Archive of Our Own

“You know, for a murder house, I don’t think it looks too bad in here.”

Maddie turns from the stove to shoot Chimney a look, her eyes darting to where their two-year-old daughter is playing in the adjoining living room, which he, of course, ignores in favor of dropping a kiss on her forehead. “You’ve really got to stop calling it that in front of Jee,” she complains, though the frown she’s trying to maintain is wobbly at best.

Chimney glances at her, waving an unconcerned hand. “Eh, she’s fine,” he says. “Too busy playing with her blocks to care about what a murder house is.”

Rolling her eyes, Maddie turns back to her soup, giving it another stir. “Did you finish getting the spare room ready?”

“Sheets are on the bed,” Chim confirms, opening the cabinet to get out some bowls.

“And the bathroom?”

“Clean.”

Maddie taps the spoon and sets it on the rest, squinting at him suspiciously. “You scrubbed the toilet? Took out the trash? Cleaned the shower? Mopped the floor?”

He bounces his head side-to-side, walking the bowls over to the table to set them. “I gave it a once-over,” he says, which isn’t a lie. “It’s fine.”

“Chim…”

“Maddie,” he counters with playful exasperation. “It’s just Albert. He lived with us for, like, a year. Pretty sure he’s not going to care if the floor isn’t sparkling.”

“Yeah, I know.” She moves to the sink to wash the cutting board and knife she’d been using. “It’s just, it’s our first time hosting anyone in the new house, and I want it to be perfect.”

He walks over and turns off the water, gently leading her into his arms. “It already is,” he assures her, getting lost for a moment in how breathtaking her eyes are when they sparkle like that. “How could it not be when you and Jee are here with me?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle as she slides her arms around his waist and smiles up at him, so soft and comfortable and hot damn if the timer on the oven hadn’t gone off at that moment he might have said screw dinner altogether. She nudges him out of the way to grab an oven mitt, the smell of freshly baked bread filling the kitchen as she retrieves the rolls. 

The doorbell rings, and Chimney laughs and chases Jee as she lets out a delighted squeal and runs to the door, bare feet pitter-patting on the wood floor. “Unca Buck!” she cheers when he opens the door.

“There’s my little Jee-Bug!” he greets, swooping her up easily into a one-armed hug. Bouncing her on his hip, he hands Chimney the six-pack he’s carrying. “Al here yet?”

Chimney checks his watch as he moves out of the way so Buck can kick his shoes off by the door. “Not yet, but should be any minute now,” he says.

“Good,” Bucks says, reaching into his bulging jacket pocket. He takes out a stuffed unicorn and shows it to Jee, pitching his voice slightly higher as he talks to her. “That means I have time to remind you who your favorite uncle is before your Uncle Albert tries to bribe you with whatever he brought back for you from Korea.”

Maddie sidles in from the kitchen to give him a hug, complete with an eye roll. “I thought we told you two to quit giving her stuff every time you see her,” she chastises as Jee gleefully snatches the unicorn and hugs it close. “We’re already swimming in toys, and she’s only two!”

Buck’s eyes twinkle unapologetically. “Yeah, but you have so much more space for it now.”

She snorts, and Chimney follows her into the kitchen to finish getting dinner ready while Jee leads Buck to the living room to show off her blocks. Just as he’s setting the salad bowl on the table, the doorbell rings again.

“Ah, perfect timing,” Chimney says, opening the door to his little brother’s smiling face. “I see you haven’t lost your uncanny ability of showing up right when the food is ready while you were away,” he teases, pulling Albert in for a hug and slapping him across the back. “How are you, little brother? How was Korea?”

“Unca Abewt!” Jee interrupts, pushing through Chimney’s legs to get to her uncle and looking up at him expectantly. “Pweasants?”

Chimney can’t help chuckling as he shoots a look back at Maddie and Buck, who sigh and shrug respectively. 

“Hi, Jee-Yun!” Albert says, crouching to her level to give her a hug. “Of course I brought you presents. They’re in my suitcase.” He stands and raises a hand to fuss with the hair on the back of his head bashfully and adds, “And I, uh, brought a little something for you, too, bro.”

Taking a step back, Albert’s gaze flicks to the side, and Chimney follows it to see his father and step-mother coming up the walkway. 

Chimney’s mouth opens to say something, but all that comes out is, “Uh…”

“Hello, Howard,” his father greets, as if him showing up for dinner is a regular thing they do, as if Chimney’s entire world isn’t being flipped upside-down right now. 

He doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure he could even talk if he did because it feels like all the air has suddenly been sucked out of his lungs. He looks back at Maddie, mouth hanging open, and finds a similar expression of shock on her face. But somehow, by the grace of God, she recovers and steps in while his brain is rebooting.

“Mr. and Mrs. Han, welcome,” she says, stepping forward and nudging him out of the way while scooping up Jee-Yun, who is eyeing the newcomers warily, so they can come inside. Her voice is strained, but polite. “What a nice surprise. I’m Maddie. Please, come in.”

It takes Chimney the entirety of his father and step-mother coming in and getting their luggage stowed to the side of the front door, all the way through Albert introducing a speechless Buck to his parents to find his voice.

“Um, yeah, please, join us for dinner,” he stammers, tagging in as Maddie shepherds everyone toward the table. “I just need to grab some, uh, wine.” He pins his brother with a steely look and jerks his head toward the kitchen. “Albert?”

Albert obligingly follows him, too preoccupied with massaging his neck, stiffly tilting his head back and forth, to notice that Chimney leads him right past the kitchen and through the sliding door to the patio out back. “Hey, do you have any aspirin?” he asks with a grimace. “I think I slept wrong on the plane.”

His question cuts off with a surprised yelp as Chimney grabs the front of his shirt to pull him the rest of the way out onto the patio so he can shut the door behind them.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Chimney hisses. “Bringing them here?”

Albert recoils from his glare, like he expects it to smack him. “I—I don’t know. We were all sitting around talking about me going back to America, and Father asked about you, and all of a sudden they were coming with me.”

“All of a sudden?” Chimney presses, his pulse pounding in his ears. “You don’t just hop on an international flight all of a sudden, Albert.”

Wincing, Albert goes back to rubbing at his neck nervously. “Yeah, well…”

“You couldn’t have given me a heads up at some point during your seventeen hour flight?” Chimney whisper yells. “Maybe asked whether I even wanted Pop to visit?”

“If I had asked, you would have said no,” Albert points out matter-of-factly.

Chimney waves a hand emphatically, feeling like there might actually be steam coming out of his ears. “Exactly!”

“Sometimes it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission?” The corners of Albert’s mouth tug meekly.

The look on his face is borderline begging, and Chimney bites back the curses he wants to say, huffing instead. Narrowing his eyes, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve taught you too well.”

The way Albert slumps in relief confirms that he’d maybe thought Chimney was actually going to hit him, which maybe he should feel bad about. But he doesn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” Albert says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I know I shouldn’t have sprung this on you, but… After I left, Father…” He pulls his lips taught, shaking his head and looking back through the glass door at the simulacrum of a family arranging themselves around the table inside. “Something changed,” Albert concludes with a shrug. “I don’t know. I think… I think he finally realized that he was losing his family.”

Chimney clenches his teeth together at the flash of annoyance. Because of course, his father would change for Albert.

“He seemed really interested in meeting Jee-Yun,” Albert continues with that same earnesty he’d had when he first announced he wanted to be a firefighter, “and my mother has always wanted to see America, so when they suggested coming for a visit…” He winces at Chimney again. “We won’t intrude if you really don’t want us. We already have a hotel, and we are going to leave in a couple days to go to the Grand Canyon anyway…”

Sighing, Chimney watches as Maddie and Buck try to awkwardly entertain the unexpected guests. “I want to see you,” he clarifies. “I’m just not sure I’m ready to let Pop back into my life.” He shakes his head, not sure he can explain to Albert exactly why his bringing their father here was such a terrible idea. His little brother has always been overly simplistic when it comes to relationships, and Chimney often has to remind himself that it’s not a bad quality just because he tends to be the exact opposite. In fact, there are a lot of ways he’s jealous of Albert’s ability to assume the best in others, to not get stuck up in his head about every little thing. But sometimes things are not so straightforward, and that just doesn’t seem to compute in Albert’s brain. Trying to get him to understand why Chimney can’t simply forgive his father and move on would be like trying to explain the complex series of socio-political factors that culminated in World War I to a golden retriever.

Yet, at the same time, even Chimney has to admit that there’s a part of him that wants to show off a little to his father. To prove to him that in spite of his terrible parentage, Chimney had succeeded in ways he never could. That he would never take the beautiful family he’s built for granted.

“It’s… Complicated,” he lands on.

“I get it,” Albert says, even though he doesn’t at all. “But… Do you think maybe we can just try to survive dinner?” His eyes glint with the same unabashed hope Jee has when she asks for a snack five minutes after finishing a meal. He can never say no to her either.

Letting out another sigh, Chimney nods reluctantly. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbles. “We can do dinner.”

As good as Chimney’s intentions were to persevere through an amicable, if not exactly comfortable, dinner with his father and step-mother, he starts to doubt they’re going to make it to the end somewhere around the third course.

Maddie makes a valiant effort to keep the conversation afloat, aided mostly by Myung, who asks with polite interest about Maddie and Buck’s work, and mentions some of the landmarks she's most interested to see on their visit. Buck chips in with some stories about his own travels, poised the entire time like a lion waiting to pounce, ready to defend Chimney should the need arise. And Jee, of course, is the cutest distraction west of the Mississippi. 

Still, the tension in the room is suffocating.

Chimney decides early on to say as little as possible, though his white-knuckled grip on his calm slips a little more each time his father opens his mouth. Which isn't often, thank God, because he's really not sure he can hold on much longer, and he would really rather not lose it at the dinner table. He begins to suspect he's not hiding his feelings very well, though, because everyone except Maddie is avoiding eye contact with him like the plague, and her eyebrows have reached peak worry by the time she begins slicing the pie for dessert.

“Thank you again for this wonderful dinner,” Myung says as she sets her fork down on her empty pie plate and glances over to Albert with a tight smile. “But we should probably go to our hotel now. We are all tired from traveling, and we have a lot planned for tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Albert, who had remained suspiciously quiet throughout dinner—because why would he be helpful in this mess he created—fumbles his phone out of his pocket, squinting at the screen. “I should probably get us an Uber.”

“No, you don’t need to do that,” Chimney finds himself saying, the words marching right out of his mouth before he can stop them. “We’ve got a guest room all set up already. Might as well stay here with us.”

He might actually be the most surprised person in the room, but not by much. “Are you sure, Howard?” his father asks, and Chimney swears there’s a disbelieving undertone to his words. Like he’s shocked his American son would have the decency and manners to actually invite his family to stay with him. “We would not want to impose.”

“Nope, not an imposition at all,” Chimney insists, feeling more drunk with every word, even though he’d only had one glass of wine with dinner. He shoots a withering look at his brother, because he hasn’t forgotten that this is all his fault. “Albert can sleep on the couch. Right, Maddie?”

“Uhh,” she responds, mouth hanging open as her eyes dart between Chimney and his parents. She shakes herself, plastering on a smile. “Yes, of course. We’ve got plenty of space.”

Slapping his hands on the table, Chimney pushes his chair out and stands. “Great, it’s settled then,” he announces with a finality he definitely doesn’t feel. “I’ll put Jee-Yun to bed while you get yourselves situated.”

He doesn’t look at anyone as he collects his daughter out of her high chair and takes her back for her bath, doesn’t even notice he forgot to take off her bib until he closes the door to the bathroom behind them.

It takes a while for his heart to stop racing, but the familiar motions of bedtime (and Jee’s lavender scented soap) soothe him enough that he no longer feels like he’s having some kind of out-of-body experience. Did he actually just ask his estranged father to stay here? In his house? With him?

He lets Jee talk him into four extra books as he cuddles with her in her bed, and might have gone through the entire Eric Carle collection if Maddie didn’t eventually peek in.

“Yeah, okay,” he tells his daughter reluctantly, helping her arrange her favorite stuffed animals, joined by the two new ones from her uncles, under her covers with her. “Mama says it's time for Dada to stop hiding out in here. Guess I have to go be a grown up now and let you get some sleep.” He kisses her silky hair. “I love you, baby girl.”

“Love you, Dada,” Jee coos back at him as he gets up and turns out the light.

Everything is quiet, the hall empty, when he slips out of her room, but Maddie still crooks a finger at him to follow her to their bedroom.

“Please tell me I had a stroke and only imagined inviting my father to stay with us,” he says once they’re safe from being overheard.

Maddie gives him that no-nonsense smirk she does whenever he tries to deflect behind a sarcastic quip. It’s a look he’s grown very accustomed to. “They don’t have to stay here, honey,” she tells him. “They can still go to the hotel.”

He runs a hand through his hair and drops onto the edge of the bed. “No,” he groans in surrender. “It’s fine. I’ve got a shift tomorrow, so it’s not like I’ll even be here that long, and Albert said they’re headed out in a couple days anyway.” He shakes his head, still wondering if this is all some kind of crazy fever dream. “What was he thinking, bringing them here unannounced?” 

Sitting next to him and rubbing his shoulder, she smiles in understanding. “I don’t know. Maybe he thought that things turned out pretty good when he showed up on your doorstep a couple years ago, and was hoping for a repeat.”

He scowls at her. “Yeah, well if he thinks my dad and I are going to get over thirty years of issues because he came to one dinner, he’s got another thing coming.”

“You know Albert,” she sighs. “He’s…”

“An idiot?”

Maddie gives him a little shove, but her lips curl into a smirk. “I was going to say well-intentioned.”

He half laughs, half groans as he flops back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. All this stress is giving him a headache. “Sorry you had to deal with all that.” Suddenly remembering that she wasn't the only one at dinner, he peeks out at her, groaning again. “And sorry to Buck. I'm guessing he took off?”

She purses her lips in amusement. “He did…”

His eyes darken at her wry tone. “He’s gonna go call Hen, isn't he?”

Maddie pulls a face, and he lets out a defeated breath, shaking his head. “He already texted everyone, didn't he?”

“You might have a few unread messages waiting for you in the group chat.”

“Great.” Because what he really needs is for everyone to weigh in on this. Leveraging himself back up, he decides not to look at his phone tonight. He can deal with all of their very helpful opinions and advice tomorrow, once he's had a chance to process this for more than five minutes. 

“I'm gonna go make sure Albert got the lumpyist pillow we have, and then I'm going to bed,” he decides. 

"Don't be too hard on him. I don't think he was feeling that well." She scrunches her face in empathy. "Said he has a headache. Actually…" Holding up a finger for him to wait, she slides into the bathroom, returning with a bottle of Tylenol. "Take this to him? And grab him a bottle of Gatorade? You know he forgets to hydrate"

Chimney rolls his eyes, but takes the bottle of pills from her. Leave it to Maddie to immediately start mothering his little brother instead of taking his side. "Should just let him suffer," he mutters, but goes to do what she says. Tylenol and a bottle of Gatorade might not be a bad idea for himself, too, actually. He has a feeling this is going to be a very long few days.

“I still can’t believe you let them stay with you.”

Chimney pushes the pile of scrambled eggs around on his plate, regretting how large of a scoop he’d taken. He thought maybe eating something would help him feel better after all the tossing and turning and not sleeping he’d done last night, but the first couple bites of pancake had only made his stomach roll even more. Now he just feels guilty for wasting an entire plate of food.

“What else was I supposed to do?” he asks, reaching for his coffee instead. He’s not usually much of a coffee drinker, but he’s pretty sure he won’t survive today without it. Besides, maybe the caffeine will help with the headache, which had only dug its claws in deeper since last night. “Let them stay in a hotel like strangers?”

“I mean, they practically are strangers, aren’t they?” Eddie points out as he eyes the bacon on Chimney’s plate. The greasy tray in the center of the table is long empty, so Chimney shoves his plate toward his teammate, who happily steals the untouched slices.

“Nothing wrong with setting healthy boundaries,” Bobby agrees. 

Chimney winces at the bitter last dregs of coffee as he drains the cup. “It’s fine,” he grumbles, echoing the same spiel that had been on loop in his brain all night. “I’ll hardly be home while they’re there, and they’ll be leaving in a couple days anyway. Maddie’s going to have to see a lot more of them than me.”

“You’re not leaving Jee with them, are you?” Buck asks, sliding into the seat next to him and snatching the bottle of syrup to slather over his fresh stack of pancakes.

“Oh, hell no.” Chimney clanks his empty cup on the table more forcefully than he intended. “Even if I could imagine some alternate universe where I trusted my father enough to leave her alone with him, which I can’t, there is no version of the multiverse in which I could imagine that man babysitting. I don’t think he’s ever changed a diaper in his life.”

Hen leans forward, eager smile on her face. “So when do we get to meet him?”

“The plan is never. Unless Albert decides to show up with him here, too.”

She chuckles sympathetically, shaking her head. “God love that boy, but he really does not think things through, does he?” Taking a slurp of coffee, she swirls her cup thoughtfully. “But, you know, maybe this whole thing is kind of a blessing in disguise. Might give you a chance to work through some of this stuff with your dad you’ve been holding on to all these years.”

Chimney crosses his arms. “Seriously? You’re taking his side?”

“I’m just saying,” Hen emphasizes. “This might be a chance for you to say what you need to say. To get it off your chest. Before it's too late.”

“I don't have anything to say to that man.”

“Maybe Hen has a point, Chim,” Bobby cuts in. He leans in on his elbows, assessing Chimney with a percipient gaze. “You’ve been carrying around this resentment for a long time. Might be time to let it go.”

What, is it pick on Chimney day all of a sudden? Why is everyone suddenly so intent on forcing him to have some kind of reconciliation with his bastard of a father? “So, what then?” he snaps, pulse pounding in time with the ache in his skull. “You’re suggesting I just forget about all the pain that man put me through and just go and forgive him because he all of a sudden decided to give a shit?”

Buck and Eddie's heads swivel between the two of them, eyes wide as they watch the argument unfold.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Bobby placates, holding out a hand as if he were Jesus calming the stormy sea. “I’m just saying that all of this anger toward your father? In the end, it's really only hurting you. It’s like my old sponsor back in Minnesota used to say: ‘Bitterness is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.’” He shakes his head and sits back slowly. “You’re right. Maybe he doesn't deserve your forgiveness. Maybe he never will. But… Don't you think you deserve some peace?”

Chimney snatches his cup, standing abruptly to get himself a refill. “My bitterness has been working just fine for me for the last thirty years, thank you very much,” he spits. “I don't think I'm ready to upset the status quo just yet. And while I appreciate the concern, I don't remember asking for advice. So if you don't mind—”

The bell chooses that moment to ring, giving him hope that maybe the entire universe isn’t against him.

The call, a DIY home repair incident, leads to another call, an overturned semi on the freeway, which leads to a grease fire at an In-N-Out, and by the time they finally roll back into the station, the unwelcomed therapy session from breakfast is long forgotten. Thankfully they come in armed with enough Double-Doubles and Animal Style fries to feed an army, because not even Cap has the energy to cook.

As for Chimney, his headache has officially been upgraded to what is now boarding on a full blown migraine. He hasn't had a headache this bad since the early days after the incident with the rebar, and seeing as that time he'd literally had a metal pole stuck through his brain, he wonders if he should take this more seriously than his usual ‘ignore it until it goes away’ approach. In fact, it's bad enough that he should probably just go home, except he has a feeling it could be stress related, and the source of his stress is currently occupying said home. 

In the end, he decides to throw back some ibuprofen and tough it out.

He uses a missed message from Maddie to excuse himself from dinner, because as much as he usually loves fast food burgers, the smell is making him a little nauseous. Lying down on a cot, he throws an arm over his eyes to block out the light and calls her back.

“Hey,” he says when she answers. “Sorry to call, I know you're at work. I just have this headache, so texting isn't great right now… I just wanted to see how it went this morning.”

“Oh, it's okay, babe, I'm on my break.” Worry tinges her voice. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m fine. Probably just stress. I took something for it, so hopefully it goes away soon.”

“I can still kick them out if you want,” Maddie offers.

He chuckles. “Tempting, but no. It’s okay. They won't be around much longer. I'll be fine.”

She hums, sounding less than sure of how true that is. “Umm, well,” she says, going back to his previous question, “it went okay this morning. Albert actually wasn't feeling all that well, that's why I asked. He was thinking about staying home to catch up on some sleep while your parents did some sight seeing.”

Chimney snorts at that. “My father sight-seeing. Now there's an oxymoron.”

“Yeah, well I think Myung had a couple things she wanted to see, and she dragged him along,” Maddie says wryly. “From what I gathered, they don't travel much.”

“No. Pretty sure my father is allergic to the idea of a vacation,” Chimney agrees. He drops his arm, wincing at the light. “You said Albert’s sick?”

She lets out a sigh. “Yeah, remember he had that headache last night? Well, he looked a little peaky this morning. He said it was just jet lag, but I wonder if he might've picked something up on his flight. You know how that goes.”

“Huh,” he grunts, now wondering if maybe he should go home. That would track—Albert might as well share his germs with Chimney while he's making his life miserable. But he's not convinced going home would help him feel any better. Might as well wait and see if the meds work first. 

“Let me know if you need me to pick anything up on my way home in the morning,” he offers.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says. “I’ll text you a list. Hope you get some rest tonight.”

His eyes are already closed again. “Yeah, thanks. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

It isn't the bell this time, but his phone that wakes him what feels like mere minutes later. 

Moaning, Chimney fumbles for the device, tucked somewhere near his pillow, to silence the incessant buzzing. He squints at the screen, the bright light stabbing straight through his eyeballs and into his brain nauseatingly, and only just manages to catch his dad’s name before he squeezes them shut again.

So much for that ibuprofen and rest idea.

“Hello?” he mumbles, blinking experimentally a couple of times as he tries to read the large wall clock. It claims it's only a little past nine, though he feels like it can't possibly be any earlier than midnight. God, he hates napping.

“Howard.” Something about his father's voice, shaky and unsure, drags him back to awareness.

He snaps upright, bracing himself against the thumping wave of dizziness. “Pop? What's wrong?” Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Hen look up from where she was scrolling on a nearby cot.

“It is Albert,” his father says. “Something is wrong with him. He—he collapsed in the hallway, and he will not respond to me.”

Chimney is on his feet before he can fully absorb the information. “I'm on my way,” he says, waving at Hen, even though he already has her attention. Moving the receiver away from his mouth, he tells her, “Call dispatch, tell them we're responding to a call.”

The wrinkle between her eyes deepens with worry even as she pulls out her phone. “Where?” she asks.

“My house.” He’s already moving toward the stairs, knowing she'll be on his heels.

“Pop?” he asks, returning his attention to the call. “Talk to me. What happened?”

"He was not well this morning. He was running a slight fever, so we left him to sleep. When we came back, he had gotten much worse. He was confused, he was not making any sense. We were going to take him to a doctor, but on the way out, he stopped moving. He was blinking very fast, and then he collapsed.”

Chimney has never heard his father sound more panicked before. "Okay, Pop, this is important," he says, trying to keep his own voice steady. "What's happening right now? Where is he?"

"He is still on the floor, in the hallway. He—his whole body went tense for a moment, but now he seems to be unconscious. Should I move him back to the couch?”

“No,” Chimney says quickly. “Leave him where he is. It sounds like he might've had a seizure. Did he throw up?"

"Earlier, when we first came home, but not now."

"Okay, okay, that's good. Roll him on his side, just in case he does, that'll keep his airway clear. But otherwise don't try to move him.”

Hen is already shouting at the others as he climbs into the passenger seat of the ambulance. She's only a second behind him, her concerned gaze growing more acute as she picks up his side of the conversation. 

He suddenly hears his step-mother's panicked voice in the background, and his father's voice comes back. "Howard, it is happening again!"

"Okay, hang in there, Pop," Chimney says, his own heart clenching as he notes the time. What the hell is going on? Albert had been fine this morning, slightly under the weather according to Maddie, and now he's having seizures? "We're ten minutes out, so we'll be there soon. Stay on the line and tell me when the seizure stops, okay?"

“What is wrong with him?”

Chimney bites his lip, meeting Hen's worried glance. "I don't know."

It actually takes them eight and a half minutes to get there, thanks to Hen’s driving. Chimney stumbles out of the rig before she comes to a complete stop, rushing inside to find his father waving him toward the living room.

“I cannot wake him up,” Myung says through tears as she moves out of the way for Chimney to kneel next to where his brother is curled up on the carpet. 

“It’s okay. It can take a few minutes to come back around after a seizure,” Chimney assures her, silently calculating how much time has passed since his father said the convulsions had ended as he takes in Albert’s grayish pallor and flushed cheeks. He tries to rouse him anyway, raking his knuckles across his brother’s sternum and calling his name loudly, but gets nothing. Pressing his fingers into Albert’s neck, he frowns, but not at the rapid pulse or quick, shallow breaths, which he expected. He moves his hand to his brother’s cheek, and then his forehead.

"Hen, he's burning up," he tells his partner as she slides in across from him.

Hen mirrors his frown, donning a pair of gloves and feeling his head for herself. "Febrile seizure?" she asks quietly.

Chimney meets her gaze, a cold tendril of fear sprouting in his stomach. "He was complaining about his neck last night," he tells her. "Said he slept wrong on the plane…"

Myung wrings her hands as the rest of the 118 pours into the living room. “What does that mean? Do you know what is wrong with him?"

"Um, maybe," Chimney stutters, shaking himself off and taking out his penlight to check Albert's pupils while Hen starts in on vitals. If it's what he suspects, they don't have time to waste. "Febrile seizures happen from a high fever, but usually just in little kids. But there are a couple of exceptions..."

Albert interrupts with a moan and weak recoil as Chimney flicks the light across his eye. "Albert?" he asks. "You in there?"

Another soft moan answers him.

Chimney rubs his shoulder encouragingly. “Come on, little brother. Time to wake up. That's it, open those eyes for me.”

Albert scrunches his brow unhappily, but complies, rolling his upper body as he squints fuzzily around. “Wha's ‘appening?” he mumbles, words slurring heavily.

“We heard you were back in town, so we thought we'd swing by and say hi,” Hen teases, putting her stethoscope in her ears so she can listen to his chest.

Albert, clearly not lucid enough to understand, winces and tries to turn away as Chimney resumes his penlight test. “Howie?” he breathes, shivering.

Tucking the penlight away, Chimney puts on a reassuring smile. “Hey, bro. You had a seizure,” he explains. “How are you feeling?”

Albert blinks at him glassy-eyed, as if he's trying to decode the question.

“BP is 80 over 40,” Hen supplies as Eddie joins them with the IV kit. “Pulse 125. And temp—” She runs the thermometer across his forehead until it beeps. "104.2," she finishes, holding out the device to show Chimney the reading.

That would fit with his theory. "Okay," he sighs, worrying at his lip. "Let's start fluids and get him ready for trans—"

He freezes midway through turning Albert's arm over and pushing up his sleeve to start the IV, his heart stopping at the tiny red pinpricks littering his brother's arm. "Hen," he says, grasping Albert's fingers as he lifts the arm so she can see. He closes his other hand around his brother's to check the disparagement in temperature. "And his hands are like ice," he adds in a wobbly voice.

"Okay,” Hen says decisively, starting to pack up her supplies with a new sense of urgency. "Buck, Eddie?" She motions for the two firefighters to bring the stretcher over. "Let's go."

“What is it?” Myung asks, her voice shaking. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Chimney grits out, “we need to get him to the hospital. Now.”

“Chimney? Oh my God…”

Chimney drops his arm from where it was covering his eyes but doesn’t bother lifting his head off the pillow as he rolls it toward where Maddie is standing next to the curtain. The meds they’d given him still haven’t kicked in, and even though they’d dimmed the lights directly above him, they can’t turn off all the sources of light. This is the ER. “Hey,” he greets, putting on a tired smile. “You found me.”

“Chim…”

He can see the tears already pooling in her eyes, knows that behind the paper mask her mouth is drawn with worry as she studies the IV in his arm. “Hey, I’m okay,” he assures her, but he can’t quite muster the energy to sit up and prove it. “It’s just a precaution. Can’t kick this damn headache, so they just want to be sure…”

“Hen said you threw up.” Maddie lowers herself onto the chair next to the bed, reaching out to take his hand.

“Yeah, turns out migraines don’t mix well with all these lights,” Chimney sighs, waving at the offending fluorescent bulbs with a grimace. “Or sirens. Or bumpy ambulance rides.” He squeezes her hand, corner of his mouth pulling wryly. “I’m okay now. Really.”

It had been embarrassing, how he’d run to the nearest trash can almost as soon as they’d taken Albert through the ER doors, dry heaving because he’s had nothing but coffee in his stomach all day. Hen had thought he was having some kind of panic attack, but the truth was, by the time they’d gotten to the hospital, the vice around his head had tightened to the point he couldn’t see straight. When he’d finally managed to pull himself together, Bobby had insisted he get checked out, and after all that, he couldn’t disagree that it was a good idea. He knows the early signs as well as any of them, and as brief as his time with his brother had been last night, he’d still been exposed.

Speaking of… “How’s Albert?” Chimney asks. He had heard his phone buzz a couple times from the bedside table, but couldn’t bring himself to look at the screen long enough to read any messages.

Maddie lets out a long breath. “No more seizures,” she starts—good news, since he’d had another en route to the hospital— “but his temp went up, and he hasn't been lucid at all since you brought him in. They said the preliminary test results should be back in a few hours, but given his symptoms, the doctor is almost certain they'll be positive for bacterial meningitis.”

Chimney closes his eyes, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, even though it doesn’t do anything to relieve the pressure in his head. He’d suspected as much, with the sepsis—knows how quickly it can develop—which is another reason he’d submitted to the lumbar puncture and round of antibiotics in case this migraine isn’t just a migraine.

“I should’ve make him to go to the doctor when you said he wasn’t feeling well,” he mutters. 

“Chim, there was no way for you to know,” Maddie answers automatically, as if anticipating this line of thought. “I mean, I saw him this morning, and I wouldn’t have guessed. He was a little off, but just seemed tired, mostly. This came out of nowhere…”

“Yeah,” he agrees half-heartedly. "I know, there was no way to know…" He bites his lip, because he can't let it drop. He knows Albert is immunocompromised, that he has been since they removed his spleen after his accident, which means they can't take any illness with him lightly. "It's just," he says, "he's more at risk for this kind of thing, and maybe if I hadn't been so angry at him for bringing my parents—"

"Chim." Maddie squeezes his hand, her eyes warning him to quit with the guilt trip.

He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. The more he beats himself up, the more she's going to tell him to stop. So he lets it drop. For now.

"My parents doing okay?" he asks instead.

Maddie runs her thumb over his knuckles, the motion soothing. "Yeah. They're scared, but they're okay. Hen stuck around to sit with them until I got here, and she and Bobby said they would be back after their shift. The Lees have Jee for the night, and Buck's going to take her tomorrow so I can hang around, too."

"That's good. Probably best to keep her out of the house until we can bleach the entire thing." The odds that she would pick up the bacteria are probably pretty small, but Chimney doesn't even want to imagine how devastating it would be. Definitely not worth the risk.

"Yeah," Maddie says, squeezing his hand again. "We'll do that as soon as you're feeling better."

He lets his eyes close. His head seriously hurts. "You don't have to stay," he mumbles. "I'm okay, really."

Fingers card through his hair, and while it doesn't take away the pain, it's comforting all the same. "Very noble of you, but I'm not planning on going anywhere," she says softly. "Not til both you and your brother are doing better."

Sudden tears prick at his eyes, his chest going tight, and he looks up at her, biting his lip to hold back the wash of emotion. Part of it is worry, he knows—worry for his little brother, because this is serious. Albert could be dying right now, and that thought terrifies him. But more than that, it's an overwhelming sense of love for this woman. This woman who doesn't have to care so deeply about his idiot brother, but who does anyway. Who rode all the highs and lows of the two of them working out their issues, and was always there to have his back, or to talk sense into him when he was the one being the idiot. Who would still care, would still be here for him, even if she didn't already love Albert herself. Because Chimney loves him, and that's enough for her.

As usual, it's like she can read his mind. And, okay, given the circumstances, maybe it isn't all that hard to guess what he's thinking about, but she still knows just what to say. Wiping away a stray tear with her thumb, she smiles at him again. "It's going to be okay, Chim. Albert's a Han, and you Han boys are tough. He's going to pull through. He's going to be okay."

He bites his lip and nods, hoping she's right.

Albert isn't okay. In fact, he gets worse over the course of the night—his fever continuing to creep higher, even with the slew of antibiotics they’re pumping into him. By the morning, they’ve placed him on a ventilator. The first domino in the cascade that will gradually shut his body down for good.

The preliminary test results come back shortly after breakfast, confirming that it is indeed bacterial meningitis, and that Chimney does not have it. Despite this news, the doctor is hesitant to release him, given his medical history and the fact that his migraine is still going strong. But after a clean CT scan, Chimney finally manages to get himself discharged. By then, it's nearly three in the afternoon, and he wants nothing more than to go somewhere very dark and quiet and take a nice, long nap, but he guesses even if he did go home try and get some rest, it would go about as well as last night. In that it didn't. As tired as he is, as much as he knows he needs it, he can’t seem to get his brain to stop long enough to sleep.

He needs to go and see Albert anyway. 

Myung is standing outside the large observation window in the ICU, watching as the nurse attends to her son inside the room, and spares him a glance when he stops to stand next to her. 

Chimney has never really exchanged much conversation with his step-mother. She'd been present on a few Facetime calls through the years, and had always been polite to him, but like Albert, she'd always been more of a distant concept than an actual person. The most he’d ever talked to her, in fact, had been the last time Albert had been in the hospital, after his accident. Ironically, he'd never had much of a problem with her, not like he'd had with Albert, even though she was technically a replacement wife for the one his father had discarded, like Albert was a replacement son. She’d always just been… Nothing to him.

Which makes it awkward now. Giving her updates about Albert’s recovery over Facetime after his accident had been one thing, but now, seeing her red-rimmed eyes as she watches a machine breathe for her son, as she watches him slip further away… He’s not sure he has anything to offer her.

So he opens with the obvious question. “How is he?”

He doesn’t really need to ask. He had just talked to Albert’s doctor a few minutes ago and gotten the full update, so he already knows his little brother is not doing well. Knows that they're concerned about his kidney function, that if they shut down, it's only a matter of time before his liver, and eventually his heart, follow suit. But he can’t quite cross the bridge to ask how she’s doing with all of this, even though he knows it would be a better question, because he’s not sure he can handle feeling anything but indifference toward this woman right now.

Now is not the time to unpack thirty years of baggage.

"They are trying to keep his temperature down," she says, watching as the nurse arranges fresh ice packs around her unconscious patient. "It keeps getting so high. They said… They said it could cause damage to his brain." Her voice hiccups on the words. "They said… the medicine is not working, and that because of his spleen… Even if it does begin to work, he may need dialysis, or he could be paralyzed, or…" She breaks off, covering her mouth with her hand and shaking her head.

Chimney presses his lips together. He knows the statistics well enough, knows how each hour that passes without improvement, each complication that arises, plummets his little brother's chances at coming through this unscathed. If he makes it through at all. But as much as he wants to argue that Albert had beat the odds before, back when the doctors had said he might never drop the stutter or be able to walk without a limp, that he might always struggle with his short-term memory and that his hand-eye coordination would never fully recover… He knows that even the Hans don't have an endless supply of luck.

He should offer her something. Some form of comfort. Reassurance that Albert will be okay, like Maddie had done for him. But he can't bring his tongue to form the words.

“Where’s my father?” he asks instead. He hasn't seen him since they loaded Albert into the ambulance last night.

A muscle in Myung's jaw twitches. Such a small movement, but he catches it all the same. "He needed some space."

Chimney snorts. Of course he needed space. He's always needed space. Getting space is his signature move. Why would Chimney expect any less of him?

The two of them fall into uncomfortable silence again, lost to their own thoughts. The need to say something presses harder and harder on Chimney, thumping through his brain in time with his pulse, but it's not his job. It shouldn't be his job to take care of this woman. Even if he wasn't sick and dog-tired, he shouldn't have to be the one to support her as she watches her son creep closer and closer to death. She's not even really family.

And yet, that's just like his father, isn't it? To leave him with all the responsibility because he's too stubborn, too stuck in his ways to do anything else.

"I was happy when he came here," Myung says, and it takes Chimney a moment to understand what she's talking about. In contrast to the scowl screwed onto his face, hers is soft with a smile, though the tears pooling in her eyes casts a sad shadow over it as she looks at her son. "He was such a curious boy. Full of questions. He could never be still, always needed to move, to explore. He could not be given answers, he needed to discover them himself. My husband never understood that. He… The world he was raised in was a different one. He could never understand why Albert could not fit into that world."

Chimney swallows, but Myung isn't finished. "It was good for him to come here," she continues. "He needed a brother. Someone to show him that he was not broken. That there was another way. He was… lonely. Very lonely." She looks over and smiles at him, unshed tears glimmering brightly. "I am happy he found you."

A fierce protectiveness washes over Chimney as his gaze turns back to his little brother, a fire kindling in his bones at his step-mother's words. He knows she hadn't intended it that way, that she'd been trying to say something kind, but it only reminds him that he wasn't the only one his father mistreated all those years. He wants to ask her why she put up with it, that if she could see what her husband was doing to her son, why didn't she leave him as Chimney's own mother had? But he bites his tongue. It isn't his place. This isn't the time.

 Still, he he doesn't think he can stand another second of this conversation. "You should go get something to eat," he chokes out, nodding at Albert. "I'll sit with him for a while." And without waiting for an answer, he walks toward the shelf to grab protective equipment so he can so in and sit with Albert, leaving her behind.

Maddie drops him off back home a while later when she goes to get Jee from Buck’s place. He would’ve gone along—he could really use a hug from his little girl right about now—but while the meds they’d prescribed had finally made a dent in his migraine, it’s still going strong enough that the only thing that sounds at all appealing right now is curling up in his dark bedroom and trying to sleep. 

He'd spent the entire afternoon at the hospital, keeping vigil by Albert's bedside, but had eventually reached the point he couldn't take it anymore. All of the sitting around, waiting for good news that never came… 

As promised, Bobby had come back for a little while, Hen in tow, had forced him to eat something and told him to take the day off tomorrow. As considerate as the offer is, Chimney almost wants to go into work, if he can get this migraine under control by then. The last time his brother had been in the hospital, he'd had a newborn to keep him distracted, but this time… As much as he wants to stay at Albert's bedside, he needs something to keep him busy, or he's going to go crazy.

He keeps the lights off as he toes his shoes off by the door, even though the sun is already down and the remaining light filtering in through the windows isn't much to go on. But he decides the risk of stepping on a loose toy between here and the bedroom is acceptable in favor of giving his abused eyes a break.

Which is why his soul leaves his body for a moment when he spots a shadowy figure sitting on the couch.

“God!” he gasps, hand flying to heart to keep it inside his chest. He recognizes that silhouette. “Pop? I thought you were still at the hospital.” Not that he'd seen him there, but he'd assumed… Wrong, apparently.

His father grunts.

“What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” Chimney averts his eyes as he flicks on a floor lamp, blinking until the initial slice of light through his pupils settles to a dull throb.

Sung doesn't answer, doesn't bother moving or even looking up at him. Chimney frowns at the open bottle of wine and half empty glass on the coffee table in front of him. His father doesn't drink. Or, at least, he never has as far as Chimney knows. He'd always looked down his nose at people who did.

“Pop?” he asks hesitatingly. “You okay?”

There's a long pause, long enough that Chimney almost gives up and walks away, but then his father says, “Where did I go wrong?”

Chimney bites his lip, looking toward his bedroom, feeling the tug of the hot shower and comfortable bed waiting for him there, and then looking back at his father, like a wilted flower sitting on the couch. This isn’t his job, it isn’t his place to comfort the man—hell, if anything it should be the other way around. And honestly, he doesn’t know what might come out of his mouth if he opens it right now. Because if his father truly wants to know where he went wrong, well, Chimney has a few thoughts on the matter. He has a feeling it might not be wise to share them, though. No, the smart thing to do would be to say goodnight and go to bed. That’s what he should do.

“I did what I was supposed to,” Sung continues, his words clear and precise. If he'd really had… Two-thirds of a bottle of wine, Chimney quickly surmises from the line of liquid in the bottle. He can't tell from his voice. “I followed in my father’s footsteps. I worked hard, I built a company, I provided for my family. It did not matter.” He finally looks up at Chimney. “I lost it all anyway. First Jee-Yun, then you, and now Albert.”

What the hell is happening right now? Is his father actually drunk? Chimney has never, never heard him talk like this before. Has never heard him express regret over any decision he's made, ever, other than maybe having Chimney in the first place. 

It's enough to carry him across the room and lower himself onto the chair opposite his father. “Albert’s not dead, Pop,” he says, because that has to be the impetus behind all of this. “He’s going to be fine. We just need to give the medicine some more time to work.”

Sung’s eyes go back to the bottle on the table as he snorts. “Even if he does survive, he does not want to come back to Korea. He does not want any part in my business.”

Chimney’s skin goes hot, anger flashing through his veins. Is that what this is about? Well, yeah! No shit, Sherlock, he wants to shout. Of course Albert doesn’t want to go home and take over your business. You were a dick of a father to him! He bites his tongue, clenching his hands into fists. He doesn’t want to have this conversation now, doesn’t want to have this conversation ever. And yet, it's like his father is opening the door for it. If he doesn’t take the opportunity to do this now, maybe Bobby is right, maybe he’ll have to live his whole life with this weight around his neck, forever dragging him down. Poisoning him from the inside out.

He deserves some goddamn peace.

So he finally lets out the words that he’s kept carefully locked away somewhere deep in his chest for the last twenty-five years. “You are so fucking selfish, you know that?!” The hysterical chuckles bubble out like lava, thick and stifling, and there’s no stopping them now, no matter how much he may want to. Standing, he fists a hand in his hair to keep his head from floating away as heat waves make the world waver around him. “Your son is lying in a hospital bed, on a fucking ventilator, and here you are, sitting around in the dark, drunk. Instead of being there for him, you're having a pity party for yourself because he doesn’t want to live his life exactly the way you want him to… Because that's what matters most when he's in there fighting just to survive right now! And then you have the audacity to ask where you went wrong?” He barks a laugh, shaking his head and beginning to pace.

“But you know what?” he continues, the momentum building now that the floodgates are open. “I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like you bothered to visit him the last time he almost died. Just like you didn’t give a shit all the times I was in the hospital.” His pulse pounds painfully through his skull, pressure building with each thump as his breath heaves in his chest. “Hell, I should've known all along, since it's not like you bothered to visit one time when Ma was sick. You barely made it out for her funeral.”

His father stares resolutely back. “I had responsibilities—”

“Bullshit!” Chimney spits. “You had a responsibility to your family. You chose not to show up, you chose work over us, so you do not get to sit here now and wonder why we don’t want you. Don’t you dare pretend to care now when you didn’t for thirty years.”

Sung’s jaw pulses, his eyes darting to the coffee table. “I cared,” he seethes, his voice carefully measured. “But Jee-Yun made it clear she did not want me. You did not want me. It was too late, there was nothing I could do.”

Hot tears skip down Chimney’s cheeks, the pressure in his head too great to hold them back any longer. “You’re right,” he croaks. “I don’t want you. I don't want anything to do with you. I built my own family here, without any help from you, and you know what? They treat me a hell of a lot better than you ever did. They care about me, not just what I can do for them. So don’t start pretending you want to be a father now, after all these years. Don’t pretend you want to be a grandfather to my daughter. It’s too late for that." He shakes his head firmly. "I don’t think we can fix this now, even if I wanted to.”

He takes a step toward his room, but stops, biting down hard on his tongue to keep his voice from failing. “But you know what?” he squeaks out. “For some god forsaken reason I’ll never understand, Albert does want you. Even after all the shit you put him through…” He snorts mirthlessly, shaking his head again. “He may not want to take over your business, but he still wants you to be his father. He wouldn’t have brought you here if he didn’t. So instead of sitting here moping in the dark, like a coward, go and be with your son. Show up for him, before it’s too late to fix that, too.”

He spins on his heels, not waiting for a response as he stomps off to his room, slamming the door behind him. The sobs finally tear from his gut as he collapses on the bed, burying his face in his pillow to muffle the sound of his heart breaking.

Someone rubs circles on his back, knocking loose the blanket of sleep cocooning him. “Chim.”

He sucks in a breath, his head popping up as consciousness crashes over him. “Wha?” he grunts, trying to get his bearings. He’s in his bedroom, sprawled face-down on his bed, his face wet from the drool staining his pillow.

“Hey, sorry to wake you.” Maddie’s hand does a couple more circles on his back. “Myung just called. Thought you'd want to know, Albert finally turned a corner late last night. His fever's down and they took him off the ventilator this morning. Myung said he woke up for a little bit about an hour ago."

Chimney blinks stupidly a couple times as his brain processes the meaning of her words and then melts bonelessly back into the bed. “Oh, thank God.”

He can hear the smile on her voice. “He's still got a long way to go, but it sounds like he’s finally responding to the antibiotics. He was a little out of it, but lucid when he woke up, and the doctors are seeing some progress with his kidneys. They're tentatively hopeful that he's over the worst of it."

He just lays there for another minute, eyes closed as he relaxes into the soothing back rubs. Not only is the news a huge relief, but he notes that the crushing pain in his head has finally diminished. In fact, it’s hard to tell if the lingering shadow of an ache is actually there or if it’s just an after-image of the constant pain from the last couple of days.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and decides if he doesn’t get up now, he’s definitely going to fall back asleep, and he probably shouldn’t do that. Rolling onto his side, he looks up at Maddie, perched on the edge of the bed. The lights are off, but sunshine is leaking in through the curtains, haloing her in a soft light that makes her look more beautiful than ever. For a moment, all he can do is take her in, the curve of her cheeks, the way her hair falls over her shoulders just so…

“Chim?” she asks, her lips curling in amusement.

He shakes himself, scrubbing a hand over his face and squinting at the clock on the nightstand. “What time is it?”

“Nearly noon,” she says. “I would've woken you up sooner, but it seemed like you needed the sleep.”

He yawns, nodding and propping himself up on his elbow. “Yeah, I guess so,” he grunts, scratching at his hair, which is a matted mess. And he’s still wearing the same clothes from last night, and his breath is terrible. And actually, now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember going to bed, which means he must’ve fallen asleep at some point during his emotional breakdown. That’s nice.

“My dad still here?” he asks, swinging his legs off the bed.

Maddie follows suit, standing and shaking her head. “When Jee and I got back last night, you were the only one here. I assumed he went back to the hospital.”

Chimney winces, moving to the dresser to dig out some fresh clothes. “Either that or he booked a flight back to Seoul.” He looks at her guiltily. “I may have kind of… Said some stuff to him.”

Her eyebrows furrow as she reaches out to touch his arm. “You okay?”

He purses his lips, considering the question. “Yeah,” he decides. “Actually, I think I am.”

Rubbing his arm a couple times, she smiles at him, which prompts him to pull her into a hug. Tears sting at his eyes as she fits against him, the perfect shape to compliment his, and he turns his head to press his lips to her neck as she brushes her fingers through the short hairs on the nape of his neck.

“I think I'm, uh, just gonna clean up a bit before I head back to the hospital,” he croaks, finally pulling away and swiping at his eyes. “I can smell myself.”

She cups his cheek, brown eyes glittering with amusement as she thumbs his days-old stubble. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” she teases.

Snorting, he starts to turn back to the dresser to gather his clothes, but she stops him, hooking her fingers in his shirt. “Hey,” she says, tugging lightly until he looks at her again. “I just want you to know, whatever you said to your dad, whatever happens… I’ve got your back. And I’m proud of you.”

He can't help himself, he pulls her in for another hug. "I love you," he whispers. "So much."

Sure enough, Chimney’s dad is sitting next to Albert when he shows up in the ICU later that day, which is… Kind of annoying, to be honest. He’d secretly been wishing the man would have packed up and gone home. Abandoned Albert the same way he’d abandoned him all those years ago. To prove to everyone that Chimney was right about him—that he’s still that same uncaring asshole he was all those years ago.

It hurts more than he’d like to admit to realize he didn’t.

And yet, even as he’s thinking it, he cringes at himself, because he doesn’t need a psychologist to tell him how messed up that is. Maybe it’s the fourteen hours of sleep he got last night that suddenly makes things clear, or maybe it just finally clicks what Maddie and Hen and Bobby have been saying all along. Because suddenly, he can see what his bitterness is doing.

It’s one thing for him to poison himself—to hold onto the pain and hate all these years—but to actually hope for his little brother to get hurt…? That's not the kind of person he wants to be.

This isn’t just about him anymore.

Still, it stings, seeing his father sit there, arms crossed as he stares at the TV above the bed with bloodshot eyes while Albert sleeps. The empty take-out containers and folded newspaper on the side table indicate he’s been here for a while. Probably all night, if Maddie’s right. (And she always is).

How many times had Chimney wished for his father to do that for him?

The fact that he's doing it now for Albert, though, shows him something. Proves to him that, despite their differences, despite almost thirty years of estrangement, and Chimney trying to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible, they do have one thing in common. One tiny sliver of neutral ground. And right here, right now, it's clear that it's up to Chimney to decide whether to step out onto it, or whether to walk away forever.

Damn Albert and his annoying habit of shaking up Chimney's entire world.

Steeling himself, he straightens up to his full height and walks to the door. He's going to have to face his father eventually. Might as well be now. Sung’s gaze flicks to him as he slips his mask in place, going straight to the sink to wash his hands. Albert isn't contagious anymore, but his fragile immune system doesn't stand a chance of fighting off any new bugs visitors might bring in. 

“Hey.” Chimney hopes his face isn’t turning visibly red as he feels heat in his cheeks. He steals his father’s earlier pose, quickly crossing his arms as he nods at the sleeping figure on the bed to deflect the attention from himself. “How’s, uh… How’s he doing?”

It works, his father turning back toward Albert, his eyes crinkling fondly. “It is slow progress, but he is improving. His doctor says if he continues on this path, he could make a full recovery."

“That’s good. That's…" Chimney's shoulders sag in genuine relief. "That's really good news."

Dammit, he’d been hoping that part of the conversation would last a little longer.

The silence stretches, and Chimney wonders if maybe he should just come back later. It’s not like Albert is even awake anyway.

Sung folds his hands behind his back, clears his throat. “Myung went back to the house to gather our things.” Frowning, Chimney starts to protest, but his father cuts him off. “We will be staying at a hotel closer to the hospital while Albert is here,” he explains, finally turning back to Chimney. “We appreciate your hospitality, but we will be spending most of our time here anyway, and it will be easier for everyone.”

Chimney snaps his mouth shut, nodding slowly. He can’t argue with that, especially after their conversation last night. He's sure his father doesn't want to stick around after that. Still, something uncomfortable tightens in his chest. 

More awkward silence, accompanied by the low soundtrack of commercials from the TV. 

Again, his father is the one to break it. “I wanted to thank you, Howard, for allowing me to meet my granddaughter.” The lines around his eyes soften. “She is beautiful.”

“I…” It’s suddenly hard to breathe, the unexpected comment punching him straight in the gut. A soft smile wobbles at his lips. “Yeah. She’s… Her and Maddie are the best things that ever happened to me.”

“I am only sorry your mother did not get to meet them,” Sung adds, his voice taking on a wistful quality. “She would have been very proud.”

So much for the not crying in front of his dad thing. But Sung is already walking away, leaving him. Chimney clears his throat enough to call after him. “Hey, Pop?”

His father turns back.

“You, uh… Maybe Friday, we, uh…” he chokes out, snorting at himself as he swipes at his eyes. Here he goes again.  “Maddie and I usually get take out, nothing fancy. If you wanted, I mean, maybe you could… Maybe you could join us?” 

Smile brightening, his father inclines his head in agreement. “I would like that very much, Howard.”

Chimney waits until he leaves before collapsing into the chair beside the bed. His heart is thumping in his chest, his hands still shaking. Burying his face in his hands, he squeezes out the tears, his breath hitching as he tries to get himself under control.

“‘m I dying?”

Chimney bolts up in surprise, swiping at his blotchy face as he spots Albert blinking at him blearily, dark eyes glazed with the remains of fever.

“Huh? Are you…? No,” he answers quickly. He sniffs, putting on a reassuring smile. “No, you’re not dying. You're doing really well, actually. The medicine is working. You're getting better.”

Albert hums, frowning as he raises a weak hand to gesture at Chimney, which pulls at the IV tubing stuck under his arm. “Why’re you crying then?”

Snorting, Chimney catches his brother's hand and gently untangles him. “Because you scared me half to death,” he says matter-of-factly. “Almost broke the number one rule of staying at the Han-Buckley residence: No dying in the living room.”

There’s a three-second processing delay before Albert’s face scrunches guiltily. “'m sorry,” he mumbles. Shivering, he tries half-heartedly to burrow deeper under the blanket. 

Chimney pulls it up for him, smoothing it over his chest like he does for Jee-Yun when he tucks her in. “It's okay. I’ll forgive you as long as you promise to keep getting better. Deal?”

Albert grunts as his eyes slide closed again, but he twitches himself awake a moment later, the heart monitor beeping out his sudden panic as he looks at Chimney. “Father.”

“Yeah, Father. You brought him to my house, remember? And then to get out of how uncomfortable it was having him there, you decided to contract a deadly bacterial infection,” Chimney teases.

He can see the pieces click into place as Albert realizes what he’d unintentionally done. Groaning, he rolls his head on his pillow miserably, muttering out another apology. 

“Hey, hey,” Chimney says quickly, because as much as he’d been pissed at Albert for all of this, he doesn’t need his little brother feeling guilty on top of how miserable he already is. Reaching out, he pushes back the unruly hair from Albert’s forehead, drawing his attention back. “It’s okay, Albert. Really. I'm not mad at you, okay? I mean, maybe I was, just a little, because, seriously, buddy. Bringing Pop here without telling me? Not your brightest idea ever."

"But…" Chimney concedes, cutting off the sad puppy eyes Albert gives him, "we actually talked last night, and… I don’t know. I said some stuff that I think… I think I've needed to say for a long time. And… the world didn't implode, you know? I—I think it actually might've… maybe… helped. We kinda had a moment even, just now. So, you know…”

Albert is staring at him, eyebrows lightly drawn with confusion, like he’s stuck buffering. Like his fever-addled brain can’t compute the jumble of words that are coming out of Chimney’s mouth. Fair, Chimney isn't even sure what all of that was. "What I'm trying to say is, maybe you bringing him here wasn't the worst thing ever."

Albert's eyes flutter closed again, too heavy to keep open, the corners of his mouth tugging with a self-satisfied smirk. "Must still be hallucinating."

Snorting, Chimney gives him a playful shove. "Glad to see your sarcasm is still working."

Humming, Albert paws at the blanket, searching without opening his eyes, and Chimney obligingly takes his hand, running his thumb across warm knuckles. "Told you he changed," Albert says, giving his hand a weak squeeze.

Chimney chuckles again, his free hand going back to smoothing over Albert's hair. As much as he's enjoying seeing Albert awake, his brother needs to rest, and he knows from experience that this is a sure-fire way to send him straight to sleep. "Yeah, well, the jury's still out," he says. "But if nothing else, I think we finally found some common ground."

Albert is already half asleep, his words slurred as he breathes out, "Love you, Howie."

"Love you, too, bro."

A gentle breeze tempers the sun pressing on the back of his neck as Chimney kneels by the stone marker, reaching out to brush off the dirt and sand that's collected in the corners. He traces the swoops and lines of the engraved granite, the sun-warmed shapes soothing beneath his fingertips, and then places the bouquet of lilies into the vase at the base of the headstone.

"Sorry it's been a while, Mom," he says, arranging the white flowers to sit more evenly in the vase. The familiar ritual calms his pulse, steadies his hands. "I've, uh, been a little busy. I know, it's no excuse."

Taking out his wallet, he slides out a photo, smiling at the little face in it. Sometimes, it's still hard to believe that he gets to call this little girl his. "Brought you a new photo of your granddaughter," he tells the gravestone. "She's two-and-a-half now, can you believe it? Growing like a weed, learning something new everyday." He chuckles to himself. "Developing quite a mischievous streak, too. The other day, Maddie made cookies, and Jee figured out that if she brought her step stool out of the bathroom, she could reach them on the counter. Ate about half a dozen before Maddie caught her, the little sneak. I think she gets that from you."

Picking up the rock next to the flowers, he tucks the photo under it, giving it a pat as he sets it back down. "You would've loved her, Ma," he says thickly. "And she would've loved you."

He lets his hand linger on the rock, a tear escaping down his cheek. He's pretty sure he's going to be chronically dehydrated from how much he's been crying over the last few days. Biting his lip, he looks up at the sky, blinking through blurry vision as he gets himself under control enough to speak again. "Dad, uh…" He swallows back the crack in his voice, tries again. "Dad came to visit. First time since the funeral… Albert brought him." He huffs a chuckle, swipes at his soggy cheeks. "For some reason, he thought that would be a good idea. I don't… I don't know. I was pretty mad at first, but…"

His face twists again, more tears pressing out of his eyes. "I've been so angry with him," he squeaks out, "for so long, Ma. He left us. He left… He left me. And I don't think… I never thought…"

He sniffs and lifts his arm to sop up the snot dribbling from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. "I'm thinking about forgiving him." The words hurt coming out, make his entire body tremble, but there's something relieving about it, too. Like all that pressure on his chest is finally bleeding off. He looks down at his shaking hands, wiping sweaty palms on the knees of his pants. "I know what you would say. That I should have done that a long time ago, like you did. You—you always said holding onto anger is like holding a hot coal. That the only one who ends up getting burned is you." He chuckles again, and has to wipe his nose again as snot shoots out. "Must be in cahoots with Bobby, he said something like that, too.

"The thing is…" He shifts, his knees begging him to be done kneeling. He's getting old. "The thing is, it's not that easy for me, you know? I don't—How do you just let go of something like that? How do you just…? I don't know how to forgive him, Ma. I don't… I don't have your compassionate heart."

Sighing, he gives up on keeping the seat of his pants clean and sits fully down on the damp ground, immediately reaching out to fiddle with one of the flowers. To pet the soft petals, brush his fingers over the leaves. "I never understood that, you know. How you didn't hate him after… After he abandoned us. You always said you felt sorry for him, and I didn't get it, until… I don't know. Maybe I'm starting to understand it now, just a little bit. Maybe I… I don't know. I'm still not sure I'm ready to let him back into my life yet, but…" He thinks about the look in his father's eyes when he'd thanked Chimney for letting him meet his granddaughter, when he'd told him that his mother would be proud, and his lips quirk at the edges. "Maybe… Maybe I'm ready to start letting go of some of my anger."

He looks back at the headstone, his watery smile growing. "What do you think?"

The breeze picks up, ruffling his hair.

"Yeah," he whispers, fresh tears tracking down to drip off his chin. "That's what I thought you'd say."

Reaching out, he presses his hand against the warm stone, and for just a moment, he can feel her pressing back. "I miss you, Ma."