When Evan Buckleyβeveryone calls me Buckβraces into a burning building for the first time, Bobby watches the shadows retreat from his face and settle into burning determination and excitement, damn the flames in front of him; this kid blazes hotter, brighter.
Itβs like introducing oxygen to house fire. The starving flames shoot up and start to crawl towards the source of their fuel, up and out. Each patient Buck carries out and sets at the foot of the ambulance is like an open window on the ground floor.
Itβs good, the passion, the drive, itβs good. Thatβs what Bobby says to himself as the kid grows. Gets his shield. Settles in.
The shadows flicker back and forth every so often.
Now, Bobbyβs a legacy firefighter, but you donβt have to be to know that the fuel eventually runs out and eventually youβre standing in a smoking pile of rubble, or not standing at all. He canβt put his finger on it thoughβthe way Buck seeks out the heat, but not the praise; the fire, but not the glory. Thereβs just something about how he carries himself.
βYouβd think a kid that cocky would stick around for the cameras,β Hen comments as she packs up the ambulance at the end of a long shift. Buck, sooty and gleefully exhausted, lets Chimney herd him towards the showers like a misbehaving sheep while the rest of A-Shift shucks their gear and collapses into bunks. He came back in the engine with the rest of them, dodging reporters in favor of dogging Bobbyβs heels.
βHm,β is all Bobby says.
Itβs late, one night, when Buck finds him sitting at the loft table doing the meal planning for the next month. He wanders upstairs with bleary eyes and nabs an apple from the bowl on the island before plopping down on an armchair, sprawling coltish legs over one arm and crunching sloppily on his prize.
Bobby marks down Granny Smiths on the grocery list and returns to plotting out the weekly protein dishes. Spaghetti and meatballs, by request, falls in the middle of the week; he can put chicken on either end, fish on a Friday maybeβ¦heβs cross checking what they already have in the freezer when Buck comes up behind him and peers over his shoulder.
βWhatcha doing?β He takes another slurping bite of his apple and leans over to squint at the calendar array on the table.
βIβm writing a menu for next month. Got any requests?β He toes out one of the chairs and Buck takes the invitation, sliding into the seat and grabbing at one of the notepads Bobby uses to write down recipe ideas.
See, Bobbyβs got a theory. Most guys, the fire station is their βhome away from home.β Sure they love the job, you have to in order to do itβif youβre good at itβbut this isnβt the place they come to land, itβs not where they start or end.
Buckβs a bit different. Maybe Bobby wouldnβt go as far as to say the fire station is his home butβwell, maybe that is a fair assessment. Wherever he does come from itβs not worth saying. Maybe itβs too cold. Maybe thatβs why he runs towards fire. Heβs no firebug, god forbid, heβs a heat seeker.
Thankfully, thereβs more than one way to run into a fire.
Bobby flips to a blank page on his note pad and starts writing. Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes, blueberries or chocolate chip. After that they can move on to lunch foodsβHen loves paninis, and Chimney will never turn down a club. Heβll have to ask Buck if there are any soups he likes, but for now theyβll start with a tomato bisque.
After all, the hearth is the heart of the home.
The next day, Buck joins him at the blue-burning gas stove and learns to make eggs with shallots. He burns the whole pan.
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