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They’re on the roof, and TK shivers in the evening chill as he does his best not to feel stung at his dad’s questions. He answers them tiredly and truthfully despite the shame and hurt running through him. Owen seems mollified for now, reassured that it was just a slip, a lapse, and not a full-blown fall back into active addiction. They sit quietly for a little while, listening to the ambient New York noise, but TK knows that Owen still has questions—wants TK to tell him why despite the timing being enough for him to come to his own conclusion.
And TK will get to it eventually, but for now there’s something more important that’s been bugging him, pulling at the corners of his consciousness since five seconds after he was brought back from death by his dad of all people. For so, so many reasons, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself for that.
“Dad?”
Owen sighs, and TK can see he’s trying for a tired, sad smile. “Yeah, kid?”
TK wets his lip. His entire being is slow and lethargic, and his voice is much the same as he blinks slowly and says, “I’m trans. I’m a man.”
Owen’s chin lifts, a contemplative look on his exhausted face. “Oh,” he says thoughtfully, “All right.” His arm comes up around TK’s shoulders and he squeezes, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Doesn’t change a thing, kid. Love you no matter what, hm? Thanks for tellin’ me.”
TK turns into Owen, burying his face in his dad’s shoulder and making himself small. He sniffs. “I love you.”
Owen rubs his back and rocks him like he always has when TK needs a little quiet comfort. “So… he and him and all that? Son?”
TK smiles and nods against Owen’s chest. “And ‘m still going by TK for now.” He pulls back and rubs a hand over his face. When he looks up at his dad, he finds a furrowed brow and pursed lips. TK’s shoulders crawl upward. “Dad?”
Owen winces a little. “Sorry, I think I’m just trying to understand the timing,” he says.
TK snorts. “You mean why now, after I almost died—did die—with you still thinking I was your daughter?”
Owen flinches, but his face still clears with understanding. “Well,” he says, short and matter-of-fact but no less full of love, “I hope you’re not planning for a repeat of that any time soon.”
TK recoils and looks down at his lap. “No,” he says, quiet but steadfast, “I’m… I’m sorry.”
Owen pulls in a deep breath. “I know, TK. No more apologies, hm?” He reaches up to ruffle TK’s hair. “No more apologies. Let’s just work on getting your heart to healing.” He frowns then, tilting his head. “Is that… Did Alex…”
TK shakes his head. “He knew,” he says, “He’s known… for a while. He was completely fine with it—supportive, even. And he’s bi; in private he called me his boyfriend and everything.” He draws in a deep, shaking breath and says, “But turns out you don’t have to be a complete asshole to be a cheating asshole, apparently.”
Owen’s brows have been steadily creeping up his forehead, but they pinch inwards now and he sighs.
“He’s in love with somebody else,” TK mutters.
Owen sells Texas as a fresh start—for TK’s recovery and as an opportunity, if he wants it, for him to start living as a man without the added niggling discomfort of having a fire crew who all knew him pre-transition. The 252 would be accepting, he’s sure, and TK had planned to come out to them soon regardless, but the idea of a new crew who only know him as TK—as a man—certainly does have its appeal.
TK’s already quietly been on testosterone for a few weeks, and by the time they’re settled in Austin and revamping the 126 House, he’s living as a man and passing more often than not—thanks in part to his lean firefighter’s build that had confused people before even TK knew that he was a man.
When he meets Paul Strickland, TK feels an ease he’s never felt before, until Paul is standing up and thanking them but walking away, and TK feels like his heart is about to end up falling violently out of his chest.
And then his dad says, “You know, somewhere in this town right now is a kid who is just like you were. Feeling scared, hopeless—” and Paul slowly turns back to face them.
His eyes stop on TK, though, who looks up at him meaningfully, keeping his expression mostly neutral except for his eyes giving everything away like TK knows they always have.
“I’d like you to show him—or her or them—that it’s okay to be who you are.”
TK swallows at the double whammy of emotion that hits him when his dad’s knee knocks into his as he talks and Paul’s chin lifts, his face clearing with understanding. TK ducks his head, then he looks up at Paul through his lashes.
“And I’ll double your salary,” Owen adds cheekily.
Paul raises a brow as his eyes flick to over Owen, and they all know it’s a bit of an out, a less emotional excuse, for when Paul finally says yes.
TK hasn’t fought fires since he started publicly presenting as a man but he already knows that between the physical exertion and long hours, a binder is a no-go. So he experiments like he had before he’d even named the feeling of dysphoria about his chest, with sports bras and compression tops and athletic tape, before he does some more googling and finds that there’s tape designed specifically for binding that won’t constrict his breathing while he’s on shift.
It takes a few tries, once he gets his hands on some, to work out the best way to apply the tape and then take it off without ripping off a layer of skin along with it. But he gets the hang of it, and by the time the 126 is fully operational and getting back in the swing of things, he thinks he has it down pretty well.
Toward the end of his first shift, they’re on the truck on the way back to station after a job, and the slight adrenalin crash has him hyper-aware that his chest is itching like crazy and he can feel multiple places where the tape has pulled away from his skin and is curling in on itself.
He’s fiddling and fidgeting and trying to be subtle about it, but Paul catches him wince as he tugs at the front of his uniform.
Paul glances around the cab at the others before leaning in and muttering, “Man, please don’t tell me you’re wearing a binder under there.”
“No,” TK mumbles, “but I might’ve sweated off my tape.”
Paul’s face morphs into a sympathetic grimace before he quietly offers his help and expertise should TK want it. So when they get back to the station, TK hops out of the truck and pulls his dad aside, mumbling something about how he and Paul might need to sit out the next call on account of a boob emergency.
Owen’s dad pulls a face like he’s not sure how he’s supposed to react to that, but then he just grins and shakes his head and waves them off. “All right. Go on. Let me know if you need anything.”
He trails up the stairs after Paul, who leads them to TK’s locker.
“Go take the rest of it off in the shower. Do you keep fresh tape here?”
TK winces. “I think it’s pulled and ripped off some skin,” he says, “I’m not gonna be able to—”
Paul nods, brow creased in a frown. “All right.” He checks his watch. “Not long left,” he says, “You’ll be all right for about an hour? Or do you want me to see if Cap—”
TK shakes his head and mutters, “I’ll be fine.” He sighs. “Thanks.”
Paul nods and drops down onto the bench as TK heads for the showers. “Let me know if you need any help.”
TK peels out of his uniform button-up and t-shirt and finds that he was right about the situation underneath. He winces and inhales sharply at the sting of the water hitting the raw skin below his armpit and he carefully starts pulling away the rest of the tape.
Over the sound of the shower and what sounds like Paul rummaging through a cupboard, TK hears Paul say, “Hey, can I give you a tip?”
TK grunts in answer, pouting down at his chest.
“It’s probably still not quite ideal,” Paul says, “but wear a sports crop or a bralette when you’re taping. It might even get you a little flatter, but the point is that that way if you sweat the tape off you’re still good, and it keeps it from pulling so much so you can keep your skin.”
TK wrinkles his nose. He hates the feeling of any kind of bra straps, which is why more often than not he uses tape to bind in the first place. Still, he knows he doesn’t have a whole lot of options, especially for when he’s working, and he is glad for Paul’s comforting presence and complete lack of judgement.
He shuts the water off and, resigned but no less grateful, says, “Yeah. Thanks, man. I guess I’ll have to now.”
He pulls on his boxers and steps out with his towel wrapped loosely around his shoulders, holding it out from his body so he doesn’t get lint in his freshly cleaned wounds.
He looks over at Paul and snorts. “You can open your eyes, man.”
Paul grins. “Well, excuse me for trying to protect your modesty.” He opens his eyes and quips, “Should’ve known you’d have none of that.”
“Rude,” TK says. He sighs and says, “It’s not too bad, right?”
Paul takes a quick look when TK opens the towel. “Nah. You won’t be able to tape for a few days but it’ll heal.” He passes TK a handful of alcohol wipes. “For the sticky residue,” he says, watching as TK rips one open, “Just don’t let it touch the—”
TK hisses with the sting of the alcohol on raw skin, and he looks up at Paul with a pout.
“Hey, man,” Paul says with a chuckle, “I tried to warn you.”
TK grumbles and gets back to carefully swiping at the last of the sticky bits while Paul sorts of the rest of the supplies he’s collected. He can’t be bothered with feeling weird about letting Paul first aid his bare torso, and Paul’s a perfect professional and keeps him feeling at ease, making small talk to distract him and teasing him for his peach-print boxer briefs.
When Paul leaves him to finish getting dressed, TK is free to pout as much as he wants to about the fact that he shouldn’t bind at all for the rest of the day if he wants to be remotely comfortable. He pulls on a lightly compressing sports bra and gets into his uniform just in time to run back downstairs for the next call.
After shift, Michelle drags the crew to a honky-tonk bar to formally welcome them to Texas and celebrate the 126’s comeback. TK drinks mineral water and dances with his dad and Paul and that hot cop he’d met on a scene earlier, and he decides that he’s really going to like it here.
It’s not long at all before the 126 feels like family. They become regulars at both the badge and ladder bar and the honky-tonk bar, even though half of the crew doesn’t drink. But they play darts and they dance and they steadily and very easily become close enough that they can trade banter and insults like real siblings who know that they’d still have each other’s back always.
“So,” Judd says, looking between TK and Owen with a mischievous glint in his eye. “When are y’all gonna tell us what TK stands for?”
TK rolls his eyes. “Never, because TK Strand is my legal name.”
It’s not, not yet, but it will be when TK finally gets around to tackling the capital-O Ordeal that changing his name will likely be.
Judd raises a brow at Owen. “I know y’all aren’t from around here but you did not give your kid two letters for a name.”
“And they’re not even good letters,” Mateo says indignantly.
“Hey,” TK complains as Marjan and Paul snicker.
Owen holds his hands up in surrender. “Ask his mother,” he says. He grins at TK and winks. “All right, next round’s on me!”
TK sends his dad a grateful smile as he slips away from the group. He catches hot-cop-Carlos’s eye on his way over to the dart board, and he’s ridiculously pleased when Carlos trails after him.
They play a few rounds, bumping hips as they pass the darts off to each other and take turns at pretending to have worse aim than they really do. TK rolls his eyes when Carlos starts showing off, and the next time he presses the darts into TK’s hand for his turn, TK passes them off to the couple at the next table.
Carlos shoots him an annoyingly attractive smug look before he settles in beside TK. “So,” he says, leaning closer with a flirty smile pulling at his lips, “Think you could be persuaded to tell me what TK stands for?”
TK rolls his eyes. He leans into Carlos, lets his lips brush his earlobe, and he whispers, “Nope.”
Carlos pouts as TK pulls back with a chuckle.
“Relax, sweetheart,” TK says, “You’re not missing out; it really doesn’t stand for anything.” He takes a sip of his mineral water and pulls in a breath, willing Carlos to get the hint and let it go. He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s just TK.”
Carlos narrows his eyes, smirking as he looks TK up and down. “All right, then, TK.” He lifts his chin and holds out a hand. “Wanna dance, handsome?”
As much as he wants to—and he really, really wants to—he doesn’t fall into bed with Carlos the moment they get an opportunity. They do, however, make out against Carlos’s front door and then bump into a few more walls as they stumble over to the couch to make out some more. TK knows an invitation when he’s presented with one, but he just keeps kissing Carlos and gently guides his hands back to his waist when they move to his belt or his shirt buttons.
Carlos accepts the redirection easily and without question, and he keeps his hands in the dip of TK’s waist or splayed across his lower back when they’re not gently cradling his jaw. TK’s hands, however, roam freely, encouraged by gasps and groans and the way Carlos pushes closer or bites TK’s lip or neck or wherever his mouth is currently exploring.
He ends up feeling like Carlos is being a little too careful, and he smirks into the kiss. He covers the hand on the small of his back with his own and pushes it down to his ass. Then they’re both grinning and turning out of the kiss, TK breathing hard against Carlos’s neck when the hand on his ass squeezes, pulling him closer. TK manages to either keep their hips just out of alignment or else keep Carlos thoroughly distracted so he doesn’t notice that he’s not feeling TK hard against him like TK can feel Carlos against his hip.
And so for a few wonderful weeks, the extent of their relationship remains catching each other on calls and making eyes across scenes, and stumbling into Carlos’s living room for kisses and wandering hands any chance they get around their long and often inconveniently overlapping shifts.
Until Carlos invites him over after midnight on a Tuesday.
TK’s not naïve—he knows it’s a booty call. He also knows that Carlos has been letting him set the pace and that he wouldn’t push for more, so TK heads over. He’s very much missed Carlos’s mouth over the past few days given their conflicting schedules.
But he’s hit with a very different kind of too much too fast when he looks past Carlos’s shy smile to see the table set nicely for what suddenly feels like a date.
And while TK understands how his steering them away from sex could be construed as him wanting to be romanced, he still panics and acts like a bit of an asshole and definitely hurts Carlos in the process.
TK has his reasons—and yes, there are multiple despite how badly he wants Carlos in any and every way he can have him—the two big ones being everything that happened in New York, and that TK hasn’t quite figured out how he’s supposed to come out to Carlos given how long they’ve now known one another and how intimately familiar they’ve become with each other’s mouths.
And then Carlos is sitting down across from him at the police station, all stoic and serious, and TK swallows thickly.
“Guess you know, then,” he says, resigned and too tired to look over and see whatever Carlos’s face is doing. He doesn’t want to see the… disappointment or disgust or indifferent detachment that he expects is probably marring his pretty features.
There’s a few moments of tension—quiet as much as it can get in a police station—before TK can’t take it anymore and he looks up through his lashes.
Carlos’s brow is furrowed, his mouth pinched, but he looks confused now more than the brief flash of frustration TK had caught before Carlos sat down and TK had dropped his eyes to his own cuffed hands.
“Know what?”
TK scoffs. “You saw my name on the report or something, right?”
Carlos’s face scrunches in confusion. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?” He pointedly looks around at where they are and then sighs, pinning TK with a softer version of his cop face. “Are you telling me that your name isn’t TK Strand?”
“No,” TK says quickly. “Are you telling me you didn’t read the arrest report?”
Carlos tilts his head, and TK can see the frustration creeping back in. “Yes,” he says slowly. “I didn’t need to. Your arresting officer told me what happened. I’m not here to process you. You’re free to go, since your new friends aren’t talking and you blew a zero point zero. No drunk and disorderly for you, which means you did this with a clear head.” He glances quickly at TK and adds, “Witnesses seemed to be on your side, for what it’s worth.”
“I might’ve started it,” TK says, “but they deserved it.”
Carlos squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose. “For my own sanity, I’m going to have to pretend you didn’t just say that.” He huffs an emotionless laugh and looks up at TK.
And TK flinches when Carlos reaches for him.
He frowns and quickly pulls away, but TK recovers and thrusts his hands out before he can pull that Concerned Cow Eyes Carlos look on him or ask any questions. Carlos sighs but dutifully uncuffs him, and TK lets himself focus fully on the brief and gentle touch of Carlos’s fingers against his wrists.
“My shift ended twenty minutes ago,” Carlos says, “Can I drive you home?”
It’s TK who offers to buy dinner so they can talk, and Carlos doesn’t bother trying to hide his surprise. But TK thinks now is as good a time as any, since things are already falling apart between them and since—however vaguely or tangentially—his sobriety and gender have both been brought up tonight and are very much on TK’s mind.
They sit down at a picnic table by the food truck and they each make it halfway through their food before TK’s nervous system can’t take it anymore.
“So? Are you not going to ask?”
He’s curious as to where Carlos might want to start, since there’s… more than a few things they should probably talk about, but Carlos’s first question has him resisting rolling his eyes.
“What should I—What’s your name?”
“TK.”
“And the grump when you thought I read your arrest report?”
TK huffs and says, “Because technically, it is my initials.”
“You told me TK didn’t stand for anything.”
“It doesn’t,” TK says. He sighs and closes his eyes. “But it used to. It used to be my initials, but now it’s my name.”
“Ah,” Carlos says, “And legally your name is still—”
“A girls’ name,” TK says tightly.
“Right,” Carlos says, his annoyingly neutral expression finally softening. “Which explains why wouldn’t want me to see it. But you do prefer to go by TK? That’s the name you chose for yourself?”
“What—What?” As much as he tries not to, TK shrinks into himself.
Carlos puts his burger down. “You thought I didn’t know,” he says. “TK—”
“How do you know? I’ve been agonising over how to tell you for weeks.”
Carlos tilts his head with a soft, curious smile playing at his lips. “We might have had a few layers of clothes between us but we’ve been all kinds of on top of each other lately,” he says.
“Oh,” TK says grumpily, “I guess I’d hoped I would be distracting enough that maybe you wouldn’t notice.”
Carlos raises a brow. “I don’t know about you, chiquito, but when I have a gorgeous man in my lap, I pay attention.”
TK feels himself flush and he looks down at the table, letting his hands fall into his lap.
The toe of Carlos’s sneaker gently collides with the side of TK’s. “Hey.”
“Hi,” TK says, voice small. He clears his throat. “So, you know. You have known.”
“I’m sorry that it wasn’t on your terms like you thought,” Carlos says, “but yes. And to be very clear—” He reaches across the table, hand laid out in offering, and he waits until TK carefully takes it before he continues, “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
As much as it’s his instinct to squirm and pull away, TK swallows and squeezes Carlos’s hand. “Glad you’re not a closet transphobe,” he says, but it doesn’t quite land and Carlos’s frown returns. TK pulls his hand back and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. “But… that wasn’t the only thing holding me back,” he says, voice hoarse with all the hard honesty running through it.
Carlos nods and picks up his burger, and they finish their food while they talk about everything that led to Owen and TK moving to Texas. And despite all the lingering uncertainty and too-big feelings, TK feels much, much lighter by the time Carlos finally drops him off at home.
TK leans across the centre console to kiss his cheek and he can feel Carlos’s shy smile mirroring his own until he disappears inside.
They keep seeing each other and, to keep TK’s self-sabotaging tendencies in check, they both pretend that their casual dinners out and cozy nights in aren’t dates.
It doesn’t take long for Carlos to notice that TK doesn’t kiss him on the mouth after he’s been drinking. He’ll still kiss him on the cheek or forehead or jaw or—He still kisses him, is the point, and Carlos seems content with that if he notices at all, all tipsy and loose and handsy.
But TK notices immediately when Carlos starts ordering soda when he joins the crew for drinks. While neither of them has brought it up, TK hadn’t been trying to hide his avoidance or dodge talking about it, but Carlos is entirely too casual about it when he quietly corrects Judd’s routine reciting of their usual round before he heads to the bar.
Carlos doesn’t meet his gaze, though, and TK rolls his eyes and goads him into a round of darts to get him alone.
He promptly forgets about his interrogation, because sober Carlos sucks at darts and TK is too busy teasing him about that.
Marjan and Mateo join them after a little while, and Carlos doesn’t bother pretending not to be relieved when Marjan demands the darts from him before he’s even finished pulling them from the board.
“Want me to buy you a beer so you can go back to being my big, strong—” He almost says boyfriend. He wants to say boyfriend. But instead he feebly finishes, “darts champion?”
“Excuse you,” Carlos complains, “I’m still big and strong. I’m just…”
“For your safety considering the profession you chose, I’m hoping that the end of that sentence is better with a different kind of projectile. Or else I’m gonna need to have words with whoever decided to give you a gun.”
Carlos snorts. He leans into TK’s space and quietly says, “I could still kill you with a dart,” he says.
“Oh, yeah? Given your aim, you’d have to get closer for that,” he murmurs, pleased when Carlos does push in closer. “A lot closer.”
Carlos presses against him, turning his torso so he can lean his strong chest into the back of TK’s shoulder. “I don’t know if you’re trying to seduce me or still making fun of me,” he says by TK’s ear, “but I like it.”
“Good,” TK says proudly, “Because it’s definitely, enthusiastically both.”
And to TK’s pleasant surprise, sober Carlos is no less handsy.
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Carlos says when TK remembers to bring it up, “You’ve been very clear about your boundaries so far, so I’d thought—”
“No,” TK says quickly, “I like it.”
Carlos’s lips slowly curl into a smile. He shifts closer, knocks his shoulder into TK’s, and slips a hand into his back pocket.
“I just… thought it was the alcohol talking, I guess?”
Carlos shakes his head and says, “Not at all. I don’t drink enough to seriously cloud my judgement anyway, but TK, I always want my hands on you. You know I’m not shy about that behind closed doors, but otherwise we’re almost always in uniform or else still surrounded by other cops and your crew, which includes your father.”
TK wrinkles his nose and Carlos nods sagely.
“But…” TK looks pointedly around the bar, which is full of cops and the 126 and TK’s father.
“I’m more careful about it until you drag me away from everyone or they’re drunk enough not to notice my hands on your ass.”
“I do like your hands on my ass,” TK muses, “But there is another place where I’d love to get your hands on me.”
Carlos appears annoyingly unaffected except for the way he glances around them and then narrows his eyes in the direction of TK’s mouth. “Hm? Where’s that, baby?”
“Your bed.”
After TK is shot, he sleeps for twenty-two hours and wakes up with his dad holding his hand and babbling about vegan pastries.
“Butter and real sugar’s not gonna kill you,” TK rasps, “My survived-a-near-death-experience wish is for you to go eat a damn cronut.”
“TK!” Owen says breathlessly. He rises from the chair by the bed only to sink back into it when TK panics and won’t let go of his hand. “Only my son would wake up after getting shot and go right back to being an annoying little shit,” he teases.
TK’s laugh is cut off with a choked breath and some painful coughs. Owen helps him drink some water, which soothes his throat enough for him to say, “Where d’you think I got that from?”
Owen flicks his temple. He fills in the gaps in TK’s memory after assuring him that he’d made sure the staff knew not to administer any opioids and not to allow any other visitors into TK’s room. Both doctors and nurses have been by to check up on him or examine and redress the wound on his chest, and while they’re usually good about clearing the room first, Owen hadn’t wanted to take any more chances with TK’s comfort and safety today.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d come out to anyone yet,” Owen says, “I’m sorry if there was anyone you would’ve wanted here. No one’s left the waiting room, though. Everyone’s here for you.”
“Carlos,” TK says, “Want Carlos.”
Owen gives him a teasing look. “Ah, Officer Reyes,” he says casually, “He looked like he wanted to tase me when I wouldn’t let him in to see you.”
TK’s eyes flick away from his dad’s face. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “We… We’re not… But I really like him.”
His dad chuckles. “Oh, I know. You’re not foolin’ anyone. We’ve all seen the way you two look at each other.” He gestures vaguely over TK’s chest—covered in a thin gown that hides nothing—and says, “Want to…?”
TK shakes his head. While Carlos hasn’t seen him when he’s not binding—at least not under lighting as harsh and unflattering as hospital fluorescents—he’s certainly felt the way that their bodies differ. And if he isn’t going to be cool about TK’s body at its most raw and vulnerable—not that he thinks it would come to that—TK would rather know now so he can leave it all behind when he gets out of the hospital.
Owen nods and leans over to pat his cheek and press a kiss to his forehead. “Glad you’re okay, son,” he says. He straightens up and just looks at him for long enough that TK’s just about to start squirming when Owen nods again and steps away. “I’ll go get your boy.”
“Hey, handsome,” Carlos murmurs.
TK’s face scrunches in a dubious grimace even as he feels his cheeks go hot with a bashful blush. “I look like shit and we both know it,” he rasps.
“But you’re alive.”
“I am,” TK says. “So, are you gonna come over here? Or are you gonna make me tear my stitches so I can get a hug?”
Carlos quickly staggers over. He takes TK’s hand in both of his but otherwise he hovers uncertainly, eyes darting over TK and then up to the vitals monitor. The rise and fall of his chest looks a little shallow, and TK feels guilt flood through him.
“You okay?”
Carlos scoffs. “I’m not the one who was just—” His breath catches and his eyes flick down to TK’s chest before darting over to the wall instead.
“Hey,” TK says, tugging at his hands. “Come here.”
“I’m here,” he says quickly.
TK rolls his eyes and gives Carlos a pointed look as he shifts his legs toward the opposite edge of the hospital bed.
Carlos gingerly sits. And when TK wiggles his fingers on his injured side, Carlos takes the hint and lays his arm across TK’s thighs to hold his hand.
TK raises his other hand to cradle Carlos’s face. “I’m okay,” he says. “Thank you for being here.”
“Of course,” Carlos says, “Although I hope not to be holding my breath by your hospital bed ever again, asshole.” He looks down at his lap. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d want me to be here,” he admits, “but your dad said—”
TK throws his head back into the pillow, groaning loudly to drown out the end of the sentence, and Carlos laughs at him for it.
“And when he said you were asking for me, I…” Carlos says, and TK can hear his smile turn more teasing. “Well, it was hard not to feel a little special.”
TK smiles up at the ceiling. “You are,” he says. “Hey, help me sit up?”
They’re both a little useless—Carlos too careful about not hurting him and TK too lethargic to be of much help—and Owen laughs at them from where he’s reappeared in the doorway.
His dad gets him sitting up and propped comfortably against a few pillows, and he helps TK into the zip-up hoodie he’d brought for him. TK leaves it unzipped, open layers being one of his most trusted chest-hiding tricks, and Carlos helps him pull the blankets up to his armpits.
“Dad, give us a second? Carlos will go get everyone when I’m ready for the lectures.”
Owen rolls his eyes teasingly. He gives TK’s thigh a firm pat and then walks around the bed to give Carlos’s shoulder a squeeze on his way out.
“So…” TK says, so falsely nonchalant that Carlos raises an eyebrow dubiously. “Are you…”
“Hm?”
“Are you my boyfriend?”
Carlos chuckles and it turns into full, teasing laughter when TK pouts.
“I take it back,” TK grumbles.
“No, you don’t,” Carlos says, teasing smile still firmly on his face. He sits carefully on the bed at TK’s hip and leans over to stroke a hand over his hair. “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?”
“I don’t know.”
Carlos frowns and withdraws his hand.
“I mean—” TK gives him a pleading look, and Carlos’s face softens into something more patient than stung. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” Carlos says. “You’re allowed to be.”
“But I want you,” TK says resolutely. He smiles shyly and pleads, “Will you please be my boyfriend now?”
Carlos murmurs his sure yes between kisses, and TK smiles against his mouth.
When TK’s finally ready to let him go, Carlos stands up and helps make sure TK is comfortable and covered up so he can finally relieve the crew of the worrying that TK can feel through the walls.
Carlos has only taken half a step toward the door when TK catches his hand.
“TK?”
“You’re gonna come back and hold my hand, right?” TK says in a small voice, “In front of everybody?”
Carlos cocks his head to one side. “Yes. If you want me to.”
“Cool. Okay.” He nods his head, smug and satisfied. “Okay. Go tell everyone that I’m alive.”
Carlos chuckles and says, “Your dad already did that. But you’re going to have to let go of my hand if…”
“Right. Yeah. Okay.” TK’s mouth curls into a giddy smile and he holds onto Carlos for a little longer before squeezing his hand and letting go.
Carlos leans over and catches him in a dizzying kiss, and TK decides it more than makes up for the fussing and teasing he’s about to be subjected to by his family.
TK tells himself that he’s only hogging Carlos’s blankets because his dad insists on having someone keep an eye on him while Owen’s on shift. The alternative, if TK resists this plan, is Owen taking even more time off until he’s satisfied that TK’s not going to spontaneously pop a stitch and bleed out. So TK tells himself that taking up residence in his boyfriend’s bed isn’t a very lovely daydream coming true—except for the bullet hole in his chest, of course.
But he’d be lying. Because Carlos is an angel. He offers help without insisting, he cooks but keeps it simple and doesn’t push TK to eat, and he provides many a nice, toasty cuddle. He’s only pushy about making sure he drinks enough water, and when TK tells him that he sounds like Owen, Carlos just nods sagely and says, Captain Strand is a wise, wise man.
They’re curled up in Carlos’s bed, carefully arranged so as to not pull at TK’s healing gunshot wound or put any pressure on it. He’s wearing some of Carlos’s clothes—fuzzy PJ bottoms with elephants on them and a t-shirt and hoodie—and it’s mostly enough to make up for the fact that he can’t bind his chest at all until he’s fully healed.
Carlos had put on some movie that TK had lied about being his favourite when he didn’t want to admit that the real answer was Tangled, and he even pretends to watch the boring formulaic action movie until the reality of there being very few positions that are comfortable right now decides to make itself known very loudly.
TK accidentally kicks Carlos while he tries to get readjust, and his eyes well up with guilty tears. “Sorry, ‘m sorry. You’ve been so patient and so kind and I just—I’m—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” Carlos says, “It’s all right. I’m all right. I just want you to be all right.” He pushes gently at TK’s uninjured shoulder and leans over him, pressing some weight into him to keep him still. TK’s breath catches when Carlos says, “Taking care of you is not a hardship, TK. Let me.”
TK meets his eyes finally, and it’s the concern and fear he finds that makes him deflate and sink back into the bedding. “I’m—Thank you,” TK says, his voice coming out smaller than he’d like. Still, it makes Carlos relax and the crease in his brow give way for relief.
“Can I help you get more comfortable?”
TK shakes his head. “Everything sucks right now,” he says. “’Cept you.”
Carlos gives him a look and TK groans.
“Not the Carlos Cow Eyes,” he complains, hiding his face in his hands.
“The what now?”
“Nothing. I want cuddles.”
“Bossy.”
“You love it.”
Carlos rolls his eyes but gets them into a mostly comfortable position that allows for cuddles while not risking reinjuring TK. They’re propped up on pillows, TK still mostly on his back but turned into Carlos a little, with Carlos’s grounding weight settled along his uninjured side, an arm laying warm over his waist, hand splayed across his back.
Carlos curls into him and murmurs more reassurance against his collarbone.
TK frowns and pulls away as much as he can with Carlos’s chest pinning him to the bed. “Did you just call me Tyler?”
Carlos looks at him with furrowed brows and confused eyes. “No?” he says slowly, “I said everything will be okay, tiger.” He watches TK's face clear with understanding and then Carlos cocks his head. “Did you… like Tyler? Not like it?”
“Say it again?”
“Hm.” Carlos kisses TK’s jaw and then pulls away just far enough to look him firmly in the face, soft smile pulling at his pretty mouth. “My boyfriend’s name is Tyler Strand. He’s very, very cute,” he says, “and I am grateful for every day that I get to—every day I get to spend with him.”
TK leans up to kiss him.
“How’s that feel, Tyler?”
TK giggles, shoving his face into the pillow despite it doing nothing to help him hide his smile. “I kinda like it,” he mumbles. “It’s new, but it’s nice.” His content smile turns into a teasing grin. “Although, that could just be because I’ve only heard it in your sexy voice.”
He raises a brow. “You think my voice is sexy?”
“Mmhmm.” He kisses the column of Carlos’s neck. “Especially when it’s accompanied by a list of all the things you love about me.”
Carlos pinches his side.
“Ow,” TK grumbles. “Say it again?”
“You’re a beautiful walking safety hazard, Tyler Strand.”
“Yeah, you’re too sexy. Maybe I’ll ask my dad to try it out later,” TK muses. “He’s been making fun of me for—”
Carlos is wearing a face that is far too contemplative for what was supposed to be a mindless, cozy cuddle before bed.
“What? What is it, baby?”
“It’s just…” Carlos says, eyes flicking away from him. “What if you go with Tyler and then something happens and we aren’t together anymore and your name is… is tied to this relationship?”
TK shakes his head. “It won’t be,” he says confidently, “When I thought you said Tyler the first time, it just felt right, you know?” He grins. “Besides, if—and that’s a big if—we ever break up, you’ll still be special to me. If my name does end up reminding me of this moment and these… these feelings, then I think I’d be more than okay with that.”
Carlos is still frowning, and he bites at TK’s hand when he presses out the crease with his fingertips.
TK sucks in a breath. “I wasn’t out as a man in New York,” he says, “except to my ex.”
Carlos cocks his head, his deep frown returning, and TK laughs at him and shakes his head.
“He wasn’t a bad person or even a bad boyfriend—he was actually a really great one; except for the part where he cheated on me.”
“Which is why I still reserve the right to hate him,” Carlos says almost in a growl, his arm curling more tightly around TK’s middle.
“I hate what he did to me at the end,” TK says, “obviously. But I’m still… grudgingly grateful that he was there—that he was supportive of that part of me even when he was the only person I was out to. He’s… He was actually the one who suggested I start going by TK when my name was bothering me but I wasn’t ready to come out, but I don’t think of him every time I hear my name. Or at all, really.”
Carlos makes a noise, unconvinced and noncommittal, and TK pokes him in the side.
“Hey. I was and am fine going by TK. If it feels weird for you, then I won’t do it.”
“No,” Carlos says, “I like it. It suits you. You should do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
He rolls his eyes but he’s wearing an eye-crinkling smile when he chides, “Tyler.”
TK’s smile spreads across his face without his permission, and they both know it’s been decided. “Besides,” he says, smile turning cocky, “I can always just tell people that TK stands for Total Knockout instead. Or, like… Thirsty King or something. Ooh, or Talented Kisser.” He smirks and quirks his brow, and Carlos smiles against TK’s shoulder.
“Well, it would certainly still be true,” he says. He looks up at TK through his lashes. “Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with me.”
All of Austin’s first responders have been run ragged for a few days during and in the aftermath of the solar flare, but the chaos is coupled with high emotions for much of the 126 and their extended family.
But when things are finally settling down, TK comes home from a checkup with his bullet hole doctor to a weird feeling in the house. He sighs. It never quite ends, does it? He moves slowly through the first floor and when he finds nothing out of place, he quietly heads upstairs.
TK finally releases his breath when he finds Carlos sitting up in his bed. He’s stolen back the hoodie and sweatpants that TK had lifted the last time he slept at Carlos’s place, and he’s eating chocolate straight from the block like a neanderthal.
“Hey, you,” he murmurs, “You scared me. Your car’s not here.”
“‘M sorry,” Carlos mumbles. “Sarge had Martina drop me off. We didn’t trust me not to fall asleep on the road.”
“But you’re still awake. Have you slept? When did you get here?”
Carlos shakes his head.
TK frowns. “What can I do? How can I help?”
“Sit,” he requests softly, “Tell me about your day?”
TK sits, but he still quips, “Because I’m so boring when I’m not putting out fires that I’ll put you to sleep?”
Carlos’s brows dip into a frown and he pins TK with a sharp, disapproving look despite his exhaustion. “Because I care about how your day went and I know you had that doctor’s appointment. And I like hearing your voice. Makes me feel safe.”
“Oh.”
He rolls his eyes. “Talk to me or I’ll keep eating your chocolate until I fall into a sugar coma.”
TK snatches the chocolate from him. He sits up against the headboard with Carlos’s head pillowed on his thigh, and he does what he does best when he’s worried about Carlos and he rambles.
When he’s finally asleep, TK steals Carlos’s phone and dips out of the bedroom.
“Carlitos?”
“Hola, Mamá Reyes. Um, it’s TK,” he says softly. He quickly tells her, “No se preocupe, Carlos está aquí mismo,” because most of TK’s own friends and family are first responders so he’s heard and felt the instinctual panic when a phone call doesn’t start the way one expects.
“TK,” Andrea says warmly, “This is a nice surprise. How are you boys doing?”
“We’re okay. We’re…” He frowns and wets his lip. “Well, we’ve both had a tough few days, actually. Carlos is finally getting some sleep, but I was hoping I might…”
“Mijo?”
“I suppose I was wondering if you knew of anything that might comfort him that I can have ready for him? A meal you guys would cook for him or—or… I know he likes that mezze place when he doesn’t want to decide on food and Tejano music when he’s tired or missing you guys, but I wanted to do something extra nice and… you know, take care of him like he’s always taking care of everyone else, I guess.”
Andrea suggests a few more ideas and patiently gives him tips and answers his questions so he can make sure he does a good job, but TK is also mindful to keep the conversation as quick as is feasible so he’s not away from Carlos for too long. He won’t be able to stay with him if he’s going to work on a few of Andrea’s suggestions, and he won’t risk disturbing his sleep by climbing back into bed with him, but he really doesn’t want to be apart from him more than he has to.
“Hey, TK?”
“Mmhmm?”
“You make sure you take care of yourself too, huh?”
“Oh. Uh…”
“TK.”
“Sí, mamá. I will.”
“Good,” she says. “You call if you need anything at all. And tell my baby I love him.”
“Will do. And you know he loves you back.”
“I know, mijo. Thank you. And thank you for taking care of him. For loving him.”
TK’s entire vocabulary escapes him—because what are you supposed to say to your boyfriend’s mother when she figures out you’re in love with her son before you’ve told him. Andrea laughs at him, and he can’t help but smile.
“Of course,” TK says softly, “He deserves it.”
They say their goodbyes, and he stands in the hallway for another minute, staring down at Andrea’s contact photo—a silly selfie of her and Carlos.
He slips back into his bedroom and makes sure the phone is on do not disturb before setting it on the nightstand to charge. He glances at Carlos and hesitates for a few seconds before pulling his t-shirt and hoodie off in one go and swapping his binder for a pretty lace bralette, and then he pulls his layers back on and trades his jeans for sweats.
Then he carefully tucks his dachshund stuffy under Carlos’s arm, pulls the blankets up over his shoulders, and presses a kiss to his temple before quietly closing the door on his way out.
TK’s just plating the last of the brownies when Carlos shuffles into the kitchen with a sleepy frown on his face. He’s still hugging the stuffed dog to his chest.
“Hey, baby. Good sleep?”
Carlos blinks at him before slowly nodding.
“I’m glad. You hungry?”
Carlos nods again, and TK leans over to kiss the pillow creases on his face before pulling out his phone to put the order through for Carlos’s favourite comfort takeout. When he looks back up, Carlos is still staring at him. TK just smiles, grabbing the plate of brownies in one hand and Carlos’s elbow in the other, and he takes them both into the living room.
TK timidly tells him what he’s got planned, a little nervous now that he can see Carlos’s emotions so openly moving across his face, and he finishes with a teasing quip about the lineup of old romance movies that Carlos used to beg his sisters to watch with him.
“And call your mamá,” TK says sternly. “She worries.”
Carlos looks blearily around at the living room before his wet eyes slide back to TK. “You talked to my mamá?”
“Mmhmm. Who else was gonna tell me that you like m&m’s in your brownies and have a secret stuffed elephant that you’ve been hiding from me?”
Carlos pouts, brow furrowing inward like it does when he’s trying not to cry.
“She also told me to tell you that she loves you,” TK says gently, “I told her we love her too, but I think she’d be really happy to talk to you when you feel up to it.”
“You talked to my mamá,” Carlos says faintly, “You tucked me in and you baked and you—” He sniffles, smiling his cute little downturned smile and says, “I love you.”
TK’s satisfied smile takes over his whole face. “Well,” he says, “that’s nice.”
Carlos pulls a face, but it doesn’t quite have the intended effect when paired with his tired, teary eyes and adorable bed head.
“Porque yo también te quiero, Carlos.”
After some tears and kisses and enough food to make them both sleepy and a little silly, they settle into the couch, TK on his back with Carlos pressed close along his side and half on top of him. He’s thrown a leg over one of TK’s and an arm over his waist, hand wedged between TK’s back and the couch. He snuffles into TK’s shoulder, using it as a pillow so he can still see the TV.
And, now that the adorable baffled surprise has faded into easy contentment, Carlos finally seems to register that TK has Spanish subtitles on.
“So,” he says, “You speak Spanish? Your accent is actually… surprisingly good.”
“Yeah, a little. It was helpful in New York as a firefighter, but Texas has double the Latino population so I’ve been practicing more since we moved down here. And, you know, it definitely helps that it impresses Mamá Reyes.”
“Impresses me too, amor,” Carlos mumbles. “You talked to my mamá in Spanish?”
“Only a little,” TK says, “and only the easy stuff that I’m more familiar with. I know you’ll have enough fun laughing at me when I mess up—I'm not risking that with your family yet.”
“Mamá wouldn’t laugh at you.” Carlos smiles against TK’s shoulder. “She’d just not let you marry into the family until you can hold your own when everyone starts arguing in Spanglish at game nights.”
TK presses his chin to his chest to look at him with a teasing smile. “You want me to ask for your hand before I propose?”
Carlos’s face scrunches. “No. In fact, please don’t.”
“Don’t propose,” Tk says slowly, “or don’t ask permission first?”
Carlos slowly lifts his head to look him in the face. “Don’t propose yet,” he says firmly, “But I meant don’t you dare ask for my hand like this is the seventeen hundreds and you’re going to exchange me for a chicken.”
TK puts on the thoughtful pout he’s been told is particularly adorable. “Baby, you’d be worth at least three chickens and a cow.”
“I want a divorce,” Carlos mumbles, dropping his face back into TK’s shoulder.
“No takebacks,” TK says brightly, “You’re stuck with me now, papito.”
Carlos tenses and throws himself upright when they hear footsteps on the stairs.
“Shit, sorry,” TK says, “I meant to tell you Dad came home while you were sleeping. He’s just gonna hang upstairs and give us some space.”
Carlos resists when TK tries to pull him back down. “But—”
“Baby, it’s okay. He knows you’re here, and he’s happy that you felt comfortable coming over when you needed to.”
“I didn’t want to be alone,” Carlos mutters, finally settling back in against TK’s side.
“I know. Me either. As much as you scared the shit out of me when I first got here, I was really glad to find you in my bed, even if all you were doing was eating my good chocolate.”
Carlos smiles and kisses his shoulder like an apology. “It was the only thing that had your name on it. I didn’t wanna eat anything of your dad’s—I know how he is about his kale chips.”
TK hears his dad purposely shuffle his feet as he approaches.
“Eat whatever you want in this house, kid,” Owen says, padding over and setting two steaming mugs on the coffee table. “Just don’t touch my skincare products.”
TK rolls his eyes, watching with warmth squeezing through his chest as Owen pats Carlos’s shoulder and heads back through the kitchen on his way upstairs.
Carlos slowly turns his dazed look on TK. “Does that mean your dad approves of me?”
TK snorts. “He’s approved of you since he caught me smiling at my phone every five minutes before he even knew your first name, Officer Reyes. Maybe you should be asking him for my hand.”
Carlos sinks his teeth gently into TK’s shoulder. “I hate you.”
“Me quieres, papi.”
“Te amo, Tyler.”
When TK asks his dad to try out Tyler for him, Carlos laughs into his fist while TK clumsily skirts around the fact that the name was born out of his mishearing Carlos calling him tiger after Owen asks how he’d chosen the name.
So Owen and Carlos keep calling him Tyler at home or when it’s just the three of them, and it sticks.
Until TK asks his dad to give him a middle name and he picks Kennedy.
“You want me to choose? Are you sure?”
“Well… you’re my dad, you know?” TK says, “I don’t know, I guess I just… want you to be a part of this.”
Owen looks at him with his soft Papa Strand eyes and TK has to look away before one or both of them starts crying.
He leans further into Carlos’s side and clears his throat. “So… thoughts?”
“Kennedy,” Owen says, no hesitation. “That would have been your name had the doc told us that you’re a boy twenty-six years ago.”
TK makes a face, features scrunching up in a grimace. “Suddenly I’m glad I wasn’t born a boy.”
Owen snorts. “That’s my pick, kiddo. You don’t have to like it.” He grins. “You could always choose your own name, you know.”
TK scowls. His dad knows that he hasn’t been all that bothered about picking a new name at all, purely because he’s indecisive and didn’t even know where to start. Had he not misheard Carlos and gotten attached to the name Tyler, he’d have been fine with just TK for the rest of his life.
“You don’t have to have a middle name,” Carlos suggests reasonably.
“What, and go by TK where the T is for Tyler and the K means nothing? That’s even weirder than TK not standing for anything at all.” He sighs deeply and aims a petulant pout at his father. “Tyler Kennedy it is, then, I guess.”
Owen laughs as Carlos rubs his back consolingly, and TK feels so incredibly warm and loved even if he’s never telling anyone else his name ever.
TK loiters uncomfortably outside the women’s locker room and calls out, “Hey—Everyone decent in there? It’s just TK. Uh…” He winces and scratches the back of his neck. “Marjan—she forgot something and asked me to grab it for her.”
He doesn’t hear anything back, so he slowly rounds the corner, only to see Marjan standing in the otherwise empty locker room, hands on her hips and one brow raised sharply.
“Oh, heyyyyy, Marjan.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be cute.”
“Can’t help it,” TK quips, grinning innocently.
Marjan just cocks her hip and stares at him until he deflates.
“I just needed…” He hesitates, and then Marjan’s stern look and impatient foot-tapping get to him and he starts rambling about how he’d given Nancy the basket of period products from the men’s locker room the week before because the women’s was running low and TK was the only one who used them until he stopped needing them but now he’s gotten his period unexpectedly even though he’d thought he’d be fine except his hormones have been out of whack since when after his last near death experience he couldn’t be bothered doing his T shots for a while until Carlos had offered to help him and—
“Hey,” Marjan says softly, curling a hand around his forearm. “Breathe, dude.” She waits patiently for him to suck in some air and then get his breath back under control. “Go do what you need to do, okay? Do you want me to wait for you so we can talk or do you want me to pretend this never happened?”
“Um.” He fidgets and pulls his shoulders up. “Neither? You don’t have to pretend you don’t know, but unless you have questions I think I’d rather just go home.”
“Going home to Carlos?”
TK sighs, smiling tiredly because he can’t quite help it. “Yeah.”
Marjan nods approvingly and she smiles, lip quirked teasingly. “All right, loverboy.” She pulls him into a hug and says into his shoulder, “Love you always, you know that?”
TK nods, breath coming out of him in a sigh as Marjan draws back.
“Go,” she says, gently shoving his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, TK.”
He grabs what he needs from the basket on the counter and then darts back over to the men’s locker room for a hot shower. He gets dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt over his bare chest and then he pulls on his favourite chest-hiding, dysphoria-busting oversized hoodie.
When he shuffles through Carlos’s front door, he’s greeted by the softest marshmallow of a man in a cozy crewneck and sweats, surrounded by an enticing nest of blankets and pillows on and around the couch.
“The fuck is this?” TK says, awestruck and maybe a little teary-eyed, though he’d never admit it.
Since TK’s still standing against the front door, Carlos heaves a sigh and goes to meet him with a kiss. TK drops his bag at his feet and throws his arms around Carlos.
“Marjan texted,” he says into TK’s hair, “Didn’t say why but she thought you might need some extra cuddles tonight.”
TK pulls back so Carlos can see him roll his eyes. He may be feeling more warm and cared for than he ever has, but he’s still a little shit by nature. “I came out to her,” he says, “by accident.” He scrunches his nose. “Got my period unexpectedly.”
Carlos nods his understanding and he presses a lingering kiss to TK’s temple. “How are you feeing about that?”
“Which part?”
“All of it,” Carlos says, shrugging one shoulder, “Any of it. Or none of it, if you’d just rather distraction and cuddles.”
“And kisses?” TK says hopefully.
Carlos gives TK his cutest, warmest, scrunchiest smile. “Always kisses,” he promises, “As many as you want, TK.”
When TK shuffles blearily into the locker room at the start of his next shift, he finds the basket on the counter returned and restocked with period products and TK’s favourite chocolate, and if he sniffles pathetically into his locker? Well, no one is there to see it.
He’s been ready for a while, but when he finally feels prepared with some specific words and phrases, TK shares some more pieces of himself with the crew.
He starts with the short version of his addiction, the breakup and the move, and then tells everyone confidently that he plans to stay with his family at the 126. Everyone is supportive and relieved and TK gets a round of hugs and back-slaps for his efforts while Owen and Carlos watch with pride from the sidelines.
“Hey,” Nancy says, “While you’re sharing—What the hell does TK stand for?”
A few of the crew groan, and TK rolls his eyes. Nancy hadn’t been there for this conversation the first time it happened, but TK thinks maybe he could use it as a nice segue into the other big thing he wants to share.
“He won’t tell anyone,” Mateo says with a pout, “No one but Cap knows.”
A strong arm curls around TK’s waist, and even with Carlos standing behind him, TK can see the exact smug smile he’s wearing when he says, “I do.”
There’s a small cacophony of complaints and protests, accompanied by pouts and jealous, offended frowns.
“You said it didn’t stand for anything!”
“Why does he get to know?” Mateo complains.
“Because he’s his boyfriend?” Marjan suggests, brow raised.
TK takes a deep breath. “Because he was there when I chose both names.”
Owen snorts into the back of his hand, and then he looks up sheepishly like he can feel TK’s eye-roll.
“Fine,” TK says, “Because Carlos accidentally gave me my first name and then was there to laugh at me when my dad ruined it by giving me the worst middle name ever.”
“Hold on, little brother,” Judd says, “Are you sayin’—”
“I’m trans. Six months ago, I was tellin’ the truth when I said TK didn’t stand for anything—I was still pretty newly presenting as a man and hadn’t decided on a new name yet.” He kicks at the ground and shrugs. “Hadn’t really planned on it, either, because I’m cool with TK—which is all y’all are ever gonna know about my name.”
Owen wrinkles his nose as Judd whoops.
“Finally made a real Texan outta you!”
“Aw, baby’s first y’all,” Nancy coos.
TK groans loudly and turns to hide against Carlos’s broad chest. “Make them go away, Officer,” he mumbles, and he sighs happily as Carlos’s arms curl further around his waist to hold him firmly.
“And why,” Carlos murmurs by TK’s ear, “would I do that, Tyler Kennedy?”
TK shoves out of his arms with a burst of laughter so easy and joyful that it stops him short, surprised nearly to tears at his own happiness. He looks around at his crew—his family—and stumbles a step backward into Carlos’s chest. Carlos catches him and supports his weight until everyone else crushes in and collides into a huge, messy group hug.
“Yo, so your boy Carlos already knew about this,” Judd says, “Did anyone else?”
TK sighs and shakes his head even as he grins. “Paul’s known since we met, because—”
“Because he’s Paul,” more than a few people fill in together.
“Exactly,” TK says, inclining his head and sending a grateful smile in Paul’s direction. “And Marjan found out by accident, like, last week.”
“By the grace of you being a disaster, you mean,” she teases.
TK rolls his eyes. “Just because it’s true, doesn’t mean you have to say it.”
“Uh…” Marjan says, “that’s exactly why I have to say it, actually.” She grins. “Proud of you, though, dude.”
“For being a disaster?”
Marjan slugs him in the shoulder. “For being you.”