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How many times?
It's a question Carlos has asked himself frequently these last few months. How many times a day will he think about his father? How many times will he get to share a coffee with his husband? How many times will he find a new lead, only for it to go nowhere? How many times will he call his mother this week? How many times can he pull a smile from TK? How many times is he going to stay at the office late?
He's aware that there are answers, finite numbers to each one of these questions. After all, one day these things will happen for the last time. It scares him. It gathers a weight in his chest that tips him forward. He has to keep moving, has to keep catching himself with each subsequent step, or he'll fall.
He can't afford to fall.
Carlos Reyes carries every promise that he's ever made with him with every step he takes. They are the shadows that trail after him. They are the chains that clink against the very floor he walks down. They are the sword hanging not above his head, but above his heart.
I promise I'll come home on time tomorrow. I promise I'll be there for dinner. I promise I'll call you once a week. I promise to talk to someone about it. I promise to stay strong. I promise to hold you forever, and as close as I can, for as long as I can. I promise I'll be better about this. I promise to love you, always.
I promise to find out who did this to you.
Some of these promises—these duties—come as easy as breathing. He can hold his husband in bed (when they both find themselves in bed together), he can call his mother and ask her how she's doing (when talking doesn't feel like cracking his ribs open), he can be everything that everyone needs from him and also the man they deserve and also a hero and a rock and a husband and a son and a good person. He can do it all. He can and will keep it together. He will keep it under control.
But staring at TK, asleep in their bed with his lips parted slightly after just barely escaping death yet again, he feels these promises for the mountains that they are.
How many times can he tell himself that it's normal to distract from feeling the hard things? How many times will he lie to himself that he's not ruining his marriage? How many times does he wonder how to fix things?
Losing TK would break him into infinite pieces. It would shatter him irreparably. He knows this in his bones. He could have lost him today, and how did he spend the time? With his nose buried in the same old case file. TK's lungs could have been liquified, he could have been dying in agony and choking on his own dissolving cells and all Carlos could bring himself to do was stare at the photo of his father's corpse.
Yeah. Husband of the year.
TK stirs in his arms, attuned as he is to Carlos' body as Carlos is to his. He shifts to better face him in the bed. "You're up," TK says, somewhere between a question and a not-so-surprised observation. His eyes aren't even open.
Carlos kisses his temple, letting his nose brush against TK's hairline. He smells sharply of sweat, and there's a pungent scent of rain, too. He didn't bother showering at the station today, too focused on coming back to Carlos to care if he smelled bad. "Shh," Carlos whispers, "go back to bed."
There are things he wants to say, promises he'd like to add to the pile. When this is over, and I am whole again, I'll take you dancing. I'll take you out to a dinner we can't afford. I'll take you out of the country even though I hate leaving home. I'll be waiting for you in bed every night—better yet, I'll cook you dinner and feed you until you're so full you feel like you can't move. I'll love you and never let you feel like that could ever be a burden for me. My love for you will never feel like a question. When this is over. When this is over. When.
These promises are too much, though. They're signs of what he is not: a good, attentive husband. Balanced in work and personal life. The man he always thought he would be in marriage.
He's failing his father every day he goes without finding the killer, but he fails TK every second that his mind wanders away from loving him. He never thought it would be like that. He always thought nothing could ever distract him from loving Tyler Kennedy Strand.
It's between his father and his husband, and how is he supposed to choose?
TK wrinkles his nose. It's adorable, and usually a sign that he's trying to wake himself up from a half-asleep state. Carlos doesn't want him to. He's been through enough stress in the past twenty-four hours to strain himself into waking at one in the morning. "Are you," TK hesitates, "are you gonna go look at the case again?" He says it like he already knows the answer, like he's so accustomed to bracing himself for disappointment. TK has been disappointed so much recently.
It makes tears well in Carlos' eyes. He's been so neglectful as a husband that TK assumes anything keeping him up at night must be to do with his father's case, but that's not true. He can't sleep because he almost lost TK today, and that is what's important. It's what should always be most important.
Carlos leans down, not wanting TK to see the tears in his eyes but not willing to have even the smallest amount of space between their skin any longer. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, hooking a leg over both of TK's.
TK sighs, relaxing into it. Carlos hates to think that this is more of a luxury for him nowadays, hates that he can't promise TK that it isn't, that he'll change, that he'll be here in the moment more often.
"Trouble sleeping?" TK murmurs.
"I just need you." Carlos focuses on the way TK is breathing. It's deep, and even, and not sloshing around like his lungs have melted or his heart is beating so rapidly it's about to explode. His chest presses against Carlos' own in tandem, and he tells himself that TK is here, alive, and that's all that matters. "I love you so much, Tyler."
TK pops an eye open. "I love you, too."
Carlos wants to shake his head, tell him he shouldn't. There are so many things wrong with this beautiful thing between them, and it's all Carlos' fault. TK would also never let him put himself down like that.
A gentle hand on his cheek makes Carlos realize that he's crying. He hadn't even noticed. TK stares at him with sparkling eyes, and suddenly he's so much more awake than he was a second ago. "Hey."
His breath stutters in his chest. Carlos wants to curl up in a ball, but he also needs to keep holding his husband. "I'm sorry," he whimpers. "I haven't—I can't—"
"Carlos, baby. Just try and breathe." TK puts his palm flat on his chest, fingers splayed out. He never stops looking into Carlos' eyes.
He shudders, trying to get his breathing under control. His lungs feel electrified, like they'll pull air in and release it with every little involuntary twitch of muscle and he'll never get enough oxygen. "I almost lost you today," he gets out. "I can't—and I would've—" He has to take a moment, because they're getting dangerously close to another promise and Carlos isn't able to make another one he'll inevitably break. "There are so many things that I can't do for you, Tyler." Things that I'm supposed to be doing.
He feels guilty. He's crying but TK is the one who nearly died. It feels so fundamentally wrong to feel this way, to put yet another thing onto his husband, but TK just takes him all in like he always does.
"No one is expecting you to be perfect," TK says. He pulls Carlos in then, letting him sink his face into TK's shoulder.
"I can't be anything you need," Carlos admits. "I'm not good enough for—"
"Yes, you are," TK affirms. "I only ever need you, Carlos Reyes. It doesn't matter how dark or ugly or—or brooding you feel," and at that, they both chuckle wetly, "because it's all you. I just need you."
"You're too good to me."
A hand starts combing through his short-cropped hair. "This? This is just loving you."
Carlos loves him, too. He loves TK back just as much but he can't do the things his husband is doing for him. Not right now.
TK is silent for a few minutes until the hand stroking through Carlos' hair pauses. "I think we should see someone about this," he finally says.
Carlos pulls his head up to look at him. "You mean a therapist?"
TK shrugs. "Or a couples' counselor. I think it would be good for both of us to talk about it." He bites his lip in thought. "It would be good for me, at least."
"It would be good for me, too," Carlos says, although he isn't sure how much he actually means it. He would do anything to make TK feel better—that's what he wants to believe, anyway, and he knows that once upon a time it used to be true. Maybe he can make it true again. "We should go."
"Really?" TK sounds surprised, but also quietly relieved. It only solidifies Carlos' assent further. "I'm so glad to hear that, baby." He pulls Carlos up for a kiss. It's warm and comforting, not needing to go anywhere further.
He feels unequivocally like he does not deserve this kindness. It's too much. He says, "I'm sorry," and it gets TK to pull away from him.
His husband gives him a small, sad smile. 'I'm sorry' is not enough, but it also contains every little misstep Carlos has made in the last year and he knows TK can feel the weight of the words, too. "Do you remember our wedding vows?" TK asks.
"Of course," he says automatically. They may as well be embroidered on his heart. He couldn't forget them if he tried.
"Then you know we both promised to take care of each other's hearts." TK runs a hand down Carlos' face, tracing the curve of his cheekbone, the slope of his nose down to his cupid's bow. He kisses Carlos there, right above the lips. "I signed up for all of this, Carlos. I did long before we were married. Therapy will just be an extension of caring for you." He kisses him again. "Caring for us."
Carlos nods. "I already said yes."
TK settles down, his ear to Carlos' chest. "I'm just making sure you know. I'm always here for you."
Carlos lets his arms wrap around his husband and squeeze. You almost weren't, and I wasn't there for you, either. He can't say that, though, can't bear to speak those words out loud. Like his promises, he carries his mistakes with him everywhere, too, and they're just as heavy.
He wants to say he'll be there for TK in kind, but he can't because right now it isn't true. Instead, he sighs. "I love you, TK Strand."
That, Carlos knows, will always remain true, no matter how many times he thinks it.