Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

TK is a bundle of nerves for his first day. Jonah on the other hand, has spent the entire morning ecstatic with the prospect of his big brother’s new job.

“Do you get a cop car with a siren?” he asks, hopping around TK’s bedroom as the latter attempts to assemble an outfit that communicates both comfort and professionalism. Apparently, a hard line to toe. Or maybe he just needs an entire new wardrobe of clothing.

“No,” he mumbles absentmindedly, reaching to pull out another sweater. He scrunches up his face at the scratchy fabric and throws it onto the accumulating pile on his bed. All he’s managed to settle on so far is a pair of black, well-fitted jeans. He stands bare-chested and overwhelmed as he realises he’s ran out of sweaters and shirts to consider.

“Aw,” Jonah whines, scrabbling up onto the bed to unceremoniously launch himself on top of the clothes mountain. “I wish you got a car. A really fast car.”

“Me too, buddy, me too.” TK is all for saving the planet and is a well-seasoned public transit user having grown up in New York, but even he has a limit for how many unhinged bus interactions he can tolerate. Sure, New Yorkers are borderline insane, but LA folk are a whole different brand of crazy. “The good news is I’ll be making enough money to get our actual car back.”

Jonah lets out a cheer, grinning up at TK. In a brief moment of reprieve from his nerves, TK beams back at him. TK’s 1970s Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser is his baby - or was his baby before Jonah came along - it’s both the longest and best relationship he’s ever had, even if it has given him plenty of headaches. Just now it sits abandoned in shop, in need of a new carburetor; a $600+ expense that TK has been unable to afford. Until this job offer, he was beginning to think he may have to let his baby go; say a tearful goodbye to cruises along the Pacific Coast Highway with the sea breeze dancing through his hair and resign to a life of wrangling heavy bags of groceries on the bus. But as it turns out, his pre-emptive mourning may be unnecessary.

“Come on, Jojo. We’re going to be super late if you don’t help me choose something to wear.” TK scratches at his freshly shaven cheek, staring down at the entirety of his closet. He’s sure future exhausted him will love coming home to tidy up this mess.

Jonah rummages through the pile and seemingly at random, pulls out a sweater. “This one!” He holds up a navy sweater with thin white stripes. It’s slim fitting, spanning the breadth of his shoulders and taut around the biceps. If he wants to make a good first impression, he reckons this will do the job. It’s understated and smart but also shows off just a little.

“You genius,” he squishes Jonah’s cheeks between his hands, planting a wet smack of a kiss on his forehead. The little boy squirms, a mixture of delightful and horrified squeals filling the air when his brother tips him upside down.

“Aren’t you our janitor?” A uniformed officer asks in confusion as he exits the elevator onto the fourth floor.

TK shrugs a shoulder, “Not today. Check back in with me tomorrow after we see how this goes.” He winks at her over his shoulder, leaving her bewildered, and heads over to Room 408. Entering the hotel suite, he sees Chavez and Marwani speaking with a member of staff. The place has already been combed over, dusted for prints, and markers set out. Some of the forensics team remain, bagging up the last of the evidence.

“Looking smart, Strand.” Chavez greets him, giving a friendly grin as he passes by.

“I try my best!” TK gives a spin. “Where’s my better half?”

Marwani points to the doorway across the room. “Bathroom.” She grabs something from her blazer pocket and throws it at him. It hits him square in the chest. “And you’ll need these.”

TK’s quick reflexes latch onto the bunched up latex gloves. “Why, thank you.” He pulls them on, giving them a satisfying snap at the wrist, and heads into the bathroom.

Carlos looks up as he enters, letting out a soft sigh. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

TK tilts his head; a smirk pulling at his lips. “We’re doing it.” He moves deeper into the room, skirting around the crime scene photographer. Carlos watches him closely as his eyes fall onto the body in the bathtub, a man in his late 30s, dark haired and slumped halfway into the water. His skin is greyish, the beginnings of rigor mortis stiffening his limbs at rigid angles. His eyes fall away from the victim to the candles circling the tub, melted into puddles of wax bar one. It had clearly been lit with the others, the droplets of wax running down its side make that clear but had quickly been blown out leaving it still predominantly intact. There is a stack of towels piled on a chair in the corner, the top one folded differently from the two beneath it. A small table by the head of the tub hosts a chain necklace and empty tumbler.

“Hm…” TK hums, making a sweep of the room and coming to settle by Carlos’ side. The photographer snaps one last photo, the flash momentarily brightening the room, before she leaves the two of them alone. Well, three of them.

“What do you think happened?” Carlos asks. He’s dressed in the same cut of suit as usual. Most people would assume it is the exact same suit that he’d worn the day before, the changes are almost imperceptible but TK notices all the same. It’s small, but it hugs the detective’s shoulders just a little more snuggly, and as he moves to cross his arms across his chest, his biceps shift underneath, a marginally tighter fit that fits like a glove.

TK pulls his eyes away, taking a deep breath. “Well, I think we can rule out nothing.”

Carlos nods, “And we’re off.”

TK circles the room again as he talks; he’s always been able to think better when in motion. “Melted candles, empty glass, clothes thrown everywhere. It looks like a wild night that went south.”

“But was it murder?” Carlos asks, his eyes dropping back down to the dead man between them.

TK sucks his front teeth, categorising the markers surrounding them and compiling the evidence in his head. “A hundred percent. What, you don’t think so?”

“Oh, I think it was murder all right. Some of the other detectives are theorising suicide, but I think it’s just a damn good cover-up.” He shifts his stance, bringing his arms down to stuff his hands into his pockets. “But I want to know how you know.”

TK huffs a laugh, “Sounds like a challenge.”

Carlos lifts a defiant eyebrow, but there’s mirth sparkling in his eyes.

“How fun,” TK murmurs and walks round to point at the pile of towels in the corner. “See these hand towels? You may remember that I used to be your janitor.”

“Vaguely,” comes Carlos’ snarky reply. Despite delighting in the detective’s more playful mood, TK chooses to plough on.

“And before that, there was a long string of cleaning jobs. The way that these towels are folded are a disgrace. Look, the bottom two have two edges, the top one has three edges. That means the killer used this top towel to clean up after himself and cover his tracks.”

Carlos hums thoughtfully, his eyes not leaving TK as he pivots to crouch down by the tub.

“Now, get down here and see what I’m seeing.”

“I can see just fine from up here, thanks.” Carlos comes to stand by his side. “But what do you see?”

“You see these streaks?” TK holds his hand out flat, palm facing downwards, and spans the section of the tiles he’s referring to. “Any self-respecting housekeeper is going to use a microfiber mop on a bathroom floor. Our murderer used that towel to wipe up this area.”

“Which suggests a cover-up.” Carlos confirms, stepping back so TK can pull himself to his full height.

“Exactly. Now, our vic…” TK gestures towards the prone figure of the drowned man. “Is it okay if I call him vic?” he asks Carlos, but waves dismissively when the detective opens his mouth to reply. “It’s happening. Our vic was not alone, because no man’s going to spend money on a hotel room this fancy unless he’s planning on entertaining.” Carlos shoots him a dubious look. “And my guess is a sexy brunette.”

TK moves over to peer out of the window.

“Why?” Carlos questions, his brows furrowing. “Did you find a hair sample?”

“Nah,” TK scrunches his nose, “But blonde seems too obvious, so I’m going with brunette for now. Either way, she had to be pretty attractive because…” TK grimaces at Carlos, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but the dead guy in the tub is super hot.”

The detective sighs noisily, his signature look of disappointment making a reappearance. “TK, please don’t ever comment on the hotness of a victim ever again.”

TK purses his lips and nods in understanding, “Duly noted.”

Marwani and Chavez appear in the doorway. “The manager opened the safe for us,” Marwani announces. “And we found the victim’s wallet” Chavez holds up a black leather wallet, following her into the room. “Inside is $80 cash and an ID.”

Chavez flips it open, pulling out the driver’s license to show them. “Ernest Lozano, Mexico City.”

“Do a deep dive,” Carlos advises, considering the ID. “Anything, everything you can find on the guy but stop by the security centre downstairs first. Look at last night’s footage.

“Got it.”

TK drifts back over to their victim, hunching over to inspect the empty tumbler. He’s vaguely aware of Marwani and Chavez leaving, Carlos coming over to stand by him. “I wonder what he was drugged with?”

“How do you know he was drugged?” There’s a hint of surprise colouring his tone.

“Well, ‘cause who does their dishes in a hotel room?” he glances up at Carlos, “Except you, maybe.” The detective rolls his eyes. “Anyway, this glass was rinsed out and wiped clean. Why would you do that unless you were trying to get rid of white residue? Notice anything else about the glass?”

Carlos pauses to think before answering. “That it’s a whiskey tumbler. Lead-free, crystal-cut, which is harder and more durable than glass. Withstands most scratches. Also refracts light beautifully.”

TK’s lips twitch as he tries to hold back a smile. “You want me to know you drink whiskey so bad.”

Carlos huffs in annoyance, “Point being this piece of glassware is far more expensive than the others.” He gestures over to the main room of the suite, where they’re at just the right angle to see the tray of glasses by the minibar. “It must have been brought up to the room.”

“Right,” TK nods, “Lozano and his sexy brunette stopped at the hotel bar before coming up to the room.” He squints at Carlos, “But you already knew that.”

“Mh-hmm.” He nods, “The tumbler was rinsed out, leaving little to zero trace of whiskey, which strongly suggests a cover-up. And why cover it up unless it was murder?” Carlos pulls off his latex gloves, “Now, let’s go hit the hotel bar.”

The bartender nods at the photo of the victim displayed on Carlos’ phone. “Yeah, I recognise him. He had a drink at the start of my shift around 7pm.”

TK hops up onto a barstool.

“Was he with anyone?” Carlos asks, drawing back his phone to return it to his jacket pocket.

TK reaches out for a cocktail stick, popping it in the corner of his mouth. “A sexy brunette, maybe?”

The bartender pulls a face, rocking his hand back and forth in a so-so motion, “I’d say medium-sexy. Also, she was a blonde.”

Plucking the toothpick from his mouth, TK looks aghast. “Really?”

“Did it seem like business or pleasure?” Carlos pulls them back on track, trying and failing to hide his exasperation.

The bartender shrugs, holding a glass up to the light as he inspects it for streaks. “Maybe both?” he drops his arm, buffing the tumbler with a rag. “The guy was definitely tying one on. Made sure to leave a generous tip before they bounced.”

“Catch the name of his guest by any chance?” TK prods, twirling the stool from side to side.

“Sorry,” The bartender winces sympathetically, “We were slammed, so I couldn’t really hear their conversation. But I wanna say that her name sounded like, uh, Candice or Gladys or Janice.”

“Narrows it down,” Carlos mutters, pulling out his phone when it chimes. He turns it to TK, who quickly reads the text from Chavez: Come to security office. We’ve got something.

“So, we scrubbed through last night’s footage, and we found this at 8:02pm.” Chavez preludes, motioning to the security guard to play the footage.

The security room is small: the security guard, three detectives and TK packed in like sardines. Carlos shifts beside him, a waft of his cologne escaping from the collar of his shirt. It’s nice: smoky with an undernote of something spicier. Tonka, maybe.

Chavez’s voice brings TK’s attention back to the screen, where the victim and his guest are unlocking his hotel room. “Lozano and his mystery woman got on the fourth floor, into the room. And then at 8:33pm, right there,” the footage is fast forward, “She leaves. No one else used a key card to enter the suite until this morning when the cleaners discovered Ernest Lozano’s body.”

“That must be our killer.” Carlos says resolutely.

“I showed a photo of our mystery woman to the hotel doorman,” Marwani adds, “He said she parked her red Kia out front in a no-parking zone around 7pm. Shortly after, LADOT arrived and started writing tickets.”

Carlos perks up, “Okay, so call LADOT, see if we can ID the red car.”

Marwani cringes, “I already called. They didn’t issue a ticket to a red Kia out front of this hotel last night.”

“Well, the only cars that don’t get ticketed belong to cops and doctors.” Carlos muses, his forehead creasing in thought.

“Cops aren’t issued red cars.” Chavez throws in.

Carlos purses his lips, “Right, so it must be vehicle code two-ten-fifty-eight.”

TK has been looking between them, trying to keep up. “Mm-hmm” he tries unconvincingly. “Yeah, it must be. Yeah… remind Chavez about vehicle code two-ten-fifty-eight.” He signals to Carlos, glancing back at a perplexed Chavez and smirking Marwani.

It’s small, easy to miss, but Carlos’ lips twitch. “It’s an emblem allowing physicians responding to emergencies to be exempt from laws governing parking.”

TK nods, looking to Chavez. “You all caught up, bud?”

“What, I-“ the detective stutters, quietening as Marwani reaches over to pat his arm consolingly.

“There’s a hospital less than a mile from here. Swing by, see if anyone recognises the woman from our hotel security footage and we’ll circle back at the precinct.”

After getting a positive ID at the hospital, Marwani and Chavez bring in the mystery woman for questioning. Carlos is smug as he glances over at TK, “An open and shut case.” He boasts, shrugging off his jacket. He moves to enter the interrogation room but stops when he notices TK’s lack of movement. “You coming?”

TK lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “I’m allowed to sit in on this one?”

Carlos shrugs as if to say, ‘What the hell?’

TK follows him into the room, something worrying at the edges of his mind that he can’t quite grasp. The detectives seem sure that the woman before them is guilty, but TK is more familiar with things never appearing quite as they seem.

“Dr. Iris Bowman, tell us about your relationship with Ernest Lozano.” Carlos asks.

The suspect frowns, her eyes flickering between him and TK. “I wouldn’t call it a relationship.”

“What would you call it?” The detective presses.

“Harmless fun,” Iris answers, her tone making it sound more like a question. “We met three months ago in a hotel bar and hit it off. I… I can’t believe he’s dead.” Her eyes drop down to the table.

“When you say ‘hit it off’…”

“It’s exactly what you think it means.” Iris cuts him off. “Ernest would reach out whenever he was in town. It was no-strings-attached fun between two adults.”

TK narrows his eyes, observing the woman’s nervous smile but remaining silent as he props his chin in his hand.

Carlos hums. “Well, what did you know about him?”

“Ernest was a curator in Mexico City. He wasn’t like most LA guys. He was fun, charming, cultured-“

“What’s your husband think about this casual fling?” TK interjects.

The smile on Iris’ face freezes. She holds TK’s gaze for only a moment before dropping her eyes to her lap, the wedding band on her ring finger like a beacon. She shifts uncomfortably, her demeanour changing and voice hardening. “My husband died in a car accident nine months ago.”

TK softens his stare, feeling Carlos’ brief glance over at him.

“What Ernest and I had was temporary.” She continues, “He was meant to be a… a band-aid on my life.”

“So, what happened last night?”

Iris shifts again at TK’s question. He subtly tracks the trajectory of her uncertain smile. “Nothing. He was in town, I met him at our spot. We had a drink or two, went up to our room, drew a bath… but then Ernest fell asleep, so I left.”

Carlos leans forward, his arms reaching across the table for the tablet. “Well, see, the thing is, Dr. Bowman, we have you on security footage entering Lozano’s room and then exiting thirty minutes later.” He taps on the tablet’s screen and presses play on the footage. “After that, not a soul enters or exits that room, and now Ernest Lozano is dead.” He smiles at her tightly and rises from the table.

Iris stutters, flustered as she looks between TK and Carlos. “I-I told you everything.”

Carlos hums disinterestedly, towering over her.

She turns back to TK, panic widening her eyes. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“That would be wise.” Carlos’ voice is monotonous.

TK is quiet as he watches Carlos reach for his handcuffs and begin to recite the Miranda’s rights. A frown creases his forehead as he casts his mind back to the crime scene. The towels, the glass, the candles. Sure, her behaviour has seemed shifty at times, her eyes darting and smile nervous but something isn’t adding up. “She didn’t do it.” He blurts out, startling them both to whip back around, the handcuffs dangling from Carlos’ hand.

“The candles. There were candles lining the bathtub.” TK explains. He’d only lasted five months as a probationary firefighter but even so, he’d been called out to too many house fires caused by those cheap multipack candles; the type of unscented candles that are always on clearance. Left unattended the cheap wax melts quickly and easily becomes a fire hazard depending on where it’s been left. Which more often than not, is carpet or wood. If TK learned anything from those calls, it’s that the stupidity of the general public should never be underestimated. Especially when candles and sex are involved. “The problem is, they only burn for about four hours.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know, is that a long time?” Carlos asks, fitting the handcuffs back onto his belt.

“For a candle?” TK asks incredulously, “What? No. A tea light burns longer. No,” Carlos looks cowed, crossing his arms over his chest. “All of the candles were melted down all the way except for one. Something put out this candle, and you know what puts out fire?”

“Uh… water?” Iris asks, looking like she still has no idea if she should be preparing to call a lawyer or not.

“Yes, Doctor!” TK exclaims, pointing a finger at her excitedly. Who knew his fire certification could be put to such good use? If only his dad could see him now, he thinks drily. “Water puts out fire. In this case, bathwater, put out this lone candle. So that means there was a tub fight. There was thrashing around, bathwater splashed out and extinguished the flame.” TK screws up one eye to think, squinting at his rapt audience. “The candle looked like it had been burning for about an hour and a half," he hazards a guess.

“Okay.” Carlos says slowly. “So, you are saying that when Dr. Bowman left the room, all the candles were burning, and an hour after that, something happened in that room.”

TK nods, “And someone was in that room.”

The room is quiet for a moment, Carlos deep in thought and TK waiting patiently for the news to sink in. Iris regards the latter, a smile playing on her lips as she nods impressively. Then seeming to remember herself, she turns to Carlos. “Can I leave now?”

Carlos’ lips press into a thin line and he nods jerkily. “Yeah.” He steps back. “Free to go.”

Iris rises hesitantly, as if they might change their minds any second and apprehend her. With one last glance over her shoulder, she exits the room. Carlos lets out a rush of air, “TK, you just let our only suspect walk out the door.”

“Talk about good, huh?” he waggles his eyebrows.

One step forward, two steps backwards. It seems to be the way all his cases go these days. Carlos is deep in the trenches of his mind, trying to fathom how a murder took place when the only other person seen to be entering and exiting the room has just been cleared by TK. He’s not sold on the candle theory yet. And he’s not wholly convinced by the doctor either. Something about her had him instinctually wary. As for the candles? Maybe there is a perfectly reasonable explanation that TK hasn’t thought of yet, and by the time he does realise, their one and only suspect may have already gone into hiding. Wouldn’t that just be his luck?

He steps out for dinner, trying to relish the fresh air and pretty sunset, but predictably, takes it to go so he can return to the precinct and pore over the case notes. Working over his break is just a given at this point. He’s become a master at avoiding food spills and greasy finger prints.

Entering the bullpen, Detectives Marwani and Chavez straighten from where they’d been slouching against a desk deep in conversation. “We have news on our victim,” Marjan says in lieu of a greeting.

“What’s up?” Carlos asks, heading for his desk to set down his takeout bag.

“We heard back from Ernest Lozano’s colleagues in Mexico City,” Mateo informs him. He’s stripped of his suit jacket, his shoulder holster on show. He’s still fresh and new to the job, baby-faced and eager to please. His big heart is one of his best assets, along with his ability to focus on the finer details, a skill that Carlos reckons could rival TK’s if put to the test. But unlike TK, Carlos can tell the young detective still questions himself. Looks to Carlos for appraisal, goes to Marjan to double check his work and all but worships the ground Tommy walks on. Sometimes looking into Mateo’s sincere expression is like looking into the sun, it’s blinding and painful, bringing to Carlos’ mind his first few years on the job; the same innocence and enthusiasm he possessed and the swiftness in which it was worn down. Nodding at Mateo now, encouragingly, the detective continues. “They say he's alive and well and showing up at work every day.”

“What?”

“Yup. Local police questioned Lozano about his ID showing up at the hotel of a murdered man. He told them about a ride he took a couple years ago in LA. On the drive, he and the driver joked about how much they looked alike.”

“Later that night,” Marjan jumps in, “He realised he lost his wallet. So our victim –“

“Is not Ernest Lozano.” Carlos sighs heavily. Not only do they not have a suspect, now they don’t appear to even have a victim. What exactly do they know. The two detectives nod their assent and look at him expectantly. “Okay. Put pressure on the lab for DNA and fingerprints from the crime scene and I’ll look more closely at…” Carlos turns to his desk to point towards the case file when he falters, his desk disconcertingly empty. “Where’s the evidence box?”

Mateo looks around the bullpen in confusion, Carlos circles his desk making sure it hasn’t been moved, and Marjan reaches for the neon green post-it note that the two men have somehow completely glanced over. “’Working from home. See you tomorrow. TK.’ And then there’s a little smiley face.” She holds it up to them.

Carlos grinds his molars together, breathing in sharply through his nose.

TK has the contents of the evidence box strewn across his coffee table. Paw Patrol plays in the background. Jonah climbs into his lap, watching with curiosity as his big brother snaps on a pair of blue latex gloves.

“What are we building?” the toddler asks, assessing the clear evidence bags in front of him. TK kisses his head, chuckling at the adorable misunderstanding. He can see why, at a stretch, his brother has mistaken the varying plastic sleeves as the packets of lego bricks. They sat at this very exact spot to build two Yoshis only a few evenings ago; TK had claimed the pink one and named it Pepto and Jonah the yellow one, which for some reason he named Cauliflower. When TK had asked him if he meant sunflower, Jonah had looked at him defiantly and repeated himself. Who was TK to question his train of thought?

“We’re not building anything. Papa-bro is just doing some work,” he explains. He grabs one of the smaller evidence bags, a set of car keys inside.

Jonah’s briefly distracted by Marshall racing across the TV screen in his fire truck. The Dalmatian firefighter is his favourite character. The scene changes and the sound of keys jostling brings his attention back. “Is this work for your police friends?”

“Mm-hmm,” TK answers, “They pay me to notice the things other people don’t.” he shakes the keys, “What do you think these keys are for, buddy?”

Jonah pouts his lips in thought. “A really fast car!”

“Wow, you’re really gunning for a car today, huh?”

Jonah giggles. “Yes, please!”

The doorbell rings. TK pulls the gloves off, patting Jonah’s side, “Come on, bud, up you get.” He answers the door, expecting to find Paul, or maybe a late delivery. Owen is always sending them some form of care package, usually filled to the brim with obscure natural remedies. But when TK opens the door, it’s neither Paul nor a delivery, but Carlos.

His face lights up. “Hi,” he chirps, “I assume you got my post-it.”

The detective narrows his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. “You never take evidence home, TK.” He leans forward, emphasising: “Ever.” His eyes move past him and into the living room. “You have got to be kidding me.”

TK turns to follow his line of vision. In his absence, Jonah has pulled on his discarded gloves, and mimicking his brother’s earlier movements, picks up bags at random to hold up to the light. TK shrugs, “What? He’s wearing gloves.” Jonah chooses that moment to look up and grins as he recognises Carlos. He drops the bag he’s holding to wave with both hands.

Carlos’ lips part with a puff of air, completely speechless. He shoves past TK, and the latter can’t help but notice despite the anger rolling of him in waves, he’s gentle as he pulls Jonah to the side to repack the evidence. TK rolls his eyes, nudging the door closed and turning to face the music. “You’re upset, and you’re allowed to have all your feelings but people bring their work home all the time.”

The detective takes another deep breath, mashing his lips together. He looks at Jonah, the only thing stopping him from blowing up right now, and then turns back to TK. “TK, this goes against all rules and all protocol for handling evidence.”

“Well,” TK throws his arms out, letting them fall back to his side with a slap. Jonah momentarily glances over from where he’s tucked himself into the corner of the couch, the episode of Paw Patrol far more interesting than the two fully grown men bitching at each other in the middle of the living room. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um,” Carlos looks at him like he’s lost the plot. “You know, I don’t know, let me think.” He snatches the lid up and aggressively squashes it down onto the cardboard box. “Oh, right. Everything in here becomes inadmissible in court and we can’t convict the murderer.”

TK shrugs, “Yeah, that’s bad. That’d be bad. And I get that.” He points a finger at Carlos, “I did think about that. But here’s the thing. I really want to help you figure out who your dead guy is.”

“Hmm, silly me,” Carlos snarks, “I was going to use dental records and fingerprints.”

TK rolls his eyes. He used to think he was dramatic, but Carlos really takes the cake with his sassy rebuttals. “There’s so many clues in this evidence box that you guys missed. Did anybody even look at the shoes?” TK prises the lid open and holds up the bag containing the victim’s wingtips. “There’s cement all over the soles. He must have lived or worked near a construction site.”

“Oh. Great. We’ll just visit the one construction site in Los Angeles.” Carlos deadpans, reaching for the evidence bag and wrenching it back out of his grip.

“Okay. You’re not a fan of the cement. Well, look at the man’s pants.” TK bats Carlos’ hands away as he tries to reclose the box, and yanks out the bag of pants. Carlos mutters something unintelligible under his breath. “This is not the original stitching, but this repair was done by a professional. See the threads?”

Carlos plants his hands on his hips, “What about them?”

“They don’t cross! You don’t find that the tiniest bit strange?”

“I can say with full confidence I have never in my life thought about how threads cross on a pants hem.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. The whole hyperactive brain thing makes it hard to fall asleep. So, for a long time, the only thing that would put me down was watching sewing and alterations videos.” TK hands Carlos back the pants and watches him tetris the remaining evidence into the box. “Now, the victim’s pants were repaired without crossing. That is something that is unique to tailors from Madagascar because they have a superstition that crossing your stitches is unlucky.” Carlos plops down onto the couch, jostling a sleepy Jonah, and rubs a hand across his brow. “Oh. You know what? Just make a list of all of the tailors from Madagascar in the area.”

The detective raises his eyebrows, “I don’t think the LAPD has a magical database of seamstresses and tailors cross-referenced by ethnicity. But, you know, I can check.”

“Well, all you need to do is find all of the tailor and alteration shops in LA and find the ones with the longest names. There’s a little crime-fighting tool for that, it’s called Google.”

“Because long names are uniquely Madagascan?” Carlos looks flummoxed, like he’s missed a crucial part of the conversation. But he’s starting to realise that’s how a lot of his interactions with TK tend to play out; he often feels dropped into the middle of their discussion, having to play catch up.

“Well, no, but their naming customs are unlike anywhere else in the world,” TK tries, holding his hands up in an apologetic half-shrug. “All of their names are unique, and every name has meaning. And when two people get married, they just smash their names together into one big, giant, long name. It’s super romantic.”

“Okay.” Carlos stands up, hoisting the evidence box to his chest. “So, compile a list of tailors in Los Angeles, find the ones with the longest names, and then look for one by a construction site.”

TK claps his hands, “Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

“We’ll get into that tomorrow,” he heads for the door, but stops before leaving. “Oh, and TK?”

“Yup?”

“Don’t ever use that phrase again.”

“Probably will.”

Carlos shakes his head at his playful grin and tries to contain his own as he climbs into his car.

TK and Carlos crowd together in the small reception. If it can even be referred to as a reception. It’s more of a tiny, miniature cupboard that’s posing as a front room. How they managed to cram a desk in here, TK doesn’t know. He bounces on the balls of his feet, sighing impatiently. He waits another second and then reaches for the service bell again, tapping it three or four times.

Carlos regards him, teetering the line between annoyed and amused. Suddenly, TK turns to him, his green eyes especially bright today. “When can I get a badge?”

“Please, stop ringing the bell. Okay?”

TK holds his hands up in mock surrender then clasps them behind his back, tucking them from sight, as if the temptation to reach out and ring the bell again is too great. He swivels from side to side, seemingly deep in thought.

“How old were you when you started dating?” he asks, mischief making his eyes sparkle.

Carlos stills. Where is this man’s off button?

“I bet you were that guy who dated the same girl all four years of high school.” TK rambles on, tilting his head, imagining a teenage Carlos. He can’t envisage a time when Carlos didn’t look two seconds away from combusting, or on the verge of giving himself a stress-induced hernia, but he supposes such a time must have existed.

Carlos raises his eyes to the ceiling. Breathe in, he reminds himself, hold for three… breathe out, hold for three.

“And then on prom night, you made a pact to lose your –“

Carlos lunges for the service bell and hammers it violently. TK instantly quietens. The resonate ringing descends into silence. He can feel TK’s eyes on the side of his face and avoids his gape like his life depends on it. Mercifully, a woman emerges from the back, sparing him from any further awkwardness. He gave TK two more seconds before he burst into laughter or began a different, more intrusive line of questioning.

“Hello,” he greets the worker. “Are you Raissa Rakota Harmalala?”

“Indeed,” she says with a winning smile and gentle eyes. TK grins back at her. “You may call me Rai.”

“Rai,” Carlos nods, offering a small smile of his own. “Real quick, do you recognise this man?” he holds up his phone, the morgue photo of their victim on display.

Rai’s smile drops from her face, “Mr. Eduardo.” She looks between the two men. “Is he dead?”

“Eduardo is his last name?”

“No, Eduardo’s his first name.”

“Do you know his last name?”

Rai shakes her head apologetically. “No, Mr. Eduardo always pays in cash.”

“Can you tell us anything about him?” Carlos asks, fighting to keep the desperation from his voice. This case has been a series of dead ends and false summits. He needs something concrete.

“Mr. Eduardo is one of my regulars. He finds designer suits second-hand. I make them look nice again. That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

TK and Carlos leave the tailor shop, spilling out onto the sidewalk. TK worries his lip as he takes in Carlos’ silence and pensive look. He looks dejected; hands stuffed into his pant pockets, and eyes trained on the ground.

“Hey,” TK knocks their shoulders together, his voice light. “Get excited. We got a first name.”

Looking up at him, Carlos scoffs. “Oh, I’m thrilled. You do realise there could be thousands of Eduardos in Los Angeles though, right?”

TK sighs but whatever cheering-up tactic he was reaching for next, leaves his mind as the distant sound of a jackhammer reaches his ears. “Wait.” He throws a hand across Carlos’ chest. “Do you hear that?” Realisation dawns on Carlos’ face as he watches a smirk pull at TK’s lips. “Sweet, sweet sounds of the city.”

They round the corner, the constructive site coming into view. “Okay. Tailor shop, constructive site. Now what?”

TK purses his lips, spinning in a circle, eyes searching their surroundings. “Now we just got to find a parking lot.” He stops as something catches his eye. “Yup, right here.” He points to down the street and sets off, Carlos quick on his heels.

“Why do we care about parking?”

TK bites his lip, throwing a look over his shoulder. “Don’t get mad at me.” He digs into his pocket.

“Of course,” Carlos groans, watching as he pulls out a set of keys. “You brought his keys.”

“Well, it’s still in the evidence bag, and it’s a good thing I did. Because…” they turn into the carpark and TK raises the keys, pushing the unlock button. A car chirps in response.

Carlos bypasses him, heading straight for it.

“A thank you would’ve been nice,” TK grumbles but follows after him towards the gun metal coloured Toyota.

“Eduardo’s car,” TK presents and leans forward for a high five. Carlos bats it away, rounding the front of the car to snap a photo of the license plate, and leaves him hanging. “Next time, then.”

Carlos phones Marwani next, turning from where TK is peering into the passenger side window. She picks up after two rings, “Marwani, what do you need?”

“Hey, Marjan. I just sent you the plates on our victim’s vehicle. Do your thing.”

“I got you,” Marjan replies.

“It's probably the car Ernest Lozano lost his wallet in.” he turns back to the car and curses under his breath. “And I will have to call you back. Bye.” He shoves the phone back into his pocket. “TK! TK. No. No, no. Don’t”

TK pops his head back out of the car, where he’s thrown the passenger door open and was rummaging through the glove box. He winces, “Urgh, gloves. Sorry. Gloves.”

“No, it’s not the gloves,” Carlos groans, “Actually, yes, you do need gloves but before you touch anything, just ask me first. Okay?”

TK raises a hand in a placating gesture, “No, you’re totally right. I apologise. You said that before. Won’t happen again.”

Carlos nods, humming in approval.

“Except…” TK cringes, “I did already touch everything.” The detective closes his eyes in disbelief. “He’s got suits, charging cables, little waters, hand sanitiser-“

Carlos reopens his eyes and nods to the car, “The guy’s a rideshare driver.”

TK looks impressed, “Yes! How’d you do that so fast?”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” He sings sarcastically and points to the windshield. In the bottom left corner is a ‘karpoolz’ sticker.

“Oh. Yup. That works too.” TK looks sheepish, the detective tries not to chuckle in response. Suddenly the day feels a little lighter, the sun a smidge brighter.

“Marjan says the car is registered to an Eduardo Cortez, lives in this building.” Carlos explains, reading from his phone as they walk down the hallway. “Ten years ago, the guy did time in prison for credit card fraud. Since then, he’s been a rideshare driver.”

TK purses his lips as they look for the right apartment. He takes in the crisp wallpaper, freshly vacuumed carpet and working light bulbs. He couldn’t even afford a place like this when he was on a firefighter’s salary of $60k a year. “Pretty fancy building for a driver. We sure this is our guy?”

“Hmm,” Carlos taps to the next message from Marjan: a photo of the victim. “Eduardo Cortez’s driver’s license.”

TK whistles, “Yeah, that’s him. How do you have a hot driver’s license photo?”

Carlos clears his throat, pointing at a door up ahead. “216, this should be the place.”

TK spares him a quick glance then backs up, pretending to size up the door. He brings up a leg, preparing to kick and-

“TK! Stop, what did I tell you about-“

TK dissolves into laughter, bringing his leg back down. “I’m just kidding!” The detective relaxes but there’s a hint of a smile while he shakes his head in exasperation. “You’re fun.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You’re a lot of fun.”

There’s a scuffle at the opposite side of the door and an excited child’s shout. “Daddy’s home!”

TK’s wide eyes find Carlos’. The latter, seeming to put together the situation they’re about to walk into quicker than the former, reassembles his face back into one of professionalism and sighs. The door swings open, revealing a woman and young girl. Their lit up faces dim as they realise TK and Carlos are not who they are expecting. “Hello? Can I help you?”

Carlos’ smile is friendly. “Sorry to intrude ma’am. I’m LAPD Detective Carlos Reyes. This is consultant TK Strand.” TK smiles up at the women distractedly, but his eyes are drawn to the girl. His heart sinks as he connects the dots, and he hopes to god they’re at the wrong apartment. Anything to shield this child from the grief they’re about to deliver. “Do you happen to know an Eduardo Cortez?”

The woman is a natural beauty, soft dark hair and a fresh face free from cosmetics. She’s dressed casually, loose fitting pants and a linen shirt. She pulls her daughter closer. “He’s my husband.” She looks at the detective, then at TK. “Is he okay?”

TK’s stomach drops. And he tries in vain to return the little girl’s shy smile.

“Thank you for sharing your tea with me,” TK gushes. He’s squatting on a small wooden chair that he is far too big for. The little girl is about Jonah’s age, maybe a year older at a push, and he’s finding it difficult to separate the two in his mind. This case has suddenly grown arms and legs and TK’s not sure what to do with this new information of their victim being a father. Another child is now walking around without a parent. He keeps the smile fixed on his face as he nods around the table where they’re joined by a cohort of plushies, dolls and figurines. “Your friends are really nice.”

The girl smiles up at him bashfully, taking a faux sip from her empty plastic teacup.

“Do you have a favourite?” he asks. She still looks unsure of him, taking her time to warm up. TK doesn’t blame her, she was expecting her dad, not two strange men. He leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “I won’t tell the rest.”

A giggle escapes and TK’s shoulders relax ever so slightly. She points to a stuffed elephant with a small kid’s digital camera around his neck, “Stanley. He can take photos too.”

“Stanley can take photos? No way! That’s so cool. Can I try?”

She nods happily and TK reaches for the camera, pressing the power button.

“My daddy gave him to me.” She says in that open, blunt way that children give up information. “He also gave me that dictionary.” She points over to a bookcase, filled with trinkets and children’s books. On a lower shelf is a thick dictionary.

“Oh, neat. Words are… words are important.” TK tries, frowning slightly at the vast difference between the two gifts.

Carlos asks to speak with the wife in private. Struggling to keep a brave face on in front of her daughter, she suggests the little girl shows TK her new afternoon tea set. Carlos watches TK paint a sunny smile onto his face and enthusiastically agree. They disappear into the living room, every now and then their voices or the daughter’s giggle float into the dining room.

Now that they’re alone, the woman, Regina, begins to tremble. “We’ve been together for ten years.” Carlos sits across from her, his hands clasped atop the dining table. From where he’s sat, he can see TK through the living room doorway. “I met Eduardo after he was released from prison.”

“How long had he been driving?” Carlos asks.

“He used to drive up until three years ago when he started at his cousin’s wine distribution business.”

“Was it strange that he hadn’t come home?”

“His job required quite a bit of travel, so Eduardo being away felt normal.” She inhales sharply, her voice wobbling, “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Carlos reaches over to squeeze her arm comfortingly. She brings up a shaky hand to catch a stray tear. He feels cruel but knows it’s necessary when he reaches for his phone, swiping until he finds the photo of Dr. Iris Bowman. “Do you recognise this woman?”

Regina frowns at the phone, shaking her head. “I don’t. Who is she?”

Carlos inhales slowly. TK looks up from whatever toy he’s playing with, their eyes meeting briefly, before the detective pulls his gaze away. There is no easy way to break the news. Her grief is about to become uglier; corrupted with anger and betrayal. “I’m sorry, but Eduardo was not travelling for work. We found his body in a Hollywood hotel room. He was with this woman the night he was murdered.”

Her mouth drops open, and a sob breaks forth.

“What the hell was that?” TK hisses as they exit the apartment building. “Woman just found out her husband died. Maybe give it a second before you whip out a picture of his mistress.”

Carlos keeps his head forward, his stride unbreaking as they hit the street. It’s humid, uncomfortably so, and TK wonders how Carlos can stand to be in a suit. TK had opted for a sweater polo that morning, beige with two blue vertical stripes, and he’s overheating. “If Regina knew about Eduardo’s infidelity, she had strong motive to kill him, TK. I needed to get her unvarnished reaction.”

“Okay,” TK quickens his pace to keep up, “Harsh but that’s good. Didn’t think about that.”

Carlos presses his lips together, slowing to face TK. “It seems like there’s a lot about this job you don’t think about. You know, like taking evidence home with you.”

TK snorts. “You know every once in a while I start to get tricked into thinking that maybe you’re a normal person. And then, sure enough, you remind me you’re just a heartless police robot.”

Carlos hums and unaffected, brushes past the jab. As always, he returns their attention back to work. “Why would Eduardo use a fake ID? Why would someone change their entire identity just to cheat on their wife? Doesn’t add up.” He starts to walk again, begrudgingly TK follows.

“Finances don’t really add up either.” TK adds. “Sweet apartment, the car, altering suits to make them look expensive.”

Carlos nods, “All worth considering.” They approach the car, “Let’s go home, get some rest and, TK?”

“Yup?” he answers absentmindedly, momentarily distracted by the Chrysler parked a few cars over, the orange Knicks sticker pulling his attention. Thoughts of New York swirl to the surface.

“Do not take evidence with you.”

TK breaks from his reverie to narrow his eyes at Carlos, who looks a little too pleased with himself.

It’s the type of evening, after a long tiring day of dealing with Carlos’ grumpiness and the thick heat, that TK wishes he could crack a beer open or pour a glass of wine. It almost makes it worse that Jonah went down without a fight. His little brother had practically fallen asleep in his dinner. Apparently, he’d run himself rugged at preschool and pretty much took himself to bed after TK had him bathed and dressed in his pyjamas. He’s been so used the negotiating tactics that take place before bedtime: Jonah bartering for one more story, or another episode of Paw Patrol or to sleep in TK’s bed. He reminds TK so much of their mom in these moments; when he gets that stubborn glint in his eyes, making demands and lifting his chin defiantly. TK has no idea what Jonah will do when he’s older, the boy has named every career under the sun from an astronaut to a bin man, to most recently, a hairdresser, but the world is not prepared if he decides to follow in their mom’s footsteps.

He tries to put on a movie but finds himself staring blankly at the screen, his eyes unseeing and the dialogue escaping him. He puts on a load of laundry. Switches it over to the dryer when it’s done. He tidies up the pile of clothes he’d left from a few mornings ago when he was getting ready for his first official day at the precinct, they’d migrated to the floor, and most were creased but it would do for now. When none of that helps kill his thirst, he snaps on some yellow gloves and grabs an armload of cleaning supplies. He begins in the bathroom, scrubbing around the tap with a toothbrush and buffing the tiled floor while on his hands and knees. Next, he moves onto the kitchen, tackling the oven and microwave that he’s been meaning to get to for months. He empties the toaster’s crumb tray and then goes through the fridge and freezer, chucking out of date food and leaving it spic and span. He goes through Jonah’s toy cupboard and book collection, filling two bags worth of donations. He takes them out to the garage and stands for a moment, staring at the empty space, wishing more than anything that his car was here and he and Jonah could go up to Santa Barbara for the weekend.

He cleans until he physically can’t anymore. It isn’t until dawn breaks that, fully clothed, he slumps down on to the couch, his mind finally quiet enough to entertain sleep.

Carlos has one eye on the clock as he briefs Marjan and Mateo. They’re huddled around the case board, coffees in hand, the remnants of sleep dropping from their faces. “Eduardo’s life just doesn’t add up.”

The bullpen doors crash open. TK rushes in, “I’m late. I’m sorry.” He hurries to their side, bringing a waft of zesty shower gel and sweet cologne with him. “Sorry I’m late.” He brandishes a takeout box, “It was a crazy night and this morning Jonah didn’t –“ he cuts himself off, noticing Carlos’ unimpressed expression and Mateo and Marjan’s polite but uninterested smiles, “But who cares about that? I brought doughnuts!”

“Hell yeah!” Mateo perks up as TK flips open the box.

Marjan is quick to crowd him, grinning as she pinches one for herself. “I love it when you’re late.”

“Oooh, so many options.” Mateo says excitedly. He considers the selection. “Can’t go wrong with glaze, right?”

“Never.” TK says with conviction.

Mateo scratches his head in thought. “Or… maybe it’s a sprinkles day?”

TK shrugs, “Might be a sprinkles day.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. Oh, is that a jelly-“

“Just pick a damn doughnut.” Carlos interrupts, three heads snapping up to look at him. Now that TK’s closer, he can’t help but notice his exhaustion. He’s smiling and upbeat, as per usual, but the circles under his eyes are dark, and his skin pale.

Chastised, Mateo nods slowly, reaching for a glazed one. “Okay.”

Tommy strides out of her office, heels clacking and blouse billowing as she approaches the team. “Medical examiner’s report just came in.” She brandishes a file in her hand. “Eduardo Cortez’s cause of death is drowning with trace amounts of alcohol in his system.”

Mateo frowns, “But he looked sober on the CCTV footage when he was walking with Iris.”

“Bartender says he tied one on,” Carlos points out.

Tommy opens the report, “Could have been all the Xanax the lab found in his system. They also found residue on the glassware.”

“Well, Xanax’s main side effects are severe drowsiness and dizziness.” Marjan supplies, swiping some powdered sugar from the corner of her mouth. TK migrates closer to the board, his eyes travelling over photos of the hotel room.

“Still,” Mateo speaks around a mouthful of doughnut, drawing a disgusted look from Marjan. “No one other than Dr. Bowman used the key card to enter the room that night. But the cameras proved she isn’t the killer.”

“What if the murderer entered the room in a way that didn’t require a key card?” TK suggests.

“What are you talking about, TK?”

“I’m talking about the murderer going into the room through the window.”

Tommy tilts her head, “The room is on the fourth floor.”

Mateo lets out an amused huff of air. “You’d have to be Spider-Man.”

TK turns to him, playing up his betrayal. “Really, Mateo? I brought doughnuts.” Mateo looks down at the remainder of his sweet treat guiltily. “Look, would it be easy? No. But is it doable? I think so.” He turns back to the board and points to one of the photographs, the main suite windows visible in the background. “Right here. I didn’t see it when I was there in person because there was a crime scene photographer standing in front of me. But… do you see?”

The team gathers in close, squinting at the photo. “What are we looking at?” Tommy asks when it's clear that they cannot see.

“The window latches. See, all of those are turned to the left except for this one,” here he points to one window in particular, the latch barely discernible. “Which is turned to the right, which means it’s unlocked. The murderer could have done the deed and then exited through the window but not been able to lock it from the outside.”

“Except it’s on the fourth floor, TK.” Carlos points out.

“What other leads do we have?” Tommy asks pointedly.

“Cortez’s financials,” Marjan supplies, “A prelim check showed he had no debt.”

Carlos jumps in next, “Lived in a fancy apartment. Drove a beat-up car.”

“Yeah. He did wear old suits and doctor ‘em up to look expensive.”

“All right,” Tommy nods slowly. “Keep digging into his finances. Mateo, check out TK’s window theory.”

TK spins round to Mateo with a grin on his face while Tommy retreats to her office. Carlos looks dubious, but with no other solid leads he keeps his lips sealed.

Mateo returns to the precinct a few hours later, excitement flushing his cheeks as he rushes over to Carlos’ desk. TK perks up from where he’s commandeered Mateo’s space, passing the time by rereading the entire case file from the beginning; the finances leaving him even more baffled.

“Hey, big news!” he exclaims. “The hotel manager said it’s policy for the cleaners to lock the windows when they finish cleaning the room each morning. So if a window was unlocked, guest must have done it that day.”

TK leans forward, “So it was left unlocked.”

Mateo nods enthusiastically, “Mm-hmm.”

Carlos digests the information, cocking his head. “But the question wasn’t whether the window was unlocked. It was whether someone could get up to the window.”

“I think someone could. Not me, but someone.” Mateo unlocks his phone, pulling up a photo of the hotel building. “Look, there are recessed windows and a lot of ledges. In between those, crevices and indentations.” He swipes to the next photo, this one of a window ledge. “But check this out.”

Carlos squints at the screen, “What is that? Powder?”

“Yes!” TK yells, causing the two other men to jump. “It’s powder! It’s magnesium carbonate. That’s the powder climbers use.”

“Hey, guys.” Marjan calls from across the room, where the landline has been pressed to her ear for the better part of the past hour. She sets it back into the cradle. “You wanted a deep dive into Eduardo Cortez’s money? I just learned he deposited checks totalling more than 200,000 in the past year from a woman named Glenda Walker.” She peels off the top post-it note from the pad, handing it to Carlos. “Her address.”

“It was a yellow light. You could have just gone.” TK says tiredly, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him.

Carlos doesn’t bother responding, locking the car and making a beeline for Legacy Roots’ reception.

“I feel like an assisted-living community isn’t a hotbed for criminal activity.” TK notes, falling into step with the detective.

Reception is quick to point them in the right direction. Carlos takes the lead and knocks on the door. It opens not a moment later when a young man answers. “LAPD.” Carlos flashes his badge. “Is this Glenda Walker’s room?”

The man looks puzzled, “Uh, yeah.”

“Can we ask her some questions?”

“You can try.” He steps aside to let them in.

Glenda sits in an armchair by the window, her smile friendly as Carlos reintroduces himself. TK hovers by his side, watching as the man – who they now know to be her son – comes over to join them.

“Glenda, do you know Eduardo Cortez?” Carlos asks.

The older woman takes a moment to think before answering. “I’m sorry. I don’t.” She frowns, looking worried, and looks up at her son. “Should I?” He rests a placating hand on her shoulder.

“Uh, what about Ernest Lozano?”

At this name, Glenda lights up, a grin wiping away the lines of worry. “Oh! Yes,” she giggles like a young girl. “Ernest is my fiancé. We made plans to fly to Mexico City.”

TK’s eyes sweep over to watch as something dark passes over the son’s face. He presses his lips into a thin line.

“He’s picking me up any minute now.”

“Oh,” Carlos says, realisation settling over him. He leans forward, voice soft. “Can I ask why you gave him $200,000?”

“She what?” Glenda’s son cries.

Carlos shifts his feet uncomfortably. Averting his gaze from the shock and outrage written across the young man’s face.

“Mom? Is that true?” he crouches down by her side, his voice pleading.

“It’s for our home in Mexico City,” she answers simply. “I gave Ernest my half, and he is taking care of everything.” TK wishes in that moment that Ernest, her Ernest was real. She looks so happy as she babbles on about their future together; a future that is nothing but a fabrication. “It has a lovely guest room just for Kyle.” She gestures to her son who swallows uneasily.

“How lovely,” Carlos agrees, his voice honeyed as he shares a smile with Glenda. He looks over to her son. “Kyle, do you mind if we speak in private?”

Kyle clears his throat, standing up with a curt, “Sure.”

“How long has she been like this?” Carlos asks when he, TK and Kyle are ushered into the nurses’ office. Kyle fidgets with the karabiner attached to his belt loop.

“My mom got diagnosed almost a year ago but it’s getting worse.” He shrugs helplessly. “Doctors say it’s dementia.”

“You ever meet this Ernest?”

“No. No, I was living up North when they first met. Then, my mom got sick. Stopped hearing from the guy.”

“Tommy?” TK’s surprise is apparent. The last person he expected to be on his doorstep at this time of night was the lieutenant. He has just put down Jonah after one too many stories and is ready to crawl into bed himself.

“TK.” She greets him, still in her work clothes and clearly on her way home.

Cheekily, he raises an eyebrow at her. “We’re going to have to establish some boundaries, ‘cause Reyes was just here the other night.”

She smiles at him kindly. “Actually, I had a few questions about Enzo.”

Like a light switch has been flipped, he sobers instantly. “Oh.” He steps aside. “Come on in.”

After TK double checks Jonah is sound asleep, the pair settle at the dining table. He smiles at her shyly, suddenly feeling ridiculously nervous.

“I was going over the statements taken following Enzo’s disappearance.” Tommy begins. “There are a few contradictory accounts but from my understanding he was last seen by his employees the morning of your mom’s death?”

TK nods, “So I was told.”

“A business partner was able to confirm he left the office at approximately 11am to attend a lunch meeting with investors at Gage & Tollner which he never showed up to. There have been no sightings of him since. Somewhere between leaving his office and arriving at the restaurant, he disappeared.”

“The cops had no leads when I spoke to them at the time. Two years have passed, and I know they want to close the case. They believe he left town of his own volition. There was some talk from his employees that a recent business investment was bogus, and he was in financial trouble. The cops thought this was motive enough for him to go underground.”

“What do you believe?” Tommy leans forward, her face gentle.

TK takes a deep breath in. “I think,” he feels his voice waver and takes another steadying breath. “I think if he was in hot water, no matter what, he would have contacted us. Especially after Gwyn died. He wouldn’t just… leave us.”

Tommy nods. She reaches out to clasp his hand in hers. “I think you’re right.”

He recoils in surprise, his eyes wide. “You do?”

She nods, her smile kind. “I requested his phone records. I have an old friend in the NYPD who had them expedited over to me. Enzo had been looking at flights to Los Angeles that morning, had even sent over a text to your mom with a link. Amongst other things, such as dinner reservations and a haircut appointment, it begs the question: if Enzo really wanted to abandon his family, why would he bother with making plans he had no intention of keeping?”

 TK doesn’t realise he’s crying until the first tear drops from his chin and onto the wooden table with a plop. “Sorry,” he chuckles wetly.

She shakes her head, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand. “I did have one other question.”

With his free hand, TK quickly swipes at his cheeks. “Shoot.”

“Did the cops ever show any interest in investigating Enzo’s disappearance in connection to your mom’s death?”

TK frowns, confusion clouding his face. “I… no. They were two separate incidents. My mom’s death was tragic but an accident. An open and shut case.”

Tommy smiles but something twists uncomfortably in his gut. “Of course.”

The room becomes stifling, the silence pressing in from all sides. TK suddenly wishes he could go for a run until he passes out or drink until he forgets. Instead, with red-rimmed eyes he looks at the lieutenant and asks, “Cookie?”

Tommy chuckles softly. “I’m not sure if that’s a serious question or not.”

“Oh, I never joke about cookies.”

“Well, then, yes. I’d love a cookie.”

Instead of the kitchen, he heads for the hallway cupboard and pulls out a first aid kit. Tommy raises her eyebrows in question.

“I promise there’s a real kit in there too. I just hide the good stuff where Jonah wouldn’t think to look.” He pops the plastic case open to reveal a packet of oreos.

Tommy chuckles, reaching for one. “You really are a genius. Had I known this when I was raising my kids, my books would’ve been full of cookies.”

TK considers the first aid kit in front of him, his mind returning to Eduardo and his daughter. He looks up at Tommy slowly, realisation dawning on his face. “I bet you could fit a lot of cookies in a dictionary.”

“Club soda too, please.” TK asks the bartender, hopping onto a stool. The hotel bar is livelier than when he was last here. It’s evening, and most of the tables are taken by couples, leaning towards each other in the dim lighting and whispering in soft tones. TK smooths a hand down the front of his floral shirt, feeling slightly informal compared to the patriots in their expensive suits.

He smiles and thanks the bartender as he swings by to deposit his drink. He takes a sip, mouth desperately dry, and scans the room. He breaks out into a grin as he catches Carlos walking towards him. “There he is.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow and joins him by the bar. “Here I am.”

TK can’t help but run his eyes over the detective. He’s dressed smartly, as usual, but has swapped out his standard work blazer for a tweed one. It makes him look softer in a way that has TK wanting to reach out. It’s a very small glimpse into Carlos outside of work. Not Carlos the detective, just… Carlos. The man TK still feels like he doesn’t really know at all, who he’s been kept at arm’s length from.

“Your drink’s on the way. Dirty vodka martini on the rocks,” he winks at him. “Weird drink for my weird guy.”

Carlos crosses his arms atop the bar, “Yeah, well, martini glasses are what’s weird. It’s poorly designed barware. Terrible for people with large hands.” He turns to TK. “And how did you guess my drink?”

“Well, I’ve been cleaning up in major crimes for months. I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Oh,” Carlos tilts his head to side, “You do, now?”

“I do.” TK quips and takes a sip of his drink. He doesn’t miss the way Carlos’ eyes track the movement of his tongue as it darts out to catch the straw. Heat pools in his stomach but he quickly banishes the thought. Carlos is most probably definitely straight. And they work together.

“Okay,” Carlos draws the word out slowly. “Well, tell me about myself then.”

TK clears his throat and straightens his back. “You fill your car up every two weeks at the same spot next to Union Station. You love yourself a French dip from Philippe’s. You avoid the four-oh-five at all costs. And, uh, your favourite doughnut is not a doughnut. It’s an apple fritter.”

Carlos looks amused, like he hadn’t expected TK to actually have an answer for him. “So where was my fritter earlier?”

“I haven’t decided if I like you yet.” TK says with a shrug.

“Hmm,” Carlos shakes his head. “What was so important that we couldn’t talk about it on the phone?”

“Yes,” TK changes lanes, undeterred by Carlos’ abrupt switch back into shop talk. “Lieutenant and I swung by Regina’s house. It’s a long story involving oreos but I wanted to check out a gift Eduardo had given his daughter, a dictionary.” Carlos frowns. “Right? Odd gift for a kid who can’t read. Turns out it was a decoy to stash money in.”

“How much was in there?”

“Ballpark? Fifty grand.”

The detective’s eyebrows rise in surprise.

“Yup. Our working theory that he was conning rich, vulnerable women to get their money has all but been confirmed. But,” TK reaches into his pocket, pulling out the daughter’s toy digital camera. “It doesn’t stop there. His daughter was showing me photos and look.”

He tilts the camera to Carlos who crowds in close to see the small screen. TK can feel the heat radiate from his body and has to stop himself from instinctually leaning towards it. “What exactly am I looking at? This is a photo of Eduardo and his daughter, correct?”

TK nods. In the photo, Eduardo is grinning at the camera with his daughter on his shoulders. They’re both dressed in short sleeves, their eyes squinting from the sun presumably behind the camera. TK hits the zoom button, enlarging the snake tattoo on Eduardo’s wrist. “Who meets a lot of rich, vulnerable women?”

At that moment, the bartender returns, the same bartender who had helped them identify Eduardo during their initial investigation. He leans over the counter to set down Carlos’ drink, the sleeve of his shirt riding up to reveal the tail end of the exact same snake tattoo. Carlos’ eyes zero on it, “A hotel bartender.”

The bartender frowns and then his eyes drop to the bar top where TK has left the camera face up, the photo of the tattoo still enlarged and on screen. His eyes snap back up to Carlos, panic flashing across his face. Before they can say anything else, he bolts from the bar.

“Hey!” Carlos yells and without wasting another second dives from the stool to chase after him. The two men crash into the kitchen, leaving the bar in stunned silence.

“Oh.” TK slowly reaches for the camera and tucks it back into his pocket. Sheepishly he glances around him. “That’s not good.”

Carlos bursts through the service door, hot on the bartender’s heels. The kitchen is a hub of activity, the clanging of pans, the heat of the ovens, the sizzle of steaks frying and steam billowing from pots. The bartender barrels past a chef, knocking a tray of fresh rolls from his hands, the tray clattering to the floor. Carlos jumps over it, shouting a ‘sorry’ over his shoulder.

The bartender grabs up a glass bottle of something from the counter and before Carlos can discern what it is, volleys it at the detective’s head. He ducks at the very last second and it explodes behind him, the contents catching the stove’s flames and sending a fiery ball towards the ceiling.

The sprinklers are activated, water raining down on them, and a fire alarm begins to tone. Carlos slides over the centre island and knocks the dishes that had been waiting for service to the ground in a series of smashed plates. Cornered, the bartender is panicking now. He looks around himself in a craze and lunges for a knife left discarded by the preparation station.

He swings it at Carlos who throws up his hands in surrender. “Woah, woah. What are you doing?”

The bartender jabs it at him, forcing Carlos to jump back. “I’m not going back to prison!”

Seeing the frantic mania in his wide eyes, Carlos makes a decision. He looks over the man’s shoulder and throws out a hand. “Mateo, put the gun down!”

The bartender whips around, ready to brandish his weapon at the new threat. Before he clocks that Carlos is talking to empty air and no one’s there, he surges forward and tackles him to the ground, making sure to knock his arm so the knife clatters to the floor, far out of reach. They crash to the ground, Carlos’ weight knocking the wind out of the man’s lungs.

Blinking water from his eyes, his shirt soaked to his chest, Carlos keeps his knee on the bartender’s lower back and twists both his arms back, pulling the handcuffs from his pocket and closing them around his wrists with a satisfying click.

The adrenalin wears off fast. As soon as backup arrives, Carlos steps back to let the officers haul the bartender to his feet and escort him out to their patrol car. He stays around long enough to give his statement and then leaves the rest of the crew to interview eyewitnesses. He has other business to attend to.

He barely spares a glance at his soaked clothes before he charges back out into the hotel foyer.

“TK!” he yells. TK is mid-conversation with the hotel manager, but he turns immediately, his eyes wide and concerned. Carlos can’t process what that means just now. He’s so livid he can hardly think straight. “Why didn’t you tell me what I was walking into?”

TK swallows visibly and wrings his hands. “I didn’t know all that was going to happen.”

“I could’ve gotten stabbed!” Carlos cries, throwing out his hands in exasperation.

“Okay.” TK tries to lighten the mood; anything to stop Carlos looking like he wants to wring his neck. “I think you’re overreacting just a teeny bit.”

“No, I am not overreacting. We both could’ve been seriously hurt.” The detective runs a hand over his head, gelling his wet curls back. He knows his anger isn’t just anger alone. Something else is simmering alongside it that he refuses to acknowledge. “You could have been hurt, TK.”

“Okay but we’re fine, right?” he tries for a smile, “And how about a little bit of gratitude, by the way?”

“Oh, gratitude.” Carlos scoffs, rearing back in disbelief. “Gratitude for what?”

TK frowns, like it should be obvious. “I gave you a break in the case.”

“Oh! Thank you, TK, for giving me a break in the case in the most idiotic way possible. How can someone as smart as you are do so many stupid things?”

TK flinches like he’s been slapped. Instantly, Carlos wants to take back his words; to remove the hurt from his downturned lips and wide eyes. He opens his mouth to apologise, to suggest they go home and rest and debrief at the precinct in the morning when he sees TK’s face shutter. “You know what? I don’t have to take this. I don’t need this job that bad.”

Carlos feels his hackles rise. Every time they seem to get a glimpse of each other, one of them throws up a wall. So he does what he does best, voice gruff and eyes hard, he pushes back. “Fine. This job certainly does not need you.”

“Perfect.” TK takes a step back, the light catching the sheen in his eyes. “I quit.”

“Assault, battery, extortion, buying and selling of stolen goods.” Carlos’ lists, pacing around the interrogation room. Prado, the bartender, sits at the table, Marjan across from him.

“And Eduardo Cortez’s murder.” She adds and Prado frowns, but the two detectives are tired with the lack of progress. This case has been fighting against them every step of the way. They're not willing to hear out his protests just yet, they have questions and they'll be damned if solving this case is delayed any longer than necessary.

Carlos’ annoyance at chasing him through the hotel kitchen is still apparent in his disregard. He won’t admit it to himself but he also can’t shake TK’s hurt face from his mind. He wouldn’t say it out loud to him but what little progress the investigation has made is largely down to him. Him quitting, after Carlos’ explosion, is a loss he’s not quite willing to deal with yet. “We know you guys shared a cell in prison. What was your relationship like with Eduardo after being released?”

Prado remains silent. Marjan sighs, “Look, you pulled a knife on a cop. You wanna minimize your jail time, this is your chance.”

Still the bartender keeps his eyes locked on the table. The two detectives wait. They’ve got nothing but time if it means getting more information. Finally, he cracks. “When I got out, I was doing okay bartending. But I knew that Eduardo was struggling. He helped me on the inside, so I felt like I owed him. When I started at the hotel, he came up with a plan.”

Marjan raises an eyebrow, “To exploit vulnerable women.”

Prado averts his gaze. “I only gave him possible marks. After that, whatever Eduardo did with these women is on him.”

Carlos’ voice is brusque as he clarifies, “But you got a finder’s fee.” He has no time to entertain this man’s innocence. Whether he was the one actively dating the women or not, he is complicit.

Prado winces, “Sure, but I had nothing to do with his death.” He looks between the two detectives, seeing their reluctance. “Why would I want Eduardo killed? He was my goose that laid golden eggs.”

Carlos sighs because for all Prado has slowed down the investigation by not being forthright from the beginning, not to mention the knife threat, he has a point there. Which leaves them once again with no leads to who the hell murdered Eduardo. It’s beginning to feel like a wild goose chase. And the one person Carlos wants to theorise with, isn’t here.

“You quit?” Paul asks incredulously. From the couch, he watches TK fold laundry at the kitchen table.

TK sighs, trying to focus on the clothes in front of him and not the dumpster fire that is his life. So much for getting their car back. So much for financial stability. “Well, he was yelling. I was yelling. I don’t know. I felt attacked.” TK groans and stops to run a hand down his face. The memory of Carlos’ contorted face taunts him. He looks over to his friend, “I really liked that job.”

“Liked? I loved that job!” Paul cries, looking at him like he’s an idiot. He feels like an idiot. “It was a sweet gig and they were paying me and Nancy for childcare. Why don’t you just apologise? You’re good at apologies.” TK scoffs, trying to imagine Carlos accepting an ‘I’m sorry’ feels like entertaining a fever dream.  “Well, after it takes you about six months to realise you’re in the wrong.”

“Oi!”

“I’m pretty sure with those eyes and a ‘pretty please’ Detective Reyes would give you your job back in a heartbeat.” Paul smirks, hiding behind his cup of peppermint tea as he takes a long, exaggerated sip.

“Can you stop with that?” TK rolls his eyes, dropping his hands to the table with a thud. Paul has been making too many comments about the attractiveness of the detective, as if it’s something that TK needs pointed out to him. If anything, he’s trying to ignore it. For the sake of his sanity and the job.

His friend shrugs nonplussed. “What? You’d make a hot couple. Can I not say that?”

TK groans, mumbling: “Pretty sure he’s straight. And has a permanent stick up his ass.”

"Sounds pretty gay to me," Paul snickers. TK lobs a balled up t-shirt at his head.

The two fall back into silence, and TK can feel Paul’s eyes on him. His friend knows him better than anyone, aside from maybe Nancy, and he knows Paul can detect the anxiety coursing through his veins.

“We’ll figure it out.” Paul promises, voice soft. “Although, I do think I should tell you, Nancy said that yesterday at pickup, Jonah was bragging to his classmates about you being a detective.”

TK smiles bashfully, imagining his brother feeling proud enough to talk about him. The thought fills him with a timid hopefulness. “Well, I have to tell him to stop bragging about me being a cop. Everyone’s going to think he’s a narc.”

Paul cackles in response.

He can’t believe another day has arrived without a breakthrough. Carlos is especially grumpy this morning, his eyes gritty from a night of tossing and turning. He reached for his phone more than once, wondering if he should text TK and apologise before his stubbornness kicked in and reminded him that TK had just as much to apologise for. He feels sleep-rumpled during the morning team brief.

“Prado’s lawyer made it clear, there’s no confession coming.” Marjan informs them, looking more drawn than usual.

Carlos waves a hand dismissively, voice flat. “Yeah, it’s fine. He’s not our guy. Couldn’t have been in the hotel room at the time of death.” Eyewitnesses and security cameras have Prado behind the bar all night. There’s no way he could have snuck out, scaled the building to the fourth floor and murdered Eduardo. Not to mention the lack of motive.

Marjan nods, “Staff confirmed his alibi, and we’re getting security footage from the downstairs bar-“

“And his nails!” The team of four startle, heads snapping to the entrance. TK is making his usual dramatic appearance. Late, loud and disruptive.

Again, he wields a box of doughnuts. Carlos has to wonder if this will be the extent of his acknowledgement of, and apology for, yesterday. He eyes him warily.

“Thanks!” Marjan grins, easily won over. But then again, it wasn’t her gut that was nearly sliced open.

Mateo quickly looks at Carlos, “I know which one I want.”

Carlos rolls his eyes at the unnecessary reassurance. He isn’t sure when the team started walking on eggshells around him, but he hates it. “Can we please get back to the case?” he snaps.

“Yes.” TK chirps, coming to stand beside Carlos. “As I was saying, his fingernails.”

“What about them?” Carlos asks tiredly; too fatigued to shut down his interruption or to remind him he quit yesterday, therefore, has absolutely no business being here. “The victim wasn’t scratched to death, TK.”

“No,” TK sasses, throwing him some side-eye. “He was not. But, in order to climb the exterior of a hotel and get into the fourth-floor window, the murderer would have to have short nails.” Mateo takes an unceremonious bite from a glazed doughnut he’s snuck from the box. “The bartender had long, flamenco-guitar nails. But you know who has short nails?”

Mateo holds up a crumb coated hand, “I do.”

Tommy waves her own. “Me too.”

Carlos sighs. “We all have short nails. So what? We’re all murderers?”

Tommy hums, “What’s your point, TK?”

TK narrows his eyes at Carlos, angling towards him. “This question is for Carlos.”

Carlos rolls out his shoulders, meeting his stare straight on.

“Do you know who has short fingernails?”

Carlos blinks, frowning as he disappears into his thoughts. When his silence lasts a beat too long, TK jumps in again. “Members of the Long Beach Climbing Club.”

“Kyle!” Carlos reveals, eyes widening as he thinks back to visiting Glenda Walker.

The rest of the team look confused, completely out of the loop. “Explain.” Tommy demands.

TK swivels to face her, “Kyle’s a climber. He could easily get up in that window. He snuck up on Eduardo. He forced him underwater.”

“Kyle wanted revenge for his mother.” Carlos ascertains, the tiredness leaving his face as renewed determination ignites. “Marjan, Mateo, go arrest Kyle Walker. Get him back here ASAP.”

The pair quickly gather their things, Mateo stopping to snag another doughnut, and rush out the exit. Tommy turns to TK, crossing her arms, “Excellent work, TK.” She nods over to Carlos, “Detective, get the confession and close it up.” She returns to her office, leaving TK and Carlos alone.

The two face each other, daring the other to speak first. Carlos draws in a deep breath, “I thought you quit.”

TK plops his hands on his hips, “Oh, I did.” He shrugs. “But you need me, admit it.”

Carlos opens his mouth, and TK fully expects a retaliation. He deserves it. He’s been cocky and arrogant when he’s had no right to be. He’s inexperienced and in way over his head. But he’s eager. Above all else, he knows how awful life can be. He wants to help. Carlos’ eyes soften infinitesimally, “Good work, TK.”

The smug grin is quick to drop from his face. He considers Carlos and, in that moment, sees all their similarities, not the differences. Life has hurt him too. He wants to help just as much. With sincerity he replies, “Thank you.”

Things still feel a tad awkward between them, and never one to sit in silence for too long, TK adds: “We couldn’t have done it alone.”

Carlos frowns and glances over at the case board, “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘We couldn’t have done it alone.’ You know… we needed each other?” TK supplies, voice unsure. Has he really messed this up not even two seconds after Carlos has complimented him.

Carlos whips back around. “Kyle.” He says, eyes wide with realisation. “Kyle couldn’t have done it alone. He doesn’t appear on any of the CCTV footage.” TK listens intently. “He had an accomplice, someone who drugged Eduardo’s drink.”

“Someone who unlatched the window.” TK adds.

Carlos nods, “Someone who was already inside the room that night.”

They look at each other and at the same time answer: “Iris Bowman.”

It’s past dinnertime and the precinct is quiet; most detectives have left for the day. It was a long afternoon of questioning Iris and Kyle. It turns out Kyle had figured out what Eduardo was doing and sought out revenge. He’d been following his movements for quite some time in order to warn other potential victims. When he met Iris in the hotel lobby, he was too late. Eduardo had already conned upwards of $390,000 from her.  Incentivised by rage, it was then that the pair came up with a plan, one that combined two of their greatest skills. Iris volunteered to dose him, with easy access to drugs through the hospital, and Kyle came up with the idea of scaling the building to hammer the final nail in his coffin.

Carlos has a long debrief report to type up, but other than that, the case is finally closed. He half expects TK to have left by the time he returns to his desk. He knows he stayed to watch most of the interrogations but assumed he went home as soon as the two suspects were apprehended and taken into custody. But as he enters the bullpen, he finds the other man lounging against his desk.

Carlos smiles as he walks toward him. “A little birdie told me someone closed their first official case with the LAPD.”

TK straightens up. He looks tired, but a different exhaustion than he wore the previous day – that had been laced with defeat and a tinge of sadness. Today, he looks just regular tired after a hard day of work. There’s relief and maybe a little bit of pride in there too, making his green eyes sparkle.

The detective quirks an eyebrow, adopting a cocky walk as he nears the desk and pulls out his chair. “You thought about quitting while you’re ahead? Go out on top?”

TK snorts, “I’ve already tried to quit once this week. Besides, you do not want me to quit. You’re having way too much fun.”

Carlos settles into his chair, watching as TK relaxes and leans back on the table. “Oh, I am, huh?”

“Yup.” TK’s say with far too much confidence.

“Oh, before I forget,” Carlos reaches for the top drawer and pulls out an envelope.  “Lieutenant asked me to give you this. First official paycheck. Lands early.”

“No way,” TK says, smiling softly and accepting the envelope. He opens it to glance it over and his eyebrows jump up. Astonished, he looks up at Carlos. “Wow.”

The detective smiles. There’s a humility in TK, and despite all of his annoying quirks, Carlos would be hard pressed to say he doesn’t deserve the acknowledgment of his hard work.

TK clears his throat and tucks the envelope into his pocket. “Carlos, I was wrong. You’re not a heartless police robot.” He peeks up at the detective with a small smile. “Just a regular police robot.”

Carlos snorts a laugh, feeling immensely relieved that the awkwardness from earlier has dispelled. He can’t blame TK, not really. He’s been nothing but open since they met. He has welcomed him into his home, introduced him to Jonah and been honest in ways no other person has ever been with Carlos. It’s refreshing, if not both terrifying and infuriating at times. And he’s not wrong. When it comes to his working relationship with TK, he has been distant and cold. It’s no wonder the man has him pegged as heartless. It’s time he offered something in return, especially if they are going to continue working together.

“You were wrong, earlier on.” He blurts out, knowing he has to start somewhere. So let’s start small.

TK frowns. “When?”

“The other day, when we were at the tailor shop. You said I looked like the type of guy to date the same girl all four years of high school.”

TK looks intrigued, “Were you really a player? Damn, it’s always the quiet ones.”

Carlos lets out a bark of laughter, earning a delighted look from TK. “Absolutely not. I was way too shy. And closeted. I didn’t date my first boyfriend until second year of college.” He revels in TK’s comically cartoonish reaction, his mouth dropping open dramatically.

“Boyfriend, huh?”

Carlos smirks at him. “Looks like you need to work on those detective skills a little more.”

TK chuckles, “My gaydar might need a little repair work but my detective skills are great, thank you. Although, if I’m not mistaken you thought Jonah was my biological son when we first met. Did that not show up on my background check?”

“Oh, I didn’t do your background check. That was all Lieutenant Vega.”

“Huh,” TK cocks his head. This entire time he was thinking Carlos had his whole tragic life story in the palm of his hand. It looks like they’re on more of a level playing field than he first thought them to be. “So, you don’t know why I have Jonah?”

Carlos shrugs, “I figured it wasn’t my place to ask and that you’d tell me if you wanted to.”

TK lets that sink in, nodding slowly as his eyes fall to his lap. It’s been quite some time since he’s been afforded the courtesy of privacy, or even consent to share his story. In rehab and every week at his NA meetings, his ongoing sobriety requires him to be an open book. He had to disclose everything to CPS in order to adopt Jonah. Every single part of his life was scrutinised under a microscope and even then, it felt like he was handed Jonah begrudgingly. He got lucky with Jonah’s social worker, one of the rare agents that still fights to keep children with family over being thrown into the care system.

“Our mom died,” TK begins, and Carlos looks over at him, his face open and earnest. “Some freak accident. Jonah and I have different dads. His dad, Enzo, disappeared and it was either me, Enzo’s eighty-year-old parents or foster care.”

Carlos leans forward, sympathy tugging his lips downwards. “I’m so sorry, TK.”

He shrugs, “It wasn’t even a conscious decision. I said yes and that was that. I couldn’t stomach to be separated from Jonah but I couldn’t imagine moving back to New York either, so he came here.”

The detective looks surprised. “You’re from New York?”

TK huffs out a laugh. “Wow, not even four years living here, and my accent’s gone?”

Carlos shares his smile. “What brought you to Los Angeles?” TK grimaces, fidgeting with his fingers. Carlos notices immediately and rushes to reassure him. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s…” TK looks over at him through his lashes, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable. He inhales deeply and in one long shaky exhale, rushes out: “I’m an addict.”  He finds it funny that no matter how many times he has to admit that out loud, which is a lot considering all the meetings he attends, there’s always a moment of hesitancy. He wonders if that shame will ever leave him.

Carlos nods, and patiently waits for him to continue. TK isn’t sure what reaction he expected. One of anger, maybe? Of shock? Disgust? But his expression remains free of judgment.

“Recovering addict. I’ve been sober for four years.”

The detective smiles and the genuineness of it loosens something in TK’s chest. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I’ve been battling with addiction since my early teens. Alcohol and drugs helped with the insomnia and hyperactivity. At first it was recreational, but at some point, it became a crutch. It wasn’t until I overdosed on Oxy that my mom stepped in. I’d only been a firefighter for five months and going to rehab and getting clean was the last thing I wanted to do. But, she was a scary woman. And a lawyer. So, you can imagine how that went.” Carlos laughs softly. “She dragged me on a plane and flew me out to LA. I completed the thirty days in rehab and… stuck around.” He shrugs, “It was so different from my life in New York. I met Paul and Nancy. I grew attached to the people at my NA meetings. Me and my sponsor had an instant bond, and at some point, without realising, I must have made the decision to stay.”

Carlos is quiet for a moment. And then his gentle brown eyes find his. “I’m glad you did.”

Warmth blooms in TK’s chest. His smile is shy. “What about you?”

Carlos blinks. “What about me?”

He purses his lips and tilts his head to the side as he considers Carlos. “I don’t know. Every now and then, it’s like your accent slips a little. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But it’s enough to tell me you didn’t grow up around here.”

Now it’s Carlos’ turn to look timorous. “Good ear.” He murmurs. It’s been a long time since someone has questioned where he’s from. He’s either not as good at hiding it, or TK’s very good at noticing. “I grew up in Austin.”

“No shit!” TK’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “My dad moved down there a few years ago. Did you hear about the 126 fire house?”

Carlos nods, “Yeah. Wasn’t there some explosion that killed the entire crew?”

“All bar one firefighter,” TK confirms. “My dad’s a fire captain, rebuilt his fire house after 9/11, so they sent him down after the accident to get the 126 back up and running. He’s stayed with them ever since.”

Flummoxed, Carlos sits back in his chair, mind reeling at the possibility of their dad’s potentially crossing paths down in Texas and unbeknownst to them, their sons working together in California. “Small world, huh?”

Sounding awed TK looks back at him, “Yeah,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t explain why you ended up in LA.”

“My high school best friend went missing,” Carlos starts, clearing his voice when it comes out strained. “Her name was Iris Blake. I’d always wanted to work in law enforcement. My dad’s a Texas Ranger so it kind of runs in the family. But when she disappeared… it gave me real motivation. I was no longer just proving a point or fulfilling some sort of family legacy. I had the power to help people. Vulnerable people. I was the youngest officer in the state to take and pass the detective exam. As soon as I could, I took over Iris’ case and followed the leads all the way up here.”

TK’s voice is quiet as he subconsciously gravitates towards Carlos. “Did you find her?”

Even after all this time, he finds his throat tighten and eyes well up. He clenches his jaw, willing himself not to cry. He deals with violence and death every day. He has to rap at doors and deliver news that tears families apart on a weekly basis. He knows how cruel this world is, his job is a daily reminder that he can’t escape. And yet his grief overwhelms him. “We eventually found her ex-boyfriend’s car. There wasn’t much left of them. Coyotes probably. But I was finally able to give her family closure.”

TK feels his heart clench as he watches Carlos curl in on himself, like Iris’ death is a personal failure. He reaches out and rests a hand on his shoulder, hoping that he can communicate his empathy and condolences through this one gentle touch. Carlos leans into the warmth of his hand and they sit together in heavy silence.

It turns out they both have an intimate relationship with loss.

It’s not until much later, when TK has long since left to relieve Nancy of her babysitting duties and Carlos should really be at home fast asleep that he notices the small pink cake box on his desk. It had been hidden out of sight behind TK but is now on full display. Carlos rubs at his eyes sleepily, wondering if it’s some mirage his exhausted brain has concocted. But blinking rapidly, it remains. He reaches for it, flipping the lid open. Inside is a single apple fritter.

Carlos’ laugh is startled. A few of the other officers look over briefly before their attention is pulled back to their own work. He can’t help but grin, bringing the pastry to his lips and sinking his teeth into the fluffy, delicious goodness. He sighs dreamily, flavour exploding across his tongue. The gift of sustenance, of listening intently and remembering, of being seen, of being treated. It’s enough to make Carlos pack up for the night, to head home as the sun rises, his belly filled with sweetness and spirits lifted.