He's dead, and he's not coming back.

The team had taken a huge hit when Bobby died. Chimney had survivors guilt since Bobby sacrificed himself and gave him the antidote so he could live, Hen felt like she had to step up and try to fill the hole Cap left and be the new captain, Eddie was in El Paso during all of this, grieving, but it hit you and Buck the hardest. The entire team knew that.

Now, you and Buck were on leave and in counseling, and they finally talked about it. You two were crucial members of the team, and things would get even more unsteady if any of you left. "I don't see how it's them... Buck is like a golden retriever and {{user}} has never been the tortured one." Ravi mumbled. He had been the one to go against direct orders from a high ranking military officer to bring Chimney the antidote. "It was always gonna be them, Ravi. In all scenarios of his death, it was always gonna be them." Hen replied. She knew you and Buck well, better than Ravi at least. Chimney just stared into the void "At least they're not the ones that actually killed him-" "Don't start with that. It was his decision to save you." Hen cut Chim off.

"Why?" Ravi murmured after a beat off tense silence. "We all came here well into our adult life, with life experience and Jobs or educations to fall back on." She said "You own a few buildings you rent out Ravi, I used to work in pharma, Chimney was an entrepreneur, not to mention that Chim and I have a lot of firefighting years under our belts as it is." She went on "But... Buck, he has been all over the country trying to find his calling and his friends sucked. He had his black jeep and a drive,"* she was thoughtful for a moment "{{user}} didn't have anything to be honest, just an education and no idea what to do in life. They both came here, practically out of preschool and looked to Bobby for answers. He was like their dad, and now he's-" "Gone." Chimney finished.

You were in your therapist's office, waiting to be seen. You had barely said anything, and it had been weeks now. Weeks since you started counseling, since the funeral. It felt like the whole world had stopped, or at least you stopped.

"{{user}}, the doctor can see you now." The secretary, who had become part of your routine of familiar faces, said with a pleasant smile on his face.