It had been a whole month since the trial. The weight on Allison's shoulders had lifted—at least, that's what she told herself. But the relief was fleeting, a temporary reprieve before reality crept back in. Steve had gone quiet, her family had stayed away. A small mercy.

Sighing, she fumbled with the popcorn string alongside Christopher, the needle slipping clumsily between her fingers. He laughed, light-hearted and teasing, and it made her chest loosen just a little.

"You suck at this, Ali," Christopher grinned, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Allison huffed a chuckle. "I'm aware."

Mocha let out a soft sigh from the couch, shifting lazily. The tree stood decorated with lights and ornaments, the warm glow reflecting off polished baubles. They had agreed to wait for Buck and Eddie before placing the star—it felt right, like a moment worth sharing.

She pushed herself up, stretching out the tension in her shoulders. "You finish up while I make us some hot chocolate, alright?"

Christopher beamed. "Okay!"

As Allison stepped into the kitchen, the familiar scent of pine wrapped around her. Comforting, grounding. The kettle clicked as the water heated, and she glanced toward the door at the soft knock that echoed through the apartment. Mocha perked up instantly, ears twitching.

Allison hesitated, checking the hidden ring camera before unlocking the door. Her breath hitched when she saw the package sitting on the stoop, unexpected yet unmistakably familiar.

Mocha sniffed at it cautiously before stepping back, giving her silent approval.

Allison carried the box inside, her movements careful, measured. When she caught the names on the label—*Dawn and Shea*—her chest tightened. A familiar sting pricked at the edges of her mind, memories pushing through before she was ready for them.

She sliced the package open, eyes scanning its contents.

Photographs. Daria’s jacket. An envelope with her name written in delicate cursive.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, the paper soft beneath her touch. A lump formed in her throat as she unfolded the letter, eyes tracing the words.

We never blamed you, Ali.

The kettle shrieked behind her, pulling her abruptly from the letter’s grasp. She blinked, inhaling sharply as she turned back to the stove, pouring the hot water with practiced precision.

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she let it go.

Allison sat on the couch putting her hot chocolate down along with Christopher's. He did so much for the popcorn chain that Allison was chuckling. Allison ties it off and Christopher gets up and walks to the tree getting ready to hang the popcorn chain. 

The door clicked open, laughter spilling in from outside.

Allison glanced over her shoulder just as Buck and Eddie stepped in, grins stretched across their faces.

"Hey, you're both here." Her voice was bright, welcoming.

Buck and Eddie's gazes shifted toward her and Christopher, standing beside the half-decorated tree.

"You can help us finish."

"Alright," Eddie said, tossing his things near the door along with Buck's before strolling toward them. His arms wrapped around Christopher, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Amazing job, buddy."

"Ali helped too, Dad."

Eddie smiled, ruffling his son's hair while Buck tugged Allison close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She leaned into him, warmth pooling in her chest as Eddie lifted Christopher to place the star atop the tree.

"I'm happy this turned out great." Allison smiled softly.

Buck kept her close, nodding.

Then she asked, "So, how was work?"

And Buck froze.

Allison blinked, catching the shift in his expression—the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he suddenly refused to look at her.

"Uh..."

Eddie immediately lost it, laughter bursting from his chest as he stepped toward Allison, whispering something in her ear.

Her eyes widened.

She turned to Buck. "You didn't—"

"He did, Hermana," Eddie cackled.

Allison stared at Buck, utterly appalled.

And Buck? He looked like a child caught red-handed, eyes darting away, sheepish guilt written all over his face.

Sighing dramatically, Allison shook her head, though a chuckle slipped past her lips.

"Do you both want hot chocolate?"

"Yes, please," they replied, their grins returning like nothing had happened.

Allison rolled her eyes and headed toward the kitchen.

Whatever Buck had done at work, it could wait—for now, they were going to enjoy Christmas.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

Later that night, both Eddie and Christopher left for home while Allison was cleaning up the mess. Buck went to take a shower while she continued her job; Mocha then heard something at the door.

The knock at the door was steady. Not forceful, not urgent—just deliberate.

Allison felt it before she even moved.

Mocha had already picked up on it.

The dog's low growl rumbled in the quiet space, her body tense, settled between Allison's legs like a shield.

Allison inhaled slowly, fingers twitching at her sides.

She knew.

Still, she moved—step by step—toward the door.

And when she opened it, the familiar figures stood there.

Olivia. Dean. Noah.

Together.

A unit. A wall.

But Olivia's expression? Soft. Careful.

"Allison," her voice was gentle. "I know this is unexpected, but... I just want to talk."

A pause.

Allison said nothing.

She watched instead.

The way Olivia stood—straight-backed, hands clasped like a woman holding peace in her palms. But Allison could see it—the tightness in her eyes, the carefully measured tone, the patience that was too practiced, too controlled.

It was not real.

Mocha's growl deepened, a quiet warning.

Allison exhaled, slow.

"Talk about what?"

Dean shifted slightly beside Olivia. Noah was still.

"About... everything." Olivia's voice stayed steady, but there was something beneath it. "It's been so long. And I know things have been—difficult. But I just want us to have a conversation."

Allison studied her, gaze sharp, calculating.

"A conversation," she repeated, voice flat.

Olivia nodded. "I want to make amends."

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Then—

Allison tilted her head, just slightly.

"Make amends, huh?"

Her fingers brushed Mocha's fur, grounding herself against the truth she already knew.

This was not about making amends.

This was a game.

Olivia wanted something.

And Allison was not about to play.

Allison's grip on Mocha tightened just slightly, grounding herself against the warning thrumming beneath her skin. Olivia's voice was smooth—measured—but Allison knew better. There was a certain kind of calculated patience, the kind that never came without strings attached.

She had seen this before.

Had lived this before.

Olivia stood just on the threshold, chin lifted in a way that spoke of rehearsed concern, but her posture was too stiff, her smile just short of genuine. Behind her, Dean and Noah lingered, still, their presence deliberate. They weren't here to reconcile. They were here for something else.

"A conversation," Allison repeated, voice flat, testing the words on her tongue.

Olivia nodded, too quickly. "I just—there's so much history between us, Allison. And I know it hasn't been easy. But I want to try."

Mocha let out another low growl, her body pressed firmly to Allison's legs, unmoving, like she could sense the shift in the air before it even happened.

Allison's fingers brushed against the dog's fur absently, her gaze locked onto her mother's.

"Try," she echoed. "That's a word, isn't it?"

For a moment, Olivia faltered. Just a fraction, just enough for Allison to catch it.

Dean shifted beside her, exhaling through his nose, his jaw tight. Noah didn't move at all.

"I'm not here to fight," Olivia said carefully, deliberately, choosing each syllable like they were the ones that would get her through the door. "I just want a chance to—"

To what?" Allison asked, cutting through the false gentleness like glass splintering. "Pretend things were different? Pretend I wasn't the problem?"

The words sat heavy between them, tension thickening in the silence that followed.

Dean scoffed under his breath, crossing his arms. Noah still held his stance—no expression, no shift, just watching.

Olivia inhaled through her nose, slow and controlled, and something in the way her jaw tensed told Allison that the real conversation—the one Olivia wanted to have—was about to start.

Allison held her ground.

Mocha stayed still, unwavering.

And for the first time in years, Allison didn't feel afraid.

Olivia held her carefully composed posture, the edges of her smile still intact, but Allison could see the cracks forming. This wasn't genuine—it was a performance, one Olivia had likely rehearsed the entire way here.

Dean exhaled sharply beside her, impatience flickering across his features, while Noah remained silent, his unreadable gaze locked onto Allison.

"Allison, I'm trying," Olivia said, her voice just a fraction tighter than before, controlled—but not as effortless as she wanted it to be.

Mocha let out another low warning growl, pressing firmer against Allison's legs, sensing the shift before words could even land.

Allison's fingers grazed through her fur absently, grounding herself.

"Trying to what?" she asked, tone even, unyielding. "Convince me this is real?"

Olivia blinked, just a fraction too long, just enough to give herself away.

"I want us to fix what's broken," Olivia continued, her voice still soft, but Allison saw the faint tension in the way she held herself, in the way her fingers flexed slightly at her sides.

She was prepared for resistance.

But Allison wasn't playing into it.

"You can't fix something if you don't think it's broken."

Dean scoffed under his breath.

Olivia inhaled slowly, reigning herself in, adjusting like someone trying to keep hold of control slipping through her fingertips.

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" Allison echoed, lips pressing together, her weight subtly shifting—not a retreat, but a fortification.

Noah finally moved, shifting slightly as if preparing for something.

Allison's throat felt tight, but she didn't let it show.

She wasn't going to give Olivia the upper hand.

Not again.

Olivia's composure fractured.

It wasn't dramatic—not at first. It was a flicker, a tightening in her jaw, a subtle sharpness in her gaze that hadn't been there before. But Allison saw it. She had always seen it, even when she was a child.

Mocha stiffened, muscles coiled, sensing the shift before it even landed.

"You are so unbelievable," Olivia hissed, her voice clipped, no longer careful—no longer pretending.

Dean exhaled sharply, crossing his arms, while Noah's expression darkened, his stance adjusting just slightly, like he was preparing for something.

But Allison?

She didn't move.

She didn't shrink.

She simply stood there, watching as Olivia lost control of the narrative.

"I come here, trying to fix this—trying to have a real conversation—and you won't even give me the time of day?"

The false warmth in Olivia's voice was gone, replaced with something sharp, something coiled, something that had been waiting to snap the moment she realized she wasn't in control.

Allison exhaled slowly.

"You came here to pretend."

Olivia stepped forward, too close, but Mocha let out a sudden low growl, stopping her in place.

The moment lingered.

A silent warning.

"Excuse me?" Olivia spat, eyes narrowing.

Dean shifted beside her, impatient, but still letting her take the lead.

"I see you, Olivia," Allison continued, voice level, gaze unwavering. "I see what you're doing. This isn't about amends. This is about control."

The words landed like a blade, and Olivia knew it.

She hated it.

"I am your mother," Olivia snapped.

"And yet, somehow," Allison mused, "I feel safer with a dog at my feet than I ever did with you."

Silence.

Heavy. Unforgiving.

Olivia's lips parted, something flickering behind her eyes—shock? Pain? Rage? But Allison didn't wait to find out.

She simply lifted her chin, standing solid, standing unshaken, standing in defiance of every moment Olivia had ever made her feel small.

And for the first time in years—

Olivia had nothing to say.

The silence that had lingered for just a moment shattered instantly.

"You think you're better than us?" Noah's voice spiked, sharp and unforgiving.

"You walk around acting like you're some victim, but you brought this on yourself," Dean added, the bitterness clear, the words hitting like strikes, meant to tear into Allison.

Mocha snapped, barking sharply, warning, her stance shifting to shield Allison's legs as her muscles coiled.

Allison barely had time to react before—

"Enough."

The voice cut through the tension like a blade, low and deadly controlled.

Noah and Dean froze.

Buck.

Still damp from his shower, barely dressed, but standing tall, shoulders squared, chest rising and falling, his presence alone shifting the energy in the room.

Olivia's expression tightened instantly, realizing how badly this had spiraled out of her control.

"You don't get to talk to her like that." Buck's voice stayed even, but there was an edge—something coiled, something ready to break if Noah or Dean pushed even one step further.

Noah scoffed, stepping forward. "And what are you gonna do about it?"

Buck didn't move.

He didn't flinch.

He simply held his ground, his jaw clenching, his eyes locked on Noah.

"I suggest you rethink whatever you were about to say next."

The way Buck said it—the sharp precision in his voice—made Noah hesitate for just a second.

Olivia's expression shifted, flickering between frustration and calculation, because she knew Buck wasn't someone she could manipulate.

And Allison?

She didn't say a single word.

She didn't need to.

Buck had already positioned himself between her and them—already chosen his side before anyone had time to realize it.

This was a battle that Olivia, Noah, and Dean had already lost.

And Buck wasn't done yet.

Olivia's jaw tightened, her carefully constructed facade shattered beyond repair. She had come here expecting control, expecting compliance. But now, she was staring at a wall—one she couldn't manipulate.

Buck hadn't moved, still standing solid between Allison and her family, still watching Noah and Dean like he was daring them to step forward again.

Noah let out an exasperated scoff, shifting his weight onto his heels, eyes narrowing.

"This isn't your fight," he bit out.

Buck's expression didn't change.

"You made it my fight the second you raised your voices at her."

Dean shook his head, frustration curling into his features. "You don't even know the full story."

"I know enough," Buck countered, voice sharp, unwavering. "I know exactly who you are to her. And I know that you're not here because you care—you're here because you lost control, and you can't stand it."

Olivia inhaled sharply, fingers twitching ever so slightly, eyes burning with unspoken fury.

"You think you're some kind of hero, don't you?" she spat.

Buck finally shifted, tilting his head slightly, considering her words.

Then, very calmly—

"No. But I'm definitely not the villain in her life, and that already makes me better than you."

Silence slammed into the space.

Noah and Dean stiffened.

Olivia's eyes flashed—anger, resentment, something dangerous curling beneath her skin.

Allison barely breathed, Mocha's presence firm against her legs, grounding her as she simply stood there, unmoving.

She wasn't alone anymore.

She wasn't outnumbered.

Buck was here.

And he wasn't backing down.

°˖✧✿✧˖°

The next afternoon carried a quiet sort of normalcy, like the tension from the night before had settled just below the surface but hadn't quite disappeared.

Buck was at work, back in the familiar rhythm of the 118, slipping into the easy banter with Eddie and Chimney, but there was a weight to his movements, a lingering energy that hadn't fully left him since the confrontation at Allison's door.

And Allison?

She had stepped into a world untainted by them.

The holiday photoshoot was already in full swing—a family, dressed in their coordinated Christmas reds and greens, standing beneath the glow of warm lights, laughter bubbling between them as Allison adjusted the lens.

"Alright, everyone! Let's get cozy—big smiles!"

The shutter clicked, capturing the moment, sealing it in a frame that felt safe, whole, something entirely separate from the night before.

Mocha sat patiently at her feet, eyes watching, tail flicking every so often, like she was making sure Allison stayed present, stayed grounded in this space.

And for just a moment—

Allison let herself breathe.

The family's laughter still lingered in Allison's ears as she packed up her gear, sliding her camera safely into its case.

"I'll have the edits done within twenty-four hours," she assured them, offering a small smile as the mother nodded warmly.

"Take your time," she replied. "We really appreciate this."

Allison gave a polite nod before stepping away, Mocha trailing at her heels, her tail flicking against Allison's calf in quiet reassurance.

But the warmth of the photoshoot—the glow of holiday joy—faded the moment she checked her phone.

An emergency call.

The 118 on scene.

Within minutes, she was moving, camera ready, mind shifting from capturing warmth to capturing reality—the kind that people rarely saw.