It was me in there( 9-1-1 )

Appointment

The waiting room buzzed with an eerie kind of quiet, the kind that made Buck's nerves crawl. The hum of a fluorescent light above them sounded too loud in his ears, the faint ticking of a clock on the far wall like a hammer driving nails into his skull. He sat stiffly on the edge of his chair, bouncing his knee so rapidly that the motion vibrated through the cheap plastic seat. His fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the armrests, his hands shifting between wringing together and rubbing the frayed edge of his hoodie sleeve.

Eddie sat next to him, his body calm and steady in contrast to Buck's restless energy. His arms were crossed loosely, his posture relaxed but attentive. He'd been watching Buck for several minutes, his observant gaze catching every telltale sign of his friend's growing anxiety. The way Buck's shoulders hunched forward, his jaw clenched so tightly it might crack, and how his chest rose and fell just a little too quickly.

"You're spiraling," Eddie said quietly, his voice breaking through the sterile stillness of the room.

Buck's head snapped up to look at him, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and frustration. "I'm not spiraling," he said, though the defensive edge in his voice gave him away.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Buck, you've tapped the same rhythm on that chair arm about fifty times in the last two minutes. I know you're nervous."

Buck groaned, slumping back in his chair for a moment before sitting upright again, unable to stay still. "Of course I'm nervous," he snapped, though the words lacked any real heat. "I mean, what if this is a waste of time? What if I go in there, and I don't even know what to say? Or worse, I just... sit there and freeze up completely."

Eddie's calm didn't waver. If anything, he seemed even more determined to keep his tone steady, his demeanor reassuring. "Buck, you're not going to freeze up. You've been through tougher things than this. You just need to give yourself a break."

Buck shook his head, his foot tapping even faster. "Eddie, I don't think you get it. This... this feels different. Like... like my whole body is on edge, and I can't stop thinking about all the ways I could screw this up."

Eddie reached out, resting a firm but gentle hand on Buck's knee. The pressure was enough to still the tapping, if only for a moment. "Hey," he said softly. "I get it, okay? But you're not going to screw this up. Therapy isn't about getting it perfect. It's just about showing up and being honest."

Buck's shoulders slumped slightly, some of the fight draining out of him. "I know you're right," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But it's like my brain won't shut up. Everything feels so... loud."

Eddie's grip on Buck's knee tightened slightly, a gesture of solidarity. "Okay, let's try something," he said, his voice calm but purposeful. "Give me your hand."

Buck hesitated, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What? Why?"

"Just trust me," Eddie said, holding out his hand expectantly.

With a reluctant sigh, Buck placed his hand in Eddie's, his fingers still fidgeting slightly.

"Alright," Eddie began, his tone soothing. "Tell me if my hand feels warm or cold."

Buck blinked at him, clearly thrown by the question. "What?"

"Just answer," Eddie prompted, his gaze steady.

"Warm," Buck said after a moment, his voice tinged with skepticism.

"Good," Eddie said with a small smile. "Now, is it rough or smooth?"

Buck's fingers stilled as he focused on the question, his expression softening. "Rough," he said quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "From work."