Archive of Our Own ^beta

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I can't be alone
Guess I never told you so
Making my way towards you
Tracing out a line
A route I've mapped a thousand times
Making my way towards you
– Paladin Strait, Twenty One Pilots
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“Captain Strand,” Carlos says slowly, leading Buttercup by the collar into the firehouse, where Marjan quickly takes her off his hands and Owen offers a weak smile. “You’ve got to keep a closer eye on this one. We got a call from Animal Control, they only let me take her because she hadn’t really done anything, and I told them she belonged to FD. She was just wandering in a public park, about a mile east.”

“Thank you, Officer.”
“Just call me Carlos .”
“Not until you call me Owen.” The fire captain shrugs, gesturing to the kitchen. “Do you want to take a quick break? I’ll make you a smoothie or a coffee.”
“I’ll always take one of your smoothies, Captain.”
“ Owen.”

Carlos gives a small laugh, locking his patrol car and following Owen into the kitchen. Paul raises a hand in greeting, Judd murmuring a quiet howdy and returning to the sheets of paperwork before him, glasses sitting low on his nose.

Pulling the various ingredients from the fridge, Owen gestures for Carlos to take a seat at the bar. “How’re things over at PD?”
"Not bad. A little busy, but they’re getting good numbers at the academy, so we’re expecting a decent number of recruits in the New Year.”
“That’s good to hear.” Owen hums.

Carlos is itching to ask about the elephant in the room – or perhaps the human not in the room. He’s only heard TK’s name in passing, when Owen has mentioned him, and seen him at the bar the first night when the Strands came to town. Carlos regrets not asking the man to dance that night, now, because every time he’s ended up at the 126, Medical’s been out on a call.

And he tries to restrain himself from posing the question, he really does. But he can tell from the sharp, knowing glint in Owen’s eye that it’s expected from him now – it wouldn’t be the first time Carlos has brought up the man in a less-than-smooth manner, but it’s still humiliating and degrading and entirely below him, really.

And he does it anyway.

“Where’s, uh, medical?”
“They went out for Buttercup.” Judd says from the far end of the table, his gaze slipping up over his glasses. “I radio’d ‘em when y’all came in. They’re five out.”

Carlos sucks in a short breath at that, clearing his throat when Paul gives a sideways glance. He’s not in love with the man, or anything, but that night in the bar plays on his mind often; TK’s cheekbones in the dim lights, the smirk wide on his face when he met Carlos’ eyes, the slopes of his shoulders wrapped carefully in his brown button-up. 

For some reason – probably that TK’s gorgeous, and Carlos hasn’t been with anyone romantically in nearly a year – that vision loops itself carefully into his brain every now and then, like a reminder of what could’ve happened if he’d had the guts to ask for a dance. Maybe then Carlos wouldn’t be sitting here at the bench, eyes sliding over to where the ambulance would soon be parked, desperately waiting for a man who probably doesn’t even remember his name from the few calls that have overlapped between them.

Maybe he’d be sitting here over a smoothie, talking easily with Owen, waiting for TK, his boyfriend, so they could have lunch together, or so they could talk, or just so they could see each other briefly before both returning to their jobs. It would be a possibility, if he’d gone over to TK that night in the bar and just asked him to dance. If I wasn’t such a coward.

He’s so engulfed by this muddled, non-linear collection of thoughts that he doesn’t even realise the time passing, Owen’s irregular, emotive tones filling the time graciously. That is, until Medical pulls into the barn, Paul standing out of his seat to go greet them and the sound of barks echoing around the corner.

Owen moves to stand behind the coffee machine, eyes wandering across the barn, and Carlos stands to take a place next to him. The Paramedic Captain climbs out of the passenger's side seat, her feet falling gracefully to the floor of the barn with her dark hair pulled into a tight, no-nonsense bun, a tiny curl peeking out. Nancy steps out of the back cabin, waving a greeting to Owen and high-fiving Paul, but Carlos’ attention is driven behind her quickly.

TK falls gently out of the rig, the soft slap of his boots on concrete thankfully hiding the short, sharp breath Carlos takes. The wintry morning light falls across his face and lights his hair a chilly, dark shade; his long sleeves cover his arms, but slender fingers wrapped in bands of silver and black slide down into his pockets, and his toned build is only accentuated by the fabric covering it. He seems to spin slowly on the spot, eyes searching the room until a bark echoes behind him; Marjan is two steps behind Buttercup as the dog bolts over to TK, watching with a soft brow and a slack-jawed smile as the man crouches down to meet a barreling ball of fur.

TK is practically knocked backwards with the force of Buttercup’s hurling movements, laughing as he’s pushed firmly onto his ass, dog-tongue kisses spread lovingly across his face. “Hey, darling,” He chokes out, tilting his head up to keep dog slobber well away from his mouth, his laughs echoing off the barn floor.

Eventually Buttercup calms down enough to let TK up, and walks instead resolutely by the man’s side as he comes over to Owen; Carlos can feel sweat pricking on his palms, his back taut with the tension he can already feel building in the air around him – but it’s likely just him, he realises, because what are the odds TK even knows who he is?

“Oh my god, Dad, did he just come back?” TK rushes quickly as a way of greeting, his eyes sliding slowly over Carlos face before he turns back to Owen. “Like, on his own, or did a civvy find–”
“Actually,” Paul steps up to TK’s side, reaching a hand down to run it through Buttercup’s fur. “Officer Reyes here brought him in.”

That’s the first solid acknowledgement that TK gives him, when his gaze lands firmly on the lines of Carlos’ face; his eyes seem to search Carlos’ expression, although for what, it isn’t clear. Carlos steps sideways around the bench, lifting his own gaze carefully to meet TK’s, wiping the sweat off his hand on his pant leg before lifting it to shake.

TK seems to process this movement, going to lift his own hand; but he quickly steps forward instead, his body colliding with Carlos’ and arms wrapping tight around his neck. The air seems to warm over in the barn, a thick sort of longing twisting through Carlos’ body with every touch of TK’s skin on his own; he’s shocked by the comfort, the ease with which his own arms seem to return the favour, hands resting flat against the planes of TK’s back in a way far too familiar to them both.

Eventually TK steps back slowly, an undeniable flush creeping up his neck and a slack-jawed smile spread taut across his face, hands falling awkwardly back to his sides. “I just– Buttercup means a lot to me. To all of us, I mean. And, uh. Shit, just– why don’t you stay for lunch? As a thank you? Uh, Paul said he would make his chili.”
“I mean, I would love to, but I should probably get back out. I’m on patrol, technically.”
“Officer,” Owen says politely, although his tone is laced with something brash. “This firehouse is in your service zone, correct?”
“Technically, yes.” Carlos says slowly,  "Although it’s right on the edge.”
“And you stopping to eat is a necessary, accepted part of your job, correct?” 

Carlos shakes his head resignedly, a small smile creeping onto his face. “I suppose, Captain.”
“For God’s sake, call me Owen.” The man responds pointedly. “And Paul, start cooking, quick-smart, or else Officer Reyes here might find a reason to abandon us.”

Paul and Judd head back into the kitchen, the older man stacking his papers away and the younger pulling various ingredients out of cabinets and the fridge, tugging a huge silver pot from a cupboard. Owen heads over to meet Captain Vega, and Marjan joins Nancy, both heading over to the gym.

Carlos moves to follow Paul back into the kitchen; it feels volatile, really, to stay in a room alone with TK – Carlos might kiss him, or embarrass himself, or do the latter by doing the former – so he turns and takes that first step, but a gentle touch on his wrist pulls him backwards.

“Carlos, I’m… just, thank you. Seriously. This dog, he’s…”
“You really love him,” Carlos’ voice softens, and he steps carefully around to face TK again. “I know.”

TK nods slowly, rounding Carlos’ shoulder with a small, tense smile and wandering into the kitchen; his gaze flicks over to Carlos’ all throughout the meal, and the policeman would swear up and down that there was hesitation in that dimpled grin; a moment of sadness, of longing, he dares to think. And he knows, really, when he gets a request on his Instagram late that night, that TK felt it too. He felt that heat, that tenderness, that need, too.

It was an instantaneous connection; even that night in the bar, every call that has overlapped between them since, every glance and every smile and every word floating in the air between them has been charged with a brilliant, blinding tension, engulfing them both into something they are powerless to stop; the kind of love you can’t get away from.

And Carlos is pretty damn glad of that.