On the morning of Patricia's funeral, Buck wakes up alone in Abby's bed. The sheets on her side are cool to the touch, and he lies still for a moment, considering his options. He doesn't want to crowd her during her grieving process, but he also wants to be a ready source of comfort if she needs it. Concern ultimately wins out, so he throws off the covers and gets up to investigate. He finds her in the dining room, standing in front of the largest set of windows in her apartment, still in her pajamas. She's cradling a steaming mug in her hands, her fingers threaded through the handle. He watches her take a careful sip and make a sort of cheers! type gesture toward the view outside before he speaks.
"Hey," he says gently, trying not to startle her. "How long have you been up?"
She turns toward him and his heart twists when he notices her red-rimmed eyes and the remnants of tear tracks staining her cheeks. "I don't know," she answers thickly, "maybe half an hour? There's coffee in the pot if you want some."
"Abs," he says sympathetically. He joins her in front of the window and wordlessly tucks a strand of her hair behind one ear. He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Whatever I can do for you, I will. I want to help."
She clears her throat and gives him a small but reassuring smile. "I'm okay, really. I just wanted to be alone with mom for a little while."
He must look confused, because she gives a nod toward the windows and elaborates. "She was always an early riser. She'd get up almost every morning and have her coffee with the sunrise. That's part of the reason I put her in this room while she was here. It gets the most morning sun."
He nods his understanding while she continues.
"When I was a kid, she'd sometimes she'd get me up early and drag me outside with her just to look at the sunrise." She laughs a little and adds wistfully, "Of course, I wanted to sleep in as much as possible, so I usually hated it."
"Well yeah," Buck puts in with a smile. "I mean, who'd want to get up early just to look at that? Ugh."
Abby laughs again. "Finally," she replies, her voice laced with sarcasm, "someone who understands."
They stand that way, side by side in front of the windows in companionable silence for a few minutes before Abby speaks again, quieter this time. "I wish I would have let her do it more often. I can't believe she's gone."
Buck encircles her in his arms from behind, taking care to not spill her coffee. "She knows." he says confidently. "And she's so happy you're sharing this view with her right now."
Abby gives his arm a squeeze. "Thank you."
He kisses her temple. "Anytime."