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Assistant: Title: hold me like we're going home.
        Author: happyhauntt gooondocks 
        Chapter: 3/7 
        Summary: Buck leans into Eddie’s touch, just for a second, before clearing his throat. “They want me to take temporary emergency custody. Just until better arrangements are made.”
  The loft falls eerily silent. It would be almost comical, the way the entire team has simultaneously held their breath, if he didn’t feel like a lead weight was resting on his shoulders.
  Hen, ever pragmatic, is the first to recover. She looks at him with an expression Buck can only call cautious, gentle and kind around the edges. “Temporary?”
  “I couldn’t abandon her.” He can feel something just behind his teeth, waiting to spill out, but he can’t quite name it. “Not if I could do something about it.”

  (or, buck fosters a traumatised teen and together they start to heal.)
        Contents: Chapter 3: just give it one more day then you're done.
    

    

        
          
          
            Buck isn’t stupid. He knows it takes time, that trust doesn’t come easily. Accepting that sometimes, people are good and kind, and that you deserve some of that kindness, can feel a lot like swallowing razor blades. That’s something Buck is still working on himself. That people can care about you without expecting anything in return, and you can let them.
          
        

      
        
          the love y'all are showing this fic makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, thank you so much for all your sweetness!!! this chapter dips its toe into the buckley-diaz family feels we're all excited for, and then swerves straight back into angst-city, but buck and morgan are making progress!chapter title is from 'american teenager' by ethel cain. this chapter is semi-edited, in that i had the first half written for two weeks and kept going over it, and then the second half was written in a fevered rush over two days and i'm not editing that sh@t so if you see any typos, no you didn't.
      
  

  
  
    
      
   "say what you want, but say it like you mean it 

   with your fists for once, a long cold war 

   with your kids at the front, 

   just give it one more day then you're done." 
  
   OCT 2018. 
 
        “WHY DON’T YOU AND MORGAN COME OVER FRIDAY NIGHT?” 
       An innocent enough question on the face of it, but when Eddie asks it as they’re pulling back into the station after a call, it still sends a bolt of panic ricocheting up Buck’s spine.     It’s been two days since what Buck has dubbed the  Bear Incident, and whatever progress he and Morgan had managed to make since she arrived — y’know, if one-word responses and frosty stares can be called ‘progress’ — has evaporated completely. The apartment has grown so quiet that he’s crawling out of his skin. Morgan ignores his existence completely, and at some point Buck knows that he’ll have to assert some ground rules or boundaries or something, but…  when?  And  how?      She’s not doing anything  wrong.  It’s rude, yeah, and living in such a hostile environment is starting to make him feel like he’s back in his parent’s house, creeping around behind their backs to escape their judgmental eyes. That’s a can of worms he is entirely unwilling to open, but it’s not  wrong.  He can’t  make her engage with him.     Buck tries to talk to Morgan, but she won’t acknowledge him. He tries to involve her in apartment hunting with him, hoping that might pique her interest. He’ll sit in the kitchen and gleefully shout real estate listings into the living room, qualities like  spacious yard  and  jacuzzi bathtub  garnering no response at all.     One time he jokingly claims that he’s found a lovely place for them to live, complete with an outdoor bathroom. Surely that would make her  chuckle, at least. Or squawk in protest.     But no dice.     When Buck was a kid, he read  Peter Pan.  He read that because fairies are so small, their tiny bodies only really have room for one emotion at a time.     Buck’s pretty sure he knows what emotion is occupying Morgan right now.     It’s frustrating, and Buck doesn’t  want  to be frustrated with her. He wants to  help. He wants, desperately, to create a space where Morgan feels safe enough to relax, to open up to him, to just exist as a kid without the burden of her past weighing her down.     But he’s running out of ideas. Hence Eddie’s well-meaning suggestion.     Except…     “I don’t know.”     The truck rolls to a halt and Buck hops out, followed by the rest of the crew. He wouldn’t dare use the ‘q’ word out loud — he made that mistake for the first and  last time as a probie, certain that he’s still somehow got some fire-suppressant foam up his nose — but they’ve been pretty lucky with their call volume today. Only two since the shift started eight hours ago, which has given Buck plenty of opportunity to lament his situation and beg the parental members of his team for advice.     None of which has been particularly helpful thus far.     In the loft, Buck pours himself and Eddie a cup of coffee, grateful that he’d put on a fresh pot just before their last call. Eddie sidles up alongside him, still wearing that faintly determined look that tells Buck he’s not off the hook yet.     “Could be a good idea,” he says, accepting the coffee and taking a sip of it black, like a heathen. “We’ll order pizza. She can meet Christopher. Might be fun.”     Buck grimaces. He hasn’t introduced Morgan to any of his team yet. At first, he didn’t want to overwhelm her. Stuck in a new place with an unfamiliar person, Buck figured she’d need time to adjust to her surroundings before he brought her around.     Now, though…     Now he’s just nervous.     Noting his hesitation, Eddie takes another sip of coffee before pulling out the big guns. “Christopher’s been begging to hang out with you again.”      B@st@rd.      Buck may have only just met him, but he’s incapable of saying no to Christopher Diaz. Which Eddie knows very well.     He sighs, setting his coffee back on the counter with a clunk. Across the loft, Chimney and Hen have started squabbling over the TV remote. Chimney wants to watch  Property Brothers. Hen is threatening violence. The familiarity of it makes Buck feel a little more at ease.     “I’m worried Morgan will be mean to Christopher.”     Eddie snorts, narrowly avoiding a noseful of hot coffee. “What?”     “You heard me.”     “I sincerely doubt that, Buck.”     Buck huffs. “I don’t mean  mean. ” Aside from when they met, and Morgan questioned his ability to keep her alive like she was some kind of houseplant he might neglect to water, she’s kept her most scathing commentary to herself. Buck’s self-esteem is grateful. “But she might brush him off, you know? And Christopher is such a sweet, earnest kid, Eddie. If she upsets him, I’ll never forgive myself.”     He’s never seen Christopher anything other than bright and smiley. His beaming grin over Facetime is brighter than the f@ck@ng sun. Call Buck selfish, but he’d like to go as long as possible without seeing that kid sad.     Eddie knocks their shoulders together. Offers a brief, reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. She’s a kid, not a velociraptor. She can’t be that bad.”     Buck’s not so sure about that, but the alarm starts to blare overhead, putting the discussion to bed for a while. He’s certain that by the time they get back, Eddie will have forgotten all about his request.        Eddie does  not forget, which is why Buck finds himself in the Jeep on Friday evening, weaving through L.A. traffic with a disgruntled teenager in the passenger seat.     Morgan hadn’t fought him on it when he brought up the idea of movie-and-pizza night at the Diaz house. She hadn’t actually said much at all, which hadn’t filled Buck with much confidence.     But Eddie had made a compelling case — calling Christopher mid-shift to wish him a goodnight, where he offhandedly mentioned that Buck might come over on Friday, and the boy’s excited squeal had made Buck’s stomach twist into a big guilty knot — and, realistically, he can’t keep Morgan cooped up in the apartment  forever.  At some point, he’ll have to introduce her to his friends. His  family.     So he might be a little nervous as they pull up on the Diaz driveway, parking behind Eddie’s battered truck. He might be tapping his hands against the steering wheel in a nonsense staccato rhythm to keep himself calm. His heart might even be rabbiting up into his throat right now, as he stares at the glowing porch light.     But they’re doing this. It’ll be  fine.      Only then an unexpected projectile bops against his nose, and Buck jolts, suddenly jarred. When he looks down, there’s a scrunched up fast food napkin balled up in his lap. An aggravated sigh comes from the girl next to him, and Buck blinks, realising she must have thrown it at him.     “Why?” he asks, squinting at the napkin, then at her.     “The tapping was driving me insane,” Morgan replies flatly. Then she tilts her head, narrowing shrewd eyes. “Are we at your boyfriend’s place or something? The guy that came over the other night. Is that why you’re so jittery?”     It’s the most she’s said to him in one go since they met, which Buck might feel pleased about, except her words are dripping with disdain. He’s not sure this is better than when she was ignoring him.     Buck’s ears flush bright pink, and he averts his gaze, shoving the napkin into his pocket to dispose of later. “Eddie isn’t my boyfriend. We work together. He’s just a friend.”     Morgan watches him for a moment, predator watching prey, before rolling her eyes. She gets out of the Jeep, slamming the door a little too hard behind her.     Buck knows that could’ve been worse. He’s just not sure  how.       Eddie isn’t —  nervous,  really. That’s not it. The way his heart is going like a jack in his chest, the faint flush crawling up his neck as he surveys the living room one more time just to make sure it’s tidy enough, all of that might suggest otherwise, but he’s  not.      Not for himself, anyway.     He meant what he said to Buck earlier in the week. He’s meant it every time Buck has texted since, trying to find a way to call off their little get-together.  This will be fine.  Eddie has no doubt about that. He knows his son well, knows how much his son adores Buck despite their short acquaintance, knows without doubt that nothing could spoil this evening because of that.     But he wants it to go well because  Buck  wants it to go well. It seems, to Eddie, that Buck  needs this to go well. Buck won’t send Morgan back if it doesn’t, he never would, but it still feels like something fundamentally important is resting on this evening.     Eddie hasn’t known Buck for more than six weeks, but it’s painfully obvious that his teammate will just keep giving and giving and  giving  pieces of himself away until there’s nothing left at all. And then somehow, inexplicably, he’ll give some more. Everyone told Eddie, when he joined the 118, that Buck was a good guy. The kind of person who’s just  good, at their very core.     He gave Carla to Eddie. He just reached into Eddie’s life and changed it completely, in one fell swoop, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. As if he hadn’t given Eddie the kindest gift imaginable — the ability to take care of his son without guilt or sacrifice. Eddie had been drowning on dry land, and Buck just—  helped. Helped in a way no one else had, especially not his parents.     Buck had rescued Eddie without blinking, and Eddie is certain Buck doesn’t know how important that was. How much it means.     So he wants to reach back. Even in this small way. Even if it’s the only thing he knows how to do.     There’s the low grumble of Buck’s Jeep as it pulls into the driveway, and then two doors slamming in quick succession. Eddie releases a long, slow breath through his nose. Showtime.     “Chris!” he calls out to his son as he heads towards the front door. “Buck and Morgan are here!”     He hears scrambling down the hall. The tell-tale  click click of Christopher’s crutches against the floor. Eddie opens the door and greets their guests with an easy smile. “Hey, guys. Come on in.”     Stepping back to let them in, he notices Buck’s cheeks are glowing bright pink as the man crosses the threshold first. Morgan follows, a little reluctant, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her jacket.     Before Eddie can question it, his son is barreling into the room at a speed Eddie didn’t know he was capable of. He watches, amused, as Christopher bowls into Buck’s legs, abandoning his crutches in favour of wrapping his arms tightly around Buck’s waist. “Buck, you’re here!”     “Christopher, hi!” Buck drops to his knees, folding Eddie’s son into his chest like he plans on keeping him there. “Thanks for inviting us over, bud.”     Christopher beams at Buck. Buck’s smiling back, so wide his face might split in two, his eyes crinkling at the edges. The sight of it warms something inside Eddie, deep in his belly.     His gaze flickers to Morgan, hovering at the edge of it all like a ghost. She’s watching them, too. Something flits over her features that Eddie can’t quite name, but he thinks it looks a lot like grief.     “Chris, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Buck says, keeping a warm hand steady on the boy’s shoulder as he pulls away. “This is Morgan. She’s my niece.” Buck had told the team that he and Morgan had agreed to go by Uncle-and-Niece, that calling one another ‘cousin’ felt odd given the age difference, although Eddie isn’t sure how much she actually participated in that conversation. “She’s going to be staying with me for a little while, and I thought it would be cool if you guys got to know each other. Is that okay?”     The girl goes stiff at the mention of her name, as if the stillness will allow her to disappear into the background. Her jaw goes tight like she’s grinding her teeth, and Eddie wonders how many times Morgan has had to deploy this defence mechanism in her young life. He wonders if she even knows she’s doing it.     And then something remarkable happens.     Christopher peeks over Buck’s shoulder, sends the girl a shy, sweet smile — the kind he reserves for meeting new people — and Morgan just…  softens. Completely.     All of the tension bleeds out of her in an instant. The harsh edges of her go blurry in a way Eddie hadn’t thought possible, which is unfair, perhaps, because he’s only met her once, and then she  smiles. Sweet and shy, just like Christopher, with rosy cheeks and the most tender light in her eyes.     She looks just like Buck when she smiles, Eddie realises with a start.     The man in question looks at Morgan, then Eddie. His stare darts between them, eyebrows shooting nearly to his hairline.     How long has Morgan been living with Buck? Almost two weeks, Eddie thinks.     Is this the first time Buck has seen her smile in all that time?     “Hi, Christopher.” Morgan’s voice is gentle and quiet, as if she’s talking to a spooked animal. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s her or his son. She takes a tentative step forward. “Buck’s told me all about you.”     “He has?” Christopher goes a little moon-eyed.     Morgan nods. “Uh-huh. He said you told him all about how you’ve got the  coolest Lego collection around. I’ve never had Legos before, though. Would you show me?”      “Never?”      “Nope.”     Just like that, all of Christopher’s shyness evaporates. Morgan allows him to lead her to his bedroom without a backward glance, a tiny fist wrapped around her wrist, only pausing for a moment to collect his crutches from the ground. Eddie and Buck watch them go, the former calling a quick reminder that they’ll be ordering dinner soon.     “See?” Eddie waits until the kids are out of sight before he nudges Buck with his elbow, a smug grin tugging at his mouth. “All that worrying for nothing. It’s impossible not to love Chris.”     Buck snorts at that, but the rigid way he’d held himself when Eddie opened the door is gone now. “Obviously. That’s why he’s my favourite Diaz.”     Eddie shoves him playfully, before jerking his head toward the kitchen. “Want a beer?”     “Please,” Buck says, and Eddie is more than happy to oblige.       When the pizza arrives, Buck goes to get the kids from Christopher’s room. He’s a bottle of beer down and there’s a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through his chest when he thinks of the last forty minutes spent in the kitchen, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Eddie on stools and chatting about nothing important.     Knowing Morgan and Christopher were hanging out just down the hall, the memory of Morgan’s smile burned into his retinas like he’d been staring at the f@ck@ng  sun — for the first time in almost a fortnight, Buck feels at ease. Like this whole fostering thing might actually work out.     The door is open just a little, soft voices spilling out into the hallway.     “And this is my shark friend,” says Christopher, and through the narrow gap, Buck can see a line of stuffed toys sat neatly against his pillow. He can’t stop the smile pulling at his lips. “His name is Jasper. My daddy got him for me at the aquarium when we moved here.”     “It’s nice to meet you, Jasper,” Morgan says with a quiet giggle, tapping the shark toy on the nose. Christopher grins and sets the shark at the end of the line-up, tucked up against the rest of his stuffies.     And Buck— Buck  knows  he shouldn’t eavesdrop. He should cough, or knock, or step on a squeaky floorboard to announce his presence, but something in his chest holds him still as a statue. He just wants to watch this, for a minute. To  feel it.     Morgan sounds so different with Chris. Softer and lighter, somehow. Buck feels like he’s getting a glimpse of her true self, who she  really  is beneath the hard exterior she’s built to protect herself. Because Christopher is seven, Christopher is a  child, and he’s not capable of hurting her the way grown-ups can.     Buck aches. He aches and  aches, and all he wants is to press Morgan into his chest, to bury her beneath his ribcage where no one can harm her again. He wants to see that smile all the time. He wants to hear her laugh every day, over stupid things. He wants to feel that bright and sparkling sound skitter over his skin as often as possible, because it feels like bathing in sunlight after the longest, coldest winter.     He wants her to feel safe enough to do that. He wants to make a home for her that’s nothing like his own home, so that she never feels like she has to bite back her smile or smother her laughter ever again.     “Do you have any?” Christopher asks, small fingers still smoothing over Jasper the shark’s fuzzy fins.     “I do,” Morgan says. “Just one, though. His name is Mr Bear.”     Christopher giggles. “Mr Bear?”     “I know.” Morgan responds with a cheeky smile. “Not very original, but I was very small when I got him. He’s been with me for as long as I can remember.” Her voice takes on a wistful note, so quiet that Buck can barely hear her now. “He’s been everywhere with me. For a long time, he was the only family I had.”     It’s quiet for a second, then Christopher says, “You’re here now. We can be your family.”     Buck’s breath stutters in his throat. His heart gives a painful squeeze. Chris sounds so  certain, so sweetly innocent that it almost makes Buck want to cry.     A long moment of silence passes. Buck doesn’t dare to peek through the crack in the door, because the look in Morgan’s eyes might kill him if he does. He can picture it well enough without looking; a soft furrow between her brows, teeth gnawing at the inside of her cheek, her mouth tucked into a tiny frown.     He saw the same look in the mirror all the time, when he was growing up.     “Sure, Chris,” she says, finally, but she doesn’t sound like she believes the boy at all. She’s just indulging him because he’s young, he’s just a  kid, and she can’t bear to explain to him why he’s wrong.     Buck clears his throat and knocks on the door, unable to take it anymore. His lungs feel like they’re spasming in his chest, and as he nudges the door open, he tries his absolute best not to look guilty.     “Pizza’s here,” he tells them, forcing a bright grin onto his face. There isn’t a tremor in his voice, but it’s a near thing. “Come on out and we can pick out a movie to watch.”     Morgan just pins him with an expressionless stare. He wonders if she can tell his whole body hurts for her.     Christopher bounces to his feet, scooping up his crutches as he goes. “Morgan should pick! She hasn’t gotten to do this with us before.”     Buck has only done it once, to be fair, but he neglects to point it out. He knows Christopher is trying to make Morgan feel included, and if he could open his veins right now and show the boy all the gratefulness rushing through him, he would.      Morgan blinks at Chris, a little stunned. “Oh,” she murmurs, chewing on her lower lip, and then, “No, Chris, you should pick. Then you can show me what’s good. I can tell you have  very good taste.”     Christopher hums, satisfied, and leads Morgan out to the living room. Buck linger by the bedroom door, a little misty-eyed, because— what can he  do? What can he do that he hasn’t done yet, to show her that she can trust him, that he’s not just another adult in a long line of adults who’s going to let her down?     Buck isn’t stupid. He knows it takes time, that trust doesn’t come easily. Accepting that sometimes, people are good and kind, and that you  deserve some of that kindness, can feel a lot like swallowing razor blades. That’s something Buck is still working on himself. That people can care about you without expecting anything in return, and you can let them.     He’s twenty-six, and he’s still struggling with that. Joining the 118 had been the catalyst. It took a while, but somehow, he suddenly found himself in the midst of a family who loved him for  him, and that had been a stinging balm against an open wound he hadn’t noticed he had.     He still doesn’t think he deserves it.     Morgan is thirteen. It’s not too late for her. It’s not too late for Buck to fix this  for her.     He just hopes that, one day soon, she’ll let him in enough to try.     A gentle hand clasps Buck’s shoulder. Eddie’s presence is a warm welcome beside him. “You good?”     Buck doesn’t look at him. Keeps his gaze focused on the doorway to the living room. On the quiet laughter floating down the hall towards them.     “Yeah,” Buck tells him, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”       She may have softened for Christopher, but around Buck, Morgan remains frosty as ever.     Breakfasts and car rides are spent in near-silence. The dull background hum of the radio is the only reprieve, and Buck isn’t sure if Morgan is  deliberately picking the most annoying station possible, but every time Jason Aldean spills out of the speakers, Buck briefly considers swerving into oncoming traffic.     Good country music exists. This ain’t it.     When his phone rings in the middle of a twelve-hour shift the following Thursday, Buck’s heart sinks down into his boots before he even answers the call.     He’d memorised the number for Morgan’s school when she was enrolled. He freezes in the middle of the kitchen, spoon suspended in midair from where he’d been stirring creamer into his coffee, and stares at the call flashing on his screen for so long that it rings out.     “You good, Buck?” Hen asks, squinting at him from the dining table. The unease in her voice is palpable enough that Chimney and Eddie look up at him, too, abandoning their game of cards. Bobby frowns across the counter at him, where he’s chopping vegetables for lunch.     His colleagues haven’t done much to mask their concern for him over the last couple of weeks. Usually, Buck would bristle beneath the scrutiny — he despises the idea of anyone else thinking he’s incapable, even if he feels that way himself — but he can’t honestly blame them for worrying.     Most shifts, he trudges into the station with a scowl after finding himself in another stalemate with Morgan. Sharing a too-small apartment with someone who blatantly dislikes him plays on his most basic insecurities, and it’s been difficult to hide the stress that causes when Buck wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions plain on his face. He’s been lamenting the situation for weeks, and while there was a minor improvement after movie night at the Diaz house — and two subsequent hangouts since then, because Christopher is determined to show Morgan every Disney movie she’s ever missed — there has been no other progress, and none of the team are quite sure how to help.     “Uh.” Buck’s face scrunches up. A thousand different scenarios zip through his mind at lightning speed, each worse than the last. His phone lights up with another incoming call from the same number. “It’s Morgan’s school.”     Bobby tells Buck to take it in his office, and Buck goes, flashing a grateful smile at his captain as he shuffles past. The receptionist on the other end of the line has a nasal, irritated quality to her voice that sets his teeth on edge as she offers him the barest details, and when he emerges from Bobby’s office, several pairs of expectant eyes turn to him.     “Morgan got into a fight at school.” Buck swallows. His voice sounds far away. “She’s been suspended. I, uh— I have to go pick her up.”     The next hour or so passes by in a haze. Bobby lets him go mid-shift, with a promise that Buck will call and let him know everything’s okay later, and Buck doesn’t bother changing out of his uniform before he scurries out to his Jeep.     When he reaches Morgan’s school, he finds her sitting outside the principal’s office. Her jaw is clenched so tightly Buck fears her teeth might crack, and she’s got one leg up on the chair, chin resting on her knee. She doesn’t look at him as he skids to a stop by the door.     “Are you okay?” He’s a little out of breath after running from the parking lot.     She looks up at him, brow furrowed. “What?”     “Are you okay?”     Before Morgan can respond, the door between them creaks open, and Principal DiMarco peers into the hallway. “Mr Buckley, thanks for coming so quickly. Can we talk?”     Buck’s stare flits between DiMarco and Morgan for a moment. The younger girl curls into herself, as if she can sink into the sh@tty plastic chair and disappear forever. He follows DiMarco into her office.     The meeting is short and succinct, and though her expression had been severe, the principal’s dark eyes had still been flooded with sympathy. When Buck leaves her office and shuffles Morgan down the hallway, he feels a little bit like he’s back in high school again, with his history teacher’s gentle stare burning his skin.      Is everything alright at home, Evan?      Buck swallows the nausea that always accompanies memories of his youth and puts the Jeep into gear.     He manages to keep his mouth shut for a whole five minutes until they hit the freeway. He keeps glancing over at the girl in the passenger seat, watching her carefully from the corner of his eye. Morgan’s got her head pressed against the cool glass of the window, and Buck can’t really see her expression in the warped reflection, but her fists are clenched, bitten nails digging into her skin, and Buck can only swallow his worry for so long.     “Are you okay?” he asks again, because he never got an answer earlier.     He doesn’t get one now, either.     Long seconds of uncomfortable silence stretch between them. Morgan gives no indication that she even heard him.     Alright then. Buck is painfully familiar with that game. Hell, he spent most of his adolescence playing it with his parents.     But Buck is patient and, more importantly, Buck is f@ck@ng  stubborn when he wants to be. He thinks it might be a Buckley family trait.     So he tries again. “What happened, Morgan?” He’s careful to keep his voice even and soft, the way one might speak to a stray cat so it doesn’t bolt. “Your principal told me you got into a fight. You wanna tell me about that?”     She doesn’t, clearly. By the time they’re parking outside Abby’s apartment complex twenty minutes later, she hasn’t engaged with a single question he’s asked, but Buck knows he’s getting on her nerves. Her jaw is still locked tight, she’s been bouncing her knee up and down for a while, and Buck knows that feeling, when it’s like your skin is raw and buzzing and you just want to crawl outside of your own body but you  can’t, so you fidget and bounce your leg and tug your hair hoping it’ll go away soon.     He’s still asking questions as she slams the car door. As she stomps her way up to the apartment. As he unlocks the front door and lets them both inside. Buck can feel it the moment before she breaks, the way static fills the air before a thunderstorm. Morgan drops her bag onto the counter, and she whirls around to face him like a tiny tornado filled with so much  rage, and all Buck can think is—      Finally.         They’re going to talk.  Something  is going to happen. Whatever it is will be okay, because Buck doesn’t know how to live with silence, but this? This he can do.     “Can you just  stop?”  Morgan’s voice is hard and frustrated, and not quite loud enough to be considered  yelling,  but Buck winces on behalf of the neighbours anyway. “You talked to the principal. You already  know  what happened.”     Buck merely raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t heard your side of the story, though.”     Morgan scoffs, and it sounds like broken glass. “There is no  side.  Jeez, I hit the kid. That’s all there is to it!”     “Why?”     “What?” She freezes, staring at him like a deer in headlights.     “Why did you do it?” Buck leans up against the counter, folds his arms across his chest. Does his best to look like the opposite of every authority figure he met as a child, with their judgy faces full of disappointment. “There has to be a reason.”     “Why do you care?”     And Buck— Buck knows  that feeling, too. He’s the king of deflection, of brushing off everyone else’s concern. He’s spent years meeting every concerned gaze with a charming grin; any time someone gets too close, asks if he’s okay, he’s always ready to change the subject.     One foot out the door, always, because if he lets someone in for a moment too long, they’ll  know. They see who he really is, how needy and clingy and desperate he is for someone,  anyone, to stick around. To love him enough that it won’t matter.     He knows, and it wounds him, to watch the self-defence mechanism he’s cultivated over years in action. To watch them deployed by a vulnerable kid, half his age, because he knows exactly what it took for her to get there. Knows exactly what it cost her, and how much harm it did.     Buck holds her stare. “Because I care about  you, Morgan.”     She laughs, sudden and sharp and it’s not really a laugh at all, and it sounds so f@ck@ng  bitter to be coming out of a thirteen-year-old that Buck almost cries.     “That will stop,” she says. “It always does.”     Buck doesn’t flinch, even though he wants to. “Why did you hit the kid, Morgan?”     “I just did!” she huffs, flinging her hands into the air. “Sometimes you just need to hit something!”     That’s true, Buck knows, but it’s not the  truth.  The tight set of her jaw, the way she won’t quite meet his eye, tells him that she’s lying.     So he asks again. “Why?”     The word is soft,  so soft, but it hangs in the air between them like a grenade ready to blow. Morgan looks haggard, like she hasn’t slept well in months, blue eyes blown wide and wet, and the familiarity of it rattles Buck to his core. He’s seen that face in the mirror so many times — when he was six and eight and fourteen and twenty.     She holds herself like she hasn’t known a moment of peace in years, like her muscles have wound so tight she doesn’t know how to relax them anymore. Like it doesn’t even occur to her that she can  try.     Morgan snaps. “Because he called me a  freak,  okay?!” Her whole body trembles, as if existing is the heaviest burden to bear. Buck wants so badly to reach out and hug her, but he can’t. “I transferred weeks into the semester, and I eat lunch alone because I don’t know how to make friends. I don’t  want  to make friends because I’m going to leave soon, right? I don’t get to  stay.     And this  @ssh@l@  kid was picking on someone a few grades younger, and he’s a real  sh@t,  so I told him to pick on someone his own size.” She cuts herself off with a humourless laugh, chest heaving like she’s been running for miles. “And he looks at me, and he says  that’s definitely not you because you’re a freaky little runt. So I hit him. I don’t like bullies.”     Like a puppet whose strings have been cut, Morgan slumps suddenly, and backs up to sit in one of the chairs at the dining table. She doesn’t look away from Buck, though; she fixes him with a hard, fiery stare like she’s daring him to yell at her.     Buck rolls his lips together. Sighs and swallows back the sour taste rising in his throat. He doesn’t have it in him to chastise her for cursing right now, doesn’t think this is the right moment for  that conversation. He desperately doesn’t want to get this wrong.     “Do you want me to talk to your principal?”     Morgan’s whole face spasms, skating straight past confused into absolute  bewilderment, and she blinks at him once, twice, as if he’s suddenly grown a second head and started speaking in tongues.     “What? Why aren’t you calling Lydia?”      Why aren’t you sending me back?  Buck can hear the question she isn’t asking loud and clear.     “Look,” Buck says, unfolding his arms, “you shouldn’t have hit the kid. I’m not going to lie and say it’s never okay to hit people, because honestly, some people deserve it.” His mouth twists into a grimace as one of their recent calls springs to mind, the racist who’d refused treatment from most of the team before he choked on his own waste. “I’ve been around the block a few times. Some people are just @ssh@l@s. But there will always be consequences to your actions, and if you do something, you have to be prepared for that. So, yeah, you’ve been suspended. But the bully should face the consequences of his actions too, don’t you think?”     Morgan looks a little stunned. Buck can’t help but wonder if she’s never had a grown-up look at her and treat her like an equal before. Someone who looked at her actions and realised she’s not just acting out for no reason.     Her file is basically a laundry list of behavioural concerns. Dozens of warnings from her previous schools, even more complaints from every group home and foster family she’s been with. And, what, no one ever thought to ask  why?      She’s a  kid. She’s just a kid who has issues, who has a boatload of emotional trauma stitched into her that she’s never had the chance to process. And somehow, through some bizarre glitch in the system, Morgan has never had someone who could understand that in a way that might help her.     Buck crosses the kitchen in two strides and crouches in front of her when she doesn’t respond. She’s still watching him like he’s about to take it all back, to laugh at her and say it’s all a joke and he already called Lydia to come pick her up. A thousand thoughts swirl behind her eyes but she can’t say any of them out loud.     He sets a gentle hand on the back of her chair, careful not to touch her. “I’m going to stick around no matter what you do,” Buck tells her firmly. “So you can ice me out, get into a dozen fights at school, kick and scream and yell at me all you want, I can take it.  I’m not going anywhere.  And neither are you.”     Morgan thinks she can out-stubborn Evan Buckley?     Think again.     She stays quiet for long enough that Buck thinks that might be the end of it. That they will lapse back into the uncomfortable stalemate they’ve been sitting in for weeks, silently avoiding one another, existing in the aftermath of an argument that never happened.     Buck shifts, preparing to straighten up and start cooking an early dinner. It’s barely two in the afternoon, but there’s not much else to do, and he can catch up on his favourite science podcast while he cooks. He’s still firmly in the  breakfast food portion of Bobby’s culinary lessons, but he’s got enough ingredients to attempt homemade pasta sauce, and he can probably parlay his current skill-level into making that without setting the apartment on fire.     He’s just about to move when a small hand catches onto his wrist.     Morgan looks like she’d rather bathe in lava than accept his help, but even so. “You’ll really talk to Principal DiMarco?”     Buck’s answering smile is soft and wide, and he nods, and for the first time in three weeks, the panicked creature in his chest curls up and settles and rests.'
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