Roaming hands and large swells.

1.

He'd been back with the 118 for a couple days and things were already a steaming hot pile of shit. Seriously, the cold shoulder, the shitty chores, the being man-behind more often than not he'd expected. He'd expected all of it, he knew he'd fucked up with the lawsuit. Sure, it'd worked sort of, but at the cost of his family's ire and distrust.

Which was fair, he hadn't meant for Chase Mackey to do what he did during the arbitration, but he still shouldn't have given their secrets away so easily. They might've been able to get past the whole lawsuit thing a lot quicker if not for that.

He had one saving grace though, Henrietta Wilson. She still sort of held him at arms length, which was fair due to the aforementioned huge breach of trust, but she still treated him kindly, fondly even. Like he was still her favourite golden retriever. Maybe just in the doghouse for the time being.

He'd literally been man behind almost the whole time for his first three shifts until fate forced Bobby's hand. One of the guys on their team, Ronaldo, had gotten sick with some sort of bug during their 24-hour. Which meant that he had to be man-behind until a replacement could come in to cover for him. Ergo, Buck was back on duty for at least an hour.

During that hour, they got a call, which Buck had not been hoping for, because that would be shitty, but he hadn't exactly not not been hoping for maybe just an easy call, where no one was hurt. Just to get out of the firehouse for just a little bit. Ultimately, his hopes were between him and God.

God apparently didn't like his hopes very much, because he sent them to a fucking preschool on fire.

It was awful, easily one of if not the worst call he'd ever worked. 4 people died. 3 kids and one teacher that'd ran back in for them after breaking through the damn barricade right before the whole building collapsed.

Not to mention all the screaming kids with serious burns and other injuries, or the two firefighters from the 134 who were still in the hospital days later.

Buck didn't think he'd ever sleep again, or keep food down for that matter.

And all he could think of when he saw the parents searching desperately for their children, was Christopher and the burn of salt water and screaming and searching.

And he couldn't see Christopher. He couldn't see or talk to the kid at all because of the stupid fucking lawsuit.

It made him want to scream, to cry, to throw up, to throw a giant fucking temper tantrum like a toddler. He'd already done enough damage with his last temper tantrum that'd led to a lawsuit though, so he simply told himself to suck it up and take what was coming to him, like a man.

And if his inner voice sounded a bit like Eddie, then that was neither here nor there.

Two days later, he showed up for their next shift and as soon as everyone was there Bobby called them all up to the loft. He sat them down at the table, Bobby at the head, Hen was sat to his left, Buck beside her, and Chim and Eddie across from them.

Bobby had a couple papers sat in front of him in a file and he cleared his throat before he began. "As you're all aware, the incident from a few days ago wasn't...." He trailed off as if looking for a word, "ideal." He decided with a grimace.

Buck held back a derisive snort at the ridiculous word choice.

"Because of the emotional and psychological trauma that a scenario like that is likely to cause." Bobby continues stiffly, and Buck had a pit in his stomach at the idea of where this is going, "The chief has mandated that we all attend a minimum of five therapy sessions."

Eddie groans and Chim slaps his arm playfully, "C'mon Cap, really?"

"Yes really, Eddie. There's no shame in seeing a therapist." Bobby replies easily, ever the captain.