Dandelions

Chief Alonzo

Alonzo hadn't planned on knocking. He just had. Somewhere between the morning headlines and that third cup of coffee he wasn't supposed to drink anymore, he'd driven himself over to Bobby and Athena's place like it was the only thing that made sense.

He barely got a chance to look around the entryway before the door opened.

"You're not here to fire me again, are you?"

Bobby had a grin on, but it was tentative, like the memory still stuck in his throat.

Alonzo huffed a laugh, shook his head. "No. I'm not here to fire you. Quite the opposite, really."

He didn't say anything else. Let Bobby sit with that. The man's confusion was already creeping in around the corners of his expression. Alonzo could tell he was itching to ask but waiting to be polite about it. Always so damn courteous.

Athena appeared a moment later, sharp and quick on her feet as always, stepping into the living room like she'd been tracking the mood from the hallway.

"Chief Alonzo, you're not here to fire my husband, are you?" she asked, already smiling.

That got a real laugh out of him.

"Coffee?" she offered.

"Always," Alonzo said.

They moved to the table like they'd done it a hundred times before, because they had. Coffee cups placed just right, that faint scent of cinnamon drifting from the pot. Athena's hands moved with purpose, like she was pouring more than coffee. Maybe she was.

Bobby didn't wait this time. "What did you mean?" he asked, voice low.

Alonzo let the warmth of the cup settle between his palms for a moment before answering. "I'm retiring," he said simply. "Decided it's time."

Their eyebrows rose in unison. He wasn't sure if they were more surprised at the announcement or that he was saying it out loud.

"I'm getting old," he added with a shrug. "None of that fake modesty. I'm getting old. And the department's gonna need a new Chief."

He turned his gaze on Bobby. Direct. Steady. "I'd like to recommend you."

Bobby almost wore his disbelief like a uniform. He blinked once, then nearly choked on his coffee.

"Me? Are you sure?"

Alonzo nodded, amused. "Yes. You."

He didn't bother with a speech. He knew who he was talking to. Bobby had never been the kind of man who needed a hard sell. Just honesty.

And there it was — the weight of it all, settling across Bobby's shoulders like a second coat. Alonzo could see it happening in real time. Not fear, not panic. Just the realization that something big had landed in front of him.

Athena didn't need to say a word. The way she looked at Bobby said it all — pride, maybe some relief. She'd been watching him carry too much for too long. They both had. She leaned in, kissed his cheek, and Bobby laughed, startled and joyful at once.

"I can't believe this is happening," he said.

Alonzo let the smile stay on his face but kept his voice level. He looked at them both — solid, tired, capable. People you trusted when things went sideways. "It is," he said. "And it should."

He didn't say more. He didn't need to.

Everything else was already on the table.

Alonzo took another slow sip of coffee, letting the question land between them. "With you taking the position of Fire Chief," he said, keeping his voice steady, "the 118 is left without a captain. Do you have anyone in mind?"

They didn't answer immediately. Instead, Bobby and Athena exchanged that quiet look married people do—half conversation, half conclusion. Then they both turned to him at once, two mirrored smirks loaded with something already decided.

"Lieutenant Evan Buckley," Bobby said.

Alonzo blinked. He hadn't expected the answer to come that fast, or with that level of certainty. "Buckley?" he repeated. "His file is strong, no question. But isn't he a little young for captain?"

Athena sat up straighter. She didn't bristle, but she didn't blink either. "He's thirty-five. Not that young. And even if he were, he's seen more action than most who've sat in that chair."

Alonzo raised an eyebrow.

"Tsunamis. Plane crashes. Bombs. Earthquakes. Train wrecks. That high-rise collapse." Her tone was even, but each word landed harder than the last. "You can doubt his age if you want. But not his experience."

Alonzo didn't argue. He looked over to Bobby, who nodded like this had already been discussed at length, probably during dinner, maybe more than once.

"I don't disagree," Alonzo said slowly. "But it's not like Buck's the only one with stripes. Han's got twenty years in. Wilson stepped up before and handled it. Diaz—well, he ran squads in the military. Leadership isn't new to him."

"They all passed," Bobby said simply. "Hen's done it. Doesn't want it. Chimney won't touch paperwork unless someone bribes him with Korean barbecue. Eddie said he'd quit before he took command."

That didn't surprise Alonzo, honestly.

"Buck, though?" Bobby leaned back in his chair. "He's the guy with the clipboard."

Alonzo frowned. "The what?"

Athena laughed quietly.

Bobby grinned. "He keeps the rig stocked. Remembers inspection schedules without looking at a calendar. Knows which hydrants haven't been serviced this year. During the blackout, he filed the right forms to keep the solar charging stations operational. Didn't wait for anyone to ask. He just did it."

Alonzo absorbed that.

"He cares," Bobby added. "About the job. About the people. He's already halfway doing the work."

Athena nodded. "And the team follows him. He's not the loudest. But they listen."

It was quiet for a moment. Alonzo pictured Buck in his head—running drills, balancing chaos on scene with that restless energy he carried like an extra tool belt. Always in motion, always trying.

"I agree with your assessment," Alonzo said. "He'll make a good captain."

He meant it. There was something in the way Bobby had spoken. Not just respect—something warmer.

"Shouldn't be too hard to push through," Alonzo added after a beat. "Public relations will eat it up. Buckley's been the poster boy for years now. He's got the uniform, the smile, the reputation."

Bobby looked amused by that. Athena just looked proud.

Alonzo leaned back in his chair, the coffee long forgotten on the table. The future of the 118 was shifting in real time, and he could feel it—quiet, steady, inevitable.

They weren't guessing. They knew.

And he was starting to agree with them.