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"This will be a good change for us, TK."
It's been the same spiel for the last couple of days that they've been getting settled under the heavy, lingering Texas heat, and at this point his dad's words barely break through TK's daydreams. He appreciates the sentiment—hell, they're both desperate to stop thinking about the painful final nights they spent back home—but there's little he can do to really focus, lately.
He'll go on midnight runs, music blaring loud enough that he doesn't have to think about anything but his route, and he even offers to throw a sledgehammer around at the station to work out some of the unsettled restlessness that constantly simmers under his skin, but he finds that more often than not, his mind's drifting off somewhere else completely. And now, TK vaguely knows they're driving to...somewhere, to check on the last of the station's renovations, he thinks, but he's lost in his own thoughts.
As per usual.
It's all flashes of the same night over and over and over again, taunting him as he remembers those words, spoken like a shameful confession by the man he thought he'd be spending the rest of his life with, cutting sharp like a knife as he'd broken the silence of TK's mental pep-talk as he prepared to propose to Alex. It taunts him, I'm in love with my trainer, and in his head the words rearrange themselves into one underlying statement: you aren't good enough. He's tormented by the fact that he can't bring himself to forget—he remembers, everything, and it makes him want to claw out of his own skin.
Afterwards, storming out of the restaurant, TK thought he'd cry. That he'd want to lash out, that he'd want to scream, that he'd want to punch something. Instead he just felt—he feels tired. Numb. Like someone scooped out his love and life and willpower and left him hollow and ragged. He doesn't remember swallowing down the pills, doesn't even remember getting home, but the pain still latches onto him like a vicious vice. And despite the genuine excitement he feels at the idea of rebuilding a firehouse, and the refreshing change of pace of living somewhere new, with no memories attached to every landmark or lurking behind the corners he'd travelled since childhood, he still feels that urge, that craving to just feel something, and, and—
"—TK? You with me?" There's a pause, before his dad presses on. "Are you okay, son?"
Owen Strand is a perceptive man, and that coupled with his determination to rectify his role as a good father to make up for lost time results in a keen sixth sense when it comes to knowing when TK's mind is elsewhere, or when he's focusing too hard on negative thoughts. And TK usually appreciates it, because his dad's also his boss, and it's comforting to have a captain with a good head on their shoulders, but TK's still trying to avoid the serious talks. He's pretty sure he's had enough of them for a lifetime, thank you very much, especially after waking up to a room full of people he worked with every day as they restarted his heart, their eyes on him as he gasped for air and emptied the contents of his stomach on his cold apartment floor, his dad clutching at him desperately.
So yeah. No more life-changing conversations. All TK wants is for things to go back to normal—for things to just be better.
Since he's gotten good at it, TK forces a small smile. He waves his hand flippantly before reaching for his iced coffee, swirling the contents around just to hear the ice cubes clink against the cup, always needing to keep his hands busy, as he insists: "I'm just peachy, dad."
Owen huffs at the affliction of his voice, at the forced southern accent, and his dad reaches over to grab his green smoothie. TK catches him smiling, though, and he considers it a success. It eases some of the building tension in his chest, because the last thing he wants is to worry his old man. He'd done that enough as a kid, feeling the pressure of his parents' divorce, and as a twenty-year-old entering rehab. These small moments where he can just be enough of a little shit to make him smile is all TK really needs. He also needs to keep the limelight off of himself for a little bit, just so he can have some room to breathe.
So he gets his dad to fill the rest of their drive with small talk about the renovations for the firehouse he's fine-tuned over the last week; they talk about the appeal of different paint colours that look awfully similar to TK, and they eagerly consider the promise of the new recruits they're meeting with this afternoon. Eventually the Jeep slows to a crawl as they pull up in front of the station, and TK's taken aback by the changes that have already been made. It looks like there's some life here, no longer tomblike how it was when they first staked the place out. He remembers dust clinging to every surface and cobweb-covered mugs and dying flowers, so he's pleasantly surprised by the new modern layout and the natural light illuminating the space and the growing tribute to the lives that were lost six months ago.
TK follows a few steps behind his dad, walking in his shadow, so lost in his own thoughts that he almost smacks right into Owen's back when he stops dead in his tracks. TK mutters an apology, pulling at the neckline of his collared uniform shirt, dragging his eyes away from his dad's new office just in time to catch the look in the man's eyes.
"Listen, I know you're—you're going through some shit," Owen says frankly, and TK almost laughs, because some shit feels like the understatement of the century. But he contains himself, schools his features into the look that reflects calmness and acceptance that he's mastered over the last seven days, and he lets his dad continue, feeling steadied by the hand on his shoulder. "But you're so strong, kid. Stronger than I'll ever be."
TK swallows hard when his dad's breath hitches over so strong. Something flashes in his dad's eyes as he says it, and TK feels a pinch behind his ribs, that dreading feeling that there's something wrong. His voice is quieter than he wants it to be when he mumbles, "Dad—"
He can't finish. TK shakes his head as his eyes dart away, looking toward the exposed rafters, the remaining strips of painter's tape under the window frames. When his gaze refocuses on his dad, Owen's already pulling him in for a hug. He doesn't want things to get too serious and bleak like they did that night his dad told him about their planned move, but this—this is something he loves, something his dad knows he loves, and TK sinks into it, thinking back to childhood when he was certain his dad's hugs possessed superhuman abilities.
"I just really hope you'll give all of this a chance, TK," Owen says, after a few moments have passed. His watch beeps because they really need to get to those interviews, but they let the hug last for a few more seconds, some of the unease managing to unfurl itself in TK's core. "Besides, you never know. This place might be just what you need."
It takes seventeen days.
He's started keeping track again, determined to regain the years of sobriety that was lost in one night; determined to reshape his life. It's a ritual, now, marking off the days as they pass him by, each one like a notch in his belt.
But anyway. It takes seventeen days for him to actually admit to himself that he's growing fond of the new life he's started here in Austin.
He's trying not to let it get to his dad's head that he has, admittedly, fallen in love with the team; even if he still feels like he's walking in uncharted territory everywhere else in the city, and even if he's only really ventured out to the community centre his AA meetings are held in and the modest office building his therapist practices out of, he knows deep down that at least he has the firehouse as a sure thing. He has Marjan, and her laughter and constant rush of adrenaline and sparkling look of mischief that rivals his own; he has Paul and his wisdom and his sarcasm and Mateo and his enthusiasm and jokes. In some hypothetical way, he even has Judd, though their relationship is still a little rocky. They're all so close now that TK's been thrown a well-meaning told you so look from his father on more than one occasion.
Which.
Whatever.
"So, everyone's on for tonight, right?" Marjan looks around the kitchen after she finesses the coffee machine into the setting she wants, everyone else picking at the vegan pastries Owen's started bringing in as a Friday tradition.
When mostly everyone offers a noncommittal hum, Paul taps his palms against the kitchen island. "Well I, for one, can't wait to get my hoedown on."
He grins at Marjan, pulling some dance move that's half side-step, half an overly-dramatic tilt of his invisible cowboy hat, resulting in Marjan's snort of a laugh and Judd's indignant grumble. TK snickers behind his mug of coffee, all of them sharing knowing looks with one another as Judd looks about ready to start up yet another lecture.
It's this, specifically, that TK loves: the back-and-forth, the teasing banter, the friendly camaraderie that has now spread to fully include Captain Blake and her paramedic team. TK got along decently enough with his crew back in Manhattan, but he's realizing that it doesn't even come close to this, this sudden rightness that has blossomed between them all. After their first couple of nights working together, Michelle had invited them all to a local honky-tonk that's become a staple in their weekly post-shift unwinds—and tonight's no exception.
He's actively been keeping himself busy enough to not think about New York, and Alex, and just about everything else that he's filed away in a box in the back of his mind. TK tries to keep himself occupied; that numbness is still there, just tamed and dormant, and if keeping himself from poking at it like it's some wild beast is only possible by working himself ragged on shifts, and pulling stunts that he probably shouldn't just to feel that rush, or keeping his thoughts focused on rescues and going to meetings and maybe having just enough time to eat a meal with his dad before crashing, then, well. So be it.
But he's trying. His dad sees it, and knows it, and TK doesn't need to do it for anyone but himself but it's good to know he's not stressing him out too much anymore. And TK figures that a night out with the team can't ever hurt anything, so he confirms that he's in, piping up in time to save Paul from one of Judd's history-of-Texas lessons. It turns out he would've been interrupted anyway, though, because just as the last of the coffee has been all but inhaled, the alarms start blaring throughout the station.
They're sent to a small structural fire, and after that the day just seems to run pretty much non-stop.
TK groans around a forkful of Paul's famous rotini, because of course the alarms would go off again just as they all managed to sit down for dinner. Everyone else grumbles a bit too, as it's always extra painful to give up on the chance to eat when it's something home-cooked, and they all take a few seconds to shovel in as many bites of their food as they can while they stand up and push away from the table. While they pull on their gear, Judd relays what's come through from dispatch; a multi-vehicle pileup, likely brought on by the sudden downpour that started up twenty minutes ago and has yet to slow down. They're told that it's a total shitshow, basically, and they're one of the many units being called in to assist.
Owen divides them up into smaller teams with their own tasks once they're in the rig, his voice calm and commanding as ever through their headsets. Marjan offers TK her fist when they're paired off; he winks at her and follows through, bumping their knuckles to complete the fist bump, before turning his gaze to watch as the rain splotches against the window as their sirens wail.
When they arrive, none of them are surprised that it's a complete mess; there are five vehicles at the heart of the accident, all decently destroyed, but there are other cars that clearly got caught up in everything, too. There are several ladder trucks with different station emblems parked at the scene, blocking off most spectators while leaving enough space for ambulances to arrive and peel away as they need.
"Alright, you know the drill," Owen's voice is straining to be heard over the commotion and consistent heavy rain falling around them. As they all file out of their seats, his dad heads over to talk with APD and another fire captain, and TK shares a look with Marjan, the two of them already working on the same wavelength. They hike up their hoods and grab supplies and within seconds, they're bounding off to the heart of the accident.
Their main orders had been simple: help with basic triage while paramedics tackle the serious injuries. But as they're sucked into the swarm of first responders and witnesses and injured people, it's clear that they'll be doing pretty much whatever's needed of them at any given moment. And this is what TK thrives off of—this is what he's good at, so he takes it all in stride, even when a bleeding woman runs and practically crashes right into them.
"Ma'am, hey, we're AFD. We're here to help," TK says, while Marjan steadies the woman. "Can you tell us your name?"
"Louise," she stutters, her eyes moving warily between the two of them.
"I'm Marjan, this is TK. Mind if we take a look at that?" Marjan asks, gesturing to the gash on the woman's forehead. Louise reaches up and touches the sensitive skin around the wound and flinches, almost as if she never realized she was hurt, and then she nods to them, eyes wide and scared. They quickly get her to lean her weight against the hood of a nearby car, pulling out gauze and tape and disinfectant. They'll look her over properly when they get her to the ambulance, but for now they clean and pack up the wound the best they can and check her ABCs and do what they need to keep her calm. Soon enough she's passed over to the paramedics, both of them rattling off all the information they know.
It goes on like that for close to an hour: pulling drivers from cars, offering their help where it's needed, listening to people play the blame-game as they sit and get patched up and stare down at the destruction before them. After a while, Paul radios in for a request for extra hands near the front of the accident, and TK replies that they're on their way, finding him and Judd and a couple of guys from another station positioned near a pickup truck that's badly damaged, it's front end smashed through the guardrail and into a tree, with branches and bits of warped metal pinning the driver to the seat.
Judd seems to be familiar with the guy who's talking, the only differentiation between them being the emblem of Ladder 102 stitched into his rain coat. But it's easy to listen to him as he talks—with his steady and confident voice, and the way he seems sure of himself in an inoffensive way, in a way that feels like he's truly passionate about what he does. The guy has a strong jawline, too, but TK doesn't let his mind drift there as he keeps listening to the plan.
"So our main goal is keeping him stable," the firefighter continues, after explaining that they've thankfully found the driver to be conscious and aware, close to being in shock as the pain has yet to really hit him yet. The guy's eyes are somehow warm in this situation, and they flit between all of them, effectively bringing everyone into the fold. "We administer something to keep the pain at bay, secure him, and work on all of those branches first. We can't risk—"
"—the metal, right?" TK jumps in, unable to help himself, eyes roaming over the driver's form before he drags his eyes back to the people around him. He's practically vibrating with adrenaline, now. "We cut what we can off of him just so we can move him, but keep enough in that we don't risk him bleeding out or suffering more internal damage."
A look passes over the other firefighter's face, something TK can't really name, but impressed comes to mind. He levels the other man with an impressed look of his own, just to keep them on equal footing. With a nod, the guy continues on TK's train of thought. "Worst case, we cut the seat out of the truck. Best case, we're able to cut through enough of that metal to get him on his side on a backboard for transport."
"I've got the saw," Paul pipes up, and with that, they all jump into action.
TK and Marjan squeeze into the backseat of the truck, avoiding debris and remnants of the tree, securing a brace around the driver's neck and keeping him talking until Nancy shows up to administer some morphine and keep tabs on his BP. The others work quickly with various tools to cut the man free.
They're able to pull off the best-case scenario, thankfully; Paul's able to get through enough of the protruding metal and rebar from the man's front and back so that they can pull him from the seat and carefully arrange him on the backboard, all before he's transferred to a stretcher and then is packed into the ambulance.
TK lets out a breath he'd been subconsciously holding in, Marjan squeezing his arm as they clamber out of the truck and stretch their legs once they're back on steady ground.
They all get caught up in the mix of firefighters fanning out to do one last sweep as they retreat to the trucks, and while TK catches another glimpse of those warm eyes, he's not paying attention enough to actually make his mouth catch up to his brain to call out to the guy, and talk to him. He's too preoccupied, anyway, playfully punching Judd in the shoulder and reporting back to his dad and carrying supplies to the rig. The rain has thankfully started to let up, the golden light of dusk shining down on them, and TK happily pulls his hood back and tilts his chin up and lets the last of the late-afternoon light warm his face.
When he's back at their own rig, stuffing things back into their proper compartments, his eyes drift from where the team is waiting around for the go-ahead to head back to the station after a long but successful couple of hours, and, well. TK's brain very eloquently and promptly short-circuits, his eyes now caught on the firefighter from earlier, properly visible without a hood in the way, and without the stress of a call keeping their attention occupied. And he isn't really sure what to do with himself.
TK watches as the man—Reyes, according to the name printed bright orange along the bottom of his turnout coat—chats with someone from his crew, axe propped up casually over his shoulder as they stow away their own equipment. He's infuriatingly beautiful, is TK's first thought, and despite the pressing matters at hand (namely, his job), he can't help but to spare several long glances at those brown eyes that had not too long ago been focused on him, and the way he seems to stand with a silent, dignified confidence; at the curls he pushes back from his forehead with slender fingers; at the bright smile that spreads wider as he laughs, accompanied by dimples. Dimples. This is it for TK: death by dimples, it seems like a good enough way to go.
Except that he can't—he can't let his mind go there, even if he still feels an electric current coursing through him from their interaction earlier. His heart still beats out to the pathetic and broken rhythm of Alex Alex Alex, the cruel and vile thought of not being good enough for anything besides being cheated on, for months, mixing in with the fact he still refers to the man in his head as his soulmate. It taints the part of his mind that thinks he might be ready for something new. TK tries to snap himself out of it, flashes of those last couple nights in New York leaving him with a sour taste in his mouth, and so he looks away, but not before he makes long eye-contact with Reyes, for the second time in an hour.
And that leaves TK with no choice but to abruptly turn his head, quickly enough that he nearly gives himself whiplash.
"Earth to TK," Marjan says, in a voice that suggests that this isn't the first time she's tried to catch his attention, waving her hand in front of his face. When his eyes finally focus on her, he remembers that she'd been walking back to the rig with him when he'd gotten distracted; she'd been wondering out loud about just how country it'd be getting tonight, and if she'd actually be able to record Cap gracing them with some of his moves this time around. And within the seconds it takes for him to come back down from staring at Reyes, she's clued into the fact that he was actively not listening to her, and then she's got that signature smirk set on her lips. "Well. What're you looking at?"
"Nothing," TK replies, too quickly. Lie. He feels his face get hot when she cocks a brow, but he's able to school his expression into one that's calm and collected.
"Sure," Marjan drags the syllable out teasingly, craning her neck to look around, probably trying to find whatever—or whoever, as she's probably figured out—has piqued his interest, which is the last thing he needs. So he slings an arm over her shoulders and steers them in the opposite direction, which would've helped him had Reyes not magically and suddenly appeared in their direct path.
"Oh," is all TK manages to say. Like the dignified person he is.
"You were pretty impressive out there, New York," Reyes says, offering him a hand to shake. Which he does, slowly letting his mind catch up, very aware of the fact that Marjan's smirk has grown into a full-on shit-eating grin that's slowly spreading across her face, as she slips away to give them some space.
Snapping back to the moment, and aiming on keeping his cool, TK responds: "I could say the same about you."
The smile fits on his face as easy as breathing. And then he cocks his head to the side.
"Wait, how did you...?"
Now it's Reyes' turn to be a little embarrassed, ducking his head down, and shit, he's adorable too? "News travels fast. Plus, uh, it helps that Ryder's a bit of a chatterbox when he's had a few rounds."
TK bites down on the inside of his cheek, pushing down any reservations as he nods. He can do this, the easy banter, the barest hint of something flirty, having perfected the look of unflappable composure many years ago. Before he can say anything else, though, someone calls out to Reyes, waving him along and mouthing hurry up!
"Well, duty calls," Reyes says, rubbing at the back of his neck. "See you around?"
"Totally," TK nods, feeling considerably less composed, watching as Reyes swiftly moves back to his team. Their shoulders brush for the briefest moment and TK inhales sharply before looking away, heading toward his own crew, only for Marjan to look at him and waggle her eyebrows. He sighs. "Don't."
"I would never," Marjan grins at him, lightly elbowing his side. "I get why you were distracted now, though."
"Shut up," TK says, though there's no bite to it as a smile of his own pulls at the corner of his mouth.
Marjan just laughs, and pulls him closer.
After the pileup, and the encounter afterwards, TK's more than ready to decompress for the night.
He's still a little riled up, the adrenaline pumping through him and shutting out any and all hints of sadness like always after a particularly successful day, and he welcomes the comforting sensation of the atmosphere of the honky-tonk closing in around him. After stepping through the doors, they flock to their usual table in the corner, all of them bumping elbows to sit close together and keep the conversations from earlier in the day going. Everyone's laughing loudly, joy oozing out of them as they order round after round and appetizers to share. His dad perks up when what he proclaims is 'his song' starts blaring, immediately slinking out to the dance floor. TK's grinning ear-to-ear the whole time.
He sips contentedly at his water with lemon, leaning most of his weight against the hip-height table, wondering how long he should let his dad embarrass himself before he fulfills his duty as a responsible son and saves him. The last time they were here, he remembers still feeling a little stiff in the new world around them, but feeling comfortable enough to admit to his dad that he could feel that they were on a good path. He remembers prophesizing under the twinkling lights of the bar, I think we're going to be just okay rolling off his tongue without a sense of doubt clouding his words. It still stands strong, he thinks, watching his old man as he twirls Michelle around.
And that's when he feels someone approach, and linger at his side.
"Hey," a deep, honey-sweet and familiar voice says, and TK turns his head and wonders just how small a world this is. He's come to this bar several times with the team now and he's never seen Reyes here before. And yet, here he is now, offering him a smile.
I think we're going to be just okay.
Composing himself, standing a little straighter, TK aims for casual as he jerks his chin in a nod and replies, "Hey."
A conversation isn't going to kill him, right?
But even as TK's preparing to chat, Reyes saves him from any awkward small talk by tilting his head toward the throngs of people now crowding up on the dance floor—TK's whole team included. "Wanna dance?"
You shouldn't, something deep in his subconscious tells him. But he decides to shut his mind off for a second, because he deserves something nice, like a dance with a gorgeous co-worker. And because it's what he wants and he figures it's harmless enough, he smiles, and nods. "Yeah."
And so they dance.
TK's only a little clumsy about it as he picks up on the steps, but Reyes is a good teacher, years of experience making it seem like he's at home out here on the dance floor. Soon enough he feels comfortable, turning when everyone else does, clapping his hands, getting closer to Reyes when he moves in. He sways his hips to the music, tilting his head back, losing himself in the moment. Eventually they're grinning like fools at one another as they fumble steps or turn out of time with the music; it's a moment with no expectations, and no perfection, and it's everything he needs. They keep one another on their toes as they shimmy their shoulders in unison. It feels good, to not have to think so hard about something for the first time in what feels like forever, and Reyes is just as beautiful up close, if not more, but he's also got a quick, witty mind and a dry sense of humour, if the quips he makes in TK's ear between songs are anything to go by.
He's like a magnet. And TK closes his eyes and lets the thrumming baseline keep him upright.
"We're gonna slow things down for a bit," the singer of the band drawls, over the occasional twang of a guitar riff. "So grab a partner and show 'em some love, folks."
TK drags a hand through his hair, and his eyes catch on Reyes'. As the song starts up, drunken couples take over the floor, getting handsy as the singer starts crooning. TK ducks in close and whispers in Reyes' ear, "I think I need some air."
They end up on the patio, where string lights loop around wooden posts and a few smokers huddle close on the steps. The music still manages to reach them here, spilling out the door that's been propped open by a brick, and TK leans against the railing and closes his eyes, the soothing warm breeze washing over him.
"So," Reyes says, after a beat, "I never actually got your name."
He's keeping a respectable—friendly—amount of space between them. TK finds himself pulled in two directions: one that wants him to get impossibly close, and the other that reminds him of nothing but heartbreak. Finding common ground, TK sticks out a hand like Reyes did before.
"I'm TK," he says, feeling sort of untouchable, sort of like he's walking on clouds.
The other man clasps his hand in his, and TK feels a strange coil of comfort run through him at the contact. "I'm Carlos."
"So, Carlos," TK finds he likes the roll of the other man's name on his tongue, "Is Austin a lot smaller of a town than what's advertised? What are the odds that we'd—"
He gestures toward the bar, and Carlos nods and his eyes sparkle.
"—Ah," Carlos stuffs his hands into his pockets, and TK doesn't watch the flex of his obscene biceps, nope. What's worse, though, is that his eyes drift up in time to catch a small smile on Carlos' face as he ducks his head, like he did when they first met, and it's so damn endearing it almost hurts. "Michelle, she's my best friend. She told me to come out tonight, because apparently it isn't healthy for me to keep to myself at home."
TK drums his thumb against the edge of the railing. "She's right."
"Always is," Carlos smiles at him, and there's a glint in his eyes now, suggesting that there's probably a story there. "I have to admit, we were skeptical when Judd kept bragging to us about his new team, but after today I can see what he's been talking about."
"Oh yeah?" TK jerks his brows up, the thought of Cowboy Judd boasting about them enough to make him feel a little bit brighter, a little more sure on his feet in this town he still feels so new in.
"We've always been close," Carlos explains, leaning against his elbows on the railing. "Our crews were tight-knit, a little competitive if anything, but after what happened—"
Carlos stops for a few beats, shaking his head as his gaze drifts up to the moon. TK's heart lurches into his throat; he'd seen all the reports on the news six months ago, and was briefed with even more horrifying detail when his dad told him about the job. The loss of a teammate just carves into your soul, and TK can't imagine that level of destruction happening all at once.
He looks down, scuffing his shoes against the ground, and glances back up when Carlos starts talking again.
"After he was out of the hospital and in the clear, we just brought Judd into the fold whenever we could get him to come out," Carlos explains. "Poker nights, barbecues, coming to places like this for a few drinks, you know. He's such a good guy, and it was so obvious that he was hurting, we couldn't just leave him like that. And Grace, his wife, shit. She was so grateful for some of the stress lifting up off his shoulders, even though it's what any friend would do, that she still brings us cobbler. It's to die for."
It only takes this conversation for TK to quickly understand that Carlos clearly loves hard and fast and out in the open, unflinchingly baring his soul. He's got this soft smile on his face the whole time, reminiscing in his memories, unapologetic about all of it, and it sort of makes a fluttery feeling erupt in TK's chest.
"The woman's an angel," TK finally says, because even though he's only met Grace Ryder a couple of times, he knows that it's an undying truth. "But it's—it's nice to know that he's always had people watching out for him."
"Well, it's nice to know he's in good hands now," Carlos says, gaze intense as his eyes focus on him. TK presses his lips together, and the conversation dips into a natural lull, which is when Carlos' eyes drop down to TK's mouth, for a fraction of a second, and it's so clear that the suggestion has been put out there; that the attraction is mutual, that he isn't imagining the current sparking up between them, and he almost gives in. Carlos is suddenly a breath away, and his eyes are closing, and TK—TK panics.
"I should—"
"Shit, I'm sorry—"
"I should get my dad home," TK stammers out, jutting a thumb over his shoulder to point at the door, where he can hear louder, bass-heavy music starting up again, the moment completely gone between them. Fuck.
"Yeah, of course," Carlos says, a flash of something apologetic and upset in his eyes, but he's so obviously trying to make it okay for TK's sake and he just—he hates it.
"Listen, I—" TK hesitates, because he hasn't even been fully honest with his team, yet. Not about Alex. And yet with Carlos, it feels natural for most of the truth to just come tumbling out. "I just got out of this long relationship back home, and the breakup was bad. Like, nuclear bad," he runs a hand down his face, trying to search for words. "I can't—I'm not ready. For that. I don't want to bring you into my mess."
There's another pause, Carlos quietly studying him. And then he slowly nods. "I get it, TK. I shouldn't have assumed—"
"It's okay, really," TK says, rubbing at the back of his neck before gesturing between the two of them.
He wonders if there's any way to make it so he doesn't have to push Carlos away completely. It might not be fair to either of them and he's only known the guy for less than a day but he...he feels comfortable around him, grounded, safe. The quick moments of conversation they shared were simple but sincere in the ways that count. Even if Carlos doesn't want to speak to him after this, he has to know that this is the first time since he got to Austin that he doesn't feel like he's—like he's running away from everything that's been chewing him up from the inside out.
Finally, TK says, "It was really nice talking to you, Carlos."
He's prepared for the swift breaking of ties. They'll encounter each other again at work, no doubt, but it doesn't have to be riddled with tension if this doesn't go right. But miraculously, Carlos doesn't push him away.
Before TK can run inside, Carlos holds his phone out to him. TK stares at it for a few long seconds, before he warily meets Carlos' eyes, only for the man to shrug a shoulder. "I don't want what I did—"
TK makes a disagreeing noise. Carlos keeps talking.
"I don't want it to ruin a chance at us being friends, TK," Carlos looks sincere as he speaks. "So can I get your number?"
He winces at his own wording, at the forwardness of it, and TK snorts, which pulls the tiniest of smiles from Carlos.
"In case you want to talk again," Carlos adds, and TK suddenly can't imagine not having Carlos in his life.
So he barely gives himself time to consider, well, anything. They're colleagues, he tells himself, they're on the road to being friends. And that's something he wants with Carlos. It might even be something he needs.
He takes the phone and puts his number in.
With a wave, TK makes it back into the bar, and once he's assured that everyone has a ride home, he wrangles his dad and gets him into the passenger seat of the Jeep after snagging the keys from his pocket. TK gets situated behind the wheel and taps his fingers along to the soft pop melody on the radio. He drives and drives and tries not to get too caught up in the way that Carlos had looked at him from the get-go, so open and trusting. They pull up to their house and he gets his dad in his bed and when he finally retreats to his own room, TK finds a text waiting for him:
hey, hope you got home safe.
It's such a damn simple message, but it's enough to get him smiling. And he doesn't want to think too hard about that.
A few more calls pass where they work alongside Carlos and the rest of his crew, which in turn leads them to all getting to know one another off-shift. In the end it's Judd who explains it to them; that before the accident and before the station was rebuilt from the ground up, the 126 had a long-standing, friendly rivalry with Ladder 102. At charity events and during games at department-wide cookouts and annual fire drills under the eye of the chief, it always came down to friendly bouts of competition between the two stations.
And who are they to go back on tradition?
From there on out, whenever they're all responding to the same call, the banter becomes an expected thing. The friendly rivalry turns into them all becoming genuinely close; they hang out at the bar and the drinking games run rampant and the attempts at playfully one-upping each other continues as they boast about their craziest rescues. And through it all, TK and Carlos gravitate toward one another, sharing exasperated looks, knowing that beyond this streak of competition, they're all growing into some weird, big, mismatched family. At first, Marjan had made eyes at TK about Carlos, but when he'd shed some light about his situation, she'd just punched his arm and lamented about his growing roster of beautiful friends, which he'd grinned about.
On calls, TK and Carlos end up working together so well it's scary, almost as if they've developed a language only the two of them understand. And it's only ever when there's a big enough rescue to warrant the need for a response from multiple units, so it's when they need to be on their A-game, and they never let one another down. They're completely in sync, competitive as the rest of them as they trip over one another to do the most dangerous rope-rescues, or come up with the most innovative plans to save those that needed them. But at the same time, they continue to get closer, and when TK's particularly on edge, Carlos just has this way about him that keeps TK grounded.
Above all, though, they talk.
Once he starts, it's borderline impossible for TK to stop. He's apprehensive, about the whole opening-up-to-someone thing, save for Marjan; he's just—he's still worried that this is some sick joke, that Carlos genuinely being interested in learning about him will eventually hurt him. But Carlos is warm and honest and listens intently, offering advice when it's needed because he's wise beyond his years, and so TK finds that everything comes spilling out of him. He constantly shows him there's no need to worry, and it reassures him more than anything. They're always talking, whether it's through their seemingly never-ending text thread or late-night calls when things are too heavy on their minds for sleep. They'll get dinner at Carlos' favourite food trucks or go dancing at clubs to let off steam, sometimes just seeking out somewhere quiet so they can vent.
It's easy to tell Carlos about New York when he asks, because the other man never presses him beyond what he wants to share, like he can read his mind, or something. They talk about coming out, and their families, and embarrassing high school memories. Carlos shares anecdotes about Judd that TK's absolutely storing away to hang over his head and it just...
It works. They work.
TK doesn't let himself think about anything beyond their friendship, though.
They're in a good place, they're past the near-kiss, and this is so beyond any connection he's had with anyone before. Even when his mind does drift to the rose-tinted possibilities of a future they could have, he gets too worried about destroying what's already between them; too worried about sucking Carlos into the turmoil he always seems to be at the centre of. Carlos is slowly becoming his best friend, and it's been too long since he's had someone like that in his life, someone he can just inherently trust, with his entire being. TK figures it comes down to Carlos being there for him, and TK being there for him in turn. It's enough.
And he refuses to fuck that up.
Bad days have the tendency to really knock him on his ass sometimes.
They're unexpected, but they happen, naturally. The numbness creeps back in and he can't shut it up and it leaves him reckless and restless so he doesn't turn to something worse. He thought he was in a better place with Judd, but a spat with him on-shift just piles onto the pressure that's building within him, like a cresting wave soon to wreak havoc. And it only gets worse when his dad starts getting more cryptic, hiding the truth about the most basic things, and TK knows there are better ways to go about this but—but he just needs to feel something.
It always comes down to needing to feel something.
The bar is just what he needs, dingy and just out of his usual comfort zone enough that he knows that there's something he can get up to. His nervous energy prods at him, keeps him focused. He's buzzing with it, the fucking thrill of doing something he shouldn't. He finds a couple of guys heckling the bartender, and he knows their type and knows what kind of quip it'll take to get under their skin immediately, and when the first swing comes TK's grinning as he ducks. He feels his heart-rate picking up, blood rushing in his ears as he's tackled to the ground after landing a punch of his own.
It doesn't go too far before the bartender threatens to call the cops, and a couple of patrons pull them off each other. TK leaves willingly, then, having gotten what he wanted. He should've known, though, that the moment the fresh air hits him when he steps outside, that it really didn't do much to help.
The numbness has been fed, sure, like a beast just simmering, flames ripping up his belly, and it's just enough but it also isn't all at the same time. He feels homesick and lost and too closed in all at once. He feels like shit.
TK considers what to do next as he stares down at his phone, the screen just a little too fuzzy, and his medic training kicks in and tells him he probably should get some ice or something, but there's no way he's stepping foot back in that place. The gravel crunches under his shoes as he paces, running his tongue absently over his bottom lip, pain flaring up and easing off within seconds.
He doesn't really want to call a Lyft; he doesn't want to deal with the judging glances in the rearview mirror at his bloodied face and bruised knuckles.
So he's left with two options. Three, maybe, but he knows that neither Marjan or Paul have cars of their own yet. His dad would make him talk about it. He'd mother-hen him and question him, and probably call his sponsor for him and force them to talk until the wee hours of the morning. He would be doing it for the right reasons, but it would still make TK feel small. Or angry. Or both. And he's trying to avoid worrying his dad. All he really needs is, well—he doesn't know what he needs. He doesn't know what he wants. Or, at least, he won't let himself accept what it is.
He needs someone that won't judge him or coddle him and will maybe, just maybe, be a good listener. And understand where he's coming from. And even though he hates feeling like a burden, he knows deep down in the recesses of his core that Carlos won't think he's one. It takes him until he's hit the call button and brought the phone up to his ear for him to remember that Carlos, like most people in their line of work, is fast asleep. Nights off are like breaths of fresh air, and he probably has work in the morning, and even if he doesn't, he always goes for a run at dawn, and he's going to ruin—
Carlos picks up on the second ring.
"I fucked up," TK says, in lieu of a normal greeting, but he guesses there's no normal greeting when it comes to calling the person who's sort of becoming your best friend at three in the morning, all while completely sober.
Instead of pointing out any of these things, which would be valid enough reasons for any of his friends back in New York to hang up, Carlos knows exactly how to bring him back down to Earth.
"Where are you?"
Instead of beating around the bush, TK sighs and tells him.
"I'm on my way," Carlos says, and TK can hear the faded sound of the rustling of a t-shirt being pulled on, of keys jingling, of an engine revving up. The immediacy of his reaction, his willingness to just jump in head-first at no personal expense—well, TK doesn't know what to think of all of that.
Raking his fingers through his hair, TK feels his mind going a hundred miles an hour, and he almost misses it when he's suddenly blinking against the brightness of headlights pointed at him, and then a familiar voice calls out to him.
"What the hell happened to you?" Carlos asks, sitting down next to him on the picnic table he's found, putting a hand on the side of TK's face to tilt his head toward him so he can get a better look. TK thinks it isn't too bad, all things considered; he has a split lip and some bruising around his eye, but it could've been worse.
"You should see the other guys," TK jokes, trying to pass it all off as no big deal, but Carlos shoots him a look and TK throws his hands up in mock surrender. "I was just—I was letting off steam, I guess."
Carlos stares at him, frown set into place, as he pulls a napkin from the wad in TK's hand. He'd been trying to wipe the blood away for the last little while, apparently ineffectively, as Carlos now gently wipes at the corner of his mouth until it's gone. This close, TK finds that it's hard to breathe.
"Thanks," TK mutters, when Carlos pulls his hand away. "I didn't mean for you to have to do this, y'know. I can take care of myself. I just needed—"
When TK stops, unsure of how to articulate everything swirling around inside him, Carlos squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. "I know."
There's another pause, as the rowdiness inside the bar starts spilling out more and more to where they're sitting, and they start to move toward Carlos' car.
"So, are you going to tell me what's going on?" Carlos asks, breaking the silence that's grown since they pulled out onto the road. "I mean, if it isn't me, you should talk to someone, TK."
TK's quiet for a few moments, picking at a loose thread on his black jeans. He almost doesn't say anything, but there's something so trustworthy about Carlos, and his therapist is always saying that the key to these things is talking them through. And so he finally sighs and keeps his eyes trained on his shoes as he says: "Before my dad and I left New York, I relapsed."
Carlos looks at him with wide eyes—no judgement, no fear, but almost something pained, as if it was the last thing he was expecting to hear—before he mutters, "TK, I—"
"No, it's okay," TK shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. "My dad's the only other person who knows about it. But I—I trust you, Carlos, and it's just—fuck. Ever since we moved here everything's just been so grey, no matter what I do or who I have to talk to. And I feel numb, all the time, and I just needed to feel something."
Voicing it out-loud makes it real, and TK swallows hard.
There's a beat, and he feels like he could cut the tension with a knife. He doesn't feel bad about admitting the truth, but he doesn't know if this will change things between them, or if—
"—Well, judging by that lip, I'd say mission accomplished," Carlos drawls sarcastically, and TK huffs out a laugh without realizing it.
"Asshole," he says, but he's still smiling as they drive back into the heart of the city. It's a relief, it's a—it's a confirmation to him that what they have, for whatever reason, is solid. As they head toward his house, Carlos turns down the music, and looks at him with seriousness etched into his features.
"Listen, TK," Carlos hesitates, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, eyes darting around as if he's searching for his words. "It means a lot to me that you trust me. You matter to us, to me, and I want you to know that I'm here for you. Whenever you need me."
TK opens his mouth to speak, before closing it just as quickly, pressing his lips together. Finally, he rubs at the back of his neck, feeling a little strain in his muscles when he does so, and, unable to settle on anything else, he whispers, "Thanks, Carlos."
"That's what friends are for, right?" Carlos replies, a half-smile forming as they pull up in front of the house TK shares with his dad.
The spot behind his ribs aches, as he plasters on a smile of his own. "Yeah, right."
He gets out of the car, and is pulled back when Carlos shouts out to him: "Have a good night, Rocky!"
His friend's expression is serious and unfazed until TK waves his middle finger at him, causing him to erupt into laughter.
"Yeah, that's not going to be a thing," TK says, between laughs, pausing for a second before he leans down to properly meet Carlos' eyes. "You're lucky I like you, Reyes. I'll see you tomorrow."
Carlos nods in confirmation, still smiling, eyes shining, and TK rolls his own eyes and laughs before he retreats into the house.
His lip doesn't sting as much anymore.
"Tell me something you've never told anyone," TK says, nudging his shoulder against Carlos' as they walk.
Carlos shoots him a look, before he scuffs his shoe against the ground. "I, uh, okay. I had an imaginary friend until I was like, nine."
Something warm curls up in TK's chest. "You can't just leave me hanging, man. I need all of the details."
"Brat," Carlos teases, but he's laughing as he tells him more, and it's all TK needs to be pulled away from his thoughts. Cluing in to the fact that it's helping, Carlos just keeps talking: about his childhood, about moving to Austin from the small town he grew up in, about the time his sisters got in trouble for cutting his hair without their mom's permission, about anything and everything.
After a while, TK scrubs a hand down his face. "Thank you, by the way. For doing this."
"Of course," Carlos whispers, their shoulders brushing again.
He remembers so vividly how everything earlier in the night played out, and how he'd been bone-tired from the long shift after the tornado but he'd run just the same to get to Carlos' place quicker. It keeps replaying in his mind, his own world coming down hard around him after his dad confirmed his worst fear. TK had told him he'd have his back, and he always would, but he'd needed to—he'd needed something to distract him, so he could keep himself together.
And after Carlos had wordlessly held him in a tight hug for minutes, hours, he doesn't know, he'd suggested they take a walk, and here they are, trying to distract him from his less than pleasant reality.
His brain is still caught up in it all—lung cancer, his dad's sick, his dad's dying, lung cancer—but Carlos catches on quick, and clears his throat.
"Tell me something," Carlos mimics TK's tone from before, and the night suddenly feels sacred under the inky violet of the sky, the warm caress of the full moon.
TK sighs, and considers it. He's gone by TK since he was a kid, only ever associating his full name with hospitals and his grandparents and his mom when he behaved in a way that warranted a full-name drop. But he knows he wants to get to know Carlos as much as he can, and Carlos seems, for whatever reason, equally interested in him. So TK folds his arms over his chest as they keep walking, and as he swallows down the bile at the thought of lung cancer, he admits: "My name. It stands for Tyler Kennedy."
"'Tyler Kennedy,' huh," Carlos looks at him softly, and TK can't help the way he scrunches up his nose when Carlos says it. The other man's observant, of course he is, and catches the less-than-thrilled look on his face. Carlos lightly nudges him in the side. "I don't have to use it."
The dam breaks.
Suddenly, he pulls Carlos in, both of them practically stumbling into the hug, the second of the night. TK feels a hand on the back of his neck, and he feels Carlos press their foreheads together. He tells TK that it's okay, that he's there for him, for the both of them, that the whole team will be. That it isn't the end of the world. Carlos' fingers scrape through the hair along his nape and the gentle touch is almost a shock to his system. His stomach turns with a feeling he can't quite place, and he can't remember the last time a friend just dropped everything to comfort him.
TK can't do anything about the fact that it—it feels like home.
He swallows hard, pulling away from the hug. He sets his shoulders, tugs his frown up into a casual smile. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and teasingly asks: "Weren't you telling me something about being prom king?"
Carlos groans, and TK grins, and they fall into step together. Like always.
"No, you're not allowed in here."
"That was literally one time, Carlos, and I had it handled—"
Carlos huffs a laugh, hip-checking TK as he moves past him to get a skillet. "You keep telling yourself that."
"Slander!" TK exclaims, turning his head when he hears Paul chuckle as he strolls into the kitchen.
"Do I even want to know?" Paul asks, easily moulding into their banter as he leans against the island. Carlos cocks a brow at TK, which leads to TK sighing as he throws his hands in the air.
"You start a fire once, and suddenly you're banned from the kitchen for life," TK says, playing up his disappointment just to egg Carlos on because he's aware of his own skills, and it's fairly limited to knowing his way around food delivery apps, and salads, and boxed mac 'n cheese.
"I have to say," Paul comments, looking appreciatively at Carlos as he drops some chopped veggies into the now sizzling skillet. "I'm siding with Reyes, here."
"Thank you," Carlos says, pointedly high-fiving Paul as TK dramatically heaves a sigh.
"I'll let you two have fun with the grunt work, then," TK says, but he's smiling, even as he's practically exiled from the kitchen. He can't be mad, not really. It's been a slow day—which, in the grand scheme of things, means it's been a safe day—and Carlos had texted him, itching for something to do, so he showed up at the station with some of the 102 that were also off-shift so they could all share a big family-style dinner.
TK loves hanging out with everyone, and makes one last quip about being their taste-tester should they need one, before he heads out and plops down on one of the couches, pulling out his phone. Marjan drops down next to him a couple of minutes later, a stack of reports tossed onto the coffee table, and she props her elbow against the back of the couch and rests her chin on her hand, looking at him expectantly.
"What's up, Marj?" TK asks, pulling his gaze from aimless Instagram scrolling when he realizes that she's still observing him.
"You're very chipper today," she comments, and TK shrugs. "It's a good look on you, pretty boy."
"You're so sweet," TK deadpans, and she grins, and shoves him lightly.
"Seriously though," Marjan's cool expression is betrayed by the soft smile that overtakes her face.
And TK—well, he does feel happy. He's talked everything through with Judd, and has found a big brother figure in him; his dad's been having nothing but positive responses to his treatment; the team's been nothing short of supporting of, well, everything. He's finally connected with his therapist. His group meetings still take a lot of energy out of him, but they're an open-minded bunch and they're accepting, and when the bad days come he finds solace in opening up to them. Ever since the night after the storm, he and Carlos have only gotten closer, practically attached at the hip, and TK's pretty sure he's the best friend he's ever had.
Tied with Marjan, of course.
So yeah. He's happy. Happy-ish. And he confirms it to her with a smile, and nod.
"I'm happy for you, TK," Marjan says, nudging him with her shoulder, and he softly smiles at her and tips his head to rest against her.
"Hey! I thought y'all were setting the table!" Judd calls out to them, and TK lovingly rolls his eyes before saluting the older man as he gets to his feet, pulling Marjan up with him.
When they're all sitting down a little while later, the whole team plus the four of them from the 102, it feels right. Ramona, the woman Carlos often finds himself partnered up with on calls, talks about the trip she and her wife took over the weekend with their two-year-old, and Mateo talks about the definitive pros and cons of horror movie remakes, and Carlos' cooking is delicious, as always, and is constantly raved about by everyone around the table. They all fit into the fold of what's been brewing since they all first properly met, and TK wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
"I have to say," Owen adds, when plates are being loaded up with second servings, Frank Ocean softly playing from someone's phone hooked up to speakers, "I don't think I'm ever letting you go, Carlos, especially if you keep us fed like this."
"Anytime, sir," Carlos insists with a bright smile, and TK's stomach twists, scared to find that it's a welcomed feeling.
His world comes close to crashing down around him for the second time in the span of months on an unassuming Tuesday night.
And TK fucking hates it.
They show up to the fire at the apartment complex in Hayes County because it was still burning hot and hard according to dispatch, and the 102 had requested backup, and the 126 had been wrapping up at an electrical fire a few minutes away. It takes the extra power of their hoses to tame the flames, but thankfully more than ninety percent of the tenants had already been found and retrieved.
"Anything else we can do to help, Captain?"
Owen gets along well with Captain Monroe, a stark difference to his interactions with the asshole who wanted to steal his job a couple of weeks back, and the two of them chat good-naturedly as they approach the 102's rig. TK glances over to Marjan who, like him, is assessing the roof of the building, and the swarms of people lingering around as they wait for loved ones or news about the state of their home.
The captain in question shrugs, and he gestures to the building with a gloved hand. "We've got three of our best doing one last sweep of the bottom floors, so if y'all want to get ready to assist with triage I'm sure my guys would appreciate the extra hands."
They jump into it fairly swiftly, not needing to be told twice, and TK clenches his jaw in concentration as he and Judd help hold down a thrashing woman with superficial burns, while paramedics try to push something for the pain into her arm. From there, they move on to talking to a couple who are each clutching a little dog in their arms, and then they head over to assess the well-being of the large group of people that had been pulled from the building. There's so much work to be done that TK doesn't realize how long it's been since they first talked with Captain Monroe, and how Carlos should be around here somewhere, and maybe he can get a moment to tease him about finding another karaoke bar tonight.
(It's one of his favourite moments from recent memory; a handful of them not quite ready to go home after their usual post-shift hangout at the honky-tonk, and Mateo suggesting a place with karaoke. They'd spent hours there, and a slightly tipsy Carlos belting his heart out to nineties pop ballads with Michelle lightened TK's mood in a way that he'd never really experienced before).
TK's so lost in the memory that he almost misses the sudden tension building in the air, and the rising voices around him, and the general commotion that usually happens whenever shit's about the hit the fan on a call. As he and Judd move back closer to where the teams have huddled up around both captains, he catches something about too much pressure over the radios, and all of a sudden there's a blast that sends glass and debris falling everywhere. TK and Judd duck on instinct, and when he taps Judd's arm to ensure he's okay, they make it over to Marjan and Paul, who are brushing dust from their fall off of their coats but seem to be okay otherwise.
TK does a mental headcount of both teams, and dread builds in his stomach as he watches Captain Monroe shout into his radio, demanding a response from inside the building. He hears him call out to Martinez, and Jones, and then Reyes, and TK's breath catches in his throat when there's radio silence from all three of them.
"TK—" Marjan warns, evidently listening in to the other captain as well. "Hey, you can't—"
He doesn't even realize he's moving, but Judd's suddenly got a hold on him before he can get too far.
"Let go of me, Judd," TK says, trying to resist against the taller man's grip on his shoulders.
"Tell me, kid, what exactly are you gonna do?" Judd asks, words cutting deep but, above anything else, they're right. "You know as well as I do that you going in there ain't gonna help anyone."
"I could—"
"We're gonna stand here," Judd says, now speaking with a soothing tone, the fuzziness underneath his gritty cowboy exterior poking through. "And wait for instructions. Doing something stupid will only put someone else in danger, right?"
TK hates that he has to agree. It's spoken through his teeth when he mutters, "Right."
And so they wait the painstakingly long minutes as another group from the 102 approaches the building, and finally they get a response from Martinez, who's supposedly carrying Jones out. And TK feels his blood boil when Carlos' voice comes through, tinny but there.
"Firefighter Reyes, this is an order. Immediate evacuation, now," Monroe's voice is demanding, all of them clearly worried about the threat of a secondary blast. TK sees the worry in the captain's eyes, though, the same look his dad pulls all the time.
"Negative, Cap," Carlos replies, and TK could really go for breaking something right about now. He wonders if this is what it's like for his team, when his recklessness leaves them with bated breath. Judd holds his ground, his own jaw clenching in worry for the men he's known for years, and he seems to sense the shift in TK's mood, because he tightens his hold on him. Their heads snap in unison to follow the sound of Carlos' voice as he finally continues. "I've got a child in here, and I'm getting her out."
"Any signs of life?" Monroe asks, and it's the question they all hate but have to consider. TK gnaws so hard on the inside of his cheek he's sure he's going to have a bloody mouth by the end of this.
Carlos audibly sighs into the radio. "No—"
"Then you're out, Reyes, now," Monroe demands, but when Carlos just insists he's getting the kid out either way, TK wants to yell at him. The captain does all the yelling for him, thankfully, but TK knows the mindset Carlos is in, knows that pull to save someone that needs him, even if it puts himself at risk. He knows that pain that hits like a bullet to the heart when he loses someone, that rawness that just permeates for days and days after the call is over. He knows that he'd do anything to avoid that, and Carlos is just as headstrong, just as caring, just as determined.
TK still hates it though. And he's starting to understand his dad's countless comments about his stunts during shifts being the cause of the grey hairs he's apparently too young to be getting.
It feels like an eternity.
Martinez comes out with Jones thrown over his shoulder, and the paramedic team immediately gets to work and Martinez starts talking about going back in for Carlos even though his oxygen levels are weak and everyone on the team is quick to pull him back. They don't hear from Carlos for a long time, and even though most of the flames have been quelled there's still smoke inhalation and a fucking pantheon of other possible injuries to worry about, but when TK's considerably closer to ripping his hair out as he paces, there's commotion because—because he's there.
Carlos is in the doorway of the building, and he's panting, and he's got a little girl in his arms and there's a wail of relief from a woman being held behind the barricade, and TK feels like he's frozen in time as everyone around him jumps into action. The girl—she's alive, miraculously, and the paramedics load her up in the ambulance with her mom to get her checked out at the hospital, but they're confident she'll be just fine, and that's because of Carlos, and it's too much.
It's especially too much when Carlos beelines for him, everyone else strolling away because they all apparently know how deep their friendship runs, and he's sweaty and covered with soot, helmet tucked under his arm. Carlos offers him a smile like nothing happened, and TK can't hold it in any more.
"You could've died," TK blurts out, his voice cracking with unexpected anger, and Carlos' gaze is heavy on him like always, but there's something new in the glimmer of his eyes. It hits TK hard, and he can't—he doesn't want to think about that. About losing Carlos. He feels eyes on them but his heart's lurching up to his throat and his fingers clench in and out of a fist. He steps closer to Carlos, and can't help the way his voice shakes. "You could've fucking died, Carlos, holy shit—"
"TK—"
"You can't do that to me, Carlos, I—" TK steps close, way too close for friendly, and his chest is heaving. Carlos' eyes are soft and understanding as they rest on him, but there's still something heavy underneath.
"It's my job, TK," Carlos steps forward, tone matching TK's as there's a twinge of something hard in his voice, and TK's mouth goes dry. "You would've done the same."
TK's jaw clenches and his hands tremble at his sides and he doesn't—he's just as compelled to shove him away as he is to pull him close and never let him go, and check him over for injuries, and that scares the shit out of him. A silence stretches between them, riddled with tension and words unspoken but hanging in the air, nearly tangible.
"Boys, everything alright?" Owen asks, voice loud enough to break them from their trance. He steps purposefully between them, sparing a glance to both of them. The look he throws TK is laced with a certain knowingness that TK feels dig into his chest like a knife. Both of them are breathing heavy, and TK swallows hard, sparing a glance to his father before he watches Carlos blink a few times before nodding and stepping away, without a word for either of them.
And it's on TK's mind for the rest of the shift.
He knows—well, he gets it, he gets that they're both in one of the most dangerous professions someone can choose and it's something they do because they love it, but he isn't used to that threat that just simmers like a live wire about to go off. And it hits him later, when he's showering and then packing his bag and avoiding eye contact from the rest of the team that he didn't even really look at Carlos, before. He couldn't. His heart is still racing with something untamed between them, that's been there for months.
And TK knows that he won't be sleeping tonight, he's too pent up with a weird mix of emotions moving through him and setting every nerve aflame. He's too worried about his friend's wellbeing and too scared about the fact that he doesn't know what he'd do if he lost Carlos like that, just, gone in the blink of an eye. It would rip through him. It would destroy him. If it happened before he could tell him—
Restlessness laps at his heels on a good day, and now he's jittery and all he wants is. Well.
All he wants is to be so close to Carlos so that he knows that he's okay, so that he knows he's safe. His heart burns hard in his chest and that longing—that need to be close to him doesn't go away, it's always been there. And so he pulls out his phone. TK's thumbs hover over his screen, his mind clouding over with thoughts that this is a bad idea, but he just—he can't ignore it.
He sends the text.
can i come over?
please do.
TK stuffs down the tidal wave of emotions ripping through him as he orders his Lyft, and he probably annoys the hell out of his driver with the amount of incessant foot-tapping he does, but he can't help it. He hears blood rushing in his ears as he approaches the front door, and he doesn't even know what he's going to say yet even as he knocks.
Carlos opens the door, and it's like the comforting moments before a thunderstorm: the gentleness of warm, shifting air, and those first few raindrops. TK steps into the house the same as always. But it—it feels different, charged, the memory of the night and how it all could've gone wrong in a fucking instant latching onto them.
"Are you—" TK's voice cuts off, sharp, and he roams his eyes over Carlos.
He's got a well-worn AFD shirt on, sleeves rolled against the strain of his biceps, and sweats, and he looks comfortable and beautiful and warm and TK just—he wants to shut his mind off, for a little bit, as dangerous as that may be, so he steps even closer.
"I'm okay, TK," Carlos says, voice dropped down to a whisper, as if he knows all the thoughts whirring around in TK's mind. He's always been able to read him, it's nothing new, but the way he does it without thinking sets off something inside TK. "Are you?"
"This isn't—I'm checking on you," TK feels his heart racing, and Carlos shrugs.
TK's chest is heaving now. The look on Carlos' face leaves him with a thrill of want shooting through him, something he's forced down for months now bubbling to the surface, and he feels like he's on fire as he steps even closer, intentions clear as he's unable to stop himself from flicking his eyes between Carlos' eyes and his mouth. There's the lick of flames against his heart, the panicked feeling of losing him too soon crawling up his spine, the realization sinking in that he doesn't want to even know what a life without Carlos would be like.
Carlos' gaze goes soft, and then he looks at him like he's something worthy, and TK's throat goes dry.
(It isn't the yelling match he was expecting, something he's glad for, because who knows what things he'd admit under high-tension and the feeling of emotions bubbling over).
"TK," Carlos says, his voice punched out of him, and when they're a breath apart, he rests a hand on the side of TK's neck, his thumb dragging against the stubble of TK's jaw, and it's enough to make him almost crumble. "I don't want to push you into something."
He remembers that first night, their almost kiss. TK swallows.
"You aren't," TK insists, because he knows that—that Carlos is always there for him. That he's a sure thing in his fucking uncertain life. And after it all he so desperately wants, in a way he never has. "Is this okay with you?"
Carlos stares at him, practically baring into his soul, and he urges forward, voice dropped low. "Can I kiss you?"
TK doesn't answer; he just fits a hand around the back of Carlos' neck and drags him down until their mouths, finally, connect. Carlos kisses him back instantly, pressing him against the door, a solid line of heat pressed against him as TK sets out with one mission in mind: devour. Adrenaline courses through them both, and he already wants more when he pulls back for a nano-second to breathe. Their noses brush, and it takes no time at all for their mouths to slot together again, giving and taking all the same.
It's overwhelming, finally touching Carlos like this; it lights practically every inch of his skin ablaze.
There's a certain gentleness to the way he moves, which fucks with TK's head because at the same time, he knows exactly how to use his strength. They press each other against walls in their haste to get their clothes off, Carlos' hands strong and sure as he guides them back to the bedroom, but he makes sure to take his time, like he's trying to savour the moment. TK licks into Carlos' mouth and Carlos just cradles the back of TK's head; when TK lets his hands roam all over the bare expanse of Carlos' chest and abdomen, Carlos presses their foreheads together, their chests rising and falling in sync as they breathe like they're one.
TK knows he's strong, he has to be for his job, but Carlos—Carlos is practically carved from stone, god-touched, and when his dimples make an appearance as he huffs a laugh when TK gets his head caught in his shirt, his heart swoops down to his stomach. He's never met anyone like Carlos, he's never been with anyone like Carlos, and he feels like he'll never have the time in the world to explore and cherish every part of him.
They stop for a moment, breathing hard as their kisses turn sloppy, Carlos pressing him against the wall near his kitchen, his hands gingerly cupping TK's face as his thumbs drag gently over his cheeks. TK anchors himself with his hands splayed over Carlos' hips, fingers attached to the enticing heat of exposed skin, and it should feel like it's too much, it's too vulnerable between them, but there's never that moment of hesitation. He tips his head back when Carlos starts mouthing downward.
"You're beautiful," Carlos hums, lips dragging down his jawline.
TK will never admit to the sound that escapes him, but he manages to somehow keep his cool as he lifts one hand up to card his fingers through Carlos' curls wild and unrestrained and perfect. "Coming from you."
Carlos fondly shakes his head, before he whispers, "just let me take care of you tonight" against the shell of his ear. TK's stomach twists at the gentleness of his voice, the tender way he seems to touch him. One night, he thinks, both sad and energetic at the same time. TK feels him smiling when Carlos kisses down his neck, and it brings him out of his head, realizing he could do this for hours.
When they start to move again it's a gradual process, and eventually TK ends up on Carlos' bed, and it's too much and not enough all at once. Carlos touches him so softly and with so much care and TK can't remember the last time he allowed himself this kind of tenderness.
He closes his eyes as Carlos continues with what he started before, his heart racing as Carlos presses gentle kisses down his throat, his chest, any inch of his skin he can touch as he hovers over TK. When TK throws his arms over his head, an instinctual reaction that prompts a heavy look in Carlos' eyes, he feels warmth spreading through him when Carlos drops a kiss onto TK's tattoo.
"What do you want?" Carlos asks, sitting back between TK's legs, and TK focuses on the way the moonlight spills through his blinds, and casts shadows over his face. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and Carlos tracks the movement, and when TK squirms, Carlos gently places his hands on his knees, thumb unknowingly tracing over a scar on his right kneecap from when he'd fallen through a floor of a burning house his third week on the job, back when he was a probie and stuck under his father's legacy.
What does he want? It echoes through him, and he doesn't know how he can—how he's supposed to sum up everything he yearns for into words. He wants Carlos, every bit of him that he'll give, but he doesn't know what that'll mean when tomorrow rolls around.
"I want...fuck—," TK stops, voice caught in his throat, his senses all over the place. What does he want? What does he need? His heart tells him one thing and his mind shadows it over with the fears that lurk too deep for him to properly process, and Carlos' eyes are soft and reassuring as he nods. TK lets it sit for a moment before he just pulls Carlos down into another fervent kiss, hoping he can get his message across without actually having to talk about his emotions.
There's a softness in the way Carlos looks at him, and TK feels his chest constrict when he recognizes that it's all pure fondness, so he doesn't want to give his words a chance to betray him and break down his walls. Instead, he reaches up and frames Carlos' face in his hands and kisses his best friend until his mouth is raw. He pours all of what he can't say into the kiss, feeling Carlos getting lost in it, touches becoming more hurried and the sounds pulled out of both of them tilting more on the side of desperation. TK cants his hips up and uses his strength to flip them so he's settled with a knee on either side of Carlos' waist. It seems to knock the other man completely off-guard, and TK feels a coil of heat run through him when he feels those strong hands grip at his arms, down his sides and eventually settling on the small of his back. He's finally gotten enough leverage to press open-mouthed kisses down Carlos' throat, grazing his teeth over a sensitive spot under his jaw before soothing the skin with his tongue.
Eventually, he starts moving lower and lower, feeling his best friend jerk in anticipation and desire when he finally gets his mouth on him, hand moving desperately to card through TK's hair. Eventually, Carlos yanks him back up to kiss him stupid before they're flipped over again, and TK feels like he's weightless when Carlos presses a final sweet kiss to his temple, too sweet for what this is turning out to be, too sweet for what he thinks he wants (deserves), and he almost melts into the mattress when Carlos moves downward, kissing at his thighs, whispering "I've got you," like a hymn.
I've got you. He wonders if it always could've been this simple, this easy, this natural.
TK wakes up to the sound of the shower running.
He doesn't even recognize that that's what it is, at first, the white-noise of it blurring into the background of his dreams, the most peaceful he's had in months. But it only takes him a few moments of rubbing sleep from his eyes to realize he isn't in his own bedroom, and there's an ache he can't quite place in his chest. He sits up in bed and recognizes his clothes in a heap on the ground and he has half the mind to connect the dots and think oh shit before he slips out from under the covers and starts gathering them up in his arms.
"Hey."
TK turns, and takes in Carlos, in all his beauty, with a towel around his waist and a hand awkwardly carding through his hair.
"You know, I'm not actually sure what to say here," TK admits, after a few quiet moments stretch between them.
Carlos cracks a small smile. "You're actually speechless for once? That's a first."
"Rude," TK mutters, but he's smiling just the same as he feels some of the out-of-place uncertainty between them fizzle away.
"Listen, uh," Carlos moves deftly around his room, pulling clothes from drawers as he goes before he hands the stack over to TK, who's still caught up in watching him. "The shower's all yours, if you want. There are clean towels in the closet next to the bathroom."
TK doesn't really meet Carlos' eyes as he whispers his thanks, but he makes his way for the bathroom down the hall, and he tries not to think too hard about it when he uses Carlos' shampoo and body wash, the scent of tangy citrus and sandalwood overwhelming him.
He just scrubs until he's clean and feels awake, and he pulls on his own pair of jeans from the night before but he lets himself get lost in the fantasy of it all, if only for a moment, when he slips one of Carlos' AFD shirts over his head, sitting a little big across the shoulders but otherwise a close enough fit to pass as one of his own. He thumbs at the hem and sighs as he runs a towel through his hair, figuring he can deal with it and everything else when he gets home.
There's a missed text from his dad when he turns his phone on, which he quickly responds to, explaining he crashed at Carlos' place—not knowing the whole truth won't kill his dad—and he shoves it in his back pocket, carrying his belongings in his arms. Only, he's kind of blindsided when he steps out into the main area of the house. Because Carlos is there in the kitchen, dressed in his civilian clothes, because of course neither of them have a shift today, and there's eggs sizzling in the pan on the stove and fresh fruit divided up into little ceramic bowls. There's a couple of halved avocados waiting to be used on the countertop, fresh herbs chopped up, and TK walks in as Carlos plops a couple of pieces of rustic-looking bread into the toaster. It takes TK purposefully shifting his weight so the floor will creak under him for Carlos to glance over at him.
"What's all this?" TK asks, moving to the other side of the room and leaning his elbows against the granite of the counter as he watches.
"I thought we could have breakfast," Carlos shrugs a shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on the eggs as he adds salt and pepper. When TK's quiet, probably too quiet, in response, he spares another glance over at him. "Like normal, right?"
TK recalls the countless times they've finished their twenty-four hour shifts around the same time, and they'd go and grab cheap breakfast sandwiches and coffee while most of the city still slept, but it was never anything like this. Something that took time and effort and...love. TK swallows hard, because it'd be so easy to just accept that and—and just sit down and have breakfast and laugh with his best friend, and maybe agree to spending the day with him, just like usual. It felt right with Carlos, everything always does, and he feels like the walls he's thrown up in self-defence are slowly cracking with every passing day in Austin.
On the other hand, he feels the hesitation crawling up his spine, and the look of Alex's eyes are practically burned into his skull. Those eyes that had been practically regarding him with no emotion whatsoever for months because TK had been blind to what was breaking between them, and he'd been trying to tape up the fragments of their relationship that had admittedly been fading for too long for it to be fixed with a big gesture. He wanted to have something real and adult and forever, even though their relationship ran fast and hard and fizzled out into nothing after no time at all.
He always gives and gives and he doesn't know if he can risk it with Carlos, because he's the only person he's ever been this close with. He can't—he can't risk the chance of losing him, or fucking him up with his own issues.
The truth is, he doesn't know if he's ready to accept that someone might want him again.
He doesn't know if he can physically handle another heartbreak; the weight of his dad's diagnosis still hangs heavy over his head. On the other hand, he doesn't know if he can handle being treated like something that can be loved without question.
One night was what he thought he could handle. And it—fuck.
It hurts.
"I think I should just go, Carlos," TK whispers, his voice a little nasally as he fights back the burn behind his eyes.
"What?" Carlos asks, now fully facing him, sunny-side-up eggs forgotten on the stove. When he sees that TK's actually moving for the door, his voice ticks up a bit in shock. "Are you serious?"
"I don't know what I was thinking last night, okay?" TK admits, throwing his hand that's not clutching his clothes up in the air.
"It's just breakfast, TK," Carlos sounds defeated, betrayed, and TK's heart stings but he's too clouded by his own dark thoughts to really do anything how he'd want to. "It's not that big of a deal."
TK scrubs a hand down his face. He needs a clean, quick break. "I'm sorry. It's just—I can't do this to you. I have to go."
It isn't the truth. He wants this badly enough that it's frightening. But he doesn't look back as he beelines for the door, feeling worse than ever before.
"Hey, is everything okay?"
Marjan looks at him warily as they both continue showering Buttercup with love, scratching behind his ears and offering him little treats.
TK knows he's been showing his less-than pleasant side, but he can't help it. Even when he's in good spirits on calls or has a moment of clarity, there's still the gnawing grief that piles up inside. Naturally, he's had radio-silence from Carlos over the past couple of days, and he's trying to drown himself in work, but it's still wearing on him. He feels like an idiot, like a bad friend, and he doesn't know how to go about smoothing things over. Everything is just—it's too raw, it's too much, the feeling of suffocation attacking him more than once through the day when he thinks about how much of a dick he was to Carlos, his best friend, how he's going to lose his dad, how he's not even sure what he's doing with his life.
And yet, he still finds himself craving the gentleness of Carlos' hands, the searing kisses—
—His dad's thrown him looks, noticing his moods but unable to do anything about it; Paul and Judd have tried pulling him into game nights and trips to the bar to no avail. TK snaps at Mateo and feels so bad about it that all he can do is offer him a tight, wordless hug and a murmured, sincere apology before he goes and works out his frustration in the gym. He hates getting caught up in his head like this, but he doesn't—he doesn't know how to handle the fact that his heart feels ripped away from the only sense of belonging he's ever known besides the comfort of the station.
"TK?" Marjan's voice breaks through again.
TK pinches the bridge of his nose, and all he can do is offer her a nod, and a whispered: "I'm fine."
It's a lie.
can we talk?
carlos?
i feel like a dick, please talk to me.
glad we can agree on something.
ha.
i'm off at eleven tomorrow night. i can pick you up.
thank you. you know i...
...
...
i know, tk.
It doesn't end up happening.
He feels a little bit lighter, a little more helpful, especially when Carlos sends him some stupid meme and it feels like a dam is breaking because at least his best friend is talking to him, even if he still feels like—even if he still knows he doesn't deserve it. But he talks to his dad, his words of wisdom cutting deep—it's okay to love him, even though you might lose him—and TK can't help but to feel like he might not just be talking about his apprehensions about loving Buttercup.
They respond to a possible heart attack, described by dispatch as an assumed cardiac event after a mistaken home invasion, and TK is more focused on what he's going to say to Carlos than the bulky weight of the battering ram in his hands, how he's going to get them back to the place they were in before, even if it means sacrificing his real feelings. He remembers the feel of Carlos' hands on him, gentle and firm, and the way kissing him felt like a fucking revelation, and—
He doesn't even realize he's been shot until the bang goes off.
There's a searing pain in his chest, the sudden feeling of breathing through a straw, the panicked exclamations all around him. TK stumbles backward, and his dad catches him before he can fall, and his voice is strained and thick with tears as he too tries to grapple with what just happened in the last five seconds as he tells him it's okay, to breathe, to stay with him. TK tries to listen as Michelle fastens her hands over his chest, gloved palms coming away bloody, covered with his blood.
TK feels everything and then nothing. Darkness encompasses him.
He comes to in flashes, catching little snippets of conversation—
"You should get some rest."
"I'm not leaving him."
"Come back to me, son."
"I brought you some coffee, kid."
"Come back to us, Ty."
—Then there's this: the incessant, drawn-out beeping of machines he vaguely knows are keeping him alive, the pricking feeling of tubes in his skin, the dryness of his own mouth, the antiseptic smell of a hospital room. He must startle awake more than he realizes, though, because he's quickly got his dad's hands smoothing down his arms, murmuring that he's okay.
He believes him. And lets sleep take him once more.
It puts things in perspective, nearly dying twice in the span of six months.
TK's stuck at home on medical leave, set to get his stitches out hopefully in two weeks, and mindless reality TV isn't enough for him to not get trapped in his own mind. He almost cries in relief when he gets the invitation from Carlos to hang out and talk at the boba place he's staked out a couple of times, just because it'll get him out of the fucking house, and he's dressed hours too early and left pacing the length of the living room until his Lyft arrives. Carlos offered to pick him up, but TK knew he'd need these extra few minutes to psych himself up, and now he's here and his knee is jumping up and down and he barely resists the urge to pick at the annoying medical tape that's itching at his shoulder.
He's already had his long talks with his dad, and they'd both agreed on giving him as much time as he'd need to make sure firefighting was what he actually wanted to do. They haven't even settled on a return date for him yet, that spot in his paperwork blank and taunting. Everything feels so uncertain, and TK can't help himself from ripping up the wrapper for his straw into tiny little pieces while he waits.
"What did that straw ever do to you?"
TK turns and finds himself smiling before he even sees Carlos, watching as he plops down in the seat across from him, placing a drink of his own on the table next to his phone.
He can't hold it back. "It's really good to see you."
"You too," Carlos says, smiling, as he sticks his own straw through the lid and swirls around the contents within absentmindedly. He doesn't know if this conversation is going to jump into the nitty gritty right away, but when Carlos sits back and lets the warm Texas breeze push his loose curls back, and looks at him with that contagiously-happy gaze, TK feels like he's at home. "Well, tell me everything."
TK grins, and launches into story after story. They hadn't had much time over the past couple of weeks—Carlos couldn't get away from work after refusing to leave TK's bedside (which...yeah, TK's still grappling with that fact), and TK's been healing. So he just talks and talks, about everything, ranging from the gloriousness that is Brad Pitt to the score of the game to the unique perfection that is boba. He bites on the end of his straw and turns serious, reminiscing on a few days back.
"He's just—he seems like a good kid," TK explains, shrugging a shoulder as he remembers the chat he'd had with Colt, the boy who'd shot him. "I think we both needed the closure, y'know?"
The smile Carlos directs at him is soft. "It's so like you to worry about him."
"My dad said the same thing," TK says, scratching the back of his neck. "I'm not just gonna let him carry that guilt forever, he doesn't deserve that."
"Neither do you," Carlos points out, and TK shrugs, nodding his assent.
There's a beat, before TK shifts in his seat; it's growing into a hot afternoon, and their table is slick with condensation from their sweating cups, but he leans his elbows against the tabletop regardless. He finally drags his eyes up to search over Carlos' face, and he sees the layers to his gaze, the pain and worry and easy-going friendliness piled up under one resounding gleam of fondness.
"I know you want to talk about it, Carlos," TK says, resting a fist under his chin. "You don't have to baby me, we can talk like grown men."
Carlos looks like he's searching for the right words, glancing out to the street before meeting TK's eyes again. "I just—I remember seeing you in that hospital bed. It keeps replaying in my head, TK, like a goddamn nightmare, and I remember thinking that I wouldn't know what to do if you didn't wake up. And those are some strong feelings to have for a friend that wanted, what, a meaningless hookup?"
TK frowns, but keeps his mouth shut, letting Carlos work out all his thoughts.
"I've known what I wanted for a while, Ty," Carlos whispers, and the nickname, rarely used, sends a pang through TK's chest. "It's—you need to know that it isn't the end of the world if there's no chance at us being a we. But I deserve to know, because I can't keep doing this dance where we don't actually say what we mean."
TK clenches his jaw and stares down at his cup, watching a droplet of condensation slowly roll down the length of it before unceremoniously dropping into the slowly growing puddle. There's so much whirring around in his mind—if he even wants the job he's had since he was twenty, anymore, if he even really belongs in this state he still doesn't refer to as home—and it seems that all he can focus on is the way that Carlos is understandably upset but still manages to look at him with softness in his eyes.
"I hate that I hurt you, Carlos," TK starts, restlessly tapping his fingers along the edge of the table. The corner of Carlos' mouth twitches. "You're one of the few good things in my life, but I can't—"
I can't drag you down. I can't ruin you. I can't fall for someone as amazing as you. I can't be what you deserve.
I can't admit that I'm kind of in love with you.
He doesn't get to finish, because the world, quite literally, seems like it's about to end.
Lights flicker and cars start honking and phones short-circuit. Both of them jump up when a truck drives into a telephone pole, relieved to find that the driver is okay, but everything around them is still going up in metaphorical flames. Carlos pulls him back when a car drives through the intersection, all lights green, and TK pulls him back, in turn, when they're both distracted as a bus slams on the brakes and topples over onto its side.
"Shit," TK half-exclaims, meeting Carlos' eyes only to find they have the same expression etched on their faces. They're always on the same wavelength, and so they rush forward to the bus, helping people as they make their way out of the emergency exit.
"I've got them," Carlos says, letting an elderly woman sturdy herself against his arms.
TK turns to one of the passengers, and finds him mumbling about the driver and that's all he has to hear before his instincts fully take over. He zeroes in on the driver, despite the rushing of water from the destroyed hydrant and the honking of cars out on the street. His heart is racing, but it's easy to ignore when he's got something to focus on.
"I'm coming for you!" TK yells, moving past debris.
The driver is trapped, is his first dreadful realization. She makes eye contact with him and her voice is thick when she asks, "Did everyone get out okay?"
"Yeah, everybody's fine," TK assures her, coming close enough to realize that her legs are completely pinned down and the water is slowly but surely rising all around her. She's questioning what's going on, still dazed from the accident, and TK finds it in him to stay calm; to run through basic medical procedures. Reaching over to press his fingers against her pulsepoint, he asks, "What's your name, ma'am?"
"Ellen," she says, voice strained, and TK nods, locking eyes with her even as he moves back to assess the rest of her body.
"Okay," he mutters, before repeating himself, louder, confident that this is still something he can do. "Okay, Ellen, I'm TK. I'm gonna get you out of here."
He pulls helplessly at the metal pinning her down, constantly glancing back at Ellen to make sure she doesn't lose consciousness. She talks, which is a good thing—about how her back is wet, which he's able to assure her is just water and isn't blood, but when she mentions both of her legs feeling busted up, his stomach twists.
"Can you wiggle your toes for me?" TK moves himself over the obstruction to touch her calf, and when she taps her toes together he feels some relief. "Okay, good, I don't think there's any spinal damage."
He can feel his shoulder screaming out to him with every tug he makes on the metal, but there's no way in hell he's leaving her. He tugs and tugs and his jaw clenches tight, even as he tries to keep his face schooled so she doesn't panic.
"Are you a medical student?" Ellen asks, sounding a little more dazed than before, and TK pulls harder at the metal.
"No, I'm—" he stops, his words fumbling as he corrects himself. "I was a firefighter."
It feels like a line's drawn in the sand, and the words taste bitter on his tongue. Is that what he's going to say now? Is that the truth he wants to live with?
Ellen huffs a little laugh, something he's thankful to hear. "Well, that's convenient."
"It'd be convenient if I had some equipment," TK says, matching her tone, giving one last tug before he bites at the inside of his cheek and starts looking around. "Um, okay, I'll be right back."
He hears her joking, "I'll be right here," as he sloshes through hydrant water and, to his dismay, spilled gas. He swears under his breath and TK nearly runs right into Carlos when he steps back out of the bus.
"I need you to help me for a second," TK says, not even sparing a glance at the way Carlos' face has skewed into an expression of concern.
"Whatever you need," Carlos has done a quick job of getting everyone to stand back and give them some room, probably spotting the gas leak minutes ago. "TK, you're not going back in there alone."
"And I—" TK stops as he finds the bumper of the bus, half-wrenched off the vehicle already, and he points to the far end. Carlos gets his point and runs the last few steps to grab it, the two of them nodding at each other before they pull it off. TK continues, once it's in his arms. "—I need someone I can trust out here, okay? Just in case."
Carlos is shaking his head at him, but they know it's true. TK's established a connection with their victim, Carlos has made enough of a presence for himself out here with the other throngs of people. And until they get in touch with dispatch, they've got to go about this smartly.
"Be careful," Carlos says, voice shaking a little, grasping TK's elbow before he turns on his heel and moves to check out anyone for injuries. TK swallows and makes his way back into the bus, heart lurching up to his throat when he sees how quickly the water is filling up the space.
"That's my bumper?" Ellen asks, craning her neck both to watch him work and avoid drowning.
TK sets it into place. "Well, it's no jaws of life. But it should do."
He grunts and gets back to work, trying to get it at the right angle to push as much of the weight off Ellen as possible. It feels like a constant failed attempt, even as he tries again and again. Ellen lets out a few worried sounds, as the water laps around her throat and dampens her cheeks, and TK just goes at his task harder.
He's pulled away from it when she worriedly points out to him: "You're bleeding!"
TK looks down and isn't surprised to find that his stitches have popped, most of the adrenaline keeping the pain at bay as blood soaks through his bandages and his shirt. "Oh, that's nothing."
"It doesn't look like nothing," Ellen replies, eyes widening with concern.
He tugs as hard as he can on his makeshift jaws, grunting out, "I got shot."
Ellen makes a comment about how she thought she was having a bad day, and TK both corrects and assures her: there's no extra threat, he got shot before, his problem is the least of their worries. Ellen has to be the priority, there's no other way to even consider things from TK's end, even as he keeps pulling and pulling to no avail.
And then, finally: a victory.
A small one, really, when he's able to get enough of the metal off of her so he can at least try to move her so she doesn't constantly feel at risk of inhaling water, but even as he notes that this is about the time his dad would start pulling the team out of danger, the gas leak comes back to bite him in the ass because it sparks up and sets fire to most of the bus.
"Fire extinguisher?" TK asks, knowing full-well his voice sounds panicked but there's no hiding it now. Ellen points over his shoulder and he grabs it, but after a few moments it winds up empty and he swears again.
He drops the extinguisher to instead continue his attempts at pulling Ellen free, tugging helplessly on the metal, and he feels tears prick at his eyes when Ellen reaches up to cup his face. "Honey, honey," she's calling out to him, and TK's throat feels dry, as she tries to speak even with water moving over her face, now, "You've done everything that you could. You need to—to go—"
Water overcomes her and TK feels fear shoot through him. "Hey, hey—no, hold your breath!"
He yells it even as she's fully submerged under water, and TK gulps in as big a breath as he can manage before he's pushing his own head under water, not even thinking anything except save her save her save her as he pinches her nose and begins mouth to mouth. It's all he can do, to push the air from his lungs into hers, even as he comes up and coughs as he inhales the smoke-filled air and pushes his head down to do it all over again. His dad's words echo through him, how he knew saving people was for him when he acted without even thinking. Water drips off him and he blinks furiously, swallowing another deep breath before forcing his head under water, pressing his mouth to hers.
Breathe, he thinks, breathe, please.
And then—
And then he feels a gloved hand on his shoulder. He's still coughing up water as he's pulled away, as an oxygen mask is placed over his face. TK could scream, still trying to get back to Ellen, even as he collapses onto the ground, the sun hard and unforgiving as it bears down on them all.
He looks up and sees his dad's face, eyes clouded with worry, and even though there's ringing in his ears he can make out the familiarity of the hoses putting out the flames and the crunch of the jaws of life and the calls from his friends, his team, his goddamn family, that they have her secure.
Owen's hand comes to cup the back of TK's neck, bracing him for impact as he throws his head back against the road, his body fighting for air, for relief. He locks eyes with his dad and sees him call out the orders, and TK hears the wheels of the gurney passing him, and he rolls to his feet despite the dizziness, scrambling for purchase. He has to—he has to make sure Ellen's okay, that she knows that he's okay. Despite the eyes on him he grabs her hand, telling his dad to wait, and when meets his gaze she squeezes his hand tight.
She gasps and thanks him, crying in relief behind the mask they've secured over her nose and mouth, and all TK can do is nod at her, feeling something right blossom in his chest. He reassuringly runs his hand up and down her arm, before she's packed into the ambulance, the doors open and waiting. For him, he realizes, though he turns on his heels, first.
"Go on—" his dad's saying, but TK shakes his head and throws his arms around his old man.
"Thank you," he says, over and over, for more than just this moment. More than just finishing his efforts to save Ellen. It's for everything. His dad curls his own arms around him, both of them shaking a little, the two of them losing themselves in the moment.
"I think everybody saved everybody here today," Owen pulls back, looks at him knowingly, gestures around to the way Carlos has pushed everyone to safety and is tending to a small child who has tears drying on their cheeks, and is now smiling because of Carlos' efforts. He gestures to the bus and TK's quick-thinking. He cups the back of TK's neck and squeezes lightly before he jerks his head toward the ambulance. "Go on, get in there, son."
TK nods and feels his dad's hand on his back before he steps up into the ambulance. He looks out over the scene and locks eyes with Carlos—a beacon, his north star, warm and bright and understandably worried. Something else fizzles in his stomach, deep in the recesses of his very being, just another thing put in perspective due to a brush with death, and when the doors close to take Ellen and himself to the hospital, he feels more sure than he's ever been in his life. He also finds himself thinking: how could it take this long?
"I'm never letting you out of my sight again," Marjan warns him, against his ear, as Judd smacks a big ole kiss on the crown of his head.
TK grins at her and hugs her tight, hugs them all so unbelievably tight, before they all head off to take their showers and wash what he's sure was an incredibly long day off of themselves. His dad's still holding him in a tight embrace, asking him at least ten times if he's sure, but TK knows in his fucking bones that he is.
Carlos shows up. He'd texted him from the hospital, hoping he wouldn't mind meeting up to talk, only for the man to out-do him again and show up at the hospital to offer him a ride. He'd dropped TK off at the station and went home to quickly change, and now here he is, smiling at him like he wasn't the biggest dick to him over the past several days. For the past several months, if he's being honest.
His dad gives him a look, complete with a cocked brow, and TK rolls his eyes and promises to see him at home before he rushes off to join Carlos.
"Did it go well?" Carlos asks, because he knows just how terrified he was about telling them all the truth. Of course they didn't have any negative comments about the whole being-in-recovery thing, he didn't really expect them to, but it's like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders.
TK just grins and pulls Carlos in for a hug. He feels a gentle hand caress the back of his head, both of them careful with his bad arm, and when he pulls back TK feels the rest of that weight on his shoulders just melt away.
"C'mon, I think I owe you dinner," TK says, and Carlos laughs and follows him.
The current between them: it beats in time with their racing hearts, it sparks up, it never dies.
The sky is breathtakingly beautiful, purples and greens and pinks melding together to perform a dance against an inky backdrop, and yet all TK can focus on is Carlos.
They'd gotten dinner at one of Carlos' food trucks—meaning, one of the hidden gems of a food truck that Carlos somehow knows about—and when the night sky turned into something magic, something lit up between them as they raced to his fancy car and drove until the city was long gone in the rearview mirror.
And now here they sit: under the stars, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them, and TK tries and fails about a hundred times to start talking about this...thing. This nearly tangible thing that they have that he'd been too blind to accept for months.
Carlos saves him, though.
"You know, you never got to finish what you were saying back at the boba place," Carlos tells him, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as TK nudges him good-naturedly.
"Whatever I was going to say..." TK takes a deep breath, shaking his head at the version of himself that existed six hours ago. That version of himself that thought he was protecting the heart that was now beating in his chest to the hopeful tune of Carlos' name. That version of himself that still subconsciously referred to Manhattan as home. That version of himself was wrong in every possible way. "Whatever I was going to say was wrong, and stupid, and anything but the truth."
TK finally meets Carlos' eyes, glinting like starlight under the glow of the sky.
He takes a breath before finishing with: "Because for whatever reason it took me nearly fucking dying again to realize that—that you might be the most important person in my life, Carlos."
"'Might be'?" Carlos jokes, perfectly easing the mood into something lighter, and TK snorts and shoves him harder this time.
"I'm—" TK shakes his head again, looks out at the stars and the fucking natural wonder appearing before their eyes, and he finds that he's continually drawn to this man. His best friend. The man he loves. "I'm so sorry for taking this long, Carlos."
"Don't be, Ty," Carlos whispers, before he grabs TK's hand and laces their fingers together. After a few moments have passed, he adds: "We make a pretty good team."
It's an in, it's an olive branch.
TK grins. "We do."
He doesn't know who moves first, but within seconds the distance between them has been closed; their mouths press together in the sweetest kiss that also manages to feel groundbreaking. It nearly knocks him off his feet, even though he's sitting down, hand pressed gently to the side of Carlos' face. It's something he's longed for his whole life, he thinks.
"In case it wasn't obvious," Carlos says, pulling away enough to breathe, nose brushing against TK's, "you're pretty important to me too."
TK grins, mutters, "prove it, then," before they're kissing again, and again, and again.
Two Months Later
"You're staring."
TK turns from where he'd been shoving equipment back in its rightful compartment on the rig as they wait to head back from a call, finding mischievousness personified: Paul and Marjan, eyes glinting, knowing smiles on their faces. He snorts but steps back from the truck to stand with them, hands on his hips, the late-morning sun warming them.
"What, I'm not allowed to admire my boyfriend?" TK asks, grinning when Paul rolls his eyes and swats him on the shoulder.
"I mean, I can't imagine you'd ever get bored of it, even if you're doing it all the damn time," Paul says, and when TK makes a face at him, the other man just ruffles his hair, much to TK's dismay.
The whole boyfriend thing happened kind of naturally. According to most of the team, it was a matter of time; according to his dad, they'd been dating for most of the time they'd known each other. After the night of the solar storm, he and Carlos had tried to do things right—they'd talked about their feelings and laid things bare between them; they'd gone on a proper first date; they'd ended up having the 'boyfriend talk' on their second date, and it's been official since. Sue them, if there's anything they're on the same page with, it's an inability to do anything at an effort of less than one-hundred percent. Especially after nearly seven months of friendship that could've been more—something Carlos lightly teases him about all the time, though he always makes sure to kiss TK's temple and quietly assure him, in those moments where things feel like they're getting bad again, that he'd wait another seven months if TK wasn't ready.
TK knew though, that he was done holding himself back from what he wants.
He's blessed with the sight of him now, both their teams called to a car accident that could have been worse. There were lucky stars at play, though. It's evident when they're talking to the woman whose car suffered the brunt of the damage, unharmed save for a cut on her forehead, who is panicked that her little boy in the backseat was injured. He wasn't—barely even knew they'd been in an accident, really—and when he'd taken a liking to Carlos as he'd chatted with them and looked them over, Carlos had easily turned on the charm.
"Want to check out the truck?" Carlos had asked, as the little boy dimpled and nodded.
And here TK stands: sure his heart's about to burst in his chest, watching Carlos hold the little boy in his arms while his mother chatted with Captain Monroe, taking him around the 102's rig and showing him every little compartment and switch. Now, he's got the kid in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel, and if Marjan or Paul weren't standing with him watching it all unfold, TK's sure he'd think he was dreaming.
TK's smile probably shows exactly what he's thinking.
Marjan snorts. "You're insufferable."
Her voice is dripping with that teasing tone she always uses, though, and she elbows him lightly in the side. TK nudges her back in retaliation, and Paul digs through one of their own compartments before he pulls out one of the little red plastic fire hats they keep on hand for school presentations and fire safety days they host for local families, grinning devilishly before he makes his way toward Carlos and the little boy.
TK trains his eyes on the scene before him, as Carlos grins at Paul and happily accepts the hat, bestowing it on the little boy like he was being knighted. TK has to bite on the inside of his cheek to stop the spread of his stupid grin when Paul plops a matching hat from behind his back and places it atop Carlos' curls.
He turns to glance at Marjan, who's watching the scene unfold with a smile on her face, her phone already out and capturing photos. Her eyes move to focus on him, and there's a certain fondness in her gaze as she throws an arm around his shoulders.
"And happy?" She asks, through her smile, her voice dropped lower.
TK glances back out at Carlos, who is already looking over at him. He winks, before he turns back to the boy to show him how to turn the lights on, both of their hats still in place. Warmth blooms in his chest, and he finds himself nodding.
"Yeah," he confirms, his own voice quieter than before, truth and love lacing his words. There are still bad days, of course, but his dad's on an upward trajectory with his health. And Carlos, the team, hell, even this city, it's all become home.
He meets Marjan's eyes again, and smiles.
"I am."