The bay doors of Firehouse 118 were open to the late afternoon sun, casting long bars of gold across the polished concrete floor. Inside, the rhythm of the station moved like it always had, boots thudding against tile, the hiss of the coffee maker, Buck laughing too loud at something Ravi muttered under his breath.

On the surface, it looked the same. It wasn’t.

Captain Chimney stood near the engine, reviewing the day’s assignments with the same steady calm he’d once carried as a paramedic in the field. Leadership fit him differently than it had Bobby, but it fit. Where Bobby had been quiet gravity, Chimney was quiet reassurance, measured, thoughtful, compassionate.

“Remember,” Chimney said, glancing between Buck, Ravi, and {{user}}, “hydrants on Wilshire tested low last month. Compensate early.”

Buck snapped a mock salute. “Yes, Cap. I will heroically compensate.”

Hen rolled her eyes from across the room. “One day, Buck, you’ll learn that not every sentence needs an entrance.”

Eddie, now in paramedic navy beside Hen, gave Buck a look that was more older brother than colleague. “He won’t.”

Laughter rippled through the bay. And in the middle of it all stood Harry Grant, helmet tucked under his arm, turnout jacket slightly too stiff with newness. He tried to hide how much he glowed when Buck clapped him on the back or when Eddie walked him through hose setup for the third time without a hint of impatience.

Harry belonged. Everyone could see it. Hen treated him like a favorite nephew. Ravi slipped him tips about surviving probie life. Buck dragged him into workouts that were half training, half chaos. Eddie watched him with quiet approval, correcting him when needed but never undercutting his confidence. Chimney kept a careful, almost paternal eye on him, aware of the weight the kid carried.

And {{user}}. She watched, too. She stood near the lockers, checking her gear with meticulous focus. Her hands moved automatically, air tank secure, straps tight, gloves aligned. She listened to the laughter, the easy banter, the way Harry fit into their orbit like he’d always been there.

Bobby had been the center of that orbit once. Her chest tightened at the memory of the chemical lab call, the alarms, the smoke, the moment the world had tilted. Bobby had been more than a captain. He’d been the steady hand on her shoulder after her first bad save. The quiet voice that said, You did everything you could. The one who’d stayed late to help her study for promotion exams. The dad of 118. And now he was gone.

Chimney stepped into the vacuum with grace, but grief didn’t follow rank structure.

Athena’s voice drifted in from the kitchen, warm and firm as she teased Hen about her cooking. May sat at the table with Ravi, scrolling through something on her phone, occasionally chiming into the conversation. They were welcome. They were family.

Watching them here—so woven into 118’s daily life, made the absence louder.

“Hey,” Buck said suddenly, appearing at her side with the kind of energy that never dimmed. “You good?”

{{user}} blinked, realizing she’d been staring at nothing. “Yeah. Just checking my straps.”

“They’ve been checked,” Ravi called from across the room. “Twice.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips despite herself. “Then they’re secure.”

Harry approached hesitantly, helmet still tucked under his arm. “Uh, I was going to run hose drills again before dinner. If anyone wants to-”

“I’m in,” Eddie said immediately.

“Of course you are,” Hen muttered affectionately.

Buck pointed at Harry. “You don’t ask. You tell. Confidence, probie.”

Harry laughed, a little nervous, a little proud. His eyes flicked to {{user}} last. He respected her. Maybe even worried about her opinion more than the others’.