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TK stumbles through the streets, one hand twitching anxiously at his side, the other clenched around the bottle of pills in his pocket. He’s getting strange looks from the few other people out at this hour, but he doesn’t care, he just - he just needs to find somewhere. A quiet place where he can lie down and let it all end.
He thinks he’s made his way out of the boundaries of Carlos’s regular beat now. He can’t be certain; he’s not really been paying attention to where he’s going, but he’s been walking for long enough, he hopes. If there’s one wish he has, one last prayer, it’s that Carlos isn’t the one who has to respond to this. TK knows he’s going to cause a lot of pain tonight, but if he can spare his husband this, then it’ll all be okay.
His wedding band rests heavy on his hand, it has for a while now. He’d contemplated leaving it at home, but he hadn’t quite been able to bear the thought of dying without it. It’s selfish, as is everything he’s doing, but TK doesn’t have it in him anymore to not be selfish.
Carlos will be okay without him. He’ll be better , even; after all, who wants a husband who can barely get out of bed most mornings and never wants to be intimate anymore?
He’s just so tired, and he knows that he’s hurting people. Carlos’s smiles are all forced these days and he has constant worry lines around his mouth and eyes, looking at TK as if he’s going to shatter at any moment. Captain Vega had told him in a gentle tone that still brooked no argument to take time off until he got his head back on straight, after a series of bad calls led to him breaking down in the middle of shift. His dad keeps hugging him, the tightness in his body when he does so telling TK everything he needs to know.
Even his therapist had said she was worried about him; TK knows that’s her job, but he still balked at the idea of being worried over.
It’s better this way.
For everyone.
There’s a mercifully empty alley to his left and TK ducks into it, pressing himself against the brick and sliding to the cold ground. He pulls the pills out of his pocket, turning the bottle over in his hands, the rattling cutting through the air like a knife.
It steals TK’s breath, his body starting to tremble. There’s a part of him, still, that doesn’t want to do this. Or, not like this, at least. There’s a part of him that wants to hold onto his sobriety, the one thing in his life that he hasn’t managed to screw up yet. But… But this is the easiest way. He’s an old hat at overdoses by now; he knows how they work, what to expect. It’ll be the peace he’s been craving for so long.
He feels weirdly calm as he shakes the pills into his hand, staring at them for a brief second before dry swallowing them, a couple at a time. The overdose probably won’t kick in for a while, but that’s okay. He can wait.
Time blurs around TK as he starts to drift, his mind wandering down the well-trodden paths of how he’s not good enough, how he’s a terrible husband and son and friend, how he should just go ahead and relieve everyone from the burden of him already.
I know, he thinks irritably. What do you think I’m doing this for?
His mind, of course, doesn’t listen. Figures.
His body starts to list sideways and TK doesn’t fight it, letting himself droop until he’s half-sitting, half-lying on the ground. Any other time, it would probably be uncomfortable, but it’s not like these things matter anymore.
It won’t be long now, he thinks. His brain has gone all foggy and it’s getting harder and harder to string coherent thoughts together. His eyelids droop, sleep tugging at him, and TK goes gladly towards it, sparing one last thought for Carlos, holding his face in his memory for a moment before he lets go for good.
He loves him, so much. He wrote as much, in the note that’s folded up in his back pocket - he hadn’t wanted to risk Carlos coming home from work and finding it, finding him, before it was time - and he just hopes that the words will be enough. Carlos will probably hate him for a while after this, but that’s okay, too; TK deserves no less for everything he’s put his husband through recently.
Distantly, as though underwater, he registers the slamming of a car door, too close to the entrance of the alley for comfort. TK prays they won’t spot him - he just needs a little more time - but then a light falls on him, and a voice he’d hoped not to hear reaches his ears.
“TK?” Carlos’s voice trembles, and a few tears slip down TK’s cheeks. He can’t see his husband, his back turned towards him, but he knows so well the expression that’s probably gracing his face right now. He wants to tell Carlos to turn around and go home, but his tongue feels like it’s made of lead, and Carlos wouldn’t listen to him anyway.
TK doesn’t hear him come closer, but suddenly hands are on him, turning him over and manhandling him until he’s lying in Carlos’s lap. Carlos’s face swims above him, appearing and disappearing as TK’s blinks turn slow. He looks frantic, speaking into the radio on his chest; the last thing TK wants right now is an ambulance, but he just has to hope they won’t get here quick enough.
It seems likely, as his eyes shut and he finds he doesn’t have the energy to peel them back open. Carlos’s hands on him are more like a memory now; he feels like he’s floating somewhere outside his body, drifting further away with each second, each breath.
“Hey! Hey, wake up! How many of these did you take, huh?” Carlos’s voice has risen in pitch, roughly shaking TK until he cracks his eyes back open. He’s never been able to deny Carlos anything, after all.
TK doesn’t answer the question - he couldn’t even if he was able to form words. Instead, he attempts a smile, wanting to reassure his husband that it’s okay, even if he can’t say it out loud. The smile barely lasts a second before it drops, his whole face going slack and his eyes sliding shut again.
And, this time, TK’s sure they won’t be opening again.
“No, no, don’t go back to sleep, you need to stay awake for me,” Carlos begs, something warm and wet hitting TK’s face. “Please, TK, the ambulance is nearly here. Just hold on, you’ve got to hold on.”
He can’t, though.
And it’s okay.
It’ll all be okay.
It’s been four days.
Once upon a time, Carlos had thought that watching as his almost-boyfriend was whisked off in an ambulance, bullet wound in his chest, would be the worst moment of his life. Then TK had been kidnapped, and Carlos had spent hours not knowing where he was, if he was alive or dead, and he thought - this is it. Nothing can top this.
But, having to perform CPR on his husband, having to hold him as he slipped away in his arms?
That was worse than even his nightmares.
At least, worse than the nightmares from before. His nightmares now are filled with that night, except this time, TK is already gone before Carlos gets to him. Every night, Carlos clutches his cold body to his chest, and every night he startles awake with tears on his face, fresh ones appearing when he catches sight of the empty space next to him in bed.
He’d sleep at the hospital if he could, but apparently there are restrictions surrounding the ward TK’s been placed in. Carlos doesn’t really understand it and the nurse had looked apologetic when she’d explained, but that’s just the way it is, Mr. Strand-Reyes .
He hates it, but there’s nothing he can do, save for being there as often as he can. He’s spent almost every waking hour at TK’s bedside ever since it happened, and it’s been excruciating.
It’s been four days, TK awake and lucid for three of them, but he hasn’t said a word. Carlos has tried getting him to talk, Owen too, but he just won’t. It’s wearing on them all, and Carlos has begun to hate the sound of his own voice, though he infinitely prefers it to the crushing silence that otherwise envelopes the room. He talks about anything he can think of - work, their friends, the soccer game playing on the television even though TK hates sport. The only topic he avoids is the future, because none of them have any idea what that future looks like anymore.
The doctors won’t even tell them when TK might be allowed to leave. Carlos gets it, he does, but it kills him inside.
He just wants TK to be okay.
“I’m sorry that you found me.”
Carlos’s head snaps up, eyes wide as he looks at TK. His voice is empty and rough from disuse, his gaze turned blankly to the ceiling, but he - he spoke , which is something Carlos has been praying for for days .
“I’m not,” Carlos says softly, hardly daring to breathe for fear of upsetting whatever it is that’s caused this change. He reaches out hesitantly to caress TK’s face and is rewarded when he doesn’t flinch away, though Carlos isn’t sure that TK even registered the touch.
“You weren’t supposed to. No-one was.”
Carlos feels those words like a punch to the gut and he can’t help the gasp that escapes his lips, nor the tears that begin to obscure his vision. He’s done his fair share of crying over the past few days, but now he just wipes his eyes impatiently, desperate to keep talking.
“You’re going to be okay, TK.” He forces a wobbly smile, moving his hand to TK’s hair. “You’ll be home before you know it, and everything will be okay, you’ll see.”
“You can’t promise that,” TK fires back, an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. Then, just as quickly, he deflates, all the life going out of him again. “I’m so tired of feeling like this, ‘Los.”
Carlos’s already shattered heart breaks a little more, choking back a sob as he searches his husband’s face. “Then we’ll help you get better,” he asserts, trying to sound strong, like the rock TK needs him to be. “Me, your dad, the team - we’ll all help. I promise.”
TK slowly shakes his head. “I don’t want to get better. I don’t want to have to start all over again.” He curls up, turning on his side until his back is to Carlos, Carlos’s hand falling away to the mattress.
TK’s next words are muffled by the pillow, but they seem to echo around the room, lodging deep in Carlos’s chest.
“I just want it all to stop.”
And, when the silence returns, Carlos doesn’t try to get rid of it. There’s nothing left for him to say that means anything; nothing left for him to do, except watch over his husband, and hope that they can make it through this.
He’s not ready to let go yet.