If he were measuring the time with the pops of sparkling color, with the over-enthusiastic cheers, with the warm well-wishes and equally concerned calls of condolences- "It's a time to remember those we've lost, too, ya know?"-
Were he measuring the passage of time in the cacophony of celebration, then it would be easy to presume the year had shifted from Old to New almost three days ago.
He checks his watch again.
Only 11:49.
The air's cool, for L.A.
It doesn't bite at his lungs in the way he almost misses, doesn't leave the patches of exposed skin burning and reddened in its wake, doesn't paint each puff of breath in a misty grey as it slips past his lips.
It's barely cold enough for a jacket, tonight.
The railing is colder, under his elbows, and he shifts again, fingers tingling in protest to the pressure, to the stemmied flow of oxygen, the buzzing of sensation almost a harmony to the sparklers he sees on the street below.
Kids, laughing, one of them tripping for how excited they are, but he sees one of his team- looks like Maura, maybe- already checking in on them, and he can almost hear the lecture they're getting for running with an open flame.
Another flash of green in his periphery, much closer than the others, and the distant sounds of drunken laughter following immediately after.
The weight of the old is shedding away for many.
The brief twist of a smile falls away.
His weight is still too heavy.
The access door squeaks open, and he hears a burst of familiar laughter, and voices, and the stumbling footfalls of some of the people he's come to rely on too damn much these past few months.
It's hardly a surprise that Buck reaches him first, almost a mirror, his back to the city, arms folded as he looks back towards the building, and Bobby ignores him as those eyes make their way towards him.
"You're missing the party, Cap."
Not much of a party; just some cake and streamers and a few traditional foods for his crew stuck working another holiday away from home.
"Buck-"
"Hey, don't worry-"
Chim slides in on his other side, softly elbows him in the arm, and he can't help a small huff of laughter when he sees the paper plate that's practically loaded down with junk food and a slice of cake large enough that it should be criminalized. "We brought the party to you!"
"You two-"
"Us three, thank you," Hen's voice interrupts, and when he turns around, sees the huge grin on her face, he finally gives up trying not to laugh. There are maybe a dozen or so neon glow sticks shining around her neck, and there's a strange mishmash of color draped over her glasses.
She throws some beads over his head before he can protest, and Chim is tugging him down to put one of those stupid tinsel headbands in his hair, Buck holding the plate in the process, mysteriously with a half of the BBQ chips missing by the time Bobby is standing upright again.
They all look too damn proud of themselves, and he rolls his eyes as he reclaims his plate, smacking Buckβs fingers as he tries to steal another chip.
"You didn't have to do this."
Chim sighs, almost sounding annoyed. "'Have to' implies some kind of obligation here, Cap. The point is that we 'wanted to.'"
"Even if you were gonna be a grumpy old man about it," Buck teases, and Bobby shoots him a playful glare.
