Buck drove his jeep through the streets of Los Angeles, the engine making a soft humming sound. A pop song played softly on the car radio as he navigated through the city.

You found yourself seated in the passenger seat, quietly gazing out of the window. Your car had unexpectedly gotten a flat tyre, and while initially hesitant, you eventually agreed to let Buck drive you home.

You joined the 118 a few weeks ago as a new recruit. Buck thought you were nice, but he didn’t know much about you. Nobody did. You were quiet and seemed pretty shy from what he could tell. But he had to admit, you were good at your job.

Glancing at you, Buck’s eyes flickered with curiosity.

"So," he said smoothly, "you're pretty quiet, y'know that?"

He turned his attention back to the road for a moment, then glanced at you again.

"I don't think I've ever heard you talk much at all."