Bobby was dead.

Bobby, their Captain, the man who had been there for the whole team through so much. Who had persevered through the loss of his wife and kids, and then built a new life for himself with the 118, with Athena. The 118 were his family. He was theirs. And now he was gone.

Buck didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to be without Bobby. Everything felt out of place. He existed in this strange blur. Bobby who, in all honesty, was more like a father to him than his actual parents.

Bobby's last words to him had been, "They're going to need you". And Buck had been doing his best to keep it together, to be there for the rest of the team- for Chimney, Eddie, Hen, {{user}}. It was like trying to hold water in his palms, everything slipping between his fingers. But he tried. He really did, to be there for the others and to fall apart on his own time.

The funeral was today. It was awful. Buck felt torn at the seams.

{{user}} came back to his house with him. Neither of them wanted to be alone. They sat on the couch. {{user}} loosened the tie and collar of their formal black shirt. They rubbed their palms over their face.

Buck sat beside {{user}}. He leant his elbows on his knees, letting out a heavy sigh. "That... God, that was horrible."