Chapter Text
The phone rang in the dim glow of Damien “Rook” Hale’s office, slicing through the early-morning quiet he usually used to get ahead on reports. The screen lit up with a name he hadn’t seen at that hour in years.
Rowie.
Rook’s stomach dipped. Row didn’t call for small talk, and she definitely didn’t call before sunrise.
He answered anyway. “Yeah?”
“Rook.” Rowan Alistair’s voice came tight, clipped—the way she only sounded when something was already on fire. “We’ve got a situation.”
Rook sat up straighter without realizing he’d moved. Some habits never left you, especially the ones drilled in by women like Row. “What’s going on?”
Row exhaled sharply, like she’d been running or pacing. “A mission overseas went bad. Its really bad.”
That was all he needed to hear. Row didn’t exaggerate. If she said bad, it meant catastrophic.
Before he could ask, Row continued, “Kestrel is being reactivated.”
Rook froze. Kestrel hadn’t been spoken aloud in six years—not without the room going quiet after. Operation Fading Echo had seen to that. Even now, the name felt like touching an old bruise.
“All hands?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.
“All hands,” Row confirmed. “We’ll get the full brief at base, but we'll do a mini before heading out of Virginia. Colt’s being pulled off medical leave early.”
Rook rubbed a hand over his face. Colt being cleared early, even a week out, meant the brass were past desperate—they were panicking. “You want me calling the kid?”
Row huffed out something that might’ve been a humorless laugh. “You always do.”
And that was that. The call ended with a soft click, leaving the quiet feeling heavier than before.
Rook stared at his phone for a beat. Then he tapped the contact at the top of his favorites—Kid.
The line barely rang twice before a groggy voice answered, “Rook?” Evan Buckley sounded like he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence and hadn’t recovered yet.
“Hey, kid,” Rook said, trying to keep his tone level. No point jolting Buck before necessary. “We’ve got a situation.”
Buck sat up; Rook could hear the sheets rustle and, faintly, Buck’s brain catching up. “Okay… what kind?”
“Kestrel,” Rook said quietly. “They’re recalling us.”
There was a heartbeat of silence. Then Buck let out a disbelieving, “Dude. I have three months left on my contract. Three months. I was gonna take a vacation. Like, an actual one.”
Despite everything, Rook snorted. “Tell it to the brass. Orders are orders. Pack your gear. Leave forms probably hit your captain’s desk five minutes ago.”
Buck was already moving, muttering under his breath as something thumped in the background—probably a dropped boot. “Fine. Fine. I’m coming. Did you call Colt? Isn't he on medical”
“I was gonna check in after this, they're pulling him off early,” Rook said. “Odds are Row’s already dragged him in kicking and screaming.”
Buck hummed in agreement, still half asleep but waking fast. “Hey, uh—this is classified, right? Captain’s gonna want details.”
“Kid, you can't—”
“I know,” Buck cut in gently. “Just hoped it would magically change before going to my death, you know>”
Rook paused, warmth tugging at the edge of his voice. “It'll be be fine. Hopefully.”
Buck’s tone softened. “Love the confidence. See you at base, old man.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rook said, rolling his eyes even though the smile was already forming. “Try not to trip over anything on your way out.”
“Can’t make promises,” Buck shot back.
The call ended, leaving Rook staring at the quiet phone again—same silence, different weight.
—
Buck stared at his phone long after the call ended, the quiet of his apartment suddenly too loud. Being recalled hit like a punch—sharp, nauseating, familiar in a way he wished it wasn’t. Six years had passed since Kestrel was dissolved, but his body reacted like no time had passed at all.
The muscle memory came first: pack fast, double-check, triple-check, move on instinct.
The thoughts came later, darker and unwelcome.
He shoved them down, the same way he used to downrange. Firefighting had given him an out—save people without hurting anyone. A clean job. A good job.
And now he was going back.
—
By the time he walked into the firehouse, duffel slung over his shoulder and civilian clothes still clinging to him like a secret, his stomach felt like it was made of lead.
Bobby spotted him instantly.
“Why aren’t you in uniform?” Bobby asked, brow raised. Not accusatory—curious, concerned.
Buck wished he'd had something better than the truth he wasn’t allowed to give. “Didn’t have time to change,” he said, hating how flimsy it sounded. “Uh—did you get the leave forms? They should’ve been faxed over.”
Bobby frowned, heading toward his office like he didn’t remember any such thing. A few pages sat on his printer that definitely hadn’t been there earlier.
“Leave forms?” Bobby picked them up, confused. “For what?”
Buck’s throat tightened. “It’s… kinda classified.”
Bobby’s eyebrow lifted just slightly—just enough to show he knew how little he liked that answer. “Classified?” he repeated. “Why?”
Buck shifted his weight, gaze dropping to the floor like a reflex. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. Just—I’m on reserves in the Navy, I’m being recalled.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and familiar in the worst way. Bobby was a captain, but more importantly, he was family. And Buck hated lying to family.
Bobby surprised at the sudden confession, studied him—really studied him. Buck felt it like someone reading a diagnosis off an X-Brick.
“Buck, what—” Bobby said softly, “are you going to be alright?”
Buck opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Quiet. Honest. Small.
Bobby’s expression cracked, concern flooding in without restraint. Then he stepped forward and wrapped Buck in a hug—tight, anchoring, no questions asked.
Buck stiffened instinctively—old habits—but then melted into it, breathing in smoke, aftershave, home.
“You better be okay,” Bobby murmured against his shoulder. “Come back to us.”
Buck swallowed hard. “I’ll try, Cap.”
Bobby gave him one last squeeze before letting go.
—
Buck was still blinking back the weight of it when he turned the corner and ran straight into Eddie.
“Whoa, hey—easy,” Eddie said, hands coming up automatically. “You good?”
Buck attempted a smile, but it came out crooked. “Yeah. Just… a lot going on.”
Eddie squinted at him. “Did you skip coffee or something?”
Buck huffed a weak laugh. “No. Nothing like that.”
But Eddie’s teasing faded. He wasn’t Hawk or Rook or Row, but he didn’t need intel training to see Buck was spiraling. “Buck,” he said, gentler, “seriously. You okay?”
Buck’s jaw clenched. He wanted to tell him. God, he wanted to. But he shook his head.
“I can’t talk about it.”
Eddie’s brow creased. “Can’t talk about it? Buck, what—”
“It’s complicated, Bobby will explain later,” Buck cut in, rubbing the back of his neck. “I would tell you details if I could. I just… can’t.”
Eddie looked at him for a long moment, the lines of worry settling deep. Then he nodded. “Okay. I won’t push. Just—don’t shut me out, yeah? I’m here.”
Buck’s chest tightened. “Thanks,” he murmured.
He turned to head out, then paused and looked back—something raw flickering behind his eyes.
“I’m gonna be gone for a while,” he said quietly. “Can you… take care of things here?” He hesitated, voice softening. “And tell Chris I love him. A lot.”
Eddie’s eyes widened, stunned by the sudden seriousness. But he nodded, steady and sure. “I got him. I promise.”
Buck nodded once—grateful, aching, afraid—and walked away.
—
Buck barely remembered the drive to Maddie and Chimney’s house—his body carried him on muscle memory while his mind stayed stuck on the call from Rook, on the old ghosts clawing their way out of the dark corners he’d shoved them into.
He knocked once. Twice. Hand hovering like he was debating turning around.
Maddie opened the door with her usual warm smile, but it dimmed the second she saw his face. “Buck… what happened?”
Her voice wasn’t panicked—just scared in that deep, intuitive way only siblings could feel.
“Can we talk?” Buck asked, quiet enough that Maddie’s brows drew together.
“Yeah,” she said immediately, stepping aside.
Inside, Chimney was on the floor with Jee-Yun, a toddler sock stuck to his shirt like it had been thrown at him. He looked up, brow knitting. “Whoa. Buckley. You look like someone died.”
Buck forced a weak smile. “No. Just… a lot going on.”
He wasn’t convincing. Not even close.
Maddie sat beside him on the couch, her hand brushing his arm. “Buck. Talk to me.”
He didn’t even get the words out—his chest tightened, and he leaned in, pressing his forehead to her shoulder like he was bracing for impact. Maddie’s arms wrapped around him instantly.
“I’m being recalled,” he whispered.
Maddie went still. A long, painful second passed before she swallowed, tightening her hold. She knew exactly what recalled meant for him. What it dredged up. What it cost.
She pulled back just enough to cup his face, her eyes already shining. “Hey. Look at me.” Buck met her gaze, struggling to keep himself together. “You come home. You hear me? You come home.”
He nodded, though his throat felt too tight to speak. “I’ll try,” he managed. “I promise I’ll try.”
“That’s not good enough,” she said—but her voice cracked halfway through, emotion softening the words. “Just… be smart, okay? Be careful.”
Buck nodded again, helplessly. “I will.”
She squeezed his hand, grounding him. “You’re not alone in this. Even if we can’t help, we’re here. You have people to come back for now.”
A small, tired smile tugged at Buck’s mouth. “Thanks, Mads.”
Chimney stood, gently handing Jee-Yun a toy before walking over. He didn’t hug Buck—he just set a steady hand on his shoulder, the way someone did when they knew a person was already close to breaking.
“Tell Hen I said bye,” Buck murmured. “Didn’t have time to stop by.”
“I’ll tell her,” Chimney said softly. “She’ll worry, but… she’ll get it.”
Buck gave him a grateful nod, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door. Maddie followed him to the entryway like she didn’t trust herself to let him out of sight yet.
“Love you,” she whispered.
“Love you too,” Buck said, voice barely holding.
He stepped out, the weight of goodbye settling like heavy armor.
—
After the door closed, Chimney sank onto the couch beside Maddie, tension still clinging to the air.
“So,” he said gently, “where’s he going?”
Maddie’s breath shuddered, and tears slipped free before she could stop them.
“Somewhere dangerous,” she whispered.
Chimney reached for her hand. “Why?”
Maddie shook her head, wiping her cheeks. “Because… there are parts of Buck’s life we’ll never get to know.” Her voice broke in a way that told Chimney the truth scared her more than the mystery. “And this is one of them.”
He squeezed her hand, steady. “Then we hold the fort.”
She nodded, though her eyes remained on the door Buck had just walked through.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “We do.”