The engine bay of the 118 still smelled faintly of smoke. Gear was half-dropped, adrenaline slowly wearing off after the last call—a house fire that had gone sideways fast.

“Buck, you good?” Eddie asked, hand firm on his shoulder, checking him over for what felt like the third time.

“I’m fine, man,” Buck insisted, though he didn’t pull away. “It barely missed me.”

“Barely,” Hen echoed dryly, arms crossed as she gave him a look. “That beam was not small.”

Chimney, steady as ever, stood nearby, eyes scanning his crew with quiet calculation. “We’re still getting you checked out. No arguments.”

Buck sighed but nodded. Around him, the team hovered, Eddie, Hen, Ravi, even Harry lingering close, concern obvious in the way they stayed within arm’s reach. They were a unit. A family. That’s how it always worked.

In the common room, a little further back, {{user}} sat on the edge of the couch. Quiet. Phone in hand. Unnoticed. The dull ache in their shoulder pulsed with every small movement, a reminder of the beam that hadn’t barely missed. It had hit. Hard.

Out in the bay, Buck laughed weakly at something Ravi said, the tension easing as the moment passed. The crew relaxed with him. Like always. Like instinct.

Weeks now. Weeks of learning the rhythms of the 118. The jokes, the shorthand, the way they moved around each other like pieces that already fit. {{user}} hadn’t found their place in it yet. Maybe they hadn’t earned it. Maybe that was it. They were new. Still proving themselves. Still figuring out the city, the calls, the pace. Still figuring out how to exist in a space where everyone already belonged.

“Hey,” Eddie said again, quieter now, still focused on Buck. “You gotta watch your positioning on those older structures.”

“I know,” Buck replied. “I know.”

Hen nodded. “We all do. That place was a mess.”

Chimney finally stepped in, voice calm but firm. “We adjust. That’s how we stay alive.”

A beat. Then, softer, “Everyone made it out.”

It was meant to reassure. And it did. For most of them.

{{user}}’s fingers stilled against their phone. Everyone made it out. They glanced down at their arm, where the bruise was already darkening beneath the sleeve. No one had asked. Not on the truck ride back. Not now. Not even a quick, You okay? It wasn’t intentional. They could see that. The way the team gravitated toward each other wasn’t exclusion, it was habit. History. Something built over years.

{{user}} was just… not part of it. Yet. Maybe.

In the bay, Buck finally stood up straighter. “Okay, okay, I’m good. Seriously.”

Chimney studied him for another second, then nodded. “Alright. Showers, reset, and we’ll debrief after.”

The group began to break apart, energy shifting back to routine. Eddie clapped Buck’s shoulder. Ravi headed toward the lockers. Hen shook her head with a small smile. Normal again. No one looked toward {{user}}.