#Kidnapped Carlos

[tarlos-spain]

You, me and something is coming

Chapter 04

"Understand our concern, Carlitos. We are your family, Aunt Carlota has spoken to our trusted priest. He is willing to see you and help you understand that what you carry inside you is a demon being."

Carlos put the phone aside and rolled over in bed to close his eyes and rest a little more before going to work. He focused on the sound of the shower showering where TK was.

If he had the strength, he would get up and go after him for a moment of intimacy with him. Since he had discovered he was pregnant, sex had taken a back seat with TK. Besides, the pregnancy left him exhausted almost every day, even before he got up.

Between the war his own body was giving him and the stupid messages he'd been getting for a couple of days now from his Uncle Camillo. He had always known that he was one of the members of his family who hadn't looked kindly on knowing he was gay, much less that his thing with TK was something so serious.

Surely now that his parents had told the whole family that he was pregnant, Camilo hadn't stopped sending him messages trying to make him see how bad it was, and in a way demonic, for a man to be pregnant.

When he had started receiving those messages from his uncle, from whom he had never received a single message except to congratulate him on his saint's day or to send him a picture of a coworker's daughter that he thought was perfect for him, he had taken it as something romantic, something out of place but that made him laugh.

It seemed incredible that in the 21st century there were still people with that way of thinking. But his family, his father's cousin and as such, accepted receiving the messages, replying with a simple "thanks for worrying about me, uncle, but I'm fine" or similar things.

But as the messages became more insistent, more direct and ultimately almost threatening, Carlos began to tire of receiving them and so he told his father.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but just because he's part of the family, doesn't give him the right to tell me what I have to do with my life, much less talk the way he talks about my future son."

"You're right, son I'll talk to him so he'll stop harassing you like that."

But the messages kept coming and although they focused more on religious convictions and reminding Carlos that he was still baptized and therefore should keep Catholic laws as they were due.

[guardian-angle22]

I love the moment in 2x08 when TK, in the midst of being held at gunpoint and kidnapped, reached into his pocket and pulled out his sobriety chip and dropped it on the ground.

It was so smart to do, but it also shows how much trust and faith he has in Carlos (and his dad, the 126, etc.) because a random person stumbling across that chip wouldn't think twice about it. The coin isn't custom made with his name on it - anybody could have accidentally dropped one in a parking garage. But Carlos knows as soon as he sees it that it's TK's and what it means.

and TK dropped it because he knew Carlos and his family would be looking for him. TK knew that once he was late enough and didn't check in, it would be Carlos who would go searching for him.

[leclercskiesahead]

Oh this is FASCINATING

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

If you looked in TK’s camera roll, you’d be sure to see-

12 pictures of stranger’s dogs

11 “keep going” mantras from Cooper

10 pictures of Buttercup

9 of Carlos cooking

8 of Carlos doing yoga

7 sensational selfies

6 game night victories

5 unhinged memes

4 saved recipes

3 Mateo close ups

2 FaceTime screenshots

And an article about leaving the bag in your teaaaa 🎶

[kohanatrustme]

A character, with dark wavy hair, considered beautiful by everyone, doesn't speak much, can be quite sassy when he decides to talk, which doesn't happen very often, has a chatty sidekick, is very good with a sword and tries to do the right thing even if it isn't right by everyone's standards.

I'm starting to think about mixing Lies of P with Vampire Hunter D.

[whoredmode]

“You’re smoking with Shaundi aren’t you?”

“No…Pierce and Carlos are here too.”

was thinking about what i said a couple of days ago and thought that since aisha is still alive (as in having not faked her death) that she’d bring johnny to all these fancy music events/dinners/etc. johnny and aisha’s married life is everything to me, actually.

[actually-not-me]

All smiles, all shy...and slightly weird.

911: Lone Star S04|E10 "Sellouts"

[danieljradcliffe]

it’s about Carlos and TK’s love for each other literally saving. their. lives.

[padfoot0216]

TK - Oh my god! What happened to you?

Carlos, shirt ripped, covered in blood, with a black eye and bandages covering most of his face - I bumped my head.

[lonestardust]

OTP : eating cookies when their life is on the line

[nctafraid]

@writtenxbeginnings

"Before you ask, I'm okay." Two words that were actually his most common lie. But TK had gone back to work, and Carlos still wasn't cleared by the department. Of course part of that was due to him going against procedure, and the other part was due to everything that had happened at the house. He hadn't really talked to the 126 about it, but he was sure they all knew the major details. And Grace was more involved in it than any of the rest of them. It didn't surprise him at all when she was the one who showed up at their door. After making way for her to come into the room, Carlos grabbed the toys that he and TK had bought for Charlie to play with and set them on the ground.

He was moving a little slower than normal, his body still forcing him to recover from the ribs that TK had broken while doing CPR. But he did make it back to the couch, smiling over as he looked at Grace. "Would you like any tea or coffee?"

[tarlos-spain]

You, me and something is coming

Chapter 05

Carlos looked at all those people in his house and then realized that he was at a total disadvantage if things went wrong. Neither his uncle, nor his two cousins were making the slightest effort to hide how much they didn't like being there and listening to Carlos' words. His aunt and cousin on the other hand, seemed more uncomfortable about a situation that Carlos didn't understand everything about.

"Tïo Camillo, Aunt Paula, I thank you for visiting and I thank you for caring about me, but I promise you that this baby" Carlos put his hands to his belly and smiled. "is one of the most beautiful things that has ever happened to me."

"You can't be serious." Uncle Camilo said. "That... thing... that crit that is growing inside you, it's the devil's child, Carlitos. God didn't want men to have children for a reason, and neither you nor I are the ones to doubt his actions or to accept that this is something that should come to fruition."

Carlos stood up. He was a person who had been taught education by his parents and accepted any kind of opinion and point of view. He accepted that some of his family would not look favorably on no relationship with TK and he imagined there would be comments of all kinds when they knew they were expecting a baby.

But having the courage to be a happy, open and out gay man had also taught him not to accept the insults and rejection that came in the form of those who tried to make him see that the life he had worked so hard to shape was not the right one.

"Uncle Camilo, I don't think that's the way to talk to me in my house...anywhere really. I understand that you don't accept my life, but that doesn't give you the right to insult my future son like that." He walked over to the door and gestured to them all. "So, I'd appreciate it if you'd all leave."

"Haven't you had enough Dad?" Fernando, one of Carlos' cousins, suddenly said.

Camilo nodded.

"Let's get this over with, there are a lot of things to do and we don't have all day."

When Carlos turned around, first came the pain in his belly and then he realized he had been stabbed with a knife. He staggered and groaned painfully as the knife blade came out.

"What are you... doing? My baby..."

[ravens-words]

A lil snippet from a Tarlos fic I'm working on:

On the screen, TK walked out of the church door calmly. He wasn't in a hurry, he wasn't a mess. The only thing that gave away any type of emotion was the clenching and unclenching of his fists. Carlos played back the footage once, then another two times before he admitted defeat. Everyone was waiting for him outside the door, and he was thankful when they didn't speak. "Show me the room he was in?" . When Iris first disappeared, years ago, Carlos had made excuses. He refused to believe she would leave them just like that, and when he found out about her illness, he blamed that. It made him feel better, made him feel less guilty. This wasn't the case with TK. There was no illness to hide behind, and about a million of signs to point to this moment. In the room, there was nothing out of the ordinary. He'd walked out of the church alone. He'd left him a note. There was no room for pretending- TK had left him. . Mateo, Marjan, Nancy and Paul were waiting for him outside the room. "Carlos," Marjan started, but he just shook his head. "I need- I can't be here right now guys." "Do you want us to come with you?" He shook his head again. "I'll be fine on my own." "Carlos-" "He wouldn't leave you," Judd said, stepping closer and into the small corridor. Carlos scoffed. "Listen, man- he wanted to marry you more than anything. Wouldn't shut up about it. It doesn't make sense that would just-" "What, leave?" He interrupted him, "because that's exactly what he did, Judd." Carlos looked away. "I watched him walk out of here, on his own. It might not make any sense, but there's no other explanation here- he left me." .

[leclercskiesahead]

Pierluigi and his soccer kids

[turnupswritessometimes]

Geppetto's Boy - Lies of P - Ch4

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54517777/chapters/138571591

Summary: A collection of oneshots set throughout the game, mostly exploring P and Gepetto’s relationship. (But exploring P’s relationships with most of Hotel Krat too.)

First | Previous | Next

Chapter Four

P came to his senses in an abandoned house – though almost all houses in Krat were empty now. He was stood upright. For a moment, he wondered if he had gone into a frenzy; he felt a surge of fear. That was new. Then he realised that one arm was above his head –when he tried to move it, he found it bound in place, tied to something above him. That was holding him upright, and in place.

His left arm was gone.

His legion arm had been detached. It wasn't there. He couldn’t move it. His springs judder, skipping a beat. That was what was threatening to unbalance him; the emptiness where his left arm should be.

He fought to breathe, to keep his springs moving normally, and look around. This was an upstairs room. Light came from the below the small window to his left. It was the yellow glow of a streetlamp; it was night beyond. There was also Gemini's glow, from the table to his right. A table pressed up against the wall. His belts and bags were laid out there too – though he wouldn’t be able to reach them even if they were still on his waist.

He looked up to find that his right arm was tied to a roof rafter; one of the few left covering the attic. He followed the line of cable with his eyes. It led to his legion arm. His legion arm, wedged sturdily between the rafters. The one Geppetto had left for him, with the wire launcher.

He'd been trapped with his own arm.

For the first time, he wondered why his father hadn't given him two normal arms, instead of substituting one as a weapon. Was it necessary to give him another weapon, when he’d already been made to be so proficient at fighting.

P took another breath. He needed to remember what happened.

He had been in the Malum district, gathering ergo – wishing to find more survivors who weren't monsters – had knelt down to examine a locket left in a pile of oil. There'd been a sharp pain on the back of head. He'd fallen; landing heavily on the cobbles. Had reached for his weapon, lashing out blindly with his legion arm. The pain left stars dancing in his vision; he couldn't see properly; only saw a large, dark figure standing over him. There had been another hit, on his temple.

And then everything had shut down.

It wasn’t like him. He’d been distracted. Too distracted. Had been thinking of the locket, and who it could belong to, and had been ambushed. Now he was here. His attacker hadn't killed him, though he didn’t know who would keep him alive.

P looked at Gemini. He whispered, "Stay quiet."

Gemini pulsed in response. Three long pulses, then a long, short and long pulse. P knew the code, even if he didn’t know how: OK.

That seemed safer. He took another breath, testing the weight of the cord around his wrist. Tightened on his wrist.

He heard footsteps. He listened to them until the door to the abandoned room burst open. It swung back, hinges screaming, a figure silhouetted against the dim yellow light of the room.

A silhouette with rabbit ears.

P stayed still, bracing his feet against the floor.

The figure stepped in. The member of the Black Rabbit Brotherhood with the red scarf. The red scarf, and dozens of weapons; though he carried a simple crowbar now. He stopped, his mask shifting as he looked P up and down.

It made sense. They weren't finished with him, and they were sophisticated enough to want a drawn-out revenge. P was in trouble.

"So you've finished rebooting? Or whatever it is you puppets do?" he asked. He stepped into the room so heavily the floorboards bounced under him. P could feel the impact of every step. "Didn't think puppets slept."

P didn't reply; he didn’t know if they could; if he could. He let his arm take his weight, but the knots didn't loosen. If he pulled hard enough, could he take the beam down with it?

"Do you remember me?" the Black Rabbit asked. He stopped a few feet away.

P stared at the empty eyes of his mask. They glinted in the gaslight. He nodded. He could feel his P-organs working hard.

"Good, good." The Black Rabbit let the crowbar swing at his side. "So, you remember killing my brother."

It didn't sound as much of a question as before. P nodded again, just once. He didn't let himself look at the crowbar. Without his weapon, it seemed like much more of a threat.

"Even better. So, you know what this is about." He smacked the end of the crowbar against the floor and the clang echoed in the empty room. It would break him, and he wouldn’t be able to stop it. "This is about me teaching you what happens when you kill one of us. I was so bloody happy when I saw you bumbling around. Thought it was a golden opportunity."

He wouldn't flinch, P decided. Flinching would make it worse.

The crowbar swung through the air.

It struck his stomach. He felt the pain shoot through him, felt his arm twitch as it tried to shield him, and the wire tightened on his wrist. Hopefully it wasn't noticeable.

"This - this - is about me destroying you, for what you did.” The Black Rabbit spat. “I'm not just gunna batter you into spare parts. I wanna take my time. I'm gunna dismantle you piece by piece, all methodical like. Think I'll start by taking your feet, then your legs."

His voice had risen to a shout.

"If you do that," P said. "I'll hang unevenly and will be harder to hit."

With only one arm, he'd swing wildly at one hit, and would hang lopsided. He focused on that, on the practicality, rather than the reality of the threat. He didn’t want to hang here as a battering ram, without his legs; didn’t want to be like the puppet at the hotel they used for training; a useless, helpless thing.

"The hell did you say?" the Black Rabbit closed the distance between them, his leather and metal mask so close P could smell it. He pressed the end of the crowbar against P's stomach, enough to knock him off balance. Then paused.

His spare hand took hold of P's chin. "Shit. Look at you. That old geezer put the work into your face, huh?"

P stayed silent, again; his springs whirring. He let his face relax, as the Black Rabbit tilted it from one side to the other, staring at him. The gloved fingers pressed into his skin so firmly it hurt.

"Made you a real pretty boy, didn't he?" And when P stayed silent, released him so forcefully that his head jerked back. "Eh?"

P met those empty eyes. "I didn't want to kill him.”

The crowbar jabbed his stomach again. "What?"

"Your brother. I didn't want to kill him."

"You're telling me you waltzed into our territory for a friendly chat?"

"You attacked me first."

A sharp laugh came from behind the mask. The Black Rabbit stepped back, his voice pitching again, rising to a shout.

"So, that makes it okay? To pound him to death?"

He hadn’t meant to go that far; hadn’t wanted to go that far. P didn’t look away from the rabbit mask. "You wanted to kill me too."

"But you’re a puppet." He took a fistful of P's shirt and waistcoat in his fist, shaking him. He dug his boot heels into the floorboards to keep his footing. "You're just a puppet, and you killed him!"

P could say he was sorry. The Black Rabbit wouldn't believe him, and it would be a lie; he didn’t like killing a human, but he wasn’t sorry for it. There seemed little point in telling a lie if it wasn't believed.

Instead, he said, "Yes."

"You bastard!"

The blow came to his cheek. With a fist, not the crowbar. P couldn't stop his head from snapping round with the movement. He stared down at the floor, pain blossoming across his face. The string tethered him in place.

Another hit came. The Black Rabbit had dropped the crowbar; he'd used his other fist instead. P's head snapped the other way.

He fought to breathe.

The Black Rabbit continued hitting him. Alternating either side of his face and he couldn't stop himself from going with the blows. It was an effort to keep his footing – to keep from swinging on the end of the string. He missed his legion arm more severely than before.

"Shit!" The Black Rabbit shouted. "Shit, you don't even bruise. Look at you – I can't make you pay – there's no mark! You’re perfect!"

P took a sharp hit on the chin. His head jerked to the ceiling again, where his arm hung. Its fingers reached towards him. It wasn't quite true. The blows had done something. There was a trickle of oil coming from his nose. He felt it drip down his lips. It was hot, and his face stung.

"Why'd he give you a face like that? Hey? Why'd he—" The Black Rabbit suddenly stopped, winded. He stepped back, breathing heavily behind the mask.

P felt oil drip from his face, onto the floorboards. His face hurt, distantly, but he knew it wouldn’t be bruised. Wouldn’t be swelling.

"I didn't want to kill him," he repeated. "I don't want to kill things."

He didn't know if that was a lie or not. Fighting made him feel alive; made him feel like he was serving his purpose; but he didn’t enjoy it. Not killing humans.

The Black Rabbit laughed again. Harder, and more harshly. "Yeah, well, none of us wanted to, did we? None of us wanted the world to go to shit like it has."

That was partly a lie, too, P thought. The Black Rabbit Brotherhood had thrived off the chaos; they had made money off the chaos; he'd seen their ledger. They ruled the whole Malum district, and they enjoyed throwing their power over people.

"But you – you're a puppet." The Black Rabbit knelt, to pick up the crowbar from the floor. It bumped against the table, as he did, and one of P's belts slithered to the floor. He watched it – there was a throwing cell attached to it. The impact didn't break it. It rolled across the floorboard, toward him.

"You're a puppet, and you can't want anything. You're just Geppetto's little tool. His little weapon to pummel anyone he doesn't like."

P looked up. His hair hung in front of his face, sticking to the oil.

"No," he said, and wanted it to be true. He wanted to be more than that. He was a puppet, but he had wants.

It only got him another laugh. The yellow light glinted off his rabbit mask; off the crowbar, as he hefted it onto his shoulder.

"I know one of the first things I take out of you is gunna be your voice box."

P reached out with his boot, just a little. The cell rolled closer to him.

"But, hey, maybe I'll keep you intact enough to use you as a toy,” the Black Rabbit laughed. “Given how much work Geppetto put into your face."

P didn't let his gaze waver. That was important. It was important that the Black Rabbit watched his face, and not his shoes. He brought the throwing cell closer to himself, catching his breath. The pain in his face was dull and constant.

The Black Rabbit still stared.

P kicked the throwing cell. He used the side of his foot, kicking it upwards as much as out. It flew across the room, and he turned his face away, closing his eyes against the blast.

It knocked the Black Rabbit back. He shouted, stumbled, and swore, bouncing off the rickety floorboards.

P yanked his arm down with all his strength. It didn't pull down the beam, but it did snap the wire. He was free. He fell to his knees – tried to catch himself on his left arm, out of instinct – and hit the floor, too. His cheek and side smarted.

The Black Rabbit charged at him. P shifted, onto his back, and kicked upwards. His blow landed; the Black Rabbit fell back, and gave P the moments he needed to get to his feet. He lurched, like he was on a ship, towards the table. He snatched Gemini’s lantern, and swung it as the Black Rabbit came forwards again.

It hit him on the temple, and sent him back to the floor. It was apparently one time too many for the old wood. P felt the boards buckle, and saw them beginning to strain.

As the Black Rabbit put his hand down to steady himself, it went straight through the wood.

It was all coming away. He was going to fall.

P could let him. It would be better for him; it might even eliminate another one of the Black Rabbits.

He lunged; caught hold of the Black Rabbits other arm. P tugged him backwards, even as he kicked out. Each kick made the gap even wider, sending boards to the floors below. P retreated to the stairwell, with the gaping hole in front of him, edged with splintered wood. The Black Rabbit still shouted and swore, with every gasp. Terrified. He was terrified.

P could see why.

They were on the top floor. There were three floors below them, and the floorboards below were just as worn. If he'd fallen, he could easily have broken through all of them. Would have been seriously injured, if not dead.

The Black Rabbit strained to look round at P, even as he stumbled backwards, leaning against the banister to keep his balance. It felt impossible, without his legion arm. He half-fell down the stairs, clutching Gemini, who chirped and flashed wildly.

"You saved me," the Black Rabbit said.

P reached the first landing. He gave a single nod.

And then he ran. He fled the house.

It was difficult, without his arm, and he crashed into the walls several times to keep from falling flat on his face. Pain smarted his side as he smashed into them, fighting to keep running. Without his belt, he had to carry Gemini in his remaining hand.

And it was only when he was halfway down the street, he realised he was not being followed. He ducked into an alleyway, pressing himself against the bricks and sliding into the darkness.  He fumbled with Gemini, pressing him against his chest, and dimming his light.

"You didn't have to help him, pal," Gemini murmured.

P didn't reply. He was still catching his breath. It felt as though all of his springs were malfunctioning, as though sparks were dancing over his skin. His face still hurt, though the flow of oil had slowed to a trickle.

"And you didn't have to use me as a weapon, either," Gemini continued.

P tried to smile, at that. He closed his eyes.

"Thank you."

He counted to one hundred. When there was no sign of the Black Rabbit pursuing him, he thought it was safe to head back to the hotel.

He was more thankful than ever to have both feet, and his voice, intact.

*

P knelt in front of the Stargazer, his elbow resting on it, and felt completely drained. He was safe, at the hotel. When he’d burst through the doors, lying again, he’d only gotten as far as the Stargazer. Then he’d sunk down in front of it. The hotel was safe. He was safe, and that made him feel unbelievably tired.

Sophia found him first. She'd seen him in several worse for wear states; damaged or injured from various battles. He didn't think she'd seen him without his arm, though, and that made him feel more vulnerable, this time.

"Oh, my clever one." She sat on the rim of the Stargazer. "Are you alright?"

P made a sound, closing his eyes. He wasn't hurt that badly – he had been hurt much worse. But it had rattled him; that he’d been caught; that the Black Rabbit had gotten the better of him; that he had been trapped. Helpless. The threats still loomed over him. Losing an arm was bad enough; losing his voice would be even worse.

Sophia's fingers brushed through his hair. P half-opened his eyes, looking up at her. Then he realised what this feeling was; a new feeling.

"I've never been scared like that before," he murmured.  Though he only realised how scared he had been, now that he was safe. He was terrified.

Sophia's face softened. She brushed his hair back again. And again. He made another soft sound, understanding how Spring must feel when she was stroked. It eased his whirring gears.

Sophia gently lifted his head into her lap.

"You're very brave," she told him. He took a handful of her skirt, aware that he was probably smearing oil over the white fabric, but he needed to hold onto something. "You've always been very brave. That means you've never had the chance to feel afraid."

He didn't like being afraid. It was the worst thing he’d felt. He closed his eyes, and pressed closer to her, revelling in the feeling of her warm fingers against his hair.

P let his eyes close again, listening to the sounds of his springs relax. His heart stopped racing so fast. The feeling of fear washed away, like waves on the shore.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard distant voices. It was Vegnini, he thought, and he sounded worried. Eugenie too. Both calling for him. But he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He wanted to stay here, in this warmth, with Sophia.

He felt a hand shake his shoulder, and didn't respond. Buried his face in his arm more firmly, letting the shouts of alarm wash over him. He was tired.

There was more shouting. Geppetto's voice now, though it sounded like he was underwater.

P felt hands, again; firm hands, shifting him. He was being lifted. Not like a child. He was so heavy that two people were carrying him, one held his legs, the other had a grip around his chest. His head flopped back against someone's chest. When he cracked his eyes open, he could see it was Geppetto. His father. His father had found him.

Where was Sophia?

He turned his head, but couldn’t see her at the Stargazer. He let his eyes fall closed again, his hand searching for Gemini. He managed to brush the top of the lantern, before he felt himself go completely limp.

*

P was lying down. He woke, looking up at the familiar, ornate ceiling of his father’s rooms. He lay on something soft, not sat in the usual chair. A seat that reclined, so he was halfway sat. It felt strange, not to have his feet on the floor; not to have his hands on the arms of a chair. It made him feel like he was adrift at sea.

He turned his head. This was Geppetto's rooms, and Geppetto sat at his desk. Slumped over his desk, his head in his hands. Worried. His father was worried about him. It made his chest feel warm, as warm as when Sophia brushed his hair from his face.

"Hey pal," Gemini chirped. He'd been removed again, and set near his hip on the white sheets. "You okay?"

"I'm alright," though his words were slurred.

Gemini chirped again, and he saw the silhouette inside pressed against the glass.

His words made Geppetto start. For a moment, he looked wild-eyed, before he took in P, lying there.

"My son." He stood, making his way to P immediately. "No, don't sit up. Not yet."

So P lay back. His father brushed his hair back, leaning over to take his face in his hands.

"My precious boy," he said, and P felt another rush of warmth, his springs stirring. He was safe. He put a hand on Geppetto's wrist, and that's when he realised – he had his left arm back. A different legion arm, but that didn’t matter – it was back. "Tell me what happened?"

P did, haltingly. He didn't want to admit it; that he hadn’t been good enough. He left out saving the Black Rabbit, though he wasn’t sure why, just that his father wouldn’t want to hear that part. Would his father have wanted him to kill him, too? As he explained, his father drew his shirt open with gentle, practised hands, and opened his chest plate. He peered inside, reaching for his tools.

"It sounds like quite an ordeal," his father said. He nudged P back to lay down, and he didn’t resist. "Your system suffered a lot of stress. It's why you collapsed downstairs. Your system needed to reconfigure itself."

Perhaps that was true, though it felt to P more that he was exhausted. That was impossible, of course – he couldn't be exhausted. Puppets couldn’t feel tired, surely.

He listened to Geppetto adjusting his mechanisms, and felt his springs relax. Felt them click and reset and the pain dulled away.

"I've always stressed that you need to be careful, and this is why," Geppetto murmured, as he worked. "I'm surprised he managed to ambush you."

"I was too," he said to the ceiling.

He heard his father make a soft sound, that could have been a chuckle. He closed P's chest again, and his palm lingered over his heart.

"There.” His grey eyes were bright, in the electric lights of the hotel. “As good as new."

P was allowed to sit up, then. He put a hand to his face, and felt that it had been cleaned of oil. He did feel better – much better, but less because of the repairs. He felt better because he was at the hotel, and there were people who cared about him. His father took his shoulders, to help steady him. It was overwhelming, then – he took fistfuls of his father's jacket, pulling him closer – pressing his forehead into his shoulder. It wasn't a hug, not really.

Geppetto didn't push him away. He made a sound of surprise, and for a moment, didn’t move. Then, his arms rested on P's back. He held him lightly, as though he was something that would break.

“Never worry me like that again, son.” He felt Geppetto’s voice rumble in his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Surely, it was his fault, wasn’t it? If he had been more alert, he wouldn’t have been taken. He closed his eyes. “I won’t.”

And he meant it. He wouldn’t let it happen again. For his father. And for himself – he never wanted to be that scared again.

"Well, you're safe and sound now," Geppetto said. His glasses flashed, as he smiled. "You're back home, son."

He was safe, with his father. He stayed still – wanted to stay like this for longer – but was gently peeled away. His hair was brushed back from his face and tucked behind his ear.

"So, your legion arm was lost?"

"I will search for it." He wanted to venture back to the house, anyway, to see if his belts or supplies were still there.

He only chanced a glance at Geppetto's face, but his expression was unreadable.

"No," he said, and his voice was soft. "No, I can build a new model for you. It's not important. What's important is that you're here. In one piece."

Geppetto’s hand pressed against his chest again, for a moment. P felt that rush of warmth again; that rush of care. He nodded.

And smiled at his father.

[alidravana]

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Pairing: Tarlos

Summary: Carlos struggles after the shooting.

Warnings: Mentions of officer-involved shooting, and past kidnapping.

Small drabble written for the @tarlosweeklyprompts Daily Word Prompts for March!

*****

Carlos sat on the couch, squeezed into the end closest to the door.  He had his feet tucked underneath him, layered in his thickest wool socks.  He had on a ratty old pair of sleep pants, his Austin P.D. sweatshirt that he had yanked over top of his t-shirt, plus two throws that he had draped over his body.  He should have been comfortable, cozy, and warm.

But he wasn’t.

Carlos glanced down at his phone for what felt like the hundredth time, looking for an update from TK.  Between processing the suspect, relinquishing his weapon and his badge over to special investigations, and providing multiple statements to his sergeant, then to the overseeing detective, then to the FBI, Carlos was sure that he would have beat TK back to the loft.

His hands trembled as he opened an app, double checking the temperature of the loft.  72 degrees.  Definitely warm enough.  But as he continued to sit on the couch, waiting for TK to come home, he couldn’t get rid of the chill he felt.

Carlos had done everything right, followed the police training manual perfectly.  He had been advised by a senior agent to go around to the west side, and he did, entering the building immediately after hearing a gunshot.  He didn’t even think about it, pointing the weapon in the direction of their suspect and firing, their suspect still having his own weapon trained on O’Brian.  

There were innocent civilians there, O’Brien’s own niece and great nephew, and Carlos had to act, had to protect them, and O’Brien too.  There was no time for self doubt, not with their lives at risk.  Carlos did what he had to do.  And he would do it again.

Carlos pulled the blankets up higher, tighter around his body as another shiver went through his body.  

Now…now there was too much time to think.  Too much time for self doubt.  He couldn’t stop replaying the scene, the jerk of the suspect as Carlos’s bullet ripped through his shoulder, the muffled cries from the civilians.  

Carlos was all too familiar with what they were feeling.  

The fear was still too close.  The chill that set into his bones when his captors talked about how to dispose of him, the absolute terror of seeing TK at that front door…it was all in the past now, but at times like this, it felt like it was only yesterday.  

Carlos tried to remember TK’s touch, the protection that his hands provided, the safety he felt once he was in his partner’s arms, as he looked longingly over towards the door, praying that TK would be home soon.  

He needed to be warm again