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terramous · 1 year

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my mind won't go to sleep, my soul is yours to keep

title: palaye royale - nightmares word count: 1.3k thank you to @marjansmarwani for helping me out with the ending <3 AO3

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps and he’s falling to his knees, reaching out desperately to grab a hold of TK’s hand. It’s too pale, too far away, it glimmers in the low light, almost transparent, like Carlos is reaching for a ghost. His fingertips brush the empty air and he grabs a hold of nothing.

It’s a shrill beep that sends him reeling back into consciousness.

The loft is dead silent, the only noise aside from Carlos’ heavy breaths is the soft snoring coming from right next to him. TK is there, he’s safe and alive, it was just a dream.

But it never truly feels like that. Carlos has had many nightmares in his life, but they seemed to be coming through more often than not in the past few months. He could rarely remember his dreams but the nightmares clung to him even in the daylight hours, unshakable and inescapable.

A constant, ever since TK’s most recent stint in the hospital. Something about those days spent in limbo at his bedside had melted and moulded his brain in such a way that left him with nightmares almost every night. At the time, he had barely slept, too wound up with anxiety to relax, and the night was filled with tossing and turning until Carlos eventually gave up and plodded to the kitchen for one of many cups of coffee that sustained him through the early hours of the morning until he was able to go back to the hospital.

He’d opened up to TK a few times about the nightmares, but never told him that they were so constant, so continually framed around losing the man he loved more than words could ever describe. TK was empathetic of course, understanding the nightmares, the fear that lingered even after the sun had risen. He had dealt with his own, so many near death experiences coming back to bite him even though the wounds were long since healed.

It felt wrong to burden his fiancé with the nightmares, the images of him dying again and again, always just a little too far to reach, no matter how fast Carlos ran he never got to him in time. After all, it wasn’t his fault that Carlos was plagued with the sight of his whole world on the brink of death.

Sometimes he thinks his life would be easier if they had never met, but with that comes the reflection on how dull and monotonous his days had been before the whirlwind that was TK had come crashing through, bruised knuckles and split lip, glowing green eyes that Carlos could never shake off whenever his mind wandered. Despite the chaos and the horror that Carlos had grown intimately familiar with over the past few years, there was nothing in the world that was better than loving TK Strand.

So that is where he finds himself. Sitting up in their shared bed, blanket caught around his feet, TK sleeping peacefully next to him. He’d always been the better sleeper, too used to 24 and 48 hour shifts, the necessity of being able to sleep anywhere had given him the skill of falling asleep easily and yet he woke at the slightest shift. If Carlos were to try and vacate the bed TK would startle awake and ask him where he was going. Which had been weird the first few nights they spent together. Eventually it just became routine, that if Carlos woke and needed to refill the glass of water beside his bed then TK’s glossy green eyes would trail him as he left and returned, and TK would welcome him back into bed with a groggily cast arm across his waist.

There was no doubt that if he reached over and touched TK that his fiancé would stir and soothe him, talk him through the strained and panicked breaths. TK was never anything other than completely understanding when it came to Carlos’ nightmares, if only he could have the strength to reach out for his lover’s soft touch every time. He couldn’t wake TK every night, couldn’t force him to apologise for something he had no control over.

He didn’t need to reach out, didn’t need to ask for TK as a simple choked sob forced its path from his throat and snapped cleanly through the silence. Hot tears broke forth and tumbled down his face but that was only momentary, TK’s warm thumbs chasing them and wiping them away as he cooed.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” TK asked, his voice thick with sleep. He wiped away the tears as they continued to fall with a gentle fervour, pulling Carlos closer with every touch.

The warmth of skin on his helped to quell his anxiety but the relief of the contact just made him cry harder. TK was fine, he was awake and talking and touching him and his hands weren’t cold or pale like they were in the scope of his unconsciousness.

Between ragged gasps, somehow Carlos managed to form a word, “nightmare.”

TK made a keening noise in his throat and opted to cup Carlos’ cheeks in his hands, giving Carlos the contact he needed if he were ever to ground himself. He felt like a kite in a hurricane.

“What was it about?” TK asked, even though they both knew the answer.

Carlos struggled with that part. It had obviously been about TK, about him dying, like most of his nightmares were but it was so abstract, the race against the clock, TK being just a little too far to reach, the failure. He failed TK again and again and again. Every night there was a new way to lose TK. To ice, to fire, to blood and ash. A tiled bathroom or smouldering building. Sometimes he woke when the gun fired. He had managed to lose TK in a million and one ways, all while TK slept next to him.

He was fine, he was alive, he was touching and reassuring Carlos but still all Carlos could think of was the way he looked like a ghost in his dream. Like he was dead already and Carlos had been the last to know.

“You.” A sob. “You were dead.”

“I’m not,” TK said, taking Carlos’ hand and pressing it to his chest, over his heart so that Carlos could feel the pitter patter of it beating. “I promise I’m not.”

“It–” even with TK’s soft and comforting touches and words Carlos was having trouble catching his breath. “It was so real.”

“I know, but I’m always going to be here. I’m not going away.”

There was always going to be a ‘what if?’, especially in their line of work. TK had already been hurt on the job so many times, what if his luck ran out? What if tonight was their last night together? What if the unspeakable happened the second this moment was over?

At some point the nightmares would stop being horrors of sleep and they would seep out into his waking moments.

But TK would never lie to him, not like that. Regardless of whatever happened, if TK said he wasn’t going to leave, then he would stay through the world cracking in half. They’d already been through so much, so many things trying to tear them apart, but at the end of it all, they were here sharing the bed, his palm over TK’s heart.

“Wanna give sleep another go?” TK asked softly, running his free hand through Carlos’ hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

Carlos smiled at him through his tears and nodded, allowing himself to be coaxed back to his pillow. TK was a great help but he knew that the horrors of his dreams were always lurking around the corner. Maybe he’d never be free from them, but at least he wasn’t alone and if TK had his way, he’d never go through anything alone again.

#tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #userkimmy #reyesstrand #actuallysara #userac #jazzyjess #tuser paige #userbones #theatrevicki #max.doc

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terramous · 2 years

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we've never slept six feet apart

ABCs of whump: G is for Gunshot Wound title: happy. - black picket fence word count: 8.7k shout out to my beloveds @marjansmarwani @morganaspendragonss and @trkstrnd who looked over this and gave me validation while it was rotting in my google drive <3 !!MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH!! AO3

Tommy didn't call it.

If it were anyone else, she would've before they even left the scene. Yet here they were, in the back of the ambulance, sirens blaring, Tommy pumping his fiancé’s chest as he sat numbly on the bench.

He was the one to break the silence.

"You can stop."

His voice sounded completely foreign to him, hollowed out and quiet even to his own ears. He supposed it made sense, he didn’t feel a whole lot like himself right now, emotion giving way to a chasm in his chest. He had no idea where the strength to speak came from, it was like the bones had been stripped from his body.

"I'm not doing that, TK."

It took him a few moments to be able to gather himself enough to speak again, his voice cool and even. It cut through the air like a bullet. "It's been twenty-five minutes. You know as well as I do that he's dead."

"I'm not stopping," Tommy insisted. "The hospital is only a few minutes away."

"Please," TK begged. "Leave him be."

There was blood soaked into Tommy's uniform, red spread all over the floor of the ambulance. TK's arms were caked in it. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to scrub it from his pores.

There was a sense of calm as Tommy stopped her frantic attempts.

"Nancy, no sirens," Tommy said, her voice soft and wrought with the same emotion that was currently eating TK from the inside out.

It was peaceful, or at least as much peace as TK could gather from the cessation of the sirens. Tommy clicked off the lifepak, detaching the bag from the end of the tube down Carlos' throat. There was a stillness in the air that TK knew came with grief. He wasn’t the only one grieving Carlos, he was a friend to Tommy and Nancy too.

A gunshot wound.

To the chest, a cruel mimicry of TK's own scar, of the wound he survived. Carlos' one was further down, more central–he'd bled out in minutes.

No amount of saline or CPR was going to rectify this.

Heroic measures up until the hospital doors. TK echoed Nancy's words in his head, what she had said the night Tim died, it felt like a lifetime ago. But nothing about this had been heroic, they weren't lifesaving measures, they were torture. A torture to have TK watch efforts he knew were futile, to hear Carlos' ribs crack as Tommy tried desperately to restart his heart.

There was nothing she could've done.

No one had said a word after loading the gurney into the ambulance. Tommy worked in silence and TK had just watched her. He had known Carlos was dead–that he wasn't coming back from this.

The hollowed out feeling in his chest just grew as he had watched Tommy try to resuscitate the love of his life. Carlos was his entire world; his sunlight; the centre of his entire universe, and she knew that, so it was no surprise that he had to be the one to tell her to stop.

Carlos was almost unrecognisable.

He was covered in blood, a relatively small perforation in his chest at the epicentre. His uniform had been cut away from his torso, his chest exposed and hooked up to the lifepak leads, defibrillator pads secured on his right shoulder and left side. They'd never been used, he'd never entered a shockable rhythm.

It was quick. Carlos had been dead well before they even got a backboard to him.

A gunshot. A crackle over the radio–gunman apprehended, officer down, requesting medical assistance.

A part of TK knew that Carlos wasn’t coming home the second he heard those words. He didn’t panic, didn’t sprint to the building.

He was staring down at Carlos’ partner–Elise Riviera–as she desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood from between her fingers. Freshly out of her training period, she had only been working with Carlos for a few months.

She was a damn good cop, and had a heart of gold much like Carlos’ own, but she was nervous on her best days. She had been frantic.

TK had only been at Carlos’ side for a minute or two, watching him gasp as he tried to breathe around a collapsed lung, before he watched Carlos go lax, his eyes still open, but the panic in his dark irises had subsided, emptiness in its place.

Despite knowing somewhere deep down that this was the end, TK had been the one to start compressions. He’d stayed there kneeling on the ground until he was sure his knees would bruise as he pumped Carlos’ chest on his behalf.

Nancy and Tommy had worked around him, silent except for orders being given out.

Somewhere between putting his fiancé’s dead body on a backboard and loading him into the ambulance, it had really hit TK. His steps faltered and the crushing weight of nothingness swept over him–he was numb.

It was a nostalgic feeling, one he had felt back when he first came to Austin, a haze of grey that only those deep brown eyes had managed to cut through.

And yet, it was worse now.

He couldn’t see Carlos, not really, his face was mostly obscured by the endotracheal tube and strap securing it in place. His eyes were closed now, someone doing TK the courtesy of closing them, so he didn’t have to see that emptiness staring back at him.

Just this morning they had shared breakfast, and more than a few light kisses, never straying from the other for too long. Until they parted ways for their shifts.

He had no idea that was going to be the last time he saw Carlos alive. He’d seen Carlos before his heart had stopped but as Carlos choked on his own blood, he had been dying, he wasn’t alive.

He was alive when his hands had been on TK’s face, holding him close as they kissed. It was always magic to kiss Carlos Reyes, and now TK would never have that opportunity again.

Carefully, he took Carlos’ hand in his own, bringing it close to his face. He breathed in the scent of Carlos, still lingering on his skin, before pressing a soft kiss to his knuckle.

No one spoke, no one knew what to say. All three members of this team had lost someone close to them recently, they all greeted grief like an old friend. But this wasn’t sitting down for tea, this was Carlos, dead on a gurney in the back of their ambulance.

The feeling was familiar, the circumstances anything but.

Tommy best knew what he was feeling right now, after all, she had lost her husband so recently. But dimly, TK realised that she had a lot more time with him. They’d built a life together and had two beautiful daughters. TK and Carlos’ story was just beginning, and as quickly as it had started it had been cut short.

Sure, three years wasn’t a short time, but in the grand scheme of things they were supposed to have the rest of their lives together. That’s what the ring on his finger meant–the ring that was suddenly too heavy to lift, as if it weighed more than the Earth itself.

There was nothing that anyone could say that would make this any better, so no one spoke.

TK watched numbly as the gurney was unloaded from the ambulance, too used to springing into action, relaying information to the doctors, keeping pace with the rolling wheels.

He stayed seated this time.

“Be careful with him,” Tommy said softly, and finally for what felt like the first time in years, she took off her blood-covered gloves. They didn’t look blue anymore, just dark and marred with Carlos’ blood. “He’s one of our own.”

The faces of the ER staff were a blur, but they nodded solemnly.

TK didn’t know what to do with himself, but Tommy took his wrist in her grip and gave it a gentle tug. “Come on, let's go inside.”

He watched as Carlos disappeared between the double doors of the ambulance bay. He was gone–both literally and metaphorically.

Tommy guided him around to the entrance to the waiting room, not following Carlos. He’d walked through the hallways of that same hospital a million times, but he’d never gone to the morgue. He wouldn’t today; he didn’t have the strength.

So he just let Tommy take him wherever she wanted. He was a balloon caught in the wind, he had nothing left to anchor him, Carlos was gone and the string tying him to the ground was severed. He felt like he was floating, but he weighed a tonne.

Tommy sat him in the corner, next to the vending machine. It was a smaller row of chairs, two, then a tall houseplant, and the entrance to a supply closet. It was the most privacy he would be afforded in such a public place.

He was covered in blood that wasn’t his own in the waiting room with a hollow look in his eyes. Everyone knew why he was there.

The waiting was a courtesy. He wouldn’t be given updates, or information, they would hand him a bag of Carlos’ clothes, his keys, his phone, and his ring, and ask him if he wanted to see his fiancé’s body.

But that was a while away yet.

For now, Nancy silently sat beside him, placing her hand, palm up, on the armrest that sat between them. It was a silent offering.

“I’m going to radio dispatch–call in a relief team,” Tommy said. “You two sit tight, okay?”

TK said nothing. But apparently Nancy gave their captain the confirmation she needed because she offered TK a smile that didn’t meet her eyes, and gave him a soft pat on his knee.

It hung unsaid in the air, that she was going to have to be the one to relay the news.

Fire hadn’t even been at the scene. Medical was on standby in case things went South, which they did, because TK couldn’t have any peace in his life. He had his love for Carlos, their relationship bringing so much light into his life–and it had been so cruelly robbed of him today.

So no one knew, except the three of them.

A relief team would pick up their rig, take it back to the station. His father would come, someone would call the Reyes’. TK couldn’t help thinking that it should be him.

He and Carlos had been set to be married, he should be the one to tell his once future in-laws that their son was dead. After all, he had watched it happen.

But someone else would do it on his behalf.

He hadn’t even shed a single tear, but it was only a matter of time before the dam broke and everything came crashing down on him. It just didn’t feel real yet. It couldn’t be. He had seen Carlos this morning, had touched him, had felt the warmth of his skin against his own. Carlos was so alive, in every sense of the word, he couldn’t be dead.

He was in a room full of people but he was so alone.

Grief was an isolating feeling.

He would not be the only one grieving Carlos, but it felt like he was the only person on earth who knew him. That wasn’t the truth, of course, Carlos touched the lives of so many people, everyone he had ever met, and he would be so dearly missed. By none more than TK.

In that sense, he was selfish. To consider his grief more than that Carlos’ parents and family would have when they found out. They had known Carlos for his entire life, TK had known him for three years.

Those three years had been the most vital and important of TK’s life. He’d rebuilt his life and his sense of self in Austin, shaping everything around being alive and no longer just living for something to do until he kicked the bucket–whether at work or his own hands. He’d never even entertained the idea of growing old, having grey hair and wrinkles, until he met Carlos and realised that he wanted every moment with this man, as many years as his body would give him. He had only hoped it would forgive him for twenty-six years of abuse from a kid who didn’t fear death.

And now he was alone. Alive. But alone.

He had cheated death so many times, but it seemed that every time death couldn’t have him, it took someone he loved.

Carlos was the casualty this time. Collateral damage, just like he had described them after finding out that their fathers had planned and schemed behind their backs to catch an arsonist. A million lifetimes ago.

His radio crackled against his collarbone.

“This is Paramedic Captain Vega of Station 126, requesting for a relief team.”

Tommy stared, forlorn at her phone.

She had to make this call, there was no way around it. But there was nothing she wanted to do more than to just pocket her phone and go back to TK’s side, to console him.

Sighing, she clicked on the contact she was looking for. They needed to know.

TK was grieving the love of his life just inside, and someone had to tell everyone else. It couldn’t be him, she couldn’t place that burden on him now.

There was no option other than to bite the bullet and tap on the call icon, pressing her phone to her ear.

“Captain Vega, what can I do for you?”

She heaved a sigh, there was no easy way to do this. “Hey, Owen.”

The other captain wasn’t stupid, he caught onto her tone immediately. “What’s happened?”

“I think you need to meet us at Mercy General.”

“What? Is everything okay? Is TK okay?”

“TK is-” she had to cut herself off, TK wasn’t okay, far from it “-he’s unharmed.”

“Then what is it?”

She just had to get it out, as simply as possible, there was no use dangling the sword above Owen’s head for any longer than necessary. She needed to cut the rope, watch it fall. “Carlos is dead.”

“What?”

There was a tangible shock to his voice. It was understandable. Due to their line of work they prepared for the worst, somewhere in the back of their minds they knew that every call they went on, maybe not everyone came home, Owen Strand knew that better than anyone. It didn’t help to soften the blow.

APD had so many rules, hell, they even had bulletproof vests. None of the guidelines had been able to protect Carlos when he needed it.

“We were called to a scene, on standby just in case. I can’t even remember what the situation was, just that they didn’t know their perpetrator had a gun. Carlos was shot.” She took a steeling breath. “There was nothing we could do.”

“TK?”

It was a simple one-word, a two syllable question, but so much was left unasked. It was yet another question Tommy dreaded answering. “We treated him. TK is inside right now, Nancy is with him.”

“Alright.” Owen’s own voice sounded hollow, words echoed in a state of shock. This was not a conversation to have over the phone but no one had a choice. “I- I’ll tell the team. I’ll be there soon, just take care of my boys, okay?”

“Of course. I’ll see you when you get here. Take care, Owen.”

“You too, Captain.”

Tommy didn’t envy the other Captain in the slightest. Her hands were already shaking, tears already threatening to spill after a single phone call. She couldn’t fathom having to look their team in the face and tell them that someone they cared about so deeply–like their own family–was dead.

Tim’s death had hit the station like a brick wall coming toppling down on them, and sans Nancy they had barely known him. There was a sense of fear, for what this meant for everyone. What it meant for TK. TK, who had lost his mother so recently and now the man who had helped him manage his grief and strong-arm his way back into life, was gone too.

Death was cruel.

The best anyone could do now was to hope TK let them in, let them help him. Tommy didn’t like her chances, she bore witness to the shutdown, the shutters coming down on all the liveliness she had come to associate with her newest paramedic. He was like a ghost now, haunting his body.

Something in Tommy had died with Charles, now the last person she ever wanted to, felt the same grief.

So she allowed herself a few more minutes as she sank to the ground, back pressed to the pillar of the entrance to the emergency department. She could only afford a few tears and to wipe them as soon as they fell, she once again needed to be strong for her team, but she needed to let herself feel this.

A relief team from the 129 was sent. They picked up the rig, offered their condolences and left.

Tommy returned not long after radioing for the relief team. Undoubtedly she had called his father, to inform him of the day’s events, that his future son-in-law was dead, and his son was in the waiting room, covered in his blood. As soon as she hung up the call, the weight was placed on Owen’s shoulders to inform the 126, no one’s shoulders grew lighter, the weight shifting hands but never leaving, only spreading.

No matter how many hands gripped the weight settling over him, nothing would lift it.

The best anyone could do now, was to cope. And for Tommy that meant taking care of her team. They were her kids, as she had jokingly reminded them on many occasions. The first time they had all rode in the ambulance together, they had become family, and it had since extended from a work relationship, beyond and into their personal lives.

She would always take care of them, especially on shift, she was their captain after all. So TK couldn’t say he was surprised when she offered to help him get cleaned up.

They went to the bathroom together, a small single stall next to the reception desk.

Tommy took off his gloves, quickly moving to place the blood-covered nylon in the rubbish bin. It was a stark change, to see his hands, palms and fingers, completely clean. There was a ring around each wrist, where the blood stopped, dried and unmoving, where it had sat against the edge of where glove met skin.

He was still, staring at his bare hands, as Tommy pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and ran it under the tap, before carefully wiping at the blood on TK’s arms.

She paid no mind to the blood on her skin as she worked, clearing the mess from TK’s own. A few wipes, she would wring out the handkerchief in the sink, the water running a muddy and faded red before disappearing down the drain.

As she did the best she could of cleaning his arms, she moved to his neck and face. He hadn’t even known there was blood there, but she was quiet and gentle as she tended to him.

It was as she was wiping his cheek that he looked at her, really looked at her, since Carlos’ partner had radioed for medical assistance.

For a flash, she is Carlos and they are in the APD precinct. Deep brown eyes and a careful touch. Just as quickly, they are in a hospital bathroom covered in Carlos’ blood.

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he’s said since the ambulance. His voice is rough and watery with the tears he was forcing himself to swallow.

Confusion crossed Tommy’s expression, her ministrations halting. “For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” she said firmly, “not at a time like this.”

There were so many things he needed to say, but he couldn’t find the words. If he thought he was barely functioning before, nothing could have prepared him for the laborious task that was every breath without Carlos.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to keep living.

It was possible, he knew that much. He had watched so many of the people he loved lose people and keep living, but he didn’t understand how he was meant to. Carlos had been his rock, his biggest comfort when his mom passed, that wound was open, still bleeding, and he needed Carlos now. He needed Carlos if he was going to get through this but that was the one thing he absolutely couldn’t have.

He knew that his friends and family would take care of him through this, they had been by his side through less world-shattering events. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that they should just leave him alone, let him destroy his life because nothing he could do would ever hold a candle to the pain inflicted on him today.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. The scar over his collarbone ached, not for physical pain but mentally, as what it stood for. Had Carlos survived too, his scar would not be dissimilar, but TK would never get to see it. That wound would never close, Carlos would never heal.

Death had already robbed him of so much, did it really have to take Carlos too?

Owen had delivered news like this more times than he had ever thought himself capable. Patients in the field, his fellow firefighters, calling his ex-wife to inform her of TK’s overdoses, him getting shot, his hypothermia, Tim’s death. He had tried to just stay calm, stay focused, and relay the information. But it never got easier.

His hand was shaking as he set his phone down on his desk. This was the last thing he ever wanted to hear. In his life, he had heard so many doctors tell him his son might not make it, to prepare for the worst, say goodbye. There was a sense of finality now though, the man he had come to think of as a son, someone who had shown TK so much love and care, was dead.

There was no way around those words, unshakable and permanent.

He needed to tell the team, but he didn’t think his legs could hold him. Carlos was dead. Those three words, a branding iron to his heart and his head.

TK was grappling with losing the most important person in his life so soon after losing the other. Owen wasn’t an idiot, he knew both Gwyn and Carlos outranked him. He had never been a perfect father but those two were the kindest people he had ever met, and they loved TK just as fiercely as he did.

And TK had lost both of them, so permanently and so close together.

It stayed unspoken between Tommy and himself, but he knew, deep down, that TK had watched Carlos die.

Catching the eye of his team through his glass wall, he noticed their tense postures, quizzical expressions. They had noticed. Of course they did. It was only a matter of time before they made their hike up to his office and he had to utter those words.

Carlos is dead. He rolled the words around in his mouth, but no matter what, they didn’t feel right, they weren’t meant to fit together like that. It left a bitter taste on his tongue, one he wasn’t sure that mouthwash could ever clear.

He afforded himself a deep breath, hoping to harden his resolve. He didn’t need to start crying now, but something inside of him just felt so raw knowing that they had lost Carlos. Death had never been fair, Owen had witnessed too much of it to ever consider it anything but ruthless, but this was a new level of cruelty.

Looking over to Tommy’s unoccupied office, he felt a pang in his chest. This wasn’t like Gwyn, who died at the other end of the country, TK had been there with Carlos as he died. So had his team.

He remembered Tommy apologising to him, while TK was in his second coma, blaming herself. He had managed to reassure her then, that no matter what happened it wasn’t her fault, but this time that comfort wasn’t his to give her. She would blame herself, even if there was nothing she could’ve done.

TK would forgive her, Owen was certain of that much, but he’d never forgive himself. There were very few things on this Earth that Owen Strand could confidently say terrified him, the effect that Carlos’ death would have on TK was currently at the top of his list. TK had tried to throw his life away over so much less.

Someone had to call the Reyes, or maybe just APD and they’d relay the message.

God, everyone had lost so much today.

Owen had sat on the precipice of losing his son more times that he cared to count, but despite everything, TK had always come back to him. He’d always hated the idea of burying his own son, but that was just a thought, a worst-case scenario. It was reality for Andrea and Gabriel Reyes. They were going to have to live his worst nightmare.

So he shouldered his own weight, and left his office, closing the door quietly behind himself as he moved to the stairs.

He wanted to fend it off for as long as he could, to avoid repeating the words he’d heard over the phone, but his team needed to know, and he had to be the one to deliver the news.

Never had two feet on the ground floor felt like a death sentence before.

“126, can I have you all in the sitting area, please?” he called out in his most normal voice, his captain skin that he wore as a façade to cover turmoil beneath the surface. He needed to hold himself together, he couldn’t afford to feel any of this.

Not when everyone needed him to be their pillar. Even as he was about to bring the roof crashing down on their heads.

Sometimes hell is you, a group of people you trust with your life, couches and words weighing heavily on your tongue.

“There is no easy way to say this. I fully understand if any of you would like to go home after you leave this room.”

He wasn’t imagining it when he saw everyone tense, eyes trained more intently on him now. He knew that Paul knew, much clearer than the others, what the next words out of his mouth would be.

He didn’t even know how to say this, how to word it for a group of people. It wasn’t something typically reserved for an announcement, just soft words in private corners.

“I have just been informed that APD Patrol Officer Carlos Reyes was killed in the line of duty.”

Gasps ricocheted throughout the space, everyone’s eyes growing wide. Marjan’s hand came up to cover her mouth, tears already gathering in her eyes. Judd’s grip on the cloth in his hand tightening tenfold, his knuckles going white. No one spoke, but a thousand words hung unsaid.

Grief was no stranger, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Owen hung back like a shadow as TK unlocked the door to the loft.

TK didn’t look at him, too busy trying to figure out where he was meant to step. It felt like a tomb.

It looked the same as it did when he had left it that morning, but instead of dawn sunlight pouring through the windows, the space was illuminated only by the moonlight outside, casting a cool tone over everything. Usually it was a space filled with warmth, courtesy of Carlos who seemed to radiate love and warmth as naturally as the sun gave out light.

The air carried a different weight now, settling heavily in TK’s lungs with every breath.

It was a picture perfect display of how Carlos lived. Furniture laid out tidily, well-thought out and planned, but still filled with TK’s own belongings, still scattered everywhere. If he dared open the fridge he would see Carlos’ meticulous layout, a careful plan that he swore up and down improved the cooking experience. He’d only bought groceries last night–the fridge would be fully stocked.

TK couldn’t cook like Carlos, he wouldn’t be able to use up all those ingredients, one of Carlos’ final efforts was already going to waste. The iron grip around his heart tightened once more.

“Just get some clothes, okay?” Owen said. TK knew he was just trying to seem comforting, reassuring TK that it was okay that he was struggling right now, but it felt condescending. He needed time, he couldn’t just pluck the strength to walk into their shared bedroom out of thin air. He already felt like he was going to pass out standing just beyond the threshold.

But he would never put that to words, not to his father.

If, for even a second, he indicated that he could not handle this, Owen would reach out a hand and whisk him back into the corridor. They would ride back to his father’s house in silence, whether or not he gathered any clothes.

He would not be allowed to stay at the loft, at least not alone. It was a safeguard, to keep him from doing anything stupid, and he didn’t have the energy to care about it. At some point he had gotten used to his father tiptoeing around him, pulling away everything that could possibly hurt him–even if it were his own two hands. He didn’t mind, he wouldn’t have been able to spend the night here if he wanted to.

The air was too heavy, space too barren without Carlos. He felt like he was suffocating just trailing his eyes over every sign that Carlos had been here.

Every step he took deeper into the loft was harder than the last.

The dining table was the first anchor he found, something to lean against in hopes of holding himself upright. Palms pressed to the cool lacquered wood surface.

It is not his best moment when he strikes a hand across the table, throwing a decorative wooden fruit bowl against the wall. The impact was loud, he could almost hear the wood splinter, the clatter against the floor piercing through him, shattering through the air.

His strength leaves him then. His knees met the rug under the table, his arms hanging limp at his sides as he allowed himself, for the first time, to cry. It was not his choice, he had tried to hold himself together for so long.

Through the ambulance ride, the agonisingly long time in the hospital waiting room, even as he looked in the devastated expressions of his friends, family, and Andrea and Gabriel Reyes, he hadn’t let himself cry. He knew that if he did he would never stop.

At some point, the dam was bound to crack, the water pressure becoming too much for his concrete resolve, and he shattered.

His sobs were loud, the only noise in the entire space, so open that it reflected his misery back at him tenfold.

He couldn’t breathe, erratic hands coming up to grasp uselessly at his throat and chest as he heaved out more wails than breaths.

The neighbours would probably think he was being attacked, or some wild animal was stuck and hurt, screaming for release. But it was just him, on his knees in his own home, unable to reign in the pure agony that filled his being. He didn’t think it would ever stop.

His father crossed the loft, coming to his side. He took his son into his arms and held him fiercely as he choked and cried.

There was nothing that he could say that would make this any more bearable, so he said nothing, just offering TK a physical presence, an anchor, a reminder that he wasn’t completely alone in this.

All they could do was ride it out, let the grief come pouring out of TK until the exhaustion finally won.

He figured he would never stop crying.

At the end of the day, he left the loft, head hung, his father’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. He didn’t grab any clothes.

Due to no involvement of his own, TK ended up staying with his dad.

He expected it, no one would let him be alone right now, but even then, his shoulders were heavy with guilt. He saw the way his father looked at him.

He’d taken up residence on the couch–not being able to handle the idea of sleeping in any bed without Carlos on the other side. The first night he had settled into the guest room, but when he reached out to the other side of the mattress, expecting for his hand to meet the warmth of Carlos laying next to him.

But there was nothing except cold sheets.

So he made his tearful trek downstairs, comforter wrapped around his shoulders, and he lay on the couch in the dark until the universe took pity on him and exhaustion finally seized him.

He hadn’t bothered trying to sleep in the guest room since, and neither Owen nor Mateo seemed to be inconvenienced by him. Which was likely because they were worried and not much else.

It reminded him of a different life in which he had spent a lot of time on the couch, recovering from his gunshot wound with his doting father forcing a menagerie of all things green and healthy onto him. And he’d spent the entire time sending texts back and forth with Carlos, trying his best to ease his worry.

Mateo had taken to spending his time off on the couch with TK and a bowl–or three–of popcorn. TK had sat through far too many superhero movies to count over the past week, he couldn’t recall any of the plot, or the character names, but he appreciated the company. And Mateo seemed happy to sit with him.

Even though he barely spoke and would randomly start crying.

At one point he had fallen asleep, his head in Mateo’s lap and a hand playing with his hair. It was comforting to not be alone, but also not being treated like he was falling apart, even if he was.

He was never left alone–not entirely. When Mateo was on shift, usually his father would be around the house, and if that wasn’t possible, there would be a random visitor. One time, he had stirred from his midday nap to find Judd sitting at the nearby armchair, scrolling on his phone.

Neither of them said much.

Tommy’s visit yielded more conversation. Worry poured off of her in waves, she tried to get him to go for a walk with her, but he couldn’t muster up the strength. There were lots of questions about his well being, and a wrapped sandwich pressed into his palm.

The grief was eating him alive, but he didn’t need to tell her that.

TK hated funerals. He’d been to so many in his life, but they never stopped being as difficult to attend. From the second he fastened his black tie he had a lump in his throat.

Carlos’ funeral was the worst.

Everyone offered TK their condolences, as he numbly shook their hands and thanked them. Carlos’ family, far more APD officers than he cared to count. It was a big event, a grand show of people, a testament to how loved Carlos was.

Swathed in a sea of people in black, TK couldn’t seem to gather his bearings. A few people hugged him, mostly his own friends, he stayed boneless and pliable in their grasp.

Andrea’s hug lasted the longest. He knew she was trying to see if she closed her eyes and pretended, that it would feel like she was hugging her son and not the man in front of her. But TK was two inches too short, his posture too slouched, his shoulders too narrow, his hands too cold. No amount of pretending could make him who she needed him to be, but he was content to let her try.

As she finally released him, she extended a hand to cup his cheek. Her eyes were red-rimmed, much like his own. He figured they both had been crying non-stop this entire time.

“How are you doing, mijo?” she asked, her voice full of care, and concern.

He hadn’t had the energy to take even the most basic care of himself. He had sat on the bathroom floor all morning, Owen had to shave his face for him, the numbness in his chest reaching his fingers and making even holding a razor an impossible feat.

But now he stood before Andrea, clean shaven and two seconds away from collapsing under the weight of his own grief. His limbs were so heavy, but the folded up piece of paper in his back pocket was the heaviest.

“I’m holding on,” he said. His own voice was rough around the edges, hoarse with the sobs and wails he had let out the night before as his father had tried to soothe him. There was something mortifying about your father standing in front of you and trying to help you decide which tie to wear to your fiancé’s funeral.

At the end of the day, black is black, and Owen chose for him.

“That’s the best we can do,” Andrea said softly, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I’m proud of you. I know he is too.”

“Thank you.”

Gabriel’s hug was briefer, it was silent, but he held TK like if he let up his hold even a little, then he too would disappear. TK was no idiot, he knew that the Reyes considered him family, and now he was the closest thing they had left to their son.

The thing about funerals though, was that TK never cried at them. So while everyone else had tears streaking their faces, TK’s eyes were dry as he joined the group of pallbearers. Gabriel, Judd, Paul, Carlos’ captain, his other partner–Nathan, and himself.

He hadn’t attended the viewing, too distraught to handle looking at his fiancé’s dead body again. Perhaps he should have, just to have anything in his memory that wasn’t how he looked in the ambulance, covered in blood and medical equipment.

But it wasn’t Carlos in the box, he couldn’t let himself draw that connection, if he did his legs would have given out from underneath him. He needed to be strong now, one last time, for Carlos.

He would be buried with his engagement ring on, his parents had insisted on it.

TK and Carlos would be joined by that much at least. Their promise of forever, they would never be united in matrimony but there would never be room in TK’s heart for anyone else, they were forever, a linking of souls more potent than an exchange of vows could ever be. Even if Carlos didn’t get to see it.

There was something about this aisle that felt like TK was being raked over hot coals, pain shooting up his legs with every step. It was so akin to the aisle he and Carlos had talked about, yet it was its antithesis.

Both journeys ended with a promise of forever, but that one was a devotion of love, this a marker of loss.

He still had to cancel the caterer.

That realisation hit him harder than anything else that day, his steps faltering. He hadn’t even realised that his father had slotted into place behind him until the weight above his hands, on his shoulder, lifted.

He was ruining Carlos’ funeral. No one would ever say that, they wouldn’t blame him, but he knew. Gabriel on the other side was holding it together and he was burying his son today, TK should have been stronger.

As soon as they set Carlos down the numbness came rushing back to meet him.

There was a simple monotony to everything, so many eulogies given. Those by friends, by family, by coworkers. All telling stories of how Carlos’ existence had touched their lives and changed it for the better. There would never be a greater display of how much people loved Carlos Reyes.

TK’s own wasn’t anything special. He was watching himself from outside his body as he told a room full of people–mostly strangers–many tales of the man he loved more than life itself. He told them how Carlos had saved him more times than either of them had thought, how those deep brown eyes and that unimaginable kindness for a stranger had allowed him to rebuild himself in Austin, had made it possible for TK to want to live again. He confessed, hand tightly clenched on his necklace, Star of David hanging between his fingers, that although he had never been easy to love, Carlos’ patience had been unwavering, he had never given up on TK even when he gave up on himself.

He regaled them with the tale of his father finding out about their situationship because Carlos visited him while he was in a coma. How despite not knowing where they stood, he still couldn’t bear to be away from TK when there was so much unknown, how much he had feared to lose him before they were anything.

“Never in my life has anyone loved me like Carlos,” TK stated simply, it was a fact. Nothing could ever compare to the experience that it was to be loved by Carlos. “I never thought I could deserve that kind of love, but he showed me that I not only deserved it, but that it would be a given for the rest of time, that he would love me like that forever. I will never stop being grateful for him, I will never stop loving him. I am grateful to have been allowed to be loved by him, I just wish we could have had more time.”

There were flashes of the Chinese place on Spring Street as Owen all but forced TK to sit at the dining room table, shoving a plate of food under his nose–some kind of pasta dish. But it wasn't Chinese and there wasn't a pair of chopsticks in his hand and Owen wasn't his mother.

"Eat something, please." He sounded desperate. TK didn't dare meet his eye.

"I'm not hungry," TK said, setting down the fork he hadn't even noticed his father pressing into his hand.

"I know you're not, but you have to eat."

TK stayed silent, not really looking at anything, his head angled towards the table. There was nothing he could say that would dissuade his father, but the very idea of eating anything made him feel like he was going to be sick. Nausea had been his constant companion for weeks now, there was something about his current situation that was just deeply sickening. When he thought about Carlos for too long, he often found himself curled around the toilet, usually with Mateo's comforting hand on his back.

"Please, TK,” his father started again. “You haven't eaten."

"I have."

"Not enough,” Owen said. “When was the last time you ate a meal?"

TK shrugged, his eyes still trained on the plate in front of him. He didn’t even have a concept of how much time had passed between anything, the haze of grey blurring it all together. He hadn’t so much as felt a hunger cue since he lost Carlos. Grief was the ultimate appetite suppressant.

"TK,” his father sighed, TK hadn’t paid close attention to him lately but he seemed exhausted, “you can't keep this up. I can't watch you kill yourself."

"Why not?" TK's voice was soft, hollowed out and emotionless.

"Because it's not what he would have wanted."

"We'll never know what he wanted, because he's dead." The word stung, like poison on his tongue. He wished he could spit it out. He realises, numbly, that this is the first time he's said it out loud. Carlos was gone, lost to TK, not here, but never had he said the words ‘Carlos is dead’.

He didn’t even have to look at his father to watch his expression fall, he’d seen it so many times in his life that it played in his head. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. He's dead, I'll never know what he wanted."

"He would want you to live, TK. He loved you, hell, I guarantee you he still does. Don't let a terrible accident kill you too, he would never want that."

It had been weeks now. Weeks without Carlos, weeks since TK last felt like he was a person. He hadn’t gone back to work, the idea of seeing the ambulance again twisting his insides until he was eventually sick.

He could barely stand on his feet, let alone do his job. Tommy would never allow him to try anyway, he can’t take care of patients if he can’t take care of himself.

But he didn’t care about that. Everything in his world stopped turning the second Carlos died and he was left, alone in the back of the ambulance.

"I know you can't see it right now, but there is still so much to live for, TK."

TK sighed, pushing the plate away from him. He couldn’t even try to eat now if he wanted to. "Like what?"

"The 126, your job, your team, your baby brother, me; you still have us TK."

He knew that his father was just trying to give him something, anything, to hold onto. He needed a lifeline if he were ever going to climb out of this hole, but he didn’t grab hold of anything he was offered. As far as he was aware, this hole was his life now, and nothing beyond it would soothe the pain inside of him.

He didn’t need a lifeline, he needed to go back in time and somehow change the outcome of the day that ruined his life. That was the only way he would be able to carry on, only if he had Carlos by his side.

"I don't want any of that. I just want him."

He was crying now, for the first time in days he actually had the energy to cry. Hot tears ran down his face as any of his attempts to speak were reduced to sobs. The air shifted, no longer bearing the strict worry of his father, as the older man rounded the table and took TK in his arms.

Neither of them spoke. Owen just rubbed TK's back as he sobbed–as if he were holding his young son, and not a fully grown man. He cried like a child though, the kind of tears only shed when this is the worst pain you've ever experienced. When he was four it was stubbing his toe on the edge of the counter at the firestation, when he was twenty-eight it was the loss of his soulmate.

He would never cry like this again, no pain could ever compare.

“I went back to work today,” TK said, leaning his head back until it rested against the stone behind him. He fiddled with the bouquet of flowers in his hands. It felt weird to talk to the open air like this, he didn’t even look at the headstone.

He knew what he would see, the inscribed words, he’d traced his gaze over them a million times. At least this way he could close his eyes and pretend he was leaning against Carlos.

It was bittersweet. He knew he would never get to touch Carlos again, but at least he could come to the shady corner of the cemetery and pretend, even if for a short while, that they were together again.

Wherever Carlos was, was home to TK.

“I’m surprised Tommy let me come back. Last time I stepped foot in the ambulance I had a panic attack so bad no one could get me out of the bunk room for an hour. Then Dad had to drive me home. I wouldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t stop seeing you there,” he admitted, his voice surprisingly strong. It hadn’t been embarrassing to admit his weaknesses to Carlos in a long time. It was another life in which he would have hesitated about saying any of this, to anyone.

He pulled a few of the pink petals from the tallest flower in the bouquet. He couldn’t remember the name. It was just to swap out the old bouquet, the white rims of the stargazer lilies already going brown at the edges, their stems losing their firmness. He wonders idly who brought them. Carlos’ grave was a frequented site, he was loved by many, missed by even more. “But today went well, I did more driving than anything. Tommy wants me to ease back into it, which is fine.”

“I miss you,” he said, his voice breaking as the tears came back. They always did. He feared he would never even be able to utter Carlos’ name without crying, but it made sense. At least it proved to himself that he was still hurting so deeply over his loss, that he wasn’t moving on too quickly.

“I know you can’t say anything, but thank you,” he muttered around his tears. “I never told you enough, you know, when you were here.” He still couldn’t say it. He doubted he ever would try to again. “But I really don’t think I would’ve made it this far without you. Even when you’re not here you give me the strength to keep living.”

TK pulled his knees up to his chest now, setting the bouquet down on the ground next to him. “I’m eating again, much to my dad’s relief. He wanted me to tell you ‘thank you’, from him. I really scared him there for a while. Which I understand, I wasn’t even trying to stay alive, all I was doing to prevent myself from dying was breathing.

“I’m doing better now, I think. I’m still not okay, far from it, but I’m trying. I even got lunch with Marjan and Paul yesterday. They weren’t very subtle, they catered it to me: we got boba and mostly just walked around town. Then we got sushi. It was nice; I missed them. I know they were worried about me too.”

He didn’t think he’d spoken this much since Carlos died.

Sans his eulogy, every conversation he had was stilted and short, he lacked the energy to talk to people, even his father. Most of his life lately had been lived in silence, everyone else taking it upon themselves to fill in the conversation.

It was nice. They all understood that he would need a lot of time before he was normal again, if that ever happened, and they never even hinted at anything that meant he was going too slow. No one urged him to get over this or pushed him to do something he wasn’t ready for. Healing from this would take the rest of his life and his family understood and respected that.

They missed Carlos too. They always would. But just because Carlos wasn’t around anymore didn’t mean that TK was alone.

He had felt like it for so long, the pain and darkness seemed never ending. He was still in it now, but he saw the light at the end of the tunnel, he would make it there eventually. With the ring on his finger, he would take Carlos there too.

Forever didn’t start at a wedding, it had started in the middle of the night, drenched in rain when TK and Carlos had first met.

“I just love you.”

TK smiled softly, opening his eyes to look up at the sky, a bright blue with white clouds rolling past. Sunlight filtered through the tree foliage that draped over Carlos’ grave.

“But you already knew that.”

#max.doc #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tarlos fic #userkimmy #reyesstrand #actuallysara #theatrevicki #userac #tuser paige #jazzyjess #userbones

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