Chapter Text
Athena leans one shoulder against the island, a glass of iced tea in hand, watching him with fond amusement.
“It’s pasta, Bobby,” she says, smiling into her glass. “You’re acting like the president’s coming.”
He glances over his shoulder at her, stirring the sauce.
“It is not just pasta.”
“Mm-hm.”
“It’s rigatoni with roasted red pepper cream sauce, grilled lemon chicken, and—”
“Pasta,” Athena repeats.
Bobby huffs a quiet laugh.
“You are impossible.”
—
It ended up being a smaller group than Bobby had planned for: Buck, May, and Harry.
The doorbell rings just as he was reaching for the chicken.
Athena pushes away from the island.
“I’ve got it.”
Bobby hears Harry first, all teenage momentum and half-contained impatience, then May’s laugh, then Buck’s voice joining them from the front hall, easy and familiar.
A moment later they spill into the kitchen together.
Buck comes in last, carrying a bakery box in one hand and a six-pack of sparkling water in the other.
He had changed out of his station clothes hours ago, but there was still something unmistakably firefighter about the way he moved.
He smiles the second he sees Bobby at the stove.
“Tell me that smells as good as I think it does.”
Bobby takes the bakery box from him.
“That depends. Did you bring dessert because you don’t trust me?”
Buck puts a hand to his chest in mock offense.
“Wow. Accusations already. I brought dessert because I know my role in this family ecosystem.”
May snorts as she dropps into one of the stools by the island.
“And what role is that?”
Buck considers for a second..
“Beloved guest. Occasional manual labor. Emotional support golden retriever.”
Harry pulls a soda from the fridge.
“That last one feels true.”
Buck points at him. Proudly.
“Thank you.”
—
May helps plate the salad. Athena carries dishes out to the table.
Harry makes a nuisance of himself until Bobby gives him a job slicing bread just to keep his hands occupied.
Buck hovers near the stove and tries to steal chicken off the platter—
Bobby slapps lightly at his wrist with a dish towel.
“You made enough for an army,” Buck says, grinning, utterly unrepentant.
“That doesn’t mean you get to pick at it before it hits the table.”
Buck leans back against the counter, hands lifting in surrender, but his grin stayed.
“You know, for a guy trying to foster a warm and welcoming dinner atmosphere, you’re really coming in aggressive.”
Athena laughs from the dining room.
“You haven’t even sat down yet, Buck. Give him time.”
Dinner itself felt easy in the way Bobby sometimes still had trouble trusting.
Bobby sits at the head of it and let himself enjoy it.
...
Buck, predictably, loved the recipe.
“This is unfair,” he says at one point, gesturing with his fork.
“You cannot just casually reinvent dinner like this on a Saturday.”
“It’s pasta,” Harry says.
May points her fork at Harry.
“Don’t encourage him. He’ll start printing menus.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Buck says.
“See?” May turns to Bobby. “Look what you’ve done.”
Bobby shakes his head, smiling despite himself.
—
After dessert, Harry checks the time and groans.
Athena glances at him.
“What?”
“Denny’s online with the guys in thirty,” Harry says.
“Homework first?” Athena asks, though her tone suggests she already knows the answer.
Harry makes a face.
“Already did it.”
May snorts.
“You copied and pasted half of it from your notes.”
“That still counts as doing it.”
Athena gives him *the look*
“Fine,” he mutters. “I’m going.”
He gets up, offeres Bobby a quick thanks for dinner, and disappears inside his room.
“He’ll be on that headset all night,” Athena says, shaking her head.
“Could be worse,” May says, matter-of-fact. “At least he’s at home.”
—
They move out to the garden a little while later, carrying drinks and a bowl of chips.
The night had settled warm and gold around the house.
String lights looped overhead, casting soft light through the branches.
The air smelled like cut grass and the lingering sweetness of summer heat that had not fully left even after dark.
Conversation drifts the way it always does.
May talks about a case she had been helping sort through at work
Buck chimes in with terrible theories whenever there is a pause.
“You would be the worst detective,” she tells him.
Buck steals a chip.
“Actually, I think I’d be a visionary.”
“You’d accuse the mailman in the first five minutes.”
“He’s always around. Suspicious.”
Athena shakes her head.
“Lord help us.”
—
Buck tipps his head back against the chair, smiling at something May said.
The lights catching the edge of his profile, the easy line of his mouth, the brightness in his eyes.
The joke comes out of Bobby without much thought.
“At this point,” he says, reaching for his drink, “I should just adopt you.”
May laughs immediately.
“Honestly? Yeah. You’re practically already my brother.”
Athena smiles into her glass.
Buck laughes too.
The sound is a little bright…
A little off.
“Careful,” Buck says, smiling wide in a way that seems just slightly too sharp around the edges.
“I think the paperwork on that might be complicated.”
“Probably not as complicated as your HR file,” May shoots back.
Buck points at her with mock betrayal.
“Wow.”
She grinns. Athena laughs.
Bobby huffs and lets the conversation move on.
But Buck more quiet after that.
Not dramatically.
He still smiles when spoken to.
Still answeres when May draggs him into a story.
Still reaches absently for chips and nodds along and looks to anyone glancing over.
And yet some essential looseness had gone out of him...
Twice Bobby does Bobby catch him staring at the string lights overhead with an expression too still to read.
Athena notices too…
—
They all stayed out there another half hour.
Then May checked her phone, frowned, and sat up straighter.
“Damn. I need to head out.”
Athena glanced at her.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. My friend’s roommate locked herself out and she’s freaking out because she left her stuff at my place earlier.” May got up, reaching for her bag.
“I told her I’d meet her.”
Buck stood automatically.
“Need help carrying anything?”
May smiled at him, soft and fond.
“I think I can manage one purse, but thanks.”
He smiled back, and that one looked more real.
They said their goodbyes.
Athena hugged May. Bobby kissed the top of her head.
Buck got an arm around her shoulders for a brief squeeze that made her laugh.
Then it was just the three of them.
—
Athena starts gathering bowls. Bobby carries the leftover chips inside.
Buck follows with the glasses.
They work in companionable silence for a few minutes.
Eventually Athena wipe down the counter, Looks between the two of them for one beat too long, and says,
“I’m gonna go and answer that email before I forget.”
Bobby glances up. He knows his wife. Knows when she is stepping back on purpose.
Buck doesn't seem to notice.
“Night,” he says easily.
“Night, baby.”
The house falls quieter after she leaves.
Bobby dries his hands and passes over another dish.
“Thanks for helping,” he says.
Buck shruggs, eyes on the plate.
“You cooked.”
Bobby leanes his hip lightly against the counter.
“You brought dessert.”
“Store-bought dessert,” Buck corrects.
“It still counts.”
Buck smiles faintly.
There's a pause. Water dripps softly into the sink.
Buck had been quiet for over an hour, and Bobby had spent too long learning the difference between Buck’s silence and everyone else’s not to notice when one of them had weight to it.
So he reaches for humor, because humor usually worked.
“You know,” he says, picking up another bowl, “I meant what I said earlier. One of these days I really am going to start introducing you as my son just to confuse people.”
Buck freezes.
It's not dramatic. He didn’t drop the plate in his hands. Didn’t even look up right away.
But every line of him goes suddenly, unmistakably still.
When he looks at Bobby, his expression has changed so completely it makes something cold slip down Bobby’s spine.
“Don’t joke about that.”
The words are quiet.
Bobby straightens.
“Buck—”
“No.” Buck swallows, jaw tight. “Don’t.”
...
“I was kidding,” Bobby says carefully, already regretting the entire direction of the conversation.
Buck lets out a laugh that holds no humor in it at all and draggs a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. I know.”
Tension settles into the kitchen so fast it almost has shape.
Bobby sets the bowl down.
“Buck.”
Buck looks away.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for—”
“Yes, I do,” Buck cuts in. Then he shuts his eyes for half a second, breathes in, and when he openes them again the anger is gone.
That's worse.
In its place is something defensive and exhausted.
“You don’t joke,” he says, voice rougher now, quieter, “about things people actually want.”
The room seemes to tilt.
Bobby stares at him.
Buck’s mouth tightens the instant the words were out.
He dropps his gaze to the counter.
For one suspended second Bobby has no idea what to say.
He has handled structure fires with more certainty than this silence.
Buck shakes his head before Bobby can find words.
“Forget it.”
“Buck—”
“I’m sorry,” Buck says again, the apology came fast.
“I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s been a long week. I’m tired. I read too much into it.”
Bobby takes a step toward him.
“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”
Buck’s smile comes back and it's so obviously false it hurts to look at.
“It’s nothing, Bobby.”
It's a terrible lie and they both know it.
Bobby opens his mouth anyway, because instinct says not to let him walk out carrying something like that alone, but Buck is already reaching for his keys on the counter.
“I should go.”
“Buck.”
He pauses.
For a moment Bobby thinks he might turn around.
Instead he just shakes his head once, a tiny movement.
“Thanks for dinner,” he says.
Then he leaves.
—
Bobby stays where he is for several seconds after the sound of Buck’s truck pulled away.
He braces both hands on the edge of the sink and exhales slowly through his nose.
He had spent enough years as a captain, husband, father, and mentor to know when he had missed something right in front of him.
…
Athena’s footsteps are quiet coming back, but Bobby hears them anyway.
She stopps, takes one look at his face, and sighs softly.
“He left.”
Bobby lets out a humorless breath.
“Yeah.”
Athena comes the rest of the way in and leans against the island, arms folding loosely.
“What did you say?”
He scrubbs a hand over his mouth.
“I made the joke again.”
Her brows lift just slightly.
“Bobby.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
He turns to look at her then, frustration and confusion mixing unpleasantly in his chest.
“I was trying to lighten the mood. He’d gone quiet outside and I thought maybe I could get him to talk.”
“And instead?”
Bobby stares at the dish towel in his hands.
“He told me not to joke about that.”
Athena’s expression softens in a way that told him she had already guessed the rest before he said it.
“He said,” Bobby goes on, slower now because speaking the words aloud made them feel heavier,
“you don’t joke about things people actually want.”
Athena lets that sit for a moment.
Then she pushes off the counter and Comes closer.
“Bobby,” she says gently, “Buck probably really sees you as a father.”
He laughs once under his breath, stunned by how obvious she made it sound.
“We’ve joked about that for years.”
“I know.”
“He jokes about it.”
Athena’s look turns patient, which generally meant Bobby was being particularly dense.
“People joke about things that matter to them all the time. Especially Buck.”
Athena touches his arm.
“Think about how he is with you.”
Bobby almost says *he’s my firefighter,*
…
but...
He thinks of Buck, younger, brasher, all badly contained hunger for approval and purpose.
Thinks of how often he had corrected him, reined him in, pushed him harder than the others sometimes because Buck needed it.
Thinks of the pride that lived beneath his exasperation every time Buck learned, every time he steadied, every time he became more of the man Bobby had known he could be.
It had never felt temporary.
And beneath all of that, deeper than he usually let himself examine, there was another ache.
Bobby’s children.
The deep, instinctive certainty of fatherhood, not as performance but as bond. As responsibility. As love with nowhere to go except outward.
For years he had treated that part of himself like ground best left undisturbed.
And yet with Buck—
With Buck, that instinct had never truly gone quiet.
...
Nothing in this world could replace the children he had lost...
But loving Buck in this particular way did not diminish what had come before.
It was something new.
Something chosen.
Athena watches his face change and smiles, slow and knowing.
“Yeah,” she says softly. “There it is.”
Bobby lets out a long breath and shakes his head at himself.
“It stopped being a joke a long time ago.”
Athena’s smile widens.
“Mm. I’ve heard enough people on calls mistake him for your son. You might as well make it official.”
Despite everything, Bobby laughs.
Athena squeezes his arm.
“So what are you going to do?”
Bobby lookes towards the door.
“Fix it,”