Chapter Text
It’s an otherwise unremarkable evening when someone suddenly knocks on Athena’s door.
The sound is so gentle that at first, she thinks she might have imagined it, but then the knock comes again, more confident this time. She goes over all the possible options of who it might be as she pads across the linoleum apartment floor over to the front door– one of her kids? A neighbor, perhaps? – so that by the time she’s removing the chain, she’s fairly sure she won’t be surprised by whoever's on the other side.
But then she still is, because she opens the door to find Evan Buckley.
“Hey,” Buck says. He looks disheveled and more than a little rain-soaked. There's a gray duffel bag slung over one wet shoulder. “I know this is kind of strange, but would it be okay if I stayed here a couple of days?”
“Absolutely not,” Athena says.
⋆★⋆
Despite herself, she invites Buck in. He tracks water and mud all over her hallway and it’s starting to feel like a worse idea with every passing second, but since the man has clearly lost his mind, it seemed like the courteous thing to do. Protect and serve, and all that.
“I thought you were staying with Eddie,” Athena says to him. He looks soggy. There’s really no other way to describe it. “Why do you need to live in my apartment?”
“I was,” Buck says, and she expects him to elaborate on what’s changed, but he doesn’t. It’s not the first time she’s wondered what’s going on there, but she always felt it was none of her business. It isn’t her business. Which is why half of said business should not be standing in her kitchen right now, looking like a gigantic lost puppy.
“I’m still waiting for the part where you explain why you’ve suddenly become my problem.”
He has the dignity to look somewhat bashful, an expression that looks almost uncanny on a man his size. Then he starts rambling like a madman, and all maternal affection she feels for him disappears like snow under the spring sun. “Right, well, obviously I’d go to Maddie first, but as you know, she and Chim have a newborn. I can’t do that to them. And, well, Ravi isn’t an option because– because he doesn’t like how much I talk about– because he doesn’t like how much I talk. And Hen I could maybe convince, probably, but Karen’s just too sensible–”
“And I’m not?”
“Come on, Athena, please. I know you’ve got the space, and it would just be temporary. I won’t be in your way, I promise.”
She’s already rolling her eyes, when he throws in the most compelling argument she’s heard so far. “Okay, here’s an idea. Let me cook you dinner. And you can decide afterwards.”
She stares at him, into those too-hopeful eyes, then throws up her hands. “Fine.”
She really wished he didn’t look so excited.
⋆★⋆
Unfortunately for Athena, dinner is incredible.
She didn’t even know the sparse ingredients in her kitchen could turn into this , an incredible creamy fettuccine dish. Cooking had mostly been Bobby’s thing. She knows how to cook, of course, cook exceptionally well, even– but since Bobby had a true passion for it, he was typically the one to make their dinners every night. She really enjoyed the evenings where their shifts aligned and they got the opportunity to cook together, but she can’t say she ever minded the days she came home from work to a mouth-watering smell already wafting through their house.
So it’s not that she doesn’t know how to cook, but she did get a little bit used to it being Bobby’s thing, maybe. And now, with no husband or kids to feed, it doesn't really matter much what she puts on the table. All of this to say, the past few weeks have consisted mostly of TV dinners.
She twirls some of the fettuccine around her fork, the finely cut vegetables tangled up in the small nest of pasta. It’s the nicest meal she’s had since the funeral, she thinks. Maybe it was a calculated move on Buck’s part, cooking what she knew was one of her late husband’s dishes in her kitchen in an effort to make her change her mind.
She looks up at him, his head ducked, clearly ruminating on something while shoving his food around his plate like it has personally offended him. She doesn’t think he’s the calculating type.
“Did your mom never teach you not to play with your food?” She asks, mostly as a way to break the awkward silence. He was amicable enough while he was preparing the dish, but halfway through, he’d suddenly grown quiet in a way she didn't associate with Buck.
“Uh, no, she didn't really like me,” he says, still absentmindedly assaulting the pasta with his fork.
“Ah.”
Another uncomfortable silence.
“Food’s good,” she tries again, a few bites of pasta later.
“Bobby’s recipe,” Buck admits.
“I know.”
Buck’s shoulders hunch. He looks up at her again, jaw clenched like her husband’s name alone is enough to bring him to the brink of tears. She knows that look. She sees it a lot lately, mostly in bathroom mirrors when she’s trying to collect herself.
Strangely, at that moment, she feels thoroughly seen by this peculiar man her husband loved like a son. Because while everyone else who was there that day has a stable partner to lean on, or whoever it was Ravi had called, Buck and Athena have both been spinning out, no one to close their arms around them and keep them from going completely off the rails. On top of that, they were the only ones who had been separated from Bobby by a pane of glass, forever left wondering if things would have been different if they had been on the other side of it.
She can’t gauge if that’s the reason he’s here tonight. But she knows she hates the absence of footsteps around the home, no kids or husband around for the first time in over two decades, and she knows she really hates eating TV dinners.
Before she can change her mind, she invites Buck to stay.
She wonders when she’s going to regret it as soon as the words have left her mouth.
⋆★⋆
She sets Buck up in the guest room. The fact that he'd only brought a duffel bag assures her that he won’t be staying too long, if all his belongings are still at Eddie’s place. The room is not big, but there’s a bed (it’s a trundle, actually, so both of her kids can sleep here when needed), a nightstand with a lamp, and a dresser with three heavy drawers.
The room typically belongs to Harry, but he hasn’t slept here for weeks now. He left behind a few very teenage belongings: some comic books, a soccer ball, a lone sock, but not much else: most of Harry’s belongings were either with Michael, or had burned to a crisp. Anyone hoping to find a reflection of his personality the way you usually would in someone’s bedroom would be sorely disappointed.
Buck sets his duffel down next to the dresser, and inspects the comic book Harry left on top of it. “You know, I was always more of a Spider-Man guy myself.”
“See it as an opportunity to broaden your horizons. Explore the wide spectrum of English literature.”
Buck smiles at her. “You know what, I just might.” He puts down the issue of Superman. “Thanks again. You sure Harry won’t mind? This is his room, I assume?”
“It was,” Athena confirms. “Or is, I suppose. But he’s been staying with May for a little while now. Just for fun,” she adds, so he doesn’t get the wrong impression about what kind of mother she is.
Prior to Bobby’s death, he had temporarily moved in with May to ‘get used to the idea of moving out’, which Athena knew was just code for wanting to reap all the benefits of the college experience while not having any of the obligations. Athena tried to shut down the idea immediately, of course, but Bobby had convinced her it could be genuinely good for Harry, and that it expressed a level of trust in her kids, something they would appreciate going into adulthood.
(Most of all, though, it was about cultivating their sibling relationship, even if Bobby would never admit to that. He was not going to let Athena do anything to prevent May and Harry from becoming as close as they could possibly be.)
So, to her own surprise, she found herself agreeing to it– though only after checking May’s calendar thoroughly and making sure Harry would not distract her from finals or other important deadlines. She checked in with them constantly at first, and Harry stayed with Bobby and Athena on the weekends for a number of reasons: to simply enjoy each other’s company, to keep him away from any alcohol-fueled college parties, but most of all so Athena could make sure he was diligently keeping up with his online classes. He was still enrolled in the high school he had transferred to when he moved in with Michael and David, and he’d decided that taking part in their online curriculum was easier than switching back once again to the school he had been attending in LA.
And then Bobby died, and, well, nothing was ever the same.
Both her children had stayed with her after his death and around the funeral, and after that their schedule had become a little inconsistent. She still saw them regularly, but it was mostly just dinners now.
She didn’t think Harry was ever supposed to stay this long, but if May didn’t mind, and this was something that made him happy in the middle of this complete nightmare– well. It was fine, of course. At least with Harry, she knew she could still talk to him whenever she wanted. She couldn’t say the same for the other most important man in her life.
“That’s really cool,” Buck says, maybe just to assure her he doesn’t think she’s an absent mother, something she’s very recently learned is a sore topic. She could probably easily figure out the details there, if she cared enough.
“Yes,” she agrees. “I’m really glad they get along so well. To me, it just seems like they’re always pulling each other’s hair, but I’ve been told that’s a normal display of sibling love.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re an only child,” Buck says, like it’s the most interesting fact in the world. “That’s quite rare, actually, only about twenty percent of the US population doesn't have a sibling.”
Athena hums, a little unsure what to do with this information. “Is that so.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You know, it's hard to express what it’s like, having a sibling. Maddie and I, we’re– well, we’re not the most typical siblings, I don’t think. But the way I love her is like– I don’t know, I don’t think it’s something you can really fully understand if you don’t have a sister yourself.”
Athena nods. “I get that,” she says, and she means it. “Kind of like how you don’t know what it’s like to have kids. Or a husband.”
Buck’s smile falters ever so slightly. "Y–yeah. Exactly.”
Sensitive topic, apparently, though she's not sure why.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Athena says, feeling like it’s probably best to leave the conversation right here. “Get settled. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will,” Buck says. “Thanks, Athena.”
With a nod, she closes the door behind him.
⋆★⋆
She doesn’t see much of Buck after that, even though he has the next 24 hours off, because he was still in bed by the time she left for work. She’s not going to judge the strange hours he keeps; she’s very familiar with how the chaotic nights at the firehouse make it nearly impossible to get anything resembling a sleeping pattern in.
Between waking up to what felt like an empty apartment and being tasked with a particularly puzzling case at work (who knew some people felt so passionately about lawn ornaments?) she’d almost forgotten about Buck entirely. It’s only when she gets back in her car, garden gnome thieves safely handcuffed in the back of her colleague’s patrol car, that she’s reminded of his existence. When she grabs her phone, the lock screen is filled with a series of texts.
She wonders if she should tell him she’s perfectly capable of handling dinner and her plants herself. She’s used to doing her own groceries and cooking (well, reheating) her own meals, and, okay, she forgot about the plants, but she would’ve noticed their sad state soon enough.
But frankly, her hands hurt from having to wrench a gnome from a woman’s iron grip, and she’s already exhausted even though it’s barely noon, so she decides against telling him to stop overcompensating. The entire situation is ridiculous enough anyway, so she might as well indulge in Buck’s weird-ass urge to be her butler.
She answers his texts quickly, efficiently, and comprehensively:
⋆★⋆
May and Harry arrive only thirty minutes later than they said they would, which is quite an improvement from last time, so Athena resists the urge to berate them for being late at all. Instead, she merely greets them with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Maybe she’s imagining it, but it feels like they’ve both started hugging her a little tighter, lately.
“Smells nice in here, mom,” May says, referring to the fragrance of herbs floating in from the kitchen. She's not entirely sure what Buck is making, actually. He had picked up a few ingredients on the way home from an apartment showing, and was already hard at work by the time she got home herself.
“Sorry we’re late,” May says. “Harry doesn’t know how to use Google Maps.” She casts a sideways glance at her brother.
“I use Apple Maps,” Harry shoots back. “And I wouldn’t have to figure it out if you were smart enough to remember how to drive to Mom’s place, which you’ve done like a million times by now.”
“There’s been construction!” May protests, absentmindedly dropping her purse on a nearby chair, her car keys still in her hand. Her pink keychain bounces around as she gestures with her hand. “It’s kind of impossible to remember if it changes literally every single time I– who are you? ”
Buck waves, a little self-consciously, from where he's quietly emerged from the kitchen, a tea towel thrown over his shoulder. “I’m Buck,” Buck says.
“I know that,” May says. “I meant more like, what are you doing here. At my family dinner.” She doesn’t make it sound much like a question.
“Uh,” he says, looking at Athena for help. “I thought they knew.”
Okay, so maybe she had not yet told her kids about their roommate situation. But only because she had not quite figured out a way to explain it without sounding insane. Which she would, eventually, because it is not insane, and neither is she.
“Well, now they do,” Athena says, noncommittal, and starts digging through a nearby drawer for napkins. She’s sure she put them in here somewhere.
She can feel May and Harry’s eyes trace her movements, but she ignores them.
Harry looks between his mom and Buck. “So… Uh, what are you doing here?”
May still looks puzzled, the same face she’d pull when she was doing homework as a kid, stumped by a particularly difficult math problem or something of the like. Then her face drops in horror. “Oh, mom don’t tell me–” she cuts herself off, shaking her head wide-eyed like she can’t even say it out loud.
Athena stops searching the drawer, waiting for May to elaborate. “Don’t tell you what?”
“Ohhh,” Harry says, like he finally gets it, and his face promptly twists like he’s smelled something rotten. “God, mom, I know it’s been rough since– but like, him? No offense,” he quickly adds, shooting Buck an apologetic look. Buck doesn’t really react to what Athena assumes must have been an insult if it was so quickly followed by an apology. It’s probably because he can follow this conversation about as well as Athena can.
May attempts to collect herself. “I mean, uh, I guess we just want you to be happy, of course, but–”
“It’s just a shock,” Harry adds.
“Yes,” May nods. “Yes. A shock.” She’s still nodding. She looks like a bobblehead.
“It’s just fast–”
“And he’s– well, he’s Buck.”
“I’m so confused,” Buck whispers.
“You and me both,” Athena says. “Yes, Buck is my roommate. I get that it’s odd, but surely it’s not entirely reprehensible?”
May finally stops nodding. Her mouth falls open a little bit instead, and her and Harry breathe twin sighs of relief, the poorly-concealed concern immediately falling from their faces.
“Oh!” she says, then laughs, and Harry does the same, releasing a long Ohhhhhhh instead. “Yeah, that’s– yeah. Uh? Hm,” he mumbles, and Athena is pretty sure she can hear May mutter an ohthankgod somewhere in there, too.
Athena raises an inquisitive eyebrow at them.
“Okay, that's…” May blinks twice. “Still weird, actually, but whatever. Explain it over dinner, I’m starving.”
“I’m not,” Harry says. “I just experienced the worst nausea of my life. I’m going to need like, five minutes for it to settle.”
“Uh, well, not that I get what’s going on,” Buck says, “but the casserole is still in the oven, so we’ve got some time until it’s ready. Athena told me to assume you’d be late.”
It finally clicks for Athena. The realization hits her like a semi truck. “Wait. You didn’t think me and him –” Her face twists in horror.
She looks at Buck, who at that moment also realizes what her kids have been implying.
To Buck’s credit, he’s considerate enough to mainly just look baffled, his mouth opening and closing like a fish while he desperately tries to get it to form the right words. “Wh– I– that’s not –”
“Wouldn’t be your first white firefighter boyfriend,” Harry points out.
Athena gasps. “He’s– he’s–” she stutters, trying not to sound hysterical. “Look at him!” She eventually settles on, gesturing towards Buck like that’s enough of an explanation. Buck stands helplessly in the archway, one of Athena’s floral aprons tied around his waist. “I could be his mother,” she adds, to make her outburst slightly less insulting for Buck. Judging by the look on his face, it’s probably too late for that.
“Yeah, and that’s his type,” May says.
Buck flushes. “Wh– what? Who told you that?”
“Oh yeah, you’re right,” Harry says lightly, like it’s a fun fact, and starts listing people on his fingers. “Geriatric dispatch lady, geriatric helicopter guy…”
“That’s two! Two isn’t a type!” Buck protests.
“You can draw a line through two points,” May counters, a smile at her lips, Harry snickering behind her.
Athena sighs. “Buck, I think you need to check on your casserole. And Harry, I know you didn’t just call me geriatric.” Harry throws up his hands in self-defense.
Buck nods, grateful for the exit. “Y-yeah, I’ll, uh, do that.”
When he turns away, she tries her best to give her kids a berating stare. Instead, she finds it impossible to do anything except mirror her children’s smiles.
“Go set the table.”
Dinner passes easily, though it's admittedly a little weird with Buck there. But the food is good, and Athena is glad to catch up with her kids. May talks about her upcoming presentation (she's anxious, but she knows she will ace it anyway), Harry about online high school (more difficult than real high school, because they actually check all of your work). Buck and Athena share some stories of their own, Athena of her garden gnome incident (perplexing) and Buck of this morning’s apartment viewing (horrific).
It reminds Athena that she's supposed to be selling the house, and the thought fills her with, not for the first time, an odd discomfort. She doesn’t dwell on it, though, and barely thinks of it for the rest of the evening. The feeling will have passed by tomorrow's open house, anyway.
⋆★⋆
She cancels the open house.
Her real estate agent doesn’t appreciate it, and tries calling her repeatedly. She ignores the calls, because she’s at work, and then she ignores them when she gets home, too, because she feels like ignoring them. She’s paying him too much money to not sell her house, anyway. He’ll live.
Buck has one of his 24-hour shifts, so her apartment is quiet again, every little sound bouncing off the walls and floors and returning twice as loud. She shrugs off her uniform in the bedroom, switching into her sweats, then turns on the lamps one by one on her way to the kitchen. The thought of cooking herself a meal crosses her mind, but then she remembers there’s still some of last night’s leftovers in the fridge. Athena reheats them in the oven, not the microwave, because she’s not an animal, and then eats them at her dinner table in silence.
The apartment is tiny compared to her house, but it still feels too big, the floors too cold no matter how high she turns up the thermostat.
She decides to call Michael, as she has most days since Bobby’s passing. They talk about Harry’s homework and David’s job and the weather and a lot of things that aren’t grief, but it’s hard not to think about it, when he’s the only husband out of three whose voice she can still hear whenever she wants to, but somehow that still doesn’t mean she didn’t lose him, too.
Afterward, she crawls into an empty bed, and cries until she falls asleep.
⋆★⋆
The next evening is one she’s been looking forward to.
She’s got everything set up perfectly, as she always does: she’s on the couch, pillows arranged to perfection for maximum comfort. She’s in her softest clothes, the fluffy socks May got her as a Mother’s Day gift on her feet where they’re propped up, well-deserved after a long day of work. In her right hand, there’s a glass of white wine, in her left, her phone with Twitter already open.
Yes, the most beautiful day of the week has finally come: a new episode of her favorite show is airing.
Somewhere behind her, she notices Buck emerging from the guest room, his footsteps heavy on the linoleum floor. She pays no attention to it, too engrossed in the story to pay it any mind. Then he starts hovering behind her, and it becomes a little harder to ignore, but she doesn’t comment on it.
“What are we watching?” Buck asks eventually, leaning on the back of the couch.
“My show,” Athena says, as politely as she can, though she doesn’t make an effort to look back at him. “It’s called Gone Bad . We’re on season two, episode six, though, so you’ve missed quite a bit.”
“Oh, right,” Buck says. “I think I've heard of that before.”
She expects him to take a hint and leave her to her favorite ritual of live-tweeting the entire ordeal while drinking a pleasant amount of wine, but instead, he sits down next to her. “Oh, okay,” she mumbles, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Not for the first time, Buck reminds her of one of those massive hounds that is somehow convinced they’re a lapdog. Athena is allergic to dogs.
She quickly taps out a reply to a particularly good take she sees on her timeline, and then she puts her phone away, directing her full attention back to the screen.
Athena prepares herself to answer a million questions, because Buck seems like the type to fall asleep during a movie and then ask her who the main character is, but she’s pleasantly surprised to find he watches it mostly in silence with her.
“She’s a housewife, but she’s got herself wrapped up in organized crime by accident,” she explains eventually. “The other two women are her sister and her friend, and they’re trying to get out, but she, the redhead, she’s actually really good at it.”
“So she’s trying to keep them involved in it, while the other two want out,” Buck infers.
Athena nods. “Exactly.” They watch as the red-haired woman strikes a deal with the gang leader. Then, in the next scene, she explains it to her sister like she had no choice in the matter.
“Why doesn’t she just let her sister and friend get out, and stay in the criminal circuit herself?” Buck asks.
“Because she can’t admit to herself that that’s what she actually wants,” Athena says, remembering a particularly good Twitter thread she saw on the subject. “It’s so far from who she thinks she should be, that she keeps making these excuses for herself for why she supposedly has to keep getting them all involved in it. She’s awful,” Athena says with a laugh, “but I can’t lie, she’s my favorite because of it.”
“Okay, well, that seems a little unfair to the people around her,” Buck huffs, and it’s… unexpected. Really, she doesn’t know Buck like that, but he never stuck Athena as the judgmental type. It’s a trait that doesn’t go well with being a first responder.
“It is,” Athena shrugs. “But she’s struggling too. She’s trapped in this awful marriage with an awful husband, constantly underestimated and overlooked. And now, she finally found something she’s good at, and she’s kind of addicted to it, even though it’s hurting everyone she cares about. She’s doing it out of emotion, not out of rationale.”
Buck contemplates that. They watch in silence again.
“Do you think they should forgive her?” he asks, eventually, after they’ve cut to commercial.
Athena turns to him. She doesn’t think this is about the show. “I think that if she talked to them, they could understand where she was coming from. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that she's unwillingly involved them in several federal crimes.”
“Right,” Buck says. “So… No?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s so black-and-white. Just looking at the facts, you’d probably say they should hate her. But her sister and friend have such a deep love for one another, that even if they find out, they might still rather want to figure something out that works for all of them.”
Buck nods. “But she’s too caught up in herself to see that, and now she’s just making everything worse,” he says, rather irritatedly, and Athena thinks to herself, oh, this is definitely not about my TV show.
“Essentially, yes,” Athena says. “You know, since you’re so interested, all the other episodes are on Netflix. Maybe you should watch it, and see what you think then.” She mostly says it to tease him, but to her surprise, Buck agrees. “Yeah, I might. Kinda reminds me of the telenovelas I’d watch with Eddie and Chris. Just completely… Wild.”
“ Wild is right,” Athena says, and she genuinely feels a little bit giddy, as she always does when she gets to talk about her current TV obsession. “I mean, every episode is just a ride . I’m telling you, I’ve watched a lot of TV in my time, but none of it hits quite like Gone Bad . You know, there was an episode where– well, I shouldn’t spoil anything, you should just watch it from the start.”
“I’ll just finish this episode with you first,” Buck says. “That okay?”
“Only if you get me another glass of wine,” she says, offering him her empty glass. He takes it, and for the first time, she’s genuinely happy to have him around. “Use the reusable ice cubes!” She calls after him, when he’s already halfway out the room. “I don’t want my wine to be watered down!”
Buck gives her a thumbs up, and disappears into the kitchen. She leans back against the couch, and allows herself to laugh, just for a few seconds, at the bizarreness of her life. Sometimes life gives you lemons. She knows that. But this? This is a lime. Or a grapefruit. Or a strawberry. Or broccoli. And she tried to make lemonade, but when you try to make lemonade with broccoli, it apparently turns into a thirty-three year old bachelor in her kitchen putting a little plastic ice cube in her wine.
She tries to imagine what Bobby would say, if he heard of this. He would find it ridiculous, of course. And more than a little bit funny. He would make one of those sarcastic jokes about it, for sure, just to see the look on her face. She smiles to herself as she imagines his reaction.
Finally, Buck emerges from the kitchen, two wine glasses in hand. He sets one down on the coffee table in front of Athena, and keeps the other one himself.
Athena tucks her feet under her body, and they watch the rest of the episode.
⋆★⋆
The next day, she meets Hen for lunch. It’s a nice spot downtown, where the waitstaff is friendly and the menu is so excellent she always takes ten minutes to decide what she wants. She and Hen aren’t regulars, exactly, but they’ve been here often enough she has a favorite spot, a table in the back of the restaurant where she swears the chairs are just a little bit softer. They managed to snatch it today, and it’s setting up to be a perfect afternoon, or as perfect as they can be, these days. The food is good, the conversation is light, and the chairs are just so, so soft. Hen avoids the topic of the house, which Athena is grateful for. She’s no longer sure how she feels about selling it, and she doesn’t feel like interrogating that feeling either.
When Hen goes to the bathroom, Athena looks at her phone for the first time in a while. There are several texts from Buck. It strikes her as odd enough that she stops to read them, operating under the assumption that if he’s texting her when they constantly see each other at home, it must be something urgent.
This, she is wrong about, of course.
When she looks up from her phone screen, Hen has returned. A waitress stops by and serves them the coffee they'd ordered. Something about her reminds Athena of May, not in appearance, but in demeanor. She makes a mental note to call her daughter tonight.
Athena thanks the waitress for her coffee, and takes a bite of her complimentary cookie. “I love these,” Athena says, savoring the taste. It’s lemon flavored, tangy and sweet all at once.
“They should let us order them in bulk,” Hen agrees.
“Oh, I’d be this restaurant's number one sponsor,” Athena chuckles. She inspects the half she hasn’t yet eaten, and wonders if she took it home, Buck would be able to figure out the recipe. Maybe another time, she thinks, as she pops it in her mouth.
The next few moments pass in comfortable silence, the one that comes with years-long friendship. The chatter of the other guests is a pleasant white noise while she and Hen stir creamer into their coffee.
“Hey, so, ‘Thena, I just wanted to, uh, check in with you, I guess,” Hen says eventually.
Athena raises her eyebrows. “Check in with me how?”
“Just like… Are you okay?” Her tone is sincere, but not overtly cautious in the way most people have been talking to her over the past few weeks. Like she's a scared animal that needs to be coaxed out of hiding, instead of a perfectly intelligent grown woman.
“Am I okay,” Athena echoes. Her cup of coffee, which was on its way to her mouth, hangs suspended in midair. It’s not an unusual question. She’s heard it more in the last few weeks than she has in the entire rest of her life, she’s pretty sure, but it’s unexpected coming from Hen, who usually just confronts her head-on with whatever’s on her mind.
“Yeah, I mean, you know. No one expects you to be fine so soon. And it would be okay if you're still struggling.”
Athena stares at her. Hen’s face is suspiciously innocent behind her big glasses. Her cup of coffee sits untouched between them.
“Right,” Athena says. “I don't think anyone said it wouldn't be.”
“Yes,” Hen nods, “I mean no,” she shakes her head. “No one said that. So if something was wrong, you know you could talk about it.”
Athena keeps staring. Hen just smiles kindly at her, too strained to be natural.
Then it clicks. “This is about Buck being my roommate.”
“It's not… Not about Buck being your roommate?” Hen tries.
Athena leans back in her chair. “You think I've lost my damn mind!”
“Okay, going forward, I would like us both to remember that it was you who said that,” Hen says, placing both of her hands on the table. “Not me.”
“Hen, I am fine ,” Athena says, exasperated. She puts down her cup a little too forcefully. A few drops of coffee make their way onto the white tablecloth, blooming like two brown flowers as they sink into the fabric.
“Are you fine, or is Buck your roommate? Because I'm hearing two conflicting statements,” Hen says, and she finally sounds normal again, teasing her in the way she’s used to. For her personal comfort, Athena tells herself Hen is laughing with her, not at her.
Athena glares at Hen.
“Wh– don’t look at me like that!” Hen says. “Just tell me the perfectly logical explanation for why you’re living together, and I’ll let it go.” She picks up her cup of coffee, and takes a sip.
“He needed a place to live, and I had space,” Athena shrugs. “Simple as that.”
Hen sends her a pointed look from behind the rim of her cup. It leaves the impression she doesn’t think it’s as simple as that. “I’m seriously supposed to believe that?”
“Well, yes,” Athena says. “Because that’s all there is to it.” She figures that if she says it with enough confidence, she will eventually start to believe it herself. She decides to add another sugar to her coffee, just so she has an excuse to stir it, the metal of the spoon making an inharmonious clinking noise against the ceramic.
“Buck, who we all know, that Buck, who once stole a fire engine to have sex in–” “I’ve been told that was many years ago–” “ That Buck is currently living in your actual apartment. Where you also live,” Hen adds, just for clarity.
“Correct,” Athena says coolly. She stops stirring. “He cooks, he does the dishes, and he doesn’t disrupt my life, so it’s all fine by me. He’s apartment hunting anyway, with any luck he will be gone by the weekend.”
“God, when you put it like that, it just sounds like you’ve got yourself a free live-in chef,” Hen says.
Athena motions with her hand as if to say, there you go . “It’s really not that crazy,” she says.
Hen nods, though she doesn’t seem fully convinced. “So… Where’s he sleeping?” She asks, her voice a little careful.
A chill runs down Athena’s spine. “Henrietta,” she says. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been operating under the assumption that he’s been sleeping in my bed.”
“It’s that or your underage son’s bed,” Hen points out.
“Well, when you put it like that!”
Hen laughs. “Sorry! Sorry. I’m just teasing. I know you’d sooner make him sleep on the floor. So, the guest room?”
“Yes,” Athena confirms. “It’s empty anyway.”
Hen nods. “So… Harry’s still not coming home yet, then?” She asks. There’s a note in her voice Athena can’t quite identify.
“He doesn’t want to come home,” Athena simply says.
“Athena,” Hen sounds incredulous. “He’s your son. You can just tell him to come home.”
“I’m letting him have his freedom, which he asked for,” Athena says, a little defensively. She’s not sure why her parenting is being criticized, all of a sudden.
Hen’s mouth opens, then closes, like her mouth and her thoughts are in disagreement on what she should say. A second later, she finds the words, but they still sound unsure. “Is that… Really what this is about?” Athena blankly stares at her, because she genuinely has no idea what she’s getting at.
“What else would it be about?”
Hen looks at her, brown eyes calculating behind her glasses, like she’s internally debating whether she should speak her mind or keep the peace. Athena sends her a skeptical look, waiting for Hen to challenge her, though she’s not sure why she wants her to. To stop feeling like everyone’s walking on eggshells around her, maybe.
Instead, Hen drops it. “Nevermind,” she says. “It’s nothing.”
“Hmm.” It’s obviously not nothing.
For a beat, they just stare at each other through the steam of their coffee. Hen first breaks the eye contact, then the silence.
“So…’” Hen sighs. “Wait, did I tell you about Mara yet?”
Hen knows damn well she didn’t tell her about whatever is going on with Mara. But, fine. She’ll bite.
“What about Mara?” Athena asks, sounding as sincere as she can.
“Well,” Hen says, her tone excited. “We’re almost ready to officially adopt her.”
“What?” Athena gasps, and damn it, she wants to be mad at Hen for using this news so efficiently to dissolve the tension, but she can’t be. She’s just too delighted. “That is incredible! Do you have a date yet?”
“Next Wednesday,” Hen says, unable to keep herself from breaking into a face-splitting grin. “Not even a full week from now. You know, Mara’s just buzzing. She’s barely been able to sleep.”
“I bet,” Athena says. “Congrats. I’m so happy for you. You must be thrilled.”
“Well– yeah,” Hen says, her voice pitching up a little with uncertainty. She nods her head sideways. “But also just… Scared, you know. We’ve gone through so much with these kids. It’s like I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to barge in and tell me it’s not happening. I mean, I don’t think I’ll fully be able to let myself believe it until we’ve actually signed the documents.”
“I understand that,” Athena says. “Lord knows your family has endured far too much. But do you really think that’s the kind of parent Mara needs right now? An uncertain one?”
“No,” Hen sighs. “Of course, I’d rather be jumping with joy alongside her, and I’m trying her best to convince her that I am. I don’t think she’s noticed yet, at least. And I’m really glad she’s not feeling that same anxiety, but it’s been keeping me up, both the being scared and having to act like I’m not.” She picks at her nails. “You know, Karen and I have been thinking of throwing her a party to celebrate, but I’m too scared we’ll just have to call it off.”
Athena wraps both hands around her cup. It’s pleasantly warm against her cold hands. “So you’d rather not celebrate this at all?”
“I just don’t want to disappoint her. She’s had such a rough life already. I don’t want to… Throw all that in her face, even if it’s by accident.”
“You think she will be disappointed by a party?” Athena laughs. She sets down her cup, and puts her hand over Hen’s on the table. “Listen to me. Just do it. And if something goes wrong, which it won’t ,” she says, giving Hen’s hand a little squeeze for emphasis, “you’re still throwing a little girl a party to let her know how much you love her, and how badly you want her to be a part of your family.” She lets go of her hand and leans back in her chair. “If that’s the worst case scenario, I think you’ll be fine.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Hen says, with a smile. She exhales, and her shoulders sink with relief. “Thanks, Athena.”
“Let me know if you need my private chef to prepare you anything,” she says.
Hen laughs, the sound as familiar to Athena as her own voice. “I will. Does he really just cook whatever you say?”
“I mean, probably? I haven’t really given him any requests yet, but on the first day, he also took out the trash and watered my plants. And now he’s even watching Gone Bad .”
Hen’s mouth falls open. “Oh my God ,” she says.
“I don’t even know,” Athena laughs. “I mean–” she starts, but she’s laughing too hard to get any more words out. And Hen is laughing with her, just at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, the concept of Buck being her roommate. Maybe cackling is a better description for the sound they’re making, hysterical and loud, and it goes on and on until she’s wheezing “wait, wait, I can’t, I had two babies–” which only makes Hen laugh even harder. There are tears streaming down both their faces, the first good ones in weeks.
She never ends up finishing her sentence.
⋆★⋆
That night, Athena wakes, as she often does, with a gasp and a jolt. The images from her dream are still crystal clear in her mind: a weird combination of a lab and a cruise ship, at both day and night, paradoxical as only dreams can be. Bobby was there, of course, dying, as he often was in her dreams.
(Not always, though. Sometimes he was alive, and those dreams were worse to wake up from than the nightmares.)
Strangest of all, perhaps, she remembers a cake being there, the smell so strong in her dreams it lingers now even as she's woken up.
Wait, no. She's not dreaming. Her apartment actually smells of cake.
She curses Evan Buckley’s name as she slips on her dressing gown and slippers, wondering, not for the first time this week, what exactly is wrong with him. Firefighters usually have mandatory counselling sessions; surely someone has figured it out by now.
She opens her bedroom door, and pads down the hall towards the glow at the end of it. The kitchen lights are turned on, and sure enough, there Buck stands, dressed in what she knows are his night clothes and her floral apron.
Buck is– she wants to say zesting lemons, but that word implies a certain gentleness and care in his approach. This looks more like citrus assault.
“What did those lemons ever do to you?” Athena asks.
Buck’s head whips up, noticing her for the first time. “Did I wake you?” He asks, giving his lemon victims a moment's relief.
“No” she says truthfully. “I had a– a dream.” Buck clearly doesn’t believe her, though, because his guilty expression doesn’t change. For some reason she doesn’t fully understand, she decides to take pity on him, and adds: “Though I will say there was a cake in it.”
“Okay,” Buck says, though she doesn’t think he believes her. She’s not entirely sure why he’s under the impression she would lie to make him feel better.
Buck didn’t turn on all the lights, just one of the sconces on the wall, so half of the room is cast in darkness, the other half primarily lit by the warm lamp of the oven. She peers inside of it, inspecting its contents. Sure enough, a half-baked cake is in the middle, the source of the aroma of warm spices currently wafting through the apartment.
“Carrot cake,” Buck explains. “I’m still working on the icing. It's nice with a little zest in it.”
Athena hums approvingly. For what it's worth, it does smell amazing.
“Do you usually do your baking at” – she glances at the clock – “3AM? I mean, does the moonlight have a certain effect on the batter that I'm unaware of?”
Buck huffs out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Uh, no, not usually at night, just when I need a distraction,” he admits. “Which is sometimes at night. It doesn't usually wake anyone, though. I wouldn't have done it if I knew it would disturb your sleep, I promise,” he says.
“You didn't,” she repeats, then sticks a finger in his half-finished bowl of icing. “Oh, that's nice ,” she says, when she tastes the perfect combination of tangy and sweet. The compliment earns her a grin from Buck.
“Right!” he says. “The trick is getting the ratio of water and lemon juice just right.”
“It’s really good. I need to remember that.”
“I can send you the recipe,” Buck says.
“Does it also work during the day?” Athena asks, which Buck answers with a good-natured eye roll.
“So,” she says, casually leaning against the kitchen island. “What's going on with you and Eddie?”
Buck stops dead in his tracks, the lemon and zester coming to a standstill. If she wasn't completely certain it was about his friend just yet, Buck confirms it by going bright red. The color of his birthmark deepens with it, something she’s only recently noticed happens anytime he blushes. It's funny how you can still learn new things about people after knowing then for years.
“What makes you think this is about Eddie?” Buck says, carefully laying down the zester like it’s a weapon he doesn’t trust himself with.
“Hmm, let’s see,” Athena says, and starts listing things. “You show up at my front door, asking if you can live with me, with no real explanation for why you can't live with Eddie anymore. I know it's not the fact that he only has two bedrooms, because you lived on that man’s couch for months. He also hasn't shown his face here even once, even though you two are typically attached at the hip. It could be that you're only inviting him over when I'm not home, but you've been so polite and careful not to overstep that that seems unlikely to me. So, clearly, something went down between you two.
“Then we watch a show together, and within the first five minutes you get strangely upset by some interpersonal conflict playing out on screen, which makes me feel like you relate in some way. So there's clearly something bothering you in your social life, and it clearly has to do with him, and for some reason you’re taking it out on the lemons. How’d I do?”
Buck just stares at her.
“Also,” she adds, “Henrietta told me you two were being weird at work.”
“Have you ever considered becoming a detective instead?”
“Putting together clues is not reserved for detectives. You know this. Don't deflect.”
Buck hesitates. “You sure you want to hear about this?”
Athena eyes the timer on the oven. “Seems like you've got eleven minutes. Better start talking.”
He inclines his head. It makes him look boyish, like that messy twenty-six-year-old she met on the job what feels like a lifetime ago.
“Okay,” he says. “It's… So… Sorry, I'm trying to figure out where to start.” He drums his fingers against the countertop while he thinks. “Right, so, I guess it started a few months ago? When he went to El Paso. I don't know how much you know about that?”
Athena tries to remember what Bobby told her. “He went to find his kid, who was staying with his grandparents after he had a fight with Eddie. The same grandparents who aren't particularly approving of Eddie.”
Buck nods. “Yeah, so, when he did that, I didn't love it, you know? I get that Christopher needed him there in person, if only to know he was willing to do anything for him. He's an amazing dad, that part didn't surprise me. And I love Chris to death, so for Eddie to do whatever makes him happiest, I could never be upset about that. But he made it all sound so easy. Like he didn't even care that he was leaving everyone behind.”
“Leaving you behind, you mean,” Athena corrects him.
“I– fine. Yeah. Leaving me behind.”
Buck sighs, and leans back against the countertop next to Athena. He stares at the blank wall opposite them. They're shoulder-to-shoulder now, or they would be, if they were anywhere near the same height.
“So,” he continues, “I hate it, but I lo– but he's my best friend, so I support him. I throw a fit about it first, and we fight, and it makes me realise I'm kind of being a dick because it's obviously really difficult for him too. So I shove my own feelings aside and I do everything I can for him.”
“Which is how you ended up subletting his house,” Athena deduces. “You gave up your apartment out of guilt over a single fight?”
“Uh, I wouldn't say that,” Buck says. “More like, we’ve been best friends for years, and I just wanted to help him out.”
“Ah. So guilt over being a bad friend and the fight.”
He glances at her sideways, but can't keep a straight face when she notices her smiling.
“Sure. Yeah. So, then he's in Texas, and I hate every part of it, but I'm being nice about it. So nice. So supportive. We FaceTime, like, six times a day for weeks” – six times a day? Athena thinks, but files it away for later – “and not even once I give in to the urge to make a snide comment about how he's being stupid and needs to come home to his real family, because I get that he's in a difficult situation. So I keep supporting him, giving him advice, and he manages to make some real big improvements with Chris, so I'm happy for him. And then– then–”
He exhales shakily, and a sense of dread creeps over Athena, because she knows where this story is headed next. She doesn't really want to hear it, if she's completely honest.
Buck clears his throat, but when he speaks again, his voice is still noticeably less steady than before.
“And then he's back for the funeral, but those two weeks, I was alone. And I know that's selfish, know he has a kid and bills and a house, but I– I needed him,” he admits. “I needed him. Needed my best friend. But I don't tell him that, because he doesn't need to hear that, I just pick him up from the airport, two full weeks later, while also trying to keep the rest of the team from going completely insane with grief. And I, I know I'm getting it wrong, because no matter how many web pages on how to help your loved ones in a period of grief I read, none of it works, and I still have to talk down a drunk Chimney from the rooftop minutes before the funeral.”
Athena feels some color drain from her face. She didn't know that detail.
Distantly, selfishly, she wishes she had heard of this a few days ago, when she was still upset at him. It would have dulled the sharp knife now wedged between her ribs. She could have been mad at the idea of him wanting to throw his life away after Bobby sacrificed himself for him. Now she just wants to curl up and cry.
“Sorry,” Buck says, noticing her expression. “I guess you didn't know that. You okay?”
“It's fine,” Athena lies. “Go on.”
Buck hesitates, but goes on with his story.
“Right, so, I'm trying,” he says, and Athena tries her best to turn her attention back to his story, pushing down her thoughts of Chimney. Just treat it like a case at work , she thinks, though she’s aware it’s not quite the same. “I’m really trying. But a few days after the funeral, Eddie and I fight again. He says I'm being selfish, that I'm making it all about myself.”
Athena frowns. “Sounds to me like you're doing the opposite.”
“I guess, but– I think I can be, a lot of the time. Selfish, I mean. And that combined with the grief just made him lash out, even when it wasn't really deserved at that moment.”
“Well, it's kind of you to be so understanding, but did he actually apologize for it?”
“He flew his kid across state lines overnight just so I could see him again.”
“Wow,” Athena says. “Okay.”
She wasn't sure what she thought Buck and Eddie had going on, but it wasn't– this. She knew their friendship was intense, but this is something else entirely. Offering your best friend an entire child as an olive branch is… Well, she can't say she's ever felt the urge to do something like that for Hen. Or anyone else, for that matter.
“So,” Buck continues, “He decides to permanently move back to LA again, eventually. Because Chimney tells him to. Which– okay. Sure. Not like I've been begging him for months and months to do the same and getting berated for it every time. I'm just happy he's here at all.
“But I guess it's been on my mind because one day we're doing the dishes, and we're both just exhausted from work and I make a little comment about it and we– it wasn’t a full-blown fight, not like the time before, but we say a few some nasty things to each other. And later, when we've cooled off, we both apologize. But I just ask him, why is it that when you're hurting, you get to lash out, but I don't? Why do you accuse me of being selfish when I just spent months burying my feelings, just so they don't make you uncomfortable? And he doesn't really have an answer. Just says he's sorry. And I'm like, well, maybe I don't want you to be sorry. Maybe I want you to stop acting this way, so I can actually talk to you when I'm hurting. Because you're my best friend, and we’re grieving, and we need each other. And then I'm just fed up, so I pack my bag and leave, because I can’t stand being under the same roof if I can't talk to him anyway. And, well, you know the rest.”
Athena considers it. Her mind is whirring with the information. She's pretty sure that if you listened closely, you could hear the neurons firing, though the late hour prevents her brain from running at its usual speed. She has lots of thoughts she thinks are best not to voice out loud, the main ones being ‘so let me get this straight, you genuinely think this is normal friend behavior?’ and ‘ huh?’ and ‘ these absolute freaks…’
Instead she chooses something more appropriate to say, because he clearly doesn't need any of that right now. It’s clear he’s thought about this a lot, hardly needs a hand in overanalyzing it all, but an outside perspective does sound beneficial at this point. If only to keep him from spiraling any further.
“Do you think you’re running from him, or punishing him?” Athena asks.
Buck contemplates her words, his brow furrowed, true-blue eyes fixed in a distant stare underneath it. “I… Is there a difference?”
“Let me rephrase that,” she says. “Is the reason why you’re living here, and not with him, because you don’t ever want to be in the same house as him again?”
“What? No. Of course I’d rather be with him and Chris,” Buck answers, and he has the guts to say it like it’s obvious. It’s too late for any of this.
Athena nods. “So you’re punishing him.”
“I guess,” Buck says. “So–”
Before he can finish his sentence, the oven timer starts beeping, the sound exceptionally shrill in the dead of night. Athena and Buck both wince at the volume.
“I was supposed to sleep through that?” Athena asks, while she blindly pushes every single one of the oven buttons until one of them makes the noise stop.
“I was going to turn it off before it could make any noise, obviously ,” Buck says, and grabs her blue oven mitts from a drawer. He had familiarized himself with the details of her kitchen setup at an alarming speed, she thinks.
“I’m sure. Good luck with your cake, Buckley,” Athena says. She decides to take the exit route that’s been presented to her. “I’m going back to bed. See you in the morning.”
“Yeah, goodnight,” Buck says. She thinks she’s given him enough to chew on for the rest of the night, anyway.
Right as she’s leaving the kitchen, Buck calls her name. “Athena.” She turns around and looks at him expectantly.
“Do you think– I mean, Maddie and Tommy–” he hesitates, trying to search for the right words. Then he shakes his head. “Nevermind. It’s nothing. Uh, goodnight.”
She doesn't press him on it. Maybe she would have if it wasn't 3AM. “Goodnight, Buck. Don’t burn your cake.”
“I won’t.”