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i.
“Can I ask you something else?”
TK stiffens at the sound of Mateo’s voice, a nervous note to it that wasn’t there last time. Something tells him he knows exactly what Mateo wants to ask; still, he turns to lean against the counter, crossing his arms as casually as he can manage. “Sure.”
“Are you…” Mateo trails off, biting his lip and avoiding TK’s gaze. “I mean, do you… I mean—”
“You can say it, you know,” he interrupts, not unkindly. “If you want to know if I’m thinking about heading out and getting high, then just ask.”
“Right.” Mateo nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he watches TK expectantly, and TK sighs, pulling his hoodie sleeves over his hands.
He closes his eyes and hangs his head, not wanting to see whatever’s in Mateo’s eyes when he answers him. “Yeah, Mateo. I am.”
“Oh.”
Shame burns through him, quick and hot, and TK pushes away from the counter, shaking his hands out and running them through his hair. “Look, it’s no big deal, alright? It’s happened before, it’ll happen again—I can handle it.” He turns to leave, itching to get away from Mateo and his questions even though going to a bed without Carlos is the last thing he wants right now. But it’s not like he has a choice, and that’s all on him.
He’s almost escaped when Mateo pipes up again, “Can I help?”
TK wishes he’d never opened his mouth.
The thing is, he knows he needs help; he can feel his control slipping and his mind almost collapsing in on itself with the weight of everything that’s happened today. He just… There’s still that instinct, the one that tells him to keep other people as far away from his problems as possible. His dad has figured his way around it, and Carlos is chipping away, but neither of them are options right now and TK doesn’t know where to turn.
He digs in his pocket and throws his wallet on the counter alongside his keys. “Keep a hold of those, if you don’t mind?” He doesn’t wait for Mateo’s response, but before he gets out of the room, his eyes catch on his dad’s tequila cabinet, the door hanging open. He swallows drily, forcing himself to tear his gaze away. “And, Mateo? Lock the liquor cabinet.”
*
TK tosses and turns, but the constant itch doesn’t leave his body and refuses to let him go to sleep. He sits up, throwing the covers off, and leans his head back against the wall. His thoughts are disorganised, fleeting, but they all end up circling back to the same place—the one place he can’t go.
And then—
Because there are other things. Drugs are out, he’ll be lucky if Carlos even wants to speak to him again, but...
Slowly, his breaths turning loud and heavy, he lifts a hand to his arm where the skin is beginning to bruise and presses on it, hard. It hurts, but the pain is only brief, gone in a flash, and it leaves him feeling more desperate than before.
Desperate to feel something, to see the evidence of it on his skin, to believe that, in some way, he is paying for everything he’s done.
TK feels outside of his body as he climbs out of bed, padding softly through the house and to the kitchen. It feels like walking through treacle, like his limbs are trying to stop him from going forward, but he forces himself, step by step, and before he even realises it, he’s standing in front of the counter, where Mateo had left the cutlery drawer. The contents aren’t ideal, but they’re what he has, and it’s better than nothing. Better than the alternative.
His hand shakes as he picks a knife up, but his mind, for the first time all day, is oddly calm. Time slows down as he watches himself—because that’s what it feels like; the decision is made, and now his body is taking over to carry it out—move, weirdly conscious of his breathing and the beating of his heart.
The blade stings when it digs into his skin, almost enough to make him back out. But he needs this, so TK takes another breath and presses in that bit harder, watching in fascination as blood starts to run down his wrist.
He keeps going until he can’t stand it anymore, and then—
Nothing.
Cleaning up is clinical, the sting of the antiseptic barely even registering. His brain is quiet now, but his body feels empty, working on autopilot to deal with what he’s done and get back to bed.
TK climbs beneath the covers and stares up at the ceiling.
And he’s right back where he started.
ii.
It’s been almost a week since the fire, and TK can probably count on one hand the number of hours he’s slept consecutively. He’s been pretty good at hiding it so far, and it’s not like anyone is expecting either he or Carlos to be acting like everything is normal anyway.
But there’s a limit, and TK is pretty sure that he’s reached it.
“Are you feeling okay, son?” his dad asks when he stumbles into the kitchen and heads straight for the coffee pot. TK mumbles an affirmative and keeps his back turned, barely paying attention as he pours his coffee.
“Really?” He hears his dad sigh, and then his mug is snatched from his hands before he can even take a sip. “Because that coffee isn’t even hot.”
It takes a second for the words to register in TK’s exhausted brain, but he can hardly believe them when they do. He frowns at the coffee and, sure enough, there’s no steam rising from the mug. He groans and rubs at his face, ignoring the worried look he knows his dad is sending him.
“I’m just tired,” he says—and that’s not even a lie. “The beds here aren’t as comfortable as ours was.” Also not a lie. “Plus, dealing with the insurance is exhausting.” Really, he’s on a roll for truth-telling this morning.
His dad still doesn’t look like he believes him, but he lets it go with nothing but a sigh and a raised eyebrow. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”
TK gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Sure.”
And he would. It’s just that nothing is wrong. Sure, he’s still feeling the pull to drugs, and maybe he’s not sleeping, and it’s possible that food feels like a luxury he doesn’t deserve, but he’s managing fine on his own. This is nowhere near the worst things have been—really, TK is just grateful that they’re not worse.
“I’m going for a run,” he says, heading back to his and Carlos’s room.
“You haven’t even eaten!”
TK rolls his eyes, and makes a show of grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter, waving it in the air for his dad to see. “Happy?”
He doesn’t stick around to find out either way, and he’s out of the house in five minutes. The apple gets hidden in a duffle, and later replaced in the bowl when he’s back from his run, his stomach growling and cramping painfully.
But it’s okay. He can handle it.
iii.
“Is there anything I can help with, Cap?”
Tommy raises an eyebrow at TK, standing in the doorway to her office. “You wanna help with my paperwork?” she asks, disbelieving.
TK shrugs. “Just… Keeping busy, you know.”
“Strand, you’ve restocked the rig, done inventory twice, and I’m pretty sure I saw you cleaning literally everywhere when it’s not even your turn. Take a break, kid.” Tommy looks up at him and smirks. “Besides, I’ve seen your handwriting, and I really prefer my paperwork to be legible.”
He grimaces and looks down at his boots, shifting awkwardly. It’s not the barb about his handwriting that bothers him—TK is well aware that his scrawl barely classifies as English—but more the fact that he needs to keep busy. He needs to keep his mind off of things, and if that involves scrubbing the bathroom top to toe, then that’s what he’ll do.
Tommy’s face has softened when he next looks at her, understanding flashing across her features. “Alright, look, if you—”
RA 126, code 1, priority 3.
“That’s us.” Tommy stands from her desk and TK follows her to the rig, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Looks like you got your wish, Strand.”
*
TK did not get his wish.
The call was simple, barely any effort required; all TK had done was check the woman’s vitals and help Nancy load her into the ambulance. By the time they get back to the station, his body is fizzing with excess energy—granted, the paperwork solution wasn’t his best idea, but at least it would have been something to do . Something to focus on.
The only place left to him is the gym, so TK grabs his water bottle and heads over, shoving his headphones in and turning the music up so it’s almost painfully loud. He settles on weights, but the rhythmic motions don’t require much thought, and his mind ends up wandering again.
TK pushes harder, going for far longer than he would normally, and black spots are beginning to appear in his vision. He tries and fails to blink them away, but his muscles are burning and this is good , so he keeps going, and going, and—
He gasps as the bar is lifted from him, not hearing the clang of it being replaced in the hold over the rushing in his ears. His arms flop limply at his sides, and TK just lies on the bench, trying to remember how to breathe.
Large hands help him to sit up, and when his vision clears, TK sees Judd crouched in front of him, angry expression poorly masking the worry in his eyes.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Judd—”
“No spotter, going for too long, and I bet you haven’t eaten yet, huh?”
“ Judd— ”
“How could you do something so plain dumb?”
“Judd, I’m fine!”
TK clenches his teeth, looking away from Judd. He doesn’t feel guilty for snapping at him; all he does feel is the anger and frustration at the way he just keeps fucking up. Judd keeps talking, but TK tunes him out, not interested in another lecture from him.
He pushes himself up off the bench and he staggers, the world tilting dangerously. Judd catches him before he can fall, but TK wrenches his arm out of his grip, throwing him one last glare before heading out of the gym.
He’s light-headed and his entire body aches, and he can nearly pretend that it’s enough.
iv.
TK is relieved to see Carlos already in bed and asleep when he gets back that night. They’d finally managed to find a new place but the move had been exhausting, and Carlos has been taking every opportunity he can get to catch up on sleep. He thinks TK has been doing the same—he hasn’t, but Carlos doesn’t need to know that.
It had been a distraction, the move, but once it was done, he’d been left unmoored again, spending sleepless nights tossing and turning, resisting the urge to go out and score.
Which had led to tonight. With him calling an uber immediately after shift and heading to the seediest bar in the city, though not before texting Carlos to tell him he was going out with the team. TK knew his boyfriend had a late shift, so there was no risk of him asking to join, and there was no reason for the team to assume he was going anywhere but home.
His dad would pitch a fit if he knew. Carlos would be more understanding—more willing to listen, at least—but he still wouldn’t understand. He’d try, of course he would, but he can’t.
See, it’s a test. TK figures that if he can sit, alone, in a bar and not relapse, then he’s good. More than good; he’s fucking fantastic.
(admittedly, ordering a shot of vodka might have been pushing things a bit too far, but he didn’t touch it, so it’s fine)
He almost feels good as he slides into bed.
*
When TK wakes, Carlos is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to him and his shoulders tight. TK lazily reaches out to touch him, but as soon as he makes contact, Carlos jerks away sharply as if burned.
“Babe?” TK frowns and sits up, worry filling him when Carlos stiffens even further at the sound of his voice. “What’s wrong?”
A beat of silence passes, and then two.
Then, “You weren’t out with the team last night.”
TK freezes. “I—”
Carlos turns, his expression guarded but clearly worried. He has something clutched in his hands and, after a moment, TK recognises it as the shirt he was wearing last night. The shirt that—oh, fuck.
The shirt that got covered in alcohol when some drunk asshole walked right into him.
“Carlos…”
“TK, I’m not mad,” Carlos says, shifting a little closer to him. “Well, I’m a little mad that you lied to me, but I just want to know why. You can tell me anything; you know that.”
TK opens his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue. But what comes out instead is, “How did you find out?”
“Paul texted me. He said they never went out, and that you left without saying anything to anyone after shift. What’s going on?”
“I…” He hesitates, biting his lip—but TK is nothing if not a coward. “It’s nothing, I was just out walking. I wanted to be alone but I didn’t want you to worry, so I said I was with the team. I’m sorry.”
It’s a weak lie, and Carlos sees through it straight away. “TK, I’m not stupid,” he says. “Your shirt smells of alcohol and you’ve been pulling away and acting weird for weeks. Look”—Carlos sighs and reaches out to take TK’s hands, looking him in the eye—“I’m not asking this because I don’t trust you; I’m asking because I’m worried about you and want to help. Have you been drinking?”
TK isn’t proud of his reaction. It’s not intentional, exactly, but the question, though he knows it comes from a place of love and worry, sets something off in him. It reminds him of how tenuous the thread he’s hanging by is, and at the same time ignites a bitter sense of betrayal, irrational though it is.
He snatches his hands back, tears burning in his eyes as he glares at Carlos. “How could you ask me that?” he demands. “Do you think I’m that weak?”
“What?” Carlos stares at him, horrified, a crease appearing between his brows. “Of course not. I think you’re so strong, but I also think you need help and are too stubborn to admit it. TK, I love you—”
“No, you don’t.” The words are out before TK can stop them, and he’s never regretted something so quickly before. He should be on his knees begging Carlos for forgiveness right now, but instead he launches himself from the bed, backing up rapidly. “You—You can’t, ” he continues, digging the hole even deeper. “I’m not… I’m not someone people love, I—I—I have to go.”
“TK, wait!”
But TK is gone, shoving his shoes on roughly before running out the door, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.
Two minutes later, his phone pings with a text.
Carlos, 10.09: Babe, come home. Please.
v.
TK doesn’t go home.
He doesn’t go anywhere.
He walks and walks, switching off his phone when the constant texts and calls become too much.
The hours pass without him really noticing, and he ends up at the firehouse where he sits and waits for his next shift to start.
The team ask him questions, of course they do. They’ve all heard about the disappearing act he pulled on Carlos.
TK ignores them all.
And, at the end of shift, when he’s restocking the ambulance, TK’s eyes catch on the bottle of pills in his hand.
He can’t tear them away.
He can’t—
No-one is looking; TK has pushed them all away far enough that they’ve grown tired of him.
He slips the pills into his pocket.
+1
It’s been over a day since TK ran out on him, and Carlos is going out of his mind. He’d tried going down to the station once a text from Marjan confirmed he had shown up to his shift, but the ambulance had been out, and Carlos had to go to his own shift before it got back.
He’s been texting and calling TK non-stop, but either his phone is off or he’s ignoring it or… Or there’s another reason TK isn’t taking his calls, which Carlos is trying desperately not to think about.
His phone pings with another message and Carlos instantly grabs it, but it’s just Paul updating him. Apparently, TK had been off all shift, and had taken off like a shot at the end, refusing to talk to anyone about where he’s been.
Carlos’s heart sinks, and he keeps driving, checking everywhere he can think for any sign of him.
*
He’s just about to despair of all hope when his phone rings again.
And, this time, the caller ID says, TK.
“TK! Where are you?”
Silence.
“TK!”
A sob answers him, and Carlos knows at once that it’s him. “Carlos.”
The pain in his boyfriend’s quiet voice breaks his heart and tears spring to his own eyes. Carlos brushes them away, sniffing softly. “Baby, are you okay? Tell me where you are, please, and I’ll come and get you.”
“I’m… I fucked up, ‘Los. I — I stole some pills from work, I don’t — I don’t want to feel this. I want to be numb again.”
Carlos’s blood runs cold and he almost stops breathing, but he tries to keep calm for TK’s sake. “TK, have you taken anything? Do you need an ambulance?”
An agonising few seconds pass before TK speaks again, sounding completely broken. “No. I haven’t — not yet.”
“That’s good,” he says gently. “That’s good, babe. We can fix this, okay, but I need you to tell me where you are.”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
Carlos could cry with relief. “I’m less than ten minutes away; just stay where you are. Stay on the line with me, alright? I’ll be there soon. It’ll be okay.”
He gets home in five minutes, instantly spotting the hunched over figure sitting on the front steps. Carlos barely remembers to lock the car before rushing over, dragging TK into his arms and holding him as tight as possible.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers, pain overwhelming him as TK sobs into his neck. “I’ve got you; you’re okay.”
“I’m so sorry,” TK cries. Carlos shushes him again, but he doesn’t think he hears him; nevertheless, he keeps doing it, rubbing TK’s back and maintaining a gentle, low tone. It’s a long time before the sounds calm to quiet hiccups, and TK stays curled up in Carlos’s arms the entire time.
Eventually, he sniffs. “Carlos?” he mumbles thickly.
“Yeah?”
“I… I think I need help.”
Carlos kisses the top of his head, lips lingering for a long time. “Then we’ll get it for you. I promise.”
There’s a long, hard road ahead of them, but Carlos is going to do whatever it takes to help TK.
They’re going to make it out of this; he’ll make sure of it.