Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It was a magic store,” is the first thing that Bobby hears about the accident.

The phone call comes off-shift. He –for once– has two consecutive weekdays free from the station, a kind of break that already had his catholic ways feeling something about before he heard one of his own got hurt. The B-shift captain had a birthday in the family coming up, and was going to travel out of town; the deal was for Bobby to work two twenty-fours thursday and friday so Simmons could leave, and in turn he’d get monday and tuesday, besides three days off next week, to laze around at home – for all the good that did, when Athena still had work. Now, he’s getting two kinds of calls at once: the call as a captain, because one of the firefighters in his rotation –following his usual week hours even with the changes done to the roster– was hurt, and the call as an emergency contact, because that firefighter was Buck .

Maybe Bobby should stop being so surprised at the kid’s capacity to get hurt; it’s not his fault, generally – aside from the times he puts himself in harm’s way purposefully, which Bobby has been on the lookout for a while, after Maddie and Chimney and Eddie . Buck, though, just has the kind of luck that would have made other people already check if they hadn’t got themselves cursed at birth. This call was simple; Bobby gets the information in slow increments, but from what he hears, practically the entire shift of the B team was slow. No one expected anything bad to happen because of what was only supposed to be an accidentally triggered fire alarm.

“Yes,” Bobby said on the phone – voice exasperated but fond, despite the usual knot that had been made of his chest. “That’s usually how it goes with Buck.”

It was a magic store – one of the artificer-owned ones. The alarm started in the stock, because, it turned out, the room was filled to the brim; crates of boxed spells reaching almost to the ceiling. Close enough for the whiff of them to get into the alarm.

Magic might not be smoke and mirrors, but it usually carried smoke. It was good that the alarm was tripped, accidentally or not – an emergency was due to happen. But what did happen then, though, was that, after captain Simmons left to call for an inspector, and his firefighters were tasked with emptying out the ticking time-bomb that was that room, firefighter Buckley and firefighter Rodriguez –respectively the tallest and shortest of the team– became responsible for the racks in the back. Firefighter Rodriguez reached out to one of the shelves third to the top, just over their head, but the room was just too crowded– someone knocked into a box, that knocked into a shelf, that knocked into Rodriguez, who lost their balance just as they had half the weight of a 40-pound box, right at the edge of the shelf.

Rodriguez tipped over, and the box did too. Buck saw a big weight careening forward, just close enough to him, and did what he does best.

“He really did save them,” Simmon tells Bobby over the phone. “Rodriguez is half of Buckley’s size. He could bear the weight better.”

Bobby suppresses a sound not even he really knows what’s for, only gritting out, “Buck usually does.”

He’s not dead. He –from what Simmons says– is not even exactly hurt; though Bobby hadn’t expected that, hearing about that box. For all Simmons seems ready to give Bobby an incident report through the phone, and commend one of his men, his fellow captain doesn’t actually say what Buck's status is. He’s not in the hospital; Bobby’s getting the review immediately after the fact because he’s the only name –still– that’s listed in Buck’s work form.

“What was in the box?” he asks Simmons – voice just slightly unsteady. The gap of silence that follows over the phone doesn’t exactly help it.

“Just come here.”

Bobby does.

It’s not the end of the B-team’s shift; they still have almost five hours to go, and Bobby expects to have a full station to watch him arrive in his home clothes. When he steps foot in the firehouse though, the vehicles’ port is fully empty; there’s just an awkward looking firefighter cleaning an oil stain from the floor, explaining, “They had to get to a call.”

Bobby doesn’t know if that’s luck or not from Simmon’s side – or his own. He has more to care about, anyway.

“Where’s Buck?”

There’s three firefighters in the station. Maybe that should be Bobby’s first sign that something is off, even if it’s nothing life-threatening – more than one person behind. Whit –the probie from downstays– leads Bobby to the loft, where two other people from the B-team are waiting. Bobby recognizes Daniels –she works with the A-shift most of the holidays– and by height, he imagines the second person is Rodrigues: looking as guiltily scornful as Bobby feels bad to see. Who he doesn’t recognize, refuses to, is the little boy sleeping on the couch right besides Rodrigues.

Pale blonde hair, splayed over Rodrigues’ lap. A blotchy, flushed face that still isn’t pink enough to hide the two soft birthmarks around his left eyebrow.

Bobby breathes, but the air gets stuck in his chest. He instinctively backs away from thinking who else a blonde child reminds him off.

The little boy takes the space of just a cushion, and looks small even beside firefighter Rodrigues. “He wouldn’t go down,” they croak out – a deeper voice than Bobby expected. He can recognize the distress though; watching a child that cries themself to sleep.

Oh, kid , Bobby thinks.

“What was in the box?” he asks again.

There are laws about these things; they’re a mandate read for anyone who works in public service, which is how Bobby knows so much about magic without having ever had even the curiosity to touch it. It’s part religion, part self-preservation, but he’s fully alright with knowing the rules for a game he’ll never play. There are three grand roots of magic, transfiguration, conjuration and obfuscation, and all of them follow very tight rules, for all that the possibilities are boundless. Magic is easy enough for a governing body to control because it needs source and effort, which is why most of the spell boxes on the market have a brief acting period. That doesn’t work the same when someone gets an entire shipment of life-renewal spilled on their backs though.

“Weren’t you in your turncoats?” Bobby knows he shouldn’t do this – finding fault with who was actually affected. But Rodrigues, from the slightly scuffed elbows that Bobby can see, hasn’t suffered anything worse than a fall to the ground. Buck, however, is almost three feet shorter.

“We were ,” Rodrigues argues, suddenly heated. Their voice only doesn’t rise for the boy still asleep on their lap. “That stuff was the type dealt from under the counter. Buckley’s lucky the turncoat didn’t let the whole thing get to him.”

The suggestion of anything worse than this is almost enough for Bobby to be grateful, but the flickering of his heart is stubborn enough. Bobby doesn’t typically let himself be around younger children. If Buck – this Buck – was so distraught he had to be put to sleep, Bobby doesn’t imagine that he’ll be recognized by him.

“We looked through his file, Captain Nash,” Daniels tries to be a steadier voice. “Your name is the only one other than Buckley’s on it.”

5 years working with the department, and not one letter changed on Buck’s emergency contact form. When Bobby first allowed his name to be written down he expected a revision at some time, but anyone that he thought would take his place hasn’t stayed long enough to do so. Chimney has been after Maddie for months now; the only person that could possibly comfort Buck in this state is still missing, and Bobby, again, is the second best thing around. The B-shift doesn’t know about his history, and they most likely don’t know about Buck’s either, but Bobby still wants to be angry at someone, if only for Buck.

“The store’s owner is already being investigated,” Daniels goes on, “and someone already got shipped to audit this thing. But they said that, most likely, this is something that runs its course alone. Buckley’s been cleared by medical in any case.”

“Did you take him to a hospital?”

“I mean,” Daniels stammers. “We’ve got a room of paramedics.”

Bobby sighs – but he supposes that will have to be enough. Even more with what Daniels continues, really bearing down at what must look like absolute vexation on Bobby’s face, “He’s really bad with strangers. When we noticed that something was wrong he was still getting checked in the ambulance, and Buckley started screaming bloody murder when he was all tiny. The guy was not a social kid.”

“Well, were you?” Bobby asks her. He doubts anyone would have been in a crowd of strange adults. He still gets no satisfaction at the sheepish look on her face – on any of theirs. “His family…doesn’t live close. I don’t know if I’m actually going to be of help at this.”

There’s some protocol – but nothing that’s exactly for what Buck has had done to him, and nothing that Bobby is comfortable with, anyway. There’s probably an office from Magic Affairs that deals with cases like these, but as put off as Bobby feels at seeing his underling of five years fitted in the size of a five year old, he would never let Buck be alone when he’s vulnerable – especially not like this. He agrees when Rodrigues last argues, “We had to call someone .” He just wishes…

Bobby doesn’t have to wish for anything. This doesn’t have to be as complicated as he feels. He’s Buck’s superior, and, as it is, the closest thing to a medical proxy; it’s not the first time he had to take care of him, though there’s a difference between this and a crushed leg. Bobby will figure it out anyway. He’ll force it out of himself.

“Where did you find him these clothes?” he asks, after allowing himself a last sigh. Buck’s dressed in pants and a shirt, baggy, but certainly nothing that came out of his over a six foot tall self. They keep some clothes in the station for walk-ins and states of disaster, and Bobby already expects to have a box of it pointed out to himself, resting now on one of the loft’s pristine kitchen countertops. “Get me anything else on this size. And a toy, if you find one.”

“Should we wake him?” Whit asks, though Rodrigues is already shaking their heads aggressively.

“No,” Bobby tells him anyway. Buck is going to have to wake up before Bobby moves him places though. He doesn’t imagine that it’ll be more reassuring to find himself with yet another stranger, and in one more new place. When Brook and Robby were babies… but Bobby shouldn’t be thinking of that. “Help me bring those things outside.”

Bobby doesn’t know Buck as a kid. Before today, he hadn’t even had a visual reference. The Buck Bobby knows likes to learn and work out, and he’s getting progressively better in the kitchen; he hadn’t known who Bruce Springsteen was before Bobby took him to a concert, and keeps reading bad romance novels during downtime at the station. This Buck –small and fragile already without the leftovers of crying on his face– is not the kid Bobby knows. It had been him once, though. He supposes that will have to be enough.

Whit gets him clothes from the box and one plastic toy car –a firetruck, of course– missing one of its wheels on the back. It’s made from a tougher material than Bobby had allowed his son when he was this age – stop thinking about it stop thinking about it stop thinking about it – but as long as Buck doesn’t hurt himself, Bobby is willing to work with it. He doesn’t know how long this is going to take; he has to hope that it won’t be much.

When the clothes and Buck’s workbag are in his car, and Bobby doesn’t have anything else to buy time with, he goes to Buck’s side. Evan, actually, he realizes; Buck has told the circumstances to his name a thousand times since he started at the station, and the little kid in front of Bobby wouldn’t receive his name for years to come. It’s fortunate, in a way; Bobby gets to prepare very tight boxes inside his head, a Buck and a Evan, and he won’t need to confuse the two –confuse himself– for whatever becomes his responsibility next.

He kneels by the couch, more or less Buck– Evan’s height. Bobby is well aware of Rodrigues eyes, watching him, but they’re all strangers here; it’s not like anyone will be of more or less comfort to Evan, as much as Bobby would prefer a buffer. That’s why he has the firetruck toy though, he supposes.

He keeps his hand to himself. Bobby calls Evan’s name, low but persistent enough that the timbre of his voice doesn’t take long to stir Evan again, frowning then blinking his bleary red eyes back at him. The whine he makes when he wakes up makes something complicated happen to Bobby’s stomach.

“Hey,” it’s automatic to soften his voice, a well threaden path that Bobby didn’t know he still had the shoes for. Evan’s not comfortable, but there’s no need for him to be distressed. “It’s okay. Hi; you’re okay. Can you sit up for me, kiddo?”

He makes himself further into a ball, hands wrapped around the front of his shirt. “That’s okay,” Bobby tries to reassure him. “You can keep lying down. Can I keep sitting here too?”

Bobby has to talk with children in the course of the job. It’s not easy; they’re most commonly scared or hurt, for one, but they are strangers, and there’s a sort of established ease in taking care of them –comforting them– when Bobby knows that’ll be his only time with those children. Evan’s not exactly a stranger –not when Bobby keeps having that birthmark right in front of his face– but there’s a comfort to try to use the same general script markers; at least, then, Bobby can delude himself that that is the only experience he’s using.

He keeps kneeling in front of Evan, ignoring the ache that’ll surely take his legs, and watches Evan’s distressed face lower to upset. “That nice firefighter that’s with you is Rodrigues. My name is Bobby. I’m the captain of this place.” It’s not a lie. “Do you know what firefighters are?”

Bobby offers him the toy firetruck, extending it out further when Evan’s eyes flicker to it and hesitate. “Here. You can have it.” He lets the toy go when it’s safe enough on the couch, and close to Evan, though he still doesn’t touch it – just looks shyly. “We drive around these trucks and help people through the city. That’s what we’re doing with you. You got a little lost, so we’ll help you. Okay?”

A finger reaches out to the truck, then a second one, until Evan nudges it and then –hesitantly– holds to the roof, bringing the toy closer. Bobby smiles. “It’s cool, right?” Evan doesn’t answer, but Bobby finds himself still smiling – only that vague nausea in his stomach.

“You can have the truck, Evan.” His eyes only stutters slightly at the name. Bobby explains, “I know you mom, and dad, and sister. I can take care of you until they’re here. Is that okay with you?”

Bobby’s not lying – at least about the first part. He knows Buck’s family, for all he can’t call them to come here. It still doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t ache when Evan answers him with a very soft voice, “Maddie.”

Bobby feels something twitch inside his chest, though the smile keeps on his face – more than one kind of ache. “Yeah,” he answers Evan. “Maddie.”

He manages to bring Evan out of the couch after establishing that first bridge. Reaching out a hand, Bobby eventually takes him into the kitchen to find something to eat, a nice enough distraction for Evan to build trust in him, before he takes him out of the firehouse. That’s not too different from techniques a kidnapper would use, which Bobby feels some way about – but he works with what he has.

Evan is a shyer kid than Bobby would expect from Buck, even after he’s taken his hand, but he follows him, and listens to the strand of soft words Bobby keeps up, even if he doesn’t answer. When Bobby puts both an apple and a banana in front of him in offer, he takes the banana, and when Bobby takes out the jar of peanut butter from the fridge Evan visibly perks up, which is how Bobby feeds him yet another banana, except sliced and coated at the top in the stuff – an awful dinner where Bobby is concerned, but it’s food, and the kind a little kid enjoys. Evan is a little less careful at eating, and he smacks his lips when he’s done with the plate Bobby made him. That’s an improvement.

By the time Evan has eaten, and allows Bobby to sit beside him at the kitchen table, the B-shift –aside from the three firefighters that keep pretending they’re not watching Bobby– still hasn’t returned. Bobby doesn’t know if they left to answer a big call, or if Simmons is just taking the engine out around the block, be it to escape him or a five year old, but he’s not exactly looking forward to seeing it come back either. An entire team of firefighter wouldn’t make Evan more calm, and Bobby’s already in a lucky streak, watching Evan play quietly with his truck on the table. As much as he knows Evan has met him at most twenty-five minutes ago, he has to bring him home.

“Hey, kid,” he starts, keeping his voice soft. Evan pauses on his playing, but only looks up to him – the wordlessness that’s been surrounding him. “What do you say about coming home?”

Evan’s eyes perk up at that, and Bobby corrects with, “My house,” relieved when Evan’s face falls only slightly. “Your parents aren’t here yet, but I promised your sister I would take care of you. You can stay with me until then, right?”

Evan doesn’t look as sure.

“Can’t go with strangers.” Bobby’s eyebrows almost rise above his forehead, the first sentence he’s actually heard come out from Evan’s mouth; the first thing, really, after that brief ‘Maddie’ .

“You can’t,” he agrees. “But I’m not a stranger. I know your mom’s name is Margaret, and you dad’s Philip. I know Maddie.” Bobby, of course, doesn’t mention that all of that came with the whole baggage of actually hearing Buck talk about his family – witnessing him live around it. “I know you’re from Hershey – the town of chocolate.”

That gets a smile from Evan –if briefly– at least.

Bobby isn’t sure about the next part, but he’s willing to try it, if it is what it takes. “I have your parent’s number.” Buck has, actually – on his phone. But he never used a password, and Bobby can call up their contact. “Do you me to call them?”

As strange and all around and trying as this is, it’s not so out of this world Bobby wouldn’t be able to explain it to Buck’s parents; he could say what happened to his son, and ask them to play along while he takes care of Buck –Evan– during it. Bobby fully trusts that the Buckleys wouldn’t actually come to take care of him by themselves, and, most likely, they wouldn’t stop him from doing it on his own – even if Bobby had the arguments to defend himself. He’s not sure he wants to talk with them, though. He’s not sure he wants Evan talking with them.

“Maddie?” Evan asks instead. It would be harder to explain the change to Maddie’s voice, but she wouldn’t actually answer. She hadn’t for the last months.

“Just your parents, I’m afraid, champ.” Bobby doesn’t have to feign the sorry look on his face. It aches to see despodency come on a five year old’s. Nonetheless, though Evan munches on his lower lip, sad and unsure, he still looks back to Bobby.

“You know Maddie?”

“Yeah. I know Maddie.”

Evan thinks about that for a moment – fidgeting with his toy truck.

Eventually, he pulls a hand from it, bringing it to reach out to Bobby instead. Evan’s silent in his compliance but Bobby understands the meaning enough. His smiles twitches again, and he reaches out to hold Evan’s hand back.

Bobby doesn’t have a car seat, for obvious reason, and the station’s deposit doesn’t hold a back up –an oversight– so Bobby will have to do the thing his wife pulls people over for, and drive Evan home outside of one. There’s those rider apps, Bobby knows, but his phone doesn’t have one, nor the storage for it. It hurts his safety training, but Bobby needs to just hope it will be alright. That’s a thing he’ll have to add to the cart, if this is really something that will take its time.

Daniels and Whit keep up the loft and Bobby –slowly– leads Evan down the stair, watching both of them go, but Rodrigues follows them out to the station’s parking lot. They’d been closer with Evan, and Buck had saved them – Bobby understood the urge to keep an eye on him, after what happened because of it.

Bobby straps Evan in, making sure to tell him not to move in his seat. It probably won't be a challenge; until now he has been a very reserved child, and if it’s only timidity, it will probably still last longer than this car ride.

When Evan is safe on the backseat, distant to the clothes and bag Bobby is taking home too, he steps out, turning back a last time to Rodrigues. Bobby gives them what he hopes is a reassuring smile – though he’s feeling anything but that.

“He’ll be okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

Rodrigues doesn’t look like they believe it, but they keep quiet. “Take care of him,” they ask. Bobby’s answer is a nod, before walking around the car to get to the driver’s seat, but when he gets in, he still murmurs to himself:

“I’ve already been doing that.”

-

Evan is quiet in the drive, and they’re not pulled over, which Bobby takes as an all around success. He understands the quiet when he properly parks, though; the ride has sent Evan to sleep.

It’s a heavier one than his nap in the firehouse, and Evan doesn’t stir as Bobby takes him out of the car, bringing him inside. Athena isn’t home –yet– and May’s still more finicky about coming home after seeing Bobby and her mother half naked, which means there’s no one to see Bobby come in with a little kid. By the time Athena arrives he’ll have workshopped his explanation, but he knows there’s little chance she’ll say anything; Athena knows how Bobby is with Buck. He doesn’t like thinking about it – but he knows she knows.

Bobby sets up Evan on the couch –for now, at least– and brings the rest of the things in his car before he awakes. By the time everything is inside, and Evan is still sleeping, Bobby allows himself to take a deep breath. It means he has time to try to do this, at least.

There’s the usual things in Buck’s work bag; the clothes he came in with, and the one he was probably going to dress after the shift, and the generic bottle of body spray and tube of toothpaste everyone in shift work has. Bobby takes Buck’s used clothes to the washing machine –the least he can do– and fidgets with his phone in the utility room, after finding it in one of the bag’s pockets. It’s a bit more obvious that he’s messing with his subordinate’s belongings when there’s a photo of Buck –alongside Christopher– on his home screen.

Bobby doesn’t daddle on it. He doesn’t have the time and, anyway, this still counts as taking care of Buck; it would be the first time he’d ask after waking back to himself – But did Maddie answer the phone this time?

Bobby already has an idea that she won’t. He’ll blame himself if he doesn’t try though, and so he searches for her number in Buck’s phone, writing it down in his one. Maybe there’s more chance of Maddie picking up, if it’s an unknown number.

The line rings, and she doesn’t – Bobby already expects that, but he sighs. It’s the first sound at her contact’s answering machine, and Bobby swallows it back down, trying to search for the better words to say this.

“Hi, Maddie…it’s Bobby – Buck and Chim’s boss. I’m calling to you because…something happened with Buck. He’s alright –he’s with me– but I thought you should know. He’s…asked for you. It’s complicated, but I’ll tell you it all if you call back. Okay.”

The line disconnects again, and Bobby brings his phone down, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t know if it’s better or worse to not have Maddie know exactly what happened to Buck, but he’s well aware he’s dealing with someone not only depressed, but already dealing with –he imagines– a good deal of guilt. Funnily enough, Bobby has personal experience with that.

If Buck’s sister calls, she’ll call. Evan won’t be able to talk with her –unless Bobby explains a lot of things– but maybe she could tell him things about Evan, like what’s his favorite food, or cartoon. They said this would run its course, but without a chronogram, Bobby is kind of adrift about what he should prepare for. For all he knows, Buck can wake up from that nap – or he’ll have Evan for a month.

He gives out a very deep breath. Calling the next number, he tries to wipe the everything from his voice, if not his face, listening to the dial tone with some sort of expectation.

“Hi, baby,” he says, when the the call picks up. “There’s something I should tell you.”

-

Bobby stands to the side as Athena comes home, feeling not unlike when he was a kid, and took a stray animal home. He wishes he could find more humor in the expression on Athena’s face.

“That’s Buck?” she asks – though it might as well be an affirmation. Athena’s voice sounds dry enough for both.

“Yes,” Bobby sighs. “And I know.”

Athena raises her hands, turning back to him. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

“Yet,” Bobby emphasizes. He still accepts the hand that Athena puts on his back. “I couldn’t just leave him there. There’s…there’s no one to call.”

Athena doesn’t say anything to that, but there’s a new kind of quiet to her face when she turns back to Evan.

“I’m surprised he came with you. I would think Maddie would have taught him better.”

“She was fourteen. And he’s five. Give them a break, Sergeant.”

Athena gives out a side-smirk – only his.

She might be an improvement. Athena’s a mother –to actually living children– and someone else who knows Buck, if not Evan. She’s also a policewoman, if Bobby decides to continue the tale of ‘people taking care of Evan’. Bobby’s almost sad she didn’t come home in her uniform – kids always love those.

Evan chooses that moment to wake up –suddenly but slowly– and Bobby crosses the foyer to be back to his side, still leaving enough distance he’ll finish waking up –and figuring out where he is– in his own time. If a new, unknown place is distressing, Evan still find in himself to be calm, when he sees Bobby sitting by his feet on the couch. He balls up a tiny fist to rub against one of eyes and Bobby smiles despite himself at the classic image of a sleepy child.

“Hi again, kiddo.”

“House.”

Bobby snorts at him. “Yeah. We’re at mine. And that’s my wife: Athena. She also knows Maddie.”

Despite the drowsiness, he manages to make Evan pick up, turning back to Athena – walking down the stairs to the couch. The fondness is mostly turned to Bobby, but Athena’s generally good with children; Bobby knows she has a soft –if very punctual– spot for them.

“Do I,” she agrees with Bobby, following up Evan's minute enthusiasm. She doesn’t crowd him, but Athena sits by the arm of the couch, looking at him with the sort of softness husbands shouldn’t see, lest they do something as uncounth as kiss their wives in front of a small child. “Maddie’s a pretty nice gal, if I say so myself.” That makes Evan smile. “I’m sure you’re a nice kid too, Evan.”

He ducks his head bashfully – though the smile keeps. It’s not so different a move as what Buck does, when he himself gets a compliment.

“Did you have dinner?” Athena asks Evan. He nods –Bobby makes more a so-and-so gesture from behind him– but that’s an answer, and he follows up.

“Bananas.”

“That was enough for you?”

“Uhm-hm,” Evan nods. Athena looks at Bobby from over his head.

“That’s alright then.” She gives an amused shrug.

“Okay.” Bobby forces himself to get up – he knows part of Athena’s amusement is turned at him. She’s never going to let him live this down; Bobby doesn’t know if should watch out more for himself or Buck. “We should get you set in the guest room. You still have the that sleepy look on your face” The fact Evan doesn’t argue is proof enough.

He still looks a little more anxious at the thought of sleep; Bobby can understand that. One thing is to fall asleep despite yourself on a slow drive – Bobby’s asking him to willingly go to bed somewhere that’s not his house, without his sister close. He still remembers how it was to get Robby and Brooke to sleep outside of home when they travelled – and they still had their father close.

Not that would always help them.

Bobby shakes his head, forcing out a smile as he looks at Evan again. He ignores the way Athena studies him, and reaches out a hand to the kid instead.

“You can take a look around the room before. Come on – you’ll help me get it all cosied up.”

It gets Evan out of the couch, taking Bobby’s hand with still only some leftover anxiety, and it takes Bobby away from Athena’s eyes, at least a pause before she inevitably has an uncomfortable talk with him. Bobby finds he has the experience in this too: busying himself in routine to escape something, focusing more in leading Evan around the guest room, until he has investigated what used to be Harry’s closet, the drawer of the nightstands and the night lamp they still have set up.

There was a pijama with the kid clothes Bobby brought from the firehouse, but for tonight he’ll let Evan sleep on what he’s in. That’s another worry he can leave for tomorrow. Evan still stutters though –probably used to a different bedtime routine– but with how tired he starts to remember he is, sagging around the room the longer Bobby takes to finish with it, he acquiesces. By the end, it’s Bobby who has to lead him beneath the covers. Evan looks ready to just fall on top of the bed.

“Okay.” Bobby pulls the covers right to Evan’s chin, only holding himself from pinching it at his side (like he used to do with his kids – until they were wrapped all around) at the last second. It’s a sour deja vu. “Now we’re all set,” Bobby forces out. His smile feels brittle.

Evan’s tired enough he won’t see it. Bobby gets up –unwilling to linger, and unneeded, at this stage– but he still can’t force himself from giving a last ruffle to Evan’s hair. With what he knows from Buck’s childhood, it would feel criminal to ignore him just because Bobby’s grieving for his children.

“Goodnight, bud,” he tells Evan – voice only slightly thick. Evan sighs beneath his hand, and under the covers.

“‘night, Maddie.”

He closes his eyes. Bobby watches him for a moment. Then, quietly, he leaves the bedroom, turning off the lights and leaving the door half-way open on the way out.

Athena is waiting for him in the kitchen, as he already expected. It’s early – not for a child, but two adults, and they eat dinner together when the hours allow it. Bobby planned on cooking pasta for Athena today. Clearly, he hadn’t been able too.

She has one of the frozen dishes Bobby keeps just in case waiting in the microwave, watching it turn around with some sort of expression on her face. When Bobby enters the kitchen, Athena turns to him with a smile.

“Hey, baby.”

“Hey.”

“Everything okay with the other baby?”

“He’s five,” Bobby tries to argue uselessly. He just answers her, “He’s down. He was tired enough.”

“That’s good,” Athena says, vague. Bobby, despite himself, sighs. He lets his weight sag beside Athena when he crosses to her side, feeling the comfort of her arm wrapping around himself. “Are you good too?”

Bobby takes longer to answer.

“I couldn’t just leave him,” he repeats himself. Athena knows, of course. She doesn’t have to say anything. She knows.

The microwave beeps, and Athena gives Bobby a kiss on the cheek before reaching out to take their dinner. She’s found them pasta anyway; a frozen lasagna. Bobby takes the kiss and then a plate, and he lets Athena be the one to lead him to the table, enjoying the quiet that she gives him, even if just for now.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she tells him last, before they’ve sat down. It’s love, and Bobby welcomes it, but it’s harder with the weight in his chest.

He doesn’t want to get hurt either.

Chapter Text

When Bobby wakes up the next morning –early as always– it’s with the brief thought of, was that real ? It lasts as long as it takes for Athena to wake up too, blinking just once in the utilitarian way she does before getting up to prepare for her shift, when she turns to Bobby, still in bed, and immediately asks, “Is Buck a little kid in our guestroom?” He knows it hadn’t been a dream then.

Bobby works up the courage to check on Evan’s room while Athena gets in her uniform. There’s a chance, however small, that if he opens up that door, it will be Buck sleeping in the guest bed; as long as Bobby doesn’t know, the possibility still lives in his head. Schrodinger's Buck. Bobby won’t have to think about taking care of a little kid again then.

He can't live like that, of course. Whatever the case, there was one in that room yesterday. Bobby has to check on him. Athena tells him so, giving him a kiss to the cheek before leaving with the last reminder of, “It’s just Buck. Stay safe.”

Bobby doesn’t expect to open the door to find anyone awake –it’s pratically still dawn– but when does, Evan is sitting up on the bed, though he’s still under the covers, playing with the toy truck. Aside from the brief surprise –and, maybe, disappointment (it’s still not Buck)– it’s easier to talk with Evan when Bobby is right in front of him.

“Hey.” His eyebrows are to his forehead, but his voice doesn’t raise. It still startles Evan somewhat, but Bobby knows that’s just because he was distracted; that happens with Buck too. “You’re awake. Did you have trouble sleeping?”

Evan looks at him, slightly abashed. Bobby doesn’t know if it’s because he’s been caught in surprise –not that Evan was doing anything wrong– or because Bobby guessed correctly, but when Evan keeps quiet, he follows on, closing the door behind himself. “It’s alright if you have. You’re probably missing your bedroom.”

Evan doesn’t answer him, more timid than yesterday. Bobby sighs, but there’s no heat in it.

“Come on,” he reaches out a hand. “Help me with breakfast.”

Eventually, Evan gets up to take it.

Bobby shows him the bathroom first –giving what he hopes is time enough outside the door– before leading Evan into the kitchen, hands held together. It’s not the first time Bobby thinks about it, but he’s hit again by how tiny Evan is; standing right by Bobby’s side, he reaches just about his thighs, arms short enough that Evan has to reach up to properly hold Bobby’s hand while walking. It’s strange to think that, despite that, he’d end up becoming a man taller than Bobby himself. Buck had to have been a late bloomer.

It’s the first time Bobby makes breakfast with a kid in mind since Harry went to live with Michael. There’s a difference in food tastes between a tween and a child who, not that long ago, had just been a toddler, but Bobby finds that the challenge to make something sufficiently enticing is the same. He cuts up fruit for Evan and serves it in a bowl of chocolate cereal flakes that May had left behind in one of her visits, just enough to get Evan to eat, and goes to fry himself some eggs. Food seems to take the timidity out of the kid –like it’d dobe yesterday– because by the time the bowl is empty, Evan is talking with Bobby again.

“Thank you!” The phrase is practiced, such clearly taught manners Bobby can pratically see someone making Evan repeat that, but it still makes him smile

“You’re welcome. Did you like it?”

“Uhm-hm!”

“I can make you another one.”

That stutters Evan for a moment, but he recovers quickly enough, shaking his head. “No, thank you.” He gets up from his chair, a bit clumsily with all the body motors of a five year old, but he’s back to his feet anyway at the end, picking up his bowl. From the stove –just finishing with his own breakfast– Bobby feels his eyebrows raise again as Evan follows to the sink. “I’ll help wash.”

He doesn’t reach up to sink, and Bobby doesn’t have a step stool. “Oh – you don’t have to do that.” Bobby doesn’t think he would want Evan washing the bowl –made of ceramic– anyway. But Evan keeps standing by the sink, looking up at Bobby with those big eyes. “...Do you want to?”

Evan nods wordlessly, and Bobby sighs, turning off the stove top. Well – the eggs were practically ready already.

It’s more work to pull a kitchen chair to the sink and help Evan on top of it than for Bobby to simply wash his dish himself, but it’s clearly what the kid wants; Bobby keeps at his side, a hand on the chair to balance it and lets Evan do the job, even if every time the bowl clunks at at the bottom of the kitchen –loudly– he has to hide a wince before Evan looks up. By the end, when Evan looks at him anyway, almost expectantly, Bobby smiles instead at him.

“Nice work.” It makes Evan smile too.

He keeps on top of the chair as Bobby goes to retrieve a dish towel, reaching out to Evan’s hands to dry them when he’s back. Evan lets him do it, though he agrees with the need, telling Bobby, “Waving your hands gets stuff wet,” face serious.

“It does,” Bobby agrees, feeling amused again. He dries Evan’s palms and the back of his hands, reaching between his fingers too; his hands are small enough that he can hold both in just one hand. “Did your parents tell you this?”

“My Maddie did.”

“Ah.” Bobby nods again. “You’ve got a pretty good sister.” When Bobby was his age, Charlie tried to teach him that rats ate the holes in cheddar cheese, so he'd stop eating it. Maddie’s blowing out all competition compared to that.

“She’s the bestest.” Evan smiles openly at the thought of his sister – it makes something ache in Bobby’s chest. When he’s done with drying Evan’s hands, the kid marvels at them triumphantly, “All dry now,” before looking back at Bobby. “Can I call her?”

The expression on Bobby’s face sobers minutely before he gets himself on check. “I don’t think she’s at home,” he tries, slowly, imagining the landline Evan’s thinking about, probably defunct for years. Maddie’s not in any home, at any rate. Bobby still smiles apologetically at Evan. “Sorry, buddy.”

“School?”

“Something like that. But if she could, she’d probably be here with you.” Bobby doesn’t have to lie about that.

He doesn’t know how much it serves for comfort though. Evan seems to have lost the novelty of having dried hands.

“Come on,” Bobby tells him quietly; he picks him up from beneath the shoulders –a very light weight– and puts his feet back on land. “Thank you for washing your dish.”

“I’m a good boy,” Buck answers, though the words –wherever he learned them– lack the usual enthuasiam. Bobby still gives him a tight smile.

Evan seems content enough to play with his car while Bobby has his breakfast, and it’s a good enough streak of peace that –after washing his own dish straight away (it would feel kind of embarrassing not to, after everything)-- Bobby’s ready to try out the phone calls he should take today.

He doesn’t have work now –still the deal with Simmons– but starting from tomorrow Bobby is back in the station, and for a twenty-four thursday and friday. Buck’s probably covered, seeing as this was a workplace accident, but Bobby isn’t sure if he can get a week of leave to take care of him, seeing as they’re not family. Instead, he’s got to bother Hen.

“Take over for you? Like– now?”

“Just tomorrow,” Bobby tells her. “I’ll try to find two other senior employees for thursday and friday. And I’m going to clear everything with the chief.” Obviously. Not that it would be a fun conversation.

“...Can I ask why you’re doing this?”

“It’s nothing serious,” Bobby reassures. He looks over the counter back to Evan, hopping the truck instead of dragging it down like a car. “Buck got himself some magic spilled on him yesterday. I’m taking care of the fallout.”

“But it’s nothing that got him into the hospital?”

Maybe the daycare , Bobby thinks. “No. He’s okay. Just need someone to watch over him. But I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t have to.”

Bobby knows this isn’t an easy ask. The firehouse just got new people – and it’s going to be down a firefighter and a captain. Bobby has enough grace with the fire chief that he’ll probably get the go ahead, but he needs Hen to be fully okay with this; other than her, he just has two or three other people that have been in the firehouse for longer than seven years.

Hen takes her time to answer, but she eventually does, “I can take today.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’d take all of them but I have school. Just make sure Buck’s doing good. You know how he’s been, these days.”

Bobby does.

He thanks Hen, and hangs up the phone after saying he’d wish Buck well on her behalf. He can’t, when Evan has no idea of who she is, but in a few days time Buck would thank her for having his back – if indirectly. Bobby calls up his two other proposed substitutes, and leaves the fire chief for last, already with an acting plan ready. It’s a short enough talk; it always rankles Bobby to have to call off work, but seeing as this is half Simmons’ fault, Bobby still gets heard by the fire chief – at least partly.

“And this is until firefighter Buckley’s family can come take care of him?”

“...It’s not going to take that long.” Bobby has to hope so; there isn’t anyone coming for Buck.

He doesn’t have to be lying to his boss, unless he’s proven wrong. Bobby is almost entirely sure he won't – but he still makes an internal note to remember to call the magic consultant Daniels had mentioned before. Just in case.

Finally, he abandons his phone on the counter, and returns to Evan’s side.

“Your phone’s outside the wall.”

“It is,” Bobby agrees. By the math on his head, there probably weren't phones around when Buck was at this age, at least not readily available, but he doesn’t look shocked. It probably doesn’t matter too much anyway to a kid this age. “Do you want to see my TV? It’s pretty weird too.”

The prospect doesn’t seem to interest Evan all that much though. He shakes his head almost defiantly, continuing to run circles with his firetruck. “Daddy says TV fires your brain.”

“Fries,” Bobby corrects gently; he sits on the chair on Evan’s side. “Your dad’s a teacher, right?”

“Uhm-hm.”

“Well. He’s probably right.” Bobby doesn’t know if he’s supposed to go against the internal logic of Evan’s primary caretakers – even if he doesn’t particularly care for them. “He doesn’t ever let you watch it?”

Evan shakes his head. “Outside’s funner anyway.” But he stops playing for a moment; looking unsure, he peers up at Bobby, like he isn’t sure he’s allowed to tell him this. “Sometimes there’s movies in kinder garden.”

Bobby smiles at him. He doesn’t correct that it’s kindergarten this time. “What’s your favorite?”

Bobby is not a big streaming guy, but he’s suddenly very glad that Athena gives enormous weight to her weekend reality TV binges; it’s easy enough to search up for Cinderella in one of the apps the living room TV has, a title font and film poster Bobby probably hasn’t seen in almost ten years. It’s cute that, from all the classics Buck has no clue about, this is the movie he apparently liked enough to remember the name and storyline, telling it to Bobby as he sets up the TV. Bobby remembers it well enough – Brook loved the thing to pieces. That was her first halloween costume, when she had the age to actually request one.

“The rats are cool,” Evan tells Bobby, a strange deja vu. They were Brook’s favorite part too.

“They are.”

Evan’s a little awed when the movie starts with only a few presses of the controller, asking, “There’s no tape?” He tries to focus on that, instead of anything else – easy enough when Evan ignores the opening credits to keep asking his questions. “It’s magic?”

“Just a different kind of TV,” Bobby answers, before pointing back to it. “Come on, now. Your movie’s about to start.”

Evan’s set up on the couch – right in the middle, still small enough that his legs don’t even dangle out all the way from the top of the cushion. Bobby leaves him a glass of water on the coffee table, unfortunately without a cover –Athena’s kids had already grew out of sippy cups for a good few years before Bobby came along– but it’s distant enough from the edge that an accident probably won’t happen. He’s ready to leave Evan there and go finish with the other things he has in the to do list, but when Bobby straightens up again to leave, Evan taps at the cushion on his side before Bobby can get any far.

“Watch with me?”

Bobby halts – thinks – feels his thoughts halt too. He knows the film front to back; some years ago, he’d probably be able to quote it on a whim. There’s something slightly nauseous at even just seeing the font they used at the start, but Evan is asking. He’s been talking with Bobby more than ever before.

“Alright.”

Bobby sits back down again.

-

“Hi, baby,” Athena starts when Bobby answers the phone, her velvety voice a second wind across the line. “How is Buck Junior doing?”

Bobby huffs, glancing back to where Evan is watching one of Cinderella’s sequels; he’d been very excited when Bobby told him there were more. “We’re both okay. Evan is watching movies.”

“That’s nice.”

“Something nice on your end?”

“Hah. No. I just apprehended a man trying to sell coughing hexes in a bus stop.” Bobby smiles at the phone, though Athena won’t see it. “Do you want me to bring one for you to give to Captain Simmons?”

Bobby shakes his head – amused. “Let’s play nice.”

Talking with Athena retrieves for Bobby some of his sense in reality. So thrown off the curb as he is, it’s easy for him to feel like he’s stuck in a fever dream – even if it isn’t a purposefully cruel one. Aside from Buck’s current predicament, though, the everyday life of the rest of the people in Bobby’s remains the same. His also won’t be so outlandish for long – though the ache it’s going to leave will probably stick around for an extra moment.

“I talked with the station,” Bobby moves on. “Managed to get the rest of the week off. It’s probably going to be the time Evan’s with us.”

“Seven days, huh?”

“Maybe shorter.” Athena’s voice didn’t sound critical –just pensive– but Bobby still feels the need to answer everything from within three feet of distance. He’s not sure that the nonchalance on his voice actually works. “I’ll search for the number of a specialist that someone from the station mentioned about Buck’s case. Maybe we’ll have a more clear-cut cronogram then.”

“Don’t rush yourself. You’ve got to already be pretty busy taking care of a little kid.”

“Not really, actually.” The affirmation was as much a surprise to Bobby as telling it to Athena. “Evan’s a pretty easy kid.” He doesn’t know if it had just been a good age, but even now, Evan seemed content to stay sitting in the same place for over two hours.

Athena’s more difficult to convince though. “Let’s wait on that,” she answers him, voice non-committal – only a little bit amused. “Now he’s playing well because you’re still a stranger. When he gets used to you I don’t think he'll still be as shy about taking up space.” Buck wasn’t so different from that.

Bobby tries not to feel a sense of apprehension at Athena’s words, though that’s a moot point. He talks with his wife for a moment more, enjoying the brief pause from both their ends –Athena’s as a police office, and his from, really, babysitting– before they have to end the call, Athena being called back to action. Bobby feels like a glorified housewife as he puts his phone down, a day at home, doing chores and taking care of a child waiting for him.

Evan’s still in the same place when he gets back to the couch. The movies manage to hold his attention for some time, but only that. He starts squirming in what Bobby realizes is probably a bathroom call, and he sends Evan away while he puts everything in the living room back in its place; he comes back in a moment holding his hands distantly away, like they’re contaminated.

“They need washing.”

It’s easy for Bobby to feel fond for the kid. He leads him back to the kitchen to help him wash his hands, and Evan talks about the movies as Bobby repeats the same thing they did just a few hours ago. Evan’s consensus is that he still likes the first Cinderella better, but that the third one is very fun – and that the movies’ picture gets really clear as they go on.

It’s with a sense of amusement that Bobby promises him to show other movies that are clear too, though only later. He still prides himself in his babysitting too much to just park Evan in front of the television.

“Hey, kid. I’ve got to get started with our lunch, but what do you say about you helping me with it?”

“I’m allowed?”

“Sure.” Evan was still too young to hold knives but there could other things Bobby could give him to do. “There’s an adult in the kitchen, so it’ll be safe.”

Bobby leads him to the fridge – picking out vegetables for lunch. It would be a clumsy wash with Evan, but he’d like helping with that.

He moves with Bobby – though he’s still talking. “Is my Maddie an adult?” Evan looks almost serious, unsure as glances up to Bobby in front of the fridge. “She cooks for me,” he explains. “I don’t want her to get in trouble.”

Bobby hopes that the smiles he gives Evan is reassuring – even if he’s feeling that clench is his chest again. “Maddie’s careful. I’m sure it’s not a problem.”

Bobby makes a serving of fried rice to himself and an omelet for Evan, an easier recipe to get the boy to eat. He still offers him a spoonful of the fried rice from his plate, just to try out, and Evan looks satisfied after he munched on it, though he’d said before he really liked his omelet too. He asks Bobby, “Can you do that one to Maddie when she comes to pick me up?” and he can do very little besides agree. If Maddie Buckley showed up on his front step, Bobby would cook her anything Evan wanted.

Evan starts to list to the side after insisting on helping with the dishes from lunch too, blinking drowsily as Bobby puts him back on the floor after the fact. He would be due to a nap even if he hadn’t woken up so incredibly early, and Bobby’s honestly surprised it took him this long to crash. He lets him nap in the living room –somewhere Bobby can watch him as he takes care of the house– and makes a bed of the couch, pulling a quilt from one of the cupboards. By the time Bobby drapes it over Evan, he’s already got his eyes closed, and is breathing deeply and slowly.

There’s an ease to taking care of a child. It’s not always calm –Bobby has to agree that, eventually, Evan will have to start giving him trouble– but most of the time it follows such a clear set of rules, bed, then food, then playing, then food, then bed again, that you can almost get to a rhythm. They’re practiced steps, and that makes the list they compose as easy to follow as hard for Bobby to do it. He knows what he’s doing – that’s what makes him feel nauseous.

He tries busying himself with learning a bit more about Evan’s –Buck’s– current condition, and does manage to track down the phone number of the supervisor sent to investigate the shop Buck had gone in. The man sounds like a snotty professor, a person Bobby should have supposed would become an expert in this sort a thing, and he struggles to know if it’s a good or bad thing that he speaks so matter-of-factly about what happened to Buck. It’s an everyday thing to him. Burocractic, even. Bobby wishes he could feel as normal about it.

There’s a good deal of calculations done with the weight of the full contents that were in that box, but the estimation given to Bobby as to how long it would take for Evan to go back to Buck is indeed around a week. He’d start remembering things that happened recently –slowly, then less so– and eventually would wake up as himself. Bobby only has to wait.

Only.

He ends the call with a polite thanks and farewell, and looks back to the living room – to the little boy sleeping there. From behind the couch, Bobby just sees blond hair; it’s far too easy to imagine that it’s another child sleeping there.

Bobby goes to bake in the kitchen.

-

When Athena arrives back home, just before evening, it’s to a rich smell of cookies; the house’s been coated in it, strong even at the front door, and Athena follows the aroma into the kitchen with just a bit of curiosity. She’s not exactly surprised to see Bobby and little Evan at the table, a plate full of cookies right in the center as the pair has dinner. The boy has a smear of chocolate across his cheek.

He’s sat so he’s the first that catches sight of Athena – Bobby with his back turned. It takes a moment for recognition to cross over Evan’s face, but when he does he smiles – probably still high on sugar.

“Hi, Athena!”

Bobby turns. Entering the kitchen proper Athena can see their dinner – two triangles of sandwiches for Evan and a piece of toast for Bobby, nothing but something to hold him over as he waits for her. It’s sweet, and Athena gives him a kiss with the same taste – just at the cheek. There are children watching.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hey, you two.” Athena looks from Bobby back to Evan, and smiles pleasantly at him. “You remembered my name.” Said a night ago; it’s a pretty good memory for someone Evan interacted with –for the first and only time– just then.

“It’s pretty,”  he tells her, so earnest Athenna knows Evan isn’t just trying to win her over with a compliment. It gets a laugh from her, but it’s in good nature as she glances back to Bobby.

“I’m glad it’s memorable, then.”

Bobby is smiling back at them, but it doesn’t entirely reach his eyes. Athena feels her face soften.

“Is there food for me?” she asks him – mostly to take him off his own head. It works as intended when Bobby blinks up, getting up from the table to retrieve two plates of sandwiches he’s made for both himself and Athena, waiting for her arrival in the fridge. She stops him in front of it just for a second, wanting to give a second kiss in comfort, and Bobby accepts it just slightly ruefully. She takes her own plate from him then, telling him her thank yous before following back to the kitchen table.

“Did you have dessert first?” she teases Evan after she’s sat down. The plate of cookies before her still looks relatively full, and it’s hard to know how many Bobby baked exactly, as he didn’t leave any cookware in sink, but he usually didn’t do with just few.

Evan looks sheepish, though the smile that Athena keeps on her face must reassure him he’s not really in trouble. “Bobby let me lick the rest of the batter.” Evan looks all the more happy for it. It’s an enchanting sight.

“He’s been helping me with the dishes,” Bobby explains, sitting right by Athena. “I figured some reward was owed.”

“That’s very good of you,” she tells Evan, and this time he doesn’t duck his head in a fluster.

“I’m a good boy,” he says – entirely earnest. Though Bobby keeps smiling privately to himself –a little more life in his eyes after the moment in front of the fridge– Athena actually snorts to herself. And to think this would be the kid she’d fight with in front of an ambulance.

She gets to watch him do good in his word as soon as he finishes with his plate. Though Evan has to wait for Bobby to finish his own dinner, he –when accompanied– eventually goes to the sink, using a chair to reach it and be able to wash both his plate and the glass he used to drink juice. Athena will admit to being a little won over, especially when Evan looks back in expectation, waiting to be complimented.

“Very good,” Athena tells him, only a little bit amused. Meeting Bobby’s gaze from over Evan, she raises an eyebrow until he says, “Maddie taught him.” Ah . That makes sense.

“I can take care of the other two,” Bobby tells both Evan and Athena, moving on to the table to retrieve the rest of the plates. That leaves the two of them alone, and Athena is pleasantly surprised that Evan doesn’t immediately clamp up – though that might just be Bobby’s near presence.

“How do you know my Maddie?” he asks her, going back to the table –back to the cookies – and Athena follows the lead.

“She needed help with something.” A ride-along, but Athena’s not sure how that would fit in Evan’s idea of a fourteen year old Maddie. “And now she’s helped me a number of times as well. You’ve got a very smart sister.”

“Yeah,” Evan agrees, already smiling at her mention. He’s slightly less polite in his excitement, speaking and eating, but Athena doesn’t find in herself to hold it against him. “She’s super good at school!”

“Have you started already?”

Evan nods. “Kinder garden,” he mispronounces around a cookie. Evan sounds more enthusiastic about his sister’s own schooling though.

“You’re good at it too?”

“I dunno. I like being home with Maddie. But she’s got to leave too – so it’s okay. I watch TV there.” Evan pauses before finishing the second half of his cookie, suddenly more sober. “I’ll be in trouble for not going?”

“I’m sure it’ll be alright for now,” Athena reassures, reaching out a hand to pat his over the table. “We’ll explain it to your mom and dad.”

Athena pointedly hears the silence from where Bobby’s still washing.

After the dishes are done with and Evan has finished with his last allowed cookie –”Bobby said I could have four,” he counted proudly on his fingers– they leave the kitchen, the evening well started now. Athena still hasn’t found a moment entirely alone with Bobby, and it’s not that she doubts his well-being, but she still wants to check with him. Bobby’s moving more naturally with Evan today, but it’s not done without a strain, Athena knows. She almost prefers the times Bobby does stutter over, like when he goes to clean Evan’s face, and visibly remembers this isn’t the only thing the boy should have washed.

“Evan,” he starts, a little unsurely. “Can you already take baths on your own?”

Athena already expects the shake of Evan’s head. “Maddie helps me.”

Bobby sighs, but he moves on before Evan can think he’s annoyed. “That’s okay.” He must have expected it too – the boy is five years old. Athena had her mother washing behind her ears until she was seven, though that was mostly because Beatrice always prefered doing everything herself. “Are you okay with me helping you today?”

Bobby asks it with hesitation, but Evan just wordlessly raises his arms – waiting to be picked up and taken to the bathroom. He’s very lucky he was never kidnapped, Athena thinks, but she just watches silently as Bobby takes him into the wash, as fond for the little kid Buck was as worried for her husband. Even for her, there’s something bittersweet about watching Evan; Athena can’t begin to imagine what Bobby is feeling.

She takes her nightly calls with Harry and May while Bobby’s in the bathroom –Athena doesn’t share the most recent development with either of them, at least for now– and then putters around the living room until the bath is unoccupied again, reading until she can do her own nighttime rituals. There’s a work bag and a stack of kid clothes by the living room’s stairs that didn’t exist there in the morning of the day before. Bobby brought a new pair of clothing from the latter with him into the bathroom –though the newness is debatable, really, if he took those things from his firehouse– and it’s in them that Evan comes out in Bobby’s arms, a towel wrapped like a cape around his shoulders.

Bobby forgoed washing his hair because of the hour, but the bathroom’s umidity has still made it plaster and curl over the boy’s forehead. Buck rarely lets his hair look that way –Athena just knew that it curled because of the time after the bombing, when Buck didn’t do much of any grooming– but it’s endearing, especially with his baby face; it reminds Athena slightly of dolls she had as a child.

“Okay,” Bobby tells Evan, sitting him back on the couch. “You stay here while I clean up in the bathroom.”

Evan looks okay with following Bobby’s words –already rubbing at one eye the way kids did minutes from crashing– and he’s been enough of an easy company that Athena suggests to Bobby, “You can shower yourself already if you want. I don’t mind watching him.”

“You sure?” Bobby doesn’t seem so much, looking back at her. Athena gives him her best unimpressed look; she did raise two children of her own. “Alright,” Bobby lays off – even if still isn’t looking that reassured. “Be good, Evan.”

“Alright,” he answers easily. Underneath one of Bobby and Athena’s towels, he manages to seem even smaller.

As Bobby leaves both of them on their own –still giving one last glance back before disappearing into the bathroom (Athena tries not to feel offended)– Athena closes up her book, propping an arm over the couch’s backrest as she shifts in Evan’s direction. It won’t take long for him to go to sleep; Athena has half a mind Bobby will want to do that on his own though, rightly hesitant as he is about taking care of Evan, so her plan is just going to be to entertain him before Bobby gets back. With how much her husband was hovering, she doubts he’s going to take too long.

“So, Evan.” Athena waits for him to look at her – quiet but not apparently any timider as he glances from behind a rubbing fist. “What do you like doing at home?”

“Storytime.” He doesn’t have to think it over; even the reminder seems to leave him a little more spry.

“You read already?”

“Maddie does. Or she makes up something right there!”

“That’s impressive of her,” Athena smiles. There are some children's books leftover somewhere in one of the house's bookcases, although she’d have to look for them; she’s not sure she should be asking Bobby to read one of them though. “What’s your favorite story?” Athena stills asks Evan, to keep him occupied.

It’s an easy job. Not unlike Buck, Evan forgets himself when he’s speaking – splintering in new sentences as his head trudges on. Despite his age –and of his need for sleep– Athena finds that Evan is perhaps even more talkative than Buck. It makes sense; as harmless as the trait is, she supposes it would be something that’d be taught off him, at least until it didn’t happen as much. She’s happy enough to listen to him rattle off a story about wolves in a forest, even if she can’t follow it so well in the way Evan tells it. Athena’s still genuinely smiling when Bobby steps from the bathroom – a quicker shower than even him usually takes.

“--and the wolf family got separated!”

“Everything okay here?” Bobby looks from between Evan –melted against the couch, though his hands kept moving with the story– and Athena, at least not looking overly surprised to find that everything was well. Athena still sent him a look.

“Okay,” Evan tells him, yawing just after. Both Bobby and Athena smile at it.

“Evan was telling me a story.”

“You know, usually it’s the other way around,” Bobby teases. He huffs something like a laugh when Athena just sends him the same look again. “Alright. The bathroom’s free again. You’re okay with going to bed, kid?”

Evan nods, raising his arms wordlessly again. This time Bobby doesn’t hesitate as much, picking him up almost in muscle memory; Evan fits in his arm like something practiced, sighing as he rests his head over Bobby’s shoulder, though his eyes don’t close just yet. Athena’s heart doesn’t flip, but it does angle a bit to the side – if only in relation to Bobby, as mundane as, for the moment, he still manages to look.

“Say goodnight to Athena.”

He doesn’t have to be reminded of it, following on Bobby’s words naturally enough Athena imagines Evan would wish it to her anyway. “Goodnight, ‘Thena.” He doesn’t ask to hug her –or to be hugged– but the politeness of his goodnight reminds Athena of every time Harry and May had said the same to a family member on a trip when they were that age.

“Goodnight, baby,” she answers with perhaps the same sense of deja vu. The words still fit well enough.

Athena watches Bobby take Evan to the guestroom; she doesn’t follow. She has her own routine to move on to, and Athena does so, first taking her own shower, and then proceeding to the skin care drill she follows mostly for the therapeutic value of massaging over her face. By the time she’s locking down her hair, sitting in front of the dresser in her and Bobby’s bedroom, he comes back into the room, quiet enough Athena can read his thoughts. She forgets her hair for a moment to look at him –the tired shape he makes at the door– and urges him close until she can look up properly at his face.

“You’re okay?”

“Always.” Bobby shrugs when she insists on looking at him with caring concern, “Just feeling old.”

“Watching over a baby gave you a crick on the back?” she asks, trying for levity. Bobby looks off for a moment, though his face doesn’t change.

“I think my chest did more.” He says it with an air of joking, but it doesn’t land. Athena’s face just softens further. “It’s okay. I’m sure I’m not going to have a heart attack,” Bobby tries again. He sighs when she pulls him down until she can cup his face, but he does as asked; he meets Athena’s gaze.

“You’re a good man, Bobby. Keep that in your head this week, yeah?”

“Sure,” Bobby answers as she kisses his other cheek. His eyes close; he breathes out deeply.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Cap,” Bobby listens to his phone’s answering machine the next morning, just frowning slightly at seeing Hen’s contact, and then hearing the weird uncertainty in her voice. “Was Eddie not supposed to know Buck’s out of commission? Did you not tell him or something?”

He sighs. Hen’s message was sent relatively early yesterday – his phone was forgotten after he finished his calls, and she called his number around the end of her shift, when she must have been closing up shop as an acting captain.

Bobby can imagine the circumstances to her call and current tone of her voice; Hen almost sounds like she’s uncertain if she did something wrong, as she tells, “He called me during the shift asking about Buck. I think they had plans, or something? Anyway – if Buck was hiding in your place I’m sorry, but he should probably call Eddie. Or you should.” Bobby hears Hen take a breath. “He is good, right?”

It’s not a secret; or, at least, Bobby didn’t purposely plan it to be. He can well imagine the kind of teasing both Buck and he would receive when the team heard Bobby had to take care of him in his younger years – not that there was a lot of teasing going on in the firehouse these Eddie- and Chimnless days. If it is to stop someone from worrying, Bobby’s fully alright with telling them everything – it’s a slightly ludicrous thing, though, to say over the phone.

Hen still sounds more unsure than straight up worried, so Bobby at least doesn’t have to feel so bad for having missed her call. It’s early; he just got started on breakfast for Evan, having found him to still be asleep today. Hen’s probably just arrived at the station, and Bobby will send her a message to ease her troubles – and apologize for the missed call. “I’m sure everything’s fine,” she’s saying from yesterday, though Bobby knows she’d welcome any ease to her troubles, especially if she’s going to be working fully alone –no Bobby and Buck either– this week. “Just…talk with me when you can. And tell Buck to get well soon – again.”

Bobby sends Hen a quick text, reassuring her and promising to call Eddie; he also tells Hen that, if she has time, she can visit Buck – it would be easier than explaining himself. Bobby isn’t sure if he should tell Eddie the same –the last he came into Bobby’s house, they didn’t exactly part in good terms, even if Eddie sent him a one-worded apology through the phone the next day (no less sorry for the brevity)– but he’s still Buck’s best friend, as far as Bobby knows. If they did have plans together, Bobby can imagine how much Eddie would fret for not seeing him; and he’s already going through enough.

Bobby hears soft steps on the floor boards though – and Eddie’s call will have to wait. When he turns it’s to see Evan standing right in the entrance to the kitchen, barefooted and rubbing at one of his eyes, as his other hand clings to the toy truck. He looks more disheveled than yesterday –soft under the morning light– but even seeing him get out of the room on his own today leaves Bobby with a weird sense of pride.

“Hey, kiddo.” Bobby puts down his phone, and abandons the ingredients over the kitchen counter for now. He turns to Evan. “Sleep well?”

He nods – wordless. He’s still half asleep enough Bobby imagines he won’t get any more elaborate answer, and he holds back a snort, leading Evan to the table so he can finish up with his breakfast. It’s enough to wake him up, after he’s decently fed and wiping at his mouth with a pleased look. Though still looking soft –his hair is a mess– Evan’s awake enough that he talks with Bobby, and contributes on his own too.

“‘Thena doesn’t eat?” He looks around – as if trying to find Athena. It’s a child’s thought –he did see her have dinner with them yesterday, but who understands how someone so young thinks– and Bobby looks at him with a mixture of amusement and fondness, not that different to how he feels about Buck in general.

“She’s left for work already. Athena takes her breakfast with her.”

“That’s early,” Evan thinks aloud. You can say that again , Bobby thinks – remembering his own morning routine, when he’s due at the firehouse. “You have to leave too?”

“I’m not working right now,” Bobby answers. He surprises himself with his honesty when he tells him, “Not while I take care of you.”

He doesn’t mean anything bad with it –just doesn’t want to make Evan confused after he already told him on the first day that he’s a firefighter– but the boy’s face curls, a look of sheepness coming to him as he tells Bobby, “Sorry.” It’s a more apologetic voice than a child should take.

“It’s okay,” Bobby reassures him, feeling only a little wrong-footed. “I chose to do this. Until your parents come to you, right?” he remembers again of the evasion – though Evan’s face doesn’t lighten at the mention of his parents.

The rest of the time in the kitchen is spent in silence. Bobby helps Evan wash his plate again and then directs him to the living room while he finishes up with the rest of the dishes. It’s while on the sink alone that Bobby gets an idea, and when he goes to the living room after –finds Evan playing with the truck over the coffee table– he’s already pulling up his phone.

“Hey, kiddo.” Evan pauses on his playing to peer at him, and watches him while Bobby sits by his side on the floor (his poor knees) pulling up the images on his phone. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Bobby’s phone screen isn’t as big as the folded travel maps he used to have in every car compartment, but he zooms as best as his old fingers can at the map of the United States, angling his phone for Eva to see. “You know how I said we’re waiting for your parents? Well – that might take a while, and I don’t want you to be scared because of that. You see, this is where your town is,” Bobby moves over to Pennsylvania on the map –though he doesn’t know exactly where Hershey is located– before following to California, “and this is where we are. It’s far, right?”

Evan nods, staring expectantly at Bobby’s phone; he touches a finger to the screen somewhat unsurely, and after the immediate surprise of moving the image with it, Evan studies the map again, quiet as Bobby watches him. “I don’t want you to think that they’re taking their time to get here because they’re too busy, or that they don’t care. We’re just far, okay?”

“Okay.” Evan glances from the phone back to Bobby. After a brief moment of uncertainty, he moves –slowly– into a hug; embracing the side of Bobby’s body. Bobby puts a hand on his back – lets the hug linger.

Evan returns to the phone when he backs away again. He has to hold it with two hands, clumsy as he moves through the screen, but now there’s just wonder on his face. Bobby watches him, letting himself keep his seat to the moment, longing in his chest.

“Maddie’s gonna come too?”

“Maybe.” Bobby keeps his answers to the side of ambiguity, trying to escape the feeling of a lie. It’s to keep Evan calm, he reminds himself – and that’s how he looks, looking at the map like he’ll see his parent’s car moving through the state lines.

“Why I got so far?” He looks up to Bobby, looking more confused than concerned. Most likely, Evan doesn’t entirely understand the distance – he just sees that it takes three swipes to get from Pennsylvania to California, and that’s already far. Bobby can only shrug, and he doubts the expression on his face is reassuring.

“I don’t know. But it means I’m here to take care of you. That okay?”

Evan still looks at the phone for a moment, before letting it go back to Bobby, saying back, “Okay.” He turns to him, angling his head up at their height difference. “Can I see TV again?”

-

Bobby has two big jobs to figure out on the phone: online shopping and talking with Eddie. He’s conscious of the humor in equating them in difficulty. Bobby’s not as technologically illiterate as he sometimes pretends just to see a twitch appear on Harry and May’s face, but he still doesn’t like putting his credit card information on a random website. It’s just necessity that has Bobby actually typing the address for the online shop May mentioned to him before, searching for the things he can’t get out of the house to buy Evan – since he can neither stay alone, or sit in Bobby’s car out of a car seat (he’s not tempting fate a second time).

Evan won’t stay for long, as much as Bobby’s growing attached to the little man –this is a good thing; Buck will be back– and so he can’t go overboard in his shopping. He just orders hygiene products that are actually for children, the coveted car seat, and, after some deliberation, a plushie of a mouse, cartoonish enough there isn’t a chance either him or Athena will find it around the house and have a heart attack. Bobby chooses express delivery –even if it costs more– and sighs after the deed is done, taking a moment of pause. Now he’s got to finish with the second job.

Bobby more or less knows how Eddie is doing in dispatch; May keeps him updated, and she’s grown close enough to him while working in the same building that even her work stories, when she comes to have breakfast with Bobby and Athena on the weekends, organically include him most of the time. Eddie’s doing okay – or so Bobby would think. His last visit to the house would argue otherwise, and that’s what worries him. He can’t see for himself how Eddie is doing. Bobby can’t watch out for him either.

He can dissuade Eddie’s worries regarding his best friend however, and that’s what gives Bobby the last gust of energy to open Eddie’s contact. The call goes to voicemail –comeuppance for missing Hen’s– but that was to be expected; Eddie’s at work right now. Bobby clears his throat, wiping a hand through his face as he hears Eddie’s recording to leave a call, and when the tone rings he starts to speak.

“Hi, Eddie. I’m sorry to get to you at an awkward time, you’re probably at work right now. Don’t worry about having a missed voicemail – I’m just not texting because this is…a little complicated to explain. But I want you to know Buck’s okay; he just can’t get to his phone right now. There was an accident while he was with the B-shift; he’s not hurt, but he got doused in some magic stuff. I’m looking after him while the effects pass. Buck’s safe.” Bobby takes a breath. “I hope you’re safe too. Call me whenever you want. Take care, okay?”

Bobby pockets his phone, taking a moment just to breathe. This time, he makes sure the damn thing is going to ring as loud as possible – he doesn’t imagine that just a message on the voicemail is going to cut it for Eddie. Bobby just doesn’t send him a picture of Evan –an image is worth a thousand words, or something like that– because that feels like an invasion of privacy on Buck. Bobby’s not going to keep any photos from this time; even if there’s a part of him that’ll have something new to feel longing for, most likely.

He walks back into the living room. Evan is watching a cartoon – it’s one old enough Bobby isn’t sure he actually knows it, or if he chose at random on netflix, but he looks well entertained. It’s better to sit at his side rather than to keep hovering, and Bobby does it to take pity on his poor legs; these last few days, he feels Evan is going to disappear in a cloud of smoke any time he’s not looking at him.

Bobby sits with a fair amount of distance, joining Evan on watching the cartoon. It’s before his kids’ time, and so there’s a memory less for Bobby to have thrown at himself. Despite the small space between him and Evan, the kid immediately leans closer to Bobby, until he’s got his head on his lap – so naturally, it’s like there’s no need for a thought to be given. Bobby’s heart doesn’t flip as much as it just aches, the way he’s been getting acquaintanced with. His hand hesitates on his side. But he doesn’t run it through Evan’s curls.

-

Evan naps with his head on Bobby’s lap after one or two episodes, then naps just on the couch after Bobby gets up to clean the house. It’s about the time that it takes for Evan to sleep –or Bobby’s been particularly noisy– as the next time he comes into the room, Evan is rubbing his eyes. It doesn’t take long for the remains of sleep to disappear. He’s been cooking inside the house ever since Bobby brought him from the station, and Bobby knows kids need sun too. So, when Bobby asks him if he wants to go walk, Evan immediately perks up.

He changes from his pajamas and puts on the only set of shoes Bobby found on the firehouse’s deposit, still looking excited nonetheless. There aren’t any parks close to Athena’s house, but it’s a nice neighborhood and the day isn’t too hot. Evan picks up Bobby’s hand before he can even propose it, and so they leave the house, Evan swinging Bobby’s arm up and down. For something as simple as a walk across the neighboring streets, Evan looks impossibly excited.

Not all the houses around have a grass lawn. Athena’s own doesn’t, and the neighbors that do still have that California dryness to it. Evan watches everything with a keen eye, even if he keeps quiet for long stretches of the walk, only speaking up when something really does catch his attention.

“There’s less trees here.” Bobby doesn’t exactly know how the street Buck grew up on looks, but there’s enough similarity between Pennsylvania and Minnesota for him to imagine. When he got to LA, he thought the same things Evan is right now.

“The climate here is drier,” Bobby tells him conversationally, meeting Evan’s eyes as they keep walking hand in hand. “Can you feel the difference in the air? Here’s probably a little more warm, right?”

“Yeah,” Evan nods. Speaking of, there’s a line of perspiration building at the side of his face; visible beneath his fringe. Bobby pauses the walk to give Evan the water bottle he brought, and as he drinks it –holding the bottle with both hands– Bobby catches the eye of one neighbor, bringing a trash bag outside.

“Hi, Bobby,” she greets them first. They’re not close; Bobby works too long hours to socialize properly with the people from the block, and he prefers to invite his own friends –the firehouse– when he finally has time for a barbecue. He’s still friendly with everyone though, easy enough with who lives around Athena.

“Hi, Janice.” She’s older than him, but not by much. Evan watches the stranger with grand attention, though he’s still drinking water, and Janice seems to match the curiosity. She fixes Evan with a smile, cooing.

“Hi! I hadn’t seen you around here before. Is he your grandson, Bobby?”

He’s not sure if he should be offended that the neighbor thought grand before just child, but it’s not like Evan is either one. “Just a family friend,” he chooses not to lie. It’s not far from the truth. “Me and Athena are watching him for the week.”

“Another kid at home,” Janice smiles at him, before turning to Evan. “And what’s your name sweetie?”

Evan finishes with the water bottle, holding it uncapped. “Evan.” Despite acting a little more shy, he still looks miles away from how he was in the firehouse, Bobby’s company –familiar, now– bringing some comfort. The timidity is just more charming than worrying now, and both Janice and Bobby smile down at Evan as he takes a step closer to Bobby’s leg.

“That’s a wonderful name.” Evan ducks his head, smiling slightly, and Janice looks back to Bobby, appearing enchanted. “You and Athena must be having fun.”

Bobby shrugs; he won’t deny the current smile on his face though.

“You still look a lot like Bobby,” Janice continues to Evan. “Oh – and that birthmark. Aren’t you the cutest thing.”

Evan shuffles on his feet. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, exactly – but there’s just so much a kid can hear someone coo at them, even if it’s well intentioned.

“We should get going.” Bobby wiggles Evan’s hand slightly, smiling as he looks back to Janice. “Nice seeing you.”

“Likewise. Bye-bye, Evan!”

“Bye,” Evan waves back. He has to hug the rest of the water bottle with his whole other arm to so, before Bobby retrieves and caps it.

Walking away from Janice’s front lawn, Evan returns to his mood from before, but Bobby notices a new twitchyness to his steps, as plausible to be enthusiasm as discomfort. Evan scratches at his face slightly – over the red blotch of his birthmark, Bobby notices. He’s not hurting himself, but Bobby still watches him closely, though he doesn’t stop their walk.

“You okay?”

“Uhm-hm. You have nice n– neigh-bors.” The word is only slightly clumsy in his mouth; Bobby smiles a little amusedly at the choice. He wonders where Evan heard the word before. “Like a TV show.”

“There’s nice people outside of the TV too,” Bobby tells him. “Do you know your neighbors too?”

Evan shakes his head. “Mommy and daddy don’t know the names like you do. And I’m not allow-ed to play in other people’s grass.”

“That’s polite,” Bobby answers neutrally. Evan keeps rubbing at his forehead, and he calls his attention again, pulling a little on his hand. “Hey. Is your face scratchy?”

“Nuh-huh.” Evan still looks sheepish as he brings his hand down from it. He peers at Bobby, seemingly unsure. “It’s weird?”

“What? Your face?” Bobby asks, feeling a little down when Evan nods. “Not at all. Don’t you like your birthmark?”

“It’s too bright,” he complains. Suddenly, Bobby understands why Evan’s hair is so long in the front.

“I think it’s lovely,” he tells him – entirely genuine. Bobby doesn’t want to put him on the spot, but he stops his steps, turning and ducking down so Evan has his full attention. “You know, I had a grandmother who used to say birthmarks were angel’s kisses. Yours means you got two of those.”

Bobby looks closely at him. He sees the first sign of an unsure smile on his face, and the way the higher mark relaxes when Evan stops frowning. Bobby smiles too.

“Come on,” he tells Evan, straightening up again. “I think we walked enough to go home.”

-

Bobby comes home to find two things: one, his online shopping has gone through and would probably come later in the day –so the extra fee would be worth it, after all– and two, Eddie has texted him.

It’s a new string of messages to take up space from his prior apology. Bobby and Eddie’s contact is threadbare after Eddie left the firehouse, and there was something a little haunting about having weeks of silence only to be stopped by Eddie’s quiet I’m sorry, Bobby .

[05/27]

Eddie Diaz [22:57]

I’m sorry Bobby.

[05/28]

Captain Bobby Nash [06:22]

You’re okay, Eddie.

I know you’re going through a lot. Please, talk with Frank.

Your place here will be waiting for you when you’re back
to 100%.

With the silence that also bracketed it moving forward, Bobby much prefers Eddie’s new message – even if it’s not about the best of moments.

[today]

Eddie Diaz [10:12]

I just heard your voice message.

What magic stuff? What happened to Buck? Has
he gone to the hospital?

Bobby lets go of Evan’s hand to answer. Evan walks further into the house happily, being careful with the stairs like Bobby asks of him, while he turns to his phone.

Captain Bobby Nash [10:52]

Are you free to come here after work? If you have time
before picking Christopher up from school come to my
house. It’ll be easier if you see it.

It isn’t long before Eddie answers with a thumbs up, and Bobby pockets his phone. He has to look for Evan when he comes down the stairs, but Bobby finds him before long, not having wandered away. He has to direct Evan to the bathroom to wash his hands –they’ve been outside– but the next thing to do is already clear on Bobby’s head with the hour.

“What do you want for lunch, Evan?” Bobby looks at him while helping him dry his hands, watching his face go thoughtful. “Do you have a favorite food?”

“Boxed macandcheese.” He speaks it like it’s just one big word. The answer is not immediately surprising, considering a child’s taste buds, but the boxed part strikes Bobby.

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Evan smiles. “Maddie makes it for me.”

Bobby can’t help but smile a little at that too – even if it’s not as brightly as Evan. “I don’t think I have a box in the kitchen, but I can make it from scratch if you want to try it out.”

“Okay,” Evan agrees easily enough.

He helps Bobby as much as he can, mostly giving the ingredients that Bobby asks of him, as Evan talks about his sister. His aren’t excitable stories – Bobby thinks that Buck and Maddie had to have had a very monotonous childhood, but she clearly injected some fun in their days for her brother’s sake, in the way Evan talks excitedly about even hide and seek in their parent’s backyard.

The Buckleys have the air of specters in Evan’s stories – they aren’t featured in them, but Bobby knows they’re hovering by the memories’ edge. As much as Evan doesn’t mention his parents, Bobby still notices that he doesn’t talk about playing at home, or having fun on family outings. Evan’s life is Maddie, in a way that has Bobby rethinking how worried Buck was after she’d been taken by her ex-husband. Evan wouldn’t have lost just a sister; the way Evan talks about her, you’d think she was his legal guardian.

“--and then Maddie gave me a card that shooted fireworks!” Bobby doesn’t know where excitement begins and realism ends, but he hopes –for both of the Buckley children’s sake– that Evan doesn’t mean actual fire-starting fireworks. “Mommy took it when she saw, but Maddie said she’s gonna give me one new the next time she sees ‘em selling.” Bobby gives him a piece of cheese, Evan immediately eating it. “‘ank you.”

“You’re welcome. Do you want to stir this?”

“Yes, please!” Evan’s all too happy to drag a chair over –Bobby hides a wince at the noise of its feet scratching the floorboard– and he climbs to the height of the stove top and the wooden spoon waiting in Bobby’s hand. The focus on a specific task pauses his talking, but when the motions of stirring the cheese through the pasta growns repetitive enough it restarts. “Athena’s gonna eat too?”

Bobby shakes his head. “Don’t think so, bud. Here – scratch at the bottom. She eats lunch at work; but we can save her a plate.”

“Okay. Cooking is fun.”

Bobby smiles at him. “We can make something together for dinner too.”

“Will there be stuff to stirrr?” he drags over the word, mouth a bit uncoordinated.

“Sure,” Bobby tells him. The enthusiasm is immediate;

“Yay!”

Evan likes Bobby’s mac-and-cheese well enough, enough to ask him to make it again when Maddie comes with their parents to pick him up. Bobby’s glad to actually do it, whenever he sees her again – for nothing else, than to thank her for having taken care of Buck. Bobby doesn’t imagine that she’s got much of gratitude from their parents.

This time Evan insists on helping with all the dishes from lunch, and seeing as he took part in the job right from the start, Bobby can’t really deny him the end either. The easy feeling that latched onto his back ever since he opened the fridge with Evan by his side echoes again as he helps him through every pot and pan that they used to prepare for lunch. It’s something that he already does with Buck in the station, most shifts, had done with Harry and May when they still lived at home, with his children, when they were living. It’s easy for Bobby’s head to get lost in that parallel, but it’s easy just to enjoy it for what it is too. He’s put music on as he started at the sink, and the moment’s all around soft to habit. Evan is helping and talkative, and he makes a pleased sound when a Bruce Springesteen song comes on.

“I like that one.”

It’s the same words and tone that Buck had used in that concert, years ago, and for a moment, when Bobby looks to the side, he sees him; illuminated only by the stages’ light, too far away, and smiling at Bobby like they weren’t just coworkers.

Bobby had been the one to introduce him to Springsteen, fully convinced Buck had to have been living in a rock for having not heard even his name, and, really, Bobby hadn’t been that wrong. He knows that there’s no way Evan had heard this song when he was this age. It’s not a song that Evan remembers – just one that Buck does.

Bobby had been warned of this: little memories that keep, despite the spell, even without reason. The specialist he called yesterday said that it would be easy to spot them, and it is. The oddities would become more obvious the closer Evan would come to just return to Buck; for now, there was just this song, remembered across 20 years of time. Bobby supposes there’s a reason, too, why it had been so easy to gain over Evan’s trust – he already has Buck’s. He doesn’t know if that thought leaves him feeling braver or just more scared.

He watches Evan, Buck, the same man and the same little boy, and forces himself not to be stuck in place nor in time.

“I have some CDs, if you want to listen to them,” Bobby suggests. It’s easier, when Evan is looking at him with a smile on his face.

The afternoon almost passes by too quickly. Bobby turns on Athena’s sound system just to get some music CDs to play, and shows Evan the cases they came with, beyond the little boy’s time and still by now already old. Evan can’t read the lyrics on the back, but he likes the covers, as small as they are. They listen to some songs and then Bobby follows to show Evan music clips, and that ends when he just sags against Bobby’s shoulder, ready to nap. Bobby aches.

It’s two hours before Evan wakes again; time Bobby tries to kill when he’s left without company. By Evan’s rousing, Bobby just asks him to pick them a movie to watch. There’s little to do around the house, and even less that Bobby is willing to when he can pay Evan company instead. He tells Evan a list of movies that star rats, and by the middle of Ratatouille, Bobby’s online package arrives.

Packages , plural, actually. The car seat comes in an individual box –the bigger of the two– but everything else is packaged together in another one. Evan stays in the living room while Bobby goes to receive everything from the mailman. Both packages are wrapped in plastic and tape, unrecognizable aside from the name of the online shop Bobby used, and Evan's eyes go wide in curiosity when he brings everything inside.

“What’s that?” The movie was paused for Bobby to get the door, and he just brings the two boxes over the couch – they were meant for Evan, anyway.

“They’re for you.” He fixes him with a smile; but the enthusiasm on Evan’s face just stutters and freezes like a computer’s screen.

“Oh.”

It's better than for it to immediately fall –the opposite of what Bobby had been looking for, when he bought these things– but there's little comfort in the apparent shock done to his system, and a worse outcome still doesn't feel very far, looking at Evan’s hesitant expression. Bobby starts to wonder where he missed a turn, feeling almost dread when, with the first cardboard box open, Evan begins to rifle through its contents.

A pair of children’s toothbrushes, matched with colorful covers, non-tearing shampoo, bubblegum conditioner. The mouse plushie Bobby ordered together is right at the bottom, and Evan halts again when he looks at it; this time, the stutter lasting even longer. None of the items are fancy; they would be found on any market trip had Bobby been able to take it –well, maybe not the mouse – but it was what Evan needed. To have something to brush his teeth with, sure, but for comfort too, just as important in a house without any other child’s presence. Except Evan doesn't seem close to that now.

Looking at him makes the concern that’s bubbled in Bobby’s chest pick up. As does the weak timbre as his voice, when, looking at everything, he just makes another sound. “Wow.”

“Did you not like it?” Bobby doesn't know if that's what’s on Evan’s face. He looks unsure most of all; uncomfortable by the not knowing. It's not unlike the face Brook and Robbie made when Bobby finally took them camping, and they realized tha there weren't lights outside after dark.

Bobby tries to keep his voice light, but he feels like he's diffusing a bomb – it doesn't help that Evan almost looks to also be expecting one. He shakes his head at Bobby’s suggestion, making a noise that’s almost vehement, but it isn't like he says that he actually liked it. Evan keeps holding the plushie though.

“Thank you,” Evan mumbles. As far as it is from what Bobby is after, he still forces himself to let the matter go, met with Evan’s upset shape.

“You’re okay, kid.” Bobby shuffles closer on the couch until he's right beside Evan, letting the boxes be forgotten on the coffee table. As quiet as he'd become at the packages, Evan still seemingly accepts touch like a balm; when Bobby wraps an arm around his shoulders to pull him to the side, Evan just melts, fitting into the embrace. It's all muscle memory that has Bobby leaving him with a kiss on top of his head, before he gets back on his feet

“Thank you, Bobby,” Evan says again, but Bobby listens in it –despite the softness– more intent. Most of the box’ contents hadn't left it, but Evan brought the stuffed animal onto his lap – though with almost the air of something stolen. It stays there as Bobby leaves, because it isn't, and maybe Evan will start to feel like that; he brushes a hand through the yarny fur, less gingerly at every new touch. Bobby smiles at the kid.

He leaves the carseat in the house’s common closet until he has the chance to put it his car, and brings Evan’s new toiletries to the bathroom, right beside Athena’s and his own. The line of stairs the different shampoo and conditioner bottles make is something from a past life, as is the new bright kid’s toothbrush in the cup at the sink. Bobby takes a moment just to breathe, taking in the bathroom.

When he’s closing the door on his way out, another one knocks – right at the front of the house. It hasn’t been so long since the mailman came and went, and Bobby wonders if he forgot something for him to sign; mostly though, it’s with worry that he hurries back into the living room before the kid there can even have the chance of opening the door to a stranger, calling out, “Evan, stay there!” in a strike of anxiety that surprises even himself.

Evan hasn’t got up from the couch, of course. He’s right where Bobby left him, holding both the stuffed mouse and the toy truck, and looking just a little bit taken off at the shout – Bobby feels immediately silly.

“Sorry.” He circles back around the couch just to squeeze at Evan’s shoulder apologetically, before following to the door.

The knock was a one and done, and Bobby’s almost about to ask himself if he shouted at Evan because of a kid’s prank, but when he finally pulls open the door is to find Eddie on its other side.

The sun’s orange against his liaison uniform, and Bobby gets a peek of Eddie’s truck out in front of the driveway. It’s late afternoon – of course he’s come. Bobby asked him to, after his shift.

“Eddie,” he breathes. Despite the distinct awkwardness of having him in his front steps after the last time, Bobby’s glad to see him again.

“Bad time?” Eddie points his head to the side – inside of the house. He’s probably heard Bobby from the outside.

“No, no.” He’s not lying – Eddie could have arrived when Evan was still looking small and dubious at Bobby’s delivery. All in all, the kid seemed to be calmer, back in the living room. It’s just –Bobby winces– he didn’t actually prepare what he was going to tell Eddie. Although the point of this was for him to see Evan first hand. “You’re fine. Just…don’t be scared.”

More reassuring words could be said. Eddie’s face twists on itself as Bobby backs away, giving him the space to come inside. Eddie does so like he’s expecting a monster, which Evan isn’t. Bobby knows Eddie to be too good a father to be scared of his reaction; no matter his concern for Buck, he probably wouldn’t react too strongly, not in front of Evan’s face.

“Where’s Buck?”

Bobby isn’t above feeling some mirth at the question.

“Well…”

He walks Eddie to the first two steps down into the living room, space enough for him to see who’s sitting on Bobby's couch, all of 4 feet and holding two toys in his arms. Evan’s easy to recognize, on account of the birthmark – even if Bobby has that naive belief he’d recognize Buck even if he had an animorph spell spilled on him instead. He believes Eddie would too.

He freezes between two steps, staring at Buck in much more shock than Bobby had. He’d been more ready for dismay – if only because of what children bring in his head. Eddie, though, looks like… Well. Bobby supposes like someone who’s seen their best friend turned into a child.

“Evan,” Bobby starts, though he doesn’t know if it’s more for Eddie’s sake or Evan’s, faced with a new stranger, “this is Eddie.” He climbs down the stairs until he’s back by Evan’s side, a safe hand on his tiny shoulder. Bobby doesn’t miss that Evan hides slightly behind him. “Eddie, this is Evan.”

“Hi.” Evan’s tone is polite and generally more sociable than his first time meeting Bobby, but he’s still gone visibly shy, even if a day in Eddie’s presence would change that right away. Evan’s temple nudges into Bobby’s side –still in hiding– but he doesn’t look away from the new arrival. Eddie is looking back to him about just as unblinkingly.

“Bobby,” Eddie starts, though he doesn’t turn to him. There’s a question in his voice, and Bobby squeezes at Evan’s shoulder again, before he goes to step away.

“Let’s get some water,” he tells Eddie softly. At Evan, the tone doesn’t really change. “You’re okay while we go to the kitchen?”

Evan nods – no spoken word to give. It’s still confirmation enough, and Bobby finally steps away, leading Eddie into the kitchen. He’s aware that both of them stare at each other the whole way.

Bobby stops Eddie from saying anything with his promised glass of water, leading him further out into the patio. Bobby leaves the sliding door open so he can hear Evan if the kid needs him, but he doubts that Evan will, in turn, be able to pick up whatever Eddie and him end up saying. That’s about the whole pause that Eddie affords him too, wide-eyed as nothing else the next time Bobby turns to him.

“There was an accident,” Bobby starts – a hand raised like someone would use to calm a spooked horse, close enough with how Eddie keeps gaping at him. “A shop was keeping dubious stock. Buck had some spilled on him. He’s going to get back to normal.”

“You were all there?” Eddie keeps back; knees sunk in at every piece of information like just additional concerns, not the reassurance Bobby tried to give him.

Bobby breathes out a sigh. “The B-shift was. Buck took the monday with them.”

“Did–”

“He’s fine, Eddie,” Bobby’s more forceful. He holds Eddie’s gaze, and refuses to lay back until he’s finally taken a breath. “It was a lot he got doused in, but the only thing it’s messed with was his age. Buck’s okay. He’s just…”

Evan.

“A kid,” Eddie finishes on his own. Bobby’s only slightly reassured to see that he’s breathing and talking; Eddie still brings a too heavy hand across his face, looking almost battleworn. Bobby can understand that weight. Still – Eddie’s looking almost sick.

“Take a breath,” he tells him. Eddie does not.

“Does he remember anything?”

“You know that’s not how that works,” Bobby answers, a little too quiet. It doesn’t seem to soothe Eddie as much as he’d hoped.

He groans into his hands, turning around until there’s a patio chair for him to fall on. “How does this even happen?”

Bobby knows the question’s rhetorical, but he still answers like it will help the mood. “They think it was an anti-aging tonic.”

Eddie glares at him over his hands for a second. “What, a whole shipment fell on him?”

“A box’s worth.”

Eddie groans again. “ How do these things happen to him?” he asks a second time, so full of honest consternation Bobby’s humor dies down a little. “A hundred times telling him to be careful–”

“You know he doesn’t do it on purpose.”

“And how does that help?” Eddie drops his hands. Bobby doesn’t bristle at the sharpness – he knows it isn’t meant to him. It isn’t meant for much of anyone.

“Eddie,” he starts again. This time the call works in so far as Eddie takes in a deep breath, shaking through his chest.

They stay otherwise quiet. Bobby can hear Eddie’s breathing – the noisy, rattling way it’s grown to become, the last few months, every time things become too much. Eddie doesn't hyperventilate now, but Bobby can still feel its suggestion when he looks at him across the patio; he knows it wouldn't be Eddie’s first time. This –whatever it is, however it is– preceded his move into dispatch, and Bobby knows that it's part of the reason he even did that at all.

Bobby doesn’t question him. He stays quiet and as ever patient; just watches Eddie control his breathing from what looks like anger but is really concern.

He sniffs.

“What is he thinking? I mean–” Eddie swallows down, wiping his wrist through his face. “What does he think is happening? You said he didn’t remember.”

“He remembers what he did in that age.” Bobby moves to sit in one of the other chairs by Eddie’s – safe enough in distance. “He was…confused. To be here. But I said I’m a friend of his sister, and that I’ll take care of him until his parents can come and get him.”

“No one that’s going to show up,” Eddie continues, looking more miserable than gloating for reading through Bobby’s optimism. He at least doesn’t accuse him for being the liar that he is. “Is he not asking questions?”

“He’s a good kid,” Bobby tells him, heart feeling a little too big.

Eddie grows quiet again. Bobby lets him.

Bobby’s a selfish man. He knows that – it’s hard not too, these last days. But he’s also selfish enough to feel some kind satisfaction in having Eddie be sitting close again. With two –three, now, really– members of his team gone without any prediction of a return, having one sitting across from him another time settles something in his chest, even if it isn’t in the best of circumstances. He’s just glad that Eddie is alive enough to worry.

“You called him Evan,” he starts again – quieter. Bobby allows himself a smile; nods

“It’s his name.” He shrugs. “It helps to separate things. They’re not that different. He’s Buck – he just hasn’t become him yet.”

“Buck’s going to be pretty embarrassed,” Eddie snorts, though it sounds slightly damp. Bobby breathes his own bittersweet laughter.

“We’ll survive it.”

They walk inside again after Eddie has calm down. His glass of water does empty; Bobby makes Eddie drink it before going back, and so Eddie stands at the division from the kitchen to the living room with the empty glass in his grip, something to fidget with. It’s not so different from the toys in Evan’s own hand.

In Eddie and Bobby’s absence, he'd started to entertain himself where he'd been left, but Evan pauses in his playing as they reappear from the kitchen. Something warm blooms in Bobby’s chest at seeing that the mouse is in one of Evan’s hands, although they’ve both stilled by the time Bobby notices it. Evan’s face has turned back to something unsure at their return. He and Eddie almost match in it.

Eddie’s good with children, insofar as he has one, and loves him deeply, but he's never had the same enthusiasm that Buck does, not when strangers’ kids are concerned. Bobby knows Eddie had Christopher very young; that’s probably part of it. As it is, he is polite and as protective of children as any firefighter –Eddie would never stop being one– but he’s not a kid’s person. He is a Buck’s person though.

“Hey again.” Eddie sits his glass on one of Bobby’s side tables (he’ll overlook the lack of coaster) approaching Evan where he’s sat by the coffee table. Bobby doesn’t always know what he’s playing –most of the time he hops the truck like an animal, instead of dragging it like an actual vehicle– but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind the vagueness. He’s got more recent experience with kid rules than Bobby does.

“Hi.” Evan repeats it with the same voice as the last time, except without a Bobby to hide behind. With how quick he’d been to warm up to Bobby, it’s almost strange to see his shyness back, but Bobby recognizes that this must be the norm; with the little he knows about Evan, he’s mainly close to his sister. Bobby isn’t sure that he actually has friends.

Bobby and Eddie probably don’t make as nice an example as kids his own age, but they love Buck, and that’s a short bridge to cross. Eddie walks close to Evan with much less insecurity than when Bobby brought him out to the patio, and as much as he still is out of place, Bobby recognizes the willingness to work with the new development that he sees in himself. In the end, it doesn’t take too much of a change. Bobby knows, watching Eddie, that it’s just a purposeful blink to also see just Evan.

-

Eddie doesn't stay for long. He can't; Carla picked Christopher from school today, but Eddie's got to relieve her, already running a little behind time. As much as joining dispatch has freed him somewhat, at least where hours are concerned, Bobby knows Eddie still has a very busy life; other things are still there to overwhelm him.

Eddie does dedicate the little he can to Evan though. He talks with him about his toys –joins in the moment– and indulges the elaborate story Evan created for both his truck and the stuffed mouse. The kid’s easy to warm up; when he's seen and heard how genuine Eddie’s being it isn't long before he's talking to him with more confidence, only barely acknowledging Bobby’s own presence. By the time Eddie stands up to leave, Evan’s already smiling much more comfortably at him.

He accompanies Bobby as he walks Eddie to the front door, trailing back right behind him, not so immediately different from how he’d hid behind Bobby. It's a different sort of shyness than the first time seeing Eddie though, an hour ago at most. Eddie has been promoted from stranger to cool acquaintance.

Buck has always been fast to grow attached.

“You’ll tell me if anything happens?” Eddie looks at Bobby one last time. It's not the same anxiety from before, but he's afforded some concern still. Buck is his best friend.

Bobby smiles at him. “I will.” The exchange is vague enough that it can fly over Evan’s head, and both of them glance at him again as, none the wiser, he peers at Eddie. Some of the leftover stiffness bleeds from Eddie’s shoulders looking at him.

“It's alright if I come to visit again, kid?”

Bobby recognizes the surrealness of the moment. Evan’s not that younger than Christopher, really, in the grand scheme of things. Bobby’s always seen Buck as a kid –even when he shouldn't– and he's younger than him by two digits; there's an ease for him to see Buck as Evan that Eddie probably doesn't have. He's an year older than Buck. Now, Evan’s younger than his own son.

Eddie’s moving across the difference well though, like Bobby knew he –now matter how eventually– would. He trusts his team; even if some of them aren’t in his house right now. And it’s good that the trust is well answered – with how curious Evan is about Eddie, he answers him from still beside Bobby with no preamble, giving Eddie a big, repeating nod.

“Let’s not break your neck, pumpkin,” Bobby stills him after the second turn over, cupping the back of Evan’s head with an amused smile. When he looks back to Eddie he’s got the same expression – just a little softer.

Evan waves as Eddie walks outside with the whole of his arm, wishing him “Bye!”, though he still chooses to stay in the foyer while Bobby accompanies Eddie to the lawn. He closes the door after a solid thirty seconds of waving, Eddie already having answered with a wave of his own, and when it’s just him and Bobby standing on the front steps they share a mute, short laughter. For all Bobby should be getting used to it, he’s still shaking his head slightly in amusement, something solid and warm in his chest.

“I’m glad he’s got you.” The expression on Eddie’s face isn’t so different from the one over Bobby’s own, but he still feels something jutting out from inside himself at the softness Eddie’s carrying. Not because it’s directed at Evan – but because it’s at him.

Bobby watches him go after the awkward handshake-hug they share, the same from the end of every big event the 118 has taken part in. Eddie’s going to his house – his son. Bobby waits for the car to disappear behind the street’s bend, and then goes back inside.

It’s hours before Athena comes home. Evan’s still fully awake by them, having moved from playing over the coffee table to beneath it, to across the living room into the patio and back again – zooming a little like a bug. He’s certainly more energetic than yesterday –maybe an after-effect of Eddie’s brief company– but all the kid is doing is being lively. Bobby would rather hit his toe on the table than to punish him for it.

Evan insists on waiting for Athena for dinner, and when she finally comes home he greets her right by the door, carrying the stuffed mouse with himself. It’s almost an oversight –Evan ducks his face when Athena notices the new toy– but it seems his energy is up enough for bashfulness not to bud.

“Oh, would you look at that.” Athena’s voice carries wonder, the fluffy tone Bobby hadn’t had many chances to listen to before –he can’t feel any way about it with a kid at home– and so Evan doesn’t freeze as much as he just slows, only for a moment, before he’s having to hide a smile too. “From where did this mister come from?”

“Bobby.”

Bobby gives a solid attempt at glancing away from the teasing look Athena sends him at that, but he’s hiding his own smile too.

“Is that right.” Athena doesn’t ask it as much as she just states it. Still, she entertains Evan a little more before walking further into the room. “What else did Bobby do today?”

“He had a friend over.” 

Eddie , Bobby mouths from afar, a knowing look taking over Athena’s face. Evan walks with her –he’s polite not to run down the stairs, though he still won’t take the hand either Bobby or her tend to offer, just touching his own through the wall– and Bobby doesn’t know if he’s hungry or just happy to see Athena, but either way, they’re making their way into the kitchen.

“And how was that?” Athena’s question is as meant to Bobby as meant to Evan. The latter just hear it as a continuation of the conversation.

“Okay. Eddie likes trucks.” Evan would be very glad to know he actually has a jeep waiting just outside the station.

“Did Eddie tell you about trucks too, Bobby?” Athena teases again as she sits down on the table. Bobby breathes out an amused huff midway to their waiting dinner.

“It was nice to see him,” he informs her from behind a platter of smashed potato and beef; it pleases Athena as he expected. Though that might just be looking at the food. “And it was nice for Evan too.”

“Uhm-hm!”

“That’s good to hear.” Athena looks between both of them. “Maybe you could have more people around.”

Bobby just gives her a low shrug. “We’ll see.” He turns to Evan’s side of the table, his hand around the serving spoon.

Evan has his elbows on top – hands tapping over the wood, and body swaying slightly like he’s swinging his feet. Bobby’s parents were the type to hate that; not the movement as much as the elbows, the general lack of manner. Bobby neither understood it as a kid or when he had children on his own, and felt only fondness when he would look at them.

He reaches a hand out to serve Evan’s plate. “Give it to me, kiddo.”

Chapter Text

It's a good morning.

Bobby is the first to wake up at home, and without a shift to hurry to, he gets to drip like molasses through the morning. For him, that means taking the long way around in the kitchen, only the window’s soft light for company.

It's quiet –every room is quiet, when everyone is still asleep– and the whole of it all fills Bobby with a sense of peace as he goes through the motions of preparing pancakes. A kid’s favorite. Bobby liked it even when it was his dad the one doing the cooking, abd he finds that there is still something to enjoy now as he separates the yolks from the rest of the eggs. Two bowls, one for each to lick after.

Bobby beats the batter by hand so there isn't a chance he’ll wake up anyone with noise, but it still isn't long before he's hearing a child’s steps approach the kitchen. He's just barely done with the first part, the pan still heating up, but Bobby doesn't feel like he's lost a race. Without looking, a soft smile just takes over his face.

“Hey, pumpkin.” Bobby finishes cleaning up the counter before briefly washing his hands under the tap. The pan has to be hot enough; although he doesn't want to keep anyone waiting he still goes to pour a pancake’s worth on the pan before finally turning. “Did the smell wake you?”

Brooke giggles – she nods fiercely at Bobby, hands muffling her laugh so the baby doesn't also wake up, and Bobby goes to his toddler daughter, picking what seems to weigh like nothing for what's worth so much. He gives a big, noisy kiss to her cheek, despite Brook’s protested ”Ew, daddy!”, but she's still giggling, and Bobby’s smiling larger.

“Do you want to help daddy cook? We’ve got to be real quiet. Mommy needs her rest.” Bobby bounces Brook up and down, moving back to the stove. The pancake’s turning gold. It's the same color of the sunlight over Brooke’s hair.

Two small arms wrap around Bobby’s neck, Brooke’s cheek pressing against Bobby’s as she looks to the pan. “Ok,” she says.

-

Bobby wakes up with a headache.

-

Hen comes inside the house with her hackles raised, cat and cautious like, like she’s getting prepared for a particularly challenging scene. It’s too excessive –the only gore Bobby had to put behind was the mess left on the table and Evan’s chin after he had milk and cereal– and Bobby might have found some humor in it, if he’d woken up in a better mood. As it is, Hen’s level of caution –like Evan would jump to bite at her neck like some manner of creature– just makes him huff.

“He’s in his room,” Bobby tells Hen. He’d gone there after breakfast. Bobby’s not sure if he’s been a bad company. “You can put your gun down, corporal Wilson.”

Hen sends him a look, but her most abject flightiness dies down. “So Eddie wasn’t lying?”

“What is the probability of Eddie making up something about Buck turning into a child.”

“What is the probability of Buck being turned into a child?” Touché. “I would have expected you to tell me from the start.”

“I didn’t want to put Buck in the spotlight.” Bobby walks Hen further inside. His point still stands – he doesn’t feel any more enthused on the idea of putting Evan in the spotlight either. But after what he’d dreamed of, and waking up to a text from Hen asking him if he was up for a visit… Athena had been right on the idea of him seeing another face.

Maybe Hen sees that need in him too; she lays back from accusing him too much, even if Bobby deserves a lot more. Truth be told, he didn’t want to put himself in the spotlight too. He wouldn’t be able to stand other people’s opinions about taking care of Evan. Bobby knows what Buck is to him. He knows who he thinks about when he sees blonde children. Bobby either willingly brought a delusion or nightmare fuel to his home, and he’d rather not have anyone point that out. 

He starts on a coffee for both he and Hen. She can’t stay for long, he knows –she’ll have to get to the station– but it’s something for Bobby to do. Even washing the mugs later will do him great. The more he keeps himself occupied the better. The usual company isn’t working as before in this morning.

“You said he was in his room?” Hen looks over the house, finishing with her eyes on the hallway. There’s probably not too much of a child’s presence at home; Evan doesn’t have that many things, and he doesn’t leave the ones he does lying around. He had come out of the guest room and gone back into it again with both his toys in hands. Evan’s probably playing with them right now inside.

“The guest room,” Bobby corrects Hen – and himself. He said it first. Just a slip of the tongue. “He usually hangs around more close by. I…woke up with a headache.”

Hen’s expression softens. Though she neither asked for it nor expressed interest when Bobby started with the coffee maker, she takes the mug he holds out with quiet compliance.

“Had trouble sleeping?”

“It’s not Evan’s fault,” Bobby’s quick to defend; even if Hen hadn’t been exactly accusing him. Even if she’d be kind of right. “He’s a good kid. Quiet. More quiet than you’d expect from Buck actually.” Hen’s smile quirks slightly. “It’s just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me Bobby. I’m sure you’re doing your best. It’s probably a good best too. Athena always said you’re good with May and Harry.”

“It’s not really the same age mark.”

“You’ve got the experience.”

It’s too much on Hen’s face. Bobby looks away.

Turning to his coffee brings a distraction to Hen though. “Although you’ll probably want to lay back on the coffee.” She puts hers –untouched– down, like a point of reference. “I don’t think a caffeine crash is going to go well with a little kid at home.”

The sounds from one the doors from the hallway opening reaches them in the kitchen. Hen looks at Bobby pointedly. He feels a smile of his own creep on his face.

“Yeah.” He puts his mug down; if momentarily.

It isn’t long until the pitter-patter of Evan’s feet approach. He’s even more quiet than usual, which Bobby can understand – if not because he’s had a dark cloud over his head during breakfast, than because Evan probably heard Hen’s voice, a stranger’s. Despite everything, Bobby still feels a strong surge of affection when he catches Evan hovering from behind the dividing wall between the living room and the kitchen, peering inside like he’s not sure if he’s welcome.

“Hey, kid.” It’s the name he already used with Buck; a safe enough space. “Come on in.”

Bobby beckons Evan further, though the kid initially hesitates, until he’s finally scuttling to his side. Bobby isn’t sure if Evan looks more unsure or shy about Hen – just that he sticks to his side, a hand on Bobby pant’s leg, half hidden behind it, while he looks at Hen.

“This is Henrietta. Hen.”

“Another friend?” Hen positively melts at the first sound of his voice, quieter from beside Bobby. He gets it.

“Yeah,” he tells Evan softly. “She works with me too.”

“Hi…Evan.” Hen, for what is worth, doesn’t seem to be freaking out – that, or she’s hiding it very well. She probably just already did it before driving here.

For someone who entered the house looking like who expected the worst, Hen doesn’t even widen her eyes too much viewing Evan for the first time. Her eyes latch on to the birthmark –as anyone would– but she doesn’t look like she’s seeing a ghost. At most, Hen just looks unprepared. Bobby can’t say he blames her.

It doesn’t pass Bobby by that the person who’d probably most enjoy this –the station’s magic enthusiast– isn’t here to see it. That, of course, would have to assume Chim wasn’t feeling angry at Buck anymore – but Bobby doubts that would mean he’d hold up the same rancor if faced with Evan. Even if only because the kid is a pretty neat after-effect.

Neither Hen nor Eddie are too big on magic forces. Bobby isn’t either – but Hen’s married to a scientist, and those two parts have a centuries-old dispute. Hen has worked emergency services in Los Angeles long enough to be superstitious though; she would probably have escaped being doused in the same thing Buck had with one of the nullifying amulets she hides in jewelry. Bobby’s going to ask her for a thousand of his own to give Buck, after this.

“Hens are from farms,” Evan says. It gets a snort from Hen, as the last release of her column. Those words aren’t so different from the first Buck himself told her.

“Maybe you’ll get a nickname from somewhere too,” she tells Evan.

Really, Buck ? she’d asked him, years before. That had been in a kitchen too.

Bobby brings a hand down over Evan’s back, like physically waving away a cloud of memory. Like comforting your kid. The action doesn’t feel as natural as something like it would have yesterday.

“You okay? Just came here to see the noise?” Evan nods, two times, and Bobby doesn’t listen to the instinct to keep his hand on his back, even as he feels Evan sink into his side. “Alright to go back?”

He’s not sending the kid away. For one, Evan still looks far too shy to be in front of Hen; he’s not had a full day of energy like yesterday, still in his pajamas and smelling slightly of the milk he spilled during breakfast. Be sent away implies he wouldn't leave otherwise, whereas Bobby is slightly surprised he even came here – still peering uncertainty at the new presence in the kitchen. Bobby feels something unnamed at the thought that Evan just wanted to check on him.

The boy can go wherever he wants, where is the most comfortable; certaingly not here, even if the most masochist part of Bobby is blooming beside his presence. Bobby’s sure Hen has questions he has to answer in private. They can do that even close to Evan, if they keep their voices low enough, and he has his toys, but still, he asks Bobby, “Living room?” in a tiny voice, like he’s checking he’s allowed.

Bobby feels horrible.

“Of course.” He won’t pick Evan up –can’t, when it would feel only like an echo– but he looks deep in his eyes, until he's sure Evan knows his answer is true. Bobby doesn’t know what was the routine that taught the kid to go to his room when a caretaker seems a little too tired, but he’s glad that Evan at least still trusts him enough to go on a limb if he’s allowed somewhere else. He is – forever. No matter what happens.

The kid goes after a moment more, his two toys beneath one arm – almost overcrowed with everything. Both Hen and him watch Evan go, and Bobby follows with his vision to see that Evan’s chosen the coffee table again, sitting in front of it as he returns to his truck and plushie. He feels a thousand years old when he looks at Hen again. Bobby has to stop himself from trying to reassure her he was doing better than this.

He’d woke in the wrong side of the bed. It's not that unusual. Bobby has nightmares once in a while: horrible and ones like the one from yesterday too, pleasant right to the point he actually wakes up. Athena has had to deal with mornings he only barely gets out of bed, but they hadn't happened –thankfully– when her children were in the house. Maybe Bobby should have expected to dream of something like that with Evan at home. He’s thinking of his children almost everyday; it’s not unexpected that they’d follow him into his dreams too.

Athena must have known he had a rough sleep. She hovered for longer in the house, gaze catching Bobby’s in unvoiced concern. But she had her job, and she left with a lingering kiss, like a prayer, almost, for him to have a good day. Evan hadn't woken up by then, and a part of Bobby wished he would sleep for longer, at least until he could get his head straight –like if thirty minutes would put to rest something that ten years hadn't– but it wasn't long after Athena left that Evan opened the door of the guestroom. Bobby, still sitting right where Athena left him in the side of the bed, finally got up then.

He’s been more quiet. Bobby hadn't snapped at Evan –he’s not angry, for one, just aching from the core– but he wasn't able to entertain Evan like the days before, and the difference must have been stark. Bobby’s been quiet and distant, and that probably must have been more than unnerving to Evan. Bobby doesn't blame him for having retreated to his room –the guest room – after breakfast. He does blame himself for the small voice with which Evan apologized for making a mess on the table.

Hen’s eyes are far too kind as she looks at Bobby. He almost wishes he could hurt underneath them; as it is, he's so exhausted he barely feels anything beyond the dull ache that covers him from chest to stomach.

“How is he?” she asks; voice low, be for gentleness or for Evan not to hear them.

“Different,” Bobby answers softly. “And still like Buck. He was actually shier when I first saw him. You should have seen him with Eddie yesterday; they played trucks.”

“That’s nice.” Hen smiles gently. Bobby feels the sentiment it's more to him than really Evan. “Do you know how long he is going to stay like this?”

“A week or so.” Thinking about the end makes Bobby feel as steady as unmoored. “Eddie talked with you about the accident?”

“Just that it happened. It didn't surprise me either. Buck would get himself hurt when none of us are close.” She shakes her head – but Hen still looks fond. “I’m just glad it was transfiguration.”

Nothing physically harmful – or permanent. Bobby could be living a different kind of nightmare, he knows.

He agrees in a low voice, “Yeah,” turning his face from Hen’s. It’s not a very good subterfuge; Bobby still feels her eyes linger on his face.

Hen’s quiet for just a moment. “Do you want me to take him?” It gets him to look back; Bobby knows exactly what she means, but his face still turns with something like disorientation. “Me and Karen can have him for some days of that week; give you and Athena some breathing room. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“We can’t move him around,” Bobby shakes his head. “That’ll just make him… He thinks his parents are coming to get him.”

“That doesn’t have to change. Just say we’re all taking care of him.”

“ Hen .”

It’s not that Bobby feels like he has sole rights to taking care of Evan. Buck is friends with all of them – he’s part of their family. When he had his leg crushed everyone took turns to watch and help him. But Buck was 27, and Evan is 5.

“He can get used to me too,” Hen points out, but no. Bobby shakes his head again.

There’s a part of him that’s less logical, he knows. Keeping someone as young and timid as Evan in just one place with the same people is the most sensible thing to do; but Hen isn’t wrong. Evan could warm up to her just as easily as he did Bobby. She didn’t have to take him just now. But Bobby, quite honestly, doesn’t want her to take him at all.

He feels he’d be failing Evan. Most importantly, he feels he’d be failing Buck.

Maybe also himself.

“I can’t abandon him,” Bobby tells Hen, after a solid ten seconds of a too dry throat. Maybe he doesn’t have to explain. Hen was also there to pull him out of a hole after the airplane crash. She was the one that had the key to his depressing, bachelor apartment. She was the one that spoke with him.

He still feels the need to speak with her now – even if he’s being irrational. Bobby can’t just give up.

“You don’t have to prove yourself, Bobby,” Hen says. But doesn’t he?

He crosses his arms over his chest, an armor as he sags against a counter, eyes away from Hen again. It’s not his intent to be childish – but he’s not moving from here. Maybe Hen understands that too, because she just sighs.

“I hope you’re talking with Athena about all of this.”

“She’s with me,” he says. Bobby still doesn’t want Hen to worry; especially when this is his choice.

It’s not that he feels he’ll be rewarded for it –every time he sees Evan smiling, staying close to him, and feels contentment, it is with an ache– and he doesn’t want anything from Buck to be penitence. But maybe he will feel more comforted than Bobby does now, after everything. Buck deserves to have someone –especially now– that doesn’t go away.

“I’ll be too,” Hen reminds him. It gets a small flicker of a smile.

“I know, Captain Wilson.”

Hen rolls her eyes, but Bobby still feels pride in his chest. He’ll flaunt it another time – Hen’s already dealing with him for too much.

“Just firefighter today – thankfully.” Hen bites back a smile. It’s a good palate cleanser after everything. “I’ll have to get going, actually. I’m supposed to give in the reins.”

“I hope everything is alright in the firehouse.”

“We’ll survive,” Hen waves his worries away, even though Bobby knows they’re warranted. She’s without her team now – Bobby isn’t the only one laid bare. Even if Hen doesn’t take Evan with her, she’s still helping Bobby. “You focus on doing that too. And plan a team dinner, maybe. Everyone could use the company.”

Bobby indulges in a smile, before letting Hen go. He asks Evan to tell goodbye to her and he does with only leftover shyness, still getting up from the coffee table to peek at her exit. Curiosity seems to win over timidness –and whatever uncertainty Bobby left him– because he trails at his side for a moment more, wanting to know who that was (even if he’s not asking it directly).

Bobby looks down at Evan for a moment after he asks, “Another friend?” nibbling at one of his finger’s knuckles while he –on the contrary– looks up. Evan still has Buck’s face: it’s the same curve on his nose, and the mannerisms of when he’s thinking about something, a small twinkle in his eyes. When Bobby looks at him –really looks at him– he knows it’s not Brooke he’s seeing, or Robby, or any other ghost. It doesn’t have to be an echo of a son or daughter for Bobby to still feel paternity. He did it almost everyday, to someone he didn’t made a strand of hair.

Bobby looks at Evan, only Evan, when he indulges him. Hen’s a friend. Of Bobby’s – and Buck’s.

It settles something in himself, at least, that Evan doesn’t immediately decide to go back to his room, even after Bobby’s –unintentional, but even then– standoffishness this morning. Maybe he should watch the example.

“The weather’s pretty mild. Do you want to see the playground around the outside of the neighborhood?”

Evan’s face lightens from what Bobby hadn’t even fully noticed it fallen into. He reaches a hand out to him –a touchable offer– and Bobby feels something settle inside himself, even if not fully painlessly, when Evan gives him a tiny nod, wrapping five small fingers around it. Bobby’s not thinking of any ghost.

Evan likes the playground. That’s hardly a surprise; Athena tells Bobby Buck would have the same enthusiasm, and Bobby doesn’t know where the truth and humor part. The first visit does both of them good, and in the second one –the next day– Evan is so enthusiastic about it he doesn’t even complain about having to be in his carseat, one of the few things he’s vocal about his dislike. Every day, Bobby knows a new difference to the little boy he took from the firehouse. Monkey bars are his favorite from the playground. The car seat is, universally, the worst.

It’s good to leave the house. He’s mistaken for Evan’s parent sometimes –mostly grandparent, but Bobby can’t really fault those people as a quinquagenarian– and it surprises himself that this doesn’t burn as much, the third or fourth time. There’s something reassuring about being thought of as someone capable of taking care of a child, and after Harry and May, Bobby knows he’s allowed.

He thinks of blond-haired toddler giggling in his arms. The ache’s worse some days. But it’s just some days.

Buck’s frenetic in the playground. He runs so fast between places Bobby feels dizzy just looking at him, and yesterday, he came back home with sand in his clothes and hair blown to every direction, except for the strands plastered to his face with sweat.  Bobby already expects a repeat of it today. But he’s more content than annoyed. Evan –almost acting like a dog scared of losing its bone– isn’t as shy as insecure, Bobby is learning. Though the frenziness might be of the latter, there’s also some honesty in Evan allowing himself to run around.

Whenever he looks back to check if Bobby is still in the same bench, he smiles – baby teeth and baby cheeks.

Bobby’s alright.

Today, the time to leave stretches farther. Bobby wants to give more to Evan; yesterday, they came in the morning and had to leave before lunch, and with how messy Evan had become Bobby didn’t want to bring him to the park twice in the same day. He made sure to do the opposite this time –coming after he and Evan had eaten in the midday– even if it meant he had to survive the kid jumping up and down in expectation for the whole morning.

Evan’s…hyperactive, when he allows himself to be. Yesterday, Bobby felt like he was seeing him for the first time again, actually witnessing him run in an open place. It’s not that Bobby thinks Evan had been hiding –he’s become twitchy enough at home, moving from one place to the next during the same playtime– but he holds himself back in a way he doesn’t here, when there’s only other kids and no furniture. Bobby wonders if learning not to run at home is another of his parent’s doing. He can’t know, of course. Bobby tries to just be happy Evan is running now. 

He’s doing his best to be entertained enough on his own now that he’s chopped liver. Evan might as well forget Bobby exists when he’s zooming through the playground. Bobby doesn’t take his eyes from him for too long –conditioned from TV to be scared of daylight kidnappings– but he still has to actually pass the time, seeing as it’s so precious to Evan. And he’s far too aware of the saying regarding idle hands.

Bobby exchanges some conversation with parents and babysitters. He doesn’t correct their assumptions –whatever they are– and feels like someone infiltrated. It has the potential to be more amusing than daunting; he mostly just tries to be focused on Evan.

In one of the times he’s playing closer to Bobby’s bench –mostly alone, as the parents go to snack barracks or picnic tables– Bobby beacons him close. For all that Evan looks electric  he actually complies; running into Bobby’s knees with his hair all out of place and a very flushed face.

Bobby steadies him by the shoulders, feeling only amusement when he watches him breath harshly. You’d think Evan was fighting for his life out there.

“We leaving?” Evan’s wide eyed. Bobby’s flattered to think he’d come even if that’s his first thought at Bobby calling him.

“No,” he reassures; keeping a hand still on one of Evan’s shoulders, Bobby brings the other through his hair, pulling it back from his face. “You still have time. But we should have a snack.”

Evan looks unsure –more interested in just going back to playing– but Bobby sells him on the idea of one of his sandwiches. A good deal of Harry’s belongings stayed in Athena’s house, some for him to visit, other’s for memory, and it hadn’t take Bobby long to find one of his old lunch bags. It’s not as spacious as cooler, but Bobby’s not feeding an army; he wouldn’t want Evan to eat too much anyway, if there’s a chance he’ll throw up when he invariably goes back to playing.

Evan clambers clumsily on the bench space by Bobby’s side, gaining back his breath as Bobby starts to take out their food. Evan likes more vegetables than Bobby would expect for someone his age, but he’s picky about other things, he’s found. Yesterday, he tried to feed him ham in a sandwich and Evan’s face curled like a little kid’s when he saw it – though he didn’t vocally complain. This time, when Bobby gives him his sandwich –a good deal of napkins carrying it– he makes sure to catch Evan’s eye, promising him, “No ham in this one.”

Evan’s eyes twinkle as he receives his food. His legs swing back and forth on the bench as he starts to eat, which Bobby takes as a compliment. He’s still in that age where he’s messy with his food, for all he’s more willing to eat without help, but Bobby still keeps a napkin at hand just to clean sauce from Evan’s face and arms. He’s just glad the kid’s holding his food wrapped, and not touching it directly with his sandy hands.

They eat companionably quiet, only brief noises of satisfaction from Evan to punctuate the silence. He slows after Bobby asks him, and takes his time to eat, almost people-watching as he looks ahead. It’s munching the last bite of his sandwich that Evan’s eyes fall on a relatively close dog, still leashed, looking at it with open curiosity.

Though he says nothing to either Bobby or the pet’s owner –still holding to the leash, and taking a water break– the latter still notices his unblinking eyes, before Bobby even does.

“Do you want to pet him?” It’s not a big dog. Bobby turns from balling his napkins to the voice, following the leash down, and the dog he finds reaches to the top of its owner’s shin. It looks bigger to Evan, maybe the whole reason he’s staring at it so openly, but the dog has a goofy enough face that when the kid looks at Bobby, he lets him go with a nod, turning back to the dog owner as Evan rushes back to his feet.

“Is it kid friendly?”

“A sweetie. He won’t mind if you give him a pet,” she says the last part to Evan. Still wide-eyed –all excitement– Bobby barely manages to stop him a last time.

“Wait, bud. Let’s clean up your hands. You wouldn’t want to get ketchup on your friend.”

Evan nods fiercely, shuffling on his feet as Bobby takes an attentive napkin to his hands. It might as well be an eternity to Evan, squirming to go.

It’s not that Bobby doesn’t trust this stranger, but he still decides to keep close when Evan finally follows to the dog, only remembering to be shy when he’s face to face with it. The dog looks pretty bored from where Bobby is standing, but Evan still hesitates at the last second, bringing his hand forth much more slowly than his excitement implied. The dog owner looks at him with a soft sort of amusement.

The dog’s fur isn’t thick enough for Evan’s hand to sink into it, but he gets fur splayed between his fingers, looking a bit enchanted at the feeling. It’s probably soft – Evan brings his hand across the top of the dog’s head more than once, watching him close. Bobby will admit to feeling his heart squeeze again.

“Do you like dogs?” the owner asks Evan, a pretty easy question to turn a child, especially one already looking mesmerized at one. “Is there one at home?” she continues after Evan nods.

“No.” Evan’s paying more mind to his new friend than the woman attached to it, but he’s polite, and sociable when he feels safe to be. “Dogs aren’t allowed.”

“What about in grandaddy’s house?” she looks pointedly to Bobby. He tries to feel only mirth.

Her question makes Evan giggle though. “I don’t have a grandaddy.”

Her eyes turn slightly suspicious. Bobby doesn’t keep back his snort. “Family friend,” he tells her – close enough. It doesn’t return the woman to the same closeness as before, but she doesn’t call the cops, which is a win in Bobby’s view. Athena would never let him live it down.

Evan pats the dog for a good deal of additional times before letting it and its owner go, waving at their retreating forms. “Bye-bye!” he tells both. Bobby brings him into his side with a hand on his shoulder, feeling a soft smile take over his face.

He gives him a moment of waving and dog-watching before remembering him of their food, and the juice box that was still left waiting. “Let’s go back to the snack?”

Evan agrees easily, though he only does by following Bobby back to their seats, more interested in still talking about the dog, “Nice doggy.”

Bobby keeps smiling and pets a hand through his unruly hair.

-

Evan tells Athena about the dog when they all have dinner together, hours later. He tells her everything –which, most of the time, isn’t very much– but the dog is more material in a way that reciting every place he played at, be it at home or in the park, isn’t. There’s more liveliness in Evan’s face, for one. It stands for something Athena can actually talk back.

“Do you know the dog’s breed?”

“The type?” Evan furls his brow, shaking his head when Athena tells him yes. “Nuh-uh. His hair was soft.”

That’s not exactly illuminating – Athena and Bobby still share a smile across the table.

“May – my daughter – she had a dog phase when she was in fifth grade. She got this little booklet with a manual on dog breeds.” Even talking about it brings a smile to Athena’s face. “I think it’s still in her room. If you want me to find it?”

“For me?” Evan points at his chest, almost looking incredulous. It’s as funny as sad.

“Sure. You promise to take care of it?”

“Yeah!”

“Then you can have it for a while.”

Evan’s grin is blinding, almost. Though he can’t reach to hug Athena –sitting at the table– he looks at her with about the same happiness. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

The dog talk still lasts after dinner. Athena will have to look for the book, but even its prospect still has Evan swaying back on the balls of his feet. As he takes his place beside Bobby to help wash the dishes, he keeps finding new questions to give him.

“Does your friend have a dog?”

“Who? Hen? I’m pretty sure she did – but that was a while ago.” Bobby only notices he’ll have to explain how someone stops having a dog when he’s said it. To not explain to Evan the circle of life, he gives him a new plate to dry.

“And your other friend?”

“Eddie,” Bobby answers; Evan nods thrice.

“Yeah!”

“I don’t think he’s ever had one – not since he came to live here in Los Angeles anyway.” Between their jobs, and taking care of Christopher, Bobby doesn’t imagine Eddie could afford the time; and he’s never shown the interest, anyway. Pretty different from Evan right now. Bobby raises an eyebrow at him, only a little teasing. “You’re awfully interested about people having dogs.”

“Could you and ‘Thena get one?”

“I’m not sure our jobs would let us have enough time for one, bud.”

“Aw.” The dejection isn’t bone deep, at least. “I would give pets when I came to visit.”

Bobby feels his heart flip inside his ribcage. “Yeah,” he croaks out, unneededly, at Evan. The next plate clatters against the sink as Bobby goes to pick it.

Bedtime is a quiet affair. Evan’s active, but –beyond taking one or two naps through the day– he’s sleepy enough after sufficient time awake that it’s mostly Bobby who’s driving him through the house when it’s time for bed. He bathes Evan while he talks more sparingly than before and then leads him through brushing his teeth, Evan’s eyes blinking drowsily on the mirror’s image. By the time Bobby walks him inside the guest room, Evan’s chin keeps dipping into his chest, literally falling asleep on his feet.

Bobby keeps a hand on his shoulder and makes sure he doesn’t immediately careen to the floor. Evan seems younger when he’s close to falling asleep; he’d go to sleep in Bobby’s arms if he let him, which might be the reason Bobby’s so utilitarian about getting his bed ready: covers down, Evan in, covers up. He’s already dressed from the bath and Bobby just has to tuck him in like bread waiting to proof; covers right to Evan’s chin.

He pats Evan on the chest, hand brushing down to straighten the blanket around the little lump he makes. Evan’s quiet and still. Until now, Bobby hadn’t had to read him a bedtime story even once; he’s always quick on his own to fall asleep. Bobby doesn’t know what’s the feeling he has in his chest about that.

Though Bobby has been dealing with a half asleep child for the better part of the last hour, when he finally retrieves his hand back and looks a last time to Evan’s face, his eyes are open. Tired, sure, but meeting Bobby’s. He doesn’t jump like a bad movie’s scare, but feels something perhaps more frightening, a premature grief, watching the drowsy look on Evan’s face. Bobby sits on the edge of the bed.

“Hey.” He flicks Evan playfully on the chin, feeling a pang on his chest at the slight twitch it brings to his mouth.

“Hi,” Evan says back. He sighs – deep like a house animal, more put out than anything from its nature had any right to be.

“What’s up?” But Evan doesn’t answer, just breathing deeply and slowly, eyes halfway open. Bobby tugs the covers over his chin again, giving a sigh of his own. “Have a good night, kid.”

“Night night, ‘y,” Evan slurs, too under his breath at the end to fully make out the last word. It’s Bobby. He must mean Bobby.

Bobby gets back to his feet but, for a moment–

When you call an animal by its name it answers.

For a moment, Bobby has the instinct to leave Evan with a kiss on the forehead. It’s a physical falter on Bobby’s part before he finishes straightening up again – a pause he feels deep in the bones. His body has gone all cold.

When he looks down, Evan’s gone to sleep.

He leaves the bedroom.

Chapter Text

Bobby starts his weekend by firing a common text to both Hen and Eddie’s contact. Are you up for dinner tonight?

It’s Athena’s idea – kind of. She’d mentioned already that he should bring home visits –to keep him tethered– and at the end of the week, he might as well. Bobby supposes he’d be hitting a lot of birds with just the one stone. Eddie and Hen said they were willing to see more of Evan. And maybe it would do Bobby good, to remind himself that this is a team he still gets to keep. 

He’ll be getting a member back. That’s no reason to feel as uncertain as he does.

The text goes early – Bobby hopes neither of them sleep with their notification on, though they probably do. Bobby doesn’t think he’s ever gone to bed, or anywhere at all, without a phone close by, not since they existed for him to do so. He’s too used to seeing people not get to call for help – or miss someone doing so.

Both Hen and Eddie’s answers come in the small of the morning. Bobby’s bringing a hand down his face, an hour later, and still blinking blaringly at the ceiling, when he gets Hen’s. Four in the morning. I’m in . After another two hours, he gets Eddie’s, having given up and just gotten up to run a pot of coffee. Alright by me .

So Bobby at least has a plan for the evening.

He moves through the morning like he did the days before – except now with the always welcome addition of Athena. She sleeps in, enjoying the day she can, and Bobby thinks of letting the same happen with Evan, but he gets up early on his own, like every day before. It’s with excitement though that he hears Athena is also at home, when Bobby asks him to be careful about making too much noise. Evan covers his mouth with both his hands, eyes twinkling, and nods his promise. Bobby feeds him waffles.

It’s only later that Bobby makes Athena’s breakfast, giving her extra time to sleep. Evan buzzes by his side, excited with the idea of waking her with breakfast in bed, and because Bobby feels fondness rise from his chest to the height of his throat, he lets Evan carry the serving tray, after he’s sure he can handle the weight – though Bobby transfer the glass of juice to his own hand. Just in case.

Athena wakes up with a smile. Evan wiggles by the bedside, more thrilled than her almost, though not enough to clamber on her and Bobby’s bed uninvited. It’s the first time either he or Buck has come inside this room, Bobby realizes. He looks at Athena, smiling fondly between him and Evan, and –sitting by her feet– tries to focus on that instead.

“Thank you, baby,” Athena tells Bobby first – eyes knowing, though she can’t guess what the new, next thing that’s tormenting his head. Bobby’s just glad to have made her glad, and when Athena brings a hand to his cheek, he lets his head weigh it down.

She hasn’t forgotten Evan though, and turns to him next, smile become a little more teasing. “Were you the assistant chef?” At his enthusiastic nodding, Athena looks like she just barely managed to keep back a fond laugh. “Well, thank you very much for the meal, sweetheart.”

Evan grins at the thanks and the pet name.

“You can go back to sleep after the food,” Bobby tells her. But Athena shakes her head.

“And miss the morning? I want to know how you two keep spending it.”

“Can we take ‘Thena to the park?” Evan turns to him, eyes twice as big. As amused as Bobby is, he still has to slow the kid down.

“Let’s give her a little time first.”

An extra charge of excitement keeps hidden inside of Evan despite Bobby’s words. He’s reminded of a firecracker, watching Evan thrumming on his feet. It’s maybe because of that, that Athena moves further into the bed; leaving space by her side for Evan to sit and share her breakfast with. And for a moment, Bobby feels he’s part of yet another life – watching his wife and Evan break a waffle in two.

“I invited Hen and Eddie for dinner,” he tells her an hour later. The dishes are washed and Evan’s teeth brushed, and he’s gone into his room to retrieve his toys, left neatly in bed when Bobby invited him to help with Athena’s breakfast.

“Did you?” She looks pleased. It’s not the time for an I told you so –that’ll come later, after Bobby has seen them, and enjoyed it– but Bobby still sees the suggestion on her face, though she really does look happy for him to be doing this.

“We’re getting to the end of the week.” Bobby shrugs. The attempt of nonchalance doesn’t work –not on Athena and not on Bobby– but her eyes just soften slightly.

Athena pats him on the cheek, running a circle with her thumb before pulling her hand back and exchanging it for a light kiss.

It’s the time it takes for Evan to finish his search, and Bobby hears from afar the sound of his door, right beneath Athena’s soft question of, “You’re cooking something fancy?”

Bobby smiles in twin fondness.

“Just a family meal,” he tells her.

–

There’s enough ingredients for dinner, but not the dessert Bobby wants (not for five people anyway), and so he plans for a shopping trip later in the day. Evan gets added to it when Athena reminds Bobby of her standing appointment with May in a beauty salon.

“Oh. I can take him with me,” Bobby says. It won’t be with too much added trouble – or so he thinks. He’s been taking Evan out for the park for two days; the kid has a car seat now, as much as he hates it. Evan will probably like to see somewhere new.

Athena chooses to trust him.

“You can invite May, if you want,” he suggests last. This, somehow, makes Athena look the most dubious. “It’s her house,” Bobby points out.

If it’s her house that’s about to have a dinner party, or it’s her house that has been housing a small, child-sized Buck, Bobby doesn’t know; he might as well mean both. Either way it goes, Bobby just doesn’t want to feel like such a liar.

“I’ll mention it if it comes up,” Athena says. “But it’s your dinner, baby.”

Bobby likes cooking. He did it for most of his life. He always enjoyed it; the process and the sense of accomplishment. His first experience in the kitchen was taking charge of it after his father was too drunk to do it anymore, and the memory was rankled, but making a new one after he married Marcy –cooking for someone you love because you want to, and not because you needed– felt like a balm. That turned bitter too, of course – until Bobby couldn’t look at child-sized cutlery without wanting to throw up. But he managed to find yet another second chance. And another. And another.

He likes cooking for the firehouse. He likes cooking for May and Harry (and he likes cooking for Athena, and teaching Buck, and feeding Evan—). Bobby doesn’t think it has to be one or the other, but he understands what Athena is saying; he shouldn’t go from one extreme –hiding Evan at home like a state secret– to another. Evan is shy, for one.

Through the morning, Bobby gets texts from Hen and Eddie. Their questions is practically the same: can Chris or Karen and Denny come? Can they know? As ready as Bobby is to host everyone, he thinks for a moment more after his conversation with Athena. In the end, his answer is, respectively, no and yes . Bobby won’t put Evan in the spotlight; but he deserves not to be a secret. Eddie and Hen will know how to tell their own family about it; even if it turns out to not be telling them at all.

Even then, a part of Bobby needs May –and Harry– to know. It’s as close as an obligation, as far as Bobby’s heart is concerned. He can’t tell his own children about it. He can’t say –irrationally– that he’s sorry it isn’t them.

Earlier, Athena looked like she didn't think he should be feeling any guilt; maybe he shouldn’t. But that’s why Bobby is in AAA.

She kisses him for a long minute before she leaves. Bobby accepts it for the balm it is, even if it’s not cure enough for every one of his dark thoughts. He focuses instead on watching her go, and wishing her –and May– fun; and please , tell May to eat more than takeout.

Athena leaves with a commiserating laugh. After she’s gone, Bobby turns his attention to Evan.

“Hey, kid. What do you say about running errands with me?”

They don’t leave right away. For one, Bobby wants to write down his shopping list. Second – Evan is not even out of his pajamas.

He runs back to his room as soon as Bobby asks him, promising to change his clothes –”I can do it! I can do it”-- and leaves Bobby alone in the living room. In Evan’s absence, he’s ready to pull a piece of paper out and start on a list, but first, his eyes follow to where he stored Buck’s phone almost like it has a siren call.

He hasn’t checked it aside from that first time. Bobby charged it and left it on, just in case his voicemail was the thing that made Maddie call back, but the phone has been deathly silent ever since. It’s yet another reminder that, besides them, Buck doesn’t really know anyone. He’d been broken up with his girlfriend months ago, and Bobby didn’t know of any time he’d gone out since; Hen was too busy with school, and Eddie wasn’t in their station anymore. Bobby doesn’t drink. No one’s hours aligned. Aside from the notifications from Eddie’s last messages, when he still didn’t know what happened to Buck, his phone seems to be in as much of a limbo as Buck is, right now.

Bobby sighs, before putting his phone down again – face down, and away from immediate view, though he keeps it in the living room, somewhere central enough in the house. Buck doesn’t keep it locked, and his face is in the opening screen. Bobby doesn’t want to know how Evan would react, turning it on to see his own birthmark looking back at him.

He follows to the kitchen, finally with paper at hand. He likes having something to scribe on when he’s out for groceries; and it doesn’t hurt his eyes to look at it like a phone screen. Bobby’s determined to not use reading glasses until he’s sixty, at minimum. It doesn’t count when he and Athena are having fun.

Bobby is to the end of his list (ladyfingers, mascarpone, cocoa powder…) when he hears Evan come out of his room. Probably all the neighbors do, when he shouts, “Bobbyyy, I need help with buttons!” echoing through the walls of the house. As loud as he’s been –maybe a little because of it– Bobby can’t help but smile. He’s getting up from the chair by the kitchen counter when his phone rings – except he looks around, and doesn’t see it.

He’s forgotten it in the living room.

Bobby runs out of the kitchen with a speed he’d priorly only used in his job, running into the living room and Evan’s path before the boy has any chance of even thinking about helping him with his phone. Bobby’s right about that instinct, because he’s been dumb enough to leave it almost by the side of Buck’s. Evan was already halfway to it.

“I got it,” Bobby tells him, and tries to pretend his heart almost didn’t burst out of his chest as he answers the call – Athena’s number. “Hi.”

“Hi again. I forgot something at home. May asked me to bring her jacket, but I left it over her bed.” Athena stops to hear his breathing for a moment. “Were you running?”

“Uh,” Bobby stammers. “I’ll tell you later.” He glances at Evan – looking puzzledly at him, with a new set of shorts –unfastened– and a rumpled shirt. He’s dressed himself – if a little clumsily. “I can bring you her jacket when me and Evan leave,” Bobby tells his wife. To Evan, he motions him to come close.

Bobby finishes closing his shorts while Athena tells him her thank yous, only a little suspicious. They end the call with echoes that they’ll see each other soon, and Bobby lets out a last breath when he puts his phone down at last – away from Buck’s now. He looks at Evan.

“Nice clothes?” The boy tugs at his new shirt – showing it off to Bobby. He smiles, despite everything.

“Yes. You chose well.” Bobby ruffles his hair – it gets Evan’s cheeks to dimple. “Come on. Let’s leave a little earlier.”

He has to get May’s jacket before leaving, but it’s only a short circle around the house before Bobby walks out with her jacket around his elbow, feeling every piece of a father of a teenage girl – though May is neither his daughter or really a teen anymore. Evan’s excited about a trip – less about a trip on the backseat, but after putting May’s jacket (neatly folded) on the passenger seat, Bobby affords some time to speak with him.

“Are the straps too tight?” Bobby’s sure they’re not – he adjusted as best as he could the first time he put Evan in the seat, as much as the kid fidgeted through it. He’s shuffling on his feet now – looking like Bobby is going to put him in a torture contraption instead of a safety precaution. “Hey,” he ducks his head down until he can catch Evan’s gaze. “Talk with me, bud.”

“It’s for babies,” Evan says – looking between a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. He’s usually such a mellow child, it’s almost difficult to recognize the latter.

You are a baby , Bobby thinks but doesn’t say. “It’s for safety,” he corrects Evan. “Cars are made for bigger people – so these seats help you get comfortable.”

Evan still looks dubious, so Bobby helps him inside the car – directly onto the backseat. He distinctly remembers feeling the seat belt digging into his neck when he was younger –before he grew an entire foot every six months– and so he knows that’s what Evan is going to experience when he fastens him to a seat like he’d done five days ago when he was devoid of any other option. It had been no time at all before Evan had fallen asleep right there, easy to miss the discomfort, but he's wide awake now. Bobby’s not smug when the kid looks expectedly uncomfortable – he just hopes he’s understood it.

“See? I see a lot of accidents with cars at work. So you need this seat to be strapped in and comfortable.” Bobby knows the types of injuries that come from seatbelts and high velocity. He doesn’t ever want to see it happen on a kid’s neck. “This way you’re safe,” he tells Evan. Though he fidgets, he eventually meets Bobby’s eyes.

“I guess.”

Bobby breathes, brushing a hand through Evan’s hair. “It’s okay to need help.” When the boy lifts his arms –waiting for Bobby to pick him up– he does, and straps him in his right seat with a last kiss to his curls.

It’s not a long drive to where Athena likes to have her nails done. Bobby goes there first, recognizing both his wife’s car and his stepdaughter’s parked beside the salon, and he finds somewhere close to stop his own. May is on the sidewalk when he gets out, though Athena’s nowhere in view, and he makes sure to grab her jacket from the passenger before turning to go.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Evan, leaving and closing the door. To May, already standing just a few feet away, Bobby gives her a hug in greeting as soon as he’s in the reach to do so.

“Hi, Bobby.” She smiles when he delivers her jacket. “Thanks. I was going crazy after this thing.”

Bobby keeps back a little teasing about needing to keep track of her things – May, anyway, looks more interested in Bobby’s car.

“Is that…” she points vaguely in the direction of the back, looking somewhere between curious and uncertain. From where May is standing, there’s not really a full view of the backseat; at most just a bit of Evan’s hair from where he’s propped a little more taller in his chair.

“Your mom told you?” Bobby asks – just making sure. He said she could – he wanted her to, actually.

“She mentioned it. Is he really…”

“Young?”

“I was going to say tiny. Buck’s a pretty big guy.”

Bobby snorts. “He is.”

May and him aren’t particularly close – she’s heard a number of times Athena teasing Bobby about his soft spot for Buck, but he and May hadn’t really had many opportunities to share the same space, aside from the barbecues Bobby hasn’t been able to plan again ever since the pandemic. Bobby finds it slightly funny that she’s close to Eddie, actually.

Maybe that’s part of the reason she’s looking a little bug-eyed at Bobby’s cab. The only thing more incredulous than your stepfather’s surrogate son being subjected to a spell is your co-worker’s best friend. She knows Eddie has a lease. That’s the kind of man that’s currently five in Bobby’s car.

“Do you want to meet him?” he asks her, meeting back May’s slightly incredulous face. Of course she’s not really meeting him for the first time ever – but she also kind of is. “Did Athena explain…”

“You’re calling him Evan,” she finishes for him, nodding. “I know. He’s…alright with it? With meeting me, I mean.”

“Evan knows Athena has a daughter.” Since yesterday night, he’s even had a book from May – if only on loan. “And Buck is going to understand it.” He’ll probably be a little embarrassed – sure. But he’ll understand why they let May know.

May hesitates for a moment. In the end though, she takes a step back, not forward. “Maybe not today,” she tells Bobby. He understands.

Bobby lets her go after a final kiss to her forehead, returning to the car then. Evan’s keeping himself entertained by playing with the hem of his shirt when he gets back inside. Bobby didn’t let him bring his toys – of course.

Evan has not been left alone for long –the window’s open, though he probably didn’t hear anything they said, or even caught a proper look at May– and when he looks at Bobby, it’s with a confused blink.

“You saw ‘Thena?”

“Her daughter. May.” Bobby straps himself to the driver seat, turning slightly to meet back Evan’s gaze.

“The book’s hers,” Evan remembers. Bobby smiles.

“That’s right. She’s busy now – but I can show you a picture of her when we’re done.”

That gets Evan to nod. “Okay.”

The drive is longer after their detour, but also pleasant and quiet. Evan likes to window watch when he’s in a car, Bobby has discovered; he’s silently attentive, almost enraptured with the view from a moving car, especially now that Bobby is going somewhere beside a nearby park. Driving him is a peaceful way to spend the time. Bobby didn’t think there could be anything peaceful about cars in LA.

Evan skips ahead when they finally reach the supermarket and walk across its parking lot. Bobby doesn’t have to worry about losing him in an open –cars notwithstanding– concrete lot, just as long as Evan stays right in front of him, but he calls him back when they go inside, reaching out to walk hand in hand.

It doesn’t stop with Evan’s skipping and Bobby finds that this is peaceful too. He has to walk slower because of Evan’s shorter gait, time for Bobby to glance through the aisles they walk by, and there’s almost a therapeutic quality in looking around the store aimlessly, though Bobby already has his list to follow.

It’s basically the same thing Evan does, still watching his surrounding in open interest, even inside a liveless, franchise supermarket. Bobby’s delighted to be able to marvel him with dozens of flavors of icecream and novelty snacks, feeling like he’s taken Evan to the zoo instead whenever he oohs and aahs . Evan doesn’t ask for anything, he just watches, and if being in a big, slightly crowded store is overwhelming, he doesn’t show it; he keeps close to Bobby’s side, and looks at everything with big eyes, as quietly curious as he was in the car.

“Here,” Bobby reaches out to give him his shopping list. Evan can’t read yet, though he’s at the right age; Bobby doesn’t know if it has anything to do with Buck’s general difficulty to focus, or his parents, but Evan can’t really make out words, just letters at most. Bobby still crouches by his side, and points his finger at the first item in the list for Evan to see. “This is ladyfingers. It’s a kind of cookie. We’re gonna start with it. They look a bit like some bulky batons. The box is going to have a picture, if you want to help me find them.”

Evan is immediately excited. “I can do that!”

Bobby has to hold his hand before Evan just zaps off from view; he’s fighting back a smile as he does it though. “Wait, wait – I don’t want you to run. We’re going to walk together. Just tug at my hand if you think you see it.”

“Okay.” Evan tugs once, like it’s a trial run. Bobby smiles after all.

It’s just three aisle before Evan points out something. Bobby’s proud to give him a hair ruffle, and see how pleased he looks with himself. It’s a little like looking at Buck again. Bobby struggles to understand even more how his parents could look at him and not want anything but to take care of him.

They work through the list, slower, probably, than how Bobby would have done were he alone, but with significantly more satisfaction. When they’re done, and Bobby’s shopping basket is weighing down the hand not holding Evan’s, he walks him into the in-site bakery instead of the cashier.

“You’re hungry? Want to pick something to eat?”

Evan nods, but it’s just when something catches his eyes that he actually reaches out a hand to point.

“Maddie likes that one.” It’s a chocolate croissant. Bobby squeezes his other hand.

“Nice taste.”

The croissant leaves a smudge of chocolate on Evan’s chin and a bit of powdered sugar at the tip of his nose. Bobby’s a little too endeared to it to immediately clean it, and it’s probably for how frequently he glances at Evan’s face that he notices when he starts to yawn. It’s not much of a surprise; it’s the afternoon, and Evan’s just filled his stomach. Bobby tugs on his hand before he actually starts to nod off, but they still have to rung everything in the cashier.

“You want me to carry you?”

Evan looks up to Bobby, before glancing at the basket weighing down his other hand. He shakes his head.

Bobby looks dubiously at him. “You’re sure? You look like you’re going to drop on the floor.”

Evan shakes his head again though. “I want to walk.”

They’re not being particularly loud; Evan, if anything, is being quiet. But maybe his look of exhaustion hasn’t only been obvious to Bobby, because an employee stocking one of the nearby aisles looks at them.

“Excuse me – there are child seats in some of the shopping carts parked in front of the store, if your son is tired.”

“Uh…” Bobby looks between the employee and Evan – melted a little against his side, but still looking very determined about standing on his own two feet. “You’re sure?” he asks Evan, and swallows thickly as he immediately gets a nod back. Between Bobby’s and the stranger’s attention, Evan almost looks embarrassed now. He brings a hand across the hairs of the kid’s nape, like that’ll all brush away all the insecurity inside his head. “Okay.”

Bobby makes quick work of going to the cashier. Between every other customer also waiting in line, though, it’s still minutes more before every one of the items in Bobby’s basket gets to be rung. By then Evan is well into sleeping while standing up, face pressed against Bobby’s side, but Bobby keeps a hand around his armpit, making sure he’s not going to just fall face-first on the floor. He’s slower with a child attached, but the person behind the register just smiles patiently after he gives them an awkward one.

“My grandson is like that too. They get better with age.”

Bobby thinks of Buck, and the times he’s napped inside the rig when an emergency runs after hours. He’s not so sure that’s right.

It’s a relief to put Evan in his seat, making sure he’s strapped tight. He doesn’t have to fight to fall asleep now, and Bobby’s sure he’s down before Bobby is even finished with his seat belt. Regardless, he brushes a hand through the kids hair, and remembers having to shake Buck awake instead.

–

Bobby’s finishing setting the table when the doorbell rings. He expects it to be Hen by sound alone. Eddie has the propensity to knock, for some reason; it was what he did every time he came to this house, this month. After not having been able to receive his team for any party for so long, Bobby thinks his expectations have been conditioned.

It’s still not Hen when he opens the door.

Eddie looks up at the sound of it opening – looking somewhere between a deer in headlights and a runaway animal coming back home. He’s dressed like he’s going to church; probably as unused as Bobby to these get-togethers, as depressing as the thought is. Bobby doesn’t know who looks more unprepared – him or Eddie, standing across from one another. Bobby’s has a reason, at least: unexpectedness. Eddie isn’t justified in still looking so out of place in Bobby’s house when he’s been thoroughly forgiven by Bobby.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bobby invites him in. They share an awkward hug and twin grimaces after. That serves to cut the ice at least. “Alright – come inside before the Saint Anas gets you.”

“There isn’t wind outside,” Eddie follows him in, but with a frown. Bobby closes the door behind him, arching his eyebrows and shoulders exaggeratedly.

“I didn't know for how many months you were going to stand outside.”

Eddie chuckles. “Alright.” 

Bobby takes the head as he leads him further into the house, though Eddie is already well acquainted with it; just a ritual to ease him back in. Eddie’s living in an awkward place after he left the station; more distant than he was before, but still close enough to watch everything –miss everything– from afar. Bobby kind of knows; he was forced out of his post when the department decided to investigate him. It blew away quickly enough –less time than Eddie’s been away from active firefighting– but Bobby knows how it is to not be there. He just has to hope Eddie will find his way back eventually.

Eddie has an air of distance – only awkwardness, not standoffishness, Bobby knows. He stands with his hands in his pockets as Bobby goes back into the kitchen –adjusting his final touches– but it’s nothing that’ll take long to melt. Bobby brings him back a glass of water, just to help with it, and watches Eddie watch the room, after giving Bobby a nod of thanks.

“Where’s everyone?”

“Athena’s just finishing freshening up. Evan’s in his room.”

“He’s awfully quiet,” Eddie notes – not without a frown. Bobby snorts.

“He’s sleeping.” Bobby sits down. Following his lead, Eddie finds his own seat. “He’s not the age you have to worry about whatever they’re doing in their room.”

“Isn’t that every age?” Eddie teases before taking a drink. Bobby smiles – more at him than the words, and how easy it is for Eddie to fall back into place. “You shouldn’t let him sleep for too long by the way. Young kids have trouble falling asleep later.”

Bobby’s smile twitches in amusement. “I got it, Eddie.” It gets Bobby a little twitch from Eddie’s own, but he goes back to his glass of water. “How’s Christopher? You got someone to watch him?”

“Carla. They’re going to have a movie night.” He clears his throat. “I, uh. Told him.”

Bobby’s eyebrows raise on their own.

“How was it?” He hopes it’s been as good as with May – or better. She hadn’t seen him, but Bobby hadn’t got the feeling it was because she didn’t care for it – or for Evan. And, between everyone, Buck would probably care more about Christopher’s reaction than anyone else’s; even if only in the regard that he hadn’t scared him.

Eddie doesn’t look crestfallen, which Bobby has to hope is a good sign. “Chris is a smart kid. And he cares about Buck – obviously. I didn’t get into everything, but I told him he’s a little young for now.” Eddie plays with the perspiration on his glass of water. “Chris offered to give him one of his toys.”

“He’s a good kid,” Bobby tells Eddie. It’s with a small smile that Eddie brings the water to his mouth again. Bobby can’t recognize if it’s gentleness or melancholy in it.

“Yeah,” Eddie surmises. He doesn’t immediately speak again.

Bobby glances from him to his own phone when it chirps in notification; a message from Hen, a little hurried in the way it probably means she was getting into her car. B right there . It’s a good enough reason to give Eddie breathing space, and Bobby gets up from the couch to pat him on his shoulder before leaving.

“I’ll go check on Athena. If Evan shows up…”

“I’ll call you,” Eddie nods. Bobby pats him a second time.

The ensuite is quiet when Bobby goes to get inside the room. He knows Athena’s finished with her shower before he actually sees her, though his wife is always a nice view. Standing in front of the wall mirror, she finishes clasping on one of her earrings before actually looking back at him.

“Eddie’s here.” Bobby kisses her on the cheek when he’s close enough to do so. It thrums from the hum inside of Athena’s throat.

“Is Evan up?”

“He was really tired,” Bobby tries to defend – more himself than Evan, really. By the look on Athena’s face she knows that, and he’s failed.

“You’re the one that’s going to have to put him to sleep later,” she says, more a threat than a reminder. It’s still so damn mundane –domestic– that Bobby lingers by her side, quiet, just to bask in it for a moment longer. He wonders how it would have been, to have this with Athena. But – no. “What?”

“Nothing.” Bobby shakes his head, dispersing what’s inside it before moving on his feet again. “Hen’s going to arrive soon. I’m keeping the food in the oven so it’ll stay warm. Take care of the fort while I use the bathroom?”

“It’s all yours,” Athena puts on her last earring. Bobby kisses her hair just for good measure.

When he’s done –with the bedroom too– he leaves with an echo of a door closing somewhere else inside the house. Bobby doesn’t immediately know if it’s from Hen arriving or Evan waking up, but in the end he learns that it’s both; when he gets back to the living room, Hen is standing at the front entrance, Athena beside her, and Evan’s rubbing sleepily at one of his eyes, with pillow creases on her face.

Hen looks at Bobby first, then Evan, a little row that has her face softening before she’s even properly inside. “Hi, Bobby.” Her voice goes gentle, “Hi, Evan.”

As drowsy as he is, Evan still manages to look up to the front door, and remember Hen’s name.

“Hi, Hen.”

Bobby gets to his side –throwing Hen a greeting nod, half apologetic for the briskness– before capturing him by the shoulders, turning them towards him until Evan’s looking up – seemingly fantastically sleep drunk. “Hey. Did you get a good nap?” Despite looking a bit awful, Evan nods. He’ll spry back in a second. “I’ll go get you a glass of water. Can you go wash your face?”

Evan can’t really reach the bathroom’s sink, but Bobby has reappropriated one of Athena’s old law books as a stool. He’s heard her huff from the bathroom about four times since; she’s not really complained though.

Evan nods again, moving morosely to the bathroom. It’ll be a show of Bobby’s trust. He tries focusing on his own quest, though Hen’s getting down the stairs by the time Bobby finally moves, and smiling amusedly at him.

“You let him sleep the whole afternoon?”

“I was busy preparing your dinner.”  Bobby gives her a quick hug. “I have to get water.”

“Go, go,” Hen waves him forth.

Eddie’s moved into the kitchen when Bobby gets there. In front of the sink, he has a glass full by the time Bobby reaches it, and he wordlessly reaches out to give it to him – probably having heard them from the other room. Bobby accepts it with a whispered gratitude, going back to Evan, and he’s glad to know he’d not managed to drown himself in the sink while he was left alone.

Evan looks a little less more awake and rather, really, a new kind of small, with the tips of his fringe plastered to his face with water, but it’s just fondness that Bobby feels in his chest as he gives Evan his glass. Bobby brushes a hand through the wet strands until they’re standing back against his hair, Evan’s eyes closing at the soft touch, and he nudges the glass until Evan’s finished with it. When he looks up again at least he doesn’t look quite as drained.

“It’s time for dinner?”

“Yeah.” Bobby takes the glass back. He pulls one of the bathroom towels –the hand ones, fluffier than most– and reaches forward to Evan’s face, drying the worst of his wash. A frown hides behind the towel.

“Sorry. I didn’t help cook.”

“You didn’t need to.” Bobby pulls the towel back; looks at Evan’s pink face and smiles reassuringly at him. “I’m glad you got to sleep.”

“Hm,” Evan hums. He rubs at one of his eyes again.

Bobby settles his fringe with a hand – more to be able to brush a hand through Evan’s hair. He settles with the touch too, back to mostly sleepy, though now not so terribly so.

“Want to see everyone?” That’s a sure way to get Evan to blink up, at least.

“Okay.”

Dinner is fine. Evan warms up to Eddie and Hen quickly enough –having already met them the days before, and, more deeply, hidden wherever Buck’s memories are, knowing them for longer too– and their company really gets him to wake up after a moment. The drowsiness runs from his face when Hen starts talking about puzzles, and it’s thoroughly gone as Eddie mentions some of the games his son has. They’re seemingly happy to entertain him while Bobby pulls the food from the oven, and enthusiastic still when they’re all at the table, answering Evan’s questions and bringing out their own, an active conversation despite the age gap, and for most of the time Bobby finds himself quietly smiling, content as he looks at his team – no matter the shape it has now.

He knows Athena takes some glances at him. He knows everyone one does, once or twice. Even Evan, meeting his gaze across the table like he’s checking Bobby is still there. He looks like an even brighter kid surrounded by people, lightened up and buzzing in his seat as he munches through a slice of Bobby’s lasagna recipe. That’s the life Bobby would have given him – taking out a container of tiramisu from the freezer after everyone has eaten and watching Hen and Eddie react dramatically when Evan asks what tiramisu is. Watching Hen cut Evan’s piece –”You always take a corner piece,”-- and Eddie pretend he’s going to eat through the entire thing on his own. Watching Evan cry out, “Wait, I’m still out with my first!” Watching.

Bobby feels like a spectator for most of the dinner; not because he’s not a part of it, but entirely with how glad he’s to watch it’s true center. This was his favorite part of barbecues and family dinners; watching his people share a space. Bobby only recognizes how deprived he’s been of it when he gets a second taste, as out of order as it currently is.

He knows Hen had been struggling without Chim by her side, and Buck without Eddie – alongside guilt for Chimney, and his sister, and his girlfriend, and, like always, the world as a whole– but Bobby had missed the 118 in its entirety in a way he only really now allows himself to feel.

He smiles, and feels his heart ache.

Hen and Eddie hog Evan. They deserve it, really, after how long Bobby has had him alone. Even Athena had only had tiny pieces, during dinners, and now today. It’s time that allows Bobby to put away everyone’s plates –for once, Evan’s entertained enough he didn’t remember the dishes– and store the food that’s left. He’s putting away two servings when Athena lingers in the kitchen to watch him – four containers of food, really, two pairs. One for dessert, one for dinner. Two total.

“Each one for Buck and Chim,” Bobby tells Athena, though she only asks with her eyes.

For when they come back.

–

Evan clambers up the living room’s row of stairs with enough hurry to leave Bobby in cardiac arrest. “The stairs, Evan,” he reminds – not letting his voice raise anyway. It gets Evan to look back with an abashed little grin.

“Sorry.”

Hen and Eddie snort, two rows coming after Evan. For all his enthusiasm, he really doesn’t need to walk them to the door – certainly not run. But between the sugar and conversation, Evan’s a little too lively now. So maybe Eddie and Athena and Hen are all right. Well. Bobby’s going to deal with it anyway.

He follows behind Hen and Eddie, Athena by his side. It’s a full convey, he thinks, all to watch Eddie and Hen go – not that they’re leaving for war. Bobby’s going to see Hen again as soon as he’s back to work. Eddie’s not too far away either. He’ll probably not be seeing them trying to teach Evan how to build a tower of cards like they did this night though.

“This was lovely,” Hen says, still with her remains of a grin. Bobby’s just sad the house didn't have any alcohol for her and Eddie; they would really have been at a party then. Somehow, he imagines that they’re more content with this though.

“Yeah.” Eddie puts his hands inside his pockets again; just a rest, not a hiding spot. It might have been more than a year since Bobby has seen his shoulders look this loose. “This was…really fun. I needed it.”

“Can you come over again?” Evan looks between the two of them, so easy and eager it makes every adult in the room let out a breath of laughter.

Bobby brings him into his side, ruffling Evan’s hair. “I think they’re too busy, bud.”

“But we would if we could,” Hen says. Eddie, besides her, smiles with the same expression. Bobby knows as much as Evan does that it isn’t a lie.

Athena hugs Eddie and Hen first before they go, patting a hand on Eddie’s back and teasing Hen about her earrings, and then giving Bobby and Evan the space to do the same. Hen doubles over with her hands on her knees to tell him, “Don’t give Bobby and Athena too much trouble to fall asleep,” with a teasing voice, before brushing a hand through his hair, hand lingering on the side of Evan’s pink birthmark. Eddie gives him a fist bump and brings him into a hug, dwarfed in Eddie’s arms as he tells him, “You’re a pretty good kid, Evan,” like it’s a promise. Bobby also hopes he’ll remember that.

When Hen and Eddie have stepped back Bobby gives them his goodbyes last. He knows the sense of finality is unneeded; not only regarding Eddie and Hen, but Evan, and Buck. The kid still has some days to go. The next time he’ll see Hen and Eddie, though, it’ll probably be with Buck. The thought is as thrilling as affecting.

Despite everything, Bobby still feels his throat be thick with bittersweetness while he hugs the two, like it really is a final sort of goodbye – even if he should really be hugging Evan for that. He pats Eddie and Hen on the back like they’re the same thing, and finds his own reason to linger with each of them. He’ll see Hen on wednesday. Eddie – just the job knows. He doesn’t need to tell Eddie that he’ll hope it’ll be soon, like his return – as soon as he’s ready. Eddie knows.

He watches them back out of the driveway with his hands in his pockets, only the light of the porch to halo him, Athena and Evan. She goes inside first –a hand against Bobby’s back for a moment– and when it’s just him and Evan, really just them, no car to see drive away, he turns to the kid, finding a smile to put on his face.

“Time for bed.”

Evan chatter for the whole way, skipping and swinging around his room while Bobby gets it ready. Athena, the last glimpse she caught of her before getting Evan in the bedroom –after having him wash his face and brushing his teeth, talking through that too– looked at the both of them in humor; surely wishing Bobby good luck. He’s still feeling the mirth from that when he turns from Evan’s readied bed to see him jumping around the room in his pajamas, talking a mile a minute about the things he did with Hen and Eddie, though Bobby had already been present for a lot of them

“Ok, ok, ok,” Bobby sits at the bedside, tapping the mattress in calling. “Come here, kid.”

The covers are down, the pillows fluffed up, Evan’s toys waiting for him with their heads on them. Just the kid is missing; wiggling a little in Bobby’s arms when he finally goes to him, and Bobby picks him up to put to bed. There’s no way he’s falling asleep on his own.

“You’re really alert, huh.” The observation is more to himself – lost between a sense of amusement and a bit of consternation when he thinks about how in god’s name he’s supposed to leave this room with Evan asleep. It’s the first time the kid isn’t immediately ready to conk out as soon as his head is on the pillow.

Evan still nods at him – earnest and honest. Hiding a smile, Bobby ruffles his hair for good measure, feeling something warm in his chest at the giggle Evan gives him, before he gets up with only a vague crack of his knees, putting his hands determinedly on his hips. “Okay. I’m reading you a bedtime story.”

Evan celebrates like he’s won a game; still more excitement than Bobby would like to see at bedtime, but he’s too fond to do anything but smile at it.

The guestroom used to be Harry’s – it mostly serves that purpose, whenever he comes to visit, but most of his things are in storage, and barely come out even when he’s over. Harry’s at the age he’s fully alright with living out of a bag when he’s at his mom’s; maybe a little thrilled at it too. It does mean there isn’t a lot of reading material in the room, though, certainly nothing for Evan’s age. Bobby is almost ready to go search for his crosswords puzzles before Evan just points a finger at the desk table on one of the room’s corners.

“Athena’s book.”

“May’s?” Bobby remembers with a raised eyebrow. And there it really is: a hard cover proudly presenting more than a hundred dog breeds with a collage of some of the puppies, a face of 2000s design. Evan didn’t have the chance to do anything but just look at the images, until now, and Bobby supposes it works well enough. He indulges him.

Evan does grabby hands while he walks back after picking up the book, sitting with it open right by the kid’s side. Evan wastes no time in melting against him, not a bit tired, but with sparkling eyes when he looks at Bobby passing through the pages of May’s booklet. There’s a table of contents, an alphabetical order of dog breeds, and Bobby’s smiling at much of it –May would probably die of embarrassment if he told her he’s seen it, which he’s certainly going to do after this night– opening up an arm so Evan can cuddle right beside him.

“Is there a dog in your job?”

Bobby supposes there’s no knowledge as intrinsic as dalmatians belonging to firefighters – though that hasn’t been the case for a long time, now. “Not for a while,” he answers Evan. And there it is – Dalmatian , picture and description and everything. “There used to be horses in firehouses. Firefighters had dalmatians because they kept the horses calm,” he tells from an old memory –though the book says practically the same thing– remembering when his own father told him the story. “Now that we have motors, the dalmatians lost their jobs. There’s a statue of one in the firehouse though.”

“I remember!” Evan smiles at him. Bobby brings a hand through his hair; brushes it away from his chubby face.

“The dignified Dalmatian,” Bobby starts. “Famed for his spotted coat and unique job description, during their long history, they have been “coach dogs”, accompanying a number of horse-drawn rigs.”

“Like you said,” Evan settles against Bobby’s sternum.

“Like I said,” he nods with a smile. “The dalmatian's delightful, eye-catching spots adorn one of the most distinct coats in the animal kingdom, covering a dog that is graceful and elegantly proportioned. Dalmatians are muscular and built to go the distance. Originally bred to guard horses and coaches, some of the old protective instinct remains. Reserved and dignified, Dalmatians can be aloof with strangers and dependable watch dogs, and with their preferred humans, they are bright, loyal and loving, strong and active athletes that pair well with runners and hikers.” Bobby hums, and keeps back a snort. Aside from the reserved and dignified part, he’d say the dogs remind him of Buck.

“What?” Evan looks up at Bobby’s look of a hidden joke – but he shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.” Bobby brushes a thumb over the paper –lush and glossy, though a little old– lingering on the Dalmatian picture. “They’re pretty, neat, huh?”

“Would you be like the doggy?”

“What?” Bobby laughs.

“You’re a firefighter!”

“I think the similarity ends there,” Bobby says, full of mirth. “But…you know. There’s a subordinate that goes well with one kind of dog.”

He flips through the pages, following the alphabet, though he could just as easily check the table of contents. Bobby recognizes the picture first, before his eyes follow to the name. It’s a distinct enough breed he knew it would be here, and he smiles in contentment –in melancholy, too– when he sees it, brushing over gently the edge of the page.

“Pretty!” Evan pets the dog through the page. “I know this one.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm-hm. It’s the ret- retriev- retriever.” It takes more than one try, but when Evan manages to get the syllables out he looks incredibly proud of himself. Bobby doesn’t really know what’s the name of the feeling inside his chest.

“Good job,” he tells Evan softly – still smiling. He looks back to the picture from Evan’s bright, looking up, face. “The Golden Retriever,” he reads. “An exuberant breed of great beauty, they stand among America’s most popular dogs, serious workers that enjoy obedience and competitiveness, and have an endearing love of life when not at work. The golden retriever is a sturdy dog of medium size, famous for the lustrous, dense coat of gold that gives them their name. Goldens are outgoing, trustworthy, and eager-to-please dogs.” Voice suddenly thick, Bobby swallows – a second’s pause. “Relatively easy to train, they take a joyous and playful approach to life, and maintain a puppyish behavior into adulthood.”

“You know someone like this?”

“Yeah,” Bobby gets past his throat.

“Sounds goofy,” Evan says. Bobby breathes laughter.

“He is. But he’s a pretty great firefighter too. A pretty great man. A good kid.”

Bobby brushes a hand back and forth through Evan’s gold hair, soft beneath his palm; watches him look at the page, a small hand holding to one of its edges.

“Tell me another dog,” Evan asks him.

“Okay,” Bobby says.

He works slowly through the book – not following any order other than Evan’s interest in the pictures. Page by page, he settles more heavily against Bobby – more close to sleep. Bobby remembers telling Brook and Robbie bedtime stories and having to dig himself out from underneath them after the last page, a battle for them not to wake again. He remembers waking up in the bunkroom once and finding Buck asleep right in the bed ahead of his, on top of the covers; putting a blanket over him, softly so he didn’t wake up.

Evan’s yawning by the tenth dog, maybe. Bobby feels his own eyes grow heavy – but he doesn’t know if it’s sleep or something else. Sometimes, he stops speaking for a moment just to watch Evan; the way he looks at the book’s open pages, moving over the paragraphs of words like they’re pictures on their own. If Bobby points out a common enough word, he can learn at least the first letter. He’s a bright kid. Small and young, and so ready to trust –to be loved– he immediately believed Bobby had his interests at heart as soon as he said he knew Maddie, like his sister was a rate of trustworthiness.

Close to sleep, Evan sighs – practically lying down on Bobby's chest. They’re at huskies; pack dogs. Enjoyers of family lifes. There’s a picture of a full group, two puppies playing with each other at the back, and Evan looks at them with might be longing or simply sleepiness.

“I wish Maddie was with me.”

Bobby doesn’t know what to say to him. The feeling isn’t novel; not to Evan, not to Buck. But Bobby still would feel like a liar, no matter what he said. He doesn’t even get to really think when, snuggling more against Bobby’s body, Evan whispers again.

“We could stay here.”

There’s close to nothing that Bobby is able to say to that. He just swallows; dips his head until he can put his nose and lips against the top of Evan’s hair, smell no-tearing shampoo and bubblegum conditioner. Feel the softness of his hair.

He thumbs a gentle circle over Evan’s shoulder.

–

Bobby wakes up with a start.

Maybe with a prediction. He hasn’t heard a loud noise, or really been dreaming about anything; whatever was in his head billows away when he’s blinking blearily to his ceiling, getting on his forearms just to look around the room. Athena’s the really light sleeper; if she’s still asleep as she is, Bobby is just ready to think he woke for no reason at all, like it happens sometimes. But he hears it again; just a soft noise, right outside the bedroom door, and he gets out of bed with leaden limbs, somewhere between confusion and concern.

“Evan?” The house’s dark. The hallway doesn’t really get the light from any window, scarce as it is in the deep of the night, and Bobby only just barely makes out the small shape by the doorway, standing up but still folded in himself when Evan sniffles miserably up at Bobby. “Hey. What’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer. His head just hits Bobby’s chest, after he’s crouched beside him, and Bobby instinctively brings a hand to his back, back and forth, like that will get the words to come out, or the tears to stop.

“You’re okay,” he whispers to Evan, though he has no idea what the kid has to be okay about. It was probably a nightmare, he has the past experience to know. He doubts Evan will say anything when he’s like this, but Bobby still repeats it a second time for good measure. “You’re okay.”

Athena shuffles from her side of the bed, a tired, “Bobby?” coming his way. He glances at her with a shake of his head, turning back to Evan in just a moment, and after another solid thirty seconds of letting him sniffle against his shirt, Bobby picks him up and gets to his feet with a crack of his knees, barely affording a thought to it.

“He’s okay,” Bobby tells the room at large, carrying Evan inside with himself. “He’s just had a little scare. We can have a sleepover.” Evan struggles to let go of the fistfuls he’s taken of Bobby’s shirt, but he still manages to put him down in the middle of his and Athena’s bed, right between the two of them, before pulling the covers over him.

Dwarfed by the size of the bed, Evan just looks more sorry. Bobby keeps a hand always on him, the same comforting touch.

“You’re safe.” Bobby cradles the back of his head, thumb running through his hair, no time at all before Evan’s hiding his face against Bobby’s shirt again. He just shares a brief glance of Athena –two twins face of bleary sleep– before he’s looking down at the kid on his chest again, soothing him. “Go back to sleep. I’m here.”

Chapter Text

Evan hasn’t changed back to Buck by the end of sunday.

It’s a slow day; peaceful even, despite the off start. Bobby spends most of it feeling out of sorts, because it’s close to seven days, because Evan woke him up in the middle of the night, because, because – but absolutely nothing happens in it. He cooks meals. He watches over Evan. The kid plays with his toys and talks with Bobby, and doesn’t mention the nightmare from last night consciously, just a little more quiet, a little more flighty. Aside from it, Evan just generally clings closer to Bobby throughout the day – but is that really a novelty, by this point? The night ends like every last one from the week before, and Bobby wishes that would be enough for his worry to be put to rest.

It’s a strange sort of standstill. Bobby feels a different kind of exhausted. He thought– he doesn’t know what he thought, but going to bed after practically a whole week with Evan, aside from the slight hiccup from the previous night and his worry from today, Bobby wishes that this still didn’t feel just so damn normal. Domestic. One day, Bobby will go back to sleeping earlier, no one to put to bed, and if it’s not today, then it’s tomorrow, or after, or after, and he wishes he at least could know when it’s going to happen.

Bobby doesn’t feel like he’s got to the end of a marathon. He doesn’t feel like he’s reached a mountain’s tip. For one, nothing’s over. The problem, maybe, is that something is going to.

“You got to the end of the week,” Athena tries to tell him when they’re in bed –a congratulation– but the statement is difficult for Bobby to parse in regard to his feelings. Maybe he would be more excited to see Buck again if it wouldn’t necessarily come as such a surprise. As it is, Bobby just worries he’ll end up feeling robbed of something – like that’s a feeling he has any right to.

He’s almost scared when he wakes up on monday. The word is the only one that really fits; he wakes up with a tight chest, and for once doesn’t check on the guestroom –on Evan– though he’d been inside it only the night before. He doesn’t know if the kid he put to sleep yesterday is still in bed. If it’s the other kid he’d been taking care for years and years – and Bobby almost doesn’t want to know.

Like the first morning he brought Evan home, so close and yet so far ago, Bobby stays suspended in the last second before a jumpscare. Schrodinger's Evan. He wakes up exhausted and goes to stay in the kitchen, afraid the fear will rub on Athena; and he counts the seconds, throat too ashen to drink his coffee. Who’s gonna come out of the room? Who’s gonna come out of the room? Who’s gonna come out of the room–

The door opens from afar, and Bobby almost flinches, but–

“Bobby?”

It’s Evan’s voice –a sixth morning– that comes to find him in the kitchen.

He’s rubbing at one eye again; tears, this time, not sleep. Bobby doesn’t get to feel relieved –should he feel relieved?-- because Evan is looking as small as in that piece of a night.

He sniffles. “I think I had a accident.”

-

Bobby changes the bed sheets in quiet precision, patting the mattress down after, for good measure. It feels a little like an apology.

He gave Evan a bath first. It was the first the kid was visibly embarrassed about –though he already was sobbing for the whole thing– a fact that only brought more pity to Bobby. It’s hard to see him look so down on himself, more distant than even the first day Bobby went to get him from the firehouse, and it reminds Bobby of his nightmare. It has to have been something like it; but Bobby finds himself with little surety of what to say next.

Evan has been silent for the whole time he sat on Harry’s old desk chair – still having the last of his miserable sniffles, though he’s stopped crying for a while now. Bobby watches him for a moment, standing with useless hands, before he just sits over the new covers, hoping distance is what Evan needs now.

“Good as new.” Bobby tries to give Evan a smile, but the boy doesn’t raise his eyes to see it. It dies drily over Bobby’s face. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks him, voice as soft as he can.

Evan shakes his head – just the once. It’s a particular type of defeat for him to not be even frantic about it. Bobby wishes he had a clear reason in his head –he let Evan watch a movie that was too scary, something happened when he wasn’t looking, he failed– but there hadn’t been anything the night right before his first nightmare either. He’s not sure if this is the moment he really deserves to feel concern.

“I don’t remember,” Evan admits – voice sounding as small as he looks. He lets go of his tightly wrangled hands just to brush one through the leftover wetness on his face.

“Was it a nightmare?” Bobby is already entirely certain that it was, but he needs the last confirmation from him – even if it only makes the new pit in Bobby’s stomach ache when Evan nods.  “Do you think it was the same one from last time?”

“I dunno,” he croaks. It’s too much misery for Bobby to take. He just gives up, and opens an arm waiting for Evan to come close.

“Come on.” He taps on the bed for good measure, until Evan finally clambers down the chair, following towards Bobby with sunken shoulders. It’ll do him good to be on top of the bed again – know that, at the end of the day, nothing unforgivable has been done to it. Evan sits right by Bobby’s side, pressed tightly together, and Bobby hugs him with his waiting arm. “There you go. You’re okay kid.” He brushes a hand back and forth across his back, like his mom did when Bobby was sick and sicker yet of throwing up. It takes another sniffle out of Evan.

“I felt scared. When I think about it – it’s just w-what I remember. That I was scared. A-and,” he sniffles again, “alone.”

That had to have been horrible. “You’re not alone now,” Bobby tells Evan, but he isn’t sure how much it’s worth; the kid’s hands keep twitching on his lap. Bobby never really was able to save Brooke and Robbie from nightmares, as much as he wished he could will them away by love alone.

“I’m s-sorry about the bed.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t do it on purpose.The bed doesn’t blame you.” When Evan keeps looking down, Bobby makes sure to add, “You also shouldn’t blame yourself. You know – when I was sixteen, once I drank so much I peed on my friend’s couch.”

“That’s gross,” Evan whines. It’s such a contrast –his sniffling voice, the earnestness of the statement– Bobby just laughs. He squeezes him close.

“It was gross. I had to send it to the dry cleaner.” For a better person, maybe that would have been the first sign to rid his life of alcohol, instead of following in his father's footsteps. Compared to that, Bobby couldn’t care less about what happened to the bed. “You’re okay – you’re not in trouble. I’m just glad you came to find me again.”

Evan nods – a small hand wrapping at the fabric of Bobby’s shirt.

He presses his nose to the top of Evan’s hair.

“You’ll be okay.” Maybe if Bobby says it enough, he’ll stop worrying too.

-

In the kitchen, Evan’s face curls when Bobby offers him a glass of water. He shakes his head.

Bobby frowns. “You have to drink something.”

Evan’s head just shakes again. It’s not the first instance in the morning Bobby doesn’t have a clue of what to do, but he forces himself to find something.

“Do you want juice?” Evan keeps quiet –as probable to be a good sign as a bad one– and Bobby presses on the point. “I need you to have a glass of something .”

After how much Bobby saw him cry, he’s surprised the only complaint of a headache he’s noticed from Evan was him pressing his palm on his temple with a pained face once or twice. That, between the sure ache in his cheeks from all the snot, added more discomfort to what had to already be a miserable morning. Bobby doesn’t want him to be dehydrated on top of everything.

Evan stays quiet for a few seconds, but he eventually relents with a quiet, “Okay.” Bobby takes no time in changing the glass of water he’d just poured for a new one of juice –he can give the water to one of the house plants later– and he fills one for himself for good measure, like he can lead Evan by example. They do drink together – but the kitchen is silent. Evan has nothing in himself to say.

Bobby talks about it all with Athena later. No matter how much he’d wish otherwise, however, much like with himself there’s little she can do besides look saddened at the whole thing. It was a nightmare – one Evan doesn’t even remember. That’s not entirely unusual with a child, even less one of his age – even if it’s a surprise now, after a week of Evan doing so well. There’s little they can actually do besides give him time, space and safety. With however long Evan is going to stay, Bobby will have to learn to accept the former; as much as he hates not doing anything.

He presses a hand over his face, sighing exhaustedly. As an entire non-sequitor, he tells Athena, “I have to talk with the Chief.”

“The fire chief?” she frowns. Honestly, that was already a thing he had in the backburner of his head; another worry that Bobby had to put away when Evan showed up with tears streaming down his face. Now that he’s not right in front him, and Bobby has no reason to hide, he’s hit with every single concern.

“If we’re taking care of him for another week. I have to ask for vacation time.”

“Don’t you still have three free days this week?”

“Two, after today.” Bobby scratches underneath his eyes, exhausted. And it’s just a monday , he thinks to himself. He feels like he’s been run over by a truck. “I really don’t want to leave him alone, if…” he trails off.

Athena’s eyes soften. Though Bobby’s not looking, he recognizes the shape of the hand she puts –like assurance– on his arm. “You’ll figure it out.”

Bobby shrugs. Though he’s feeling spent –if only from concern– when he looks up, Athena’s face moves away from worry for a moment; just watching him silently.

“You’ll be okay with another week?”

Bobby would expect her voice to carry concern –even if he never wants to be the cause of it– but Athena just sounds…thoughtful. Considering. It’s her day off – just a little rest before she starts her week proper, and she chose to spend it with Bobby and Evan. The company is always welcomed, but Bobby senses she’s watching over him as much as Evan. He almost has the mind to be suspicious of her line of inquiry; as it is, he only gives another loose shrug of his shoulders.

“I’ll take whatever it needs. It’s…” he doesn’t know whether to say Buck or Evan. Either one would receive the same treatment Bobby’s has already afforded to the other. “It’s him,” Bobby finishes, a little lamely. But– something does settle in himself. Even if he doesn’t really know where.

Athena looks at him knowingly.

“You’ll be okay, Bobby,” she tells him.

Maybe.

-

Athena leaves while Bobby’s finishing lunch. It’s a job he can only half focus on; after his rough morning, Evan went to bed again, the seatee on the patio this time, somewhere close, bright, and right in Bobby’s field of vision, and he keeps glancing at it from between chopping chives. Bobby almost doesn’t notice Athena when she comes into the kitchen.

“Hey.” She doesn’t seem rattled like something awful has happened, though her phone –still in the middle of a call– is clutched in her hand; mostly, Athena looks apologetic. “I have to leave for a sec. May’s car died on her.”

“I thought she was on the last midnight shift?”

“Just finished it. She’s stuck in dispatch’s parking lot.” Athena manages to look as concerned for her daughter as exasperated that this happened today, of all days – though not at May’s fault. “I’m sorry to leave you two now, of any time, but…”

“No, no,” Bobby hurries to reassure her. Even between Evan’s view on the patio and the lunch Bobby is not even that hungry about he still has space in mind to afford worry for May. Dispatch has to not be so empty in a week’s start, and well secured by concept alone, but Bobby still doesn’t want his 19 old stepdaughter to be standing around with a broken car in a parking lot. “It’s okay. I’ll hold down the fort. You’ll be okay on your own?”

“I could ask you the same.” Athena’s half teasing – but there’s still a curve of worry on her temple. Bobby doesn’t know if it’s more turned to himself, or Evan. He can’t afford to be the reason Athena lets her daughter be stranded on her own.

“Go,” he tells Athena. He makes sure to put extra weight on the word. “I’ll keep a plate for you two.”

Athena purses her lips – but she acquiesce.

She kisses Bobby’s cheek before leaving. “I’d give Evan one of his own, but…” Bobby’s well in view of the little package he makes wrapped on chaise on one of the patio chairs. He makes sure to give Athena a reassuring kiss of his own. “Stay safe,” Athena tells him last, when they pull apart.

“Stay safe,” he echoes last.

He’s alone for a moment after that. It’s time to think and move, preferably the latter –when he’s busy cooking, Bobby can’t spare time to indulge in his worries– but mostly, time Bobby takes to wonder about Evan. He’ll keep him fed and hydrated –rested too– but he doesn’t want the minimum to him. Bobby knows the minimum; Evan has never deserved it.

He supposes the best course of action is to take Evan’s mind off it. Yesterday, he did well enough on his own; when he’d woken up besides Bobby –Bobby had roused first, but kept in bed so he wouldn’t wake Evan up– he was ready for breakfast, and the morning. Now, Evan doesn’t really seem ready for anything. Hours since the morning, he still looks as dejected as when he left his room – more defeated even, maybe.

After lunch –a meal Evan only looked at, practically, no Athena to at least brighten him somewhat– Bobby takes him out for a walk. He didn’t want to park Evan on the couch with Cinderella for the tenth time, not while his eyes seem almost glossed over, and the weather affords Bobby to bring him outside the house even being noon. The day is cloudy – gray like it decided to match the house’s mood, Evan’s despondency. Bobby wonders if that should be a sign of things to come.

The walk around the neighborhood isn’t novel like the times before, and Evan’s absent-minded enough on his own. He doesn’t pay attention to the surroundings, or the breeze, chillier today; aside from holding back Bobby’s hand and following where he goes, he doesn’t seem all that present, eyes down on the sidewalk, still glossed over despite Bobby’s best intentions.

There are no neighbors outside; like they’ve run or hidden. Athena’s block doesn’t have a nearby park, or somewhere to just stay for just a minute, but, eventually, Bobby finds a bus stop with a bench and he decides that’s convenient enough for a pause. Evan sits down on automatic, small hand lingering inside of Bobby’s, before he has to let go of it to give Evan a drink –orange juice, again– but aside from a tiny thank you (practiced manners, even when he’s looking the way he is) Evan doesn’t talk to him. He keeps his eyes down, and mind faraway.

Bobby suppresses a sigh. It still rattles soundlessly outside his body, but it’s just him looking at Evan. He sits beside him, watching the empty road, and wishes he just didn’t feel so helpless.

It’s not a tiny walk that’ll bring Evan out of his head; Bobby knows that – already knew, even. It’s just hard to not have anything he can do. It’s a feeling reminiscent of when his children had fevers; for every cold bath Marcy would run them, there was still so little either she or Bobby could do, he felt at the verge of going crazy, restless at the distress in their little faces. There’s no distress on Evan’s now –there’s close to nothing on it– but Bobby still feels at that edge again. He just wishes Evan would look up to him and smile the way he did the days before.

“Hey, kid,” Bobby fumbles for a start. Evan’s at the edge of the bench –legs still as they dangle from the edge– and though he’s sitting right beside him, Bobby has to fight the urge to immediately brush a hand through his hair, restless for another point of contact, of comfort, as useless as it would be. “What do you say we stay outside the house for a bit?”

Bobby didn’t expect Evan to immediately jump in excitement, but he still feels something ache inside himself that he doesn’t do anything as much as blink. “We could go to the park,” he suggests, like a last ace card. “Visit somewhere for a snack. Whatever you want.”

Evan keeps silent for a moment. It feels like they’re the only people in the world –alone in a suburban street– but all Bobby can think about is that at least there’s no one to watch him fail. He feels the suggestion of relief when something does finally change behind Evan’s eyes – but it falls just as quickly when he actually speaks up.

“Can we call Maddie?”

His voice is the worst part. He sounds so insecure, like what he’s just asked is impossible, and it is, but not in the way Evan knows. It doesn’t stop him from being earnest about it, unable not to be hopeful about just this tiny thing, and Bobby feels like the worst person in the world for not being able to give it to him. 

“I’m sorry, kid.” He doesn’t have to say anything more – he wouldn’t even know what. Evan’s face just falls.

“Oh.”

Bobby doesn’t know whether to comfort or lie to him. He grasps at straws, searching for something to say, even if it’s only to fill the silence, but there’s nothing he can follow with after just denying Evan. Still turned to the street, though they might as well be sitting in a vacuum in the world, the kid gets a new glaze over his eyes: wetness.

Bobby starts, fruitlessly, “We can find something–” but Evan sniffles. Stubbornly, he presses at his eyes roughly with his forearm, stopping the tears before they get to fall. Bobby feels like he’s watching something set to explode. The way his kids’ cheeks would grow red before they had a meltdown. The last seconds of silence after he told Buck he was the reason he hadn’t come back to work. It feels a mile worse that, when Evan brings his arm down, face back on view, this time he’s resolutely refusing to cry.

Bobby brings his arm over Evan’s shoulder after all. It doesn’t make him as much as twitch, but Bobby forces Evan to get up from his defeated seat on the bench, slow but deliberate as he pulls him along his side. Evan doesn’t fight Bobby.

“Let’s head back home,” he tells the street. Evan –face pursed– might as well not be listening anymore. He lets himself be dragged, but just so. Evan looks like he’s more focused in keeping the tears at bay.

He seems blank, almost. Bobby has met Evan scared, shy, excited, sociable, bright, sad – but he doesn’t recognize the new unreadability in his face. It takes a moment for him to recognize it’s anger.

They’re not so far from the house; not when Evan had walked so slow, eyes on the ground. It still feels miles away as Bobby walks with a child right at the edge of a meltdown. No amount of hurrying will take that look from Evan’s face. Bobby doesn’t know if he should just have this happen out in the street, open for anyone to see him fail; at least it wouldn’t be somewhere he pretended to be good at playing home.

It’s a hopeless affair trying to return. A part of Bobby is painfully conscious of the fact; he doesn’t know what to do to help, and he doesn’t – help. For all intents and purposes, Bobby’s trying to stop a fire by throwing water directly on top of it, double the failure as a firefighter – as a father. It should have been his first clue, when they’re actually in view of Athena’s house, that Evan stops looking so afraid.

It’s at the front dkor that Evan simply refuses to continue. For someone so small, his hand tugs back on Bobby when Evan stops walking alongside him, though Bobby has already unlocked the door. As he turns, it’s to see Evan glaring at the neat concrete that makes up the view of Athena’s front steps. He’s not walking through it.

“No.”

Bobby doesn’t think he’s ever heard the word come out in his voice.

“Evan–”

“ No. ” Evan squirms his hand out of Bobby, baby face only getting redder in his anger. It squeezes at the misery in Bobby’s chest to look at it.

Bobby lets Evan go as he wants to, but he still has to duck down and try to meet the anger on his face. Evan steadily refuses to even look at him.

“Kid…” Bobby’s voice is a croak. He’s suddenly glad Athena’s not inside to watch him crash and burn.

“I wanna go home.” Bobby would almost have prefered for him to shout. As it is, the whine Evan lets go off makes him sound too much like his age; it’s just a tiny kid that’s cracking in front of Bobby. “Why they’re not here? Where’s my mom and dad?” Evan sounds furious. There’s water on his eyes, but they’re boiling. “Where’s Maddie?”

He flings his arms around when Bobby tries to touch him, tiny fists hitting against his body. “No!” It’s not a shout as much of a cry, the same teary response to anger that Buck also has. As much as Evan had been holding himself until now, he’s too young to keep the anguish out of his voice. “Nooooo! I want my Maddie!”

Between the street and the house, Evan still chooses to rush past the door when Bobby’s is in front of his other way. Evan slips from between his worried hands like the mice the kid giggled so much about. He ran fast in the playground, excited and electric, always smiling at Bobby when he caught him looking, and now Bobby just gets the speed as the kid escapes him, running inside.

He feels more than one kind of distress, a black hole in his chest, clenching, even when he calls, “Evan–”, voice cracking as he follows through the door.

Bobby just gets the sound of Evan’s feet scuttling, no excitement or caution anymore as he runs through the foyer, before a tumble and crash, and blood-freezing silence to follow.

It’s in a sort of stupor that he follows to the height of the stairs, heart in his throat as he comes to a stop and finds Evan fallen at the base, a hand pressed against the side of his face on the ground.

He tears start falling in full then.

“Jesus Christ.” Bobby thunders down, feet still not as loud as Evan’s screech of sobs. He might as well teleport to his side – Bobby struggles to pay attention to anything else but the press of Evan’s hand where he must have hit his head against the stairs or the floor.

It’s another redness to his face, a full bloom of the tears he’d been trying to keep at bay – unabattable now after getting hurt, the honest way only pained children are. It’s with a cold body that Bobby catches sight of a thin stream of blood coming from between two of Evan’s fingers. “Hey– hey, you’re okay, you’re okay.” He gathers Evan as soon as he can, though the boy still cringes away from his touch, even through the rattle of his sobs. Bobby only feels anguish. “Sweetheart– I’m so sorry. Let me look. Come on. I’m so sorry, pumpkin, I’m so sorry.”

Evan won’t stop crying. The wails go right to Bobby’s chest, another clench when he finally manages to catch sight of a slit right on Evan’s scalp, probably from the edge of one of the steps. It’s not deep, but no less worrying for Bobby to look at, even if he knows head wounds have a tendency to bleed more; Evan’s hand looks like it’s been drenched in wine even with how little he held to the cut, sticky and trembling as Bobby cradles it, doing his best to assess and comfort Evan in one go.

It doesn’t pause his sobbing, but neither Bobby stops the softs hushes he whisper’s Evan’s way. Even if the injury won’t have any need for stitches, he still feels something cold when he wonders how strongly Evan must have hit his head.

“Evan, are you dizzy?” He won’t look at him – eyes squeezed shut as tight as he curls his hand in tiny fists. Evan squirms away again with a jerking shake of his head, but he’s not answering, just trying to get away from Bobby again. “ Kid, ” he begs.

The questioning is all in vain; Evan won’t even look at him. His breaths are too focused in each sobbing cry, worse to hear when he starts blurbing out his sister’s name in a nasally voice – loud like if tries enough she’ll hear all the way from Pennsylvania. Bobby’s heart breaks and breaks, until he doesn’t know what’s from grief and what’s just the fear in his chest.

He needs to take him to a hospital – Bobby wouldn’t afford to take any risk with him, not when he’s Evan, and Buck, and it’s his whole damn fault they’re even kneeling by the foot of the stairs, scared and hurt and crying. But Evan’s insurance is Buck’s. How does Bobby bring a five year old to an ER if everything with his name belongs to an adult man?

Evan wails another time, and Bobby gathers him close. With his hand let go off, Evan presses again at the cut in his scalp, and Bobby rests his lips on top of his tiny hand like a kiss better would truly help. “It’s okay,” he says from above the crying, voice about just as shaky. “It’s going to be okay.”

He takes Buck’s phone to order a car. Bobby refuses to drive when it means he can’t keep holding Evan, and he feels like the kid will be undone in pieces if he’s not in his arms. Bobby doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that, despite Evan’s pain, he still carries the same anger that made him run carelessly inside – refusing the attention from Bobby that would usually leave him with a glow on his face. Bobby doesn’t know if he’d just feel worse if Evan was hurting so much he was willing to do anything for just some comfort. Bobby will give it to him for free anyway. He’ll beg on his knees, if that has any chance of Evan feeling better.

The driver is quick but careful after Bobby comes inside the uber with a crying kid. He’s brought a kitchen towel to Evan’s head to stanch the bleeding, print ruined by the red, and Evan keeps changing from between wails and whines, dampening the front of Bobby’s shirt. Buck hates crying in front of strangers – Bobby doesn’t need to wonder if Evan hates it too, and he just wants to apologize to him again. No matter how much Bobby coos at him though, he’s not the comfort that Evan’s calling for. It’s all he can do to cradle the kid close anyway, whispering, “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.” Bobby has to believe the same.

Emergency care attends as immediately as Bobby comes inside with Evan in his arms. The velocity doesn’t reassure him, when it just brings closer the end.

“Did you son hit your head?”

“He’s not my son.” It’s a contradicting statement when Bobby choses to keep holding Evan instead of just delivering him to the ward’s nurses. Their jobs would be easier. Maybe his would be too. “He’s my subordinate. His name is Evan Buckley. He’s thirty years old.”

Bobby just feels empty at the nurse’s blank faces, delivering Buck’s papers to them with a sense of defeat.

Evan, in his arms, has gone a little quieter.

Bobby swallows dryness. He keeps quiet too.

-

“Bobby?”

He doesn’t rise from the visitor’s chair to greet Eddie. “Hey.” He probably makes a sight – nothing that any word can solve. Bobby’s certainly don’t anyway, not when they come croaking out of his throat. “Thanks for coming.”

His voice is spent – sucked dry after everything. The visible concern in Eddie’s face doesn’t get dissuaded by its sound, and, after texting him to come to the hospital because of an emergency, Bobby doubts much of anything would.

He’s lucky enough his name is written down as the emergency contact in Buck’s medical records; despite not having any familial connection to someone child-sized and bleeding, he hasn’t been thrown out to the curb just yet, as willing as Bobby would have been to accept that sentence. He doesn’t think anyone understands why he was taking care of someone that, supposedly, only has a professional relation to him, but he’s still allowed in the waiting room, waiting to hear about Evan. It doesn’t feel like that much of a victory.

There’s a bloom of red from his head injury right at the breast pocket of Bobby’s dress shirt – where he pressed Evan’s close, though that hadn’t been enough to comfort him. Eddie stares at it like Bobby did, in the bathroom, after washing the blood from his hands. He doubts he would manage to be a better source of comfort to Eddie than he was for Evan.

He called Eddie –before even Athena– because of it. Hen didn’t pick up –probably in the middle of a call– and even if Bobby is allowed in the waiting room, he doesn’t think he should be at Evan's bedside. He probably wouldn’t be of help; if not because Evan won’t want to see him, then because Bobby just feels that awful. He wishes he could have a drink.

He didn’t expect to hear the sound of crutches accompanying Eddie though. It’s not long before they follow the man into the hall, after Eddie stopped in his tracks after seeing Bobby, and the crutches stop too, right behind his place in the hospital’s tilling. Bobby gapes at Christopher for a second – the first time he’s seeing him since that Christmas party, what feels like a lifetime ago. He wishes he had tried harder on washing his shirt.

Bobby doesn’t speak but Eddie follows his vision easily enough, giving him an uncertain shrug as he reaches back a hand to bring his son closer. “I was at home,” he explains. “Carla’s busy today.”

The way he’s dressed –t-shirt and jeans, no liaison uniform in sight– should have clued Bobby in; if not the fact Eddie answered his call in less than a minute. As it is, Bobby’s too exhausted to react to it in any way.

Bobby only gives him a low hum, too non-committal. It makes Eddie look more closely into his face, but before he can say anything, Christopher takes the first step.

“Where’s Buck?” Eddie’s face twitches at the name, but Bobby can’t think about that either, not when he’s paper-skinned enough as it is. Maybe Eddie notices it –Bobby brings a still pink hand to his face, pressing against his temples– that he answers his son in Bobby’s place.

“Mijo – can you find a vending machine? Please,” he asks last, when Christopher only looks dubiously –almost hurt– back at him, for being so pointedly sent away. “Buck will probably like the sugar,” Eddie tries – and he’s not wrong. “Remember the chocolate bar you’d have after your surgeries?”

It takes a few more seconds of Eddie’s purposeful sight, but eventually Christopher relents, though he still glances unsurely at Bobby. “Yeah.” It takes trust for him to follow his father’s lead, and Bobby feels almost bitter enough to think it’s probably good he doesn’t have children of his own anymore; he doesn’t think he should have anyone’s trust.

Christopher leaves with a bill of ten dollars –hospital food is absurd, even in vending machines– and a last agreement to come find his father before they go see Evan, and then it’s only Bobby and Eddie in front of one another. Eddie doesn’t take long before he takes the seat by his side, though Bobby doesn’t turn to him – just letting his head hang ahead.

“What happened?”

Bobby hardly knows where to start. He shouldn’t have complained when Evan woke up with a nightmare. “He got hurt in my watch,” Bobby summarizes. It’s all that really matters, really. It, and, “He knows his parents aren’t coming.”

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I had to bring his documents for him to be admitted. That needed explaining why he was younger than the man in the photo. Evan was with me.”

“Shit.”

Bobby would have a few choice of words himself. He sighs, fist holding up his forehead. He repeats the same repentance and prayer in his head, though he hadn’t had the sight to bring his rosary with before leaving the house. It figures that there would be something else for Bobby to neglect.

“How– how did he react to it?”

“It’s hard to say where the crying started and ended just because of the pain.” What struck Bobby the most was the silence. Evan was still giving these heart-breaking whimpers when they came inside the hospital, but they stopped as soon as Bobby had talked with –and confessed to– the nurses. He hadn’t dared to look at Evan’s face when the nurses took him for assessment – and by then, Bobby didn’t even hear his sniffles. He had successfully quieted Evan. He wonders if it was like the neighborhood walk –Evan’s forearm pressed roughly at his face– and now Evan just had a new thing he needed to keep the tears at bay. “He…he knows I’ve been lying to him.”

Eddie’s eyes soften. Bobby doesn’t want anything soft.

“Did you call Athena?”

“Your name comes first in Buck’s phone. Figured it would be a better shot for comfort.”

“He– he didn’t want to see you?”

“ I didn’t want to see him.” Bobby shakes his head. He presses against his face again, if only so it wouldn’t melt into his own crying spree. “I shouldn’t be allowed a foot from him. It’s my fault he even had to be brought here.”

“Bobby. You– you had children. You know they get hurt–”

A single laughter rips itself from Bobby, though it’s too dry to carry any humor. “ All they do with me is get hurt,” he throws Eddie’s way, almost darkly glad to see that it hits. It’s taken too long for anyone to realize that; for him to do so, and not fight against it this time. From now on, only Bobby gets hurt.

He can’t believe Athena let him live in the same house as her children. He can’t believe he brought Evan home. And for what? Even Buck’s parents would have been better – no matter what, two of their children got to adulthood. They win over Bobby by that alone.

Eddie stares at him in silence for a moment, before telling, “I’m going to call Athena.”

“ Don’t. ” But it’s useless; Eddie already has that stiffness to his face that always warned Bobby he’d take his own way. The last time Bobby had seen it, it was moments before Eddie called him for the murderer he is; not that it looks like that'll be the thing to come out of his mouth this time. Eddie almost looks angry on Bobby's behalf.

“You called me to take care of Evan. I’m calling someone to take care of you.”

“I don’t want that.”

“And that’s why you’re getting it.”

Eddie flings his phone out of his pocket, getting up from the chair beside Bobby like he’ll personally reach out to take it from his hands. Bobby isn’t even sure he has Athena’s number – he wonders if Eddie would call 911 just to get her.

He doesn’t want to see Athena. He doesn’t think he can see Athena; Bobby’s a tower made of very frail bricks, unanchored from each other. It’s not that he expects that seeing Athena will hurt, but that –on the contrary– she’ll make him feel better. Bobby just deserves the pain.

Eddie doesn’t seem to care much for his opinion, and Bobby doesn’t argue. He has very little energy; just enough for pleading prayers, the same strings of sentences rafting through his head beyond the vitriol he feels for himself. It’s all that matters, really, all that he deserves.

Christopher arrives first. Bobby doesn’t see what is the candy he’s brought with himself – only a glance of his return, and then the seat, across from Bobby, that Eddie has him take, still holding tightly to his phone, though he hadn’t even spoken a word into it yet. The distance is good – the only sage choice Eddie has taken, actually trying to protect Chris from whatever is the poison that keeps taking the people Bobby is close to. He doesn’t look at either of them –not at the question in Christopher’s eyes, and not while Eddie texts furiously on his phone– and he doesn’t look up, not until a nurse comes back again.

She looks between Bobby and Eddie –the adults in the room –but if she has any questions about the new arrival, she doesn’t ask them. The visiting room is empty; they’re in the child ward, and no other kid seems to have gotten hurt until this hour of the day aside from the one under Bobby’s care. He’s as desperate for the nurse’s news as feeling undeserving of it, but it doesn’t matter; it’s his name on Evan’s contact forms. He’s the closest thing the hospital has for a caretaker – for all the good it did Evan.

“How is he?” Eddie asks in Bobby’s silence – the same question in their eyes.

She chooses to just assume that Eddie’s close enough to receive the same news – not as heartbreaking as it could be. “Mr. Buckley is going to be okay.” Bobby could sag against the chair – as it is, he only covers his face again, feeling his breath stutter out of himself. “He’s not showing any signs of a concussion and the cut stopped bleeding after we bandaged it well enough. He won’t necessarily need any stitches – but we did employ butterfly strips to help the injury to clot shut. Don’t remove it at least for the next 24 hours, and make sure to keep the area clean, and he'll probably be just fine. Seeing as he’s in a post-transmutation state, though, the injury will probably accompany Mr. Buckley in his change back; so keep an eye on it.”

Eddie glances back at Bobby. When he shows no sign of answering, he picks up the questioning. “Is he awake?”

“We didn’t have to put him down. He might have cried himself to sleep though.” The nurse’s eyes soften somewhat. “He’s lying down in one of the beds in our ward. Seeing as a concussion has been ruled out, no one has awakened him, but one of you should go stay close. We have a minor line running because he showed early signs of dehydration, but he’ll be free to go in an hour or so. He should have company.”

“He was crying,” Bobby says in explanation, though his voice is too blank to be anything but a statement. He feels Eddie and the nurse looking at him, but he doesn’t raise his face from his hands to look at either of them.

“He’ll be fine,” she continues –only at Eddie– after a moment. It’s all she has left to say before returning to her job – words sounding like they’re behind a veil to Bobby’s ears. He just vaguely hears Eddie thanking her, before the nurse takes her leave.

He mumbles something to Christopher –too low for Bobby to hear– before his son gets up first, moving slowly in the direction of the ward. Eddie stays though.

“Go stay with him,” Bobby says, although Eddie isn’t in a position to answer to his orders anymore, and Bobby’s voice is already weak as it is. He still doesn’t imagine that a strong enough tone would send Eddie away; though he doesn’t sit by Bobby's side again, he falls heavily in one the chairs across from him, meeting back any gaze without a flinch.

“He’s asleep. You need me more for the moment.”

“ Eddie .”

“I’m not leaving,” he presses his foot down. At a glance, Eddie almost looks angry – but it’s an obstinate expression on his face. He challenges Bobby head on, and keeps on his chair – legs splayed open and arms crossed, looking right back at Bobby. “Until Athena gets here, you might as well go back to your praying.”

Bobby sighs – but he lowers his head again.

It might be an hour or one minute before Athena finally gets to waiting room – twin steps coming right behind, that Bobby just recognizes as May’s in a distant sort of way. He doesn’t look at his wife –nor his stepdaughter– but he recognizes the weight of Athena’s gaze, the way she fills up a room. For something that always was reason for admiration, Bobby feels that presence now with a sense of exhaustion; he doesn’t want steadfastness. He wants someone to scream at him.

Athena’s voice, although strong, is low when she speaks with Eddie.

“Evan?”

“He’s alright. I sent Chris to keep an eye on him.”

“Go.”

It’s not an order, though Eddie still complies. He takes the long walk around – all to stand close enough to Bobby for a moment and squeeze his shoulder in supplied strength. The touch lingers as Eddie leaves – but so does the rock in Bobby’s esophagus.

For a moment, it’s just Athena, him and May in this piece of the world they’ve constructed from a hospital’s waiting room. After Eddie’s exit, Athena walks towards Bobby, lowering herself down to her knees when she’s close enough to reach out to his own. She puts both hands in each of them, perching for balance –though it’s Bobby that really receives it– and looks up to him, as much sincere worry on her face as all the other times Athena talked Bobby off a ledge.

“Bobby. Talk to me.”

He shakes his head, hand still pressed to his temple. His face isn’t covered from the position Athena is, but Bobby feels empty enough that he doesn’t worry. It’s an ache in his chest as he sees Athena sigh.

“It’s my fault,” he says, like if maybe he confesses she’ll finally let him go; even when Athena’s face just softens further.

“What happened?”

Bobby doesn’t know she has heard it all from Eddie already, or if she wants to hear it from the source, but either way, he’s as willing to confess his sins to his wife and be condemned as he’d to any member of the clergy. He tells her from the walk right to the moment Evan chose to run from his arms. It just rankles Bobby further –although he’s expected it– that Athena’s face doesn’t do anything but soften at him.

“And why do you think you’ve committed a crime?”

“Athena,” Bobby pleads.

“Evan woke up feeling awful today, baby. He had a terrible nightmare, and was on the verge of crying for the part of the day. It’s not your sole fault that he broke down like he did.”

“He ran from me.”

“He was overwhelmed,” Athena answers, no pause in between. Bobby –feeling cotton in his ears– can only shake his head.

“It was my fault he fell from the stairs.” Evan ran, and he fell. Robbie and Brook were put to bed, and they suffocated. Bobby receives warm babies that just go cold in his arms. He shakes his head. He shakes his head. He shakes his head. “It’s my fault.”

Athena fishes Bobby’s hands out of his cage, like he really is a corned animal – the way that he feels. Despite everything –her profession, the things he’s done, the thing’s she’s done, the thing that has brought both of them here right to this hospital– her hold is soft. “I think,” she says, “sometimes we want guilt, because if we did wrong, then maybe next time we can do right.” Athena shakes head. “But sometimes things just happen, baby. There’s no rhyme or reason. Accidents just happen.”

And where’s the comfort in all of that – that Bobby can do anything, everything, and still not get to have his children with him?

“How is that supposed to feel better?” he croaks. Athena gives him a sad smile.

“It doesn’t.” She kisses his hands. “But we live anyway.”

-

There’s no repentance to be found in the hospital – not one that the people around Bobby are willing to give. Athena remains just as patient when he tells her Evan knows that Bobby lied, and she continues to be successful, like every other moment in their marriage, in finding the exact set of words that settle him ( “I didn’t tell the truth.” “You do now – and you don’t run from him.” )

Eventually, Athena leaves – she goes to see about Evan’s (Buck’s) documents, and it’s May that stays by Bobby’s side, a last moment before he’s brave enough to face Evan. She brings him a foam cup of hospital coffee wordlessly, hot to the touch as Bobby wraps his fingers around it, and bitter enough that it clears up his throat. In adulthood, May is coming to resemble her mother more and more, from appearance to spirit, and it’s the same steady presence that keeps by Bobby’s side. 

“You know,” she starts, “if you’re going to judge yourself as a father, there’s still two other people that you forgot to consider.”

She raises a cheeky hand when Bobby glances at her, like someone volunteering for an assignment. Despite the severity of the moment, May can’t keep herself from giving Bobby a teasing smile, and he lets go of a snorting breath of laughter. It breaks some of the tension that lingers in Bobby’s spine, and he takes another sip.

“Your mother and father had already been doing a good job before I came along.”

“And you kept up with it,” May stands her ground. “It was you that supported me when I wanted to start in dispatch. And mom went to therapy after Harry was kidnapped because you encouraged her to.”

“She would have done it anyway, when she was ready.”

“But you made it happen faster.” May settles back in her seat, arms crossing. It’s still a light expression that keeps on her face. “You don’t pay attention to your rights as much as your wrongs.”

For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think , Bobby reads in his head, but to think with sober judgment . To May, he summarises. “It’s easy to fall into arrogance like that.”

“It’s easy to fall into torture with the other thing too,” May answers. She looks somber, for a moment. “People think much better of you than you do yourself. I wish you could see it.”

Bobby gives her a sorry smile. “You’ll have to remind me.”

Eddie and Athena return together; somehow finding each other on the way back. Eddie’s side is devoid of Christopher, and Bobby only needs to glance at him for Eddie to explain, “He’s staying with Evan. While…” he trails off.

Bobby doesn’t need to guess what both Athena and Eddie expect him to do now; they came to him with intention, hope too, and after Bobby’s conversation with Athena –still feeling the same headache from before, and yet, guilt, although not as suffocating– Bobby recognizes he’s duo to see Evan again, if only to explain to him things as best as he can. Evan’s owed as much – and Bobby, at least in Eddie’s and Athena’s mind, is also owed the chance. He can’t say that he agrees entirely, but his wife held his hand, and Athena deserves to see Bobby never give up. He gets up from his chair, squeezing at May’s knee once before going, and both Athena and Eddie send him looks of encouragement

“I’ll be here,” Athena tells him. By her side, Eddie comes along when Bobby passes him by.

“I’ll go get Christopher.”

The ward is calm and relatively empty. There’s a person receiving fluids in one resting chair by the corner, and another being assessed by a nurse, but it’s easy to find the only bed that has been curtained off from the rest of the room, and assume there’s where Evan is. Bobby hears Christopher’s first – his voice is louder with his age, and for it more easily recognizable, but Bobby has been taking care of Evan for seven days now, and he’s learned to catch the timbres of his voice. It doesn’t take long for him to also recognize the little kid that’s speaking just beneath Christopher’s words.

He sounds quiet, most of all – quiet and nasally, after going to bed crying. A sliver of the hospital curtain is open at an angle –the improvised doorway– and it’s through it that Bobby first catches sight of Evan again. He’s sitting on the bed just across from Christopher – dwarfed by it, small on an adult’s mattress, and even more by his new friend’s side. Christopher isn’t the same little boy that came into Bobby’s firehouse when he was seven, though he’s really not that old, but he’s older than Evan, and in an inversion of the typical contrast he makes with Buck, for once, Christopher is the tall one. He looks like Evan’s older brother, sitting close to him, not the sort-of-son that Buck might have, like Bobby has his own. For a moment, he stops just to watch them.

There’s an empty chocolate wrapper between them, the one that Christopher searched to bring to Evan, and a little plastic dinosaur in Christopher’s hand –probably brought from home– which he shows to Evan with, by what Bobby hears, a description of the animal it had been based on. It’s interesting enough for Evan to sit and listen, eyes bright, though he’s still speaking little, reaching out to the dinosaur to tug on its tail gently.

He looks calmer; pink in the face, but vague enough it could maybe trick a stranger that he hadn’t been crying before. The hour since Bobby brought him to the hospital has soothed him, nothing done with Bobby’s help, and he wants to turn to Eddie and thank him, but he’s already continuing on ahead, stepping into the little bubble his son has been a part of.

“Hey, kid.” Bobby doesn’t know if he’s referring to Christopher or Evan, although both of them turn to Eddie. With him taking the view from the curtain’s gap, neither of them manage to catch sight of Bobby. “There’s someone that came to visit.”

Evan’s face doesn’t fall when Eddie steps away to reveal Bobby. It keeps in that same unsure openness from the first days, the same one he carried with Christopher. He gives Evan his dinosaur before ambling down the bed and back to his crutches, and Bobby’s chest aches at the exchange, quick as it is, when Chris tells him, “You can stay with him for company.”

Eddie doesn’t have to call his son for him to leave with him; it seems Christopher already expected that, because he moves almost automatically back to his father. It leaves Evan alone on the bed, holding gently to the dinosaur –two handed– as he watches Christopher go, telling him softly, “Bye-bye, Chris.”

Eddie has a gentle smile on his face as he watches him, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders when he’s close enough to do so, but he doesn’t speak with Evan with anything more than a soft nod. It’s all he does before glancing back to Bobby.

“We’ll give you two space.”

Bobby stands a little awkwardly as both Eddie and Christopher take their leave. Evan, back on the bed, doesn’t greet him in any way, though his face doesn’t change either, and Bobby doesn’t really know what to make of it. It strikes him with some discomfort that he’s the one that’s supposed to make the first step – give Evan the reference on how to act. That’s not exactly easy, when Bobby doesn’t know it himself.

He still attempts to be brave enough to walk inside. They’re not in a private space –this isn’t a room, even if the curtains try to pretend they afford the same seclusion– and Bobby can hear the nurses moving throughout the ward; talking with themselves and the other two patients. They’re close by in case anything happens, and Bobby should be glad for it –they’re the ones that carefully wrapped the bandage that’s around Evan’s head– but as it is, Bobby still feels some strangeness to the fact he’s supposed to open up his heart when strangers are close enough to hear.

He’s surprised to be allowed close – by Evan and the nurses in equal amounts. It’s not that Bobby wants someone to yell at him (not purposely, and not as much, at least now, when he's got sight of Evan again) but he still feels too guilty to be treated just so freely. He almost doesn’t let himself sit on Evan’s bedside –like any time he came to get the kid from the guest room– but he doesn’t want to give Evan distance; not when he’s not asked for it.

“Hey,” Bobby says, sitting at the foot of the bed. There’s a yard of mattress between them – still a space short enough for Bobby to reach right across, if he finds himself in the freedom to do so. Evan keeps the distance.

“Hi.” He lets go of one hand from his new dinosaur to rub at one point of his face, close to the edge of the wrapping of the bandage, maybe trying to scratch an itch. Head swaddled in it –a tiny hand reaching up– Bobby thinks he somehow looks even smaller. His eyes are still slightly red-rimmed.

“Are you okay?”

“Sleepy.”

“It’s probably the saline.” In a cursory glance, it looks halfway done, running slow to make up for Evan’s size. The kid doesn’t look in a hurry anyway. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when they pricked you.” The thought, after it enters Bobby’s head, tightens his chest. Robby always cried when he had to get a shot.

“It’s not hurting anymore. Just feels itchy.”

“Even then – I’m sorry. You were scared. And in pain. You still deserved to have someone on your side. Even…” Even if it had to be me .

Bobby trails off. His throat feels too dry,

Evan grows quiet. The hand at his bandage returns to his lap, drowsily like a fat fly, and he fidgets with the dinosaur again, wiggling –or so trying to do– its plastic tail. Evan’s silence is almost thoughtful. Bobby knows that, truly, it’s actually insecurity what colors it.

“Mommy and daddy aren’t coming?”

As much as Bobby expects to hear it –to have to answer it– his chest still hurts. “Not the ones that you know.” Bobby’s voice matches Evan’s in its softness. He feels a pang at the way the kid’s eyes lower. Bobby wants to say he’s sorry a third time – though, at this point, he’ll only be repeating himself. Circles and circles. Bobby would always end here. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway.

“You didn’t tell me.” Evan doesn’t sound accusing – just confused. The twitch on his eyebrow is so genuine, Bobby only feels worse about it.

“I was worried about how you were going to react. It was cowardly of me. I didn’t want you to be scared.”

“I am scared,” Evan whines, feeling too strongly to be self-conscious about it. Bobby discovers that his face can fall even further – though, before he can say anything, another useless sorry, Evan’s continuing in an ever tiny voice. “I thought you were taking care of me.”

“I was,” Bobby’s desperate to get out in answer. He can’t let Evan ever think otherwise. “I am . Your parents don’t change that.” This, Bobby doesn’t feel unsure about; he can’t, he could never. Bobby’s as adamant about it as much he’s guilty at all the rest. “I’m always going to take care of you.”

“But I’m not your friend,” Evan sniffles. Bobby can’t stand to see his eyes shine again; he moves further in the bed. “I’m just me.”

He gathers Evan close – no uncertainty in the way he hugs either. His little arms fit around Bobby’s shoulders, already so used to the shape of their hug. Bobby doesn’t find himself too surprised to notice that his own eyes are also burning; his chest feels so tight, he’s surprised he’s not going into cardiac arrest. All he can do is bring Evan against himself, cradle him like did to his other babies, rocking him like this is just another nightmare he needs the comfort for. “I’d have the first five years with you and the other twenty five if I could,” he tells Evan, honest enough that his voice is almost too thick for the words to get out. When he feels a tear fall, he focuses on drying one of Evan’s instead.

He holds him close, shushing his sniffles, although his own voice isn't doing much better. Evan doesn’t sob now – as tense as his face is, his cries are all mostly silent, just tiny sniffles and hiccups that he hides against Bobby’s neck, squeezing him close when Bobby brushes a gentle hand up and down his back. This feels like the worst infraction: that Evan could ever believe Bobby doesn’t care about him, not as he is. It’s an useless contradiction, when Bobby would love Buck in any shape that he could take. Bobby doesn’t think there are proper words to impart what he’s carried, locked, in his chest; he hopes that at least the kiss he leaves on Evan’s birthmark allows even a smidge of it to show through.

The injury is in an awkward place. Bobby has to be careful when he cradles the back of Evan’s head –he whines, still, whenever the injury aches– and Bobby makes sure to leave him a second kiss in apology. Evan’s a small weight on Bobby’s lap, and he carries him with himself as best as he can when he shuffles up on the bed, resting against the headboard until Evan can lay down more comfortably on top of his chest. They still have some minutes to go before the saline ends, and there’s no sign of any other visitor – even if Bobby knows that Athena must be very worried herself, twitching to see Evan again.

He’s still sniffling – just leftovers now, that he cleans up messily with the back of his forearm. His shirt is dirty – bloomed in red at the cuffs like Bobby’s own dress shirt, and probably a victim of Evan’s crying too. Bobby keeps bringing a hand across his back, the gentle circle he did whenever Robbie or Brooke had colic, and could only go to sleep when their dad was holding them. He wishes he could remember any of the nursery songs grief and drinking had blocked from his mind, but he tries to find peace in still recalling the most important part he needed to say. “I’m here.”

–

Time ebbs and flows, the way it only does in the hospital; at the end of the afternoon; after a cry. Evan’s quiet and then less so, shily curious when Bobby begins to share with him Buck – the man he let be hidden in a locked phone. Bobby watches the considering shape of his frown (the same as Buck’s) when he looks at the home screen picture; the grin Buck matched with Christopher to proudly show the camera.

“That’s me?” It’s the same birthmark, the same eyes. It’s not that it doesn’t seem like Evan recognizes himself – but Bobby can understand the initial uncertainty.

“Yes,” he tells him, patiently so. Perched on his lap, it’s mostly Bobby that’s holding Buck’s phone, but he lets Evan touch the screen –touch his own face– and move it around.

“And Chris,” Evan adds. Bobby smiles at it despite himself – how easy he’s made a friend, regardless of the previous distress. “I’m taller.”

“Taller than me,” Bobby says. It gets Evan’s eyes to jolt, and he hides a smile against the boy’s hair again, careful not to touch the bandaged cut. “You’re tall,” he repeats, unneededly, anything just to get Evan to move along, now that life is slowly coming back onto his face. It’s a moment more –Evan looks at himself again, before eventually turning back to Bobby a last time– but then it’s new earnestness to his eyes.

“Can I see Maddie?”

Everyone goes back to Bobby and Athena’s house after they leave the ER. The drive is long –traffic is terrible– but they all make a single file, tracking after each other. In Bobby’s car, Evan had held tight to the phone; an open picture of his sister on the screen, one of those Buck had taken before she went away for the second time.

Everyone parks in Bobby’s driveway, cars spilling out to the curb. Bobby’s, then Athena’s, then Eddie’s – like it really is a party that’s about to follow Bobby inside, when he carries Evan back home. Though it’s not the same crowd and context that would take up part in Bobby’s barbecues (Hen is missing, not to mention Chimney and Michael) he still feels settled in much the same way when everyone is out of their cars to pack the living room.

Evan is breathing calmly against Bobby’s neck again.

Hen has sent him a text in the time it took for him to get home. When he’s put the kid down –unlocked the front door, so everyone can file inside– he reads her worry with a peaceful sense of relief, in comparison to the time he contacted Hen hours ago. Bobby is still feeling that peace as he sends her a calming response – Everything’s okay now - when are you free? -- turning to see Athena take up Evan’s hand to walk inside, accompanied closely by Christopher, back to the same easy exchange they shared in the hospital.

Though Bobby initially feared their first return, neither him nor –seemingly– Evan react strongly at walking down the stairs again. Athena doesn’t carry him down, letting him do it on his own, though she keeps the hold of his hand, and Bobby feels pride again as Evan apparently doesn’t even notice the significance of the moment. He’s too busy talking with Christopher about rats.

Bobby and Eddie share a look as they follow inside, fond at the image Evan and Christopher make in much the same way – proud and pleased, and truly relieved. Eddie has raised a good kid. Bobby can’t take the credit from Maddie; he’s not particularly close to her –not like Athena– but he still makes a promise to thank her for keeping Evan alive the next he sees her. Bobby’s glad just to witness him.

It’s easy to impress Evan with his life. For a child, even the prospect of growing up is otherworldly enough on its own; Evan, functionally, traveled in time, at least where his consciousness is concerned. Bobby doesn’t know what will be the state of his memories after the spell has run its course –if Evan will remember this time, be it as something out of his childhood, or more recent memory, almost misplaced– but he tries to focus on the moment instead of worrying. He’d rather enjoy what he has.

Food is due after a late afternoon in the hospital, for all of them –May and Athena hadn’t even really had lunch, what with the mess of her car– and though Bobby won’t win any culinary prize for it, he re-heats the lunch he had with Evan. He’s due a bath – Evan was in the hospital, and his clothes are dirty enough with blood on their own– but even as much as its suggestion makes the new, frail contentment in Evan’s face shudder. The morning seems so long ago, Bobby had almost forgotten about his nightmare, whatever it had been. It’s with gratitude that he watch Athena just offer to clean his hands with hand sanitizer instead.

Alhough Eddie exchanges a look with Bobby at that, Bobby just shakes his head. Another time.

Eddie follows his lead well enough, anyway. “You know,” he starts, when they’re all in the kitchen. “There was a time Buck spent like two days without having a shower.”

Although both Athena and Bobby curls their nose at the information, Evan looks up to Eddie with open interest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We –me, him, Hen, and another friend of ours– we were living together because of…well, during a period of time. His apartment complex had a problem with its plumbing, but the manager couldn’t find anyone to fix it up because of something that was going around.” The memory makes something twitch on Eddie’s face – despite it not being surrounded by the best of circumstances.

“Did you go stinky too?”

“No,” Eddie chuckles at the choice of words. “Although Buck was stinky, alright. No – me and the others just had showers at work.”

Evan looks back at where Bobby’s working the microwave. “Because I’m a firefighter?” he asks, like Bobby had mentioned on the way home. The prospect had left him enthusiastic, for all he supposedly still feels the need to check the fact with Bobby a second time.

“Yes,” he reassures, emphasizing the word. “We all are. Except for Athena and May.”

“And me,” Christopher pipes up, to Bobby’s –and Eddie’s– laughter.

“And him.”

Evan still looks the same amount of earnest when he returns to Eddie. “Why didn’t I take a shower too, like you?” When Athena finishes cleaning a dried imprint of blood from where it had trickled from his wrist to his elbow, he thanks her with an almost timid smile. Athena’s Of course is well expected.

“Buck didn’t want to do it in a public space,” Eddie follows on. “Chimney –our other friend– even promised to keep watch at the door. Wasn’t enough.”

“He’s the one that’s married to my Maddie?” Not married – but it probably looks the same to a child his age. At Eddie’s nod, Evan’s face goes considering. “That’s good. She needs someone nice.”

Eddie’s face softens. “She’s got that covered,” he promises.

They sit around the living room, plates making a messy picture of the coffee table; still warm to see in the group that they make. Though Bobby fails to track how it’s returned to his arms, eventually, when he looks at Evan –fed from food and stories– his toys are with him again, alongside the new plastic dinosaur. He shows the three to Christopher, almost abashed to do so, though Chris is spectacularly natural in assuring him of how cool they look.

“Bobby gave ‘em to me,” he says, like that’s the most valuable thing. Maybe it is; Bobby’s eyes soften anyway, looking at him.

“You gave me a bunch of toys too.”

“Yeah?” Evan smiles –seemingly proud of himself. “That’s nice.” When he looks at Bobby –grinning– Bobby feels his own eyes crinkle up.

“You are nice,” he tells Evan. Bobby’s smiles quirks when Evan ducks his chin, smiling embarrassedly.

“We go to the zoo all the time,” Christopher goes on. He hasn’t lost the excitement in the conversation, and Bobby feels something warm, noticing that basically every person in the room is looking at both kids. “I have this row on my dresser of plushies you got me from the gift shop there. Cap can bring you around for you to see them.”

The idea seems to delight Christopher, though still not as much as it does Evan – his eyes rounding, double the size.

“Woah! Ok!” he giggles. Laughing as he is, it’s almost easy to forget the bandage on his head. Evan doesn’t seem to pay it anymore mind; though Bobby always brushes a thumb over his nape when he’s seen it. Evan looks up to him with a smile when he does so. “I never saw a zoo,” he confesses, still riding the high of Christopher’s promise. It makes the other boy let out an honest gasp.

“ Never ?” Chris elongates the word, though the shock in his voice is truthful enough that Bobby knows he’s not exaggerating his answer. Eddie, looking fondly at his son, seemed to already be expecting the reaction – maybe it’s warranted, from someone whose zoo visits are as common as ice skating was for Bobby. “That’s cool ! It means I get to show you around. Where else haven’t you been?”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie slows him down, despite the active smile on his own face. “Let’s not build an itinerary.”

“It might be for the best, actually,” Bobby tells him. “There’s a chance I’ll have to go back to work on thursday.”

“Can’t you speak with the fire chief?” Eddie frowns. As much as it pangs on Bobby, he doesn’t miss the slight furl that comes to Evan’s own forehead.

“I’ll try. But you won’t be alone, kid – even if I have to take you with me to the firehouse.”

“He can let you pull the horn,” May teases.

It’s a good pause of levity –May must have listened to Harry brag about it a hundred times, the first thing he’d do every time he visited the firehouse (even Athena doesn’t hide a snort at the memory)– but Bobby still ducks his head to make sure he can catch Evan’s gaze head on, until he’s nodding back at him.

“Can I see my clothes?”

“The uniform?” Evan nods. “Yeah. You can see everything that’s yours.”

“Okay.” Evan smiles a little privately back at him. “Can I see my phone again?”

It takes two hands for something that Buck could hold in one; but Evan likes to see the pictures, most of anything else. Buck’s camera reel is almost an diary, more photos than Bobby can believe his phone storage can keep up with. Even in the weeks before, there’s still the usual photos that Buck tends to take, the sky in a morning run, the last meal he had before attending the call to the magic store, a candid of Hen, reading in the firehouse’s loft, and them pretending to throw her book at Buck after she’s caught him.

After a week of not seeing him –or, at least, not the face of the young man Bobby met five years ago– Bobby feels something flutter in his chest at his image. It seems to entertain Evan to no end, to see the appearance he would grow up to take, and Bobby wonders if there’s something of his father that he sees in himself. As it is, Bobby can only think of Evan and Buck as complements of each other, and vice-versa; the way he would see the furl of Robbie’s hair, and remember the same hairy newborn he took home from the hospital.

The melancholy that had filled Bobby at seeing his children grow –the anguish, when he couldn’t anymore– metamorphosis into something else, when he’s looking at Evan. He’s seen him grow –out of order– and he’ll see it again, no matter when. Bobby will manage to miss both Evan and Buck, but he thinks of his children again, of seeing every one of their birthdays when he looked at them, a newborn, and toddler, and the bright kid that would tell Bobby jokes, and he knows, too, that it won’t be such a different experience. He can survive melancholy. He gets to watch his kid grow.

Chapter Text

The first time Evan takes his nightly bath after the nightmare, it’s with an amazon-bought swinshort.

It’s not on monday. Monday, after they’ve gotten home, laughed and dinned, Evan falls asleep on the couch, pressed tightly and close between Bobby and Athena. After the day he had, Bobby’s not pressed to wake him up; even if Evan is still in the same clothes he’d gone into the ER with.

Bobby lets him have this. The living room has gone quieter as the night went forward, though no one has left yet –even if they have work in the morning (school, in Christopher's case)– and Bobby moves seamlessly through the leftover conversations, picking up Evan to take him into his room. He does have to wake him to get him out of his day clothes –Bobby is not having him sleep in something that walked into a hospital– but that doesn’t have to be for more than two minutes; it’s not enough for Evan to fully rouse.

“Bobby?” He rubs his wrists across his face, like he’ll be able to wipe the sleep away. Evan complies easily to the routine of getting into his pajamas –too trusting, even now– but he blinks blearily at Bobby – almost confusedly. Bobby can’t blame him – with how suddenly he’d fallen asleep, Evan’s probably feeling like he’s lost to time and space.

“I’m here.” Bobby puts his head through the sleep shirt and finger-brushes his hair after the movement leaves it completely rowdy. Bobby uses the touch to lead Evan’s head down onto his pillow. “You fell asleep in the living room,” he explains.

Evan just has a sigh to give in answer at first, eyes closed again like their lids are just too heavy to hold open, but he eventually finds the strength to whine, “I don’t wanna go to bed.” It’s an absurd statement when he looks so snug, but Bobby has the patience and foresight to listen to it still. He sits by Evan’s head; hand brushing through his fringe.

“Why not?” he keeps his voice low – though that’s not helping in Evan’s fight not to fall asleep. He whines a second time –almost helpless– and Bobby makes a sound at the back of his throat. “Hey. Come on. What’s the trouble?”

“What if I have a nightmare again?” Evan says it quietly enough to miss; his eyes open –just slivers– and Bobby can see the genuine concern in them even if he hadn’t heard the words.

“Do you think you will?” Evan doesn’t answer and Bobby tries again, still keeping up the fiddling with his hair. “Are you scared that you will?” This time the question at least gets Evan to nod. Bobby’s eyes immediately soften. “Do you want to sleep with me and Athena?”

“Don’t wanna be a bother.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll never be then.” Bobby gives another ruffle before pulling his hand back altogether; he’ll need both to pick up Evan. “Come on,” he urges, though, really, there’s not anything Evan can do to help him; he just lets himself be picked up, still dangling a little heavily in Bobby’s arms in his tiredness. Bobby doesn’t forget to pick up the toy truck and the mouse.

Though Evan still expresses concern about making a mess of Bobby’s bed, he’s too tired –or too unwilling– to complain for much longer. When Bobby burrows him underneath his and Athena’s covers it’s less than a minute for Evan to entirely fall asleep. Bobby still gives him five –just in case– trying to sigh in relief (really only further concern) before he leaves the room.

He’s not surprised to see Eddie getting ready to go to his own home; he also has a kid, even if his one can still hold himself awake enough to walk. It’s late and, really, they’ve stretched the night enough as it is – Bobby is already pleased enough to see that May (still carless) has decided to spend the night. Bobby just hugs Eddie –goodnight and goodbye– and gets ready to accompany him and Christopher out the door.

There’s still a furl in Eddie’s brow that he needs to have answered before letting himself go.

“The thing with water…is it new?”

Eddie’s not a very subtle man. He’s neither a lowkey one, and, after a night of conversation, Bobby struggles for a moment to remember exactly what he’s referring to – the little moment, when Evan preferred to just clean his hands with sanitizer. Still, he’d just discussed with the kid the possibility of nightmares – Bobby can follow Eddie’s tracks well enough, after he’s given time.

“He had a nightmare,” he answers when he does. Bobby feels as useless talking about it with Eddie as putting Evan to sleep. “Last night; and the one before. After them…he’s been a little off about some things.”

“Water being one of them?” Eddie doesn’t look suspicious – just sad. Bobby found it weird to follow up this concern when Christopher is right beside him –looking between his father and Bobby– but it should have struck him that this wasn’t an oversight.

“Do you think it’s the tsunami?” Christopher asks it to his father, before turning to Bobby. It’s a distressing thing to remember on its own, but Christopher mentions it almost matter-of-factly. With him having been one of the people taken by the wave, Bobby doesn’t know if that’s a bad sign or a good one.

Chris asks the question, but Eddie turns to Bobby –following his son’s eyes– with the same inquiry. Bobby doesn’t know how to answer either of them.

“I thought you said he just remembered things from his age,” Eddie frowns. It’s not accusing, and there’s no reason to feel defensive, but a part of Bobby still prickles at a feeling of failure.

“They warned me he’d start remembering things when the spell started to wrap things up.”

“You think that’s it.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Bobby sighs. “Today was a rough day; but he had a good night. We’ll see.” It’s far from the certainty Bobby wishes he could have –that Evan could be comfortable, that Evan could be safe– but it’s all he’s afforded. He at least feels somewhat reassured that Eddie looks as unsettled as himself.

“Dad.” Christopher’s eyes are more worried and empathetic than Bobby would hope that a child would have to be. “If it’s that – can we help?”

Bobby can imagine the shared history, but Eddie still chooses to explain, “He had nightmares too,” only as uncomfortable as any father would be discussing his son’s pain; even if the only concern in Christopher’s eyes, currently, is addressed to Buck.

Bobby won’t deny Evan help; mostly importantly, he won’t deny him company. It’s thinking mostly of the second that he lets Eddie and Christopher part ways, giving each a steady pat on the shoulder.

It’s restlessness that keeps Bobby out of bed, but after time enough –checking the door and windows and the kitchen’s gas tank for the tenth time– there’s really no other reason for Bobby not to follow his wife to bed. May’s back to her room, and Athena is already getting ready to go beneath the covers –no question asked to Evan’s presence in the middle of bed– and so Bobby needs to have a little faith. He doesn’t miss the irony.

Evan doesn’t have a nightmare – nothing that wakes him up, or follows him into waking land anyway. He still has the same troubles, and there isn’t orange juice that can solve his unwillingness to go into a bathtub. Bobby makes good of Eddie’s promise –and takes advantage of his second to last free day– and calls him to schedule a visit.

Evan’s glad to see Christopher, and gladder yet to see his house. There’s photos of Buck inside –a picture on the fridge of when he and Eddie built Christopher a skateboard, and another one of his tenth birthday, a year ago– but most importantly, marks of his presence in Eddie’s and Christopher’s life. They remain even though Buck has got to be a little more distant, what with him and Eddie working in almost opposing hours. Bobby worries if Evan will feel like he’s walking into a wake –memories of a person not there to see– but he still remains with the same curiosity as the night before to learn about his grown-up life.

Chris brings him into his room to show Evan his collection of toys and plushies – half of them gifts from Buck. Bobby lingers in the kitchen, accepting Eddie’s supplied cup of coffee; he doesn’t miss the parallel that, a few days ago, it was him giving Eddie a glass of water. The wheel keeps turning.

“How did you deal with Christopher’s nightmares?” Bobby doesn’t know if he’s pressing a finger into an old injury. He can’t recall his own history for help; these days, he remembers Robbie and Brooke crystal clear and paper thin in equal parts, hit by things he’d thought he’d been able to forget and struggling still to recognize what was true and what was just a picture his head had made up. After a life of alcohol, it figures that not even the time Bobby did manage to have with his children was safe; but he’s trying to allow himself the mercy he prays about. If only so he won’t turn his children into altars of flagellation.

“I didn’t deal with it,” Eddie answers him, not without humor. “I joined a fighting club, remember?”

Bobby doesn’t roll his eyes, but he does gift Eddie with a huff. “Alright. What can you tell me so I won’t do the same?”

“You’re the one I base myself on,” Eddie shrugs. “I think you’re doing well enough.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Eddie looks at him for a moment; wordless, aside from what’s surely circling through his head.

“Maybe you should ask Evan,” he says. It carries the tone of challenge – not against Bobby, but on his side.

They keep silent for a while.

Evan, when Bobby eventually makes his way into Christopher’s room, is sitting cross legged on the floor. Though their voices have been mostly quiet –from the distance from the hallway, anyway– when he turns to look at Bobby, hearing his steps, it’s with an excited smile. “Bobby!” He shows off one of Christopher’s stuffed toys – a golden retriever. Evan holds it out to Bobby with the enthusiasm of a shared knowledge.

Bobby smiles at him.

“I’m showing him the things Buck bought me.” There’s a small file behind Christopher, similar, Bobby thinks, to show and tell. It doesn’t surprise him that after more than four years knowing Christopher, Buck has accumulated him a collection of gifted toys. They’re all animals (mostly from the zoo’s gift shop, Bobby imagines) but some are thematic too; a penguin standing on top of a surfer’s board, and a little bear sitting on a wheelchair.

Christopher picks up an otter, reaching out for Evan to hold it. “This is the last one. He got it after I aced a science test.”

“Good job,” Evan tells him, probably the same thing Buck also did. Christopher’s cheeks dimple as he smiles at him.

“I want to show you my favorite one.” He turns his torso around to pick something from the row by his side –the surfing penguin– but Christopher doesn’t immediately give it to Evan, saying first, “Buck gave me this after I went back to my surfing lessons.”

If a mention of water –no matter how indirect– spooks Evan, he seems more interested in Christopher’s story. “Surfing?”

“Yeah – in the ocean. I really liked it, but something happened in the sea that made me scared, and it took me some time to get back.” He lets Evan take the toy. The penguin is stitched to the board, both made of stuffing –so a child can sleep with it in bed– but as goofy as the animal looks, Bobby feels something in his ribs looking at it. Christopher was just four years older than Evan when the tsunami happened; it’s a strange feeling to be thankful that Buck was there to help him when that took something from him too. Is taking something from Evan.

Evan takes the stuffed animal like he did all before, but something considering comes to his eyes when he looks more closely into the penguin’s face. “Do you still get scared with water?”

“Not really. I know that the one that comes from the plumbing isn’t going to hurt me; and dad stays close when we go to the beach.”

“I never went.”

“To the beach? Is there nothing in Hershey?”

Bobby can’t keep a snort at the earnest derision that comes into Christopher’s voice.

“Pennsylvania is landlocked,” he answers on Evan's behalf, coming closer to his side and crouching down to have an excuse to rest a hand on his nape. Evan’s gone quiet. Bobby doesn’t question him just yet.

“Texas is too. California’s better.” Bobby smiles at the belonging in Christopher’s voice. Glancing back at Evan, he brushes a measured, gentle hand through the back of his hair.

“You okay?”

“Uhm-hm,” Evan finally speaks up, still looking more dispersed than before. He considers something quietly in his head. “I dunno if I can go to the beach.”

“Are you scared?” Bobby asks. Evan doesn’t answer – not directly, anyway. Bobby can still see his response well enough in the nervous shape of his shoulders, hands fidgeting with the material of Christopher’s stuffed toy. He hears Evan loud and clear.

Christopher must too – or, at least, he’s well prepared for the conversation. “There’s something that I did when I was still scared of water,” he extends to Evan, attentive and deliberate. Though the offer is said casually –the same easy friendliness that Eddie’s kid is particularly natural with– Bobby doesn’t miss that this is where the conversation was always walking towards. He can’t congratulate Christopher –not without breaking the moment, and the careful consideration that has started in Evan’s head– but it’s gratefulness that comes with Bobby’s next smile, more so as Evan finally breaks the silence.

“Is it hard?” he asks in a small voice. Christopher’s face breaks into a grin. Bobby feels his own new one buzz from his heart.

“I can show you,” Chris says.

The penguin was not made to be put in water, but that’s the toy that Christopher takes. Eddie doesn’t provide any deterrent –”I’ll just put it out to dry later,” he shrugs– and Bobby supposes that’s the lowest priority. With the tentative way that Evan follows Christopher to the kitchen, Bobby can’t say he wants to find an excuse either. He just stays close –like Eddie does– and watches Christopher tamp down the sink’s drain and wait for it to fill up when he turns on the tap.

It fashions a tub out of Eddie’s kitchen sink, but seeing as he doesn’t have a bathtub, it’s a good substitute. Christopher takes a little while to get everything ready, needing to go slower for finer movements, but Eddie lets him take the lead, and Evan doesn’t seem in any rush. He keeps by Bobby's side –surfing penguin in arms– keeping such a distance to the tap Bobby can’t believe it took him a full day to consider this had something to do with the tsunami.

Eddie’s house has a step stool, though Christopher has grown enough to reach the sink on his own. Thankfully, Eddie didn’t throw it out, as it is what Evan proceeds to climb on. Eddie puts it in front of the sink while Christopher is getting it to fill, and when it’s all done and waiting, Chris motions Evan along, although he still needs a little push from Bobby. He squeezes at Evan’s shoulder, before driving him forward, and he goes with a last glance behind, still a little heartbreakingly unsure.

“See?” Christopher motions to the sink, swimming a hand in and splashing a bit of the water around. “Safe.” On the top of the step stool, Evan more or less reaches Christopher’s same height, and they look at the water from the same place – even if not from the same level of courage just yet. Evan doesn’t seem ready to dunk the stuffed animal in water –and his own hands alongside it– but Christopher continues to encourage him, more patient than Bobby had ever been at that age. “Go on.”

Evan is careful not to touch the water, initially, but there’s only so much space on the penguin that his hands can climb on. Eventually, his palm comes to contact with the water –his shoulders twitching– and then his wrists. He keeps holding tightly to the stuffed animal, keeping its head over the surface like it really is a penguin, but his hands are submerged. Christopher smiles.

“See? If the stuffie is safe then you’re safe too.”

The expressions on Eddie and Bobby’s faces are mostly identical, as they look at Christopher. When he glances at his father for a moment, Bobby doesn’t miss the quiet exchange Eddie has with his son. “Good job, mijo,” he whispers under his breath. Christopher recognizes the words by the shapes of Eddie’s mouth, and his smile grows further.

When Bobby and Evan get home, Athena’s already come back from work. Bobby had warned her they would go out to visit Eddie –though he didn’t say why– and he finds her to be already getting a headstart on dinner. Athena greets both of them, and gives each one a kiss – Evan on his temple (his face twitches in an abashed smile) and Bobby on the lips. She doesn’t miss the new toy in Evan’s hand, or the fact that it’s slightly damp.

“Where did you get that penguin?” she raises an eyebrow. The curiosity doesn’t go when Bobby’s response is an amused huff.

Evan chooses to walk to her side instead of answering the question. He leaves the penguin surfer on the kitchen table.

“‘Thena, can I help wash the vegetables?”

Both of Athena’s eyebrows raise to the height of her hairline as she glances in silent bewilderment at Bobby, looking at him from over Evan’s head.

“Sure, baby,” she tells him, as soon as she’s scrambled to recover. Evan fits naturally by her side, standing closer to the kitchen sink than he was recently able to. It’s the natural place he’s come to take with Bobby, helping him cook and wash the dishes that are left after, and Bobby feels something settle in himself, if minimally. He watches Evan as much as Athena does.

Bobby buys a kid-sized swim shorts and a pair of rubber ducks the next day. He realizes that the circumstances are slightly hysterical; he and Eddie more or less planned for it during the previous day, the same intent of Christopher’s sink bath, but it’s hard for Bobby not to find everything ridiculous when he’s with Eddie, his son and Evan in the main bathroom, making a pool of the bathtub. The room isn’t large enough to comfortably fit two adult men and two children –even if Evan is small– and they’re knocking shoulders most of the time; Bobby still can’t find in himself anything but the mirth at the situation – even if it had a sad start. The way Christopher lords over his father –”No, dad, you put the bubbles then you start the water,”-- makes him snort.

Eddie gives him a squinted look, like Bobby is any better. He supposes he isn’t.

Evan’s sat on his knee, waiting – just a little apprehensively. Bobby bounces him once, hoping it would take the worried expression from his face, and he gives Evan an authentic smile when he glances back at him. “You okay?”

He nods, lips pursed. Bobby squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, and he’s slightly surprised when Evan turns on his knee, a little hurried in giving Bobby back a hug; arms wrapped around his neck and face burrowed down in Bobby’s shoulder. When he’s let go off, Bobby blinks down at Evan. He turns back too quickly for Bobby to properly make out his expression, but he frowns at the suddenness all the same.

“You’re sure?” he asks Evans, though he only nods again. The hug didn’t feel particularly despairing –only rushed– but Bobby still isn’t too sure in taking Evan at face value. “Okay,” he still says, mostly not to give Evan anything else to worry over. He kisses the back of his head at the end, for good measure.

When the tub is full, full of bubbles and with a fleet of rubber ducks bobbing up and down through the water, Christopher –dressed like he’s going to the beach– looks back to the two of them. “Let’s go?” he reaches a hand out to Evan.

Eddie watched out for the water depth when the tub was filling, and it doesn’t overflow when both Christopher and Evan go into the water. It was a very good job for someone bullied by his own son, but Bobby doesn’t have any quip to tell him. He’s too focused on the expression that comes over Evan’s face, unsure, then startled –even if Bobby let them use the hot water– but thankfully never struck by terror; Christopher holds his hand while in yhe water too safely for that.

“You’re doing good,” Bobby tells him – the same words in Eddie’s expression, and Christopher’s too. Looking at him, Evan eventually nods – like he’s starting to believe it.

-

“Sorry I’m taking so long.”

Bobby pauses on where he’d been tucking the comforter safely around Evan’s shoulder – him looking up with a frown.

He’s never not struck with how much like Buck Evan looks. It’s self-explanatory, of course; Bobby’s looking at the face that would – will – become Buck’s. They still occupy such distinct places in his life, Bobby can’t help but think of them as separate entities; his initial reassurance, when everything started, that has now soured in taste. Evan and Buck are as much the same as also different people, and Bobby knows he’ll find ways to miss both. He’s trying to find reassurance in enjoying both too.

He sits by Evan’s bedside, turning to look at him properly. The dip of Evan’s nose would become more pronounced in age, as it would take adolescence for him to gain his acne scars – but the eyes are the same. Buck looked this uncertainty at Bobby too, when he felt –and feared– he made a mistake. Most of the time, he did. Not all of them though.

“Taking long for what?” Bobby asks him, mostly to not let the conversation stop. Sometimes, the uncertainty gained over, where both Evan and Buck are concerned. This isn’t something Bobby feels should die unsaid.

“Water,” Evan says, answer enough. Bobby still has the feeling that it isn’t the only thing Evan’s concerned about being slow in changing; he can imagine one more.

Both the answers he has to give are twins. “You can take all the time you want.” He brushes a hand through Evan’s hair, stopping it over the pink blotches on his face. “I’ll be glad for every time we have.”

Evan’s gone back to his own bed and sleeping in his own room; he’s helping Bobby wash dishes again; he drinks glasses of water. Bobby hasn’t felt disappointed even once. He can imagine two versions of life, not without their bittersweetness, but sweet also takes part of the name; somewhere, he’s going to live either back with Buck or still with Evan, and whichever one of them, Bobby will still be happy. It’s the same eyes looking at him.

He kisses between them over Evan’s forehead. Hugging his comforter, only slightly burrowed – hidden – beneath it, he looks just a little timidly back at Bobby

“I love you,” he murmurs, like if maybe it’s quiet enough there’s still a chance he won’t get hurt. Bobby never wants to give him pain.

He looks at him with a smile –that sweet– running his thumb over Evan’s birthmark.

“I love you too.” Bobby nuzzles his hair, and breathes in. He only pulls back when his lungs are filled. “Goodnight, kid.”

-

The day that Bobby goes back to work is as reassuring as nerve-wracking. It’s a long time coming; for practically his entire adult life, the only times Bobby missed work for more than fourteen days was during medical leaves and right after his family had died. A week and a half has already left him a little restless –a little worried, when Hen’s functionally alone in the firehouse– and so there’s a part of him that’s relieved to go back. Another one just feels nervous.

Athena has enough sick days reserved she can easily call off work to stay with Evan. It serves them well, since neither she nor Bobby know (or trust) any babysitter, and the people Evan already do, and likes, work the same hours as them. Eddie’s offer to call in Carla feels underserved, when the woman already has afternoons with Christopher –and, really, it's not her job description to look after young children– and it’s truthfully only Athena being back at home that makes Bobby brave enough to leave for work. Even as he left in the morning, he knew she got it; Athena had waved him away from the front door, Evan by her side –the sharp burn of longing Bobby’s trying to just live through with appreciation these days– and Bobby knew the kid would be in good, caring hands. It still didn’t stop him from feeling a bit wistful. Neither from seeing that Evan looked like that too.

He spends a lot of time at work sighing. This, he remembers, too; when his children were born, and all Bobby would do was look forward to being back home. Evan’s not a baby –and Bobby won’t get to see him in his house forever, he knows– but he still picks him up like one, when he finally gets out of work.

The tsunami doesn’t end up being the only memory that’s returning to haunt Evan’s head. For the remainder of the week, Bobby gets acquainted with new triggers and scares, a game –that no one likes to play–  to know what was what happened this time. Evan gets scared of loud noises and particularly big bangs, and he begins to fear for Bobby and Athena’s jobs about as immediately as Bobby returns to the firehouse. Bobby doesn’t know if it’s the not having them close that scares him; he and Athena have to take turns to stay at home, working opposite shifts, and most of the time one is there, they have to call the other for Evan to hear their voice. Bobby doesn’t know if it’s just separation anxiety or something darker, but he’d be the first to admit Buck had more than enough experience seeing them getting hurt.

He worries for Bobby and Athena, and most of everyone, walking in tight circles at random hours of the day. Most of all, Evan worries for Maddie – he’s heard she’s not around, though Bobby couldn’t give all the details, seeing Evan’s age, and the fact he still doesn’t know much himself. It’s especially hard to get Evan to believe she’s alright by word alone when Bobby can’t be sure of his own promises.

Having company helps. Evan likes to hear about how he is with his friends, and the assurance that that’s what everyone still is – but there’s only so far that they can stretch distractions.

Evan likes to know when they leave the house and when they plan to get back. Evan likes to stay close when he’s anxious and doesn’t know why – but he hardly asks for it, trying to linger by their side without asking for attention. There’s food that Evan doesn’t eat. Starting some day, he just refuses bread; though he really liked sandwiches. It’s the rest of the afternoon before Bobby notices he’s taking to break whatever he’s eating in very tiny pieces before bringing to his mouth.

He’s scared to choke, though when Bobby asks him about it, Evan doesn’t have the proper words to explain it. He doesn’t understand his fears –doesn’t even know them, really– and just proceeds in a general, anxious blindness, and Bobby can’t say he doesn’t also feel a lot like that.

Fears and paranoias crop up almost randomly, hard to track. Some things are easier to recognize than others. One night, Evan wakes up from a nightmare he can’t calm down from until Bobby runs through a list of who he’s scared for, and finally reaches Eddie; Bobby has to wake him up in the middle of the night with a phone call, but it’s just after listening to his voice that Evan eventually calms down. Bobby doesn’t have to guess what was that about; he lets Evan sleep in his and Athena’s bed, and makes sure there’s no guns on screen the next time he turns on the TV for Evan.

It hurts Bobby to think about everything that Buck has gone through, to feed all these nightmares. He’s just thirty – impossibly old, when Bobby is looking at Evan, who likes jam but not jelly, and kisses on his head, though he never asks you to do it, but Buck is young too. Too young , when Bobby remembers that he was already a firefighter when Buck was born. He’s twenty-six years older than Buck, and can track each mark from that age with heavy weight. Buck was eleven when Bobby’s eldest was born; twenty-one when she died. Bobby was burying his family when Buck had just been a year away from home. They were both lost without even knowing each other.

It feels strange for Bobby to think there was always that kid alive somewhere. But then, maybe there was a silver lining for the years it took –twenty-six ( twenty-six , Bobby thinks, throat tight)– for Buck to find him. Bobby can’t deny that most of Buck’s horrors happened after he came to LA. For someone as obsessed with his job as Buck is, it has not treated him very kindly. Bobby’s good, sometimes, at guessing why Evan is scared of something. Mostly because he was there when it happened to Buck.

He bundles Evan up in bedtime and reads from his book of dogs when he’s home for the night. Bobby can’t deny Buck had a too long life; he still hopes that Evan’s stay, at least, is easy. He’ll keep kissing his head – even if Evan won’t ask.

For all that it had a rough start, the second week passes by hurriedly. Bobby has the exhaustion of a new father –changing shifts with Athena to always leave someone at home with Evan– but he’s glad whenever he gets back from work, even if it has been at least two years (Athena’s attack) since he slept so poorly. There’s a routine that Bobby has perfected, as haphazardly as it’s been built, and he still finds some energy at the start of saturday to call up everyone. Evan has never seen the beach –wouldn’t do it for sixteen years more– but Athena doesn’t live all that far; as much as the coast is packed during the weekends, Bobby is still dumb enough to ask everyone to meet him in one. Maybe stupid attracts stupid – they all meet him there.

The beach is packed – between the seagulls and the visiting gaggles of children, Bobby doesn’t really know who’s screaming the loudest. There are groups of families and friends taking up pieces of the sand floor, and they look like Bobby’s – or Bobby’s look like them Between the Wilsons, Diazes and Grant-Nashes, the group is not as big as when everyone was still in Los Angeles (Bobby hasn’t had a call from Chimney in weeks – though, between all that’s happened, maybe the extra quiet has been for the best), but they still take up a good deal of space when Bobby searches for a place to settle down.

Hen brought the family; she hadn’t had a lot of time to visit Evan, between work and medical school –even though she wanted to, after Bobby told everything of his accident– and Karen looks very delighted to strike up conversation with Athena and Evan; the first time she’s meeting him. With all the children they see through fostering, Bobby knows both Hen and her have soft spots. Bobby isn’t too occupied helping Eddie and Hen bring out beach chairs that he can’t watch Karen introduce herself to Evan, and it is with the same sense of fondness as all the times before that he sees him slowly warm up. Even if he finds May –smiling knowingly– staring at him when he looks away.

“I still haven’t brought your chair,” he tells her, not without a –light-hearted– sense of threat. It gets a bright breath from May’s mouth, hands in the air as she says, “I’m quiet, I’m quiet!”

The children are alright entertaining themselves on their own. It isn’t long before Christopher and Denny walk up to Athena and Evan’s side to urge him to come along – even if there’s probably more exciting things to do on the beach than to play with a five-year old. Bobby tries to give them the same trust that their parents do.

Evan still glances at Bobby when they pass by his side. Christopher can’t really comfortably walk while holding his hand, but Denny does, keeping Evan close. Bobby knows that what they give him is the eleven-years old’s best you can trust us face, but with how earnest Evan looks, around other children –Christopher included– he wouldn’t deny them anyway. The three of them don’t go near the water –Evan wouldn’t– but Bobby watches them sit close by; drawing on the damp sand, and watching the sea clean it away. After the unnamed fright Evan had with water, he can’t deny the improvement that it is.

Bobby watches him when there’s nothing more for him to do. He loses himself from conversation easily enough; he’s tired –the good tired, the one that comes after a job well done, two-weeks old by now– and all the energy Bobby has left has been trained to focus on Evan. He’s happy – despite everything, or because of it. He’s happy. Evan’s wearing the same shorts it took for him to get back into water again and silly arm floaties that Bobby bought in the way here, and his hair shines like Brook and Robbie’s did when the sun hits it head on. It’s not that Bobby has lost the guilt – or the fear, or the grief. That has happened neither for his past children nor this new one. But Bobby accepts the sense of peace that comes to him when Evan is looking as alright as he is. Bobby managed this; he’s kept one safe. Maybe that’s all you can live for.

Though he’d been sitting at the head of a triangle between Christopher and Denny, Evan gets up after a moment of conversation. Bobby just hears the very last part of it, Evan was already bumbling back to his feet –sand coated over the entire back of his legs– and shouting behind, “-I’m just gonna get him!” before he runs into the destination of Bobby’s legs. He hits him knees-first –punching out an oof from both of them– but Evan is smiling, even as he stumbles, a little out of breath when he holds on to the knees he hit to look up at Bobby.

“Sorry!” Between running and the sun, his birthmark looks a shade darker, slightly hidden behind the hair that sweat has plastered to his face. Giggling, Evan’s face only looks pinker. “Uhm– Denny and Chris want to h-hop waves, but, uh, I wanted to ask if you can be c-close to it, just ‘cause – while I’m in the water with them. Like Chris said ‘Ddie did for him.”

Evan doesn’t look scared; if anything, excited. Bobby has the vague feeling of his eyebrows raising on his face –shock and pride and satisfaction, too much for him to be fully conscious about– but he still feels the need to ask, “You’re going too?” though he knows it sounds dumb. He’s not sure if anyone else is witnessing the same thing he is.

The question doesn’t get the excitement to leave Evan’s face – although he looks slightly more embarrassed the longer he stands before Bobby. He nods still, swaying over Bobby’s knees with the force. “Uhm-huh! Uh– can I?”

Evan still has a bandage. It’s been changed to a new one every day, less obvious than the full wrapping that the ER did, but he still can’t get the cut on his head wet – especially not by salt water. But Evan’s not asking to swim, although Bobby still feels just as proud for him to want to get into the water at all. He doesn’t think he’d be able to refuse this even if he wanted to.

Bobby feels himself nod, watching much more closely the shy relief that crosses over Evan’s face. When he gets up to follow him it’s with a bewildered look back to Athena. Beneath a similar pride, she looks much more amused.

He follows Evan, then gets bodily dragged when the kid gets in a hurry. Bobby is let go just as soon when Evan has reached Denny and Chris, and he hops once in front of them –too much energy to hold– looking like he’ll drag them too if they don’t speed up. “Okay, we can go!”

It’s a good day. It’s mostly Christopher that leads Evan into the water, the same patient expression that Bobby has met in Eddie’s face, and he watches the three kids with a sense of peace, more than anything. It’s maybe that calm that makes Bobby sag so soon, when Evan’s salty from sea water from the shoulders down and letting out sand wherever he goes, but grinning. Bobby’s got a smile –tired– of his own.

“Give me the keys, captain,” Athena reaches out a hand in his direction outside the beach, waiting. When he takes too long, she flexes two fingers impatiently, an eyebrow raised. “I wouldn’t be a very good police officer if I let you drive looking like that. You need a nap.”

“You can go in the backseat with me!” Evan exclaims. For all he’s jumping and down right now, Bobby doesn’t doubt that Evan will crash as soon as the car is on pavement. He can’t deny he’d be close to that too.

Bobby gives the car keys onto Athena’s waiting hand with amusement –louder, when she huffs– but his smile is all too earnest when he looks back to Evan with a word of, “We’re roomies.” It gets Evan to give him another jump in excitement.

He straps him into his car seat, casually following Evan’s string of thoughts – the games he played with Chris and Denny, that Denny is fun, that Karen is very pretty (Bobby hears Athena snort), that he saved up a shell in his pocket to give Maddie when she comes back home. He’s still a little pent up with excitement, but it isn’t long after the car gets on the road that he starts to list to the side. Sat beside Evan on the backseat, Bobby meets Athena’s eyes through the rearview mirror; both of theirs are crinkled in fondness.

“Today was nice,” Evan speaks through a yawn. Athena hasn’t turned on the AC – Evan is still damp from the sea, and they can’t risk him getting a cold. They’ve just opened the windows, early evening air breathing inside the car, and in the last stretch of the sunset, Evan’s head gets slightly haloed from where Bobby is looking at him.

“It was,” Bobby answers him.

He puts Evan’s floaties away to clear up space on the backseats. Though he didn’t let him take his toys out to the beach, Evan still brought them in the car, mostly to have something to keep himself entertained with during the drive. It’s going to be a while to get home too –it’s rush hour– which they all were more or less aware of when everyone said their goodbyes. Athena’s exchanging texts and huffs with Hen from the front seat whenever they’re at stoplights, and Bobby picks up Evan’s rat to lay it beneath the kid’s arm, hugging it close as Evan blinks drowsily back at him.

“You can go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get home.”

“‘kay,” Bobby gets before Evan goes fully down. It’s an easy change; the next breath he takes is deep and sound, a snoring little, and Bobby doesn’t know if it’s more fondness or amusement that he feels looking at him.

“I could tell you the same,” Athena says from the front seats. She turns the blinkers on for a curve, head turning away, but Bobby still hears her voice; though it’s beginning to sound like it’s from miles away. It takes a while for Bobby to realize she’s telling him to go to sleep too – probably proof enough he should do that.

“Sure,” Bobby wipes his face, hand heavy with the sleep he just tried to clear out. He hits the back of his head against his seat, and closes his eyes.

It’s a blink before he’s awake, though it’s obviously been far more time. Athena is at the passenger door –now open– looking back at him with a look of amusement as she cocks a hip. Evan’s car seat is empty.

“Where is him?” is the first thing Bobby asks – it stumbles a little out of his mouth with the remains of sleep.

“Put to bed – I brought him in first. Though you needed the rest.” Athena steps away for Bobby to get out of the car, holding on to him he sags. “Easy, captain.”

Bobby’s reminded of another life. Walking his dad home, when he was stumbling and stinking of beer. Taking on his father’s shoes with his wife. He holds on to Athena’s arm for a moment –sending out apologies– but just one. He blinks his eyes open again.

“You put him to bed?”

“Yes. We can go straight to ours – he's fast asleep.”

“That’s good,” Bobby mumbles. He stretches his back and groans when it cracks loudly.

Athena chuckles. Bobby can't help but snort too.

“Okay, okay – we got a kid at home,” he tells her, making a vague gesture –sightly dramatic– for her to quiet down. Athena just sounds more amused.

“And you’re like this when you’re tired .”

“i’ll show you tired,” he teases – but Athena doesn’t rise to the bait.

“Go to bed,” she leads him right to the door, tapping him companially on the stomach. “Tomorrow is another day.”

Bobby hums, receiving the kiss that Athena lays on his lips. He sighs something heavy after finally dropping on the bed, little else to say. His wife’s hand rests for a second on his shoulder, quietly and caring. He sleeps with the touch.

-

Buck wakes up again in the early start of a sunday, after almost two full weeks of being Evan.

The room is just bright enough for Buck not to recognize it.

He startles from bed, a rude awakening, for all his body seems to still be half-asleep; it weighs down the side of the bed when he shifts, sending Buck carrening farther than he wanted. When he falls by the bedside it’s with a loud BANG – not only of his ass and back hitting the floorboards, but sending half the things on the nightstand flying along with himself.

“What–” Buck still has energy enough to wheeze out, vaguely aware of how high –and loud– is his voice in his confusion. His head hurts. He looks around the room – and then down to himself. “W-Wh–”

Buck’s naked, but between the strange room and the way he can’t remember where he was last, he doesn’t really know what thing to pick to freak out about. They more or less happen all at once, without order, too overwhelming to keep track. When the door on one of the bedroom’s walls opens, Buck can only scramble further into a corner, ass still on the floor.

“Buck,” the new arrival shows his face – Bobby, steps through the door and right into one of the shafts of light from the uncovered window. He looks tired –though that might just be the muted color of the early hour– but startled most of all. Buck can understand the feeling.

“Bobby–” he chokes in the rush to say his name. Buck’s heart is beating too fast –brain squeezing too hard– and he can’t even be properly relieved to see Bobby in what looked like an unknown environment. Buck still flinches when Bobby comes forward, though all he’s done is rip the comforter off the bed to wrap around Buck.

“Hey, you’re okay – take a breath.” Bobby doesn’t step away; he lingers on a kneel by Buck’s side, holding the sheets for him when Buck’s hands are too sluggish to follow. It’s almost instinct to let him help.

“What–” Buck has to close his eyes, groaning at the light. His head is pounding. Did he drink yesterday? Is that why he’s –supposedly– in Bobby’s house?

“Just wait a second.” Bobby gets up to close the curtains, a strange urge to whine taking Buck when he’s not right by his side. Buck doesn’t make a sound.

The door opens again while Bobby is in his new task; Buck scurries further behind automatically –holding tight to his blanket– but it’s just Athena that appears in the door, eyes immediately falling on Buck and the corner he’s hiding. Her expression is difficult to parse.

“Buckaroo,” Athena breathes out. She smiles – something small and seemingly by half. Buck can hear the relief in her voice, but there’s something else there too; something he can’t recognize.

His heart hurts.

“Athena,” Bobby calls for his wife, finally blocking out the light, “can you go find his bag and pick up something for him?” Bobby looks at her when his job is done, and –for a moment– it’s like they talk in the silence with their eyes alone. Buck can’t see them as well, now that the room is darker. His head starts droning again when he tries to force his eyes – Buck stops, and covers his face.

“I’ll be back soon,” Buck hears Athena say, and what must be her steps going through the doorway. She didn’t say goodbye, a tiny voice in his head complains – he grimaces at the next stab in his brain.

“Hey.” Buck more feels Bobby’s return to his side than actually witnesses it. He’s not willing to uncover his face when he’s got such a headache –even if the room is darker– and Buck is mostly aware of just the weight and presence that settles by him a second time. “Deep breaths.”

“My head–” Buck complains in a whine. He feels the same acrid taste of guilt of every other time he acts like a nagging kid, but Bobby brings a comforting hand to the dip of his shoulder blades all the same, not a single gripe to give, like his hand belongs there. Buck breathes through a sudden wave of nausea – as Bobby asked.

“Don’t try to force it. Just breathe through the feeling.”

Buck’s not sure he is breathing. It feels closer to wheezing.

“Wha’s goin’ on,” he croaks out. Muffled by both his hand and his knees –Buck’s head dropping in defeat on top of them– he’s surprised that Bobby doesn’t only manage to understand it, but continue with his patience.

He brings his hand through circles against Buck’s back, slow and gentle. It’s a measured touch; it feels natural in essence, like Bobby’s presence and the comfort that Buck takes from it –and that doesn’t have to be a surprise– but Buck still feels that there’s something missing, like coming home and seeing that a piece of furniture is no longer around. What home , Buck thinks.

“Take a minute first. I’ll go grab you a glass of water; stay here.”

Buck’s first instinct is to whine and reach out blindly for a piece of Bobby’s shirt, before he can escape – but Buck forces it down. A whine still escapes. With his face covered, Buck just hopes Bobby thinks he’s in pain; it would still be better than the strange embarrassment that’s surging through his stomach, like a delayed response Buck doesn’t even know the origin of. When Bobby leaves, it’s all Buck can do to not cry at the emptiness of the room.

He was at the firehouse. Was he at the firehouse? Maddie – Maddie is missing. Buck was waiting for her. Waiting for her to call. Just call. She’s been gone for more than a month now. Chim was after her. Maddie left, then Chimney left, then Eddie left, and then Buck made Taylor leave too, just for good measure. He remembers these things – what is that he’s forgetting?

The feeling of being about to vomit comes back with a vengeance and Buck groans, hanging his head between his knees. He doesn’t know why it feels like such a big betrayal for Bobby to have left the room, when it’s just a kitchen run –to help Buck, even– but he's just so uncomfortable . Buck doesn’t want to be alone. He feels childish in a way that only happens when his parents come to visit, like he’s gone back to childhood and it’s just his body that’s been stretched tall. He’s a piece of taffy that’s been pulled too far, fraying in the middle. Maybe that’s why he feels like he’s about to barf.

He blinks blearily at the world beyond his knees, shrowded in dark, now, but still overwhelming. He doesn’t know this room – but he does, like you remember a faraway dream. Deja vu. It doesn’t have to mean anything, but Buck’s head keeps aching, and his stomach turning, and he can’t shake a cold sweat from his nape. There’s something missing. There’s something he's missing.

He looks at the bed – undone, and messily so, when Buck scrambled straight to the floor. It’s been made for someone, though he can’t remember if it was to himself – even if it had to be, when, just minutes before, he was sleeping on it. The sense of belonging feels far away, like there’s a wall of linen curtaining it away – where Buck can’t touch, or properly see it. He feels faraway, not all that present where his backside is still aching from where he fell to the ground. There’s something missing. Buck’s breathe hitches, the itchiness to his heart returning with strenght, and he glares at the bed and the vague flashes he gets from it –warmth, comfort, a hand running through his hair– trying to just understand–

There’s a firetruck toy poking out from beside the pillow. Buck’s breath hitches a second time.

He sees small hands wrapping around it, taking from someone else’s, when they offer. He remembers smiles – giving one, and receiving another in return. He remembers looking up – neck craning, like it hasn’t needed to in years.

The door opens again – a creek that Buck hears echo in his head a thousand times over, a repeat from morning and night, always a flash of someone accompanying him – him?

It’s Athena this time. Buck’s vaguely aware of the wetness on his eyes.

After just a flash of realization, her face twitches between concern and resignment. Buck just feels his ribs clenching again.

“‘Thena?” he croaks out.

Hers eyes soften. Buck doesn’t know if that’s better or worse; maybe the flashes wouldn’t come if she wasn’t so kind. It’s not a barrage of photos, but a return of memory the way you had momentarily forgotten where the keys to your car were. Athena’s kindness –and the bittersweetness on her face– just makes Buck feel more like vomiting. He feels an embarrassment so big –mortification, even– at the things that are coming back to his head, the sour tastes reaches right to the ceiling of his mouth.

She sighs and comes into the room, taking a knee on the space between Buck and what, for the last two weeks, had been his bed. The bed where Bobby read to him, and kissed his birthmark, and Buck – he wheezes – and Buck told he loved him, and heard the same thing back. The bed he ruined after a nightmare. He's randomly reminded of every acrid moment that happened in his childhood room (trying to sleep through nightmares because dad always complained when he woke him and mom up, and didn't let Buck call Maddie too, or that dad’s idea of kindness was teaching him to work the washing machine at ten) and although nothing close to it happened where Buck is kneeling, he feels the same – worse, maybe. He wishes the floor would swallow him whole.

His heart is beating like he’s on the run; like when he broke something at home, and was waiting for his mother’s steps to reach his side. There’s a part of Buck that expects Athena to scream too –the part from the last two weeks, or before that, he doesn’t know– but he can only clean uselessly at his face, struggling to get even one word out.

“I- uh- ah.” The desperate stammers climb onto each other. The patience on Athena’s face doesn’t change.

“Take a breath,” she says, like Bobby did. Buck’s breathing breaks.

“ I’m sorry .” He doesn’t know what he’s the most sorry for – for having them need to take care of him, or forcing Bobby, specifically, but Buck just wishes that hole would come already.

Athena doesn’t let him get that far. “Don’t say that.” Her voice manages to be as reassuring as admonishing.

Buck can just shake his head. It doesn’t please Athena – but she sticks close by, the same expression on her face.

Buck blinks at the door when it opens again, dislodging a tear from his lashes, and it tracks down a hot trail across the dip of his face. It’s harder to look at Bobby than Athena; harder yet, when he halts on his steps still right by the doorway, as soon as he’s caught the new devastation on Buck’s face. Buck doesn’t know if he wishes he hadn’t remembered – he has the feeling it wouldn’t be much different than embarrassing himself in school without realizing, and just feeling the offset later. At least this way, Buck’s aware of the crime.

He can’t get the apology to come out in front of Bobby. He can’t get his mouth to even open.

Bobby doesn’t sigh – not audibly, like Athena, anyway. His shoulders still fall, in a way Buck can’t help but think it’s in defeat –exhaustion on his just-woke-up face– and it rankles and rankles in Buck’s stomach, the way shame always does.

Bobby lets the hand holding the cup sag by his side.

-

Buck’s taller sitting at the kitchen counter; which is to say, he’s stopped being smaller. The change in perspective –recent, and still so far away, at least in his head– takes a good chunk of seconds just for him to study, but it’s a good distraction not to look at Bobby. He’s not doing much better, his own back turned away. Bobby never took this long to cook eggs.

Passing beside Buck, Athena gives him an attempt of a smile, though it’s weak by nature. She touches and holds his shoulder for just a moment; the silent expression on her face makes Buck’s stomach clench down in grief. Athe a pats him affectionately, before retrieving her hand entirely and retreating as a whole, and when Athena leaves the kitchen there’s no doubt about it that it is to leave Buck and Bobby alone.

Buck sniffs at the new emptiness to his side. He pulls the towel he received before showering a little bit closer around his shoulders. Bobby’s back neither witches nor turns.

Buck’s hair is damp, curling at the top against the chilly air. Remains of water from the quick shower he took, before finally hiding back in his clothes –stale, after almost two weeks of living inside his work bag– trail down his neck right down to the towel, leaving a chill in their wake; or maybe that’s just the dread. Buck, aside from the time immediately after the lawsuit –and the first time Bobby fired him– has never stood in silence in the same room as Bobby for this long.

He wants to say sorry again, though he has the feeling Bobby probably won’t appreciate it. He won’t survive the same faux humility that Athena showed if it appears on his captain’s face. It’s hard to know what’s exactly memory and what seems like just a dream –the way Buck remembered much of his childhood, if even that– but he has the distant knowledge of how he was like a kid; he recalls the complaints he heard growing up and even after leaving the house, each unfortunate time he’s had to interact with Margaret and Philip again. Their gripes sound now embarrassingly close to the recent flashes inside his head and it kills Buck for Bobby to have been the one to witness them. Buck can’t even consider Athena; he’ll never be able to look back at her face.

“At least you got a taste,” Buck pipes out, unbidden. Bobby’s back freezes, like he is not sure of what he heard, and Buck, like an idiot, continues. “Of my mom and dad’s life. It puts things in context.”

Bobby’s shape is shocked out of the initial stupor, but the new color of anger that rises in its place doesn’t seem like that much of an improvement. When he turns –face impassive– Buck instinctively cringes. Well done , he thinks.

“What,” Bobby starts, voice cold and stiff, “are you talking about.” Bobby doesn’t intone properly; the annoyance Buck roused out of him just makes him sound like a wheezing pressure cooker, the most vague of suggestions that it can blow. It’s not different from the other times Buck has pissed him off –anyone off, really– and he’s learned to be more tired than anxious about it, but it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t give him a new flash of embarrassment.

“I just– nevermind.” Buck shuffles on his seat, curling his hands on his lap. His jaw flexes. In the silence, he keeps hearing the wheezing cooker.

Bobby sighs – long and long-suffering. Buck just glances at him, a little peer from under his lashes –when he knows he’s done something wrong, but can’t help but want to see the crash– and feels his diaphragm stutter at the, out of anything, grief on Bobby’s face. Of course; Buck has just made him live through his worst trigger because he was unlucky – again – in a call. He can’t keep the apology out this time.

“I’m sorry, Bobby.” It doesn’t lighten the man’s face – if anything, a new exhaustion comes to it. Bobby squeezes at his temples, and Buck can only double down on his excuses. “I– I didn’t want you to go through that. I’m sorry that I made you.” Buck just has the vague knowledge of how exactly this happened –a mix of a vague recall from that day and Athena’s simple summary of the potions he’d been doused on while Buck was still almost hyperventilating in that room– but he knows it was kind of his fault. He was the one acting without thinking, like he always does. “I didn’t mean to.”

“ Stop , Buck.” Bobby sounds spent – utterly, and in every form. Buck does, but with a pang through his entire body; his chest knots and bends the longer that Bobby speaks –looks– like that. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

It’s an obvious conclusion, at least in his voice – and yeah, sure. Buck didn’t take the top of the potions and washed himself with them by his own volition. But it doesn’t help, when Bobby’s shoulders are still like that.

“It’s still not fair that you had to deal with the fallout.”

“ Why do you think I was the one walking through hot coal here?” Bobby turns off the burner – they are going to talk, evidently (even if Buck’s sure neither of them really want it). It’s seemingly a diversion to not look at Buck’s face, until Bobby turns back again and actually reaches out for a plate – serving Buck the food. Bobby does it angrily, like the poor scrambled eggs personally wronged him, and Buck’s almost sorry for the dinner plate, Bobby’s fork scraping against it. “This wasn’t easy for you either.”

“I was a kid , Bobby.” Sniveling, needy and –jesus christ– problematic enough Bobby had to change the sheets of his bed once. Buck cringes just thinking about it. “All I had to do was stand around. You were the one taking care of me.”

“Is that what you think of your childhood?” Bobby drops his pan and spatula into the kitchen sink. Unbiddenly, Buck gets a flash of standing in front of it right by his side – helping with the dishes. Bobby was soft and patient – he’s neither now. “You think you just ‘stood around’?”

“My parents would say I ran too,” he attempts to joke, but it falls flat. Bobby still looks fuming. “Come on,” Buck tries, voice growing quieter – presence feeling smaller. “You had to take me to the ER.”

“Because I didn’t pay attention enough to you!” Bobby snaps. He immediately breathes deeply, keeping the air in his chest for a moment – trying to wash the flames. Buck wonders what it can ever do to the anger that’s clearly stored inside Bobby. “Nothing that happened was your fault,” he tries again, when his voice is calmer. “Nothing that happened when you were that age was your fault. I hate–” he breaks up, lips pursing together when –terrifyingly– something glossy and shiny appears in front of his eyes. “I hate that you still talk about yourself like this.”

Buck curls uncomfortably on himself.

“What am I supposed to say?” It’s a rethorical question –a last burst of annoyance (embarassment)-- but Bobby still answers him.

“Not blame yourself. You say that your parents were awful, but you keep finding excuses for them. You say ‘I was a kid’ like that’s a crime. It’s not punishment to take care of you. It wasn’t punishment to take care of you.”

Buck doesn’t know if he’s talking about himself or Buck’s parents. He doesn’t know which is more scary.

“Bobby–” he tries, but Bobby is still going.

“You know, there wasn’t a single thing that you did these last two week that made me understand them. I do even less. There isn’t a thing like a bad kid, but, you know, Evan–”

His voice breaks.

“You,” Bobby restarts, “weren’t one. You weren’t one at all.”

He sighs. The exhale doesn’t seem to help. With how Bobby drops back –hands holding his weight against the counter behind himself– he just looks more defeated.

Buck can’t think about that. He certainly can’t speak that there really was nothing he could do about his parents; it doesn’t help. It neither helps Bobby.

“You didn’t d-deserve to, to have to take care of one.” He’s not speaking properly – Buck rarely does. He can only brush a wrist through his face –see the brief, wistful look that appears in Bobby’s face at the gesture– and try to clear his throat. “Not when it’s n-not your kids.”

Bobby watches him.

“They’re gone, Buck.” He shrugs. It’s a sorry attempt; Bobby can’t disperse the wetness to his eyes. “They’ve been gone. Next year, they’ll be gone for longer than they had the chance to be around.” Bobby doesn’t stop even when Buck sniffles. “It’s why I can’t– believe, that your parents got to–” His jaw clenches; Bobby wipes a hand through the side of his face. “I can’t believe that you parents got thirty years, and they didn’t appreciate even one.”

The plate of eggs is cooling over – congening, the way Buck always found gross, but had to bite down when mom left a plate for him in the microwave. It figures that, even while arguing, Bobby is still trying to keep Buck fed. It rankles too. More than anything, there’s a rancor on Bobby’s face, and Buck deeply understands it. It’s not that he doesn’t know about the grief that lived with his parents – he recognizes Bobby’s own, and knows they had the same shape. But there’s something especially bitter about having lived twenty-one years with them, when Buck will never have something like that with a person like Bobby. That Bobby won’t have a chance again at something like Philip and Margaret had.

Buck’s memory is faulty; he knows that the new place in his past happened just yesterday, and not as far away as his head is trying to comprehend. It’s distant, but close too – and the same wistfulness he gets when he thinks about Maddie and mac-and-cheese and bedtime stories she made up on the spot, he thinks about the way Bobby looked after him. He misses Bobby just the same – as ridiculous as it is, when the man is standing right in front of himself.

There isn’t a sane way of saying I wish you had been the one to raise me. It isn’t like Buck wants for him to take Maddie’s place either – Maddie, Maddie who still isn’t answering Buck’s calls, Maddie who he still doesn’t know if is safe, Maddie who cooked him food when his parents forgot, and gave him meds under the table because mom wouldn’t take him to the hospital. But Buck– Buck just wishes .

“You were a good father,” he tells Bobby, though it just makes him have to dry his face again – both of them. Bobby still deserves to hear it; even if Buck just got to see a sliver.

“You were a pretty good kid too,” Bobby tells him back, voice damp.

Bobby looks back to Buck’s plate, sighs.

“I’ll fry you another one.”

Buck nods, and sniffles.

–

Things don’t take much to go back to normal – or as normal as they can be. Buck gets the a big-thumbs up from the medical-magical examiner that Bobby takes him after breakfast, and any aftereffect he still had from the spell goes away after the first three days. The cut in the back of his head stays – thought it’s proportionally smaller than when Buck had been younger. It will leave a scar; Buck wonders if he gets to tell people he got it when he was a kid.

Hen and Eddie are glad to see him. Buck has to meet them separately –different work hours– but the reaction is pretty much the same; he returns the hug they give and tries to survive the second-hand embarrassment of hearing their stories. Neither of them mean anything by it; if anything, they’d been a little too endeared with Buck’s younger-self. Both Hen and Eddie are parents – though Buck certainly doesn’t want them feeling parental now. The worry is dissuaded, respectively, when Eddie reaches out with a beer bottle to give him –a teasing little smile on his face– and Hen gives him a noogie (“And this is for getting hurt when I’m not in the same shift!”).

It’s slightly hysterical to talk with Christopher after the fact. Buck doesn’t know if he should feel proud or mortified that Chris seemingly took such good care of him –a suberb big brother– but he tries to answer the kid’s questions earnestly anyway, even if some get too close to home. He almost prefers when Christopher Just brags.

“I was taller than you!” becomes his favorite things to say. Buck doesn't let Eddie laugh too loudly about that.

“In a few years he’ll be saying that to you.”

Eddie crosses himself.

Chris, like Eddie and Hen –and anyone else (even Rodrigues, who somehow finds his number after they heard he's back to normal, and calls to say their thanks and sorries)-- don’t seem to think less of Buck; even if Buck does himself. The best of Los Angeles, he had thought, was getting to leave Evan behind; he’s not sure what he feels about his return, even if it was a short-lived one.

The only good thing the Buckleys ever gave him was Maddie and the first four letters of their family name. Other than that, Buck hates who used to be when he still lived with them – even if (he knows) he was just a kid. Buck’s trying not to think so negatively of himself –if only so his friends won’t worry– but he doesn’t think he will ever not feel a little insecure of who he was, when he was a little kid. There’s vulnerability in earnestness; Buck hadn’t learned to hide either yet. He doesn't want that to be what his friends think about, when they think about him.

Buck answers messages from people who didn't know what happened to him; most of them, he just lies.

He tries calling on a few people of his own. Maddie doesn’t pick up the phone. Neither does Chimney.

Buck also tries to make peace with that.

Things are weird with Bobby for a while – not weird-weird, but off, like any other time something major happened between them. It’s well expected, Buck supposes. You never really go back to the same thing after you had to give someone a bubble bath (both Hen and Eddie pinch Buck when he tries that particular strain of self-disparagement; he doesn’t try it with Bobby). Now, there’s a new kid for Bobby to think about whenever he looks at Buck. He tries to not be insane and be jealous of himself.

Buck feels particularly small every time he looks at Bobby. The memories feel like they have a film on them –like an old camera– but they are also undeniably fresh; Bobby’s house feels haunted in the way the Buckley’s did (the reason Buck wants to scamper away as fast as he can) too many memories in it, even if Buck had a good deal of them himself. He managed to get over coughing blood on their patio – he’ll get over almost splitting his head open in their stairwell too. The worst part is the nostalgia, if he can even call it that. He supposes that’s what people actually feel, when they visit their childhood homes. Buck thinks that, if he goes back to Hershey, he’d just feel nauseous.

He doesn’t immediately go back to the loft –though he wants to– because, quite honestly, he’s worried about Bobby. They had their heart-to-heart, but Buck had been present to one breakdown, five years ago, and he’s still a little bit scared it won’t be the only one. He stays in Bobby and Athena’s until he's fairly sure Bobby’s acting as himself –whatever that will be, now– and tries not to look too closely at the things they bought when he was a kid. The car seat Bobby got him goes into the house’s storage – where some of Harry’s baby things are also stored. Buck sees it when he goes to pick up a new roll of paper towels, and doesn’t know what he should even feel about that side-by-side view.

“You know,” he tells Bobby when he gets back to the kitchen, “I don’t even think I had a car seat.”

He hides his gaze in the dishes he’s drying. This feels normal, at least; Buck had helped wash the dishes in practically every place he’s eaten –outside of restaurants (unless he worked in them)-- and it’s easy to pretend that’s what he’s still doing, instead of chasing the same sense of safety his memories show him.

He expects Bobby’s reaction to be bad, but it still makes his stomach feel tight to hear him let out a tired sigh. Buck almost expects, sometimes, to hear that was normal – if only so he can feel alright about his parents. They weren’t that bad, in the grand scheme of things, Buck knows. They never hit him; that had to count for something. When he thinks of them in parallel with Bobby, though, Buck just feels pissed off. He doesn’t know where all that anger can go.

Bobby doesn’t say anything; there’s nothing to really say. They’ll walk these circles for the rest of their lives, if Buck is as lucky as to have Bobby through his.

He’s going back to the loft tomorrow. He knows the dust that’ll be expecting him there; the emptiness. Bobby gave him tupperwares with tiramisu and lasagna to take, and he, honest to god, almost started crying at that. He doesn’t know if that’s something left after the spell; if he still has a little kid’s propensity to cry. He doesn’t know if it’s just because he’s learned that it’s safe.

“Robbie’s and Brooke’s were green,” Bobby starts. The words are measured – quiet in the way that Buck knows it’s because Bobby isn’t sure he gets to say this. It must be a terrible way to live; nowhere to talk about your children. “Their car seats. We –me and Marcy– we used the same at first, just one for the two of them, taking turns, but then we had to go out as a family, and I couldn’t in good conscience have Marcy just keep holding one of them in the passenger seat.”

“Firefighter family,” Buck commebts softly. It gets Bobby to huff – but the breath is bittersweet.

“Yeah.” He pauses for a moment. “We kept it after they grew up; used to say it was to give to the grandkids, but honestly, it was just because we were sappy.”

“You don’t have to get rid of it–” Buck starts – but Bobby shakes his head.

“No, no. It’s not that. I just… We start to see people in things. Not the ages, necessarily. Just people. I don’t want you to think I just liked you when you were small.”

“It’s way too early for another heart-to-heart, Bobby,” Buck tries, only half joking, but Bobby shakes his head again, breathing out laughter.

“You’re going to your place – give me the chance. You don’t have– you don’t have to say anything. Just listen.”

They’re not looking at each other – eyes still in the dishes, a weak excuse now when Buck has been drying the same one for more than five minutes, but the entire strength behind Buck’s, “Okay,” as soon as he takes a breath. It stutters going out, and when Bobby also inhales, his one shakes just the same.

“I know we don’t talk about it – about what you are to me, and what I am to you.” Buck gulps, eyes itching. He knows. Bobby knows he does. It’s the five-year old elephant, ever since Bobby helped him with his tie in Buck’s first date with Abby. “And we don’t need to start doing that. But I hope that you know how much I care about you. And the way that I see you.”

He remembers telling Bobby it – hearing Bobby say it back. Getting a kiss where his face is smeared. Buck doesn’ think he’s quite as brave as when he was five – but he nods anyway, swallowing roughly, and hopes that's the same memory in Bobby’s head.

“I know, Bobby.”

“Then believe when I say that I’m happy that I got to have that time. And that you also got to have it. You parents…” Bobby shakes his head. He swallows down the new complaint; they don’t waste any more time talking about them.

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

“I’d do it every day.” Bobby says it like it’s easy – and maybe it is. If there’s a person Buck should trust about that, it’s Bobby.

Athena finally comes back into the kitchen from the night call with Harry and May. She stops at the walk-in when she sees their faces.

“Were you cutting onions?”

Both Bobby and Buck snort. Buck wipes at his face; though he supposes there’s no point in trying to hide it. Not when Bobby and Athena have seen worse.

She still squeezes at his arm when she passes him by, for all that her tone had been teasing. Buck sniffles at the touch, but he won’t start crying fully – the night has been too good for it.

“I think I heard your phone ringing from the room, Buckaroo.”

“Ah.” He wipes his hands down on his jeans, still sniffing, just succeeding in transferring the water from one thing to the other. Buck sees from his peripherals Bobby and Ahena share an amused look, though Bobby’s eyes still have a similar wetness to them; Buck lets them share the moment. “Thanks, ‘Thena. Bobby, I’ll just–”

“No worries.”

He goes into the guest room. His room, he supposes. It will have to turn back into neutral ground after he’s gone back to the loft, but Buck doesn’t think that’s too different from Harry’s own arrangements. The room returns to him whenever he visits back from Athena’s ex-husband. Maybe that’s a thing Buck gets too. It's more than he ever expected to find in Hershey.

His phone is at the table – face down as it recharges at the nearest socket. Beside it, there’s a little row of belongings that –be it from Bobby’s or Athena’s hand– had been left in the room, even if Buck doesn’t sleep with them anymore. His clothes –Evan’s clothes, he supposes– were all donated, but the toys remained, though they shouldn’t have a lot of use anymore. It’s the same sappyness. Buck feels a bit of it too. He tries to allow himself the feeling – as well as the right to touch the toys again. The truck and the plushie; the same scratched plastic and yarn fur that Buck held to his chest as he slept. They were his; just for a while – but they were his.

He picks up the phone. It’s not ringing anymore, but Buck almost drops to the floor when he reads the contact.

“Bobby!” he runs out the room, almost stumbling at his own legs on the way to the kitchen. Bobby and Athena are already looking in his direction when he comes back, and as useless as he knows it is, he still reaches his phone out in their direction. “Uhm– M-Maddie– Maddie called me!”

Bobby’s eyebrows raise to his hairline.

“Are you going to call her back?” Despite the teasing tone, Buck can see the relief that is in Bobby’s face; the mirror in Athena’s. He nods, a bit dumbly, before pulling back his phone, missing the password three times before he gets to unlock it.

“Yeah– yes, yes. I’m, uh, I’m c-calling her right now. Okay. Okay .”

“Don’t forget to breathe, Buck,” Athena tells him, hiding a smile.

“I’m super breathing!” He laughs freely from the joy in his chest. “Okay – I’m going to take the call–” he pointed back to his room, already swaying a little at the ball of his feet while the line connects.

“Go on,” Bobby tells him.

Buck doesn’t need to wait until he hears it; but he still does.

“Okay,” he says again.

Buck doesn't know what exactly moves him – muscle memory or just courage. The fact that he already had this with Bobby, maybe, or the desire that Buck still gets to have the man who comforted him when he cried, and cried too when he saw that Buck was hurt. Buck hugs Bobby before he can think much about it, though it's certainly not on instinct; it takes active effort for him to bite back the fear that's followed him all the way from Pennsylvania and actually wrap his arms around Bobby. Buck takes the chance – and the courage – and the promise – and just does it. His head reaches taller than Bobby’s now, but he lays it against the other man’s shoulder. He lets the hug linger.

It's awkward with the direction. Bobby is still in front of the sink, and Buck’s coming from around the corner; if anything, aside from Buck’s head using Bobby as a pillow for a moment, it's probably more of a side hug than anything. It feels warm anyway. Maybe one day, Buck gets to be even more brave – but for now, this has to do. Buck has a call to take.

He doesn't look at Bobby –or Athena– when he steps away and pulls his arms back, braveness reserve emptied; but Buck smiles as he walks back to his room. He hopes they are smiling too. His is still on his face when Maddie picks up the phone.