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

Reflect

The drive back to the station was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio. Buck sat in his usual spot in the rig, helmet balanced loosely between his hands, his gaze fixed on the floor. The aftermath of the wreck was still fresh—blood on the asphalt, crushed steel, and the woman's pleading voice.

But more than that, the lingering sensation of the panic attack gnawed at him. It hadn't been perfect—his hands had still shaken, his chest had still tightened—but he'd managed. On his own. That was what mattered. He'd stayed in control, and no one had even noticed.

"Buck?"

Hen's voice pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up, catching her concerned gaze from across the rig.

"You good?" she asked softly, her voice careful.

"Yeah," Buck replied too quickly, forcing a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "All good."

Hen studied him for a beat longer, her eyebrows knit together like she wanted to say more. But she didn't press—she just nodded and turned her attention back to her gear.

When they pulled into the station, everyone filed out of the rig and headed toward the locker room. Buck moved on autopilot, peeling off his turnout gear and hanging it up. He could feel the sweat on his back, the exhaustion creeping into his bones, but his mind was still racing.

He hadn't told anyone about the panic attack. And part of him didn't want to. You handled it, he reminded himself. No one needs to know.

He grabbed a clean shirt from his locker and pulled it over his head. But as he turned to leave, he nearly ran into Eddie.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. "You okay? You're zoning out."

Buck stiffened for half a second. "I'm fine."

Eddie didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Buck snapped, sharper than he meant to. The words hung awkwardly in the air, and Buck winced. "Sorry. I just—" He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Long day."

Eddie studied him carefully, his gaze steady, unshakable. "Yeah, it was. But you sure you're okay?"

The way Eddie said it made Buck's chest tighten all over again. Not in panic this time, but something softer. Something that reminded him he didn't have to lie to Eddie.

Buck swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Eddie's eyes. "I—I had a moment out there," he admitted, his voice quieter. "I started to panic. But I got through it. On my own."

Eddie didn't say anything for a second. Then he took a step closer, his voice calm. "That's big, Buck. You should be proud of that."

Buck blinked, caught off guard. "Proud?"

"Yeah." Eddie shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You didn't let it take over. That's not easy, and you know it."

Buck looked away, his throat tight. "It still happened, though. I still—"

"You handled it," Eddie interrupted gently. "That's what matters."

Buck let the words sink in. Maybe Eddie was right. Maybe the fact that he'd managed to stay in control—even if it wasn't perfect—was something worth recognizing.

"I guess," Buck muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Eddie grinned. "You guess? Come on, Buck. That's huge."

Buck rolled his eyes, but the smile stayed. "Okay, okay. Fine. I'm proud of it. A little."

"Good." Eddie clapped him on the shoulder, his touch grounding. "Because I'm proud of you too."

The words hit harder than Buck expected, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with panic.

For once, he didn't feel like he was drowning. He didn't feel like he was carrying it all on his own shoulders.

And that, for now, was enough.

Reflection Scene: Buck Alone Later That Night

Buck sat on the couch in his apartment, the lights dim, a cup of tea cradled between his hands. The noise of the day had finally faded, leaving just the quiet hum of the city outside his window.

He let himself think back to the call. The way his chest had tightened. The way his breath had felt stolen from him. But also the way he'd managed to pull himself back—one breath at a time.

It wasn't perfect. And yeah, it scared him.

But Dr. Ramirez had been right: the panic couldn't destroy him. It felt like it could, sometimes, but it couldn't.

And Eddie was right, too. He had handled it.

Buck set his tea down on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch cushions, exhaling slowly.

"I'm okay," he whispered to himself, testing out the words.

They weren't a lie this time.

And that, more than anything, felt like progress.