buck to hear, "How is he doing that?"

Chim, equally baffled, whispered back, "It’s the Minnesota Nice™ . We never stood a chance."

Eddie, who had barely looked away from Buck since the second his parents arrived, pressed their knees together under the table. A small gesture. Just enough to remind Buck that he wasn’t alone.

It helped.

Margaret, clearly thrown off by Bobby’s response, simply gave another one of her hums and turned back to her plate.

The rest of the meal went much the same way.

Margaret, making remarks as casually as if she were commenting on the weather.

Phillip, standing awkwardly to the side, barely saying a word.

Every time they tried to talk down to Buck, Bobby spun it like it had been a compliment all along. It was effortless, a skill so honed it left Buck a little awestruck.

When Margaret made a dig about Buck’s "reckless career choice," Bobby beamed and said, "He’s one of the bravest people I know."

When Phillip finally spoke up, awkwardly commenting that Buck was "still living in Los Angeles, then?" Bobby chuckled and said, "Hard to leave when you’ve built such a strong family here."

When Margaret pointedly ignored the way Buck and Eddie sat close, hands brushing, she instead commented on how "nice" it was that Buck and Eddie were "still such good friends after all these years."

Bobby, with that same impenetrable warmth, just said, "It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it? Seeing two people care for each other like that?"

Buck nearly choked on his drink.

Eddie, grinning, clapped him on the back.

The only moment of true peace came when it was finally time for Jee to blow out her candles.

Everyone gathered around, Buck squatting beside Christopher with Eddie doing the same on the other side, as they leaned in to watch.

Jee took a deep, exaggerated breath—

And then promptly sneezed all over the cake.

The entire yard erupted.

Chim groaned. "Aw, c’mon, Jee—"

Karen patted his arm. "That’s what the backup cupcakes are for."

Jee just giggled, unfazed.

--

The party had shifted into the easy, slow-paced kind of winding down that came after everyone had eaten too much and no one had the energy to move just yet.

The backyard was full of the kind of lazy, contented chatter that came when bellies were full and kids had worn themselves out playing. Karen and Hen had claimed the lounge chairs, Chim was swaying with a drowsy Jee in his arms, and Eddie was talking quietly with Christopher, absentmindedly rubbing circles into his back.

Buck felt good. Warm, settled.

Which, of course, was exactly when Margaret had to open her mouth.

"You know, Evan," she said, her tone light—too light, the kind that made Buck’s stomach turn even before the words landed. "It’s almost surprising how much you seem to enjoy playing house like this."

The air seemed to thin, Buck’s ears ringing slightly.

She wasn’t done. "You always were so desperate for attention. I suppose this is the perfect way to get it."

It wasn’t just what she said. It was the way she said it—like it was a casual observation, not a calculated dig meant to cut him right to the bone.

The backyard had gone too quiet. Buck felt the weight of too many eyes, everyone holding still, waiting to see how he would react.

He swallowed, throat suddenly tight, chest feeling too small for his lungs.

"I—" He stopped. Exhaled. "Excuse me."

Then he turned and walked inside.

--

The kitchen was cool and quiet, the sounds of the party muffled behind him. Buck braced his hands against the counter, head dropping between his shoulders as he pulled in slow, deep breaths.

He could still hear her, the casual cruelty in her voice, the way she made it sound so reasonable, like he was ridiculous for thinking it was anything else.

Always so desperate for attention.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw tight.

A soft clink of jewelry made him snap his head up just before Athena’s voice cut through the silence.

"You and I need to have a little talk."

Buck turned, surprised to find her standing in the doorway.

"I—" He started, then stopped, shaking his head. "Athena, you don’t have to—"

She stepped forward, crossing her arms. "Do not finish that sentence, Evan Buckley."

Buck swallowed but couldn’t help himself. "I mean it. You really don’t have to come check on me just because Bobby’s worried. I’m fine."

Athena just stared at him.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. "I—I get that I freaked people out by walking off, but I just needed a minute. You don’t have to—"

Athena cut him off with one sharp look. "Did you really think I’d let you sit in here alone after the way she talked to you?"

Buck opened his mouth. Shut it again.

"Or is it that you don’t expect me to come after you?" she pressed.

He hesitated.

She arched a brow. "Because that’s what it is, isn’t it?"

"I—" Buck forced a breath, his shoulders tensing. "I don’t know, Athena. You and Bobby, you guys have this... thing. And I know he’s been there for me, and I know he sees me as... as a...," Buck swallowed. "But you—" He hesitated again, rubbing a hand over his face. "I just figured you put up with me for his sake."

Athena laughed. Not a mean laugh, but a full-bodied, exasperated one, like she couldn’t believe the words had even come out of his mouth.

"Buck," she said, shaking her head. "You really think I spent years making sure you weren’t running headfirst into disaster just for Bobby? You think I let you eat up my good food, fall asleep on my couch, and turn my house into a second home just because Bobby loves you?"

Buck blinked. "I mean... yeah?"

Athena huffed, stepping closer. Her voice softened. "Baby, you’re ours."

Buck went still.

"You always have been," she continued, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder, steady and sure. "Bobby and I? We don’t do things halfway. You’re family. And nothing—nothing—is gonna change that."

Something inside Buck cracked, deep in his chest, in that part of him that had never fully believed he belonged anywhere.

He swallowed thickly. "You didn’t have to come check on me," he admitted quietly.

Athena scoffed. "Of course I did."

Buck exhaled, a slow, shaky thing.

Athena squeezed his shoulder again, letting her hand linger before she finally dropped it. "Come on," she said, nodding toward the door. "Let’s get back out there before someone sets something on fire."

Buck let out a breathy laugh, the weight in his chest lifting just a little. "Yeah. Okay."

He took one last deep breath, then followed her outside.

--

The second they stepped outside, it was chaos.

Or rather—it was Bobby.

Because Bobby was furious.

Buck had never heard his captain yell like this—had barely even imagined it was possible—but Bobby stood in the center of the backyard, his face flushed with anger, his accent slipping hard into something rough and unpolished as he let loose.

"—under my roof, I don’t give a damn who you are! You don’t get to talk to my son like that!"

Buck froze.

Margaret and Phillip stood stiffly, both caught somewhere between shocked and defensive. The rest of the 118? Silent. Watching.

And Bobby—

Bobby was seething.

"You might be his parents, but you sure as hell haven’t been parents to him!" Bobby snapped. "I was the one who sat by his hospital bed every damn time! I was the one who answered the phone when he woke up from nightmares! I was the one who showed up for him when you couldn’t even be bothered to pick up a phone! I am more of his dad — more of a parent to him than you two ever were!"

Margaret drew herself up. "Now, Robert—"

But Bobby wasn’t done.

"You don’t get to stand there, in my home, after all these years of neglect, and act like you know anything about him!" His voice cracked on the last words, raw with emotion.

Buck’s heart felt like it was in his throat.

"You want to talk down to him?" Bobby continued, voice sharp. "Like he hasn’t spent his whole life proving that he’s worth a damn? Like he isn’t one of the most dedicated, selfless, and brave men I’ve ever known?"

Margaret’s mouth opened—but Bobby took a step forward, shoulders squared.

"You don’t get to do that."

Silence.

The kind of silence that pressed against Buck’s ribs, pushing, squeezing—

Until it cracked.

Until something in him broke open, raw and aching and seen.

And then, before he could stop himself—

"Dad."

Bobby turned, breath still heavy, face still so full of fury and love.

And Buck, voice quiet but sure, said again, "It’s okay, Dad."

Bobby exhaled hard, as if the words hit him somewhere deep. He nodded once, then stepped back, the fight draining from his shoulders.

Margaret and Phillip stood frozen, at a loss.

Then, without another word, they turned and walked out the front gate.

The second they were gone, the tension broke.

Hen let out a slow, low whistle. "Damn, Cap."

Chim was grinning. "Never thought I’d hear a Minnesotan eviscerate someone like that."

Bobby just sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "They had it coming."

Eddie nudged Buck gently. "You okay?"

Buck swallowed. Looked at Bobby.

And then, something warm settling in his chest, he said, "Yeah. I think I am."