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Three days after Bobby died, Buck brings Athena a casserole dish full of Bobby’s mac and cheese. It felt good to make it, to remember Bobby’s voice in his ear telling him to add mustard powder and garlic powder while he makes the roux, to test a piece of pasta to make sure it’s the right amount of underdone because it’ll cook more in the oven, and you don’t want it to be mush by the time it gets to your plate, Buck. We can do better than that.
Athena’s eyes are blank and cast low as she lets Buck into the house. It’s more than half-finished now, but the walls still need painting and the furniture is still covered in cloth. A project left unfinished, a life interrupted. Bobby never would have left it like this on purpose.
The kitchen is perfect, though. Light marble and wide, smooth surfaces. Bobby would have loved cooking here. Athena uncovers the mac and cheese, sets it down on the island, and it looks like he just finished baking it here.
Athena’s lower lip wobbles as she looks down at the dish. Buck wonders if she’s thinking the same thing.
“Hey,” Buck says softly. “I- I know we’re not as close as I was with- with Bobby, but I’m here for whatever you need. You know that, right?”
“I’m fine, Buck.” Athena’s voice is forceful but empty. It cracks on the word fine.
“It’s okay if you’re not. I’m not.”
Athena huffs a laugh, wet and raw. She laughs again, Buck thinks, and again, until it turns into sobs that wrack her whole body. She hunches in on herself, in her perfect kitchen in her half-finished house, over her husband’s mac and cheese recipe.
Buck steps towards her cautiously. When she doesn’t turn away from him, he pulls her into his arms. She stays rigid for a moment before melting into him, sobbing against his chest.
“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” Athena cries. "I keep- I keep thinking he's going to walk back through the door.”
Her voice goes deeper when she’s upset—not like Buck’s, which squeaks higher. He’s always been self conscious about that. Even as she rips apart at the seams, Athena is admirable.
“Me too,” Buck says. “I can’t- there are no words for it.”
Athena falls into deep, bone-shaking convulsions. Buck feels every single one of them echoed in his own body. Her arms clench tight around Buck’s body, like she’s afraid he’s going to disappear. He hadn’t realized just how afraid he’s been of the same thing.
He comes over more often after that. More formally, though: dinner and wine. He quickly realizes he’s the only person from the 118 she’s spending time with. When Hen complains about Athena refusing to come to dinner, Buck bites his tongue. When Chimney says Athena shut the door in his face before he could even say a word, Buck says nothing. When the first Bachelor Monday rolls around and Buck realizes he’s seeing Athena more than her kids are, he feels a pang of guilt, but he still stays quiet. A sick, greedy sort of honor settles low in his stomach about being chosen. He’s not going to do anything that could fuck it up.
He needs to see her. She reminds him of Bobby. She was so much of Bobby’s life, his joy. This is who Bobby came home to after every shift. This is the life that Bobby built for himself out of nothing, out of ashes. Buck doesn’t deserve to slot into it, but cooking in Athena’s kitchen—seeing the look that comes into her eyes when he wears Bobby’s apron—is slowly starting to heal something inside of him. He can’t be Bobby, but he can slip his feet into Bobby’s too-big shoes and walk around a little if it will make Athena smile.
He’s wiping off the island counter after dinner one night, chatting idly. Athena leans her hip against the counter, wine glass in hand. She laughs at something Buck says, and warmth spreads through his whole body at the sound. Athena is a hard woman to impress. Every laugh surges through him like a hard-won victory.
It feels almost inevitable that they would drift closer, that Athena would lean into Buck’s space and slap a hand against his chest in joking admonition. It feels almost inevitable that Buck’s gaze would fall to Athena’s lips, and that she would be the one to lift up on her toes and press their lips together. They’ve been playing husband and wife for weeks now. Husbands and wives kiss in their kitchen after dinner, after opening a second bottle of wine. Athena’s hand on the back of his neck feels like a natural conclusion.
Buck can honestly say it’s not something he has ever thought about before. Not much, anyway. Not in any real way. He has always been aware that Athena is attractive, but kissing her isn’t a well-worn fantasy or the culmination of a years-long backlog of lust. This desire is as new as it is all-consuming. He loses himself in the press of Athena‘s lips against his, the push of her body against his; warm and soft and strong. Demanding.
Buck rests his hand on the curve of Athena’s jaw, his other digs into the small of her back. He has no power here. He doesn’t want any. She traps him between the granite countertop and the relentless heat of her body, and all he can do is moan into her mouth. It’s all he wants to do, and he knows she can tell. She smirks into the kiss and drags her hand from his chest down to his stomach, grabbing his belt buckle and pulling his hips forward into hers.
Buck groans and almost loses his footing as his hips go where she guides him. Fuck, Bobby was a lucky man.
It’s Athena who moves them to the bedroom, pushing Buck backwards through the house until he falls onto her bed. His blood thrums hot under his skin. This is what he likes. This is what he needs.
She strips her clothes off and lets him watch, maintains eye contact as each new mile of skin is exposed. Buck is mesmerized. He doesn’t even think about taking his own clothes off until Athena nods at him, judgmental eyebrow raised. He fumbles with the fabric until he’s naked too, and scrambles back into the center of the bed.
The way that Athena crawls on top of Buck reminds him of a panther: smooth and feline and predatory. He lets himself be devoured by her lips again, loses himself in it for a moment. He gets a hand between them and rubs his thumb against her clit a few times before slipping a finger inside. A pleased hum rumbles through Athena’s chest. She pulses around him and sinks down, forcing his finger further inside.
“Lube?” Buck asks. He has fucked more than a few older women—not just Abby—and he knows the drill by now.
Athena looks down with just enough condescension to make Buck throb. “Now, I know you can do better than that.”
She presses her thumb down on Buck’s lower lip, encouraging his jaw to fall open. His mouth waters and he can’t help his moan.
“Yeah. Yeah, I can- yeah.”
He slips his finger out and grabs her hips, carefully picking her up and putting her on her back next to him. He kisses down her body—smooth, warm skin that smells sweet and earthy, real. He spreads her legs and kisses up her thighs, looking up at her for approval. There’s an indulgent, almost amused look on her face. It reminds Buck of the way Bobby would look at him sometimes, when Buck would try every spice in the cabinet trying to figure out what ingredient he was missing in Bobby’s chili. Go on, kid, I believe in you. You’ll figure it out.
Buck catches a whine before it leaves the back of his throat and presses his lips to her clit. He sucks gently before running his tongue up the parting of her labia. Athena’s head falls back on a groan that goes right to Buck’s dick. He’s doing a good job. He’s making her feel good. He’s taking care of her.
Athena is waxed and smooth. Buck wouldn’t be able to articulate why he’s surprised by it. He shouldn’t be. Every single thing about Athena’s body says that she takes care of herself, that she likes things a certain way and takes the necessary steps to maintain that way of being: her well-moisturized skin, her hard muscles, her perfect makeup. Buck has never minded some hair—actually loves a well-groomed bush on men—but he revels in the smooth skin sliding against his nose. He can open his mouth wide and sure without worrying about getting a mouthful of hair. There are no distractions here. It’s just Buck and the wet, rubbery feeling of Athena’s clit, her labia, the sweet taste of her pussy. It’s just Buck and her pleasure. Nothing else matters. Nothing else is real.
He focuses on getting her wet: long licks and trails of spit, fucking his tongue in and out of her. He can’t hold back his moans. Buck has always loved eating pussy, and older women always taste even better. He rubs his nose against Athena’s clit and buries himself as far in as he can go. She pushes her hips into his mouth, not letting him get very far when he tries to breathe. That’s okay. That’s more than okay. He needs this more than he needs air. Fuck, he needs her. He needs the sounds she’s making, the shake in her thighs, the pulsing of her clit under his tongue. He reaches up to cup one of her breasts in his hand, thumb stroking over her nipple, and he needs that too.
He gets her wet enough to slip two fingers inside. Her pussy is warm around his fingers, soft and silky. She moans when he finds her g-spot and stays there, curling and uncurling his fingers in concert with his tongue, his lips. He knows she’s close and he wonders how many times he can make her come tonight. He’ll go as long as she wants, as many times as she needs. He’ll stay buried here until she kicks him back out onto the street.
Athena’s thighs clamp around his head as she comes, moaning and pulsing and quivering. She sounds incredible and feels even better. She keeps him trapped there as she comes down, pushing up into his face to chase the last traces of pleasure. He humps the bed pathetically, so turned on he could come just like this and still thank her for it.
When Athena finally lets her thighs fall apart again, she sinks a hand into Buck’s unkempt curls and drags his head away from her. He hopes he doesn’t look as frenzied as he feels, as desperate to dive back in—more more more let me do more let me do it again let me help—but the look on her face tells him that he does.
“You clean, Buck?” she asks, still catching her breath.
He bristles. “What? Of course.”
“Good. I want you to fuck me now, and I can’t tell you the last time I had condoms in the house.”
It’s been a long time since Buck fucked a woman without using protection. Not since Taylor, probably. He wants it so badly he can’t even close his mouth.
“Are you sure?”
Athena looks unimpressed. “Well, it’s not like you’re gonna get me pregnant.”
Fuck, why is that so hot?
Buck nods quickly. Athena releases his hair and rolls over, riffles through a bedside drawer until she finds the lube, and uses it to gesture for Buck to lay next to her. He scrambles to comply and steadies her hips as she climbs back into his lap.
“Did I not, uh- did I not do a good enough job?”
Athena smiles teasingly at him. “You did a very good job. But when it comes to this, there’s no substitute for the real thing.”
She takes his dick in her hand and spreads a generous amount of lube over it. Between the praise, the smooth friction, and the way her hand strokes sure and thorough over his dick, Buck is flying high. He blows a breath out through his mouth and shifts up into her hand.
Apparently deciding that he’s slicked up enough, Athena steadies him at the base and sinks down onto Buck’s dick. He hears himself whine but he can’t stop the sound. Athena feels fucking incredible; hot and tight around him. She slides up on her knees and back down, head thrown back, hands steadied on Buck’s chest.
Her eyes are closed but that’s okay. It gives Buck a chance to take her in without worrying that she’ll think he’s looking for too long. As Buck’s hands travel from Athena’s hips, up her sides, and cup her breasts, he thinks about how many times Bobby did this, how often he must have been treated to this sight. Athena is glorious like this, her bare skin shining even in the low light. Buck squeezes her breasts gently; testing, learning.
“Yes,” she breathes, low and commanding.
Buck only needs to follow her lead. Her hips show him what to do, and he quickly learns how to listen. He thumbs over her nipples and rolls his hips up into her, matching her rhythm. His mind goes blissfully blank.
Athena hums when he gets it right. “Oh, that’s good.”
The way that Athena moves on top of him speaks to experience. She knows exactly what she wants and she knows how to move her body to get it. She knows how to take her pleasure and look good doing it. Buck never wants this to end.
He wants to hold out for her, to give her what she wants for as long as she wants, but he can tell he’s not going to last much longer. With one final roll of his thumb over her nipple, Buck moves a hand down to Athena’s pussy again. It’s wet with a combination of spit (his spit), lube, and her own slick. He rubs her clit gently at first, gauging where she is, what she wants. She presses a hand over his, so he rubs harder, in tight circles until her moans crack into a higher pitch.
His hips jump up into hers, hard and off rhythm, so close that he can taste it. Her eyes finally open to look down at him sternly.
“None of that, now, Buckaroo.”
With great effort, Buck slows back down. He finds her rhythm again.
“S-sorry, sorry. Close.”
Athena hums and closes her eyes again. “Do you stay hard after you come?”
“Y-yeah. For a little bit, anyway.”
“Good. Come if you need to, just keep doing what you’re doing. Won’t be long now. I'll be right behind you.”
She’s so composed that Buck could cry.
“In-inside?”
Her eyebrow flicks up. “Unless you’d prefer-”
“No!” Buck says quickly. “No, just- thank you.”
Athena hums in acknowledgement. She grinds back down on him and he varies his movement against her clit, eliciting a moan from her. He takes a moment to reach down and feel where his dick is inside of her—raw and wet and twitching and ready—and that’s when it hits him.
Bobby was the last one here. Bobby was the last one to fuck Athena, to eat her out, to come inside of her. Buck’s whole face heats up with the force of his arousal, his shame. He feels as guilty to take that away from her as he feels sickly greedy to take Bobby’s place.
He really does try to hold out, but once he thinks about Bobby, he can’t stop himself from coming. He whines and rabbits up just for a few thrusts as he spills inside of her, before forcing himself back into Athena’s rhythm. He’s panting, tears in his eyes from the pleasure and oversensitivity and grief, and then he feels Athena flutter around him as she follows him over the edge. She groans low in her throat, a dignified ooo that makes Buck’s whine even more embarrassing in retrospect. If Buck was still twenty-two, he’d be getting hard again now. The way she looks, the way she feels, the way she sounds—it’s all too much. Bobby was so lucky. Buck is so lucky.
She lets him stay just long enough that he knows she doesn’t instantly regret having sex with him, but not long enough to let himself start thinking that this could mean more than it does. Athena is calculating like that. She lets him lick her clean and comes on his tongue a second time, then sends him on his way with a deep kiss by the door and plans to have dinner again in a few days.
Buck drives back to his house, and for the first time since Bobby died, he thinks that things might actually be okay.
— — —
It doesn't happen the next time they see each other, but it does happen again. It happens again and again, and soon it starts happening every time he goes to her house. They still have dinner, but sometimes they fuck while their food simmers; Athena held tight in Buck’s arms, legs wrapped around his hips as he fucks her fast and hot against the smooth marble countertop. Sometimes he’s allowed to take off Bobby’s apron, but usually it’s left to hang between their bodies, like it could cover what they’re doing. Buck doesn’t mind. It’s the only time Athena keeps her eyes open.
They don’t talk about it. They should, probably. Definitely. If Bobby were here—and if he could get over the shock of Buck fucking his wife—he’d tell Buck that they need to talk about what they’re doing and why, and all of the things that they’re avoiding by falling into bed with each other.
But they don’t talk about it. And Buck doesn’t talk about it with anyone else either.
They ask about her, they wonder about her, they lament her avoiding them, and still Buck stays silent. If he couldn’t tell them he was seeing her before, he certainly can’t now.
“I'm taking care of her,” he wants to tell everyone.
“I'm taking care of her,” he wants to tell Bobby. “Just like you asked me to.”
At the funeral, Buck wants to hold her. He can’t, of course, just like he can’t come with them to Minnesota. Immediate family only: not the quasi-adopted work son, and certainly not the man who started fucking his wife before he was even in the ground.
The Grants travel as a unit to lay Bobby to rest next to his first family, next to his real kids. Buck knows it’s the right place for him to be buried, and that knowledge is just barely enough to curb the urge to run across the country and tear through six feet of dirt with his bare hands to get Bobby back. Buck just wants to see Bobby one last time. He just wants to know if he’s doing the right things, if he’s doing enough. No one has ever been able to set him on the right course quite like Bobby. This far away from him, Buck feels adrift.
At the next Bachelor Monday, May says it helped to feel like Bobby was still with them, having just the three of them there. Harry says it helped to feel like their mom was still with them. Buck nods and serves them more cookies, feeling like a dog that's about to be shot. He says he's glad they were able to have that moment together, just the three of them. He almost means it too.
— — —
The trials and tribulations of Evan Buckley rings in Buck’s ears as he drives. He shouldn't be driving. It’s all he can hear. The disdain on Eddie’s face is all he can see. A tragedy in ninety-seven acts. If only Eddie fucking knew.
It's probably better that he doesn't. He probably would've followed through on that punch if he knew what Buck has been doing.
Buck shows up at Athena’s door soaking wet. Or maybe he's completely dry, and this waterlogged feeling is coming from inside of him. He doesn't know. He doesn't even know where he parked. All he knows is that when she answers the door, he falls to his knees.
“Please,” he begs, reaching out for her thighs. He buries his head in the slight give of her lower stomach. “Please.”
Athena rests a hand in his hair. She runs a thumb over his forehead.
“Come in before the neighbors see you.”
Her voice is kind enough that Buck can’t even get to his feet. She steps back into the entryway and Buck crawls inside behind her.
That's the only time she lets him stay overnight. After they have sex, he lays his head in her lap and she pets through his hair absently. Her perfect nails scrape comfortingly over his scalp. Another first.
She’d gotten him out of his head while they fucked. Now she sits in the silence with him. He knows who they’re both thinking about.
In many ways, Buck has never felt closer to Bobby. He knows how Athena likes to be fucked, so he knows how Bobby must have fucked her. He has gotten a startlingly clear idea of what Bobby must have liked in the bedroom, based on how much experience and comfort Athena has in ordering him around. It’s something that Buck has come to think of often. When he’s not with Athena, he jerks off while fantasizing about Bobby inviting him into their bed while he was still alive, Bobby talking him through how to pleasure Athena in that calm, steady captain’s voice. He always comes when he gets to the part where Bobby’s hand guides Buck’s dick inside of his wife for the first time, so he doesn’t know what happens next.
Buck isn’t sure if it’s grief fucking with him or if Bobby’s constant presence when he and Athena have sex has created a Pavlovian response, or even if it’s some sort of a delayed aha moment that Buck should’ve had when he realized he was bisexual, but it’s not like it makes much of a difference now. When Buck is hard, he’s thinking about Bobby. When he’s fucking Athena, he is Bobby. How much closer could he get?
But in so many more ways, Bobby has never felt further away. Buck isn’t living up to the man that Bobby always helped him see he could become. He’s forgetting ingredients, burning casseroles, and he’s somehow always saying the wrong thing to everyone. Or he’s not saying the right thing, like Eddie was so quick to tell him tonight, and somehow that feels worse. Bobby always knew the right thing to say. Bobby would know how to keep them all from falling apart right now. He managed it for years.
“I'm not doing enough,” Buck says, breaking the silence. His cheek is squished into Athena’s thigh.
Athena strokes her thumb over Buck’s cheekbone, down his jawline. The gentle touch makes his heart ache.
“We’re all doing as much as we can,” she says, voice low and smooth. It sounds like she’s saying it to herself as much as she is to him.
Buck huffs and presses a kiss to her thigh. He hopes she finds it reassuring. He hopes he’s capable of that, at least with her.
Athena’s hand sinks back into his hair, soothing, and the silence settles around them once again.
They don't cuddle while they fall asleep. The most that Athena will allow is a hand on her hip, so that's what Buck gives her. When he wakes up, she's turned fully into his chest, face buried in it and arms clinging to his body like a vice. He clings back as gently as he can, careful not to wake her. He spends long minutes just breathing her in, aching at the unfettered skin contact. He forgot how much he missed this, how much nourishment he gets from this kind of intimacy.
Athena comes around slowly. She nuzzles closer into the chest hair she’d told him to grow out and inhales. Pressed so close together, Buck feels her tense as she realizes, remembers, and then makes the decision to slip back into ignorance. She shoves at his shoulders until he's flat enough on his back that she can climb on top of him and ride him. She kisses Buck before he can say anything that would shatter the illusion. Silently, she begs him to let her have this, to give this to her.
He does. Of course he does. He always does. This is what he needs too. He palms her ass and sets his mouth to her breast and he tries to keep his high-pitched noises to a minimum. It's probably the saddest sex they ever have: clingy and desperate and terribly, terribly sober.
After, Buck uses Bobby’s body wash in the shower. He'd be lying if he said it didn't make him tear up. He’d be lying if he said it didn't get him a little hard. He wonders if Athena ever does this, ever rubs her husband’s scent onto herself just to feel his comforting hands on her skin.
Buck makes them breakfast and then eats Athena out on top of the island counter. She's too sensitive for him to fuck her again, so he doesn't. He goes home half hard, smelling like Bobby and his wife's cunt, sickly grateful to find the house empty again. Buck fucks his fist while inhaling deeply, licking his lips. He comes on Eddie’s bedroom floor and then he falls down next to the mess sobbing. He doesn't get up for hours.
— — —
It takes a while, but eventually Athena forgives Chimney for surviving—forgives him for Bobby’s choice to die instead of giving Chimney the option to take his place. Slowly, their extended family unit knits itself back together.
Chimney steps up as interim captain. Maddie gives birth to Buck’s nephew. Everyone gathers in her hospital room like nothing ever happened, like there was never a stutter in their support of each other. It’s a beautiful moment that brings tears to Buck’s eyes. Athena smiles when they tell her the baby’s name, and it even seems like it’s real.
But things are still far from how they used to be. Buck leaves the hospital with Athena and no one notices. They’re not even subtle about it, and no one notices. Everyone else is still too wrapped up in their own grief and in the joy of a new baby—Bobby Nash reborn—to see Athena give Buck a heavy look from across the crowded room and nod towards the exit. He has the sudden sensation of being a dog on a leash.
Athena doesn’t let him take his shirt off that time, but she does keep her eyes open for most of it. He’ll take that tradeoff. He gets to cover her body with his own and watch the curl of satisfaction on her face as he comes with a deep grunt. He doesn’t pull out until she comes too. He knows what she likes by now. As he rubs tight circles over her clit, he can almost convince himself that her breathless gasps of Ba- Ba- would form themselves into his name if she ever let them reach their conclusion.
— — —
Eddie moves back for good and Buck moves out of his house to make room. There’s not really a conversation about it. For all of Buck’s talk, for how hard he tried to convince himself that he could really feel at home there, it has always been Eddie’s house. Buck has always just been a guest. He moves his stuff out and helps Eddie and Chris move their stuff back in. There are hugs all around, a hearty celebration of a hard job well done, but he isn’t invited to stay for dinner. Eddie is trying to bond with his son again, and Buck gets the feeling that he’s in the way.
He tries to surprise his sister with takeout, only to find that he’s interrupting a dinner party with the Wilsons. They at least have the decency to invite him to stay, but he gets the feeling that he’s in the way there, too. They have to drag a stool over from the kitchen island so that he can sit too high at the table, set apart on a corner the same way the baby is. He pushes down the urge to cry and tells himself to just be grateful that everyone is smiling at him again.
The more he looks around, the more alone he feels. May and Harry have inside jokes. They’re always elbowing each other and smiling, despite everything. Ravi has a rich life outside of the 118 that Buck only ever catches glimpses of: pictures on his Instagram story and constant streams of texts lighting up his phone. Buck is overwhelmed by a sense of jealousy that he can’t quite articulate, even if the taste of it is horribly familiar. He feels new to the city all over again.
Ravi sets him up with a temporary apartment bland enough to remind him of where Bobby and Athena lived while their house was being rebuilt. He crams everything he doesn’t absolutely need on a daily basis into the second bedroom and spends as little time there as possible. He’s househunting when he’s not working, and when he’s not doing either of those things he’s burying his feelings between Athena’s thighs.
It’s still all on her terms, and that hasn’t bothered him until now. When Bobby died, the 118 fractured into its constituent pieces, and they were all as alone as each other. Sure, Chimney had Maddie, and Hen had Karen, but Buck had Athena, at least in some capacity. He had this. She wanted this from him. She needed him as much as he needed her. They didn’t have Bobby, and they didn’t have the 118, but they had each other.
Now, Eddie has Chris back, the Hans and the Wilsons are getting together to laugh again, and Buck feels left behind; trapped with Athena on the other side of the glass, watching the blood drip from Bobby’s nose over and over again. Everyone else has figured out how to walk out of that lab.
Buck knows that he and Athena are in this together. He knows it’s not just him who isn’t moving forward. Athena still won’t see her kids. She still won’t go to dinner with Hen. She works crazy hours and schedules Buck like he’s a hair appointment. He’s routine maintenance, or a dose of morphine. Pain management. Blissful ignorance, for just a few hours.
He’s taking care of her, he tells himself. He’s doing what Bobby wanted him to. She’s the only one who has let Buck feel useful since Bobby died. She tells him what to do, he does it, and she tells him he’s doing a good job. For months, that’s what he needed. For months, playing make believe with Athena was the only thing getting him through the week. He can’t pinpoint exactly when it started to not be enough anymore, but he knows the moment that it turns from a salve on the wound into something painful itself.
Athena is on top of him, eyes closed and hips moving in her smooth, practiced rhythm. She looks as beautiful and feels as incredible as ever, but it’s not new enough to be overwhelming anymore: the heady rush of comfort and the forbidden thrill of doing something so taboo have long since faded.
Buck fucks up into Athena and he finds himself desperate for her to look at him. He has never been under any illusions about what this thing between them is. He knows who she’s seeing behind her eyelids, who she’s still clinging onto after all these months. But this time, instead of losing himself in the fantasy with her, he feels complicit and invisible: so small in those big shoes that he might as well not exist. He feels like a ghost.
“Look at me,” he begs. “Athena, open your eyes. Please look at me.”
She keeps her eyes closed.
“That’s not what this is, Buck. You know that.”
He does. He does know that. But he needs someone to see him right now.
“Please,” he whispers.
Her eyes open to glare at him. She leans forward and presses her hands down on his chest firmly, keeping him in place. She looks into his eyes as she rides him, even though Buck can tell it kills her to do it.
“Is this what you want?” she asks. The heat in her voice is closer to anger than arousal.
She’s looking at him, she’s seeing him, but it's too spiteful to hit the soft spot inside of him that he needs it to. Buck nods and thanks her anyway.
Under the full force of Athena’s painful gaze, Buck understands that it wasn’t fair of him to ask Athena for something she couldn’t give him. Buck needs someone to see him and like what they’re looking at. He needs someone to want him.
It takes longer for her to come than usual, but they get there eventually. Buck is helpless not to follow as he feels her warm, silky walls squeezing around his dick. It’s not the mindnumbing release that he has come to depend on from their encounters. In fact, it’s the emptiest that Buck has felt in a while.
Athena lifts herself off of him without even waiting to catch her breath. She looks away from him again as quickly as she can and disappears into the en-suite. The shower starts running almost immediately. Buck sits on the edge of the bed naked, shoulders slumped in on himself, until Athena makes her way back into the bedroom. Her skin is glistening and she smells like Bobby’s body wash.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Buck says.
Athena doesn’t look surprised. She doesn’t show any emotion at all. Her face goes so carefully blank that part of Buck wants to take it all back and keep doing this for as long as she needs. He’s failing her, failing Bobby. He’s being selfish.
“If that’s what you want,” Athena says, as cold and smooth as the marble countertop in the kitchen. She stands in front of the dresser across the room and rubs lotion onto her arms, over her chest. It’s the kind of tiny intimacy that Buck once reveled in being allowed to witness from someone like Athena. Now it just makes him sick with longing.
“It’s not,” Buck says. “But I think it’s what we both need.”
Athena huffs, disagreeing. She spreads lotion over her stomach and down her legs.
“I don’t think it’s healthy,” Buck continues, even as his voice shakes. “I don’t think he’d want us to hang onto him like this.”
“You know, it’s a little late for you to start feeling guilty about fucking your father figure’s wife.”
“It’s not guilt. Not about that part of it, anyway. Everyone else is healing and moving on, but we’re not. I mean, you’re- you’re not even seeing your kids.”
Athena’s eyes go from blank to angry. “My relationship with my kids is none of your business.”
“Yeah, maybe not. But every Monday night they tell me how much they miss you. It’s not fair to them, Athena. I know what it’s like to have your mother look right through you, to- to do everything in her power to avoid being in the same room as you, because she was grieving someone else. It really messed me up.”
“Oh, you do not have to tell me about your mommy issues, Buck. Not while you’re still naked in my bed.”
“Right,” Buck breathes, eyes falling to the floor. “You know, I don’t- in a weird way, I don’t even think Bobby would care that we’ve been fucking. I just keep thinking he’d care that we’re not talking about it, or about anything else. And that we’re letting him be this- this big weight on our lives. Dragging him behind us like this. You know that’s not what he’d want his legacy to be.”
Athena turns away from him. She leans her hands on the dresser and takes a deep breath. The room is silent for a long, painful moment.
“I think you should go now,” Athena finally says. All the heat is gone from her voice. She sounds as empty as Buck feels.
“Yeah.”
He gathers his clothes, trying to shake the feeling that he’s making this all about him.
She puts on a robe while he gets dressed. She still won’t look at him, but she walks him to the door like she needs to make sure he leaves. He hesitates with a hand on the doorknob and turns back to face her.
“I needed this too,” he says quietly. “I really, really did. I needed to feel close to him again. I’m sorry I can’t keep- I’m sorry. I want you to know I’m still here if you need me. For anything else. Anything, okay? I’ll still cook for you, and- and maybe we can talk about him. I just can’t-”
“Goodbye, Buck. It’s been fun.” Cold. Calm. Devastated.
Head down, Buck nods.
He gets into his truck and sits there without putting his key into the ignition for long enough that Athena shuts the outside light on him.
He drives home in silence. He has too much to think about.
By the time he merges onto the freeway, part of him still wants to turn back around. Buck doesn’t leave people, and he doesn’t say no to people who want something from him. He doesn’t do endings very well. He feels terrible for taking away something that Athena has been leaning so heavily on—something that she asked him to give her.
But under that guilt, he feels relief. Bobby’s weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. Buck is free to be Buck again. The prospect of figuring out how he fits into a world without Bobby makes him want to pull over and throw up the dinner he’d cooked for Athena tonight, but Chim and Hen and Eddie are figuring out how to do it. May and Harry are too. It’s terrifying, but not impossible.
There are ways to honor Bobby that don’t involve sinking himself into a pit of denial. There are ways for him to show up for the people around him without giving his entire sense of self over to them, no matter how enticing that idea still is. Part of him already misses the heat of Athena's body on top of his, but Bobby is the one who taught him to stop using sex as a replacement for real intimacy. Bobby is the one who made him feel like he was worth more than what his body could give to others. If anything, he feels closer to Bobby now than he did an hour ago. This is a step in the direction of becoming the man that Bobby wanted him to be.
He’s closing on a house in the morning. Big backyard, private bedroom area, even a hot tub. It’s a fresh start, a step forward. It’s something that he knows Bobby would be proud of him for.
Even as wrung out, hungover, and conflicted as he feels right now, Buck can't find it in himself to regret his relationship with Athena. It was a comfort they both needed. But now he needs to find his person, and he needs to heal from this trauma that’s still worryingly fresh all these months later. He can’t do that if he continues to drown himself in his grief. He just hopes that Athena can forgive him, and that she can begin to heal too.
— — —
The 118 firehouse is officially renamed in honor of Bobby.
Athena looks stunning as ever at the ceremony. Buck had been worried about seeing her, but he finds that the attraction has shrunk back to its previous level of objective appreciation. Chatting in a group, she mentions offhandedly that she decided to sell the house. Grief flashes hot in Buck’s chest for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by a quiet joy.
She smiles at him, warm and grateful, and the guilt he has been carrying for leaving her alone slowly subsides. Athena is moving forward.