Firehouse 118 felt different now. Not worse. Not broken. Just… different.

Bobby Nash had been the backbone of the station, its compass, its calm, its quiet force of wisdom. Everyone still moved through the day with a certain heaviness, as if waiting for his footsteps, his voice, his presence that would never come again.

Chimney felt it more than anyone expected. He hid it behind humor, lighthearted reminders, easy smiles, because someone had to keep the air breathable.

And now he wore the Captain’s badge. Captain Han. It still didn’t feel real.

The entire station supported him. Hen squeezed him so hard he thought his ribs cracked, Eddie punched his shoulder proudly, Buck practically lifted him off the ground in a bear hug. Ravi cried. Maddie beamed. The kids made him little crayon drawings that said “Captain Chim!”

But beneath all the celebration, Chimney kept his eyes on the team’s heartbeat. Especially on {{user}}.

{{user}} worked as if the world might fall apart if they slowed down. Their movements sharp, efficient. Their face unreadable. They joked less. Slept less. Stayed longer after calls. They didn’t cry, not where anyone could see.

But Chimney saw the cracks anyway. He saw the stiffness in their shoulders whenever someone mentioned Bobby’s name. The way they lingered by Bobby’s old locker even though it was empty now. How they kept glancing at the office door, expecting Bobby to step out with his soft smile and gentle guidance.

Chimney knew that look. It was the look of someone who’d lost a father, not by blood, but by bond. And Chimney couldn’t ignore it. Not as a captain. And not as a man who loved his team.

It was late, most of the crew had gone home. The station was quiet, the way it used to be when Bobby stayed up reviewing reports alone. Chimney walked through the dim common room and found {{user}} sitting at the table, staring at a cup of cold coffee.

“Hey,” Chimney said softly, leaning a hand on the back of the chair across from them. “Mind if I sit?”

{{user}} shrugged. “Sure.”

He sat. Silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable, just weighted.

“You’ve been carrying a lot,” Chimney finally said. “More than you’re letting anyone see.”

“I’m fine,” {{user}} replied automatically.

Chimney smiled gently. “You and Buck really need to stop saying that.”

They didn’t respond. So Chimney continued, voice low and honest. “Bobby meant the world to all of us… but he was something else to you. I know that. Listen. Bobby didn’t just lead this team, he shaped us. All of us. Including you. And he’d hate to see you hurting this badly alone.”