CHAPTER TWO

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Pilot TW: PTSD, eating disorder

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Pilot
TW: PTSD, eating disorder.

After the first emergency call of a teenage boy who drowned in his backyard pool, they were now in the firehouse ready to have lunch, Buck wasn't there but Artie personally didn't give a shit who was there and who wasn't; she wasn't exactly hungry anyways she had already binged ate before she threw up a few hours ago and she's on a hunger strike until hours later with minimal water intake.

"Whew." Buck said as he entered the firehouse after getting out of the engine, walking up the stairs and at the dining area and approached the table.

"Hey!"

"I just-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa."

"Wash your hands." Hen grumbled.

"We don't know where they've been." Chimney agreed.

"What if we had a call?" Bobby said.

"I was in the neighborhood."

"I was just, uh, getting it washed."

"Sure you were." Chimney remarked.

"They charge you extra for the full detail?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Listen, I like you. You're a good firefighter."

"He's a terrible firefighter." Artie quipped in lolling her head to the side.

"Oh shut up, Artie! At least I get along with the team outside of work." Buck snapped.

"Sure you do, self diagnosed potential sex addict or SDPSA for short." Artie curled her lips at him in a scowl with a glare before she turned away as Bobby butted into the conversation changing the topic to stop Buck and Artie from having a quarrel.

"I know we got this thing You call me "Pops," and I give you a hard time for being a dumbass kid, we went to a Springsteen concert together."

"But this is not a family." Bobby continued.

"If it's not a family why bring him to a dumb concert? Sounds like father and son to me." Artie said coldly to her captain as Chimney hid a snicker covering his mouth nearby, Buck and Bobby narrowed their eyes at the brunette before ignoring her.

"It's not a clubhouse. So I'm writing you up."

"Come on, Bobby."

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