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It’s actually Paul who texts him.
He’d been driving the Ackermans back home when he heard the call from dispatch, a report of shots fired at the location that he’d just left. Two other officers were already on the scene - the ones who had originally been called to the Crump’s house before he had unexpectedly come across Mrs. Ackerman and the two calls had converged. They’d agreed that Carlos should get the Ackermans home as soon as possible, for Mr. Ackerman’s safety, so he’d briefly watched the 126 gather their gear before he’d pulled away.
And now, gunshots.
He waits with bated breath, listening for the call for backup, wondering if he should just turn around. He looks in the rearview mirror, taking in the distressed state of both of his backseat passengers. Carlos doesn’t want to take them back there, knowing that it could very well be another trigger for Mr. Ackerman. He turns to his partner, opening his mouth to ask what she thinks they should do, but before he can speak, the radio crackles to life again.
“Scene is secure, no backup required. Dispatch, alert the nearest hospital that we have an incoming adult male gunshot victim, through and through to the left shoulder.”
Carlos’s heart pounds in his chest, but he refuses to let himself consider the worst. There were so many people on the scene, and while he likes everyone that he’s met from the 126 and would hate to see any of them hurt, he can’t be sure that the victim is one of them. He really, really can’t be sure that it’s the one person he needs it to not be.
It takes another 40 minutes before he gets the text.
He’s at his desk, filing his report for the evening, his mind struggling to make sense of the truly bizarre sequence of events. He glances down at his phone, sighing at the confirmation that he still has a few hours left of his shift. Carlos rubs at his tired eyes, reaching over to grab his coffee from the corner of his desk, and hears his phone vibrate next to him.
It’s a text from Paul, and the message causes him to freeze, the blood draining from his face as a cold shiver runs through him.
Hey, man. TK’s in surgery right now at St. David’s North. It’s looking pretty bad, so I thought you’d want to know.
The words roll through him, churning into a destructive storm in the pit of his stomach. His eyes prickle with the threat of tears, and he grips the edge of his desk tightly, trying to control his emotions. His breathing is shallow, the air pushing painfully through his lungs, and the room begins to spin slowly around him. He closes his eyes, trying to make it all stop.
He’s at work, he’s in the middle of a shift, and he cannot afford to freak out right now.
Somewhere beneath it all, he feels this huge onslaught of guilt and regret.
It’s been four days since TK had come over and they’d gone for a run. Four days since his grief over losing Iris again caused him to step over the line that he had so firmly drawn and kiss TK. Four days since he and TK had last spoken to one another.
It’s his fault, the silence. TK has acknowledged him on pretty much every call they’ve responded to, his mouth pulled into a thin line as he waved across the scene. Carlos always waved back, hoping that his own expression might convey everything that he has yet to say. TK always responds with a nod, as if he understands that Carlos just needs time.
Time that he might no longer have, now that TK is fighting for more.
Carlos thinks back to the past few nights, sitting on his couch with his phone in his hand, his fingers hovering over TK’s number, daring himself to call the other man. He wanted to reach out, to be near TK again, to talk to him and touch him and make things right. But, every time he came close, the guilt would overwhelm him, and he’d decide that the right thing to do was to give TK space.
The truth is, there’s a chasm between them, and it’s one of his own making.
More than anything, he wants to drive to the hospital right this minute and be by TK’s side. He wants to hold him and kiss him and tell him how sorry he is for pushing him away. He wants to tell TK that, while he knows things will be messy and hard and scary, that he wants all of that if it means that he gets to have him, too.
He just wants to be with him, no matter what.
The reality is, he can’t leave. There’s three hours left of his shift, and his sergeant won’t just let him leave for a person who, to an outsider, is just a one-time hookup-turned-friend. Besides, if TK is in surgery for a gunshot wound to his shoulder, there’s no telling how long it’ll be before he can have visitors.
So, Carlos stays where he is, trapped at his desk with his heart somewhere inside St. David’s North Medical Center, miles away from the precinct.
The rest of his shift passes in a blur, with him pushing paperwork and filling out a number of forms that all begin to look the same after a few hours.
When he finally clocks out, locking up his desk and grabbing his keys, he doesn’t even hesitate before driving in the direction of the hospital. Paul had updated him on TK’s condition only a few minutes ago, letting him know that he’d made it out of surgery, but that his blood loss had been a major concern for the doctors. They’d apparently repaired the firefighter’s collapsed lung, but currently had no idea what kind of long-term damage may have happened to his brain before they were able to get him into surgery.
Paul doesn’t say it directly, but Carlos knows how to read between the lines, all too familiar with the dangers of blood loss from a gunshot wound.
His heart refuses to believe that he’s spoken to TK for the last time, even when his brain tries to prepare for the possibility.
Carlos angrily wipes away the tears on his cheeks as he makes his way down the halls of St. David’s, the bright fluorescent hospital lights giving him no shadows to hide in. Nurses and doctors pass by, some looking worried as they stare up at him. He’s sure he’s quite a sight to see: a police officer on the edge of losing it.
He can’t be bothered by their concern.
The moment he spots TK’s pale face resting against the pillow, he nearly lets out an anguished cry, his feet stopping in the doorway of the room. He swallows down the sudden urge to vomit, his stomach rolling around like a monster that refuses to be tamed.
Captain Strand finally spots him, inviting him inside. Carlos responds, the polite lie coming after years and years of conditioning, though he can’t stop the way his breath hitches. His brain screams at him to run towards TK, to hold him tight and never let him go, but he pushes that thought down. He can’t lose it, not now that he’s so close.
TK’s dad passes him, resting a comforting hand on his neck. He wants to say something, possibly thank you or I’m sorry or something else that feels equally inadequate, but he doesn’t. Now that the room has been cleared for him, all he wants to do is be with TK.
He moves slowly towards the bed, taking in TK’s stillness. It’s not a trait that he associates with the other man, and it takes a moment for his brain to reconcile the person before him with the man that he’s known for months.
Seated by the bed, he hesitates only a moment before reaching out, his fingers dancing across TK’s knuckles where his hand lays near his hip. He lets out a breath, the sound stuttering through him, as he drags his palm up TK’s forearm to gently grip his elbow, feeling the faint pulse of blood coursing through his veins.
Another tear falls, but this time Carlos ignores it, his vision blurring as he stares at the blank face of the man in front of him.
The man who holds him in his orbit, the man Carlos is pretty sure he won’t be able to handle losing.
The man he’s falling in love with.
It’s the closest they’ve been in days, and yet they’ve never felt farther apart.