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“Hey,” TK prattled into his radio, “Do you guys think pigeons have feelings?”
Paul was the first to reply, “TK, this radio is for essential communication in the field.”
“Just indulge me, huh?” TK asked, trying to make his voice seem light and carefree as his breath hitched from pain.
He’d fallen at some point, the fire-damaged floorboards giving way under his feet and allowing his descent. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been down there, just listening to the mindless chatters bouncing across their radio frequency. He knew he was hurt but couldn’t bring himself to say something. He didn’t want to see the look in his teammates’ eyes, like he was seconds away from crumbling. Also there were civilians who needed evacuation much sooner.
“Personally, I think pigeons have feelings,” Marjan’s voice replied.
“Thank you, Marjan. You’re the only one who is allowed to have rights.”
“Are you okay, TK?” Paul asked, his voice on the other end of the radio was cool and professional. TK wondered if his voice had betrayed him, if he sounded as much like a scared and hurt child as he felt, or if he sounded calm and level-headed like Paul and Marjan.
Smoke irritated TK’s throat and lungs, causing the muscles to spasm as he coughed, trying to clear his airway. His helmet must’ve come off when he fell.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just thought we needed something to break the tension.”
As it turns out, “fine” was nothing of the sort as TK grit his teeth and pressed down hard on his thigh, attempting to staunch the bloodflow around the rebar sticking out of his skin. With rivulets of crimson pouring from between his fingers, he moved his radio to his mouth again.
He took a few laboured breaths to steel himself. “Did you know that the mantis shrimp has sixteen colour receptor cones in its eyes and since we only have three, it can see colours that we can’t even begin to imagine?”
“TK…” It was Judd’s voice now. “Are you sure you’re alright? Did you hit your head or something?”
“I’m okay, just making conversation.”
“Could you maybe keep that ‘til we get back to the station? As much as I love your fun facts channel, a burning building is not really the place for it.”
TK knew that Judd was right, his teammates were in a dangerous position requiring no interruptions, that his talking was nothing but a distraction to them. As the room started to tilt TK realised he needed to keep himself talking long enough for his team to get civilians out before getting to him. The rebar through his thigh was making that a little difficult. “If a mantis shrimp was the size of a human, it would have enough strength in its claw to hurl a baseball into space.”
“Impressive,” Marjan quipped. It was short, sharp.
He could tell they were getting sick of his babbling, angry at him. But it was all he had.
“Did you know that you can trace Fifty Shades of Grey back to 9/11? It was a fanfiction of Twilight which was a My Chemical Romance fanfiction and the band formed in response to 9/11.”
He couldn’t bring himself to stop talking, even the disgruntled responses from the 126 meant that he wasn’t alone. TK would never admit it, but as his skin grew colder and he began to shake, he was scared. There was so much blood and not enough time, TK knew he was dying.
For the first time in so many years, he didn’t find the idea of death comforting.
The pressing threat of nothingness terrified him.
No one replied to him this time. He was left alone with only the sound of his shallow breaths. It was getting harder and harder to draw air into his lungs, he was so tired. But he needed to keep talking, he needed to keep his eyes open even though every blink lasted longer than the last, his eyelids growing heavier and harder to keep apart.
“The name Wendy was made up for Peter Pan, there was no documented Wendy before then.” TK blinked furiously to try and rid the dark spots dancing across his vision. He idly wondered if they could hear how weak and shaky his voice was. “Don’t you think that’s a kinda cool testament to the impact that art has on society?”
“TK,” Judd huffed, exasperated, “Can you please shut up for a minute?”
TK bit his tongue, tears burning in his eyes. Whether from irritation or regret he didn’t know. He’d never find out. It was at this moment, that TK realised all the things that he hadn’t had the time to say. To tell Carlos that he loved him. To thank his father for everything he sacrificed for TK’s wellbeing. To thank his team for always having his back. To apologise for leaving.
The arm that was holding TK’s radio to his face lost its strength and fell to his side. It was the bloodloss getting to him, the shock setting in. He could feel his grasp on consciousness slipping with each pulse of his heart, with the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing.
Apparently his lack of response was unusual. An absence of a disgruntled comment or blatantly ignoring the request as was probably expected of him. Judd’s voice returned, “TK?”
He wanted to pick up the radio again, to talk again. But his strength had evaporated and it took all his effort just to breath. Slow and shallow, he wasn’t getting enough into his lungs but it was the best that he could do.
“Look, I didn’t mean to yell at you, it’s just that we need to focus on this rescue and your constant rambling is a little distracting.”
“I understand,” TK breathed, his eyelids feeling heavy and sluggish as he blinked slowly, trying to clear his eyes of haze.
“TK? Are you there?”
“Aww, Judd, you hurt his feelings,” Mateo responded.
“Look TK, I’m sorry.” The crispness of Judd’s voice was much more than TK could have ever expected of their radios. He could almost hear the concern on Judd’s tongue.
Almost.
TK couldn’t find the strength to move his lips, to form words of reassurance.
“Cap, there’s no response from TK on the radio.” Now TK could hear the concern in Judd’s voice, maybe even a little fear.
Paul’s calm, steady voice broke through Judd’s anxious words, “I think you’re being dramatic, he’s just sulking because you yelled at him.”
“Okay everyone, headcount. Captain Strand.”
He yearned to cry out for his father at the sound of his voice, to ask to be held and comforted as if he were a small child waking from a nightmare and not an adult living one. There was so much he needed to say- so much he needed to be for his father. He couldn’t give up now, but he feared that he had no choice.
“Firefighter Ryder.”
“Firefighters Marwani and Strickland.”
“Firefighter Chavez.”
‘It’s my turn,’ TK pondered, his thoughts forming as though they were molasses. But he couldn’t find the strength to speak, let alone to pick up his radio from where it rested in his limp fingers.
“Firefighter Strand, do you copy?”
“—TK?”
“TK. Just let us know where you are, we’ll come and get you, kid.”
He couldn’t even decipher who was speaking anymore, everything sounding like his ears were filled with sand.
TK wanted to laugh, a dry and humourless chuckle because he had no idea where he was or which direction he had come from. But he was only met with the fluttering of his eyes, and oblivion.
🧡
TK blinked up at what he could only assume was the ceiling of an ambulance. It was bright and it was as if he were a tiny life raft in a stormy sea, rocking and swaying with every slight imperfection of the road. Vaguely, he registered the familiar sound of sirens, but they seemed muted, suffocated.
“Hey, Kid. You took a spill earlier, gave everyone a fright.” His eyes sluggishly trailed over to meet Michelle’s face, she gave him a small smile. He tried to return it but he couldn’t tell if he’d moved at all.
“‘m sorry.” TK’s voice was muffled by the oxygen mask he now noticed strapped to his face.
“It’s okay, as long as you’re not dead, I think you’ll be forgiven,” Michelle said, her soft voice soothing against TK’s frayed nerves.
“I don’t think I’m dead.”
“No, I don’t think you are either. Close to it when they pulled you out but you’re looking a lot better now.”
“Will I have to miss work?”
Michelle chuckled, but there was no humour in it. She gave TK a pat on the arm. “Afraid so.”
“Dad’s gonna be mad,” TK amended.
“Why would he be mad?”
“I’m gonna run out of paid leave so we can’t split the rent.”
“I’m sure he’ll sort something out.” There was something about Michelle’s presence that comforted him. She wasn’t visibly upset or panicked like Owen or Carlos would be if they were in the back of an ambulance with him. It meant he didn’t need to worry. Of course, she was the paramedic captain and a good poker face came with the job, nevertheless, TK was at ease.
“This wasn’t meant to happen.”
“I know, TK. But why didn’t you say anything?”
“Had civilians to get out. I had gear. Didn’t need my team prioritising me over them.” TK shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“So you decided to bleed out?” Michelle’s tone didn’t betray her as she fiddled with things around TK. He didn’t pay much mind to what she was doing, only cringing slightly at the uncomfortable tightness of the blood pressure cuff.
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Of course not. You were the one bleeding and consequently didn’t comprehend the severity of a piece of rebar through your leg.”
“Is it still there?” TK tried to lift his head to see. True to his earlier memory, there was still a bar through his thigh but now it was much shorter — sawed closer to his leg — and packed tightly with strikingly white gauze quickly being drenched in scarlet. There was also a tourniquet tied at the top of his thigh, he could barely feel the tightness. He’d probably lost too much blood, but he felt so floaty and calm about the whole situation.
“Obviously. It’ll come out at the hospital and you’ll be very unconscious while they do it.”
“I don’t think I have enough insurance to cover this.”
Michelle ignored him, in favour of changing the topic from his current impalement. “What was with your fun facts show on the radio? It seemed to confuse the team and it was probably funny until you stopped responding.”
“I thought if I kept talking I’d be able to stay awake until everyone else was out, it kinda worked,” TK explained, clenching his jaw as the pain in his leg flared from a slight movement he didn’t even register making. “Didn’t mean to be a nuisance, though. Judd was really cross with me.”
“He was just confused and worried. He’ll be happy to see you conscious, I’m sure. But keeping yourself awake was a good move on your part, maybe if you’d said you needed help before going radio silent, we’d all be spared some grey hairs.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to die alone. Even if they were mad at me, they were there and I could hear them. I wasn’t alone.”
“Honey…” TK could see Michelle’s lecture fizzle to nothingness as her expression softened.
Hastily, TK spoke again, eager to diffuse the tension in the air, “Can you call Carlos, and put him on speaker?”
“Sure, why?”
“I just wanna hear his voice.”
🧡
“You gotta stop doing this, Tiger.” Even with his eyes closed, TK could see the drawn look on Carlos’ face. The eyebrows pinched in worry, the lips pressed into a firm line as he fidgeted nervously in his seat. The expression, to others, seemed neutral or even impassive, but TK had spent many hours of his life, committing the nuances of Carlos’ every shift and breath to his memory.
“Sorry,” TK mumbled.
“It’s okay. You’re alive, and that’s all I’m gonna ask for.”
Blinking the darkness from his vision, TK looked up at Carlos, at the wrought expression weariness in his eyes, his lips, his fingers on the back of TK’s hand. “How long was I out?”
“You got out of surgery three hours ago.” There was a hand gently cupping TK’s cheek, Carlos’ thumb tenderly tracing TK’s cheekbone. “Go back to sleep, you need to rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
TK didn’t need to be told twice.