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Buck was elbow deep in his kitchen when his phone buzzed.
He didn't hear it at first—music playing softly from the speaker on the counter, something upbeat he'd put on hours ago and promptly forgotten about. Flour dusted his forearms, his t-shirt and the countertop. The apartment smelled like sugar and yeast and something warm and comforting.
He'd started with pancakes that morning. No real reason—he'd woken up early, restless, brain buzzing in that annoying post-shift way even though the 118 was officially off-duty for the day. Pancakes had turned into muffins when he realised he had blueberries that needed using. Muffins had turned into banana bread because the bananas were definitely past saving otherwise. Somewhere along the line, cookies had entered the equation.
Buck baked when he didn't know what else to do with himself.
The phone buzzed again, more insistent this time. He frowned, wiping his hands on a towel before reaching for it.
Bobby Nash lit up the screen.
Buck smiled instantly, the kind of automatic, reflexive smile that happened before his brain even caught up. Bobby's contact photo stared back at him—a candid shot Hen had taken ages ago. Buck barely remembered the moment itself, just that they'd both been laughing. Bobby's hand on his shoulder, solid, grounding and familiar.
"Hey, Cap!" Buck said as he answered, still smiling.
"Are you busy?"
No hello, no preamble, just that.
Buck blinked, smile faltering into confusion. "Uh—" He glanced around his apartment like the answer might be hiding between the cooling racks and mixing bowls. "No? Not really. Why?"
"Great. Grant-Nash family night is happening in roughly twenty minutes. It's make your own pizza night, so you better get here soon before Harry eats all the toppings."
There was a beat. A very small, very critical beat where Buck's brain tried—and failed—to catch up.
"Wait, what—"
The line went dead.
Buck stared at his phone.
He stared at it long enough for the screen to dim, then go black entirely. He tapped it back on like that might somehow rewind the last ten seconds. But of course, it didn't.
Twenty minutes.
Pizza.
Grant-Nash family night.
His thoughts tripped over themselves.
"Did that just—" Buck stopped, exhaling sharply. "Okay. Okay, yeah—sure. Normal."
Except it wasn't.
Not really.
He leaned his hip against the counter, phone still in his hand, and let the moment replay in his head. Bobby's voice had been casual, easy. Like this was a given. Like Buck's presence was already accounted for, already expected.
Like he belonged there.
Buck swallowed.
He'd been to Bobby and Athena's place more times than he could count. Random dinners, impromptu movie nights, the bachelor watch-together nights, holidays where he somehow always ended up with a seat at the table without ever remembering how the invitation happened in the first place. Athena teasing him about his appetite. May rolling her eyes at his antics. Harry asking him a thousand and one questions about the firehouse.
That part wasn't new.
But, family night?
Hearing Bobby say it like that—no hesitation, no qualifier, no 'if you want to'—that was new. That hit somewhere deeper, somewhere Buck hadn't braced for.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing the length of his kitchen. "He didn't even let me answer." Buck muttered. "Just—decided for me."
Which, honestly, was very Bobby of him.
Still, Buck's chest felt tight.
Family night implied intention. It implied structure. It implied a circle that was already closed—and Buck had spent enough of his life hovering at the edges of things to feel that old, familiar flicker of doubt.
What if it's just a thing they do... and you're crashing it?
What if you make it awkward?
He stopped pacing and leaned both hands on the counter, staring down at the mess he'd made. Baking had been easy. Baking followed rules. You put ingredients together, you waited, you got results.
People weren't like that.
Families definitely weren't. At least, in his experience.
Buck exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. Bobby wouldn't invite him if he didn't want him there. He knew that, intellectually. Bobby wasn't subtle about boundaries—he was gentle, but he was clear.
And yet.
Those words you better get here soon echoed in his head, warm and terrifying all at once.
Buck glanced at the clock. Less than twenty minutes now.
His apartment suddenly felt very quiet.
He picked up his phone again, thumb hovering over Bobby's name. For half a second, he considered calling back, making a joke, clarifying. Giving Bobby an out to say only if you feel like it.
He didn't.
Because Bobby had already decided for him.
And maybe—just maybe, that meant Buck didn't have to question it this time.
Buck set the phone down carefully, like it might break if he wasn't gentle enough. He looked around the kitchen again, at the evidence of the day spent filling time, filling space.
"Okay," He said softly, to himself more than anything. "Okay."
His heart was still racing, thoughts were still spiralling. But underneath it, there was something else—something steady and warm, but dangerous in how much it mattered.
Family night.
Buck swallowed, grabbed a clean piece of tupperware and reached for the cookies.
He didn't let himself spiral again, not really.
Instead, he shifted into autopilot; the same mode he slipped into before shifts, before calls, before anything that felt too big to think about properly.
He moved.
The worry didn't vanish completely—it never really did, but it softened around the edges, dulled by the familiarity of routine. His hands knew what to do even if his head didn't. He reached for clean containers, lifting the cooling rack of cookies with careful precision and sliding them inside one by one. Another container followed for banana bread, sliced neatly the way Athena preferred.
She liked the middle pieces best. Moist, soft, and not too crust-heavy.
He wrapped the container twice, just in case, and stacked everything neatly beside the front door. The kitchen looked like the aftermath of a small bakery explosion, so he cleaned. Counters wiped down, mixing bowls rinsed, dish rack filled. He washed the flour from his hands, scrubbed until the faint scent of sugar finally faded from his skin.
Then he caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror.
Flour-smudged shirt, messy hair. Comfortable, but not exactly showing up to family game night for the first time attire.
"Yeah," He murmured, already turning toward the bedroom. "Let's not do that."
He showered quickly, steam curling around him, washing away the lingering restlessness of the day. Clean clothes followed simple jeans, a soft henley, nothing fancy. Just... presentable.
By the time he stepped back into the entryway, keys in hand and containers balanced carefully in one arm, his earlier spiral felt distant, manageable, almost silly.
He was halfway out, foot already in the hallway, door pulled almost shut behind him, when his phone buzzed again.
For half a heartbeat, his stomach dropped.
Some irrational part of his brain jumped straight to the worst conclusion—Actually, never mind. Plans changed. Family night is cancelled. Maybe something came up, maybe they realised—
He cut the thought off before it could even finish forming.
The screen lit up.
Athena Grant-Nash.
Her contact photo popped up, a small picture of her and Bobby standing close together, laughing at something off-camera. Buck found himself smiling instantly again, tension draining from his shoulders as if it'd never been there in the first place.
It was just a text.
Hey Buckaroo, would you mind picking up some red and yellow peppers on the way? Forgot to grab some earlier. No worries if not!
That was it.
No cancellation, no change of plans, no second thoughts.
Just peppers.
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head at himself. Of course, he typed back without hesitation.
On it! 👍🏻
He slid his phone back into his pocket, grabbed the containers more securely and properly shut his apartment door behind him.
The grocery store stop was quick. He moved through the produce section with surprising focus, inspecting peppers like they were mission-critical equipment. He picked out the brightest red and yellow ones he could find—firm, glossy, unblemished. The best of the bunch, literally.
A few minutes later, he was back in his truck, groceries safely stowed, baked goods tucked carefully beside him.
Traffic was light, the sky was starting to shift into that soft gold of the early evening, the world easing toward night.
By the time he pulled into Bobby and Athena's street, this chest felt lighter.
He parked in their driveway and cut the engine, hands resting briefly on the steering wheel. For a moment, he just sat there. No spirals, no what-ifs, no second-guessing. He just looked onward.
The house glowed.
Warm orange light spilled through the windows, soft and steady. He could make out movement inside—Athena crossing the living room, Bobby passing through the kitchen with something in his hands. A flash of May's hair near the hallway. Harry darting past, probably on some urgent topping-related mission.
It looked normal, ordinary, domestic.
Homey.
And he was being welcomed into it with open arms.
Buck felt the remnants of his earlier worry loosen their grip. What had he even been spiralling over? This wasn't charity. This wasn't obligation. This was Bobby and Athena, opening their door the way they always did—wide, steady, and unquestioning.
He grabbed the tupperware containers and the grocery bag, stepped out the truck, and closed the car door softly behind him. The air was cool, quiet, a gentle contrast to the warmth waiting for him inside.
He walked up the path, heart steady, shoulders relaxed, and headed for the front door.
Buck lifted his hand and knocked.
The sound echoed louder than it should have in the quiet evening, and immediately he felt ridiculous. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, adjusting the grocery bag in his grip, then the tupperware tucked under his arm.
Relax, he told himself. You've been here a thousand times before.
Still, his foot bounced lightly against the concrete. Like this was his first time ever. Like he was some nervous teenager meeting his best friend's parents instead of someone who practically had a standing place at their table.
It took only a few seconds before the front door swung open.
"Buck!"
Athena's smile was instant and bright, her presence alone filling the doorway with warmth. She didn't hesitate for even a heartbeat before pulling the door wider and opening her arms.
Buck's answering grin felt unstoppable. "Hey!"
He stepped forward easily, already leaning into her space, and Athena wrapped him up in a hug that was firm and familiar, grounding. Buck adjusted his grip, curling his free arm—grocery bag and all, around her and squeezing back gently.
God, what had he even been worrying about?
They pulled apart, Athena smiling up at him like she was genuinely happy he was there. Because, she was.
"I come baring gifts," Buck said, lifting the grocery bag slightly. "Red and yellow peppers, as requested. Mission accomplished."
She laughed. "Thank you, again. I appreciate the save."
She ushered him further inside, hand briefly at his back, and Buck barely had time to take two steps inside before—
"Hey Buck!"
Harry was suddenly there, beaming, skidding to a stop in front of him. May followed close behind, equally bright, arms folded but eyes warm.
"Hey, you two." Buck said, grin only widening.
"Did you bring food?" Harry asked bluntly, noticing the tupperware tucked under his arm.
Buck gasped dramatically. "Wow, straight to the point."
He shifted the containers under his arm and lifted them slightly. "Don't worry. I brought baked-good gifts too."
May's eyes lit up. "And this is why you're my favourite."
Athena laughed as she passed him, already headed toward the kitchen. "You didn't have to do that, Buck."
Buck followed after her, shrugging one shoulder. "I know. But I wanted to. And—" He paused just long enough to sound smug. "I brought your favourite, banana bread."
Athena stopped mid-step.
She turned, warmth softening her expression even more. "You did?"
"Middle slices." Buck added, because of course he did.
Her smile went gentle and touched in a way that made Buck's chest tighten just a little. "Thank you, Buckaroo." She said sincerely, before continuing to the kitchen.
That was when Bobby appeared.
He emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate piled high with thinly sliced pepperoni, setting it down on the dining table already crowded with bowls of toppings—olives, onions, mushrooms, different cheeses, sauce, everything arranged nearly like a well-organised operation.
His face lit up the second he saw Buck.
Buck's did too.
"Damn," Buck said, laughing as he took it all in. "I didn't realise you guys took pizza night so seriously."
Everyone laughed at that.
"We kind of have to," Athena called from the kitchen. "With someone already eating the toppings."
As if on cue, Harry reached out and snagged a slice of pepperoni from the plate Bobby had just set down.
"Harry." Athena warned, her glare automatic but entirely toothless.
Buck snorted. "Rookie mistake, Cap. You gotta guard the plates with your life, you should know that by now."
Bobby chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced at the containers Buck was holding. "What have you got there?"
Buck set them carefully on the table and popped the lids. The smell hit immediately—warm cookies, rich banana bread, sweet and comforting. Harry's eyes went wide.
"Don't even think about it," Athena said quickly, swooping in to shut the lids before any hands could sneak in. "After pizza."
May sighed dramatically beside her brother. "Worth a shot."
"They smell incredible, Buck." Bobby said, honestly.
Buck smiled, a little proud. "They better. It's your recipe, after all. I made extra, so figured they'd be good for later."
Athena peeked into the banana bread container again, noticing the careful selection like Buck had promised. Her hand came to Buck's arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You're too good to us."
Bobby clapped Buck gently on the shoulder. "You want to give me a hand in the kitchen? We're almost done."
Buck answer was immediate. "Yeah, definitely."
He shrugged out his jacket as he followed Bobby, Athena taking it from him without comment and hanging it up like it was the most natural thing in the world.
In the kitchen, Buck slipped easily into place. He washed his hands, grabbed a knife, started chopping the peppers he'd picked out earlier. Bobby plated toppings, slid bowls into place, passed things back and forth with the kind of quiet efficiency that came from years of teamwork—on and off the job.
Conversation flowed easily from room to room. Laughter carried. May and Harry argued over their favourite toppings. Athena chimed in with commentary and jokes as she moved between spaces.
Buck found himself smiling without even thinking about it.
This, this was what he always got there. Warmth, welcomed noise, and a sense of belonging. And it felt just as easy as ever.
If Buck was being honest with himself—and he usually wasn't, not about things like this—part of him was still trying to figure out where exactly he fit.
Not in the room. He knew he fit in the room, that part was easy now. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them, passed bowls without being asked, reached for utensils like they were already his. No one questioned, no one hesitated.
But it was the label that got him.
Grant and Nash.
He didn't ask, he wouldn't. Buck was many things, but he was not about to ask the Grant-Nash family to clarify whether or not he counted. He was just... grateful to be there. Grateful to be included at all.
So he focused on the pizza.
Bobby set the last of the dough down on the table with quiet pride. Five perfectly portioned pizza bases rested on parchment, lightly floured, soft and ready to be shaped. The table was packed with toppings—sauce, cheese, meats, vegetables, oils, spices—every option laid out like a culinary playground.
Buck's eyes lit up at the sight.
"Oh man," He said, rubbing his hands together in excitement. "This feels like some kind of weird Master Chef situation."
"Pizza Edition." May agreed, giving Buck a playful nudge with her elbow.
They took their places around the table, naturally falling into line without discussion. Buck ended up next to Bobby, their elbows nearly brushing. Athena stood on Buck's other side, already surveying the spread like a seasoned professional. May leaned casually against the table across from Buck, and Harry hovered beside her, eyeing the toppings like he was planning something dangerous.
Buck rolled his shoulders, excitement buzzing through his veins. "I don't know about you guys, but I am already very invested in this."
Harry grinned. "Then we should make it interesting."
Buck glanced at him, brow quirked. "Buddy, this is already interesting to me. Fresh dough? Unlimited toppings? I'm in heaven."
"Still," Harry pressed. "Competition."
May immediately scoffed. "That wouldn't be fair. Any way you split it, the teams would be uneven."
Harry waved a hand, as if he'd been thinking it through for a while. "Not if we do Grant versus Nash."
May, who was now looking at her brother like he'd grown two heads, shook her own, brow arched in confusion. "That's still uneven."
Buck blinked.
Grant versus... Nash?
Harry shrugged, like it was obvious. "Not if we do me and you—the Grants, versus Bobby and Buck—the Nash's. Mom can be the judge."
The words hit Buck like a dropped plate, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.
Bobby and Buck.
The Nash's.
His brain quite literally stalled.
The conversation kept going around him, voices overlapping, teasing and easy, but it all blurred into background noise. Athena protested jokingly about being relegated to judge duty. May argued that Athena absolutely had to be impartial. Harry defended his idea with far too much confidence.
Buck didn't hear a single word of it.
Because he'd been placed somewhere without even being asked.
Not as a guest, not as a tie-breaker, or the judge, not as 'also Buck'.
But as a Nash.
Casual, unquestioned. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He stared down at the dough in front of him, fingers hovering uselessly above it. His chest felt tight, warm and dizzy all at once. He risked a glance at Bobby, searching his face for some sign—correction, clarification, anything.
Bobby just looked delightfully amused.
Then he clapped a hand against Buck's shoulder, giving it a firm, grounding squeeze—dragging him back to reality.
"Well," Bobby said easily, glancing towards May and Harry. "I hope you're ready to lose, because the Nash's are definitely winning this."
Nash's.
Plural.
Harry groaned. "Wow, over-confidence. That's gonna get you nowhere Bobby."
May laughed, giving her brother a nudge. "Are you kidding? You doomed us the moment you suggested this. C'mon, we've all had Bobby's cooking before." She then flicked her glance at Buck. "And Buck's not far behind either."
Buck opened his mouth, but nothing came out apart from air, and perhaps almost a squeak of what was supposed to be words.
He wasn't even sure what was happening anymore. He'd tuned out everything after the word Nash, and now he was standing there, shoulder to shoulder with Bobby, apparently part of a team he hadn't realised he was allowed to be on.
He swallowed, hands finally settling flat on the table beside his pizza dough—waiting to be kneaded.
Whatever this was, whatever it meant, he wasn't about to ruin it by questioning it out loud.
For now, it was enough to just be there. And apparently... be a Nash.
Once the decision was made, the table transformed.
Bobby nudged the bowl of sauce closer to Buck and rolled his shoulders like they were about to head into a call. "Alright, strategy."
Buck huffed a laugh, lowering his voice instinctively. "I still can't believe we're doing this."
"You say that now," Bobby replied, already spreading sauce across the dough with practiced ease, "But I don't like losing."
Buck grinned and grabbed the cheese, sprinkling it evenly. Their movements were easy, familiar, no discussion needed, no stepping on each other's toes. Buck knew when to reach for a bowl before Bobby even asked. Bobby adjusted toppings Buck laid down without comment, like they'd done this a hundred times before.
Across the table, May and Harry were locked in.
They worked shoulder-to-shoulder, heads bent close together, murmuring in hushed whispers like they were plotting something classified. Harry gestured subtly with a slice of mushroom. May shook her head, pointed to the onions instead. Every so often, one of them would glance up just long enough to check if Bobby or Buck were watching.
Buck snorted softly when he caught them doing it. "Do you think they know this isn't actually a reality tv show?"
Bobby didn't look up, laughing softly.
Athena leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching all four of them with an amused look on her face. She'd already started on her own pizza, casually tossing toppings on with far less intensity—every now and then plucking something from a bowl to snack on as she went.
"Judge is allowed to eat the evidence." She argued lightly when she was caught.
Bobby glanced sideways at her, then deliberately reached for a bowl of her favourite toppings and layered them onto the pizza he was making.
Buck noticed.
He leaned in, whispering. "Are you really going to bribe your wife?"
Bobby didn't even try to deny it. "Strategic inclusion."
Athena raised an eyebrow but said nothing, the corner of her mouth lifting as she watched them fondly.
Buck focused back on the pizza, adding toppings he liked—nothing too wild, nothing too safe. He wanted it to be good, comforting. Something that felt like him. He didn't overthink it beyond that.
In front of them, May cleared her throat suspiciously loud.
Buck and Bobby immediately turned their bodies slightly toward one another, lowering their voices even further.
"This is ridiculous." Buck whispered, trying not to laugh.
"You started it." Bobby whispered back.
"We didn't even start the whispering in the first place!"
"Doesn't matter, they're whispering now."
Athena shook her head, laughing under her breath as she reached over and turned on some soft music. It drifted through the music gently, filling the little gaps of silence, softening the edges of the competition brewing.
The mood stayed light, easy. Jokes flew back and forth despite the 'rivalry'. Harry made a comment about presentation. Buck shot back that taste mattered more. May accused them of over-cheesing. Bobby argued that there was no such thing.
Buck caught himself smiling—really smiling—as he worked.
These were his favourite kind of nights. No alarms, no adrenaline. Just busy hands, voices warm, the steady presence of Bobby beside him. Cooking together had become their thing over the years, quietly and naturally.
He thought about how far he'd come—from living off takeout and protein bars, from burning scrambled eggs in his rookie days, to standing here now, confidently layering toppings like it mattered. Bobby had taught him all of it. Patience, technique, care.
How to nourish people and himself.
Buck glanced at Bobby, watching the concentration on his face, the same focus he had when they were on calls. Cooking wasn't just cooking to Bobby—it was another way of taking care of people.
And Buck had learnt from the best.
They finished their pizzas after a while with a shared nod, mission accomplished.
Across the table, May and Harry finally stepped back from theirs too, exchanging a look that confidently said they'd nailed it.
Athena clapped her hands once. "Alright, chefs. Let's get these in the oven."
Buck leaned back slightly, hands dusted with flour, heart full in that quiet way that always seemed to creep up on him and surprise him. Good vibes, great company.
He was exactly where he was meant to be.
The pizza's slid into the oven one by one, the kitchen filling with the slow, comforting smell of dough and sauce beginning to bake.
"Timer's on." Athena announced, already backing toward the living room. "We'll be right here if it catches fire."
"Very funny!" Bobby called after her, chuckling.
May and Harry followed, still mid-argument about topping ratios, their voices fading as they collapsed onto the couch. Music drifted a little louder from the living room now, blending with the low hum of the oven.
Buck lingered by Bobby.
He always did really.
Without being asked, he reached for open containers, sealing up leftover toppings and sliding them back into the fridge. He wiped down the table a little, brushed excess flour into the trash, rinsed a knife and set it on the drying rack. It felt natural—like muscle memory.
Bobby noticed, of course. He always did. He handed Buck a dish towel without comment, starting on the counters himself.
They worked in easy silence for a while, the kind that didn't need filling.
Then Buck huffed a laugh.
It was quiet, involuntary.
Bobby glanced over, curious. "What's funny?"
Buck hesitated briefly. "I dunno. I was just... nervous earlier, about tonight."
"Nervous?" Bobby asked, pausing what he was doing briefly.
"Yeah." Buck frowned instantly, like he was trying to untangle the thought as he spoke it. "Which is dumb, because I'm here all the time. I don't even know why I was in the first place, really."
Bobby leaned back against the counter behind him for a moment, studying Buck. "Buck," He said gently. "You're always welcome here. Whatever time, whatever day. I hope you know that."
Buck looked at him, something warm settling in his chest. "I do," He said quietly. "I really do, thanks."
Bobby smiled, soft and certain. "Of course, we're family."
And it didn't hit like a lightning strike this time.
It didn't derail him or send his thoughts spiralling. It just... landed. Solid, right.
Because he felt it in his bones, in the steady calm that followed. He thought about his own childhood, the way family had always felt like something that he was orbiting instead of standing inside. Maddie had been the exception, of course.
But this?
This felt different. This felt like how it was supposed to feel all along.
He swallowed—and without thinking, let the words slip out.
"Thanks, pops."
The kitchen went still for a moment.
Buck felt himself freeze for half a second, eyes flicking up instinctively, heart jumping like he'd crossed some invisible line that'd been drawn between them. Despite their conversation merely seconds ago. He hadn't called Bobby that in years—not since he was new at the one eighteen, back when everything was louder and messier and he hadn't known how much Bobby would come to mean to him.
Bobby didn't say anything in response.
He just looked at Buck.
There was something in his eyes—surprise, emotion, warmth all tangled together. His throat bobbed once as he cleared it, the only sign of how much the word had hit him.
They shared a quiet smile.
No explanation needed, no apology, no correction.
Bobby stepped forward and gave Buck's shoulder a gentle squeeze, then tugged him in briefly, the hug short and solid and full of everything they daren't say out loud. At least, not yet.
Buck laughed softly as they pulled apart, patting Bobby's shoulder — the moment lightened, but didn't diminish.
"Alright," Bobby said, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "Let's not burn these pizza's for our judge."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Buck replied, still smiling just as wide.
The pizza's finished with a soft, satisfied beep from the oven not long later. The smell filling every corner of the home.
They gathered back around the table, plates in hand, the competition already dissolving into nothing more than smiles and anticipation. Athena took her role as judge with theatrical seriousness, lifting a slice from each pizza, studying them like she was about to hand out a Michelin star before finally taking a bite.
Then another.
And another.
She hummed thoughtfully, nodding to herself like she was mentally taking notes.
"Well," She said at last, brushing her hands together. "I'm happy to report that all of you did great."
Buck felt his shoulders loosen.
Athena paused, then added with a smug little smile. "This worked out brilliantly for me, didn't it? I could try everyone's pizza without ever having to pick just one."
Harry groaned. "This is so rigged."
May pointed an accusatory finger, though she had a surprised smile on her face. "You planned this ever since Harry elected you judge, didn't you?"
Athena gave her a teasing wink in response. "I plan many things." She shrugged, already reaching for another bite of one of the slices. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't."
"That's not how judging works, mom." Harry shook his head.
"Sure it is," She replied, easy. "I'm the judge. I said so."
Bobby shook his head in amusement, chuckling under his breath, whilst Buck laughed outright. Whatever competition had existed melted away completely, replaced by the easy, comfortable energy that had filled the house all evening. No one really cared, the point had never really been about winning. And on the plus side, Athena was right—they got delicious pizza's out of it.
Plates were carried into the living room, everyone settling where ever they naturally landed. Athena and Bobby curled together on one end of the couch, familiar and comfortable, Bobby's arm resting easily around her. Buck dropped onto the couch beside them, pizza balanced on his knee, smiling without even realising he's doing it; still riding the high of the night.
Beside him, May and Harry argued lightly over the remote like it was a life-or-death situation.
"You picked last time." Harry told his sister.
"That was two weeks ago." May argued back.
"That still counts."
"Just pick something," Bobby laughed at them. "Your pizza's will be cold before you do."
Buck laughed, shrugging his shoulders. "Cold pizza is still delicious, Cap. I of all people would know."
Eventually, something was chosen. No one objected to change it. The opening credits rolled, and the room settled into that comfortable, shared quiet that came with watching something together—half attention on the screen, half on each other.
Time softened after that.
The pizza disappeared piece by piece, conversation drifting in and out. Someone made a sarcastic comment at the wrong moment. Harry laughed too loudly, May tried to pretend she wasn't laughing too. Buck tossed in a remark that earned him a dramatic groan from both of them.
Somewhere along the way, the containers of baked goods Buck had made previously made their way to the coffee table. Athena immediately claimed the banana bread, savouring each bite with quiet appreciation—visibly softening with approval. Bobby joined her, content, while Buck watched with a small, proud smile that he didn't bother hiding.
The cookies vanished just as quickly too—Buck, May and Harry reaching for them in easy rhythm, laughter bubbling up whenever they bumped hands when trying to eagerly grab one.
The movie kept playing. The house stayed warm, glowing with it. The music from earlier long since replaced by the dialogue from the television and the occasional crackle of laughter or commentary from them as they watched.
Athena leaned further into Bobby's side, him shifting just enough to make extra room for her. Buck stretched his legs out, careful not to bump into the coffee table, attention drifting between the screen and the easy noise of their little bubble.
Nothing particularly big happened after that. No dramatic speeches, no grand conclusions. Just the movie playing, food being eaten, and the familiar warm feeling of just being in each others presence.
He reached for another cookie, glancing briefly around the room—at May and Harry talking about something whilst gesturing toward the screen, at Athena and Bobby watching the movie with smiles on their faces that was nothing but warming.
He settled back into the couch, getting comfortable, letting the moment carry on around him like it always seemed to. The comfortable hum of light conversation and the movie blending together. No longer feeling the urge to fill silences or second-guess his place in it.
He just sat there, passing the cookie container to Harry when he asked, nudging May's foot lightly when she stole the last one that he'd been eyeing, and settling deeper into the cushions like he'd done a hundred times before.
He was home.