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angeltk · 1 year

Text

left it all on the cold floor

inspo: my 'cold floor' drabble + @tarlosweeklyprompts 'letter'

summary: Carlos has known about TK's struggles with opioid addiction for many years. But what happens when one day, he finds TK bleeding and desperate on the cold floor of the bathroom?

word count: 7.1k

author's note: angst has never been something i enjoyed writing until i started this. i really hope you'll enjoy it!! + thanks to @chaotictarlos for being my beta on this fic 🩶 -> warnings are under the cut. -> ao3 link here carlos' letter here

warnings: angst, opioid addiction, attempted relapse, actual relapse - not detailed, self-inflicted injury, blood, pills, carlos is aware of tk's addiction, rehab mentions

Carlos leaves the station with a box of what's left of the donuts he'd brought in at the beginning of his shift. He takes a bite of one of them and then holds it between his lips while he fumbles for his key. He unlocks the car, climbs in and drops the pink, half-empty box of sweetness into the passenger's seat and buckles his belt.

"Mm, yum." He says to himself when he finishes the last bite and licks his thumb and fingers clean of the powdered sugar. He wipes them on a tissue that is stuffed into the glove compartment and then slides his phone out of his pocket so he can shoot his boyfriend a quick text.

Mind if I come over? I'll cook for you.

Carlos and TK took things at a slow, steady pace in their relationship. They’d been together for a couple of years, but they hadn’t said those famous three words to each other, nor did they share a home. Yet Carlos had been presented with a key to TK's apartment about four months ago. Despite this, he felt it was still polite of him to let his boyfriend know before coming over, after all, he was raised a well-mannered man. It would also be plain wrong of him to just let himself in and out whenever he so pleased, key or no key.

Mind if I come over? I'll cook for you.

His words are still the only ones that are displayed on the screen. As he waits for a text back, he remembers the story of why he has the key and why it was Owen who had given it to him, not TK.

—

It was after a tough night when he’d been walking back from the convenience store. He’d randomly fancied his favourite bar of chocolate, craving it enough to take a quick trip out as it was falling dark. It was a good thing he’d decided to give in to his sweet temptations because, on the way back, he’d spotted TK. His entire body went slack when he realised what exactly TK was doing in the dark alley, talking to a taller, scruffier-looking man. He watched as the mystery guy took a roll of notes from TK’s shaking hand, then gave over a little baggy of pills. They fist-bumped each other, and then the deal was done. It was quick and quiet. Carlos had never caught TK in the act before, but he immediately jogged over to him once the other guy had disappeared and TK was making his way back into the glow of the streetlight above them.

He didn’t know what to say as his boyfriend stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. He just looked back, taking him in. TK was wearing a black hoodie, the sleeves rolled down, but not enough to hide the jagged ends of what looked to be scratch marks. Carlos had seen them before. When TK was struggling, he'd scratch at his skin and sometimes make himself bleed. He did it to his arms, his legs and sometimes the back of his neck. His eyes fall down to where TK is holding the tiny bag and he wants so badly to snatch it away, perhaps find a drain to drop it into. He takes a single step forward, and TK flinches, like he’s a stray cat, worried that this stranger is going to harm him.

“TK,” He asks a stupid question, but he needs to break this silence and end this weird standoff they seem to be having. “What are you doing out here?”

TK snaps out of his stare, crumples the bag further into his grasp and just shakes his head. Carlos’ mouth opens to say something else then, but TK interrupts, moving into his space.

“Are you, uh, gonna arrest me, Officer?”

It’s not some failed attempt at a joke. TK is serious, and Carlos hadn’t even thought about it, but he knows the answer. “No. I’m not, TK. Do you think I should?”

He shrugs. “It’s the law, right?”

“Well I didn’t see the other guy's face… and I don’t have my cuffs on me, so.” He makes a gesture with his hand, waving it to signal for TK to come closer. “Let’s just… go home for now. Come on.”

That night, he'd walked home with TK, looping their arms together and holding him tightly, cautious of anything he said or did for the rest of the evening. He tried not to let TK get all up in his head again by keeping him busy. He asked him to help prepare their meal, and then pick a movie for them to watch. They ended up sitting on opposite ends of the couch, an uneasy air flowing between them and causing a ball-like feeling to form in Carlos’ throat. The whole time, the only thing on his mind was that little bag and making sure it ended up in the trash, or at least staying full.

Owen and Gwyn found out in the morning, when they both woke up to find the text from Carlos, explaining what had happened and that TK was okay, for the time being. The three of them talked about it in their private three-way group chat. They all knew that the next couple of days were vital and they needed to keep a close watch on TK until he was acting like his true self again.

That afternoon, Owen visited the station, and following a heavy conversation and heartfelt words of gratitude for finding his boy, a key was pressed into his hand. Carlos had flipped it over a few times, frowning in confusion. He watched Owen’s eyes turn somber and when he was about to ask what the key was for, it was made clear.

“That is for when myself or Gywn aren't around. You, uh… you may have occasion to use it."

Owen patted Carlos on his shoulder, then left, leaving his mind to catch up and picture scenes where TK’s parents have had to use their own copies of the key before. He struggles to imagine what that is like; when they are so concerned about their own son’s well-being, that they have to pound on the door and let themselves in to find out if he’s okay. Or if he’s passed out, missing, or even, gone.

Carlos didn't have a chance to respond or to ask if TK would mind when Owen left, and it made him more than a little nervous to actually use it. How could he know how TK would react? But the first time Carlos worked up the courage to twist the key one day and walk on in as TK was changing, post-shower, he was met with a smiling face. TK smirked and sauntered over to Carlos, planting a kiss on his lips in greeting. “Baby.” He said simply, greeting him and making all of Carlos’ fear melt away. That was that. TK definitely didn't mind, or care.

—

After the memory passes over, he unglues his eyes from the car parked opposite him, looking down at his phone and sending a second text.

Or we could just order in?

Another minute goes by, and he types a third and final text, before dropping his phone next to the donuts, and pulling out of his parking space.

Okay… my choice then - we’ll order Chinese food tonight? Be there soon.

—

The drive to TK's place feels unusually longer than it does on any other given day. There isn't a crazy amount of traffic and he hasn't heard about any accidents on the road over the radio. He’s actually making good time, he notes after reading the time that flashes up on his mobile with two little taps. He left work around ten minutes ago, and it’s only about another fifteen before he’ll reach TK’s apartment building. It just doesn’t feel that way. Instead of ten, it feels like he’s been driving for triple that.

There’s a saying that crosses his mind, the one about time flying by when you’re having fun. Well, what if this was the opposite? The thought causes a dull ache to start up in his gut, and all of a sudden he can just tell that something is wrong. He’d often get a feeling like this during an emotional call or case at work, but right now, he is pretty sure he can pin the notion on his boyfriend. To TK.

It makes sense with the fact that TK still hadn’t answered his text messages. If he had, Carlos would know by the little popping notification sound going off beside him, but it’d been a silent drive so far.

He'd be lying if he said that TK always answered. He didn't. On a normal day, TK would read his messages and then reply later, explaining that he forgot to respond or that he was busy on a case that ran overtime. Sometimes, he just forgot, period. There were always those times as well when he just didn’t want to talk, but those were always worry-inducing.

When Carlos stops at a light, he picks up his phone again and squints down at his screen. Under the last message, it remains to read the word 'sent'. There aren't any bubbles to show that TK is typing or any ticks that indicate he has seen Carlos' texts.

Carlos calls, tapping the speaker option and dropping his phone again, the light in front of him having turned green. It rings and rings and then goes straight to TK's voicemail. He ends the call and repeats the action, despite knowing that he'll most likely get the same outcome.

'Hey, it's TK. I'm probably on a shift, or I just don't wanna talk to you. Drop a message or text m—'

"Shit, come on, Strand." Carlos hangs up.

His fingers flex and tighten around the steering wheel, and he shifts in his seat, the belt now feeling like it's far too constricting. He's well aware that he's freaking himself out, he's overthinking, but it's completely justified. As much as he hates to think it, the fact is; this is exactly what it's like to be in a relationship with someone who has an unhealthy addiction.

"TK, answer the damn phone. Where are you?" Carlos mutters. The question lingers, and he's not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. "Please, please just be showering."

As his drive continues, he thinks about good memories of TK, trying to sway his anxiety and ease it for a while. He thinks about that night when TK finally took the plunge and changed both of their lives forever with a way-overdue, toe-curling, picture-perfect kiss. It’d been a remarkably long time coming. They’d known each other since infancy and played together as children, then been inseparable best friends for most of their school lives, both of them keeping their hardcore crush on the other a secret. It took a rather horrendous storm keeping them trapped inside Carlos’ apartment for TK to make his move.

Carlos briefly wonders what would have happened if that kiss didn’t happen. Would someone else be in his current position of panic? Or, would TK have already done too much damage? That night in the alley… maybe without him there to catch TK in the act, the firefighter’s name could have become a news headline.

He slaps each side of his face in turn. He needs to stop this, he has to stop thinking in this way. After all, it was plausible that TK could, as he said, just be in the shower

“No, no, no!”

The pitter-patter sound of pills falling and bouncing off of the floor echo around the small room. They roll around, some of them rebounding high enough to make it into the bathtub.

“Fuck!”

TK screams in a way that - if he lived in a friendlier area - might just scare his neighbours into thinking that something was seriously wrong. It’s guttural and angry. It’s not TK.

His breathing picks up, and he doesn't even think about what he's doing when he makes a fist and throws a punch. The blow lands against the mirrored cabinet. He lets out another scream, which drives the middle-aged drunk from the apartment below to bang on the ceiling a couple of times, yelling something that TK doesn't register in his currently clouded mind.

Cracks appear instantly in the glass. Droplets trickle down through them, painting the gaps with red, warm blood. They seep between the busted crevasses, then run over the thin edges, dripping down until they periodically splash into the sink.

His reflection is shattered. He touches the fragment of glass that he can see his eyes in. It peels away and falls, splitting into a few smaller pieces by his feet. He doesn't react when one of them scrapes his skin, tearing a few layers and causing a long and slim cut.

He tears his eyes away from the mirror, feeling just a shred of shame for the person looking back at him. His hair is messy and slick, not having been brushed or washed in a couple of days. His lips are chapped, dry and lacking any colour, and his eyes are bloodshot. The smattering of stubble that frames his chin and jawline is normal, but it’s grown longer than he’d usually let it before having it trimmed.

Suddenly, overwhelmed with the sight, he falls to his knees. The second he hits the floor, he spots the cap of the bottle that had fallen, and it doesn’t take much, the plastic lid redirecting his focus back on the pills in an instant.

He moves like a wild animal that's desperate for a single morsel of food.

His hands slap along the cold, tiled floor as he feels around for any loose pills. Most have rolled too far away, and he doesn't have the energy now to move that much. He huffs, feeling defeated, and falls against the hard surface of the tub. His back protests the harsh bump, that no doubt causes a bruise to start forming in yet another area of his injured and aching body.

He is quiet for a few minutes, zoning out until he hears the buzz of his mobile from the other room. There’s no telling how long it had been ringing, but he can't bring himself to stand up and go see who it is anyway.

A stinging feeling coming from his hand distracts him. He lifts it onto his bent knee and inspects the damage. If he were in a rational state of mind, he would panic at this point. He would call for help, call his Dad, anyone that he knew. Or maybe he would at least try to bandage the cuts himself, but he just pulls down the sleeve of his hoodie and tugs it over his clean hand, then presses it on top of his bloody one. Pressure is good, he thinks, it’ll stem the bleeding, right?

TK isn't sure how much time passes, but it feels like forever and nothing at all. He sits there on the bathroom floor, alone and longing for that euphoric high he'd been trying to chase and replicate since the very first time.

Thoughts start to swirl around in his head again, just like they always did. He thinks about how ashamed he is. Yeah, embarrassment is the first thing that crosses his mind. He knows he looks the part of an addict at this moment, and if any of his crew or his friends were to see him like this, he'd want to hibernate forever; never to be seen again. He thinks about how he had managed to stay clean for almost five months. The last time he almost relapsed, Carlos had caught him with his new dealer. Often, he dreams about that day, reimaging the night if Carlos had arrested him, or if he’d taken the pills before being found. Maybe he wouldn’t have a boyfriend anymore after such an ordeal. That thought makes him shiver.

The cycle goes on. The wheel of emotions spins to land on anger, regret, sadness, and eventually, irritability. He's pissed off. He had dropped not just a couple, but all of the pills. They'd cost him quite the lump sum of what he had left of this month's paycheck, and now they were scattered everywhere, going to waste. Or… not. TK knows that the floor hasn’t been cleaned in a few weeks, but they were just pills, surely they would still be okay to take, he could just wipe them off.

TK's mouth twitches, his eyes go wide, and he grunts as he pushes himself up on all fours. Now determined, he crawls along the floor, his head ducking to look around and locate as many pills as he can. His eyes are dead-set on his quest, and his focus is as direct as when he's out saving lives with the 252.

There's probably irony in that somewhere… about how protecting people brings about as much fixation as nearly killing himself each time he overdoses, or takes even one pill.

He finds one pretty quickly. It's behind the back of the toilet, and for just a moment, TK does question himself and his choices. He really thinks about tossing it, but the idea is short-lived. He plucks the candy-like drug from the floor and wipes it on his jeans, then shoves it into his hand with force, like he's afraid it'll roll away again. On his free hand, there's a tiny amount of dusty residue stuck to his thumb and forefinger from the pressure making it crumble a little. He brings it to his mouth, licks it off and continues to collect more.

Each time he finds another, he still feels as though he doesn't have enough; his brain telling him that he needs a generous dose. So his little hunt goes on. Until, he hears shuffling in the front room, followed by an all too familiar voice calling his name.

Carlos pushes his car door shut and locks it. In his left hand, he holds the box of donuts, his uniform jacket draped over his forearm. He should also be carrying a bag of groceries, but he'd decided to ditch the store stop along the way, wanting to get here as quickly as posssible.

He slides the key into the lock and takes a deep breath. He tells himself what he needs to hear but doesn't entirely believe. 'It's all good. He's just taking a shower. A really, really… long shower.'

"Hey, TK!" Gently kicking the door behind him, he calls out to his boyfriend, pretending not to hear the slight tremor in his own voice. He puts the box of treats down on the kitchen counter. "I, uh- brought donuts if you want them."

He doesn't get a response, so he flicks on some lights and looks around. The apartment isn't messy, but it's not tidy either. There are no dishes in the sink, the trash bin is just about overflowing and there’s nothing playing in the way of radio or the TV. He wonders if TK has even been here at all today. "Babe? You here? Hello?"

Again, he gets no response.

"You even h–" A loud grunt comes from the direction of the bathroom and Carlos jumps, and he drops his jacket slips from his grasp, thudding on the floor from the weight of his wallet and car keys. "TK!? Shit, are you okay?"

"I'm fine!"

Carlos has to remind himself to breathe when TK finally answers him, but he’s still concerned as he kicks off his boots and places them neatly on the shoe rack. "God, TK, I was worried for a sec. You didn't reply to my texts…" As he says this, he notices TK's phone, laying on a cushion on the sofa. “Oh, it’s… there.”

He picks up his jacket, hangs it up and then just stands in the entryway for a while. He listens intently, trying to figure out what TK is doing. There’s no water running, no flushing or the sound of the shower curtain being opened or closed. He decides that he’s had enough, after a few minutes. He needs to know that his boyfriend is okay, now.

He takes a few steps to reach the bathroom and twists the door handle. To his surprise, it isn’t locked, so he goes right in and gasps at the sight he’s met with. "Tyler…"

“Ugh.” TK rolls his eyes. He didn’t mind Carlos using his full name, in fact, he loved it, but it was the tone Carlos had said it in; full of shock and concern.

“What the hell happened?”

“I, uh…” TK is leaning against the tub, a hand holding his head, sitting with his legs crossed. “headbutted the sink."

"Oh, yeah. Is that all?" Carlos' words come out harsher than intended, but he’s too distracted by the scene before him to apologise or rephrase. “Did you hurt yourself anywhere else?”

He kneels in front of TK, gently taking his balled, uninjured hand and prying it open. The pills are mostly crushed, and he’s pretty sure that this is why TK looks so peeved right now. Carlos tips all of the powdered substance into his own hand and stands up to throw it in the toilet bowl. He then washes his hands and sits down, copying TK's crossed-leg position.

He knows TK is expecting a big fight. Some type of grand intervention-style speech, but he is far more worried about the cuts on TK’s knuckles and wants to deal with them first. Carlos also doesn't want to spook TK, make him leave, or upset him. He wants to tread lightly.

He stretches over to the cabinet, pulling out a first-aid kit that he is amazed TK still has. "Give me your hand." TK does as he’s asked, and Carlos places it on his leg, then cleans it with a couple of wipes, making sure to be delicate over the torn skin. "So… you punched the mirror? Why?"

TK looks off to the side, his jaw clenching. "I dropped them."

Carlos feels nauseous. The answer isn't a surprise, really, but some of the cuts look as though they’ve bled quite a bit. They're already starting to bruise, and he wonders if the cuts will scar. He finds it difficult to hear because he’d hurt himself, purposefully, over such a small thing, an accident. To him, at least.

"Oh." He replies simply, choosing to go back to the task at hand before he can overthink some more.

There isn't much to sort through in the kit, but Carlos does find a large band-aid, a pair of scissors, and an ice pack that looks like it’s been used already and thrown back in. He cuts the sticky bandage into strips so that they'll fit a little better over the wounds. He'd like nothing more than to take TK to the hospital, just in case stitches were needed as well, but he already knows he would get nowhere with that suggestion.

He finishes patching up TK's hand, then asks a question that he really doesn't want to, but needs to. "TK… baby, please tell me honestly, did you swallow any of those pills?"

TK throw his head back and sighs. "I literally just licked some… but how would you know either way."

"TK…"

"Ugh, I told you! I got some on my finger. I licked it off. That’s it." He looks Carlos straight in the eyes.

"But was it enough? I mean, are you-"

"For fuck sake!" TK yells, and Carlos has to pretend that he isn’t hurt by the outburst. "I'm not fucking high, Carlos!"

"Right… well, listen. I have to tell your parents about this. Or you can…" TK glares at Carlos, and he decides to try and level with him in a way that has proven to work in the past: by mentioning his job. "Baby, they need to know. Your Dad especially. If I hadn't just come in, you'd have just swallowed it all, wouldn’t you? Or gone out to buy more?"

“Yeah. I would’ve." TK is harsh when he speaks, and there's no obvious guilt or shame in the way he answers so matter-of-factly.

"Well, you can't go out saving lives if you're here putting your own in jeopardy, baby." Carlos watches TK come back to himself, even if it's to the smallest degree. TK often cares more about what he does for a living than he does himself. Carlos knows this, and he knew it would benefit their current predicament to bring it up. "So I'll text them, okay?"

TK scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and Carlos looks over at him again and wonders what the hell he is supposed to do now. He knows what TK needs to do. He needs to get professional help, but it isn't his choice to make, and quite frankly, that’s one thing he’s afraid of bringing up.

He chooses to change the topic to what they’re having for dinner. Food is the only other thing that sits at the back of his mind, his stomach had been begging for more sustenance since eating the donut.

"So, um… dinner then? Anything you fancy. You heard me mention the donuts, yeah? We can just have those if you don't want anything else. Or I–"

Carlos is suddenly knocked back as TK crashes into him, head bumping his stomach. To say he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of affection would be an understatement. He nearly topples over, catching himself with one hand behind him while the other holds TK around his waist. "Tyler?"

He tries to get a look at TK's face, but his boyfriend just hugs him tighter. Carlos brings the fragile, struggling man in closer, his recent hunger forgotten as he feels TK’s shoulders begin to shake as he breaks down.

"You're gonna get through this, I promise you that." He finally lets a tear slip, feeling it tickle his skin as it slides over his cheek. "One day, you're gonna be so happy. You're gonna be okay."

—

The next morning, Carlos wakes, and within seconds of peeling open his eyes and glancing around the bedroom, he knows the situation has gone from bad to worse.

He knows because the pillow his head is on is far too firm to be his. He's lying on TK's side, meaning that his boyfriend isn't in bed anymore. When he looks over at TK's bedside table, his phone is there, untouched, with the charging cable still plugged in. If TK were on a shift, or visiting his parents or friends, anywhere he went, he would take it with him. The fact that it was still here meant that TK didn't want to be contactable. He didn't want to be found.

He checks TK's phone because his boyfriend had never hidden his passcode, and never tried to cover it up. He taps in the four digits, goes straight to his messages and sees an unknown number that has been texting with him since about an hour after they’d gone to bed. In past experience, these numbers usually belonged to the dealers TK would find.

Carlos' stomach does a flip, and this time, his fears and worries come out in a physical form. He stumbles to the bathroom just in time to throw up the pizza and donuts they had shared for dinner.

When he's done, he flushes, falling back into the same spot he'd found TK in not that many hours ago. He looks around the room, the glass is still scattered on the floor. After getting TK up they’d decided to leave the clear-up until later, too wrapped up in their stress to bother with such a task at that moment. Carlos is glad he managed to walk in without standing on any of it.

He rubs his hands over his face and tries to focus on what he needs to do. It's his day off of work, meaning he can go and find TK without having to call in with an excuse, like being sick, though, that wouldn’t be far from the truth now. First, though, he takes a deep breath and rises to his feet. He heads back into the bedroom, finds his overnight bag and changes quickly, then pulls out his phone and dials Owen Strand’s number.

"Hey, Carlos." Owen picks up right away. "You guys change your mind about grabbing breakfast? It’s not often that our days off line up, so we–"

"No, we didn’t, uh-” Carlos cuts off Owen's impending ramble by clearing his throat and using the name that he keeps being told to drop by the man. "Sir… it's TK."

"Oh, god. How much did he take?" Owen's voice switches instantaneously, from soft and playful to serious and deceptively calm. "Is he alive?"

"No..." The questions make Carlos' heart pound. "I mean, I don’t know… to both. I-”

“Carlos.”

“He’s gone, Sir. Left while I was asleep. I- I didn’t even hear him get up. I didn’t hear him…"

“Okay, try and stay with me, Carlos. Is there a reasonable explanation? He's not just… grabbing something to eat?"

Carlos knows that Owen is grasping for an answer they'd both love to find some truth in, but he can hear his boyfriend's father shuffling around over the phone. His voice is farther away, most likely from being put on speaker. He presumes that Owen is getting ready to leave and go looking for his son.

"There are messages on his phone. It’s an unknown number, but-”

“Yeah, probably a dealer. Carlos, I'm on my way to his place, I’ll see you in a moment, okay?"

Carlos expects a call or text from Owen, letting him know he's here and waiting outside in the car. What he doesn't expect is the gust of air that hits him as TK’s door is flung open to reveal both of his boyfriend’s parents.

None of them bothers with fake smiles or reassurance, Owen just beelines for TK’s phone, which is sitting on the back of the sofa. As for Gwyn, she approaches Carlos with outstretched arms. Carlos doesn't see TK's mother as often as he does Owen. The sight of her worried face and the smudged mascara under her eyes have him feeling weak. He has to swipe away a tear of his own when wraps him in a comforting hug.

"Gwyn, I'm so sorry. I didn’t hear him get up. He’s just, he’s gone."

"Sweetie, nothing is your fault, okay? Don’t even think about blaming yourself, do you hear me?" She releases Carlos and then Owen stands back next to her, swiping through TK’s phone, holding it low so that Gwyn can see too. "Owen and I are going out to look for him. Would you stay here, just in case he does come back?"

"Wait. Stay here? I mean, I can help."

"You are, son." Owen lays a hand on Carlos' shoulder. "If this isn’t what we think it is, when he comes back, we’ll need to know right away.”

"Okay, yeah." Carlos nods. "Yeah, sure."

“Alright.” Gwyn says, then shuffles out of the apartment, Owen following closely behind her, a hand splayed out on her back in an attempt to soothe her. Carlos listens as their voices fade as they descend the stairs. They discuss which streets they're each going to go to first, he hears them mention a few parks as well, and then they’re gone.

It's almost midnight, and Carlos hasn't heard anything for hours. He still feels sick, and he can't take his eyes away from his phone for more than a minute at a time. He tried to watch a little tv, and attempted to get into a book, but neither activity calmed his mind for long enough. The only thing he managed to do was clean up TK's apartment a little. Organising his shelves and kitchen cupboards, tossing out items that were past their use-by date. He made sure to sweep up the mess in the bathroom too. It took his attention away from thinking about every possible worst-case scenario he could think of, but inevitably, he ended up going right back to pacing the room.

Of course, he finally sits down, his leg bouncing nervously for a single minute, and then he hears the door again. Carlos springs to his feet as Gwyn walks in alone.

"We found him." She reassures Carlos with a smile before he can spin out and make assumptions, or ask a million questions. "He's down in the car with Owen. I just came by to let you know before, well… see, honey, we’re-"

"You're doing it, aren't you..." He blinks rapidly for a few seconds when the top of his nose starts to tingle; an indication of incoming tears. "You’re sending him to rehab?"

"It's time, my love. When I found him tonight, he was -" Gwyn's eyes flick between Carlos'. He watches her hands moving on their own accord as she searches for the right words to say. "It wasn't like the other times. When I got to him, I was shaking him and… for a moment I thought, I thought he was-"

"It’s okay, I understand." Carlos stops her before she can say the word ‘dead’, he can see how much it’s hurting her, and he feels it too. "And I know he needs this, but it still feels wrong somehow. Like… we’re abandoning him somehow? That’s like, totally not what we’re doing but it still feels that way… I dunno."

"Yeah, but my boy… he’s tough. Deep down I know he knows that, too, and he is going to get better." Gwyn sniffles and Carlos offers her a second hug which she gratefully accepts it. When she pulls back, she caresses Carlos’ cheek, her thumb stroking his skin gently. "Do you want to see him before we go? He's not exactly in a talking mood, but…"

"I want to. Of course, I do, but I don't think it's a good idea. Not right now... he needs to just get there."

"Okay. Well, I'll see you soon, sweetie." Gwyn plants a kiss on Carlos' cheek. “Take care of yourself, Carlos, okay? If you need anything at all, even just to talk, I’m here for you.”

Her words hit Carlos hard, and he is so grateful at that moment, that his boyfriend came with such genuine, caring parents. “Thank you.” He whispers shakily, and then she leaves with a little wave, closing the door behind her.

He's still for a few moments, holding his breath, and when he hears a car engine start from outside the building, he realises that he doesn't even know how long TK will be gone. He didn't ask. He chokes on a sob, and tears finally start to fall. He drops to the floor, grabs a cushion from the sofa and, though he’s alone, he hides his outflow of emotions, crying into the soft material, squeezing it as tight as he can in his hands.

—

When Gwyn returned from the airport, she and Owen had come over to see Carlos, just as they promised. They talked for a few hours, and when they left TK’s apartment, Carlos stayed. Both parents had agreed that it was more than okay for him to live at TK's for however long he wanted, or needed to. However, after four long days, he decides that it's time to go.

He figures that he has sat amongst his own sadness and dread for long enough, and he felt like he needed a change of scenery. TK wasn’t coming back for a little while, and to be truthful, he was finding it hard to be present when he was on duty, which was obviously not a good thing in his line of work.

So he packs up his things back at his own apartment, sends them to his new address, and then goes back to TK's one last time.

While there, he takes one of TK's hoodies. He wants something more than photos in his phone’s gallery or the memories that fill his head daily to make him feel closer to TK while he’s away. It's old, has a hole in one sleeve, and the strings have clearly been chewed on, but he still tugs it over his head. He pulls the fabric to his nose, and yeah, it still smells like TK. Not the TK who left for rehab, but the man who is so funny, so kind and gentle. The man who was impossible not to fall for when he was sober, innocent. He takes it off again, frowning when he realises that it’s the very item of clothing that TK had worn the first time they kissed. He has photographic evidence tucked away in one of his moving boxes that is currently on its way to his new home.

Carlos feels another round of waterworks coming on when he visualises the framed picture in his mind, so he shakes his head and refocuses.

He thinks about what he came here to do and then goes to find a pen and some paper. Before Carlos tidied up the place, it would have taken some digging just to grab what he needed. Now, there was a little basket on a shelf that held the supplies. Some pads of lined paper and a pencil case of various colours of pens, along with other materials needed for any creative endeavours. He also takes out an envelope that he had bought at the post office on his way back to the building.

He plops himself down on the kitchen stall and quickly wipes it over with a dry cloth to make sure that the paper doesn't accidentally get wet. He uncaps a black pen and then spends a good hour writing out his letter.

Tyler,

Firstly, this isn't an old-time-y way of me breaking things off with you. I want you to know that before you carry on reading - I'm not breaking up with you. I don’t think I ever could.

He underlines those last six words, and he hopes that TK will take them in, and know how serious he is.

I'm not sure how long it will be until you come home and find this, but I can't text or leave a voicemail. I think I may be allowed to send you this letter, but I don’t want to interfere with your recovery there. I don’t want this to be a possible distraction for you.

Is it strange that I find writing to you kind of… romantic? I mean, despite the reason I'm having to write it in the first place.

He thinks about crossing out that part and starting over again, but then he remembers that TK is a grown man who knows what's happening, and why; he doesn't need to sugar-coat anything.

Was that a good segway? Because I really want to tell you that I believe in you. As cheesy as it may sound, I know that you can get through this, TK. I’ve never been through what you are right now, but I can guess that you’re going to find it hard. Even when you leave rehab, it'll be a battle for a while at least, but I know you'll pull through. You'll survive.

And through everything - the ups and downs, good days and bad, I’ll be here for you.

Well, actually I'll be in Austin, Texas, but what I mean is that I’ll always support you, whether it’s in person or through a phone. You’ll always have me.

Carlos stops to brush away a tear. He clicks the pen a few times and then continues.

Did you know I have family in Austin? Friends, too. I think I’ve mentioned it once or twice. I figured if I’m going to move anywhere, that’s where it should be. Someplace I can go where people already know me, so I don’t have to worry about fitting in or making new friends.

As for my job, well, there's an opening in the APD. I’ve heard good things about all of the emergency services down in Austin. You should look up the 126, and read their stories… they’ve had some bizarre calls.

Anyway… maybe we could try that long-distance thing once you’re home. You can visit me, and I can do the same. The place I’m renting, it’s really nice, I have some design ideas I think you’d really like.

Baby, honestly, I am positively desperate to get my arms around you again. I miss you so much. I miss kissing you, cooking for you, watching movies and having you fall asleep in my arms. I miss your charming smile and your hands in mine. I miss… other parts of you, too. How could I not? And it's a little embarrassing how much, since, as I'm writing this, you've only been gone for 4 days.

I need to wrap this up. As much as I would enjoy writing you a novel, I do have to catch a flight.

- In this envelope, along with this soppy love letter, you'll find a card with my new home address on it. I hope you’ll make good use of it, and that I’ll see you standing at my door soon. We can have one of those cute romantic movie reunions… the ones that have even you tearing up.

One more time, Carlos pauses. He thinks about what he wants to write next, pondering over whether or not it's the right time. Ultimately, he decides to lay down his feelings and put them all on paper with three simple words and a name. So with a few more strokes of his pen, he confesses it all.

I love you, Tyler Kennedy Strand.

I'll be waiting for you.

Carlos

Carlos folds the pieces of paper neatly three times, enough to fit inside the envelope. He slides his address card in there, too. Then he lifts the letter to his mouth and licks along the edge. Placing it back down, he uses his thumb to make sure that it is stuck down well enough. He caps the pen, puts it away and then places the letter on the coffee table, the tips of his fingers lingering over it for a few seconds. He takes one of the larger pebbles from one of the potted plants in the window and places it on top, like a paperweight. He then sends a text to Owen, letting him know that he's on his way to drop off his key to TK's place. Finally, he grabs his last piece of luggage, a backpack filled with some belongings he'd left here over the past 2 years or so since he'd started dating TK.

He opens the door, takes a deep breath, and then just before he leaves, he whispers, "I’ll see you soon, Tyler Kennedy Strand."

---------------------------

taglist: @wandering-night19, @fortunatelydecaffeinateddinosaur @rubinsteinsilva126 @maniadeityn @just-inside-her @chaotictarlos @lightningboltreader + let me know if you'd like to be added/removed, please!

#angeltk writes #angeltk #mine #tarlos fic #tarlos fanfiction #tarlos angst #tarlosweeklyprompts #my gifs #tarlossource #tarlos fanfic #tarlos whump #tk strand whump #carlos reyes whump

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sapphire11 · 1 year

Text

all the words you didn't mean for me to hear

Part 1 of 'Secret Messages' a Break up era Tarlos fic

Hey Everyone! I have decided to release this fic in 'mini' parts here on tumblr before releasing the whole thing on ao3. (mostly because I need some encouragement and validation despite not feeling ready to publish it yet there and you all have always been supportive) Think of this as a little gift for being wonderful followers/mutuals 💛

Tagging a couple of you who I know have been waiting for this fic, sorry if I miss you (let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic or my Tarlos fics) @chaotictarlos @lightningboltreader

Carlos holds the plastic bag of personal effects tightly in his fist. His fingers are going stiff with how hard he’s been holding on to it since the nurse handed it to him after he signed all the required papers for being TK’s emergency contact. The shock of hearing that TK never took Carlos off his contact form has his mind whirling while his body remains frozen.

“Did you know he kept me on as his contact?” Carlos turns towards Nancy with a raised brow.

She shakes her head slowly, “I wouldn’t have needed to call you if I knew. The hospital would have. Doesn’t surprise me though.”

He hums softly in reply, pulling out TK’s wallet from the bag and shoving it in his coat pocket, his phone follows, and then Carlos is pulling out his silver chain with the 252 medallion. It’s wrong to see it hanging loosely from his fingers, unattached to the person it belongs to. Since Carlos met TK he has seen the chain peeking out from underneath clothes, dangling from his unclothed chest, landing on Carlos’ own chest as they make love. He’s equated this item with TK for so long that holding it now is the most tangible reminder of just how bad this situation is.

It is also strange to be holding an essential piece of TK so long after their break up. He runs his thumb over the engraved pendant for a second before raising his arm and slipping the chain around his neck. As he settles it under his shirt the cold medal sits heavy against his heart.

The chain is a constant reminder of all the things he’s lost and what he still stands to lose if TK doesn’t win his current life or death battle. Still the anger and irritation at being called to TK’s side after so many months of radio silence simmers just below the surface. Only kept at bay by the growing worry and sense of dread he feels the more he learns about TK’s situation. Hearing Nancy and Tommy recount resuscitating TK in the field was excruciating, and he almost tells them that he doesn’t need to know the details. Except this is TK, and he’s never stopped wanting to know every little thing about the other man. Even in the frustrating months that TK has forced them to be apart.

Carlos sits in between Nancy and Tommy watching the hands on the clock opposite them tick steadily by. Every second feels like a blessing, every minute a curse. Finally, a nurse comes out to let him know that they need to perform some more tests and that visitors will be restricted for at least the next couple of hours. With a pointed look at all three of them still in uniform she urges them to go home, change clothes, grab what they’ll need if someone wants to stay the night. When she mentions staying the night she looks right at Carlos and he has to actively work not to flinch. He doesn’t have that right anymore, he shouldn’t have any rights. But TK kept him on as an emergency contact and no one can get ahold of Owen, so Carlos isn’t going anywhere.

Which includes home. Thankfully Mitchell happily brings him his bag from his locker at the station and exchanges it for the keys to his patrol unit. He’ll have to find a way back to the station for his Camaro at some point, but that’s tomorrow’s problem, or maybe even the day after tomorrow. His favorite ED nurse lets him into the staff locker room for a quick shower and change into his civilian clothes. Feeling refreshed, but anxious to get back up to TK, Carlos quickly begins stuffing his uniform into his duffel bag until a thud catches his attention.

Realizing TK’s phone has fallen face first onto the hard floor he lets out a soft curse followed by a silent plea that it’s not broken. He picks up the phone hitting the on button on the side. Breathing a sigh of relief as the screen flickers to life and no cracks appear. Just before he can shove it back into the safety of his pocket, a notification catches his attention. He knows he shouldn’t; he has no right, but he can’t deny his curiosity as to why TK is using an app to record messages when Carlos knows he never used to. He hesitates, then tries to guess what TK would have changed his password to after their break up. After two failed attempts he considers calling it fate that he can’t guess it, but on a whim he decides to try the old familiar code - 36320.

His heart does a funny flop in his chest, he swallows hard imagining of TK thinking about him every time he typed in Carlos’ unit number to unlock his phone. The home screen comes up and Carlos is able to click on the notification for the message.

1 unsaved message - would you like to play and save now?

A solid minute debate follows. He really should just turn the phone off, but it’s possible the message could be lost then and he has no way of knowing if it’s important. It’s really not his place to listen to it though and he considers finding Nancy and asking her to listen to it instead, In the end fate decides for him as the phone flashes the warning for low battery and he has no choice, but to click yes, before the phone turns off on its own.

TK’s voice floats down the line and finds Carlos’ breath catches in his throat. He holds it, not wanting the slightest sound to disrupt what might be his last chance at hearing the love of his life.

Hey. This weather is crazy. I didn’t know it could get like this in Texas. You never told me it could get like this in Texas, always just making fun of me for hoarding hoodies. I’m really going to enjoy my hoodie today.

Carlos listens to the message, taking in the easy going rhythm of TK’s voice. It seems like he’s talking to an old friend. Sharing an inside joke. Except if Carlos didn’t know better he’d say it was their inside joke, because he was forever teasing TK about his love of sweatshirts. While secretly hoping he’d be able to steal one from his side of the closet without TK noticing. In fact his brain had betrayed him with that very thought this morning upon waking up to the cold before he remembered that their closet existed no more.

But I’m at work so I’ll keep this short. I’m sure it’s all hands on deck today and I just wanted to say, stay safe. Okay?

The way TK’s voice has gone soft, quiet around the plea, a question raising at the end. It makes Carlos’ heart clench to hear TK directing those words, that tone, to anyone else. For someone else to be granted the parts of TK that were once saved for Carlos alone. It makes him wonder if he should even be here at all or if there is someone else out there that they need to call. Surely Nancy would know though. She’s not cruel, she would never call Carlos here if she knew that TK was seeing someone else.

That's all. I know it’s a lame message, but I needed to say it.

There are a lot of things that I need to say, but none of them are appropriate for a recording, so please just stay safe so that I hopefully get the chance sometime soon. Okay.

*alarm blares in the background* -Shit

Bye Carlos.

Carlos’ heart freezes, stutters, then starts again at a rabbit pace. He has to have heard wrong right? There is no way that TK would be recording a message for Carlos nearly three months after their breakup. Carlos’ mind is just trying to protect itself. He can’t possibly have heard TK say his name. The phone beeps and he pulls it away from his ear to see the notification asking him if he’d like to save the message. Slamming his finger down on the ‘yes’ button and hitting play again with just as much veracity. Before he can even bring the phone back to his ear it beeps and the screen fades to black.

It takes a physical effort not to hurl the damn thing into a wall, but instead he digs around for the power cord he carries in his bag before grabbing all his things and hurrying out to find an outlet. He finds himself back in the ICU waiting room, outlets conveniently lining the walls behind all the visitor chairs. It makes sense since this seems to be a place of perpetual waiting. Carlos ducks his head to avoid the look TK’s nurse shoots him as she steps back into the nurses’ station.

He settles in, with the phone connected to the charging cord and watches as the little battery meter moves, up and down. A quick glance towards TK’s room reveals closed doors and pulled curtains, not allowing even the smallest glimpse of what might be occurring on the other side. Nervous anticipation of what waits for him on TK’s phone causes him to tap his foot against the ground anxiously, wringing his hands together. Finally after what feels like an appropriate amount of time has passed for the phone to be charged enough to turn on, he pushes the button. It is torture waiting as the screen lights up and cycles through the starting features and all the while TK’s voice echoes in his ears, ‘Bye, Carlos’, ringing until he well and truly believes it was a trick of his mind.

Typing in the password is as disconcerting as the last time, and for the first time since the break up, and the long interminable months of silence, Carlos lets himself imagine a world in which TK missed him just as much as he missed TK. He lets himself imagine that his foolish pining wasn’t as unrequited as he always thought. Those thoughts only bring him more grief at the time that they’ve lost. Wasted really.

As the phone finishes turning on he pauses to look at TK’s background. It’s a picture of Buttercup. Cute, but generic, not even some silly moment, and as much as TK loves that dog it feels kind of stale. By now he knows he’s stalling as he hesitates before clicking into the recorded messages app, closing it just as quickly. It was easy to tell himself last time that he was just trying to make sure TK didn’t lose whatever message he was trying to store. Now though, he is making a choice to dig into TK’s private world, somewhere that Carlos hasn’t had a place in for a long time.

The desire to hear TK’s voice again, and to confirm or deny that he is indeed losing what little grip on reality he has, wins out. He opens the app. What he sees nearly makes him drop the phone.

There is a single folder labeled with his name. The words For Carlos shining like a spotlight.

With a shaking finger he opens the folder and for a long moment just stares at the screen, not able to comprehend what he’s seeing. His thumb rests absently against the surface of the phone before he shifts it to scroll back through the saved messages. There seems to be a lot, and when he hits the end, he scrolls slowly back, counting as he goes, all the way up to nineteen.

The most recent one, the one he listened to earlier, is dated today, and suddenly he just has to know when TK started this. When he hits the end again, the date, October 26th, 2021, screams at him. That was only a week after TK left. Only two days after Carlos’ last failed attempt to contact him and communicate. Anger twists his stomach into knots thinking about how TK could somehow put into words a message for him, but he couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and send him a text.

His fingers curl around the phone, knuckles turning white as he bows his head and tries to take a few steadying breaths. It’s not working nearly as well as he’d like as all of the emotions he has long thought he worked through in the three months since the break up come roaring right back to the surface. Prominent among them is anger. Anger at TK for running away so easily. Anger at himself for trying to give someone everything he had. Anger at the fire that started the downward spiral of the most important relationship Carlos has ever had. Anger is easy to hold on to. Sure it burns bright and the pain is sharp, but it also drowns out the fear and uncertainty that has clung to him like a cloak since Nancy’s words that ‘it wasn’t good’.

The thing about the fire of anger is that it doesn’t last long and it leaves damage behind. As the heat of the anger burns away, the ambient noises of the ICU fill in the raw gaps left open. The squeak of a nurse's shoes as she strides purposefully towards a room, the screech of a heart monitor echoing as a door is opened, the stifled crying of a loved one as they sink into a chair down the hall. All of them serve as a reminder of why he is here and why he needs to listen to those messages; he needs to know before it’s too late. He needs the truth and if he can’t get it directly from the man himself, then the messages he’s left, clearly intended for Carlos, are going to have to suffice.

Carlos hesitates one last time as he decides which order to listen to the messages in. In the end he realizes they’ll probably make the most sense chronologically, even if his heart is screaming at him about reliving his worst nightmare. He has to shake off the thought that the break up was his worst nightmare until a few hours ago when he saw TK lying lifeless in his hospital bed, a shell of himself.

Opening the message dated for October 26th, and hitting the play button, TK’s voice echoes into the space of the ICU. With a jolt he pauses the recording. Suddenly aware that he doesn’t want anyone else to hear these. He wants, no needs, to keep TK’s private words and thoughts safely tucked away in his heart. It takes him a long minute to dig his headphones out of his bag and his foot is anxiously bouncing against the floor by the time he does. Needing to do something, to move, he stands up as he slips them in, only to be stopped short by the cord still connecting the phone to the wall. With a resigned sigh, he sinks back into the chair, shifting in an attempt to get more comfortable and shake off the strange feelings surfacing.

Scrolling to the beginning of the message again, TK’s voice suddenly washes over him.

“Hey Carlos, it’s TK.

Damn, this is weird. But my therapist keeps insisting that I can’t keep bottling everything up inside and since I hate writing, and you’ve seen my handwriting, well I guess this is the next best thing.

The words are hesitant, the joke obviously forced. Carlos cringes at the mention of the therapist that TK had stopped seeing sometime. His brain catches on that thought and he pauses the recording as he tries to remember exactly when TK stopped seeing his therapist. He remembers an offhand remark or two about it before the fire. He is sure that TK went at least a couple of times while they were living with Owen though. In fact he distinctly remembers TK asking him if he’d like to go with. Mentioning how it might help to talk about everything that happened.

Carlos had vehemently opposed the idea. He was fine. He didn’t need to talk about his feelings. It was great that it seemed to help TK, but it just wasn’t Carlos’ thing. Trying not to dwell on the what ifs of that situation he hits play again.

I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say though. We never really got that far since I kind of shot her down every time she’s tried to suggest this. Everything’s still kinda a mess in my head too honestly. I’ve started therapy again, which I guess you probably already realized. My dad insisted. He could tell I’m not really doing well. I’m slipping, the world is grey again.

Shit. His head falls into his hands as he hears confirmation of one of his worries during their break up.

Shit. No that’s not on you by the way. Crap I never want you to feel like you’re responsible for my decisions or feelings, because you’re not. They’re mine. But I’m not, well I’m not okay. Shit. I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this. Any of this. You never did. I’m just gonna ….”

The message cuts out and he sits there for a long moment, head cradles in his palms, tears building behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly to clear them, desperate to keep a hold on his emotions for as long as possible. When he thinks he’s okay, he plays the message again. Listening to the way TK’s words waver, the tremor that is clear in his voice.

Something Carlos learned early on is that when TK gets talking, he has a way of just spitting out whatever words come to his brain first. Over time, Carlos had been able to pick out what words were most important by the inflection in TK’s voice. A pause before something that he was unsure of, a tremble when he was struggling to keep hold of his emotions, a quiet laugh that was more self-deprecating than actually happy.

He hears it all now.

A pause before telling Carlos the world is grey, and Carlos is wondering if TK was remembering the first time he told him that too.

The tremble in TK’s voice as he tells Carlos that he isn’t responsible for TK’s decisions or feelings. As if that would make Carlos feel even an inch better that TK was clearly suffering. In this moment he wishes he had tried harder, hadn’t given up as quickly, forced TK to stop and talk, done anything really besides let his pride and anger drive him to giving up.

Still the worst part of subtle undertones that make up TK Strand’s particular style of communication is the quiet laugh, more a breath of regret and self-loathing that he hears when TK tells him Carlos didn’t deserve ‘any of this’. That is the knife to his heart. Because he knows TK well enough to read between the lines. At that moment he was referring to himself. TK was fully convinced that he didn’t deserve Carlos and that he never had.

After listening to the message three times he lets the silence engulf him. It’s been a long time since he truly reflected on his own feelings from the beginning of their break up. Mostly he remembers believing that TK would come back, until he didn’t. When that realization hit, he let the anger overcome the hurt in order to cope with his truth that TK must not want to be with him. Over time anger burned those feelings into TK just simply not loving him.

He’s a little ashamed now to hear that TK was actively taking steps to better himself while Carlos really just pushed it all into a box and pretended there was nothing to fix. He wishes TK could see from his perspective how good that makes him, how beautiful it is to keep fighting even when it’d be easier to just give up.

The longer he sits on the uncomfortable hospital chair, the more all of his emotions are mixing into one big mess inside his head. He is still angry. He thinks he deserves that right. After all, TK could have called him, could have texted him, could have sent him that frickin’ message when he made it. Any of those options would have been better in Carlos’ mind than the continued radio silence that lasted for nearly three months.

He also feels guilty. After they yelled and TK walked out Carlos couldn’t understand what TK was so upset about. However, over time he begrudgingly came to admit, if only to himself, that making such a big decision on TK’s behalf wasn’t the best thing he’s ever done. If he is honest with himself, he was also way too proud to ever reach out to TK and say that to him.

As Carlos lifts his head and looks to the ceiling, stretching stiff muscles in his neck, all those emotions give way for grief. Grief for the relationship that they had both let go of. Grief for the pain that they had both suffered. Grief for the future that was more uncertain for them now than yesterday. His head thunks back against the wall behind him and he closes his eyes. TK’s voice still echoes in his ears, but suddenly he needs more.

He lifts the phone until he can see the screen and notes the date of the next message, October 28th. The familiar burn of anger returns that TK could have had so much to say to him then, but couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and actually say it to him. There is nothing he can do now except hit play and hope to find some answers.

“I talked to Doctor Matterson. She told me that it’s okay to start smaller with these messages. That I don’t have to get into my emotions about what happened right away. That explaining them out loud isn’t necessarily important for this. We’re of course still working on that. But she said for this I should just talk without pressure.

Carlos scoffs, TK avoiding difficult situations is not necessarily anything new, but he had thought they were past the stage of their relationship where he was the difficult situation. Thought that was left somewhere in the ashes of their old house. Although, maybe it was really the stability of their relationship that burned that day.

So, hi. It’s Thursday.

Despite himself, he laughs, TK has never sounded this awkward before. Always so self assured, confident. Except he realizes with a start that’s not always true. The times TK opened up and really let himself be exposed there was always a hesitancy that seemed so uncharacteristic of TK.

Cap, Nancy and I are still working at Paragon. It’s nice to be able to stay together. Especially with the rest of the 126 split up and with them not having room for more paramedics. Plus the pay is still good.

God damn pay. He never cared about the money.

I’m going to keep living with dad for a while. Save some money. See if I can’t fix my mistakes before. — Ha I don’t know what I was going to say before. They’ve already cost me everything.

Anyways. I hope you’re doing well. Bye.

The familiar feeling of exasperation over TK’s single minded focus on what Carlos didn’t consider an issue. He wants to take TK’s shoulders and shake some sense into him. He wants the chance to tell him it was never about the money. He also wishes TK had given Carlos the chance to show him that his mistakes didn't have to cost him anything.

Now both their mistakes may have cost them the most important thing.

Time.

Without wasting any more time he hits play on the next message dated October 30th. Nothing plays for a long minute and he actually lifts his head from where it’s still resting against the wall to check and make sure the message is indeed playing. It is and it’s almost thirty seconds in with nothing yet. Almost convinced that this was an accidental recording he goes to fast forward just as TK’s voice starts.

Hey Carlos. So I don’t really have anything to tell you. I’m on the tail-end of my forty-eight hours off before we start a twenty-four hour shift tomorrow.

The soft, breathy quality of TK’s voice betrays his exhaustion even through a message and Carlos would swear that TK was just coming off of a forty-eight hour not the other way around. Carlos hasn’t slept well since the break up himself. He’s just about gotten used to the way his bed still feels too big and how there are too many pillows for one person. He’ll never get used to the way the mattress, just this side too soft for Carlos' own preferences, engulfs him every time he lays down. He’d bought it on a whim, needing something to sleep on, believing that TK would come back, and remembering the way his lovingly, annoyable boyfriend complained about how hard Carlos’ old firm mattress was.

Lost in his thoughts he misses most of the message until his brain picks up on the change in tone, so much self-loathing coating every word.

I don’t really know. But I think you deserve that at least. I think I'm just too scared to have you confirm that it's over, that you're done dealing with my bullshit. Anyways.

He sits for a full minute before realizing that he’s reached the end of the message. Wondering what he missed, because certainly that can’t be all TK had to say, he hits play again. Waiting through the deafening silence for TK’s voice.

Hey Carlos. So I don’t really have anything to tell you. I’m on the tail-end of my forty-eight hours off before we start a twenty-four hour shift tomorrow. I’m lonely. It’s weird there are still three of us at dad’s house, but Mateo’s been working longer hours. Dad’s been busy trying to save the 126 and even when he’s here, he isn’t really here. He makes an effort for me, but I can tell he is struggling.

Anyway, all that to say that I really just miss you.

I almost called you yesterday, until I realized I had no idea what I’d say. And I’m also not sure I’m ready for your anger. Justified or not. I really wish I was brave enough, because I think I’ve finally realized that I’m not really angry about the loft and that I could probably talk instead of running. Maybe…. I don’t really know. But I think you deserve that at least. I think I'm just too scared to have you confirm that it's over, that you're done dealing with my bullshit. Anyways.

The silence at the end catches him off guard again. There are too many thoughts floating through his head from what TK says for him to pick one to focus on. It’s a cycle through thoughts about Owen being an absentee parent, again, TK being lonely, but refusing to reach out, and fear being the root of a lot of their problems.

As he’s mulling over that thought he spots the nurse from earlier making her way over to him. He pulls out his headphones and stands just as she reaches him.

“The doctor is done with tests for now if you’d like to go sit with him.”

He wrings his hands around TK’s phone, “Yes- yes, I’d like that.” Somehow he manages to get the words out and the nurse smiles softly at him before placing a gentle hand on his elbow to guide him into TK’s room. The sight that greets him almost brings him to his knees. Despite having caught a few glimpses of TK across the hall before, being up close is a different experience entirely.

The ventilator is the dominating feature of the room, taking up physical space and creating an echoing sound that drowns out everything else. “I’ll be back to check on him in a bit.” The nurse says from somewhere over his shoulder as he remains motionless just inside the doorway. It takes several agonizing moments before he has control of himself enough to make it to one of the chairs positioned next to TK’s bedside. Sinking into the uncomfortable seat just far enough away to be considered ‘distant’, he takes in TK’s features. His face is slack, skin a sunken, sallow, colorless mask.

The urge to touch runs along his arm to his fingertips and his hand briefly lifts before dropping heavily with the knowledge that he doesn’t have the right to touch without asking anymore. It hurts his heart, knowing how tactile a person TK is, and how much comfort touch usually brings him, but he can’t break that last barrier of trust that exists. Instead he settles back into the chair, leaning away slightly from TK and pulling out his headphones again. The app is still open when he taps the screen awake and his finger hovers over the next message for a long moment. When he finally is able to press the button again he wishes he hadn’t.

Hey babe … shit. Let me just …. *background noises, buttons being pressed rustling … *

Hey Carlos.

Carlos can’t slam the pause button fast enough as he shoots out of his chair and moves to pace along the wall as far away from the body in the bed as he can. Hearing the accidental slip up of TK’s voice calling him the well worn nickname that Carlos secretly loved is too much to bear as the man he loves lies nearly lifeless in his hospital bed. Because yes, Carlos still loves TK, just as much as the day he walked away and listening to this message here and now feels a little too much like an omen that he’ll never hear the real thing again. It feels like all he’ll ever have are these recorded words and the sound of TK’s voice, slightly distorted floating into his ears.

It is a reminder that there is a real possibility that he will never hear that voice, light with teasing, whispering in his ear. Or that voice muffled with sleep as they wake up together and greet another day as the team they always said they were. Or that voice thick with emotion as TK tells him how much he loves him, because TK took every opportunity to make sure he knew his love. Hell he’d even take that voice yelling in anger again if it meant TK standing whole and alive in front of him. It’s all too much and he can’t even look at TK as he rushes out of the room nearly bowling Nancy over as she enters.

“Whoa bud, everything okay?” Nancy stops him with her hands on his shoulders as she peeks around him to take in TK’s form on the bed. When she focuses her gaze back on him he’s been able to school his features back into what he thinks resembles a controlled mask of professionalism. Feeling tucked away, hidden in the deepest parts of himself. Nancy tilts her head as she takes him in, “give me a second with him.” She gestures behind him and he takes advantage of her letting go of his shoulder to step out of the embrace. A small nod in acknowledgement of her words is all he can offer her and without the slightest glance back into the room he slides past.

He’s back on the same chair as before, knee bouncing frantically when Captain Vega enters the ICU. Her gaze is drawn first to the room that TK’s in, but she quickly turns towards him and makes her way over. It’s like a shock to his system as he stands, awkwardly accepting the hug she offers. No words are exchanged, as they settled back into their seats. Nancy joins them a minute later, hand immediately resting on his thigh as she settles on his side opposite Captain Vega.

“Has the doctor been by with an update?”

There’s a moment’s pause before Carlos realizes with a start that the question was directed at him. If asked he couldn’t even say who it came from, so he glances up, and then back and forth.

“No,” he offers quietly.

No more questions are asked. They just sit there silently, shifting every few moments, flexing arms, stretching legs, occasionally giving touches of support, comfort. He barely registers any of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his mother’s voice screams at him for abandoning his manners. He should ask them something. Provide them comfort. These are two of the most important people in TK’s life. Two people that he knows highly regard TK, call him their friend, and here he is just an ex, without a claim in the world to the man dying in that bed and he can’t pull himself out of it long enough to say or do anything at all.

Thankfully they’re not kept waiting long before a doctor is approaching them. Carlos watches her approach and holds his breath. He’s good at reading people, has to be for his job, and all he sees now is regret and compassion. This is a person ready to give condolences that he doesn’t want to hear.

#ali writes #secret messages #tarlos break up era fic #tarlos #tarlos fanfic #tk strand #carlos reyes #3x03 #canon level medical angst #911 lone star #911 ls fic

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