Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Buck felt the heft of the lawsuit papers in his hands like a cold stone. The ink smelled faintly of printer toner and regret, and every folded edge pressed into his palm reminded him he’d crossed a line. He always suspected that suing Bobby and the department was a bad idea. Still, the ache in his chest—his stolen livelihood, the prospect of an empty dinner table, the fear of losing his family—had drowned every caution. He’d snapped when he found out Bobby had blocked his return; anger flamed so fiercely he barely noticed when he went too far. He remembered how Chimney, with a length of rebar driven through his skull, was back in service the moment he was cleared. Buck couldn’t fathom why he’d been treated differently.

As he poured over personnel files in the station’s dim archives, he saw the truth starkly: he was always scrambling to prove himself. The walls smelled of mildew and old coffee, the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and every name on those dusty folders whispered that he’d never outgrown being “the rookie.” The crew’s half-jokes about his “versions” cut deeper than any lie anyone had told. He wondered, sometimes desperately, if a sharper lawyer or a gentler approach might have saved him—if he could have reclaimed his position without pitting himself against everyone he cared about.

From the moment he realized what his lawsuit meant—the strained silences, the tight jaws, the cold shoulders—he regretted it. But there was no time machine waiting in the back room of Station 118 to reverse the damage. All he could do was try to piece back together the bonds he’d shattered. So every shift, unless one of the main crew was off duty, he slid behind the desk or manned the radio console. On the rare run he joined, the ride felt like sliding through a ghost car: the engine’s roar swallowed his name, and his teammates spoke around him as if he were part of the bench seats.

He followed orders to the letter—checked equipment, cleaned the floors, and restocked the bay. He moved with the quiet efficiency of a shadow, hoping to make himself invisible. The station didn’t hum with camaraderie anymore; it was a series of individual islands, and he stood alone on his. Bobby had grudgingly reinstated him two months ago, but drawled that Buck wasn’t field-ready. They stopped cooking side by side after that. Now, if Buck prepared a pot of chili or baked bread in the small kitchen, he’d leave it on the counter and slip away before anyone offered thanks. The aroma of spices and warm dough clung to the air long after he’d gone.

At first, he’d tried again and again—“Need a hand with that hose, Bobby?” he’d ask, voice hopeful. “Can I run medical kit checks this time?” But each polite refusal chipped away at his confidence until he learned to keep his questions to himself. They weren’t cruel; they just acted as though he didn’t exist. That silence stung more sharply than any insult.

Now, at home, he slumped on his sagging couch beneath the dim glow of the television, its images flickering across his tired face. He could barely tell what show was playing—just shifting colors and distant laughter that felt like it belonged to someone else. A restless itch crawled up his spine: maybe he should leave. Request a transfer. Start fresh in another state. But the same knot tightened in his gut at the thought: What if he just finds a new place to fail? His heart thudded against his ribs, as heavy and unyielding as those lawsuit documents, and he closed his eyes, trapped between the past he’d shattered and an uncertain future.

Chapter Text

“Do you need something, Buckley, or do you have nothing better to do but stand in my doorway and watch me complete paperwork?”    

Buckley. He was Buckley now. He supposed he should just be glad they respected him enough to not call him Evan. That usually reminded him of his parents, and well... he’d like to think that everyone, that Bobby, had, in fact, loved him at some point. He didn’t want more people who had eventually decided he was too loud, too hectic, too irresponsible and reckless, too... much. He was too much. And somehow, that made him not good enough. Regaining full function of his leg after it was crushed... not good enough. Braking records during his recerts... not good enough. Helping all those people on the pier... not good enough. He had lost Christopher. He was why Christopher was there in the first place. And that was just recent events. Someone could go through his entire career and his life and give example after example of how he wasn’t good enough, how he had failed.    

Buck looked down at his hands as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. It was rare he was ever still, but this was nerves. He’d had a nervous energy all morning, and it had taken him a while to get the courage to come talk to Bobby. He didn’t know why he was so nervous about addressing the transfer. All he had to do was ask. Bobby probably couldn’t wait to get rid of him. It was likely just a mistake that his transfer request had been denied.    

“I requested a transfer, sir.”    

“I’m aware.”    

Huh... okay. That was odd. Perhaps someone had entered it incorrectly into the system.    

“It was denied.”    

“Something else I am aware of.”   

Buck froze. Was this Bobby’s way of punishing him again? He had figured that it would be best for everyone if he left the 118. They wouldn’t need to deal with him every shift anymore.    

He stood staring at Bobby, not knowing what to say. Bobby finally glanced up to look at him.    

“Was that all?”   

“Yes. Well... no.” He paused. Bobby looked at him expectantly. “It’s just... I was hoping you could help fix that. I’d be willing to transfer to another station permanently. Or... or become a floater for a little while.”    

“No.” Bobby went back to completing his paperwork, which meant he didn’t see when, instead of being outraged, as expected, Buck’s face just fell. He wasn’t mad, just disappointed. His attempt at fixing things had failed. Every time he tried to solve the problem, it didn’t work. He wasn’t good enough.    

“No?”    

“No, Buck. No, I’m not fixing it. There’s nothing to fix. You put in a request for a transfer, and I denied it. I’m sure the Chief will agree with me that it’s not a good idea for you to transfer or become a floater. You’re more than welcome to go ask if you don’t believe me, though.”    

Buck winced at Bobbys annoyed tone. He deserved it, though. Deserved the digs, the lack of patience. He had doubted Bobby before, so severely that he sued him. And now, here Buck was, taking up Bobby’s time when he clearly had better things to be doing.    

“O... okay. I’m sorry. I thought... well, never mind. I’ll leave you to it.” Buck quickly turned around and left the office.    

Clearly, there was no fixing this. No hope. Bobby was the closest thing to a father that cared that Buck had ever had. That was gone now. Ruined. He had ruined it, just like he had everything else in his life. Buck 2.0. Who had he been kidding? Under it all, he was still Evan. Still the little kid who could only get attention when he hurt himself. Isn’t that what his parents had taught him? That loving him was always conditional, and he would always do something wrong. Loving him wasn’t easy, and here he was, proving why, yet again.    

Bobby sighed once the door closed behind Buck. He looked over the paperwork once more. He knew it wasn’t a great situation at work. Things were awkward and uncomfortable. The team didn’t trust Buck as much, which was exacerbating the issue with partnerships. If no one trusted him, no one wanted to work with him. Bobby also knew that this wouldn’t be much different at another station. Buck was now the firefighter who had sued the LAFD. None of his previous accolades mattered right now. As soon as he walked through the door of a fire station, he would be met with hostility and distrust. This left Bobby at a crossroads, and he didn’t know what to do. It seemed like there was no fixing this. No matter what had happened throughout the lawsuit, his desire to not see Buck hurt hadn’t changed. It wasn’t lost on him that this was what had led to the current predicament.    

He was glad that it hadn’t been a long conversation. He had expected more of a fight from Buck. The boy, well, man, had grown a lot since stealing fire engines to hook up with women in his first year on the job. He’d calmed down a lot, too. Bobby wasn’t surprised that he’d washed out of BUD/S with the way he used to respond to leadership. And though Bobby felt like he’d made significant progress in that regard through their relationship, the ladder truck incident had all but reversed that. The ladder truck incident, which was meant for him, not Buck. Bobby wondered if Buck knew just how guilty he felt over it. They’d never properly talked about it. It still ate at him. How his entire crew had been caught in the crossfire of his problem.     

So Bobby had expected Buck to fight him on the decision, like everything else they had fought over regarding Bucks’ career. He’d almost been tempted to blame it on those above him again, just to get out of the fight. Almost. But there was nothing stopping Buck from trying to push his luck with the Chief. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, Bobby knew there was no way of them trusting each other again if they kept going behind each other’s backs or not giving the whole truth. Maybe there was a part of him, deep down, that still hoped there was a chance of fixing things to some degree.    

Chapter Text

Maddie - Are you coming tonight?   

It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever  

Buck knew he could only ignore Maddie for so long. She was one of the few people who still made an effort with him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to talk to her. Even if he had the energy to be social with her, he didn’t think he could keep up pretenses for long. It was only a matter of time before she figured out something was up, but he wanted to figure out his plans first. And the more he interacted with her, the sooner she’d sus him out. She wasn’t supposed to need to worry about him anymore. Maddie had been through enough. The last thing Buck wanted was for her to feel like she needed to take care of or worry about him again. He was adamant he wouldn’t become a burden to her.   

He also wasn’t ready to lose her like he had everyone else. For now, she was at least talking to him. He’d already lost everyone at the 118. What if he spoke to her about the situation, and she sided with them? She had wanted him to take more time before returning to work or look at other career options. The risks he was taking were becoming too much for her to handle. He was the cause of so much of her stress and worry. Had always been like that since he was little, and she was the one taking care of his injuries when that was the only way to get his parents’ attention. He had unintentionally made her deal with so much in his quest to feel loved and wanted.   

Ever since she first walked back into his life, it had been so easy for her to slip back into the overprotective big sister role. While he wasn’t actively being reckless anymore, his career naturally pushed their relationship in the same direction as when they were kids.   

To start with, Buck had suspected she was making up for the years of her absence, and he’d spent a long time wondering how long it would last. He’d always known there was the risk that she would realize the same thing their parents had – Buck was more trouble than he was worth. He was too much effort. So, who would blame her if she left him? It wouldn’t be the first time she walked out of his life.    

He was playing a waiting game, going into every interaction wondering when the other shoe would drop.    

Buck – No I'm busy tonight and cant make it  

I’ll see you some other time  

Bobby and Athena were hosting dinner at their house. Athena had texted him about it. Apparently, Bobby had told her that he wasn’t sure if Buck was going to make it. When Buck told Athena the same thing he’d just told Maddie, he left out the part that the reason Bobby didn’t know was because he’d never asked Buck. He’d overheard part of a conversation about it when he was walking past the kitchen at the firehouse. Still, his coworkers usually waited until he wasn’t around to have nonwork-related conversations. Though in their defense, it wasn’t like he was ever around for “family” meals, and no one brought it up, content with letting him keep to himself.   

Buck wasn’t sure whether getting a forced invitation and declining it so his presence wouldn’t ruin the evening would feel worse than not getting invited at all and still having to come up with excuses. As much as he missed the family dinners, if he showed up, invited or not, he’d end up regretting it. It would just remind him of everything he’d given up when he agreed to the lawsuit.    

Maddie – Busy with what?   

Or is it a who? 👀  

Her words stung. She didn’t mean anything by it. Logically, Buck knew she didn’t mean anything by it. They joked about this all the time together. If this had been before, it would have rolled right off him, but this wasn’t before, and it didn’t read like a nosy big sister anymore. No, it felt like a dig, a reminder that for the longest time, all he’d been good for was a fleeting friendship or relationship. It didn’t seem to matter how many years passed or how much he showed his growth day after day.   

Buck – theres no who  

I just have some things to do  

Ill talk to you later  

It was a poor excuse, and he knew it, but he didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t as if he could claim he was out with friends because what friends? He hadn’t formed any friendships in LA outside of the 118, and during his travels, he had never stayed in one place for long enough. Now would be the perfect time to try, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t have the energy for it. He missed the crew too much. There wasn’t any point to it anyway. It would only be a matter of time before he screwed it up. The list of people who’d left him was piling up. It was his own fault, really, for getting his hopes up in the first place. For thinking this time was different. For getting comfortable with that feeling of safety. For believing he could have a home. Somewhere. Anywhere.   

Maddie – okay...  

Im working thursday if you want to come by for lunch   

If i dont see and hear from you soon ill show up at your door   

Buck saw the notifications, put his phone on Do Not Disturb, and locked it. He didn’t want to leave his apartment, much less go to dispatch, but it didn’t look like he would have much choice.  

Maddie was starting to get worried. She tried not to worry about Evan too much anymore. He had long since shown he knew how to handle himself. And he didn’t seem anywhere near as reckless at work or outside of it. There were no signs of him sleeping around again, and it wasn’t like anyone else seemed worried about him. Chimney wasn’t coming home from work with crazy stories of stupid stunts Buck had pulled.    

Buck was allowed a life outside them. He’d survived on his own for all those years, and he’d be okay now, even if he didn’t have to be alone. He wasn’t on his own; he had her, Athena, and everyone else. They were upset, sure, she understood that, but they were still in his corner. They were family, after all, and even good families weren’t perfect. This rift was a temporary hurdle; she’d make sure of that.    

Maybe he’d learned his lesson from everything that had happened over the last few months to a year. Maddie hoped that he no longer saw himself as expendable, as the one on the team whose life mattered the least. Their parents had a lot to answer for. It wasn’t like she had helped either. Buck understood now he knew about Doug that she couldn’t have brought him along for his own safety. It was a relief to not feel like she had to keep looking over her shoulder anymore.    

But she couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something. There were too many rainchecks. Evan never attended a group or family gathering. The only time she saw him was when she could convince him to meet her for coffee on his off days. He always had an excuse for why she couldn’t come over to his place. She still felt the distance he’d put between them during his healing and the lawsuit. Distance she thought would improve with time now that he was back at work. Why couldn’t he see that no one had been out to get him? They’d all done everything out of love, even Bobby?    

“Hey Maddie, will you be ready to leave soon?” Chimney asked as she walked into the room.    

“Yes,” She gave one last look at the messages before putting her things in her bag. “I’m probably reading into things, but does Buck seem okay to you?”   

Chimney shrugged. “He’s not throwing as many random facts our way, but yeah.” He paused. “Why?”   

“Well, I texted him about tonight, and he just said he was busy and ended the conversation pretty quickly.”    

Chimney chuckled. “Is that it? That’s not the most worrying sign for Buck. There are worse things he could be doing. For all you know, he’s making up for lost time now that he’s back to full health.”   

“I know that, but he hasn’t been showing up to anything , and I feel like he’s avoiding me.” She knew it wasn’t enough to start sounding alarms, but he was her younger brother, and she knew him.    

“It’s probably not you. He messed up with the lawsuit. Things are still a little awkward with him after everything he put all of us through, put Bobby through. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a little embarrassed over the stunt he pulled. I know I would be.” He muttered the last bit under his breath.    

Maddie crossed her arms as she frowned. “It wasn’t a stunt, and you know it. As much as I was mad at him and worried about him returning to work after the injury because, you know, a ladder truck crushed his leg, he was desperate. He feels like firefighting is his purpose in life. And when he’s desperate, he does stupid things. It’s what he used to do when he was a kid. Being reckless, getting hurt. I was always patching him up.”   

“But he’s not a child anymore, Maddie. He’s an adult, and his actions have consequences. It wasn’t just a lawsuit to get his job back; he brought everyone’s personal lives into it as if it hadn’t been hard enough for everyone. His actions may have been desperate, but they were selfish.”  

“I know that, Howie. He didn’t do any of it to hurt anyone. He was trying to prove a point, considering what you’ve all been through. That stupid lawyer took advantage of him. I know his actions hurt, but he’s my little brother, and something doesn’t feel right.”   

“If you’re that worried and you don’t see him soon, just by his loft.”    

She sighed once she realized she wouldn’t get anywhere with him. She’d see Athena tonight. Athena treated Evan like her son. If anyone would listen to Maddie, it was her.    

Buck tried not to. He tried so hard. But resisting the urge to check his phone that night was easier said than done. Not a single text wondering where he was or what he was up to. Not a single text saying they missed him, that it wasn’t the same without him.   

At work, his life wasn’t his; he was watching someone else’s life unfold before him. No longer an active participant, just a passerby letting things happen to him. He felt like he was functioning on autopilot. Just doing whatever he needed to to get through the day. But at home, when he was on his own, just him and his thoughts, that was when everything hit him. Thinking through every interaction, what he’d done wrong, what he should or shouldn’t have said. Once upon a time, he would’ve coped by picking up all the extra shifts he could. Sure, it might have run him into the ground physically, but he would’ve just needed to manage until the situation was over.   

There was no over this time. There was no tomorrow where he would wake up, and everything would be okay again. And it wasn’t like work was an acceptable escape anymore. The firehouse didn’t feel safe. Every morning that he woke up needing to get ready for work, the dread sank in deeper. It was another day that his body felt heavier.    

His fridge was nearly empty. The laundry was piling up. What was the point of keeping on top of the chores? The loft didn’t need to be presentable for anyone.    

All at once, the emptiness of his apartment hit him. Loneliness was quickly becoming Buck’s best friend, and it was a cruel one. He needed to be anywhere but there. He grabbed his keys and headed to his Jeep. He had no idea where he was going, but he drove. As long as he kept going, as long as he kept moving, he could keep the demons at bay.    

Chapter Text

How did he get there? Buck wasn’t really sure. His head was spinning. He was sweating so badly that his clothes were sticking to him. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts; it felt like his heart was pounding in time with the beat. He was getting his wish of being anywhere but drowning on his own. He was surrounded by bodies, people he didn’t recognize. He was dancing, hands on someone’s waist. Just don’t ask him for their name. That wasn’t what it was. He would take whatever fleeting connection he could get, dancing to fill the void.    

Suddenly, everyone was too close, the music too loud, and he felt his chest getting tighter. He wondered if anyone noticed him as the anxiety kicked in and if anyone could see he was a fraud trying to overcompensate for something that wasn’t there. The woman who was dancing with him looked up over her shoulder at him. Next thing he knew, he was following her into the bathrooms in the back.    

Everything was groggy when Buck woke up in the morning. He was on the couch in last night’s clothes, and some annoying thing was buzzing away. He closed his eyes, hoping it would go away. It took him a few minutes to realize it was his phone.    

Shit. He was supposed to meet Maddie for lunch. He searched around until he found his phone on the kitchen island. Sure enough, Maddie had been texting him all morning.    

Maddie: Morning   

Maddie: What time are you coming?   

Maddie: Can you pick up lunch from that Thai place around the corner? You know my usual  

Maddie: Evan?   

Maddie: You’re still coming for lunch right?   

3 missed calls from Maddie   

Maddie: Evan seriously I know you dont like calls but you need to answer something   

Buck : Call off the search party, I just woke up late this morning  

Maddie didn’t need to know why.   

Buck: I’ll still be there for lunch  

Buck: Let me get ready and grab the food.   

I’ll let you know when I’m on the way with the food  

Maddie : See you soon   

Buck threw his phone on the couch and rubbed his face in his hands. Now that he’d appeased Maddie for a little while, he could focus on getting rid of the pounding in his head. He swore he used to handle this a lot better. Forcing himself up, he went upstairs to get ready as vague memories from the night before came back to him – the dancing, the bathroom hookup. He felt sick. He was trying to fix his hair when he paused, just looking at himself in the mirror. He looked every bit the wreck he felt. He had no idea how he was going to convince Maddie he was okay, but he had no other choice.    

Buck: Got the food, on my way to you now  

Maddie was already in the break room when he got there. She sat at the table with two bottles of water already set out in front of her. She was scrolling through something on her phone, but her eyes flicked up the second Buck walked in. He put the bag of food down, and they started going through the containers. Maddie eyed him.    

“You look terrible.”   

He was well aware of that fact but played along anyway. “Thanks - just what every guy wants to hear.” He opened the bottle of water and drank it all.   

“I’m just being honest. I’ve been worried about you with how flakey you’ve been recently.”    

Buck shrugged. “I’ve been busy,” he said as he started digging into the food. If he was eating, he couldn’t be talking. That was his game plan to get through the conversation.    

“Too busy for your big sister?”    

Buck gave her a sheepish smile.    

“Well, at least you have the decency to look guilty. I miss you, Evan. I know things have been tough since the injury and the lawsuit, and I know you disagreed with me on some of that stuff, but we’re family, right? It’s you and me through it all.”    

He nodded, not offering her much. Maddie put her food down.    

“Really, Evan, you’ve got nothing.”    

Buck looked at her. “Not really, everything’s fine. I just don’t want you in the middle of it all, and I’m keeping myself busy.” He sighed, realizing she’d want to argue. “And I know I’m not putting you in the middle of it, but it just happens by default with you dating Chimney. Things haven’t exactly gone back to the way they were...” Maddie looked ready to interrupt, but Buck stopped her. “Which is completely expected. Look, I don’t really feel like talking about it. How’s work been?” He went back to eating, signaling her line of questioning was over.    

She eyed Buck suspiciously, not convinced she was getting the whole story from anyone. “Well, I had this one call this morning...” She decided to leave it be for now.    

Oh well. It’s just one night, right? This is what he thought once he got back to his loft after his lunch with Maddie. Except one night turned into two, which turned into three, and then suddenly, it had been a week since he had slept in his loft. He’d with a different person every night, back to sleeping his way through Los Angeles. He never overstayed his welcome. If they even made it back to the person’s place, it was always theirs, never his, then he was gone before the sun came up. Men, women, it didn’t matter to him, anyone who was willing to fill that place for the night. Even if he wanted more than one night, there would’ve been no point in trying. All they saw him as was a hot body and a good time. The only way it kept working was if none of them knew him. He was tired of begging people to stay in his life. Tired of trying to understand why people didn’t love him.    

There was a voice in the back of his mind, reminding him of the work he put into becoming Buck 2.0 and how hard he’d tried to put his Buck 1.0 days behind him. It was barely a whisper now, easily drowned out by the sex and alcohol. It helped that it felt different this time. The pit in his stomach returned almost immediately. His skin crawled. He felt dirty in a way no shower could get rid of – it clung to his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed. There was an emptiness growing.    

At least there in the shower, no one could see or hear him falling apart.    

He still made sure to show up to work for every shift. It wasn’t the first time in his life that he had gotten used to showing up to work hungover. He would’ve felt worse about that, but it wasn’t like he went out on many calls anyway, so he’d usually sobered up by the time he had to go on one.    

The day started like usual. Buck showed up for his shift, barely making it in time. He kept his head down, went to the locker room, and, once he was done, went about his job. He didn’t talk to anyone, didn’t even acknowledge them; you’d barely know he was there. He doesn’t join them for lunch. He hasn’t had much of an appetite lately. He should have missed cooking lunch with Bobby and learning whatever new information he could, but he didn’t. He didn’t particularly miss any of it anymore. He’d stopped cooking, baking, and watching the documentaries he’d once loved. Luckily, he didn’t have too long to think about his persistent lack of eating because the alarm rang, and Bobby yelled, “Buckley, you’re with Diaz” over the balcony railing.    

In the engine, Buck stayed silent, letting everyone talk around him. It felt longer than it actually was for them to reach the scene. A partial building collapse occurred at a downtown construction site. Everything ran smoothly until it got to the last few people. They were on the second floor of some scaffolding when they started to feel it shake.    

“Buck.” It was just a statement, a warning. Even with all the friction between the two of them, they could still read each other with ease.    

“I know.” Eddie was ready with a worker, and both of them were secured. “You go; I’ll be behind you.”  

“Are you sure?” He eyed Buck, who was still securing the other construction worker. He was taking too long.    

Buck nodded. He finished securing the victim; neither construction worker was showing signs of severe injury, so it should have been fine. “I’ll be down in a minute.”    

Eddie nodded, then left.    

While on his way down, Buck lost his footing on unstable debris – a sudden shift in the structural integrity caused a support beam to snap and fall. He pushed the construction worker out of the way, but in the process, he got thrown back. He saw the blood down his arm before he felt it. He didn’t let himself focus on the injuries, instead concentrating on getting the construction worker down safely.    

Once the EMTs had finished assessing and caring for the construction workers, Hen walked over to Buck, who was attending to the hoses.    

“That looks like it hurts. Let me take a look at it.”   

Buck shrugged, continuing to pack the stuff up without looking at her. She’d been giving him pitying looks since his first shift after the lawsuit, but she wasn’t doing anything about it, so he wondered what the point was. If this was supposed to be an olive branch, it was a pretty bad one. “I’m fine, Hen. I’ve had plenty worse.”    

“Buck...” It was funny how much sympathy could be conveyed in a single word. It only made him more determined to suck it up and continue. “Please let me look at you. Your head is bleeding, and who knows what happened with your arm? We wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t make you get checked out. I’m half tempted to force you to go to the hospital myself.”   

Ah, that was what this was about. He turned to look at her.   

“Don’t worry, we can document that I refused medical attention, so I can’t go and sue you later.”    

Hen didn’t know what to say. “I... that’s not what this is.” When would they all move on from this? It seemed to be still following them around like a dark cloud they couldn’t get rid of. She knew everyone was hurt; she was hurt too, but surely this had dragged on for long enough.   

The discussion ended when Bobby walked by and looked between them. “Buckley, listen to Hen; either she checks you out, or you go to the hospital.” Buck looked like he was about to argue. “It’s protocol, you know that. This isn’t up for discussion.” Bobby walked off as if to prove his point.    

“Fine,” Buck grumbled and walked towards the ambulance. No one else bothered them as Hen fixed Buck up. They sat there in silence except for the occasional “this may hurt” or another comment from Hen. It should have hurt, but it didn’t, or at least he didn’t feel it. He supposed that feeling any amount of pain was something. It was better than nothing. It was a reminder that he was still alive. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.    

Hen decided that he needed his arm wrapped in bandages at the minimum and that he should be put on concussion protocol. She tried to convince him to let them drop him off at the hospital. What Hen didn’t, and Buck wasn’t willing to tell her, was that he wasn’t sure he could handle another hospital bill right now, even if it would at least be covered under insurance now that he was working. Eventually, she caved after Buck agreed to go home once they returned to the station. Home. If that’s what you can call it. It didn’t feel like he had a home anymore. The 118 was supposed to be his home. The people had always been his home, not the place. Now, he felt like he should be grateful that they even took care of his injury. No one else says anything to him on the ride back.    

“What the hell is wrong with you today? Do you have some sort of death wish?” Eddie stormed into the locker room. Buck was standing, staring into his locker. The same one that not long ago had Bosko’s name instead of his own. He didn’t want to fight over whatever it was Eddie was coming to him with. He’d tried so hard to stop them from seeing him as the enemy, giving them every bit of himself he could, turning into what he thought they needed, whether that be overworking himself to the bone or making himself as invisible as possible. He was tired. Maybe he didn’t have an explicit death wish, but he’d stopped caring what happened to him. It wasn’t like anyone else cared, either.   

“Since when do you care?” Buck scoffed.   

“Sorry, I don’t want to explain to my son how yet another important person in his life died.”   

“I’m sure you’d come up with something, like how you did during the lawsuit.”    

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Grow up, Buck. Some of us don’t have the luxury of being selfish like you. Some of us have people counting on us to make it home in one piece.” Buck didn’t know if it was intentional, but the comment hit its mark. If it wasn’t enough for him to know he was alone, now they were going to point it out to him, too. Buck schooled his expression and didn’t let Eddie see him wince. He remained quiet.    

“Where were you?” Eddie finally broke the silence.    

“I was right there on the second level, Eddie.”    

“No, not on the call.” Buck couldn’t remember the last time he saw Eddie this angry. “Where were you two nights ago when Chris was calling you because he needed his Buck? I went by your loft yesterday after you never returned his call, hoping that there was some damn good reason you weren’t picking up the phone after you promised him you’d always answer him if he needed you, except your car wasn’t there, and neither were you. You weren’t with Maddie because I checked with her, too. She said she hadn’t heard from you since your lunch.”    

The guilt hit Buck immediately. He hadn’t even noticed any missed calls. Chris had needed him, and he hadn’t been there.    

“Well, out with it. What could have possibly been more important than Christopher?”   

He didn’t have any reason, let alone a good one. He remained silent. All he felt was the overwhelming shame of having let Christopher down again. He was proving to everyone that he was a useless screw-up.    

“It’s none of your business where I was.”    

“It is my business when Christopher is the one suffering, when sometimes he relies on you just as much as he does me. If you need to be mad at me because you feel hard-done-by by the consequences of your own actions, go ahead, but the least you should do after everything is show up for him.”   

“Well, he shouldn’t need to rely on me, should he? You’re his dad, not me. Why don’t you try being there?”    

“BUCK! That’s enough. Both of you.” Buck turned to look at Bobby and saw everyone standing there, staring at them. It was the shock on their faces that got to him. He grabbed his things, locked his locker, and left. No one stopped him. He was done for the day anyway.   

Part of him wished that someone would follow him if only to ask him if he was okay. They should’ve known that he would never say something like that and mean it. Christopher meant the world to him. But the way they were looking at him... they were shocked, sure, but they were also angry. And Eddie... God, Eddie had looked like Buck had punched him as hard as he could. In a way, he had, right in the gut, where he knew it would hurt. The worst part was that they had landed so many symbolic hits against Buck over the last few months that it had felt good to get one against them. But fuck, he’d used Christopher to do it, and that was a low he’d never thought he would hit.   

He was in no state to be anywhere near Christopher at the moment. It was a good job he hadn’t been at his apartment when Eddie had shown up. It’d been so long since he’d been there for more than five minutes that he didn’t know what state it was in. Based on how little effort he’d put into maintaining it over the last few months, he could only imagine.   

He didn’t remember the drive. That was a common theme lately. He thought about what he said to Eddie. Everyone else had given up on him. He just hadn’t noticed he’d given up on himself, too. He looked through his kitchen, ignoring the mess, until he found what he was looking for.    

“I’m being serious, Maddie. You should’ve heard what he said to Eddie today. He practically told Eddie to parent Chris himself and to stop relying on him.” For the first time in a while, Chimney had volunteered information about Buck without Maddie prompting him. Her heart sank with every piece of information he’d given her about the call, the injury, and the argument with Eddie afterward. It solidified the gut feeling she had that something was wrong.    

“But Buck loves Christopher. He absolutely adores that boy and would do anything for him.”    

“I don’t know what to tell you, Maddie. We all heard their shouting match. We all heard Buck say it.” Maddie didn’t move; her facial expression didn’t change. “Ask anyone who was there today if you don’t believe me.” Chimney threw his hands up.   

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I don’t believe Buck. He would never say something like that.”   

“You’re not the one working long shifts with him. Clearly, he doesn’t feel bad about any of what he did to us. Maybe you don’t know your brother as well as you think you do.”   

No, the problem was quite the opposite. Maddie knew her brother too well. She’d seen more of the aftermath with their parents than anyone else. She had been the one to pick up the pieces every time he reacted to their parents. She had seen every self-inflicted injury, or injury he’d done nothing to prevent, every attempt at doing whatever he could to get attention to the detriment of himself. When they were younger, and it had been just two of them, she hadn’t known what to do. She had been just a kid herself. Helping stitch him up was all she’d been equipped to do. She’d hoped that time would heal those wounds, that he would grow out of it.    

But she wasn’t that naive teen anymore. She wasn’t barely an adult, scared out of her mind trying to keep Doug happy, keep herself alive. This time, she could do more and would do more. It was time for someone to intervene and get them all to start acting like the family they were. They all needed to talk it out and apologize to each other, whether they wanted to or not. She’s had enough of being kept out of it.    

Maddie : We need to talk.  

Maddie : Alone  

Maddie : It’s about Buck   

Athena : I’ll let you know when Bobby leaves for his shift tomorrow  

Chapter Text

Athena handed Maddie a mug as she sat down opposite her at the kitchen island. True to her word, Athena had messaged Maddie first thing in the morning. She watched Maddie stir creamer into her coffee distractedly.  

“Thank you,” Maddie muttered quietly.  

“You looked like you could use a pick-me-up.” Athena smiled softly. Maddie looked like she’d had a rough night. It was almost peaceful as a quiet moment passed between them, but Athena could see the war raging in Maddie's mind. The last few times they’d been together, Athena had noticed something bothering Maddie. She hadn’t thought too much about it since it had been a difficult few months for them all. The smell of fresh coffee filled the room as the silence stretched between them. Sunlight streamed in through the blinds as Maddie sat, fingers wrapped tightly around the mug. She took a sip. Athena’s eyes hadn’t left Maddie, waiting patiently for her to start.  

“Have you talked to Buck recently?” Maddie eventually asked.   

“Not really. He hasn’t been over to the house since him and Bobby’s fight. It’s oddly quiet without him. I’ve wondered about inviting him over, but I think it needs to come from Bobby.” Athena missed his presence at their house. He had been noticeably absent from all team gatherings. He hadn’t been over for dinner or a cooking lesson with Bobby. She had put those things down to the two men needing space. Buck was... sensitive. She thought he was being overly cautious with the 118, and that was why he hadn’t reached out to her for advice on anything. She kept hoping to see him on a call so she could talk to him there, but that hadn’t happened yet. May had even asked about him after the last BBQ he didn’t show up for. She mentioned to Athena that Buck didn’t seem the same in their texts and that he always had an excuse for why he couldn’t come over. “Both during and after the lawsuit, everything got... messy. He stopped coming to dinner nights, and he hasn’t messaged me in a while. I figured he needed time or was waiting on Bobby to make the first move.”  

Maddie nodded. This wasn’t surprising news. “He’s avoiding me.” Maddie provided, her voice flat. “He won’t answer my calls. And when he does text, it’s vague. One-word answers or short sentences. No pictures of Christopher, no dumb memes, no random facts, nothing.”  

“You think something's off, don’t you?”  

“I’ve managed to get Chimney to speak to me about him a few times. He doesn’t think I have anything to worry about, but...” Maddie trailed off.  

“But you have a gut feeling.” Athena filled in.  

Maddie nodded.  

“You’re not alone. And you’re his sister. They may have become his family, but you were it first. Trust your gut, Maddie, even though I know you probably don’t want to with this.”  

“I made him meet me for lunch,” she admitted. “I had to threaten to show up at his loft to get him to come. He showed up late. I’m pretty sure he was hungover. He could barely look me in the eye.”  

Athena’s brow furrowed. “Hungover?”  

“Yeah, I think he’s been drinking. A lot. He won’t say anything. Anytime I try to talk to him about himself, he just deflects. Or he makes a joke. Or he changes the subject.”  

“He’s hurting, Maddie. That much is clear.”  

“I’m his sister. I know they’re his family, but they’ve barely spoken to me about him. Chimney hadn’t mentioned him in a single story from work until yesterday. Eddie hasn’t checked in on him once, and I know that he got injured yesterday. I don’t know if it’s the same for you, but nobody will say anything. They all shut down the second I bring Buck up.”  

“I asked Bobby about him coming over to the last group dinner we hosted. He was very vague. Avoided it as much as he could.”  

“It’s like there’s this wall up. I thought maybe they knew something I didn’t, but now I’m not too sure.”  

“They’re hurt. Angry. This lawsuit – it's divided the house. But I think it’s more than that now. It’s not just the lawsuit. It’s him.”  

Maddie’s mouth twisted. She hated the way the lawsuit was such a defining moment. It had cracked open so many things Buck had buried. Things he hadn’t wanted to share with anyone. “It makes me worried about what things are like at work.” Maddie paused for a moment. “Chim seems to think Buck doesn’t feel bad about the lawsuit.”  

“That doesn’t sound like Buck.”  

“Because it’s not! Did Bobby tell you what Buck said to Eddie yesterday?”   

Athena shook her head. “Bobby hasn’t been talking about work much at all.”   

“I’ve known Buck his whole life. He self-destructs when he feels abandoned. And that’s what this is, Athena. He thinks he’s lost his place... at the firehouse, with Eddie, with everyone. He’s lashing out and shutting everyone out. I’m worried about him. He keeps canceling on me. I had to threaten to show up at his loft to get him to meet me for lunch. You should’ve seen the way he looked.”  

“I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad. He’s usually good at pretending everything’s ok and smiling through the worst of it.”   

“He used to...” Maddie paused, thinking of how to explain their family history to Athena. “There’s a history with our parents. They weren’t bad people; they were just bad parents. They weren’t there for him like they should have been. He became reckless. He was just a little kid who wanted their attention and love. He could’ve done so much if he’d had the right support. I thought I was doing the right thing by not involving him in the situation with Doug. Looking back, I think his travels were an attempt to prove he didn’t need anyone. But he does. In the time I’ve been here, I've seen the way he’s looked to you and Bobby.”  

“Which is how he went from finding out Bobby prevented him from going back to work, to filing the lawsuit.” Ever since she had met Buck, Athena had tried to give him the guidance he so desperately needed.  

“Exactly. I stood by him because I understood, to some degree, why he did it. I understood how much of his sense of worth is tied to that firehouse and everyone in it. He thought that getting his job back was the answer to fixing everything.”  

“I don’t know how to get through to him, how to get him to talk to me. There’s information I’m missing. I know it. I want so badly to be wrong.”   

“I shouldn’t have just trusted them to sort this out on their own.” Guilt flooded her voice. They sat in silence for a moment before Athena finally stood. She grabbed both their mugs and tipped them into the sink. “Come on. We’ll fix this. We won’t let things get any worse than they already have.”  

Buck wasn’t sure how much sleep he had gotten last night. His phone read 5:30 am. He must have passed out at some point, though Buck didn’t know what he had been thinking. He knew they wouldn’t let him work the next day. Not with his injuries. Not with the state he was in. But he had gotten dressed on autopilot. Only to have it all hit him the moment he saw himself in the mirror.  

He thought back to yesterday. The silent locker room. The crew members stood with their heads down, trying desperately not to get dragged into whatever was happening. The looks on the faces of the people who’d once been his closest friends.  

He sat down on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees and head hanging low. He stared at the floor, hoping it would swallow him whole. His focus started to blur and unblur. His mind felt foggy, as if he were underwater. Maybe it would’ve been easier for everyone if the tsunami had taken him.  

It had been a long time since anyone had said hello to him when he showed up, or goodbye when he left. No jokes. No backslaps. Who would’ve thought he’d miss one of Chim's jokes about him being a golden retriever or his Buck 1.0 days?  

He’d tried so hard to fix things. Apologized, over and over. But the distance between him and the team just kept growing, and now he was in over his head. Yesterday was the proof. If they hadn’t hated him before, hadn’t already gotten tired of him screwing things up, they would now. And he couldn’t blame them. There was no going back now. His skin started to itch. He needed to get out of the uniform.  

He rubbed his face with both hands, groaning under his breath. He forced himself to stand up and peel the uniform off, accepting that it may be the last time he ever wore it. After he changed, he picked out a duffle bag from his closet and started throwing random things in it. Thankfully, he hadn’t left many personal effects at the station, so he didn’t need to worry about that.  

He knew he wasn’t in a state to drive yet, but he couldn’t just sit around and wait. Maybe a run would clear his head and sober him up a bit. He picked up his keys and left the loft. Everything would still be waiting for him when he got back.  

The ride to Bucks' loft was quiet. They’d said everything they needed to before they left. They saw his Jeep in the parking lot, confirming that he should be inside. They headed up to his floor. Maddie wasn’t in the mood to wait any longer. They stood in front of his door. Maddie knocked.  

“Buck? Are you in there?”  

No response. She tried again.  

“Buck, it’s just me and Athena. Open up.”  

Still nothing. Maddie reached into her bag and rummaged until she pulled out a key. She showed it to Athena, voice trembling slightly, “He gave me this months ago in case of emergencies. I thought he meant work-related situations. Not... whatever this is.” She didn’t know what waited for her on the other side of the door. Part of her still hoped that this was all just a big misunderstanding.  

She unlocked the door and slowly stepped inside. “Buck, we’re coming in.”  

The inside of Buck’s place was dim. The blinds were still half-drawn despite the noon sun, and all the lights were off. The loft was a mess – laundry was piled up, dishes were in the sink, and half-eaten takeout was on the counter. A faint smell of stale beer hung in the air. Maddie walked in cautiously, scanning the room. Athena noticed a nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the table next to a second, uncapped bottle.  

“This is...” Athena didn’t know what to say. She moved further into the loft as Maddie headed towards the kitchen area. Maddie opened the fridge. At first glance, it appeared to be half-full, but Maddie noticed it was filled with alcohol, leftover delivery containers, and moldy food. She closed it and turned around to look at Athena.  

“Buck? Are you upstairs?”  

No answer. The upstairs wasn’t in any better state than the rest of the loft. There was stuff scattered everywhere. It looked and smelled like it hadn’t been touched in weeks. Athena turned around to see Maddie, who had followed her upstairs. The place looked... neglected, uncared for. There were pillows on the floor. Clothes were scattered around the room. A duffle bag on the bed. It seemed he was planning to go somewhere. He was running somewhere. Athena saw his phone on the bedside table. She checked it, but it was dead. Athena looked at Maddie.  

“This isn’t just someone having a rough week,” she muttered. “This is someone spiraling.”  

Maddie looked at a photo on the bookshelf – it was a photo of them all in Athena’s backyard. Buck had a big smile on his face. He looked so happy, so full of like. She couldn’t remember the last time he looked like that. She didn’t recognize him anymore.    

A sound from the hallway made them both freeze. They walked downstairs as they heard the jangle of keys.  

The door opened. Buck stumbled in, shoulders hunched, hoodie up, sunglasses still on despite the dim light.  

He stopped in his tracks when he saw them.  

“Buck, where have you been?”  

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared. Then he sighed and pulled off his sunglasses. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked pale and exhausted. A hollow version of himself.  

“Out.”  

“You were injured yesterday.”  

“So?” He leaned on the kitchen counter.  

“Buck.” Maddie sighed.  

“What are you doing here?”  

“We came to check on you. Make sure you’re doing ok.” Athena answered.  

“You haven’t been answering your phone. We were worried.” Maddie said softly.  

Buck shook his head and gave a tired, bitter laugh. “So you let yourselves in.”  

Maddie stepped toward him. “What did you expect? You’re freezing us out. You show up late and hungover. You look like you’re barely eating. Look at the place.” Maddie looked around to prove her point.  

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buck snapped, his voice cracked.  

“Then tell us,” Athena said, calm but firm. “Because it’s not looking good from our point of view. This looks like self-destruction.”  

Buck looked like he was going to argue, but something broke. His shoulders slumped. His jaw clenched, and his eyes were glassy.  

“I’m sorry, Athena.”  

“Oh, Buck, you have nothing to be sorry for.”  

She walked over to him and took him in her arms.  

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he whispered.  

Maddie moved closer, and her voice trembled. “Then let us help.”  

Buck didn’t respond. He just stood there. He didn’t move when Maddie came up to the other side of him and put her hand on his back. He was shaking slightly.  

They eventually moved to the couch. Buck sat in the middle with Maddie on one side and Athena on the other. No one said anything for a while. They just wanted to be a comforting presence, for him to know he wasn’t alone.  

Buck finally broke the silence. “I know what you’re going to say.”  

Maddie tilted her head. “Try us.”  

He swallowed and blinked against the sting in his eyes. “That I messed everything up. It’s my own fault things are like this. That I made everything worse.”  

“No,” Maddie said gently. “I wasn’t going to say that.”  

“Well, I was going to say that you should have reached out to us sooner. You shouldn’t have thought you could handle this all on your own.” Athena sighed. “I’m scared for you, Buck, and I’m disappointed that you didn’t think you could come to us with this.”  

He shook his head and gave a dry laugh. “I’m not... doing this to get attention or be dramatic. I’m just tired. I don’t know how to do it anymore. How to function or just exist.”  

Maddie’s voice cracked. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”  

“I don’t want to be the one who always needs saving. I don’t want to keep relying on everyone so much. I don’t want to be exhausting, be a burden.” He let out a choked sob. The day in the supermarket replayed in his mind.  

“And what? You think pushing everyone away is going to fix that?” Athena asked.  

“I don’t know!” Buck yelled. “Ok? I don’t know what I'm doing. I’m just trying to feel something that isn’t shame or guilt or...” He went quiet. “Being worthless.”  

Maddie gasped softly. “Buck, you’re not...”  

Buck cut her off. His voice was low, “Then why does it feel like I am? Why do they...” He trailed off.  

“Why do they what?” Athena wondered what her husband and team had been up to. They’d have a lot to answer for at some point.  

“It doesn’t matter.”  

Maddie sighed. “You don’t have to tell us now if you don’t want to, but we’ll listen when you’re ready.” She took a deep breath. “We didn’t know how to reach you until today, but we’re not abandoning you.”  

“I tried to fix it,” he whispered. “I tried to put it all away and just... move forward. Be the guy everyone needs again. But it didn’t work. So, I just did what I could to drown out the noise. I didn’t want you to see me like this. I was going to leave. Thought it would be better for everyone.”  

“Stay. Let us help you. You can move into my guest bedroom for a little while. You’re not going to get out of this on your own.” Maddie offered.  

“You don’t need to carry it all yourself, Buck,” Athena added. “That’s what family’s for, even when you mess up. Especially then.”  

He looked between his sister and the woman who had become a second mother to him. He let himself break. He rested his head on Athena’s shoulder. “I don’t know how to come back from this.”  

“We'll get you help. Real help. You take time off and talk to someone professional. We’ll figure it out together. Small steps.”  

Buck wasn’t convinced, but he nodded. “Ok.”   

They stayed like that for a while, until Buck drifted to sleep. Maddie watched Buck for a moment, content in seeing that he was still there, still breathing. He had become a hollow shell of his former self. Empty. Broken. Bruised.  

“I should’ve tried harder, Athena. I should’ve done something the second everything felt off. I let it get this bad. I suspected it, but I didn’t do anything. I just hoped I was wrong, that because no one else was seeing anything, if the people who were with him so often weren’t seeing anything, that I was overthinking it.”  

“It’s not your fault, Maddie. We all share some blame for letting it get to this point, and I’ll have words with my husband later. But right now, that boy needs us here more than anything else.”  

The guest room was quiet - the only noise was the soft hum of the ceiling fan. Buck sat on the bed, freshly showered, hair damp, hoodie too oversized on his frame. He looked small, like a man trying to disappear into himself.  

Maddie knocked lightly on the door.  

“Come in.”  

Maddie opened the door. She smiled at Buck. He still had a long way to go, but he looked better. She sat across from him in the armchair and curled her legs beneath her, nursing a mug of tea. Athena filled her spot in the doorway, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, quietly observing.  

Buck’s hands twisted in his lap.  

“So,” Maddie said gently, “Dr. Reyes is expecting us tomorrow at ten.” She specifically said 'us' instead of 'you' to show that they weren’t leaving him. They were going to support him through every step of his healing. “She’s worked with firefighters before. Comes highly recommended.”  

Buck nodded slowly. But his jaw was tight. His gaze didn’t quite meet hers.  

“You don’t have to say much,” Maddie added. “Just showing up is the first step.”  

“Yeah... about that,” Buck’s voice was barely above a whisper.  

Maddie sat forward. She was alert but didn’t want to spook him. “What is it?”  

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the floor, searching for the right words and the courage to say them.  

“I’ve done therapy before,” he finally said. “After the incident at the rollercoaster. I didn’t tell anyone.”  

Athena raised an eyebrow and moved closer.  

“It wasn’t for long,” Buck continued. “And it didn’t go well.” He paused. They waited patiently for him to be ready. He looked at Maddie. “Are you sure you want to be here?”  

She gave him a reassuring smile. “Whatever it is, Buck, I’m here for you.”  

He took a deep breath. “I slept with her.”  

Neither one responded for a moment. Maddie’s mug hovered just shy of her lips. Athena’s arms slowly dropped to her sides.  

Buck’s voice shook. “I’m not sure what happened entirely. She was young, new to it all, I think. I recognized her from somewhere, but I wasn’t sure to start with. We talked a bit about my... well at the time I called it my sex addiction.” He flinched, not wanting to look at Maddie, who sat there quietly, listening. “I realized she had added me on Facebook, and that was how I recognized her. One thing led to another, and then afterwards, she just kicked me out. I didn’t go see anyone after that.”  

“Buck...” Maddie whispered, heartbroken. How had she failed her younger brother so badly?  

He looked up at her, eyes glassy but angry at himself. “So yeah, I’m a little hesitant to go back. What if I screw this up too? What if I make it worse?”  

Athena stepped in, her tone measured but fierce. When she had the time, she was going to look into the therapist and find out what happened to her. “You didn’t screw up therapy. She violated every boundary she was supposed to protect. That was her mistake. Not yours.”  

“But she was the one helping me,” Buck said. “And I ruined it.”  

“No,” Maddie said, setting the mug down. “She wasn’t helping you if she let that happen. If she encouraged it. That’s not help. That’s exploitation, Buck.” She moved to kneel in front of him. “And I am so sorry that happened to you and that you felt you couldn’t go to anyone about it.”  

He let the words sink in, shame warring with relief.  

Athena sat down beside him. “I know you have a lot of distrust, for good reason. I hope you can trust me when I say that Dr. Reyes isn’t like that. I’ve worked with her. I know people who have worked with her. She’s tough, smart, and completely above board. If she isn’t, I’ll make sure she faces repercussions. She can help you – if you give her the chance.”  

“I don’t know if I know how to be helped,” he murmured.  

“You don’t have to,” Maddie said, placing a hand on his. “You just have to show up. Let someone meet you where you are.”  

Buck nodded slowly. He was still scared. Still unsure. But he was willing to try.  

The next morning, Maddie and Athena took him to the therapist. Dr. Reyes was a trauma specialist who worked with first responders. Athena trusted her. She wouldn’t have let Buck walk in otherwise. Especially after everything he had revealed the previous day. He hadn’t said much all morning, and neither Athena nor Maddie had tried to push him. Today would be hard enough as it was.  

He didn’t say much during the intake appointment either. Just a few mumbled answers and long, heavy silences. But he’d gone. That was a start. Buck had been exhausted, so Maddie and Athena had let him go to the guest room.  

While Buck slept in Maddie’s guest room – for the first time in days with a full meal in him and no alcohol in his system – Maddie and Athena made the next call.  

The Fire Chief didn’t ask many questions once Athena got involved. Buck’s leave of absence was approved, and the paperwork was expedited. They made it sound clinical – exhaustion, stress-related symptoms, PTSD, extended leave with recommendation from a mental health professional. She hated how they reduced it down to a few terms. But it was enough. It was what they needed.  

The next day, Maddie walked into the station with the forms in hand. Some of the crew tried to stop and speak to her. She could see the curious looks on their faces. It wasn’t unusual for her to be there, but her visit wasn’t expected. She didn’t have the time or energy to speak to anyone today. If she stopped, she would release all her anger, and Buck needed her by his side. The time would come, but today she had one focus. She saw Hen and went straight to her.  

“Maddie? What are you doing here? No one mentioned you were coming.”  

“I’m here to see Bobby. Where is he?”  

“He should be upstairs somewhere.” Hen paused as she noted the anger radiating off Maddie. “Is everything ok?”  

Maddie looked upstairs, then back at Hen. “No.” She turned away from Hen and walked upstairs in search of Bobby. Seeing that his office door was open, she walked straight into his office. She walked up to his desk and handed over the documents.  

“What is this?” Bobby asked as he opened the envelope and started scanning the documents.  

“It’s an approved extended leave of absence for Buck. It went straight to the Chief, so it’s not a request. I’m just informing you.”  

“When will he be back?”  

Maddie huffed and rolled her eyes. “That’s all you have to say? No asking how he is or what’s wrong?”  

Bobby was shocked at Maddie’s hostility. He started to say something, but Maddie held her hand up to stop him. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” Maddie shook her head. “Even if you cared enough to ask. I wouldn’t tell you. It’s none of your business at the moment. He’ll be back when he’s back, if he does that is.”  

“What do you mean if he comes back? Maddie, what’s going on?”  

“Bobby, I had a lot of respect for you and the way you’ve been there for my brother over the years, but right now that’s gone. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t even think about reaching out to Buck. You’ve lost the right to any access to Buck. I don’t know everything, but I will find out. And when I do, the next time I see you won’t be pretty. You think Buck’s protective over me, you haven’t seen anything yet. This goes for the rest of the team as well. Any communications with Buck for anyone will be going through me.”  

Bobby nodded. Satisfied that she had done what she needed to, she relaxed a little. “I’ve done what I came here to do. You have the notice. I trust you to do what you need to do.” She turned around and left his office.  

She didn’t make it very far before Hen stopped her. They were all hanging around the kitchen. “Hey Maddie, what was that about?”  

“Maddie, I didn’t know you were coming. Are you sticking around?” Chimney walked towards her. Eddie stayed quiet, acting more interested in whatever was on his phone.  

“I’m sure Bobby will announce it later, but Buck is going on extended leave. I’m not at liberty to share details, but you won’t be able to reach him. Any contact will go through me, but that will be limited.” Maddie didn’t pay any attention to Bobby as he walked into the space.  

“Is this about his behavior the other day?  

“Yes, but not in the way you’re implying.”  

“He’s not ok, is he?” Hen asked quietly. Maddie saw the genuine concern on her face.  

Maddie shook her head slightly. She looked at Hen. “He needs space right now.” Then she looked at Chimney. “We both do.”  

Eddie stepped forward, the tension in his face hard and defensive. “So what? He gets to lash out and pull a disappearing act, so he doesn’t have to deal with the consequences.”  

“Eddie I am sorry Buck said what he did to you and I won’t excuse it, but you need to pull your head out of your ass if that’s what you think this is. You know him to damn well to be accusing him of that. You all should know him better than how you’re acting.”  

“I thought I did, Maddie, but you weren’t here.”  

“I wasn’t,” Maddie conceded, “but were any of you? Or, Eddie, are you too blinded by your anger to see what’s been going on? You say this is about Christopher, but I think you’re hiding your feelings behind him. You thought you knew him. Then start acting like it.”  

“Of course I’m angry, Maddie. I have every right to be. After everything he dragged up with the lawsuit. The way he wasn’t there when I... when we needed him. And then he looks me in the eye and tells me that Christopher and I shouldn’t rely on him. That I’m his dad, not him.”  

Maddie didn’t flinch. “And you believed him?”  

Eddie blinked.  

“You honestly think that Buck meant that?” she went on, her voice trembling with restrained rage. “You think the man who ran into a tsunami flood to save your son, who refused to stop looking for him, while recovering from his leg being crushed and on blood thinners, I’ll point out, who would have died for him, just said that because what? He's had enough of babysitting your son. You think that was about him calling you a bad dad and not a reflection of what he thinks of himself. Have you already forgotten how surprised he was when you trusted him to look after Chris after the tsunami?

Eddie’s mouth opened. Then closed. His face cracked – just for a second.  

“You all shut him out,” Maddie said, looking around at each of them. “I don’t know what makes me angrier, the idea that you had no clue, or that you knew and looked the other way.” She took a deep breath. “I have more I’d like to say to each of you, but I’m not here to fight. I’m here to protect my brother.”  

“What do I tell Chris? About Buck?”  

Maddie softened slightly. “Buck will reach out to him soon, hopefully.” Then she looked at Chimney. “We’ll talk later, Chimney. I don’t know when, but we will.”  

“Why does it sound like you’re breaking up with me?”  

“I’m not. That’s not what this is. My focus just needs to be elsewhere right now.” She turned to leave, her heels echoing against the bay floor. Behind her, the 118 stood in silence, letting the weight of everything Maddie had said sink in. And then she was gone – back to Buck, back to the long road ahead.    

Chapter Text

The speculation regarding Buck’s whereabouts had grown quickly. Those who hadn’t been around for Maddie’s visit had started asking questions, and those who had, had begun spreading their guesses about what had happened. Bobby knew he needed to say something, but he didn’t know what. He didn’t even know what had happened. Just that Buck had been sent home from work early, when he hadn’t been in a fit state to work, the next day, he didn’t show up without notice. They had presumed it was related to his injury, and he had just forgotten to check in with Bobby. The next day, Maddie showed up with extended leave papers on Buck’s behalf.   

Maddie wouldn’t tell him anything, nor would Athena. His wife had barely said two words to him. No one within LAFD could tell Bobby about the leave. He was at a loss. For the first time since Buck had started at the 118, Bobby felt like he had no clue what was going on in the kid's life. He’d pulled Chimney to the side to ask if he had heard anything, but Maddie wasn’t speaking to him either. The Buckley siblings had gone into hiding.   

The team was finishing up their 48-hour shift the next morning. The station was quiet. Uncomfortably so. The truth behind Maddie’s words had hung between them since she’d dropped the bomb the previous day. Bobby stood in his office, staring out at the truck bay, holding the leave-of-absence paperwork as if it were still hot. He’d read it five times. It still burned in his hands.  

Hen entered quietly, a rare uncertainty in her step. “You okay?”  

Bobby didn’t turn. “No. And I shouldn’t be.”  

Hen nodded, stepping beside him.  

“He asked for a transfer.” Bobby finally admitted.   

Hen looked at Bobby in shock. “When?”  

“A few weeks ago. I said no.” Bobby sighed. “I knew it wasn’t easy here, but at least if he was here, I could keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn’t being too reckless.” He looked down, ashamed. “I did a great job at that, didn’t I?” He scoffed.   

“Bobby...” Hen was speechless. She wondered if Buck would’ve told them if he had moved. Probably not. The 118 wouldn’t have been the same without him. It wasn’t the same, knowing he was out there somewhere, not knowing when she would next see him. She knew realistically it was unlikely he had gone far, but not knowing left room for wild thoughts. “I keep going over everything I said to him. Everything I didn’t say. I thought he just needed space.”  

Bobby’s voice cracked. “We all figured wrong.”   

“Did you, Bobby? Everyone here follows your lead. If you weren’t going to talk to him, treat him like part of the family, then neither was anyone else.”   

Bobby tried to say something but couldn’t. He knew Hen was right. When he looked back at the way the team didn’t trust him, what message had he given them? He had kept Buck back, put him on a tight leash, and practically monitored his every move. Essentially telling them all they were right not to trust him. Bobby hadn’t put any effort into changing that. Instead, he was too wrapped up in his own mixed feelings of being hurt but still terrified of losing him.   

“Look, we don’t know the full story, where he is, what he’s doing. He could be off traveling the world for all we know.” Hen shrugged, not that she believed it. Maddie had been too protective and secretive the previous day. “I’m not here to beat you while you’re down. I’m sure Maddie will do that enough for everyone.” Hen half-joked. Bobby didn’t laugh. “I just think you have some things to think about. Like all the rumors spreading.” Hen raised her eyebrow as she nudged him.   

Bobby nodded. Hen was right. If he didn’t address everyone soon, it would only get worse. If Buck came back, he didn’t need to come back to that.   

“I’ll address everyone before we leave. Call a station meeting.”  

Hen smiled. “Good.”   

A little while later, they were all sitting in the truck bay waiting for the final announcement before they could leave.   

Bobby took a deep breath. He had been trying to think of what to say since his conversation with Hen.   

“As most of you have figured out, Buck hasn’t been here this shift. He will not be returning to work for a while. Before you ask, no, I don’t know when he will be back, and we will have floaters until we have a more permanent temp.” He paused as he watched the information sink in. “One last thing. The reason he is off is between him and the department. That’s it.  I don’t want to hear any whispers or rumors about where he is or what the situation is. Keep your speculation to yourself. This house is supposed to support everyone here. I will not tolerate anything else. You’re free to go.”   

Bobby watched them all disperse. He knew he sounded like a hypocrite and a fraud. He hadn’t been doing any of that recently. He couldn’t do anything about that now, but he could ensure the station did that moving forward. That it went back to the environment it was before. Better even. It was his responsibility to keep everyone safe here, and that meant making sure they were getting what they needed both at and outside of work. That reminded him that he needed to have a conversation with Eddie to follow up on the fighting.   

After Bobby’s announcement, Eddie went to the lockers with everyone else. He unlocked his locker and got his stuff. He looked at the locker next to his. The one that had Buckley written across it. The one that would likely say something else in a few weeks, just like it had when Bosko filled in for him. He slammed his locker shut and sat on the bench. He put his head in his arms, elbows resting on his knees. He couldn’t get Bobby’s words out of his head. Could he confidently say that any of them had been supporting each other recently? No. The last few months, it had been every man for themself.   

People started leaving, but Eddie couldn’t bring himself to move. Chimney saw Eddie while on his way out. He stopped, put his bag on the bench, and sat down next to Eddie. Hen walked over and sat on the other side. The three of them sat there in silence until everyone left.   

Chim finally spoke, “You ok, Eddie?”  

“No.” Eddie looked up and sighed. “I’ve been so mad at him for not being there, but where were we? Bobby said we’re a station that supports each other. Are we?”  

Hen shook her head. “I don’t know anymore, but we can be.”   

“Even now, even when I know something is going on, that clearly Buck needs help, needs his people. I’m still mad at him for leaving us in the lurch again. And I shouldn’t be. He’s been a rock for me since I got here, and now that he’s not... I’m in over my head, I have no idea what I’m doing.” Eddie was shaking. “I don’t know what I’m doing without him.”   

Hen and Chimney shared a look. A moment passed. Then Hen said, “You’re not on your own without him, Eddie. You have all of us. That’s part of us being a team and supporting each other again. Buck needs to do what’s right for him at the moment, and I get you’re angry, but it’s not fair to take it out on everyone else around you. It’s not fair to take it out on Buck.”   

Eddie looked at Hen. He knew Hen was right. He needed to step up. For Chris’s sake. And his own. Chris didn’t have anyone else left. No. That wasn’t true. Chris had his family. Chris had the 118, who had welcomed them both with open arms.   

“Shannon asked for a divorce.”   

Hen tried to hide her gasp.  

“The day she died, we met at a restaurant. She said she knew it was done between us. There was no making it work.” Eddie looked away, ashamed he hadn’t been able to make things right. “After the tsunami, I told Buck that I had failed Chris more times than I could count, but that I loved him and kept showing up, and that was what mattered. Then Buck stopped showing up.”  

Understanding flashed across Hen's face. “We stopped showing up for him first.” Chimney, who had been listening quietly, took a sharp inhale. “We stopped showing up for him a long time ago.”  

Eddie looked like he was about to crumble. “I feel like I’m failing at everything.”   

“You’re not,” Chimney said.   

Eddie scoffed.   

“Have you thought about talking to someone?” Hen asked.   

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”  

Hen rolled her eyes. “A professional, Eddie.”  

“No.” He grumbled.   

“I think you should.”  

Eddie stayed silent.   

“Hen’s right. You’ve been through a lot. It might help you sort through some of it. You’ve always kept things close to your chest. It’s not good to keep hold of all that anger.” Chimney added.   

Eddie thought about it for a minute. He didn’t come from a therapy family; he came from a tough-it-out family, where he was expected to be the man of the house. He was supposed to be strong. Going to therapy wasn’t strong. But they were right about his anger. He couldn’t go back to taking it out in underground fights. Getting arrested had been his wake-up call that he couldn’t keep risking it.   

“I’ll think about it.” That was all he could promise for now.   

Buck sat in the chair, staring at the wall. Dr. Reyes had decided that they should meet every other day, contingent upon his staying with his support system. The day after his intake, she called Maddie and Athena in together to discuss his safety plan. He hated that he had put this on Maddie and Athena. Every time he saw the worry on their faces, the guilt within him grew. There he was again, making his problem everyone else's problem. Even now, Athena sat in the office in the lobby, waiting for him. They had been taking turns being with him, like he couldn’t be trusted on his own.   

In fact, that was precisely what had been decided. He was to attend sessions every other day, unless a situation arose. Dr. Reyes had said that meant even if he came in to sit in silence for 50 minutes. As long as he stayed with Maddie and she and Athena were watching out for him, then he could remain in outpatient care. He almost wanted to go to inpatient treatment, if only to take the burden off everyone else. But he didn’t have the money for that. The money from the settlement would have taken care of it all, but he hadn’t taken the money. He hadn’t wanted it. The lawsuit was never about that.  

They were worried about what putting too much pressure on his eating would do, so instead of keeping a log, someone was always there with him for meals. Both women had taken at least a week off work to be with him through the adjustment, but it felt like too much. So, he continued to do everything they told him and wanted him to do, in the hope that they would trust him enough to return to work. And that included going there every other day.   

The office was quiet. Buck sat stiffly, tapping his fingers against his knee. The room smelled like lavender and lemon oil - too clean, too calm. He knew that was the point. This was a quiet environment to be a safe space. It was designed to be comfortable and inviting. He could feel himself getting lost in the couch and cushions. A bookshelf lined the wall, filled with titles about trauma, resilience, and grief. A small sand garden sat untouched on the coffee table. All it did was the opposite. It put him on edge. He didn’t want to be here. He was broken. A lost cause. He didn’t see what good this would do for him. But Maddie and Athena had hope, and they were putting their lives on hold for him. So, he would sit there. And do what they asked. And once they were satisfied, he would leave. He would go somewhere, anywhere but here. Maybe he’d try his hand at being a bartender or ranch hand again. But that way, they wouldn’t need to worry about him anymore.   

Dr. Isabel Reyes sat across from him. She looked to be in her late forties, with kind eyes and a professional stillness that made Buck want to crawl out of his skin. She looked like she was going to open him and do a deep dive into all his problems. Which made sense, since it was her job, but the last thing Buck wanted to do was drag up those skeletons.   

She didn’t have a clipboard. She didn’t have a laptop. Just a small notebook and a pen she hadn’t used yet. She had made it very clear that she wasn’t going to push him more than he was ready for.   

“So,” Buck said, forcing a half-smile. “You know I’m not good at this.”  

Dr. Reyes smiled gently. “There’s no such thing.”   

He gave a breathy laugh. “Maddie and Athena basically dragged me here. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”  

“I’m glad they did.”  

Buck’s smile faltered. He looked down at his hands. “I’m not.”  

A pause.  

“You don’t want to be here?” There was no judgment in her voice, just mild curiosity.   

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or say,” he said, then quieter, “I don’t want to need to be here.”  

Dr. Reyes leaned back slightly. “There’s no script. There’s no right or wrong thing to say here, Buck. You say and do what you want to. We start where you are.”  

He chewed on that for a second. Then sighed. “Where I am is… tired. And kind of empty.”  

“Empty how?” She wasn’t pushing, it was a gentle nudge to show she was listening and give him the space to share.   

“Like…” He looked away, trying to find the words. “Like I’ve given every bit of myself to everyone. And now that I have, there’s nothing left. Like I’ve done everything I can to be the strong, loyal, reliable guy they all expect, and now it’s gone, now they’re gone, I don’t know what’s underneath it all. I don’t know if there is anything.”   

“That sounds like it would be draining.”  

Buck nodded. “Now there’s nothing left in me, all I have is noise.”  

“What noise?”  

Buck stared off into the distance. Dr. Reyes stayed quiet. Not pushing. Just present.   

Buck ran a hand through his hair. “I used to think if I saved enough people, proved myself enough, did enough, I’d feel whole. But I don’t. Not really. I never felt like anything I did was enough. I was always thinking about the next way I could prove to them that I was good enough. That I was... worthy. And then I made some choices - bad ones - and everyone started treating me like I wasn’t part of the team anymore. And maybe I deserve that. But it just… broke something.” He paused and looked down before continuing. “It was like the final proof I needed that it doesn’t matter what I do, nothing will be enough.”   

She took a moment to digest his words. “You felt abandoned.”   

He blinked, startled by the word. Then, quietly: “Yeah.”  

“What did that bring up for you?”  

The question sat heavy between them.  

Buck’s jaw tightened. “I know where you’re going with this.”  

“And where’s that?”  

“My parents. My sister.” A beat passed. “I’m sure Maddie’s mentioned something about it all. I’ve made my peace with Maddie. We talked about it after Doug.”   

“And?”  

“And it doesn’t matter.” Buck snapped. “It hurts all the same.” He took a shaky breath. “I don’t think I ever stopped waiting for people to leave.”   

There it was - the crack. His voice wobbled. His eyes burned. He didn’t want to cry.   

“I keep messing things up,” he whispered. “Even when I try to do the right thing. And now the people I thought would always be there… aren’t. And I get it. I pushed them away with the lawsuit, and then after when they had pushed me away, so I started doing and saying stupid shit. But I was screaming in my own head the entire time, and no one heard me.”  

Dr. Reyes leaned forward slightly, her tone calm but clear. “I hear you.”  

He laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well. You’re paid to.”  

“I’m also trained to,” she said. “To listen without judgment. To help you find your way out. And to remind you: you're not alone, even when it feels like it.”  

Buck’s chest rose and fell with a shaky breath.  

“Feels like I’ve already lost everything.”   

“I know, but there are two women who dragged you into this office who would say otherwise. I see how much they care about you. They also heard you.”  

Buck swallowed hard. He didn’t respond. But he didn’t get up and leave, either.  

“You're here. That means something,” she said softly.   

He sat back on the couch, just slightly. Let his shoulders drop a little. Let the silence settle between them.  

The midday rush had passed, leaving the small corner café hushed and mostly empty. A few scattered patrons sat with laptops and lattes, the ambient music filling the silence between the clinks of cups and quiet conversations.  

Maddie sat at a small table near the window, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug. She’d gotten there early - on purpose - to give herself time to decide if she even wanted to have this conversation.  

When the door chimed, she looked up. Hen was already scanning the room. She spotted Maddie and gave a quiet, hesitant nod before walking over to her.  

“Thanks for meeting me,” Hen said as she slid into the seat across from her, setting her coffee down gently. She looked tired. Guilty.  

Maddie gave a tight nod, not smiling. “You said it was important.”  

Hen sat for a moment, fingers curled around her cup like she needed the warmth to get through this.  

“I owe Buck – and you - an apology,” she said finally. “I should’ve seen what was happening. I did see pieces of it. The distance. The shutdown. I saw some of the cracks. But I...”  

“What do you mean, some of the cracks?” Buck still hadn't mentioned much about what had been happening at work, and neither she nor Athena wanted to push him.  

“The way he looked when he showed up some days. He didn’t look good. Sometimes it was like he was in a daze. He was quiet, too quiet. I can’t remember the last time I saw him eat. I presumed he was going somewhere else, so he didn’t need to be with us. It was almost as if he were trying to be as invisible as possible. And then at some point, he started coming into work looking like he hadn’t showered or slept in days. He looked sick. I just… I didn’t know how to reach him. And I didn’t try hard enough.”  

Maddie looked out the window for a moment. “No. You didn’t.”  

Hen nodded, taking the hit. “I thought he was isolating because he needed space. I told myself it wasn’t my place to push. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.”  

“You didn’t say anything at all,” Maddie said, turning back to her. Her voice wasn’t angry-not exactly. But it was tired. Raw. “He hasn’t told me what happened. We’re going at his pace, but he’s been drowning. You’ve all had so many chances to tell me. If you didn’t know how to help, you should have told me so I could.”  

Hen looked down at her coffee. “I know.”  

They sat in that uncomfortable quiet for a moment.  

“I’ve been thinking about how quick we were to move on after the lawsuit, but we didn’t move on at all,” Hen said softly. “Like we were trying to keep the team from breaking, so we pretended like nothing changed. Except it had.”  

Maddie waited for her to continue.  

Hen took a deep breath. “Bobby hasn’t been letting Buck go on calls very often. He just does the chores most of the time, but he doesn’t cook anymore. No one really talks to him either. He’s there because he has to be. He couldn’t pretend nothing changed.”  

Maddie’s jaw clenched. “So, he was alone. Isolated. And no one said anything. No one realized until I noticed he nearly broke himself trying to stay upright.”  

Hen looked up, eyes glassy. “I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to. I don’t want to be someone he has to recover from. I always thought they were being a little harsh. I tried to offer an olive branch on his first day back. Gave him a cupcake to welcome him back. Told him it needed to come from Bobby. I honestly did think that time would help. I want to make this right.”  

Maddie studied her. And after a long pause, her expression finally softened - not into forgiveness, but something adjacent, a little bit of understanding. “I believe you care about him,” Maddie said. “I believe you want to fix it. But Hen, this isn’t about making yourself feel better. This isn’t about easing your guilt.”  

“I know,” Hen said quietly. “It’s about showing up. Even if it’s uncomfortable. I’m not trying to do this to ease my conscience. I’m doing it because I care about him and it’s what I should’ve done to start with.”  

“You’ll get your chance - if Buck decides to give it to you. But until then, he needs space. He needs people he trusts. And right now… that isn’t any of you.”  

“I understand.” Hen nodded, swallowing the sting. “If he ever wants to talk, I’ll be there. And if he doesn’t… I’ll still be there. In whatever way I can be.”  

Maddie gave the faintest nod. “That’s a start.” Maddie stood up. “I need to get going.”  

“Thank you for hearing me out.”  

“It was good to hear from you. I hope you follow through.” She picked up her bag and walked to the door.  

The table was set simply - mismatched plates, water glasses with condensation, the soft aroma of garlic and lemon wafting from Athena’s roasted chicken. Maddie poured iced tea into Buck’s glass as he took a seat across from her, still tired from the weight of the therapy session.  

He tugged his sleeves down past his wrists and gave a half-smile. “Smells good.”  

“Don’t give me the credit,” Maddie said, motioning to Athena. “I just chopped herbs.”  

“I did all the hard work,” Athena added with a sly grin. “Like turning on the oven and everything.”  

Buck huffed a small laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  

They all settled in, passing plates, scooping potatoes, and tearing bread. The clink of silverware and the quiet hum of conversation filled the room - a story from Jee-Yun’s daycare, a light jab at Maddie’s inability to remember the oven timer. Everyday things. Safe things. They were catching up on all the time they had missed.  

Buck chewed slowly, listening more than speaking, waiting for the shift - the inevitable, so how was therapy? The awkward glances. The sympathetic nods. He had been expecting questions and maybe judgment since he left the session. When Athena hadn’t said anything to him about it in the car, he presumed that meant she was waiting for Maddie. It was a relief in a way; he could get it all out in one go. But it hadn’t happened.  

And it still didn’t come out during dinner.  

Ten minutes in, he set down his fork.  

“You’re not going to ask,” he said, not as a question, but an observation. “About therapy.”  

Maddie looked up from her plate, then shared a glance with Athena. They’d talked about this.  

“No,” Maddie said softly. “We’re not.”  

Buck blinked. “Why?”  

“Because,” Athena said, “you don’t owe us a report card.”  

Maddie nodded. “You shared what you wanted earlier this week. That’s enough. If you want to talk, we’ll listen. But we’re not going to pry. That’s not what this dinner is for.”  

Buck looked between them, stunned into silence.  

“I just… I thought you’d want to know if it was helping,” he said quietly.  

“Of course we want to know,” Maddie said gently. “But we don’t need to ask to prove we care. We won’t earn your trust by prying information out of you that you’re not ready to share yet.” Buck looked surprised. “We also know this isn’t a quick solution. One therapy session isn’t enough to make all the difference. If it were, there would be a lot fewer therapists.”  

Athena chuckled. Then she leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You spend so much time expecting people to measure your worth by what you produce - what you fix, who you save. That’s not this. That’s not tonight. Tonight is just about the three of us having dinner. About the two of us showing you we’re not going anywhere.”  

Buck’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know how to sit with the feeling that he could just be - tired, fragile, halfway broken - and still belong at the table. He pushed his food around a little, eyes fixed on the plate. “It was hard. Today. I almost didn’t go in.”  

Maddie reached across the table and gently squeezed his wrist. “But you did.”  

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I did. I couldn’t tell her everything. But I said some of it.”  

Maddie smiled reassuringly. “That’s enough, Evan. I know it feels like a small thing, like it’s not enough, but it is.”  

Buck looked down at his hands. The conversation was getting too difficult for him. It felt like he hadn’t done anywhere near enough. But Athena and Maddie both sat on the other side of the table, saying the opposite. He wanted to believe them. He did. But he couldn’t.

“Can I... can I stay here a little longer?  

“Of course. You can stay as long as you need.”  

Athena smiled, neither pushing nor probing. “That’s a damn good reason to eat some chicken.”  

Buck laughed through the tightness in his chest. For the first time in weeks, the ache felt a little less like it owned him.  

The food was warm. The silence was kind. And for a while, they just ate - no demands, no expectations.  

After dinner, Buck went to the guest room, which had now become his own. He said he was tired and wanted to just lie down for a while. Maddie suspected he’d fallen asleep the second his head hit the pillow. She and Athena stayed behind, each with a glass of wine, curled into opposite ends of the living room couch.  

“He’s trying too hard,” she said softly, staring into her glass.  

Athena didn’t need to ask who. “I know.”  

“He’s laughed a little too much. Acted more graceful than he should. I think he’s trying to prove he’s ok so that we won’t worry.”  

Athena nodded, letting out a breath. “I saw it tonight, too. He kept waiting for us to ask, and then when we said we wouldn’t, he told us a bit about it anyway. Like he needed a test to pass. Like he needed to prove he did what we wanted.”  

“He’s doing better than he was a week ago, yes. He’s eating, he’s not drinking, he’s trying, he’s gone to the sessions. But it’s fragile. I hate that he got to this point, that we failed him this way, that they failed him like this.”  

Athena tilted her head. “Speaking of ‘they,’ did you meet with Hen today?”  

Maddie nodded. “Yeah, I met her at the coffee shop while you were with Buck at therapy. I decided to hear what she had to say.”  

Athena raised her eyebrows. “That couldn’t have been easy.”  

“It wasn’t,” Maddie said. “But she was honest. She knows they abandoned him. She didn’t try to excuse it. She said she wants to make it right.”  

“Do you believe her?” Hen was Athena’s closest friend at the 118. Yes, Athena was mad, but she couldn’t imagine Hen having any maliciousness.  

“I do. But I told her what I’ll tell the rest of them when the time comes - this isn’t about their guilt. This is about Buck’s healing. They don’t get to insert themselves into his recovery because they suddenly feel bad.”  

Athena gave a slight, approving nod. “Exactly.”  

They sat in silence for a moment, the air thick with unsaid things.  

Then Maddie added, more softly, “What scares me most isn’t how bad he got - it’s how much he’s hiding that he’s still not okay. Like he thinks if he admits he’s struggling, we’ll all stop being proud of him. It worries me that he’ll keep trying to hide it and won’t get better.”  

Athena looked down at her wine and swirled it slowly. “Because for most of his life, people only valued him when he was performing. Smiling. Earning his place.”  

Maddie’s throat tightened. “I did that, too. When we were kids. I protected him, but I also… expected him just to be okay. Because it was easier for me.”  

Athena reached out, her hand firm over Maddie’s. “You’re here now. You see him now.”  

Maddie blinked back tears. “But what if we’re still not doing enough?”  

Athena didn’t answer right away. “Maybe we can’t fix it. Maybe we’re not supposed to. But we can be the net that catches him when the pretending gives out. It couldn’t keep it up before. Something will give eventually. So, we stay. We keep staying. That’s the difference this time.”  

Maddie squeezed her hand. “We don’t let him disappear again.”  

“No,” Athena said. “We don’t.”  

And in the quiet of the room, as the weight of the past weeks settled around them like dust, the two women sat together, ready for the long road ahead and the storms yet to come.  

The living room was quiet, save for the low hum of a cartoon playing on the TV. Christopher sat curled up on the couch, his homework finished, a half-eaten apple beside him. Eddie stood in the kitchen, aimlessly wiping down a clean counter. Not because it needed it, but because he didn’t know what else to do with his hands. He hadn’t said much all evening. He’d been thinking ever since Maddie’s words had hit him like a punch to the chest.  

“You honestly think that Buck meant that?”  

“You think that was about him calling you a bad dad and not a reflection of what he thinks of himself.”  

Eddie had fixed that the day he dropped Chris off at Buck’s loft. Hadn’t he? Buck had been in a much better mood when Eddie had returned for Christopher. He thought about what Hen had said earlier.  

“We stopped showing up for him first.”  

He replayed them over and over. It was a broken record in his mind. Buck sued them. He sued the 118 and shared all of their dirty laundry.  

The one thing they had right, though, was that he had too much anger – more than he knew what to do with. It had been this way since Shannon died,  

From the couch, Christopher’s voice broke the quiet. “Dad?”  

Eddie turned. “Yeah, buddy?”  

Chris muted the TV. “Where’s Buck?”  

Eddie froze.  

Chris watched him, eyes wide and hopeful. “I haven’t seen him in a long time,” Chris added.  

Eddie swallowed hard, walked over, and sat beside him. “I know. I miss him too.”  

“Is he mad at us?”  

The question hit harder than Eddie was ready for. His breath caught in his throat. “No,” he said quickly. “No, mijo. He’s not mad at you. He might be a little mad at me, but he could never be mad at you. He’s just... he’s not doing very well at the moment, and no one can go see him.”  

Christopher frowned. “That must be lonely.”  

A lump got stuck in Eddie's throat. When had his son gotten so perceptive?  

“Is that why you’ve been sad?” Chris asked.  

Eddie looked at his son, really looked at him, and realized just how much Buck’s absence had left its mark on both of them.  

He took a shaky breath. “Yeah, buddy. That’s part of it.”  

Chris leaned against him. “I want him to come back,” he said quietly.  

“Me too,” Eddie said softly. “He will come back when he’s ready.”  

They were both quiet for a minute.  

“Can I talk to him?”  

Eddie shook his head. “I’m sorry, Chris.”  

“But he’s family.”  

Eddie felt the tears well in his eyes. Buck being family was why everything had hurt so much. However, they hadn’t acted like a family at the 118 in a long time.  

“We stopped showing up for him a long time ago.” How long had Hen meant?  

“Maybe you can write him a letter, and I can try to get it to him.”  

Chris looked up at Eddie.  

“I can help you if you need it.”  

“No. I'll do it on my own.”  

Eddie nodded. “Ok, buddy.”  

They sat like that for a minute. Eddie felt the ache of someone missing. Finally, Eddie spoke. “Come on. It’s time to get you to bed.”  

Chapter Text

It was early morning, light filtering through the blinds. Athena walked into the kitchen dressed in a black blouse and jeans. She had plenty of time off stored up at work, and it felt necessary to keep using it. Both she and Maddie were still worried about Buck and progress, that he was trying to rush things. It also hadn’t seemed to register to him that they weren’t going anywhere, no matter how messy things got. Maddie told her he hadn’t fully unpacked yet. When they had dinner together, he was tense, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. And he kept looking to the door like he expected them to kick him out any day now.  

It had barely been a week, but so much had happened.   

In the kitchen, Bobby was making breakfast. A lot of it. He was known to stress bake, but this was something else.   

“Are you expecting guests?” Athena raised an eyebrow.   

Bobby looked up in surprise. He had been so lost in his cooking that he hadn’t noticed her approach. “No,” he said sheepishly. “But I might take some to the station.”  

Athena hummed in response. They hadn’t said much more than a few words to each other at a time since she had found Buck at his loft. She was so angry at her husband. Disappointed too. She couldn’t understand how he had let things get to the point they had.  

“Do you want any?” Bobby asked.   

“Sure.” Athena nodded and sat down. She watched him for a few minutes, the toll of the last week and the months prior evident. He carried himself with a weight on his shoulders. He made them both a plate and sat next to her. They sat there eating in silence, neither one knowing how to bridge the gap between them. Athena knew she needed to talk to Bobby, find out what had happened, and hold him accountable, but she also didn’t want the guilt to consume him to the point where it drove him back to his bad habits. She was proud of his sobriety, and as much as he needed to take responsibility for Buck, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it if he were drinking again.  

“I think we should talk.” She finally said.   

Bobby couldn’t look at her. He knew this moment had been coming since Bobby had managed to catch her one morning and ask where she was going – she had said, “ To Buck.” Nothing else was necessary.   

He nodded. “I know.”   

“What happened with Buck?” she asked, voice level but pointed. “I want the truth. No rank. No leadership spin. Just you .”  

Bobby sighed, shoulders heavy. “I don’t know... I was scared of him getting hurt again. The bombing was meant for me, but he nearly lost his leg in it, and he pushed so hard to come back. I’ve kept hoping, over the years, that he’d stop being so reckless. And he has. To some degree, but sometimes I think he acts as if he’s the only one with nothing to lose or he’s got no one waiting for him to come home, so he should take the worst hits. He volunteers for every dangerous thing that comes up. He doesn’t give a second thought about putting his life at risk. And I know I can’t stop him completely. I know that. But it would matter if something happened to him.”  

“But something did happen to him, something's been happening to him. And you said nothing. You did nothing.”  

“I know,” Bobby said quietly. “I missed it.”  

Athena’s voice sharpened. “He’s not just your firefighter, Bobby. He’s not just a member of your team. He’s family . You were the one who told him that, remember?” Athena looked at him pointedly.  

“Yes, I know.”   

 “Yet when it came down to it when he needed you the most, you stayed silent. I know you meant it when you said he was family. Is that no longer true?”   

Bobby looked horrified. “No, I meant it then, and I mean it now.”   

“Then how the hell did you not see he was spiraling?” Her voice cracked just slightly, with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “You’ve been where he’s been. You know what it looks like.”  

“I was too caught up in my own feelings. The lawsuit...” Bobby paused. “He didn’t sue the 118 - he sued me and the department. He told that lawyer everything. I couldn’t get past my hurt and anger. That I had done everything in my power to protect him after I failed so badly, and then he threw it in my face. And by the time I saw it, it was already too late. He had already shut down and given up on us. I didn’t know how to talk to him or get him to understand. All he saw was that we didn’t trust him, and I thought he just needed to stick with it a little longer.”   

“He looked up to you. He trusted you more than almost anyone. When you stopped talking to him like family and started treating him like a liability, even if you didn’t mean to, you became part of the weight he was carrying.” Athena put a hand on his shoulder. “The team follows your lead. They were never going to start trusting him unless you showed you trusted him first. Hen told Maddie you were barely letting him go on calls. He wasn’t eating at family meals with you. He wasn’t helping you cook. You put the distance between you two first, and everyone else fell in line.”  

The reality of Athena’s words hit him. Bobby swallowed hard.   

Athena softened slightly as she saw Bobby reflect on what she had said. “I’m not doing this to crucify you. But if you want to fix things, you have to be honest about the role you’ve played until this point and the role you’ll need to play moving forward. You need to acknowledge when you’ve let someone fall through the cracks and set the right example. No one’s expecting you to be perfect all the time or not have emotional responses to things, but it’s how you deal with that. Buck hurt you with the lawsuit. You hurt him by not listening to him or trusting him when he said he was ready.”   

“What if he doesn’t want to hear it? I want to be there for him. I want to have a conversation with him about it all. I just don’t know if he’ll let me.”   

“Then you wait,” Athena said. “You wait for however long it takes for you to fix this. And in the meantime, you stand in that pain until he does. And you make damn sure he knows he’s not disposable like he’s been made to believe.”  

Silence hung between them.  

Bobby looked up, weary. “Is he okay?”  

“No,” Athena said softly. “But for the first time in a long time… he’s trying to be.”  

And with that, she stood, laying a hand gently on his shoulder.  

“Make sure this doesn’t happen again, Bobby. Not to anyone else.”  

Then she left - and Bobby sat there in the quiet, finally beginning to understand the true cost of what they’d missed.  

It was late in the afternoon when Christopher came into the Diaz living room, asking Carla for a piece of paper and a pencil. Eddie was out running errands and grocery shopping. Chris sat at the table, brow furrowed in quiet determination. He was lost in concentration, carefully planning and writing his letter to Buck. He wrote for a while, writing, pausing, erasing. Carla offered to help, but Chris wanted to do it on his own. It was, after all, his letter to his Buck.   

He was still in the same position when Eddie came back. Chris didn’t even acknowledge his dad as he approached.  

“Hey buddy, did you have fun with Carla?”  

Chris nodded and brushed his dad off. “Dad, I’m writing my letter, it’s private.”   

“Sorry, Chris, I’ll leave you to it.” He gave Chris a quick hug, then walked to where Carla was standing in the kitchen.   

“Hey Carla, how's he been?”  

“Good.” She spoke quietly so Chris couldn’t hear them. “He’s spent a lot of time trying to write that letter.”   

Eddie didn’t respond. He just watched Christopher until Carla spoke again. “How are you?”  

He shrugged. He didn’t know how he was. He’d been putting all his focus into work and Chris, so that he didn’t need to think about it.  

Carla watched him. “You know, Chris needs you just like he needs Buck – more than he needs Buck even.”  

Eddie shook his head slightly. “Buck’s better as this than I am.”  

“Oh, Eddie.” Carla frowned. “With all due respect, you’re his dad. Yes, he has a special relationship with Buck, but he needs you. You can’t just run or give up because he’s got other people to help take care of him now.”  

“I know that,” Eddie said sadly.   

“But you’re also not supposed to put yourself on hold completely. How can you expect to take care of Christopher when you’re not taking care of yourself?”  

“I...” Not for the first time that week, he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. He just wanted to do the right thing – whatever that was. He looked at Chris. His son was remarkably resilient and kind. Some days, Eddie found it hard to believe that Chris had come from him. He had, of course, but he was also an accumulation of everyone else in his life – abuela, Tia Pepa, Carla, Bobby, Hen, everyone else in his chosen family here, but most importantly, Buck.   

“I’ll be here at the same time tomorrow, ok?” Carla put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.   

“Huh?” It took a second for Eddie to catch up. “Oh yeah. Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

Carla smiled knowingly. “Bye, Chris, don’t give your dad too much trouble,” she said as she walked past him.   

Eddie stayed in the kitchen, watching Christopher out of the corner of his eye as he moved idly about the kitchen.   

It wasn’t long before Christopher finally finished. He read it over once, then folded the paper and slipped it into an envelope. On the front, he simply wrote “For Buck.”  

He brought it to his dad. “I want him to have it,” Christopher said softly.   

Eddie crouched down to his eye level. “You did a good job, buddy. I’ll give it to Maddie so she can make sure he gets it. Does that sound ok with you?”  

Chris nodded. He walked back to the living room and turned on the TV. He picked up his controller, leaving Eddie in the kitchen with the letter and his thoughts.  

Later that evening, Eddie stood on Maddie’s porch, hand in his jacket pockets, a lump in his throat. He should have called or texted first to make sure that she was in, but he had been worried she wouldn't hear him out. Maddie answered the door wearing a tired sweatshirt and leggings. He could see the impact of stress and worry. Her expression turned guarded the moment she realized it was him.   

“Eddie,” she said, her voice tight but as neutral as she could get it.   

“I’m not here to push,” he said quickly. “I’m not asking to talk to him or see him or even you. I just... I wanted to give you this.” He held out the envelope.   

Maddie took it carefully. Her eyes turned weary when she saw the name, which eased when she took note of the handwriting.   

“Christopher wrote it,” Eddie said. “I didn’t help him. He did it all on his own. He just... he told me he missed Buck, and it made him feel better to be able to say something to him in some way.”  

Maddie looked up at him. “He’s a good kid.”  

“I think he picked it up from Buck,” Eddie said quietly. Then, after a pause, “Can you just... You don’t have to give it to him right away, just... pass it on when he’s ready for it?” He looked at her hopefully.  

“I will,” she said, her voice gentle now. “Thank you.”  

Eddie nodded once, eyes glassy. He was grateful Maddie had taken the letter. He turned and walked back down the steps without another word.   

Maddie closed the door behind her, holding the envelope tightly. She didn’t give it to Buck right away. She waited until the next morning while they were eating breakfast.   

The sun was rising as Buck sat at the kitchen table, quietly eating toast and staring out the window. Aside from his therapy plans, he had no other plans for the day. Maddie was doing he best to keep him busy. They had watched plenty of shows and documentaries. Athena usually stayed for dinner, and they’d play some games before she left. He watched as someone passed the window on their morning run. He had considered it when he first woke up that morning, but couldn’t convince himself. He didn’t have the motivation. He still felt too tired, too heavy. He knew exercise and fresh air were supposed to be good for him, but it was hard enough doing the simple things like getting out of bed, showering, and eating.  

He barely noticed as Maddie walked over with her plate of food and sat at the table. Before she started eating, Maddie placed the letter in front of him. He looked at it without saying anything. His breath caught as he noticed Chris’s handwriting and his name. He ran his fingers gently across it.   

“It arrived for you last night.” Maddie purposely left out the part about Eddie showing up. “It’s from Chris, but I can keep hold of it until you’re ready. You don’t have to push yourself on this, Buck.”  

Buck just stared at the envelope. He pulled it closer to him, but kept it there on the table. “I think... I’ll open it later... If that’s ok?”  

Maddie’s heart broke a little at the uncertainty and emotion in his voice. She smiled reassuringly and nodded. “Of course.” She took a bite of her toast. “Athena will be over later to take you to therapy if you still want.”  

“Yeah. Ok.” He looked back out the window.   

The two of them sat in silence as they finished their breakfast.   

The letter sat in Buck’s lap like a live wire – small, quiet, and unbearably loud. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to open it that morning, but he hadn’t been able to let go of it either. He’s stared at it for hours. Read his name in Christopher’s handwriting over and over. He’d held it all morning. He debated opening it so many times, but he couldn’t break the seal. He missed his Superman. Buck wished so sincerely to be the person Chris needed him to be, but he wasn’t.   

So, he brought it to therapy.   

Dr. Reye noticed it the moment Buck walked in. Noticed how carefully he carried it. They sat in silence for a while, like the first few times. Buck struggled to start the sessions. She thought he seemed nervous about saying the wrong thing. Buck placed the letter in his lap and folded his arms. He had been careful not to bend the letter. His body was coiled like a spring.   

Eventually, she nodded toward the envelope.   

“That looks important.”   

Buck gave a short, breathy laugh. “Yeah. It’s from Christopher.”   

Her eyebrows raised slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.   

He unfolded his arms and picked up the letter. “Eddie gave it to Maddie. Said Chris wanted me to have it. She gave it to me at breakfast. I’ve been holding on to it all morning.”   

“You haven’t read it yet.” It was a statement, not a question. She could see that the envelope remained unopened.  

“No.”   

“Why not?” It was clear the letter meant a lot to him.   

Buck looked down at it, jaw tight. “Because I don’t know what it says. I don’t know if he’s mad at me. If he misses me. If he’s stopped missing me. I don’t know what he thinks of me. Or what he knows about all this.”   

“That’s a lot of weight for one envelope.” She paused for a moment.   

Buck nodded, still not looking up.   

“Have you considered asking Maddie? About what she knows? If she were able to get the letter from him to you, she might be able to answer some of those questions.”  

Buck had considered this. “I’m not sure I want to know,” he said quietly.   

“That’s understandable.” She nodded. “But you brought it with you today.” She gently prompted.   

Buck nodded again. “I thought I could handle it on my own. But I can’t. I feel like no matter what it says, I’ll fall apart.”   

Dr Reyes folded her hands in her lap. “So what would happen if you let yourself fall apart, just a little, in here?”   

He gave a shaky exhale.   

She gave a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to open it if you’re not ready yet. Why don’t we talk a bit about Christopher and why this letter is so important to you?”  

Buck sniffed. He pulled one leg under him. He looked off into the distance – his mind had gone somewhere else. He looked tired, as usual, but there was also a sadness in his expression. Dr Reyes waited. She had learned not to push. Buck always needed time to process his thoughts and choose his words carefully. His belief that he was too much still came through. He hadn’t gotten comfortable in just being him. But eventually, when the silence got too much, he’d let the important stuff come out.  

He swallowed hard. “I told you about the tsunami, right?”   

“A little bit, yes.”   

“I still wasn’t back at work, so I was looking after Chris a lot. I wanted so badly to be someone he could count on. I love kids, but Chris - he’s special, he’s my Superman.” He teared up at using the nickname. “It was supposed to be a fun day. Just the two of us.” He paused. His fingers curled into the sleeve of his hoodie. “I saw the tsunami coming. I grabbed him and ran. I had him. He was safe. But when the second wave hit, I lost him.” His words were hollow, and his voice sounded haunted. “ I lost him. One second, he was there, and the next... gone. Swept away. I was screaming his name, as if I just yelled loud enough, the ocean would give him back. I didn’t stop, though. I kept moving. Helping people along the way. But I found his glasses... I thought the worst. But I couldn’t give up. I couldn’t. I didn’t stop. Not even when I came across the 118. I saw Eddie. I didn’t know how to tell him. But I got lucky. So, so lucky. Because there he was. Behind me.”  

Dr. Reyes stayed still, her voice calm. “That must have been terrifying.”  

“It was worse than that,” Buck said, voice cracking. Dr. Reyes offered him the box of tissues from the table next to her. Buck looked at her, then took one. “I’ve always thought it. Felt the need to prove myself. And that was the moment I knew I would never be enough. I failed him. I lost Eddie’s kid - the most important person in his life. And somehow–somehow, I got him back. He was ok. And everyone told me I was a hero for keeping him safe.” He laughed bitterly. “But I didn’t. Not really. I lost him. I thought he was dead. And that was my fault.” He shook his head. “Then, to make matters worse, I get off the blood thinners, passed all my recertifications, helped all those people during the tsunami, but Bobby still thought I wasn’t ready to return to work. None of it was enough. I thought if I could get back on shift, I could show them. But no. It was like nothing I did was ever going to be enough.”  

He fell silent for a long time. “I think that’s part of why I said what I did. About not being someone Chris should rely on. He was always going to hear it the way he did and not how I meant it. I should’ve said it differently, but I was exhausted from trying. And there he was, telling me to think of Christopher. And I meant it. He deserves someone better than me.”  

“And what does Christopher think?” Dr. Reyes asked gently.  

Buck didn’t speak at first. He just stared at the letter. It was the perfect lead-in.  

“Do you want me to open it first?” She put the option out there.  

He shook his head. Then, slowly, he opened the envelope. He read in silence, the pencil-written words pulling his face into something fragile and soft. His breathing hitched halfway through. When he reached the end, his hand went to his mouth, shoulders curling inward. He didn’t sob. It wasn’t that kind of cry. It was quieter. Deeper. Like something finally broke open. He handed her the letter, allowing her to read it as well.  

Dear Buck,  

I miss you.  

Movie night isn’t the same without you. You always bring the best snacks, and I miss the way you laugh at the dumb parts of the movie, even when no one else does.  

I don’t know why you’re gone or where you are. I hope you’re okay. Dad says you’re not doing well, and you need time. He said you’ll come back when you’re ready. I hope you have what you need to get better. I’ll be here when you come back.  

I saved a seat for you on the couch. You can come back when you’re ready.  

I want you to know you’re still my Buck.  

You always will be.  

Love,  

Christopher  

Once she finished reading it, she handed it back to him. “He loves you.”  

Buck nodded, wiping his face. “I don’t know if I deserve it.”  

“You matter to him. Buck. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re always strong. You matter because you’re his.”  

He nodded again, more slowly this time, like he was starting to believe it.  

“You said you weren’t sure who you were underneath everything – the hero stuff, the guilt. This letter? It’s a reminder. Of who you are.”  

Buck whispered, “I wasn’t good enough to keep hold of him. And I’ve been trying to make up for that ever since.” He held up the letter. “This feels like forgiveness I haven’t earned yet.”  

“The tsunami was a natural disaster, Buck. You were injured. You were trying to survive. You didn’t abandon him.”  

He didn’t respond.  

Dr. Reyes leaned forward slightly, kind but steady. “Let me ask you something. If Eddie had been the one to take Chris to the pier when the tsunami hit – not you – and he lost sight of his son, would you believe that made Eddie unworthy of being in Christopher’s life?”  

Buck’s head jerked up. “No. Of course not.”  

“Why?” She probed.  

“Because it wouldn’t be his fault. He’d be doing everything he could to save him, just like I did. Maybe more.”  

Dr. Reyes didn’t say anything. She waited patiently for him to realize what she had led him to. She saw the moment the realization dawned slowly on Buck’s face. She saw the pain as the truth disorientated him.  

“I’ve been holding myself to a different standard,” he said quietly. It was more to himself.  

“You have,” she said softly. “And it’s time to let go of that punishment. You didn’t fail, Christopher. You fought for him. You did the best you could to keep him alive. And you loved him through it all.”  

Buck nodded. He hated that he was crying again. “I miss him.”  

“Then let this be the first step back. Write him a letter and tell him you miss him too,” she said. “Not because you owe him more. But because you already gave him enough – your love, your loyalty, your presence. That’s the part he remembers.”  

Buck breathed out slowly, eyes red but shoulders just a little lighter. “Ok,” he said softly. “Ok,” he repeated, louder with more determination.  

And for the first time since the water took Christopher from his sight, Buck began to forgive himself. He began to see himself not as the man who lost him but as the man who dove in after him.  

The office door clicked shut behind Eddie, sealing off the distant bustle of the station. Bobby had asked him to come to his office before he left for the day. Bobby stood by the window, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The blinds were tilted halfway, letting streaks of light spill across the desk between them. Eddie didn’t sit right away.  

Bobby didn’t invite him to.  

After a few long moments, Bobby turned. “Sit down, Eddie.”  

Eddie did. He looked like he’d rehearsed being defensive, but now wasn’t sure if he needed to be.  

Bobby studied him, concerned. But there was no softness in his voice when he spoke. “I was thinking about it, and I never addressed the fighting.”  

Eddie flinched. It had been long enough that he’d stopped waiting for this conversation. “It was nothing. Just-”  

“Don’t say ‘just stress,” Bobby cut in. “Don’t lie to me.”  

Eddie looked away, jaw clenched.  

“You haven’t been doing well since Shannon’s death. I don’t think you ever dealt with it. And then, with the tsunami, and the situation with Buck. I’m worried if you don’t start dealing with it, it will only come back worse. I let it go for longer than I should have because I hoped you were taking care of it.”  

“I’m fine.” Eddie insisted.  

“You’re not fine,” Bobby said, voice low but intense. “You’re angry. Distracted. You’re picking fights with people, physically and verbally.”  

Eddie’s mouth opened like he might argue, then closed again.  

Bobby walked over, resting his hands on the back of the chair across from him. “You are not the only one hurting. But you need to start dealing with it.”  

“I am dealing with it,” Eddie said tightly. “I’m still working. I’m still showing up. Still doing my job.”  

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”  

Eddie stayed silent.  

“I’m signing you up for mandatory therapy. It’ll be weekly, and you’re on light duty unless the therapist signs off to say otherwise. I want you to see a real therapist, not someone you half-talk to just to check a box. This isn’t punishment. This is prevention.”  

Eddie let the weight of that settle. “And if I say no?”  

“Then you’re off the field completely. Suspension, pending fitness for duty eval.”  

Eddie exhaled hard through his nose. “That’s the line.”  

“That’s the line.”  

Another long silence passed. Then Eddie said, “Ok.”  

Bobby nodded once. “Good.”  

Eddie stood slowly, pausing at the door. “Do you think things would’ve been different if we’d done this sooner?”  

Bobby shrugged. “Probably. But only if it wasn’t the only thing we did.”  

The afternoon was still. Buck felt like he had been unraveled in therapy, broken apart into little pieces. But he’d survived it. Buck sat at the desk by the open window, a pen resting in his hand. The paper in front of him was blank, save a name at the top in his neatest handwriting. He stared at it for a long time.  

Dear Christopher  

Thank you for your letter.  

I’ve read it so many times, I almost know it by heart now. I’ve kept it with me at all times since I got it.  

I need you to know something.  

When we were at the pier that day, and the water came, I tried to hold on to you. I tried so hard. But it was stronger than me, and I lost you. I never told anyone how scared I was of the wave itself, but also that I could lose you. That I did lose you. It wasn’t for long, but it was the worst time of my life.  

I need you to know that no matter what, this has nothing to do with you. I haven’t left you. I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you.  

I miss you more than I can say. I miss your laugh, how you always know when I need a hug, and how you never make me feel like I have to pretend. Thank you for reminding me that being your Buck doesn’t mean being perfect.  

I’m going to try to be better. And I hope, when you’re ready, I can take my seat on the couch again.  

Love,  

Your Buck  

P.S. I’ll make sure to bring the good snacks  

Buck started at the letter as he finished it. He put the pen down, his hand slightly trembling. It hurt to write the letter, but he didn’t cry. He was too exhausted from the day. He folded the envelope, slid it into an envelope, and wrote Christopher’s name across the front.  

He went into the kitchen, which was empty, while Maddie showered. They had agreed to leave him alone for the evening after his session. He needed time to recover. To process. He left it on the counter with a note: can you make sure he gets this? No explanation was required.  

When he finally got back to his room, he laid down in bed. It was the quickest he’d fallen asleep in a long time.  

Two days later, Eddie stood on Maddie’s porch again. The second time this week. Envelope in hand. Guilt in his chest.   

He went to ring the bell, but Maddie opened the door before he could. Her hair was in a loose ponytail. She had dark circles under her eyes. She leaned against the doorway, arms folded. She looked tired and annoyed. He fiddled with the letter in his hands as he shrank under her glare.   

Eddie cleared his throat. “Hey. Uh. Sorry to bother-”  

“Is that another letter?” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly.   

He held it up. “Yeah, Chris wrote it this morning. Said he wanted Buck to have it before the weekend.”   

Maddie sighed and stepped outside, shutting the door gently behind her. “Eddie,” she said, her voice tight, “you can’t keep showing up here like this.”  

He blinked, caught off guard. He knew she was mad at him, but this wasn’t for him; it was for Christopher. “I’m just trying to get the letter to-”  

“I know what you’re trying to do,” she snapped a little too loudly, then caught herself and took a breath. She stopped herself from looking back at the house to check for Buck. As far as she was aware, none of them knew that Buck was staying with her. They also had been respecting her boundaries for the most part. But she wanted to hold off on them putting the pieces together for as long as possible since it wouldn’t be difficult. Her house had become a safe area for him, and it needed to stay that way. “I know. And I appreciate that you’re trying. But this -” she waved her arm around “- showing up at my door like some kind of guilt delivery service?” She crossed her arms again. “It’s not fair.”  

Eddie looked down, ashamed. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He just saw how heartbroken Chris had been during their conversation about Buck. Then he saw the hope his son now had because of the letters. Eddie wanted to keep that any way he could. But Maddie was right. She had made it clear she didn’t want to see them. That everything moving forward was on her terms, for Buck’s sake. “I don’t know how else to help Chris.” Then, quieter, he said, “I don’t know how else to stay close to him.”  

Maddie eased slightly, some of the tension going from her shoulders. “Then say that. Say you miss him. Say you want to make things right. But for Pete's sake, stop hiding behind your kid. They both deserve better than that. I appreciate how important Chris is to you and how much of your life revolves around him, but every conversation we’ve had about Buck has involved him. What about you? Is that all Buck is to you? Whoever he is to Chris?”  

Eddie gasped. “Of course not.”  

“Then start acting like it because acting like this isn’t helping you. And it’s not helping Buck.”  

He nodded slowly. “You’re right.”  

“Of course I’m right,” she said, half-smiling now. “But I’m not heartless.” She held out her hand for the envelope. “I’ll give it to him. It means a lot, but we need to think of a better way for this. I mean it, Eddie. You can’t keep just showing up on my doorstep.”  

Eddie handed her the envelope. “Thank you.” He looked down nervously. “Maybe we can come up with a system? At a set time, I can meet you. I don’t want to keep crossing boundaries. But Chris needs this—to know Buck’s okay. I need it.”  

Maddie took in his words, grateful he had acknowledged himself in there somewhere. She considered his suggestion. “How about I come to the station once a week? You give me whatever Chris has, and I’ll pass along anything Buck writes back.”  

Eddie exhaled, visibly relieved. “Thank you.”  

“But you have to promise me something,” Maddie added, her tone sharpening again. “You stop using Chris. Stop hiding behind him. You can’t use this to avoid doing your work, Eddie.”  

Eddie nodded. “I know.”  

“You’re not the only one hurting, Eddie. But I’ll tell you what I told Hen: this isn’t about easing your guilt. This is about what Buck needs.”  

“I know. I’m starting to see that.” He sighed. “I’ve just been so angry that he wasn’t there, and then he disappeared on us.”   

“After his leg was crushed, eventually, all our lives went back to normal. His didn’t. He needed us. He needed Bobby. He needed you . Buck will almost always put his problems to the side in favor of someone else’s. You’re allowed to be hurt and angry. You are allowed to need your best friend. But so is he.”  

Eddie said nothing for a moment. “I uh... I had a chat with Bobby. I’m going to start therapy.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t... I don’t know if it’ll work, but...” He shrugged.   

“But you show up anyway, and sometimes that’s enough,” Maddie said, echoing her words to Buck. She turned to go, then looked back. “Next Friday. Don’t be late. Oh, and before you go...” She reached into the house and pulled out an envelope. “Buck wrote this for Chris.”  

Eddie sighed with relief and smiled faintly. “Thank you. I wouldn’t dream of it.”  

As the door closed behind her, he stepped off the porch, feeling a little lighter than he had before the conversation.   

Chapter Text

"I miss Buck’s pancakes.” Christopher sat at the table in his favorite hoodie, fork in one hand. Christopher sat at the table, poking at his eggs with half-interest, legs swinging under his chair. Eddie had attempted to make pancakes, but they had all turned out misshapen, burnt, or both. It was safe to say he wasn’t picking up after Buck.  

Eddie froze. He felt it like a punch to the stomach.  

“I know, buddy. Me too.” Eddie didn’t know what to say. He was glad that Chris would be able to stay in contact with Buck, if only through infrequent letters. It meant so much to Chris. However, it had opened the floodgates to numerous ‘I miss’ comments regarding Buck. Right now, that meant Eddie had to disappoint his son with the basic breakfast he could pull together instead of giving him the chocolate chip pancakes he loved. Usually, it wouldn’t get to him, but usually, Buck was only a phone call away. Christopher wasn’t accusing. He wasn’t even sad exactly – just wistful. But it cracked something open in Eddie.  

Eddie waited until Christopher finished his breakfast before saying, “I have something for you.” He put the plates in the sink and then opened the drawer where he had placed the letter the previous night.   

“Is it from Buck?” Chirs asked hopefully.   

“Yes.” Eddie   

Chris’s face lit up with excitement.   

“Can I read it now?”  

Eddie nodded, trying to keep his voice steady. “Of course.”  

Christopher took the letter from Eddie and carefully opened it. Eddie sat across from him, watching.  

As Chris read, his face shifted slowly - first serious, then surprised, then sad, and finally… something softer. He didn’t speak. He just held the letter in both hands like it was a page out of a book he’d never wanted to close.  

Eddie tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to.  

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.  

Christopher nodded slowly, eyes still on the page. “He still wants to come back.”  

“Of course he does,” Eddie said, his voice cracking before he could stop it.  

Frank’s office was nothing like Eddie expected. It wasn’t sterile or clinical. The walls were painted a warm, earthy green, and the furniture looked like it belonged in a cozy living room rather than a psychologist’s office. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with paperbacks and small mementos. A soft instrumental track played in the background – barely audible, but enough to make the silence less suffocating.  

Eddie stood in the doorway for a beat too long, shoulders stiff, arms crossed, not quite ready to step inside. Frank, seated in the corner in his wheelchair with a clipboard resting on his lap, didn’t look up right away. He gave Eddie a moment.  

“You don’t have to sit if you’re not ready,” Frank said calmly, glancing up with an inviting nod. “Door stays open as long as you want it to.”  

Eddie nodded stiffly and moved to the chair furthest from Frank. He sat on the edge, posture rigid, one foot bouncing.  

“I don’t usually do this,” Eddie muttered.  

“I figured,” Frank replied, scribbling something. It annoyed Eddie more than it should’ve.  

Frank looked up, gentle but direct. “Thank you for coming today. Shall we talk about why you’re here?”  

Eddie shifted uncomfortably. “Because my captain ordered me to be.”  

“That’s how you got here. I’m asking why you think you’re here.”  

Eddie was quiet for a moment. He ran a hand over his jaw, the stubble scraping his palm. “My captain thinks I’ve been distracted. That I've got ‘ unresolved feelings. ’ Whatever that means. And... because I’ve been angry. I said some things I didn’t mean, and I hurt someone I care about. And because I don't know how to make it right.”  

Frank nodded. “That’s a start. What did you say?”  

There was a pause – long enough for Frank to think Eddie wouldn’t answer. But then, quietly, almost inaudibly: “I told him he was selfish. That he didn’t care about anyone but himself. I... I accused him of abandoning my son.”  

Frank didn’t react. No judgment. No raised brows. Just that maddening, patient silence. “And... do you believe what you said?” he asked.  

“No,” Eddie answered too quickly. Then, slower: “I mean... maybe I did in the moment. But I was angry. Scared. Chris was crying, having nightmares. He wanted Buck. I couldn’t find Buck. And it wasn’t the first time.”  

“Wasn’t the first time you were angry or the first time you felt abandoned with your son?”  

That one hit Eddie like a gut punch. He didn’t answer. Frank didn’t need him to. The silence stretched between them like a truth that neither of them was ready to speak aloud.  

“Let’s talk about the anger or fear. Have you lashed out at anyone else?”  

Eddie sighed. “I was taking part in street fights. Not for fun or sport, but because I needed to hit something. Or be hit.”  

Frank didn’t react. “Is this in the past or currently happening?”  

“In the past,” Eddie mumbled.  

Frank nodded once. “And what were you trying to feel?”  

“I don’t know,” Eddie said. “It was like my body knew something was wrong before I could name it.”  

“That’s often how trauma speaks. Through action before thought.”  

Eddie looked away. Trauma. He hated that word. Men didn’t react to trauma. It was just a part of life. “Feels like I’m trying to bleed something out that won’t leave.”  

“Is that how you felt after the Army?”  

He glanced up sharply. “You know I served?”  

Frank didn’t waver under his glare. “It’s in your file.”  

Eddie swallowed hard, jaw tight. “We’re not here to talk about the Army.”  

“Not necessarily today,” Frank agreed. “But we are talking about you losing someone who’s still alive, and you think it’s your fault.”  

Eddie looked down at his hands. They were shaking. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to let him back in without screwing it up again.”  

“You start by acknowledging you already let him in. A long time ago. And that you’re not doing this for him. You’re here because you need to figure out why you keep pushing the people you love the most to the edge.”  

For the first time, Eddie looked Frank entirely in the eye. “And what if they’re already gone?”  

Frank’s voice was quiet. “Then you learn how to stop doing it – so you’re ready if they ever come back.”  

Eddie swallowed hard and looked away. He wasn’t ready for this. Not fully. But he also wasn’t prepared to lose Buck.  

So, he stayed seated. He could do this, yes, for Chris and Buck, but also for himself.  

The morning buzz of the firehouse was always the same: the clanging of lockers, chatter over half-burnt coffee, the smell of oil and cleaning solution lingering in the air. Eddie moved through it all on autopilot. His uniform was crisp, his boots polished, his hair slightly damp from the shower – on the surface, he was fine.  

But under the surface, the session with Frank still clung to him like morning fog. He hadn’t told anyone he was going. He’d barely told himself.  

“Diaz.”  

Eddie turned. Bobby stood at the edge of the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, nodding his head toward the balcony. Eddie hesitated only a moment before following. The two of them stood in silence for a beat, the city noise humming faintly below.  

“You sleep alright?” Bobby asked, sipping his coffee.  

“Yeah,” Eddie lied, leaning on the railing.  

“You get that cut on your arm looked at again?”  

“Yeah, it’s healing.”  

More silence. Then Bobby glanced at him carefully. “How was the session with Frank.”  

Eddie’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t think I had to tell you that.”  

“You don’t.” Bobby shook his head. “I won’t ask for anything you’re not willing to give. I’m just worried about you and am checking in.”  

Eddie exhaled through his nose. “Honestly? It sucked.”  

Bobby let out a chuckle. “That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”  

“I didn’t say anything useful,” Eddie admitted. “I just sat there, trying not to punch a wall.”  

“You didn’t have to say anything useful,” Bobby replied. “You just had to show up.”  

Eddie looked down at the street. “I don’t know what I expected. Frank didn’t tell me what to do. Didn’t give me a fix-it plan.”  

“No,” Bobby agreed. “Because there isn’t one. Just... a lot of uncomfortable truths and learning how to sit with them.”  

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, his voice quieter. “That’s exactly what it felt like.”  

They stood for another long moment before Bobby turned slightly toward him. “I’m proud of you for going.”  

Eddie blinked at that, caught off guard.  

Bobby shrugged. “It’s not easy. We’re not wired to talk about what’s going on inside. But Buck’s not the only one struggling right now. I see it in you, too. I just... I want you to know that if you ever need to talk – whether it’s about Buck, Chris, or just... life – you’ve got people.”  

Eddie looked at Bobby, jaw clenched. “I don’t think I deserve that right now. Not after what I said.”  

Bobby smiled sadly at Eddie. “We’ve all said things we regret, Eddie. You can’t fix it all overnight. But you’re trying. That means something.”  

Eddie nodded, slow and deliberate. “Thanks, Cap.”  

Bobby smiled faintly. “Alright. Come on, we’ve got a shift to survive.”  

Eddie followed Bobby back inside.  

The locker room was quiet after the shift. The usual joking and loose energy were absent. A Buck-shaped silence still lingered like smoke in the corners. Hen sat on the bench, elbows on her knees, watching the others move around her. Chimney leaned against a locker. Eddie sat on the edge of a bench, exhausted but alert. Hen cleared her throat. “I talked to Maddie.”   

That stopped everyone.   

Chimney looker sharply. “When?  

“Last week,” Hen said. “We met over coffee. I asked her to meet. To talk about Buck.  

Chimney’s jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”  

Hen held up a hand, calm but firm. “Because I needed to process the conversation first. What Maddie said. What we didn’t do.”   

Chimney watched her. “What did she tell you?”  

Hen exhaled, looking at them. “She doesn’t know the whole story, and I don’t think she told me everything she knows. She doesn’t trust us yet. Buck was drowning. And we let him.”  

“We didn’t know he was struggling that much,” Chimney said quickly.   

“Didn’t we?” Hen asked. “Or did we just not want to see it? He was withdrawn and shut down. Who knows what else? And you think that all started after Maddie stepped in? No. We just were happy to look the other way.”  

Eddie rubbed his hands together, his agitation evident. “I started to look. To see it. That last shift, I tried to say something to him about it. But he threw it back at me.”   

Hen turned to him. “You didn’t. You tried to yell some sense into him, and how well did that go? You didn’t fight for him. You let him go.”  

Eddie stared down at the floor. He didn’t respond.   

“Did she say anything else?” Chimney asked.   

“She said it’s not about our guilt. It’s about his healing. He needs space right now. So that’s what we need to give him. If we truly care about him, we’ll wait and be there when he’s ready. It’s going to take more than apologies to earn back his trust.”  

Eddie’s voice cracked. “How do we do that if he doesn’t even want to see us?”  

Hen shrugged. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”  

“Christopher is writing to him. Buck’s responding.” Eddie had a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Maddie’s agreed to pass letters once a week,” he added.   

Chimney ran a hand down his face. “That’s good, right?”   

Hen nodded. “It’s a start.”  

The locker room stayed quiet. 

The chapel was quiet. Not the hollow silence of an empty firehouse kitchen at 2 a.m. or the tense quiet after a shouting match – but a different kind. A peace that hung like mist in the rafters. Candles flickered at the altar, casting soft golden light on the old wooden pews. Bobby sat near the back, hands folded in front of him, staring down at his feet. He didn’t come here often anymore—not since before Buck’s lawsuit, not since before it all went sideways. But some mornings, when the guilt pressed down like smoke in his lungs, he found himself here without quite knowing how.  

Father Brian appeared beside him quietly, not sitting yet. “You don’t usually call ahead, Bobby.”  

“I wasn’t sure I’d come.” Bobby glanced at him, then back to the floor. “I didn’t know if I should.”  

Father Brian nodded slowly and sat. “But you did.”  

For a while, Bobby didn’t say anything. The silence stretched, comfortable in its discomfort. Eventually, he said, “It’s Buck.”  

Father Brian raised a brow. “Of course it is.”  

Bobby almost laughed. “Everyone always assumes that, huh?”  

“Well,” Brian said, gently amused, “when it’s not your crew or your wife, it’s usually him.”  

Bobby nodded. He looked tired – more than usual. The bags under his eyes hadn’t been slept off in weeks. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” Bobby said finally, voice low. “After the ladder truck accident... I just.” He paused. “Buck was reckless, impulsive. I thought if I said no if I stopped him from coming back too soon, he’d finally realize that there were limits. That people cared.” He paused, jaw tightening. “I didn’t think he’d sue. I didn’t think it would break him.”  

“And now?” Father Brian asked quietly.  

“Now... I don’t know.” Bobby looked up toward the altar, eyes glazed. “He’s on an extended leave. Maddie is keeping us away from him. She won’t tell us what’s wrong, but something is.” Bobby sighed. “He wasn’t the same before he left. It was like slowly watching the light go from his eyes. He lost his spark. Everything that made him who he is. And I let it happen. No – I caused it.”  

“Do you believe that?”  

“I do,” Bobby whispered. “But at the same time... I don’t know what I could’ve done differently. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I was trying to protect him.”  

Father Brian leaned forward, hands clasped. “And what did he need protection from?”  

Bobby didn’t answer right away, almost like he didn’t want to say it. “From himself,” he said softly. “From pushing too hard. From getting back on that rig before he could actually handle it.”  

Father Brian nodded. “So, you were protecting his body.”  

“Yes.”  

“But not his heart.”  

The words cut through Bobby like a scalpel. He swallowed, throat suddenly tight. “I didn’t realize how much he needed to feel wanted – needed to know he still belonged. I kept thinking I was helping by holding him back. All he saw was that I didn’t trust him. That I’d written him off.”  

“And when he filed the lawsuit?”  

“I felt betrayed. And I let that show. I didn’t treat Buck like someone I loved. I treated him like a mistake I’d made.”  

Father Brian’s voice was kind but firm. “You’re not the only one who misunderstood what Buck needed. But Bobby, you’re still here. So is he.”  

Bobby stared ahead. “I don’t know how to fix it. No one on the team does. And they continue to look to me for answers. Answers I don’t have.” The last sentence came out ashamed.  

“You may not be able to fix it all at once. Or give everyone the answers. You each have a different relationship with Buck. There won’t be a one-size-fits-all solution to this. You also can’t force him to forgive you. But you can tell him the truth. You can tell him you loved him through the whole thing, even when it didn’t look like it. You can own your part in the pain and let him decide what to do with that.”  

Silence fell again.  

Then, softly, Father Brian added, “You always wanted to be the kind of father who kept his kids safe. But sometimes safety isn’t what they need. Sometimes, it’s presence. And grace. And a seat at the table, even when they’re still healing.”  

Bobby closed his eyes. “I don’t know if he wants me back in his life like that.”  

“Maybe he doesn’t,” Brian said. “But maybe the person who taught Buck how to cook, how to lead, how to love fiercely and fight stubbornly... maybe that person still matters more than you think.”  

They sat for a long while after that, saying nothing.  

When Bobby finally stood, his shoulders were no lighter – but his path felt clearer. He wasn’t sure Buck would forgive him. He wasn’t sure he could forgive himself.  

But he was going to try.  

And this time, he wasn’t going to wait for Buck to knock on his door.  

Chapter Text

The sun was starting to set outside Maddie’s kitchen window, casting long shadows across the tile. Maddie sat at the table, her tea untouched, thumb tapping nervously against the ceramic mug. Athena watched her from the stove, arms crossed loosely, waiting for her to speak.  

Maddie looked behind her down the hallway. Buck was in the shower, but she was still worried about him overhearing what she had to say. He seemed to be making progress in therapy, but he hadn’t asked about anyone at the 118 yet and she didn’t want to disrupt his healing if he wasn’t ready for it. “Chimney asked to meet.”  

Athena’s brow lifted, but her voice stayed neutral. “Did he say why?”  

Maddie shook her head. “Only that he found out I talked to Hen. Said he’d like to talk too. That’s it.”  

Athena turned off the burner behind her and joined her at the table. “And you don’t want to?”  

Maddie sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I don’t know what he wants from me. And I don’t know if I’m in the right place to hear it.”  

Athena tilted her head. “You think he’s trying to defend himself?”  

“I don’t know.” Maddie looked down at her hands. “He was Buck’s friend. One of the closest. And when things got hard, he just… stepped back. Not even meanly, you know? That’s what hurts. It wasn’t rage. It was absence.”  

Athena nodded slowly. “Sometimes silence wounds deeper than anger.”  

“I watched Buck come apart piece by piece, and I kept wondering why no one else was seeing it. Why I was the only one yelling into a void. I asked Chim about it, but he made it out like I was the one who didn’t know my own brother. He thought Buck was angry and hurting people because of it. Chimney didn’t listen to me anytime I tried to talk to him about it. One conversation with you and you were going to Buck’s apartment with me. And now Chim wants to talk? And I don’t know if it’s to apologize or to make me explain Buck again. I don’t even know if he sees that he needs to fix things with me too.”  

Athena was quiet for a beat, then said gently, “You’re allowed to protect your energy, Maddie. You’ve held a lot. For Buck. For yourself. For everyone.”  

“I told them to stay away from Buck because that was what he needed, but also because I’m so mad at them for ignoring it. Now I find out they were actively part of the problem. Including Chimney. They keep coming to me, apologizing to me, trying to fix things with him through me.” Maddie paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. “I’m just so tired, Thee,” she said softly. “I don’t want to be the messenger anymore. Or the translator. Or the emotional middleman.”  

“Then don’t be,” Athena said, sure and steady. “You don’t owe anyone access to your pain just because they finally want to ask about it.”  

Maddie blinked, a little choked up. “He’s trying. I know that. But I also know it’s too late to make it easier for Buck. So, what’s the point?”  

Athena reached over, resting a hand on hers. “Maybe the point isn’t fixing it. Maybe it’s just letting them sit with what they didn’t do — and not rescuing them from that discomfort.”  

Maddie let that sit. Then nodded. “I’ll think about it.”  

Athena gave her a small smile. “Take your time. That’s something they never gave Buck. But you can give it to yourself.”  

“With the rest of them... it’s easier to forgive. I’m hurt they didn’t say anything to me sooner, and I’m mad at them on behalf of Buck, but that’s it. With Chimney...”  

“It’s personal.” Athena finished for her. “You expected more from him as your partner: to see it, to say something to you, to listen to you and not dismiss you.”  

“Yes. Exactly. The rest of them they owe Buck so much more than they do me. Chim, he didn’t listen to me because he was too focused on his own feelings about the matter. It makes me wonder how much he was hiding, or if he just didn’t care.”  

Athena nodded. “I know the feeling. I haven’t spoken to Hen since everything happened, but she’s been a close friend of mine for a while, longer than I’ve been with Bobby. I know she saw it and hoped it would resolve with time, but I know I would’ve stepped in sooner if I had had more information. Maybe had been able to talk some sense into Bobby so he would step up more. I feel let down by them both.”   

“What are you going to do?”  

“Same thing I’ll advise you to do. Speak to them when I’m ready to. All you can do is tell Chimney how he made you feel. You set the boundaries for Buck. You need to do it for yourself, or you’ll burn out trying to save him.”   

They heard the shower turn off. Athena stood up from the table and went back to the kitchen to finish dinner.   

Since her conversation with Bobby, Athena had been making more of an effort to come back for meals. The next day dinner at the Nash household was quiet in a way that had become the new normal. Between the bombings, the tsunami, her essay, the traffic stop, and the lawsuit, their family wasn’t the same – the year had put a strain on their relationship, making the silence heavy. It wasn’t just the 118 that was fractured, it was the entire family unit they had created.  

Athena passed the mashed potatoes to Harry without a word. Bobby poked absently at his roasted chicken. May kept glancing between them all, fork idle in her hand. She knew something wasn’t right. Despite the way they all tried to act like everything had gone back to normal, May had sensed the underlying tension, and now it seemed to all come to the surface. It was as if they didn’t know what to say to each other, or they were too afraid to say what they needed to. She should have been grateful for the quiet, for the reprieve from her mom's questioning about school and her future, but May knew it was a bad sign – her mom had something bigger to worry about.  

Another thing May had noticed, was Buck’s notable absence. Buck had the ability to breathe life into every room he walked into. He had become an older brother to her in every way. He was there for her on the nights she couldn’t sleep, no matter what time it was. He always knew how to put a smile on her face, but also the right thing to say when she needed a shoulder to lean on. When she had told him about her college search, he had jumped right into helping her weed out the important and nonimportant information. She loved her parents, all three of them, but Buck was there for her in the ways they couldn’t be. Her mom brought 2 kids into the marriage, but Bobby brought 1 too.  

“So…” May finally said, breaking the silence. “Anyone heard from Buck lately?”  

Bobby froze. Athena’s expression tightened, just for a moment, before she composed herself. Harry, oblivious, looked up from his plate with mild interest.  

May noticed the shift immediately. “Sorry,” she said, her voice softer now. “I just – he hasn’t replied to my messages in a while. He always used to, even if it was just a meme or a random fact at 2am. I thought maybe he was busy or something. But now… I don’t know. It’s been too long. And he hasn’t even responded about my college research.”  

Athena glanced toward Bobby, but he said nothing. His jaw was tense, his eyes fixed on his plate.  

“I think he’s just taking some time for himself,” Athena finally said. It sounded rehearsed, too smooth.  

May didn’t buy it. “Is that what he said? Or is that what we’re telling ourselves?”  

“May,” Bobby warned gently, but his voice didn’t carry much conviction. He sounded defeated.  

May wasn’t trying to start a fight. She just… missed Buck. And she didn’t understand how everyone else seemed to be continuing like he’d never been there. Like he hadn’t once been a constant in their house – especially in their kitchen.  

“I just – I feel like something happened,” she continued, her voice wobbling just slightly. “And no one’s talking about it. Not even Maddie. I asked her the other day and she just said he’s ‘resting.’ But he’s not just ghosting me, is he? He’s gone.”  

Athena looked down. Bobby put his fork down and ran a hand over his face. For a long moment, no one said anything.  

“He’s not gone,” Bobby finally said. His voice was low, rough. “He’s… figuring things out.”  

“Then why does it feel like we lost him?” May asked, and the room fell silent again.  

Because they had.  

And none of them knew how to say it aloud.  

May pushed her plate away, appetite lost. “No one’s saying anything,” she said flatly. “And I don’t get it. You all love him. I know you do. So why does it feel like you’ve just… given up?”  

Bobby looked up slowly, the lines on his face suddenly sharper under the kitchen light. “May, it’s not that simple.”  

“Isn’t it?” Her voice cracked. “He made a mistake. We all know that. But how long are you going to punish him for it?”  

“That’s not what this is.”  

“Then what is it?” May snapped, eyes shining now. “Because I remember how you used to talk about him. How you’d light up when he got something right in the kitchen. How proud you were when he stopped trying to impress everyone and just became himself. Where did that go?”  

Athena put a hand on May’s arm, a quiet attempt to calm her, but May wasn’t done.  

“He didn’t just hurt the team, did he?” she asked, turning to Bobby. “He hurt you.”  

Bobby didn’t answer.  

“I know what it feels like when someone lets you down,” she said, softer now. “And I know what it looks like when you're scared to let them back in. But I also know what Buck looks like when he thinks no one wants him around anymore. I’ve seen that look before.”  

Silence. Then, Bobby finally spoke, voice low, strained. “It’s not about punishment, May. It’s about trust. And once that’s broken, it doesn’t come back overnight.”  

“But it can come back,” she insisted. “Right? If we let it?”  

He didn’t reply.  

Athena stepped in gently. “He’s not the only one who needs healing, May. Everyone’s been hurting.”  

“But not everyone’s disappearing,” May said. “Only he is.”  

Her voice broke on the last word. She looked at both of them now – her mother, her stepfather – waiting for some kind of reassurance.  

“Do you want him to come back?” she asked Bobby directly.  

Bobby stared at his hands for a moment, then said, “Every day.”  

It was quiet for a long time after that.  

Harry had left the table, sensing the shift in the room, but May stayed, watching Bobby.  

“You should tell him that,” she said quietly. “Because I think he stopped believing anyone wants him to.”  

Later that night, May was curled on her bed, blanket pulled up to her waist, laptop open but forgotten. The glow of the screen cast shadows on her face as she scrolled aimlessly, unable to focus on anything. Her chest still felt tight from dinner – everything she had held back for weeks finally bubbling to the surface, and yet… it still didn’t feel like enough.  

A soft knock sounded at her door.  

“It’s open,” she called without looking up.  

Athena stepped in, still in her blouse, hair up – she looked tired. She closed the door behind her and crossed the room slowly, pausing just before sitting on the edge of May’s bed.  

May didn’t say anything. She just stared at her screen, not really seeing it.  

“You okay, baby?” Athena asked gently.  

May shrugged. “I don’t know.”  

Athena reached out, brushing a hand over May’s foot under the blanket. “You spoke up tonight. I’m proud of you for that.”  

“I didn’t say anything you weren’t already thinking,” May replied, voice flat.  

“No,” Athena admitted. “But you said it anyway. And sometimes that’s the hardest part.”  

May finally looked up at her mother. “Why aren’t you saying it to him?”  

Athena exhaled deeply, then looked away for a moment before meeting her daughter’s gaze. “I am. In a way.” She paused, a conflicted look on her face. “Between you and me I’m still seeing him. Checking in on him.”  

May just stared at Athena. The confession hung in the air between them. Why hadn’t she said this at the table?  

“That’s where you’ve been recently.”  

Athena nodded. “That’s right. But I’m scared.”  

“You?” May said, surprised. “You’re never scared.”  

“Oh, honey,” Athena gave a tired smile. “That’s how you know it’s real. The people who scare you most are the ones you love the deepest. I’ve walked into burning houses, domestic standoffs, active crime scenes... and none of that compares to watching Buck unravel and realizing I don’t know how to reach him.”  

May sat up straighter, absorbing that.  

“I thought if I gave Bobby space,” Athena continued, “he’d find his way back to Buck. And I figured Buck just needed time. But I should’ve known better. That boy – he doesn’t need time. He needs someone. Someone to tell him he’s still wanted. That the door is still open.”  

May’s voice was quiet. “Then tell him.”  

Athena hesitated. “It’s not just about me, May. He and Bobby – what they had was... close. Closer than most. And when trust broke between them, it shook everything. I wanted to respect Bobby’s process. But in doing that, I might’ve ignored Buck’s pain.”  

They sat in silence for a few moments.  

“What are you scared of?”  

Athena took a minute to get her words together. “He’s... he was in a bad place when we found him. He’s getting help, we’re making sure of that.”  

May didn’t ask who we was. She didn’t need to. But she did want to be a part of we .  

“But you know, it’s a slow process. And right now, it’s just as, if not more, important for us to show him how much we care, to let him see that we’re still family. Words only mean so much, and I’m not sure he would believe us. I don’t want to push him more than he’s ready for. I’m scared that we were too late or that too much damage was done.”  

“I miss him,” May whispered. “And I feel like no one else says that out loud.”  

“I miss him too,” Athena said. “I miss his chaos in the kitchen, his ridiculous trivia, the way he used to show up with takeout just because. He brought this... spark. This heart.” She paused. “I’ve been angry too. Hurt. But love doesn’t end because of one mistake.”  

May leaned into her mother’s side, resting her head against her shoulder.  

“I just want him to come back,” she whispered.  

Athena nodded, wrapping an arm around her. “So do I.” They let the admission hang between them. “You mentioned you’ve been texting him, but he doesn’t have his phone right now. Maddie’s been keeping it. Chris has started writing him letters, that I know he appreciates. I don’t know if it’s too old school for you.”  

May rolled her eyes but smiled ever so slightly. “You think I could write him one?”  

“I think that would be a great idea.”  

The café, the same place Maddie had met Hen, was neutral ground – busy enough to provide cover, quiet enough to talk. It had become Maddie’s go to place for these conversations.  

Maddie arrived first. Again. She needed the extra time to prepare herself. She sat near the back, facing the entrance, one hand wrapped around a lukewarm coffee, the other resting near the phone she hadn’t checked in fifteen minutes.  

When Chimney walked in, she looked up but didn’t stand.  

He gave a small, uncertain smile. “Hey.”  

“Hey,” she said, voice even.  

He sat across from her, pulling the chair in slowly, like it might squeak too loud and break the fragile quiet.  

“I appreciate you meeting me,” Chimney started.  

Maddie nodded. “I wasn’t sure I would.”  

Chimney looked down at his hands. “Yeah. I figured.”  

There was a long pause. The sounds of coffee being ground and distant laughter filled the gaps they couldn’t. Both of them had so much to say to the other, but no clue where to start. Chim hesitated, unsure where Maddie stood. Maddie wanted Chimney to lead; he was the one who had messed up, and he was the one who had reached out to her. She needed to know that he realized the gravity of the situation.  

“I heard you talked to Hen,” he finally said.  

“I did,” Maddie replied, still not offering much.  

“She didn’t tell me what you said. Just that it… changed things. For her. For all of us.”  

Maddie took a sip of coffee, then met his gaze. “It wasn’t a lecture. It was just the truth. Buck was drowning, and you all watched him tread water until he sank. And no one reached in.”  

Chimney winced. “I didn’t know how bad it was.”  

“You didn’t want to know,” she said, calm but sharp. “It’s easier to ignore someone in pain when they’re good at making jokes about it. You were too wrapped up in what was easier for you to believe to notice what was happening right in front of you. What I was trying to tell you.”  

He looked away, jaw tight. “You’re right.”  

“I’m not saying this to punish you, Howard. I’m saying it because it nearly broke him. And I need you to feel that, not just nod and apologize and ask how you can fix it.”  

“I’m not here to fix anything,” he said quietly. “I know I can’t. I came because I needed to take responsibility for what I did... well, more like what I didn’t do. I needed you to know that I see it now. I see him now. And I’m sorry.”  

Maddie let out a slow breath. “For weeks,” she said, voice shaking slightly, “I was the only one trying to reach out to him, trying to keep him afloat. Watching him unravel and knowing I couldn’t fix it either. I just needed someone to stand next to me in it. And no one did.”  

Chimney blinked, guilt thick in his throat. “I should’ve. I failed both of you.”  

“Yes, you should’ve. You should’ve taken me seriously when I brought my concerns to you. But no, you wouldn’t listen, you didn’t want to talk about it, about him . My brother. Your friend. I don’t need you to say it,” Maddie said. “I just needed you to understand it.”  

“I do,” Chimney said, eyes glassy.  

A silence fell between them – not hostile, but not healed either.  

Eventually, Maddie pushed her coffee aside. “He’s getting better. Slowly. But don’t expect him to come running when you’re ready. He’s done doing all the emotional labor.”  

Chimney nodded. “I won’t push. Just… when he’s ready, tell him I’m still here. Even if it takes a long time.”  

Maddie stood, her expression softening just a little. “He’s not the one who needs to make the next move. And he’s not the only one you need to make it up to.”  

And with that, she left, having said everything she needed to. She wasn’t ready to move forward just yet. She knew there were more conversations to come. But she was done carrying what wasn’t hers to hold anymore. And she was done trying to keep the peace because it was easier. It hadn’t done them any favors so far.  

Chimney stayed seated for a while, hands in his lap, surrounded by the clink of mugs and strangers’ laughter.  

He thought back through the last few weeks, not just his interactions with Buck and the signs he’d missed, but also the conversations he’d had with Maddie. The ones she had tried, but he’d refused to have. He let himself sit with the discomfort that Maddie had asked him not to escape.  

Chapter Text

Dear Buck ,  

I’m not sure how to begin this, or if I’m even supposed to be writing to you. But I can’t stop thinking about how quiet the house has been lately – how wrong it feels without your laugh in the kitchen, or your dumb trivia facts, or you showing up with three different kinds of takeout just in case someone didn’t like pad Thai.  

It’s like you disappeared, and no one wants to admit it.  

Everyone’s pretending it’s fine. That you’re just “taking time” or “healing” or whatever else sounds good out loud. But that’s not what’s happening, is it? You’re hurting. And we let you go quiet because it was easier than facing what was really going on.  

I miss you. And I’m mad, too – not at you, but at all of it. At how fast things fell apart. At how you’re the only one who seems to be paying for everything, while the rest of us stand around and act like nothing’s wrong.  

You made a mistake. We all know that. But Buck, the people who love you? We want you back, even if we’re messy about it. Even if we don’t always show it well. You matter - more than you probably realize right now.  

I want you to know something, and I hope you believe it even if your brain tries to argue back, I never loved you because you were useful, I love you because of your heart. The way you care so deeply. The way you jumped straight into our family with open arms.  

I know what it’s like to feel alone, to get lost in the darkness when it looks like there’s no way out. I don’t need you to pretend to be okay when you aren’t. I just need you. The same Buck who once brought me ice cream after a bad date and acted like it was a national emergency. The one who looked me in the eye and told me my second chance mattered.  

You matter too. Every version of you – including this scared, messy, angry, uncertain version. If you don’t come back anytime soon, or if you need more time, take it. If you come back and it’s different, we’ll figure that out too. But please don’t ever believe we stopped needing you.  

I don’t know if this letter will make anything better. But if no one else is saying it, then I will:  

You’re still family.  

You still belong here.  

Come back when you’re ready. We’ll be waiting. I’ll be waiting.  

Love, 
May 

Date:  

Do I start this with dear diary? I don’t know.  

I didn’t know how much I needed to hear May’s words. I want to believe them. I do. But I’m not sure I can yet.  

May said I matter. That I belong. That I’m family. That her love for me wasn’t because I’m useful. I don’t know what to do with that.  

Sometimes I wonder if my parents ever loved me, or if there was even anything I could do to earn their love. Sure, I earned their attention, maybe affection at a push, but that was exactly that, when I earned it.  

There’s a voice in my head that keeps saying they only loved the best parts of you. Not the broken ones.  

But May sees through the cracks, she sees glimpses of the broken parts, maybe because she recognizes them. And she says she loves me all the same. She practically gave me permission to show more of it.  

I read her letter four times before I could put it down. I think I memorized parts of it without meaning to.    

I keep going back to ‘I never loved you because you were useful’  

No one's ever said that out loud to me before. I never knew I needed to hear it. But now I can’t stop seeing it throughout my life, seeing it in every thing I’ve done just to be worth keeping. The extra shifts. The risks. The need to always be the guy who’s there. Maybe I’ve been trying to outrun the part of me that believes I’m only valuable when I’m doing.  

Maybe that’s why I broke in the first place.  

It’s weird. I always thought May looked up to me, not that I knew why, but I didn’t realize how much I looked to her too. For quiet strength. For the proof that people can fall and still come back wiser, maybe even softer.  

Her letter made me think of Chris’ letter. He called me his Buck. But I haven’t felt like “his Buck” - or anyone’s Buck – in months.  

But tonight, reading that letter... I felt like I could be him again. Or someone close.  

 I’ll write back to her when I know what to say.  

Not because I owe her. (Though I feel like do)  

But because I want her to know what her letter meant to me. What her seeing me meant.  

~ Buck  

Buck was becoming comfortable with the natural quiet of the office. Dr. Reyes sat across from him, notebook in her lap, not writing yet. Buck held the folded pieces of paper in his hand like they might combust. His knee bounced once, twice, three times. Finally, he exhaled and pushed the pages across the coffee table.  

“I brought something,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes.  

Dr. Reyes glanced down at the pages but didn’t reach for them. She wouldn’t take or read them without his explicit permission. Though they weren’t there yet, she knew they needed to work on him becoming comfortable setting boundaries. Buck needed to trust her and trust that he was allowed to have a voice. After a moment, she looked back at Buck, face neutral, quietly assessing. “Want to tell me what you brought?”  

Buck wanted to shrug and make it seem like it was no big deal, but he knew he radiated nervous energy. He stared at the sand garden on the coffee table, frozen, except for his bouncing knee. “A letter. From May. And something I... wrote. After I read it.”  

Dr. Reyes gave him time. She waited for him to be ready to continue. She didn’t need to wait long.  

“I don’t know,” Buck added quickly. “It’s probably dumb. I just couldn’t stop thinking after I read hers, and I didn’t want to dump it on Maddie or Athena again, and I knew if I wouldn’t be able to let it go if I didn’t let it out, so... I wrote it down. That’s what you said, right? Journaling.” 

She gave a small nod. “You sound unsure.”  

Buck huffed. “I feel like a middle schooler. Writing ‘dear diary, I’m sad,’” he mocked. “It felt kind of pathetic,” he said quietly. For the first time in their session, Buck looked up at her. “Are you going to read them?” 

Dr. Reyes tilted her head. “Do you want me to read them?” 

Buck looked confused. “That’s why I brought them, isn’t it?” 

She shrugged. “Maybe. Only you can say that. And only you can decide whether I can read them. You can also say no at any point.” She let him ruminate on her words but didn’t wait for a response. That wasn’t the focus he had set for the day. She reached for the pages, unfolding them slowly. She read May’s letter first, expression warm and focused, then set it gently aside and began on Buck’s journal entry.  

Buck watched her, stomach in knots, already second-guessing every word. He felt like he was under a microscope. Like he had laid all of the vulnerable parts out for her to see. Every sentence sounded messier in his head now than it had when he wrote it. 

Finally, she looked up.  

“Thank you for sharing this with me, Buck.”  

He blinked. “Wait-what?”  

“I think writing this was incredibly brave. And vulnerable. And most of all – necessary.” 

He felt like he could breathe again. His shoulders fell slightly. “You really think it’s not just... emotional rambling?” 

“It is emotional,” she said. “But that doesn’t make it less valuable. In fact, I think it’s the opposite. This is you, starting to speak to yourself, not just about yourself. That’s a major shift.” 

Buck looked down at his hands, turning the ring on his finger absently. “I didn’t know I needed to say any of that until I saw it on paper.” 

Dr. Reyes smiled softly. “That’s often how it works. Our thoughts feel tangled until we give them shape. You’re starting to externalize the guilt, the grief – you’re no longer just feeling it, you’re starting to name it.” 

He swallowed. “May said I mattered even if I wasn’t useful. That kind of wrecked me.” 

“That meant something to you,” Dr. Reyes said. 

He nodded, voice low. “I think it’s the first time I believed someone saw me without expecting anything from me. Just… saw me.” 

She gave him a moment, then said, “Would you be open to journaling again? Not every day, not as a rule – just as a place to check in with yourself. To practice that same kind of honesty.” 

Buck hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. I think I want to.” 

“Good,” she said. “We can talk about what comes up when you do. And when you’re ready, we can even explore writing letters to people you don’t feel you can talk to yet. It’s not about sending them. It’s about freeing the weight.” 

He looked at her, quieter now. “It didn’t fix anything. But… it helped. A little.” 

“And a little is enough,” she said. 

Buck sat back in the chair, the air feeling a little less heavy. For once, he didn’t feel like he was performing being okay. 

He just was, where he was. 

May ,  

I didn’t know how to respond at first.  

Your letter caught me off guard – in the best and worst way. I read it too many times. I couldn’t believe you still wanted to hear from me, let alone that you’d be waiting. I don’t feel like someone people wait for. I feel like the guy everyone eventually walks away from.  

I’ve spent so much time trying to make up for what I did that I've forgotten how to just be myself. Every room I walked into after the lawsuit felt colder. Every smile felt forced. Every silence felt earned. I thought that if I just kept showing up and saying nothing, maybe they’d stop hating me. Or maybe I’d disappear completely, and no one would care.  

But you wrote that letter. And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I want to be a ghost.  

I miss you, too, May. So much. I miss your sarcasm. Your blunt honesty. The way you always saw through all the noise. You’ve always had this way of making people feel like they matter, like they’re seen. That letter? It was the first time in months I felt seen. Really seen.  

But it was also hard to read. It reminded me that I abandoned you, too. I wouldn’t blame you if you were angry with me for leaving, for letting you get caught in the crossfire. Everything I do to try to fix things only seems to make things worse, or ends up hurting other people, including you now. I want to say I didn’t mean to abandon you, but that sounds like I forgot about you. I keep going back and forth between wanting to improve but feeling selfish for what it's doing to the people around me, and what it means for them. If it hadn’t been for Maddie and your mom showing up, I think I would have kept going until I couldn’t anymore.  

You asked me to come back. I want to say I will. I want to be ready. I just don’t know if I am yet. But your letter reminded me that maybe… maybe there’s still a way forward. Maybe there’s still a version of me that belongs.  

Thank you for reaching out when I didn’t deserve it.  

Thank you for waiting.  

Love, 
Buck 

Buck,  

You do deserve it.  

Let’s just get that out of the way right now.  

I don’t care what you’ve convinced yourself of or what silence you’ve been sitting in for months – you are not beyond forgiveness. You’re not beyond love. You’re not beyond coming back.  

I don’t want the polished version of you. I never did. I want you - messy, complicated, stubborn-as-hell Buck, the one who always tries too hard and loves too big and can’t stop himself from caring even when it hurts.  

You say you’re not ready to come back. That’s okay. But you don’t have to come back all at once. You can come back in pieces. Little ones. One text. One dinner. One short visit. I don’t need all of you at once. I just need you to try.  

I meant what I said: I’m not going anywhere.  

And for what it’s worth, I don’t think disappearing makes people stop loving you. I think it just gives them more time to realize how much they miss you. I know everyone still sees me as a kid in this family, but don’t forget - I’ve seen firsthand how bad things can get. I know what it’s like to feel like you have to suffer alone in silence. What it’s like when the darkness is so overwhelming you can’t see a way out. I don’t see this as you abandoning me, or leaving me, or burdening me, or anything else that’s running through your mind. You try so hard to take care of everyone else, to always be what they need, even at the detriment of yourself. If this is what you need for right now, then so be it.  

So take your time. But don’t confuse time with distance. Because I’m still here. And I’m still waiting.  

And when you’re ready, I’ll be the first to welcome you home.  

Love, 
May 

Buck sat on the edge of one of the patio chairs, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands, foot tapping rhythmically against the deck. The late sun cast long shadows across the yard. Athena stepped outside. She took one look at Buck and wordlessly set down a glass of water next to him before sitting across the table. 

"You've been quiet since May’s letter," she said gently. 

Buck shrugged. “I’m just... thinking.” 

Athena didn’t push. She waited, the way she always did when she knew Buck needed extra time to process his thoughts. He still hesitated to share his thoughts and feelings with her and Maddie, as if he didn’t trust anyone but himself. She could almost see him prepare for a verbal hit every time he mentioned something to her and Maddie. It upset her to see the impact the people in his life had had on him. When she had first met him, Athena had believed his front was who he was, instead of a cover to protect himself. She had loved watching that façade fade as they became a safe space for him to just exist. The more he trusted them, the more he wore his heart on his sleeve.  

But in a matter of months, all of that had disappeared – he’d put his mask back on. She was patient. She would do the work she needed to so that he felt safe again. But it broke a little bit in her each time she saw his internal debate.   

“I didn’t want her to know,” he said finally, staring at the glass. “I mean, I didn’t want anyone to know, but she’s... she’s like my kid sister. I didn’t want her to see how bad it got. I thought... if I could just handle it quietly, push through it, then I wouldn’t have to drag her into the mess. I wanted to protect her.” 

Athena raised an eyebrow. “And how’s that working out for you?” 

That earned the slightest flicker of a smile from him. Then his face fell again. “She shouldn’t have had to write that. Shouldn’t have had to reach out like that just to remind me that I’m... not alone.” 

“She didn’t write it because she had to,” Athena said. “She wrote it because she loves you. And she could feel you slipping away.” Yes, May would always be her baby, and she would always want to do her best to protect May, but Athena also knew that her daughter was stronger than most people gave her credit, including herself sometimes. Part of their struggle over the years had come from May pushing for independence. 

Buck’s voice cracked. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If I didn’t, I’d end up burdening everyone with my problems. But it doesn’t matter what I do, I always seem to leave damage in the process. Look at what happened here. You and Maddie are having to babysit me, and I’ve made both Christopher and May worry.” 

There it was again – the heartbreak, the anger. Athena didn’t know how she could expect Buck to forgive them when she didn’t even want to. But he would. She knew his instinct would be to forgive them the second they apologized – if he even thought they had anything to apologize for. She was just grateful he hadn’t asked about them yet. Hopefully, he would see some sense before their worlds collided again. Athena leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “You’re not a burden, Buck. You’re a person. A human being. One who’s been through a lot more than most people ever talk about. You’re not weak for breaking under it. And you sure as hell aren’t wrong for needing someone to notice.” 

“I didn’t want to put that on her.” 

Athena tilted her head. “Do you think May wouldn’t want to carry even a piece of it if it meant keeping you standing?” 

He didn’t answer. But she could see the answer in his eyes: the guilt, the shame, the fear. 

“I’ve known May her whole life,” Athena said softly. “And I’ve never seen her more sure of something than she is about you. You think you’re dragging her into a mess? I think she just found one of the few people she knows is worth fighting for.” 

Buck swallowed hard. “It’s just... I thought I was getting better at not needing to be rescued.” 

Athena gave him a warm but firm look. “You’re not being rescued. You’re being helped. There’s a difference. Don’t mistake support for weakness. Letting people in? That’s brave. It’s smart. And it’s something you don’t have to apologize for.” She reached across the table and rested a hand on his wrist. “Let her love you, Buck. You’ve spent too long believing you had to earn it.” 

He nodded, blinking away the emotion. “I’m trying.” 

“I know you are,” Athena said. “And for what it’s worth? I think she’s really proud of you.” 

Buck finally met her eyes. “Thanks, Athena.” 

She squeezed his wrist. “Anytime, baby. You’re one of mine too, you know.” 

The Responsible Buckley –   Hey, it’s me  

Sorry, I mean it’s Buck    

Maddie’s letting me use her phone this once  

I don’t think I’m ready for more yet. I’m not a fan of the quiet in general, but I think it’s been good to have the break from everything on it. But you said little pieces, and this is a small one.  

When I’m ready, we’ll have a movie night. You, me, your mom, Maddie  

I love you, May, no matter what happens, don’t ever doubt that  

Chapter Text

Dr. Reyes sat quietly, her posture open but grounded, a legal pad on her knee, her pen motionless for once. Buck was quiet. It wasn’t an unusual start to their session. He usually came in with an air that said he didn’t have anything worth saying. He always had something worth saying. However, what was unusual was the absence of any emotion or expression on his features. Even when he pretended everything was okay, there was a flicker of something in his face or actions that reflected his true energy. Today, however, reminded Dr. Reyes of the first time she had met him, when he had been dragged in by his sister and surrogate mother, who so desperately wanted to get him help. His face was blank, and his body still. Too still.  

Something had happened that had caused him to shut down. She suspected he would spend the entire session in silence if she let him.  

“Buck?”  

He didn’t so much as blink. It was odd to see him this way again.  

“Care to share what’s going on in that head of yours?”  

Again – no response. So Dr. Reyes waited. Patient. Steady. “We can start with how your day’s going, if you’d like to start somewhere easy.”  She prompted.  

He remained silent for a few moments. She glanced subtly at the clock. They were 10 minutes into the session, and he hadn’t said anything yet. Then he surprised her.  

“I haven’t told anyone,” Buck said suddenly, voice flat and low. “About how bad it really got.”  

Her eyes softened, but her tone stayed even. “Okay. Do you want to tell me now?”  

Buck looked at his hands. “I don’t know. I guess I need to. After May’s letter, I just… I started thinking things over. The things I tried to forget. The things I kept from everyone because I thought it would be better. I thought that if I could get better without needing to share everything, then it would be easier on everyone. But May’s letters reminded me of what she went through a few years ago. And I think I need to be honest. About it all.”  

A long pause. Then he said it – almost in a whisper.  

“There was a night… about a week before Maddie and Athena showed up at my place. Before they found me. That night, I… I almost ended it.”  

Dr. Reyes didn’t move. “What happened?”  

Buck stared ahead, jaw tight. “I don’t know what triggered it. Maybe nothing did. Maybe everything. I just remember sitting on my bathroom floor. I was drunk. Not blackout, just… numb. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Not fear, not pain. Not love. I kept thinking – this is what it feels like when you’ve already died and just forgot to leave the room.” His voice cracked. He blinked hard. “I had my phone in my hand. And I just kept scrolling through contacts. Maddie. Bobby. Eddie. I stopped at Eddie’s name. I stared at it. For like fifteen minutes.”  

Dr. Reyes leaned forward slightly. “Why Eddie?”  

Buck shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. It was the shrug of someone trying not to cry. “He always pulled me back. Even when he didn’t know it. But that night… I couldn’t call him. I didn’t think I deserved to.”  

“And what did you do instead?” she asked gently.  

Buck closed his eyes. “I thought about taking a handful of pills. I thought about never waking up. And then I thought about May. Her voice. From when she was sixteen. The first time she opened up to me. I remembered what it felt like to know she stayed.”  

His hands trembled.  

“That memory… it made me wait. I crawled to bed and told myself if I still wanted to die in the morning, I’d do it then.”  

Dr. Reyes was silent for a long time. Then, quietly: “But you didn’t.”  

Buck shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I didn’t. I think... I think I still wanted to, but when I woke up, I saw the photo of Chris and me at the zoo on my bedside table. As much as I thought I didn’t deserve him and he deserved better than me, I couldn’t do that to him – be another person in his life that he lost. Especially so recently after he lost Shannon, his mother.”  

Dr. Reyes let the silence settle again, giving him a moment to process everything he had just admitted out loud for the first time.  

“Buck,” she said, “thank you for telling me. For trusting me with that.”  

He looked down, ashamed. “I should’ve told Maddie. Or Athena. Or...” he tried to think of someone else but didn’t know who else he would’ve trusted in that moment. “Someone. Hell, even Bobby, for safety reasons at work. I shouldn’t have been working. I was in no state for it. But I didn’t want them to look at me as if I were broken. I didn’t want to have gone through everything just for them to be right. Instead, I put everyone's lives at risk.”  

“You’re not broken,” Dr. Reyes said firmly. “You were in pain. Deep, suffocating pain. And you’re still here. That matters. And as much as I wouldn’t condone or recommend going to work when it’s not healthy, even if the job was not a potentially life or death situation, no one got hurt. And there’s nothing you can do about your past actions now. All you can do is keep moving forward. Make different decisions instead. Which you did, today, by choosing to talk to me about this.”  

He nodded, slowly. “I think about it sometimes,” he admitted. “How close I came. And how quiet it was. No screaming. No note. Just… the quiet kind of dying. The kind you almost sleep through.”  

Dr. Reyes was calm and steady. “That moment is part of your story, Buck. But it’s not the ending. It’s the moment before the beginning.”  

He looked up at her then, eyes full of fear and something else. Maybe the start of hope. “I don’t want to die,” he said. “I just… don’t know how to live when I feel like I let everyone down.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded gently. “Then that’s what we’ll work on—learning how to live. With the grief. With the guilt. Without the mask.”  

Buck nodded again, slower this time. More certain.  

The room was quiet again, but it wasn’t empty. It pulsed with the weight of everything Buck had just said – the night he nearly didn’t wake up, the memory of scrolling through his contacts with shaking hands, the grief of surviving silently.  

Dr. Reyes didn’t speak immediately. She let Buck have space, her gaze steady, unafraid.  

Buck looked down, thumb pressing into the side of his palm. His voice, when it came, was quieter than it had been before. More hesitant. And somehow, more dangerous.  

“…Sometimes I still think about it.”  

She met his eyes. “About ending your life?”  

He nodded, jaw tight. “Not in a ‘I’m making a plan’ way,” he added quickly, like he needed her not to panic. “But in this… passing thought kind of way. Like a whisper. Would anyone really care? Would it actually make a difference?” He swallowed hard, eyes glassy now. “And then I hate myself for even thinking that. Because I know people would care. Logically. But… sometimes it just feels like I’m replaceable. Like the world keeps moving, and I’m the only one who gets stuck.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded. Not dismissively. But with full, focused presence. “I’m glad you said that out loud,” she told him. “Because those thoughts – they feed on silence. And shame. And pretending they don’t exist.”  

Buck blinked, startled by her calm.  

“You’re not the only one who has them,” she continued. “In fact, most people who survive something traumatic – especially while feeling isolated or unseen – end up battling that question: Would anyone notice if I disappeared?”  

He wiped his eye roughly. “I hate that it still happens. I hate that I can’t just be better already.”  

“I know,” she said. “I hear that frustration. But Buck, recovery doesn’t mean you’ll never have those thoughts again. It means you learn how to answer them differently.”  

He looked at her warily. “And how do I do that?”  

“By speaking them. Like you just did,” she said. “By letting the people who love you really see you, not just the version of you that jokes and works overtime and pretends he’s fine.”  

He shifted, uncomfortable. “What if they get tired of dealing with me?”  

Dr. Reyes tilted her head slightly. “Has anyone actually said that?”  

He paused. “…No. Not exactly”  

“Then maybe it’s not their voice you’re hearing. Maybe it’s the echo of a part of you – a scared, hurt part – that hasn’t learned yet how to trust love that stays.”  

Buck looked down, silent again. After a long moment, he said, “Sometimes I wish I could just… step outside myself. See what they see. Understand why I matter.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded slowly. “That’s something we can work on, too. Together.”  

She reached for a blank page in her notebook and slid it toward him with a pen. “I want to try something with you,” she said. “Just one sentence, for now. I want you to write down: 'I don’t feel like I matter today, but…' — and finish the sentence however it comes. No judgment. Just the truth.”  

Buck stared at the page. Then, after a pause, he picked up the pen.  

I don’t feel like I matter today, but… I showed up anyway. And maybe that counts for something.  

He set the pen down.  

Dr. Reyes read it. Met his eyes.  

“It does,” she said softly. “It counts for a lot.”  

And Buck nodded — not entirely convinced yet. But maybe… starting to be.  

Buck sat back on the couch, arms folded tightly across his chest, like he was bracing for a blow that hadn’t come yet.  

Dr. Reyes gave him time. She always did.  

He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. After a moment, Buck let out a breath through his nose. Not quite a sigh. More like a surrender.  

“What is it?” Dr. Reyes gave him the space to say what he wanted to.  

“There’s something else,” he said. “When I said not exactly... well... It's just...” Buck huffed, fed up with himself for not being able to just say it. “The first time I saw the team after I declined to take the settlement, it was in the grocery store. Eddie and I... we got into an argument. About Christopher. About our friendship. About the lawsuit. I didn’t even get to tell them about the settlement. But...” his voice flattened. “He called me exhausting.”  

The word landed in the air like a dropped stone. Dr. Reyes didn’t respond right away. She waited to see where he would go.  

Buck gave a small, bitter laugh. “And the worst part is? He was right.”  

Her voice was gentle. “Tell me what you mean.”  

“I am exhausting,” Buck said. “I get too intense. I care too much. I need too much. I always take everything too far. Even when I’m trying to do the right thing, I end up making people feel like I’m a burden.” His jaw clenched. “And ever since he said it, I’ve been waiting. Waiting for Maddie or Athena to realize it, too. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. For one of them to say, ‘You know what, Buck? It’s too much. You’re too much.” He looked down, voice low now. “I don’t even know how they’re still around. I wouldn’t want to deal with me either. That’s part of why I didn’t want to tell them about it after they came to my loft. I thought it was just another example of me being exhausting. That I didn’t have the right to feel that way. That I should’ve just been dealing with my shit like everyone else does. I mean, look at what they’ve been through, and they haven’t... I don’t know that they’ve ever wanted...”  

Dr. Reyes sat forward slightly, her posture still relaxed. “You’re assuming that one word from someone in pain defines your whole worth. And that everyone else must be thinking the same thing, just not saying it.”  

He didn’t answer.  

“Can I ask something?” she continued.  

Buck nodded.  

“Do you think Eddie said that because he stopped loving you? Or because he didn’t have the language in that moment to say he was drowning, too?”  

Buck blinked, caught off guard.  

Dr. Reyes gave him a moment. Then added, “We lash out when we feel helpless. When we’re angry at someone for reflecting the parts of ourselves we can’t manage.”  

“He didn’t even apologize,” Buck said quietly.  

“Have you ever told him it hurt?”  

Buck shook his head. “I didn’t get the chance to. It didn’t feel right when he still wasn’t talking to me.”  

“Then maybe neither of you knows how much pain you’re still holding,” she said. “But Buck, you are not exhausting. You are someone who loves loudly, shows up deeply, and feels everything fully. That’s not a flaw. That’s a part of your wiring. And it’s a beautiful one.”  

He looked up, eyes glassy but defiant. “But it’s too much for people.”  

“Then those people need to learn better boundaries,” she said. “Not ask you to shrink.”  

Buck swallowed hard. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “That Maddie’s only helping me because she feels guilty. That Athena’s sticking around out of obligation. That I’ve made it so no one feels like they can walk away – even if they want to.”  

Dr. Reyes’s voice softened. “And what would it mean if they were staying because they want to? Because they see something worth staying for?”  

He shook his head. “I don’t know how to believe that yet.”  

“You don’t have to believe it all at once,” she said. “But let’s start by questioning the idea that you are too much to love.”  

She gestured toward the journal on the table between them.  

“Maybe next time,” she offered, “you could write a letter to the version of yourself that hears the word ‘exhausting’ and starts to crumble. Tell him what you wish someone had said instead.”  

Buck didn’t speak, but he nodded. Not because it was easy. But because part of him –maybe the part that had survived that night on the bathroom floor – was ready to believe that being too much might also mean he was enough.  

The room was quiet again. The heaviness hadn’t lifted, but something about Buck’s breathing had shifted. Slower. More present. Dr. Reyes sat still for a long beat, the same calm on her face she always carried when she asked hard questions.  

“Buck,” she said gently. “I want to ask you something directly. And I need your honesty-no guilt, no editing, no trying to make me feel better. Okay?”  

Buck’s spine straightened a little. “Okay.”  

“I know you said you don’t want to die, but have you had any thoughts lately about hurting yourself?”  

He didn’t flinch. That surprised him. But he also didn’t answer right away. Dr. Reyes waited. She wasn’t rushing him. But her tone told him it mattered.  

Finally, Buck exhaled through his nose. “Not… like that night.”  

She nodded once. “That’s good to hear. Can you tell me more?”  

Buck looked down at his hands. “I don’t… plan it. I don’t sit around thinking about how I’d do it. But sometimes the thought comes in. Like, what if you didn’t have to keep trying so hard? What if this was just over?” He paused, voice lower now. “And I don’t actively do anything to get hurt, but I haven’t exactly been trying to prevent it either. My parents, the most attention I ever got from them was when I was hurt, so it’s sort of like that again, where I just don’t care about what happens to me. Like not looking both ways before crossing a road and just walking out. Not trying to get hit, but if it happens then...” He shrugged.  

Dr. Reyes didn’t write anything right away. She met his eyes.  

“Those thoughts-the kind you’re describing-we call them passive suicidal ideation. They’re more common than most people realize. Especially when someone’s in the middle of deep emotional pain.” She kept her tone even and nonjudgmental. “It doesn’t mean you want to die. It means you’re exhausted. And part of your mind is trying to imagine a way out of suffering.”  

Buck nodded, almost grateful that she had words for it.  

“But I also need to ask this,” she continued. “Have you had any recent urges or impulses to act on those thoughts?”  

He shook his head immediately. “No. I swear. I haven’t touched anything. I haven’t planned anything. I don’t want to do that to Maddie. I... I think sometimes my gaze lingers on the knives, and I think ‘what if’, but there’s almost a fear with it now.”  

“That fear is healthy,” she said. “It’s your mind telling you that part of you still wants to live. That part of you is fighting for a future.”  

Buck’s throat tightened. “But sometimes it doesn’t feel like I’m winning.”  

Dr. Reyes softened. “You don’t have to win every day. You just have to stay. Long enough to let the worst parts pass. Long enough to ask for help, like you’re doing now.” She leaned in slightly, voice low and warm. “You’re not in trouble for having these thoughts, Buck. You’re not broken or dramatic or selfish. You’re in pain. And pain tricks the brain into thinking there’s no way out. That’s a lie we’ll keep working to unlearn.”  

He nodded again, eyes glassy.  

“I’m glad you told me,” she said. “You didn’t push it down. You gave it light. And that matters.”  

She made a few quiet notes, then looked back at him.  

“Would you be open to looking at your safety plan together? Just to make some simple changes based on what you’ve shared with me today. For the moments when it feels too dark.”  

Buck nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”  

“Good,” she said. “We’ll write it down. And you’ll keep it somewhere you can see. You’re not expected to fight this alone, Buck. You don’t have to earn your right to exist. You just have to keep reaching out.”  

Buck sat back against the couch, a little drained now, like his body was finally catching up to the emotional weight he’d just let out. He hadn’t meant to say it all. Hadn’t expected to be so honest. But now it was in the open: the passive thoughts, the fear, the quiet wish to just stop hurting.  

And somehow, he was still breathing.  

Still here.  

Dr. Reyes watched him with that same gentle steadiness. No judgment. Just care. “Buck,” she said softly, “can I make a suggestion?”  

He didn’t answer right away. Just rubbed the back of his neck and gave a tired shrug. “Sure.”  

“I think it would help if we invited Maddie in for the end of this session, before we get your safety plan.”  

He tensed immediately. “What? Why?”  

“Because she’s your closest support system right now. She loves you. She’s already involved, and more importantly, you want her to be. You’re just afraid.”  

Buck shifted on the couch, arms folding. “I don’t want to dump this on her. She’s already been through enough with me. With… everything.”  

“She’s already staying,” Dr. Reyes said gently. “Not out of guilt. But out of love. And helping you build a safety plan isn’t a burden – it’s a way for her to know how to show up when it matters most.”  

He stared at the carpet. “What if she looks at me differently?”  

“She might,” Dr. Reyes said honestly. “But not in the way you think. Not with pity. With understanding. With even more trust – because you were brave enough to let her see the truth.”  

Buck exhaled hard. “I hate this part.”  

“I know,” she said. “Letting people see your pain is terrifying. But you’ve already survived the hardest night. This is the part where you let someone help carry it.”  

He was quiet again. “Just for the last part of the session?”  

Dr. Reyes nodded. “Just for the end. We’ll guide it together. You won’t be alone.”  

He hesitated for a long time, then finally, finally said: “Okay. You can bring her in.”  

Dr. Reyes offered a small, proud smile. “I’ll go get her.”  

She stepped out of the room, leaving Buck with the sound of his own heartbeat and the weight of what he was about to do. He almost got up and left. But then he thought about that night on the bathroom floor. And how far he’d come from it – even if it didn’t feel that way yet.  

The door opened gently, and Maddie stepped in with cautious eyes. She sat beside him on the couch without a word, looking first at him, then at Dr. Reyes.  

Buck didn’t look at her right away. But he didn’t pull away either.  

Dr. Reyes resumed her seat. Calm, grounded. “Buck has shared some very important things today,” she said gently. “Things he’s been carrying alone. He asked me to help him share them with you.”  

Maddie’s eyes flicked to her brother, soft but alert. “Okay.”  

And Buck – for the first time – began to tell her the truth. About that night. About the thoughts. About the fear that she’d leave, too. He shook while he talked. She cried quietly beside him. But she didn’t move away. When he finished, Maddie reached for his hand.  

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, voice shaking but firm. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Buck. Not ever again.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded. “We’re going to revise his plan together. Simple steps. So, when things get dark, you’ll all know how to respond – and Buck won’t have to navigate it alone.”  

Buck squeezed Maddie’s hand, eyes still shining. He didn’t feel fixed. He didn’t feel whole. He felt exposed. Raw.  

Dr. Reyes shifted her chair slightly to face both Buck and Maddie, setting a soft-colored notepad in her lap. Her voice was even, calm, but intentional. “I want to reiterate, this plan is not about assuming anything bad will happen – it’s about being prepared, so if Buck ever finds himself in crisis again, he’s not alone with it.”  

Maddie nodded immediately, her hand still gently curled in Buck’s. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever he needs.”  

Buck didn’t say anything, but he gave a tiny nod of his own – barely perceptible, but there.  

Dr. Reyes held up a pen and started outlining it on the notepad.  

“Step One: Recognizing the Signs. We start by identifying Buck’s early warning signs – the specific thoughts, behaviors, or sensations that usually show up when things start sliding. Buck, we talked about some of these earlier. Want me to list them, or do you want to tell Maddie?”  

Buck’s voice was low, but steady. “Go ahead.”  

Dr. Reyes read softly:  

Withdrawing completely  

Not answering texts or calls  

Drinking more than usual  

Saying he’s ‘just tired’ over and over  

Feeling like he’s outside his own body  

Thinking people would be better off if he disappeared  

Maddie looked at Buck carefully. “That last one… You never said that before.”  

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Buck murmured. “That was the problem.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded gently. “Step Two: Internal Coping Strategies. Things Buck can do alone that might help ground him in the moment – even briefly.”  

She wrote:  

Journaling (even a single sentence)  

Reading letters from May and Chris  

Listening to music or ambient noise to stay present  

Going for a short walk  

Holding ice or using sensory input to break spirals  

Maddie added quietly, “He used to go up to Griffith Park at night just to sit with the city lights. That always helped.”  

Dr. Reyes smiled. “We’ll add that.”  

“Step Three: People He Can Call.” 
“Even if he doesn’t talk about what’s wrong. Even just to hear a voice.” 

She looked at Buck. “Who’s on that list?”  

He hesitated. “Maddie. May. Athena.”  

Dr. Reyes looked at him. “Eddie?”  

Buck froze – then gave the slightest shake of his head. “Not right now.”  

Maddie’s eyes flicked to his, but she didn’t press. She just said, “Then we’ll make sure you always have the numbers you can call in reach.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded. “Good.”  

“Step Four: Safe Environments. Places Buck can go if his home feels unsafe. Somewhere he doesn’t feel alone.”  

Maddie was already speaking: “My place. Always. No matter what time.”  

Dr. Reyes glanced at Buck. “Would that feel okay for you?”  

He looked at his sister. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s okay.”  

“Excellent,” Dr. Reyes said. “We’ll write that down clearly, with a key code and a reminder in your phone.”  

Finally:  

“Step Five: Professional Support. This is about knowing when it’s time to involve crisis services – and reminding Buck that it’s not failure to reach that point.”  

She handed Maddie a separate card with emergency mental health numbers, local 24/7 hotlines, and her own after-hours message protocol. “This isn’t just for when Buck says ‘I need help.’ This is for when his actions tell you before his words do.”  

Maddie took the card in both hands as if it were a sacred object. “I’ve got it.”  

Dr. Reyes turned to Buck, voice gentler now. “And Buck, this plan doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re prepared. It means the people who love you know how to fight for you if the darkness comes back.”  

Buck nodded, eyes lowered. “Okay.”  

Maddie looked over the list again, then reached across the table and wrote something at the bottom of the page.  

I love you. You’re worth staying for. Read this if you forget.  

Buck saw it. Swallowed hard. Said nothing. But he didn’t look away.  

Dr. Reyes closed the notebook and handed them both a copy of the plan.  

“We don’t expect you to be okay all at once,” she said. “We just want you to stay long enough to feel okay someday. And now you don’t have to do that alone.”  

Buck nodded again—this time, with a little more breath in his chest.  

A little more light.  

The door clicked softly behind Maddie as she left, clutching the folded safety plan in both hands. She had hugged Buck fiercely at the door – not too tight, just long enough. Said, “I’ll see you tonight. You’re not doing this alone anymore.” And meant it.  

Now the room was still.  

Dr. Reyes remained quiet at first, letting the silence recalibrate. Buck sat back on the couch, rubbing at the inside of his wrist, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to fidget or fold into himself.  

He finally looked at her. “Was that the right call?”  

“Which part?” she asked gently.  

“Telling her. Letting her in. Letting her see all of it.”  

Dr. Reyes offered the smallest smile. “Do you regret it?”  

Buck hesitated. “No. I mean… no. I don’t. But I feel-” He exhaled, searching. “Exposed. Like I ripped open a wound in front of her and now I’m just… sitting in it.”  

“That’s an honest feeling,” she said. “But Buck – you didn’t expose yourself to be pitied. You let yourself be seen. That’s a huge step in the healing process. Not a weakness.”  

He stared at the floor. “She looked scared.”  

“She looked like someone who loves her brother,” Dr. Reyes said. “And if there’s fear, it’s because she cares–not because she thinks less of you.”  

He nodded slowly. “It just feels… heavy. Even though it’s supposed to help.”  

Dr. Reyes leaned forward a bit. “Sometimes, speaking the truth lifts the weight from your chest and puts it in your hands instead. And that feels heavier at first. But it also means you can do something with it now. You’re not carrying it blind.”  

Buck let that sit with him. He didn’t speak, but something in his posture shifted. He was just slightly more present than he had been at the start of the session.  

Dr. Reyes continued, gently but firmly, “You were scared that once Maddie saw you – really saw you – she’d decide it was too much. But she didn’t. And she won’t. That’s real data now, not fear talking.”  

“She’s… solid,” Buck murmured. “More than I ever gave her credit for.”  

“You’re solid too,” Dr. Reyes replied. “Even if you don’t always feel it.”  

Buck gave her a skeptical look. “You keep saying that.”  

“Because it’s true.”  

He gave a worn half-smile. After a pause, he asked, “So… what now?”  

“Now,” she said, “we build. Slowly. Thoughtfully. We keep meeting. You keep checking in with yourself. You try journaling again. You notice the days when the voice gets loud, and you practice reaching for help sooner, not just when you’re at the edge.”  

Buck nodded, his thumb brushing the edge of the safety plan on the table. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”  

“And if you’re feeling that same darkness, come back – even a whisper of it – I want you to text me the word ‘fog.’ No context. Just that. We’ll go from there.”  

Buck blinked, startled. “Fog?”  

Dr. Reyes smiled, soft but certain. “Because fog is hard to navigate alone. But it’s not permanent. And you don’t have to wait for a storm to ask for a light.”  

Buck nodded again, slower now. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he had a map – and people who would keep the light on while he found his way.  

The car ride back to Maddie’s place was silent for the first ten minutes. Not tense. Just quiet. Maddie kept both hands on the wheel, her eyes steady on the road ahead. Buck sat in the passenger seat, one leg pulled up slightly, head against the window. The folded safety plan rested between them in the center console, like a passenger of its own.  

He didn’t feel embarrassed, not exactly. Just raw. Like the skin under a scab that wasn’t ready for air yet.  

“You’re being quiet,” Maddie said softly. She wasn’t accusing him of anything, just checking in. Between her time working as a nurse and her time at the dispatch center, she had learned a few mental health crisis management tools. Different ways to talk to people based on how they were experiencing, and she could only imagine how her brother was feeling after his sessions. Both the part she was there for, and the one she wasn’t.  

He shrugged. “Trying to figure out how I feel.”  

She nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”  

They sat in that for a moment. The city passed slowly outside, familiar streets with unfamiliar weight.  

“Thanks for staying,” he said eventually. “In the room, I mean. I wasn’t sure if I could say it all if you were there.”  

“I wasn’t sure if I could hear it,” Maddie admitted. “But I’m glad I did.”  

He looked at her, surprised. She glanced at him briefly, then back at the road. “Because now I know what you’re really carrying. Not just the version you try to package up, so I don’t worry. But the real stuff.”  

Buck looked down at his hands. “It’s ugly.”  

“No,” she said gently. “It’s heavy. But not ugly.”  

He swallowed, voice quiet. “When Eddie called me exhausting… I started wondering if everyone else was thinking the same thing. You. Athena. Bobby.”  

“I’m not,” Maddie said immediately. “And if Athena is, she hasn’t shown it for a second.”  

He let out a shaky breath. “I was so scared you’d sit there today and think, this is too much. I can’t do this with him again.”  

Maddie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly. “I have never thought that.” She had developed a great deal of sympathy for Eddie and his situation over the past year. She knew he had been hurt, grieving, and that came out differently in everyone. She had also heard about the moment on their pier when the 118 found Buck holding Christopher's glasses. She could only imagine the devastation he had felt. Even through the last few weeks with Buck, she tried to remember all this, as she tried not to get too angry. But Eddie had called Buck exhausting. To his face. In front of everyone. And she had just come out of a room after finding out how close she’d gotten to losing her brother. And now, Buck was sitting next to her, telling her about how worried he was that she would leave him for being more to handle than he was worth.   

Maddie tried her best to keep her face neutral. She didn’t want Buck thinking she was mad at him. No, all of her anger was at that crew, but Eddie in particular. Buck may love him and Christopher like family, but if Eddie didn’t get his shit together, she would put him on a one-way flight back to El Paso and figure out a way to get him banned from California.  

Athena would probably help too.  

Buck didn’t respond.  

“I’ve thought I was scared,” she continued, her voice lower now. “I’ve thought I wish I could take this pain from you and carry it myself. I’ve thought I hate that I didn’t see how bad it had gotten.”  

He turned his face toward her. “Maddie, you were there. You saved me. You and Athena.”  

She nodded, blinking fast. “And I will keep saving you if I have to. But I’d rather walk with you this time. Not behind you, trying to catch you when you fall.”  

That landed. Deep. Buck exhaled and finally said, “I didn’t think I’d make it through that night. Not really. But something – I don’t know what – pulled me back. I think it might have been all of you. Just… not ready to leave you.”  

“I’m not ready to lose you either,” Maddie said, her voice barely above a whisper.  

They drove in silence again for a few more blocks. Then Buck said, “She told me to text her the word ‘fog.’ If it gets bad, I don’t even have to explain it. Just… send the word.”  

Maddie glanced at him. “Can I use it too? If I see it in you and I don’t know how to ask?”  

He smiled – small, tired, but real. “Yeah. You can.”  

They pulled up outside Maddie’s. Neither of them moved to get out right away.  

“You want to come in?” she asked. “I’ve got soup. And a couch that doesn’t require pretending or talking.”  

Buck nodded slowly. “Yeah. That sounds good.”  

And as they got out of the car, walking into the quiet of home together, Buck didn’t feel fixed. But he didn’t feel alone either.  

That evening, Maddie was sitting at the table on her own. The place was dark except for the kitchen light she’d left on – soft and yellow, casting long shadows over the counter. Buck was asleep in the guest room, or at least pretending to be. Maddie hadn’t checked. She figured if he wanted her, he’d find her. The safety plan lay in front of her, unfolded, a little creased from being carried all day.  

She’d read it twice already. Now she reread it. Every bullet point. Every early warning sign. Every word told her just how close she’d come to losing her little brother without even knowing it.  

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached the last page.  

People he can call: Maddie. May. Athena.  

Safe place: Maddie’s.  

She blinked hard, but the tears came anyway. She broke. All at once. There wasn’t a warning. Just the sound of her breath hitching in her chest as she folded the paper back up like it might fall apart otherwise. Her hand pressed against her mouth as her body curled forward, elbows on the table.  

She sobbed. The kind she hadn’t allowed herself in weeks. Not when she’d called Athena. Not when she found Buck in his loft. Not when he sat in front of her in therapy and said the words ‘I almost ended it’.  

She had stayed strong for him. But strength had limits, and grief doesn’t care about timing. She wept – for what she hadn’t seen, for what he’d hidden so well, for the way Buck had always shown up for everyone else while falling apart himself. And for the terrifying truth she hadn’t dared to say out loud until now: She almost lost him. Maddie buried her face in her hands, letting the fear finally rise to the surface. Images crashed through her mind – Buck’s empty loft, the untouched food, the way he had flinched when she hugged him. That distant look in his eyes. That quiet tone when he said, “I didn’t think I’d make it through the night.” She cried until she couldn’t anymore.  

And then, slowly, she sat up. Reached for a tissue. Wiped her face, her hands still shaking.  

Her eyes fell on the plan again.  

As she looked at her name at the top of Buck’s list, she knew she couldn’t afford to live in fear. Not now. Because he had chosen to stay, and he needed her. She folded the paper one last time and tucked it into the drawer by the fridge. A safe place. Within reach. Then she turned off the kitchen light and walked toward the guest room. She wouldn’t wake him. She just needed to be near him. Because some nights, staying alive was the victory. And some nights, knowing you weren’t alone made all the difference.  

The smell of pancakes hit her before she even opened her eyes.  

Maddie blinked against the early light leaking through the blinds, the faint sound of a spatula flipping something in the pan. Music played low in the background – something upbeat and strangely bouncy for 8 a.m. She sat up slowly, disoriented. Her throat was dry from the night before, and her heart still carried the ache of everything she’d cried out at the kitchen table. But when she padded down the hall and into the living room, what she found stopped her short.  

Buck was in the kitchen, dancing slightly in place, grinning to himself as he flipped a pancake with a flourish. He wore one of her old zip-up hoodies and had clearly already been awake for a while. There were eggs on the stove, fruit cut up in a bowl, and a stack of pancakes already rising on a plate.  

“Good morning!” he said brightly, turning to see her. “I was gonna bring you coffee in bed, but then I figured waking up to pancakes might be even better.”  

Maddie blinked at him. “Hey…” She didn’t smile. Not yet.  

Buck either missed it or chose to ignore it. “Today’s a reset day,” he said, with way too much energy. “New start, right? I figured we’d eat, go for a walk, maybe hit the farmer’s market? Or– oh! We could drive out to Malibu if you want, just for the view. It’s been forever since either of us–”  

“Buck,” she said softly.  

That stopped him. He looked up from the pan, hands still moving, but eyes pausing.  

She tilted her head slightly. “How long have you been up?”  

He shrugged. “Since four-ish?”  

“Couldn’t sleep?”  

“Nope!” he said brightly. “But that’s okay, right? I mean, I journaled. I made a list of things I want to try this week. I even cleaned the bathroom. I feel good. Really good, actually.”  

Maddie watched him. The way his smile was just a little too tight. The way his shoulders were too straight. The energy wasn’t real. No, this felt like avoidance.  

“I’m glad you’re trying,” she said carefully. “But you don’t have to perform for me.”  

Buck blinked. “What do you mean?”  

“I mean… You don’t have to be better today. You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me. Not to yourself.”  

He stopped moving completely now, the spatula frozen in his hand.  

“You’re allowed to still feel heavy,” Maddie said, stepping toward the counter. “After everything you shared yesterday… it would almost be strange if you didn’t feel something today.”  

Buck lowered his eyes.  

“I just… I didn’t want you to wake up worried,” he admitted. “I wanted to make it easier. For both of us.”  

Maddie softened. “You don’t have to make it easy, Buck. This isn’t supposed to be easy. I need honesty from you.” She didn’t expect him to get better overnight, but how would she know he was actually starting to heal if he was pretending he was okay for her sake?  

He looked at her then, and for a moment, the brightness flickered. Just slightly. And underneath it, she saw the exhaustion still sitting behind his eyes. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “If I stop moving, it’ll hit me all over again.”  

“I know,” she said. “But I’ll be here when it does.”  

Buck’s breath caught in his throat. “I don’t want to go backward.”  

“You’re not,” Maddie said gently. “You’re just letting yourself feel. That’s still forward. The only way forward is through. You can’t jump steps. And sometimes that means needing to know exactly how far there is to go.”  

They stood there in silence for a moment – the smell of pancakes still warm in the air, the music still quietly humming in the background.  

Buck finally set the spatula down and leaned forward on the counter, the smile fading into something softer. Smaller.  

He wasn’t okay. Not fully.  

But he was being honest again, and Maddie would take that. It wasn’t the first time they’d had some variation of this conversation, and she didn’t think it would be the last, but she’d have it as many times as they needed to before he accepted it.  

Chapter Text

The familiar clatter and low hum at Station 118 ground to a halt the moment Maddie stormed through the doors. Jokes over burnt coffee died mid-sentence; boots skidded to a stop. She moved with a laser focus that had them all freezing. Everyone had known she was visiting to swap letters, but no one expected the fury etched into her face. It was reminiscent of the time she brought in Buck’s extended leave notice.  

Eddie looked up from the report he was filing and blinked in surprise. Hen nudged Chim, and they both straightened. Lucy tried-and failed- to seem casual as her eyes darted to Maddie’s clenched jaw. Bobby poked his head out of the office, frowning at the sudden hush.  

“Maddie?” Eddie asked, setting his pen down. “Is everything okay?”  

She didn’t meet his gaze as she paced forward with tight control. “I’m not here to chat,” she replied coolly, holding a small envelope in her hand. “I came to trade.” When she had agreed to trade letters, she wasn’t expecting to have to do it under these circumstances. She hadn’t known. If she had… But it was too late now, and Buck was counting on her. She noticed how nervous he became every time he handed one of the letters to her, as if he were expecting them to be returned or discarded. She also saw the relief every time she gave one to him from either May or Christopher. His mood lifted just a little each time. They were one of his lifelines now.  

Eddie’s gaze dropped to the envelope. He knew what it was. He didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure it out. He set his report aside, offering Maddie a cautious smile. When he looked back up at her, his posture stiffened. She had the same face he’s seen last – exhausted, frustrated-but now rage gleamed behind her eyes. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but at the station, like she was trying to burn it down with her glare. She was also refusing to look at anyone. “Maddie... you don’t have to-”  

Her laugh was hollow. “I’m not here to debate it,” she cut in. “Buck left me his letter. I’m giving it to you. I want Christopher’s in return.” She should have sent Athena to do this.  

Eddie hesitated. He wasn’t sure what had happened since the last time they’d talked, but he felt guilty. He unlatched the file box and pulled Christopher’s letter out. He tried to meet her gaze. “Maddie, maybe-” 

“No.” She snatched it gently from his hand, exchanging it with Buck’s. For a fraction of a second, her rage softened into grief as she allowed herself to look at the team.  

Hen cleared her throat. “Do you want to stay for a bit? We’ve got lunch coming–Chim went overboard with the dumplings.”  

Maddie’s eyes flicked over them. Her heart clenched. She swallowed the desire for comfort. They had quickly become her family, and family was supposed to be there for each other. A part of her still wanted to break down in the security they offered after hearing everything from her brother. But she couldn’t forget the role they played in causing that. “No,” she said. “Not today.” If it were any other week, she would’ve appreciated the effort. But instead, all she wanted to do was yell at them for everything they had done. She would live with the guilt of not stepping in to help Buck sooner. She would learn from her mistake and be there for him. But they needed to know the responsibility they shared.  

She turned on her heel and made it halfway to the exit before Hen’s voice followed her. “Maddie... is something wrong with Buck? Did something happen?”  

She froze. Her pulse slammed in her ears. Her fingers curled around the envelope in her hand, knuckles whitening. She took a deep breath, jaw tight. “I think you all already know the answer to that,” she said without turning around.  

“Maddie-” Chim called out, but she kept walking.  

She paused in the doorway, back rigid, and called over her shoulder: “Come to Buck’s loft when your shift ends. All of you. If you still care, show up.”  

She didn’t give them a chance to ask more questions. 

Back in her car, Maddie’s hands trembled as she clutched the steering wheel. She thought for a moment. She hadn’t planned to invite them to Buck’s loft. She planned to get in, exchange letters, and get out. But she was fed up. And as soon as they had asked her about Buck, her thoughts went straight to yesterday’s therapy session. They thought they knew. They thought they understood that they needed to make amends with Buck when he was ready. But they hadn’t even begun to grasp the situation beyond his disappearance and her anger. All they had were vague promises of waiting and being ready to fix things on his terms. But that was it. Despite her comments and lack of reassurances, not one of them seemed to question that Buck would forgive them. Maddie wouldn’t dare break his trust by divulging anything he shared in confidence - she wouldn’t tell them about his attempt. But she couldn’t stand the thought that they’d get to waltz back into his life with a few apologies.  

Maddie took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, then pulled out her phone and hit Athena’s name. She had no plan for tonight, but she had time, and she didn’t need to do it alone. “Athena?” Her voice was brittle, caught somewhere between resolve and uncertainty. “Can you meet me at Buck’s loft soon?”  

Athena didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there. What’s going on?”  

“I think... I think it’s time they see what we’ve been telling them. It’s almost like they expect that, after enough time, they can apologize, and if they act like everything was before the lawsuit, it will all be okay. But it won’t. It can’t,” she almost pleaded. “They feel guilty, but they don’t even know what for. They don’t know how close we got…” Her voice broke. She couldn’t finish the sentence. “I can’t tell them, that’s for Buck to decide, but I was so angry, and they could tell. They asked me about him. They always ask me about him, as if everything will be fixed overnight. And next thing I knew I was inviting them to his loft. We need to go clean it out soon anyway. But I guess I thought if I can’t tell them, then maybe I could show them. Force them to see it, like we did.”  

There was a pause as unspoken understanding passed between them.  

“Then let’s make sure they listen,” Athena said, voice steady and reassuring. 

Maddie hung up, the click of the phone seeming to echo in the silence of the car. She glanced down at the envelope in her lap. She carefully tucked it into her jacket and started the car. There was no room for her to start doubting herself now.  

Maddie shoved the door to Buck’s loft open, the spare key clinking against the frame. She stepped back and motioned them in: Bobby, Hen, Chimney, Eddie. They’d been waiting for her when she arrived with Athena in tow. She didn’t know how long they would be there for, so May was staying with Buck while she and Athena were at the loft, despite his insistence that he didn’t need a babysitter and would be fine on his own for a few hours.  

It felt strange, like they were trespassing. Despite the modernized look of it, Buck’s loft had always been a chaotic comfort zone: corners heaped with impulse–bought gadgets of questionable utility, prints of photos he’s taken pinned everywhere, and blankets, hoodies, or other soft clothes scattered. It didn’t feel like that anymore.  

Now it felt oppressive and abandoned. The loft was dark. The curtains had barely been drawn in weeks. The air felt… heavy. Stale. Still somehow echoing with everything that had gone unsaid. Maddie walked over to the kitchen and perched on one of the barstools, while Athena claimed a spot by the window, silent, watchful. They knew what state they would find the loft in.  

None of the others spoke. Instead, they hovered, uneasy, like they knew they were walking into something and weren’t sure they wanted to. Now they stood in the center of his life–or what was left of it.  

“Where is he?” Bobby asked gently, eyes flicking toward the dark hallway.  

“He’s not here,” Athena said, not bothering to step forward. “And he won’t be coming. This isn‘t for him, it’s for you.”  

“What does that mean?” Chimney asked as he shifted uncomfortably. “He’s not here, but we’re… what, supposed to sit around and talk about him like he’s a missing person?” 

“No,” Maddie replied. “You’re supposed to sit and listen.” She sat and watched them in silence as they took in the place none of them had been in for months.  

The loft was in a state worse than they had anticipated. Laundry baskets overflowed with crumpled clothes, untouched and neglected. A stack of unopened mail, gathering dust, sat precariously on the counter. An empty whiskey bottle lay on its side, a silent testament to the nights drowned in solitude. A blanket lay the couch, wrinkled and tossed like he’d been sleeping there instead of in bed. A musty odor clung to the air. This wasn’t Buck’s place anymore-not the Buck they remembered, vibrant and full of life. Chimney moved to sit down on the couch but decided against it when he noticed the scattered alcohol bottles and a suspicious stain that made him think twice.  

“Jesus…” Chim whispered, retreating from the living room. 

They gathered around the kitchen, reluctant to touch anything. No one else dared to sit down.  

“This is where he’s been living,” Maddie said, her voice sharp. “Alone. In this.” She walked toward the kitchen and opened the fridge. “Spoiled takeout from god knows when. No groceries. Nothing fresh in here except a bottle of Pedialyte, I think he bought the morning I forced him to meet me hungover.” She slammed the door shut with more force than she meant.  

Bobby straightened. “Where is he, Maddie?” he asked again, more firmly this time. “We need to talk to him.” 

Maddie let out a hollow laugh. “But he doesn’t need to hear from you. Not right now anyway,” she said. “You’ll talk to him when he’s ready, not when you are. Right now, we’re talking about what you didn’t say.”  

Bobby stepped forward. “Maddie, we didn’t know it was this bad,” he said, shame tinting his voice. 

“Didn’t you?” Athena’s voice cracked out from behind them, low and cutting. She’d stayed silent until now – watching, letting it build. But no longer. “You work beside him. You watched him unravel. And not one of you said anything. Not one of you pulled him aside and asked what the hell was going on.” 

Hen’s attempt at an apology died on her lips. “We thought he needed space,” she offered. 

“He didn’t need space,” Maddie hissed, eyes glinting with fury. “He needed help. He needed his family. And none of you saw it. Not when he stopped talking to you. Not when he was barely showing up for work. Not when he got injured at work and said he didn’t need help.” 

Chimney turned away, guilt tightening his jaw. Eddie stared at the stained couch. The one Buck had slept on. Alone. For how long? 

Athena stepped beside Maddie now. “He could have nearly died, and none of you would’ve noticed.” She didn’t know just how true those words were.  

“That’s not fair-” Hen started. 

“No?” Athena challenged. “You’re medics. First responders. You’ve all been through trauma. You know the signs. But you ignored them. Ignored him.” 

Bobby’s shoulders dropped. “We were angry. After the lawsuit…” 

“I don’t give a damn about the lawsuit,” Maddie snapped. “You don’t get to use that as a reason for abandoning him. For isolating him when he was already drowning.” 

Eddie looked up suddenly. “He said I was Christopher’s dad, not him. That Chris shouldn’t rely on him. It felt like he was pushing me away.” 

“Maybe he was,” Athena shot back. “Because he felt like a failure. Like he didn’t deserve to be around people who actually mattered. You think that came out of nowhere?” 

Eddie’s face paled. 

Athena folded her arms. “You think Buck doesn’t carry your pain like it’s his own? He feels everything, and you all let him believe he was too much for you. You all helped him feel replaceable. He felt like he didn’t belong anymore. Like all he ever did was screw things up. And when you all turned your backs on him, even just a little, it was confirmation of every lie he already believed about himself.” 

“We never meant to-” Bobby began. 

“You don’t have to finish that sentence,” Maddie interrupted. “Because ‘meant to’ doesn’t really matter now, does it? ‘Meant to’ doesn’t fix it.” 

The silence in the loft was louder than any siren. No one argued.  

Maddie exhaled, eyes scanning their faces. “You all thought he was being difficult, or stubborn, or guilty, but he’s tired. He’s been carrying everything by himself, and instead of helping, you piled more on. Maybe because you were angry or hurt. But you’re all grown adults. He’s supposed to be your teammate, your friend still. Or so I thought…”  

“Maddie-” Chimney cut himself off, unsure of what to say.  

“Don’t, Chimney. You think I haven’t heard you talk about him as if he’s a problem to manage, instead of someone to help? Like he deserved to be cast out because he made one mistake. One desperate choice.”  

Hen’s hand flew to her mouth; tears welled in her eyes.  

“I’m not telling you this to punish you,” Maddie continued. “I’m telling you, so you understand how far he fell before anyone caught him. I trusted you all to see him. And you didn’t.” 

“We’re not here to fight,” Bobby said, voice cracking. “We came because you asked. So, what do you want from us, Maddie?”  

Maddie huffed and pressed her palm to the counter. She wasn’t going to do their work for them. “I want you to show up. Not just once. Not just because I guilted you into it, I want you to remember who he is–who he was–before everything broke.”  

Eddie’s voice was barely a whisper. “I didn’t know.” 

“You didn’t ask,” Athena replied coldly. “None of you did.” 

Maddie turned toward the kitchen, determination sparking. “We’re going to clean this place out. Today. Take what he needs. Trash what he doesn’t. He’s not coming back here.” 

They nodded. They didn’t need to say anything else now that they’d seen the wreckage of their silence–and they couldn’t unsee it. 

While the rest of the crew was busy – Hen and Chim organizing the kitchen drawers, Bobby quietly boxing up Buck’s bedroom like it was sacred ground – Eddie lingered near the doorway, heart hammering as Maddie sorted through a pile of books by the couch. Her movements were sharp, clipped. Focused – but barely keeping her anger beneath the surface. He stepped closer. “Maddie,” he said softly. 

She didn’t look up. “Now’s not the time, Eddie.” 

“I know,” he said. He swallowed hard. “But I need to talk to you. Please.” 

She finally looked at him. Her eyes were rimmed red, but there was steel behind them. “Talk, then.” 

He hesitated – just a second too long. 

Maddie stood slowly. “What’s wrong, Eddie? Got nothing to say for yourself? You were the one who just asked to talk to me,” she pointed out as she crossed her arms. “If you’re going to defend what you said to him, don’t. I’ve been beyond understanding with you all this entire time. I understood you were all angry, I understood you felt betrayed, I understood you, in particular, were grieving, but I’ve had enough. I don’t want to hear whatever excuses you have, because as far as I’m concerned, there are none. There is nothing I can think of that you could tell me that could make up for what you’ve all done. You told him he was exhausting, Eddie.” 

His chest tightened. “I know and– and I’m not,” he said quickly. “I’m not here to justify anything or excuse it. I just… I didn’t know,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know how much he was hurting. I didn’t know that word would land like it did.” 

Maddie’s jaw clenched. “You didn’t think calling him exhausting might leave a mark?” 

Eddie flinched under her stare. 

“You want to know what he said to me?” she continued, voice trembling now. “He said he’s been waiting for me and Athena to realize it, too. That we’ll get tired of him eventually. That the people he loves will finally say he’s too much. That they’ll label him a burden and walk away. He’s spent every day for months waiting for another shoe to drop. But don’t worry, Eddie, it’s all okay because you didn’t know how much he was already struggling,” her voice was dripping with sarcasm by the end.  

Eddie’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean it like that. I barely even remember saying it. It was a heat-of-the-moment thing.” 

“But you said it. And you meant it enough in that moment for him to believe it. You may have the luxury of it barely being on your radar, but that has haunted him every day since. Even now, his biggest worry is how exhausting we’re finding him for all the help he needs.” She stepped closer, voice rising. “Do you know what it’s like to listen to your brother wonder if anyone would even miss him? If they would notice if he left.” 

Eddie looked wrecked. “No,” he said. 

“No, of course not,” she snapped. “Because you distanced yourself. You let your pride get in the way because he did something that hurt you, when all he was trying to do was get back everything that mattered to him.” 

“That’s not fair–” 

“Do you want to know something? I’m getting really tired of all of you coming to me saying, ‘That’s not fair.’ What’s not fair is that he had to spiral so far that you lost him, before you started showing up for him. You want to talk to him now because it’s safe. But where were you when he needed you most?” 

Eddie looked like he’d been punched. “I was angry. I felt betrayed.” 

Maddie shook her head. “Well, guess what? Buck felt abandoned.” Her expression cracked with pain. “And you’re a fucking hypocrite if you’re going to stand there and think you had a right to call him exhausting for making his problem everyone else’s when part of the reason you’ve been so mad at him is because he wasn’t around when you needed him to help your son when you didn’t know how.” 

They stood in jagged silence, the weight of it between them. 

“I’m not saying you can’t make it right,” Maddie added, quieter now. “But don’t come to me looking for comfort about your guilt. I’m still angry.” 

Eddie nodded, holding back tears. Eddie’s voice shattered. “I miss him.” 

“Then show him. When he’s ready. Not before. Help him believe it. Believe that he matters to you. And not just for his role in Christopher’s life.” She turned away, ending the conversation with finality. She walked away, leaving Eddie stranded amid the echoing emptiness of Buck’s broken room, surrounded by the wreckage of their silent regrets. 

Hen could hear the low hum of the vacuum Chimney was dragging across the rug. Outside, the sky was beginning to shift – late afternoon filtering in through the windows like softened grief. Hen was in the bathroom, kneeling beside the cabinet under the sink, pulling out old shampoo bottles and a mostly empty first aid kit. Athena stood near the closet, sorting a pile of shoes – some worn through, some barely touched. Neither one said much.  

“I hate how much of this feels like evidence,” Hen said softly, finally breaking the silence. “Like we’re piecing together a life we weren’t paying attention to.” 

Athena exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Like walking through a scene after the call’s already closed.” 

Hen sat back on her heels, wiping dust off her hands. “I’ve worked on people’s worst days. I know what pain looks like. But I didn’t see it in him.” 

“We didn’t want to,” Athena said. “It was easier to be mad. Easier to keep our distance and call it space.” 

Hen looked up at her. “You’re mad now.” 

“Not at Buck.” Athena’s voice tightened. “At us. At Bobby. At myself. I knew something wasn’t right. I knew it when he stopped showing up for dinners. When he looked right through me on the last call we ran together. And I still let it slide.” 

Hen nodded slowly, her voice small. “Do you think we lost him?” 

Athena looked around the room – at the couch Buck had likely slept on instead of the bed, at the untouched calendar on the wall, at the way everything felt paused, like he’d stepped out of his own life. 

“No,” she said. “But I think we almost did.” 

Hen stood, brushing her hands off on her jeans. “I suspect part of him is still trying to decide if we’re worth letting back in.” 

Athena didn’t argue. They stood in the middle of Buck’s loneliness, surrounded by pieces of the life he’d been too afraid to ask them to witness. Athena looked at Hen thoughtfully. “We’re friends, right?” 

Hen looked at Athena, confused. “Of course.”  

“Then why didn’t you come to me? I would’ve spoken to Bobby if no one else was willing. I would have pushed back at him more over Buck not showing up at the house.” 

Hen took a sharp breath as Athena’s question hit her. It was akin to the one she had been asking herself since before the option had been taken away from her. Why hadn’t she spoken to anyone about it? She knew better than to ignore her gut feelings, but she had. She had partially ignored the one that said someone needed to force their hand. “I knew the way they were treating him was to the extreme. I didn’t think he deserved it all. I tried to start with. His first day back, I gave him a cupcake and told him I march to the beat of my own drum. He just laughed it off. Like he does with everything, but then he was distant to everyone, and I thought he was just responding to the way everyone was treating him. They were all following Bobby, and it went on so long I don’t think anyone knew how to end it. Maybe they were waiting on something from Buck, but there weren’t any chances. It was as if he’d just resigned himself to that being his fate.” She paused, letting Athena take everything in.

“I did try, though. I know it looks like I didn’t try, but I did. I tried to offer to help him with the chores. I found reasons for me to be man-behind. I tried to ask him things, or talk to him, get him to crack a joke. Just something. But it was like he didn’t hear or see me; I might as well have not been there. And it kept going. No one else ever said anything. I didn’t know what Maddie was seeing. I didn’t know that it wasn’t just us at the station. I think a part of me almost hoped that it was his way of punishing us for the way they were treating him.”  

Hen swiped at her eyes, frustrated that she was the one who got to cry. “I feel stupid, because Maddie’s right. We do see this so goddamn often, but when it’s one of our own, we convince ourselves they’re too strong to actually break. Or maybe we’re more afraid that if they could, it means we could too.” 

Athena drew closer, her voice a low confession. “You’re not alone. I told myself he just needed time. Told myself it’s none of my business, that I’d just make it worse. Buck’s always been the type to run headlong into fires for the rest of us.” She sighed. “I’m not going to absolve you of the guilt you’re feeling, because we all should be feeling some. We should all take this as a lesson moving forward. But it does no good to dwell on it. We'll come to each other next time, yes?”  

Hen nodded, silent. Upstairs, the vacuum’s whine cut out, and footsteps thumped across the ceiling.  

Athena squeezed her shoulder once, a gesture of solidarity, then stood and brushed off her uniform like she was suiting up for a call. “Let’s finish this. He’s going to need more than an empty apartment when he’s ready to face everyone.” 

The coffee table was covered in snacks – popcorn, chips, peanut M&Ms in a bowl that had clearly already been raided. A few empty soda cans sat beside mismatched mugs of tea. On the screen, the opening credits of a superhero movie played, slightly too loud, the way Buck always insisted was “for full immersion.” Buck was curled up on one end of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, blanket draped over his lap. His socked feet were tucked beneath him, body angled slightly toward Maddie, who sat beside him with her own blanket and a firm grip on the remote. Athena took the armchair, one leg crossed, sipping from her tea like she was humoring the movie but not entirely sold. And May lay sprawled on the floor, back propped against a pillow, arms crossed behind her head, already mouthing along to the opening lines. 

“Okay, this was a solid pick,” Buck murmured as the first fight scene started. “Great emotional arc. Underrated side characters. No unnecessary deaths.” 

“No sad endings,” Maddie added, pointedly. 

Buck smiled without looking at her. “Exactly.” 

Athena glanced at him. “You doing okay over there?” 

He nodded, eyes on the screen. “Yeah. This is good.” 

There was a pause, but this time it felt natural, comfortable. Buck didn’t feel like it was forced or awkward.  

May glanced back toward the couch. “You know, you could’ve asked me to pick the movie. I do have taste.” 

“You picked Sharknado for family night once,” Athena said without looking up. 

“Which was iconic,” May shot back, grinning. 

Buck laughed – really laughed – and the sound caught Maddie so off guard it made her smile wide and proud. They watched for another twenty minutes before Buck shifted, adjusting the blanket but leaving one hand exposed on the cushion beside Maddie. She reached over and gave it a quiet squeeze. He didn’t say anything. Just held on. 

Athena watched the moment pass between them and said softly, “This feels right.” 

May nodded. “Yeah. This is what he needs.” 

Buck didn’t argue. He didn’t deflect or joke. He just leaned his head on Maddie’s shoulder, eyes still on the screen, and whispered, “Thanks for not giving up on me.” 

Maddie ran her fingers gently through his hair. “Never even crossed my mind.” 

The film ended, and Athena and May eventually left. Maddie was in the kitchen, mindlessly washing the dishes while Buck stood in the doorway and watched her. She wasn’t focused on anything in particular.  

“I’m pretty sure those dishes can wait until tomorrow,” Buck commented. It was his turn to worry about her. He suspected something was on her mind keeping her up, because he could see the exhaustion in every part of her body, as if standing was taking all her effort, but she still stood there. She shrugged and waved him off. She wanted to do something that wasn’t lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking over the events of the day.  

“Mads?” he said, gently. “Did something happen while you were out with Athena earlier?” 

She paused, just for a second. But he saw it. 

Buck stepped further into the room. “You’re doing that thing where you’re trying not to talk about something.” 

Maddie sighed, placing the dish towel down. “You always read me too well.” 

He gave a soft smile. “Years of practice.” 

She leaned against the counter. “We went to the loft today.” 

Buck’s face didn’t change, but he went still. “We?” 

“Athena and I,” she said. “And the rest of them. Bobby, Hen, Chim… Eddie.” 

His jaw tightened. “Why?” 

“Because they needed to see it,” Maddie said quietly. “Your space. What it looked like. What you looked like in it – alone.” 

Buck didn’t speak, didn’t move, but his breathing grew shallower. 

She took a step closer. “They could tell something was wrong when I went to pick up Chris’s letter. And they asked about it. About you. I didn’t know what to say, except that I needed them to understand what I had done after yesterday. I didn’t show them everything. I didn’t tell them everything. I would never betray what you said in therapy. Those things are yours to share if you ever want to. But I couldn’t just stand by while they kept asking about you as if they had any right to after everything. And asking me how to fix it. I needed them to understand how far you fell while they were too busy being mad or uncomfortable to check in.” 

Buck looked down. “They didn’t want me there. I figured they were better off without me.” 

“They’re ashamed,” she said softly. “They didn’t know how bad it got. They didn’t want to see it.” 

His voice came out small. “What did they say?” 

Maddie hesitated. “Bobby was quiet. Hen looked like she’d been punched. Chim didn’t say much. And Eddie…” She stopped. 

Buck looked up. “What about Eddie?”  

Maddie met his eyes. “He tried to talk to me. I wasn’t ready. Not after what he called you.” 

Buck let out a breath, almost a laugh – bitter, tired. “Exhausting.” 

Maddie winced. 

He nodded. “It stuck.” 

“I know.” There was a long pause. “Do you want me to tell them to stay away?” she asked, serious now. “Because I will. If it’s what you need. That’s what I’ve been doing. You haven’t mentioned them or asked about them before now, so I figured it was best to keep them at a distance. They don’t know you’re here with me, just that I’m in contact with you.” 

Buck looked at her, and for a moment, the weight on him was visible again – all of it. “I don’t know what I need,” he said honestly. “But I… I’m not ready. Not for all of them. Not yet.” 

Maddie nodded. “Then we protect your peace until you are.” 

Buck looked around the apartment – their quiet, makeshift safe zone. The only place that didn’t feel like it had expectations attached to it. “Thanks,” he whispered. “For not pretending today. For telling me the truth.” 

“I don’t have the energy to pretend,” she said, stepping forward and gently resting her hand on his back. “But I do have enough to hold some of this with you.” 

He closed his eyes, just for a second, and let the words settle. 

The kitchen was dimly lit, illuminated only by the under-cabinet light above the sink. The dishwasher hummed quietly in the background, almost masking the silence between Bobby and Athena. Athena stood by the stove, arms crossed. Bobby sat at the kitchen table, a half-full cup of tea in his hand that he hadn’t touched in ten minutes. 

It was late. Too late to start anything. 

And too late not to say something. 

Bobby broke the silence first. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the loft.” 

Athena didn’t look at him. “Me neither.” Her tone was clipped, her posture tense. She was still angry. That had been clear from the moment she got home, though she hadn’t said much. 

Until now. 

“You let it happen,” she said, her voice low. Controlled – but only barely. 

Bobby blinked. “What?” 

“With Buck. At work. You’re his captain. You saw him isolating. You knew the team was pulling back after the lawsuit. And you let it fester.” 

“I didn’t let it happen,” Bobby said quietly. “I just… didn’t stop it fast enough.” 

Athena turned to face him fully now. “That’s not good enough. We almost lost him, Bobby. I saw his couch. His kitchen. His bed was untouched for days. You think he was just hurting? That was collapse. And none of you noticed.” 

Bobby’s jaw tightened, pain flashing across his face. “I didn’t want to push him.” 

“No,” she said sharply. “You didn’t want to deal with how much it hurt that he sued us. You took it personally. You all did. And while you were licking your wounds, he was drowning.” 

Bobby dropped his gaze. “I failed him.” 

Athena’s voice cracked. “We all did.” 

Silence again – thick and cold. 

But down the hallway, behind the cracked door of her bedroom, May was listening. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She’d come out for water and stopped when she heard her name. Buck’s name. Now she stood frozen, heart pounding, her hand gripping the doorframe. 

Athena kept going, quieter now. “I keep thinking… what if we hadn’t gone to check on him when we did? What if Maddie hadn’t kept pushing? Would we even be having this conversation?” 

Bobby looked up. “I don’t know.” 

Athena’s eyes filled – not with tears, but fury laced with fear. “I’ve lost people, Bobby. But the thought of losing Buck like that? Alone, thinking we all gave up on him?” 

She didn’t finish. Because she couldn’t. 

Bobby stood slowly and walked to her side. He reached for her hand. “We can’t undo it. But we can show up now. Every day. Every way he needs.” 

Athena didn’t move for a long moment. Then she let herself lean into him, just slightly. 

Down the hall, May backed into her room and closed the door silently. Her hands were shaking. She hadn’t known. Not like this. 

Chapter Text

The clock ticked softly on the wall behind Frank. The room was quiet and unthreatening, with soft lighting. Two mugs of coffee sat on the table between them — one untouched. Eddie sat stiffly on the couch, arms crossed. Frank didn’t speak first. He waited. Eddie shifted in his seat, staring at a spot on the floor. He hadn’t been to many therapy sessions, and he still felt uncomfortable. Though no one had ever said it, Eddie felt the expectations that he’d need to share all the emotions he kept bottled up because it was better that way. He couldn’t be the man he was supposed to be if he let his feelings get the better of him.  

One of the things he admired about Buck was how openly he expressed himself. You didn’t need to be paying great attention to him to pick up on his moods, but if you did, you saw how his smile differed ever so slightly between his generic one with strangers and the one he saved for people like Christopher and Maddie. Sometimes, Eddie thought he saw Buck giving it to him, but other times it was gentler. You’d see the way that he stood a little taller each time he received a compliment. How he had a little bounce before jumping into one of his information dumps. How he restrained himself with every hug. The furrow of his brows when he didn’t understand something he thought he should. How he wouldn’t settle when he was at Eddie’s house until he had checked the calendar to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything and to see anything new.  

Buck had so many tells from wearing his heart on his sleeve that something like therapy probably came easily to him. But telling some stranger his life story was unnatural for Eddie. Let it eat him alive, that way it didn’t fall on anyone else. Except that hadn’t worked, had it? Exhausting .   

Ever since his conversation with Maddie, that moment in the grocery store was stuck in his head. Exhausting .   

He now remembered Buck’s face in vivid detail. The fact that he tried so hard not to show anything. He looked almost frozen. But the shock was there in his eyes. The disappointment. The shame. The subtle gulp like he was holding on for dear life, trying not to cry. We managed to suck it up. Why can’t you?  

Eddie turned the thing he admired most about Buck into something Buck felt ashamed of. In that moment, Eddie managed to either create or prove all of Buck’s worries about being too much – he wasn’t sure which – just because he couldn’t handle the fact that Buck didn’t adhere to the same expectations as him.   

“You look deep in thought there. Anything you feel like sharing?” Frank's question snapped Eddie out of his thoughts. “Or we can start with you telling me about your week.” It was a bailout if Eddie wanted to take it, but so much of this week had revolved around Buck.  

“Maddie tore into me the other day,” he said finally. “At Buck’s place.”  

Frank tilted his head and gave a reassuring smile. “You want to tell me why?”  

Eddie let out a slow breath. “Something happened. With Buck. We don’t know what, but she came to get Chris’s letter, because Buck and Chris are now writing each other letters, and she was... she was angry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that mad before. She didn’t even want to acknowledge any of us.”  

“That must be difficult, to feel that kind of anger directed at you and not know why.”   

Eddie nodded. “I don’t... I want to fix things, but I don’t know how. And now we don’t know what’s going on. Maddie keeps telling us we just have to wait and be ready when he is, but I know I messed up; it just feels like we’re missing parts of the story that she’s seeing. But we did see some of it. She showed us.” Eddie’s jaw tightened at the memory of the loft.  

“At Buck’s loft?”  

Eddie nodded again, afraid of admitting the truth.   

“What did she show you, Eddie?”  

“Buck’s loft. It was... We cleaned it. That’s what matters. So, if he does go back there, he doesn’t have to go back to that. But we didn’t know, I mean I knew he had grown distant, but that wasn’t distant.” He trailed off. “It was a wake-up call for us all.”  

“How so?”  

“It made us see how low he got, he wasn’t eating properly, he wasn’t sleeping properly, it was like he had stopped caring, about anything... about himself. She told us she had had enough of our excuses. That we’re first responders and we know the signs, we deal with them regularly, so the only reason we missed them in him is because we didn’t want to see it while we were so wrapped up in our own emotions from everything going on.”   

Eddie shook his head before continuing. “She’s right, of course. We should’ve noticed. He shut down at work. That should’ve been the biggest sign. He never shuts down like that. Even when he’s hiding from us, he’ll hide behind the mask he puts on, where he plays the kid of the group, the young fool who makes everything a joke.” He took a deep breath. “I tried to speak to her afterwards, while we were all cleaning.”  

“What did you say?”  

“Nothing really. I didn’t know what to say, I just felt like I had to say something. We’re so close, Buck and I, that I feel like Maddie expects more from me than the others. We’re partners inside and outside of work. She brought up the argument I had with Buck at the store. The impact that what I said had on him.”  

Frank tilted his head. “You don’t sound proud of that.”  

“I’m not.” Eddie looked up briefly. “But I didn’t say it to hurt him. I said it because I was hurt. Because I felt abandoned. He’s always there when I need him, and he couldn’t be because of the lawsuit. And Shannon died, and I felt lost. I didn’t know what to do with any of it. And Chris needed me to be strong because he had just lost his mom again, for good this time. Buck should’ve been my person to lean on. We’re supposed to have each other's backs. But he wasn’t there. Because he was too focused on getting back to work. So, I was angry.”  

“That’s a lot to unpack.” Frank let Eddie breathe for a minute. “After your conversation with Maddie and seeing his loft, do you still think that the lawsuit was only about Buck getting back to work?”   

“Yes.” He paused, thinking about his knee-jerk reaction. He sighed. “I don’t know, not really. I don’t think any of us thought it would spiral into this.”  

“What aren’t you sure on?”  

“It’s just... that day at the store, he was so happy to see us at first. And I know he doesn’t always think things through, but he’s not as stupid as he makes himself out to be. When he stays behind in a burning house to try to save someone or something after we’ve been ordered to evacuate, it’s not because he’s not aware of the risk; he just thinks it’s worth it. I never spoke to him about the lawsuit or why he did it. I think I should’ve done, before jumping to the conclusions I did, but then how do I deal with the truth of it?”  

“I think that’s something we’ll have to deal with when it happens, but I do think a conversation when you’re both ready would be a good idea. You talk about wanting to fix things and not knowing how, part of that is because you’re still missing pieces of the story.”   

Eddie looked to the side, knowing Frank was right. Eddie had all but admitted it himself. But he was afraid of the truth. The more he learned about the consequences of his actions, the more he questioned whether there was a way to make things right.  

“You said you felt abandoned; do you still feel that way?”  

Eddie’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “A little, but I think I’m realizing that maybe I abandoned him first.”  

Frank said nothing – just let it hang there.  

“Let's go back to Chris and Shannon for a moment.”   

He’d really rather not.   

“Who told you that you had to be strong for Christopher?”   

“What do you mean?” Eddie looked at him, confused. That was his job as the parent.  

“Did Christopher tell you that you couldn’t be vulnerable? That you weren’t allowed to mourn the loss of your friend, wife, and the mother of your child?”   

“No...”   

Frank nodded, pausing just long enough for the weight of the question to settle in. “Then where did that expectation come from?” he asked softly.  

Eddie looked down again, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. “I don’t know. It’s just... I’ve always been the one who holds it together. The one who doesn’t let things slip. Even in the Army, you had to be solid. Reliable. No room for falling apart.”  

“And at home?”  

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “Same thing. My dad didn’t have a lot of patience for feelings. If I got upset, it was ‘man up’ or ‘don’t embarrass yourself.’ It stuck, I guess.”  

Frank nodded again, more to acknowledge than to agree. “You’ve carried that forward. For Christopher. For your team.”  

“Yeah. Buck is one of the only people I’ve let myself lean on. I didn’t even let myself really, he made me. Just decided one day to start doing things for myself. He’s taken me to the hospital and arranged childcare for Chris. He even showed up at my door with my current home aid worker for Chris, who helped me get assistance and get him into the right school. All within the first few months that I knew him. I didn’t ask for any of it. I would’ve figured it out eventually.”  

“But you didn’t have to, because Buck took it upon himself to make your life easier because he could.”   

“Exactly.”  

“And then he couldn’t do that for you during the lawsuit.”  

“I didn’t know who else to turn to.”   

“And what happens when you can’t hold it together?”  

“I try harder.”  

“Even when it starts hurting the people around you?”  

Eddie flinched, just slightly. “I didn’t think it was hurting anyone. I thought... if I just kept going, it would get better.”  

“But it didn’t. Buck pulled away. Maddie lashed out. You ended up here.”  

Silence again. The clock on the wall ticked softly. Eddie finally looked up, eyes tired but clearer. “I think I was scared,” he said. “That if I stopped holding it all in, I wouldn’t be able to stop the flood. That it would just... wreck everything. That Chris would see it, and he’d feel unsafe. That Buck would see it and think I couldn’t be the partner he needed. So, I just... pushed everything down. And when Buck did the opposite–when he tried to fight for himself–I couldn’t handle it. I took it as a betrayal.”  

Frank leaned back slightly. “But it wasn’t.”  

“No,” Eddie said, quieter. “It wasn’t. It was him trying to stay afloat. And I made him feel like it was selfish. Like he was a burden. I called him exhausting, and it broke something.” He closed his eyes.  

“You know, sometimes people show up for us in the ways they wish someone would show up for them. Buck... he shows up for people like it’s the only way he knows how to prove he matters. But you never asked him what he needed. And now that he finally asked something of the world, it hurt when the people closest to him weren’t behind him.”  

“That’s the part that keeps me up at night,” Eddie admitted. “He trusted me. And I didn’t think twice before making him feel like he couldn’t. I got angry and lashed out. I didn’t see it at the time.”  

Frank leaned forward slightly. “And what do you feel now?”   

“Guilt,” Eddie said. “Shame. Like I let someone I love walk into the dark and convinced myself it was his choice.”   

Frank studied him for a moment. “Did Maddie say anything that stuck with you?”   

Eddie swallowed. “She said he didn’t need space. He needed family. And we all left him alone in the worst moment of his life.” He paused. “She said Buck’s been waiting for the people he loves to decide he’s too much. And I… I think I helped prove him right.”   

Frank let the silence stretch before he said gently, “It sounds like part of you believes that, too.”   

Eddie looked up.   

“You’ve spent your life trying to be solid, dependable, strong. But maybe that meant never learning how to sit with the messy, painful stuff – in yourself or others.”  

Eddie blinked, caught off guard by how much that hit.   

Frank continued, softly. “Buck’s pain didn’t make him weak. And your discomfort with it doesn’t make you bad. It makes you human.” Frank let the silence linger again. Then, “You still want to reconcile with Buck, right?”  

“Yes.”  

“Then you have to start with honesty. And empathy. Not just for him, but for yourself too. You were grieving. You were scared. It doesn’t excuse anything, but it gives you context. And Buck… he might not be ready to hear it yet, but when he is, the apology has to come from that place. From knowing how much you hurt him because of how much he mattered to you.”  

Eddie gave a slight nod, his throat tight. “I don’t know if he’ll ever trust me like that again.”  

“You can’t control that part,” Frank said, not unkindly. “You can only control what you do next.”  

Eddie let the words settle. For the first time since sitting on the couch, he uncrossed his arms, resting his elbows on his knees, palms open. Eddie wiped at his face roughly. “What if he doesn’t want me back?”  

Frank offered a small, sad smile. “Then you wait. And you keep loving him anyway.”  

Eddie sat in silence, hands clasped tightly in his lap.  

It wasn’t a breakthrough. It wasn’t a fix.  

But for the first time, he let himself feel it all.  

And he wasn’t going to run this time.   

The chapel was empty except for the gentle echo of footsteps on polished tile. Afternoon light streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured reds and blues onto the wooden pews. Bobby sat near the back, shoulders tense, hands clasped in front of him. Going there to reflect was better than whatever comfort he would find at the bottom of a bottle.   

Father Brian approached Bobby, smiling softly when he saw him. “Bobby.”  

“Father,” Bobby nodded. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”  

“Never.” Father Brian sat beside him, leaving space but close enough to show he was listening.   

Bobby offered a tired smile. “I’ve been carrying something. I didn’t know where else to bring it.”  

Father Brian waited.  

Bobby exhaled. “It’s about Buck, again.”  

“Is he alright?”  

“He’s alive,” Bobby said. “Getting help. But it was worse than any of us realized.”  

Father Brian’s expression softened. “And you feel you should’ve known.”  

“I was his captain. His family. He was spiraling, and I didn’t stop to look hard enough. Or maybe I did, and I didn’t want to see it.” Bobby’s voice cracked. “And I’ve been where he was. I should’ve recognized it.”  

The silence stretched between them, warm, forgiving. “Bobby,” Father Brian said gently, “recognizing someone’s pain doesn’t mean you can take it from them. It doesn’t mean you failed if you didn’t catch them in time.”  

“I saw the couch where he slept instead of his bed,” Bobby whispered. “The food he wasn’t eating. The silence that screamed. And I still walked away from that loft wondering how we let him get there.”  

Father Brian was quiet for a long moment. “Because we’re human. And sometimes the people we love most are the ones we assume are unshakable.”  

Bobby looked down, ashamed. “I called myself his family. But I abandoned him when he needed me most.”  

Father Brian placed a hand gently on Bobby’s shoulder. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that love isn’t defined by never failing. It’s defined by what you do after.”  

Bobby blinked fast, holding back emotion.  

“You can’t go back and change what you missed. But you can choose differently now. Every day forward.”  

Bobby nodded slowly. “I want to. I just don’t know if he’ll want me back in his life in the same way. I felt betrayed by him when he sued me, but he felt that way by me first. And I forgot about that the second I found out about the lawsuit. It was like my hurt was more important or valid than his. But it wasn’t. And now I could have lost him. He could decide he never wants to have a sort of relationship.”  

“Then you earn it. You apologize to him and you prove it with your presence. And patience. And you show you understand where you failed him, and you continue to try to do better by him.”  

They sat there together, sunlight drifting through colored glass, the chapel quiet and still.  

“I’m glad you came,” Father Brian said softly. “You’re not alone in this. Not in your guilt. And not in your redemption.”  

Bobby stayed quiet for a long moment after Father Brian’s last words, his hands still clasped, knuckles white. He wanted to believe it might be true. When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer. Barely more than a whisper.   

“You know,” he said, “when I first met Buck, I thought he was reckless. All heart, no direction. It took me time to see the pain behind it. The need to matter.” He swallowed. “And then he became one of mine. Not just a probie. Family. And I told myself I’d be someone he could lean on. That I wouldn’t miss the signs the way people missed mine. He didn’t miss mine.”  

Father Brian said nothing. He didn’t need to.  

“But I did, didn’t I?” Bobby’s voice cracked. “I told him he was forgiven after the lawsuit, but I didn’t act like it. I held a piece of it back. I was polite. Professional. Distant. I told myself it was boundaries. But the truth is, I was still hurt.” He looked down, ashamed. “And while I was nursing my own wound, he was bleeding out right in front of me.”  

The admission hung there like a confession. Bobby continued, more slowly now. “When I saw his loft, Father... It looked like someone surviving, not living. It looked like he was just going from day to day.” He swallowed again, emotion tightening his throat. “And the worst part? When I saw it, I thought, I’ve been there. I know that space. The silence. The detachment.” He wiped at his eyes roughly. “I survived my fire. My rock bottom. And I told myself that made me equipped to save someone else from theirs. But maybe I just got lucky. Because if Buck had gone one more day without someone checking on him...”  

He didn’t finish. Couldn’t.  

Father Brian finally spoke. “What you’re feeling – it’s not foreign to you. You’ve carried guilt before, Bobby. I imagine it feels familiar. Almost comfortable.”  

Bobby let out a broken breath. “It does.”  

“But guilt isn’t always a punishment,” Father Brian said gently. “Sometimes, it’s a compass. It tells us where we forgot to love. Where we want to show up better.”  

Bobby looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed.  

“You couldn’t stop Buck’s spiral. You couldn’t carry his pain for him. But you can be the person he sees when he starts to believe he’s worthy again.”  

Bobby sat with that. Let it land. If he wanted it to be, it could be his way forward.   

Buck sat curled into the corner of the couch, one leg pulled up, thumb idly rubbing the seam of his jeans. His body was tense, but not from panic. He knew this room now. He almost felt comfortable in the space with Dr. Reyes. There was still a sense of vulnerability, but he no longer agonized over his every word – whether he was saying the right thing, the wrong thing, or the thing they wanted to hear. When he entered the room, he didn’t need to be anyone in particular. It was a hard habit to break, but Dr. Reyes was a clean slate who came with no preconceived notions about him.  

Dr. Reyes sat across from him, her notepad resting untouched in her lap. “Want to start with how you’ve been feeling since our last session?” she asked softly.  

Buck nodded, eyes on the floor. “Maddie told me… about the loft.”  

Dr. Reyes didn’t flinch. “That she brought the team there?”  

“Yeah.” His voice was tight, clipped. “She said she needed them to see it. To see what they missed.”  

“And how did that sit with you?”  

He let out a slow breath. “I don’t know. I mean – I get it. I do. But it also felt like my privacy… wasn’t mine anymore. Like I’d been put on display.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded. “Like someone opened the curtain on something you hadn’t invited anyone to witness.”  

Buck nodded slowly. “But I also know she did it because she cares. Because she was angry on my behalf.”  

“And part of you resents that?”  

Buck hesitated. “Maybe. None of them were meant to see it–not even Maddie or Athena. I didn’t invite them into that part; they just did it. And then they did it again with everyone else. Or maybe I just hate being seen when I’m messy. When I’m not the version of me that people count on.”  

Dr. Reyes leaned in slightly. “What does it mean to be ‘the version people count on’?”  

Buck gave a small, tired smile. “The one who runs in first. The one who never needs help. The strong one. The hero. I’m always supposed to bounce back and take things in my stride.”   

“But they were worried about you, weren’t they? Part of the delay in you going back to work was because they were worried you were rushing to go back to work.”  

“Yeah…”  

“That doesn’t sound like people who expect you to always be okay.”   

“No, but what if I’m not anymore. They replaced my name on the locker with another firefighter, the one who was supposed to be my stand-in. They don’t say that I need to always be okay, but they don’t need to. They thought I was a problem to start with. I felt so out of place that first day at the station. They were a team. Everyone had a role. I didn’t want them to see how nervous I was, or how desperate I was to have something finally work out. To have a direction and purpose. To be doing something good. But also to have that sense of belonging they all had. I had to show them all that could be true for me, too, and my recklessness always got me attention when I was a kid. But that didn’t go well for me, got fired on my first day.” Buck shrugged. “Got rehired too, though,” he chuckled.  

“But it was partly by chance. They needed someone, and I was able to do it. And by doing so, I proved myself worthy of being rehired. Then, over time, that became the thing. If I could make sure I was always there when they needed something or someone, then they wouldn’t have a reason to get rid of me. When I passed all my recerts, beat my own records, got cleared by all my medical team, and they still wouldn’t take me back, it hurt. I didn’t know what else to do, and looking at another job didn’t feel like an option, because I was worried that would be it. I’d lose my job, my purpose, my team, my friends... everything. To find out it was Bobby who was keeping me from going back, to see Bosko's name over mine... They didn’t say I always need to be okay, but if I’m not okay–if I’m not useful–then why keep me around?”  

Dr. Reyes sat quietly while she let Buck finish his thoughts. “Do they know this is how you’re feeling? Have you spoken to Bobby about why his actions hurt you the way they did?”  

Buck shook his head. “No. I don’t want to be needy. And–and I didn’t really see the point in telling them anyway. It’s not like he was listening to me. But sometimes that’s my own fault. It’s... hard to put these things – feelings – into words. I just act, and I don’t really know why until afterwards. It’s easier here, just like it is with Maddie. She asks questions and helps me talk things through.” He looked down, almost embarrassed.  

“I’m glad you’re finding this helpful.” She let Buck sit for a moment. “You’ve been communicating with Christopher through letters. How has that felt?”  

Buck’s face softened immediately. “It’s… grounding. I don’t know. When I read his words, I feel like… I still belong somewhere. Like I didn’t ruin everything.”  

“Do you think there are others in your life who want to remind you of that, too?”  

Buck looked up. “You mean the rest of the 118?”  

She nodded. “Maddie said they saw your space. It affected them. Deeply. I imagine they’re carrying their own guilt.”  

He swallowed. “She didn’t say much about what they said. Just that they saw it. That they got it a bit more now.”  

“I know you’re not ready to see them. And that’s okay,” she said gently. “But I’m wondering how you’d feel if they wrote to you like Christopher has. Not to ask for forgiveness. Just… to speak. To reach for connection on your terms.”  

Buck’s hands fidgeted. “Letters from Eddie. Chim. Hen. Bobby?”  

“If – and only if – you want that,” Dr. Reyes said. “This is your boundary to set.”  

He was quiet for a long time. “I don’t know if I’m ready to open all of that. Not yet.”  

“That’s okay,” she assured him. “It’s not about rushing. It’s about building a bridge slowly, if and when you’re ready to take a step. You could choose to respond whenever you want – even if that’s never. And if you did respond, it would give you the ability to take time in response, use some of those tools you’ve been using to think about how you feel and what you want to say.”  

Buck looked up at her, eyes a little wet, but steady. “Can I think about it?”  

“Of course,” she said warmly. “This is your pace. And I’ll be right here, however it goes.”  

Buck nodded.  

The four of them sat around Maddie’s kitchen table, half-full mugs and crumpled napkins scattered between them – remnants of a casual takeout dinner that had lingered long past the food. Athena sat beside May, nursing a cup of decaf. Buck had gone quiet after the dishes were cleared, hoodie sleeves tugged down over his hands, his fingers fidgeting with the hem like he was bracing for something.  

Maddie noticed first. “You okay?” she asked, voice low, not pushing.  

He nodded, then shook his head. “Yeah. I mean… I’m thinking.”  

Athena set her cup down. “Talk it out.”  

He hesitated. “Dr. Reyes asked if I’d be open to… getting letters. From the team.”  

May straightened slightly. “Like the ones that I sent you?”  

Buck nodded. “Sort of... She said maybe it’s a way for them to reach out – if I want to let them. Without it being face-to-face yet.” He looked down, embarrassed. “I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no either. I said I’d think about it.”  

There was a pause.  

Athena broke it gently. “What’s holding you back?”  

Buck shrugged. “I don’t know what they’d say. I don’t know if it’s for me or if it’s for them. And I don’t think they’d say anything I should be worried about, but the last time I truly spoke to most of them, they were still angry. I don’t want them to just be saying stuff because they feel guilty or sorry for me.”  

“That would make sense,” Maddie said softly. “But either way… don’t you think you get to decide what to take from it?”  

“I’m just tired,” Buck said quietly. “Tired of being the story everyone’s trying to make sense of. Tired of people seeing me like I’m… broken.”  

May leaned in. “That’s not what this is. It’s about you having control – something you didn’t get for a long time. You get to decide if you open a letter, when you open it, what it means.”  

Athena spoke next, calm and steady. “I know you're scared of what they’ll say. And maybe of what they won’t say. But you don’t owe them forgiveness. You only owe yourself the chance to feel everything – even if it’s messy. Even if it hurts.”  

Buck looked at each of them in turn. “Would you… Read them first? If I asked?”  

“Of course,” Maddie said immediately.  

“I will too,” May added.  

Athena gave him a slight nod. “Me three.”  

Buck let out a slow breath and nodded. “Okay. Maybe I’ll tell Reyes I’m open to it. On my terms.” He looked up, almost shy. “Is that selfish?”  

“No,” Maddie said. “It’s survival. And it’s healing.”  

May smiled. “You’re allowed to want peace without having to explain how much it cost you to get there.”  

Buck let himself relax a little, the weight of the question lighter now that it had been shared.  

“Okay,” he said again, a little steadier this time. “Let’s try.”  

They each picked up their drinks and popcorn bowls as they made their way to the living room. The sofas were still covered in the blankets from their last movie night. May had asked Athena the next time she could come over, as soon as they had gotten in the car last time. Athena had responded with a stern look, telling her not to get too comfortable with it, because school was still more important. May had just grinned and promised to keep up with her schoolwork. She knew that her mom had a soft spot for Buck and would give her some leeway when it came to seeing a smile on his face. It was nice to see him smile and mean it again.  

After the film ended and the credits rolled, Maddie disappeared to clean up the kitchen, saying something about how dishes could wait, but she needed to “at least rinse the popcorn bowl before it becomes a science experiment.” Athena picked up the last of the bowls before following Maddie to the kitchen. Buck offered to help, but Athena insisted it barely warranted the two of them, let alone three.  

May stayed seated on the living room floor, her arms loosely hugging her knees, her eyes fixed on the now-black TV screen.  

Buck didn’t move either. He was still curled into the corner of the couch, half-wrapped in a blanket, legs pulled up like he hadn’t quite realized the movie was over. He looked tired, not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. The type that lingered in your bones.  

May finally turned toward him. “Hey.”   

He glanced down at her and offered a faint smile. “Hey.”  

She hesitated but eventually admitted, “You really scared them.”   

His smile faltered. “I know,” he said softly. “I scared me, too.”   

May shifted to sit up straighter, legs crisscrossed. “I read between the lines in your letter. But hearing Mom and Bobby  – I didn’t realize it was that bad.”   

Buck didn’t look at her.   

“I’m not mad,” she added quickly. “I just… I want to understand.”   

He let out a quiet breath. “It’s hard to explain. It’s not like one thing happened. It was… everything. The lawsuit. The silence at work. The guilt. Feeling like I messed up with Christopher. Like, I was disappointing everyone just by existing.”  

“You’re not,” May said instantly.   

Buck smiled again, this time sadly. “I know that. In my head. But not always in my chest.”  

They sat in silence for a beat. “I kept thinking about you,” he said after a moment. “After you tried to… You know.”   

May’s expression softened. She didn’t flinch.   

“I thought about how you didn’t think you mattered anymore,” Buck continued. “And all I could think was: If she had known how much we needed her, maybe it would’ve made a difference.”   

He looked at her then – really looked. “I get it now. That feeling. That weight. It makes you think disappearing would make things easier for everyone.”   

May blinked back the sudden sting in her eyes. “But you didn’t disappear.”   

Buck’s voice cracked. “I almost did.”   

“And you stayed.”   

“I’m trying to stay,” he whispered. “Every day.”   

May reached out, resting her hand gently on his knee. “Then I’ll try with you.”   

His breath caught.   

“You were there for me when I needed someone who didn’t treat me like I was fragile,” May said. “So, I’ll be that for you now.”   

Buck looked at her, eyes glassy but warm. “You’re kind of the best little sister I never asked for.”   

She grinned. “Yeah, well, you’re kind of the most dramatic big brother I never needed.”   

They both chuckled. It felt good. Real. And in the silence that followed, they sat together—not broken—not fixed. Just trying.  

Together.  

Not long after, Athena returned from the kitchen, and May and she were about to leave. May held on to Buck a little tighter and longer than normal when she hugged him goodbye. For a moment, Buck just stood in the living room. Maddie thought he looked lost, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had too much on his mind for him to settle. Instead, he decided to turn around and curl back up in the blankets on the sofa.  

“Mind if I join you?” Maddie asked quietly.  

Buck nodded and gestured to the space next to him. The apartment was hushed except for the soft murmur of the TV. Buck had put on some nature documentary – one of the slow ones, all hushed narration and wide, sweeping shots of ocean currents and drifting jellyfish. He hadn’t picked it for content. Just sound. Something steady and gentle. Something that didn’t demand anything.   

Buck was curled up on one side of the couch, blanket tucked around his legs. His eyes were on the screen, but she wasn’t sure if he was actually watching. She wasn’t either. She was curled up on the opposite end, legs folded beneath her, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like armor. They hadn’t spoken for almost thirty minutes.   

And somehow, it didn’t feel awkward.   

Maddie glanced sideways. Buck’s head was resting against the cushion. His brow was drawn, not tight, but thoughtful. Still carrying something. Still in it.  

“You okay?” she asked softly.   

He didn’t look at her right away. “Mmhm. Just thinking.”   

She waited a beat. “Good thoughts or bad ones?”   

He finally glanced over at her, lips tilted just barely upward. “Weird ones.”   

“Weird like how?”   

“Like… that jellyfish kind of reminds me of Chim’s old haircut.”   

Maddie snorted, caught off guard. “Oh my god. You’re not wrong.”   

They both laughed quietly, almost cautiously. Like the room might collapse if they were too loud. The sound faded, but the warmth lingered.  

Buck adjusted the blanket around him, tucking it under his chin. “I didn’t realize how tired I’ve been until I stopped pretending I wasn’t.”   

Maddie leaned her head on the back of the couch. “Yeah. Same.”   

Silence stretched again.   

“I don’t need you to fix anything,” Buck said suddenly. His voice was soft. A little fragile. “I just… like knowing you’re here.”   

Maddie looked over and met his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “You don’t have to hold it together with me.”  

He nodded, exhaled, and let his shoulders drop just slightly.  

And then, for the first time in days, Buck let his eyes close. Not in collapse – but in rest.   

Maddie stayed sitting up, watching the screen without seeing it, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She didn’t need sleep right now. She just needed this – her brother here, breathing, safe.   

The jellyfish drifted across the screen. Somewhere, the ocean kept moving. And in the quiet, the smallest kind of healing began.  

Buck’s Journal  

Date:  

I didn’t think I’d write tonight.  

The movie helped. It felt… normal. The kind of normal I forgot I missed.  

Athena rolled her eyes every time a character did something scientifically impossible. May quoted lines under her breath like it was a personal challenge. Maddie kept pretending she wasn’t crying at the emotional parts. (She absolutely was.)  

But May stayed, for a minute, by herself.  

We talked.  

She heard what I’ve been too scared to say out loud to anyone but Dr. Reyes:  

That it almost happened.  

That I almost disappeared.  

And she didn’t flinch.  

She just looked at me with laser focus – the ones that always saw the story underneath the panic.  

She said she wanted to help me stay.  

That we could try together.  

I don’t know what I expected – maybe guilt, maybe pity. But I got presence.  

She just sat there and let me be real.  

She’s not a kid anymore.  

Maybe she never was.  

It’s strange. I used to think love had to be earned. That I had to show up for everyone else perfectly to be allowed to stay. That if I slipped, they’d all realize I wasn’t worth the trouble.  

But tonight… no one needed me to fix anything. They just wanted me there.  

I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling like a burden. But tonight, it felt like maybe – just maybe – I’m allowed to exist without proving I deserve to.  

And May reminded me of something people say, but I don’t know that I’ve ever believed:  

People stay.  

Not just in the good moments.  

Even when it’s hard.  

Maybe especially then.  

~ Buck   

Chapter Text

Buck sat cross-legged on the couch in Dr. Reyes’ office, a legal pad balanced on one knee. A pen twitched between his fingers. He’d already crossed out two false starts.

Dr. Reyes sat across from him, posture easy, voice calm. “You don’t have to be perfect, Buck. You just have to be honest.”  

He gave a quiet huff of breath. “Yeah, that’s the part that’s hard.”  

“Then let’s start with the intention,” she said gently. “Why do you want to include a note?”  

Buck glanced down at the pad. “Because I need them to know that I’m not ready for… anything big. Not conversations, not apologies. Not pressure. I want to read what they have to say, but I don’t want them to expect something back from me right away. I feel like I still have a lot to process, and I want to know what they have to say before making any sort of decision.”  

“That’s a clear and healthy boundary,” she said with a nod. “Let’s get that in writing.”  

Buck stared at the blank top of the page, then began to write. Slowly.  

If you’re reading this, it means I agreed to hear from you. That in itself is a big deal for me.  

He paused. “Is that too direct?”  

“No,” Dr. Reyes said. “That’s clarity.”  

Buck nodded and continued, his words a little more certain now.  

I want to be honest up front – I don’t know if I’m ready to talk face-to-face. I don’t know when I will be. Reading your letters is something I’m choosing to do, not something I’m obligated to do. There’s a difference.  

Please don’t ask me for anything right now. Not a response, not forgiveness, not even understanding. This isn’t about clearing guilt – it’s about giving me space to hear your truth.  

I’ll read when I’m ready. I’ll respond if and when I can. That’s the boundary.  

He looked up at her. “Too much?”  

“No,” she said softly. “It’s brave. And it’s compassionate – for both them and for you.”  

Buck nodded, a little overwhelmed but steadier. He added a final line.  

Thank you for trying.  

– Buck  

He set the pen down. “Good?” he asked, a little unsure.  

Dr. Reyes smiled. “It’s honest. It’s grounded. And it’s yours. That’s more than good – it’s real.”  

Buck leaned back against the couch and exhaled. The kind of breath that sounded like the first inhale after surfacing from deep water.  

The late afternoon sun filtered into the kitchen, casting long golden streaks across the counter. Maddie was standing by the sink rinsing out two mugs, one of which still smelled faintly of chamomile. Buck stepped in quietly, a folded piece of paper in his hand, worn at the corners where he'd fidgeted with it all morning.  

“Mads,” he said softly.  

She turned, immediately alert. “Yeah?”  

He hesitated. Then held out the paper.  

The tension left her shoulders. She took it gently. “Is this the note?”  

Buck nodded, stuffing his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie. “I worked on it with Dr. Reyes,” he said. “It just… lays out what I’m okay with. What I’m not.”  

Maddie didn’t unfold it. She just looked at him and said, “Thank you. For trusting me with this.”  

He gave her a small, tired smile. “I’m not ready to hear from all of them. Not yet.”  

“Okay,” she said immediately. “Then we don’t.”  

“I want to start with Hen,” he said, his voice quieter now. “She’s… I don’t know. Maybe the one I’m least afraid to hear from.”  

Maddie nodded. “Hen it is.”  

Buck exhaled and leaned against the counter beside her. “I’m still scared,” he admitted. “I keep thinking, what if reading it makes it worse. What if it just confirms everything I’ve been afraid of?”  

Maddie set the paper down and gently placed a hand over his. “Then we read it together. If and when you’re ready, and if it’s too much, you don’t have to read another one. You set the rules, Buck. You stay in control.”  

He looked at her, grateful.  

“I’ll take it to her,” she said. “No pressure. No expectations. Just opening the door a little, in a way that you can close it at any point.”  

Buck nodded slowly. “One letter at a time,” he said.  

Maddie squeezed his hand. “And never alone.”  

Hen sat in the driver’s seat of her car, parked just outside her house, the engine still running. Maddie had handed her the envelope not five minutes earlier, explaining what it was. She’d had a look on her face that said even though Hen wasn’t required to do this, Maddie would have something to say about it if she didn’t. Not that it was even up for debate. Hen had been waiting for a chance to start rebuilding that bridge. She had so many regrets over how she didn’t stand up when it mattered the most.  

Hen unfolded the paper slowly.  

She read every word.  

Twice.  

When she finally turned off the ignition and stepped inside, she didn’t talk to anyone. Not yet. She needed a minute. Just her, and the quiet weight of Buck’s voice coming through on the page.  

She went into the study, pulled open a drawer, and took out a lined notebook she usually used for training notes. Then, she sat at the desk a nd began.  

Dear Buck,  

I read your note three times before I even picked up this pen. I wanted to make sure I got this right for you. Thank you for giving me this space, for even considering hearing from me. I know you don’t owe any of us that. Especially not me.  

I’ve been turning over in my mind a lot over the last few months. How loud I was in my silence. How I convinced myself that giving you space was the same thing as giving you support. I thought I was protecting your independence. But really? I was protecting myself from the guilt of not knowing how to help you.  

When you first came back, I told you I wasn’t like everyone else, that I wouldn’t hold anything against you. I understood, in a way, that you didn’t do anything maliciously. You were dealt a bad hand and were trying to make the most of it. I thought there was only so much I could do at work when Bobby was setting the rules.  

The truth is, I’ve been afraid. Afraid I failed you. Scared you wouldn’t want to hear from me again. Afraid I stopped being someone safe for you. I should have made more of an effort when I saw you withdrawing, when we saw you becoming almost resigned to your fate, like there was no other way for things to be.  

But I never stopped caring. I never stopped seeing you as my family. And I never stopped hoping you’d come back to us – in your time, on your terms.  

We all spent a lot of time thinking we knew what to do when it came to you. That we knew what you needed and how to help you. But you were trying to tell us, and we weren’t listening.   

I won’t ask for forgiveness. That’s not what this letter is for. I’m just writing to say: I see you now, Buck. And I’m still here. And I’ll be listening this time.   

Whenever you’re ready.  

With love and no expectations,  

Hen  

She stared at the paper for a long time after she finished. Then she folded it carefully, placed it in an envelope, and wrote Buck on the front.  

Buck sat on the edge of the couch, Hen’s letter remained unopened in his hands. He turned it over once, twice, like he could sense the weight of her words through the envelope. His knee bounced. He hadn’t spoken in minutes.  

Maddie, Athena, and May sat with him. No one pressed.  

Finally, Buck held it out.  

“You said you’d read them first,” he said, his voice low. “If I asked.”  

Maddie reached forward carefully and took it.  

“You sure?” Athena asked.  

“No,” Buck said honestly. “But I still want you to.”  

Maddie nodded, gently opening the letter and smoothing it flat on the coffee table. The three women leaned in, reading in silence. May’s brows furrowed slightly. Athena’s mouth pulled into a quiet line. Maddie blinked more than once.  

Buck watched their faces the whole time, trying to read them instead of the page.  

When Maddie finished, she didn’t fold the letter up. She turned to him. “She didn’t try to fix anything,” she said quietly. “She just wanted to let you know that she knew – that she’s here.”   

May looked at him softly. “You can tell she meant it.”  

Athena nodded. “No expectations. No guilt. Just honesty.”  

Buck stared at the paper. He felt something twist low in his chest – not panic this time, but anticipation—hesitant, cautious hope. “Okay,” he whispered. “I want to read it.”  

They didn’t move. They didn’t leave. They just gave him space, quietly shifting back to give him the room to lean in and unfold the page.  

His eyes moved slowly over Hen’s handwriting.  

I read your note three times before I even picked up this pen.. .  

A breath caught in his throat. He kept reading. Every word was soft. Steady. By the time he reached the end, his hands were trembling. He wasn’t afraid anymore, but he felt the emotional gravity of the letter and the honesty in it. It was the reassurance of someone else still wanting to be there for him, despite everything that took him by surprise. He looked to the three people who had sat with him through everything. One day, he wouldn’t watch them for a sign that they were leaving. One day, he would let himself settle in the space without feeling the need to be ready to pack a bag and go. But he had stopped feeling that way with the 118, and now look at where he was. He could trust in it – in them – for now.  

Buck folded the letter carefully. He didn’t speak for a moment. “She didn’t try to make herself the victim.”  

“No,” Maddie agreed. “She didn’t.”  

“She owned it,” he added, voice steadier now. “That means something.”  

May leaned in, voice gentle. “What do you want to do next?”  

Buck didn’t answer right away. But after a long pause, he nodded to himself. “I think... no, I don’t think I’m ready to respond to her. I need some time to think.” He looked down at the letter. “I think I want another one.”  

Maddie’s expression didn’t shift. “Do you want me to ask someone specific?”  

Buck scratched at the back of his neck. “Chimney.”  

Maddie blinked, surprised – but not thrown. “You’re sure?”  

“I don’t know if I’m sure,” Buck said honestly. “But I think… it matters. That he gets the chance.”  

Athena nodded slowly. “That’s generous of you.”  

“It’s not about being generous.” Buck’s voice was quiet, even. “It’s about being ready. And I think I can hear him now. Whatever he has to say.”  

May raised her eyebrow. “You know he’s going to be emotional.”  

“I figured.” Buck gave a small, tired smile. “He always is.”  

Maddie smiled too, then sobered. “Do you want me to give him the boundary note again?”  

“Yeah,” Buck said. “Same one Hen got. No changes.”  

“I’ll make sure he understands what this means – and what it doesn’t mean.”  

Buck nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly.  

Maddie’s expression softened, her eyes searching his. “You want to know if he still sees you.”  

Buck swallowed. “No. I don’t think he ever stopped seeing me, but it’s how he sees me that’s the issue. I want to know if he still sees me the same way he did when I first walked into the station. I want to know what he thinks of me now. I want to know if he ever saw more than what he wanted to think about me.”  

Maddie didn’t answer right away. Then she said softly, “I think he did, at one point, but I think he forgot.”  

Buck looked down, then gave a small nod. “Let’s see if he remembers now.”  

Chimney opened the door, surprised to see Maddie on the other side – coat still buttoned, envelope in her hand.  

“Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight.”  

“I won’t stay long,” she said quietly, stepping in. Maddie held out the envelope. “Have you spoken to Hen? About Buck and the letters?”  

“A little,” Chimney admitted. “She didn’t tell me too much, though. Just that he had been willing to have a letter from her.”  

Maddie nodded. “It’s something he’s working on with us and his therapist. The note explains it a bit more. He’s ready for a second letter.”  

Chimney stared at her. He blinked. “He… he picked me?”  

Maddie nodded. “He wants to hear from you. But under his terms.”  

She gestured toward the envelope. “That’s the same boundary note I gave Hen. Buck’s not looking for apologies that demand forgiveness. He’s not offering conversation. Just… space to hear. He wants – needs – time to process everything.”  

Chim took the envelope carefully, like it might fall apart if he wasn’t gentle enough. “I didn’t think he’d want to hear from me,” he admitted. “Not after–everything.”  

Maddie shrugged. “He has a lot he needs to work through. I don’t... he still sees you all as his family, despite everything that’s happened. And he’s trying,” Maddie said. “That’s more than anyone could ask of him.” She gave him a pointed look.  

Chim’s throat tightened. “How did he seem? After Hen’s?”  

“Quiet,” Maddie said. “Thoughtful. A little steadier.”  

She paused, then looked him in the eye. “Don’t rush this. Don’t perform. Just be honest. He wants to believe in the best of you all, but he’s finally starting to be honest with himself. About everything. But also, about the pain you all caused. I haven’t forgotten the things you said about him or the way you wrote him off. Make sure you remember that when you write to him.”  

Chim nodded, voice thick. “I will.”  

Maddie turned around to leave. “And you don’t need to write to him. You can choose not to. But I can’t say you’ll get another chance to explain yourself to him.”    

Later that night, Chim sat at the kitchen table, the lights low. Jee was asleep. The envelope sat beside a mug of untouched tea. Chim had read the note twice.  

Buck’s boundaries were clear: No pressure. No expectations. No guilt-tripping disguised as love.  

He opened his notebook and tapped the pen against the paper for a long time. Then he started.  

Buck,  

I thought I’d be the last person you’d want to hear from, so let me start by saying thank you for giving me this chance.  

I’ve rewritten this first paragraph so many times, trying to figure out how to explain myself and my actions. But every time it’s felt more like I’m trying to justify myself, when that’s not what I want to do. That’s not what you deserve. So maybe the truth is more straightforward: I was scared. Not of you – of what your pain said about the rest of us. Of what it meant that what we’d done.  

 I saw you unraveling, and instead of pulling you close, I stepped back. Told myself I was giving you space. What I really gave you was silence. And I know that probably hurt more than anything I could’ve said.  

Worse than that was the way I viewed you. I didn’t see it until Maddie mentioned something, but we wrote you off. It was easier to see you and your actions in a way that suited the betrayal everyone was feeling. That wasn’t fair to you or anyone. You’ve grown a lot since we first met. I didn’t look beyond the surface.  

You’ve always been more than a teammate. You’re family. You were the one who picked me up when I nearly fell apart. And when you started falling, I wasn’t there.  

That’s not okay. I don’t expect you to forgive me for it. But I need you to know it was never about not caring. And now it’s about not knowing how to show it without fumbling every word.  

I miss you. But more than that, I believe in you. And I hope, in time, you believe in us again, too. I want to earn your trust again. I should have continued trusting you the way I did in the beginning.  

On your terms. Only then.  

—Chim  

He folded the letter slowly. Sat with it in his hands. He had so much he needed to say to Buck, but that wasn’t what this was about. Chimney just hoped he conveyed everything without making it all about him.  

The letter wasn’t closure. But it wasn’t a reunion either.  

It was a chance. A first step towards making things right.  

And this time, Chim wouldn’t let it go to waste.  

Buck sat on the couch in Dr. Reyes’ office with Chimney’s letter folded neatly in his lap. His fingers rested on the crease, unmoving. He hadn’t read it yet. He didn’t know what to expect and he didn’t feel strong enough to read it on his own. Chimney was a tough one to accept in a way that was different from the others. They were close enough to be family, and Buck had put a lot of faith in him after the situation with Doug, but there had also been a natural distance because of the comments and jokes he made. Buck didn’t think there was any malice behind it, and once upon a time, he would’ve taken them in his stride. He still did – sort of. But the longer he had spent at the 118, the more he noticed a little twinge after every joking dig at his past or his energy.  

He glanced at her. “You mind if I… read it out loud?”  

Dr. Reyes gave a gentle nod. “Go ahead. We’ll sit with it together.”  

Buck unfolded the letter carefully. The paper had a slight tremble in his hands. He read every word, slowly, like he needed to taste it.  

I thought I’d be the last person you’d want to hear from...  

As he went on, his voice got quieter. Tight in places. But he made it all the way through. When he reached the final line – “On your terms. Only then.” – he stopped. Folded the paper in half. And set it down between them, as if it was too heavy to keep holding. He didn’t speak for a moment. “I thought it would make me feel better.”  

Dr. Reyes leaned in gently. “But it didn’t?”  

Buck shook his head. “It was kind. Thoughtful. He meant it. But all I could feel while I was reading it was… mad.” He blinked quickly. “And then I felt guilty. For feeling mad. Like, I don’t have the right.”  

Dr. Reyes tilted her head. “Why do you think you feel that way?”  

“Because I know they didn’t mean to hurt me,” Buck said. “They were scared. Confused. Everyone was just trying to survive what happened after the lawsuit.”  

“And you were trying to survive too,” she said quietly.  

Buck looked at her.  

“You were hurting. Isolated. Trying to hold it all together. And the people you loved most turned away. That’s not just sad, Buck. It’s infuriating.”  

His jaw tensed. “I don’t want to blame them. They didn’t sign up to be perfect.”  

“No one’s asking them to be,” she said. “But being angry doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving them. It means your pain has edges.”  

Buck looked down at his hands. “I think I needed them to prove I wasn’t disposable. And instead… they disappeared.”  

His voice cracked on the last word. He quickly rubbed at his eye.  

Dr. Reyes let the silence hang, not in discomfort, but in respect. Finally, she said, “Anger is a signal. Not a weakness. And not a betrayal.”  

Buck nodded slowly. “So, I’m allowed to feel both? Hurt and mad?”  

“You’re allowed to feel everything,” she said. “You’re allowed to take up space in your own story.”  

Buck let out a slow breath. He looked at Chimney’s letter again. Not with rejection. But with honesty. “I think I want to keep reading,” he said. “But I also think I need to feel what comes after. Not just swallow it.”  

Dr. Reyes gave a small smile. “That’s called healing.”  

Hen sat across from Chim at a small café table tucked into a quiet corner of a park. It was one of the few places in L.A. that still felt peaceful. Neither of them touched their drinks.  

“He hasn’t said anything?” Chim finally asked.  

Hen shook her head. “Not to me.”  

Chim sighed. “Maddie said he got mine. That he read it.”  

Hen looked over at him, steady. “And?”  

“And I don’t know how it landed. That’s the part that’s killing me.” Chim rubbed at his face. “I keep wondering if I should’ve said less. Or more. Or not written at all.”  

Hen stirred her coffee but didn’t drink. “I think silence feels heavier because it used to mean something bad. But maybe for Buck, silence is space. Not rejection.”  

Chim looked at her. “You believe that?”  

“I want to,” she said honestly. “And I think we owe it to him to let him take the time. However long it takes.”  

Chim leaned back, exhaling hard. “You think he’ll ever talk to us again?”  

“I think if we’re lucky,” Hen said quietly, “he’ll learn that his voice matters more than our comfort.”  

They sat in silence, not because they didn’t have anything to say, but because they were finally learning that waiting could be an act of love too.  

Buck sat curled into the corner of the couch, knees pulled up, blanket tossed across his lap. He wasn’t reading. He wasn’t watching TV. Just staring out the window, eyes unfocused.  

Maddie walked in from the kitchen, her voice soft. “You okay if I sit?”  

He nodded without looking. She sat on the other end of the couch, giving him space. They sat in silence for a few beats before she spoke again. “You’ve been quiet. Not in the 'I’m thinking' kind of way. In the 'I’m heavy' kind of way.”  

Buck gave a small, tired smile. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”  

Maddie nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

He hesitated and eventually sighed. “I’ve been thinking about being mad.”  

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t that. She pressed on – impressed, but careful. “Good. That’s progress.”  

“It felt wrong at first,” Buck said. “Like I was betraying them.”  

“And now?”  

“I still feel guilty,” he admitted. “But at least I feel honest.”  

Maddie gave a small nod. “That matters, Buck.” She looked at him. “You’re allowed to be angry, Buck. For everything. The way they treated you. The things they said to you. How they left you. I understand that you feel like they’re your family and you betrayed them with the lawsuit, but that didn’t give them permission to just walk away from you altogether.”  

Buck shook his head instinctively. “I told you it was Bobby that stopped me from going back, right? That everyone cleared me, and he told the brass he didn’t think I was ready yet. None of it was good enough for him; he didn’t trust me. And the team all took his side.”  

She let that settle for a moment. Then asked, gently, “Have you thought about… Bobby? Or Eddie?”  

Buck let out a long breath. The tension in his shoulders visibly rose. “I’ve thought about them,” he said. “But that’s all I’ve done.”  

“I’m not asking if you’re ready for anything,” Maddie said. “I just want to know how it feels when you do think about it.”  

He was quiet for a long time. “With Bobby…” He paused. “I think it would hurt more to hear him justify things than to hear him admit he failed me. And I don’t know which one I’d get.”  

Maddie nodded gently, staying quiet.  

“With Eddie,” Buck said, voice thinner now, “I’m scared he’ll write me off the same way he did when he called me exhausting. That maybe I really am too much. That I was always temporary.”  

Maddie’s eyes softened. “You were never temporary, Buck. You were never too much.”  

“I know you think that,” he whispered. “I don’t know if he ever did.”  

The silence that followed wasn’t empty – it was careful. Maddie reached across the couch and rested a hand gently over his. “You don’t have to open either of those doors until you want to. Not for closure. Not for peace. Not even for forgiveness.”  

He looked at her, eyes a little red, but not from tears. “What if I never do?” he asked.  

“Then you don’t,” Maddie said. “But you still get to heal.”  

Buck stared at their joined hands for a while after Maddie spoke. Then he exhaled. Slow. Heavy. “I think I want the letters,” he said finally.  

Maddie looked up at him.  

“I want to know what they have to say,” Buck continued. “But I’m not ready to feel it yet. Not all the way. And I don’t know if I’m even ready to read them yet. But I think... it’ll be good to know if they even want that door open or not.” He glanced at her, uncertain. “Is that okay?”  

Maddie gave him the gentlest smile – the kind she used to reserve for middle-of-the-night feeds and hospital corridors when everything felt fragile. “It’s more than okay,” she said. “You’re not saying yes to pain. You’re saying yes to choice. That’s huge.”  

Buck nodded slowly. “You can tell them. Bobby and Eddie. That I’m open to hearing from them. Just… not face-to-face. And no expectations.”  

“I’ll make sure they understand,” Maddie said softly.  

He ran a hand through his hair. “I might not open them for a while.”  

“Even if you never open them, you’re still brave,” she said.  

Buck gave a small, tired laugh. “I don’t feel brave.”  

“No one does when they’re doing the hardest thing,” Maddie said, squeezing his hand. “But you are.”  

He leaned his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling like maybe the answers were written in the plaster. “Two more letters,” he whispered. “Then I figure out what comes next.”  

“You don’t have to know what that is yet,” Maddie said gently.  

“I know,” Buck said. And for once, he meant it.  

The house was quiet. Christopher had already gone to bed, and the only sound was the low hum of the fridge. Eddie sat at the kitchen table, a blank page in front of him, pen poised but unmoving. He’d spent the last ten minutes just staring at it. The idea of writing to Buck felt so strange, so formal, like putting their friendship through a filter. But maybe that was the point.  

Buck,  

I don’t know how to start this, so I guess I’ll start with the most important part: I messed up.  

That day in the grocery store, when I called you exhausting, I think about it more than you probably believe. I said it because I was angry, and overwhelmed, and hurting in ways I didn’t even understand yet. But as soon as we were back in the engine, I knew I’d done damage I couldn’t take back. Maybe not explicitly, but there was this feeling that something wasn’t right, that I couldn’t shake.  

You’ve always carried more than people saw. And I think I let myself rely on you so much that I forgot to ask how you were holding up. I leaned on you until you collapsed, and then I acted like it wasn’t my fault.  

You said something later that stuck with me – that I’m Chris’s dad, and he shouldn’t rely on you. I know you said it because you were trying to push me away, but it landed like a gut punch. Because in my head, I always thought of you as his person, too. His safe place. Maybe I just didn’t say it enough. You were a natural with him from day one, seemed to know what he needed when instantly. You seamlessly fit in with our dynamic and helped in ways I didn’t know we needed. I didn’t have room to be jealous because you were just you, and Chris is more important. But I’ve always felt so far out of my depth with Chris. Your comment was the first time since you came into my life that I felt that same sense of failure I used to have holding Chris as a baby when he was crying and I was doing nothing, knowing that Shannon could do it.  

I once told you that I failed him more times than I could count—that was true. What you said is also true. It wasn’t fair for me to keep putting all of the responsibilities on you because I needed help and didn’t know what to do, especially when you needed help too.  It wasn’t fair for me to keep throwing Chris at you as if it would fix everything, when all it was doing was making you shove down everything you were dealing with.  

I don’t know if you’ll read this. I don’t know if I even deserve it from you. But I’m writing it anyway because you were never exhausting. You were trying to survive.  

And I should have been there.  

—Eddie  

He sat back in the chair, wiping his hand over his mouth.  

The lights were low in the firehouse office. Bobby sat alone, long after most of the crew had gone home. A yellow notepad was on the desk, a pen tucked behind his ear. He pulled it down and stared at the blank page. His hand trembled slightly. When he finally started writing, the words came slowly, like stepping into cold water.  

Buck,  

This is the hardest letter I’ve written in a long time, because it forces me to admit how much I failed you–first as your captain, and then as your family.  

When the firetruck bombing happened, I told myself I needed to be neutral. That leadership meant stepping back. But the truth is, I did neither of those things. I claimed the decision to hold you back from returning to work was purely from a standpoint of what was best at the time. I thought that I knew you better than the people saying you were ready for work because I worked with you so often and so closely. But in doing that, I wasn’t making the decision as your boss, but as your family. When you came back to work after the lawsuit, I got to tell myself that you were back too early, so I was doing what was right, keeping you on chore duty and light work. In reality, I was hurt, and I was too focused on feeling betrayed to see what you were telling me.   

Then, when you needed me to be your family, when it went too far, I used the job as a shield. I hid behind the rules so I wouldn’t have to face the ways I let you down as a person. I saw you drowning, and I let protocol keep me from throwing you a rope.  

And when I finally thought I was ready to let it all go, I actually wasn’t. I didn’t make space for your pain. I expected you to show up, smile, and fit in again like nothing had changed. That was unfair. And unkind.  

I told myself you’d come back to us when you were ready. I told myself we were giving you space. But really, I was avoiding the guilt I felt about my anger. Not at you – at myself. For not knowing how to protect you from what we had all unknowingly created.  

I know I may never earn your trust back. But I hope this letter is a first step – a chance to be honest finally.  

You are not broken, Buck. You are not the sum of our failures. You’re someone I care deeply for. And I am so sorry I didn’t show that when it mattered most.  

With care,

—Bobby  

Bobby folded the letter slowly, like a prayer. Quiet. Steady. Heavy.  

It didn’t solve anything. But it started something.  

Maybe for both of them.  

Bucks Journal   

Date:   

I keep trying to talk myself out of it. Out of being angry.  

I keep telling myself that they were scared, confused, that they meant well. But the thing is? That doesn’t erase what happened.  

It doesn’t erase the nights I sat alone with nothing but silence and regret. It doesn’t change how invisible I felt showing up to a job where no one looked me in the eye. It doesn’t fix the feeling of walking into a fire with people who would rather walk past me than with me.  

It doesn’t change that I needed them. And they left.  

And the part that really gets me? The part that stings like it just happened yesterday?  

They didn’t even seem surprised when I started disappearing. Like they expected it. Like it was inevitable.  

I’m so tired of proving I matter.  

And I think… I’m tired of swallowing how much that hurts.  

I know the letters from Bobby and Eddie are coming. We spoke about it. Maddie didn’t say much, but I could feel it in her – that careful quiet. That kind of quiet she only gets when she’s protecting me from the weight of something real. She’s been holding on to a lot for me recently. Just like she tried to do when we were kids. I owe her so much.   

And I know asked for them, but now that they’re coming, all I want to do is run.  

I keep thinking: What if I read them and believe them? What if I let Bobby close again – and the next time I need him, he looks away? What if he understands how bad things were, and he continues treating me like I'm fragile? What if he struggles to let me back after I get cleared again?   

What if I let Eddie close again – and he decides I’m too much again? What if the next time I need help in some way, he’s not there? What if he continues to expect everything from me all the time? I know I did it willingly. I know that. But he’s supposed to be my friend. He’s supposed to at least understand when I need help. What if he can’t handle the next time I react badly to something?   

What if I forgive them and they still don’t stay?  

I’ve spent so long trying to earn my place with them that I don’t know what it looks like if I stop. And I’m scared that if I open that door even an inch, they’ll step through it and leave again.  

And this time… I won’t survive it.  

I’m tired of loving people who don’t know what to do with me when I’m not okay.  

I’m tired of being “a lot.”  

But mostly, I’m tired of being afraid of the people I love most.  

I don’t want to live behind this wall forever.  

But I don’t know how to come out without getting hurt again.   

Maybe Dr. Reyes is right – maybe healing isn’t about trusting them. Maybe it starts with trusting myself.  

I’m not there yet. But I’m closer than I was.   

I think... I think if I could build a life here, I could do it somewhere else. Somewhere close to Maddie though. I don’t like the idea of starting over fresh, but it’s not a new concept to me.   

~ Buck  

Chapter Text

The office was quiet except for the soft ticking of the wall clock and the gentle hum of the air vent. Buck sat forward on the couch, his hands clasped between his knees. His usual restlessness wasn’t there – not physically, at least. Dr. Reyes observed him, her notepad resting on her lap, untouched. 

Buck finally broke the silence. “I wrote in my journal last night.” 

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “That’s good. Want to share what came up?” 

He nodded slowly. “I was just thinking about what we talked about the other day. About me feeling angry. About allowing myself to feel angry. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to justify their actions and how they made me feel. But now...”  

“Now what?” She prompted gently.  

“I was thinking about Bobby and Eddie and their letters. How afraid I am of reading them. I don’t know if it’s going to say things I want to hear or the opposite. I don’t know which I’m more afraid of. And that hurts. That our relationship is at the point where I don’t even trust a simple letter from them. There are so many what-ifs at the moment, and I don’t like it.” He sighed, releasing some of the built-up tension. “I also think I’ve been confusing trust with performance. Like, if I’m doing everything right, if I’m helpful, calm, strong – then I’m trustworthy. Then I matter.” 

She nodded. “And when you’re not doing those things?” 

“I feel disposable,” Buck said. “Even to the people I love.” His voice tightened. “Especially to them.” 

Dr. Reyes sat forward slightly. “Does that connect to what happened after the lawsuit?” 

Buck nodded. “Yeah. That… whole time, it wrecked me.” He looked down. “I thought I was doing what was right – not just for me, but for the department. I thought if I just followed the rules, took the hits, passed the certifications again, showed them I was ready... they’d let me come home.” 

“But they didn’t,” Dr. Reyes said gently. 

Buck’s jaw clenched. “Bobby didn’t.” 

She let the silence stretch as she observed his reaction.  

“I passed everything: recerts, evals, psych clearance. I was ready,” Buck said, his voice breaking with frustration. “But Bobby still said no. Said I needed ‘more time.’” His hands curled into fists. “I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to be angry. But that anger led to that stupid lawyer and the stupid lawsuit. So then, when I went back, I thought I couldn’t allow myself to be angry. Not only did I bring it all on myself, but if I got angry again, I’d mess up again. And I had to be perfect.” His voice got quiet. “But no one’s perfect.”  

“You’re right. No one’s perfect. And it’s setting yourself up for failure to have those expectations.” 

Buck nodded. “I guess I’m just tired of every little mistake being a big one. I’m tired of accepting less because I’m worried it’s all I’ll ever get. I’m tired of feeling like I have to justify every action and reaction. ‘m tired of being treated like I can’t make decisions for myself.” She could hear the anger in Buck’s voice, but as he talked, it made way for the defeat he felt.  

Dr. Reyes let his words settle in the space between them. Buck leaned back, shoulders sagging, as if saying it all out loud had stripped away whatever was holding him upright. 

“You’re describing exhaustion,” she said softly. “Not physical, but mental and emotional exhaustion. You can feel it physically, but it’s the kind that seeps into how you see yourself. And that’s dangerous, because it convinces you that you don’t have a choice anymore.” 

Buck’s eyes flicked to hers, a hint of challenge in them. “Do I?” 

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “But choice feels risky when you’ve been punished for it before. It’s safer to keep performing, to try to earn safety instead of claiming it. The problem is that safety isn’t real if it depends on you never slipping up.” 

His jaw shifted. “So what? I’m supposed to… just be okay with messing up?” 

“Not okay with it,” she clarified. “But forgiving yourself when it happens. And maybe – maybe – allowing the people you trust to see you when you’re not perfect. And surrounding yourself with people that acknowledge you’re not perfect and give you space to make mistakes.” 

He let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the part I’m not sure I can do.” 

“That’s the part you’ve been practicing without realizing it,” she countered. “Right now. Sitting here. Telling me all of this.” 

Buck stared at the floor, tracing the seam in the carpet with his eyes. “It feels different here. Safer.” 

“That’s the goal,” Dr. Reyes said, her voice steady. “You don’t have to earn being cared for. You just have to let it happen. And that might be the scariest thing you ever do.” 

For a long moment, the only sound was the clock ticking. Then Buck gave a slow nod – not of agreement, not yet, but of recognition. “I thought I had that with the team, with Bobby. I messed up before, and he and Athena gave me another shot.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded. “I remember; we’ve talked about it before. You mentioned proving yourself to them. Do you think that had an impact on your relationship?”  

“Right. Yeah. I... uh... I guess. Every time I messed up, it was like I had to prove myself to earn forgiveness. And when it felt like there was no chance of that happening after the lawsuit. But now...” he trailed off, lost in his thoughts. 

“Now...?” 

He shrugged. “Now I want to understand why he did it. I want to understand why I wasn‘t allowed to feel like shit after everything that happened. Why I wasn’t allowed to fight to get my job back when I would’ve been back sooner if it hadn’t been for Bobby.” 

Dr. Reyes was quiet for a moment. Then asked, “What would it have meant, back then, if instead of hearing the subconscious message that you were supposed to be okay with something you didn’t have to be, someone had said, ‘I see you’re hurting – but I still believe in you ’?” 

Buck’s eyes welled up. He blinked fast and looked away. “I think it would’ve saved me.” 

Another silence. Then she said, “You said earlier you’ve been confusing trust with performance. What would trusting yourself look like – if it wasn’t about proving anything to anyone else?” 

Buck’s brow furrowed. He sat with the question. “I guess…” he started, slowly, “It would look like making decisions that are good for me, even if they disappoint someone else.” He let out a shaky breath. “It would mean not begging for permission to be okay.” 

Dr. Reyes smiled gently. “That sounds like a powerful shift.” 

“It would be,” Buck said. “But it still feels far away.” 

She leaned in just slightly. “And still possible.” 

Buck looked at her, and for the first time that hour, the tension in his jaw eased. He didn’t smile, but there was a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was the first glimpse of believing her. 

The late afternoon light spilled through the windows of Maddie’s apartment, casting warm streaks across the hardwood floor. Buck sat at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of tea he hadn’t asked for but accepted anyway. 

Maddie stepped into the room with two envelopes in her hand. 

She didn’t say anything. Just held them out. 

Buck looked at them for a long moment before reaching forward and taking them. He didn’t ask which letter was from whom. He didn’t need to. It was obvious from the handwriting on the front. The weight of them felt familiar in his hands – the kind of weight only history could carry. He wasn’t sure if he wanted them, but it was too late now. Sure, Maddie would take them back, but he would live with the knowledge of their existence and have it sitting in the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.  

“Bobby gave his to Athena to pass along,” Maddie said gently. “Eddie gave his to me.” 

Buck nodded, turning one envelope over in his hand. He didn’t open it. “I don’t think I can read them yet,” he said quietly. 

“You don’t have to,” Maddie replied. “Not today. Not ever, if you decide that’s what’s best.” 

Buck looked up at her, something flickering in his eyes – not fear, but the fragile tension between wanting and not knowing how. Both people had so much influence in his life and power over his decisions. When he didn’t know if he could trust himself, he could look to both of them. But there was too much riding on what they chose to say or not say. No amount of forethought or talking it through had been able to prepare him for the reality of being faced with the letters. He wished someone would just tell him what to do, but no one would. They all had the same sort of advice: there was no right or wrong decision, only he could make the choice, and he had to do what was best for him. All cliches that were of no use as far as Buck was concerned. If there was no right or wrong decision, how could he decide what to do? He had no clue what was best for him, especially when it felt like starting over. Buck 3.0? or 4.0? The only thing he knew was that therapy had him reevaluating everything – like he’d been walking around for years before realizing he needed glasses. 

“I’m not trying to punish them,” he said. “I just… I need to hold my own boundaries for once.” 

“I know,” Maddie said, her voice soft and sure. “And I think they do too.” 

Buck looked down at the letters again. He didn’t cry. He didn’t tremble. He just... sat with them. He tucked them into the notebook he’d been journaling in, slid it shut, and set it aside. Then he looked up at Maddie and offered a small, tired smile. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” 

Maddie stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be here either way.” 

Maddie sat across from Buck at the small kitchen table, the soft hum of the dishwasher the only sound in the room. She wasn’t pushing, just waiting – gently present, like she always was when he needed to move at his own pace. She watched as his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere behind him. He had the look on his face that said he was lost in thought. She picked up her phone while she waited for him to be ready to share. It reminded her of when he would come into her room when they were little, just to be with someone. Sometimes he would talk nonstop about his latest fascination, and others, they would just sit in silence while doing separate things.  

Buck finally spoke. “Hen.” 

Maddie looked up. 

He fiddled with the corner of his sleeve, not meeting her eyes. “I think… I want to see her. Just her. For now.” 

Maddie blinked once, surprised, but she quickly schooled her expression. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Do you want me to call her?” 

Buck nodded. “Yeah. But can you… Talk to her first? Tell her it’s not… a full reunion or anything. Just… just a conversation.” 

“She’ll understand,” Maddie said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “I think she’ll be grateful.” 

Buck gave a small, uneasy smile. “Tell her it’s not at the loft. Not at the station. Somewhere neutral.” 

“I will,” Maddie said softly. “Any other ground rules?” 

“No talk about the others. No guilt-tripping. And if I get overwhelmed, I can leave without explaining.” 

Maddie’s eyes were kind, but steady. “I’ll make sure she knows. And I’ll be close by if you need me.” 

Buck let out a slow breath and nodded. “It’s just one person,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I can do that.” 

“It’s not just one person,” Maddie said gently. “It’s you deciding who gets to be close. That matters.” 

Buck looked down at his hands. He didn’t smile this time, but he didn’t flinch either. “Okay,” he whispered. “Tell her I said yes.” 

The coffee shop was nearly empty. They had arranged to meet during the early morning, a midweek quiet time. It was the kind of place where no one rushed you to leave, where the music played soft enough that silence still had space to breathe. 

Buck arrived first. Maddie waited in the car out front, just in case. She’d offered to come in with him, but he needed to do this on his own. He picked a table near the window, back to the wall – a seat where he could see every exit. He looked out the window to his left, his gaze finding Maddie’s car immediately. She didn’t need to be sat next to him to give him strength and comfort through her support. His hands were wrapped around a lukewarm cup of tea, which he wasn’t drinking when Hen walked in. 

She spotted him immediately and froze for a moment. 

He looked up. Didn’t wave, didn’t smile. But he didn’t leave either. 

“Are you sure about this?” Maddie had asked when they arrived. “You can still change your mind. I’ll support you no matter what.”  

No. He wasn’t ready for this. He had so many conflicting feelings. An older part of him – the one that missed her and still took all the blame – wanted to jump out of his seat, hug her, and apologize for being silly. For dragging it out for as long as he had. It wasn’t fair for him to take it out on her when she at least tried, unlike the others. But he was also trying not to be that person anymore. The work he’d done with Dr. Reyes meant giving himself permission to feel everything.  

He wasn’t ready for this, for whatever it meant, but he wanted to be. And that had to be enough.  

Hen walked over, slow and cautious, mindful of Buck watching her movements.  

“Hey,” she said gently. 

“Hey,” Buck echoed, voice low but not closed off. 

She didn’t sit right away. She waited, following his lead. Finally, he nodded toward the chair across from him. 

She sat. 

For a few long moments, they just looked at each other. So much unsaid. So much said already. 

Buck spoke first. “I read your letter.” 

Hen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Okay.” 

He stared at the table. “I'm glad you wrote. You didn’t have to.” 

“Not in the literal sense, but I did.” she said softly.  

Buck didn’t acknowledge that.  

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me,” Hen admitted. 

“I didn’t know if I did,” Buck said honestly. “But I kept thinking about it. About how you were the first one who at least tried to make an effort with me.” 

Hen nodded, eyes already glassy. “You were doing what you thought you needed to. I thought we owed it to you to at least hear you out.” She looked at him, refusing to hide from the truth of what happened. “It wasn’t okay. How personal they took it. Or how long it went on for.” 

“No,” Buck agreed. “It really wasn’t.” 

They sat in that truth for a beat. 

“I wanted to fix it,” Hen said. “I wanted to find the words. But that’s not an excuse... I should’ve shown up a long time ago, even if I didn’t have the right ones.” 

Buck didn’t argue. He just looked at her – really looked at her. “You hurt me,” he said, not cruelly. Just plainly. “You all did.” 

Hen swallowed. “I know.” 

“And for the longest time I didn’t want to be mad at anyone – didn’t think I was allowed to be – because it was my own fault. I’d brought it on myself.” His voice cracked. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I know you tried to be there for me. But you also tried to keep the peace. And there was no keeping the peace when I was putting my all into making things right in their eyes, but they weren’t even willing to look in my direction or acknowledge any of my effort – work related or otherwise.”  

Hen wanted to look away, ashamed, but she refused to hide away from the truth anymore. “I know. You’re right. I should’ve done more. I should’ve talked to Boby, or Maddie, or Athena. I shouldn’t have kept holding out on the hope that things would sort itself out and people would come to their own realizations. I thought everyone was seeing what I was. I thought me trying to reach out to you while at work was enough. There is a lot I handled wrong and I know it. You shouldn’t need me to tell you, but in case it helps to hear it from someone else, you have every right to be angry with us. You deserved better than how we treated you – how I treated you. You mean so much.” 

“It didn’t seem like it,” he whispered. He was looking down at his hands as he rubbed them together.   

Hen winced. She didn’t know what to say. If there was anything she could say. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small envelope. “I didn’t put this in the first letter because I thought it would be too much. But... I wanted to give it to you now. It’s from Denny.” It was a small gesture, but it was some way she could start to show that he hadn’t been forgotten about. That he was so entrenched in their lives that, their kids missed their uncle Buck.  

Buck blinked, startled. “Denny?” 

Hen smiled gently. “He’s been asking about you.” 

Buck took the envelope slowly, holding it like something sacred. He didn’t open it yet. “I’m not promising anything,” he said. “Not with the rest of the team. Not even with you.” 

Hen nodded. “I’m not asking you to. I just wanted you to know – you still matter to me. And I’m still here.” 

Buck looked at her. The weight in his chest didn’t lift, but it shifted. “Thanks for saying that,” he said quietly. 

“Thanks for letting me say it,” she replied. 

They sat in silence after that – not because there was nothing left to say, but because for the first time in a long time, the silence wasn’t full of abandonment. 

It was full of hope. 

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow across the kitchen counters. The smell of roasted vegetables and garlic filled Maddie’s kitchen. Buck stood at the stove, moving easily, almost instinctively – like cooking had always been part of him, just waiting to resurface. 

Maddie leaned in the doorway, watching him slice zucchini with focused ease. It settled something inside her to see him so relaxed and at peace. One of her grievances with the team, and Bobby, was how they took away his safe spaces. She suspected that he hadn’t cooked a decent meal just because he wanted to, since before the lawsuit, maybe even the tsunami. He’d never outright said why, but his love for cooking grew through its connection to Bobby. But the longer she watched, the more it dispelled her worries that he wasn’t healing. This was a clear step in the right direction. If he could find his passion for cooking without Bobby, then he could learn that he’d be okay with or without them.  

“Okay,” she said slowly. “You’re either possessed, or you finally remembered that you like feeding people.” 

Buck smirked, not looking up. “Turns out I missed doing things that made me feel like… me.” 

Maddie smiled and crossed the room to set the table. “I’m glad,” she said softly. “You’ve seemed... steadier lately. Not like you’re trying to be something you’re not. Or force yourself to fit whatever mold you think people expect from you.” 

Buck glanced at her. “Some days are still hard.” 

“I know,” she said. “And I’ll love you no matter what – whether or not you're okay. And don’t get me wrong, it’s so good to see you like this, but I don’t expect every day to be a good day. That’s not possible for anyone.” She gave him a reassuring smile.  

They ate together in comfortable quiet, the kind that had been hard-won over the last several weeks. Halfway through the meal, Maddie cleared her throat gently. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” 

Buck raised an eyebrow, chewing a bite of bread. “Okay?” 

She took a breath. “I reached out to dispatch earlier this week. They’re ready to reinstate me – part-time at first – if I want it.” 

Buck’s smile faltered slightly, but he nodded. “That’s good.” He said it more to himself than to her. 

“I think I’m ready,” she said. “I miss the work. And the structure.”  

He nodded again, more slowly this time. “Right.” 

She watched him carefully. “I know this changes things. With Athena back at work, too, it would mean there’ll be days when it’s just you. But you can continue to stay here for as long as you want. And we’ll both only be a phone call away, as is Dr. Reyes.” 

Buck didn’t respond at first. He just looked down at his plate. 

“But I won’t do it if you don’t want me to. Or don’t feel ready yet. I’m here to support you in whatever way you need.” Maddie watched him closely for any change in expression while she waited. 

Finally, Buck looked up. “That used to scare the hell out of me. Being alone... I mean.” 

“I know,” she said gently. 

“I think… it still does a little.” He pushed his food around with his fork. “But I also know I’m not the same person who was alone in that loft months ago.” 

“No,” Maddie said, her voice warm and sure. “You’re not.” 

Buck nodded, almost to himself. “We can plan it out, right? Alternate days. Dr. Reyes said I could ask her about setting up extra virtual check-ins if needed. I could do that on the solo days, right?” 

“I already made a calendar,” Maddie admitted, pulling it from a drawer and sliding it over with a small, sheepish smile. “Athena helped.” 

Buck smiled. “Of course she did.” 

“There’s no pressure,” Maddie said. “If it feels like too much, I’ll say no. Or if we try it, and it doesn’t work, I’ll look at my options again. But I trust you. And I trust the plan.” 

He looked down at the calendar, then back at her. “I think… I trust me, too. At least more than I used to.” 

Maddie reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “We’ll take it one day at a time.” 

Buck nodded. “One day at a time,” he repeated. 

Buck’s Journal  

I used to hate the silence.  

Not the peaceful kind – the kind that echoed. The kind that made everything louder in my head. The kind that filled the apartment and made me feel like I was the last person left on Earth.  

Except every silence was like that for me. Being alone meant being with me. And I didn’t like myself very much back then.  

Now? I don’t know.  

I still get nervous when I see an empty calendar. I still feel the weight in my chest when Maddie talks about going back to work or when I wake up and no one else is home.  

But I also made dinner tonight.  

And I went for a run yesterday, and I didn’t do it to escape. I did it because I wanted to feel alive. Because I wanted to feel the fresh air and the gentle ache in my muscles.  

I still hear the old voices sometimes – the ones that say I don’t matter unless I’m useful, or heroic, or fun to be around. But they’re not as loud anymore. I cooked today because I wanted to, because I enjoyed it – not because it had become something expected of me. Or because it made me feel like I was contributing to something.  

Dr. Reyes said healing isn’t about eliminating fear. It’s about learning how to live with it.  

I think that’s what this is—not fixing everything. Not pretending I’m fine.  

Just… not being afraid of myself anymore.  

That used to feel impossible.  

Now it just feels like something I might actually do.  

One day at a time.  

~ Buck 

Athena sipped her coffee, flipping through the printed calendar Maddie had laid out on her dining room table: color-coded days, alternating shifts, backup contacts. Every detail had been considered. “You’ve thought of everything,” Athena said. “Even which days he should probably not try cooking something ambitious.” 

Maddie gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I labeled those with a little fire emoji. You’re welcome.” 

They both smiled, but there was something heavier under the surface – a quiet kind of worry that hadn’t faded just because Buck had started smiling again. 

Athena’s smile faded first. “Are you really okay going back?” 

Maddie nodded, but slowly. “I’m ready. But that doesn’t mean I’m not scared.” 

“For him?” 

“For both of us,” Maddie said. “This is the first time in months we won’t be together every day. And that’s... It’s a big deal.” 

Athena nodded, her voice thoughtful. “He’s doing better. But better doesn’t mean invincible.” 

“I keep wondering what the line is,” Maddie admitted. “Between giving him space and leaving him alone.” 

Athena looked down at the schedule. “Maybe we don’t draw a line. Maybe we just stay close enough to see him when he starts to slip.” 

“I’m worried I’ll miss it,” Maddie said quietly. “That I’ll blink and suddenly he’s drowning again.” 

Athena’s hand rested on hers. “We didn’t know to look before. We do now.” 

Maddie nodded, blinking quickly. “I just want to get this right.” 

“You are,” Athena said gently. “Because you’ve been there for him every step of the way. And he’s been doing the work. This was always going to come eventually. He needs to be able to trust himself, and he won’t learn how to do that if he feels like no one else does.” 

Maddie knew Athena was right. Part of his process was learning how to be on his own. And that being on his own sometimes didn’t mean that he had no one there to support him. They looked back at the calendar together – a month full of work shifts, color-coded blocks, doctor appointments, and notes scribbled in the margins. 

It wasn’t perfect. 

But it didn’t need to be.  

It was one piece of the puzzle - one of the many tools they were using during the transition. 

It just needed to be enough. 

The apartment was still when Buck woke up. 

No clinking of coffee mugs on the counter. No murmur of voices from the other room. No steady rhythm of footsteps pacing between the stove and the sink. Just the low, constant hum of the refrigerator and the faint, tinny rush of traffic. 

He lay there for a while, staring up at the faint hairline crack in the ceiling no one had ever bothered to fix. The quiet wasn’t heavy. He didn’t feel the suffocating, press-on-your-chest kind of sensation that he used to. But it also wasn’t exactly welcoming either – more like a guest you weren’t sure you’d invited. 

With a slow breath, he sat up and reached for his phone on the nightstand. 

A message from Maddie lit up the screen: “Heading in now. You got this. One thing at a time. ❤️”  

And another from Athena: “Be good to yourself today. And eat something green.”  

Buck’s mouth twitched into a small smile, a quiet exhale through his nose. He let the words sit with him a second longer before sliding the phone facedown on the bed. 

Now the first hour... that was easy.  

Shower. Coffee. Pull the sheets tight across the mattress, smoothing out every wrinkle like it might keep the rest of the day in order. He turned on music – loud enough to fill the edges of the silence, but quiet enough that it wasn’t overwhelming.  

When he opened the fridge, the cold air rushed out sharply against his skin. He picked out eggs, cheese, and bread and set them on the counter. It was simple, but healthy. The sizzle of the pan filled the kitchen. He ate at the table, not hunched over his phone but actually sitting with the meal, and then checked off the first box on the calendar Maddie had taped to the fridge: 

✅ Eat a real breakfast 

He stared at the calendar for a minute. When had his life become so regimented? When he was younger, everyone used to say he was the type of kid to invite chaos. It was never intentional, but trouble was always around the corner when, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t follow the structure everyone else forced on him. He really did insist that it wasn’t his fault – it was like every part of him fought against it.  

Now... he wasn’t sure how he would get through the day without it.  

Afterward, he sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, flipping through channels without really settling on anything. Every show felt too loud or too flat. His gaze drifted, eyes landing on the plant in the corner that was somehow still alive. 

By 11:00 a.m., the stillness started to itch. 

He didn’t feel panic. Just… static. A faint, restless hum under the skin. 

He opened his journal, but the pen hovered uselessly over the page. He picked up a book, read a sentence three times, then closed it. At some point, he ended up standing in the middle of the living room, palms open at his sides, not sure why he’d stood up in the first place. 

And then that old whisper slipped in, uninvited: 

They’re gone. No one’s here. What if something happens? What if you spiral and no one sees it in time?  

Buck’s jaw tightened. He drew a breath, long enough to feel the air move deep into his chest. Then another. 

Deliberately, he crossed the room to the pair of running shoes by the door. 

He ran for twenty minutes. He didn’t go far or fat, he just maintained a steady rhythm, his breath puffing white in the cool air, the thud of his heartbeat syncing with the slap of sneakers on pavement. The world narrowed to sidewalks, traffic lights, and the faint burn in his legs. 

When he came back, cheeks flushed and shirt damp, he kicked his shoes off by the mat and went straight to the kitchen. For the second time that day, he went on autopilot. Banana. Spinach. Yogurt. A splash of almond milk. The blender roared to life. 

He poured the smoothie into a tall glass, the color almost comically green, and took a long sip before scrawling another checkmark on the calendar: 

✅ Eat something green (Athena’s orders) 

By late afternoon, the sun tilted low, spilling orange light across the skyline. Shadows stretched long across the apartment walls, making the space feel softer. Buck wasn’t exactly energized, but the fatigue that settled into his bones wasn’t the heavy, hollow kind. It was earned.  

At dinner, he lit a candle just because the box of matches was sitting there, and it felt like the right thing to do. He set his phone down beside his plate but didn’t touch it. No scrolling. No half-watching. Just food, music low in the background, and the quiet. When Maddie returned home, she found Buck in the kitchen, washing the dishes.  

The front door clicked open just as Buck was rinsing his plate. 

“Mads?” 

“Yeah, it’s me.” Her voice was warm but tired. She stepped inside, shrugging off her coat and kicking her shoes toward the wall. 

The scent of the cold air outside followed her in, sharp against the cozy stillness of the apartment. She glanced at the candle still flickering on the table. “Wow. Someone’s making it look like a lifestyle magazine in here.” 

Buck huffed a laugh, drying his hands on a towel. “Trying something new. Turns out it’s not terrible.” 

She eyed him for a moment, the corners of her mouth softening. “You okay?” 

He nodded. “Better than okay, actually.” 

Maddie stepped forward, pulling him into a hug – not tight, not desperate, just enough to say I see you. She walked over to the fridge and opened the door. “So... what did you make for dinner?” 

Buck rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Didn’t want to risk me forgetting to eat something green again?”   

“Well,” she said, walking in, “Athena texted me at least twice about that, so I had to come check for myself.” 

Buck let out a small laugh. “Tell her to relax – I had spinach and kale. You’d think I was running for mayor of Clean Eating.” 

They didn’t talk much after that. She reheated leftovers while he poured her a glass of water, and they sat together on the couch for a while, trading quiet remarks about nothing important. Maddie didn’t press. She didn’t launch into a list of questions. 

She just waited, like she always did. 

After a few bites, Buck set down his fork and exhaled slowly. “It was… okay,” he said. 

Maddie glanced up. 

“I mean, it wasn’t amazing or peaceful or anything,” he went on. “There were a few moments where I could feel myself start to slip. Like the quiet started filling in all the cracks.” 

She nodded gently. “That makes sense.” 

“But I went for a run. Made a smoothie. Didn’t spiral.” He paused, eyes flicking to hers. “I was alone. But I didn’t feel lost.” 

Maddie reached across the table, brushing her hand lightly over his wrist. “That’s a huge deal, Buck.” 

“I wrote it down,” he said, a little shy. “In my journal.” 

Maddie smiled. “That’s even better.” 

He hesitated, then added, “I almost didn’t want to say anything. I was afraid that if I said it out loud, it would stop being true.” 

“Progress doesn’t vanish just because you speak it,” Maddie said softly. “You don’t have to hide the good days.” 

Buck looked at her for a long moment, something like relief softening his expression.“I think I’m… proud of myself,” he said, like it was unfamiliar on his tongue. “Is that weird?” 

“No,” Maddie said, eyes misting a little. “That’s what we’ve been fighting for.” 

They sat in silence for a few more minutes as Maddie finished eating. But it wasn’t uncomfortable, quite the opposite actually. As Buck cleared the dishes, Maddie glanced at the calendar still pinned to the fridge. “So… tomorrow’s another solo day.” 

Buck turned to her, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said. “And I think I’m okay with that.” 

When she finally drifted off toward her room, she tossed him a small smile over her shoulder. “Proud of you, Buck.”  

That night, before bed, Buck picked up his journal again.  

This time, the words came easily: I was alone today. And I was okay.   

He stared at the sentence, a strange warmth blooming in his chest.  

Then, almost like a prayer: I think I’m allowed to be proud of that.   

He closed the notebook, turned off the light, and let the stillness settle – not as an enemy, but as something he could live with. 

Dr. Reyes sat across from Buck in the usual soft chair, legs crossed, notebook resting in her lap but untouched. Buck sat leaning forward, hands loosely clasped, a little jittery, but calmer than usual. She thought he seemed more grounded than the first time he’d walked into her office. 

“I was alone for a full day,” Buck said. “No Maddie, no Athena. Just… me.” 

She nodded gently. “How did it feel?” 

“I was nervous that morning,” he admitted. “Like something bad might happen, or I’d sink back into that space. But I didn’t.” He paused, letting the words settle. “I went for a run. Ate real food. Wrote in my journal. And when the day ended, I was still… okay.” 

“Did you feel proud of that?” 

He hesitated, then gave a small smile. “Yeah. I really did.” 

Dr. Reyes mirrored the smile, soft and steady. “It’s a huge step. Not just surviving the day – but owning it.” 

Buck nodded slowly, but something in his posture shifted. Dr. Reyes noticed the subtle way his shoulders rounded slightly inward, like a quiet weight had returned. 

She waited, giving him space to feel whatever was on his mind. Then she asked gently, “And what came up after?” 

Buck sighed. “I think part of me expected… clarity? Like, I did the hard thing, so I should feel ready for the next hard thing.” 

Dr. Reyes tilted her head. “What’s the next hard thing?” 

He looked at her, eyes tired but open. “The letters. From Bobby and Eddie.” 

“Still unopened?” 

Buck nodded. 

“Where are they?” 

“In my journal. Still tucked inside.” 

“And when you see them – how do you feel?” 

He was quiet for a moment before answering. “Like I’m standing outside a house I used to live in,” he said slowly. “And I know the lights are on inside, and maybe someone’s waiting. But I don’t know if I’m ready to go back in.” 

Dr. Reyes sat with that image. “That’s a powerful metaphor.” 

Buck gave a faint smile. “I’m not sure if it means I want to go back in. Or if I just don’t want to be the guy standing outside anymore.” 

She leaned forward slightly. “Are you afraid of what they wrote?” 

Buck blinked, eyes glossing just slightly. “Yes, but I’m more afraid I’ll believe them, whether it’s good or bad. And then I’ll get hurt again.” 

“Because trusting them might mean risking that hurt?” 

He nodded, throat tight. “I know Bobby feels guilty. I know Eddie does. But I also know what it felt like to walk into the firehouse and see them look through me. Like I was a problem, not a person.” He exhaled shakily. “I think the letters are their way of trying to fix that. And maybe that’s good. But it also feels… unfair. That they get to offer healing on their timeline.” 

Dr. Reyes sat with him in silence, letting the weight of that truth breathe. “I know we’ve talked about it before, but I want to remind you: you’re allowed to feel angry,” she said gently. “You’re allowed to not be ready. The fact that you haven’t opened them isn’t avoidance – it’s self-protection. There’s a difference.” 

Buck’s jaw worked slightly. “It feels like I should be ready by now.” 

“There’s no deadline on readiness,” she replied. “And if the letters are ever going to mean anything real, you have to read them when you choose to. Not because you feel obligated.” 

Buck looked at her, relief flickering in his eyes. 

Dr. Reyes smiled gently. “You’re doing the work. And when you’re ready to open the next door, you will.” 

The room was quiet, the soft tick of the clock marking the time. Eddie sat across from Frank, shoulders square but tense. He was always tense, on edge. Always bracing for some kind of impact. 

Frank gave him a moment, then broke the silence with the same calm tone he always used – direct, steady, unfazed. “You’ve been writing lately,” Frank said. “How’s that been for you?” 

Eddie shifted, a little uncomfortable. “Harder than I thought it’d be. But… honest. Which I guess is the point.” 

Frank nodded. “You mentioned you wrote to Buck.” 

A beat. 

Eddie gave a slight nod. “Yeah.” 

Frank didn’t fill the silence. He waited. 

“I don’t know if he’s read it,” Eddie said, voice lower now. “I don’t think he has. And part of me hopes he doesn’t.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Eddie exhaled through his nose, eyes flicking toward the window. “Because I don’t know if it’s enough. Or if I even deserve for it to be heard.” 

“You think you failed him.” 

Eddie looked down at his hands. “No. I know I did.” 

Silence stretched again, but this one didn’t feel punishing – it felt like an open space, something Frank gave him on purpose. 

“I said something to him I can’t take back,” Eddie finally continued. “Called him exhausting. I didn’t mean it to sound that way. I meant… I meant that loving him is intense. Like carrying something fragile in a world that won’t stop shaking.” 

“That sounds a lot like how you talk about Christopher.” 

Eddie blinked at that, caught off guard. 

Frank leaned forward slightly. “You’ve spent most of your life holding everything together for everyone else. Your parents, Shannon, Chris, the 118… Buck. But I’m not sure you ever learned how to just let yourself feel the weight of any of it.” 

Eddie was quiet. He swallowed hard. “It’s not that I don’t feel,” he said finally. “It’s that if I start... I’m afraid I won’t stop.” 

Frank’s voice was quiet but firm. “Maybe you’re overdue.” 

A long silence. 

Then Eddie said, barely above a whisper, “I miss him. I miss my friend. And I hate that I made him feel like he didn’t matter.” 

Frank nodded once. “You’ve been taught that strength means silence. That protecting others means putting yourself last. But real strength, Eddie – the kind that sustains – means letting someone see you break.” 

Eddie let his head fall back against the couch, jaw tight. “I don’t know how.” 

“That’s what we’re here for,” Frank said. 

Eddie didn’t answer, but his eyes were wet. And he didn’t look away. 

Frank didn’t press Eddie – just waited, as always, with calm eyes and silence that invited truth instead of demanding it. 

Eddie’s voice came low, almost uncertain. “You asked me once where I learned to keep everything inside.” 

Frank gave a slight nod. “I remember.” 

Eddie stared down at his hands. “My parents weren’t big on emotion. My dad... weakness wasn’t tolerated. You keep your voice down, your spine straight, your face blank.” 

“And your mother?” 

“Different kind of silence,” Eddie said. “Her whole life was spent managing his moods. Making sure he didn’t explode. So I learned early: don’t add to the noise.” 

“That sounds like a household where love was conditional.” 

Eddie’s jaw clenched. “Yeah.” 

He paused, then added, “I remember one time I cried in front of my dad – I was maybe nine. Got hit in the face with a baseball during a game. I wasn’t sobbing, just tearing up. He didn’t say anything. Just walked over and said, ‘Get it under control or get off the field.’” 

Frank didn’t speak. Instead, he just let the memory hang. 

“I stayed in the game,” Eddie said. “Played through a headache. Told myself that’s what men did.” 

“That’s what your dad taught you men did.” 

Eddie looked up, sharp but not defensive. “Same thing.” 

“No,” Frank said, calm but firm. “You’re here now, aren’t you?” 

Eddie stared for a moment, then looked away. “I don’t want to be like him. But sometimes I hear his voice when I try to express anything that makes me feel vulnerable.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s what I was doing with Buck, I think—using silence like a weapon. Distance like control. Because if I let him in again – really in – then I’m not in control anymore. And that terrifies me.” 

Frank leaned forward slightly. “So maybe it’s not Buck that’s exhausting. Maybe it’s everything you’ve spent your whole life holding back.” 

Eddie nodded slowly, voice thick. “Yeah.” 

The clock on Frank’s wall ticked in its usual, gentle rhythm – the sound a kind of quiet metronome for Eddie’s breathing. He sat still, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely clasped in front of him. His jaw was tight. His eyes were a little too focused on the carpet. 

Frank waited. Patient, steady. Letting the silence ask the first question. 

Finally, Eddie spoke. “I think I keep messing things up with the people I love,” he said, voice thick. “And not just with Buck.” 

Frank didn’t move. “Tell me what you mean.” 

Eddie let out a slow breath. “I’ve been trying to understand why I didn’t show up for him when it mattered most. And it’s not just about feeling disappointed or angry. It’s deeper than that. I think part of me believed… he was going to leave anyway. That everyone does, eventually.” 

Frank gave a slight nod. “That belief – does it come from Shannon?” 

Eddie swallowed. “Yeah. But it didn’t start with her.” 

He shifted slightly in his seat, eyes fixed on the ground. “I grew up watching love get used like a bargaining chip. My parents loved us – I know they did – but it always came with conditions. Be quiet. Be tough. Don’t make things harder. Don’t need too much.” A pause. His voice was softer now. “When Shannon left the first time, I blamed her. I told myself she was selfish. And maybe part of that’s true, but… I wasn’t exactly present either. I was always putting my head down. Trying to be what I thought a good man should be. Provider. Soldier. Dad.” 

He finally looked at Frank. “I didn’t make space for her pain. Or mine.” 

“And now?” Frank asked gently. 

“Now I see the same pattern with Buck,” Eddie admitted. “He gave and gave and gave. I took it, but I didn’t protect him when it counted. And I think deep down, I believed I didn’t have the right to – because I’d already screwed up too many times before.” 

He ran a hand over his face. “I keep thinking I need to earn forgiveness. From Buck. From Chris. From Shannon’s memory. Even from myself. But I don’t know how. I don’t know what ‘enough’ looks like.” 

Frank was quiet for a moment, then asked, “What if forgiveness isn’t something you earn?” 

Eddie blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“What if it’s something you practice?” Frank said. “Not a reward, but a decision. A way of choosing to move forward without needing to rewrite the past.” 

Eddie’s throat bobbed. “I don’t know if I’m ready.” 

“You’ve taken responsibility,” Frank said gently. “You’ve acknowledged the hurt. That’s where forgiveness begins – not with forgetting, not with fixing everything, but with making peace with what can’t be undone.” 

Eddie’s eyes burned. He looked away, jaw trembling. “I’m afraid if I let go of the guilt, I won’t care enough to change.” 

Frank shook his head. “You’re changing because you care. You’re here. That tells me everything I need to know about who you are.” 

Eddie sat in silence, breathing slowly and shakily. 

And then, barely above a whisper, he said, “I want to believe that.” 

Frank gave a small, kind smile. “Then that’s where we’ll start.” 

It wasn’t planned. 

Eddie had just picked Chris up from school and taken him out for frozen yogurt. They were sitting outside, sun warm on their shoulders, when he looked up and saw Buck across the street – coming out of a bookstore, alone, a small bag tucked under his arm. 

He looked… better. 

Still a little withdrawn in his posture. But he was moving with intention. Not shuffling, not avoiding. And he was smiling. Just a little. But it was real. 

Eddie froze, forgetting where he was and who he was with. By the time he realized and tried to redirect Chris, it was too late. 

Chris followed his gaze. “Is that Buck?”  

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.” 

Chris waved instinctively, but Buck didn’t see. He was already turning the corner, disappearing from view. And just like that – he was gone again. 

Eddie sat back, breath caught in his throat. Something tightened in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt or longing. Probably both. 

“Are you okay?” Chris asked. 

Eddie looked at his son, eyes raw. “Yeah, buddy. I just… I miss him.” 

Chris leaned his head on Eddie’s arm. “Me too.” 

Eddie didn’t speak again for a long time. He didn’t need to. They sat in quiet as they finished their frozen yoghurt. He let it ache. 

Bucks Journal  

I thought I saw them today.  

Eddie and Chris.  

Just a flash – out of the corner of my eye while crossing near the frozen yogurt place, we used to hit after long shifts.  

I didn’t stop. I didn’t look again.  

I kept walking.  

And I’ve been thinking about that ever since – how quickly I chose not to know if it was really them.  

Because what if it was?  

And what if it wasn’t?  

There was a time when seeing Chris would’ve meant running toward him. Kneeling to his level. Hearing him yell “Buck!” in that way that used to make everything feel okay – even when nothing was.  

Now I don’t know if I’m allowed to want that anymore.  

I don’t know if I’m supposed to.  

It’s weird – I miss him so much it physically aches sometimes. I think about his drawings on my fridge. The way he’d remind me to wear sunscreen. How he used to lean into me when he was tired, like I was a safe place.  

I want that back. But I also know he’s not the one who walked away.  

Not really.  

I left because I was falling apart. But the silence that came first? That was Eddie. And I don’t know what we are anymore. I don’t know what I am to them now.  

Do I ask if I can see Chris? Does it cross a line? Am I being selfish?  

And Eddie…  

God. I don’t even know what I’d say if I had to face him. I’m still so angry, and I still miss him. I don’t trust him. And I want to.  

I’m scared that seeing them again would hurt too much – or worse, that it wouldn’t hurt enough.  

That maybe the distance really did change everything.  

And what if Chris looked at me like a stranger?  

I think that would break me.  

But still... I keep hoping that maybe one day, I’ll see them for real.  

And I won’t need to look away.  

~ Buck  

Chapter Text

This isn't a chapter, just an author's note. I hope to get the next chapter posted this week and replace this with it once it's ready. I started a job change at work and am preparing for my CPA exams. With it all, it's caused flare-ups of my tendinitis, and I'm having to restrict typing time to short stints with plenty of breaks. Moving forward, I will be aiming for a chapter a week or every two weeks, depending on the schedule. I appreciate you all, and I'm sorry I don't have better news. 

Chapter Text

The 118’s engine pulled to a stop in front of a collapsed scaffolding at a construction site. Debris was scattered across the pavement, and a frantic foreman was already waving them down.  

“Two workers trapped!” he yelled over the commotion. “One conscious, one not responding!”  

Bobby took in the scene with practiced focus. “Hen, with Williams. Eddie, Chim – stabilize the scaffolding on the west side. Let’s go!”  

The team jumped into action, shouting instructions, pulling gear, and assessing injuries. While they were moving into position on their assigned tasks, a voice came through over the radio clipped to Bobby’s shoulder: “Engine 118, be advised: another unit en route for additional lift support: estimated time, six minutes. Victim location confirmed in the southeast quadrant. Copy?”  

All four of them paused.  

It wasn’t the words that stopped them.  

It was the voice.  

Maddie.  

Clear. Calm. Professional.  

But unmistakably Maddie.  

Hen glanced at Bobby. Chimney froze mid-step. Eddie’s jaw clenched just slightly – something unexpectedly human cracked through the layer of distance they'd all been holding.  

The shock realization of how long it had been since they last heard her voice over the radio hit them all at once. But they didn’t have time for that. They didn’t have time to think about the last time they’d heard her, or why she had been gone for so long. Had she been working and just choosing calls outside of their jurisdiction? Or had she been doing something else with Buck? There would be time for that later, when they were on their way back to the station and supposed to be decompressing. Instead, they just looked at each other – sharing a moment of uncertainty, not knowing what this meant for any of them.  

Bobby pressed his comm. “Copy, Dispatch. 118 received.” His voice pulled everyone’s attention, reminding them they had a job to do. Still... they refused to move, waiting on Bobby’s signal on what to do next.  

There was a beat of silence before Maddie’s voice responded, a little softer: “Good luck out there.”  

It wasn’t protocol. It was Maddie.  

Just a little bit of her, peeking through.  

It meant that she still cared—just a little.  

A sign that maybe... just maybe... not all was lost.  

Hen blinked hard and got moving again. “Let’s get these guys out before backup even arrives.”  

Chimney was already shifting back into action, jaw tight. He didn’t speak. Bobby put a hand on his shoulder and asked a simple “Are you okay?” The do I need to put you on light work going unspoken.  

Chimney nodded. “All good, cap.” He turned back around.  

Bobby took that chance to check in with everyone.  

Eddie, meanwhile, moved faster than before – like the sound of Maddie’s voice reminded him of what was missing. Who was missing. And how close – or far – he might still be from fixing it. They worked together as a team, but it was strained between them, as they let themselves notice Buck’s absence at the scene. They could hear the echo of every joke he would’ve made, the random factoid he would’ve thrown in, how he would’ve thrown himself into the rescue... Eddie found himself trying not to snap at Chimney. It wasn’t his fault. They worked well together, but Chimney wasn’t Buck. He would never be Buck. Eddie and Buck just worked seamlessly together in a way he’d never been able to create. And hearing Maddie’s voice reminded him of that.  

Bobby stayed quiet but watchful, focusing on keeping the team safe and on-task. Chimney tried extra hard to make light of everything, but kept falling flat with the little bite in his tone. Hen mirrored Bobby, and Eddie... he turned into every bit of the soldier he once was.  

When they were done, they loaded up in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. The air was heavy. Gloves were tugged off, helmets shoved aside, the kind of weary shuffle that came after the adrenaline began to drain. Chim sat with his arms braced on his knees, staring down at the floor like he was willing it to disappear. Hen leaned back, pulling off her radio harness, her movements deliberate – too deliberate. Eddie’s jaw was still set tight, eyes fixed out the side window, though the city blurred past without really registering.  

“It’s nice to hear Maddie at dispatch again,” Hen tried. She looked around, but the only one who acknowledged what she was was Bobby. He gave her a sad smile.  

No one said it out loud.  

But it hung in the air between them.  

She’s back.  

He’s still not.  

And we all helped break something we don’t know how to fix.  

Bobby finally broke the silence, voice low but certain. “She sounded good.”  

Hen blinked, her lips pressing together before she gave a slight nod. “Like she never left.”  

Eddie’s hands flexed once on his thighs. He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders eased slightly at Hen’s words.  

Chim exhaled, the sound sharp. “Not sure I was ready for it. Hearing her on the line again.” His voice cracked in the middle, and he didn’t bother covering it up.  

“She’s back,” Bobby said simply. Not a question. Not a reassurance. Just a fact.  

For a moment, no one argued. The hum of the engine filled the space between them.  

Eddie finally spoke, his voice low but sure. “We just keep doing our job. And she’ll keep doing hers.”  

Hen looked between them, a faint, almost tentative smile tugging at her mouth. “Yeah.”  

Maddie’s eyes darted to the resource board: heavy-lift unit still en route. Six minutes out. She toggled her mic, voice even and clipped. The room hummed with the usual buzz – keyboards clacking, muted conversations, the static of radio chatter. Her gaze flicked to the console – she saw that the 118 was the team currently responding to the call.  

Her thumb hovered for the smallest moment before she hit the transmit button. 
“Engine 118, be advised: another unit en route for additional lift support: estimated time, six minutes. Victim location confirmed in the southeast quadrant. Copy?”   

Her voice sounded perfectly even, professional. But under the calm, her pulse thudded. She had barely spoken directly to them in months. She didn’t know why it felt like such a big moment. It was her job. She knew this  

For half a second, silence. Maddie’s hand hovered over the controls, wondering if the transmission had dropped. Through the open channel, she heard Bobby’s crisp acknowledgment, then the faint murmur of movement in the background. She wondered if Buck was listening – no, of course not, he wasn’t with them. Still, her throat felt tight. She should leave it there. She had done her part. Her job was done. She would just need to monitor in case anything new came up. But something tugged at her.  

“Good luck out there.”  

It wasn’t needed. The call was a simple one, but she couldn’t help but feel the familiar worry. At the end of the day, they were still family. She still wanted them to get home safely. Maddie knew the likely wouldn’t respond, not to her anyway, but she’d put it out there. A clear message that she was mad, but she still cared. She kept the line open just long enough to hear them roll out, then forced herself to switch to the next call. Then the next. And the one after that. Until she was sufficiently convinced that she had done her job and would continue to do so – the mess with the 118 be damned. She took the headset off and went to the breakroom. She pulled out a mug, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat at the table. It was the same seat she usually sat in, especially when Buck came in to see her. The image of how he had looked the last time he was there lingered. If Maddie had known then, she wouldn’t have let him leave on his own.  

The coffee was lukewarm, but Maddie didn’t care. She stared into the paper cup, as if it might explain why she felt shaky. She was pulled out of her thoughts when she noticed Josh standing next to her, leaning on the table.  

“You slipped a ‘good luck out there’ to the 118, didn’t you?” The corner of his mouth pulled into a grin that was equal parts smug and fond.  

Maddie felt her ears warm. “Maybe.”  

“Mmhmm.” Josh tilted his head. “It’s not exactly in the handbook, Madds.”  

“Hey, neither is working dispatch for your friends,” Maddie said quietly. She noticed Josh share a look with someone behind her. Linda was standing in the doorway.  

“They’re not just your friends,” Linda said, matter-of-fact. “They’re your people. And that makes it different. Even if it weren’t for everything else going on.”  

Maddie stilled, letting silence fill the space. She’d been so careful to be nothing but professional since she’d started back at work – keeping it impersonal and at a distance – but between the call today and Linda’s words hanging between them, she could feel it starting to crack.  

Josh slid into the seat across from her, leaning forward. “You okay?”  

Maddie gave him a tight smile. “I’m fine.”  

“You don’t sound fine. That was the first time you’ve radioed the 118 since… y’know.”  

She exhaled. “Yeah. I didn’t expect it to hit me like that. I mean, it’s my job. I’ve been back a week now. I knew it was coming. It’s not like I could avoid taking calls that involve them. And I haven’t. Not intentionally anyway. I love my job. I love the team. But I don’t know how to be with them right now. It feels like it shouldn’t be this difficult.”  

Linda joined them, setting her tea down. “Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been back – muscle memory is one thing; emotional memory is another. And hearing their voices? That’s personal.”  

Maddie stared at the table. “It’s not even all of them. Just… hearing Bobby. It reminded me of everything I’ve been avoiding thinking about. And I don’t know if they even want to hear my voice right now.”  

Josh frowned. “You’re doing your job, Maddie. That’s what matters. And you’ve been keeping your boundaries – you didn’t break protocol, didn’t overstep.”  

Linda tilted her head. “Still, maybe take care of yourself tonight. Firsts are hard.”  

Maddie gave a slight nod, her throat tight again. “Yeah. Firsts are hard.”  

Josh put his hand on her wrist. “For what it’s worth?” His tone had lost the teasing edge. “I think it meant a lot to them.”  

Back at the station, the post-call lull settled over the 118 like fog. The equipment was cleaned, the truck restocked, and the adrenaline slowly wearing off. But it was quieter than usual, the kind of hush that followed a big call. Hen had gone to shower, Eddie was outside on the phone, and Bobby was buried in reports.  

Chimney stood near his locker, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the contact he hadn’t touched in weeks.  

Maddie.  

She sounded like herself over dispatch. Clear. Steady. Maddie in work mode.  

But Chim knew better. He’d gotten to know her well enough to know when something wasn’t being said.  

After a moment, he pressed call before he could overthink it again.  

One ring. Two. Three.  

Then: "Maddie Buckley." She answered as if she hadn’t checked the caller ID. Like this was just a shift call. Just another voice on the line.  

Chimney froze for a beat. “Hey. It’s… me.”  

Silence on her end. “I figured.” Not cold – just cautious.  

“I, uh…” Chim’s hand went to the back of his neck. “We were on that scaffolding collapse today. Near Melrose.”  

“I know. I dispatched it.”  

“Right,” he said. “Yeah. I just… I heard your voice. And it caught me off guard.”  

“I was just doing my job, Chim.”  

“Yeah. I know. You sounded...” he paused, unsure whether to lie or be real, “It was good to hear you.” Another pause. He heard the faint buzz of background noise on her end. The dispatch floor. Or maybe she was home. He couldn’t tell anymore.  

After a long moment, during which neither one said anything, Chimney heard her sigh. “How’s it going, Chim?”  

He laughed under his breath, shaky. “So you were waiting for me to call.”  

“I wasn’t—” she started, then caught herself. “Okay, maybe a little.”  

Chim’s free hand rubbed at the back of his neck. “You blindsided us today.”  

“I know,” she said quietly. “I probably should’ve said something sooner, but I know you all see me as your only link to Buck at the moment. I can’t have that on my shoulders. I shouldn’t have… slipped either. But I couldn’t help it.” For a beat, neither of them spoke. Chim could hear the faint hum of Dispatch behind her – muted, distant, like another world. So that’s where she was. “Was there something you needed?” Maddie eventually asked.  

He blinked. That was Maddie’s way of setting a boundary, of saying she wasn’t ready to just talk yet. “I just… I didn’t know if I should reach out.”  

“You did.”  

“Right.” Chim gave a soft, dry laugh. “I guess I didn’t think that far ahead.”  

“No,” Maddie said quietly. “You usually don’t.”  

That stung more than he wanted to admit. But it was fair. “I miss you,” he said.  

More silence.  

“Do you miss Buck, too?”  

Chimney flinched. Did she sense it on the other end of the phone? He swallowed. “Yeah. A lot.”  

“Then maybe… instead of calling me, you should think about what you're going to say to him. When he’s ready to hear it.”  

That landed with weight. “I’m sorry,” Chim said quietly. “For a lot of things.”  

“Me too.”  

He nodded even though she couldn’t see it.  

“I have to go,” Maddie added gently. “I’m on break, but it’s almost over.”  

“Okay.”  

“Take care, Chim.”  

“You too.”  

She hung up before he could say goodbye.  

Chimney stared at the phone for a long moment after.  

Then he sat down on the bench in front of his locker, head in his hands.  

Because maybe she was right.  

But she had also still picked up, knowing it was him. She wasn’t avoiding them at work. She wanted to see them make things right. And he would. With both Buckleys.  

It was late. Not quite bedtime, but late enough that the apartment felt still – just the low hum of the fridge and the soft clink of Buck rinsing plates in the sink. Maddie sat at the kitchen table, absently spinning the spoon in her mug of tea. She’d been quiet all evening, and Buck noticed.  

He dried his hands, leaning against the counter. “Okay. What’s going on?”  

She looked up, blinking. “What do you mean?”  

“You’re doing that thing,” Buck said. “Where you look like you’re listening, but your brain’s… somewhere else. Where did you go?”  

Maddie hesitated, fingers tightening on the spoon. “Chim called me today.”  

Buck froze. “Oh.”  

“Yeah.” She gave a humorless little laugh. “That’s about the reaction I had, too.”  

“What did he want?”  

“I don’t know if he even knew,” Maddie said honestly. “We didn’t talk long. He said he heard me on dispatch and… I guess it made him want to reach out.”  

Buck came to sit across from her. “And?”  

“And I told him maybe instead of calling me, he should be thinking about what he’s going to say to you. When you’re ready to hear it.”  

Buck frowned, his jaw tightening. “I’m not sure I ever will be.”  

“I know.” She sipped her tea. “And I didn’t promise him anything.”  

Buck studied her, trying to decipher the complex mix of emotions on her face. “Do you… want him back in your life?”  

Maddie let out a slow breath. “That’s complicated. He hurt me, Buck. He hurt you. But there’s history there. And part of me-” she stopped, shaking her head. “Part of me still cares what happens to him. He was patient with me... after Doug. And he’s grown to be really important to me. I miss that. Of course I do.”  

Buck looked down at his hands. “You’re better than me.”  

“That’s not what this is about,” she said firmly. “You don’t owe him forgiveness. Neither do I.” She sighed, looking down. “Part of me wonders if he’s actually reaching out to me because he misses me or because of how clear I've made it that he messed up. And... because he sees me as his way to you.”  

“He’d be a fool to not miss you.” They sat in silence for a moment. Then Buck asked quietly, “If he does figure out what to say to me… would you want me to hear it?”  

Maddie met his eyes. “Only if you want to. Only if it’s on your terms.”  

He nodded slowly, then gave her a small, tired smile. “Guess that’s the only way it works now, huh?”  

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It is.”  

“You can talk to him, you know. To any of them. I don’t want to keep you from people just because I'm...” he waved his arms around.  

“Just because you’re what?” Maddie glared at him in that way that said he wasn’t getting out of this.”  

“This. A mess. Whatever.” He shrugged. “I don’t want to take you away from good people because you feel some obligation to me.”  

“Evan...” he rolled his eyes. “First of all, you’re not making me do anything – I'm choosing where to put my focus. Right now, that’s you. I want to focus on you. I’m not completely avoiding them, just not choosing to spend time with them. Second, you’re not a mess...” Buck scoffed. Maddie tilted her head. “Not in the way you’re referring to. Sure, you’re a little all over the place in general – you always have been – but this is just years of things that you’ve been putting aside and not dealing with, catching up with you in the worst way possible.”  

Buck started to say something, but she stopped him. “No, listen, because your therapist may not say this to you, but I will. They felt abandoned by you, but they had each other. You felt abandoned by everyone, the same way you did by our parents, the same way you did by me, the same way you did by Abby, and who knows who else. It’s no surprise there was a fallout from you finally feeling like you had some stability and safety, only to have that taken away from you. And yes, they’re dealing with their own problems, but I can understand that at the same time as putting you first.” She shook her head. “The point is, this isn’t you just being a mess, or whatever else you’re telling yourself, this is you being forced to finally face a lot of what you’ve spent years avoiding. And finally, I do have an obligation to you, both as your sister and as someone who cares about you. Just like they all had an obligation to you in different ways. Bobby, for example, as your boss, had the responsibility to make sure you were safe. Go ask Athena, and I’m sure she’d happily tell you the same thing.”  

They didn’t talk about Chimney again that night. Maddie took another sip of tea, like that was the end of it. But Buck’s fingers kept drumming against the tabletop, restless. She didn’t push him, though. She knew what she had said would be a lot for him to process. She loved his loyalty and big heart, but she hated how that meant he’d do it all at his expense – like their love was a privilege he had to earn.  

He finally blurted, “I… I think I want to see Christopher.”  

Her eyes lifted to his, startled. “Yeah?”  

“Yeah.” He leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “I thought I saw him the other day – just out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t know if it was. I couldn’t bring myself to stop and look.” He looked down, ashamed. “It messed me up more than I thought it would. I kept walking because… I don’t know. Maybe I was scared it was him. Or scared it wasn’t.”  

Maddie’s face softened. “Buck—”  

“I miss him,” he said, voice low but sure. “I’ve been telling myself it’s better for him if I stay away. That maybe I don’t deserve to be part of his life after… after the pier. But it’s been months, Maddie. And I don’t know if staying away is helping him or just hurting both of us.”  

She set her mug down, steadying her tone. “Have you talked to Dr. Reyes about this?”  

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not just Chris. Seeing him means seeing Eddie. And I’m not sure I can handle that yet.”  

“Do you want to see Christopher with Eddie there, or…?”  

“I don’t know,” Buck admitted. “Part of me wants it just to be me and Chris. No tension, no history in the room. But I also don’t want to make things worse between me and Eddie.”  

Maddie reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “If you want to see Christopher, we can figure it out. Carefully. On your terms. The same way with the letters.”  

He looked down at her hand over his, swallowing hard. “I just… I don’t want to mess it up.”  

“You won’t,” Maddie said softly. “You love him. He loves you. That doesn’t just go away.”  

Buck sat in his usual spot on the couch, twisting the cuff of his hoodie between his fingers.  

“I told Maddie I think I want to see Christopher,” he said, eyes flicking up to meet Dr. Reyes’ before darting away again.  

Dr. Reyes tilted her head slightly. “How long have you been thinking about that?”  

“A while,” he admitted. “But I didn’t let myself… I mean, I didn’t think it was a good idea, not after the pier. And then with the lawsuit, how angry everyone was, I couldn’t see him anyway because everyone was being cautious. I kept messing up with everything and everyone... I figured I had been right when I thought it was best to keep my distance. I thought staying away was… protecting him.”  

“Protecting him from what?” she asked gently.  

Buck’s jaw tightened. “From me. From… my screw-ups. From him looking at me and remembering the guy who lost him in the tsunami.” He gave a humorless laugh. “And I know Eddie trusted him with me after the tsunami, told me that Chris sees me as the guy who saved him. But even if he doesn’t blame me, I do. And I… I didn’t want him to carry that.”  

“And now?”  

He shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “Now I just… I miss him. A lot. I thought I saw him the other day and it—” He broke off, pressing a palm against his leg like he could ground himself there. “It hurt. Like this deep, stupid ache. And I realized I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to be part of his life.”  

Dr. Reyes let the silence stretch, watching him. “When you imagine seeing him, what comes up?”  

Buck rubbed his face. “Both good and bad. I picture him smiling, running up to hug me… and then I picture Eddie standing there, and everything gets tense. My chest gets tight. I can’t tell if I’m ready for that part.”  

“Do you believe it’s possible to see Christopher without Eddie present?”  

Buck hesitated. “I’d like to. But I don’t want to go behind Eddie’s back. I don’t want Chris stuck in the middle. And… maybe I’m scared Eddie would say no.”  

“Because of your history?”  

“Because of what I said about Chris not being my responsibility,” Buck said quietly. “Because he called me exhausting. And maybe I am. I keep thinking… what if Chris wants to see me, but Eddie doesn’t let him? That would hurt so much. And what if Eddie would let him, but Chris doesn’t want to... that would wreck me.”  

Dr. Reyes nodded, her tone calm. “I don’t have the answers for you. The only way to find out is by asking, by taking this step. What I can do, is offer you support. This is a delicate step. It touches your guilt, your fear of rejection, and your need for connection. We can explore what a healthy, safe first contact could look like – and how to communicate your intentions in a way that keeps Christopher’s well-being first.”  

Buck looked down at his hands, then back at her. “I don’t want to wait forever. But I also don’t want to mess this up. Can we… figure out a plan? Like with the letters?”  

“That’s exactly what we’ll do,” she said with a small smile. “We’ll take it one step at a time. You don’t have to decide everything today.”  

For the first time in the session, Buck let out a small breath, like the weight on his chest had shifted – not gone, but lighter.  

<header>  

Buck paced in front of the couch, his hands in his hoodie pocket. Maddie sat cross-legged with a notepad, watching him. “So,” Buck said, hesitant, “if I want to see Christopher… it has to be… not at the loft. Not at Eddie’s. Neutral ground. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he likes.”  

Maddie scribbled. “Like the park? Or frozen yogurt again?”  

Buck’s mouth tugged into a half-smile. “Yeah. He loves frozen yogurt.” The smile faded almost as quickly. “But Eddie—”  

“I’ll talk to him,” Maddie interrupted gently.  

Buck stopped pacing. “Maddie—”  

“I know you don’t want to cause more conflict. But I also know Chris has been writing you, asking for you. Eddie needs to hear that from me, not you. He’ll get defensive otherwise.”  

Buck shifted uneasily. “What if he says no?”  

Maddie looked him squarely in the eye. “Then we wait. But at least you’ll know where things stand. And Eddie will know you’re not trying to sneak around him.”  

Buck nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Okay. Just… don’t push too hard. I don’t want Chris caught in the middle.”  

Maddie’s expression softened. “I won’t. I promise.”  

<HEADER>  

Eddie was folding laundry when Maddie knocked. He opened the door cautiously, clearly surprised. “Maddie,” he said, unsure.  

“I just need five minutes,” she said. He stepped aside. They sat at the kitchen table, a quiet tension between them. “It’s about Buck,” Maddie said finally. Eddie stiffened but said nothing. “He wants to see Christopher,” she continued. “Not at the loft, not at your place. Somewhere safe and easy, like the park or a frozen yogurt shop. He asked me to talk to you first.”  

Eddie ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “You know… Chris has been asking about him. Especially since the frozen yogurt place. He saw him across the street and lit up. It’s like he’s been waiting for me to say it’s okay.”  

Eddie saw surprise flicker across Maddie’s face before she relaxed with a sad smile. Maddie’s gaze softened. “Then maybe it’s time.”  

Eddie frowned, conflicted. “I don’t know if I’m ready. Things between me and Buck are still… complicated. But Chris doesn’t deserve to wait forever. He misses him.”  

“Then let’s make it about Chris,” Maddie said quietly. “You don’t have to forgive Buck tomorrow. But can you let Chris see him? Just for a little while? You don’t even need to be there. I’d be there with them.”  

Eddie’s jaw worked as he thought. After a long pause, he nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Frozen yogurt. Neutral. I’ll stay close, but… I’ll give them space.”  

Maddie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you, Eddie.”  

Eddie glanced down at his hands, voice low. “I don’t know how to do this, Maddie. I don’t even know how I feel about Buck right now. But I know how Chris feels. And I can’t keep ignoring that.”  

Maddie’s car pulled into the small parking lot. Christopher sat in the back seat, already buzzing with energy.  

“Is he really gonna be there?” Chris asked, hope threaded through his voice.  

Maddie glanced at him in the rearview mirror, smiling softly. “Yeah, sweetheart. He’ll be there.”  

Chris grinned widely, nearly bouncing out of his seat. Maddie’s chest tightened at the pure joy on his face. Across the lot, Buck sat inside the shop, hands jammed in his pockets, foot tapping nervously. His hoodie looked a size too big, sleeves pulled down over his hands. He didn’t notice when Maddie pulled up, nor when the bell above the door jangled as Maddie pushed it open.  

The boy’s face lit up the second he spotted Buck, sitting at a corner table, fidgeting with a napkin dispenser like he was waiting for a verdict. “Buck!” Christopher shouted, running toward him.  

Buck’s head snapped up, and for a second, relief and dread tangled across his features. He stood too quickly, nearly knocking over his chair, but the sight of Christopher barreling toward him left no room for hesitation. Buck crouched, bracing, and Christopher collided into his chest with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him. “I missed you so much!” Chris said, voice muffled against Buck’s shoulder. His arms wrapped around Chris instinctively, grounding himself in the boy’s warmth, the way he clung without hesitation.  

Buck’s throat worked as he hugged him back, eyes squeezing shut. His voice cracked when he managed: “I missed you, too, buddy. So much.”  

Maddie lingered just behind, watching with quiet relief and fierce protectiveness.  

“You stopped coming.” Chris pulled back just enough to look up at him, blunt as only a child could be. “You said you wouldn’t leave.”  

The words landed like a blow. Buck’s throat tightened, guilt rising fast, but he smoothed Christopher’s hair and forced a soft smile. “I know, kiddo. I’ve been… figuring some things out. But I missed you. So much.”  

Christopher’s expression wavered – a mix of hurt and forgiveness that Buck didn’t feel he deserved. “I thought maybe… you didn’t want to see me anymore.”  

The knife twisted. Buck shook his head quickly, fiercely. “Never. Not ever. You’re-” His voice caught, and he had to swallow hard before finishing. “You’re one of the most important people in my life, Chris. I’ll always want to see you.”  

Christopher seemed to weigh the words. Then, with a slight nod, he slid into the booth, tugging Buck’s sleeve like nothing had broken at all. “Okay. Can we get sprinkles this time?”  

Buck laughed, watery, and sat across from him. “Yeah, sprinkles. As many as you want.”  

Buck and Christopher sat side by side at a table, each with a swirl of frozen yogurt topped with gummy bears. “Same order, huh?” Buck said with a small smile, poking at his own cup.  

“Of course,” Chris said with a shrug. “Why mess with perfection?”  

Buck laughed softly. The sound was lighter than Maddie had heard from him in months.  

Chris leaned in, voice quieter. “I wrote you letters. You wrote back to me, right? That wasn’t Maddie or my Dad.” Buck nodded, but before he had a chance to say anything else, Chris asked, “Did you like them?”  

Buck’s eyes softened. “Yeah, buddy. I read every word. They meant the world to me.”  

“Good,” Chris said firmly, like it was non-negotiable. “Because you’re my Buck. Even if Dad gets mad sometimes, you’re still my Buck.”  

Buck blinked hard, throat tight. He reached out, resting a hand gently over Chris’s. “I’m always your Buck.”  

From her seat a few tables away, Maddie watched – giving them space but close enough if Buck faltered. She noticed the way Buck’s hands trembled slightly, the way he kept taking shallow breaths, but he never let go of Chris’s hand. She caught the way Buck’s hands shook when he picked up the menu, how he blinked too often, fighting the tide of emotion. But she also saw the way Christopher leaned across the table, chatting easily about school, superheroes, and math homework, like he’d just filled a missing piece of himself.  

Buck answered every word, fragile but trying, letting Chris lead the moment.  

And for a brief stretch of time, in the hum of the shop, with melting frozen yogurt and rainbow sprinkles between them, Buck let himself believe he hadn’t lost this entirely.  

When it was time to go, Chris clung to Buck again, reluctant. “Can I see you again soon?” Chris asked, eyes wide.  

Buck looked to Maddie, uncertain. Maddie crouched down so they were at eye level. “We’ll make it happen, okay? One step at a time.”  

Chris nodded reluctantly, then hugged Buck tight one last time. Buck held him close, his face buried in Chris’s hair like he never wanted to let go. When Maddie buckled Chris back into the car, Buck stood frozen on the sidewalk, blinking hard, trying to steady his breath.  

Maddie gave him a warm look, trying to ground him slightly. “You did good.”  

Buck nodded once, voice too raw to speak.  

Eddie was rinsing dishes when he heard the front door open and close. Christopher’s voice carried down the hall, animated in a way Eddie hadn’t heard in a while.  

“…and Buck let me get two toppings, Dad! Sprinkles and gummy worms. He said next time we should try the chocolate fountain.”  

Eddie turned, dish towel in hand, as Christopher wheeled into the kitchen, still buzzing. The boy’s smile was wide, cheeks flushed with excitement. Maddie followed a beat later, quiet, her eyes flicking toward Eddie with something unreadable before she slipped out with a soft goodbye.  

Eddie crouched a little, giving Christopher his full attention. “Sounds like you had fun, buddy.”  

“The best,” Christopher said without hesitation. Then he said softly, “I missed him, Dad.”  

The words cut through Eddie’s chest like glass. He swallowed, forcing himself to nod. “Yeah,” he said, steadying his voice. “I know you did.”  

Christopher’s brows knitted, searching his father’s face. “He said he missed me, too.”  

Eddie pressed his lips together, fighting the weight in his chest. “I believe him.”  

For a moment, Christopher seemed to hesitate, then blurted, “Can I see him again? Please?”  

Eddie froze. He wanted to say yes immediately – because the glow on Chris’s face was undeniable – but the tangled knot of anger, guilt, and fear inside him made the word stick. He finally managed, “We’ll… figure it out. Okay?”  

Christopher didn’t look entirely satisfied, but he nodded. “Okay. I told him he’s still my Buck.”  

Eddie’s chest tightened. “Yeah? What’d he say?”  

Chris beamed. “That he’s always my Buck. Always.”  

Eddie forced a smile, nodding. “That sounds like him.” His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. “I’m glad you got to see him, mijo.”  

Chris looked up, frowning. “You didn’t come. Why not?”  

Eddie shifted uncomfortably. “It was… better for Buck to see you first. Without me there.”  

Chris tilted his head, studying him. “You still mad at him?”  

Eddie hesitated. His instinct was to deflect, but Chris’s wide, searching eyes pinned him. “No,” he admitted finally, voice low. “I’m not mad. I just… I don’t know how to fix things between us yet.”  

Chris nodded, thoughtful. “Well, you'd better figure it out. Because I want you both.”  

Eddie’s breath caught, but Chris was already walking toward his room, still talking about Buck and gummy worms and how he wanted to show Buck his new comic books. Completely unaware of the bomb he had just set up.  

Eddie stayed in the kitchen, gripping the counter until his knuckles whitened. His son was happy–happier than he’d been in weeks – and Eddie should have felt relief. Instead, a storm churned in his chest: Guilt, because he’d told Buck he was exhausting. Anger, because Buck had nearly died more than once and still threw himself in the line of fire. Fear, because if Buck drifted in and out of Chris’s life, what would that do to his son’s heart?  

He sank into a chair, head in his hands.  

It emphasized some of what Eddie had discussed with Frank. He could admit to himself that maybe keeping Buck away hadn’t been about protecting Christopher at all. Maybe it had been about protecting himself from needing someone he couldn’t control – from admitting how much they both needed Buck.  

Buck sat slouched on the couch, hands still sticky from melted yogurt, eyes far away. Maddie handed him a glass of water and sat beside him. “You okay?” she asked softly. She’d been worried about leaving him alone while she dropped Christopher off at home.  

Buck let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t know. It was… it was everything. Seeing him, hearing him laugh, getting to hug him again-” His voice broke, and he pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. “I didn’t realize how much I missed him until he was right there.”  

Maddie rubbed his back gently, patiently.  

“But it hurt too,” Buck admitted, words tumbling out. “Because the whole time, in the back of my head, I kept thinking, ‘What if it’s the last time? What if Eddie decides it’s too much for Chris, too confusing, too risky?’ I don’t know if I can handle losing him again.”  

Maddie leaned closer. “You won’t lose him. Chris made that clear today – he wants you in his life. Eddie can’t erase that.”  

Buck nodded, but his eyes stayed wet. “It just… it feels so fragile. Like one wrong step and it’s gone.”  

Chapter Text

Eddie sat forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped so tightly they shook a little. He hadn’t even taken his jacket off. Frank leaned back in his chair, studying him with that calm, unhurried presence. “You came in looking like you’ve been carrying a boulder on your back.”  

Eddie let out a humorless laugh. “Feels like it.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Chris saw Buck yesterday. Maddie took him.”  

Frank nodded, waiting.  

Eddie exhaled sharply. “He was… happy. Like, really happy. I haven’t seen him like that in weeks. He came home talking about gummy worms and sprinkles and just—” Eddie broke off, shaking his head. “It killed me. Because I know he needs Buck. I know he loves him. But the truth is…” His voice dropped, gravelly, “I’m the one who can’t handle it.”  

Frank’s voice was steady, even. “Can’t handle what?”  

Eddie’s jaw clenched. He stared at the floor, searching for the words. “Needing Buck. Depending on him. I know we’ve talked about this before. I’m honestly sick and tired of the amount we’ve talked about parents, my life, and everything that’s led to this point. But I can’t...” He paused. The next time he spoke, his words were pointed and purposeful. “Every time I let Buck get close, something happens. He gets hurt. He nearly dies. He does something reckless. I was honestly glad when he couldn’t come back straight away. He’s my partner, and I’ve yet to come across anyone else I’ve worked with that well, but I would give it all up easily if it meant I didn’t have to watch over my shoulder every day looking out for him, because he sure won’t do it for himself. And Chris–Chris worships him. Sometimes I swear that kid loves him more than me. If I let him back in and then he disappears, what does that do to my kid?”  

Frank leaned in slightly. “What does it do to you?”  

Eddie’s throat tightened. He forced the words out like they’d been lodged in his chest for years. “It’ll break me.” The room went quiet. Eddie sat there breathing hard, the truth hanging heavy between them. He didn’t know what to do with the realization that he couldn’t picture a life without Buck. He’d thought the pain when he was angry and betrayed, having to show up to see Buck every day at work, was bad enough. But now that Buck was nowhere to be seen... he’d take the anger and the fighting any day over this. He thought he was finally beginning to understand what Shannon meant when she told him he wasn’t her partner – that he didn’t have her back. He used to think that being the provider was enough, but he hadn’t been there for her. Even when she came back into their lives, he’d fallen right back into those old habits, thinking marriage would solve all their problems. It hadn’t fixed things the first time. There was no reason to believe it would’ve worked a second time.  

Frank nodded slowly. “So maybe this isn’t just about protecting Christopher. Maybe it’s about protecting yourself from being hurt again.”  

Eddie looked up, eyes flashing with something raw. “I’m supposed to be strong. That’s what my parents drilled into me, what the Army drilled into me. What being a dad drilled into me. I’m not supposed to need anybody. But I do. I need Buck. And that scares the hell out of me.”  

Frank didn’t flinch. “It sounds like what scares you most isn’t Buck leaving. It’s admitting you can’t do all of this alone.”  

Eddie swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in his eyes. For once, he didn’t argue. He just sat there, broken open, finally saying out loud the thing he’d been avoiding: “…I don’t know how to not need him anymore.”  

Eddie’s last words still hung heavy in the air: I don’t know how to not need him.  

Frank let the silence breathe for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. “Eddie… what would it mean if you let yourself admit that? That you need Buck.”  

Eddie’s jaw tightened. He shifted in the chair like the weight of the question was too much. “It’d mean I’m weak. That I can’t do the one thing I’ve always told myself I had to — hold it together. For Chris. For the job. For… everything. Sure, I’ve always relied heavily on other people for Chris, but never... never outside of that. I didn’t even lean on Shannon outside of Chris. It went both ways. We argued. A lot. She said she didn’t feel like we were a partnership. That I didn’t have her back. Buck doesn’t question it. Doesn’t doubt it.”  

“Needing someone doesn’t make you weak,” Frank said gently. “It makes you human. So let’s put aside your parents’ voice, the Army’s voice, even your own voice for a moment. I want to hear your heart’s voice. What does your heart say about Buck?”  

Eddie stared at the carpet, throat working. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. “That he’s… he’s my best friend. The only one I’ve ever had who sees all the messy parts and doesn’t leave. He’s family. And…” He stopped, sucking in a breath. “And it’s not just Chris who needs him. I need him. I don’t want to admit it, but I do.”  

Frank nodded slowly, watching him. “And when you think about the way things ended before — Buck alone, hurting, feeling abandoned — what comes up for you?”  

Eddie winced, eyes shutting tight. His hand curled into a fist on his knee. “Guilt. So much guilt. Because I said things I didn’t mean. I called him exhausting, and… God, he believed it. Like all the worst things in his head lined up with my words. And now? Now I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me.”  

There was a long pause. Frank let him sit with it. Then, softly: “Do you forgive yourself?”  

Eddie’s eyes snapped open, glistening. “I don’t know how.”  

“Start here,” Frank said. “With honesty. Say the thing you’ve been holding in, even if you can’t say it to Buck yet. Tell me what you’d tell him if you could.”  

Eddie swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I’d tell him… I didn’t mean it. That he’s not exhausting, he’s… he’s everything. He makes my life bigger, better. And I pushed him away because I was scared. Because I thought needing him meant I was failing as a dad, as a man.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But the truth is, I don’t think I know how to do this without him.”  

Frank gave a small nod, voice steady. “That sounds less like weakness, Eddie, and more like love.”  

Eddie blinked, stunned by the word, by the weight of it. He sat back, breath shuddering out of him, like he’d been holding it for years. Eddie still looked shaken from Frank’s words, sitting rigid in his chair like he’d been hit with something he wasn’t ready for. “But I’m straight.”  

Frank chuckled. “That wasn’t how I meant it,” he said in a tone that said they’d be talking about it later. There are many different types of love. You said he’s your family, right?”  

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbled. His hands scrubbed over his face. “I mean... yeah, I care about him. I’d do anything for him. But that word–love–” He shook his head. “That’s too much. That’s… dangerous.”  

Frank tilted his head, unbothered. “It sounds like the word scared you more than it surprised you.”  

Eddie exhaled sharply, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Because when I love people, I lose them. My parents made me feel like nothing I did was enough. Shannon left, then she died, and I’ll never stop wondering if I drove her away. And now with everything that’s happened, all I can think about is the ways I failed her. Am I still failing her? And Buck... if I let myself put him in that category–if I admit I need him that much? That just means one day I’m going to lose him, too. And I can’t—” His voice broke. “I can’t survive that again.”  

Frank nodded slowly, keeping his voice low and steady. “So, you protect yourself by keeping people at arm’s length. If they can’t get too close, it won’t hurt as much if they go.”  

“Exactly.” Eddie’s laugh was bitter. “Except with Buck. He didn’t stay at arm’s length. He kicked down every damn wall I put up, and I let him. I let him get close. And then when it got too real, I panicked and shoved him away. And look where that got us.”  

“You think pushing him away was protection,” Frank said gently. “But what if it was punishment? For yourself.”  

Eddie’s brow furrowed, thrown. “…Punishment?”  

“You’ve been carrying guilt for years, Eddie. For Shannon, for Chris, for every choice that didn’t go the way you hoped. So, when someone like Buck shows up, someone who doesn’t judge you, who stands by you? Instead of letting yourself have that, you punish yourself by sabotaging it. Because deep down, you don’t believe you deserve him.”  

The words landed heavy, and Eddie froze. His chest rose and fell sharply as he stared at Frank, trying to argue but finding no words. Finally, barely audible, he said, “Maybe you’re right.”  

Frank leaned back, giving him space. “It’s not about me being right. It’s about you noticing the pattern. And asking yourself whether you want to keep living in it, or if you’re ready to start letting yourself deserve the people who love you.”  

Eddie swallowed hard, his throat thick. He didn’t answer right away. His eyes burned as he looked at the floor, jaw tight, and for once, he didn’t try to push the feelings down.  

Hen spotted Buck already sitting at a small table tucked in the corner, his notebook open but untouched, a pen resting uselessly between his fingers. He looked better than the last time–his color was better, shoulders a little straighter–but his eyes were still guarded, like he was bracing for impact.  

“Hey,” Hen said softly, sliding into the chair across from him. “You beat me here.”  

“Couldn’t sleep,” Buck admitted with a faint shrug, trying for a smile. “Figured I’d get out before I started climbing the walls.”  

Hen gave him a look, one that carried both warmth and worry, and then leaned back. “How’ve you been holding up?”  

They talked lightly at first – about his runs by the beach, about Hen’s latest shift, even about Denny’s science project. Buck laughed when she described her kitchen full of baking soda volcanoes, but it was quieter than his old laugh.  

Then, without meaning to, Buck let it slip.  

“You know… it’s still crazy to me,” he said, stirring his untouched coffee, eyes fixed on the swirl. “I had everything. Recerts, evaluations, cleared by the doctors, ready to get back. And Bobby still wouldn’t sign off.”  

Hen blinked, caught off guard. “…Wait. What?”  

Buck looked up, startled at her reaction. “What do you mean, ‘what’? You didn’t know?”  

“No,” Hen said firmly, shaking her head. “I didn’t know that, Buck. I don’t think anyone did.”  

For a moment, silence stretched across the table. Buck’s expression shifted from confusion to hurt, the words catching in his throat. “I-I thought he told you. All of you.”  

Hen reached across the table, putting her hand over his. “No, he didn’t.”  

Buck swallowed hard, his face tightening like he was holding back more than words. “So… what, he just kept that to himself? While you guys were all—” He cut himself off, looking away, jaw clenching. “I thought you all agreed. That you didn’t want me back, that’s why you were all… treating me the way you did.”  

Hen’s chest ached as she listened, as she watched the belief unravel right there in front of him. “Buck,” she said carefully, “we messed up. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. But that? That decision? That wasn’t us. That was Bobby.”  

He let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it–just bitterness. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “God, I’ve been walking around this whole time thinking… all of you were in on it. That I didn’t just lose one person’s trust, I lost everybody’s.”  

Hen’s heart broke hearing it. “I’m so sorry you carried that by yourself,” she whispered. “You shouldn’t have had to.”  

Buck didn’t answer right away. His shoulders shook, but his voice was steady when it finally came: “I don’t even know what to do with that. I don’t know if it’s better or worse.”  

Hen squeezed his hand tighter, steady and sure. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know yet. Just… let yourself feel it. And let me be here with you while you do.”  

The station was winding down, the familiar quiet settling after a long day. Bobby was at his desk, finishing up reports, glasses perched low on his nose. He didn’t notice Hen in the doorway until she knocked lightly on the frame.  

“Got a minute?” she asked, her voice clipped in a way that made Bobby immediately set his pen down.  

“Of course,” he said, gesturing for her to come in. “What’s on your mind?”  

Hen closed the door behind her and leaned against it, arms crossed. She wasn’t dancing around this one. “I met with Buck today.”  

Bobby straightened slightly, careful. “How’d it go?”  

Hen’s eyes narrowed. “It went fine... until he let slip something I think we should’ve heard from you a long time ago.”  

Bobby’s jaw tightened. He already knew what was coming. “Hen-”  

“Don’t ‘Hen’ me,” she cut him off, voice sharp but steady. “He told me that after he passed all his recerts, got cleared by doctors, did every damn thing he was supposed to, you still wouldn’t sign off on letting him back. And you never told us.”  

Bobby took a slow breath. “That decision was mine. I didn’t feel he was ready, not after everything—”  

“And you didn’t think we deserved to know that?” Hen snapped. “You let us believe he just… wasn’t fit and was acting out of spite. Bobby, he’s been walking around this whole time thinking we all signed off on shutting him out.”  

Bobby’s eyes dropped to the desk, shame written across his face. “That was never my intention.”  

“But that’s what happened,” Hen pressed, her tone low but fierce. “Do you have any idea what that did to him? What it’s still doing to him?”  

Bobby looked up then, meeting her gaze. “I was trying to protect him.”  

“Protect him?” Hen’s laugh was hollow. “You broke him. You broke his trust. And now I don’t even know how we’re supposed to fix it, because he doesn’t just think you failed him – he thinks we all did.”  

Bobby swallowed hard, his voice quiet. “I thought… it was my burden to carry. My mistake.”  

Hen leaned forward, uncrossing her arms. “But it wasn’t just yours. When you kept that to yourself, you dragged us all into it whether we wanted to be or not. Now he’s angry, and hurt, and he has every damn right to be. You need to find a way to own this, Bobby – not just with him, but with all of us. They need to know.”  

Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Finally, Bobby nodded, his voice gravelly. “You’re right. I owe him more than I gave. I owe all of you more than that.”  

Hen let out a slow breath, her anger softening into something closer to weariness. “Then figure out how to make it right. Because Buck doesn’t need more people hiding things from him, he needs the truth.”  

She turned to leave but paused at the door. “And Bobby? If you’re too afraid to be honest with him, then you’re not the man leading this team anymore.”  

The words hit like a gut punch. Bobby didn’t try to stop her when she walked out. He just sat there, staring at the empty doorway, the weight of her words pressing down hard.  

There was a knock at the door. Maddie frowned, setting down the tea mug in her hand. Buck was on the couch, flipping half-heartedly through a notebook, but he glanced up, too.  

“You expecting someone?” he asked.  

Maddie shook her head, wiping her palms on her jeans as she walked to the door. She checked the peephole, her breath catching when she saw Bobby standing there.  

“Who is it?” Buck called.  

Maddie hesitated, hand still on the knob. “Just… someone from work,” she said quickly, forcing her voice to sound casual. Then she opens the door, but only partway.  

“Bobby,” she greeted quietly, hoping Buck couldn't hear, her tone even but guarded.  

Bobby’s shoulders sagged with visible relief. “Maddie. I’m glad you’re here. Can we talk?”  

She slipped outside, pulling the door closed behind her so Buck wouldn’t see. “Now’s not a good time.”  

Inside, Buck froze, notebook still in his hands. The muffled voices carried through the door.  

“I need to explain,” Bobby continued, his voice low but heavy. “About Buck. About what I did.”  

Maddie crossed her arms, chin lifting. “You mean how you kept him from coming back, even after he had everything in order?” She noticed the mild shock on his face morph into a look of disappointment. “Yes, I know about that. Or do you mean the way you shut him out, leading the entire team to do it? Or do you mean not fighting for him and supporting him?”  

Bobby flinched at the bluntness. “I thought I was protecting him. I didn’t think he was ready. But I realize now… I should’ve been honest. With him. With all of you.”  

Inside, Buck’s grip tightened on the notebook, his chest constricting. He leaned forward slightly, every word filtering in.  

Maddie shook her head. “You don’t get it. He’s been carrying that like a weight around his neck, thinking everyone he trusted agreed he wasn’t good enough. Do you have any idea what that’s done to him?”  

Bobby’s voice cracked. “I know I hurt him. I know. And I’ll carry that guilt for the rest of my life. But Maddie, please... I want a chance to make it right. To talk to him. To apologize.”  

Behind the door, Buck squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shaky.  

Maddie softened for just a second before hardening again. “I can’t keep having this conversation with you all. It’s not about what you want, Bobby. It’s about what he needs. And right now? What he needs is space. He’s only just finding his footing again. I’m not letting you knock that out from under him because you feel guilty. You wrote the letter. If you feel you have more to say, then write another one.”  

Bobby nodded slowly, pain in his eyes. “I understand. I’ll wait. Just… tell him I’m sorry. Please.”  

Maddie exhaled, looking away. “If and when he’s ready to hear it, it’ll be from you. But not tonight.”  

She waited until Bobby stepped back from the door before she slipped inside again, closing it softly behind her. On the couch, Buck sat perfectly still, his face pale and tight. The notebook was clutched in his lap, his knuckles white.  

“Who was it?” he asked, voice carefully neutral, though his eyes gave him away.  

Maddie studied him for a moment, then quietly said, “Doesn’t matter. Not tonight.” She moved to sit beside him, letting the silence speak for itself.  

Buck nodded stiffly, staring at the pages in front of him, but his thoughts were miles away–back at the door, replaying every word.  

Buck sat across from her, his journal resting on his knee but unopened. He looked restless, like he hadn’t decided if he wanted to be there at all.  

Dr. Reyes leaned forward slightly, her tone gentle. “You look like you’ve been carrying something heavy this week. Want to tell me about it?”  

Buck exhaled hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maddie had… someone come by the apartment. She didn’t say who. But—” His voice faltered. “I heard enough.”  

Dr. Reyes tilted her head, waiting.  

“It was Bobby,” Buck said finally, almost spitting the name. “He came to see her. He didn’t know I was there. And I heard him admit it – about not signing off on me. Even when I’d passed everything, he just… decided I wasn’t ready. But I spoke with Hen. She said they didn’t know. They thought that there was a reason, like I hadn’t gotten all the clearances or something. He let me think everyone agreed.” The words came faster, sharper, like he was trying to outrun the crack in his voice. “I thought I was crazy for being angry. I thought I had no right. But hearing him? He knew exactly what he was doing. He let me carry that. I never heard him out after he told me at dinner. He said he thought he was protecting me.”  

Dr. Reyes let the silence stretch just long enough before speaking. “That sounds incredibly painful, Buck. To have the person you trusted most with your career, and your safety, hold that back from you.”  

Buck looked down, throat working. “I keep asking myself if I was right to be angry. If I still am. Because now I don’t even know what to do with it.”  

Dr. Reyes gestured toward the unopened envelope sitting on the corner of his journal. “That’s Bobby’s letter, isn’t it?”  

Buck hesitated, eyes flicking to it like it might burn him. “Yeah. I wasn’t gonna read it. Not yet. But… maybe I should. See what he has to say.”  

She nodded. “You don’t have to read it alone.”  

Buck swallowed hard, then carefully tore it open. The paper shook in his hands as he unfolded it and began reading silently. His eyes moved quickly at first, then slower. His jaw tightened. His breathing shifted. When he was finished, he just stared at the letter in his lap.  

“What’s coming up for you?” Dr. Reyes asked softly.  

Buck’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “He said he thought he was protecting me, that he couldn’t live with the thought of losing me in the field again. That he made the call because he cared too much to risk it. He says he mixed up being my boss and being my family and failed at both.” He laughed bitterly, a hollow sound. “But all I hear is: I didn’t trust you. Not with your job, not with yourself. Not with me.” His eyes stung, and he wiped at them roughly. “And the worst part? Some piece of me still wants to forgive him. Still wants him to be the guy I could count on. But I don’t know if I can. Or if I should.”  

Dr. Reyes leaned forward. “Both things can be true, Buck. You can love him and still be hurt. You can miss him and still be angry. Forgiveness isn’t a requirement for healing–it’s a choice, and it’s yours to make, in your own time.”  

Buck pressed the letter flat against his journal, staring at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something easier. “I just… I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I’m enough for him again,” he whispered.  

Dr. Reyes let the words sit in the room, heavy and raw, before gently saying, “Then maybe the work isn’t about being enough for Bobby. Maybe it’s about finally being enough for yourself.”  

Buck blinked, his throat tight, but he didn’t argue. It wasn’t a new topic in his therapy session. In fact, he thought he’d been making progress on it – on not relying on trying to earn the validation of others. But one letter had been all it took to make him feel that way again. Like nothing he did would be enough. He reread Bobby’s words.  

You are not broken, Buck. You are not the sum of our failures. You’re someone I care deeply for. And I am so sorry I didn’t show that when it mattered most.    

Then why did he feel so broken? Why had everything they had done said the opposite of those words? The words were nice. He wanted to believe them, but he couldn’t. Not just because of the broken trust, but because of his conversations with the people who were there for him. He forgave too easily because he wanted to believe the best of people. Look at how many years it had taken him to get out from under his parents. And was he really?  

He folded the letter carefully, tucked it back into the envelope, and closed it inside his journal.  

Athena came in from her shift, tossing her keys in the dish by the door. She saw Bobby sitting at the dining table with paperwork spread out, but something about his posture – too still, too heavy – caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes. “You want to tell me why I had to hear from Maddie that you showed up at her place?”  

Bobby looked up, startled. He started to answer, then closed his mouth, realizing she already knew. “Athena—”  

“No,” she cut him off sharply, stepping closer. “You went behind my back. Behind everyone’s back. After everything we agreed on about giving Buck space, you just showed up?”  

Bobby rubbed his forehead, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I wasn’t there to push him, Athena. I just… I wanted to speak to Maddie. I needed to know how he was doing. I thought maybe Maddie would—”  

“Would what? Hand you an update? Give you peace of mind?” Athena shook her head, incredulous. “That’s not what this is about. This isn’t about you and your guilt, Bobby. This is about Buck.” Her voice cracked slightly as her anger gave way to worry. “Do you realize what you could’ve done? The risk of making him feel cornered? He’s already hanging on by a thread.”  

Bobby’s voice was quiet, but heavy. “I know. I know it was selfish. I just... after seeing the loft, after realizing how far he’d let himself fall… I couldn’t sit with it anymore. I needed to try.”  

Athena stared at him, her expression softened, but her words remained firm. “And what you did was put Maddie in an impossible position. You scared her, Bobby. She thought Buck would find out and unravel. She had to protect him from you.”  

Bobby swallowed, guilt thick in his throat. “I never wanted to hurt her. Or him.”  

“I know that,” Athena said, her tone was gentler but still unyielding. “But intentions don’t erase impact. If you’re not careful, you’re going to drive him farther away. And then all of this guilt you’re carrying? It won’t just be guilt. It’ll be regret.”  

Bobby dropped his gaze; the weight of her words settled over him. “So what do I do?”  

Athena sighed, crossing her arms. “You wait. You respect his pace. And when he’s ready–if he’s ever ready–you show up the right way. Not by knocking on Maddie’s door in the dark.”  

The silence lingered between them. Bobby nodded slowly. He looked smaller than usual.  

Athena placed a hand on his shoulder. “You love him. I know. But sometimes love looks like letting go of control. Trust him to find his way.”  

Bobby closed his eyes, nodding again, though the guilt still lingered heavy on his face.  

Chapter Text

Maddie sat at a corner table, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She kept checking the door. She wasn’t nervous like last time. No, she was more curious than anything. She hadn’t expected to hear from him so soon after their phone call.  When Chimney finally walked in, he looked hesitant, almost smaller than she remembered him being at work. He spotted her, gave a tentative smile, and crossed the room. 

“Hey,” he said softly, sliding into the seat across from her. 

“Hey,” Maddie replied, her voice flat, cautious. 

For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of conversation around them. Chim rubbed his palms against his jeans, searching for words. 

“Thank you for meeting me,” he said finally. “I wasn’t sure you would.” 

Maddie shrugged, staring down at her mug. “I almost didn’t. Buck’s...” she trailed off. They weren’t there to talk about Buck. “You’re trying, and I appreciate that.”  

He nodded, accepting it without argument. His voice was steady but quiet. “I wanted to apologize. For not listening to you. For brushing off what you were trying to tell me about Buck. I thought I knew better. I thought… I don’t know. The 118 wasn’t always this way, like a family. Bobby was responsible for making a lot of changes. When Buck first walked in, he was a reckless probie who thought he knew best, diving right into the action. He never stopped to think about his actions. I suppose we were all concerned he’d turn out like the people who left. He’s grown, but sometimes there’s still glimpses of that person he was on his first day. I thought that’s what it was and that I was protecting Bobby. That we were protecting everything we built.” 

Maddie finally looked up at him, her eyes sharp. “You think it’s easy to see him beyond the kid I used to patch up every time he hurt himself. The kid I taught to ride a bike? The last time I saw him before he disappeared across the US was in the hospital where I worked. Even then, he looked to me for help and guidance. After that, I experienced his life through postcards. And yet...” her voice broke a little. “He didn’t think he could come to me with this.”  

Chim flinched at her words, but he didn’t argue. He let the weight of them sit between them before answering. “You’re right. And I hate that it took you having to step in for me to realize how badly I failed him as a friend.” 

Maddie studied him for a long moment. There was no defensiveness in his tone, no excuses, just regret. That softened something in her, though she didn’t let it show. “You know what hurt the most?” she asked quietly. “That I kept telling you he wasn’t okay. That I kept saying he needed more than what any of you were giving him. And you didn’t believe me.” 

Chim lowered his eyes. “I believe you now. I should’ve listened then, and I’m sorry.” He hesitated, then added, “I don’t expect forgiveness. I just… I wanted you to know I hear you. And I want to do better by him. However I can.”