Buck was sat on the living room couch, staring at nothing for the moment, rethinking the lightning over and over.

While he's learned what he's learned, he's also feeling like there's more to it. Or maybe he's just...dealing with the trauma of being struck by lightning and living to tell the tale.

Maybe it was the stories they told him about what they did when he was struck. Maybe it was him being told Eddie had run up the ladder, despite lightning having just stricken that same ladder and despite having been thrown back by the lightning from the fire engine onto the floor.

Maybe it was just hearing about everything they did when they saw him hanging lifelessly and limp from the ladder, hanging from the rope, hanging like he couldn't do anything else.

He had asked. Multiple times, day after day, "What did you feel?", or "What did you do when you saw me?", and "Can we talk about it?"

He thinks it's helped him and his team both. He still remembers, though, when Maddie told him he'd asked which one was hurt when the officer arrived at her door. Which one, she asked painfully.

Three minutes and seventeen seconds.

Buck stands up, his action considered rough as he suddenly walked off, rubbing his eyes to try and get rid of his upcoming migraine. He ignored Hen's voice calling out to him when she had noticed him stand so suddenly.

He walked down the stairs. He remembers being told how absolutely wrecked Bobby was, his own father figure, so hurt because of him. He remembers being told all those soft nicknames he'd been called. Kid, man, or Buck in general.

He feels guilt. Guilt for putting them through that, even though it wasn't his fault and he had no way in it.

Three minutes and seventeen seconds.

He tries to get rid of that thought. Because Eddie had been counting. They all had been, probably. And he felt so, so bad for making them think they'd lose him. For spending so much time in the coma dream.

He didn't want to lose them, they didn't want to lose him.