Work Text:
It started six months ago, when Buck moved in with Eddie and Chris.
At first, Eddie noticed little things—quirks he hadn't seen before. He brushed them off, chalked it up to Buck just being Buck.
A bit scatterbrained, always chasing something new, always trying to show up for the people he loved in ways that made them feel seen. It was chaotic, but it was also one of the reasons Eddie had fallen in love with him.
But one night, well past midnight, they were lying in bed—Buck curled into Eddie's chest. At the same time, Eddie absentmindedly played with his hair, listening to him ramble excitedly about a new otter exhibit he wanted to take Chris to.
"Buck... baby," Eddie said softly, gently cupping Buck's face so he'd look up. "Have you ever thought you might have ADHD?" Buck stiffened instantly, his expression shuttering. He dropped his gaze, already pulling away.
"Hey, don't get me wrong—I love listening to you," Eddie added quickly, trying to pull him back in. "Everything you say matters to me."
"No," Buck said sharply. "No, I don't have anything." He curled in on himself, like he wanted to disappear into the sheets.
"And maybe you don't," Eddie said, trying to meet him halfway. "Maybe I'm making too much of this. But isn't it worth checking? Just to know?"
"No, Edmundo, it's not," Buck snapped—and that hit different. Not just because he used Eddie's full name, but because of the edge in his voice. Cold. Final. Eddie felt the air shift, like something had cracked open between them.
"I'm a grown man with a full-time job," Buck continued.
"There's no shame in it, baby," Eddie said softly, reaching for him again.
But Buck was already climbing out of bed, pulling on one of Eddie's old baseball shirts.
"I think I'll stay at Maddie's tonight," he muttered.
"Buck... It's two in the morning."
"She's got a six-month-old. She'll be up," Buck said flatly, grabbing his keys and heading for the door. Eddie groaned, burying his face in the pillow as the front door clicked shut. A big part of him wanted to go after Buck right then—but he knew, logically, that he couldn't. Not like this.
Buck hadn't come home by morning. No text, no call—nothing.
Eddie didn't want to worry Chris, so he said Buck had gone to see Maddie before their shift. But of course, Chris didn't buy it. It was six in the morning—too early for visits, too quiet for lies.
"Is everything okay?" Chris asked.
Eddie just smiled and nodded. "Of course."
He turned back to packing Chris's lunch, slipping in the last of the baked goods Buck had made earlier that week. Then he helped him get ready for school like everything was normal. Like his heart wasn't starting to race.
After dropping Chris off at school, Eddie headed to Buck's favourite coffee shop. He ordered Buck's usual—too sweet, just the way he liked it—and drove off, cup in hand, unsure what he was even planning to say.
He pulled into the station parking lot a little later than usual, scanning the crowd out of habit. And there Buck was—leaning against his Jeep, laughing at something Hen said.
He looked fine. Almost happy.
If Eddie didn't know him so well, he might've believed it.
"Hey, Buck... can we—" Eddie started.
"No."
Buck didn't even look at him. Just grabbed the coffee from Eddie's hand, turned on his heel, and walked straight into the station.
Eddie stood there for a second, jaw tight, fists clenched around nothing. Then Chimney sidled up next to him, smirking. "Trouble in paradise?"
"No," Eddie said, a little too fast. "Buck just... wanted to see Jee last night."
Chim raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that's what he told me, too. Funny thing is—I don't quite buy it." Eddie groaned, dropped his head, and walked off without answering.
In the locker room, he shoved his bag into the locker with more force than necessary and yanked off his shirt, changing like muscle memory could drown out the noise in his head.
Bobby ran through the assignments like usual, but the energy in the room was off.
Buck leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on the floor. Eddie stood across from him, pretending to focus, pretending not to feel the wall Buck had put up between them.
Hen glanced between them, clocking the silence—but didn't say anything. When Bobby dismissed them, the team broke off in different directions. Eddie lingered near the hallway until Hen fell into step beside him. "You wanna tell me what's going on?" she asked, voice low. "Usually, we can't force you two apart."
Eddie let out a breath. "Last night I told him I think he might have ADHD."
Hen raised her eyebrows. "Okay..."
"He's always bouncing between projects, forgetting things, getting overwhelmed. I've been doing research, and... he checks pretty much every box. I just thought if he got tested, maybe it'd help. Maybe he could get some kind of support."
He didn't interrupt. She just let him talk.
"But he freaked," Eddie continued. "Said it wasn't possible. That he's a grown man, not a kid, and doesn't need a label."
"Oof," Hen muttered, whistling low. "Yeah, okay. I get why he took it personal."
"I didn't mean it like that. I just hate seeing him struggle. He blames himself for everything, and I wanted him to know—it's not just him. It's not his fault."
Hen nodded. "But all he heard was judgment."
"Exactly," Eddie sighed, running a hand down his face. "Now he won't even talk to me. He stayed at Maddie's last night. I don't even know if he's coming home tonight."
"Aw, baby's first real argument," Hen teased, leaning back against the wall. Eddie rolled his eyes.
"I mean," she added with a grin, "if you're seriously worried about his mental health, you could bring it up to Bobby. He's the one person Buck actually listens to."
And with that, she turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Eddie stewing in the hallway. He didn't want to go to Bobby. It felt like he was crossing a line, ratting him out or bringing home life into work.
But a few hours into their shift, after Buck continued to act like he didn't exist, he gave in. They were heading back from a call when Bobby announced he was going to do some paperwork if Buck wanted to get started on lunch. Eddie took the opportunity to follow him into his office, shutting the door behind him.
"Hey, Cap," he started, voice low. "Can I talk to you for a second? It's about Buck."
Bobby looked up from his desk, immediately alert. "Yeah, of course. What's going on?"
Eddie hesitated. Just for a second. Then he stepped forward and sat down across from him.
"I think Buck might have ADHD," he said quietly.
Bobby didn't react right away, just folded his hands and waited.
"I brought it up to him last night," Eddie continued, "because he's been... struggling. The way he bounces around, forgets things, gets overwhelmed—it's not just quirks. I did some research, and it all lines up."
"And how did he take that?" Bobby asked, already guessing the answer.
"Badly," Eddie admitted. "He said I was trying to label him. That he didn't need to be 'diagnosed' like he was broken. And now he won't talk to me, and I'm really worried about him."
Bobby leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. "Do you think it's affecting how he performs on calls?"
Eddie shook his head. "No, not in a dangerous way. He's still Buck. Still sharp when it counts. But I think his mental health has been suffering for a while, and I'm scared he's drowning trying to keep it together."
Bobby nodded slowly. Eddie rubbed his hands together, nervously. "I don't want to go behind his back. But I also don't want to sit by and watch him spiral when he could get help. You're the one person he might actually listen to."
Bobby was quiet for a moment, then said, "You didn't do the wrong thing, Eddie. It's hard to bring that kind of stuff up, especially to someone you care about. And you do care about him."
Eddie nodded, voice quieter. "More than I know what to do with."
"I'll talk to him," Bobby said.
"Thank you," Eddie said.
Bobby offered a small smile. "We all need a push sometimes. Doesn't mean we're broken."
Bobby found Buck in the gear bay, tightening a strap on one of the rescue bags like it had personally offended him.
"Buckley, I need to speak to you in my office," Bobby said, his tone firm but calm.
Buck rolled his eyes as he passed Eddie on the stairs. "Had to tell on me, huh?"
"I just want you to be happy and healthy," Eddie said quietly.
But Buck was already turning away, stepping into Bobby's office without another word. Downstairs, Hen, Ravi, and Chim all silently turned back to the TV, pretending not to listen.
Bobby closed the door and motioned for Buck to sit. "So... your boyfriend has some concerns about your mental health."
"Yeah, well, maybe he should've kept them at home."
"Normally, I'd agree—personal lives should stay personal," Bobby said, lowering into his chair. "But today? I agree with Eddie." Buck sighed and looked away.
"I just don't get why you won't even consider getting tested. If you're so sure you don't have it, then the test just proves that. And if you do..."
"Because I think I do have it," Buck said suddenly, cutting Bobby off. His voice cracked just slightly. "And if I get diagnosed at 33, it's just one more thing my parents missed. One more thing they ignored. One more thing they didn't care enough to see." He trailed off, quieter now. "And I don't know how to handle that."
Bobby's expression softened. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "With the support of your partner. Your son. Your family, Buck," he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world—and maybe it should have been. "Have you talked to Maddie about this?"
"No," Buck admitted. "She brought it up years ago, actually. I shut it down before she could finish."
"Maybe bring it up again," Bobby said gently. "I'm sure she'd help. Come with you to appointments, whatever you need."
"She's a mom now," Buck muttered. "She doesn't need to deal with her little brother's repressed trauma."
"You know that's not true," Bobby said without missing a beat.
He let a pause stretch out, then added, "Now, as your captain, I'm officially writing you a referral—to get tested, and to see a therapist. I can't make you follow through, but I strongly suggest you do."
Buck nodded slowly, eyes down.
"And as your dad—I'll be there to catch you if you fall."
Buck blinked, and for a second, he looked like he might cry. But he just swallowed hard and said, "Okay."
Buck didn't say anything when he stepped out of Bobby's office. He didn't need to. The tension in his shoulders had shifted—still there, but no longer a wall.
He walked past Chim, Hen, and Ravi without meeting their eyes, climbed the stairs to the loft, and found Eddie exactly where he knew he'd be: sitting on the worn leather couch, pretending to scroll through his phone, not fooling anyone. Eddie looked up as Buck approached, worry etched into every line of his face. Before he could ask anything, Buck just lowered himself down and crawled into Eddie's lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Eddie didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around him, holding tight. One hand came up to run through Buck's hair, the same way he had the night before. Buck buried his face in Eddie's neck, not crying, not talking—just breathing. Being.
"I'm sorry," Buck mumbled finally, voice muffled.
"You don't have to be," Eddie said, pressing a kiss to Buck's temple. "You're allowed to feel what you feel."
"I talked to Bobby."
"Yeah?"
"He agrees with you. Wrote me a referral for testing and therapy."
Eddie exhaled, not in relief exactly, but something close. "That's good. That's a big step."
Buck nodded against his chest. "I'm still scared."
"I know." Eddie tightened his hold. "But I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."
They sat like that for a long time, no need for more words. For once, Buck let himself be still. Let himself be held and for the first time in days, the storm in his chest quieted—just a little.
Their shift ended a few hours later, and Buck was more grateful than usual that it had only been a twelve-hour shift. He found Eddie waiting by the truck, the sun low in the sky, casting long shadows across the lot.
Buck stepped in close, hands in Eddie's hoodie pocket, and kissed him—a soft, lingering goodbye that said more than words could manage.
"I'll be home tonight," he murmured. "I just need to go talk to Maddie. Fill her in."
Eddie nodded, thumb brushing gently across Buck's cheek. "Take your time."
Buck held his gaze a moment longer. There was still tension between them, but it wasn't sharp anymore. It felt more like healing.
"I'm proud of you, you know," Eddie added quietly.
Buck smiled, just a little. "I'm getting there."
Then he stepped back, climbed into his Jeep, and pulled away. Buck had texted Maddie the night before, once the anger had cooled and the silence with Eddie had turned heavy instead of hot. Still curled under Eddie's arm—close but not okay—he typed out the words before he could overthink them.
Can we talk after the shift?
Her response came almost instantly: Of course.
But now, standing on her front step, it all felt too real. His fingers twitched at his sides. Half of him wanted to bolt, come up with an excuse, pretend he was fine after all. The other half—the quieter, steadier part—knew the truth. He needed this.
As if she could sense him through the door, it opened before he even knocked.
"Hey," Maddie said softly, and without another word, pulled him into a hug. "You just missed Chim. He took Jee to the park, so it's just us."
Buck didn't answer. He just melted into her, all the tension he didn't know he'd been carrying pouring out at once. He hadn't realised how much he needed his big sister until right then.
Eventually, Buck let go. He followed Maddie into the living room, stepping over a minefield of Jee-Yun's toys.
Maddie's smile faltered when she caught a good look at his face.
"Hey," she said gently, "you okay?"
He nodded on reflex—then immediately shook his head. "Not really."
She took his hand and pulled him down onto the couch beside her. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing both hands over his face like he could wipe everything he was feeling clean off.
"Eddie thinks I have ADHD," he said finally, voice low. "And... I may have overreacted."
Maddie's brow lifted slightly, but she didn't speak—just waited, giving him space.
"He told Bobby," Buck added. "Bobby wrote me a referral. For the testing. And... mandated therapy."
He braced himself for the I told you so. But it never came.
Maddie just reached over, placing a steady hand on his back—warm, grounding.
"I was wondering if you could help me," he said, even quieter. "I don't think I can bring myself to book the appointment. And maybe... maybe you could come with me?"
"Of course," she said instantly. "But... are you sure you don't want Eddie to go with you?"
Buck hesitated, then shook his head. "No. I think I just need you for this part." He glanced over at her, eyes tired and open. "You saw it. Back then. I need someone who knows that version of me."
Maddie's expression softened. "Then I'll do whatever you need. You don't even have to ask."
Buck swallowed hard. "If I get diagnosed... It's like confirming something's always been wrong with me." He blinked fast, trying to hold it in. "It's just another thing Mom and Dad would've hated. Another thing they missed."
Maddie blinked away her own tears and pulled him into a hug, arms wrapped tight around him.
"Nothing is wrong with you, Buck," she whispered, fingers gently running through his curls like she used to when they were kids. "Your brain just works differently. And figuring that out? That's a good thing. That's strength."
Buck let out a shaky breath, his head resting against her shoulder. For once, he let himself believe her. Maybe being seen didn't always have to hurt.
"We'll call tomorrow," Maddie said softly. "We'll find the right place. We'll figure it out. You're not alone."
"Okay," he whispered.
And for the first time in a long time, okay, I didn't feel like a lie.
Maddie, true to her word, followed through. She booked the appointment for the next day, and both of them had off at 10:00 a.m. sharp. First thing, no room to back out.
She pulled up to Buck's place at 9:15, a coffee in one hand and quiet reassurance in the other.
Eddie was waiting by the door, already dressed for the gym, but clearly only half there. He gave Buck a look—not pleading, not pushy, just open. I can still come if you need me.
Buck didn't need words to understand it. Eddie would drop everything. He always would.
But this—this was something Buck had to walk into on his own.
So instead, he stepped into Eddie's arms and held on tight. Eddie wrapped him up instantly, murmuring something low and steady against his ear—sweet words meant only for Buck.
Buck pulled back, gave him a soft smile, and nodded.
"I'll be home after," he said.
Eddie smiled back, hands resting on Buck's waist. "I'll be here." Kissing his forehead as Buck turns to get into Maddie's car
The drive was mostly silent. No music, no small talk—just the low hum of the car and the rhythmic sound of Buck's fingers tapping against his knee.
Maddie didn't say anything. She just drove, letting him have the quiet, letting him settle.
He didn't. Not really. But the silence helped.
When they pulled into the parking lot of the clinic, Buck sat still, staring at the building like it might bite. Maddie put the car in park but didn't move to get out.
They were early—on purpose. She'd built in the extra time because she knew her brother. She knew he'd need it.
She glanced over at him, watched him hesitate with his hand on the door handle. His shoulders were tense, jaw clenched, like the whole idea might unravel if he moved too quickly.
"You're so close, Buck," Maddie said softly as she stepped out of the car.
He followed, slower, feet dragging a little as he closed the door behind him.
The clinic wasn't imposing—just a clean, neutral building with too-perfect landscaping—but to Buck, it felt like walking toward a courtroom. Like someone inside was about to put a name to everything he'd been fighting alone for years.
He stood there for a second, hands in his pockets, staring at the glass doors like they were daring him to turn around.
Maddie came around the front of the car and stood beside him. She didn't rush him. Didn't try to talk him into anything. Just stood there, close and steady.
After a long breath, Buck finally nodded.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
And together, they walked inside.
Maddie sat beside in the waiting room, calm as ever, as Buck bounced his leg up and down, tapping along with the beat of the music playing lowly in the background. Maddie passed him a water bottle "It's going to be ok", she said "You're already passed the hardest part"
Maddie sat beside him in the waiting room, calm and steady like she always was when he couldn't be.
Buck's leg bounced uncontrollably, foot tapping in sync with the faint background music piping through the clinic speakers—some generic instrumental track that felt too calm for the chaos in his chest.
He didn't even realise how hard he was gripping the arm of the chair until Maddie slipped a cold water bottle into his hand.
"It's going to be okay," she said gently. "You're already past the hardest part."
Buck glanced at her, then down at the bottle. He took a sip just to have something to do.
"This doesn't feel like the hardest part," he muttered.
"No?" Maddie tilted her head. "Because from where I'm sitting, you already did the brave part. You showed up."
He didn't answer right away. Just exhaled slowly, the water bottle crinkling in his grip. He sighed, rubbing at his temple. "I feel like I'm making a bigger deal out of this than it really is."
Maddie turned toward him, eyebrows drawn together.
He avoided her eyes. "But it just feels like... I'm broken."
"No." Maddie's voice was firm, no room for doubt. "You're not broken. Stop saying that."
Buck looked up at her, caught off guard by the edge in her voice.
"You're a human being trying to make sense of how your brain works," she said. "That's not broken. That's brave."
He swallowed hard, throat suddenly tight.
She softened, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "You've been carrying this weight your whole life. You just finally stopped pretending it wasn't heavy."
Buck nodded, jaw clenched, eyes shiny but dry. For now.
Just then, a nurse poked her head into the waiting room. "Mr. Buckley?"
Buck stood slowly. Maddie rose with him, giving his arm a quiet squeeze before letting go.
He followed the nurse down the hallway, heart pounding, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. But his shoulders—just a little lighter than before.
Because this time, he wasn't running. He was facing it. Whatever it was.
The testing room was cooler than it looked—clean, neutral tones, no windows, no clocks. Nothing to focus on except what was about to happen. Buck sat stiffly, hands in his lap, trying to resist the urge to bounce his leg or crack his knuckles.
Across from him, a woman in her mid-40s with soft eyes and a calm presence flipped open a thick folder. She looked up and smiled.
"Hi, Evan. I'm Dr. Weiss. I'll be walking you through today's assessment."
"Buck," he corrected gently, offering a faint smile. "Please." He motioned beside him. "And this is my sister, Maddie." Dr. Weiss nodded warmly. "Nice to meet you, Maddie. You're welcome to stay for the initial part, if Buck's comfortable with that."
"I am," Buck said quickly. "Yeah."
Dr. Weiss nodded again and glanced down at her notes. "Great. We're going to start with a few baseline questions—nothing too intense. Just getting a feel for your experience, how you function day to day. Then we'll move into the formal testing."
Buck nodded, already sitting straighter than he meant to. Maddie gave him a look—breathe—and he did, slow and steady. "Can I ask what brought you in today?" she asked gently.
Buck looked down at his hands. "My partner. He... noticed things. Things I never really thought much about. And then my sister—she knew too. From when I was younger."
"And what do you think?" she asked.
"I think..." He swallowed hard. "I think something's always felt off. Like I'm too much, or not enough, or broken. Like I can never catch up or slow down. Like I'm messing up even when I try my hardest not to."
Dr. Patel nodded. "That's a lot to carry alone."
"Yeah."
He wasn't sure what the next few hours would uncover. But for once, he wasn't afraid of knowing. Dr. Weiss gave him a reassuring smile as she stood to grab a few materials from a cabinet behind her. "We'll start with some cognitive tasks first, then move into attention and executive functioning. Just do your best. It's not about passing or failing—it's about understanding how your brain works."
Buck nodded, but his throat was tight. The air in the room felt thinner now. Colder. Like Maddie had taken some of the oxygen with her when she stepped out.
The first few exercises weren't so bad. Repeating numbers back. Listing words that started with a certain letter. Spotting differences between shapes. But even simple things began to slip through his fingers when the pressure built—when the clock started ticking and his brain jumped ahead of itself.
More than once, he caught himself zoning out mid-instruction, hearing words but not absorbing them. He'd blink and realise Dr. Weiss was watching him patiently, waiting for him to catch up.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I—I do that sometimes."
"That's okay," she said calmly. "That's why we're here."
The next task was on a screen. Coloured shapes flashing for half a second. He was supposed to hit a button when they matched, or when they didn't—it changed each round. Buck tried to concentrate, but his thoughts moved faster than his focus could keep up. His hand would twitch too late, or too early. His heart pounded with each mistake, like his brain was betraying him in real time.
And every few minutes, his mind would wander—remembering what Eddie had said that morning, or wondering what Maddie was doing in the waiting room, or thinking about what he was going to say if the results came back positive. Or negative. Or inconclusive. Somehow, they all scared him equally.
He fidgeted constantly adjusting his position, tapping his fingers, and stretching his neck. Dr. Weiss didn't comment. She just observed. By the third round, he was visibly frustrated.
"Can we take a break?" he asked, not meeting her eyes.
"Of course," Dr. Weiss said gently, setting down her tablet. "You're doing just fine, Buck."
He let out a breath, leaned back in the chair, and covered his face with both hands. "This is harder than I thought it'd be."
She gave him a moment before replying. "That's not uncommon."
"It's just... I've always been able to handle things. I jump in, I adapt. But this..." He gestured vaguely to the room. "This makes me feel like I've been white-knuckling my way through life without realising it."
Dr. Weiss nodded slowly. "A lot of adults with ADHD say that. That they've developed strategies to get by, but the cost of keeping up is exhaustion."
Buck was quiet for a beat. "Yeah. That sounds about right."
After the break, they moved into the final stretch. Executive functioning. Planning, task switching, sustained attention. She gave him puzzles that required building out steps in his head, but he kept trying to jump to the end. He missed key pieces. Got frustrated. Told her, twice, that the task was "just dumb" before realising he sounded like a petulant teenager and apologising.
Through it all, Dr. Weiss remained calm, encouraging, and neutral. She never judged, never rushed. Buck had been expecting something more clinical. Sterile. But instead, it felt like she saw him—even when he wasn't at his best.
Finally, hours later, she closed her binder and folded her hands on the desk.
"That's it for today."
Buck stared at her. "That's it?"
"You made it through the full battery. I'll need time to score everything and compare it to diagnostic criteria, but you did well. Really."
He ran a hand through his hair, still not convinced. "It felt like a mess."
"It often does. But that doesn't mean it was. These assessments aren't about perfection, Buck. They're about patterns—what shows up, what repeats, what gets in your way."
He nodded slowly, the weight of the day finally catching up to him. His body ached. His brain felt like mush. But somewhere under all the fatigue, something quieter had taken root—relief. Not because he knew the answers yet, but because he'd finally asked the questions.
Dr. Weiss stood and walked him to the hallway. "I'll call you when everything's scored, and we'll schedule a follow-up to go over the results together. Sound good?"
"Yeah," Buck said. "Thank you."
When he stepped back into the waiting room, Maddie stood up immediately.
"Well?" she asked, studying his face.
"I don't know," he said honestly, voice low. "But I finished. And I didn't run."
Her face softened with pride. She opened her arms, and Buck stepped into them, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered.
Buck closed his eyes and let himself believe it.
By the time Buck got home, the sun was already starting to dip low behind the rooftops.
The house smelled warm—like garlic and olive oil, like home. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his keys in the bowl by the door, and followed the sound of music playing softly from the kitchen.
Eddie was at the stove, stirring something in a pan. Chris sat at the table, flipping through a comic book, one leg swinging under the chair. It was the kind of domestic scene that used to scare the hell out of Buck. Now, it just made his chest ache in the best way.
Eddie looked up the second he heard the door. "Hey," he said, like it meant I missed you, like it meant I'm proud of you.
Buck gave a small smile, tired but genuine. "Hey."
"Dinner's almost ready," Eddie said, turning back to the stove. "Figured I'd make your favourite. Pasta with that stupidly expensive cheese you pretend not to like but always finish."
Buck chuckled, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."
"You're welcome," Eddie said, without turning around.
Chris looked up from the table. "How was your appointment?"
Buck hesitated, caught off guard. "It was... a lot. But I did it."
Chris nodded thoughtfully, then said, "I get nervous too. When I have to go to the doctor."
Buck blinked. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. Especially when I don't know what they're gonna say," Chris said, shrugging. "But Dad always comes with me, so it helps."
Buck swallowed, something tight catching in his chest. He knelt down beside Chris's chair.
"I think that's really brave, Chris."
Chris looked at him, brow furrowed. "But I'm scared when I go."
"Being scared and being brave aren't opposites," Buck said, almost to himself. "Sometimes being brave is going anyway."
Chris nodded, like that made perfect sense. "Exactly."
Buck smiled, even as his throat ached. He felt small in that moment, not in a bad way—but in the way someone feels when a kid unintentionally hands them the truth they've been avoiding.
Because if Chris could admit he was scared without shame, maybe Buck didn't have to hide from it either.
Still, as he stood up, a quiet voice inside whispered: You're a grown man. You shouldn't need this much help.
You shouldn't be this afraid.
And yet... he was.
And maybe that was okay. Maybe naming it didn't make him a coward. Maybe it just made him human.
Dinner was good. Simple. Familiar. Eddie had even remembered to cut the basil into ribbons the way Buck liked it. No one pushed him to talk. Chris told a story about something that happened at school. Eddie laughed at all the right parts.
It was the kind of night Buck had always thought other people got to have. But here he was, sitting at a table where he was wanted—loved, even—just as he was. No mask. No performance. Just Buck.
Later, when Chris was in bed and the dishes were done, Buck found Eddie on the couch, scrolling through his phone.
He sat beside him, quiet for a minute. Then: "Thank you. For dinner. For... all of it."
Eddie didn't look up. Just reached out and laced their fingers together. "Always."
Buck leaned his head on Eddie's shoulder, let his eyes drift closed.
He wasn't sure what the test results would say. Maybe the diagnosis would come. Maybe it wouldn't.
But for the first time, the fear didn't feel bigger than the love around him, and that, more than anything, made him feel like he could keep going.
The call came five days later.
Buck's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter just as Eddie was pulling the eggs off the heat. He reached for it automatically. They didn't have anything to hide—besides, it was usually just reminders, bills, Bobby, or Maddie checking in. Nothing urgent. Nothing unusual.
He'd already answered before he fully registered the name on the screen: Dr. Weiss – Assessment Clinic. Eddie's stomach dipped.
"Hello?"
A pause. Then, polite but purposeful: "Hi, is this Evan Buckley?"
"Yeah—this is his partner, Eddie. He's here. Do you want me to grab him?"
"Hi, Eddie. This is Dr. Weiss. I'm calling with his results. If he's available, I'd like to speak with him directly."
Eddie's fingers tightened slightly around the phone. "Yeah. One second."
He set it down gently on the counter and made his way toward the ensuite.
Buck was still in the bathroom, fresh from the shower, towel slung low around his hips as he moved between the sink and the bedroom, half-dressed, half-distracted.
Any other time, Eddie might've paused to appreciate the view—maybe even stepped in to turn the morning in a different direction. But not today. Not with the weight hanging between them now.
Buck looked up when he saw Eddie in the doorway.
"Everything okay?" he asked casually, though his eyes clocked Eddie's expression in an instant.
"It's Dr. Weiss," Eddie said softly, holding out the phone.
Buck froze, towel forgotten, body going still like prey caught in a moment that could go either way.
"Oh," he breathed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, took a steadying breath, and accepted the phone from Eddie. Eddie didn't go far. He sat down next to him, close, and laced their fingers together.
"Hi, this is Buck," he said into the receiver.
"Hi, Buck. This is Dr. Weiss. I've gone through your assessment results and wanted to share the findings, if you've got a moment."
"I've got some time now," he said, voice quiet but steady.
Dr. Weiss was calm, her voice even. She walked him through everything with clarity and care—how his attention scores showed significant variability, how his memory strain reflected executive functioning issues, how his impulsivity patterns aligned with what he'd described in his intake.
"You meet the clinical criteria for ADHD," she said. "Combined presentation."
The words didn't crash into him. They just landed—soft but solid. Like a truth he'd always felt, finally confirmed by someone who could name it.
Buck let the words settle before responding. "So... it's real?"
"It's real," Dr. Weiss confirmed gently. "And it's not a character flaw. It's a neurological difference in how your brain processes information and stimulation. You've developed strategies that helped you function, but it's come at a cost."
Buck swallowed hard. "Yeah. It's felt like I've been running uphill my whole life with a hundred-pound pack on—and no one else even notices the incline."
"That's a very common description."
She explained more—his strengths: high energy, fast processing speed, excellent pattern recognition. And then the challenges: impaired focus, inconsistent working memory, poor time estimation, and executive dysfunction under pressure.
"I want to be clear—ADHD isn't just about misplacing your keys or zoning out. It affects emotional regulation, time perception, and decision-making. It can make everyday life feel like a marathon with untied shoelaces."
Buck huffed a short breath. "That... yeah. That checks out."
"Options are going forward," she continued. "Medication is one, but it's not the only one. Therapy, coaching, and even structural supports in your routine. The goal isn't to fix you. It's to support you."
He nodded, though his grip on Eddie's hand tightened. "Okay."
Dr. Weiss's voice stayed soft. "Do you have people in your life who'll help you with that?"
A flicker of something gentle passed across Buck's face. He glanced at Eddie beside him.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "I think I do."
She wrapped up with next steps—scheduling a feedback session, discussing treatment options, promising she'd guide him through it. Then she let him go.
When he finally hung up, the quiet of the house felt louder than before.
Buck stared at the phone in his hand for a long moment, thumb hovering over the screen like there was something left to do. There wasn't. Not right now. The call was over. The answer had been given.
It was real.
He had ADHD.
He set the phone down on the nightstand like it might break if he held it any longer.
Eddie was still beside him, unmoving, waiting. Their hands were still linked, but Buck hadn't even realised it until Eddie gave his fingers the gentlest squeeze.
Buck looked over, eyes glassy but dry. "So... that's it. I have it."
Eddie nodded, calm and solid like always. "Yeah. That's it."
Buck let out a breath he hadn't meant to hold. "I don't even know how I feel. Relieved? Scared? Ashamed? Like maybe if I'd known earlier, I could've... avoided some stuff."
Eddie didn't flinch. "Maybe. But maybe this is when you were supposed to find out. And now you don't have to carry it alone."
Buck leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing both hands over his face like he could scrub the weight off of him. "It makes sense, doesn't it? All of it. The way I think. The way I never stop moving or doing. It was never just me being... chaotic. It was wiring."
"You're not broken," Eddie said gently. "You're just built differently."
Buck leaned forward, elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands like he could press the ache out of his skull. His voice was raw when it finally broke the silence.
"It makes sense now. All of it. The way I couldn't sit still, couldn't focus, the way I got in trouble for things I didn't understand how to fix."
Eddie stayed quiet, waiting.
"They just thought I was being difficult. Too loud. Too much. Like I was always one more screw-up away from being a problem they couldn't hide." He looked up, eyes shining but unreadable. "Why didn't they see it? Why didn't anyone notice?"
Eddie's heart broke a little at the way Buck said it—not angry, just tired. Like he'd been carrying this question his whole life and only now realised it had an answer.
"You were a kid," Eddie said, rubbing Buck's arm "A kid. And instead of helping, they made you feel like you had to fix yourself to be loved. But that's not true, you don't need to be fixed. I love you because of this, not despite it. You just needed someone to see you."
Buck let out a hollow breath. "And they didn't."
"No," Eddie agreed quietly. "But I do. Maddie does. Chris does. You're not invisible anymore, Buck."
He nodded slowly, jaw clenched to keep his voice from shaking. "I think that's the part that hurts the most. Not that I have it. Just... how long I had to survive without knowing."
Eddie didn't say I'm sorry—because it wasn't his fault. Instead, he reached for Buck's hand and held it tight. Solid. Unshaken.
"You're here now. And you don't have to do any of this alone anymore."
And for the first time, Buck let himself believe that was true.
After a few quiet minutes of just holding each other, letting the weight of the morning settle into something softer, Eddie stood up. He stretched, then reached out both hands toward Buck with a small smile.
"Okay," he said, tone light, "I think this calls for some breakfast. Might need to reheat it, though."
Buck looked up at him, something like peace flickering behind his eyes. He took Eddie's hands and let himself be pulled to his feet. The movement brought them chest to chest, an unintentional bump that made Buck huff a short laugh. It was small and crooked—but real. And in that moment, it felt like more than enough.
They walked side by side down the hallway, their shoulders brushing occasionally, until they reached the kitchen again. The morning sun had shifted, casting a warm glow across the counters. It felt like a new start.
Buck rolled his neck and stretched out his limbs, feeling the tension slowly unwind from his muscles. "Can I do anything?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be, but needing to offer it anyway.
"Nope. Absolutely not," Eddie replied with mock sternness, and in one smooth motion, he scooped Buck up by the waist and set him on the kitchen counter like he weighed nothing at all.
Buck let out a startled laugh as he settled, legs swinging slightly. "Seriously?"
Eddie grinned and leaned in. "You just sit there and look pretty," he said, pressing a slow, unhurried kiss to Buck's lips.
Buck hummed into it, one hand curling into the fabric of Eddie's shirt, just starting to deepen the kiss—
"Ewwww!" came a familiar, dramatic groan.
They broke apart to find Christopher standing in the doorway, crutches under his arms, his face scrunched in mock disgust.
"Suddenly I don't want breakfast anymore," he said, trying to hold back a giggle.
Eddie turned back to the stove, grinning. "Buck just got some big news, buddy."
Chris's eyebrows rose. "Well?" he prompted, already having a pretty good idea what this was about.
Buck shifted on the counter and faced him fully. His voice was calm but steady as he said, "It's ADHD. The combined type. It's official."
Chris gave a small, thoughtful nod like he was filing that away in his brain. Without missing a beat, Buck hopped off the counter and crossed the kitchen, pulling Chris into a firm, heartfelt hug.
"It's good to know," Chris said simply against his chest. "Now we can adapt things to help you."
Buck's breath caught in his throat. His eyes burned as he squeezed Chris tighter, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak.
"Thanks, buddy," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Chris pulled back and gave him a lopsided grin. "Can we eat now? I'm starving."
Buck laughed—loud, genuine, and light.
"Yeah," he said, ruffling Chris's hair before walking over to the table. "Let's go sit down for breakfast."
As the three of them gathered around the table, the kitchen filled with the scent of warmed food and quiet, contented conversation. For the first time in a long while, Buck felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
Later in the week, Buck sat cross-legged on the couch, his laptop balanced on one knee and a half-finished fruit smoothie in his hand. He'd just dropped Chris off at school, and Eddie was out running errands. For once, the house was quiet—one of those rare in-between moments where there was no fire to put out, no person to help, nothing to distract him.
Just stillness.
He breathed into it. For a few minutes, it actually felt okay.
He opened his email, mostly out of habit. Usually, Eddie filtered the chaos—deleting spam, flagging bills, replying to the occasional "check-in" from Bobby or Maddie—so Buck wouldn't feel overwhelmed. But today, the soft chime of a new message pulled him out of his own head.
From: Dr. Weiss
Subject: Follow-Up and Resources
His heart thudded a little faster. Another reminder. Another piece of evidence that he was different now—or maybe not different at all, just newly understood.
He clicked it open.
Inside was a list of links to articles about living with adult ADHD—executive dysfunction, time blindness, and emotional regulation. Downloadable worksheets to help track triggers and build routines. A guide on how to communicate ADHD needs to friends, family, and coworkers.
There was also an attachment:
"Patient Packet – Adult ADHD Resources and Referrals."
He hesitated before opening it. Then did.
Dozens of pages spilled out. Some of it felt like too much. Some of it felt like finally, finally, someone had translated the mess in his head into a language he could understand.
Near the end was the name of a therapist: trauma-informed, flexible scheduling, based nearby. Specialised in adults diagnosed later in life. Her short bio was calm, no-nonsense, and somehow kind. She sounded like someone who might actually get him.
At the bottom of the email, just above Dr. Weiss's signature, was a note about a follow-up appointment already scheduled for three weeks from now.
Just a check-in, it read.
To see how you're settling into things. To talk through what's next.
Buck exhaled. He hadn't even realised he was holding his breath.
It wasn't over. Not even close. But for the first time, it wasn't the terrifying unknown anymore. There were steps now. Plans. A path forward that wasn't just built on white-knuckling his way through every hour.
He picked up his phone and, almost without thinking, sent a text:
Buck: Got an email from Dr. Weiss. Therapist info + next appt set.
The reply came within seconds.
Eddie: I'm proud of you. Forward it to me. I'll help you organise the links. We'll do it together.
Buck smiled at the screen, something warm blooming in his chest. That afternoon, Buck sat at the kitchen table, notebook open, pen in hand. No pressure. No expectations. Just a blank page and the slow hum of self-reflection.
At the top, he wrote:
Things I Know Are True:
- I have ADHD.
- That doesn't mean I'm broken.
- Eddie loves me.
- Maddie's still in my corner.
- I don't have to prove anything to anyone anymore.
He stared at number five for a long time.
Then underlined it—twice.
Later, Buck leaned against the kitchen counter, the weight of the day settling into his shoulders. The silence around him didn't feel peaceful anymore. It felt loud again. Pressurized.
When Eddie returned home, Buck didn't say anything at first. He just crossed the room and leaned into him.
Eddie wrapped his arms around him instantly, steady and warm, holding Buck together the way he always seemed to know how—especially when Buck didn't know how to ask.
They stayed like that for a long moment, the quiet wrapping around them like a blanket.
Eventually, Buck pulled back, his voice barely above a whisper. "It feels like I've spent my whole life screwing up because of something I didn't even know about."
Eddie's expression softened instantly. "You've never been screwing up," he said, stepping closer, solid and sure. "You've been surviving—thriving—in ways most people couldn't. You've saved lives. Built a family. ADHD doesn't erase any of that. It just means you've had to fight a little harder."
Buck's shoulders slumped, the ache resurfacing. "I don't know how to do this, Eddie. I don't want this to define me."
"It doesn't have to," Eddie said. "It's a part of you—not all of you. And if it helps you understand yourself better—if it helps the hard days make more sense—then maybe it's not a bad thing."
Buck crossed his arms, his voice tight. "I've always felt like I was trying to keep up. Like everyone else got a manual, and I was just... improvising."
"But you did keep up," Eddie said gently. "You improvised better than anyone I've ever seen. Now you've got tools. Now it won't always have to be so hard. And you're not doing it alone."
Buck searched his face, something inside him softening. "I don't even know where to start."
"We start," Eddie said, stepping in close, "by taking it one step at a time. And the first step is realising you're not broken. You're just Buck. And that's more than enough."
Buck let himself breathe again. Really breathe.
"I thought getting an answer would make things easier," he admitted. "But it just feels like I'm back to square one."
"It's not square one," Eddie said. "You've been living with this your whole life. The only difference is now you've got a name for it."
Buck shook his head. "But now I'm second-guessing everything. Was I bad at school because I wasn't trying hard enough? Or was it this? Was I forgetful because I didn't care—or because I couldn't help it?" His voice cracked.
"I've spent my whole life being too much. Too loud. Too impulsive. Too... broken."
The words hung heavy between them. Eddie's heart clenched. He stepped forward and gently cupped Buck's face in his hands, grounding him. "You're not broken. You never were. You're the bravest, kindest, most determined person I know. And none of this changes that."
Buck blinked, tears welling in his eyes.
"It's always just felt hard, Eddie. Everything's always been harder for me."
"I know," Eddie said, brushing his thumbs under Buck's eyes. "I've seen it. I've seen you push through when you shouldn't have had to. And that makes you strong, Buck. You didn't even know what you were fighting—and you still never gave up."
Buck clung to him like an anchor. "What if I can't figure it out?"
"You don't have to figure it all out right now. Or alone." Eddie's voice stayed low, certain. "We'll figure it out together. Whatever it takes."
There was a long silence. Then: "How do you do that?" Buck asked, quieter now.
"Do what?"
"Say exactly what I need to hear. Like you always know when I'm falling apart."
Eddie smiled, his fingers threading into Buck's hair. "Maybe because I've been there. Or maybe just because I love you—and I know you."
Buck let out a soft laugh. "You're annoyingly good at this."
"I try." Eddie pulled him close again. "This doesn't change who you are. You're still the guy who runs headfirst into burning buildings, who makes Chris laugh until he snorts. Who loves hard and feels everything with his whole heart."
Buck closed his eyes, resting against Eddie's chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat carry him.
"I don't want people to see me differently."
"They won't," Eddie said. "Not the ones who matter. Look at Maddie. Bobby. Hen. Chim. You think any of them are going to love you any less?" Buck thought about it—and he knew. He knew.
"No," he whispered. "They won't."
"Exactly."
Buck was quiet for a long beat. "It's just going to take time."
"Take all the time you need," Eddie said. "There's no race. No finish line. Just us. Figuring it out one day at a time."
Buck let himself believe that. Let himself feel it in his bones.
For the first time all week, he wasn't afraid of the future. He didn't have all the answers—but he didn't need them.
Because Eddie was right.
He wasn't broken.
He was Buck.
And that was enough.
The days after Dr. Weiss's email passed in quiet, careful beats. For once, Buck didn't rush into anything. He hadn't even decided what the next step should be. He just sat with it. The idea of medication hovered in the background, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to go down that road yet.
He was used to being a lot—impulsive, reckless, scattered. It had always just been part of him. He never questioned it too much, never picked it apart. He just let himself be. So now, thinking about changing that... it felt strange. If he wasn't that version of himself anymore, who would he even be?
One morning, he woke to an empty bed. That alone was unusual. Most days, Buck was the one up first—out for a run, back in time to make breakfast and get Chris ready for school.
He sat up fast, a flicker of unease running through him. But then he heard it: soft Spanish music drifting from the kitchen. He followed the sound.
There, he found Eddie packing Chris's lunch while Chris sat at the table, happily eating scrambled eggs on toast. The sunlight spilled in through the window, catching in Eddie's hair, the whole scene warm and easy.
It was so domestic, so quietly perfect. Buck leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold like he was outside of it—like if he blinked too hard, it might vanish.
Eddie glanced up. "Morning," he said casually, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Buck's lips.
"Hey," Buck murmured, his voice still rough with sleep. He gave Eddie a lazy side hug, then reached for an apple from the counter.
Chris turned to him, grinning with a mouth full of toast. "Dad made breakfast," he said proudly. "And it's not too bad."
"Not too bad?" Eddie scoffed in mock offence, zipping up Chris's lunchbox and tucking it into his school bag.
Buck smiled, but something tugged under his ribs. This was his routine—the one he'd built with Chris. He was always the one who made sure everything ran smoothly between wake-up and the walk out the door. But Eddie had stepped in, easy, without Buck even having to ask.
And it wasn't a bad thing. It just felt... different
"You didn't have to do all this," Buck said quietly as Chris got up to put his plate in the sink.
Eddie shrugged, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "You looked like you needed the sleep."
That simple.
Buck didn't know what to say to that. He had needed the sleep. Lately, his brain had been running marathons at night—replaying Dr. Weiss's email, imagining conversations, wondering what change might really look like.
"You okay?" Eddie asked, breaking the quiet.
"Yeah. Just—thanks." Buck blinked a few times, then added, "I want to tell everyone tonight."
Eddie looked up from the stove, spatula in hand. "You sure?"
Buck nodded, though his stomach was twisting into knots. "Yeah. I've been sitting with it long enough. I don't want it to be a secret. Not from them. Maddie knows, Bobby knows. You and Chris. It's bound to come out eventually."
Eddie switched off the burner and set the spatula aside. He leaned against the counter, giving Buck that steady, grounded look—the one he wore on scene when things got real. "You don't owe anyone an explanation."
"I know." Buck scrubbed a hand through his hair. "It's not about that. It's just... I've been trying to figure myself out for months. Longer, really. And I'm tired of pretending I've got it all together when I don't. Not yet."
Eddie nodded slowly. "So what are you going to say?"
Buck hesitated. "That I have ADHD," he said finally. "That I'm talking to someone about it. That I might try medication. And that I'm doing it because I want to understand myself better—not because I think something's wrong with me."
He watched Eddie's face for any flicker of doubt or discomfort. There wasn't any. Just quiet support.
"That's good," Eddie said. "That's honest."
Buck let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "I'm scared they'll look at me differently."
"They won't," Eddie said, stepping closer.
"You don't know that."
Eddie nearly rolled his eyes, but instead ran a steady hand down Buck's arm before taking both of Buck's hands in his. "Yes, I do," he said, locking eyes with him. "Because Hen, Chim, Athena, and Karen? They're our family. And they love you."
Buck opened his mouth to argue, but Eddie kept going.
"They know you, Buck. They've seen you at your best—and on some of the worst days of your life. This? It doesn't change who you are. They only want what's best for you. That won't change."
Buck stayed quiet, gripping the edge of the counter again after Eddie let go. His mind was still spinning—running through every possible reaction: awkward silences, concerned looks, someone saying the wrong thing even with good intentions.
But louder than all of that was something else. Something sharper, deeper.
He was tired of hiding.
Eddie gave him a look—the kind that said I see you, but didn't push.
Before Buck could think of something else to say, Chris came back into the room with his backpack slung over one shoulder. "Ready when you are," he told Eddie, then turned to Buck. "You coming?"
Buck hesitated. "I think I might just stay back today," he said.
Chris nodded like it was no big deal, but Buck caught the flicker of concern in his eyes. Subtle, but there.
"You okay?" Chris asked.
"Yeah, of course, buddy," Buck said, forcing a smile. "Just gonna get a slow start. Thought I'd prep the desserts for tonight's BBQ."
"Cool," Chris said, but his tone didn't quite match the word. He stepped in to give Buck a quick hug, and Buck held on just a second longer than usual.
"See you later," Chris added, before running off to the front door.
Eddie lingered behind. "I love you," he said, pressing a deeper, slower kiss to Buck's lips. "Coffees still hot. Let me know if you need anything."
Buck nodded. "I'll be fine."
But as the door clicked shut behind them, the silence that followed felt heavier than it should have.
Buck huffed out a breath and moved on instinct, pouring himself a cup of coffee just to have something to do. He sat down at the table, the chair still faintly warm from earlier, and stared at the plate of eggs Eddie had left for him.
They were probably still good—warm enough, perfectly done, no doubt—but Buck couldn't bring himself to pick up the fork. The quiet pressed in on him, thick and full of thoughts he wasn't ready to unpack. His brain, always running at full speed, picked at the morning like a scab: the flicker in Chris's eyes, the way Eddie didn't push, the way he didn't follow them out the door like usual.
He wrapped both hands around the coffee mug and took a sip. Bitter. Real. It grounded him, barely. He glanced at the eggs again. Still untouched.
By the time Eddie brought Chris home seven hours later, Buck still hadn't left the kitchen.
He'd deep-cleaned it—twice. Once after breakfast. Again, after baking two trays of brownies, a lemon loaf, and a batch of muffins, just to keep his hands moving. The place smelled like sugar and lemon zest, but Buck looked more wired than relaxed.
Eddie stepped into the room, dropping Chris's backpack onto a chair. "What's all this, baby?"
Buck glanced up from where he was lining the muffins into neat rows on a cooling rack. His eyes were tired, but his hands were still moving. "I couldn't sit still."
Eddie walked over slowly, taking in the spotless counters, the gleaming sink, the cooling chaos of baked goods. "You didn't have to do all this."
"I know," Buck said, a little too quickly. "I just... I didn't know what else to do."
Chris peeked in behind Eddie, immediately zeroing in on the brownies. "Whoa. Can I have one?"
"After dinner," Buck said, voice gentler now. "They're for Bobby's."
Chris gave him a thumbs-up and ran off toward his room.
Eddie moved in close, brushing flour off Buck's forearm. "You okay?"
Buck let out a long breath, like his body had just remembered it could. "Ask me after tonight."
Eddie leaned in and kissed his temple. "Fair enough."
Buck gave a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes, then turned back to the counter. The kitchen was spotless, but his hands needed something to do.
He stood at the sink, drying the last muffin tin even though it didn’t really need it. He could feel Eddie watching him from across the room.
"You've been on your feet all day," Eddie said gently. "You sure you want to go through with this tonight?"
Buck set the pan down. "Yeah. I need to."
Eddie nodded, then crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Buck's waist from behind, resting his chin on Buck's shoulder. "You don't have to be perfect, you know. You just have to be honest."
Buck leaned back into the touch. "That's the scary part."
They stood like that for a moment—quiet, steady, both grounding themselves in the stillness.
Then Eddie kissed the side of his neck and said, "Okay. Let's pack it up."
Chris came running in just as Buck was loading the last tray of brownies into a to-go container. "Do we have to bring all of it?"
"Yes," Buck said, "I stress-baked, so now everyone has to suffer."
Chris grinned and grabbed the lemon loaf. "I'll carry this one."
They moved like muscle memory now—grabbing Tupperware, stacking foil-wrapped trays, double-checking the oven was off and the lights were out. Buck hovered for a second at the door, hand on the frame, before finally stepping out.
Eddie was already outside, loading the food into the backseat. Buck slid into the passenger seat while Chris buckled up behind him, humming something off-key and happy.
The car door shut with a soft click, and Buck sat still for a beat.
"You good?" Eddie asked, sliding in beside him and starting the engine.
"I will be," Buck said. He wasn't lying. Not really.
As the car pulled away from the curb, the weight in his chest didn't vanish, but it shifted. Lighter. Manageable.
The ride to Bobby and Athena's was quiet, filled with half-started thoughts Buck didn't say out loud. He kept turning the words over in his head, trying to find the right tone, the right way to drop the truth without making it a thing.
Bobby and Athena’s driveway was already packed by the time they pulled in, sliding in behind a line of familiar cars. As they piled out, laughter floated from the backyard, light and easy. The unmistakable smell of Bobby’s barbecue drifted through the air—smoky, rich, mouthwatering.
Buck swallowed hard.Eddie reached over, sliding an arm around his waist. “C’mon,” he said, voice low. “It’s just your family.” He pressed a kiss to Buck’s cheek.
Buck nodded. He knew that. Logically, he knew. But he still had to force himself to believe it.
They rounded the corner toward the gate. Chris was already ahead of them, sprinting toward Denny and Harry, backpack forgotten as he shouted greetings.
Buck paused for a second just before the gate, taking one last deep breath.
He stepped inside and immediately called out a hello to Bobby, who was manning the grill like it was a command post. Buck had missed Bobby’s cooking during his time off—no one else made burgers smell like that.
Before he could even make it to the cooler for a drink, Chim waved him over, caught in what looked like a passionate debate. “Buck—help me out here,” Chim said, gesturing wildly. “Bobby’s out here acting like dry rub only is the only way to marinate beef. It’s criminal.”
Bobby didn’t even flinch. “Because it is the only way, unless you like eating boiled flavour off your steak.”
Buck laughed, letting himself get pulled into the argument. It was loud and ridiculous, but it helped take the edge off the nerves still coiled in his chest.
Meanwhile, Eddie had wandered down to the deck where the women were gathered around the long picnic table. Jee-Yun bounced happily in Maddie’s lap while she chatted with Karen and Athena about sleepless nights, baby milestones, and the joys of teething.
On the other side of the deck, Hen, Albert, and Ravi were deep in conversation, Ravi animatedly describing the horrors and minor victories of becoming a first-time landlord. Judging by Hen’s face, it was mostly horrors.
It was loud, chaotic, and completely normal.
And Buck was just… in it. Not outside looking in. Not performing. Just part of it.
Buck drifted through the laughter and chatter like muscle memory—hugged Maddie, gave Jee-Yun a kiss on the head, fist-bumped Albert, nodded along to Ravi’s tragic plumbing story. But beneath the surface, that pulse of nerves hadn’t gone away. It just got quieter. More focused.
Eddie caught his eye from across the yard, giving him a subtle nod. Whenever you’re ready.
Buck took a sip of his drink and looked around. His people. His family. No sirens, no emergencies—just burgers on the grill and music humming through the speakers. It felt like the safest possible place to say something that still scared the hell out of him.
Finally, all the food was ready. Everyone stacked up their plates—grabbing burgers, ribs, corn on the cob, whatever Bobby had masterfully grilled to perfection. The conversations moved in waves across the deck, kids laughing in the background, the sun starting to dip low.
Buck sat down between Eddie and Karen, plate full, appetite nonexistent.
His heart pounded in his chest. He didn’t speak right away. He kept waiting for the right moment.
A lull in conversation. A natural pause. Some invisible cue that would tell him now’s the time.
But maybe, he realised, there wasn’t going to be a perfect one. There was just now—or-never. So he cleared his throat. “Hey, uh… can I say something real quick?”
The table quieted. All heads turned toward him.
“A few weeks ago, I was, um… diagnosed with ADHD.” He paused. No one said anything. No one looked away. Eddie’s hand found his under the table, gripping his thigh firm, steady, grounding.
“I’ve been seeing a specialist,” Buck continued, voice wavering just slightly. “I’m still figuring things out, whether that means medication, therapy… or both. But I’m not doing it because I think something’s wrong with me. I’m doing it because I want to understand myself better. Because I want to be better—for me, and for the people in my life.” For a second, no one spoke.
Then Hen reached across the table, placing her hand gently over his. “Thanks for telling us,” she said with a soft smile. “I mean, it makes sense and it’s good that you’re finally getting the support you need.”
Karen nodded from her seat beside Hen. “Seriously, Buck. That takes guts. We’re proud of you.”
Buck gave a small nod, his throat tight.
Chim nodded along, his usual grin softened. “You know… I’ve made jokes about this stuff before, but seriously—this isn’t one of those times. What did you just do? That’s big. And I’m glad you’re doing what’s right for you.”
Athena smiled gently. “We love you, baby. You just let us know if you need anything from us, okay?”
Bobby nodded beside her, his expression steady and sincere. “Whatever you need, whatever this looks like, we’re here.”
Buck blinked quickly, like maybe that would keep the tears from actually falling. Eddie gave his thigh another squeeze, and Buck finally let himself exhale.
The moment passed, and conversation started again—easy, warm, as if nothing had changed, and yet, everything had.
Later, as plates emptied and the kids chased each other barefoot across the yard, Buck stood off to the side with a beer in hand, watching the scene.
He felt lighter. Not fixed. Not finished. But more himself than he had in a long time.
The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the backyard as dinner wound down. Plates were scraped clean, laughter returned in easy bursts, and the weight that had hung over Buck for days finally started to lift.
He didn’t say much after his announcement, didn’t need to. Everyone’s response had been enough. No one looked at him differently. If anything, they just looked at him more fully.
Now, as the sky shifted to blue-grey and the kids kicked off their shoes to run barefoot through the grass, Buck leaned back in his chair, letting the sound of conversation swirl around him.
Eddie passed him a fresh beer without a word. Their fingers brushed, and Buck gave him a quiet, grateful look.
“You did well,” Eddie said under his breath.
Buck nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. He took a sip, eyes drifting to where Chris was showing Denny how to catch lightning bugs, their faces lit up with the kind of joy Buck always fought to protect.
Hen settled into the seat across from him, stretching out her legs and eyeing him with that quiet, knowing look she always had. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Buck said, after a beat. “I think I am.”
“Good,” she said. “Because you deserve this. The peace. The support. All of it.”
Buck looked down at his hands, then back up at her. “I didn’t realise how much I needed it until I said it out loud.”
Hen smiled softly. “That’s usually how it goes.”
The night rolled on. The fire pit was lit. Karen brought out marshmallows. Chim told a story that made everyone groan. Buck didn’t check his phone once. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he had to manage anything—not his image, not his feelings, not his pace.
He was just… here. And that was enough.
As they packed up to leave, Athena pulled him into a hug. “Proud of you, Evan,” she whispered. “Keep going.”
“I will,” he said.
In the car ride home, Chris fell asleep in the backseat, worn out from too much sugar and too much joy. Eddie drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Buck’s knee.
And Buck—finally—felt like he was breathing again.
After they put Chris to bed, Buck and Eddie curled up on the couch, half-watching some documentary Eddie had put on. The screen flickered with soft light, but neither of them was really absorbing it.
Buck’s focus kept drifting back to the pamphlet on the coffee table—the one Dr. Weiss had given him weeks ago. It sat there like a quiet dare, untouched except for the dog-eared corners and the faint crease from how often he’d picked it up, flipped through it, then put it back down.
Tonight was no different. He sat up, grabbed it again, thumbed through a few pages, then let it drop back onto the table with a sigh. Eddie glanced over from where he was stretched out. “You’ve been looking at that for weeks now.”
“Yeah. I know.” Buck rubbed at his temple. “I just… I think I want to try meds.”
Eddie muted the TV and shifted toward him, giving him his full attention.
“She said it could help,” Buck continued. “Not just with focus or impulse stuff—but with the anxiety, the constant spinning. The way I can’t shut my brain off. I don’t know what it’s like to not feel like I’m behind all the time.”
Eddie nodded, listening without judgment.
“And I’ve tried everything else,” Buck said. “Structure, lists, routines, alarms. They help… but only so much.”
He glanced over, uncertain. Eddie shifted closer, resting a hand on Buck’s knee. “So try it,” he said gently. “If it doesn’t work, you’ll try something else. But you don’t have to keep doing this the hard way just to prove you can.”
Buck hesitated. “But it also kinda freaks me out. What if it changes me? What if I stop being me?”
Eddie didn’t answer right away. He reached over and rested a hand on Buck’s back, grounding him with a simple, steady touch.
“You won’t stop being you,” he said. “No pill can take away your heart, Buck. Or your instincts. Or how much you care. The only thing meds might do is quiet the noise a little. Make the hard parts feel a little less hard.”
Buck slumped forward, shoulders tight. “I’ve always lived in the noise. I don’t even know who I am without it.”
“That’s exactly why it’s okay to be curious,” Eddie said. “You’re allowed to explore it. To try something, see how it feels. If it helps? Great. If it doesn’t? You stop. You’re still in control.”
Buck looked over, searching his face. “You wouldn’t think less of me if I tried?”
Eddie blinked. “Buck. Why would I think less of you for trying to make your life better?”
“I don’t know,” Buck muttered. “It just... feels like cheating. Like if I need help focusing or remembering things, it means I’m not doing it on my own.”
Eddie leaned in, voice low but sure. “Needing help isn’t cheating. It’s human. And after everything you’ve survived—hell, after everything you’ve done for other people—you deserve to have things be easier.”
Buck looked down at his hands, still fidgeting with the edge of the pamphlet. “I think I wanted to prove that,” he admitted. “That I could fix it on my own. Like needing help was... weak.”
“It’s not,” Eddie said. “You wouldn’t say that to Chris. Or to me. So don’t say it to yourself.”
Buck nodded, quiet for a beat. Then he leaned back against the couch and let out a slow breath. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”
Eddie smiled and squeezed his leg. “Good. That’s a brave step.”
Buck leaned into him, head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” Eddie said, wrapping an arm around him. “But you’re not alone.”
They sat like that as the sky outside shifted from gold to navy, the first stars peeking out over the city. The documentary kept playing, forgotten in the background, as Buck let the idea settle—not as something to fear, but as a path forward.
A step. Not the whole answer—but maybe part of it and he wasn’t taking it alone.