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TK's 24 hour shift ended eleven hours ago.
Legs like jello, he steps down from the ambulance, knees going a little liquid at the bottom for a second. He shoots out an arm against the back of the rig to steady himself and misses by a mile. Nancy is there beside him, catching the fellow paramedic by his side.
"Whoa, buddy." She tips him back until he's upright. "Don't make me have to save you, too. I need to get outta here."
"You're telling me."
TK means it to come out as a groan but it falls into a yawn somewhere in the middle.
"Seriously, man," she cocks her head, eyeing him from lolling head to toe, "are you okay to drive home?"
He wants to ask if she is one to talk. They've both put in the hours. Both are worked to the bone, and then some. But she's not exactly wrong to question. None of them from this shift should probably be on the road right now, honestly. Grace is picking up Judd, Paul, and Marjan. Nancy and Tommy are hitching a ride with Carrie from B shift. She's been pulling half days as her pregnancy progresses. Owen is stubborn and is driving himself, and Mateo, home. TK has seen his dad pull some pretty impressive 72-hour stints and still somehow have the energy to do a full facial routine, run a lap with Buttercup, and meal prep for the week. The Captain will probably get home just fine.
This isn't even close to the longest shift TK, or any of them, have run. The wildfires lasted for days, but even then they had other stations pulled in to offer some support or relief.
Never before has TK had to spend the better part of his overtime keeping a victim afloat in the aftermath of a storms spawning from a nearby hurricane, though.
At least he can text Buck from the 118 to commiserate and finally have something of similar standing to compare with the tsunami. Sometimes TK wonders if the universe took their friendly contest of crazy calls and decided to make them eat their words by piling on the natural disasters and freak accidents in Texas and Los Angeles these past few years. Buck hasn't been shot or fallen into a frozen lake, yet. But TK also hasn't had his leg crushed or been struck by lightning. So, hey, at least they had fun things to look forward to if this weird series of coincidental similarities between the two of them keeps up.
Tommy checked him out on the scene and TK is fine. Dehydrated and exhausted, but fine.
He doesn't say how he actually feels.
"You sure you don't want a ride, son?" Owen approaches them before TK can answer, slinging his bag over his shoulders with way too much spring in his step.
"Carlos is swinging by on his way home."
"Okay," his father offers him a warm smile, "just get some rest. You deserve it."
TK huffs, eyebrows raised.
"We all do."
"We all weren't treading water until air support could arrive, TK," Owen fixes his son with a proud, yet weary, look. "Honestly, who knew? All that time you were in hockey as a kid. We should've put you on the swim team."
"Bye dad," TK rolls his eyes, turning toward the bunks.
Carlos will only be a few minutes but he can at least maybe settle himself down without the noise of the next shift. His body is slow and heavy, but his insides feel electric. Finding his usual bed, TK slumps down on the edge. With a half amused snort, he makes to grab his phone and text Buck the update. Except somewhere between his pocket and his lap, the phone fumbles from his hands and clatters to the floor. TK narrows his brow, staring strangely at the device. The floor feels so far away below him.
And then his hands come into view.
They're fuzzy, at first. Everything sort of goes that way for a moment there. But then the picture clears but TK's hands are still buzzing and staticky and he has a startling few seconds where he thinks he might have hit his head today or his vision is going wonky. But when he glances up and around him, everything else is still. Realization sinks heavy in his chest and he swallows, still gazing somewhere at the wall across the bunks. He doesn't want to look down. He doesn't want to confirm what he already knows is happening.
With a staggering breath, TK looks back. His whole hands are trembling, microquakes spreading from fingertips to wrist, each finger sort of jerking a little in their own different directions. His heart feels like it's beating just as fast as they are shaking.
He can feel the cold metal of an airplane seatbelt buckle against his palms. The slick glass of those little liquor bottles between his fingers. The starchy sheets between his seizing grasp at the rehab clinic.
The flecks of ice and snow stuck to his pale, wet skin. The biting breeze. The tools in his unsteady hands as he passed them to Captain Vega.
The fear coiled inside of him as he watched his hand, waiting for signs of Huntington's. Waiting for confirmation of the death sentence to show itself.
He is all of those things and none of them and everything and nothing.
The plane is loud and his mother is there but they might have crashed because they're in the water, under the ice and he can't find his mom and he needs to get out because Carlos is coming home soon and they'll have to talk about this and TK will give him an out because Carlos doesn't deserve this diagnosis too and -
- Carlos is coming home soon -
- Carlos is coming -
Carlos is coming.
"TK?"
He's there, after the plane. Not the first one, but later. He's there and he's hugging TK and he's hugging him again after the ice and the cold and the empty and he's there in the loft making promises of "sickness and health" and calling them soulmates and -
"TK?"
He's not sure when he closed his eyes but opening them again feels important. Even if he doesn't want to see the proof right there in front of him again. Of his weakness. His addiction. His failure. His dying.
"You're not dying."
The drugs, the cold, the disease. They're all coming for him. Collecting their dues.
"Look at me, TK."
He can't look at them. He can't. He -
His eyes flutter open before he fully realizes what he is doing. He searches for his shaking hands, and finds, finds - someone else's.
TK knows those hands.
He knows how they feel against the side of his face, cradling him in comfort and safety. He knows them against his skin, bruising his hips, caressing his arms, carving out his body with the strength of steadiness of their love.
Carlos is coming.
Carlos is here.
TK's not sure how Carlos got on the plane or maybe into the clinic. He definitely shouldn't be out in the snow.
"Hey, TK. Babe. Baby. Look at me."
Those hands, those strong, beautiful hands, squeeze his tighter. TK's are still trembling underneath, he can feel it. But they're caged and comforted all at the same time. Until one of the familiar hands is letting go and he thinks something like a whine scratches at the back of his throat but then something firm and warm is against his back and the hand comes back, wraps around his again.
"Breathe, baby. Breathe, TK."
The presence behind him rises and falls in steady rhythm compared to TK's own stuttering heart and breaths. He isn't even trying, but his body slowly starts to mirror the motion. His chest loosens and the static in his heart clears. But he doesn't stop watching his hands. It's long, too long for TK, but soon, they steady. Even then, the other hands don't leave his.
Carlos' hands.
Because Carlos is here.
"Carlos."
His voice sounds coarse and quiet but the presence behind him shifts, just a little. And then Carlos sighs, his warm breath tickling TK's neck and it's enough to bring him back to his own body in one small shudder.
They stay like that for awhile, Carlos whispering little assurances in TK's ear and TK leaning farther back into his fiancé's chest.
Finally, TK turns himself around to face Carlos. The movement forces their hands apart, but they find each other's again. TK's aren't trembling anymore, but there's this irrational part of him that worries it will start up all over again and he'll shake right apart if Carlos lets go.
"Hey," TK whispers.
"Hey."
Carlos' thumb rubs small circles over TK's knuckles. Something about the motion soothes him and he suddenly feels all the weight of the day just as heavy inside as his body already did outside. He thinks he could slump forward against his fiancé's shoulders and sleep into next week if Carlos keeps it up.
"Was that a panic attack?"
"No," TK replies a little too quickly, "maybe. No. Not at first, at least. I think - I think I just sort of - crashed." He shrugs. "All the adrenaline and everything and it was such a long day, but," he stares down at their clasped together hands.
"But?" Carlos leans forward, nudging TK's head gently.
"My hands," TK whispers, voice cracking from the exhaustion or fear, "they wouldn't - stop."
It takes a lingering second but TK can feel it in Carlos' grip when realization settles in. He can imagine the man's face, understanding and kind, eyes full with love. But he doesn't look up. Because Carlos is probably thinking about the sickness scare. He doesn't know about the plane or rehab or shivering in the back of that van. Well, he knows, but he doesn't know.
So he lets Carlos hold him until the alarm sounds and TK winces and Carlos suggests they go home. They wait on the bed until the sounds of the trucks have faded and TK thanks God and the universe for this man for the millionth time. Because of course Carlos understands TK doesn't want anyone from the house to see him like this. There will still be some stragglers, but it's better than the entire B shift gaping or fussing, and then gossiping right back to A shift and his team, his friends, his dad.
They keep holding hands on their way out to Carlos' car and if TK leans a little heavily on his fiancé, Carlos doesn't say anything. They haven't even pulled out of the parking lot when Carlos' fingers search out over the console for TK's again. TK clutches Carlos with both of his own. Until his hold goes loose and his head lolls to one side and he blinks and they're suddenly across town in the span of a few seconds.
"Did you eat at all today?"
TK isn't sure when they got from the car to the loft door but he isn't complaining about someone pressing fast forward if it means he got to skip the stairs.
"Um, not since," TK hums, stretches his mind back, "no."
"So let's just add dehydration and blood sugar crash to the list of possible problems," Carlos huffs, fondly.
"Hey," TK lifts a crooked finger, "I'm the paramedic."
"And apparently," Carlos pats TK's hand as he deposits him on the couch, "I'm the cook. I'll be right back."
Carlos holds TK's hand all the way until his arm can no longer reach as he moves toward the kitchen. TK keeps his hand extended over the back of the couch and, what feels like only a moment later, it's warm again with gentle contact as Carlos curls their fingers together. Easing down next to TK, Carlos passes him a thermos.
"You made me soup?" TK scrunches his nose, cocking his head. "To go?"
"Try again, TK."
TK glares suspiciously over the mug at his fiancé, bringing it to his lips and sipping.
"A peanut butter smoothie?" TK takes another, more excited, swig. "I thought smoothies were for breakfasts and workouts only and you considered them a crime against actual cooking?"
"What, did you want me to whip up a three course meal for you?"
"You would," TK smirks.
"Yeah," Carlos smiles, "but then I'd be cleaning all my hard work up off your face when you nose dived into the plate. I would've gone with soup, but you might drop it and burn yourself."
"I'm not an invalid," TK pouts.
"No," Carlos rolls his eyes, "you're just the man I love, who spent the last day and a half saving other people's lives and neglecting your own. Now," he taps the bottom of the thermos, "drink up before you pass out. It's got fruit and protein and vitamins and all the other stuff you've been a little busy to remember your body needs. I'll fix you something filling in the morning."
"I know something that would fill me up," TK wriggles against Carlos, wagging his eyebrows.
"We both have tomorrow off," Carlos chuckles, "and I will give you all the food, and whatever else, you want."
"Whatever else?" TK's eyes cloud over.
"Just drink your smoothie, TK."
He makes it halfway before the thermos almost tips sideways. He doesn't see Carlos catch it. Or carry him to their bed. But he feels him. Feels their hands practically woven together. They part and TK has a groggy understanding of Carlos helping him change out of his uniform. But as soon as his body is under the covers, Carlos' hand is on his again. While Carlos reads. And watches something on his computer with headphones.
While they both sleep.
Holding hands has never exactly been foreign to them. They are both tactile people, sharing touches and bodies from the beginning. But if TK notices Carlos making more of a purposeful effort to hold his hands when it's cold or after a long shift or when he's sick or on those rare occasions TK talks about his past problems, well then, he doesn't complain.
He doesn't complain at all.