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

ADHD... I presumed

Buck sat on the couch in Eddie's living room, staring at his hands. The late afternoon sunlight streamed in through the blinds, highlighting the lines on his palms as his fingers nervously twisted the hem of his shirt. His knee bounced uncontrollably, a subtle drumbeat against the hardwood floor, and his jaw clenched tight like it might hold in all the words he was too afraid to say. Eddie sat beside him, leaning back into the cushions, one leg stretched out and the other bent, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch.

The contrast between them couldn't have been starker—Eddie, calm and composed, his eyes soft with patience, and Buck, a tightly wound spring ready to snap. The silence between them was tangible, filled with words Buck didn't know how to say and emotions he didn't know how to explain.

"You've been quiet since your session," Eddie said eventually, his voice breaking the stillness without shattering it. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Buck glanced up briefly before dropping his gaze again. His throat tightened as he swallowed against the lump forming there. How could he explain the storm raging inside him? The weight of years of misunderstanding, frustration, and shame all crashing down at once?

"It was... a lot," Buck finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie didn't press, didn't push. Instead, he shifted slightly closer, his body language open and non-threatening. "A lot like good, or a lot like overwhelming?"

Buck gave a short, humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Both," he admitted, his voice trembling. "Dr. Morgan said some stuff that... it made sense, but it also... I don't know, it felt like someone ripped the rug out from under me."

Eddie tilted his head, his brows knitting together in quiet concern. "You mean about ADHD?"

Buck's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. "You... you knew?"

Eddie offered a small, understanding smile. "I didn't know, not officially. But I've been around you long enough to notice some things. The restlessness, the hyper-focus on work, how you get overwhelmed sometimes... It's not that surprising, Buck."

Buck stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but Eddie's calm acceptance wasn't it. "You're not... upset? Or—"

"Why would I be upset?" Eddie interrupted gently. "This doesn't change who you are. It just gives us a better understanding of what you've been dealing with."

Buck's throat tightened again, and he looked away, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill. "It feels like it changes everything," he said, his voice cracking. "Like... like everything I've been struggling with my whole life finally has a name, but it's too late to do anything about it."

"It's not too late," Eddie said firmly, his voice grounding Buck like an anchor. "You've been dealing with this your whole life without knowing it. Now you've got a name for it and tools to help. That's a good thing, Buck. It's not a weakness."

Buck let out a shaky breath, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt again. "Dr. Morgan said the same thing," he admitted. "That it's just a part of me, not the whole picture. But... it doesn't feel that way. It feels like... like I've been broken this whole time, and no one noticed. Not my parents, not my teachers, no one."

Eddie's jaw tightened, and his hand moved to rest gently on Buck's knee, his grip steady and grounding. "You weren't broken, Buck," he said softly, his voice filled with conviction. "You were a kid trying to survive in an environment that didn't understand you. That's not your fault."

Buck nodded, but his shoulders began to shake, and his breathing hitched as tears spilled over. "It was so hard, Eddie," he choked out, his voice breaking. "I tried so hard to be what they wanted, but I couldn't. I was never enough for them. And after Daniel..."

His voice trailed off, and he buried his face in his hands, the weight of his past pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. Eddie moved closer, wrapping an arm around Buck's trembling shoulders.

"You don't have to do this alone anymore," Eddie said softly. "I've got you."

Buck clung to those words, his chest heaving as years of pain and frustration poured out of him in ragged sobs. He leaned into Eddie, his body shaking with the force of his breakdown. Eddie held him tightly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on Buck's back as he whispered reassurances.

"It's okay," Eddie murmured. "You're safe. Let it out."

Buck's sobs grew louder, his breath hitching as he struggled to speak through the tears. "I just wanted them to see me," he cried. "To understand. But all they saw was how I wasn't Daniel."

Eddie's heart ached at the raw vulnerability in Buck's voice. "That's on them, not you," he said firmly. "You were just a kid, Buck. They should have been the ones protecting you, not tearing you down."

Buck shook his head, his tears soaking into Eddie's shirt. "I couldn't be what they needed," he whispered. "I couldn't fix it."

"You didn't need to fix anything," Eddie said, his voice steady and unwavering. "You were enough, Buck. You've always been enough."

Buck clung to him, his sobs finally beginning to subside into quiet, shuddering breaths. Eddie stayed with him, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm. When Buck finally pulled back, his eyes were red and swollen, his face streaked with tears.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

"Don't apologize," Eddie said firmly. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Buck nodded, his hands trembling as he wiped at his face. "It's just... so much," he admitted.

"I know," Eddie said softly. "But you're not alone in this. We'll figure it out together."

Buck gave a small, shaky smile, the weight on his chest feeling just a little bit lighter. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he didn't have to carry it all by himself. And that, he realized, was enough to start healing.