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*
It started with a rough shift.
They had only had a few calls that day, minor incidents. But towards the 7th hour on their 12-hour shift, the penultimate call had come in: MVA with multiple cases of entrapment, with an advisement from Dispatch to anticipate a lot of DOAs.
With at least 23 cars involved, no one was too surprised to discover more casualties as they slowly worked their way through the wreckage, tagging bodies among the piles of mangled steel and blood-stained glass.
For a while, there was nothing apart from a grim sense of determination, the focus on getting the job done and to try to save as many as people as they still could.
But towards the end of it all, in the very heart of it all, there was an old tan station wagon, two minors in the backseat-
His world went white.
For a moment, for a gasping, choking second, Bobby was no longer sweating in the blazing LA sunshine; he was shivering in the unforgiving snow in St. Paul.
Hen's voice cut through the static, the frantic sound of his name making him stumble, and he was only half-aware that Chimney was catching him, almost on reflex. Eddie's hand was warm on his shoulder, firm pressure and soothing words bringing his focus back to the scene. A focus which he regretted immediately, because he almost instinctively locked eyes with Buck.
For as devastated as Bobby felt coming across the doppelgängers of his babies, the horrified concern on the kid's face fractured something deep inside him.
Bobby forced himself to take a breath, slipped the mask back in place, stepped back into the present, donning the visage of stoic Captain Nash once again.
He ignored the silent exchange between his team as he pressed onward, ignored their worried glances, the quiet conversations about his moment of weakness, his slip-
Because that's all it was.
A slip.
A slip that now has him sitting in a parking lot outside some derelict dive bar out past city limits, watching the sun paint the sky in angry shades of purple and pink.
He vaguely remembers going back to the station, finishing the shift and tackling the mountain of paperwork on autopilot, but he doesn’t remember much about how the rest of the afternoon went.
Hell, he doesn’t even know how he got here, wherever here is.
At least, small mercies, he hasn’t actually gotten out of the truck yet.
But it’s Tempting.
The itch never fully goes away, not really.
Most days it’s easy to ignore it.
Some days he completely forgets about it.
But like the memory of an old friend, a hint, a whisper, an unwitting sniff, and that longing comes back.
The ache in his chest, the slight twitch in his fingers, the seductive promise of just a few hours of freedom.
Free from guilt.
Free from the memories.
Free from this life he still doesn't think he deserves.
He could do it.
No one would recognize him here.
No one to disappoint, no one who would know who he is or what he’s done, and no one would even care.
Well, other than Him, but right this second Bobby couldn't give a damn about Him.
He can't really bring himself to give a damn about anything right now.
That’s the thing with grief, really.
It fades with time, the wound scabbing over, slowly mending the pieces of a broken heart together again, no matter how deep the cut ran.
But every cut needs time to heal, the scar tissue needs time to calcify.
The deeper the cut, the more jagged the edges, the wider the wound- That kind of healing can take years.
He hasn't even had a whiff of booze, yet he’s stumbling as he gets out of the truck, falling back against the side as he slams the door shut, staring listlessly at the sky as the hood starts to cool behind him.
Huh.
He can actually see the stars out here.
…When did the sun set?
Bobby wracks his memory, but he knows he hasn’t taken anything.
...Yet.
Night’s still young.
Though the time slipping is a little worrying.
The sunset’s long faded into a cool twilight, the familiar hum of neon buzzing intimately against his senses, almost teasing his skin.
Tempting...
He should go home.
To Athena, whose shift ends in a couple hours.
To May, who’s at the house more than her own apartment these days.
To-
Bright LEDs cut across his vision, bright enough that their ghosts are left haunting his irises even though his focus had been on the stars.
There's the familiar sound of an engine switching off, a closing door, and then the steady yet subdued footsteps he knows instinctively by now.
"You followed me?"
He can't bring himself to care at this moment that his words came out harsher than intended, that they were cutting and bitter. The footsteps have paused at least, but then they resume, and a warm body is suddenly at his left, mirroring his stance and leaning against the driver's door.
"I was worried."
Huh.
Honesty.
Bobby forgot that they were both trying to "communicate more," at everyone's insistence. Not that it was a bad thing, really.
Too many regrets.
Too many missed moments and sleepless nights that could have been avoided if they had just talked.
But right now he doesn't want to talk.
Right now he wants to scream his throat raw.
Right now he just wants to drown himself in amber.
Right now he wants to tear the skies and the earth and his own skin apart.
Right now he just wants to disappear into nothing.
He shudders out a breath, shaky in a mix of what he thinks is anger and sorrow, and a touch of something else he can't hope to name even if he were better composed.
"You wasted your gas, kid. I'm f-"
"Oh don't give me that shit!"
Buck’s voice echoes in the quiet parking lot, the outburst having caught them both off guard.
Bobby turns, finally actually looks, and-
Oh God, no.
This is on him.
He's not sure when the lines between them had blurred so much, but Buck is looking at him with a raw desperation that Bobby hasn't seen in years, and he lets out a sharp curse as he pulls the other into a firm hug, a small "oof!" slipping out when Buck takes that as an invitation to cling, shaking like a freaking leaf.
"Buck, kiddo-" Bobby starts, but gives up, choosing to go for broke. "Evan."
There's a shift, a tension, but Bobby soothes it away with a firm brush of his palm over Buck's shoulder blades.
The tension loosens from the kid's frame, and his grip shifts from a desperate clinging to something more comfortable, more natural, for both of them. He even starts to pull away, but Bobby isn't quite ready to let go just yet.
"Bobby, I'm sorr-"
"Don't you dare."
The kid already carries enough weight on his shoulders, and Bobby refuses to let him try carrying the weight of this, too. He draws away, just enough to finally meet the kid's eyes.
Buck shies away, at first. Years of working on improving, but Buck still has self-esteem issues eating him up. And that awkwardness is creeping in, but the earlier outburst has Bobby tugging at the thread of worry that's been weaving through his chest. "Are you okay?"
Because Bobby can see it.
The fear.
The regret.
The same haunted sadness that hovered around Marcy and Robbie in those final days, the same heartache he had seen in his mother's eyes.
He never wanted to make someone he loved feel like that ever again.
Yet another failure to add to the list.
"I-" Buck huffs and pulls away, and Bobby reluctantly lets go, giving the kid the space he'll need to get everything out. "You didn't see your face, Bobby. You didn't-"
Buck cuts himself off, hand climbing to run through already mussy hair. Before he knows it, those eyes are focused on him again, fierce and furious. “The last time you looked at me like that, Hen and I were fishing you out of a cold shower."
Bobby isn't surprised that Buck still has that frame of reference, that he remembers something from so long ago. The kid has a knack for remembering things that others might let muddle, cataloging everything that might be important later.
And Bobby hates that he brought that memory back.
Heaving a sigh, Bobby drops to the ground, stretching his legs out on the dusty, cracked asphalt, settling his back uncomfortably against the hubcap.
It'll kill him later, his knees really aren't cut out for this anymore, but Buck is relaxing too, flopping down to sit right next to him, shoulders bumping together as they just breathe for a few minutes.
It's quiet out here, the kind of quiet he hasn't really had since Minnesota, and the kind of quiet Buck probably had in Pennsylvania.
"Man, I miss lightning bugs."
Bobby can't help it when he lets out a laugh, the thought so random, but also so close to where Bobby's head had been, that it banishes something sinister from the back of his mind.
It was random and relevant and so purely Buck-
God, he loves this kid.
He can't help pressing for more- Buck is practically walking encyclopedia- and he can't say he's disappointed when it triggers a whole info-dump:
How fireflies are the PA state insect.
How Buck thought it was so cool that during his 5th Grade field trip to the Capitol there were lightning bugs in the decor.
How fireflies might be tied to legends about will o' the wisps.
The trivia bubbles out, and Bobby feels a flash of fondness so fierce he almost asphyxiates from it.
Just a few months ago, he would have ignored it, shoved it back into whatever crevice it had crawled out of, but right now-
He floats in the feeling for a while, letting himself enjoy the moment.
Right now, Bobby quietly accepts it for what it is, this stab of parental affection, a feeling and a rightness that's been following him for years now, the guilt of it finally starting to fade away.
"Robbie and Brooke would have loved you."
The words are out before he even realizes he's said anything, but even as he does, even as Buck turns with that baleful, bewildered gaze, Bobby can't resist: "Marcy, too."
This clearly wasn't where Buck had expected the conversation to go, and really Bobby hadn't either. But his family is on his mind (always), the recently re-agitated cicatrices still thrumming painfully.
And before he can help himself, as if he’s cracked open a dam, the words are rushing out of him, stumbling and tripping over each other as he exposes the raw nerve that’s been tearing him apart all night.
"Those kids today-" He trails off, gives himself a moment to catch some sort of thread to his thoughts, but it's barely a breath before he's back to pouring his heart out. "The gold wagon. I know- I know- it wasn't them, couldn't have been them, but for a minute-
“For a minute there it was like I was looking at their dead bodies all over again, knowing there wasn't a damn thing I could have done to save them."
It's a gasp and it's a breath and it's a revelation, and the weight of it all finally clears from his chest. But now the presence of it hangs between them, an almost tangible thing that he's terrified to think about.
Buck is...
Buck is quiet, and Bobby lets his eyes drift closed as he waits for the condemnation he knows he deserves.
It’s been a few minutes, yet Buck still remains quiet, eerily so, and Bobby is trying his best to ignore it.
He focuses instead on listening to the incoherent blues of the bar, on trying to ignore how the hum of the neon is still playing a tease. But with the wall of warmth beside him, with the sparkling stars above him, it's getting easier to resist temptation.
He hears Buck shift, and Bobby's eyes open once more. He doesn't turn to the kid though, too terrified to ever see that judgment on his face again, too terrified to-
"You miss them."
Not a question.
Not even an observation.
A simple fact, a singularity that centers Bobby's entire universe.
And it rips through him; it's devastation in its purest form, and Bobby's not sure if he's laughing or crying as he finally chokes out a response. "Yeah."
If his breath is a little shaky, and if he's picked up Buck's habit of nervously running a hand through his hair somewhere along the line- Well, neither of them really needs to talk about that.
They fall back into silence for a few moments, and Bobby can see from his peripheral that Buck's taken to stargazing too, as if he's searching the Heavens for an answer or a revelation from the God he doesn't believe in.
And Bobby? Bobby takes the chance to enjoy this peace, even if it's heavy with his guilt and regret and his admission that he's not enough, that he's never been enough, and he can't earn redemption.
He never could.
He was damned from the moment he killed his dad.
And letting himself hope that this kid, this kid who's already died and come back again and has been checking in on Bobby every day since, would offer him even a shred of forgiveness?
It's foolish, and stupid, and a little bit selfish, but Bobby still wants to cling to it.
So he pretends that he hasn't just dumped his sins at his feet, pretends that this is just a normal night sitting on the broken shards of an overgrown parking lot, waiting for the damnation that is sure to finally come.
"When we were out there..." Buck's voice has Bobby almost flinching, startled out of his reverie. He turns suddenly, expecting to see accusation, but is surprised to see Buck is still staring up at the sky, expression pensive. "I kind of... I had a feeling. You-"
Buck's head dips forward, and Bobby's not entirely sure where he's looking, what he's seeing. "You looked like you'd seen a ghost, and then it was like-"
Buck's expression adopts a frown, before he continues. "It was like you had just... Shut down."
Bobby is about to comment, about to interject, but then Buck is speaking once more. "You were gone, Bobby. And I was- we were terrified."
Bobby's head drops back against the hubcap, the burden of Buck's confession another weight he's not sure he'll be strong enough to carry.
Because, hell, he should have realized-
Yeah, the team would have worried, but Buck-
Ever since he'd emerged from that coma with a newfound sense of temperance and patience, he also carried a more direct focus of care for his family, but a lot of it seemed centered on Bobby.
He never meant to scare him.
"'m sorry, kid."
There's an irritated huff, and he swears he can hear the kid muttering something about how he wishes he really could fix things, and Bobby feels somewhat of a rueful smile flickering to life at the incoherent rambling.
The apple of self-loathing really hasn't fallen far from the tree.
The thought settles itself firmly in the forefront of his mind, before it sends him reeling.
Buck is not his son.
He isn't.
Except he is.
He always has been.
Maybe it happened the night of the concert when the kid was singing "Darlington County" way off-key in a rainy parking lot, dragging an adrenaline-drunk Bobby to the nearest 24-hour diner they could find, both of them half-deaf from the screaming crowds and the speakers, laughing and tripping over each other as they tried and failed to remember how to walk properly.
Or maybe it happened the first time the kid admitted he didn't really know how to cook a damn thing, shrugging off a comment about his parents before Bobby was guiding him into the kitchen, digging out the nutmeg and breaking down the science behind his grandfather's pancakes.
Maybe it happened during any of the dozens of times those bright eyes clouded over in surprise and longing whenever Bobby would offer Buck a scrap of advice or attention, something that he was quick to make sure happened more and more often, even as he silently cursed and threatened harm to whoever dared to hurt this kid enough to make him believe he wasn't worth the effort.
Maybe it happened with the first call he received from the hospital, how he had sped through traffic in a way that Athena would have lectured him about, panic firmly rooted in his chest because Buck shouldn't be in the OR; he was supposed to be on a date.
Or maybe it had started somewhere long before that, maybe even from the first moment the kid had bounded into his life, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and a bit bashful, before he began breaking through every single one of Bobby's carefully constructed barriers like he had been born to do it.
Without invitation, without preamble, Evan Buckley had stumbled his way into Bobby's life, and saved him more times than he could count.
And in exchange, Bobby just keeps hurting him.
Yet for some inexplicable reason, Buck just keeps forgiving him, offers him another patient smile and helps him up off the floor, even though Bobby knows Buck's hurting, knows that he doesn't deserve any of it, yet the kid still keeps giving him more and more chances.
"Thank you."
And he can almost feel that stunned confusion, knows without looking what expression must be plastered on the kid’s face. He can hear Buck starting to form a protest, the beginnings of a question on his tongue, but Bobby’s not done.
Not yet.
Athena and Wendall had both insisted that he needed to work on telling people how he actually feels, and he's terrified that if he doesn't get everything out now then he'll be too scared to admit it later.
It can only be here, right now, not in any other time or any other place.
"You saved me, ya know." Buck jerks in surprise, and Bobby files it away for later even as he moves ahead. "You just... You just shoved your way in and made yourself at home."
And he had.
After The Intervention with Hen and Buck, they, along with Chim when he was healed, made the rounds and efforts to include him more, with invitations to dinners and family game nights and karaoke.
But Buck, being Buck, poked and prodded and pushed until he knew more about Bobby's tastes, half-dragging the man all around the city to try new things together, which soon became monthly trips spent arguing over the best farmer and flea markets, meeting a few times a week at a laid-back coffeeshop they both enjoyed, and Buck even becoming part-time consultant when it came to Bobby's planning for the wedding-that-didn't-quite-happen.
Bobby picks up where he left off, letting out a shaky laugh as he continues. "You're such a pain in the ass sometimes, and some days I want nothing more than to wring your neck."
Every reckless move on a call.
The entire lawsuit kerfuffle.
Finding out just how close to death Buck had been after the tsunami, not once taking a break as he desperately tried to find Christopher, collapsing in Bobby’s arms when the adrenaline crashed and Buck was swept away in a wave of exhaustion and relief.
And that was the other half of it.
The fear, the worry, the knowledge that this kid just won’t quit, even if it means putting himself at risk.
"I'm so damn proud of you, the way you keep fighting and-"
He cuts off, the words barely able to escape past the lump in his throat. "It's been a privilege watching you become the man you are today. And I don't... I don't think I would still be here if it wasn't for you constantly dragging me back out into the light."
It's a confession, an admission, and a simple, irrefutable fact.
Because how many times had he almost given up?
How many times had he nearly given in to Temptation before one of his team was knocking on his door, demanding to be let in?
And how many times had it been Buck, even with a text message, or a long, meandering phone call, even after they had just spent 24 hours together?
The times the kid showed up unexpectedly, like the morning he visited on Bobby's birthday, apologizing- "because this is the seventh recipe I tried, and May and Harry couldn't find any in any of your cookbooks, so if it's not perfect then it's your fault for not teaching me how to make it."- as he shoved a plastic container in his face, containing one slightly deflated flan.
Bobby smiles at the memory, how he practically dragged a squawking, protesting Buck down the steps to join them for brunch, how Harry had raised a very unimpressed eyebrow at the slowly collapsing dessert, May's laughter pealing over all the chaos, Athena's knowing grin as Buck melodramatically sulked before finally dropping into his usual seat with a smile of his own.
It's Buck’s uncharacteristic stillness that pulls Bobby from his thoughts, but Bobby knows, after nearly a decade, the best way to get Buck to talk is to give him the space he needs to get started, and have patience and faith in him as he gets there.
Bobby can't help sneaking a peek at the man anyway, taking in the dumbfounded yet, surprisingly, relieved expression on his face. Buck looks like he’s watching the road nearby, but the lack of focus hints at a memory far away from here, and just as Bobby's on the cusp of asking-
"Did I ever tell you what really happened in my coma dream?"
-Buck is changing the script on him all over again.
Bobby thinks back, sifting through memories that are still coated in layers of exhaustion and desperation and relief.
He remembers everyone clearing out, slowly drifting away, giving Buck the chance to breathe again, and- with some knowing glances from his wife and daughter and a soft smile from Maddie as she slyly chased the eldest Buckleys away- giving Bobby the space to just revel in the knowledge that Buck was alive.
He remembers Buck telling him to go take a break, how the kid grinned when Bobby ignored it and pulled up a chair instead. He remembers they fell into conversation, Buck working through the nervous energy that always came when he overtaxed his social barriers, especially when his parents were involved. But even that settled, and there were a few rounds of Gin, and Bobby was still in disbelief that the kid- his kid- was actually alive, laughing and grinning and whining because he had lost another round at cards.
Bobby feels a small smile flicker to life, but lets it fall as he thinks about Buck's tone, considers the thread of something there that now has him concerned. "All you told me was that I helped you figure things out."
And God, what that revelation had done to him.
Knowing that, out of all the people Buck could have manifested, of all the people he could have chosen to help guide him home, of all the people he could have remembered, it was him-
"You were dead."
Bobby's thoughts come to a screeching halt, his jaw falling open and his attention fully focused on the man beside him. Buck takes a look at him before letting out a self-deprecating laugh, so bitter that it has Bobby shaking himself out of his shock, ready to try to reassure the kid or-
"Yeah, I didn't think I had told you the whole thing."
Bobby's thoughts are in a tailspin, a whirlwind of answers to mysteries he hadn't even known he'd been trying to solve, the pieces to a puzzle coming together even as he is still pitched in disbelief. "I was dead?"
All those morning texts.
All those new invitations to get coffee or Buck spontaneously tagging along on grocery runs.
The way the kid's eyes seemed to track him during a rough shift, how Buck always noticed when Bobby was feeling even remotely off.
But Buck is oblivious to Bobby's realization, telling the story like it will kill him if he tries to hold it in any longer. "My family was together- even Daniel!- but Doug was... Maddie was still with Doug. And I couldn't save her. So I found Chim, hoping that maybe he could fix that, that maybe you guys could help. But I- I never joined the 118; I was-"
"The teacher, right?"
"Yep!" Buck shows a momentary burst of enthusiasm, a flicker of a smile, before he's off again, his words rushing out faster than before, almost melding into one another for how fast he's going. "Chim told me you'd died, and I couldn't breathe, Bobby-
"Everything was falling apart already, but being stuck in a world without you in it? I- I had to bring you back somehow. I had to."
There's something to his tone, something sharp, almost shattered, that catches Bobby's attention more than... everything else. Something which they will get around to discussing, eventually, but Buck clearly needs to get this out first, whatever it is.
But Buck's trailed off again, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes that Bobby has seen in the mirror far too many times, and he’s genuinely scared of what might happen if Buck decides to fall off the precipice. He gives him a soft nudge, lowers his voice so he doesn't startle him. "Kid?"
Buck turns with a jerky motion, his gaze intense and perceptive in a way that feels like he can see straight into Bobby's soul.
"You were going to kill yourself, weren’t you?"
The familiar burning chill of guilt at the reminder of the man he was has his lips turning inwards, teeth digging into the skin in a mild form of self-flagellation, sharply looking away from the man beside him.
He doesn't need to say anything; the answer is obvious, hanging heavy between them.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Buck nod to himself, before his frame is collapsing slightly. "You know... Sometimes I still feel like I'm pushing too much. That I need to stop annoying you and let you guys live your lives."
Bobby feels a flash of concern so strong he nearly jumps, recognizing that tone anywhere. “Evan-"
"Pops."
Whatever assurances Bobby had been planning, whatever rebuttals he had been arming, they're all gone now, and it actually feels like he's been sucker-punched right through the chest.
It's been years since he's been called that, and now the kid was using it just as pointedly as Bobby had used his given name.
There's some kind of irony to it, but Bobby doesn't have a chance to think about it because Buck, either unaware or uncaring about the emotional turmoil he's wrought with a single syllable, is steamrolling ahead. "I know I can be a lot sometimes, and I know I've made you mad more times than we can count." There's a sigh, then Buck's turning back to him yet again with steely determination carved into his features. "I will never regret getting to know you, Bobby. You don't realize it, and I know you'll never believe me, but you saved me, too."
It takes too long for his mind to acknowledge the weight of the revelation dumped in his lap, and May's words- "you brought one"- are back, and he's nearly breathless from it.
But he's not-
He's-
He doesn't deserve this, not really.
He doesn't-
"You're my dad, Bobby. In every way that matters. And I don't think I could survive if something were to happen to you."
Bobby knows he's losing the battle against the stinging in his eyes; it was a lost cause from the start. Still he tries, takes a shuddering breath, lets the words wash over him.
There’s a beat.
Two beats.
Three.
He feels settled, somehow, as if all of his doubts and fears of overstepping his place in the kid's life, of claiming something he had no right to, of feeling something he had no business feeling are suddenly gone, no longer a burden for him to bear.
But he's still shaking slight from the sudden loss, so he's seeking out levity in the face of it all. "You really know how to pull your punches, kid."
It's sarcastic and teasing and it has Buck letting out a shy laugh, dipping his head as he finally relaxes again, leaning some of his weight onto Bobby. "Sorry! Sorry... I just..."
"Yeah... Yeah, I know," Bobby cuts in, sparing the kid from some of the awkwardness.
The moment is passing, the weight of everything they've pulled out of each other hovering in the air between them.
But it's comfortable, in a way Bobby can't really explain; it feels like something is whole and complete, something finally slotted into place that's just been waiting for the right moment.
He feels whole again, in a way he’s not sure he’s ever really felt in decades.
His thoughts flicker to his True North, how proud she'll be that he finally had this conversation, before he blanches, checking his watch in a panic. "Athena’ll be home soon. She’s gonna be worried if I'm not there."
Buck heaves a put-upon sigh, both of them grumbling as they find they both only have limited cell service. "You know what? We can blame this one on me. Tell her I needed-"
"You really brave enough to try lying to 'Thena?"
Bobby already knows the answer, but watching the kid bluster for a few seconds makes the interruption worth it, and Bobby is laughing as the kid's expression finally settles in mild terror. "Oh fuck, no- Stop laughing!"
Buck sounds annoyed, and his pouting makes it that much funnier, in the way that only your loved ones can make you laugh over the smallest of things. Buck huffs in exasperation, but Bobby can hear the flicker of amusement as he proclaims: "You are literally the worst."
And God help him, but Bobby can't stop himself. "If I remember correctly, somebody was just telling me how he couldn't live without me."
Buck rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but you're still the worst," he repeats, though there's no real heat behind it.
Bobby's laughter finally starts to peter out, though he can't repress the grin. Buck settles in beside him again, neither of them quite ready to leave this moment behind.
It's dark enough now that Bobby can make out the distant glow of light pollution, the City of Angels casting a golden halo over the rocky ridge on the horizon, soft strokes shimmering across an indigo sky. Out this far, it's mostly clear, even if it's not quite as open as his heart is suddenly aching for.
Briefly, he wonders if Buck would enjoy a camping trip sometime, wonders if he ever misses Montana and sleeping under the stars. Maybe he should…
"Hey, Bobby?" Buck's voice has an odd pitch to it, and Bobby is immediately leveling his best “Dad Look” (as Michael dubbed it) at the man beside him, earning only a grin in return.
He knows that tone, knows that whatever that smile is about... "Do I even wanna know?"
And Buck looks like the cat who ate the canary, maybe the goldfish too, and he's got that gleam in his eyes that always appears just before he’s enacting some stupid, reckless, devious scheme. "I know how we can avoid lying to a certain Sergeant we both adore."
Bobby pointedly raises an eyebrow, just slowly enough to fall more towards melodramatic than suspicious, and Buck's eyes practically sparkle in glee before he's nodding to a point somewhere past Bobby's shoulder.
Curious, Bobby turns before finding himself barking out another laugh in surprise.
It's so coincidental, so fitting, that if he didn't know better he'd think they were supposed to end up here.
Buck's already standing, humming under his breath, clearly impatient and unimpressed by Bobby's lack of movement. "You comin' or not, old man?"
Bobby rolls his eyes at the teasing, even as he accepts the outstretched hand to get up off the ground. "I'm not that old yet, kid."
Buck scoffs, almost to himself. "'Yet' being the operative word in that sentence."
They start the steady shuffle down towards Frankie's Diner, the big neon sign spinning around in a mix of greens and pinks that are dancing with the shadows on the dusty stretch of road below it.
Bobby takes a deep breath, lets the evening air fill his lungs, and exhales all lingering temptation, his regrets and the final pangs of grief slipping away quietly into the warm desert night.
Buck is in-step beside him, still humming, his steps half-way between a dance and a walk, and Bobby finds himself smiling and quietly singing along with the lyrics.
"Things been a little tight, but I know they're gonna turn my way."
It's still hard, some nights.
The itch never truly goes away.
The ache never completely fades.
Grief and regret are still his constant companions.
Bobby still doesn't believe he deserves any of the chances he's received, but he’s been given them anyway.
And as he pretends to gag when Buck adds coffee to his strawberry milkshake-
As his phone finally connects to the WiFi and his text to Athena finally goes through-
As he sees the memes Ravi and Lucy shared in the groupchat-
Bobby's certain he hasn't done a damned thing in his life to deserve any of it.
But, God as his witness, he'll do anything to keep it.
*