Chapter Text
It was the early morning, the kind of quiet that made the world feel like it was still holding its breath. Carlos stirred first, as he usually did, TK’s shift started a little later, so he had the luxury of lingering in bed.
He turned slightly to his right, taking in the sight of TK, still fast asleep. There was something in the way he looked—peaceful, unguarded—that made Carlos’s chest tighten. Carefully, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to TK’s forehead, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo lingering from the shower they had shared the night before.
Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the early morning chill brush against his skin. For a moment, he wished he could stay wrapped up in the warmth of the bed with TK, but that comfort didn’t last long. Within seconds, TK stirred, sensing the empty space beside him.
“Mmm… where you goin’…?” With a voice still heavy with sleep, TK muttered, clearly half asleep.
Carlos chuckled and sat back down beside him. “Work, babe.” He leaned down to brush TK’s hair away from his face and kissed the top of his head. “Time to start getting ready, too.”
TK squinted at the sudden brightness, blinking up at him, and smiled. “I will… soon.” Which usually meant he’d slip back into sleep and not move until the last possible second.
“TK, come on. Up,” Carlos said firmly. It was a little annoying, but it was definitely a turn-on for TK.
TK let out a frustrated sigh, stretching and cracking his back as he swung his legs off the bed. Slowly, he made his way to the closet, grabbing his uniform. He undressed quickly, sliding into the different pieces with practiced efficiency, fastening his badge and name tag.
Next came the bathroom: brushing his teeth, combing out his hair, shaving the bits that needed it, and washing his face. The routine was familiar, practiced, and grounding—something normal and steady before the day truly began.
--- TIMESKIP TO THE 126 FIRE STATION. ---
TK stepped into the station, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and made his way to his locker. He liked to get in early—Owen expected it, after all. Half the time, it stressed him out, but it was the least he could do since transferring into paramedics and leaving firefighting behind.
Even though Owen never said it outright, TK could feel the quiet disappointment lingering in his gaze, a weight that settled over him every shift. It was unspoken, but it was there—reminding him of the choice he’d made, and of the expectations he still needed to meet.
Expectations that’s probably never get met.
He was finishing up at his locker when Paul walked in.
“Hey, TK! You’re here early. What’s up?”
TK shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Ah, it’s nothing. My dad just expects me here a little earlier than usual.”
Paul’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You for real?”
“Yup,” TK said, shrugging again, though a small part of him couldn’t understand why Paul seemed so shocked, If Paul was also early.
“How come you’re here so early, Paul?” TK asked, nodding toward him.
“I like to exercise a bit in the morning before my day starts, y’know?”
TK wrinkled his nose. “Sweating that early in the morning…? Geez, Paul.” He shook his head, laughing a little. “Some people are weird, I guess.”
Paul grinned. “Hey, at least I’m up and moving before noon!”
“Yeah, congrats,” TK muttered, rolling his eyes. He closed and locked his locker with a snap, chuckling under his breath as he headed for the kitchen to grab some water.
The rest of the crew slowly trickled in—Judd, Marjan, Tommy, Nancy… and then Mateo. One by one, the station started to fill with life, the usual mix of chatter, laughter, and the faint clatter of lockers and coffee cups.
The morning had a calm, comfortable rhythm. Everyone was talking about their recent calls, joking about near-misses, teasing each other about crushes, or recounting stories that somehow got funnier each time they were told.
Judd was ribbing Marjan about a slip on the hose last week, Tommy was making a dramatic retelling of a mundane shift, and Nancy and Mateo were quietly trading smiles over something only they understood.
Even TK found himself smirking at a few of the jokes, the ease of it all settling over him like a warm blanket. For a little while, the world outside the chaos, the danger, the pressures.. felt miles away. It was good, and it was normal, and in moments like these, the firehouse felt unbreakable.
At least, that’s what they all hoped. Because deep down, everyone knew that even the strongest bonds could be tested, and sometimes, the cracks didn’t show until it was too late.
Owen shuffled downstairs, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and muttered something under his breath as he headed for the coffee pot. The rich smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen, a brief, comforting anchor in the calm morning.
Then the station phone shrieked. Sharp. Urgent.
Owen grabbed the receiver, his voice booming instantly. “All right, people! Let’s move!”
Chaos exploded in the station. Boots clanged on the floor, lockers slammed shut, radios crackled. Tommy and Judd were already pulling on jackets, Marjan was checking equipment, and Nancy sprinted toward the paramedic truck. Mateo and the rest of the crew were shouting over each other, gathering hoses and prepping the fire truck.
TK ran to the ambulance, adrenaline thrumming in his veins. He climbed into the back, strapping himself in and checking his equipment with practiced efficiency. Nancy slid into the passenger seat up front, already reviewing the call details, while Tommy jumped into the driver’s seat, revving the engine.
Outside, the firefighters were moving with the same precision, each one sliding into the fire truck, securing gear, and double-checking their equipment. The calm morning that had felt so safe only minutes ago was gone, replaced with the roar of engines, shouting orders, and the pulse of a team springing into action.
The ambulance tore down the streets, sirens screaming, lights flashing, and TK yelled above the chaos, “What’s the call?!”
Nancy and Tommy exchanged a quick, uneasy glance. Nancy’s grip on the edge of the dash tightened, and she hesitated, like she was afraid to speak the words aloud.
Finally, Tommy’s voice cut through the noise, just barely steady. “Possible OD.”
TK’s chest sank, heavier than it usually did on calls. He told himself to stay focused, to block the past out, but it crept in anyway—the faces he couldn’t save, the chaos he’d seen as a firefighter, the nights that had ended in regret. He understood, now, why Owen often kept him in the truck, close enough to help but not in the thick of it.
Tommy didn’t know the full story. She didn’t know about the bad choices, the mistakes, the messes he’d been through. And TK wanted it to stay that way. Some things were his alone.
“TK,” Tommy started again, her voice cautious, “if you want to sit this one out—“
“No way! I’m fine, Cap,” he cut her off, firm. His hands pressed against the straps beside him, fingernails digging in a little more than necessary. He couldn’t let them see it—the tightness in his chest, the flicker of panic, the pull of old ghosts. Not now. Not ever.
They pulled up, and TK swung out of the back of the ambulance, grabbing the equipment they’d need. His eyes flicked over the team, and he caught the looks on their faces when they saw him. He hated this—hated feeling small, like he didn’t belong. He was qualified. His past didn’t define him.
So who were they to look at him like he was broken?
Owen’s voice cut through the tension, barking orders. “Watch your step! Needles, any unidentified drugs or medications—don’t touch anything! Move carefully!” The basics you’d expect in a drug den, but that didn’t make it any less tense.
TK scanned the room, and something in him tensed. He knew these places all too well. Back when he was using, he’d been in places like this, doing whatever he wanted, no one to stop him—sometimes even being encouraged to go further. The memories hit him like a punch, just for a moment, before he shoved them aside.
He noticed Judd and Owen lingering a little closer than usual, staying near him while the rest of the crew worked. It should’ve been reassuring—but instead, it pushed him further into a bad mood, a coil of irritation and unease tightening in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, judged, like any slip could undo all the work he’d done.
He saw her then—unconscious on the floor, a needle still in her arm, vomit pooling at the corner of her mouth.
A feeling he knew all too well washed over him like a wave. Panic. Guilt. Shame. Memories he had worked so hard to bury surged back in vivid flashes.
“TK! Check her airway!” Owen’s voice cut through the haze, urgent and commanding. “Gloves on, now! Eyes on the scene, move fast!”
Do it, TK. TK, do it. Why can’t you do it? Breathe. Focus. This is your job.
TK’s hands shook, but he snapped into action, pulling on gloves. His eyes darted around the room, noting anything that could be dangerous: syringes scattered on the floor, pills in small piles, signs that someone might still be around. His stomach twisted. I’ve been here before… but not like this.
He knelt beside her, checking her pulse and breathing while the chaos of orders continued around him. “CPR if she stops breathing! Oxygen, now!” Judd shouted from across the room.
TK pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling the faint flicker of a pulse. He leaned closer, voice low but steady, even as adrenaline surged. “Hey… hey,” he said softly, brushing hair from her face. “My name’s TK, okay? I—I’m here to help you.”
Focus, TK. Just do your job. Don’t let it get to you. Breathe. Move. Focus.
His mind raced, torn between the procedures drilled into him and the flood of memories he could barely keep in check. He grabbed the bag of oxygen and positioned it carefully, keeping one eye on her vitals and one on the room, noting the sharp eyes of Judd and Owen hovering a little too close.
The orders kept coming, sharp and rapid: “Prepare the naloxone kit!” “Check for other substances!” “We need to get her stabilized, now!” TK moved on instinct, his hands steady even as his chest tightened. Each instruction was a tether to reality, keeping the memories at bay for just a little longer.
Do it, TK. You’ve done this before. Just keep moving. Breathe. Focus.
And still, the flashbacks lingered—places like this, smells like this, the high that had once consumed him. He swallowed hard and forced his focus back on her, on the work, on saving her life before the past could pull him under completely.
He noticed Tommy in front of him, stabilizing her and keeping her straight.
god, why did it have to be him doing this?
TK worked fast, every movement precise, hands trembling just slightly as he forced himself to focus. Breathe. Focus. This is your job. Don’t lose her, TK. Don’t let it happen.
He checked her pulse again. Weak. Shallow. He readied the oxygen mask and prepared the naloxone kit, feeling the familiar tension coil tighter in his chest. Do it. You can do this. Just do it, TK.
The chaos of orders from Owen and Judd blurred together, a mix of shouting, instructions, and the thrum of adrenaline in the room. But none of it seemed real anymore—the room felt smaller, the walls closer. Memories pressed in, sharp and relentless, pulling him under.
And then… nothing.
Her chest didn’t rise. Her fingers went limp beneath his hands.
“No… no, no, no!” TK’s voice cracked as he shook her gently, panic spilling out, his gloves scraping against the linoleum floor. “Hey! Hey! Come on! Don’t do this! Stay with me! Come on, Come on, Come on, Nonononono..”
He could hear Owen’s voice, urgent, trying to guide him. “TK! CPR! Now!” But the words barely reached him over the roar in his own head. Do it! Do it! Why can’t you do it? Focus! Breathe!
His hands pumped desperately against her chest, and he tried to keep the oxygen in place, tried to hold onto every bit of life he could see slipping away— but it wasn’t enough. Her eyes, when they flickered, were already dimming, and the faint pulse he had felt moments ago vanished like smoke.
“No… stay… come on…” TK’s voice broke completely. His knees hit the floor harder as he collapsed beside her, chest heaving, gloves sticky with her vomit and blood. He couldn’t make it right. He couldn’t save her.
This isn’t happening. Breathe, TK. Focus. You have to focus.
But the flashbacks hit harder than ever—places like this, people like her, moments when he had been powerless before, moments when he had been the one spiraling. And now, even with all his skill, all his training, he was powerless again.
He could feel Judd and Owen close, voices urgent, trying to take over, but he barely registered them. Everything had narrowed down to the one truth he couldn’t fight: she was gone.
And for the first time in a long time, TK felt that helpless panic fully, raw and unfiltered, creeping in from the edges of his mind, whispering the words he never wanted to hear again: You can’t always save them. You can’t save yourself either.
The room was a controlled chaos. Owen barked orders, Judd moved efficiently, and the rest of the crew worked in practiced synchronicity. Tommy and Nancy leaned over her, checking vitals, attempting to stabilize her as best they could. TK stayed close, hands ready, trying to follow every instruction while his chest tightened and his stomach churned. Breathe. Focus. This is your job. You’ve done this before.
“Pulse is weak! Keep the oxygen steady!” Nancy shouted, straining to maintain calm.
“Get the gurney! We need to move her!” Judd called, and within moments, the gurney was in position. TK helped lift her carefully, each movement precise despite the nausea clawing at his throat. He swallowed hard, forcing down the urge to vomit as he leaned over her, monitoring her vitals, checking her airway. Focus, TK. Don’t let it get to you.
The ambulance doors slammed shut behind them, the sirens wailing as Tommy hit the accelerator. Nancy kept her hands on the patient, talking to her softly, trying to coax any signs of life. TK hovered in the back, straining to control his own reaction as panic threatened to consume him. He could feel the bile rising, a visceral reminder of every bad memory he’d ever tried to outrun. Don’t. Don’t throw up. Focus.
“Vitals are dropping!” Nancy cried, voice tight, glancing at TK. “She’s fading!”
TK pressed his hands to her chest again, willing it to change, but it didn’t. He could see the faint flicker of life dimming with every second, and the memories—places like this, the highs, the lows, the spirals—crowded in around him. You can’t fix this. You can’t save her. Do your job anyway.
Judd steadied the gurney as they hit bumps in the road, yelling instructions over the sirens. Tommy maneuvered through traffic as Nancy adjusted the oxygen and prepared the defibrillator. Every movement was precise, coordinated, methodical. TK followed each direction, but internally, a storm raged—his stomach twisted, his hands trembled slightly, and each breath felt like a battle.
And still… nothing worked.
By the time the hospital came into view, her pulse was gone. TK’s hands hovered uselessly, frozen for a fraction of a second before he forced them down, trying not to collapse completely. He fought back tears, swallowed back bile, kept his voice steady when the doctors met them at the doors. Don’t let them see you break. Not now. Not ever.
He helped move her gurney inside, each step a mechanical repetition of procedure. Everything around him felt distant and unreal—the noises, the lights, the chaos. But the one truth remained, sharper than any siren or shouted order: she didn’t survive.
TK exhaled slowly, though it barely registered. His stomach churned, his chest felt tight, and the bitter taste in his mouth wouldn’t go away. And for the first time in a long while, he felt completely, utterly powerless
By the time they got back to the station, TK didn’t follow the others inside. He slipped quietly into the locker room, closing the door behind him. He leaned against the cool metal of the lockers, knees bent, fingers clenching and unclenching as his chest heaved in shallow, rapid breaths. His stomach twisted, bile rising, but he forced it down.
His thoughts wouldn’t stop. Do it, TK. Do it! Breathe. Focus. You failed her. You always fail. This is your fault. You can’t save anyone. Why can’t you do it?
He rocked slightly on the floor, jaw tight, muttering under his breath in short, fragmented bursts. The panic was there, coiling and sharp, but he tried to contain it—tried to remind himself he was still TK, still in control. His hands shook violently, and he gritted his teeth against the nausea and the memories that pressed in from every angle.
A knock on the door startled him. “TK… I know you’re in there. Come on, talk to me,” Owen’s calm, firm voice called.
TK didn’t answer, just hugged his knees tighter and kept rocking, muttering: “It’s my fault… it’s all my fault… I should’ve…”
Owen pushed the door open a crack, just enough to step inside. “I hear you. I know you feel responsible. But yelling at yourself—or hiding in here—won’t fix it.”
TK’s eyes stayed down, jaw clenched, hands gripping his knees. His body was trembling, but he wouldn’t let himself break in front of Owen. He swallowed hard, forcing the words down along with the bile in his throat. Focus. Control it. You can’t lose it now.
Owen didn’t push further. He simply said, “I’m gonna call Carlos. You’re getting off early, and I don’t feel comfortable with you driving by yourself.”
TK didn’t argue. He couldn’t. He let himself sink a little deeper against the lockers, still shaking, still muttering under his breath, thoughts racing in a chaotic loop. But for once, he didn’t have to move or fight—Owen’s quiet presence was enough to keep him from completely unraveling.
—
CARLOS & OWEN. — Texting. —
Owen Strand ; “Hey Carlos, Are you able to get off work right now?”
Carlos Reyes ; “Hi Owen. For what?”
Owen Strand ; “TK had a bad call, it was an OD. He took it pretty hard, I don’t wanna get into too much detail. But i don’t feel safe with him driving home by himself, i let him off early.”
Carlos Reyes ; “Yea, i’ll be there in about 5 minutes. Where is he?”
Owen Strand ; “Locker rooms.”
Carlos Reyes ; “Ok. See you in a bit.”
Owen Strand ; “Thanks Carlos.”
Carlos Reyes ; “Anytime.”
—
By the time Carlos arrived, he noticed the looks people gave him as he stepped through the doors—worried, heavy with concern, silent questions hanging in the air. He knew TK took calls hard sometimes, but drug-related emergencies weren’t something TK usually handled. That’s why Owen’s text had caught him off guard.
As he made his way toward the locker rooms, Judd stepped into his path.
“Hey… Carlos,” Judd said, voice tight.
Carlos looked at him, trying for casual but failing. “Hey, Judd. What’s up?” His tone carried an edge of unease—he could feel it in his chest, the anticipation of what he might find in the room beside him.
Judd drew a deep breath. “I… I think I pushed him a bit. I was yelling orders at him—and Owen was too—and… I think that’s why we lost her.”
Carlos’s stomach dropped. “You… lost her?”
Judd nodded, his expression mirroring the nervousness and guilt Carlos felt in that moment.
“TK was the one handling her when it happened?” Carlos asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Another nod.
Carlos didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, heart hammering, and pushed open the door to the locker room.
TK sat on the floor in the narrow space between the benches and the lockers, knees drawn tight to his chest like he was trying to physically hold himself together. His back pressed against the lockers so hard it looked painful. His fingers trembled uncontrollably, nails scraping lightly against the fabric of his uniform pants as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
His breathing was the worst part—fast, shallow, like he couldn’t catch enough air no matter how hard he tried. His eyes were unfocused, fixed on the floor but not really seeing anything.
His lips moved. Soft. Disconnected. A whisper, almost like chanting to himself.
Do it, TK… breathe… breathe… focus… focus… why can’t I—I can’t—just breathe, come on, do it, do it—
Carlos’s heart cracked wide open at the sound.
He stepped inside carefully, closing the door behind him, making sure it didn’t slam.
“TK?” he said gently, voice low, almost a whisper. “Baby… it’s me.”
TK flinched at the sound of his voice—barely—but it was enough to show he wasn’t gone, just drowning.
Carlos crouched down slowly, coming level with him. He didn’t touch him yet—TK’s shoulders were too tight, like even the slightest pressure might shatter him.
“Hey,” Carlos said softly. “Look at me.”
TK tried. His eyes flickered toward Carlos’s face, but only for a second before darting away again as another tremor rolled through him. His breath stuttered, catching like there wasn’t enough space in his lungs.
Then, in a strained, cracked whisper, TK forced out:
“I—I messed up.” His eyes squeezed shut. “I lost her, Carlos. I—I lost her. I should’ve—”
He stopped himself, breath hitching sharply as panic spiked again. His hands flew up to his hair, gripping at the strands like he needed something to anchor him.
“I should’ve done more. I shouldn’t’ve frozen—God, I froze—I couldn’t—I couldn’t move.”
Carlos shook his head immediately—firm, certain, like he needed TK to hear him over the noise in his own mind.
“They never should’ve put you in that situation,” he said, voice low but unwavering. “Not with your history. Not with what you’ve been through. That’s on them, not you.”
His hands lifted carefully to where TK’s fingers were still tangled in his own hair, pulling at it in that desperate, anxious way he only did when he was trying not to fall apart. Carlos’s touch was soft, his thumb brushing over TK’s knuckles, grounding him.
“Hey,” he murmured, “can you let go for me, TK? Please?”
For a second, TK didn’t move—his breathing still fast, eyes unfocused, chest tight like he couldn’t get a full breath in. But slowly, with visible effort, he loosened his grip and let his hands fall into Carlos’s waiting palms.
Carlos caught them gently, holding them between his own like something fragile. He rubbed slow circles over the back of TK’s hands with his thumbs, hoping to steady the trembling.
“Good,” Carlos whispered. “That’s good. I’ve got you.”
He shifted closer, still crouched in front of him, still keeping his voice soft and steady. “Let’s go home, okay?”
TK couldn’t speak—not around the lump in his throat, not past the tightness in his chest—but he managed a small, shaky nod.
And that was enough for Carlos.
He squeezed TK’s hands once more, then helped him up from the cold locker room floor, steadying him when his legs almost gave out from everything he’d been holding in. Carlos didn’t say anything else—he didn’t need to. He just stayed close, guiding him out of the room and toward the exit, like TK was something precious he refused to let break any further.