Work Text:
Here’s the thing…
TK knows they have a lot to do.
He knows they’re on a deadline.
He knows Carlos is stressed.
The least he could do is unlock the damn door.
Carlos hisses an f-bomb as he balances the bag of last-minute groceries on his hip and digs in his pocket for his keys.
So far, this day has been a fucking disaster.
When they agreed to host their friends for a New Year’s Eve party, Carlos wasn’t scheduled to work. He planned to spend the entire day cleaning, decorating, cooking, setting the table, crafting the perfect playlist, and making sure everything was just like it needed to be for an unforgettable night.
But then a nasty virus wiped out more than half of the department, and it was all hands on deck at APD. Protecting a city the size of Austin is hard enough when they’re at full capacity, but it’s damn near impossible with a skeleton crew. They would need every officer on duty to help keep everyone safe and traffic moving as residents rang in the new year.
Carlos understood that. But he still tried to switch shifts. He still tried to explain he already had a prior commitment, but his sergeant was less than impressed.
“Really, Reyes? Prepping for a party? That’s your excuse?” He made a face like Carlos was wasting his time. “Get the hell outta my office and back on the street. And close my door!”
Carlos may have slammed it.
“Told ya.”
“Shut up.”
Garcia laughed as Carlos called TK, explaining the situation as he and his partner headed to their police cruiser.
“Maybe we should just cancel.”
“What? No!”
“TK…”
“It sucks that you have to work, but I’m still off…which means we can still do this, babe.”
Carlos sighed. “I guess.” After all, he wasn’t working the night shift, just his usual daytime hours. “But what about – ”
“I’ll handle it,” TK assured. “I’ll get everything ready, and when you get home, you can add the finishing touches.”
It sounded like a reasonable plan, though Carlos had his doubts. He loves his husband, but their versions of party prep are as different as their personalities. Carlos spends hours preparing a charcuterie board that would make Martha Stewart jealous…while TK opens a bag of chips and a jar of salsa and calls it done.
“Babe. Stop stressing.”
“I’m not stressing.”
“He’s lying!”
TK laughed as Garcia yelled in the background.
“I just want everything to be perfect.”
“You always do,” TK replied with fondness in his voice. “But don’t worry. I got this.”
That was hours ago.
TK texted updates throughout the morning with pictures to document progress. He even called a few times to double-check accuracy for details he was uncertain about, but Carlos hasn’t heard from him since mid-afternoon. He didn’t think much of it since he assumed TK was just busy, but now Carlos has a sense of foreboding when he finally opens the door and finds the loft dark.
The lamps in the living room are off. The pendant lights over the counter are off. The lights under the kitchen cabinets are off. Even the light over the sink is off.
The place is dark.
And quiet.
The only light filtering in is from the hall, and the only sound is Carlos sliding the door shut.
“TK?”
Carlos switches on the kitchen lights as he sets the groceries on the counter.
There’s also food on the counter in various stages of prep.
It only adds to Carlos’s sense of dread since it seems like his husband was going about his day per usual until everything suddenly stopped.
But why?
And most importantly, where is TK now?
Carlos turns, scanning the interior of the loft, then frowning when he notices their bedroom door is closed.
Their bedroom door is never closed.
Their bathroom door is closed as well, which isn’t as unusual, but it still sets Carlos on edge. His heart pounds as he walks through the living room. There’s an urgency to find TK, to figure out what the hell is going on, but Carlos’s training is also kicking in. He stands outside the door, holding his breath as he listens, but there’s nothing to hear. It’s as quiet and dark inside their bedroom as the whole place was when Carlos arrived.
He takes a moment, preparing himself for what he might see, then slowly opens the door. As Carlos scans the room, his attention immediately lands on the person-shaped lump on TK’s side of the bed.
Really? Carlos thinks, though his initial annoyance is quickly replaced with worry.
Because TK doesn’t take naps. He resists them like a stubborn child until he zonks out somewhere from sheer exhaustion. If he willingly and independently puts himself to bed in the middle of the day, then sleeps until nightfall, something is wrong.
The earlier dread returns as Carlos comes closer, realizing TK has cocooned himself beneath the blankets. They’re pulled over his head, and their pillows are angled to block any other light or sound that might find its way in. Their bathroom trashcan is sitting where Carlos usually lays, positioned for quick and easy access, and the Imitrex pen is on TK’s nightstand. It hasn’t been used since TK is somewhat terrified of it, but it’s within reach in case the pain becomes unbearable.
Carlos sighs, wishing his husband had called him instead of trying to handle this himself, but at least Carlos is here now. At least he knows what he’s dealing with.
He pulls out his phone as he leaves the room, sending a quick text to everyone about the change of plans. There’s no way they can host a party when TK is battling a migraine. The responses are concerned and understanding. With TK’s history of concussions and comas, their friends are aware that his migraines can go from bad to debilitating in the blink of an eye. They send their love and support, offering to make a supply run if Carlos needs anything. Nancy reminds him about the importance of hydration and which dose to start with if TK ends up needing the sumatriptan.
After that, Carlos checks on his husband. He won’t disturb TK while he’s still sleeping, but he leaves the bedroom door cracked as he puts away the groceries and cleans up the kitchen. Everything else can wait until tomorrow – the dishes on the table, the decorations scattered around. The loft was shaping up to look festive and fun until TK was stopped in his tracks.
Carlos wonders how the migraine started this time. He wonders if TK was already feeling the warning signs when he volunteered to handle the party prep. He wonders if his husband was already swallowing against the threat of nausea as he assured Carlos everything would be fine. That sounds like something TK would do – ignore his own well-being to make Carlos happy, to put Carlos at ease.
Carlos tries not to think about it as he wipes down the counter and turns off the lights. He returns to their bedroom and changes clothes before gathering two washcloths from the bathroom – one wet, one dry. He grabs a few alcohol wipes and is debating what else he needs when TK begins to stir.
At first, Carlos thinks he’s just shifting in his sleep…but when TK’s sluggish movements become frantic, Carlos knows there’s trouble. He untangles his husband from the blankets, then helps him sit up, joining TK on the bed and shoving the trashcan under his chin just in time to catch the vomit.
Carlos holds TK as the vomiting continues, then wipes his mouth when TK lifts his head.
“When…” TK swallows, breathless and shaky as he squints at Carlos. “When did you get here?”
“It hasn’t been long,” Carlos replies, keeping his voice soft and quiet. “But baby, you should’ve called me.”
TK hums as he slumps against Carlos’s shoulder, sighing when Carlos cups his flushed cheek with the cool washcloth. “You were working.”
“I was,” Carlos agrees as he moves the washcloth to TK’s forehead. His husband is so clammy, his hair damp with sweat. “But the city of Austin comes second. You come first.”
TK knows he’s his husband’s priority – Carlos reminds him all the time – but he didn’t think this was that bad at first. Certainly not worth bothering Carlos when Carlos was already stressed. TK figured it was just a headache he could sleep off, then finish preparing for the party without Carlos ever having to know.
But it was still daylight when TK laid down, and now it’s dark…and Carlos is home, and the food isn’t finished, and the decorating is half done, and their friends will probably be arriving any minute, and…
TK groans as the pain spikes in his head, causing a burst of color to explode behind his eyes. “I think I’m dying.”
“No, baby. It just feels that way.” Carlos presses a gentle kiss to TK’s temple. “Do you still feel sick?”
TK grunts a no, but Carlos keeps the trashcan close by just in case. He sets it on the floor, then leans TK back against the pillows. “Do you want the Imitrex?”
TK’s eyes well with tears at the mention of it. As a paramedic, he knows the medication is what he needs. He would recommend it to his own patients. But as an addict, he hates the whole process. He hates the feel of the needle and the sensation of the injection. He hates the memories that familiar combination always conjures.
Carlos rubs TK’s chest as he waits, trying to offer comfort and reassurance. It’s TK’s decision – Carlos never has and never will insist they use it – but he’s ready to administer the sumatriptan if that’s what TK wants.
When they first started researching treatment options for his recurrent migraines, they tried different forms of medication delivery with no success. Tablets don’t work if they can’t be kept down. And nasal spray only worsened TK’s nausea. That left the pen injector as the next best option, and TK reluctantly agreed…but only if he wasn’t required to inject the medication himself.
“It can be a triggering experience,” Cooper had explained when asked for his input. Carlos had read articles about some users becoming addicted to the needle prick, but nothing ever compared to the advice and guidance he received from TK’s sponsor. “Needle fixation is definitely a thing. The ritual of the pain.” Cooper had paused. “Doing this is a big deal for TK and a huge responsibility for you, man.”
Carlos accepted that responsibility without hesitation. He consulted with TK’s neurologist and watched countless how-to videos before administering TK’s first dose.
That was over a year ago.
By now, he’s an expert.
Carlos can inject the medication quickly and efficiently, but he can’t make the decision for TK.
“Baby…”
TK moans as fresh pain flares on the left side of his head, then radiates to the right side. It feels like someone is stabbing him in the eye with an icepick while simultaneously drilling inside his head with a jack hammer. The pain doesn’t just hurt; it pulses and throbs with his heartbeat. He’s somehow hot and cold at the same time, shivering and sweating as the nausea returns with a renewed determination to make TK even more miserable.
Carlos grabs the trashcan when TK suddenly turns pale, then helps his husband lean forward as the gagging begins. By the time TK actually throws up, he’s crying.
“You’re okay,” Carlos whispers, wiping TK’s tears. “But you need to drink something.”
TK makes a disgusted sound.
“I know,” Carlos replies. “But you need to try. Nancy will have my ass if I let you get dehydrated.”
If TK felt better, he would roll his eyes.
“When are they coming?”
“Who?”
“The people.” TK is so exhausted he couldn’t list their friends’ names if he tried. “You know…the ones we hang out with.”
Carlos frowns. TK must be delirious if he thinks they can still have their party when he’s like this. “Baby. No one is coming here tonight.”
“But you were looking forward to it.”
“I was,” Carlos admits. “But now I just want to take care of you.” He kisses TK’s cheek as he settles him on the pillows, then heads to the kitchen with the trashcan. He changes the bag before grabbing a bottle of water and TK’s favorite flavor of Gatorade from the fridge. “Which one?” he asks when he returns.
TK stares at the Gatorade.
Carlos smiles. He could’ve bet money on that choice.
“Small sips,” he cautions as he helps TK drink. “Have you decided about the Imitrex?”
Carlos doesn’t want to rush his husband, but they’re already behind the eight ball on this. The medication is most effective when it’s taken at the first signs of a migraine, not hours later. TK can still get relief, but time is ticking.
TK wrinkles his nose. He hates the drug, but he wants it. That’s a familiar feeling, too. He sighs. “Let’s do it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Carlos nods and reaches for the injector pen. TK has already loaded the first cartridge, which speaks to his earlier desperation and makes Carlos’s heart ache with guilt and regret that he wasn’t here when his husband first needed him.
But he’s here now.
Carlos pushes down the blankets, then pushes up the fabric of TK’s boxers, exposing his thigh. He tears open one of the alcohol wipes on the nightstand and cleans the injection site before holding the pen against TK’s skin.
TK whimpers and reaches for Carlos’s hand.
Carlos laces their fingers. “I’m right here. Just take a deep breath. On three, okay?”
TK nods and tenses as Carlos counts down, then presses the injector’s activation button, releasing the needle from its cartridge along with the medication.
They wait ten seconds to ensure the entire dose is delivered before Carlos removes the needle from TK’s skin.
“Good job, baby. I’m proud of you.”
Carlos rubs soothing circles across his husband’s thigh as he smooths the boxers back in place. In two hours, TK can receive another dose if the pain hasn’t improved, but for now, Carlos covers him with the blankets. He unloads the empty cartridge, places the pen in its carrying case, and sets the timer on his phone.
Before TK drifts back to sleep, Carlos coaxes him to take a few more sips of Gatorade, then goes to the bathroom to freshen the washcloth. When he returns, he drapes the cool, wet fabric over TK’s eyes and forehead, smiling when TK relaxes with a sigh.
“Thanks, babe.”
Carlos responds with a tender kiss as he lays beside his husband. TK turns toward him, always a bit clingier when he’s unwell, but Carlos doesn’t mind. He holds TK, dozing between time checks, then silences his alarm the second it goes off.
TK doesn’t move. His expression is still pinched with pain, but he continues to sleep deeply and soundly.
That’s usually a good sign.
Carlos kisses him, then eases away. He takes a bathroom break and a water break before freshening the washcloth again.
When TK still doesn’t budge, Carlos steps into the living room to call his mom and sisters. It’s tradition to call each other at midnight – a tradition that feels especially important this year – but Carlos can’t guarantee he’ll be available at their usual time.
“Carlitos?”
“Mom. Hi.”
Andrea didn’t expect her son to call early. She also thought he and TK were hosting a party tonight, but the background is far too calm and quiet…and Carlos is practically whispering.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just been a day,” Carlos admits. “And TK has a migraine.”
Andrea makes a tsking sound. “My poor mijo. Should I come over?”
Carlos smiles. That’s always her first reaction. “No. I think the worst is behind us. He’s sleeping right now.”
“I can bring soup.”
Carlos huffs a laugh. That’s always her second reaction. “Thank you, but no.”
TK won’t be hungry for several days as the queasiness lingers. He’ll be sensitive to smells and refuse to eat most of what Carlos offers. But when TK’s appetite returns, Andrea’s soup will be exactly what he wants.
“Raincheck?”
“Of course,” Andrea replies. “Have you called your sisters?”
“I’m about to,” Carlos says, though that plan is changing as he speaks. He turns as TK begins to cough. “I have to go, Mom. I love you.”
Andrea sends her love to both of her boys as Carlos ends the call and returns to the bedroom.
TK is struggling to sit up when Carlos enters, and Carlos realizes he was too optimistic earlier. The worst isn’t behind them. Instead, the whole cycle is starting over again as TK’s migraine rebounds. The pain is more intense this time – blinding and brutal – and the coughing quickly becomes gagging as the nausea also returns with a vengeance.
Carlos is by TK’s side in an instant, bracing him as he throws up not in the trashcan…but on their bed.
It’s as horrible as it sounds, and TK looks at Carlos with wide, tear-filled eyes.
“It’s okay,” Carlos soothes, covering the mess with the corner of their blanket. It’s honestly the least of his worries right now. “Almost over,” he murmurs, hoping that’s true as TK throws up once more.
This time the vomit ends up where it belongs, but TK is sobbing when he’s done. He leans against Carlos, shaking as the pain continues its relentless assault.
“Second dose?”
TK nods, barely coherent as Carlos repeats the process required to inject the sumatriptan.
When he refuses to drink, Carlos doesn’t force the issue; there will be time to push fluids tomorrow. Right now, TK just needs comfort, so Carlos holds his husband, rubbing TK’s back as he prays for the medication to work. One dose of Imitrex usually knocks out a migraine, but TK did wait beyond the recommended timeframe. If Carlos had been home, he could’ve administered the medication at the onset of TK’s symptoms, but it’s pointless to think about that now.
Carlos continues to count the minutes until TK begins to relax in his arms; his grip loosening on Carlos’s shirt as the tension leaves his body. After a few more minutes, TK is asleep, and Carlos feels like he can breathe again. He shifts on the mattress, kicking the soiled comforter off the bed. It’s not ideal, but it’ll have to do since Carlos can’t change the sheets without letting go of TK, without jostling TK.
In the morning, when TK is ready, Carlos will help him shower. His husband will have fresh clothes and fresh linens, and they’ll spend New Year’s Day in bed together. TK will sleep while Carlos reads. It will be different than they expected but still perfect.
Just like tonight.
Their evening didn’t go according to plan, but as long as they’re together, Carlos is content. He listens to their neighbors begin their countdown and drops a kiss into TK’s hair as his husband sleeps against his chest.
“Happy New Year, baby. I love you.”