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chicgeekgirl89 · 2 years

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If Only in My Dreams

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Paul Strickland, Judd Ryder, Nancy Gillian, Mateo Chavez, Marjan Marwani

Rating: K

Summary: It's been a rough few months in the Strand-Reyes household and now Carlos finds himself stranded in the middle of nowhere two days before Christmas. Will he make it home in time? Or will he be spending the holiday on his own?

A/N: Well, this is now a pretty belated Christmas fic because I was sick and stressed and blah, blah, blah. But I mean, Christmas can really be any time in our hearts, right?I had the idea of giving Carlos a little Hallmark holiday treatment and thus this fic was born. It became a lot more than I thought it would be, definitely one of the tougher things I've ever written. It's set a few years down the road when Tarlos is well established in their marriage. Hope you enjoy!

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He’s not supposed to be here.

Carlos sighs and eases his foot off the gas yet again, squinting as he tries to see through the flying snow and darkening skies. He was supposed to be home three hours ago, and he’s still at least an hour and a half away, more if the weather continues to worsen. T.K. is going to kill him.

He pushes the button on his dash to dial his husband’s number, trying to figure out what he’s going to say. The call connects and the bright, hopeful tone of T.K.’s voice fills the car. “Hey, you almost here?”

He can’t even muster up fake cheer. There’s no point. What he has to say isn’t cheerful or merry in the least. “Hey,” he says and he can imagine the look on T.K.’s face at his tone of voice.

“You’re not going to make it,” T.K. says immediately, his voice going flat. Amazing that he can get all of that from “hey.”

“I’m so sorry,” Carlos tells him, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. “They sent me out into the hill country to interview some witnesses, and everything took longer than expected, and the weather sucks and…I’m just really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” T.K. says, but Carlos can tell it’s not. “I’ll tell the gang the party’s off.”

“No, no,” Carlos says quickly. “Don’t do that. All the food’s in the fridge, Grace and Paul will know what to do with the appetizers. Get started without me and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

They’ve already postponed their holiday 126 hang twice because of this damn case and Carlos had sworn up and down that they’d make it happen this time. They’re two days away from Christmas, if they don’t do it now it’s not going to happen. Even if he can’t be there, he can’t stand the thought of T.K. missing out on yet another thing because of him. There’s been too much of that lately.

There’s a long pause before T.K. finally speaks. “Okay. I’ll save you a plate.”

“Thanks,” Carlos says, somehow feeling even guiltier. He doesn’t deserve even that small kindness right now.

There’s a muffled noise in the background and then T.K. says, “I have to go, Nancy’s here. Be careful.”

“Okay, hey I lo—“ Carlos stops himself when he realizes the line has already gone dead.

Perfect.

A particularly strong gust of wind makes his car shudder and he taps carefully at the gas again. At the rate he’s going he’s going to be lucky to make it home by New Year’s. Why the hell is it snowing like this in Texas on the day before Christmas Eve? Next time he votes he’s going to take an even more serious look at the candidates who are working against climate change because this is ridic—

There’s a huge crack, so loud it sounds like an explosion, and a massive tree crashes down across the road in front of him. Carlos yells and hits the breaks, but they slip and slide on the snowy road, the car heading straight for the gigantic trunk.

He feels the impact, a sharp flash of pain, and then he knows nothing.

“Come on pretty boy, wake up for me.”

A rough voice, one he’s never heard before is issuing commands, but all Carlos can focus on is the pain radiating through his entire body, especially his skull. He groans and lifts a hand to his throbbing head, sucking in a sharp breath when he finds a gash in his forehead, his fingers sticky with blood.

“Oh good, you’re alive,” the voice says and Carlos slowly turns his head, squinting at the light coming through his window. “Thought maybe I was looking at a corpse.”

Carlos’ addled, aching brain blurts out one clear thought as he stares at the man outside his car. “Santa?”

“Not quite,” the man says, although with his fluffy white beard and the red knit hat on his head, the resemblance is uncanny. “Name’s Russell actually.”

“Wha—“ Carlos clears his throat and tries to get his bearings. “What happened?”

“Well, can’t say for sure cuz I just found you and all, but don’t take a genius to figure out you smashed into this here tree,” Russell says, nodding toward the giant trunk, several of whose branches have smashed through Carlos’ windshield. The one closest to Carlos’ face is gleaming with something shiny and wet in the light of Russell’s flashlight, and Carlos’ stomach lurches when he realizes it’s his own blood.

His chest hurts from the seatbelt and his right hip aches, it must have been at a weird angle when he hit the tree, but fortunately he’s not pinned in. He reaches down, fumbling with the seatbelt’s release, and Russell opens the door to help him. “Let’s get you out of here,” he says. “Don’t want you to freeze to death. What’s your name?”

“Carlos,” he says, gritting his teeth as he gingerly slides out of the car and tentatively puts weight on his injured leg. “Did you already call 911?”

“Wouldn’t matter if I did,” Russell says. “It’s over thirty minutes to the closest emergency services and it’ll be three times that in this weather. Sides, this road’s the only way in or out of Evergreen, and in case ya didn’t notice…” He nods toward the giant trunk blocking the entire road.

“Shit,” Carlos mutters. “I need to call my husband—“

“Cell service is out too. Come on. I’ve got a landline back at my place. I can patch you up there.”

The journey back to Russell’s place is arduous. The ground is slippery and by the time they get there Carlos’ leg, which was only pretty painful before, is now a fireball of agony. “Okay, let’s sit you down right here,” Russell says, settling him into a chair by a cozy fireplace that is throwing out amazing heat.

“You know you shouldn’t leave a fire burning when you’re not home,” Carlos says, shivering and wincing as he tries to get comfortable.

Russell quirks an eyebrows. “What are you? The fire police?”

“I’m a detective,” Carlos tells him. “But my husband is a former firefighter.”

“Well la dee da,” Russell says as he putters around the small stove across the room. “Let me tell you something Mr. Detective, I’ve been leaving my fire burning here for thirty years and I’ve never once had a problem.”

“Right, sorry, none of my business,” Carlos tells him.

He takes a look around the cabin. It’s small, just a living room and kitchen area and what looks to be a doorway to a bedroom off to the side. There are taxidermy animals on the wall, a couple deer and a decent sized bass. There’s a Christmas tree haphazardly decorated with a string of lights and a few ornaments, and Carlos finds himself noticing that it is definitely too close to the fireplace and has to bite his tongue as thoughts of spontaneous combustion swirl through his mind.

“All right, coffee’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Russell looks at him appraisingly. “You do drink coffee right? Not just that matcha or chai tea crap?”

“Coffee is great,” Carlos tells him.

“Good, never can tell with you city people,” Russell says, dragging a stool over to sit in front of Carlos. “All right, let’s take a look at you.”

He inspects the gash on Carlos’ forehead then hands him a dish towel. “Hold that on there. You’re still bleeding pretty good, probably got a concussion too.”

Judging from the terrible headache, Russell is probably right. Carlos lets him undo the buttons on his shirt and take a look at his chest. He shrugs. “Don’t look too bad. You’re gonna know where your seatbelt was for a while, but that’s the point of wearing it.” He leans back. “Can’t do nothing about your hip, but I can stitch up that gash on your forehead if you want. Couple shots of whiskey, you won’t even feel it.”

Carlos grunts out a laugh and then sees the look on Russell’s face. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Russell tells him. “I’m a doctor.”

Carlos knows better than to judge a book by its cover, but he can’t help but be skeptical about this statement. “Really? What kind?”

“Veterinarian.”

Carlos tries not to let his face betray his thoughts. “I think I’ll wait.”

“Probably the right choice,” Russell concedes as he pulls out some gauze and bandages. “You got such nice cheekbones, don’t think your husband would want you walking around looking like Frankenstein.”

By the time he’s done bandaging Carlos’ forehead the coffee is ready. He hands Carlos a steaming mug and despite the mild nausea swirling in his stomach, yet another sign of his probable concussion, he takes a sip.

It tastes like ass. Straight up ass. He tries not to gag as he sets it down on the side table next to him, wondering if he can get away without drinking anymore. “You said you had a land line?” he asks, swallowing hard as he tries to rid his mouth of the acrid taste.

“Yep I did,” Russell says, grabbing a cordless phone from the wall next to the stove. “Long as we got electricity it should work just fine.”

Carlos dials T.K.’s number from memory and then waits anxiously as it rings. He’s in the middle of a party and it’s a random number, chances are T.K. will let it go to voicemail. He knows all of this, but his heart still sinks when he hears T.K.’s voice telling him to leave a message. “Hey babe,” he says, trying to keep his voice light. “I’m fine. I’m calling from someone else’s phone. There was a problem with the car. Give me a call back at this number when you can.” He pauses for a moment, his throat growing tight. “I love you.”

He hangs up and hands the phone back to Russell. “Thanks,” he says.

“No problem,” Russell tells him. “So, how long you two been married?”

“Four years,” Carlos says, hardly believing it. It still seems like only yesterday that T.K. dropped into his life and changed his whole world.

“And you didn’t tell him all the truth of what’s going on because…?”

“Because I don’t want to leave bad news on a voicemail,” Carlos says. “And I don’t want him to worry more than he needs to.”

“Spouses huh? Always worried,” Russell says.

“Yeah,” Carlos says unhappily.

“You two have plans for Christmas?”

“We’re supposed to go to my parents’,” Carlos tells him. “My sisters and their families will be there. And T.K.’s dad sometimes comes too.”

“Sounds nice,” Russell says.

“What about you?” Carlos asks.

“Oh you know, usually I travel around a bit,” Russell says vaguely. “Kind of a busy day for me actually.”

Carlos ponders this cryptic statement and is about to ask more questions, but the phone rings and his heart leaps in his chest, part anxiety and part desperation to talk to his husband. “S’pose this is for you,” Russell says handing it over.

“T.K.?” Carlos says as soon as the call connects.

“Carlos? What’s going on? What number is this?”

Carlos can hear the sounds of the party in the background, their friends laughing and talking, and it makes his heart ache. Tears spring unexpectedly to his eyes and he struggles to speak around them. “Hey, babe, listen, I’m—I don’t think I’m going to make it home tonight.”

There is an incredibly long pause. “What are you talking about?” T.K. asks, his voice tight. “What do you mean you’re not going to make it home? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. A tree fell across the road,” Carlos says. “It’s the only way in or out of here and with the weather and the holiday, I don’t think the emergency crews are going to get out here tonight.”

“A tree? Seriously Carlos? Where are you?” T.K. asks.

“Some town called Evergreen. I’m at a house near the front of the pass,” Carlos tells him. “A man named Russell was kind enough to take me in.” He tries to infuse his tone with lightness. “I’ll be there as soon as the road is clear in the morning. I’m so sorry.”

T.K. sighs and it’s so deep, so exhausted, so full of things that he’s clearly holding back that it makes Carlos want to reach through the phone and cling to him and apologize and quit his job and take them both to bed and never leave. “I just…I can’t believe this,” T.K. says.

Carlos can. It feels like all the universe has done lately is throw them shitball after shitball. “I’m sorry,” is all he can say.

“You’ll call when you’re on the road?” T.K. asks.

“Yes,” Carlos tells him. “Tell everyone I say hey.”

“Yeah,” T.K. says, sounding distant.

“Bye,” Carlos says softly before he hangs up.

“You look like someone put coal in your Christmas stocking,” Russell says.

Carlos shrugs and then winces at the way the movement hurts his body. “He’s upset.”

“That you’re stranded?”

“That I’m not home when I said I would be. Again,” Carlos says, the weight of that statement not feeling as heavy as it should. It’s been this way for months. He’s used to it now.

“You got an issue making it home on time?” Russell asks.

It is not this man’s business in the slightest, but Carlos feels vulnerable and hurt and so he opens his mouth and lets the words he’s been keeping to himself fall out. “I made detective a year ago,” Carlos tells him. “And ever since then it’s been…tough. The hours are longer, the work is more intense. And if it was just that, we might be okay but we’ve also…” Here the words get stuck in his throat and he has to force them out. “We’ve been trying to have a baby. We looked into surrogacy, but the cost is…it’s too much for us right now, so we’ve been working on an adoption, but nothing ever seems to go through. We’ll get so close and then just…nothing. It’s happened twice now and T.K….he’s not taking it well.”

“And what about you? How are you taking it?” Russell asks.

“I mean, it sucks,” Carlos says. “But what can you do? When the time is right it’ll happen.”

“Bullshit.”

The harsh response has Carlos’ snapping his head up. “What?” is all he manages to say.

“Kid stuff hurts. Always. No matter what. If you want and don’t got ‘em, if you have ‘em and they’re strugglin’, if they’re doin’ good and they grow up and leave. It always hurts. You should let it hurt.” He stands up and stokes the fire a bit. “Pretendin’ everything’s fine don’t fix anything. Just makes it hurt more. And probably pisses off your husband. If you two are as close as I think you might be, he knows you’re upset. Hiding it from him isn’t helping anything.”

Carlos lets out a surprised laugh. “Do you moonlight as a family therapist?”

“Nope. Just seen shit.”

“Any suggestions on how to deal with the fact that my husband is pissed off that I missed every night of Hanukkah, and now I’m stuck out here breaking yet another promise to him?”

Russell squints at him. “You sure he’s mad? Maybe he just misses you. Sometimes those two things look an awful lot alike.”

With T.K. it’s hard to tell sometimes. All they’ve done lately is fight. About the adoption, about Carlos’ work hours, about T.K.’s dad overstepping his bounds, about the dishes in the sink, the towel on the floor, the grocery list…Carlos hates it. He never imagined they’d be this kind of couple. God, he can’t even remember the last time they’d had sex, they barely even sleep in the same bed anymore, their shifts never seem to line up, and if they are both home they’re cranky or exhausted or both.

He knows T.K. gets it deep down, they both understand that their jobs make for a weird lifestyle sometimes, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He doesn’t think that Carlos wants to not be home. But it still sucks. And they’re both feeling the suck.

“I don’t know,” Carlos finally says.

“Well you like him enough to want a kid with him,” Russell says. “And to try and protect him from what’s really going on with you. So that oughta mean something.”

“Yeah,” Carlos says slowly, his mind turning possibilities over and over.

Russell checks his watch. “Well I gotta turn in. Make yourself at home. Feel free to sack out on the sofa, but maybe try not to fall asleep. Head wound and all that,” he says, tapping his own forehead to make the point.

“I’ll do my best,” Carlos tells him.

Russell disappears into the bedroom, leaving Carlos alone by the fireplace with nothing but his aching body and whirring mind for company.

His eyelids grow heavy in the darkness of the cabin and he has to force them back open again. Every part of him is exhausted. He wants a hot shower, his bed, and his husband. And he’s not sure he’ll get any of it anytime soon.

He resorts to scrolling through pictures on his phone, even though the brightness only adds to his headache. There are pictures of his nieces and nephews, the 126 gang, the last time he and T.K. visited Jonah and Enzo, a couple screen shots of things he’d thought T.K. might like for Christmas and had saved so he would remember.

He scrolls back and back until he finds their wedding day. They have hundreds of photos, but he finds his favorite: he’s laughing at something off camera, probably at one of his sisters, but T.K. is looking at him, his eyes so soft and full of love and adoration….He runs his thumb over their faces. He’d thought they’d be those people forever. But life and time are taking a toll, and he’s not sure they can ever go back to those bright, early days, when it felt like all they needed was each other.

Despite his best efforts he drifts off, half sleep, half hazy dreams punctuated by real life memories and disorientation every time he opens his eyes.

He wakes up in the morning stiff and cold and sore. Watery grey sunlight is filtering in the windows which display an icy winter wonderland outside.

He tries for a deep breath and winces; his chest hurts. He hopes it’s just the bruising from the seatbelt and not something worse.

“Mornin’,” Russell grunts as he shuffles out of the bedroom in a pair of red long johns.

“Good morning,” Carlos says, clearing his throat when his voice barely croaks out of his chest. “What um, what time do you think they’ll be around to clear the road?”

Russell shrugs. “Could be this morning, could be a few more hours. They’re not usually in a rush to get things moving up here.”

Carlos’ heart sinks again. He just wants to get home. “Need coffee?” Russell asks as he puts the pot on.

Carlos shakes his head. Not even the shivers running over his frame are going to convince him to drink another cup of this man’s coffee.

“You get some rest?” Russell asks as he pours his cup.

“A little,” Carlos says.

“You’re bleeding through those bandages,” Russell tells him, nodding toward his forehead. “Let me get some breakfast started and we’ll get you a fresh one.”

“Thank you,” Carlos says.

“You do any thinking last night?” Russell asks. “Get anything straightened out in the pretty head of yours?”

“Maybe?” Carlos says. “I don’t know. I just…want my husband.”

“That’s a good sign,” Russell says. “When you’re in trouble, usually the thing you love most comes to mind. Good way to sort out yer priorities.”

Carlos hmms in response. Russell has just fired up the stove when they hear a soft buzzing sound echoing around outside. “Sounds like you might be gettin’ out of here sooner rather than later,” Russell says, turning the stove off and putting his boots on instead.

“You can eat first,” Carlos says, then wonders if the man is more interested in getting the stranger out of his home than eating breakfast.

“Not a problem,” Russell says. “I’ll let ‘em know you’re up here and need a ride and a tow.”

Carlos heads into the bathroom after Russell goes out, his hip protesting each step. It feels like someone has driven an ice pick into it. He winces as he catches a glance of himself in the mirror; despite his best efforts to clean up last night there’s still blood on his face and crusted into his hair. His eyes are bloodshot and there are dark circles underneath. He looks like hell.

As he limps back to the couch he can hear voices outside, indistinct but moving closer. He should call T.K. again before he leaves, let him know he’ll be home as soon as he deals with the car.

He’s reaching for the phone when the front door opens, a blast of chilly air immediately filling the small cabin. He blinks a couple times against the brightness and then his breath catches in his throat. “T.K.?”

“Carlos!” He crosses the room in three quick strides and drops to his knees next to the sofa.

Paul of all people appears in the doorway next. “He in here?”

“Yeah,” T.K. calls over his shoulder, his eyes running over Carlos from top to bottom.

“Oh good,” Paul says in relief as he steps closer. “Hey Carlos.”

“T.K., how…how are you here?” Carlos asks incredulously.

“I came to find you,” T.K. says, like it’s the most simple, most obvious thing in the world.

“We could barely keep him from running straight out the door last night after you called,” Paul says. “Had to practically tie him down until sunrise.”

T.K. reaches up and gently pulls the bandage from Carlos’ forehead and Carlos watches his husband slip into paramedic mode. “Paul, can you get Nancy?” he asks.

“Nancy’s here?” Carlos is really struggling to figure out if this is real or if he’s having some kind of concussion induced dream.

“Everybody’s here,” Paul corrects him. “I’ll be right back.”

“You said you were okay,” T.K. says, his hands running aimlessly over the front of Carlos’ jacket, eyes soft with concern.

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Carlos’ throat has gone thick with emotion, making it hard to speak.

“You should have thought of that before you smashed your car into a tree,” T.K. says, trying for levity and failing. “What else hurts?”

“My chest,” Carlos admits. “And my right hip.”

T.K.’s hands immediately go to the offending area and Carlos lets out a grunt of pain. “What does Paul mean, ‘everybody’s here’?” he asks.

T.K. shrugs as he begins opening Carlos’ shirt with practiced fingers. “I told them I was coming up here to get you and they all showed up at sunrise.”

“I’m here!” Nancy says, appearing in the doorway and flinging out the arm holding a first aid kit with a dramatic flair. “You got yourself a partner who can do it all! Rip off giant tree branches and fling them forty feet, then tenderly caress a patient’s wounds.”

“Ugh, you’d better not be caressing other people,” Mateo says coming in behind her. “Judd wants to know if you want us to call an ambulance.”

“Yes,” T.K. says at the same time Carlos says, “No.”

“Carlos, this has to get stitched,” T.K. tells him as he probes at the wound on his forehead.

“Ooh yeah, what the fuck dude? I thought you told T.K. you were all right,” Nancy says as she kneels beside her partner and starts fishing through the bag.

“I am all right,” Carlos protests, even as T.K. pushes against the bruising on his chest, making him suck in a sharp breath.

“Soooo…is that a yes or a no to the ambulance?” Mateo asks.

Carlos looks at his husband, practically begging with his eyes. T.K. sighs and gives in. “No ambulance. We can drive.”

“Cool. I think we’ll be done in like another fifteen minutes or so,” Mateo says as he turns to leave, nearly bumping into Russell on his way out the door.

“Well this is quite a rescue squad you’ve got going,” Russell says. “Think they brought more people than live in the entire town. You’re awful lucky.”

“Yeah,” Carlos says quietly, “I am.”

“This that handsome husband you were talking about?”

“Yes, this is T.K.,” Carlos says. “And this is Nancy.”

“Oh I met Nancy already,” Russell says. “Marjan too. I want them around the next time I need to haul a big ole buck out of the woods. Most badass ladies I’ve ever seen.”

“And I told Russell that while I’m flattered he thinks I’m capable, I don’t want any part of animal murder,” Nancy says matter-of-factly, flashing Russell a charming smile before going back to flicking a penlight into Carlos’ eyes. “Pupils are equal and reactive.”

“Pulse is steady,” T.K. says from where he’s slipped his fingers underneath Carlos’ sleeve. “Some abdominal tenderness, but belly is soft.” He meets Carlos’ eyes. “Can you walk?”

Carlos nods. “Okay, let’s get this bandage changed and then we’ll see about getting you out of here,” Nancy tells him.

“I got it,” T.K. says, taking the gauze from her hands and using it to tenderly clean around the edges of the wound.

“Thank you,” Carlos says quietly.

He lets them poke and prod and bandage and do whatever else makes them happy, then says goodbye to Russell, making a mental note to send the man a box of his mom’s cookies as a thanks. Paul returns to the cabin and he and T.K. each get under an arm to help Carlos limp down to the road where Judd has pulled his truck up as close as he can get to the house since the driveway is slick with ice and snow. “Hey look who it is!” Judd says with a smile. “Not looking too bad for someone who turned his car into a pancake.”

“I’ve been worse,” Carlos agrees. “Seriously, I can’t thank you guys enough for coming out here on Christmas Eve, taking time away from your families. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

“Can’t think of any better way to celebrate the season of giving than by helping out a friend,” Judd tells him.

“Yeah, we were happy to help. They hardly ever let me use the chainsaw,” Mateo says, letting it rip for effect.

“Oh my god, put that down before you kill someone,” Marjan admonishes with a roll of her eyes. “Glad you’re relatively okay Carlos.”

“Oh, and Tommy said to tell you she’s sorry and she hopes you feel better,” Nancy says. “She and the girls had a flight to catch, otherwise she would have been here too.”

The kindness of this group is beyond anything Carlos could have imagined and he opens his mouth to tell them all that, but a gust of wind blows by making him shiver instead. He feels T.K.’s grip tighten on his arm. “Okay, time to go,” his husband says.

They help him into the back of the truck and T.K. climbs in beside him while Paul, Nancy, Marjan, and Mateo get into Paul’s truck. Carlos watches the landscape flash by, wincing when they come upon the frozen body of his own car, which has been moved to the side of the road. The offending tree has been cut apart, the limbs and trunk all settled into neatly stacked pieces on the shoulder. It must have taken a ton of work for them to get it cleaned up.

“We’ll figure out the car later,” T.K. says as his gaze follows Carlos’. “Russell said it could stay for a few days, nobody will mind.”

Carlos nods slightly, exhaustion and the warmth of the car inviting him to close his eyes. “Hey, no!” T.K. snaps at him, a little more roughly than usual. “Do not go to sleep.”

Carlos forces his eyes open again, but it takes a lot of effort. “Hey, did I tell you what Charlie’s got on her Christmas list?” Judd asks, glancing at them both in the rearview mirror. “My girl wants a damn unicorn. You want to tell me how I’m supposed to make that happen?”

He keeps the conversation going, all of it mindless and easy as they drive. He drops them at the emergency room doors, offering to wait, but T.K. waves him off and says they’ll get a cab home. Carlos doesn’t get a say, but if he did he would agree. Judd’s already taken enough time away from Grace and the kids today.

The hospital is slow and boring and very uncomfortable. They end up getting a plastic surgeon to stitch up his forehead and the man is so careful that it takes forever. Carlos should be grateful that he’ll end up with minimal scarring, but mostly he’s cold and annoyed.

T.K. is there beside hime the whole time asking questions, watching the doctors and nurses like a hawk, and texting updates to their parents and friends. It would be comforting except for the fact that his husband talks to everyone except for him. T.K.’s tone is all business, clinical. It’s like Carlos isn’t even in the room. Like he’s just some other patient from a call to be examined and analyzed.

In the end Carlos is diagnosed with a mild concussion and some bruising. He’s sent home with a prescription for PT to help rehab his hip back into shape along with instructions to make a follow up appointment with his doctor to check the stitches in his forehead.

It’s an incredible relief when they finally get home and he’s able to sink down into their sofa. He wants to sleep for year. But there are things that need to be taken care of first.

“Okay, I have texted your mom and told her we won’t make it tonight, but we will try for tomorrow afternoon depending on how you’re feeling,” T.K. says, eyes glued to his phone as he sends a flurry of text messages. “And I have told my dad not to come over and that if he really feels the need to bring you some herbal supplements he can bring them to the ranch tomorrow.”

“Thank you for taking care of all of this,” Carlos tells him.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” T.K. says, but his voice sounds detached, like he’s talking about picking up groceries instead of dealing with a minor crisis. “The doctor said you can have more pain medication in about an hour, and you should eat something.” He snaps his fingers. “I’ll make that soup you like. The one your mom always makes? We have the recipe for that somewhere, right?”

“T.K.,” Carlos says softly as his husband moves into the kitchen and starts rifling through recipe binders.

“And we should schedule you a chiropractor appointment,” T.K. continues. “They’re probably not open today or tomorrow, but we can try for Friday. The sooner you get seen the better.”

“T.K.,” Carlos says a little louder, a hint more commanding. He wants his husband’s attention and so far T.K. hasn’t managed to make more than two seconds of eye contact with him in the last five hours. It’s killing him and he wants it fixed now.

T.K. glances at him, but doesn’t stop searching through their kitchen drawers. “You should be leaning against a pillow. And we should ice your hip.”

“T.K. please,” Carlos says. “Please I—can you just please come here?”

T.K. hesitates before giving in and moving to sit on the sofa. His posture is stiff and he’s so much further away than Carlos wants him to be. He might as well be back in Russell’s cabin, that’s how big the gap feels.

“You’re mad,” Carlos says quietly.

“I’m not mad,” T.K. responds immediately, but there’s no warmth or reassurance in his voice.

Carlos huffs in frustration. “Your face is doing that stiff, bland, dead eyed thing. You’re mad.”

T.K. lets out a slow breath. “Okay fine. I’m mad. But I’m trying very hard not to be.”

“Why?” Carlos asks again.

“Why what? Why am I trying not to be mad? Because you’re hurt and yelling at injured people is kind of frowned upon.”

Carlos’ nerves are frayed, all his walls down, and instead of continuing the conversation in the calm, grown up way he’d mentally promised he would, he instead blurts out, “God, would you please stop treating me like I’m just one of your patients.”

It’s all the incentive T.K. needs. “That is the entire fucking point!” he snaps back. “You’re not just a patient! You’re my husband! Of course I’m mad, Carlos! You lied to me about being hurt. Do you know how awful it felt to show up and find the car, blood all over, and you nowhere in sight?”

“There was nothing you could do,” Carlos says, knowing it’s a weak excuse. “I knew you would just worry and—“

“I was already worried!” T.K. practically yells it, just barely restraining himself. “You weren’t home when you were supposed to be! You were out there, alone, on a freezing cold night with some strange ass man! You were supposed to be here. I—I wanted you to be here.”

He runs a hand over his face. “I am trying so hard not to be the ‘bad husband’ who blames you for your work hours and all the things you’ve missed lately, because I know it’s not your fault and that if you could fix it you would. But god damn it Carlos, I need you to be here and you’re not. There’s so much going on…I mean we’ve missed out on two babies we thought were going to be ours and it feels like you don’t even care—“

“Of course I care!” Anger spikes through his chest and he feels his entire body tense up, ready for the umpteenth round of their ongoing arguments.

“Well it hasn’t felt like it!” T.K. says. “And I kept reminding myself that we were going to have all this time together at the holidays to figure it out and talk about it but you’ve missed everything. You haven’t been here and we haven’t talked and it fucking hurts. And then you go and wrap your car around a tree and don’t even tell me about it.”

He looks so hurt, so sad, but he finally meets Carlos’ eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that Carlos. You’re shuttin me out. And that feels…really shitty on top of how shitty I already felt.”

“I know you feel shitty, that’s why I was trying not to add onto it!” Carlos tells him, feeling irritation burn in his bloodstream. “T.K. I have tried to talk to you about this stuff, but every time I bring it up, you change the subject or say you’re too tired or just flat out ignore me.”

“Does trying to talk to me about it include all the jabs about dirty dishes and putting empty milk cartons back in the fridge? Because if that’s your way of starting a conversation about our marital struggles, I have to tell you I don’t find it particularly effective.”

“You know that kind of thing drives me crazy!” Carlos tells him.

“And you know it drives me crazy when you won’t communicate!” T.K. cries in frustration. “You bottle up all those feelings inside of you and don’t say anything until they just come exploding out in the form of telling me off for putting your jeans in the dryer! Why can’t you just say that you’re sad about the baby? Why can’t you just admit that your work hours suck right now and they’re making you a cranky hot mess?”

“Oh I’m a cranky hot mess?” Carlos says incredulously. “You slept on the couch three nights last week because you didn’t want to even be in the same room as me! And when I tried to talk about getting stuff for the party with our friends, you called me anal retentive! And now here we are, and I’m trying to talk to you again and we can’t even get through it without a full on meltdown!”

“Okay, all right, enough,” T.K. says holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean to start this tonight. I’m sorry I—“ he shakes his head and his shoulders slump. “I’m sorry.”

The apology softens both of them. They’re tired, wrung out, with no energy left to keep hurling hurtful barbs.

“I’m sorry too,” Carlos says. “You’re right, I hate not being here, and it’s killing me. Every plan we’ve had to cancel, every night we’ve been apart, I’ve spent every second of it wishing we were together. I wanted to make latkes and put up the tree and cook for our friends and…” he swallows hard, fighting back tears. “I have felt so, so incredibly guilty for all of it. I didn’t want you to miss out on one more thing because of me.

“I don’t know how to fix any of this. Things are just…we don’t even feel like us anymore. And there never seems to be any time to try and figure it out. And I’ve missed you so much,” he chokes out. “These last few months… I’m so sorry about the arguing and the late nights and missing so much of our lives. I’m sorry that I didn’t share my feelings with you. I’m sorry about the party and Hanukkah and the babies and I—”

He’s full on crying now, everything finally unleashed after so many months of tension.

“Hey, hey.” T.K. pulls him in and Carlos clings to him, breathing in his scent, never wanting to let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again. “I feel like it’s all my fault.”

“Why do you always think it’s your fault?” T.K. says, letting out half of a mirthless chuckle. “God Carlos, you do not have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You can let me carry it with you. I promise, it’s not going to break me. But you holding back from us, that might.”

The words both hurt and heal him simultaneously. T.K. is right, he’s been trying to shoulder the burden of all this on his own instead of being honest about how he feels, and it’s taking a toll on them both. Their relationship is a partnership and he’s forgotten that lately.

Carlos opens his mouth to respond, but something new and terrible starts happening inside his body. He feels cold all over and pain is spiking through his skull. He lets out a grunt, pinching the bridge of his nose as he inhales sharply.

“Carlos? Hey, what’s wrong?” T.K. immediately crowds into Carlos’ space, searching for whatever is hurting his husband.

“My head,” Carlos grinds out.

“Okay, easy, easy,” T.K. says gently, pulling Carlos’ hands away so he can take a look. “Take some deep breaths all right? Focus on my voice.”

There’s a tenderness in his husband’s hands that Carlos has been craving and he leans into T.K.’s touch almost desperately. “I think that’s enough for tonight. We need to get you into bed,” T.K. says.

But they’re finally talking and Carlos is terrified that if they stop he’ll wake up in the morning back to where they started. “But we—“

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” T.K. tells him, and it’s sincere and honest. A promise that they’re not going to keep on like they have been.

Carlos doesn’t want to wait another minute, but the pounding in his head and the ache in his body aren’t letting up and it’s making it hard to focus, so he lets T.K. help him to his feet.

The sheets on their bed are chilly and he shivers as he slides between them. “I’m going to go make some tea, okay?” T.K. says after he pulls the blankets up and tucks Carlos in.

But Carlos catches his hand. “Stay?” he asks tentatively.

It’s a relief when T.K. doesn’t hesitate this time. He immediately comes back and curls up on his side of the bed, pulling Carlos into his lap. His fingers card gently through Carlos’ hair and Carlos closes his eyes. This moment feels like forgiveness.

He doesn’t wake up until the morning, wrapped up into T.K.’s arms in a way that feels so normal, so them, that it almost hurts. He’s missed this so much.

His head and body still ache, but not quite as sharply as the night before. He feels like he might be able to make it out to his parents’ place for their Christmas celebration after all.

T.K. stirs and Carlos stiffly turns over in their bed to face him. “Good morning,” he says softly.

“Morning. Merry Christmas,” T.K. mumbles, his hand instinctively finding the small of Carlos’ back to pull him close. “How are you feeling?”

“Not bad,” Carlos says. “A little sore.”

T.K. hmms in response, not fully awake enough yet to start pressing him for more details.

“I keep the ultrasound in my phone,” Carlos says softly, feeling as if his chest is cracking open.

That wakes his husband all the way up. T.K. looks at him and opens his mouth, but then closes it again, giving him the space to talk about something he hasn’t dared to share until now.

He takes a breath. “Sometimes I look at it and I think about the baby. The one from he second adoption. He’s around three months old now. And I imagine how our lives would be different if we’d gotten him. But we didn’t. And I know how sad you are and there’s not a god damn thing I can do to fix it and I hate it T.K. I hate that there is nothing I can do to fix it. I am failing you in so many ways right now and I—“

“Carlos,” T.K. says firmly. “You are not failing me.”

“But I’ve missed everything—“

“Because you have a demanding job,” T.K. says. “Which we knew when you took it. Carlos I am mad, I am upset, but it’s just…it’s just what it is. And I know that we’re going to get past this. Your job won’t always take up so much time. A baby will come when the moment is right. And you and me,” he brings Carlos’ knuckles to his lips and presses a kiss against them, “we’re going to keep talking and we’re going be fine. I’m not running away from this. Are you?”

The reassurance is a balm to Carlos’ battered soul. “Never,” he says. He looks down at their entwined hands and says the final thing that’s weighing so heavily on him. “T.K., I want a baby. I want my job. But I don’t want any of it without you. So if one or both of those things has to go…”

T.K. smiles, brushing his thumb under Carlos’ eye to remove a stray tear. “Your self sacrifice knows no bounds Carlos Nicolás Reyes Moreno.” He kisses Carlos’ forehead. “I love you so much. I love that you are willing to do whatever it takes to help us. But you’re not giving up your job. And we’re not giving up on a baby. We’ll figure it out.”

It’s as if something between the two of them has clicked back into place. For the first time in weeks peace settles into Carlos’ chest. And it’s so much of a relief that Carlos almost feels like crying all over again.

“Do you want to try and go out to the ranch?” T.K. asks.

Carlos nods and T.K. presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I’m going to take a shower and then we’ll get ready to go, okay?”

Carlos reaches for his phone as T.K. gets up, frowning when he notices how many missed calls and text messages he has from his time out at Russell’s. He’d been too exhausted to do anything about them last night. As he listens to his voicemail he freezes. “T.K.!”

“What?” T.K. calls back from the bathroom.

Carlos hits the speaker button, too stunned to speak. “Hi Mr. Strand-Reyes, this is Sandra calling from the adoption agency. We have another possible birth mother for you, she’s looked over your file and is very interested in you and your husband as potential adoptive parents. She’s already eight months along, so we’re looking to try and expedite things here. I know it’s the holidays, but please give me a call back as soon as possible.”

T.K. comes out of the bathroom a stunned look on his face and Carlos feels his eyes well up. “Do we—Are we doing this?” he asks.

“Do you still want to?”

Carlos looks at his husband, imagining what a great dad this kind, caring, sweet man he married is going to be, and he nods.

T.K.’s face breaks out into the smile that made Carlos fall in love with him in the middle of a honky tonk all those years ago. “Then let’s call her back.”

#Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #911lsfic #911 Lone Star Fanfiction #Carlos Reyes Whump #TK Strand #Car Crash #Christmas Fic #Fire Fam #Concussion #Head Wound #Stitches #Adoption #Baby Talk

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lire-casander · 2 years

Text

forever in a second too short (home is a heartbeat)

here it is! my contribution to @911lsbb! i hope you're ready for a ride! chapters will be posted once a day for twelve days. are you ready?

on ao3

chapters:

chapter #1: intro — on tumblr

chapter #2: first verse — on tumblr

chapter #3: first pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #4: first chorus — on tumblr

chapter #5: second verse — on tumblr

chapter #6: second pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #7: second chorus — on tumblr

chapter #8: solo — on tumblr

chapter #9: bridge — on tumblr

chapter #10: third pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #11: third chorus — on tumblr

chapter #12: outro — on tumblr

pairings: tk strand/carlos reyes, judd ryder/grace ryder, nancy gillian/mateo chavez, paul strickland/marjan marwani

characters: tk strand, carlos reyes, jonah, owen strand, enzo, judd ryder, grace ryder, nancy gillian, tommy vega, mateo chavez, paul strickland, marjan marwani, izzie vega, evie vega, gabriel reyes, andrea reyes, mitchell, alex, original child characters, original characters

warnings: alternate universe — au, alternate universe — with kids, alternate universe — future fic, alternate universe — school teacher, alternate universe — celebrity, alternate universe — movie, alternate universe — marry me (2022), vaguely inspired by the movie, angst, fluff, cheating (not between tarlos), past/reference drug addiction, grief, references to sister act 2, mentions of death, mentions of accidents, breakup, emotional hurt/comfort, fake dating, more tags to be added

disclaimer: the opinions expressed by certain characters in this work of fiction are not shared by the author.

rating: teen and up audiences

summary: tk strand is a famous singer who’s about to marry his beau alex fletcher onstage in front of around twenty million fans. carlos reyes is a teacher whose whole live revolves around his twelve-year-old daughter and his classes. when tk’s wedding ceremony goes south because of a video of alex cheating on tk with his assistant, their lives become a tangled mess. as they wade through life together by a whim of fate, carlos and tk learn to move forward from a past that haunts them both and into a future that could be everything they wanted it to be, if they just allowed themselves to be happy.

fun facts about writing this fic!

i’ve used transcripts for both the movie and some episodes of the show. here you have the links!

* marry me

* 911 lone star s01e01

* 911 lone star s01e03

* 911 lone star s01e10

* 911 lone star s02e04

* 911 lone star s02e14

* 911 lone star s03e02

* 911 lone star s03e04

* 911 lone star s03e07

* 911 lone star s03e08

* 911 lone star s03e18

the duet song tk dedicates to carlos is an english adaptation of ricky martin and reik’s a veces bien y a veces mal. official video and lyrics can be found here. translation/adaptation made by yours truly.

the time difference between nyc and tokyo is 14 hours, meaning that it’s almost always tomorrow in japan, just like jonah says.

some of this was inspired by @dangermagnetstrand’s post

marriages don’t need to be registered in nyc unless the marriage license has been issued by one of their offices.

the monastery of leyre exists, and it’s located in navarra (spain). you can visit its webpage here.

there is a playlist that i kept adding to while writing this fic. if you want to, you can listen to it here.

thank you end notes: this wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support and hand-holding of some amazing people in my life. please take a seat and grab some tissues, because the emotional fest begins right here!

vicky (@tarlos-spain) → ¿qué puedo decir? si no hubiera sido por tu idea de montar un big bang esta historia nunca habría nacido. sin ti, la última parte de esta historia sería muy diferente, y lo sabes; necesitaba una idea para acabar la historia de la mejor manera posible, y tú estabas ahí cuando yo buscaba a alguien que me quitara la idea de la cabeza… aunque lo que pasó fue que no solo no me la quitaste de la cabeza: ¡la hiciste crecer! muchas gracias por tu apoyo, por escucharme cuando necesitaba desahogarme y por estar siempre ahí.

martina → non so cosa dire, davvero. incontrarti quest'anno è stata una di quelle cose che non mi aspettavo ma che mi hanno piacevolmente sorpreso, e sono così grata a vicki per essere entrata nella mia vita e averti portata con sé. lavorare con te alla grafica di questa fic è stato un piacere; poter contare su di te al di là del fandom è una benedizione. grazie mille per essere ciò che sei e per aver condiviso il tuo talento con me!

noxy (@noxsoulmate) → you’re a beautiful soul, my dear friend. you offering to help me with this monster was a nice surprise, because i for once wasn’t planning on asking for help. you know i love to try things without help, and sometimes that’s not good. you were there when this fic hit a low point halfway through writing it, and you helped me back on my feet and encouraged me to keep writing it. without you, without your help and your support and your strength, this wouldn’t be what it is today, and for that (and for you) i am forever grateful.

holly (@morganaspendragonss) -> you truly are the pain to my angst. i love how much you love angst and pain in fiction, and i love how you always encourage me to write angstier fics. you also demand a fix-it from me, which is always good because then you have the full experience. i wouldn’t have finished this without your support and your help during the last stretch. you are a wonderful soul and i am so happy to have had the privilege of meeting you

ll (@doublel27) → thanks for the cheering and the enthusiasm when you learned what this was! your support through all the wip wednesdays and six sentence sundays has been epic! but also epic was your hand-holding when i wanted to give up and leave this project aside because of a rocky middle… you’re an amazing friend.

brit (@moviegeek03) → thank you so much for your endless support, for your words of encouragement and for your editing when it seemed like i was translating straight from spanish into english. and special thanks for your hand-holding during the worst part of writing this, when halfway through it and with 20k+ written i was faced with whether to keep writing it or leave it. i wouldn’t have made this without you.

melo (@meloingly) → there are no words, my dear friend. you’ve always been by my side, ready to cheer me on and call me on my bluff whenever i said i couldn’t do something. you’ve always got an unwavering faith in me, and it’s thanks to you that i keep writing. i would have stopped if i hadn’t had you right at the other side of the screen, telling me that my writing was worth it. that i was worth it. thank you for always being your amazing self.

jillian (@marjansmarwani) → thank you so much for your input on schools in ny and how jonah and leyre could attend the same school while keeping carlos as jonah’s teacher and the advisor for the math team. i’m so glad you could help me and guide me through this particular issue within the fic.

ashley (@alilypea) → i don’t know what to say. you’re just this amazing human being who i am lucky enough to call soulmate. i hope you know that your support means a lot to me, and that your hand-holding while i wrote this (or, more accurately, word-vomited this story into a gdoc) has saved me from scraping the whole story more than once. you saying that my words are good is the highest praise of them all.

antania (@dangermagnetstrand) → thank you very much for the post that started it all! without it, i would have never even thought about writing a story about a singer-songwriter and his lovely boyfriend.

dani (@daniela-bella), jenny (@alidravana), ej (@ravens-words), alice (@aliceschuyler), jenny (@laelipoo) & ac (@breannacasey) → thank you so much for helping me with little details such as news stations and names of songwriters and for listening to me when i ranted about writing a monster, and also for the sprints! half of this wouldn’t have been done without those sprints! you’re definitely the best cheerleaders i could have ever asked for!

jesco0307, didou180386 and the rest of my faithful readers → thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos, commenting and subscribing to this monster! it fills my heart with so much love and amazement. you’re the best!

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gins-potter · 4 years

Text

ngl i lowkey ship marjan and paul.....

#i feel like everyone ships marjan and mateo #which like valid #and then there's me in the background like #ooooooof #they kinda have the vibes ya know?#911 lone star #marjan marwani #paul strickland

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oneawkwardcookie · 4 years

Text

So I've finally finished watching 9-1-1: Lone Star and there is not enough focus on here about:

The astronaut (the most heartbreaking call)

The earthquake dad (there might be a theme here...)

Paul Strickland (that gift of threat assessment is criminally underused but I love when it does show up)

Mateo Chavez (the cuddliest™ of bois)

Marjan Marwani (boss bitch and ultimate sweetheart)

Nancy Gillian and Tim Rosewater (I’d settle for getting gifs of all their background moments...)

Stuart Ryder (Whitey! but also, his interactions with Grace <3)

Iris (such a poignant and realistically imperfect season ending)

All the hilarious background moments with firefam and Michelle’s team

#television #911 lone star #paul strickland #mateo chavez #marjan marwani #nancy gillian #tim rosewater #stuart ryder #iris blake #i need to learn how to make gifs #cos as much as i love tarlos the show is so much more #op #cookie reviews

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lire-casander · 4 years

Note

Bad things happen bingo: Eating Disorder for 911 LS

thank you so much for this prompt! i’ve tried my best to do some research and write this as realistic as i thought it could be!

[go so high and swoop so low] [5,704 words] [teen and up audiences] [beta’ed by @meloingly. any remaining mistakes are my own] [title from Broken Angel by Hanson] [the signs were there in the open, but maybe they chose not to acknowledge them until it was impossible to ignore them anymore] [tk strand, carlos reyes, owen strand, paul strickland, judd ryder, marjan marwani, mateo chavez, michelle blake, original female character] [angst, eating disorders, mentions of past drug abuse, mentions of past overdosing, suicidal ideation] [written for @tarlosweek2020, day 7: free choice] [written for anonymous who asked for eating disorder from my bad things happen bingo card] [to write this story i’ve done some research on eating disorders. i’ve checked the nhs webpage and i’ve used some of the information they give for free to create a background and describe some of tk’s mental process.]

read on ao3

or keep reading under the cut

go so high and swoop so low

“TK, lunch is on the table! Where are you? C’mere before it gets cold!” Paul is calling from the kitchenette, the noises of the rest of them pooling around the table and teasing someone — most probably Mateo — reaching him as he sits on his bunk. He has his head in his hands, fingers spiking the short hair wherever they’re touching his scalp, mouth completely dry, a pounding headache finding its way through his system until all he can feel is the pain radiating off himself.

“Start without me!” he calls back, wincing as he lifts his head to be heard when he speaks, the sound piercing his ears. He hangs his head low once again, but even that small movement brings so much pain to his skull, up to the point that he thinks it might rip in two.

He wasn’t that hungry to start with, so he might as well skip this meal and lie down on his bed. Maybe a little bit of silence and a ton of darkness will do wonders to his migraine.

He’s about to do so when he hears footsteps behind him, reaching the threshold of the sleeping room and approaching slowly toward him. He suppresses a groan when he hears his father’s voice, low and worried.

“Are you alright, son?” he asks. TK can feel the bed dipping where his father takes a seat at his feet, and this time he actually whines. “Is it your head? Another migraine?”

“Yeah,” he manages to say. The word resounds in his head, echoing against the invisible walls of his mind, and he feels like being sick. Fortunately, there’s nothing in his system that could go back up except for bile, but still, he doesn’t want to vomit in front of his father as if he’s some sort of little kid who can’t even control his own body.

“You should eat something,” his father tells him. There’s a hand on his thigh, massaging through the fabric of his sweatpants, and even that slight movement sends chills up his spine that end up shaking his already whumped brain. “That could make the headache recess, and you could take something for the pain after. The doctor said you shouldn’t take any medicine on an empty stomach.”

“I’m pretty aware of what the doctor said, I was there,” TK retaliates, almost grumpily. He manages to keep the rudeness out of his voice. Mostly.

“TK, I get that you’re in pain,” his father sighs. “C’mon, son, get up and we’ll go have lunch together. Paul’s made chili chicken, and you already know it’s his best dish.”

“Not hungry,” TK mumbles, reaching for the sheet and trying, in vain, to pull it up. His father is sitting on top of it, preventing him from cowering away underneath the fabric.

“I’m sure once you try a bit of Paul’s chicken you’ll feel better,” his father urges, this time grabbing TK’s hand and pulling him up. TK struggles to remain on his back, but it’s hard to fight his father when he feels so strong and TK feels so weak. “You got out of the house so early this morning without even having coffee, I bet you’re starving.”

“Grabbed breakfast with Carlos,” TK mumbles, loud enough for his father to stop pulling at him. He tells himself that it’s technically a lie — he went out to have breakfast with Carlos in the morning, but his father doesn’t need to know that everything TK’s had up until this very moment is a glass of Boba while Carlos practically inhaled his bagel and two cups of coffee after a particularly difficult night shift.

His father doesn’t need to know that Carlos spent all the time he wasn’t chewing or swallowing just hinting that TK wasn’t eating anything. That would only worry him, and TK doesn’t want his father to worry about anything that isn’t his own recovery from the last chemo sessions.

“That was hours ago,” his father insists. “I’ll help you up,” he continues, tugging at TK’s hand until he manages to make him sit up on the bed. “Let’s go down to lunch. I can help you walk there, I know how dizzy these migraines make you feel,” he keeps on.

“Okay,” he finally relents. “But I’m not taking any strong painkillers,” he warns his father.

“Just a mild painkiller won’t do anything to tame that migraine, son,” his father tells him, but he shakes his head when TK shoots him a look that speaks volumes about his decision not to endanger his sobriety — not even to get rid of a stomping migraine. “I think we have some Tylenol around.”

TK nods slightly, trying to keep the bouncing of his neck as stiff as possible so it doesn’t make his headache worse. He follows his father outside and into the light space where they usually have their meals together when they’re on shift. Almost as a reflex, he drops his father’s hand upon stepping into the open dining space, squinting his eyes to adjust his vision to the light. Around the table, set up for nine people, he can see his chosen family already eating what smells like Paul’s chili — and TK loves everything Paul cooks.

“Look who’s decided to grace us with his presence,” Judd teases him, already pulling out a chair by his side, the legs of the chair scratching the ground and making TK wince. “Migraine again?” he questions in a soft voice when he notices TK’s reaction.

“Yeah,” TK whispers, all but dropping down on the chair offered and closing his eyes once again. “A bad one, it seems.”

“Lemme grab some Tylenol,” his father offers, still puttering around the table before sitting down, bottle of medicine in hand. “Now, you need to open your eyes if you want to see what you’re eating, son.”

TK shakes his head but obliges, staring right into a large plate of chicken chili Paul has left in front of him. He’s sure he won’t be able to finish it — he hasn’t been able to finish a meal for weeks now — and right now he’s feeling nauseous just by the smell of the food. If he were in better spirits he would even joke that he’s pregnant. But he isn’t — in good spirits, that is.

He’s been moody for a long time now; even Carlos has begun to pick up on it, and TK knows it won’t be long until someone addresses his mood swings and his general air of tiredness that hides an exhaustion he isn’t even able to describe with words.

Determined not to let another bad mood top his headache and make his already shitty day a lot more horrible, TK picks up his fork and begins to attack the food. Halfway through his second forkful of chili, though, he feels his resolve crumbling as he’s unable to taste anything when he dives the fork into his mouth. It all just tastes like sand — like something bland and gross that he can’t stand. With a sigh, he begins pushing the chili around his plate in what he thinks is a very stealthy way — he keeps looking out of the corner of his eye to check that nobody is paying him any attention when he doesn’t manage to eat the whole dish and instead destroys it by ripping it apart and mashing it up several times until it’s an unrecognizable ball of mush.

He misses the quick glance his father shares with Judd over his own head, too busy trying to feign that everything is alright.

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While it's easy to lie to his father, to make-believe heʼs eaten when he hasnʼt, TK finds it really hard to get away with his eating habits whenever heʼs with Carlos. He doesn’t know why that is, although he suspects it's because TK always spends the night — and the following hours they both have off work — when schedules align. They're bound to see each other much more than he sees his father when heʼs home. And Carlos loves to cook, which makes TK both ecstatic to taste new meals and terrified of how those new meals could fuck his eating habits up.

TK opens his eyes to an empty room, the sheets by his side slightly cooler than he expected them to be. There's a dull noise coming from the general direction of the kitchen — a few feet and a couple of walls away — and TK can make out Carlosʼ voice humming along to some tune that's distinctly coming from the radio, way too loud for comfort. He smiles.

Carlos has always loved to cook while singing.

TK bounces off the bed, grabbing an APD t-shirt, well-worn and way oversized on him, and he saunters to the kitchen. He halts himself on the threshold, short of stepping inside, trying to commit to memory the image in front of him — Carlos wearing an apron over his boxers, his wide back glistening with sweat as he stirs something on a pan, whistling along to the radio.

“Good morning to me,” TK greets him with a sneer. Carlos turns around and grins widely at him.

“Good morning indeed,” he retaliates, beckoning him to come closer with a crooked finger. TK obliges, receiving a sweet welcoming kiss. “Hungry?”

“Not much,” TK tries to play it down. Maybe if he manages to convince his boyfriend that he doesn’t need much food, he might get away without breakfast.

“You didn’t have much for dinner,” Carlos points out with a frown. “And after all the, uh, exercise we did last night,” he keeps going, blushing ever so slightly, making TK wonder how he can be so dirty-mouthed behind closed doors and so innocent-looking in broad daylight. “After that, you must be starving.”

“I am not,” TK insists, stubborn as ever. “Believe me.”

“Iʼve made scrambled eggs and some sautéed vegetables,” Carlos tells him. “Try them for me?”

TK knows he canʼt refuse, not when Carlos has already noticed how little he had for dinner. Not when Carlos has made him his favorite breakfast in the world. There’s no way out for him. So he nods, taking a seat on a stool and grabbing a fork from the stack of utensils Carlos neatly keeps around. His boyfriend places a plate with assorted vegetables and a spoonful of eggs, and he sits down across the kitchen isle with his own breakfast plate.

“Yummy,” TK tells him around a bite of green asparagus. They're tasty but TK canʼt help the rise of nausea in the pit of his stomach as he munches on them. It’s just a matter of time until it takes over.

“Really?” Carlos beams at him. “Iʼm so glad. Iʼve noticed you've been eating less, and I wondered if it was because of my cooking skills.”

“No,” TK is quick to reply. The asparagus has begun to do somersaults in his stomach, upsetting him in a way he knows will only end badly. “I’ve been having a rough time lately.”

“Want to talk about it?”

TK doesn’t really want to say a thing about the reasons why he hasnʼt been eating properly as of lately. He doesn’t know for sure what has triggered old habits these days — it's been a while since he last monitored everything he ate, chastising himself whenever he got too much for dinner, praising his efforts to keep in shape by skipping some meals. All he knows is that he needs to control something in his life when everything seems to explode around him. It happened when he first started using — drugs gave him the mistaken idea that he was in control, and they also helped him into his first spiral down toward whatever this is, now.

He notices Carlos staring at him, but he canʼt say anything. He isn’t sure whether Carlos is expecting him to actually reply. All he knows is that his stomach is suddenly upset, that the food heʼs laboriously chewed down is now swirling around and finding its way back up his throat. He needs to get away. He needs a bathroom.

He needs to stop needing to control everything.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles, stumbling off the stool and finding his way to the nearest bathroom, where he manages to empty his stomach without making a pyrotechnic show out of it. He dry heaves, trembling as he hugs the toilet, hair glued to his forehead by the sweat, as he pushes the little food heʼs had out.

He almost forgets he’s left the bathroom door open in his haste to get inside, but the sudden scratch of sneakers against the tiles reminds him.

“TK?” he hears at his back. He canʼt turn around, he canʼt face Carlos right now. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he calls back, wishing Carlos won't step into the bathroom. “Will be out in a minute.”

“Hey,” Carlos says, one hand on TKʼs shoulder — too much wishful thinking for his boyfriend not to set foot inside. “Are you sick again? Maybe youʼve caught a stomach bug.”

“What do you mean, again?” TK replies, defensiveness in his voice evident through his words.

“Well, you were sick a couple of days ago, and your father told me you vomited at the station during the last hour of your shift yesterday,” Carlos tries to explain, but TK can only hear his own heart beating in his ears.

Carlos has been keeping tabs on him. His father has been keeping tabs on him. And together, they're ganging up and making him their punching ball — someone to pick on and mock.

“What, now you're gossiping with my father about me?” he snaps.

“I—”

“Iʼm doing fine,” TK tells him angrily, pushing himself up and off the toilet. He feels a bit dizzy when he straightens up, but he doesn’t let his stance sway and show it. “I don't need you to control me.”

“Itʼs not control, TK, I just—”

“I don't need you to babysit me,” TK keeps on.

“TK, we are just worried,” Carlos attempts to explain again. “Iʼve noticed you haven't been eating as much as before and I just—”

“Stop!” TK yells. “There’s nothing wrong with me! You don't have any right to police what I eat or don’t eat, and you sure as hell don’t have the right to talk to my father about it!”

TK storms past his boyfriend, who's now staring at him completely aghast. He doesn’t even bother with picking up the duffel bag heʼs brought with him from work to spend a couple of days at Carlosʼ apartment. He doesn’t know where he’s going, all he knows is that he canʼt be inside.

He ignores Carlos as he calls after him. Instead, TK sprints down the road and into the sunny streets, away, away, away, until Carlosʼ voice is just an echo but his own vicious words latch onto the seams of his soul.

You'll never be enough for him anyway.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It ends up blowing up on his face in the least convenient moment. He should have seen it coming, but he's been naively thinking he was safe from the downfall of his own stupidity.

TK has foregone breakfast this morning, again. He really should change his ways, because he knows not eating before a day shift messes with his work performance, and he’s already one step away from being assigned desk duty for the rest of the month, at the speed his mistakes are piling up in front of him.

TK knows he should eat differently — he should change up his eating habits. He knows it's not good that he stuffs himself when he’s alone, only to regret it later on and start a fasting regime that has him feeling dizzy and weak for days. But he's also aware that he’s his own worst enemy. He’s the one holding the sword of Damocles over his own head.

Carlos assumes he's just stressed, but it's only a matter of time before his boyfriend realizes TKʼs habits and calls him on them. TK has been feeling the tension building between them ever since the night he stormed out of Carlosʼ apartment after vomiting. He doesn’t know how to explain he’s not making himself sick on purpose — his stomach canʼt hold food sometimes, more often than not when he forces himself to eat after a particularly long fast or when he’s trying to appease someone's worries about his well being.

His father has long ago given up on trying to understand him. TK has the feeling that he’s allowing him to get away with this only because they already have enough on their plate, what with his father’s chemo sessions, and uprooting themselves from New York City to someplace TK had never even given a thought to. Regardless of the real reasons behind that move — regardless of how messed up TK’s life had been that he’d been willing to give it up entirely — TK’s aware his father knows something’s up, but he’s choosing not to say a thing about it, for now.

What TK isn’t counting on is his fellow firefighters getting a glimpse of what it’s like to put up with him, and deciding he’s not worth the effort anymore.

He had been terrified when he first told them about his addiction and his past in New York City. It wasn’t the first time he’d come clean to his coworkers, but it certainly had felt like the only time it really mattered. As though his new firefam’s opinion of him meant much more than anything else. As though they could match the importance he gives to his father’s opinions of him, or Carlos’. He’d never been more scared of other people’s idea of himself than in the moment before he spilled his guts about his drug addiction to Judd, Paul, Marjan and Mateo. The relief he felt when they’d held him in a tight hug had been both weird and familiar at once — like coming home to a place he’s never been before and still being able to recognize all the smells.

But right now, with Judd nearly having a stroke onsite while Paul and Marjan try to save someone’s life, TK has the feeling they’re not liking him as much as they used to.

He’s been standing next to the truck, with the Jaws of Life close to him just where Mateo has told him they would be before focusing on crowd control, helping Austin Police to keep the bystanders at bay. He catches Carlos’ eyes when his boyfriend turns around for a brief second to check on his surroundings. They share a small, private smile before Carlos gets back to his task — TK can’t help but watch the sway of Carlos’ hips, clad in a uniform that shouldn’t be that fitting.

And if he feels dizzy for a second — if his vision swims a little and his brain feels like it’s disconnected from his body for the slightest of moments — he’s blaming his distracted mind for any missteps he might make at work today. It’s definitely only his heart guiding his actions, and not the lack of whatever nutritional intake he should have gotten before shift. He refuses to believe anything other than that.

“What are you thinking about, TK?” Judd is yelling over the boisterous street noises, a few car alarms going off after a multiple-vehicle crash has taken place in the middle of Austin’s most populated street. “Get going! Strickland and Marwani need you!”

TK shakes himself off the reverie that has taken upon him in an attempt to get rid of the nostalgia that always takes a hold on him whenever he thinks about how he’s reached this point in his life. The lack of food intake in his system always makes him slightly slower, a little bit dizzy, and a lot moody, and he can’t help not being able to focus on the task at hand or even snapping at his teammates in the worst moment possible.

“On my way! No need to be peevish about it, geez!” he replies, brushing Judd’s glare off as he saunters toward where Paul and Marjan are trying to extricate someone from a wrecked car. “Oh shit,” he mumbles to himself, turning around once again.

He’s almost forgotten to pick up the device that will help Paul and Marjan to save lives. Cursing his own clumsiness, TK reaches the rest of his team and tries to focus on the task at hand. And he manages to do so for a grand total of seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds, right before he feels his sight blurring a bit and his hand slipping.

He thinks he hears Paul warning him. He thinks he hears Marjan’s shouts to just jump back.

His brain doesn’t give his body the correct orders in a timely fashion, and therefore he doesn’t move as fast as he should have.

There’s a whole chunk of metallic debris that falls unhinged on top of him, avoiding crushing the victims inside the car, paralyzed by both fear and the weight of the car roof that’s no longer above them. He grunts, following the large piece into its fall until he’s completely laid out on the ground, his right arm caught underneath the rebar.

“TK!” Marjan exclaims, kneeling beside him and tugging at the rebar. “What were you thinking? Judd, Mateo, we need help here!”

TK shakes his head as he struggles to get free from the metal. When he finds out that he can’t — and what’s worse, it fucking hurts to move his wrist — he gives up. “I don’t know what happened,” he offers, but from the huff he receives from Marjan he knows he’s really messed up this time.

Paul and Judd help the victims out of the car — in what’s good shape given the circumstances, with just a few bruises and the beginning of a panic attack after having witnessed how a firefighter got trapped under the wreckage — while Marjan and Mateo stabilize him so they can lift the car without doing more damage to his already hurt arm.

He doesn’t have a recollection of what’s going on around him until he finds himself on a gurney inside an ambulance, staring up at Michelle as she checks something on the monitors above his head, his wrist hurting in an almost unbearable way.

“Welcome back, Strand,” Michelle says jokingly, but there’s a hint of something he can’t discern in her eyes. “About time you decided to stop spacing out on us.”

“I wasn’t spacing out,” he protests.

“So you remember exactly how you’ve ended up in gurney of all places, right?”

He blinks at her, opening his mouth to retaliate, only to find himself at a loss for words. The truth is he doesn’t really remember how or why he’s on a ride to the closest hospital. He purses his lips and frowns at Michelle.

“I bet you don’t remember other things as well,” she keeps on. “Like the reason why Judd was the acting captain on today’s shift or why your father will be waiting for us at the hospital instead of riding in this ambulance with you.”

“I—I don’t,” TK finally admits, a hushed thread of voice getting out of his throat. As much as he racks his brain for answers, he comes up with blanks. “Why don’t I remember anything? Have I been shot again?”

“Not at all,” Michelle shakes her head. She places one hand on top of his arm, squeezing enough for him to feel her without risking injuring his wrist further. “A rebar fell down and trapped your arm. You’ve got a broken wrist as a present for being clumsy today at work, even if you don’t remember it. But I’m pretty sure you know why you don’t remember. I’m pretty sure it has to do with the fact that you’re avoiding food like a plague. Have you even eaten something before shift today?”

TK closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Panicking now will definitely not help him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The team has started to notice, TK,” Michelle explains. “Carlos has come up to me of all people with his concern. Your father is worried sick about you. I have to admit I am, too.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” he says stubbornly. “I eat. I just wasn’t hungry this morning.”

“Sure, TK,” Michelle dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “I may not know why or when it started, but I can see the signs. Everyone can, as a matter of fact. And I know you don’t want to acknowledge it, but I think you know what’s going on here. I know you know you have a problem with food.”

“I don’t have a fucking eating disorder,” he exclaims, trying to sit up on the gurney, but the restraints he hadn’t noticed before keep him in place, lying bare for anyone to see. “I haven’t been overly hungry lately, but it’s just a phase.”

Michelle tsks. She leans in to loosen up one of the straps on the gurney so it doesn’t trap his injured wrist. “Have you felt dizzy as of lately? Have you felt like you could faint from time to time? Do you have trouble remembering simple things? Or, even better, have you been moodier than usual?” She doesn’t allow him to reply, not that he was about to say a thing that would interrupt her tirade — he knows better than to cross Captain Michelle Blake when she’s set her mind on something. “Those are side-effects of different eating disorders, TK. And I know you don’t want to admit it, because it’s scary, but I’m afraid you’re suffering from one.”

TK shakes his head. He doesn’t trust his voice to get past through the sudden lump in his throat, so all he does is cough awkwardly as he wills the tears welling up in his eyes to go away. “I just—”

“You’re not alone, TK,” Michelle reassures him, squeezing his hand softly. “Believe me, we’re here for you. Your father, the team, Carlos, me. Everyone’s in your corner. Let us help you.”

He first shakes his head, but when he can’t stop the tears from falling, the wobbling in his lips from being noticeable, TK nods helplessly. He doesn’t know when or how he ended up in the bottom of this well of despair, but what he does know is that he would have never agreed to ask for help if he hadn’t been called out on his behavior.

Maybe he isn’t as alone as he thought he was, even surrounded by all his friends and family — both by blood and chosen. Maybe he’s still savable.

Maybe there’s still hope for him.

---------------------------------

He stands outside the building, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, debating whether or not to enter. The sign outside the entrance door is enticing but he still has doubts.

TKʼs had his own share of therapy experience over the years. He’s quite familiar with the steps to follow — ever since his parents divorcing sent him straight to children's therapy because he had a hard time accepting it, heʼs been in and out of psych wards and shrinksʼ waiting rooms. He just hadn't thought he would come back to group therapy because of something as silly as not being able to control his impulses about food.

It's not that he eats too much or not enough; the doctor he first saw when he was admitted for his broken wrist told him that it wasn't a problem with food but an issue about control. TK didn’t see it at first, too busy with denying having any mental breakdown about eating, but the signs had been there all along. Refusing to acknowledge and address a problem didn’t make it go away — it just got worse with time, along with the symptoms and side-effects he hadn’t noticed.

Now he wants to kick himself every time he remembers how badly heʼs snapped at everyone, how heʼs been treating Carlos, how much heʼs neglected his father. TK can't take back what's already been done, but he can make amends somehow.

The first step is to enter the building and sit down at the circle he’s sure he’ll find inside. The second step is to speak up, voicing the problem so he canʼt escape it. After that, there will come dark times. But he canʼt make himself take that first step toward the door. It’s like his feet are glued to the ground, heavy with a load of lead he canʼt shake.

He looks down at his feet, his sneakers kicking the dirt around. He’s still trying to make up his mind about this whole ordeal.

“TK Strand?” says a voice close to him. When he looks up, he’s surprised to find a middle-aged woman sporting a warm smile standing in front of him. “I had a feeling I’d find you here. My name is Amanda Leyton, but you can call me Mandy.”

He vaguely recalls his therapist giving him information on the local group led by Amanda Leyton, but he was busy trying not to think about everything he was feeling at the moment — he was busy trying not to drown in the guilt he felt every second of the day whenever he thought of how many things had gone awry in his life. He plasters on a fake smile and offers his left hand. “Yeah, I’m TK,” he introduces himself. “Nice to meet you, Mandy.”

“Wanna go inside?” she tells him, her brown eyes gleaming. They remind him of Carlos’. “The meeting will start any minute now.”

“I—I’m still not sure if I want to,” he confesses. He picks up on an invisible pearl of dust on the cast on his right wrist, still healing from being broken under the weight of a car. He knows how long it’s going to take his bones to go back to normal, but he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to accept the stress and anxiety that he feels whenever he realizes he may never get over the psychological pain he’s inflicted upon himself.

“It’s okay,” Mandy says. “It’s okay if you don’t get inside, and it’s okay if you do. Just know, entering doesn’t mean you have to talk. We’re happy to have you any way you want to share yourself with us.”

TK nods, swallowing hard. He watches as Mandy studies him before turning around and entering the building. She leaves the door open, just a fraction of an inch, but enough for TK to notice it. It’s a small gesture, but somehow it makes him feel wanted.

It’s been a while since he’s recognized the signs of being wanted.

Of course he knows Carlos wants him. And he knows his father loves him, and the team accepts him the way he is, drug addiction and overdose and eating disorders included. But he can’t shake the feeling that by being himself he’s burdening the people he loves — the people who love him back — with a weight no one should ever carry.

“Love is never a burden,” his doctor at the hospital had told him, and TK had wanted to believe it, but it’s difficult with the crushing weight of all his failures making it impossible to breathe.

He’s been in therapy for almost two months now — he keeps track with the countdown to his cast to be removed, in just a few more days. And during his one-on-one sessions with his doctor, he’s talked about almost everything, from his drug addiction to his childhood as the son of divorced parents. Every single, tiny detail matters in the quest of healing, he’s been told.

It’s been painful to dig into his past and see it from an outsider’s point of view. It’s been hurtful to revisit his memories in an attempt to pinpoint the exact moment when it all turned to shit. Was it when his parents told him they were divorcing? Was it his first boyfriend, the guy who introduced him to oxycodone? Was it Alex, with his rejection and the discovery of his cheating?

Or has it always been him, with his low self-esteem and the desire to end things whenever he encountered an obstacle he didn’t think he could surmount? What if this eating disorder is just another way to fuck up more the lives of the people who surround him?

What if. What it. What if.

What if he stops trying to control everything. What if he tries to let go for a moment. What if letting go of his old ways — of the fear of rejection, of the absolute panic of failing, of the need to make sure he controlled even a fraction of his life in the form of counting calories and binge-eating — just could lead to a better life?

What if. What if. What if.

Everything in his life has been about control or lack thereof. He’s tried to rein in his life at different times, but all he’s managed is to get lost in the maze of existing — get lost in drugs that took up everything from him, get lost in relationships that overrode his identity, get lost in himself enough to think that not eating or eating too much was the only solution to achieve a resemblance of control. And, by some sort of miracle, he’s not alone in his fear anymore. He should be able to overcome anything life throws at him — everything he sets himself up to face.

What if he chooses to be happy. What if he refuses to give in to despair. What if he makes it through the darkness and comes out the other way stronger than before.

He has his father. He has his family. He has Carlos. This time he might even make it through.

What if. What if. What if.

He doesn’t realize he’s moved until he’s setting foot in a room where a few people sitting in a circle look up at him.

“My name’s TK,” he says, wearily, hating how his voice breaks as he speaks. “And I need help.”

#Tarlosweek2020 #day 7: free choice #cw angst #cw eating disorders #cw mentions of past drug abuse #cw mentions of past overdosing #cw suicidal ideation #tarlos fic #lire's fiction #bad things happen bingo #bthb #eating disorder #Anonymous

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