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Carlos stands and begins to clear their plates. He’d made a stir fry with chicken and water chestnuts, one of TK’s favorites of his many made-up recipes, but TK had been uncharacteristically quiet over dinner. Carlos is sure he knows why, so he’s been avoiding bringing it up, because TK will come to him when he’s ready. He always does. TK hasn’t had an easy go of it the last few weeks, and just this morning he texted Carlos that his parents were fighting in the kitchen, while TK was lying in bed listening to it and having a difficult time not feeling the same way he did when he was six years old and they’d fight through the thin walls of their East Manhattan apartment.
Carlos despises it. He hates the little wrinkle on TK’s forehead, hates the lifeless line of his mouth that should be smiling, hates the sparkle that’s missing from his beautiful green eyes.
After a moment or two, TK seems to decide that he should be helping. He jumps up, gathering empty water glasses and the bottle of sriracha in his hand and carrying them over. He hands the glasses to Carlos so he can load them into the dishwasher and puts the bottle back in its place on the refrigerator door.
Carlos catches him by the wrist as he passes and kisses him on the cheek. “Go set up a movie? Your choice. I'll finish up.”
For a moment it seems like TK hasn’t heard him, even though Carlos is standing a foot away from him. There’s a worrying emptiness in his eyes, and TK blinks as if in surprise when he notices Carlos’s face six inches from his own.
“Okay,” he says, and wanders off toward the living room.
Carlos watches him go with worry gripping his chest. He’s quick about clearing the rest of the dishes, scraping leftover food bits into the bin and loading the dishwasher. He sets the wok into the sink and fills it with warm water, hoping to loosen some dried bits before he washes it.
He turns, once he’s finished, and leans for a second against the counter. TK is on the couch, scrolling with the remote through Netflix. Carlos feels his heart breaking a little as he looks at him – the man he loves, the person he adores more than anyone he’s ever known – and resents so much that he can’t make every speck of his pain go away with a kiss or a hug or by holding his hand.
He makes his way over to TK, sitting next to him and watching for a moment as he continues to scroll through the Popular on Netflix category. After a moment TK puts the remote down on the couch beside him. Carlos opens his arms in suggestion and TK leans against him, letting Carlos wrap him up.
“I’m okay,” TK says softly. “Sorry, I know I’m being spacy.”
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Carlos asks, kissing his hair.
“A little.”
“It’ll be good. Everyone’s so proud of you.”
TK nods.
“What else is wrong?”
“Aren’t you getting tired of this?” TK asks. “I’m a lot of work, lately.”
“You’re not work,” Carlos argues gently. “You’re the person I’m in love with, and you’re going through a rough patch.”
“Tomorrow I’ll be okay.”
“TK …”
“No, I mean it. I’m not saying that to dismiss the way I feel right now, I’m saying …” TK takes a deep breath and Carlos rubs his back.
It does feel a little better, even though TK’s having a difficult night, to have him in Carlos’s arms.
“A year ago tonight, I asked someone to marry me.”
Carlos closes his eyes and runs his nose through TK’s hair. He doesn’t like the way that sends a spark of jealousy down his spine. It isn’t even remotely fair, and he knows it. They didn’t know each other, then. He has a past, too. TK’s been with other people and so has Carlos, his rational side knows it isn’t something he has any right to be upset about. And he isn’t upset – not really. He just loves TK so much, and regrets that it took them so long to find each other.
He regrets that TK was ever hurting in a time and place where Carlos couldn’t hold him. More than anything, he regrets that he can’t regret what happened to TK exactly one year ago, because if it hadn’t, TK would have never moved to Austin. Carlos might have spent the rest of his life with an empty feeling in his chest that he’d never have been able to explain. It makes him feel so selfish, to be considering that in a moment when TK is struggling.
“I know,” he says softly.
“And then I tried to turn the lights out for good when he said no.”
Carlos nods. TK had said, forever ago when they talked about this for the very first time, that he didn’t know if he’d been trying to kill himself. Carlos didn’t know him well enough, then, to gauge whether he was being honest. TK had admitted the truth months later; once they loved each other and TK felt safe letting Carlos into his dark places. They don’t talk about it very often, but sometimes it makes Carlos so sad he can’t breathe.
“I’ve come a really long way since then – ”
“I’m so proud of you,” Carlos interrupts. “I know it hasn’t been easy.”
“Sometimes it hasn’t,” TK agrees. He rubs his forehead against the side of Carlos’s neck. “And tomorrow morning, the second I wake up, I’m gonna be happy. I did it, I made it a whole year.”
“But tonight?” Carlos asks, when TK trails off and leaves a few loose threads behind him.
“Tonight I guess I’m remembering what it felt like to swallow that last handful of pills, hoping it would be enough so that I wouldn’t wake up.” TK sniffs, but his voice is even and he’s relaxed in Carlos’s arms. “Can I admit something? And can you just … not freak out, and just tell me you love me, and then we can watch a movie?”
“Okay.”
“There’s a tiny part of me that wants to make up an excuse to leave, right now. And find a bar or a dealer or something and fuck this all up before I make it to a year. ‘Cause once I have a year officially under my belt, it’s a thing, and then it would be a way bigger deal if I had a back-slide.”
Carlos has to press his molars together to stifle the whimper that threatens to leave his throat.
“I’m not going to,” TK continues, sounding a lot calmer about it than Carlos feels. “Because I don’t really want that. I’m just a lot more used to messing shit up than succeeding. In a weird way, the idea of everyone getting together tomorrow to be proud of me feels more uncomfortable than the idea of everyone sitting around disappointed in me.”
There’s a lot Carlos wants to say, a lot of concerns and fears and anxieties he wants to drop at TK’s feet, but he keeps his promise. He squeezes TK a little tighter and simply murmurs, “I love you.”
“I know you do. I love you, too.” TK looks up; their eyes meeting. Carlos is worried everything he’s feeling will be plastered all over his face, but TK just smiles at him. It’s a little unsteady, his smile, but it’s real. He leans forward to press a kiss to Carlos’s lips and then rests his head back against Carlos’s chest and picks the remote back up.
True to his word, TK is all smiles in the morning. Carlos rolls over to him the moment his eyes are open and pulls TK’s sleep-warmed body into his arms, holding him and slowly stroking his hair as TK nuzzles into his neck and relaxes against him. Carlos feels so big, when TK is against him like this. When TK allows his guard to be down, allows Carlos to hold him and protect him. They aren’t in any imminent danger at this exact moment, but TK’s been through so much and Carlos still thinks yeah, this man feels safe in my arms, and allows himself a small amount of self-esteem about that.
They linger in the shower together, flirting and laughing under the warm spray. Carlos cooks breakfast, with TK seated at the island and chatting happily. Carlos can’t seem to keep too far away from him; he finds himself wandering over to run his fingers through TK’s hair and kiss his cheek. TK glows when he does, so Carlos doesn’t stop himself.
He drives TK to his afternoon NA meeting, and waits for him outside. TK is practically skipping when he comes out an hour later, and Carlos gets out of his car to greet him on the sidewalk outside the church. TK holds up the coin and hands it to Carlos. It's gold, with a numerical 1 in a triangle surrounded by the words Unity, Service, and Recovery. Carlos gets stuck for just a moment on the last one. TK recovered. He went through something unimaginably difficult, suffered a tragedy that could so easily have broken him in a way that he couldn’t return from, and he fought back. He’s here, alive and real and beautiful in front of Carlos. He turns the chip over in his fingers. It’s warm, from being clutched in TK’s palm. He looks up and TK is beaming.
Carlos hands it back before he wraps his arms around TK’s back and hugs him tightly.
“I did it,” TK whispers.
“You did it,” Carlos agrees, feeling as if he could burst.
They arrive early at the Strand house, finding TK’s parents and Captain Vega already there and setting up for the party. Gwyn hurries over when they walk in and hugs her son. He laughs and hugs back, thanking her in a sweet voice as she congratulates him. When they part, she kisses Carlos on the cheek.
Captain Vega approaches to hug TK as well, and Carlos isn’t expecting it but she gives him one too. In tow behind her are two girls, and she introduces her daughters to Carlos. They greet him shyly and Carlos smiles at them and thanks them for coming.
“What does a year of sobriety mean?” Izzy asks TK, and Captain Vega makes a frustrated sound.
“Baby, I already explained it to you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think you were telling me the truth,” Izzy complains.
Captain Vega sends an apologetic glance in TK’s direction, but he chuckles and waves it off. He looks down at Izzy and tells her, “It means I was doing things that I shouldn’t have been doing, things that were really dangerous, and I’ve gone a whole year without doing them.”
“Was it hard?” Evie asks.
“Yes.” TK nods.
“That’s why we’re celebrating,” Captain Vega adds, stroking Evie’s hair. “Because he’s worked hard and we’re proud of him.”
Movement in the kitchen catches Carlos’s eye and belatedly he notices a man half-hidden behind the open door of the refrigerator, rummaging through it. TK had mentioned Captain Vega’s husband was a part-time caterer and would be providing the food, but Carlos doesn’t get a chance to introduce himself before the door opens behind them and Marjan makes a typically dramatic entrance.
Carlos loses track of TK as others arrive and he’s sucked into an argument Paul and Mateo are having about cilantro. As Mr. Vega is setting a giant cake onto the kitchen island, Carlos finds TK in the bathroom. He’s leaning against the sink, staring out into space, seemingly lost in thought. Carlos goes up to him, smiling as TK comes back to himself when he notices Carlos, and wraps his arms around TK’s waist.
“I’m so proud of you,” Carlos whispers. He’s lost track of how many times he said it but figures a million wouldn’t be too many.
“Thank you,” TK whispers back. He drapes his arms over Carlos’s shoulders.
“Are you proud of yourself?”
TK nods slowly. “Yeah. I am.”
“Good.”
“Thank you for being here.”
Carlos presses a long kiss to his cheek. “Where else would I be? I love you.”
“Love you,” TK repeats. His fingertips slide along Carlos’s jaw, thumb brushing his skin.
“Everyone’s here. Do you need another minute?”
TK shakes his head and his smile grows. “Let’s go.”
He stands at one end of the island and everyone gathers around. Carlos stands next to him. He doesn’t do it, but he’s struck with the urge to hold TK’s hand as he takes a deep breath and addresses the group, turning his chip over in his fingers.
“An attitude of gratitude. You hear that a lot in the program, and as I look around this room, I have so much to be grateful for. I would not have made it through this year, or earned this chip, without all of you.”
“We love you, bro,” Paul says.
“Yeah we do,” Marjan agrees.
“Last year I was in a very dark place,” TK continues, thoughtfulness and weight in his voice.
It always hurts a little in Carlos’s chest when he remembers everything TK has been through. Everything he had to fight through, in order to be standing here. All the tiny ways that if just one thing had been different, Carlos might have never met him.
“I relapsed, and I almost died. And then Dad brought us to Texas. Serving here has been a true honor. I know this last year has been hard for a lot of people, but for me, it’s been a year full of miracles.” TK smiles, and his tone lightens. “Our captain is in remission. Working alongside heroes who have become much more than friends. They’ve become family. And I found an incredible man, who showed me that it is okay to open up my heart again.”
Carlos’s heart skips a beat. TK says it out loud, in a room full of people, but it feels like something he’s saying just to Carlos. It’s something he might have murmured with their foreheads pressed gently together and Carlos’s hands pressed into the small of his bare back, but instead offered for everyone to hear. Carlos doesn’t think anyone, in his entire life, has said something like that about him in a public setting.
He struggles to make eye contact with any of the others, worried he’ll be unzipped by what he might see on their faces. He wishes, only for a moment but there’s an ache to it, that his mom was here. She’s never heard anyone say something like that about him. Maybe it would change things, if she knew he’s made someone happy. Maybe that would be enough.
Everyone cheers as TK finishes, and the din of chatter resumes, and Carlos takes TK’s arm and drags him into a tight hug even though he can tell they’re still being watched.
Carlos is left alone on the couch, a while later, when Nancy hops up and skips across the room to show Marjan something on her phone. For a moment, Carlos just observes. Mateo is sitting on the floor chatting animatedly with Izzy and Evie. Paul is in the kitchen with Gwyn, making her laugh so hard there are tears on her face. The house is filled with noise and laughter, big smiles and funny stories, and Carlos can’t believe how lucky he is, sometimes, that this amazing group of people allowed him into their lives.
Mr. Vega approaches him, taking the seat next to Carlos and extending his hand. “Hey, I’m Charles. We haven’t technically been introduced.”
Carlos takes it and shakes it, offering him a convivial smile. “Carlos.”
“The man who showed the guest of honor it’s okay to open his heart again,” Charles quotes, and Carlos feels himself blushing.
“I guess so, yeah.”
Charles falters a little at Carlos’s reaction. “Are you alright?”
Carlos gives himself an internal shake. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m good. The potstickers were amazing, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Charles grins. “They’re always a crowd-pleaser.”
Across the room, Judd is standing in front of TK, talking to him closely with his big hands cupped around the back of TK’s neck. TK is smiling, that cute mischievous little smile of his with his lips pursed and his eyes crinkled. Carlos is so unfamiliar with that sort of affection between men. If he didn’t know better, he might worry they’re flirting, but Judd is happily married and Carlos trusts TK. It’s just a bit foreign, to him. He’s never had that.
When he looks back, Charles is watching him curiously. His eyes are kind, and Carlos feels itchy as he says it but he finds the courage to admit, “This is all a bit new, to me. Being in a public relationship with … and being in a room full of people who … accept it. I’ve never had that before.”
“Ah.” Charles nods understandingly. “Well, I don’t know most of these folks all that well either, but it seems like they all care pretty deeply about Strand. So I bet they feel the same about you, especially since you clearly make him so happy.”
“I try to,” Carlos says earnestly.
He checks again, and now Judd has his arm around TK’s shoulders and they’re facing in Carlos’s direction. TK leans up and says something quietly into Judd’s ear and the way Judd’s eyes flash as he smirks makes Carlos’s arm hair stand on end, as it’s made obvious they’re talking about him. But TK blows him a kiss as Judd squeezes him and Charles won’t have missed that, and it’s all a confusing mix of flattering and embarrassing and mostly, Carlos just feels overwhelmed. This all feels so normal, here, and that’s something Carlos spent a long time convinced he would never have.
It’s well after midnight, by the time the last of the stragglers stumble out to their cabs. Carlos wasn’t planning to, but he stays, since it’s late and he’s been drinking. He watches from the doorway as TK’s parents hug him in the kitchen before making their way upstairs. The embraces are so warm, so tight, and Carlos smiles as he watches Gwyn squish TK’s face and tell him emphatically how proud she is.
TK looks exhausted but happy, once they’re gone, and Carlos holds his hand out. TK crosses the room and takes it, lets Carlos pull him into a soft kiss. “Come on,” TK whispers into it, nudging Carlos toward the stairs.
He puts his fingers into his mouth and whistles suggestively, seated against his headboard as Carlos strips to his underwear because he didn’t bring anything to sleep in. Carlos shushes him while TK’s eyes twinkle, and tickles him in the ribs as he crawls into bed with him. He lies down and tugs TK over him. TK takes the hint easily, making himself comfortable half on top of Carlos and pressing him into the mattress.
Carlos holds him close and breathes him in. TK doesn’t ask if Carlos is okay, like he normally would when Carlos asks for this. Carlos is grateful for that, because he isn’t sure he could explain why there’s an unsteady feeling underneath his skin. Nothing is wrong, sometimes it just feels like the world moves too fast and Carlos isn’t given time to wrap his head around one thing before the next thing is on its way, and it quiets him, to be compressed under TK’s warm body.
Three days later, he follows his captain down a long, dark hallway toward the interrogation rooms at the precinct. Kendricks has an unreadable expression on his face as he opens a door and nods his head toward it.
“You can wait in here,” he says.
Carlos just nods and doesn’t argue. His hip already feels strange without his sidearm in its holster. Something a lot more vital than a departmental issued weapon is missing, but his scattered brain is choosing to focus on the way his belt is lighter than it should be.
He sits in a cold metal chair and folds his hands in his lap. Carlos has rarely been in these rooms. There are four of them in this building and he’s sure some of them, he’s never entered at all. Questioning suspects is above his pay-grade, and he’s never been in this kind of trouble before. His anxiety feels off the charts, worse than he thinks it’s been since he was a teenager, and Carlos tries desperately to count the seconds of his breathing in the hopes of staving off a panic attack because he would never, ever live it down if he had one here. He’d have to quit. They’re all already laughing at him.
The door opens after a few long, dragging minutes that tick by like they’re stuck in fresh road tar, and an assistant named Maggie enters to give him some water in a paper cup. He tries to smile at her, tries to thank her. He doesn’t manage either, and she smiles at him sympathetically before she exits. It’s worse, Carlos thinks, than the ridicule.
He isn’t thirsty but he grabs the cup and downs the entirety of its contents. His leg bounces uncontrollably, heart thudding in his chest and skin prickling everywhere. Carlos loses track of how long he waits. He’s wearing a watch but he forgets what time it was when he got back to the station, so that doesn’t help. It’s at least two hours of sitting and vibrating and feeling like he wants to scratch the skin on his forearms until it bleeds. He resists, but it’s a near thing. The overhead light in the room is buzzing, fluorescently high pitched and irritated and it feels like insects burrowing into his skull.
The door opens and Carlos startles; on instinct he practically leaps out of his chair, but then he thinks his heart stops for a moment or two when he recognizes the man entering the room.
“Dad?”
Gabriel closes the door behind himself. He doesn’t look at Carlos, and violently, Carlos’s heart restarts in his chest. He moves forward, confused and unsure whether he should take it as a good sign that his father is here. Probably, it’s not, and that does nothing at all to lessen the acid rising in the back of Carlos’s throat.
“Captain Kendricks called you?” After only a second, what feels like a rock sinks in Carlos’s gut as he realizes that was a stupid question. “Of course he did. You’ve known each other for 30 years.”
Not only does every one of his coworkers think he’s a fool, but Carlos has embarrassed his father in front of colleagues he’s had since before Carlos was born. It seems nearly impossible that Carlos could be more of a failure than he is at this moment.
“Actually, I called him,” Gabriel answers, finally looking Carlos in the eye.
Carlos doesn’t know what to make of that and his scattered brain can’t seem to focus on it. His voice breaks pathetically as he says, “I’m glad you came, they’ve made me wait in here for hours. They took my gun and my badge and … they won’t tell me anything.”
“Well, son, it’s a very unusual situation.”
He moves toward the table and Carlos chases after him. “Did they say anything to you? I mean, about the guy? Did they find him? Is he okay? Please tell me that everyone’s okay and no one got hurt.”
“No, no, no, no, tranquillo. Just take a breath,” his father says, in a way that Carlos should find soothing but given the circumstances just feels condescending.
Carlos knows he should shut up but he can’t. A hundred thoughts are bouncing around in his mind, bumping into each other and ricocheting off walls and spinning out of control. “No, I know they all think I got played. But believe me, Dad, that man was terrified.’
“He had just robbed a bank and was looking down the business end of your service revolver. Until he wasn’t.”
Gabriel makes a face as he says it, and Carlos’s stomach drops. With sudden dread eating at his insides, he says, “You agree with them. You think I made a bad call.”
“I think whatever that man was representing as an explosive device was very convincing. And you … you feared for your life. And that is a story I can work with, son.”
“A story you can work with?” The words strike Carlos at an unexpected angle. A story, like Gabriel is going to spin it, twist it, make it out to be something it isn’t to get Carlos off the hook for his foolishness. “They told me to wait in here for the investigator. It’s you, isn’t it?”
“The incident involved an armed robbery, explosives, and mayhem, all of which falls under the jurisdiction of the Texas Rangers.”
Carlos sits back in his chair. The cramping in his stomach is worse.
“If, uh. If you want to bring in your union rep, or a lawyer, now is the time.”
Defiantly, Carlos asserts, “No, I’m good.”
He’s never been enough for his father anyway. He’s never been anywhere close. If he’s going to be fired over this, it’s only fitting that Gabriel is the one to facilitate it. A full circle moment, since the man never thought Carlos would be a good cop anyway. Years later he’ll have turned out to be right, and Carlos will fulfill the prophecy of disappointment like he was always going to sooner or later.
Gabriel pulls a notepad out of his pocket. “Okay, well then … I’d like to go over a few details from your … statement.”
“Go ahead.”
“You said the suspect claimed he was strong-armed by two individuals outside a hardware store.”
“That’s right.”
“Any chance he mentioned which hardware store?”
“No.”
“Any description of the cunning, ruthless men who supposedly strapped a bomb to him?” Sarcasm drips off of every word.
Carlos shakes his head.
“Did you even ask?” he sounds so utterly disheartened – but, worse, he doesn’t sound surprised.
“What I can tell you is that all the man cared about was seeing his son again.”
“Ah, yes, little Enrique. Broke your heart, huh?”
His soft heart, Carlos thinks. His ridiculous sensitive heart that’s never been strong enough to do this job or to be the man his father wanted in his only son.
“That little tale he told you? Right before he waltzed off with 27K in cash,” Gabriel continues, and Carlos is a child, being reprimanded for crying when he was pushed down on the playground.
“Got the plate number of the car. I reported it right away!” Carlos protests loudly. He’s never been any good at standing up for himself. TK’s a lot better at it, and suddenly Carlos is struck with a visceral ache in his chest, wishing TK was here. TK would stick up for him. TK wouldn’t mock him for being upset. TK would hold his hands and kiss his forehead and promise everything will be okay, and Carlos would believe him. And then, in a flash, that ache is replaced by shame. Carlos shouldn’t need someone to hold his hand, it’s so disgraceful that he does.
“Oh yeah, we found the car. Abandoned in Holt Park. Turns out it was stolen three days ago.”
Carlos tries to swallow and finds that he can’t. He doesn’t know what to make of that information, his mind is racing too spectacularly to be able to extract anything useful from that.
“Now, I probably don’t have to tell you this, but don’t leave town while the investigation is pending.” Gabriel stands and moves toward the door. He’s done with Carlos; he has what he needed, so he has no more time to spare.
Carlos should leave it but he can’t. He leaps up and follows after his father. “Wait! I looked into his eyes. His fear was real, I ... I trusted my instincts like you always taught me.”
He’s always done everything his father asked. He feels like he’s spent his whole life bending himself into knots, and it aches and aches and aches in his chest that it’s never been enough. And that now, after all this time, maybe Carlos is too tangled up to ever unravel, and it didn’t even help.
Gabriel wraps his hand around the back of Carlos’s neck and pulls him in. Carlos’s forehead presses into the shoulder of his father’s rough blazer. He can feel his father’s wedding band, the metal cool against his skin. A reminder of the one thing Carlos might not be able to give him.
“Ah, yes, see, the thing is, son, you gotta have the right instincts.”
He pats Carlos on the shoulder and leaves without another word.
Carlos stands, swaying on his feet, and clenches his jaw so tightly in the attempt not to cry that he might crack a molar or two.
He’s stuck in tense, buzzing silence for another few minutes, until Captain Kendricks returns to tell him to go home. Carlos makes his way, numb, to the locker room. He changes into his street clothes and manages to slip out the back door without bumping into anyone. He’s not sure he’d be able to look them in the eye anyway. He sits for a long time in his car in the parking lot, wiping angry, frustrated, heartbroken tears off of his face and contemplating the prospect of heading to an empty home as if it’s the prospect of being shipped off to war.
When he finally starts his ignition and pulls his car from the lot, without his brain being in on the equation his hands make the choice to turn the steering wheel to the right, not left. His house is west of the precinct. The 126 is east, and that’s where his car takes him. Carlos feels like he’s only along for the ride.
The bay is bustling with activity, and Carlos scans the crowd for familiar tousled brown hair and peachy skin. Instead, a voice he recognizes says his name, but it’s not TK’s.
“Captain Strand,” Carlos answers politely, making eye contact with TK’s father across the floor.
He likes TK’s father, some days he likes the man a lot more than he likes his own, but he wouldn’t have been on Carlos’s list of people he wanted to see, at this moment. He’s already disappointed one father today.
He hesitates before he asks, as he realizes just how pitiful it is that he’s here at all. That he’s wandered into the 126 like a lost puppy, kicked and humiliated and seeking comfort from his boyfriend instead of handling his own failures like the man he’s supposed to be. But then he does ask, because he’s too upset to craft a decent excuse as to why else he’s shown up.
“Is TK here?”
“No, medical’s out on a call.”
Carlos didn’t think it was possible for the pit in his stomach to widen, but it does. Sounding pathetically dejected even to his own ears, Carlos replies, “Can you let him know that I stopped by?”
“Yeah, I mean, he’ll be back in a minute,” Captain Strand answers casually. “You wanna stick around? C’mon, I’ll make you a smoothie.”
He’s already heading toward the kitchen without waiting for Carlos to respond, so Carlos follows him.
Carlos sits on a stool at the counter as Captain Strand drops bananas and strawberries and roughly chopped kale into a blender and holds a button to liquify it.
“So, TK call you down here today?”
“No, sir, he didn’t. I was just … in the area,” Carlos lies.
“Oh. Well, good! Don’t need an excuse, right?” He comes over, setting a tall glass down in front of Carlos.
“Thank you, Captain Strand.”
“You’re very welcome, Officer Reyes,” he replies, putting some spice on the words as he puts the blender into the refrigerator. “Call me Owen.”
Carlos winces. “I’ll try.”
“So, you haven’t talked to him at all today?”
Carlos frowns. It’s an odd question. “No, I was at a shift, but, uh … it ended early.”
“Slow crime day,” Captain Strand suggests wryly.
“I got suspended,” Carlos tells him. He doesn’t mean to, but the words are out and hanging in the space between them before he realizes he’s spoken.
“What?”
“Yeah.” Carlos takes a breath. He can’t hide from it, now. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it, but, um. I may have made a bad call today.”
“Comes with the territory. I know what it’s like, to be out there, having to make a split-second decision with nothing to go on but your gut,” Captain Strand says. His voice is lower, but he doesn’t sound disappointed like Carlos was expecting. He sounds understanding, and maybe that’s even worse.
“Yeah.” Carlos nods and fights to keep his bubbling emotions inside as he feels like crying again. “I think from now on I’ll just go by the book. Not sure I can trust my gut.”
Captain Strand frowns. “Yeah, but sometimes the book isn’t exactly handy. Your gut’s what you take out there with you.”
Carlos clenches his molars. That’s exactly the problem. He needs to be able to trust his instincts, in order to do his job with any semblance of success, and now he can’t.
Gently, too gently, Captain Strand says, “Carlos, every now and then, you’re gonna make a bad call. Happens to all of us. Although, I’m pretty sure it’s a little bit tougher today in your uniform than in mine.”
“Not that I have a uniform at the moment,” Carlos replies, struggling to paste a smile onto his face. He really, really wishes TK had been here. It’s laughable but he could use a hug, and he’s not about to ask Captain Strand for one, as kind as the man is being and as much as he’d probably give it to Carlos without question if Carlos did ask.
“It’s that serious?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“What about your dad? TK says he’s in law enforcement.”
“Texas Ranger,” Carlos confirms, a wave of nausea overcoming him just for a second.
“Oh. Well, he’s seen everything. Can you talk to him?”
“Already did.”
“And?”
“He told me not to leave town. It’s his case.”
Captain Strand frowns again, deeper this time. “That seems like a conflict of interest.”
“He’s not investigating me directly, my department is. It’s just connected to a case he’s working on.”
“Yeah, that makes more sense. But still. It’s gotta be uncomfortable.”
“It’s nothing new. Things have been uncomfortable between us for a while. Since I came out. And then when I joined APD.”
He’s already confessing to everything, so Carlos figures there’s no use quitting now. He sees where TK gets it – that earnest face, those kind aqua eyes, that warmth that makes Carlos want to spill all his secrets out onto the floor like popping a water balloon. He’s told TK such a small percentage of all the things he should tell him, and it’s still more than he’s ever told anyone else. It still feels like a revolution, in a quiet, sad sort of way.
“He didn’t want you to be a cop?”
“I think he thought that I was too soft,” Carlos admits. He tries his absolute best to sound nonchalant about it as he adds, “Maybe he was right.”
“He’s not,” Captain Strand counters immediately. “There should be a heart behind that shield. You’ve got a good one.”
Carlos feels a smile carve into his cheeks. He feels tears stinging behind his eyes, and he sits up straighter, and then wants to roll his eyes once he notices himself preening under the compliment.
“Thank you,” he says quietly, after too long a moment has passed.
“I assume you know about Alex?”
Carlos nods, unsure why Captain Strand is bringing up TK’s ex-boyfriend.
“He was – I mean, I guess I don’t know. I didn’t have the world’s best relationship with my son, back then. Things are better, since we moved here.”
“That’s good.”
“It is good. But my point is, I don’t really know what their relationship was like, but I know they weren’t right for each other. And I know TK was trying to make it work, make it a good fit when it wasn’t. So I know what it looks like, when he’s compensating. And he’s definitely not doing that with you.”
Carlos blinks and another tiny bloom of something glittery and hopeful overpowers the ache in his gut. “Yeah?”
“When he was in the hospital, after he’d been shot? I remember looking at you, sitting there holding his hand, caring about him even though it was still new between you, and thinking, yeah. This one’s different.”
Carlos presses his lips together and looks down at his hands folded on the countertop, suddenly having to blink back tears for a new reason. Everything is so close to the surface right now. His dad would be even more disappointed in him, if he knew how badly Carlos needed to hear all that.
“I don’t know what’s going on with everything that happened today, and I’m sorry to hear things are tense with your dad. But Carlos, I wouldn’t want you to be different than you are. Alright? You love my kid, and you make him feel whole in a way I’m not sure he ever has, and that’s because of that big heart of yours. So don’t go hardening it because you think that’ll make other people happy.”
Carlos nods shortly. He tries to spool in the way that makes him feel, but he’s been doing a terrible job of that for hours. It doesn’t seem likely he’s going to be able to start now.
“And I know it can be hard to reach out,” Captain Strand continues, patting Carlos’s arm briefly. “I’m not great at it either. I think you should be proud of yourself for coming here, this afternoon.”
He offers Carlos another smile and then he leaves Carlos alone, perched on a stool and staring tremulously into his mostly untouched smoothie.
Once again, Carlos waits. He takes a few more sips, and he scrolls Instagram and likes a few of TK’s posts that he’d missed from the last few days, and he watches as other paramedics stroll back and forth across the room. His leg starts bouncing again, and despite how badly he wants to believe that what Captain Strand said is true, Carlos only lasts about 20 minutes before he can no longer stomach the idea of himself sitting here waiting for reassurance from the person he is supposed to take care of. What would TK think, to know how badly Carlos messed up today, to know he embarrassed his father, to know everyone is laughing at him and instead of handling it like an adult, Carlos is here like a little boy who needs a kiss to make it better.
He takes his half empty glass to the sink and he leaves without telling Captain Strand he’s on his way out. He texts TK from the car, asking if he wants to come over for dinner, hoping the hours in between will be enough time for Carlos to pull himself together.
When TK is 15 minutes late, Carlos turns the oven down, allowing it to pre-heat at a lower temperature so as not to use up unnecessary electricity.
When TK is 30 minutes late, Carlos tries calling him, and when TK doesn’t answer, he covers the half-made sauce and turns the burner and oven off completely. Semi-prepared ingredients he can leave on the counter, they’ll be fine uncovered for a bit longer. Shifts run long sometimes, Carlos knows that well. Taking a call near the end of the day can lead to overtime, if it ends up more complicated than expected.
When TK is 45 minutes late, Carlos calls him twice more, trying desperately to sound indifferent on his voicemail and asking TK to send him a text as soon as he can, just to let Carlos know he’s alright and still on his way.
When TK is an hour late, Carlos puts everything that can be salvaged back into the fridge, corks the wine bottle, puts on a jacket, and gets into his car. He puts it into reverse with shaking hands and backs it slowly onto the street.
The sound of the gunshot is still ringing in his ears as Carlos surveys the scene, training taking over and allowing him to take in everything he needs to be aware of within seconds. The gun is kicked away from the perp, who’s lying motionless on the ground. Captain Vega and Nancy seem unharmed, at least physically. TK – his heart, his life, the person Carlos doesn’t think he could survive losing – is bent over a table, holding his head.
Carlos rushes to him the second he can be sure any imminent danger to anyone else has been mitigated.
“Hi baby!” TK cries, throwing his arms around Carlos and collapsing into a chair. His head lolls on Carlos’s shoulder and Carlos clenches every muscle in his body to keep from squeezing TK so tight it would hurt.
He seems woozy and Carlos caught a brief glimpse of a bloody bandage on the side of his forehead before TK was leaning against him but he’s alive. He’s here, he’s warm in Carlos’s arms, and Carlos clamps his eyes shut to keep from bursting into tears of back-breaking relief.
“Hey, let me see you?” he says softly, struggling to keep his hand gentle on TK’s neck as he nudges TK’s head up.
TK’s sea-glass eyes are shiny, pupils larger than they should be, and there’s a slackness to his mouth. Carlos has to bite back a whimper as he takes in the sight of the bandage, blood soaking through it.
“TK, what happened?” Carlos asks him, and TK’s eyes close and his head nods forward. Carlos catches him, holding TK’s limp form in his arms. Louder, to the room at large, he asks, “What happened to him?”
“The dead one clocked him with the butt of a gun,” Nancy answers, exchanging a glance with Carlos that communicates she’s just as pissed about that as Carlos feels. He has to swallow over a surge of bile in his throat.
“He’ll need stitches and he definitely has a concussion,” Captain Vega adds, “but he’ll be okay.”
“Baby,” TK whispers, his breath warm against Carlos’s neck as his head is heavy on his shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Carlos assures, rubbing his back and hoping TK can’t feel how rapidly his heart is racing in his chest, loud to Carlos’s own ears and leaving him sick to his stomach. “I’m right here, I got you.”
The ambulances arrive quickly. Carlos stays with TK, sticking close to him and letting others address the scene and the bodies. He’s suspended anyway, he wouldn’t be allowed to help them even if he wanted to. And it’s selfish, he knows it’s selfish, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to be more than a foot away from TK for the next week; maybe longer.
TK’s being lifted onto a rolling stretcher as Carlos’s father arrives, and he nods professionally at Carlos from across the kitchen but doesn’t speak to him. He goes about his business collecting statements instead, and Carlos lets him. He follows as the paramedics push TK out the door and down the walk toward the ambulance.
“Think m’gonna live?” TK asks. His eyes are half closed but he’s smiling, as he holds a fresh wad of gauze to his wound.
Carlos smiles down at him, cupping TK’s ribcage briefly in his hand and rubbing his side. “Yeah, sweetheart, I think you’re gonna live. Stood me up for dinner, though.”
“M’sorry.”
“I’m joking. Just … so happy you’re okay.”
“We’re gonna load him in, now,” a male paramedic tells Carlos, and he nods and steps back to allow them space to do their job.
He’s struck with an even deeper appreciation for what TK does every day – and it was already a high bar, Carlos is already constantly impressed by him. TK helps people, saves people. TK patches their wounds and restarts their hearts and clears their airways and returns them – bruised but alive – to the people who love them. He turns tragedies into happy endings, and he does it every single day, without complaint, without ego, without asking for thanks. Carlos has felt so many different things today he thinks if they were painted on his skin in varying colors, he’d be an eyesore, but he feels just one more; pride.
Movement catches his eye, and his father is heading towards him. Slow gait, confident saunter, and Carlos braces himself.
“Thought I told you to stay put,” Gabriel says.
“You did.”
“You went with your gut.”
“I did.”
“Good for you. I’m proud of you, son.”
Carlos’s breath catches in his throat. It isn’t what he was expecting, and he doesn’t have the first idea how to respond. He thinks he’s needed to hear it for a very long time, but it still leaves him even more off-balance than he was a moment ago and has tears suddenly burning behind his eyes that he resolutely does not let fall. “Thank you, sir.”
His dad smiles at him, sincerely. Then he looks toward the open door of the ambulance. “So, you gonna ride with your boyfriend?”
“You knew?” Carlos asks. If he’d had to say, five seconds ago, whether he was capable of being shocked anymore after all the twists and turns this day has taken, he would have said no. He would have been wrong.
“Since the day we ran into y’all at the market. I expect a proper introduction next time.”
With a shaky exhale, and the pessimistic part of his brain trying to convince him this is all a dream and he’s about to be jolted awake to find out none of it is real, Carlos cautiously says, “I think you’re gonna really like him, Dad.”
“I already do. My son has got great instincts when it comes to people.”
Carlos finds he can’t look at him anymore. Gabriel is smiling at him and if Carlos has to stand here and absorb it for one second longer, he’s going to burst into tears, so he nods and hops into the ambulance just before the doors are shut and it pulls away from the curb.
He watches as the paramedic carefully checks on TK’s wound. She pulls the gauze away and Carlos winces; it’s a nasty abrasion and part of him wishes for a moment he were in the other ambulance – the one transporting one of the men responsible for this.
“A police escort,” the paramedic says to TK. She seems to know him; they must have worked together in the field. Carlos recognizes her, too, which must be how she knows he’s police even though he isn’t in uniform. “The brass is pretty concerned with making sure you live through this, huh?”
“He’s my boyfriend.”
The woman looks up at Carlos. He smiles at her. In a voice purposely loud enough so he can hear, to TK she stage-whispers, “Nice work, Strand. He’s hot.”
TK smiles with his eyes still closed. “I know.”
Since he isn’t holding the gauze to his head anymore, TK reaches out blindly and Carlos immediately takes his hand.
“How did this happen?” the paramedic asks.
“I don’t remember,” TK answers.
“His crew said he was hit with a gun,” Carlos supplies, his gut churning as he thinks of it.
The paramedic nods and frowns. She covers the wound in gauze again, applying two strips of medical tape to keep it in place.
“You found me,” TK says softly, his words slurring a little bit.
Carlos brings his hand up, kissing TK’s knuckles. “Of course I did, babe.”
TK’s head droops to one side, his face relaxing suddenly, and Carlos notices at the same time as the paramedic.
She pats his shoulder. “You gotta stay conscious, kiddo.”
“Tired,” TK mumbles.
“I know you are. But you can’t sleep just yet.”
Carlos gets up off the bench and crouches next to TK instead, brushing his cheek with soft but insistent fingertips. TK knows his touch and turns into it.
“Can I see your eyes?” Carlos requests.
Looking like it’s a struggle, TK squints one of them open.
“There he is,” Carlos whispers, aware that they aren’t alone but much less self-conscious than he would normally be. “Hi, beautiful.”
“Someone hit me with a gun?” TK asks him.
Carlos nods. “That’s what your captain said.”
“That’s mean.”
Laughing softly, Carlos nods again. “It sure is.”
TK’s eyes close again and Carlos brushes his thumb underneath the left one.
“Keep him awake,” the paramedic says.
“Hey, TK?”
“Mm?”
“Tell me why you can’t let someone fall asleep with a possible concussion.”
“It’s bad.”
The paramedic stifles a giggle.
“I know it’s bad, tell me why. Show off that big brain.”
TK sighs, sounding put-upon, but he answers the question with a little more clarity than he’d had moments earlier. “Because then no one can notice the signs of something worse like a seizure.”
“What are they going to check you for, at the hospital?”
“Check my pupils. Make sure I can talk normally and walk normally.”
The ambulance slows and Carlos looks up. He can see doors through the front windshield. The paramedic moves once the vehicle has stopped, and Carlos has to let go of TK’s hand to let her pass.
“Stay,” TK mumbles.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Carlos promises. Even though TK sounds drunk and looks like he’s not completely sure of where he is or what’s happening around him, it still makes Carlos sad that TK thinks he might abandon him when he’s hurt. “They need to unload the stretcher but I’m right behind you.”
Carlos follows the paramedics into the emergency room. He hangs back as they work, not wanting to be in the way, and then trails after TK as his stretcher is pushed through a set of swinging doors and rolled down a hallway.
A nurse chases after him, calling, “I’m sorry, sir, visiting hours are – ”
“He’s my husband,” TK interrupts, from the stretcher.
Carlos blinks. When the nurse looks at him, he tries to maintain a neutral expression and it seems to be effective. She nods and turns to head back in the other direction.
TK is deposited in a room and hooked up to an IV to get him some fluids, and then they’re left alone.
“They’ll let you stay, now,” TK says. His eyes are closed again and his head is angled on the pillow so he’s not bothering the injured side. “It’s okay if you don’t really want to be my husband.”
“TK,” Carlos begins, his stomach swooping uncomfortably, but then a doctor enters the room swiftly and Carlos has to swallow the rest of what he was going to say.
TK is examined, poked and prodded at, asked a series of questions and then taken away for a brain scan. Carlos’s phone rings as soon as TK is wheeled out of the room, and he exhales heavily as he swipes to answer it and brings it up to his ear.
“Hi, Gwyn.”
“Where is he?” she demands, not greeting him first.
“We’re at Austin Medical, they admitted him right away. We’re on the third floor,” Carlos tells her.
“And?”
“They think he’s gonna be fine.” Carlos slouches in the hard plastic chair. Saying the words out loud makes them feel real, and he hadn’t realized how worried he’s been until just this moment. “They just took him to get an MRI, but it’s a precaution.”
“How is he?” she asks, in a voice that cracks with emotion.
“Awake. A little bit out of it, but I think that’s normal. They’re probably gonna keep him overnight for observation.”
“Okay.” Gwyn takes a shaky breath. “Okay, tell him we’ll be there soon, alright? Owen’s tying off a few loose ends and then we’re on our way.”
“I don’t – I mean, if you want to. But he’ll probably just sleep after all the tests are done.”
“I was across the country the last time he was in the hospital,” Gwyn says. “They are going to have to detain me to keep me away from him this time.”
Carlos nods. “Yes ma’am.”
“Take care of him until we get there, alright?”
“I will,” he pledges. “Hey, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Could you bring me a different shirt? This one has blood on it. There’s a striped sweater on the chair in TK’s room, I left it there the other day.”
“TK’s blood,” Gwyn says, sounding upset again, and Carlos hates that he’s the one who caused it.
“He’s okay,” he reminds, trying to keep his own voice steady and trying to reassure himself as much as Gwyn. “He’ll be okay.”
She sniffs. “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”
TK is gone for about half an hour. Carlos wonders, if he added it all up, how many minutes he’s spent sitting and waiting and marinating in uncomfortable thoughts over the course of the last 20 hours. He checks his watch – it’s almost midnight, and he wonders whether the hospital staff will even let Gwyn and Captain Strand in when they arrive.
His leg resumes its bouncing. Carlos breathes, slow and regulated – in for four, out for seven – and closes his eyes as he does. He tries to focus on his body, to notice the places where he’s tense and relax those muscles. His eyes open as a sound reaches his ears, and the doors to the room are opening as TK is being returned in a wheelchair. His head is more properly bandaged, wrapped completely in lengths of cotton. He smiles at Carlos. He looks bone-tired, but a little more lucid than he had been earlier.
Carlos stands, and the nurse says to TK, “Let’s get you back into bed and then I’ll give you something for the pain.”
TK shakes his head. “I’m good.”
Dismissively, the nurse pushes his chair toward the bed and says, “You had a good conk on the head, I think you should trust us to manage your care, alright?”
TK looks at Carlos with his eyes wide and his forehead crumpled pitifully. “I just got a year …”
Swallowing around the feeling of his heart breaking just a little bit more at the upset on TK’s face, Carlos tells him, “Necessary pain medication isn’t a relapse, babe.”
TK just shakes his head, and his eyes are shining so brightly, and Carlos swallows again. The nurse should be listening to her patient, he thinks, but since she isn’t, he steps in.
“If he doesn’t want anything, let's respect that,” he says, polite but firm, and not asking. He’ll get more formidable about it if he must. He might have been an entire mess for most of today, but caring for TK is the one subject in which he’s an expert. He’d been able to shelve his own upsets and hurts, earlier, when TK was in danger. Carlos noticed when something didn’t feel right and he trusted his instincts and he found TK, in time to keep him and his coworkers safe. Someone could say a lot of uncomfortable but accurate things about him after today, but they can’t say he didn’t protect TK, and he's not about to stop now.
She gives him an exasperated sort of look but lifts her hands in surrender. “I’ll print off a form you need to sign, then. To state you’re refusing that part of the treatment.”
TK starts to get up, and Carlos goes over to him, telling the nurse he’s got this so she’ll leave them alone. He helps TK back into the bed, propping some pillows behind him so that he can sit up comfortably.
“Thanks, baby,” TK mumbles, in a voice that sounds coherent but exhausted.
Carlos wants to bring up what TK had said earlier but the words get stuck in his throat, and he’s not positive TK will even remember tomorrow that he said it at all, if Carlos just lets it go. He’s injured and he’s worn out, and maybe Carlos doesn’t need to make it a bigger deal than it was.
TK has his eyes closed, head tipped back against the pillows. Carlos sits next to his hip on the bed, stroking TK’s forearm and unsure what he’s supposed to do. TK’s probably allowed to sleep, now that they aren’t quite so worried about brain damage, so that’s what he should do, even though Carlos selfishly wants him awake because there’s so many things he wants to tell him about today.
It’s a relatively new sensation in his life. Carlos has always been private by necessity, and he’s become very accustomed to keeping things inside. Wanting to talk to someone as much as he wants to talk to TK right now isn’t something he’s used to, just yet.
“Thanks for saving me,” TK whispers. There’s a small smile on his lips. “My hero.”
Carlos smiles. He leans forward and kisses TK’s cheek. Weakly, TK grips at the fabric of Carlos’s sleeve, but the touch falls away as quickly as it was there.
“Thanks for still being alive when I got there,” Carlos tells him, the words getting stuck in his throat a little. “I don’t know what I would’ve done, if …”
The glass doors slide open again. They both look up as TK’s parents bustle in, Captain Strand holding a cloth grocery bag and Gwyn carrying a cylindrical take-out container and wearing a harrowed expression.
“Oh, honey,” she says with a deep sigh, as she hurries over.
Carlos stands, stepping back a few paces and letting her take over the spot on TK’s bed, watching as TK smiles tiredly at her and she strokes his face. He’s reminded again that she hadn’t seen him in person when he was in a coma with a bullet wound in his chest.
Captain Strand pulls Carlos’s sweater from the bag and hands it to him, and Carlos thanks him and heads for the bathroom to change. His reflection in the mirror alarms him. He looks awful – tired and worried and there’s more of TK’s blood on the shoulder of his pullover than he’d realized. Carlos removes it, wishing there was an open firepit nearby that he could toss it into so he’d never have to look at it again. He will just throw it away, as soon as he can. Carlos can’t quite fathom managing the process of soaking it in Borax and attempting to scrub out blood stains.
He splashes some cold water on his face and rinses his mouth out, just so by the time he returns to the main room he feels a little bit more alive. It’s been one of the longest days of his life but in a way he can’t believe it hasn’t even been 24 hours. It feels like the last time he could take a proper breath was a week ago.
Gwyn is fussing over TK when Carlos returns, gently pressing an ice pack to his head while TK takes small bites of the soup that she’s brought. That makes Carlos smile a little, though all the stress that still lives between his shoulder blades. His mom would have done the same thing, if it had been him in the hospital with stitches and a concussion.
“He already looks better than he did,” Carlos says, as he resumes his seat in the chair by the wall, updating TK’s parents since they hadn’t been around to observe the progress. “His forehead isn’t as swollen, and he’s more alert.”
“Did I say anything embarrassing in the ambulance?” TK asks with a wince.
Carlos smiles at him and shakes his head reassuringly. “No. Nothing embarrassing.”
“The swelling’s gone down, that’s good,” Gwyn comments. She removes the ice pack and sets it back onto the tray that she’s rolled over.
In a more serious tone, Captain Strand asks, “How are you feeling, son?”
“My head hurts,” TK answers, his own voice lowering, as if he’d been momentarily distracted by the pain until he was forced to think about it. “But, beats getting shot.”
“You are just being so brave, honey, I can’t believe you’re going through all this with no pain meds.”
“I don’t really have a choice.”
It’s on the tip of Carlos’s tongue to argue that point, but Captain Strand beats him to it.
“Yes, you do. Every day you have a choice,” he says emphatically. He playfully squeezes TK’s foot. “You’ve always been a brave kid. You get that from your mom.”
“Said the man who runs into exploding buildings for a living,” Gwyn quips.
“I usually try to run out of exploding buildings.”
“I got it from both of you guys,” TK tells them.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with your mom and I.”
Carlos swallows. They haven’t talked about it, yet. There hasn’t been time, or the right moment. He doesn’t know how TK’s feeling, although he can guess. He can put together all the puzzle pieces of the things TK has been feeling for weeks, now, and come up with a relatively clear picture of what TK will confess to him later, when his parents aren’t around to overhear and he’s curled up in Carlos’s lap. And Carlos understands all those feelings so much more than TK knows.
“Whatever happens here, we’ll always be a family,” Captain Strand continues, and Gwyn agrees.
“It’s okay,” TK says quietly. “If there’s one thing today taught me it’s that not all couples are meant to be together.”
Captain Strand looks indignantly at Carlos. “Did he just compare us to two homicidal maniacs?”
“I believe he did,” Carlos answers, laughing.
“Fair,” Gwyn chuckles. “Here, have a little more matzo ball soup.”
“No, no, I’m good,” TK replies.
“Well – ”
“Honey, he’s good,” Captain Strand interrupts. “How about some lavender oil for the headache?”
“I’d say he’s sniffed enough of your weird potions for one day. Just have a few more bites, you’ll feel better.” Gwyn holds the container and stirs its contents with the spoon like she’s fixing to shove it into his mouth if he turns it down again.
TK lets his head drift to one side on the pillow, looking over at Carlos and smiling at him. Carlos smiles back.
“If he has any more matzo they’re going to have to treat him for sodium poisoning.”
“Shouldn’t you guys be getting on the road, soon?” TK asks. “I mean, doesn’t somebody have a flight to catch?”
Gwyn puts the container back onto the tray and haughtily informs TK, “My flight isn’t for hours.”
“I love you, mom, but you’re not allowed to sit here for the rest of the night trying to force-feed me soup. At some point I have to sleep.”
“I think,” Captain Strand says, kissing Gwyn on the top of her head, “that we should go get a cup of coffee and give these two some privacy, for a bit. It looked like they were in the middle of a conversation when we barged in.”
“What do they need privacy for?” Gwyn scoffs. She gestures at TK. “He has a head-wound, it’s not like they can – ”
“I am begging you not to finish that sentence,” TK interrupts, as Carlos resists an urge to hide his suddenly burning face in his hands.
“Come on, Mama Bear,” Captain Strand chides, tugging gently at the back of her sweater.
Carlos sees Gwyn roll her eyes and she huffs about it, but she agrees. She leans over to press a long kiss to TK’s cheek before she stands up. As she goes to follow Captain Strand from the room, she also bends down to kiss Carlos’s cheek. “You take care of my baby, do you hear me?”
“Mom,” TK complains.
“I will,” Carlos promises her, and she briefly squeezes his hand.
Once they’re alone, Carlos stands and steps closer to TK’s bed. TK smiles up at him, his face still a little puffy, the white of the bandage stark against his skin, but he’s here. He’s alive. He’s warm, when Carlos takes his hand.
“Are you really feeling better?”
TK nods. “The room was still spinning, when we got here. It’s stopped now.”
“I’m getting a little sick of seeing you in a hospital bed, you know.”
“I don’t do it on purpose.” TK grins and tugs at his hand, and Carlos sits carefully next to his hip, reoccupying the spot that TK’s mother had just vacated.
“I know.” Carlos brings TK’s hand to his mouth and kisses the heel of his palm. “I love you.”
“Love you,” TK repeats. For a moment they just look at each other, Carlos wanting to drink in the sight of everything he could have lost today, and TK seeming content to let him.
“Oh, hey.” Carlos digs into the pocket of his jeans, producing TK’s sobriety chip. “Thought you might want this back.”
TK’s eyes widen. He takes it from Carlos, pressing it between his fingers. “You found it.”
“Yeah.”
TK frowns a little, and asks, “How did you figure out where we were? I wasn’t sure you would.”
Carlos shakes his head. “That’s a long story. I’ll tell you when you don’t have a concussion.”
“Okay.”
Slowly, Carlos licks his lips and considers whether he should speak the words that seem caught in his throat. It all worked out, in the end. His suspension has been lifted. His instincts were correct. His father – the man Carlos has spent his entire life intimidated by and whose approval Carlos has been desperate for since before he can remember – said he was proud. Told Carlos that he’s capable, that he’s a good cop. Told Carlos he knew TK was his boyfriend and smiled at him about it like he wasn’t uncomfortable, like he wasn’t putting on a mask of tolerance but truly accepted who Carlos is. Everything feels a lot better, now, but it very much wasn’t okay earlier, and TK doesn’t know that. Carlos wonders if he should leave it that way. If TK’s been through enough, and doesn’t need Carlos’s drama on top of it all.
“Hey.”
Carlos blinks his eyes back into focus and TK is frowning at him.
“What’s going on? Where did you just go?”
“I got suspended this morning,” Carlos tells him, making a snap decision. He’s trying to be better at this. He’s trying to let TK in, to let TK see all his flaws and his soft parts, because that’s what he wants from TK. Carlos wants every single bit of him, the amazing parts, the difficult parts, the parts he doesn’t like about himself, and he knows it isn’t fair to expect that and not be willing to give it in return. He’s not always so good at following through, but he hopes it’s some kind of progress that at least he knows he isn’t being fair.
“Why?” TK asks. “What happened?”
“That …” Carlos shakes his head, “is also a long story. Sorry, I will tell you. It just doesn’t entirely matter at the moment.”
TK doesn’t look like he understands, but he tugs gently at Carlos’s hand. Carlos stands and crawls gingerly over top of him, making sure his knees are carefully placed to land on the mattress and not on TK. He settles beside him, curled into him with his arm across TK’s chest and his head sharing the one pillow. TK rubs his arm, thumb moving in a slow, comforting arc along Carlos’s skin.
“The point is, my dad … he was involved in it and he was so … disappointed in me.”
“Baby,” TK murmurs.
Carlos closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the side of TK’s face. He wishes TK weren’t injured right now for so many reasons, but in this exact moment at the top of his list is because he wishes he could fully burrow into him without the risk of hurting him. He’d love more than anything to pull TK on top of him, to be pinned down by his weight and feel protected underneath him. Nothing’s ever soothed his racing mind like that does, and Carlos has given into it more than a few times since he realized weeks ago how nice it feels.
“It’s fixed now. And he knows about you, actually. They both do.”
TK pauses. He turns his head a degree so that his lips touch Carlos’s nose as he breathlessly asks, “You told them?”
“No,” Carlos admits. He wishes he had. He would love to be able to tell TK he was brave enough to do that, but it wouldn’t be the truth. “They figured it out, when they saw us together. They’ve known for months.”
“Oh.” TK jostles him lightly when Carlos doesn’t continue. “Okay, and?”
“He’s okay with it,” Carlos says, still hardly daring to believe it. It sounds like a story from someone else’s life, or a daydream he’s had a million times but never believed would come true. “Said he can’t wait to meet you.”
“Carlos,” TK breathes. He squeezes Carlos’s arm. “Babe, that’s amazing, I’m so happy for you.”
“Me too. You wanna meet them, right? I mean, as my boyfriend?”
“Yes, of course I do.” TK kisses his nose. “Of course I do.”
“They’re gonna love you,” Carlos tells him, feeling glad to be in a hospital suddenly because it feels like his heart might burst.
“Duh, I’m very loveable,” TK jokes, but Carlos slides his hand up to curl around the side of TK’s neck and press his lips into TK’s cheek.
“Yeah, you are,” he agrees. “I came looking for you, today. After I got suspended.”
“At the firehouse?”
“Mhm.” Carlos lets his eyes close. He lets the warmth of TK seep into his bones and melt the last of the tension away from his tired frame. He’d love to be at home right now, with an uninjured TK curled up in his arms in bed, but this is close enough.
“I was on a call?”
“Yeah. That’s what your dad said. We talked a bit. He was really nice to me. But I just wanted you.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I just wanted you to know that. That they told me to go home, and I felt awful, and stupid, and embarrassed, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of going home to an empty house. I didn’t even think about it, I just went right to the 126. I felt like crying and I just wanted to be in your arms.”
TK shifts, trying to roll onto his side.
“Careful,” Carlos says, but TK rolls over so they’re facing each other on the pillow.
“I’m okay.” He holds Carlos’s cheek in his hands, thumb sliding underneath Carlos’s eye. It’s only then that Carlos realizes there’s a tiny amount of moisture there. With a soft smile, TK says, “I’m so happy you trust me like that.”
“I love you,” Carlos whispers to him. “So much.”
“I know,” TK whispers back. “I love you, too.”
“Could’ve lost you,” Carlos mumbles.
“On your watch? Please.” TK’s thumb keeps moving and his mouth keeps smiling. “You weren’t gonna let anything happen to me.”
There’s a small noise from behind them, and Carlos lifts his head instinctively. TK’s parents are back in the doorway, with takeout coffee cups in their hands. His mother’s eyes are misty and her hand is pressed into the center of her chest.
Carlos moves, meaning to get up now that they’re back, but TK stops him.
“Stay,” he says, looking only at Carlos. “They said they'd give us privacy and then they came back in like five minutes so they can just deal with us being mushy.”
Captain Strand laughs and says to Gwyn, “He’s got a point.”
“Oh, sue me for being happy to see my baby in love.”
“I would never sue you. You’d win.”
TK chuckles and Carlos settles back into the bed with him, TK’s hand still on his cheek. Carlos curls his fingers around TK’s hip, and doesn’t care so much anymore that they have an audience.