Bobby liked to think he was able to adapt quickly to new situations. You had to be, to be a fire captain where anything could go wrong in an instant and you constantly had lives that depended on you to save them. Bobby dealt with people looking to him for help on a daily basis, so yes, he liked to think he was able to easily adapt to his surroundings.

The time loop he had currently found himself in, however, was an entirely different story.

There's a lot of things that Bobby would never have guessed he'd see while working the job he loved. A lot of outrageous calls and circumstances that should never have occurred. Things that the universe decided were just an extra 'fuck you' on top of the rest of the shit it threw. The ladder truck bombing was one example that stood out. Chimney's rebar accident was another. But a time loop? That was another level of 'fuck this specific group of people in particular.'

Hadn't the 118 dealt with enough?

It was never enough for the universe to be satisfied. No amount of anything would ever be enough. The universe had no limits, but the human mind did. There was only so much they could take. Only so much guilt before it became too much.

Bobby was just glad Ravi and Lucy were safe. At least, they should be. He hadn't come across them in the time loop and he'd ordered that they stay out of the mirror hall. They should be safe. Bobby wished like hell he could say the same for the rest of his team.

It was his seventh loop. He'd caught Hen, back in her second loop. Just like she'd said would happen when she found him in his third loop. Before the entire time loop thing, Bobby had been starting to think nothing could defeat Hen. She was always standing tall; a strong, immoveable pillar on the job. At her ninth loop, however, she looked horrible. Guilt was a powerful thing and it had eaten away at Hen until she was weak in the knees and exhausted beyond anything Bobby had seen.

He imagined the rest of the team looked much the same. He felt the same, at least.

Reliving the fire he'd started in Minnesota was a punch to the gut. That was his first loop; a dream-like memory that he'd woken up to after first disappearing from the mirror hall. He hadn't been ready for that. He hadn't been ready for the next loop either; he hadn't known what was going on yet and if the first loop was a punch in the gut, then the second loop—preventing Buck from returning to the job and to the team—was an extra kick in the sore spot left by the first loop. From killing one family to isolating another.

Not Bobby's best moment, not by a long shot.

If he thought he was past that, he was wrong. Reliving the memory had a much harder impact than just remembering it. It only took one or two loops for Bobby to understand the look of absolute exhaustion that Hen had worn in her ninth loop. They weren't made for this.

Bobby looked at the Hen sitting in front of him and he saw that familiar spark in her eyes that she'd been missing when he saw her in his third loop. She looked alive, here. Still fighting. Not to say she hadn't been or that she won't be later down her timeline, but there was a difference between keeping your head above the water and just trying to make it to shore.

Then the loop changed and Bobby was starting to lose count. It was only his… eighth loop, but it felt like it could have been his hundredth. Guilt and time had a strange way of coming together. Time was supposed to heal all wounds. Wasn't that how the saying went? So what was this going on? This was more like ripping open old scars and dumping salt into the exposed vulnerability.

When Bobby collected himself enough to look around the newest loop, he saw bright red lights first. That wasn't startling; he saw those red sirens constantly. Then he saw the bombed ladder truck and he knew when he was. It wasn't an option to do nothing. Buck had needed help the first time, and he needed help again this time. That was no choice. Buck needed help and Bobby was going to give it.

There was white noise in his ears as he confronted Costas. Bobby remembered what he said the first time; he remembered every little detail of that bombing because it had nearly killed Buck and Bobby had spent countless sleepless nights trying to figure out what could have prevented the entire thing. Buck didn't deserve that so Bobby was going to make sure nothing like it happened again.

There was white noise in his ears. It didn't go away and Bobby didn't think his loop could get any worse.

"Groundhog day," Chimney gasped out when the rest of the 118 rushed forwards. He looked scared. More scared than Bobby remembered him seeming. "Hen, Eddie and I, anyway. Like you said in the rebar loop—"Bobby remembered that loop, he'd had that loop already—"We're all stuck reliving our guilty memories. There's another loop where we're all together. It's after this for you, and later for Eddie. Hen and I had it already. Buck has it, and he didn't know about this loop then—."

That snapped everything into a sharp focus around him. Everyone was there with him. It wasn't just memories of them from this time, but his team as he knew them in the real present. They were all reliving the bombing, so—

"Chim." Bobby's voice was sudden and sharp enough that Chimney froze in what he was doing and looked up at him. "Is Buck reliving this? Is Buck stuck here?"

Buck didn't deserve this. Buck didn't deserve anything that the world threw at him but he took it all anyway. He certainly didn't deserve to be stuck reliving this again. This was one of the worst memories in Bobby's life. He didn't want to imagine what it must be like for Buck. The first time was enough. The first time had to be enough.

But then Chimney's lips pursed and he shook his head. "We don't know, Cap. He could experience this loop at a point that we just haven't seen him at yet."

Bobby looked down at Buck, pinned and struggling and so weak that he instantly knew something was wrong. This wasn't what happened the first time. Buck was supposed to be attentive enough that he could answer Hen's questions. This wasn't attentive. This was dying and Bobby suddenly understood the fear in Chimney's eyes.

Chimney said he and Hen had already experienced another loop where they were all together. If it was after this for himself and Eddie, then the two paramedics must know what was happening. Hen was frantically trying to get Buck to breathe. When had he stopped breathing?

Holy shit, why wasn't he breathing?

Buck wasn't supposed to die. He didn't the first time, so why were things going so wrong now? It couldn't change what happened… Could it? If they ever got out of the loops, Buck wouldn't be dead, would he? No, they had no idea if Buck was even reliving this loop, that should mean he's perfectly fine, right? If he isn't stuck here, then he isn't dead. Buck wasn't allowed to die.

Bobby could do nothing but watch. Hen had scrambled backwards, shaking and staring at the expression on Buck's face. His eyes were closed, lips twisted into the slightest frown. The blood running down the side of his face was bright in the flashing lights. Everyone says that people look peaceful, in death. Not Buck. Peaceful for Buck was soft eyes and bright smiles and filling the silence.

This wasn't any of that.

Chimney had sat back on his heels, staring back at the ladder truck and looking for an answer. Why had everything gone wrong? It wasn't supposed to be like this and Bobby could say that with certainty, not just a desperate hope for a miracle to happen. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Buck was supposed to survive.

Bobby barely noticed when his knees hit the pavement. The pain wasn't enough to snap him back. There was a hurricane in his mind, every thought there for barely a second before it was whisked away again. Everything felt distant. His body wasn't his; he was just a passenger, watching the world go by. The pain of his knees hitting the ground wasn't enough, but Eddie's voice was.

"He's gone," Eddie gasped out, and Bobby was suddenly slapped across the face with all of the times it had been Buck panicking over Eddie. The brunet was hovering at Buck's side, not touching him but leaning close. Eddie turned his gaze to meet Bobby's eyes and the pure agony in his expression was heart wrenching. "He's gone, Bobby. Buck's dead."

Gravity spun like an out-of-control carousel, all colours and shapes and lights. He was being pulled two ways at once and being shoved through a small tube and Buck was dead. It was scary, the thought that it could all be permanent. Bobby was so used to everything being permanent. He couldn't go back and change the outcome of a bad call. He just prayed that this was the same, because if it wasn't then Buck really was dead and Bobby had to find a way to live with that and—

Buck was right in front of him. Dizziness faded quickly after so many loops. Nausea had given up and everything fell into its place around him. Bobby blinked, knowing his eyes were wide with nothing but pale shock. Buck didn't disappear. Instead, he ducked his head in that guilty way he did when he was scared of someone's reaction. Bobby didn't know when he was, but Buck was there and he was alive and that was all that mattered.

"Uh, Bobby…"

Buck sounded so tired and unsure. He looked young. Young in a way that they didn't get to look anymore. Not after everything that had come after.

"Can I hug you?" Bobby blurted out, because Buck didn't look okay and Bobby was shaking harder than he'd ever shook in his life.

Buck looked startled for a moment, but then he melted and nodded and the choked sob that passed his lips said Buck was struggling too. Bobby saw the way Buck's eyes looked over his shoulder, prompting Bobby to cast a glance behind himself and part of Buck's hesitance made sense. This was the rage room. Of course it was.

But Buck had given consent for Bobby to hug him, so that's what Bobby did. He pulled the younger man into a tight embrace that he wanted to convey everything he knew he had to say. Buck had just died in the previous loop. There was so much he needed to know that Bobby never told him because Buck wasn't supposed to die.

It took everything Bobby had to swallow back the tears. He was shaking so hard and Buck hugged him tightly too and Bobby was so close to crying.

"This, uh… This is a Groundhog Day, right?" Buck asked weakly, not letting go.

Bobby nodded as best he could with his chin on Buck's shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."

There was a heavy sigh of relief and Buck just melted. Bobby didn't need words to say that he understood. Shared loops like this had been welcome lights in the mess of time. Loops where someone else was aware and were the version of themselves that Bobby knew. It felt so much better to have someone who understood. Someone you could lean on for support in the darkest moments of your life.

They couldn't stay there though. Not forever, so eventually, Bobby stepped back. He kept his hand on Buck's shoulder though, because he wasn't ready to let go completely. Buck needed to be alive and Bobby needed to feel that. It certainly didn't seem like Buck minded. Bobby noticed the way the younger man had tensed when Bobby started to pull away, but he relaxed again when Bobby kept his hand on his shoulder.

Buck had died in the previous loop. He'd really died. No last-second miracles or reporting as dead too soon. Bobby had watched Buck die. It was one thing to imagine it, but to really see it was another thing entirely. Tragedies always played out worse than you imagine, but Buck liked having Bobby's hand on his shoulder so Bobby kept it there for both of them as they made their way over to where Hen and Chim were.

Bobby swallowed, ready for the frowns he was expecting to see. None of them had exactly been on good terms with Buck at this point the first time, why would Bobby expect any different now? Except Chimney looked at them and blurted out a hopeful, "Groundhog Day," and Bobby remembered what the paramedic had said before.

"There's another loop where we're all together."

Everyone was there. Everyone understood the bigger picture, the unnatural reliving of guilt that was happening all around them.

"It's after this for you, and later for Eddie."

Eddie wasn't there at the moment. He'd never shown up to the rage room, but if he was still faring as bad as he had been in the bombing loop, then Bobby needed to find him.

"Hen and I had it already."

So the Chimney of now had no idea what was coming. Neither did Hen. They'd had no idea what was coming. So Bobby didn't tell them what had happened, or he hadn't gotten the chance to because the loops changed without warning and there was no way to tell how much time they had. The loop could break the next second, or it could break in three hours. There was no timer counting down for them, but they knew their time was limited. It always was.

Bobby did his best to shutter his emotions. He tried to hide behind Captain Nash and be the leader they needed if they were ever going to survive. The time to breakdown wasn't now. He had to be strong, but his hands were shaking so violently and he knew the others had noticed. He didn't acknowledge Hen's concerned frown or Chimney's worried gaze or Buck slowly inching closer to him as more and more of the conversation revealed what had happened. That loop was still coming for Chimney and Hen. Bobby wanted to warn them, but admitting what happened would make it real and he wasn't ready for that.

Eddie clearly wasn't either.

Now, Bobby loved his team, but he didn't know Eddie as well as he knew the other three. He'd just known them longer and Eddie was naturally a private sort of person. Yet Bobby felt more connected to Eddie than anyone else, in that moment, because Eddie knew what it was like to watch Buck die and that was an experience that you just couldn't explain.

He had to try though, because he didn't want to let Chimney and Hen go in unprepared. He knew he probably wouldn't be able to though, because the two paramedics had known something horrible had happened, but they hadn't seemed to know exactly what.

So when Hen quietly asked, "What was the loop?" with a voice that said she was scared, Bobby swallowed tightly and spoke past the image of Buck lying bloodied and dead on the pavement that pushed to the forefront of his mind.

"It was the bomb," he started, and he never got the chance to finish because then the loop was changing and they were gone.

Sensory feelings were ripped away and the feeling of anything solid around him disappeared. Bobby couldn't feel anything. No ground beneath his feet or air currents against his skin. It was an empty void all around him. Bone slid against bone as the horrible stretching feeling took hold again and it was like he was being thrown into darkness instead of seeing light at the tunnel's end.

This time, the tenth time, Bobby registered scents first. The scent of Athena's lavender pillow spray was a comfort that Bobby never realized had become so normal that he didn't appreciate it. He knew he would now, because living through ten goddamn time loops changed your perspective a whole damn lot.

The presence of such familiar scent finally registered, startling Bobby out of his thoughts. He was sitting upright before he even realized he had been lying down. He couldn't think about that, because then he would never want to get up again. The familiar shapes of his and Athena's bedroom loomed in the night's shadows.

He was home…

Maybe it had all been a bad dream. There was no call to a carnival. There was no maze of shattered mirrors. There was no time loop. Bobby had never woken up. He never went to work. He never got stuck in a horrible nightmare. It was a dream. A dream that had felt too frighteningly real…

Bobby wished he could believe that.

It was late, just after midnight according to the digital clock on the nightstand. Bobby stifled a yawn. He so desperately wanted to get some sleep, but he knew there was no way he could. Not until he was out of the godforsaken loop. There would be no rest until then, whether he wanted to sleep or not. Guilt, fear and paranoia wouldn't let him rest.

Athena shifted in her place on the other side of the bed, asleep and peaceful and completely at ease. God, Bobby had missed her. Athena was just so sturdy and strong, willing to let her family lean on her when they needed it, and Bobby really needed it right then. He couldn't bear to wake her though, so he crept from the bed and from the room as silently as he could.

The house was dark. It was the middle of the night, after all. There didn't seem to be anything out of place. No hint as to what this loop could be, because Bobby hadn't been able to instantly place why he felt guilty at this point. He woke up in his bed, in his home. Why would he be guilty about that?

He was exhausted though, faint tremors still shaking his hands as he sank onto the couch. Blinking was such a challenge. Close your eyes, then find the energy to open them again. Bobby was just so fucking tired, but he couldn't rest. There had to be a way out of the loop. He couldn't spend the rest of his life reliving it. He wouldn't.

So he found his whiteboard and started to plot out everything he knew in a timeline. A tick mark along the line to represent all ten of his loops so far. It took effort to remember what happened when, what order the punches came in, but constructing the timeline was the only thing Bobby had right then, so he did it.

The two loops he'd had with Hen.

The one he'd shared with Chimney.

The bomb.

The rage room.

Then he added four more lines, one below another, and plotted what he knew of everyone else's loops. Hen met him in her second and ninth loops. He drew a line from her timeline to where they corresponded to his, the seventh and third loops. The rebar accident was his fifth loop, but it was Chimney's fourth. Chimney had re-lived Kevin's death. He'd also seen Buck in Buck's third loop.

At some point, Eddie re-lived the tsunami. Eddie relived the bomb, the fight in Howie's Grocery Store, something from his time in the army, and then the rage room. The bomb was after the rage room for Hen and Chimney, but it was before the rage room for Bobby and Eddie. He didn't know when Buck had it. Still, Bobby drew a line to connect all five of the timelines to represent the shared loop.

When he stepped back to take a breath, there was a web-like mess spread across the whiteboard. Five timelines stacked on top of each other, with tick marks and small descriptions of the loops relived, and lines that connected them at points where the loops were shared. At the moment, Buck's timeline was the emptiest. Bobby had no idea what Buck was going through and that scared him.

Chimney had said Buck was being hit hard and that had been when the paramedic had seen him in his third loop. Bobby had seen Buck just previously and Buck had been so subdued and quiet. It wasn't like the Buck he knew and it was scary. They'd been in a good place. Everyone had been in a good place, after everything they'd been working through.

Bobby fell heavily onto the couch behind him and wiped a tired hand down his face. A glance at the clock on the wall said it had been over an hour since he woke up, and Bobby still hadn't been able to figure out what this loop was. He hadn't exactly tried to figure it out either though.

Then the doorbell rang. It was loud in the silence, startling Bobby's eyes open from where they'd fallen closed. He was so tired, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. How could he, after the past… how long had it been? Time had no meaning in a time loop, but there was someone at the door and only family ever came by so late and Bobby didn't want to keep them waiting.

It took a lot of effort to force himself from the couch and to make himself look presentable enough to receive late-night company. He was so tired. Maybe not all of it was physical exhaustion though. Still, Bobby's feet dragged as he made his way to the front door. He tried to keep his expression from showcasing his exhaustion as he opened the door. That was easy as soon as he saw who was on the other side.

He definitely knew what this loop was now.

Buck had appeared in the middle of the night a handful of times before. Whether he had had a panic attack, or he'd forgotten something from visiting earlier, or he just couldn't sleep. However, Bobby felt guilty over this so he'd memorized what Buck had been wearing. And he was wearing that outfit now.

This was the start of the lawsuit.

Buck looked even worse than he had in the rage room. He was a mess. Hands hidden in his pockets and head ducked. That didn't hide his wet cheeks or tear-filled eyes. He'd been crying for a while. His shoulders were pulled up to his ears, trying to disappear in a way that Buck never did. Buck was untouched snow; pure and blinding as he gave back the light that was directed at him. He was sunshine personified. Now, the snow had been trodden into slush and storm clouds had gathered in clear blue eyes.

Bobby didn't register the fact that Athena had woken up until she was right next to him. Her lips were pulled into a concerned frown, looking between Bobby and Buck with worry in her eyes.

"What's going on?" she asked, and Bobby finally registered that she had asked the same thing when she had walked out of the bedroom.

She looked at Bobby, and he saw the question she hadn't voiced: how long have you been awake? Bobby could only purse his lips and shake his head slightly. Athena's frown deepened but she said nothing. She turned her attention back to Buck and gestured him inside with only a stern tightening to her lips. Buck obeyed without a word and Bobby frowned as he closed the door.

Athena led the way down the stairs to the living room, turning on the lamp as she went. Buck moved to drop onto the couch where Bobby had been five minutes before, but then he caught sight of the whiteboard spread out on the coffee table. Bobby had already been sure, but the way Buck froze completely confirmed it. As soon as he came back to himself, Buck spun towards Bobby with wide, desperate eyes and when Bobby only nodded and held his arms out, Buck choked on a sob and stumbled into the hug.

Bobby was ready for the way Buck collapsed against him. He was ready for the way Buck gave up his weight and trusted Bobby to keep him from falling. They sank to the floor together, both crying now. Buck was here and Bobby wasn't shaking as much as he had been, but he would take anything he could to know Buck was still alive. Athena wordlessly settled into a chair nearby, waiting for when she could offer anything she had to help. Bobby had missed her.

"The papers are in my jeep," Buck gasped out around shaking whimpers. "Couldn't— couldn't bring them."

"How long were you out there?" Bobby asked carefully, because he had been in this loop for over an hour now and it made sense that Buck had been there for just as long.

"A while." Buck's breath hitched in a sob. "Hour or so. Didn't know what to do. Didn't know you were here too."

And Bobby choked on a sob of his own because he could picture the nausea Buck would have felt, not knowing if he had to relive this moment as it originally happened. Buck could change things, yes, but he was always forthcoming with his reasons for knocking so late at night and Bobby knew Buck didn't like lying to his family. Bobby as he had been back then hadn't grown as much as he had now. He was different now. He couldn't say for certain that he wouldn't have been angry with Buck, no matter how the news of the lawsuit came out.

The world was narrowed down to just them, for a moment. Only Bobby and Buck. The world expanded quickly though, because they had both run out of energy to cry and you couldn't stay in a bubble unless you were crying. Everything came back and Bobby saw the way Athena was studying his web of time splayed out on the whiteboard. There was a sharp look of deliberation on her expression, the same look she always had when she considered the possibilities laid out before her.

"'Thena," Bobby started with a heavy shake of his head, "I don't know if you would believe us if we explained it."

Athena looked up and huffed a laugh, a wry curl to her lips as she settled back in her chair and dared, "Try me."

Bobby's brows rose in mild surprise. He shared an unsure look with Buck, still kneeling on the floor next to him, and shrugged weakly. Buck tilted his head slightly, lips pursed in consideration.

"Would you believe that we're stuck in a time mess?" Buck rasped out after a moment.

Athena frowned deeply. "Now normally, I wouldn't believe that, but you both look so tired that I couldn't expect either of you to lie your way out of a paper bag." The weakest of laughs passed Buck's lips and Athena smiled like that's what she had been aiming for. "Is it a loop?"

"Not quite." Buck lifted one shoulder in an unsure shrug. "More like reliving every guilty memory, one after another with no escape."

Now, Athena nodded slowly in understanding. She turned back to the plotted timelines, her sharp eyes scanning over every detail even more thoroughly now.

"Hen, Chimney and Eddie are stuck too, huh?" she hummed, not waiting for an answer. "You're not from this time, are you? How far in the future?"

"Uh… Two— Two years," Bobby stuttered. "Why are you taking this so well?"

The smallest of smiles graced Athena's lips, then. It was pensive and reminiscent, thoughtful in a way that surprised Bobby. Athena usually only got that look when she was remembering something fond from her childhood.

"Granddad liked to tell tales," she started. "One that always stuck with me was an old folktale about mirrors." Athena was observant. She didn't miss the way Bobby tensed or the way Buck inhaled sharply. She didn't miss it, and she smiled weakly in return as she went on. "Everyone knows, you break a mirror and it's seven years of bad luck. Well, Granddad said that if you pass through the frame of a broken mirror, the bad luck catches you, even if you weren't the one who broke the mirror. Mirrors are reflections of the soul. Combine that with a little bad luck, and you get a reflection of guilt."

It made sense. All those shattered frames in the maze. A fortune of bad luck and all those shattered frames. Chimney said he'd seen the tsunami in one of the mirrors, for a split second. Bobby had heard Chimney scream for his brother. There was something going on in that hall of mirrors.

Bobby swallowed tightly and dared to ask, "We're… we're not stuck in this for seven years, are we?"

Next to him, Buck choked. "No! No, I can't do seven years. Bobby— Bobby, I can't do seven years."

Buck's voice cracked on another pathetic sob. Bobby wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Athena slid from her chair and kneeled in front of both of them, one hand cupping Buck's cheek and the other cupping Bobby's.

"It won't be seven years," she reassured quietly. She wasn't trying to say everything would be alright. Athena reassured with facts, not hope. Bobby had missed her. "It should last until the bad luck decides to spit you out again."

Until fate decided it was done toying with them.

Bobby blew a harsh breath past his lips.

They would be okay. They had to be okay. Everything always turned out okay, in stories. Why couldn't this be one of them?