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“TK!” Carlos shouted, his voice heavy with fear as he pushed through the gathering crowd towards the fallen member of the 126. The look of unrestrained panic in his eyes caused the bystanders to step aside, forming a makeshift aisle for him to run to his fiance’s side.
He skidded to a halt next to Marjan and Judd as he reached the edge of the crowd. They both reeked of smoke. He glanced at them quickly. They were covered in soot and dust from pulling TK out of the rubble he had fallen into when the floor had collapsed beneath him. The fire had raged on, making it nearly impossible for the 126 to retrieve their fallen teammate, but they had done it. The 126 never left a man behind.
The only clean part of Marjan’s face was the tear tracks as she shed silent tears, mouth moving in what Carlos could only assume was a silent prayer, a plea for TK’s safety. Judd’s face was dry, but the hands holding his helmet were trembling. Carlos had been about to ask them how he was, but now he dreaded the answer. He needed to see for himself.
He brushed past them, ignoring their half-hearted attempts to stop him, to keep him from TK’s side. He crashed to his knees on the pavement, hands hovering. He did not want to get in Michelle’s way, didn’t want to do anything to put TK in jeopardy. He settled on his left arm, closest to Carlos and out of Michelle’s way. He placed a hand on it, squeezing tightly. TK made no movement, gave no indication that he could feel Carlos’s touch. His heart sank.
“Wake up,” he whispered, leaning as close to TK’s still form as he could, “please wake up.”
His voice broke on the last syllable but even that elicited no reaction, no sign of recognition from TK. He looked up at Michelle, eyes pleading and asking the question he couldn’t find the words to ask. The moment Michelle sighed and stopped working seemed to last an eternity. He wanted to yell at her - what was she doing? She needed to keep working, she needed to save TK. She couldn’t stop now.
She met his eyes and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, sadly, her gaze traveling between Carlos and Owen, who was at his side.
There was silence, for a moment, as Carlos’s world crashed down around him. Michelle couldn’t mean...she hadn’t said...TK wasn’t...he couldn’t…
The sound of Owen’s broken sobs from Carlos’s side crept into his consciousness, cementing this new reality.
TK was gone, and Carlos’s world was collapsing around him.
What was it TK had once said, back when they first met?
Everything’s just...gray .
Carlos understood that now. All of the color in the world seemed to have left with TK. Every moment was just a new blob of grays melding together. Things happened, people moved on with their lives, and Carlos just...existed.
That first night, right after it had happened, the 126 tried to look after him. As devastated as they were with their own loss, they made sure to be there for Carlos too. It’s what TK would have wanted , Paul reminded him softly when he resisted. He had allowed it, right up until it was time to go home. He insisted that he would be fine, that he needed some time alone. They had homes to go to, grief to process on their own. He would be fine and yes, he would call if he wasn’t.
He had meant it, too. Right up to the moment that he unlocked the door and stepped into the house. Their house - their home. Their home, which was unnaturally still and somber - it already felt like a grave. He dropped his keys in the dish by the door and stepped over the threshold. Each step felt like he was intruding on a shrine. He had to fight to urge to turn back; as if seeing their home without him would make it real.
But it was already real - the dust and soot still lingering on Carlos’s hands and uniform was a reminder that it was real - so he pushed forward.
He stepped through the kitchen, keeping his eyes straight ahead so as to not look at the counters, at the breakfast bar where just this morning they had shared a kiss before parting ways for the day. They had discussed dinner tonight; they had made plans for their mutual day off tomorrow. The kiss had been quick - soft and fleeting.
They hadn’t known it would be their last.
He swallowed and quickened his pace, eager to escape these ghosts that surrounded him. He proceeded through the living room with blinders on, desperate to ignore the memories of movie nights and make-out sessions, and nights with friends. He just needed to get to the bedroom, needed to change, needed to wash this day away.
But if the living room had been bad, the bedroom was worse. Carlos froze in the doorway; halted in mid-stride. The bed was haphazardly made - TK had been the last one up today and he had always griped about Carlos’s insistence on making the bed every day when they were just going to unmake it that night. But he had always done it, for Carlos. The nightstand on the right side still held his clutter - the odds and ends of daily life. The book he had been reading, an old envelope shoved unceremoniously into the pages to mark his place. A handful of coins from his pocket. The charging pad for his phone. All there, all blissfully unaware that they were now obsolete; that world had ended today, as far as Carlos was concerned.
His hands were trembling now, he didn’t even bother to try and still them. It was getting harder to breathe - the growing pain in his chest demanded release. He hadn’t shed more than a few tears since that moment. He had known that once he let go, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He crossed the room on shaking legs and sank onto their bed. No, onto his bed. He didn’t have anyone to share it with now.
Then, in the darkness on the lonely bed, Carlos finally let the tears come.
Michelle shows up soon after, and Carlos doesn’t know whether to hug her or scream at her. She doesn’t give him a choice though, in typical Michelle Blake fashion. She lets herself in and finds him on the couch, not crying but worn to the bone with exhaustion from crying, from mourning, from grieving. She kneels down beside him and wraps her arms around him.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers into his neck, her own tears betraying her. That’s all it takes for Carlos to find new tears. They sit like that for hours.
At some point Carlos finds it within himself to stand up, to think. There is so much to handle, so many arrangements to be made. Death is anything but simple for the ones left behind.
He has a fleeting thought that he should be with Owen, that he shouldn’t have left his future father-in-law (no, that wasn’t right. There was no future anymore, in that regard) alone. TK would be worried about his father; Carlos should be there.
He says as much to Michelle, who squeezes his shoulder and shakes her head. “The others are with him. Take tonight Carlos, let yourself feel this and handle this how you want for tonight. Tomorrow you can go back to worrying about everyone else.”
Carlos opened his mouth to protest, to point out how many ways she was wrong, but she simply shook her head. “It’s what TK would tell you too, and you know it.”
It’s that simple, irrefutable fact that gives life to a fresh wave of tears. Michelle doesn’t say a word, simply offers up her arms, which he falls into without a second thought.
He is alerted of the arrival of morning not by the sun or any alarm, but by a soft knock on the front door. He opens it to find Paul, Marjan, and Mateo on his doorstep. He glances at them without really seeing them; strung out from sobbing and sore from sleeping on the couch because he couldn’t face their bed. Paul seems to understand because he raises the bag in his hand and simply says: “I brought breakfast.”
Carlos steps aside to let them in, rubbing a hand down his face as he does. Once they’re all in he shuts the door and returns to the couch where he sinks into the cushions. Marjan comes over to hand him a foil-wrapped burrito and though she glances at the pillow and blanket that clearly state where he slept the previous night, she makes no comment. He accepts the offered burrito with a nod, but says nothing.
They all gather their food and scatter about the living room, eating in silence. The burritos are long gone before Marjan finally breaks the silence. Her voice ringing through the space feels like an interruption to a funeral mass.
“I feel like this is a stupid question but I need to ask it anyway: how are you?”
Carlos considers this for a moment. How is he? He doesn’t know any words that describe this feeling rolling through him. After some consideration, he shrugs.
Paul is next: “It shouldn’t need to be said either, but I’m going to anyway: we’re here for you man. We...can’t even imagine how you’re feeling right now, but we’re here for you. You are not going through this alone.”
There is silence again before Mateo speaks up.
“We miss him too,” is all he says.
When Carlos responds, even he is surprised by how rough and broken his voice sounds, “I know,” he croaks and swallows against the tears.
The others nod and the silence returns, ever so slightly lighter this time, somehow.
Judd stops by with dinner from Grace.
“There’s no point in arguing,” Judd tells him dryly when he tries to claim that he doesn’t need it. “Grace cooks when she’s upset. We have enough food in our house to feed four armies right now.”
He accepts the containers, knowing when to recognize defeat. He then steps aside to allow Judd entry. The other man looks surprised, but follows him in. He crosses to the kitchen to put the food in the refrigerator, Judd on his heels. Once he has deposited the food he grabs two bottles of beer, offering one to Judd. The older man blinks, but accepts the drink, taking a seat the counter and twisting the lid off. Carlos follows suit. He had been avoiding the beer he knew was stored in the fridge. He had never had a drinking problem in his life, but this was not the time to test that theory. A little something to take the edge off with a friend was perfectly acceptable though, and something he figured they both deserved.
They sip their beers in companionable silence, each one waiting for the other to speak.
Eventually, Carlos finds the courage to ask the question that has been hounding him, the one he needs to know an answer to but who’s knowledge he dreads.
“Judd,” he starts, eyes firmly aimed at the counter, “do you think he was scared?”
He hears a small choking sound as Judd starts as he is sipping. He coughs quickly and sets his bottle down, the clink of the glass on the granite echoing through the eerily silent house.
“What do you…”
“Right before it happened, when it happened - do you think he was scared? You’ve been a firefighter for years, you were there.”
There was silence again. Carlos glanced up from the counter to find Judd running a finger down the glass bottle, tracing a pattern into the condensation as he considered. Eventually he responded in a low voice, “I reckon it happened too fast for him to feel much of anything.”
Carlos squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe deeply. Once he felt a little steadier he asked the other question on his mind, the other question he had been dreading even more than the other.
“Did he suffer?”
“No,” Judd said firmly, “no. It would have happened too fast, he wouldn’t have…” Judd trailed off, cleared his throat, and tried again, “It’s no secret I’ve had my crisis of faith ever since I lost my old crew. I just couldn’t see how any god could let anything like that happen. I still wonder that now, about this, but if there is one thing I know for sure is that any god who may be out there would not have made that boy suffer for one moment. He didn’t deserve that.”
Carlos nodded, hands shaking even as he considered it. It had been a reoccurring morbid thought that haunted him in this empty house when he was alone. What had TK’s last moments been like? Had he felt fear? Had he suffered? Did he have regrets? Who did he think of in those final moments? Had he been aware of the fact that he was going to die? Had he made his peace with it? Hearing Judd’s thoughts on it brought a sort of cold comfort. A part of him wanted to think that TK had had the time to make his peace, to have a last thought. But the reality that Judd offered had its own comfort: TK hadn’t had time to feel anything. No fear, no pain. He was just doing the job that he loved, and then he was gone.
It wasn’t poetic, but it was the kindest end Carlos could imagine if there must be an end.
And the universe had decided that there must be an end, so Carlos would take the comfort he could.
On the second day, he goes to see Owen. He knows he should have done it sooner, but he couldn’t bring himself too. He told himself it was because he wasn’t strong enough yet; he said he needed to be more stable before he could support someone else.
It was a lie, but it helped him sleep at night (not that he was doing much of that anymore either).
When the older man opens the door, there is a moment of silence. Carlos doesn’t even know what to say. Owen saves him the trouble by pulling him into a hug that says everything and more.
We both miss him , it seems to say, and it’s not fair, is it?
Eventually, they break apart and Owen wordlessly steps aside so Carlos can enter. This house feels just as much like a tomb to Carlos. It may not be the home they shared, but it is a place in which they had started. He can see the echo of TK everywhere he looks and it is almost too much. They make their way to the kitchen in silence and Owen gestures for Carlos to take a seat at the counter before settling into his seat on the other side.
Carlos takes the opportunity to study Owen. He has always been older, but never before had he actually looked old . He does now though. There was none of his usual charisma, his hair was flat and dull, his skin lacking its usual glow. He looked worn; he looked defeated. Carlos recognized the look - he sees it in the mirror every day now.
“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, voice echoing in the resounding silence of the house, “I should have come by sooner. I...I’m sorry.”
Owen shakes his head. His voice is rough when he speaks, “You have nothing to apologize for son. I understand. I...can’t say I was much up to having visitors anyways.”
“Still,” Carlos insisted, “I should have. You’re still family to me Owen, I should have made sure you were doing okay. It’s what...it would have been the right thing to do.”
His hasty avoidance of TK’s name hung between them, making the air just a little thicker, just a little harder to breathe. There is silence in the wake of his statement in the shape of an empty chair between them they had each unconsciously left open.
“You’re still family to me too Carlos, I want you to know that,” Owen declares suddenly. “It…you may not legally be my son-in-law, but that is always what you will be to me. I need you to know that.”
Carlos nodded, his voice too thick with unshed tears to forge together any syllables. He and Owen lock eyes and he tries to convey everything he is feeling; how grateful he is to not lose this connection, how much he appreciates Owen still being here through that gaze because he doesn’t have the words. Owen reaches out and pats his hand resting on the countertop and gives him a soft smile, and Carlos knew that he understood.
They continued to sit in silence and Carlos couldn’t help but glance around the room. There were memories everywhere. The couch they had made use of more times than Owen would likely ever want to know about, the other end of the counter where Carlos had tried multiple times to teach TK how to successfully cook something to no avail. The corner where they had stolen kisses during parties and get-togethers; the back yard where they had laid in the grass and TK had told Carlos about the constellations. The memories were everywhere - there was nowhere he could go without seeing the ghosts.
He broke the silence, finally voicing the question that had been running through his head ever since the first morning: “Where do we go from here?” he asked, “How...how do we keep living without him?”
There was a silence that stretched in the wake of his question and Carlos started to regret speaking. He was about to apologize when Owen spoke: “We find a way, because he would want us to.”
Their gazes met again and Carlos swallowed thickly but nodded. Maybe that was how to see it, he supposed; maybe that was the key to moving on. Not in spite of losing TK, but because of TK.
Tyler Kennedy Strand had always been many things, but first and foremost he was full of life and love. He cared about the people he loved and wouldn’t want any of them to suffer on his account for a single minute. Carlos had never been able to deny TK anything he wanted and he supposed this was no different. He would find a way to find happiness again, for TK.
He just needed some time to find his way there.