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chicgeekgirl89 · 2 years ago

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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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