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TK’s still up, when Carlos gets home.
Since he quit at the firehouse, TK’s had trouble sleeping; Jonah’s up at all odd hours of the night, and the man was so used to twenty-four hour shifts running on, at best, a three- or four-hour sleep. Besides that all, his sleep has never been perfect; there are a few too many nightmares in his line of work for rest to be a reliable entity.
But more often than not, when Carlos comes home this late, it’s to a dark, silent loft; Jonah tucked up, out like a light in his little bed with the bookshelves closing in the room. There’ll be a plate of food on the countertop wrapped in alfoil, and Carlos will eat silently in the dim lights at the kitchen table, maybe listening to something through his headphones.
He’ll shower as quietly as possible, to get the grit of the day out of him, and keep all the lights on. Dry off, tug on a pair of sweats – TK’s or his own, they’re practically interchangeable – and a tank top, and crawl into the sheets, wrapped in the warmth of his husband.
Some nights, TK wakes up; he’ll settle against Carlos, or pull him into his arms, or press a kiss to his temple and then roll across to the empty space of the bed. Other times, he’ll be perfectly still, as fast asleep as his little brother – Carlos will just lean over, kiss TK’s cheek, and let sleep tug him under beside the love of his life.
Tonight is different.
For starters, it’s early morning; almost five o’clock, still dark out but starting to ease into daylight. Carlos didn’t drive home; Campbell insisted on bringing him, after they left the hospital, and he walks Carlos up – despite all insistence otherwise.
“I’m serious, Sam,” Carlos whispers, unlocking the door. “If you wake up Jonah this early in the morning, TK will have your head. The kid barely sleeps as it is, he’s up ‘til stupidly late and again with the sun. I don’t know where he gets the energy from.”
“I’ll be quiet, whatever,” Campbell murmurs back. He follows Carlos in, giving an impressed look at the room around them and beelining for the fridge. He picks out two bottles of mineral water, twisting the cap off one before handing it to Carlos’ free hand, taking the keyring looped over his finger and setting it in the bowl by the door.
Opening his own bottle of water, Campbell tiptoes around the loft, peering at little details with curiosity. Carlos doesn’t mind; he turns back to his drink, sipping slowly – he thinks, distantly, of how hungry he is, but he won’t bother TK for that. Not yet. Not right now, because waking him will mean explaining the bandages on his shoulder, and that’s a conversation that Carlos is firmly not looking forward to.
There’s a yelp from across the room, though, and Carlos realises Sam’s beaten him to the punch.
TK is standing in the bedroom doorway, Jonah resting up on his hip; the kid is fast asleep, head tucked into his papa-bro’s neck, and Campbell is standing in front of them both with a hand stting on his pistol.
It drops the moment he realises who it is, and TK laughs quietly.
“Good morning,” He says cordially, tense and quiet but a little amused. “Ranger Campbell. I wasn’t expecting any visitors this early in the morning.”
That last part is aimed more at Carlos, and he winces with the bite of it. “Sorry, babe. Drug lord was being difficult.”
“That’s generally their thing, from what I hear,” TK says, dry and short. “Well, it’s not like I could get any sleep. This little guy wanted to see you before bed, he refused to go down. Passed out about twenty minutes ago. You owe me that one, by the way."
Carlos can’t hide the grin that sparks on his face at the thought of Jonah waiting up for him, the same way that he did his father.
It’s bittersweet.
Campbell clears his throat, almost a chuckle. “Yeah, they can be like that at times. My wife started telling them that I couldn’t come home until they woke up sometimes, so they had to fall asleep if they wanted to see me again.”
TK raises a brow. “Does it work?”
“Almost never.” Sam says with an air of sincerity.
TK offers him a weak laugh, but it’s followed by a stare in Carlos’ direction. Taking in the way he’s nursing one side, the ill-fitting white tank top – a spare that Campbell pulled from the boot of his car – and the gauze across his skin, TK’s expression tightens quickly. “Baby, what happened to your arm?”
“Drug lord was being difficult,” Carlos repeats. He laughs, almost a huff, but it’s dimmed by the quiet room.
TK frowns, not returning the amusement, and Carlos recoils a little, cradling his sore arm – he knows how this goes. Paramedic instincts are kicking in, and whilst Carlos loves his husband to pieces, he’s been poked and prodded and had his wounds tended to already tonight– this morning. He doesn’t need TK, too, fussing over him.
Giving him a sharp look – one that warns Carlos not to joke any further – TK walks away. Carlos can see him flick on a lamp behind the bookshelves in the corner, hushing a stirring Jonah back to sleep before returning to the main area, expression firm and worried. “Carlos, what happened?”
When Carlos doesn’t answer, his husband turns to Campbell – who throws his hands up innocently. “Hey, he wanted to skip out on the hospital and I made him go. I’m on your side.”
That just seems to enforce TK’s worry, and Sam winces, shooting Carlos an apologetic glance. “Look, we had a bad run-in downtown, they pulled out their guns. We would’ve been fine, except APD had a rookie with them. He started to move out of position and Reyes jumped on him. Guy probably would’ve got a bullet to the head if your husband hadn’t done it, but the bullet only grazed him. They said he’ll be fine.”
TK’s expression visibly softens at that. “Well, that’s good. That he was able to do that for someone.” There’s something weaker in his voice, tired– no, exhausted, and it burns on Carlos’ skin. He can see the anger bubbling under the surface of TK’s emotions, can feel the same old fight beating back to life – and nothing he says will make it better.
“Tyler–” He tries anyway.
“Don’t call me that, right now,” TK walks a little closer, talking animatedly with his hands, frustration obvious with the curl in his lip and the tension in his brow. “I’m glad that cop’s fine, but I don’t get why you do this. Why you feel the need to throw yourself out there instead of any other course of action.”
Carlos swallows. “I wasn’t going to let some kid take a hit because he didn’t know what he was doing. It’s our job, APD and the rangers, to make sure that our future law enforcement know what they’re doing. And when they don’t, we’re the ones who are supposed to take the fall, not them.”
“You promised, Carlos. You promised me that this would never happen again. You said that you were– you were done with taking the extra risks,” TK obviously wants to yell, but he keeps his voice hushed, glancing across at Jonah’s room briefly. “I told you when we were talking about taking Jonah in that if we did, you had to stay alive. That you couldn’t put yourself in harm’s way anymore, not like that. Not when it’s not necessary.”
Carlos feels his defensiveness creeping in. “I needed to do it! That kid needed me!”
“ Your kid needs you, too!” TK fires back. Carlos is so stunned by it that he doesn’t reply, swallowing dryly and staring at his husband, eyes round and glassy. Your kid, your kid, your kid. It loops in his mind, the words pleasant but the tone meant to wound
TK gives an exasperated sigh. “I’m going back to bed. Look, ‘Los, I know your father worked himself literally into his grave, but we need you alive. We need you safe, so just– just think about it.”
He offers a brief wave goodbye to Sam, the first acknowledgement either of them have given the man in a few minutes, eyeing Jonah’s room carefully. The kid is still asleep, despite the argument, and TK lets out a relieved noise, tossing a glance over his shoulder to Carlos.
Apparently content, TK stumbles back to the bedroom, shaking his head and rubbing his face, while Carlos stands dumbly in the kitchen, watching him. Campbell finishes his water a little awkwardly, tossing out the bottle and offering some sage words that Carlos doesn’t quite hear, before stepping out of the loft, the door clicking shut behind him.
When Carlos turns to head for the shower, though, a little face is peeking out from between the bookshelves. Jonah gives a cheeky grin, giggling quietly, and Carlos can’t help but return the smile before nudging the three-year-old back toward his bed.
He has so much to live for, Carlos thinks. So much to love.
And yet he still feels so ready to throw it all away.