Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Carlos unlocked the door to the loft just after 1 a.m., the quiet click of the deadbolt echoing louder than it should have. He didn’t bother turning on the light. He had known TK wouldn’t be home, but the emptiness of the loft still hit harder than it had any right to. Home felt colder without his husband, quieter in a way that pressed on Carlos’s chest. His eyes rested on TK’s throw blanket draped over the back of the couch, the book he had been reading sitting on the coffee table. TK’s mug was in the sink. His scent still lingered faintly in the air, clean and familiar. Carlos exhaled slowly, letting the silence settle around him like a weight. He missed his husband. Even though he knew TK was at work, had expected his absence, it still felt wrong to come home without him here.

He set his keys down on the table and leaned against it for a moment, staring blankly out at the quiet, dark room. The Gabriel Reyes case board—his father’s case—was still spread across his mind, unsolved and unfinished, making it hard to fully focus on anything else. Every hour he poured into it felt necessary, like penance, like duty. But lately, it also felt like it was costing him something more. The long nights, the quiet dinners missed, the brief kisses exchanged in passing—all of it had stretched the space between him and TK just enough to hurt. Not a rift, not a fight. Just...a quiet ache. A distance. A longing for the constant closeness they used to share. And still, he loved TK so deeply it scared him. He missed him more than he could admit out loud. Missed him especially now, standing in the middle of the home they share, with nothing but silence and shadow for company. Despite the love and how much he missed his husband, Carlos wasn’t sure how to make this better.

His father's murder had been eating at him for over a year. It chewed through his sleep, his focus, the edges of his life. It wasn’t just the grief, though that still caught him by the throat sometimes. It was the way the pieces refused to fit. The way his father had been taken from him, so suddenly, so senselessly, and the way Carlos couldn’t let it go until he made it make sense. Until he found justice. Not just for himself, but for his family. His mother, who had to watch the man she loved be gunned down on their own doorstep. And Carlos’s father himself. The man who raised Carlos, helped shape him into the man he is today, despite how strained their relationship may have been for years. The man Carlos was finally starting to build a close relationship with right when he was taken from him far too soon.

That need for justice had driven everything lately, and it scared him. It was frightening how easy it was to disappear into it, how many nights he'd come home too late to even see TK’s face before collapsing into bed. But even through the worst of it, TK had never complained. He understood. He always did. There was comfort in that, in knowing that even if things weren't the way they should be, TK was still with him. His husband. His soulmate. The love of his life.

He pushed off the table with a quiet sigh and headed toward the bathroom, taking a detour to pass by Lou’s tank on the way. The bearded dragon was basking under his heat lamp, barely stirring as Carlos crouched to check on him. “Hey, buddy,” he murmured, tapping gently on the glass. “You good?” Lou blinked slowly, noncommittal. Carlos may not understand his husband’s love of the creature before him, but the fact of that love had given Carlos a fondness for the small beast. Carlos managed a tired half-smile, thinking about TK’s joy when he had first presented Lou to him. Living with a lizard in the house would have never been Carlos’s first choice, but it was worth it to make his husband happy. He stood and continued toward the bathroom, shedding his jacket on the way. He badly needed a shower. The steam and the quiet of it might be the only thing that would help him reset after the weight of the day. Or at least rinse off the feeling that he was holding everything together with unraveling thread.

The water was hot, almost scalding, but Carlos didn’t bother adjusting it. He let it run over his shoulders, over the tightness in his spine, wishing it could reach deeper, past the ache of muscles, into the ache of memory and grief ever-present inside of him. He braced his hands against the tiled wall and let his head drop forward, eyes closed, breathing slow. Ten minutes passed. Maybe more. He got out of the shower, toweled off mechanically, brushed his teeth without looking at himself in the mirror, and padded into the bedroom.

He didn’t bother turning on the bedside lamp. Just pulled back the covers and slipped into the cold sheets alone.

TK’s side of the bed was untouched, just as he’d left it. The absence was sharper in the dark. It had changed from a dull ache to a piercing pain.

Carlos lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’d thought the exhaustion would knock him out instantly, but he felt nowhere near sleep. His mind churned—Gabriel’s case, TK on shift instead of in the bed next to him, the silence of the loft pressing in around him. He closed his eyes and tried to think of happier times. TK’s smile, the most beautiful thing Carlos had ever seen. The night TK woke him up in this very bed to ask him to be his husband. Their wedding, the best night of Carlos’s life.

Carlos resolved in that moment to do better. To be a better husband, be more present. He wouldn’t give up on his father’s case. He could never do that, and TK would never ask him to. But he could make more of an effort to be there for his husband. To cherish him, to spend time together. He could do that.

He was just starting to drift off, comforted by his resolve to make things better with TK, when the knock came.

Soft. Three quick raps at the door.

Carlos froze. His chest tightened. Not fear yet—just... a knowing. Something was wrong. He was sure of it instinctively. It was too late for anyone to be visiting for any good reason. Just past 3 a.m.

Carlos threw back the covers and was on his feet in an instant, heart already starting to pound. His mind raced ahead of his body, cataloging every possibility. A neighbor? The landlord? A mistake?

No—too late for that.

And then came the worst thought of all.

TK.

He was at work. Supposed to be safe with his crew. But Carlos had seen enough terrible nights to know that “supposed to” meant nothing. How many times had a simple shift turned to disaster? Too many for Carlos to breathe easily at this moment.

He grabbed a hoodie off the floor, pulling it on as he crossed the loft, barefoot and half-blind in the dark. The knock hadn’t come again.

He reached the door and opened it—

Owen.

Carlos’s breath caught. His father-in-law stood in the hallway, his face pale, his eyes rimmed red. He looked…broken. He didn’t speak.

And that scared Carlos more than anything else.

That, along with the fact that Owen was supposed to be at work too. On shift with TK. But Owen was here and TK wasn’t.

“Owen?” Carlos said, voice already trembling. “What is it? What happened?”

Chapter Text

The rotors were already spinning when TK reached the helipad, wind whipping his hair as he jogged toward the chopper with Nancy close behind. The call had come in about a hiker—mid-thirties, female, serious leg trauma after slipping on a rocky overlook. No safe way in or out without air support. It wasn’t their first helicopter rescue, but the terrain was brutal, and time wasn’t on their side. Captain Vega had looked deadly serious when she gave the assignment, her tone all business. TK had nodded, grabbed his gear, and moved, but his mind hadn’t quite followed.

He was still thinking about Carlos.

He climbed into the helicopter, adjusted his headset, and clipped his harness with practiced hands, but his thoughts kept circling back to their loft and the empty bed Carlos would come home to. That is, if he came home at all and didn’t spend the night at his desk at the Texas Rangers offices, drinking coffee from the vending machine and poring over his case files.

TK had texted him before his shift, just a simple “Be safe. I love you.” It had gone unanswered for hours, then finally TK had gotten a brief “You too ♥️” in return.

He knew what Carlos was going through. The case—his father’s murder—had consumed him for over a year, pulling him deeper and deeper into files and theories and late-night phone calls that meant Carlos never got enough sleep. TK didn’t blame him. He understood. But understanding didn’t quiet the ache. It didn’t stop him from worrying about Carlos not getting enough sleep, not eating proper meals, suffocating from the stress. It didn’t stop the way it felt like Carlos was slowly slipping away from him.

Carlos was still his husband. Still loving, still kind. Still TK’s favorite person in the world. But it felt like they barely saw each other these days. TK could count on one hand the number of times they’d both gone to bed and woken up together in the last month. More often than not, it was Carlos slipping into bed hours after TK had fallen asleep, or if Carlos did go to bed at a reasonable hour with TK, TK would usually wake up alone because Carlos had already left for the office before the sun came up. Even when they were able to find spare moments to be together, it was like Carlos wasn’t quite there, as much as he tried to be. And he was trying, TK knew he was. But his mind was always on the case, and sometimes it felt like Carlos was subconsciously counting down the minutes until he could get out his case files again, usually ending up on the phone chasing down potential leads until the early hours of the morning.

TK didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t even know how to talk about it without sounding selfish. It’s not like he was going to tell Carlos to stop trying to find justice for his father. That was unthinkable.

He just...missed him. Missed them.

The helicopter lifted off with a shudder and a roar, vibrating beneath them as they rose above the city. The sun was setting and, even through his preoccupation, TK had to admit the view wasn’t half bad. He forced himself to push the thoughts aside—Carlos, the case, the weight of everything he couldn’t fix. There wasn’t room for that up here and there would be even less when they made it to the injured hiker.

“Think she’s conscious?” he asked, glancing over at Nancy.

“Dispatch said she was when the call came in,” Nancy replied, her voice steady over the hum of the rotors. “But that was twenty minutes ago, and the signal was garbage. Could go either way.”

TK nodded, shifting his grip on the strap beside him.

Nancy gave him a sideways look. “You okay?”

TK hesitated. Then he forced a smile, “Yeah. Just tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly.

Nancy didn’t press. She just nodded and turned back toward the window, and TK let the silence stretch between them. The wind rushed past the helicopter’s frame, the city slipping into wilderness beneath them.

Nancy shifted in her seat, squinting out the window at the ground far below. “Why is it always cliffs?” she muttered. “Can’t people sprain ankles on flat sidewalks like the rest of us?”

TK laughed quietly. “You say that now, but you know you’d be bored without the chaos.”

“Sure, but at least I’d be bored with both feet on the ground,” she shot back. “Helicopters make me nervous.”

TK raised an eyebrow. “Still? You’ve been on, like, twenty of these.”

“Yeah, and every time I survive one, I think, ‘Cool, let’s never do that again.’”

TK managed a smile, but it faded quickly. The weight in his chest didn’t.

Nancy gave him a glance, and her voice softened. “You sure you’re okay?”

He nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah. Just...long week.”

Nancy didn’t push, but her silence was gentle—like she understood there was more, but wouldn’t make him say it. She, of course, knew all about Carlos’s father’s murder and everything they’d gone through. And she knew TK well. She could probably guess what the “more” was without him having to say anyway.

Outside, the cliffs rose up to meet them. It would be dark soon.

TK adjusted his harness and turned his eyes forward, readying himself for the task ahead. The moment his boots hit the ground, he’d have to be all focus. No distractions. No feelings. No thoughts of home and husband.

The helicopter touched down hard on the uneven ridge, the rotors still roaring as TK and Nancy jumped out, gear bags in hand. The wind kicked up dust and leaves around them, but visibility was decent enough to spot the crumpled figure near the cliff’s edge, about twenty feet from the landing site.

“She’s unconscious,” Nancy said quickly, already moving.

As they approached, TK’s eyes swept the rocky outcrop. “Wait,” he said, pointing. “There’s another one.”

Sure enough, maybe ten feet downhill, partially obscured by brush, a second woman was sprawled out on her side, unmoving.

“Seriously?” Nancy muttered, already grabbing her radio. “Dispatch, this is Medic One. We’ve located two patients. Both appear unconscious. Only space for one on board—please advise.”

They dropped to their knees beside the closer woman and began their assessment. TK checked vitals while Nancy carefully checked for any obvious trauma.

“Breathing shallow,” TK said, continuing his assessment. “Pulse is thready. I think she’s going into shock.”

Nancy nodded. “She’s got a broken leg at least, possibly ribs. Pupils reactive, but slow.”

TK moved quickly to the other patient as the radio crackled. “Copy that, EMS. Transport only one patient. Second chopper ETA twenty-five minutes. One of you will need to remain on site.”

TK looked at Nancy. She looked right back. “You stay or me?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I’ll stay.”

Nancy didn’t argue.

They continued checking vitals, assessing both patients and working quickly. The woman closer to the helicopter was clearly more critical. Her breathing was shallow, skin already pale and clammy.

“She goes first,” TK said.

Nancy nodded. “I’ll prep her.”

TK turned back toward the second woman, already mentally preparing for what was going to feel like a very long wait alone in the woods. The sun was already quite low and would be completely set soon. The shadows here were thick, creeping in fast. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something didn’t feel right.

TK helped Nancy get the first woman secured and ready for transport. Nancy gave TK one last look before climbing into the chopper herself. “Radio if anything changes,” she said, already strapping in beside the patient.

“Be safe,” TK called over the roar of the rotors.

She gave him a thumbs-up as the helicopter lifted off, blowing another wave of grit and cold air across the ridge. TK squinted into it until the aircraft disappeared beyond the treetops, the sound of the blades fading into nothing. Then it was just him, the second patient, and the trees.

He let out a slow breath and turned back to the woman at his side.

She was still breathing—thank God. Her pulse was a little stronger now, her color a little better. TK adjusted her position slightly, checking again for signs of head trauma or spinal injury. She had bruises on her face and a lump forming near her temple, as though she’d been hit on the head. She moaned once, just under her breath, but didn’t wake.

“You’re okay,” he said gently, patting her arm. “Help’s on the way. Just hang in there.”

He radioed in a quick update to dispatch, letting them know the second patient was stable for now. Twenty minutes. That’s all he had to get through.

He busied himself checking her vitals again, then double-checked his surroundings. There wasn’t much space on the ridge. One narrow trail led up and around the outcrop, winding through dense brush that blocked most of the view beyond. A hawk called overhead, and somewhere farther down the slope, water ran through a creek bed. Everything else was still.

Too still.

TK stood and scanned the treeline. It wasn’t unusual for a scene like this to feel eerie. He’d been on dozens of remote rescues and plenty of them involved silence, isolation, and visibility obscured by dense underbrush. But something was off. Not the usual kind of quiet. This one felt...watched.

He shook it off, rolling his shoulders and taking another look at the patient. No change. He moved to grab a blanket from his gear bag—and froze.

There was a sound. Barely audible.

A twig, snapping.

He straightened slowly, listening hard. The wind rustled the trees overhead, but that wasn’t what he’d heard. That sound had been closer. Ground-level.

TK’s hand hovered near his radio.

It’s nothing, he told himself. Probably an animal.

Still, his pulse was picking up. He scanned the brush again, jaw tight, eyes narrowing. He didn’t see anything—no movement, no flash of color out of place. Just trees. Rocks. Silence.

“Hello?” he called, voice firm but not loud. “If someone’s there, I’m with EMS. Please identify yourself.”

Nothing.

He exhaled, tried to laugh under his breath. “Okay. You’re tired. You’re stressed. You’re hearing things.”

He turned back to the patient, reaching again for the blanket in his bag—

And then he heard it.

A voice. Behind him.

“Hey.”

Just one word. Calm. Close.

He spun, but it was too late.

A sharp pain exploded at the side of his head. The world tilted. He saw sky, trees, the blur of motion.

His knees gave out as the pain swallowed him whole, and he hit the ground hard, face-first into the dirt and rock. His last flicker of awareness was the smell of crushed pine needles and the sound of footsteps.

Then everything went black.

Chapter Text

Owen’s face said everything before he even opened his mouth.

Carlos stared at him, one hand still gripping the edge of the door like he needed it to stay upright. Owen was pale, eyes rimmed red, lips parted but silent. He looked wrecked. Not injured—shattered. Like something vital had been ripped out of him.

Carlos’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“Owen?” he said again, softer this time. “What happened?”

Owen blinked, tried to speak, then faltered. His throat worked around a word that wouldn’t come.

Carlos’s mind spun. He ran through the possibilities. An accident, a collapse, an injury. Maybe TK was in surgery. Maybe he was at the hospital. Maybe—

“You’re supposed to be on shift with TK,” Carlos said, his voice cracking. “Where’s TK?”

Owen finally spoke, and it sounded like it took all his effort to form the words.

“I wasn’t with him,” he said. “He was—EMS had an air rescue call. I wasn’t there. I—” He stopped again, breath hitching. “Carlos…the helicopter went down.”

Carlos stared at him. “What?”

“There was a crash,” Owen said, the words coming slow, like each one cost him immense effort. “They found the wreckage but…there were no survivors.”

Carlos didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

He just stood there, staring at Owen like he hadn’t spoken at all. Like maybe if he didn’t acknowledge the words, they wouldn’t be real.

“No,” he said.

Owen’s eyes closed for a second. “Carlos…”

“No,” Carlos said again, louder this time. “No. That’s not—he wasn’t—he’s not dead.”

Owen stepped forward, hands out like he might steady him, but Carlos backed away before he could.

“They must be wrong,” Carlos said. “There’s been a mistake. He wasn’t on the helicopter. Or he was on a different one. It’s—he’s probably already trying to call me—” Carlos made a move as though to look for his phone, but Owen put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Carlos.” Owen’s voice cracked on his name. “He was on the helicopter. Nancy said—”

“No,” Carlos snapped. “Stop saying it.”

The room spun slightly. He realized he was shaking.

Owen didn’t argue. He just stood there, grief written all over his face, and somehow that made it worse. Because if Owen believed it…if Owen thought his son was really gone…

Carlos turned away, hands pressed to his face like he could block out the entire moment.

“He was just here,” he whispered. “He was just here.”

Owen’s voice, when it came again, was quiet and careful. Like he knew one wrong word would break them both.

“There were two patients. Hikers who were injured on the cliffside,” he said. “Nancy went with the first. TK stayed behind with the second to wait for the next chopper.”

Carlos turned slowly, eyes burning. He didn’t want to hear this.

Owen swallowed hard. “The second helicopter went out twenty minutes later. It never made it back. It departed the cliffside but...they lost contact. It took hours to find the wreckage.”

Carlos shook his head. “Stop—”

“There were no survivors,” Owen said, his voice cracking.

And that was it.

Carlos felt his knees start to give way, and Owen reached for him instinctively, catching him as he sank to the floor.

“No, no, no—” Carlos was shaking, the words spilling out in gasps. “No, that can’t—he can’t be—he was just—”

Owen pulled him in, arms wrapping tightly around him like it was all he could do. And Carlos clung to him like a man drowning, sobs tearing out of him in harsh, broken waves.

It wasn’t possible.

It couldn’t be real.

But Owen didn’t let go.

And Carlos couldn’t stop crying.

***

The bedroom felt too quiet and offered no peace.

Carlos sat on the edge of the bed, TK’s hoodie clutched in his hands. He didn’t remember grabbing it, but it was the one TK had worn two days ago, when they’d shared a quiet morning and TK had kissed his temple before heading out the door. That had felt like nothing at the time. Ordinary. Unremarkable.

Carlos held it now like it might anchor him to the floor.

He wasn’t crying anymore. Not out loud. But his face felt stiff, his eyes raw, his body emptied out. His chest ached in a strange, hollow way, like something had been carved out of him.

In the other room, Owen waited silently. He hadn’t said much since Carlos had pulled away from him and gone to get dressed. Maybe he knew Carlos needed the silence more than anything else.

Carlos stood on unsteady legs and began changing clothes, focusing on one task at a time. Pull on jeans. A shirt. Jacket. Shoes. His hands shook as he tied the laces.

His eyes fell on TK’s pillow, still indented from the last time TK had lay there. Carlos stared at it for a long moment before he turned away.

He wasn’t ready. He’d never be ready.

But they were going to the crash site.

And some part of him needed to see.

As Carlos moved to open the bedroom door, he heard Owen’s voice, low, steady, and strained.

He stopped for a moment before sliding the door open.

“…I know, Andrea. I—I wish I wasn’t making this call.” A long pause. “Yes. We’re going to the crash site. There are things we have to…” Another pause, and then softer, almost breaking, “I know. I know. He loved him so much.”

Carlos closed his eyes.

His mother’s voice wasn’t loud enough to make out, but he could imagine it—choked and disbelieving. Still grieving her husband. Still carrying the weight of Gabriel’s death like a stone in her chest. And now this.

Now TK.

Her beloved son-in-law. She’d called him mijo. The man who’d made her son happier than he’d ever been and brought so much joy and light to the Reyes family.

Now she had to grieve him too.

Carlos pressed a hand to the wall, steadying himself.

He didn’t know how to do this. Didn’t know how to lose both of them—his father and his husband. But hearing Owen on the phone, reaching out, calling his mom without Carlos having to ask…

It mattered.

Owen was there for him, and his mom would be too. She would come. She always did.

And God, he needed her.

***

The drive to the crash site passed in silence. AFD had sent a car and they left as soon as Andrea arrived at the loft, just as dawn was breaking. Carlos sat in the back seat, with his mother on one side of him, and Owen sat in the front next to the driver. Owen said nothing as he stared out the window.

By the time they arrived, most of the wreckage had been cleared from the main area, but the scar in the earth remained. There was burnt grass, scorched soil, shattered tree limbs, and the smell in the air made Carlos’s stomach twist. Smoke and fuel and something deeper.

He stepped out of the car slowly, gravel crunching beneath his boots. He fought to keep his hands from shaking.

Andrea moved to his side, her hand brushing his arm before curling gently around his elbow. She didn’t speak. Just stood there with him, steady and present, like she’d done all his life.

“I’m here, mijo,” she whispered.

Carlos nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak.

Owen joined them a moment later, grim-faced, his mouth pressed into a line as he looked out over the hillside.

Carlos’s eyes tracked every inch of the clearing. The remnants of caution tape fluttered at the edges. Burn marks traced a path down the slope. Somewhere in this quiet stretch of earth, his husband had died.

He couldn’t feel it. He felt completely numb.

Andrea squeezed his arm again. “You don’t have to be strong right now,” she said softly.

“I’m not,” Carlos replied, barely above a whisper. “I don’t feel anything.”

“That’s grief, mi amor,” she said gently. “It comes in pieces.”

Carlos nodded, jaw tight. He was familiar with grief. But it had never felt quite like this before.

A man in uniform approached quietly, clipboard in hand and sympathy etched across his face. Carlos didn’t recognize him—likely someone from the investigation team—but he could tell by the way the man moved that this wasn’t his first time delivering devastating news.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” the man said gently, eyes flicking between Owen, Andrea, and finally settling on Carlos. “I just wanted to extend our condolences. I understand you’re family?”

Carlos nodded numbly. Owen cleared his throat. “I’m his father. This is his husband.”

The man’s gaze softened even more. “I’m so sorry. We’ve been combing through the scene for hours. We can confirm there were three people on board—the pilot, the patient, and the paramedic. There was an explosion on impact. The fire… it destroyed a lot.”
Carlos didn’t breathe. He just stared.

“We can’t provide formal identification yet,” the man continued, “but there’s no question based on flight logs, recovered equipment, and scene analysis. All three perished in the crash.”
Owen bowed his head.

Andrea let out a soft, broken sound and reached again for Carlos’s arm.

But Carlos didn’t move.

Not at first.

The words settled on him like dust. All three perished. The paramedic.

TK.

Carlos felt it then. Not just the shock, not the detached disbelief he’d been carrying like armor, but the crack of something breaking inside him.

TK wasn’t missing. He wasn’t in surgery or in a coma. He wasn’t going to walk through the door, smiling and exhausted.

He was gone.

And Carlos’s legs buckled beneath him. He sank to the ground, his mother holding him, Owen close by, the sky stretching gray and endless above them.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to go on now. Not without TK.

Chapter Text

TK woke up slowly, like dragging himself through deep water.

His head hurt—he felt like he was going to be sick. Everything was blurry. It was dark and too quiet.

As he came back to consciousness, he realized he was lying on the ground. He smelled dirt and leaves, felt a breeze ruffle his hair, and his hands were scraping against the bark of a tree. No, he wasn’t just next to a tree—he was tied to it.

Rope was rough and tight around his wrists, wrapping around the trunk of a tree.

Panic flared through the fog in his head.

His pulse kicked up, ragged and sharp in his ears.

Where was he?

Where was Nancy?

And—oh God—where was the patient?

The last thing he could remember was waiting with the patient for a second helicopter and then—a pain in his head and darkness.

TK blinked through the pounding in his head again, trying to focus on his surroundings. He was alone. The forest was dark. He heard a breeze moving in the leaves of the trees around him. Somewhere close by, he heard the sound of a twig snapping, but there were no heavy footsteps to accompany it—it might have been an animal.

He shifted and hissed in pain as his shoulder scraped against the rough bark. His legs were free, but his wrists were bound tightly. The rope bit into his skin when he moved, already raw where he must have struggled earlier. His heart pounded faster now.

Where the hell am I?

There were no sirens. No radio chatter. No Nancy. No sounds of the helicopter. No sounds at all, other than the breeze in the trees.

TK held his breath and listened.

Very faintly, he could hear distant voices. Two of them, maybe three, not too far away, but not close enough that he could understand what they were saying. Male. Low. Close enough to hear tone but not words. One of them laughed and it was a short, dry sound that made the hairs on TK’s neck stand up.

Whoever these people were, they weren’t rescue personnel.

He took a deep breath, grounding himself. Concussion? Likely. Dehydrated? Probably. Captured?

TK squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his skull, trying to breathe through the rising panic. He didn't know what was happening, but he couldn’t afford to spiral right now.

He needed to stay calm. Think clearly. Get free.

Because Carlos…

TK’s chest ached at the thought of him. He pictured Carlos, alone in the loft. Or was he still at work? Probably running leads, losing sleep, chasing justice for his father like it was the only thing holding him together.

He can’t handle this too, TK thought. Not after everything.

Carlos had barely started healing. TK knew how tightly he held himself together, how the grief that lived just beneath the surface was held in check only by the determination to find answers. Losing someone else right now, especially his husband...

No. Not an option.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, how long he'd been out. Didn’t know if Carlos or anyone even knew he was missing. Had Carlos gotten a call to tell him his husband was gone? Or was he still blissfully unaware? But that didn’t matter. What mattered was getting free. Getting back to him.

He tugged at the rope around his wrists, testing the knot. It held firm, biting into his skin.

A wave of dizziness hit him, and he dropped his head back against the tree with a shaky exhale.

He had to be careful.

For Carlos.

Then he heard footsteps approaching.

TK’s breath hitched. He closed his eyes and forced his body to go still. He slumped, head down, limbs loose. He didn’t want to look alert until he knew what he was facing.

The shift in air told him someone was nearby.

More footsteps, coming closer.

Then a pause.

He heard a man exhale. “Still out.”

The voice was low and sounded almost bored.

TK kept his breathing shallow, his head angled and eyes open just enough to see the man’s boots stop a few feet in front of him. They were worn work boots. Mud-caked with a steel toe.

“You’re lucky, you know,” the man continued, crouching slightly. “Could’ve been worse. You could’ve gone up in a fiery wreck on that hillside.” He gave a dry chuckle.

TK didn’t move or acknowledge the man’s words.

His heart pounded in his chest. He let his head roll slightly, let his eyelids flutter just enough to fake a deeper unconsciousness. If the man believed he wasn’t awake, it might give him time to think of what to do. Not that he had many options, of course.

A beat of silence.

Then: “The boss will be here soon. Might want to be awake for that. At least, I would be.”

The boots retreated.

He opened his eyes slowly, stomach churning.

As soon as the sound of footsteps faded, TK let out a shaky breath.

He was alone again. For now.

Alone, but his hands were still tied, the rough rope digging into his wrists where he’d started to sweat. He tested the tension again. It was still too tight to slip free, but now he could tell it was knotted on the other side of the tree. If he could get some slack, maybe he could…

He winced as he shifted. His shoulder ached, but it wasn’t dislocated. Bruised, probably. He thought he’d still be able to fight back, if it came to that. But his head throbbed. Any kind of exertion made it worse.

TK closed his eyes for a beat and pictured Carlos again—face tired, jaw set in that way it did when he was worried but trying to hold it together. TK felt that image burn itself into his chest like a promise.

Hold on, baby, he thought. I’m coming home.

The sound of approaching footsteps came again. He forced himself to breathe evenly. Conserve his energy. He had no idea what they wanted with him, but whatever was coming next, he had to face it clear-headed.

TK’s body tensed instinctively.

The footsteps were close. They were different from the last set. Slower. Measured. And then they stopped.

TK didn’t move. Just kept his eyes closed, forcing himself to stay limp, to listen.

He heard nothing but silence that stretched on and on.

He couldn’t help it; he had to open his eyes.

“Well,” the man said. “Look who’s awake.”

Chapter Text

Carlos stood just inside the door of the loft, keys still in his hand, like he wasn’t sure whether he meant to come in or turn around and walk back out.

The silence hit him immediately. Even the hum of the refrigerator sounded too loud in the absence of everything else.

They had done what needed to be done. The visit to the crash site. The formalities. The paperwork. A few numb hours spent back at Owen’s afterward, pushing food around a plate, sipping at water he didn’t want. Andrea had hugged him tightly when Owen dropped her off, her fingers lingering just a little longer than usual on his face. He’d barely spoken. Owen dropped Carlos off next. He’d offered to have Carlos stay at his place for the night, not wanting him to be alone, but Carlos ached to be home.

But now that he was home, it felt like he’d made the wrong decision. He was home, but there was no TK.

The thought made his chest cave in a little. Standing here in the loft without his husband, it felt more real than it had all day.

TK wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere.

He dropped his keys on the counter with a soft clatter, the sound startling in the stillness.

The loft looked the same as it had when he’d left it hours ago.

Carlos wandered through the space slowly, like a guest in someone else’s home. He ran his fingers along the back of the couch as he passed it, as if touching something would make it more real. He looked down and realized his hands were shaking.

He turned and looked through the open bedroom door at their bed. The bed where TK had woken him up to propose in the middle of the night. The bed he had shared with his husband but never would again.

Carlos didn’t realize he was crying until the tears hit his collarbone, hot and quiet. He hastily wiped his face and took a couple deep breaths.

He needed sleep. A chance to stop thinking, stop remembering, at least for a little while.

He walked into the bedroom and stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers. Then, he crossed the room slowly and pulled back the covers on his side of the bed.

He paused.

TK’s pillow was still indented. His side of the bed still smelled like him. Orange and vanilla, mixed with something warmer—something that was just TK.

Carlos slid under the blanket and turned onto his side, facing where TK should’ve been.

The space beside him was cold.

He reached out almost without meaning to, hand searching for the familiar warmth, the curve of TK’s waist, the soft sound of him breathing in the dark.

But there was nothing.

Just a pillow and the weight of silence.

Carlos rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The sheets felt wrong. Too smooth. It was too quiet. The bed was too big, like it had grown to match the absence.

He turned again. And again. But every position just made the emptiness more prominent.

He curled toward TK’s side of the bed and shut his eyes tight, but sleep didn’t come.

Carlos lay there for nearly an hour, eyes burning, body still. But sleep still didn’t come.

The bed felt wrong. It wasn’t just lonely. It was unbearable.

This was where they kissed goodnight. Where they held each other close after long shifts. Where TK would slide closer in his sleep, toes cold, hands warm, mumbling half-formed thoughts into Carlos’s neck. Calling him baby. Saying I love you.

Carlos rolled over one last time and stared at the empty space beside him.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered to no one.

He sat up, hesitated, then reached for TK’s pillow. He held it to his chest for a second, then buried his face in it. The scent hit him instantly. TK.

He clutched the pillow tightly as he got out of bed.

He couldn’t possibly sleep tonight in the bed he had shared with his husband, but surely the couch wouldn’t carry the same weight. Even so, it was where TK napped after long shifts, where they cuddled watching tv, limbs tangled together, paying more attention to each other than whatever was on the screen.

Carlos curled up there now, TK’s pillow pressed close to his face. He closed his eyes, his arms wrapped tightly around what little he had left.

He stayed curled up on the couch for a while, eyes shut, breathing deep against the pillow that still smelled like his husband. But it wasn’t working. The ache in his chest wouldn’t ease, and the silence pressed down heavier here than in the bedroom.
It wasn’t just the bed. It was everything.

Every wall, every object in the loft whispered TK’s name. The exercise bike Carlos had moved in while TK was in the hospital after his coma, right before Carlos had brought TK home for good. The bearded dragon Carlos had gifted TK, their shared child. Even the fridge magnets TK had picked out because he thought they were funny, still holding up notes bearing TK’s handwriting. Worst of all, the framed photo on the side table—one of their wedding pictures, taken when neither of them was paying attention to the photographer but simply absorbed in each other on the happiest night of their lives, quiet joy and love evident on both their faces.

TK was everywhere here, but he was also nowhere. And that was too much to take.

Carlos sat up slowly. He rose to his feet, walked numbly to the dresser, and pulled on jeans and a hoodie, barely paying attention, just choosing whatever was closest. He grabbed his keys, his phone, and TK’s pillow, because leaving it behind felt impossible.

Then he walked out the door without looking back.

***

The city was quiet at this hour, the streets mostly empty. Carlos drove with one hand on the wheel, the other still gripping TK’s pillow in his lap.

For a brief moment, he thought about going to his mom’s. She’d told him to come if he needed anything. He knew she meant it. But she was already grieving—Gabriel, now TK—and Carlos couldn’t bear the thought of bringing more of his pain into her space. She deserved one night of rest.

So instead he turned toward Owen’s.

TK’s dad, Carlos’s father-in-law, had looked just as hollow as he felt earlier, but he’d held Carlos through the worst of the afternoon and hadn’t left his side once. Carlos didn’t have the words for what that meant, but it was what he needed right now.

The porch light was still on when Carlos pulled into Owen’s driveway.

He sat in the car for a long moment, both hands on the steering wheel, TK’s pillow pressed between his elbows and ribs like it might hold him together. The house was dark except for that single light, casting a warm halo across the porch.

He almost turned around. Almost convinced himself it was too late, that Owen needed space, that he could survive one night alone.

But no, he couldn’t.

He climbed out of the car and made his way to the door, his feet heavy, his chest tighter with each step. Before he could even knock, the door opened.

Owen stood there in sweatpants and a t-shirt, eyes tired but alert. He took one look at Carlos and said nothing. He just opened the door wider and stepped aside.

Carlos walked in slowly, the warmth of the house wrapping around him like a blanket he didn’t deserve.

“You can take the guest room,” Owen said softly and managed a small smile.

Carlos nodded. “Thanks.”

But he didn’t move.

Owen didn’t either. He just waited, quietly, until Carlos’s shoulders slumped and his eyes started to burn again.

“I couldn’t be there,” Carlos whispered. “Not without him.”

Owen didn’t respond with words. He just reached out and pulled him into a hug. Carlos let himself lean into it, his fingers still clutching the pillow between them.

For a few seconds, he didn’t feel entirely alone.

***

The guest room was small but cozy, the sheets pulled back like Owen had already known he’d be coming.

Carlos stepped inside slowly, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment, pillow still in his arms, taking it in.

It wasn’t just a guest room. It was their room once.

After Carlos’s condo had burned down, they’d lived here for a while. Slept in this bed. Made love quietly, mindful of the thin walls.

The memories lived here, too, like they had in the loft, but softer. Less sharp.

This room allowed him to still feel TK’s presence, but it didn’t ache the same way.

Carlos climbed into bed and held TK’s pillow close. He pressed his face against it, eyes shut tight.

The grief hadn’t lessened. But here, it didn’t swallow him whole.

He lay still for a long time, listening to the quiet creaks of the house, the hum of the air vent, the soft press of nighttime all around him.

And finally, he fell into an uneasy, restless sleep.

Chapter Text

The man in front of him wasn’t in a hurry. That was the first thing TK noticed. He moved with the slow, easy confidence of someone who already believed he was in control.

He was older than the first man had been. Late fifties, maybe. Heavyset. Clean clothes, worn boots, a smirk like he’d already decided how this would go. There was something about the way he carried himself that made TK think this wasn’t his first time doing something like this.

“Well,” the man said again, stopping a few feet in front of TK. “You’re awake.”

TK didn’t answer.

He stayed quiet, eyes sharp, heart hammering in his chest.

“Head hurting?” the man asked, almost conversational. “Took a nasty hit. You should’ve stayed unconscious. Would’ve made this easier for you.”

Still, TK said nothing.

The man smiled, tilting his head as he walked in a slow circle around him.

“You’re quiet. That’s good. Cops always run their mouths too much.”

“I’m not a cop,” TK said hoarsely, voice dry and low.

“Paramedic, sure,” the man said, shrugging. “But that uniform still makes you part of the system.”

The man’s words made TK realize suddenly that he wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore. The pain in his head, the fear, the situation he was in, had all distracted him from the fact that he was lying here in unfamiliar clothes. Someone had stripped him of his uniform and replaced it with an old, faded t-shirt and sweatpants. Why? To hide his identity? What had happened to his uniform?

The man spoke again, pulling TK from his thoughts, “Don’t worry. We’re not going to kill you.”

A beat.

“At least not yet.”

TK met the man’s gaze, forcing himself to breathe evenly. His head throbbed, his wrists ached, but he stayed steady.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice rough but clear.

The man smirked. “There it is. Knew you had more to say.”

TK didn’t rise to the bait. He kept his eyes focused and calm. Maybe he could placate this man, convince him to let him go.

“If this is about money, I don’t have any on me, but let me call someone and I can get you what you need.” The man just looked at him. So it wasn’t money he was after. “Or–or if it’s about something else, tell me. Maybe I can help.”

“You’re not here to help,” the man said, almost amused. “You’re here because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

It hit TK all at once, the last thing he remembered burned in his brain. “That woman on the cliff,” he said slowly.

The man tilted his head, just slightly.

“You were after her,” TK guessed. “Not me.”

Silence stretched.

The smirk faded, just a little.

“Doesn’t matter now,” the man said. “You’re part of it. Whether you meant to be or not.”

TK’s heart raced. His mind spun into overdrive again. Who was she? What did they want with her? He’d barely gotten a look at her. Just enough to know she was unconscious, injured. But if she was the target, and he’d stayed behind with her...

He pushed further. “What happened to her?”

The man’s eyes darkened. “She didn’t make it.”

Something twisted in TK’s stomach. He didn’t know if it was true or just said to rattle him.

“You just worry about staying quiet. I don’t want to have to kill you.” The smirk on the man’s face made TK doubt his sincerity about that. “Sit tight, we’re leaving soon.”

The man turned and began to walk away from him.

TK called after him, managing to keep his voice from wavering. “People are going to come looking for me.”

The man stopped for a moment and turned back to TK with an almost pitying look on his face. “No one is looking for you. They already found your body. Or what’s left of it.”

Then he walked away through the trees, leaving TK alone again.

For a moment, TK didn’t move.

The words echoed in the dark.

They already found your body. Or what’s left of it.

His pulse pounded in his ears, his mouth suddenly dry. The man seemed so sure that no one would be looking for him. He didn’t know how much of what the man had said was the truth—he had to be lying about at least some of it—but the certainty in his voice cut deep. So casual. So final. If he was lying, he was a good liar.

A cold sweat broke across TK’s skin.

If they thought he was dead—if Carlos thought he was dead…

That was so much worse than lost or missing.

He pressed his forehead to his bound hands, eyes squeezed shut. Pain flared behind his temples, nausea curling hot and fast in his gut.

No. No, no, no.

Carlos had just lost his father. Barely clawed his way through the grief, was still drowning in it. TK had been trying so hard to be strong for him, steady, reliable. Someone Carlos could lean on when the weight of it all got too heavy.

And now...

TK breathed through his nose, slow and tight.

If they believed he was really gone, Carlos was going through hell right now. And there was nothing TK could do about it.

He swallowed hard and lifted his head. He couldn’t give up. He had to fight. For Carlos.

TK shifted against the tree, testing the ropes again. His fingers were going numb, but the knot was too tight, too slick with sweat for him to gain any ground.

He twisted, pulled, tried to brace his foot and leverage his weight, but his shoulder screamed in protest, and his head throbbed so violently he saw white for a moment.

The world tilted.

He slumped back with a sharp gasp, the rope cutting into his skin as he sagged against it.

Too much. Too fast.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth and closed his eyes, fighting off a new wave of dizziness. His head still felt cracked open, like his skull was full of fog and pressure instead of thoughts. Every sound echoed wrong. Every motion made his vision swim.

His body was failing him.

He wanted to keep fighting. Wanted to tear the ropes apart and storm out of the forest and run until he found Carlos and collapsed into his arms.

But right now…he couldn’t even sit up straight without the world going sideways.

TK let his forehead rest against his bound hands, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

He hated how weak he felt. Hated that he couldn’t do anything.

But he was still here. Still alive. And he would get free.

Just…not yet.

Chapter Text

Carlos woke slowly, the kind of waking that wasn’t really waking at all, just surfacing into a reality he didn’t want. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, lay still, and tried to pretend it was any other morning.

Tried to pretend TK was just in the next room. Brushing his teeth. Making coffee. Getting ready to come back to bed with a mug and a good morning kiss for his husband.

He turned his face into TK’s pillow. The scent was fainter now but still there. Enough to make his chest ache.

The day waited outside the door like a threat. Carlos didn’t want to meet it, but eventually the stillness became unbearable.

Carlos forced himself out of bed, each movement slow and heavy, like his limbs were moving through water. He splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom, but it didn’t do much to wake him up. Nothing could cut through the fog that had wrapped itself around him since yesterday.

He made his way downstairs, TK’s pillow still clutched in his arms. He felt a little silly about it, but he needed to hold onto some piece of TK right now. Even if it was something as insufficient to soothe the pain inside of him as a pillow.

The smell of coffee hit him first. Then voices—low, careful, trying not to sound like they were waiting.

He stepped into the kitchen and stopped short.

Marjan stood at the counter, pouring coffee into mismatched mugs. Paul sat at the table, flipping through a news app he clearly wasn’t reading. Mateo leaned against the fridge, biting at his thumbnail. Nancy was by the window, her arms crossed, eyes misty but steady.

They all looked up when he walked in. Everyone’s eyes were red, their faces puffy. It was clear they’d all been crying. He could relate.

For a second, no one said anything.

Then Marjan smiled, soft and sad, and held out a mug. “Hey.”

Carlos stood there, stunned, not even sure how they knew where to find him. But of course they did. They were family.

He took the mug from Marjan’s hands automatically.

“You didn’t have to—”

“We did,” Paul said gently.

“You would’ve done the same,” Nancy added, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him without waiting for permission.

Carlos didn’t fight it. He just closed his eyes and let himself be held.

For a moment, he wasn’t standing in the wreckage. He was standing in the hands that had always been ready to catch him.

Nancy pulled back eventually, her hands still resting on his shoulders. “We just wanted to check in on you,” she said gently. “Bring coffee. Make sure you’ve eaten.”

“I haven’t,” Carlos admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t think I could even keep anything down.”

Mateo stepped forward then, awkward but earnest. “We brought breakfast tacos. From that place TK likes. I mean…liked. Shit.” He winced. “Sorry.”

Carlos didn’t flinch. He was too tired for the way the word liked tried to cut him open.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

They gathered around the table quietly. No one tried to fill the space with words that wouldn’t help or offered clichés. It was just them, their presence, the occasional scrape of a chair, the sound of Marjan clearing the table and Paul loading the dishwasher.

They didn’t leave after breakfast. They stayed. All of them. Carlos didn’t ask them to, but they remained like they were anchored there by something stronger than words, filling the house with a quiet presence and making it easier to breathe. Around noon, Paul helped Owen put together something resembling lunch. Then afterwards, Marjan sat beside Carlos on the couch and talked about nothing—just the weather, a call they’d had once that was even crazier than usual, some stupid reality show. Mateo and Nancy told a ridiculous story Carlos didn’t even try to follow, but he took some comfort in the quiet laughter of his assembled friends, unusually subdued as it might be. No one tried to fix anything. They just gave him the gift of not being alone.

“I keep thinking I’m going to hear his voice,” Carlos said as afternoon turned into evening. “Like…I’ll turn the corner and he’ll be there. Barefoot. Hair sticking up. Asking if I fed Lou.”

There was a long pause. Then Paul said softly, “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”

“I’m not.” Carlos looked up at them, eyes glassy. “I’m not okay. I don’t know how to be.”

“We’ve got you,” Marjan said simply.

Nancy reached across the table, taking his hand. “Whatever you need, okay?”

Carlos nodded, but he wasn’t sure what he needed. Except—

He stilled suddenly.

“…Lou,” he whispered.

The others looked at him.

“Lou’s still at the loft,” Carlos said again, standing abruptly, guilt tightening in his chest. “I wasn’t thinking. Everything happened so fast. I just…I didn’t even think, and I haven’t fed him today, I—”

“Hey,” Nancy cut in gently. “It’s okay. You’ve had a lot to process.”

But Carlos shook his head. “TK loved that lizard. Called him our son. He—” His voice caught. “He’d be so mad if I didn’t take care of Lou.”

The sound of footsteps drew their attention toward the hallway, and a moment later Owen appeared. He must have heard them from the other room.

“I think Lou’s probably okay,” Owen said, his voice tired but kind. “But let’s go get him.”

Carlos hesitated, eyes flicking to his father-in-law. “You want to come with me?”

Owen nodded. “I think you should pack a bag to bring back, too, if you want. I think you should stay here for a while longer. We can bring Lou back with us.”

Something softened in Carlos’s expression. “Okay.”

Owen gave him a look that held the weight of shared grief and silent understanding. “It helps…having you here. I can’t be with TK, but being with you feels like I’m still close to him.”

Carlos swallowed hard. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

If Carlos couldn’t be with TK, there was a certain comfort in being with Owen, the man Carlos knew loved TK more deeply than any other person on the planet, except for him. It didn’t surprise him that Owen felt the same way.

Owen clapped a hand gently on his shoulder. “Let’s go get the scaly little prince.”

Carlos offered the faintest smile, the first one in what felt like forever.

***

Lou stirred in his tank as they entered the loft, lifting his head beneath the heat lamp, blinking slowly like he’d just woken up from a nap.

“Hey, buddy,” Carlos murmured, crouching down. “Sorry it took so long.”

Lou blinked again, tilting his head, calm as ever.

Carlos reached in gently, scooping up the lizard in the careful way TK had shown him. “You’re coming with us, okay?”

Carlos got Lou settled in a carrier, then began packing his food. He unplugged Lou’s heat lamp and put that in another bag, along with the food dishes and everything else Lou might need. He glanced over at Owen, who was standing in the bedroom, looking into the open closet. His hand reached out, gently touching one of his son’s shirts that was hanging there. Then, as if coming back to himself, he turned towards Carlos. “I’ll take Lou’s things down to the car and you can pack some things of your own.”

Carlos nodded as Owen crossed the room and gathered the bearded dragon’s many accessories into his arms. Carlos began collecting his own things—clothes, chargers, his toothbrush—everything he would need for an indefinite stay at Owen’s house.

He tried not to think of TK as he moved around the loft.

He thought only of TK.

By the time he was packed and ready, Owen had returned from the car. Carlos stood by the door, Lou’s carrier in one hand, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder.

He turned back once, eyes drifting across the space. “It doesn’t feel like home right now, and I don’t know if it ever will again.”

Owen nodded. “I know.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of it all pressing in. Carlos couldn’t stay here, he knew that for sure. But the thought of walking out the door caused him pain too.

“Owen,” Carlos said, “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this without him.” His voice broke on the last word.

Owen stepped closer, put a comforting hand on Carlos’s shoulder. “We take it one day at a time, son. That’s all we can do.”

Carlos let out a shaky breath. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For…everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”

Owen’s voice barely held and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “You won’t have to find out.”

They turned to leave together, carrying the weight, and supporting each other, out into the long night.

Chapter Text

The smell was overpowering. Musty carpet, gas fumes, something metallic and sour clinging to the air.

TK breathed slowly in and out, the dark pressing in from all sides as the car jostled over uneven road. He was in a trunk. Wedged awkwardly on his side, hands still bound, his body aching in places he couldn’t name. Every bump sent a jolt through his head, still pounding with concussion fog. His shoulder throbbed with a slow, dull heat.

He had no idea how long they’d been driving. At least half an hour, maybe more. Maybe a lot more...his head was fuzzy and he thought he might have slipped out of consciousness for a moment when he was put into the trunk.

The last thing he remembered clearly was being hauled roughly to his feet, dizzy and stumbling, and told, “We’re going.” No explanation. No reason.

He’d asked why, though he hadn’t expected an answer.

And he hadn’t gotten one.

Now, he was in this trunk, unable to hear much over the sound of the engine and the tires moving on the road. Muffled voices filtered in from the cabin, but they were too quiet to decipher. The road noise made it impossible to track where they were going. Highway, maybe. Then back roads. His ears popped once—a change in elevation? He couldn’t tell.

TK shifted slightly, trying to ease the cramp in his legs, but it only made his shoulder throb and the rope burn tighter around his wrists. He sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, then let it out slowly. Now is not the time to panic.

Don’t waste energy. Conserve it. Think.

They were moving him. That meant they were trying to keep him hidden. Which meant…he was still valuable to them. Still alive for a reason.

He didn’t know what the reason might be, but it gave him a sliver of something to hold onto.

That, and the thought of Carlos.

Carlos, who probably thought he was dead.

Carlos, who had to be breaking under that weight.

TK closed his eyes and breathed shallowly through his nose, trying not to let the tears come. He imagined Carlos's face. He could be strong for his husband.

He kept his eyes closed, trying to imagine himself somewhere, anywhere but the trunk of this car. Despite his desire to leave the trunk, he was terrified of what would happen when he did.

The car slowed.

TK felt the deceleration, the tilt of a turn, the sudden crunch of gravel under tires. They weren’t on pavement anymore. Then came the jolt of a full stop.

For a beat, everything was silent. TK braced himself for whatever was coming.

Then the trunk clicked open, and harsh sunlight stabbed at his eyes.

He flinched, instinctively trying to raise a bound hand to block the glare. Before he could adjust, two sets of hands grabbed him and dragged him out roughly. His feet hit the ground with a stumble, knees nearly buckling beneath him, but one of the men barked, “Up,” and hauled him by the arm until he was standing. Just barely.

He caught a glimpse of their surroundings. Woods. A clearing. An old house, weathered gray with a sagging roof. Not another soul in sight.

The older man, the one in charge, gave him a shove. “Move.”

TK didn’t ask where. He didn’t waste breath. He walked.

Each step was an exercise in endurance. His head pounding, legs shaky, vision still flickering at the edges. But he kept his expression blank and his pace even.

They reached a screen door at the back of the cabin. One of the men pushed it open, and TK was ushered inside and through a narrow hallway that smelled of dust and mildew, past a boarded-up window, and into a small bedroom with nothing but a mattress on the floor and a wooden chair that had been splintered into pieces in the corner.

“Sit.”

TK sank down onto the mattress.

The man in charge stood by the door. The other knelt and secured his bound wrists to a metal loop bolted into the floor beside the mattress—a short tether with only enough slack to allow him to sit up. TK’s heart sank, but he didn’t let it show.

“You keep quiet, you stay healthy,” the older man said flatly. “Try anything, and we don’t have to keep you breathing.”

TK didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, breathing carefully.

They left. He heard the sound of the door locking behind them.

Alone again.

But TK sat up a little straighter. He didn’t know how long he’d be here, but he’d survived so far, and he could survive this too.

He had to.

He had to get back to his life, his friends, his job, his husband. It hurt to think of the kind of pain Carlos must be in right now, but it was motivating too.

Once the retreating footsteps faded, TK let his eyes sweep the room, forcing his brain to stay sharp despite the pulsing headache.

The walls were wood-paneled, old and chipped. A single narrow window was covered with slats nailed unevenly into place. A fly buzzed near the ceiling. There were no decorations, no furniture besides the mattress and the broken chair.

The floorboards creaked beneath even the slightest shift in weight. That might work to his advantage—or theirs.

The loop his wrists were tethered to looked solid, bolted straight into the floorboards. But it was old. Rust showed at the base. TK leaned as far as he could to test its give. Nothing yet, but maybe over time.

He glanced toward the window again. There was a gap between two of the boards. Barely enough to see out of. The chair in the corner had been splintered into pieces, and one of the pieces looked particularly promising. It could be used as a weapon, maybe. Or a pry bar. It was just out of his reach, but if he could loosen his tether a bit…

He filed that thought away.

The door was thick and it was locked. He wasn’t getting through it, at least not without help.

But the men didn’t seem overly cautious. They were confident, maybe even cocky. That was something TK could work with.

Let them underestimate me.

He lay back slowly, not because he wanted to rest, but because his body was already nearing its limits again. He needed strength. Needed to let his brain recover so he could think clearly.

TK closed his eyes and imagined Carlos's face again.

This wouldn’t be his last stop.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

Chapter Text

Carlos barely remembered the morning.

Somehow, he’d gotten dressed. Somehow, someone had handed him his dress uniform and helped him with the buttons on his shirt, because his hands didn’t seem to work right anymore. He didn’t know who. Owen, maybe. Or Paul. Or his mother. He couldn’t recall. The past week had blurred into one long, aching stretch of time where nothing made sense and everything hurt.

And now it was today.

The day of TK’s funeral.

The sun was brutal overhead as Carlos stood at the front of the crowd gathered at the cemetery. His dress uniform clung to him, heavy with heat and grief. He barely noticed.

TK’s casket rested in front of him, draped in an American flag, ringed by solemn-faced paramedics in formal uniform. The 126 stood in formation behind him, perfectly still, like statues carved from grief. Ambulances lined the cemetery road, emergency lights silently flashing in tribute. There were firefighters, cops, dispatchers—so many people who had loved or respected TK. So many people who’d come to say goodbye.

The service honored every part of who TK was: his bravery, his service, his life. A rabbi had spoken earlier, offering words from the Mourner’s Kaddish. Carlos had let others take over the planning of the funeral because he simply couldn’t face it, but it mattered to Carlos that they got that right. TK would have wanted that.

Carlos stared at the casket. TK wasn’t in there. It was empty.

There hadn’t been enough left to recover. The explosion and fire had destroyed everything. The only way they had been able to identify TK had been by process of elimination and the location. It was official. It was confirmed. But there was nothing to bury.

Just a flag. Just a box.

A man in dress blues spoke—something about honor, sacrifice, the call to serve—but the words didn’t land. Carlos couldn’t hear anything over the rushing in his ears.

When the folded flag was pressed into his hands, he held on like it was all that was left of his husband.

He didn’t cry. Not even when the final bell rang three times. Not even when he could hear someone behind him—maybe Nancy—let out a quiet, shattering sob. He thought maybe he’d cried all the tears he had in him over the past week and there weren’t any left.

This was the end.

This was it.

Except Carlos still didn’t know how to live with it.

The graveside crowd eventually began to thin. People offered hugs, handshakes, solemn nods. Carlos barely registered them. He nodded, he murmured “thank you” and “he would’ve appreciated it,” but it all felt like noise underwater.

Andrea hovered nearby, her hand on his back more often than not. She didn’t try to speak, she was just there. Her presence was steady and warm, the way it had been his whole life.

His sisters, Ana and Luisa, had arrived in the days after the crash. They flanked him now like sentries, one on each side, brushing imaginary lint from his jacket, offering water bottles he didn’t touch, guiding him from one place to the next. He knew they were grieving, too. They adored TK. They had loved him instantly from the moment they met him. But they were holding it together for him.

Back at Owen’s house, a quiet sort of reception took shape. People brought food. Tupperware containers covered every surface, but Carlos couldn’t eat. The smell of brisket made his stomach turn. He was reminded of another day, just over a year ago, when many of these same people had gathered in this same place to say goodbye to his father. The grief from that day still lingered, and now he had this to face.

His friends never left his side.

Marjan kept finding things to do—refilling drinks, taking plates, organizing coats—as if movement could hold the grief at bay. Mateo was quieter than usual, but his arm found Carlos’s shoulder whenever he passed. Paul kept cracking gentle jokes, just loud enough to make the corners of Carlos’s mouth twitch. Nancy cried openly, her hand clutched in Tommy’s, who let her cry without letting go.

They were trying. All of them. Doing everything right.

And still, Carlos felt completely alone.

***

He sat for a while on Owen’s couch, letting the din of voices and clink of dishes as clean-up began blur into the background. Almost all the mourners had left by now, most with a last hug or handshake or comforting word to Carlos, but he barely registered the things they’d said. They’d go home, back to their own lives and families, but Carlos would be here. Without his husband.

Ana brought him tea. Luisa covered him with a throw blanket like he was a child. Andrea stroked his hair once, gently, the way she had when he was small and afraid of thunderstorms.

Carlos leaned his head back against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling.

The day was almost over.

He had survived it.

But somehow that felt worse.

***

That night, Carlos lay in Owen’s guest bed staring at the ceiling in the dark.

Sleep wouldn’t come. It hadn’t come for days, not really. He closed his eyes and played the same game with himself that he had every night this week: he tried to pretend TK was just out on shift, that he’d hear the sound of the door soon, that warm laugh, the gentle nudge of knees against the mattress, the warm weight of his husband sinking into the bed beside him.

I just want to hear his voice.

And then he remembered.

Carlos scrambled for his phone, hands shaking now, not with hope, just desperation. He scrolled through his voicemail box until he found it.

Two weeks ago. Just before a shift.

He pressed play.

“Hey, baby,” TK’s voice came through, soft and easy, already melting something in Carlos’s chest. “I’m heading in now—late shift, you know how it is. I hope your day wasn’t too awful. Eat something, okay? No more vending machine dinners.”

Carlos closed his eyes, the sound of TK’s voice wrapping around him like a blanket. For the first time all day, he felt like he could breathe.

“I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you. So much.” The message ended. Just thirty seconds long. But in that moment, it was all he had.

Carlos played it again.

And again.

And again.

Until finally, on the fourth listen, he whispered into the dark, “I love you too.”

And finally the tears came.

Eventually, they pulled him under. He drifted to sleep still clutching the phone, TK’s voice lingering in his ears like the last traces of a dream.

Chapter Text

TK had never known time could stretch like this. That every day could feel like an entire lifetime.

He didn’t know what day it was. Not really. But he knew it had been ten nights in this place. He had counted by the creak of the floorboards, the way the sunset hit the warped slats in the boarded-up window. He knew what time the men brought him food and when they would empty the bucket they’d given him to relieve himself. He knew when they left the house, when they talked too loudly on the porch, when they smoked near the back door and let their voices carry just far enough for him to learn something useful.

He didn’t know their names. But he knew their habits. And he noticed their mistakes, waiting for the right time to exploit them.

The bolt in the floor still held him, but the tether had slackened where he’d been tugging it every night with careful persistence and the bolt had been loosening. He hadn’t let them see. Hadn’t given them a reason to tighten it again or to find another way to hold him there.

Tonight, they were drunk. He could hear it in their laughter. One of them had slurred his words when he’d dropped off dinner.

And now it was dark.

It had to be tonight.

TK sat still, heart hammering but breath steady. The last creak on the floorboards had been at least an hour ago. It was all quiet now. TK felt sure his captors were sleeping, or at least in a drunken stupor.

He moved.

He took a deep breath, gripped his tether with both hands and used all his strength to pull. The bolt shifted slightly then fell back into place when TK let up. It was loose. He’d hidden a piece of a broken chair leg under the edge of the mattress two nights ago after he’d managed to reach it by the tips of his fingers thanks to the slackened tether. He used it now, wedging it beneath the bolt, leveraging what little strength he had left.

A snap. A groan of metal, louder than he’d expected, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

TK froze.

Silence.

No voices. No footsteps.

He kept going.

And finally, finally, the bolt gave.

He didn’t cheer. He didn’t cry.

He just kept moving.

The bolt had broken in two, allowing TK to completely remove the tether that had held him for a week and a half. He rose from the mattress, still clutching the piece of wood. He moved slowly and silently, wincing at the dizzy tilt of the room. The concussion symptoms hadn’t gone away entirely, which was concerning. His vision swam if he moved too fast, and his legs felt weaker than they should after so many days of little movement.

But adrenaline was doing the heavy lifting now.

He crossed the room in careful steps, avoiding the floorboards he knew would creak. The doorknob didn’t turn because it was still locked from the outside, but he’d noticed the latch was old. And tonight, just like the last few nights, they hadn’t set the deadbolt. They were getting complacent.

The wood of the door was warped with age, leaving a space between door and frame that might give him just enough to work with. He wedged the piece of splintered wood into the gap, jiggling it just so, and finally using it as a lever to pry the door open.

After a moment—a loud crack.

The door was open.

He froze again. Waited. Listened.

He heard snoring, faint and distant, from the other side of the house, but no other sound. He had been right. They were asleep. Or sleeping it off.

He slipped out into the narrow hallway, dimly lit by a bulb at the far end. Wallpaper peeled from the walls in long strips. The air smelled like sweat, mildew, and something burnt. He moved toward the back of the house, to the screen door where they’d brought him in, taking careful, measured steps.

He heard a floorboard groan from the front of the house and he froze, heart pounding, holding his breath.

Silence.

After a beat, he moved again.

He found the screen door and could see through it to the yard. No fence. Just trees and open darkness.

His hand shook as he reached for the latch. It stuck for a second—then gave with a soft sound.

The door creaked.

TK winced, holding his breath.

Still no footsteps. No voices.

And then he was out.

He bolted into the trees, feet pounding on uneven ground, lungs straining. Branches whipped at his face and arms but he didn’t care. He had no idea where he was, no plan beyond get away.

Leaves and underbrush tore at his legs. His breath came in gasps now. He was light-headed and dizzy but he kept moving. He didn’t care where he was going. He just needed to get away from here. Get to help. Get back to Carlos.

He didn’t know how long he’d been running when his legs finally gave out.

The ground rushed up to meet him as he stumbled and then collapsed.

He blinked up at the sky, dizzy, the stars swimming overhead. He couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. He had pushed himself to his limit.

And then—just before the darkness took him—he heard it.

Voices.

Distant and unclear, but he was sure they didn’t belong to his captors. It was someone else.

And light. Not the pale flicker of moon through trees, but warm and artificial, bobbing through the woods like a flashlight beam.

He tried to raise his head, tried to call out for help.

But the world spun violently, and before he could make a sound, everything slipped away.

Chapter Text

Carlos stood in Owen’s guest bathroom, going through the motions of brushing his teeth like it mattered. Like anything mattered.

The mirror showed a man he barely recognized. Hollowed out. Eyes rimmed red from another day of holding it together whenever people needed him to and falling apart when no one was looking.

Owen had gone back to work tonight. His first shift since the helicopter went down. He’d asked Carlos if he was sure he’d be okay alone.

He had lied and said yes, but he wasn't okay. He didn't know if he'd ever be okay again.

Carlos had been filling his days by doing odd jobs around the house, both here at Owen’s and at his mother’s. Painting, pulling weeds, fixing a leaky faucet. He had to stay busy or else he’d sink under the weight of the grief and be lost, unable to move or think or breathe. But still he wasn’t ready to go back to work himself yet. Couldn’t picture putting on the uniform, couldn’t fathom sitting down at his desk and opening files—his father’s murder investigation, which now felt so far away, buried under an avalanche of new grief. His brain refused to process both losses at once. It rejected the notion entirely, as if grieving one meant accepting the other.

He spit into the sink, rinsed, and turned out the light.

The room was quiet as he moved back toward the bed. The pillow still smelled like TK. It was faint, but it was there. Enough to offer hurt and comfort in equal measure. Carlos wasn’t sure what he’d do when the smell faded entirely, but he wasn’t thinking about that now. He was taking it one day at a time.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and pressed his hands to his face, not crying, just trying to breathe through the now-familiar ache in his chest.

Finally, he picked up his phone.

He didn’t even hesitate. His fingers moved automatically, scrolling to the saved voicemail, seeking out the tiny bit of comfort it provided.

He pressed play.

“Hey, baby,” TK’s voice came through, soft and warm. “I’m heading in now—late shift, you know how it is. I hope your day wasn’t too awful. Eat something, okay? No more vending machine dinners.”

Carlos lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

“I’ll see you soon, baby. I love you. So much.”

He whispered, “I love you too,” then hit play again.

After listening to the message a few times, Carlos curled under the blanket, TK’s voice still echoing in his ears, and let the exhaustion take him.

Sleep came slow and heavy, dragging him under like a tide. And then—TK was there.

They were in bed. Their bed. TK curled against his chest, one leg thrown over Carlos’s, his fingers tucked loosely in the hem of Carlos’s shirt like he always did when he needed grounding. His hair was soft beneath Carlos’s chin, and his breath came steady and warm against his skin.

Carlos held him like he never wanted to let go.

He didn’t speak. Neither of them did. There were no words needed. Just the gentle, perfect rhythm of breathing together. A stillness he hadn’t felt in days. In weeks. Longer.

Carlos ran his hand slowly down TK’s back, just like he used to do on quiet mornings. He pressed his lips to the top of TK’s head.

I’ve missed you so much.

But something was wrong.

The edges of the dream started to fray. TK’s warmth flickered, like a signal fading. The pressure of his hand lightened. Carlos tried to grip tighter, to pull him closer.

“No—please—stay with me,” he whispered.

But the room was slipping away.

The soft light. The warmth. TK’s body in his arms.

And then—

Buzz buzz.
Buzz buzz.

His phone.

Carlos moaned, barely conscious, trying to burrow back into the dream. Back into TK.

But the ringing persisted.

Reluctantly, he blinked his eyes open, heart pounding, breathing shallow.

The room was dark.

His arms were empty.

His phone buzzed again on the nightstand.

He reached for it slowly, dreading the return to reality.

It was an unfamiliar number, and before he could answer, the phone went silent.

Carlos let it drop to the mattress, jaw tightening. A flicker of anger burned inside of him.

Whoever it was had stolen the only seconds of peace he’d felt in days. Ripped him out of the only place where TK still existed. The warmth of that dream, the feeling of TK’s weight against his chest—it had faded quickly, dissipating into the air like smoke, leaving only cold emptiness and grief behind.

He shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath, whispering bitterly, “Thanks a lot.”

But before he could sink back into the pillow—buzz buzz.

The phone lit up again.

His brows pulled together. The same caller.

A flicker of unease passed through him.

He answered this time, voice scratchy with sleep and grief.

“…Hello?”

A woman’s voice replied, brisk but not unkind. “Hi, is this Carlos Reyes?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, sitting up straighter.

“This is St. David’s Medical Center. I’m calling about your husband.”

Carlos’s breath caught in his throat. “I—I’m sorry, what?”

“Your husband, Tyler Kennedy Strand. He was just admitted. He’s stable. He was brought in about an hour ago.”

Carlos was already shaking his head, heart pounding hard enough to hurt.

“No. That can’t be—,” he said hoarsely. “My husband—he died. You must have the wrong—”

“You were listed as his emergency contact,” the woman interrupted gently, but firmly. “And I’ve confirmed the name. He gave it himself when he woke briefly during transport. Tyler Kennedy Strand.”

Carlos’s world tilted.

He stood up on instinct, not even feeling the floor under his bare feet. His mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Mr. Reyes,” the woman said carefully, “are you still there?”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I—I’m on my way.”

He was already grabbing jeans from the chair, pulling them on blindly. Shirt. Keys.

He didn’t know if he was awake. If he’d somehow slipped into another dream.

It must be a mistake. It’s not possible.

But if there was even the slightest chance that it was real—

He was going.

Carlos shoved his feet into sneakers and grabbed his phone again as he rushed out the bedroom door into the hallway. He needed someone—Owen, specifically. Owen had to know. Owen would—

The call went straight to voicemail.

Damn it.

Owen was on shift. Probably out on a call. Too busy to answer.

Carlos didn’t leave a message. He just hung up and bolted down the steps, heart pounding in his ears.

He was in the car and pulling out of the driveway before he even registered starting the engine.

The streets were dark and nearly empty. Good. He didn’t trust himself to slow down right now. Every red light felt like a personal attack. Every minute was a lifetime.

His mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

What if this is some kind of mistake?
What if someone stole his ID?
What if some files got mixed up and it wasn’t me they’d meant to call?

But then—

He gave his name. Tyler Kennedy Strand.

Carlos gripped the steering wheel tighter.

He’s alive.

The thought came unbidden. Sharp and hot and terrifying.

Carlos slammed the brakes at a stop sign, chest heaving.

He couldn’t think that. Couldn’t let himself believe it. Not yet. Not until he saw him. Touched him. Heard his voice again with his own ears.

But the hope wouldn’t die.

Now that it was in him, it was clawing its way through the cracks, threatening to engulf him entirely if he let it. TK alive made a perfect kind of sense—it had always felt wrong, impossible that TK was actually gone. Maybe that’s because it was never true…

No. If he let himself believe this only to be proven wrong, he wouldn’t be able to handle that. The pain of losing TK was already so great. He couldn’t go through it again. He had to keep the hope in check until he was able to see the truth with his own eyes.

Carlos stepped on the gas, eyes fixed on the road, on the horizon, on the hospital up ahead.

Minutes later, he pulled into the hospital parking lot too fast, barely remembering to throw the car into park before he was out and moving. The night air hit him like a wall, but if this was a dream, it wasn’t enough to wake him.

Inside the bright fluorescent glow of the ER lobby, everything felt surreal.

He approached the front desk, throat dry.

“I’m here for…for my husband,” he said. “Tyler Kennedy Strand. I just got a call...”

The nurse checked the screen, nodded once. “Room 318. Take the elevator to the third floor, make a left.”

Carlos nodded and headed to the elevator.

He moved through the hospital on autopilot. Elevator doors. Fluorescent lights. People passing by who didn’t know the world had shifted completely. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was all a mistake and he’d feel it crashing down on him the moment he opened that door.

Room 318. He repeated it in his head like a prayer.

He found the right hallway.

The walk down it felt impossibly long.

Every step made his stomach twist tighter.

It could be him.
It might not be.
What will I do if it’s not? How do I come back from this?

He found the right room. Room 318.

His hand hovered over the door handle, shaking.

Just on the other side was…he didn’t know. A miracle? A lie? His whole heart?

Carlos closed his eyes and drew in one long, trembling breath.

Then he turned the handle.

Chapter Text

TK took deep, steadying breaths as he lay in the hospital bed. The scratchy hospital sheets were uncomfortable. He was weak and exhausted. His whole body ached and his head still throbbed. But he was alive. He was safe.

And better yet—his husband would be here soon.

He had woken briefly in the ambulance, head spinning, weak and nauseous. The paramedics had been inserting an IV but hadn’t seemed too worried about him. They were laughing and talking idly to each other about one of their coworkers who went on a really bad date the night before. TK knew from experience that this was how paramedics acted when they knew their patient was stable and would remain so until they got to the hospital, so that was comforting.

The paramedics had paid closer attention to him when they realized he was awake, asking him questions that TK found difficult to answer. The words were all there in his head, but he felt too exhausted to make them come out. He managed to give his name at least, but then things went fuzzy again for a while.

The next thing he remembered was being wheeled into the hospital. He kept his eyes closed against the too-bright lights. He was poked and prodded and sent for tests. He was pretty sure he’d had a CT scan. He’d definitely had blood drawn.

After a while, he was brought to a room, helped into bed by a couple of nurses. They bustled in and out for a bit, checking vitals, inserting a new IV.

TK had gradually started to feel more awake. A nurse had adjusted his pillow, smiling kindly. She’d told him he’d been severely dehydrated but they’d been pushing fluids so he should start to feel better now.

Then she’d told him that he was a miracle. He’d been declared dead in a helicopter crash almost two weeks ago. There had even been a funeral.

A funeral.

TK could barely imagine what Carlos must have been going through—must still be going through.

“Please, can you call my husband? Carlos Reyes. He needs to know that I’m—I’m alive.” TK was still so weak that it was difficult to speak.

The nurse had nodded kindly. “Don’t you worry about a thing, dear. We got your husband’s information from your file and someone has called him already. Just lie back and rest now.”

Relief had flooded through him. Carlos was on his way.

Now TK was alone. The only sounds were the soft beeping of the monitors and gentle murmur of voices outside his room and down the hall. His eyelids were heavy. His body wanted sleep, but he had to stay awake. He wanted Carlos more. He could sleep once Carlos got here.

TK allowed himself to close his eyes and focused on the hallway sounds.

A door opening, and then closing.

The soft ding of the elevator down the hall.

Voices passing by his door. Probably two nurses.

Footsteps approaching, then stopping.

The door to his room opening.

He turned his head with effort. Everything took effort right now. He felt like he was moving in slow motion. But then—none of that mattered anymore. Nothing mattered except the man standing in the doorway.

Carlos.

He looked—God, he looked terrible. Beautiful, of course, as always. But dark circles under his eyes like bruises, eyes rimmed red, exhaustion and pain evident on his face. He’d known it already, but seeing Carlos standing here, the full magnitude of the situation hit him. He really thought I was dead. TK couldn’t imagine the pain Carlos must have been experiencing, but that would be over now. Everything was okay.

“Hey, baby,” TK said, voice hoarse but steady.

Carlos just stood there in the doorway, not moving, fingers still clutching the door handle like it was keeping him upright. He was in shock. He was looking at TK like he didn’t believe his eyes.

“Hey,” TK said again, softer this time. “It’s me. I’m here. I’m okay, baby.”

That broke the spell.

Carlos stumbled forward, blinking furiously like he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. TK opened his arms, slow and shaky, wincing a little with the movement, but it didn’t matter—holding Carlos in his arms was the most important thing in the world right now.

Carlos dropped to the side of the bed and collapsed into him.

TK held him as tightly as his body would allow. One hand fisted in Carlos’s shirt, the other curling protectively around the back of his head.

Carlos buried his face in TK’s chest and sobbed.

Huge, shattering sobs ripped through him, and TK felt tears spring to his eyes, too.

TK didn’t say anything else. He just held on, eyes wet, pressing his lips to Carlos’s hair, breathing in the scent of him.

It was a long time before either of them moved.

Eventually, Carlos’s sobs began to quiet. He still hadn’t let go, his face still pressed to TK’s chest, but his breathing was slower now, more even. TK’s fingers moved gently through his hair, soothing him.

“I’m here,” TK whispered. “I’m okay. Everything’s okay.”

Carlos finally pulled back enough to look at him. His cheeks were wet, lips parted like he was still trying to form words he didn’t have.

TK gave him a small smile, and stroked his cheek. “You gonna talk to me, baby? Or just cry all over my hospital gown?”

Carlos huffed a broken laugh, breath hitching, finally finding the ability to speak. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “I thought you were—God, TK, we had a funeral. How—how are you here?”

TK felt guilt and grief rush through him. He could barely stand the thought that Carlos had been forced to endure so much pain. “I know. They told me. That I’d been declared dead in a helicopter crash, that there had already been a funeral and everything.” He let out a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, baby. But I’m alive, Carlos, I never got on that helicopter.”

Carlos stared at him, clearly still trying to make sense of what was happening. Trying to believe that TK was actually sitting here in front of him.

“You weren’t on it,” he repeated.

TK shook his head. “No. Nancy took the first patient. I stayed back to wait for the second chopper. But it wasn’t a chopper that showed up for me.”

Carlos’s expression shifted. TK could tell he was registering the fading bruises on his face for the first time. Carlos would obviously want to know everything that had happened, but TK couldn’t think about that right now. He didn’t want to relive it. He just wanted to hold Carlos, for Carlos to hold him, for them to be together, to rest. In his exhausted and weakened state, he couldn’t face the whole terrible story or the sight of the inevitable pain and fear it would bring to Carlos’s eyes.

He reached for Carlos’s hand. “Not now. Later. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise. But I’m okay. Right now, let’s just...”

Carlos brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed TK’s knuckles, hard, like he was reminding himself that TK was real. “You weren’t on the helicopter,” he said again, the words steadier now, like he was really starting to believe it. “That’s why you’re here. That’s why—oh my God. You’re here.”

“I’m here,” TK said, voice cracking with emotion. “I’m alive, baby.”

Carlos nodded, and this time, the tears that slipped down his cheeks weren’t from grief. Relief and love were shining in his eyes.

Carlos leaned forward, resting his forehead against TK’s, their noses brushing, breaths mingling in the space between them.

“I love you,” Carlos whispered, fierce and raw. “I love you so much, TK. I don’t even have words for how much. I thought I was gonna have to live the rest of my life without you.” His voice broke a little on the last word and TK rubbed his back to soothe him. “But now you’re here and I’m never letting you go again.”

TK felt tears of happiness and relief spilling out of his own eyes. “Good,” he whispered back. “Because I’m not going anywhere. I love you too, baby.”

Carlos climbed carefully onto the edge of the bed, mindful of wires and bruises, and pulled TK into him as gently as he could.

TK melted into his arms without hesitation, head tucked under Carlos’s chin, tears on both their faces. He was safe in his husband’s arms. He could finally breathe. He could finally rest.

Neither of them said anything else.

They didn’t need to.

The storm had broken. And in its wake, they had found their way back to each other.

Chapter Text

Some time had passed.

Carlos didn’t know how much. Minutes, maybe an hour. Time didn’t feel real when TK was in his arms again. His husband was alive and that was the only thing in the world that mattered.

They hadn’t said much. Just held each other and let it sink in. Carlos was still trying to make himself believe it was really happening.

TK had drifted in and out a bit, his body still catching up from everything he’d faced, but every time TK’s grip on him tightened, Carlos tightened his own in return.

Carlos wanted desperately to know the whole story of what had happened to his husband, but TK hadn’t felt ready to talk about it.

Carlos could wait.

TK was here. He was alive. That was enough for now.

A soft knock broke the stillness, followed by the quiet creak of the door opening.

A nurse stepped in with a tablet and a kind but professional smile. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said gently, eyes flicking between them. “I just need to do a quick check-in.”

Carlos eased back, letting TK settle against the pillows as the nurse approached the bed.

“Vitals are good,” she murmured, watching the monitor. “How’s the headache?”

“Still there,” TK mumbled. “But not spinning anymore.”

“Good sign,” she said with a nod, making notes on her tablet. “You had a pretty nasty concussion, some bruised ribs, a couple lacerations that we stitched up, and you were severely dehydrated when they brought you in. But all things considered…you’re incredibly lucky. You’re going to be okay.”

Carlos felt tears prick at his eyes again, this time from pure, unfiltered relief.

“You’ll likely be here for a couple more days for observation, just to be safe. We want to monitor the head injury and make sure you’re keeping fluids down.” She glanced up from her chart. “But there’s someone else here to see you. A police officer. He said he spoke with the EMTs who brought you in, and he’s been waiting to follow up.”

TK’s expression shifted, tension flickering behind his eyes.

Carlos reached for his husband’s hand again, studying his face closely. “You want to talk to him now?”

TK hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. Might as well.”

The nurse gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll let him know.”

The door opened again a moment later, and a man in a button-up shirt with a badge around his neck stepped inside. He looked about mid-forties, sharp-eyed but calm, his voice gentle as he addressed the room.

“Mr. Strand?” he said to TK, nodding once to Carlos, who realized that he vaguely recognized him but couldn’t remember his name. “Detective Ramos, APD. First, I just want to say how glad we are to have found you alive.”

“Thanks,” TK said quietly, voice still rough. “Me too.”

Detective Ramos stepped farther into the room. “I’ll try to keep this short. I wanted to fill you in on what we’ve confirmed so far.”

Carlos sat forward slightly, still holding TK’s hand like a lifeline.

“One of the women you were treating at the scene—her name was Elena Castillo. She’d recently come forward with evidence tying several individuals to a major interstate medical fraud ring. Her husband was a whistleblower who died under suspicious circumstances last year, and Elena had proof implicating some powerful people. She became a target.”

TK’s brow furrowed, a flicker of anger under the exhaustion in his eyes.

“The other woman you and Paramedic Gillian found at the cliffside,” Ramos continued, “was Elena’s sister, Isabel. Isabel had been staying with Elena and got caught in the crossfire. Paramedic Gillian transported her and she’s recovering. She’ll be okay.”

TK nodded slowly. “What about Elena? And what happened with the helicopter?”

“The men involved in the medical fraud ring hired a group of criminals—hit men, essentially—to silence Elena. Murder her. We now have evidence that they had been following Elena for a while, but unfortunately Elena didn’t realize the danger she was in. If she had, she certainly wouldn’t have put herself and her sister in such a secluded and treacherous position. Elena and Isabel were hiking on the cliff and Isabel slipped on a rocky ledge and hurt her leg. They called 911, but the men following them took the opportunity to make Elena’s death look like an accident. We think they had planned to throw them both off the cliff and be done with it, but it wasn’t as easy as they thought it would be. The women fought back. Then, before they could finish what they’d started, you and your fellow paramedic arrived by helicopter.”

Carlos felt sick, thinking of TK and Nancy arriving into that situation, and of the poor women targeted by those brutal men. He’d seen plenty of crimes like this—and worse—as a Texas Ranger, but the cruelty human beings were capable of inflicting on others never ceased to disturb him.

Detective Ramos continued the story with a grim look on his face, “The men hid while Paramedic Gillian took Isabel on the first chopper. While you were waiting for the second one, they knocked you out to get you out of the way. One of them boarded the second helicopter with Elena, pretending to be an emergency responder. We believe he took your uniform to appear more convincing. His intention was to kill Elena and get out, but once they were airborne, something went wrong. Maybe the pilot realized the man wasn’t who he claimed to be and a fight broke out, we’re not sure. But the helicopter went down. The crash killed the pilot, Elena, and the man pretending to be you. That’s why there were signs at the wreckage of there having been three bodies. The wreckage was so badly burned, no one could be identified, so everyone assumed you had been involved in the crash.”

Carlos flinched, jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away from TK.

“After the crash, the other two men took you because they didn’t want any witnesses. They knew you’d seen both Elena and Isabel and they couldn’t risk you identifying anyone or raising questions.”

TK looked down, jaw tight. “So it was about covering their tracks.”

“Yes,” Ramos confirmed, though the look on his face made it clear that wasn’t all.

“But why didn’t they just kill me?” TK said it so casually but the thought made Carlos’s chest ache and panic flare inside of him.

They could have killed him.

“We aren’t clear on exactly what their plan was yet, as the investigation is still ongoing, but we believe the men were using you as leverage somehow, trying to extort more money from the men who hired them, who of course just wanted everything hushed up. If you were found, questions would be raised about the helicopter crash that would eventually lead back to the medical fraud ring. But we’ve got the two men in custody now. One of them refused to say anything, but the other has been talking. That’s how we know so many details already. We have a strong case against them both, as well as the men who hired them.”

Fury coursed through Carlos at the thought of those men using his husband to get more money. Part of him wanted to know every detail of what their plan had been, but he pushed those thoughts away. He couldn’t think about it right now. He had TK, alive and breathing, in front of him. That’s what mattered. Those details could be dealt with later.

TK closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, like he was finally letting himself process it, but he didn’t speak.

“Thank you,” Carlos said, voice low. “Thank you for telling us.”

Detective Ramos gave a respectful nod. “We’ll be in touch when you’re ready to give a formal statement, Mr. Strand. But for now, just rest.”

He left them alone, the door shutting softly behind him.

Carlos turned back to TK, whose eyes were still closed but whose fingers were still curled around his.

“That’s a lot,” Carlos murmured. It was all still sinking in.

TK opened his eyes slowly. “Yeah. It really is.”

“I can’t believe you were going through all that and I was just sitting at home, doing nothing.” Carlos felt the bitter ache of guilt overtake him. TK had been out there, in danger, the whole time. Carlos hadn’t even known. The thought made him feel sick.

“Baby, you had no way of knowing. How could you have?” TK reached up to stroke Carlos’s cheek. “I know you must have been going through your own kind of hell.”

Carlos nodded tightly then took a shaky breath. “It’s over,” he said, gently brushing TK’s hair back from his forehead. “You’re safe.”

That’s what mattered now. That’s what Carlos would focus on.

TK let his head rest against the pillow again and nodded. “I’m safe. I’m with you.”

Carlos leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his temple, then his cheek, then his lips.

“And I’m never letting you go again.”

TK’s eyes were fluttering shut again, his body sagging deeper into the mattress, every ounce of strength clearly drained.

Carlos ran a soothing hand along his arm. “Hey. Close your eyes, baby. You need rest.”

“I’m okay,” TK mumbled, though his voice was barely above a whisper.

Carlos gave a small smile. “I know. Just sleep. You’re safe. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

TK didn’t argue. Within moments, his breathing had evened out, the lines of tension in his face finally easing.

Carlos sat there for another minute, watching the rise and fall of his husband’s chest, like he still didn’t quite trust it to stay steady. Then he kissed TK’s hand, gently set it down on the bed, and quietly got up and stepped out into the hall. It pained him to go even that far from his husband, but he had to make a call and didn’t want to disturb TK’s rest.

Owen.

He hadn’t been able to reach him earlier, but it was time to try again.

The phone rang once. Twice. Then: “Carlos?” Owen’s voice sounded tired, scratchy with exhaustion.

“Hey,” Carlos said, heart pounding. “I—I need you to come to the hospital.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Why? What’s going on? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay. I’m not hurt,” Carlos said quickly. He glanced back toward TK’s door. Owen would think he’d gone crazy with grief if he tried to tell him over the phone. This was the kind of thing that needed to be seen to be believed. “I just…I need you to come. Please. I’ll explain when you get here.”

Another pause. Then Owen said, “Which hospital?”

“St. David’s. Room 318.”

Carlos could hear the confusion in Owen’s voice, could practically feel it through the phone. But thankfully, Owen didn’t push.

“I’m on my way.”

The line went dead.

Carlos exhaled slowly, heart thudding, adrenaline humming beneath the surface.

Owen had been forced to deliver the worst news of Carlos’s life to him just over a week ago. A moment that had left them both shattered. Now, Carlos got to deliver news to Owen. But this time, it would be some of the best news either of them had ever gotten. He was grateful that he would be the one to deliver the news. Carlos knew it would be healing for both of them.

Carlos checked in on TK, who was still sleeping, and then paced the hallway just outside room 318, glancing down it every thirty seconds, ears tuned for footsteps and for Owen’s voice.

It wasn’t long before Owen was striding down the corridor, face drawn tight with concern. He was still in his uniform. He must’ve come straight from his shift.

“What’s going on?” Owen asked the moment he reached Carlos. “Why wouldn’t you just tell me over the phone? You scared the hell out of me.”

Carlos opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat tightened with emotion. It was too big to explain with words. He just reached out, took Owen’s arm, and quietly said, “Come with me.”

They stepped into the room together.

Owen stopped cold.

His eyes locked onto the bed.

TK was still asleep, curled slightly on his side, an IV in his arm, visibly battered and bruised, but still beautiful. And most importantly, alive.

And for a long, breathless moment, Owen didn’t move.

Carlos watched it hit him—the recognition, the disbelief, the impossible hope crashing through the grief he’d carried for days. He knew the feeling well.

TK stirred now, blinking groggily. “Carlos?”

But then he saw the other man in the room, and his eyes widened.

“Dad?”

Owen choked on a sound between a laugh and a sob.

“Hey, son,” he said, voice breaking completely.

In two strides, he was at TK’s bedside. TK struggled to sit up, and Owen helped him, folding his arms around his son like he’d never let go.

Carlos stepped back and let the moment unfold.

“I thought you were gone,” Owen whispered. “I—how are you here?”

TK clung to him as tightly as he could, still weak and groggy, but not letting go. “I didn’t get on the chopper. I never got on. They took me…but I made it back.”

Owen shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “I don't care how. You're here.”

Owen embraced his son again and held him for a long time.

When Owen finally sat down in the chair beside the bed, still holding onto TK’s hand like he didn’t trust the universe not to snatch him away again, Carlos moved in closer to TK’s other side, gently taking his other hand.

The room had quieted. The storm had passed.

As Carlos looked at TK, something settled in his chest and a weight he hadn’t even known he was still carrying slipped away.

He still had him.

His husband.

His soulmate.

The love of his life.

Tears filled his eyes without warning, spilling down his cheeks as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to TK’s knuckles.

TK looked at him, eyes tender and tired and full of love, and smiled.

Carlos smiled back and whispered, “I’ve got you.”

And this time, he knew he was never letting go.