#tarlos angst

[murdersansy]

Does this count as angst or comfort? I think more comfort but my brain is to dumb to figure it out.

[fandomswonderland]

Not Seven Sentences Sunday

The next day T.K got up, showered, and went to work, he didn’t want to, but he also didn’t want Carlos to think he’d won. He wanted to prove he could live his life without him and that he would be fine. He didn’t feel like he would be fine though, he was on the verge of tears the whole time, but he was able to keep his composure, that was until he saw Carlos on a scene. T.K did his job, trying not to look at Carlos, but he couldn’t ignore him when Carlos walked over to explain why they were called when no one could see any medical emergencies. They were expecting there to be injuries, while everyone else walked away to go talk to other units and come up with a plan T.K stood there staring at Carlos, “You’re in my way.” T.K said bluntly.

[strandedbuckley]

left it all on the cold floor

inspo: my 'cold floor' drabble + @tarlosweeklyprompts 'letter'

summary: Carlos has known about TK's struggles with opioid addiction for many years. But what happens when one day, he finds TK bleeding and desperate on the cold floor of the bathroom?

word count: 7.1k

author's note: angst has never been something i enjoyed writing until i started this. i really hope you'll enjoy it!! + thanks to @chaotictarlos for being my beta on this fic 🩶 -> warnings are under the cut. -> ao3 link here carlos' letter here

warnings: angst, opioid addiction, attempted relapse, actual relapse - not detailed, self-inflicted injury, blood, pills, carlos is aware of tk's addiction, rehab mentions

Carlos leaves the station with a box of what's left of the donuts he'd brought in at the beginning of his shift. He takes a bite of one of them and then holds it between his lips while he fumbles for his key. He unlocks the car, climbs in and drops the pink, half-empty box of sweetness into the passenger's seat and buckles his belt. 

"Mm, yum." He says to himself when he finishes the last bite and licks his thumb and fingers clean of the powdered sugar. He wipes them on a tissue that is stuffed into the glove compartment and then slides his phone out of his pocket so he can shoot his boyfriend a quick text. 

Mind if I come over? I'll cook for you. 

Carlos and TK took things at a slow, steady pace in their relationship. They’d been together for a couple of years, but they hadn’t said those famous three words to each other, nor did they share a home. Yet Carlos had been presented with a key to TK's apartment about four months ago. Despite this, he felt it was still polite of him to let his boyfriend know before coming over, after all, he was raised a well-mannered man. It would also be plain wrong of him to just let himself in and out whenever he so pleased, key or no key.

Mind if I come over? I'll cook for you.

His words are still the only ones that are displayed on the screen. As he waits for a text back, he remembers the story of why he has the key and why it was Owen who had given it to him, not TK.

—

It was after a tough night when he’d been walking back from the convenience store. He’d randomly fancied his favourite bar of chocolate, craving it enough to take a quick trip out as it was falling dark. It was a good thing he’d decided to give in to his sweet temptations because, on the way back, he’d spotted TK. His entire body went slack when he realised what exactly TK was doing in the dark alley, talking to a taller, scruffier-looking man. He watched as the mystery guy took a roll of notes from TK’s shaking hand, then gave over a little baggy of pills. They fist-bumped each other, and then the deal was done. It was quick and quiet. Carlos had never caught TK in the act before, but he immediately jogged over to him once the other guy had disappeared and TK was making his way back into the glow of the streetlight above them. 

He didn’t know what to say as his boyfriend stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. He just looked back, taking him in. TK was wearing a black hoodie, the sleeves rolled down, but not enough to hide the jagged ends of what looked to be scratch marks. Carlos had seen them before. When TK was struggling, he'd scratch at his skin and sometimes make himself bleed. He did it to his arms, his legs and sometimes the back of his neck. His eyes fall down to where TK is holding the tiny bag and he wants so badly to snatch it away, perhaps find a drain to drop it into. He takes a single step forward, and TK flinches, like he’s a stray cat, worried that this stranger is going to harm him. 

“TK,” He asks a stupid question, but he needs to break this silence and end this weird standoff they seem to be having. “What are you doing out here?”

TK snaps out of his stare, crumples the bag further into his grasp and just shakes his head. Carlos’ mouth opens to say something else then, but TK interrupts, moving into his space. 

“Are you, uh, gonna arrest me, Officer?”

It’s not some failed attempt at a joke. TK is serious, and Carlos hadn’t even thought about it, but he knows the answer. “No. I’m not, TK. Do you think I should?”

He shrugs. “It’s the law, right?”

“Well I didn’t see the other guy's face… and I don’t have my cuffs on me, so.” He makes a gesture with his hand, waving it to signal for TK to come closer. “Let’s just… go home for now. Come on.”

That night, he'd walked home with TK, looping their arms together and holding him tightly, cautious of anything he said or did for the rest of the evening. He tried not to let TK get all up in his head again by keeping him busy. He asked him to help prepare their meal, and then pick a movie for them to watch. They ended up sitting on opposite ends of the couch, an uneasy air flowing between them and causing a ball-like feeling to form in Carlos’ throat. The whole time, the only thing on his mind was that little bag and making sure it ended up in the trash, or at least staying full.

Owen and Gwyn found out in the morning, when they both woke up to find the text from Carlos, explaining what had happened and that TK was okay, for the time being. The three of them talked about it in their private three-way group chat. They all knew that the next couple of days were vital and they needed to keep a close watch on TK until he was acting like his true self again. 

That afternoon, Owen visited the station, and following a heavy conversation and heartfelt words of gratitude for finding his boy, a key was pressed into his hand. Carlos had flipped it over a few times, frowning in confusion. He watched Owen’s eyes turn somber and when he was about to ask what the key was for, it was made clear.

“That is for when myself or Gywn aren't around. You, uh… you may have occasion to use it."

Owen patted Carlos on his shoulder, then left, leaving his mind to catch up and picture scenes where TK’s parents have had to use their own copies of the key before. He struggles to imagine what that is like; when they are so concerned about their own son’s well-being, that they have to pound on the door and let themselves in to find out if he’s okay. Or if he’s passed out, missing, or even, gone.

Carlos didn't have a chance to respond or to ask if TK would mind when Owen left, and it made him more than a little nervous to actually use it. How could he know how TK would react? But the first time Carlos worked up the courage to twist the key one day and walk on in as TK was changing, post-shower, he was met with a smiling face. TK smirked and sauntered over to Carlos, planting a kiss on his lips in greeting. “Baby.” He said simply, greeting him and making all of Carlos’ fear melt away. That was that. TK definitely didn't mind, or care.

—

After the memory passes over, he unglues his eyes from the car parked opposite him, looking down at his phone and sending a second text.

Or we could just order in?

Another minute goes by, and he types a third and final text, before dropping his phone next to the donuts, and pulling out of his parking space.

Okay… my choice then -  we’ll order Chinese food tonight? Be there soon. 

—

The drive to TK's place feels unusually longer than it does on any other given day. There isn't a crazy amount of traffic and he hasn't heard about any accidents on the road over the radio. He’s actually making good time, he notes after reading the time that flashes up on his mobile with two little taps. He left work around ten minutes ago, and it’s only about another fifteen before he’ll reach TK’s apartment building. It just doesn’t feel that way. Instead of ten, it feels like he’s been driving for triple that.

There’s a saying that crosses his mind, the one about time flying by when you’re having fun. Well, what if this was the opposite? The thought causes a dull ache to start up in his gut, and all of a sudden he can just tell that something is wrong. He’d often get a feeling like this during an emotional call or case at work, but right now, he is pretty sure he can pin the notion on his boyfriend. To TK.

It makes sense with the fact that TK still hadn’t answered his text messages. If he had, Carlos would know by the little popping notification sound going off beside him, but it’d been a silent drive so far.

He'd be lying if he said that TK always answered. He didn't. On a normal day, TK would read his messages and then reply later, explaining that he forgot to respond or that he was busy on a case that ran overtime. Sometimes, he just forgot, period. There were always those times as well when he just didn’t want to talk, but those were always worry-inducing.

When Carlos stops at a light, he picks up his phone again and squints down at his screen. Under the last message, it remains to read the word 'sent'. There aren't any bubbles to show that TK is typing or any ticks that indicate he has seen Carlos' texts. 

Carlos calls, tapping the speaker option and dropping his phone again, the light in front of him having turned green. It rings and rings and then goes straight to TK's voicemail. He ends the call and repeats the action, despite knowing that he'll most likely get the same outcome. 

'Hey, it's TK. I'm probably on a shift, or I just don't wanna talk to you. Drop a message or text m—'

"Shit, come on, Strand." Carlos hangs up. 

His fingers flex and tighten around the steering wheel, and he shifts in his seat, the belt now feeling like it's far too constricting. He's well aware that he's freaking himself out, he's overthinking, but it's completely justified. As much as he hates to think it, the fact is; this is exactly what it's like to be in a relationship with someone who has an unhealthy addiction. 

"TK, answer the damn phone. Where are you?" Carlos mutters. The question lingers, and he's not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. "Please, please just be showering."

As his drive continues, he thinks about good memories of TK, trying to sway his anxiety and ease it for a while. He thinks about that night when TK finally took the plunge and changed both of their lives forever with a way-overdue, toe-curling, picture-perfect kiss. It’d been a remarkably long time coming. They’d known each other since infancy and played together as children, then been inseparable best friends for most of their school lives, both of them keeping their hardcore crush on the other a secret. It took a rather horrendous storm keeping them trapped inside Carlos’ apartment for TK to make his move.

Carlos briefly wonders what would have happened if that kiss didn’t happen. Would someone else be in his current position of panic? Or, would TK have already done too much damage? That night in the alley… maybe without him there to catch TK in the act, the firefighter’s name could have become a news headline.

He slaps each side of his face in turn. He needs to stop this, he has to stop thinking in this way. After all, it was plausible that TK could, as he said, just be in the shower

-

“No, no, no!” 

The pitter-patter sound of pills falling and bouncing off of the floor echo around the small room. They roll around, some of them rebounding high enough to make it into the bathtub. 

“Fuck!”

TK screams in a way that - if he lived in a friendlier area - might just scare his neighbours into thinking that something was seriously wrong. It’s guttural and angry. It’s not TK.

His breathing picks up, and he doesn't even think about what he's doing when he makes a fist and throws a punch. The blow lands against the mirrored cabinet. He lets out another scream, which drives the middle-aged drunk from the apartment below to bang on the ceiling a couple of times, yelling something that TK doesn't register in his currently clouded mind. 

Cracks appear instantly in the glass. Droplets trickle down through them, painting the gaps with red, warm blood. They seep between the busted crevasses, then run over the thin edges, dripping down until they periodically splash into the sink. 

His reflection is shattered. He touches the fragment of glass that he can see his eyes in. It peels away and falls, splitting into a few smaller pieces by his feet. He doesn't react when one of them scrapes his skin, tearing a few layers and causing a long and slim cut.

He tears his eyes away from the mirror, feeling just a shred of shame for the person looking back at him. His hair is messy and slick, not having been brushed or washed in a couple of days. His lips are chapped, dry and lacking any colour, and his eyes are bloodshot. The smattering of stubble that frames his chin and jawline is normal, but it’s grown longer than he’d usually let it before having it trimmed.

Suddenly, overwhelmed with the sight, he falls to his knees. The second he hits the floor, he spots the cap of the bottle that had fallen, and it doesn’t take much, the plastic lid redirecting his focus back on the pills in an instant.

He moves like a wild animal that's desperate for a single morsel of food. 

His hands slap along the cold, tiled floor as he feels around for any loose pills. Most have rolled too far away, and he doesn't have the energy now to move that much. He huffs, feeling defeated, and falls against the hard surface of the tub. His back protests the harsh bump, that no doubt causes a bruise to start forming in yet another area of his injured and aching body. 

He is quiet for a few minutes, zoning out until he hears the buzz of his mobile from the other room. There’s no telling how long it had been ringing, but he can't bring himself to stand up and go see who it is anyway.

A stinging feeling coming from his hand distracts him. He lifts it onto his bent knee and inspects the damage. If he were in a rational state of mind, he would panic at this point. He would call for help, call his Dad, anyone that he knew. Or maybe he would at least try to bandage the cuts himself, but he just pulls down the sleeve of his hoodie and tugs it over his clean hand, then presses it on top of his bloody one. Pressure is good, he thinks, it’ll stem the bleeding, right?

TK isn't sure how much time passes, but it feels like forever and nothing at all. He sits there on the bathroom floor, alone and longing for that euphoric high he'd been trying to chase and replicate since the very first time. 

Thoughts start to swirl around in his head again, just like they always did. He thinks about how ashamed he is. Yeah, embarrassment is the first thing that crosses his mind. He knows he looks the part of an addict at this moment, and if any of his crew or his friends were to see him like this, he'd want to hibernate forever; never to be seen again. He thinks about how he had managed to stay clean for almost five months. The last time he almost relapsed, Carlos had caught him with his new dealer. Often, he dreams about that day, reimaging the night if Carlos had arrested him, or if he’d taken the pills before being found. Maybe he wouldn’t have a boyfriend anymore after such an ordeal. That thought makes him shiver.

The cycle goes on. The wheel of emotions spins to land on anger, regret, sadness, and eventually, irritability. He's pissed off. He had dropped not just a couple, but all of the pills. They'd cost him quite the lump sum of what he had left of this month's paycheck, and now they were scattered everywhere, going to waste. Or… not. TK knows that the floor hasn’t been cleaned in a few weeks, but they were just pills, surely they would still be okay to take, he could just wipe them off.

TK's mouth twitches, his eyes go wide, and he grunts as he pushes himself up on all fours. Now determined, he crawls along the floor, his head ducking to look around and locate as many pills as he can. His eyes are dead-set on his quest, and his focus is as direct as when he's out saving lives with the 252.

There's probably irony in that somewhere… about how protecting people brings about as much fixation as nearly killing himself each time he overdoses, or takes even one pill.

He finds one pretty quickly. It's behind the back of the toilet, and for just a moment, TK does question himself and his choices. He really thinks about tossing it, but the idea is short-lived. He plucks the candy-like drug from the floor and wipes it on his jeans, then shoves it into his hand with force, like he's afraid it'll roll away again. On his free hand, there's a tiny amount of dusty residue stuck to his thumb and forefinger from the pressure making it crumble a little. He brings it to his mouth, licks it off and continues to collect more. 

Each time he finds another, he still feels as though he doesn't have enough; his brain telling him that he needs a generous dose. So his little hunt goes on. Until, he hears shuffling in the front room, followed by an all too familiar voice calling his name.

-

Carlos pushes his car door shut and locks it. In his left hand, he holds the box of donuts, his uniform jacket draped over his forearm. He should also be carrying a bag of groceries, but he'd decided to ditch the store stop along the way, wanting to get here as quickly as posssible.

He slides the key into the lock and takes a deep breath. He tells himself what he needs to hear but doesn't entirely believe. 'It's all good. He's just taking a shower. A really, really… long shower.'

"Hey, TK!" Gently kicking the door behind him, he calls out to his boyfriend, pretending not to hear the slight tremor in his own voice. He puts the box of treats down on the kitchen counter. "I, uh- brought donuts if you want them."

He doesn't get a response, so he flicks on some lights and looks around. The apartment isn't messy, but it's not tidy either. There are no dishes in the sink, the trash bin is just about overflowing and there’s nothing playing in the way of radio or the TV. He wonders if TK has even been here at all today. "Babe? You here? Hello?"

Again, he gets no response.

"You even h–" A loud grunt comes from the direction of the bathroom and Carlos jumps, and he drops his jacket slips from his grasp, thudding on the floor from the weight of his wallet and car keys. "TK!? Shit, are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" 

Carlos has to remind himself to breathe when TK finally answers him, but he’s still concerned as he kicks off his boots and places them neatly on the shoe rack. "God, TK, I was worried for a sec. You didn't reply to my texts…" As he says this, he notices TK's phone, laying on a cushion on the sofa. “Oh, it’s… there.”

He picks up his jacket, hangs it up and then just stands in the entryway for a while. He listens intently, trying to figure out what TK is doing. There’s no water running, no flushing or the sound of the shower curtain being opened or closed. He decides that he’s had enough, after a few minutes. He needs to know that his boyfriend is okay, now. 

He takes a few steps to reach the bathroom and twists the door handle. To his surprise, it isn’t locked, so he goes right in and gasps at the sight he’s met with. "Tyler…"

“Ugh.” TK rolls his eyes. He didn’t mind Carlos using his full name, in fact, he loved it, but it was the tone Carlos had said it in; full of shock and concern. 

“What the hell happened?”

“I, uh…” TK is leaning against the tub, a hand holding his head, sitting with his legs crossed. “headbutted the sink."

"Oh, yeah. Is that all?" Carlos' words come out harsher than intended, but he’s too distracted by the scene before him to apologise or rephrase. “Did you hurt yourself anywhere else?”

He kneels in front of TK, gently taking his balled, uninjured hand and prying it open. The pills are mostly crushed, and he’s pretty sure that this is why TK looks so peeved right now. Carlos tips all of the powdered substance into his own hand and stands up to throw it in the toilet bowl. He then washes his hands and sits down, copying TK's crossed-leg position. 

He knows TK is expecting a big fight. Some type of grand intervention-style speech, but he is far more worried about the cuts on TK’s knuckles and wants to deal with them first. Carlos also doesn't want to spook TK, make him leave, or upset him. He wants to tread lightly.

He stretches over to the cabinet, pulling out a first-aid kit that he is amazed TK still has. "Give me your hand." TK does as he’s asked, and Carlos places it on his leg, then cleans it with a couple of wipes, making sure to be delicate over the torn skin. "So… you punched the mirror? Why?"

TK looks off to the side, his jaw clenching. "I dropped them."

Carlos feels nauseous. The answer isn't a surprise, really, but some of the cuts look as though they’ve bled quite a bit. They're already starting to bruise, and he wonders if the cuts will scar. He finds it difficult to hear because he’d hurt himself, purposefully, over such a small thing, an accident. To him, at least. 

"Oh." He replies simply, choosing to go back to the task at hand before he can overthink some more.

There isn't much to sort through in the kit, but Carlos does find a large band-aid, a pair of scissors, and an ice pack that looks like it’s been used already and thrown back in. He cuts the sticky bandage into strips so that they'll fit a little better over the wounds. He'd like nothing more than to take TK to the hospital, just in case stitches were needed as well, but he already knows he would get nowhere with that suggestion. 

He finishes patching up TK's hand, then asks a question that he really doesn't want to, but needs to. "TK… baby, please tell me honestly, did you swallow any of those pills?"

TK throw his head back and sighs. "I literally just licked some… but how would you know either way."

"TK…"

"Ugh, I told you! I got some on my finger. I licked it off. That’s it." He looks Carlos straight in the eyes.

"But was it enough? I mean, are you-" 

"For fuck sake!" TK yells, and Carlos has to pretend that he isn’t hurt by the outburst. "I'm not fucking high, Carlos!"

"Right… well, listen. I have to tell your parents about this. Or you can…" TK glares at Carlos, and he decides to try and level with him in a way that has proven to work in the past: by mentioning his job. "Baby, they need to know. Your Dad especially. If I hadn't just come in, you'd have just swallowed it all, wouldn’t you? Or gone out to buy more?"

“Yeah. I would’ve." TK is harsh when he speaks, and there's no obvious guilt or shame in the way he answers so matter-of-factly.

"Well, you can't go out saving lives if you're here putting your own in jeopardy, baby." Carlos watches TK come back to himself, even if it's to the smallest degree. TK often cares more about what he does for a living than he does himself. Carlos knows this, and he knew it would benefit their current predicament to bring it up. "So I'll text them, okay?"

TK scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and Carlos looks over at him again and wonders what the hell he is supposed to do now. He knows what TK needs to do. He needs to get professional help, but it isn't his choice to make, and quite frankly, that’s one thing he’s afraid of bringing up.

He chooses to change the topic to what they’re having for dinner. Food is the only other thing that sits at the back of his mind, his stomach had been begging for more sustenance since eating the donut. 

"So, um… dinner then? Anything you fancy. You heard me mention the donuts, yeah? We can just have those if you don't want anything else. Or I–"

Carlos is suddenly knocked back as TK crashes into him, head bumping his stomach. To say he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of affection would be an understatement. He nearly topples over, catching himself with one hand behind him while the other holds TK around his waist. "Tyler?"

He tries to get a look at TK's face, but his boyfriend just hugs him tighter. Carlos brings the fragile, struggling man in closer, his recent hunger forgotten as he feels TK’s shoulders begin to shake as he breaks down.

"You're gonna get through this, I promise you that." He finally lets a tear slip, feeling it tickle his skin as it slides over his cheek. "One day, you're gonna be so happy. You're gonna be okay."

—

The next morning, Carlos wakes, and within seconds of peeling open his eyes and glancing around the bedroom, he knows the situation has gone from bad to worse.

He knows because the pillow his head is on is far too firm to be his. He's lying on TK's side, meaning that his boyfriend isn't in bed anymore. When he looks over at TK's bedside table, his phone is there, untouched, with the charging cable still plugged in. If TK were on a shift, or visiting his parents or friends, anywhere he went, he would take it with him. The fact that it was still here meant that TK didn't want to be contactable. He didn't want to be found.

He checks TK's phone because his boyfriend had never hidden his passcode, and never tried to cover it up. He taps in the four digits, goes straight to his messages and sees an unknown number that has been texting with him since about an hour after they’d gone to bed. In past experience, these numbers usually belonged to the dealers TK would find.

Carlos' stomach does a flip, and this time, his fears and worries come out in a physical form. He stumbles to the bathroom just in time to throw up the pizza and donuts they had shared for dinner. 

When he's done, he flushes, falling back into the same spot he'd found TK in not that many hours ago. He looks around the room, the glass is still scattered on the floor. After getting TK up they’d decided to leave the clear-up until later, too wrapped up in their stress to bother with such a task at that moment. Carlos is glad he managed to walk in without standing on any of it.

He rubs his hands over his face and tries to focus on what he needs to do. It's his day off of work, meaning he can go and find TK without having to call in with an excuse, like being sick, though, that wouldn’t be far from the truth now. First, though, he takes a deep breath and rises to his feet. He heads back into the bedroom, finds his overnight bag and changes quickly, then pulls out his phone and dials Owen Strand’s number.

"Hey, Carlos." Owen picks up right away. "You guys change your mind about grabbing breakfast? It’s not often that our days off line up, so we–"

"No, we didn’t, uh-” Carlos cuts off Owen's impending ramble by clearing his throat and using the name that he keeps being told to drop by the man. "Sir… it's TK."

"Oh, god. How much did he take?" Owen's voice switches instantaneously, from soft and playful to serious and deceptively calm. "Is he alive?"

"No..." The questions make Carlos' heart pound. "I mean, I don’t know… to both. I-”

“Carlos.”

“He’s gone, Sir. Left while I was asleep. I- I didn’t even hear him get up. I didn’t hear him…"

“Okay, try and stay with me, Carlos. Is there a reasonable explanation? He's not just… grabbing something to eat?"

Carlos knows that Owen is grasping for an answer they'd both love to find some truth in, but he can hear his boyfriend's father shuffling around over the phone. His voice is farther away, most likely from being put on speaker. He presumes that Owen is getting ready to leave and go looking for his son. 

"There are messages on his phone. It’s an unknown number, but-”

“Yeah, probably a dealer. Carlos, I'm on my way to his place, I’ll see you in a moment, okay?"

-

Carlos expects a call or text from Owen, letting him know he's here and waiting outside in the car. What he doesn't expect is the gust of air that hits him as TK’s door is flung open to reveal both of his boyfriend’s parents. 

None of them bothers with fake smiles or reassurance, Owen just beelines for TK’s phone, which is sitting on the back of the sofa. As for Gwyn, she approaches Carlos with outstretched arms. Carlos doesn't see TK's mother as often as he does Owen. The sight of her worried face and the smudged mascara under her eyes have him feeling weak. He has to swipe away a tear of his own when wraps him in a comforting hug. 

"Gwyn, I'm so sorry. I didn’t hear him get up. He’s just, he’s gone."

"Sweetie, nothing is your fault, okay? Don’t even think about blaming yourself, do you hear me?" She releases Carlos and then Owen stands back next to her, swiping through TK’s phone, holding it low so that Gwyn can see too. "Owen and I are going out to look for him. Would you stay here, just in case he does come back?"

"Wait. Stay here? I mean, I can help."

"You are, son." Owen lays a hand on Carlos' shoulder. "If this isn’t what we think it is, when he comes back, we’ll need to know right away.”

"Okay, yeah." Carlos nods. "Yeah, sure."

“Alright.” Gwyn says, then shuffles out of the apartment, Owen following closely behind her, a hand splayed out on her back in an attempt to soothe her. Carlos listens as their voices fade as they descend the stairs. They discuss which streets they're each going to go to first, he hears them mention a few parks as well, and then they’re gone.

- 

It's almost midnight, and Carlos hasn't heard anything for hours. He still feels sick, and he can't take his eyes away from his phone for more than a minute at a time. He tried to watch a little tv, and attempted to get into a book, but neither activity calmed his mind for long enough. The only thing he managed to do was clean up TK's apartment a little. Organising his shelves and kitchen cupboards, tossing out items that were past their use-by date. He made sure to sweep up the mess in the bathroom too. It took his attention away from thinking about every possible worst-case scenario he could think of, but inevitably, he ended up going right back to pacing the room.

Of course, he finally sits down, his leg bouncing nervously for a single minute, and then he hears the door again. Carlos springs to his feet as Gwyn walks in alone.

"We found him." She reassures Carlos with a smile before he can spin out and make assumptions, or ask a million questions. "He's down in the car with Owen. I just came by to let you know before, well… see, honey, we’re-"

"You're doing it, aren't you..." He blinks rapidly for a few seconds when the top of his nose starts to tingle; an indication of incoming tears. "You’re sending him to rehab?"

"It's time, my love. When I found him tonight, he was -" Gwyn's eyes flick between Carlos'. He watches her hands moving on their own accord as she searches for the right words to say. "It wasn't like the other times. When I got to him, I was shaking him and… for a moment I thought, I thought he was-"

"It’s okay, I understand." Carlos stops her before she can say the word ‘dead’, he can see how much it’s hurting her, and he feels it too. "And I know he needs this, but it still feels wrong somehow. Like… we’re abandoning him somehow? That’s like, totally not what we’re doing but it still feels that way… I dunno."

"Yeah, but my boy… he’s tough. Deep down I know he knows that, too, and he is going to get better." Gwyn sniffles and Carlos offers her a second hug which she gratefully accepts it. When she pulls back, she caresses Carlos’ cheek, her thumb stroking his skin gently. "Do you want to see him before we go? He's not exactly in a talking mood, but…"

"I want to. Of course, I do, but I don't think it's a good idea. Not right now... he needs to just get there."

"Okay. Well, I'll see you soon, sweetie." Gwyn plants a kiss on Carlos' cheek. “Take care of yourself, Carlos, okay? If you need anything at all, even just to talk, I’m here for you.”

Her words hit Carlos hard, and he is so grateful at that moment, that his boyfriend came with such genuine, caring parents. “Thank you.” He whispers shakily, and then she leaves with a little wave, closing the door behind her.

He's still for a few moments, holding his breath, and when he hears a car engine start from outside the building, he realises that he doesn't even know how long TK will be gone. He didn't ask. He chokes on a sob, and tears finally start to fall. He drops to the floor, grabs a cushion from the sofa and, though he’s alone, he hides his outflow of emotions, crying into the soft material, squeezing it as tight as he can in his hands. 

—

When Gwyn returned from the airport, she and Owen had come over to see Carlos, just as they promised. They talked for a few hours, and when they left TK’s apartment, Carlos stayed. Both parents had agreed that it was more than okay for him to live at TK's for however long he wanted, or needed to. However, after four long days, he decides that it's time to go.

He figures that he has sat amongst his own sadness and dread for long enough, and he felt like he needed a change of scenery. TK wasn’t coming back for a little while, and to be truthful, he was finding it hard to be present when he was on duty, which was obviously not a good thing in his line of work. 

So he packs up his things back at his own apartment, sends them to his new address, and then goes back to TK's one last time. 

While there, he takes one of TK's hoodies. He wants something more than photos in his phone’s gallery or the memories that fill his head daily to make him feel closer to TK while he’s away. It's old, has a hole in one sleeve, and the strings have clearly been chewed on, but he still tugs it over his head. He pulls the fabric to his nose, and yeah, it still smells like TK. Not the TK who left for rehab, but the man who is so funny, so kind and gentle. The man who was impossible not to fall for when he was sober, innocent. He takes it off again, frowning when he realises that it’s the very item of clothing that TK had worn the first time they kissed. He has photographic evidence tucked away in one of his moving boxes that is currently on its way to his new home. 

Carlos feels another round of waterworks coming on when he visualises the framed picture in his mind, so he shakes his head and refocuses.

He thinks about what he came here to do and then goes to find a pen and some paper. Before Carlos tidied up the place, it would have taken some digging just to grab what he needed. Now, there was a little basket on a shelf that held the supplies. Some pads of lined paper and a pencil case of various colours of pens, along with other materials needed for any creative endeavours. He also takes out an envelope that he had bought at the post office on his way back to the building.

He plops himself down on the kitchen stall and quickly wipes it over with a dry cloth to make sure that the paper doesn't accidentally get wet. He uncaps a black pen and then spends a good hour writing out his letter.

Tyler, 

Firstly, this isn't an old-time-y way of me breaking things off with you. I want you to know that before you carry on reading - I'm not breaking up with you. I don’t think I ever could.

He underlines those last six words, and he hopes that TK will take them in, and know how serious he is.

I'm not sure how long it will be until you come home and find this, but I can't text or leave a voicemail. I think I may be allowed to send you this letter, but I don’t want to interfere with your recovery there. I don’t want this to be a possible distraction for you.

Is it strange that I find writing to you kind of… romantic? I mean, despite the reason I'm having to write it in the first place. 

He thinks about crossing out that part and starting over again, but then he remembers that TK is a grown man who knows what's happening, and why; he doesn't need to sugar-coat anything.

Was that a good segway? Because I really want to tell you that I believe in you. As cheesy as it may sound, I know that you can get through this, TK. I’ve never been through what you are right now, but I can guess that you’re going to find it hard. Even when you leave rehab, it'll be a battle for a while at least, but I know you'll pull through. You'll survive.

And through everything - the ups and downs, good days and bad, I’ll be here for you.

Well, actually I'll be in Austin, Texas, but what I mean is that I’ll always support you, whether it’s in person or through a phone. You’ll always have me. 

Carlos stops to brush away a tear. He clicks the pen a few times and then continues. 

Did you know I have family in Austin? Friends, too. I think I’ve mentioned it once or twice. I figured if I’m going to move anywhere, that’s where it should be. Someplace I can go where people already know me, so I don’t have to worry about fitting in or making new friends.

As for my job, well, there's an opening in the APD. I’ve heard good things about all of the emergency services down in Austin. You should look up the 126, and read their stories… they’ve had some bizarre calls.

Anyway… maybe we could try that long-distance thing once you’re home. You can visit me, and I can do the same. The place I’m renting, it’s really nice, I have some design ideas I think you’d really like. 

Baby, honestly, I am positively desperate to get my arms around you again. I miss you so much. I miss kissing you, cooking for you, watching movies and having you fall asleep in my arms. I miss your charming smile and your hands in mine. I miss… other parts of you, too. How could I not? And it's a little embarrassing how much, since, as I'm writing this, you've only been gone for 4 days. 

I need to wrap this up. As much as I would enjoy writing you a novel, I do have to catch a flight.

- In this envelope, along with this soppy love letter, you'll find a card with my new home address on it. I hope you’ll make good use of it, and that I’ll see you standing at my door soon. We can have one of those cute romantic movie reunions… the ones that have even you tearing up.

One more time, Carlos pauses. He thinks about what he wants to write next, pondering over whether or not it's the right time. Ultimately, he decides to lay down his feelings and put them all on paper with three simple words and a name. So with a few more strokes of his pen, he confesses it all.

I love you, Tyler Kennedy Strand.

I'll be waiting for you. 

Carlos 

x

-

Carlos folds the pieces of paper neatly three times, enough to fit inside the envelope. He slides his address card in there, too. Then he lifts the letter to his mouth and licks along the edge. Placing it back down, he uses his thumb to make sure that it is stuck down well enough. He caps the pen, puts it away and then places the letter on the coffee table, the tips of his fingers lingering over it for a few seconds. He takes one of the larger pebbles from one of the potted plants in the window and places it on top, like a paperweight. He then sends a text to Owen, letting him know that he's on his way to drop off his key to TK's place. Finally, he grabs his last piece of luggage, a backpack filled with some belongings he'd left here over the past 2 years or so since he'd started dating TK. 

He opens the door, takes a deep breath, and then just before he leaves, he whispers, "I’ll see you soon, Tyler Kennedy Strand."

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

taglist: @wandering-night19, @fortunatelydecaffeinateddinosaur @rubinsteinsilva126 @maniadeityn @just-inside-her @chaotictarlos @lightningboltreader + let me know if you'd like to be added/removed, please!

[126simp]

"I Hate You!"

Tarlos Fic for @tarlosweeklyprompts March Daily One-Word Prompt Event!!

March 11th Word: Hate

Tags: Angst, Nightmares, Hurt! Carlos, Worried! TK

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Anxiety,

Relationships: TK/Carlos, TK/Alex (Past Relationship)

Characters: TK, Carlos

“I HATE YOU!!”

The words keep going through my head like they are echoing in my head, over and over. I don’t know what I did to get him to hate me, but please somebody tell me so I can fix it. I love him so much, how am I supposed to handle not having the most important person to me hate me. I feel my eyes blurring even worse when Iris all of a sudden shows up in front of me, saying, “You are to blame for everything. How did I even become your best friend, because your face annoys me.” That doesn’t scare me as much though, because I know that she sometimes talks brutally honest, but why would she say that?

Then it’s like the scene around me changes, and see a gun to my face and try to look at who is behind the gun and see it’s TK standing by a man. I am so confused that I try to say something, but all of a sudden I have no voice, and then I can’t hear anything around as a gun shot goes off. Then I see as TK is dead and bleeding on the floor, ‘What now?’ I love him.

BLOOD

SO MUCH BLOOD

Then the scene around switches again to see TK and Alex kissing, and what am I supposed to do especially when I look around and see that everyone looks so happy.

NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!

Suddenly I feel like I am being shaken and think that I hear TK’s voice. “Carlos, Carlos, CARLOS! Please answer me Baby, I am right here.” I startle awake and look around me seeing that I am in our bed. I feel around and realize I am not there alone when I see TK looking at me worried. I smile because he is here with me, not with Alex, hopefully doesn’t hate me, but I am the happiest that he wasn’t that bloody heap of a body on that floor anymore.

At that thought I scan his body to make sure he is okay, that he isn’t hurt at all, and nope I see nothing, but I still have to ask, “You are alive right? You are okay? You are not hurt, right?” He just looks at me confused and I feel like I am going to start crying with all of my built up emotions, but I need him to tell me. I feel like I am suffocating, and when he still doesn’t say anything, I yell out, “ANSWER ME!”

I think we are both startled by the yell, but it does help because TK finally says something, “I am sorry, yes I am okay and no I am not hurt.” I smile, but then he asks the question I have been regretting, “What happened to you? Are you okay? You kept saying my name and then ‘I hate you,’ so do you? Do you hate me? P-please tell me that you don’t.”

I look over his face and want to start crying because of how heartbroken he looks and I start to explain the apparent nightmare to him and he slowly starts cuddling closer and closer to me. No matter how close he gets, I am so happy that he is here with me, and I am with him.

[decafdino]

seven sentence sunday

here's my petition to any other author who sees this: pls pls pls tag me if you want to! I'm always down ;)

TK grimaces. "It sure as hell doesn't feel like it. Kind of feels like I'm the world's biggest fuck up, losing an entire person."

"And I'd hope you'd know better than to buy into that feeling," Tommy says. "Carlos couldn't have asked for a better man to marry, TK, even as messy as you are."

"Gee. Thanks, Cap."

also someone tell me why im suffering severe burnout from this all of a sudden

[belovedsanie]

tk saying "we're not going to find him alive are we" is so devastating. carlos is his HEART. my poor boy is thinking that he's about to lose his heart

[chaotictarlos]

For the angsty prompts- Tarlos- “you never listen to me”

Thank you! I'm a bit rusty but I think this is decent!

--

Send me an angst prompt and I might write something!

-

The exasperated sight that fell from Carlos’ lips told TK everything he needed to know. He shook his head and turned away from his husband, shoulders dropping as he shook his head. He knew better than to bring the subject up - and had known better several rounds ago but it was hard to let go. It was hard just to walk away when it was one of the very few things that they disagreed on.

“Tyler-” Carlos started and TK could feel his husband start to walk towards him.

“You never listen to me anymore,” TK interrupted before Carlos could say anything else. He moved forward, putting more space in between them. 

“What?” Carlos asked, the shock lacing the word and making TK turn back around. Carlos’ eyes were rounded, shock in them and the corners of his mouth were turned down more than they had been just moments ago. “That’s not true. I listen to you all the time. You tell me about your day, the random things Lou Two has done, the random shit you and Mateo get into. I listen to you.”

“You listen to everyday things,” TK said simply, shrugging a little. “But you haven’t listened to me about bigger things. Deeper things.Things that mean more than what I had for lunch two days ago. We’ve been married for so long that we’ve fallen a bit out of touch with listening to each other. I’ve noticed, I’m working to do better and I’ve talked to my therapist about it. Now I need you to realize it too.”

“I-”

“I know it’s hard,” TK said. “I know it’s hard when you’re so rooted in holding a stance that you don’t want to listen, but I need you to hear me out. I need to know that what I am saying matters and is valued.”

Carlos sighed again and rubbed his hand over his face. “I’m sorry that it’s felt like I haven’t been listening to you and hearing what you have to say.”

TK took a step forward, “I’m sorry too.”

“What you say does matter,” Carlos said as he closed the rest of the distance. “Even if I don’t like what you have to say.”

TK wrapped his arms around Carlos and gave him a ghost of a smile, “I’m glad to know that. What you say matters too.”

TK leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to TK’s lips, “But?”

“The answer is still no.”

TK sighed, feeling just slightly bad about the decision. “Will you at least think about it?”

Carlos pulled back so that he could look down at TK, searching his eyes for a few long moments. “Yes, I’ll think about it.”

[emsprovisions]

seven sentence sunday

Thank you for the tags @ironheartwriter @welcometololaland @carlos-in-glasses and @strandnreyes

He sits, eyes glassy, thoughts too rapid fire to pinpoint solidly on any single strand of thought as he turns his father’s badge over and over in his hand. The only solid, reverberating thought coursing through his veins is that he needs to fix this. To gain some control over the situation that seems to spin out from beneath him every single step he tries to take. Like an itch deep in his skin, or the hangnail making his pinky sharp, this case is something to obsess over until he finds his father’s killer and rights the world of this injustice. 

Carlos knows he can’t bring Gabriel Reyes back from the dead. But he has spent too many years listening to his father calling him weak, pushing him far past his limits to instill in him fair judgment and gut feelings befitting of a Texas Ranger. He’d always fallen short. Every “I’m proud of you son” he had ever earned was filled with more lead than the silver pistol in the small gun safe in his side of the closet. 

Tagging @tellmegoodbye @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom @nancys-braids @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @captain-gillian

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tags @tellmegoodbye @alrightbuckaroo @thisbuildinghasfeelings @strandnreyes @catanisspicy @three-drink-amy @rmd-writes @welcometololaland 💚

I have another TK/Owen moment from Flashback Fic because it involves a certain moose that I told @goodways about in this ask and now, much like Carlos after he hooked up with TK, I can't get Monty Morgan out of my head.

Owen cups TK’s left heel in his palm and moves the flashlight over it again, inspecting close. “God. I see another piece of glass. You’ve stepped in who-knows-what. When was your last tetanus shot?”

TK, who can barely recall his own name, wails at his dad to take a chill pill, and he’s so ridiculous it actually makes Owen laugh.

“There’s my boy,” he says, “You’re going to be okay.”

Owen finishes patching up TK’s feet quietly and helps him hobble across the living space to his bedroom. TK hasn’t spent the night here since he moved into his own rented apartment, and it’s pretty much the same it’s been since his late-teens:

Off-white walls are decorated with posters of Nirvana, Death Cab, Eminem, Muse, and shirtless Brad Pitt.

A bright yellow comforter covers the bed in the corner, the foot of which meets the window. TK has often sat at the end of this bed, staring at the street below, people watching, alone but not lonely.

The pinewood desk is long-free of schoolwork, neat now with a mug from the Guggenheim that is full of colorful pens, and a few old books about photography, human biology, and twentieth-century American literature, with a battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye on top.

A rug of muted rainbow squares remains on the hardwood floor.

And here is his shelf of well-squeezed plushies.

Mr. Bear the polar bear, missing an eye.

Rory the lion, whose mane he trimmed short with the kitchen scissors.

Montgomery ‘Monty�� Morgan the Moose, a gift from Aunt Elinor, who moved to Montreal to work at a research station when TK was eight. She mailed the silky-soft, sweet-faced moose with floppy antlers to Gwyn – a lifelong lover of perplexingly cute giant creatures like moose, manatees, walrus, sloths. Gwyn named him Montgomery ‘Monty’ Morgan and gave him to TK; TK took Monty Morgan with him to Owen’s because he helped with his homesickness when he was away from her.

TK grabs Monty Morgan for something to press against his sore stomach and crashes onto his old bed, his face twisting. He’s felt so unwell since he had to stand up again. To Owen, his son might as well be the colicy baby he once was, the way he’d thrash and his face would contort with pain. The way his tongue would jut in and out of his mouth. His mouth is dark red today. The skin around his lips blotchy as if zits lie below the surface, ready to erupt. His tongue is cracked like sun-dried earth, and earthish in tone, just a hint of its former pinkness. Slowly – yet it's strikingly apparent – TK lies before his father and drains to gray.

Tags below (and open tag too!)

@louis-ii-reyes-strand @mikibwrites @wandering-night19 @noxsoulmate @theghostofashton @freneticfloetry @taralaurel @rosedavid @lemonlyman-dotcom @chicgeekgirl89 @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @liminalmemories21 @heartstringsduet @never-blooms @ladytessa74 @lightningboltreader @goodways @paperstorm @reyesstrand @bonheur-cafe @tailoredshirt - if you want to share/ haven't already! No pressure ever! I hope you're all having the best days!

❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

[guardian-angle22]

TK/Carlos + Touch

↳ 1.03 Texas Proud

[fandomswonderland]

Some sentences sunday

From chapter two of Healing (Will probably be renamed)

It'd been six months since Carlos finally accepted that T.K loved him, he couldn’t believe that he ever doubted how much T.K wanted him. He was currently preparing for their weekly movie night, setting out snacks and drinks for them so they didn’t have to leave the bed. When T.K finally arrived he couldn’t wait anymore, he needed to feel his arms wrapped around him, the door was barely closed when he threw his arms around T.K and kissed his cheek, T.K stumbled back, laughing a bit “Hi, baby. How was work?” Carlos didn’t move, he didn’t manage to get an answer out. He was afraid to speak, today was horrible. He just wanted to lay down and let T.K hold him until he fell asleep.

[strandedbuckley]

TARLOS WHUMP CHALLENGE — 2 + 32

2: burn + 32: ransom

warnings: burns - not detailed, kidnap heavily implied, ransom note

a/n: burn is inspired by 4x10 (& i used a screencap from it^), but it can be set whenever you want post-proposal. also, i wrote the note^^ with my left hand so it would be messy, but i find it so funny 'cos it's truly horrendous-looking lmao

TK smiles to himself when he gets a text from Carlos, letting him know that he's here to pick him up. Nancy teases him about his 'heart-eyes' for a few minutes, and then Carlos is walking into the firehouse. 

"Hey, baby." TK greets Carlos, eagerly moving towards him.

When TK is close enough, Carlos' eyes widen. He spots a small, angry-looking red patch along TK's shoulder. 

"What's wrong?"

Carlos simply rolls his eyes in response, then points to the ambulance and says, "We aren't going anywhere until you get that burn looked at. Hey, Nance? Mend my fiancé, would you?"

TK lets out a dry chuckle, thinking to himself that his fiancé is worth way more than the amount scrawled over the note he'd found stuck to his car.

He reads it over and over and takes a little time to see if he can figure out the handwriting, wonders if the person responsible is someone he knows.

Minutes later, he gives up and dials a number. Suddenly, he feels like he's going to throw up when Gabriel answers, and he realises he now has to break the news that no parent ever wants to hear.

"Carlos has been taken."

taglist: @wandering-night19, @fortunatelydecaffeinateddinosaur @rubinsteinsilva126 @maniadeityn @just-inside-her @chaotictarlos @lightningboltreader + let me know if you'd like to be added/removed, please!

[126simp]

Original picture by @tarlosweeklyprompts

Pain for Love of Another

(Harmful but Intimate Touch Part 2 - Carlos POV)

Tarlos Fic for @tarlosweeklyprompts March Daily One-Word Prompt Event!!

March 3rd Word: Pain

Tags: Angst, Hurt!TK, Protective!Carlos, Good Boyfriend Carlos, Past Abusive Relationship, Trauma, Angst with a happy ending?

Warnings: TK has trauma, PTSD , Alex is warning all his own! Talk about trauma (non-explicit)

Relationships: TK/Carlos, TK/Alex (Past Relationship)

Characters: TK, Carlos

Pain…that is all I feel at this moment as I listen to my boyfriend telling me all the awful details of what his ex did to him. All I want to do is find a car, a train, a plane or any transportation to New York to kill that son of a bitch. ‘No, I can’t do that, not only would it not help anything, I would be going back on the promise I just made to TK that I wouldn’t do anything except listen and be here for him. Also, I can’t do that because he doesn’t deserve to die or anything that simple, he deserves to live with the thought that he lost the best person he will ever have. As well as, living with the regreat of what he did, that is if he can regret or even care enough to realize he messed up and hurt somebody so much that they can’t let people in.

Continue on AO3

[chicgeekgirl89]

Summary: After the gas cloud dissipates, Carlos and T.K. go home and Carlos starts to realize just how much his work interfering with his life.

Read on AO3

Carlos had never realized exactly how much a person can say with a hug until he fell in love with T.K. Strand. Before that, hugs had just been a quick way to say hello or give a little comfort to someone else. Truly, as an adult, the only people he really hugged were his mom, his sisters, and his niece and nephew. Now hugs are one of the top five ways of finding out what his husband is feeling.

Hugs from T.K. Strand can be put into the following categories:

Happy Hugs- Tight, but squishy, sometimes a little bouncy and they don’t tend to last very long because T.K. usually has things to say to go along with them.

Silly Hugs- T.K. flopping as much of his body onto Carlos as humanly possible and smothering him with his weight. If they’re upright this results in lot of staggering around and potentially falling to the floor, if they’re on the couch or in bed then Carlos is usually smashed flat into the horizontal surface. T.K. considers it a bonus if he can do it while wet, dirty, smelly, or naked and make Carlos squirm in discomfort.

Worried Hugs- Fast, quick squeezes of reassurance that are over within seconds because T.K. needs to run his hands over Carlos and check for injuries; physical and emotional. 

Tired Hugs- Floppy, boneless, short and usually followed by T.K. requesting that Carlos shower or come to bed with him. Sometimes the latter part can be circumvented by the promise of food.

Sexy Hugs- These involve the running of T.K.’s hands up Carlos’ chest first, before he loops them around his neck. This type of hug is accompanied by a lot of kissing and grinding until Carlos gives T.K. what he wants.

I Almost Died Today Hugs- Carlos hates these hugs. T.K. sags into him, like he can barely hold himself up anymore and needs Carlos to take over. He smushes his face into Carlos’ neck and exhales and clings on so incredibly tight. There have been too many of these in the short time they’ve known each other, more than anyone should have to endure.

It’s the last kind that Carlos gets when T.K. and Tommy come through the front door of Tommy’s house and it immediately makes him worry. He’d known that they were in a tenuous situation out there with the train crash and the gas cloud, but it isn’t until T.K. basically collapses in his arms that he understands without words that he almost lost everything today. 

He holds on tightly, aware that they have an audience, some of whom are very young and don’t need to realize the danger that almost made them orphans today. So he says nothing, instead rubbing his hand up and down, trying to soothe away the fear and exhaustion he can feel eking out of his husband’s bones. 

He cups T.K.’s cheek in his hand when they pull apart, searching his eyes. “You okay?” he asks.

T.K. nods wordlessly and then their attention is pulled to the awkward situation happening around them. Carlos doesn’t envy the conversation Tommy and Trevor are about to have, so they make their excuses and head out.

By the time Carlos has stowed his things in the back of the Camaro, T.K. is already in the passenger seat, head tipped back, eyes closed. Carlos buckles his seatbelt and looks over at his husband. “Do you want to talk about it?”

T.K. shakes his head without opening his eyes. “Not yet.”

“Are you hungry? Do you want to pick something up?”

Another shake. “I just want to go home.”

He turns his left palm upward, a silent request, and Carlos obliges, slotting the fingers of his right hand into place. T.K. has already put his ring back on after work and Carlos can feel it tucked in between his fingers, a reassurance that whatever happened today, they are still here and things are okay.

They pull out of the driveway, Carlos steering with one hand. “Was Trevor at the house when you got there?” T.K. asks.

“He was,” Carlos says. “I guess he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Did he tell you about what’s going on with him and Tommy?”

“He did.” Carlos keeps his voice mild despite the concern swirling inside of him. He’s not sure he really wants to hear how close he came to becoming a widower today, but T.K. will need to process it eventually and he’s more likely to spill how he’s feeling if he thinks Carlos isn’t freaking out. “Quite an ultimatum he laid down.”

“Almost as bad as a secret wife.” T.K. turns his head and finally opens his eyes, the ghost of a teasing smile on his face.

“Almost,” Carlos says with a chuckle. “Do you think Tommy’s going to do it? Meet with Trevor’s ex?”

T.K. shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably. Tommy talks a big talk, but when it comes down to it, she’s a mom. I think she gets it. She’ll want to try and make it work. And after today…I think she knows what she wants her priorities to be.”

After today. It’s an opening and Carlos waits, letting the opportunity to talk sit comfortably between them so that T.K. can choose to take it if he wants to. It turns out he does.

“We were trapped in a school,” he says, his voice quiet, hand still holding onto Carlos’. “We weren’t supposed to be there, but there was a missing woman and the gas cloud was coming and Tommy wouldn’t leave her behind. She told us to go, but we didn’t.”

“You couldn’t leave her alone,” Carlos says in understanding. 

“No. We couldn’t.”

There’s a moment of quiet. “Did you find the woman?” Carlos asks curiously.

“She died.” T.K.’s voice is flat and Carlos feels a stab of sympathy. “It was…awful. A terrible way to go.”

Carlos hears the words T.K. doesn’t say: he watched a woman die a horrific death and thought he and two of the people he loves most in the world were next. Carlos squeezes his husband’s hand in reassurance before raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss to his wedding ring. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

T.K. leans his head back against the seat. “Me too.” He’s quiet for a moment and then, “I used a fan.”

Carlos thinks he misheard. “A what?”

“A fan. There was a fan in the classroom and when the gas started coming in I turned it on to try and blow it away.”

Carlos bites the inside of his cheek. “You thought a fan was going to save you all from a giant cloud of toxic gas?”

“Well it sounds dumb when you say it like that!” T.K. huffs indignantly. “It was all we had Carlos!”

“Maybe you all could have just started blowing really hard. Feels like it would have had the same effect.”

“I hate you,” T.K. says grumpily, but he doesn’t let go of Carlos’ hand and the tension that was clinging to him seems to have shaken loose.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos says, keeping his tone light and teasing. “I’m sure you and your fan did a great job.”

“Damn right we did,” T.K. grumbles, shifting to get more comfortable. “You’d better be nice to me or the next time you want something blown I might say no.”

“Really?” Carlos throws T.K. an amused look. “You love blowing me. You’d last five minutes.”

“Longer than you’d last with my mouth on you,” T.K. shoots back, a wicked smirk on his face.

The car falls into comfortable silence and a minute later T.K.’s fingers go limp. Carlos glances over and finds T.K.’s head is leaning against the window, cheek smushed adorably into the glass. He smiles and curls his fingers a little more tightly so their hands don’t slip apart.

When he pulls the Camaro into its parking spot he cuts the engine and speaks softly, trying not to startle his husband. “Hey, we’re home babe.”

T.K. blinks awake and looks at him, eyes slightly unfocused. “Did I fall asleep?”

Carlos nods. “Just for a few minutes.”

T.K. groans and stretches as much as the confines of the car will allow. “Almost dying really takes it out of you.”

“Come on. Let’s get you upstairs. Everything will feel better once we’re home.”

When they’re inside Carlos sends T.K. to shower while he heats up some soup from the freezer and throws together a small salad. “I’m really not hungry,” T.K. says when he returns, bundled up in a hoodie to fight against the chill of the air conditioning.

“I know,” Carlos says, cupping the back of his neck and pressing a kiss to his damp hair. He smells like soap and shampoo. “But you need to eat something.”

They sit at the table, T.K. slowly making his way through the bowl, one spoonful at a time while Carlos pulls out yet another file, this one about a murder his father worked for six months in 2003. He already went through four files at Tommy’s house tonight, he doesn’t need to keep looking. It’s more of a habit than anything else at this point, or maybe a compulsion. When he has downtime he looks. One of these days, all of that looking is going to pay off, he knows it. And the faster he gets through these files, the faster that payoff will come.

T.K. doesn’t give him a pointed look or ask him to put the files away. He doesn’t say much of anything really, just eats two thirds of his meal before pushing the bowl away. Carlos looks up at the sound of the porcelain sliding across the table. “Do you want something else? I can make you a sandwich. Or there’s a little bit of pasta left from the other night.”

T.K. shakes his head. “I think I’m going to go to bed. Are you coming?”

Carlos checks his watch. It’s already after eleven. He has work tomorrow, it would probably be smart to curl up beside his husband and get a decent amount of sleep tonight. “Let me just finish up with this case and then I’ll be in. Twenty minutes tops.”

T.K. opens his mouth and then closes it without saying anything, his shoulders slumping a little. He looks small tonight, vulnerable in a way that hurts Carlos’ heart. Carlos almost closes the folder in his hands and gets up. He almost wraps his husband in his arms and whispers how much he loves him, reassures him that he’s safe, that they’re alive and together. He almost pulls him into the bedroom and makes soft love to him until he forgets the horrors he saw today.

But before he can do any of that T.K. turns and walks away and it feels like something between them shifts a little bit in a way that Carlos can’t quite figure out. And then he looks down at the file again and sees a name he recognizes from another case and he’s no longer at home finishing up work for the night, he’s digging deep into the past until his neck aches and his eyes feel gritty. When he finally looks blearily at his phone it doesn’t say eleven twenty pm but one forty-seven am and he feels a shock that so much time has passed without him realizing it.

He hastily puts things away and cleans up the now cold soup bowl, leaving it in the sink for the morning before quickly brushing his teeth and pulling off his clothes for bed.

The light on his side of the bed is still on. T.K. must have left it for him, thinking he’d be in soon. Or maybe just hoping he would be. Carlos can’t actually remember the last time they went to bed together. It’s been…weeks probably. 

The realization disturbs him. T.K. had a terrible day, he should have been in here comforting him, not working an impossible case that he’s completely lost on. But he’s here now, he tells himself. T.K. could have asked if he needed Carlos to be with him.

Usually when he climbs into bed, T.K. instinctively rolls toward him, even if he doesn’t wake fully. But tonight T.K. stays firmly on his side, almost on the edge of the mattress. Carlos’ side feels colder than normal and there’s an odd ache in his heart that he can’t figure out, almost like he needs to cry, but the tears won’t come. 

He shifts his body closer to T.K.’s, sliding a hand over his hip until he’s spooning against his back, but T.K. still doesn’t stir. He’s got his airpods in and when Carlos cranes his neck he can see that T.K.’s moody playlist is on. That makes him feel like total shit. T.K. was hurting tonight and instead of asking Carlos for help he’d come in here and wallowed in his sadness alone. 

Carlos closes his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat. He knows he’s been drowning himself in work lately. He knows it’s taking a toll on him and that he hasn’t been the best husband.

He’ll be better, he promises silently to himself and to T.K. in the dark and quiet safety of their bed. He’ll leave the office on time tomorrow night. They can have dinner together, maybe watch the new episode of Only Murders in the Building or Secret Lives of Mormon Wives because he knows how much T.K. loves trashy reality TV and he’s heard some chatter around the office that it’s fun in a horrifying kind of way. 

Tomorrow, he thinks as he begins to drift. Tomorrow he will hold his husband in a tight hug that means “I love you, I’m sorry, I’m glad you’re safe, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” and kiss him and love him the way he deserves. Tomorrow he will start trying to fix what he suspects he’s been slowly breaking for months. 

But the problem with tomorrow is that by the time it arrives, you often forget the promises you made yesterday.

[carlos-tk]

it hurts

i don’t want that

[911ficrecs]

Express to Nowhere by dancer_me - 22,467 words, teen+

Summary: Buck is spiraling, he knows he is. “Spiral up,” his therapist had been telling him. Yeah, sure, he could totally do that from his current position circling the drain.

Or,

TK, Carlos, and the rest of the 126 are in LA for a first responders convention where they get a chance to reunite with the 118 family.

TK needs a coffee, Buck needs a hug, and everyone else really needs for TK and Buck to not get into trouble for once. Nobody wins.