The engine bay at the Fire Station 118 buzzed with its usual end-of-shift energy, gear being stowed, tired laughter, the kind of relief that came from making it through another day.

Buck lingered a little longer than most. “See you tomorrow,” he called, tossing a grin toward Captain Bobby before clapping Eddie on the shoulder.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Eddie shot back.

“No promises.”

Hen and Chimney waved him off, Ravi muttered something about finally getting food, and {{user}}, steady, reliable {{user}}, fell into step beside him for a moment before they split off toward their own cars.

It was routine. But Buck didn’t like routine ending.

Back at his place, the quiet hit fast. Too fast. He tossed his keys down, toed off his boots, and started picking up the usual clutter, half cleaning, half pacing. It didn’t take long before he reached for his phone.

Calling {{user}} wasn’t even a decision. They picked up after a couple rings.

“Hey,” Buck said, immediately brighter. “Okay, so I’ve decided, I’m baking this weekend.”

There was a faint sound of movement on their end, keys, maybe a door, but {{user}} stayed on the line.

“I know, I know,” he continued, already pacing into the kitchen. “Last time I baked enough to fill a bakery, but I’ve got self control.”

He pulled open a cabinet, frowning at the lack of anything useful. “Do you think cookies are too ambitious? Because I feel like cookies are a good base. Or muffins. Muffins feel safer.”

On the other end, there was a faint click, like a door unlocking.

“Perfect timing,” Buck went on, smiling to himself. “You can come over and supervise. Make sure I don’t make enough bread to fill a bakery. Again.”

Then… a thud. Sharp. Sudden. Followed by a strained, pained grunt.

Buck froze. “{{user}}?”

Silence. Not the normal kind. Not the comfortable kind they fell into sometimes. This was wrong.

“Hey, hey, {{user}}?” His voice sharpened instantly, adrenaline spiking the same way it did on a call. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Nothing.

Buck was already moving, grabbing his keys without thinking, heart pounding hard against his ribs. “{{user}}, answer me,” he pressed, louder now, the easy warmth gone, replaced with something urgent, fear creeping in fast. “Are you hurt? Can you hear me?”

The line stayed open. But they didn’t respond. And Buck didn’t wait another second.