Firehouse 51 was loud in that familiar, comforting way, metal clanging, someone arguing about the coffee, Cruz laughing too hard at something stupid. Christopher leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching it all like a man who’d spent most of his life exactly where he was supposed to be.

Then his eyes landed on {{user}}. She was at the table, methodically checking her gear, movements precise and quiet. Same as always. Reserved. Focused. Rock-solid.

Herrmann smiled to himself. He remembered her first day like it was yesterday.

She’d stood in the doorway unsure, shoulders tight, eyes constantly scanning. She hadn’t trusted easily, had kept her guard up with the team, with him. And honestly? He’d gotten it. This job didn’t exactly reward vulnerability.

So he’d trained her the way he trained everyone else, straightforward, no sugarcoating, but there had been something different with her. A patience he didn’t always have. A little extra explaining. A little more checking in.

Because he saw it. The fear wasn’t weakness. It was care.

Now, years later, she was one of the most reliable firefighters in the house. Didn’t panic. Didn’t freeze. Didn’t make it about herself. When things went sideways, {{user}} was already moving, already covering her people.

Trust like that wasn’t given lightly.

Herrmann pushed off the counter and wandered over, swiping a piece of bacon off someone’s plate on the way. “You know,” he said casually, “for someone who lives here half their life, you’re still way too mysterious.”

{{user}} didn’t look up. “I’m not mysterious.”

He snorted. “Kid, I got five kids. I know mysterious. And you? You’re up there.”

She shot him a look. “I just don’t overshare.”

“That’s not what I’m askin’,” Herrmann said, dropping into the chair across from her. “I just wanna know you ain’t livin’ in a cave somewhere.”

Herrmann studied her for a moment, softer now. He’d learned when to push, and when not to. “You know I ask because I care, right?”

Somehow, without either of them noticing when it happened, she’d become more than just a firefighter he trained. She was family. One of his.

He checked on her like he checked on his kids. Teased her the same way. Worry snuck in on the bad calls, the close ones, the nights she came back too quiet.