Hi @marjansmarwani!! I have an exchange fic for you! I really wasn’t sure which prompt to do and even debated trying to combine prompts 2 & 3, but in the end the hurt/comfort prompt won out. In a convenient 3+1 format! :) I hope you enjoy! @chaotictarlos: thank you for the beta and helping me when I got stuck! @noxsoulmate: thank you for helping me brainstorm!
******
1.
Carlos doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know this is gonna be a bad day. His head feels like it’s going to explode, and he can’t quite see straight.
He stumbles into the kitchen and manages to start some coffee before slumping on the couch to wait.
That’s where TK finds him an hour later, having not moved to get the coffee he started, breathing heavily as he tries to fight against the nausea that’s been rising in his stomach since he sat down.
“Babe?” Concerned, TK sits next to him and cradles his face in his hands, no doubt checking for a fever.
“‘M okay,” Carlos murmurs, waving TK’s hands away but the gesture is weak. “Migraine,” he explains. “I just need a few more minutes; then I’ll get up.”
“Let’s get you back to bed. I’ll reschedule the appointments,” TK offers.
“Maybe that’s a good idea.” He sighs, they have meetings with the bakery and a florist today. He doesn’t want to disappoint TK, but he knows he can’t handle leaving the apartment this afternoon. They’ve had this appointment set up with the bakery for weeks, he hopes she can accommodate a different date.
“Come on.” TK stands and reaches out to help Carlos up.
“I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbles. He gets up and hurries to the bathroom.
Carlos knows TK has seen worse, but he’s grateful that TK gives him a little privacy as he violently empties his stomach. As soon as he’s done, TK swoops in, and he feels a cool towel on the back of his neck. TK uses another one to wipe his forehead, his cheeks, and finally, his mouth. He hands him a water bottle, and Carlos rinses his mouth and takes a couple of small sips.
“Thank you. I’m sorry,” he adds pathetically, his voice rough.
“It’s okay. Let’s get you back to bed,” TK whispers.
Carlos stands on shaky legs, and together, they make their way back to the bedroom.
“Take these,” TK hands him a couple of pills and the bottle of water. He swallows them obediently and then lays face down on the bed and pulls the covers over his head. He sighs, hoping the meds kick in soon so he can sleep through the worst of it. TK presses a kiss to his head and disappears to make the phone calls.
It’s mostly dark when Carlos opens his eyes again. There’s a sliver of light shining through the curtains.
He's not quite sure how TK got the blackout curtains up without waking him, but he’s relieved. The pain in his head is better but not gone completely.
He rolls over and TK is there next to him, sitting up in bed, silently playing on his phone.
“Hey,” he whispers. “How are you feeling, babe?”
“Still hurts, but I don’t feel sick anymore.”
TK makes him take another sip of water, and he lays down again, resting his head against TK’s thigh. TK rubs his back and he shifts uncomfortably, unable to fall back asleep.
“Want me to hold you?” TK asks.
“Please.”
“Okay,” TK agrees. He sets his phone aside before slipping under the covers. He curls his body around his fiancé, and Carlos is finally able to relax enough to fall asleep again.
2.
“Reyes!” Carlos stops dribbling the basketball and pivots toward the voice yelling his name. There’s an opening and he bounces the ball with force to his teammate. She catches it, then shoots, earning them another two points.
“Nice job!”
He hurries over and gives Detective Jones a high-five before pausing at the benches and taking a large swig from his water bottle.
He takes a second to peek at his phone. TK should be meeting him any time and they’ll walk home together. While he enjoys his weekly pick-up basketball game at the precinct with some of his fellow officers, he enjoys the evening walk home with TK more.
They play for a few more minutes and he manages to make two more baskets for his team.
Having a moment to breathe between baskets, he pauses and pulls the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face, and as he does he hears a wolf whistle coming from the direction of the benches. He knows it’s TK, even without the accompanying playful teasing that comes from the guys.
Still, he looks over and smiles as TK takes a seat on the bench, ready to watch Carlos finish up his game. As he gives TK a little wave, he hears his name getting called and he turns, too late. Merely moments after he turns, his face explodes in pain.
Carlos staggers backward, and, in his daze, it takes a bit to realize the basketball is the culprit. He’s surrounded in a matter of seconds; by teammates trying to make sure he’s okay and, of course, TK.
TK stops in front of him, trying to lead him to the bench and starting to assess the damage. A couple of officers run off to fetch ice and a towel while TK pokes at his face which doesn’t help as much as it hurts.
He’s unsure what hurts more, his face or his pride, and he hisses in pain as TK examines him. He knows he’ll wind up swollen for a couple of days, but he just hopes nothing’s broken.
Jones is back with the first aid kit and a clean towel, and TK uses it to wipe some of the blood off his face.
“I don’t think your nose is broken,” TK says. “We should probably go to the hospital to be sure, though.”
A patrol officer Carlos has worked with a few times, and the one Carlos is fairly certain threw the ball, returns with a bag of ice and offers to drive them, but he declines emphatically.
He hisses as TK presses the ice to his face. “I’m okay. It’s my fault. I should have been paying attention.”
“Instead of being distracted by your boy toy over there,” Lexi teases.
“Come on then, let’s get you home,” TK says.
They take the ride offered by Carlos’ partner and promise to call her if they need anything. TK carries Carlos’ bag while he focuses on keeping the ice on his face, and they make their way into the elevator.
“Sorry I distracted you, babe,” TK finally says.
“It was my fault,” Carlos says. He settles on the sofa while TK rummages through the freezer. He finally joins Carlos on the sofa with a bag of frozen vegetables, and Carlos would laugh if he wasn’t sure it would hurt so much.
TK just shrugs, “it’s softer than ice cubes. It’ll work.”
Carlos doesn’t care at this point, if it helps his face from swelling up and the pain is some of the worst that he’s ever felt - he’ll take it. He lays down, settling his head in TK’s lap, and TK gently places the bag of veggies on his face.
“They’re not going to let you live this down, are they?”
“Not anytime soon,” Carlos admits.
3.
Carlos sits at the edge of the bed and pouts. He desperately wishes he was at home in his own bed, with TK’s arms around him.
Instead, he’s all alone in the ER waiting for the doctor to return and finish his stitches - which is taking longer than he would like for it to.
He wonders if his partner has called TK, or if that’s been left for him to do himself when they release him. He hopes that someone called TK and told him what was going on, with how slow the doctor was going he’s definitely going to be late for dinner and he doesn’t want TK to worry.
He’s nauseous and Carlos knows that’s a bad sign. He groans and his fingers lightly brush the plastic emesis bag the nurse had left for him before leaving him alone for a few minutes for the local anesthetic to kick in. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths hoping that will help calm his stomach and when he opens them again TK’s standing just inside the curtain.
“Oh, babe,” TK crosses the small space between them and wraps his arms around Carlos.
Carlos knows the look he’s getting from TK well. TK’s eyes and hands frantically roam over his body as he checks for any additional injuries that the doctors might have missed. TK never believes that Carlos is okay until he checks him out for himself.
“I’m okay,” Carlos insists. “Just a little bump on the head.”
TK evaluates the wound on Carlos’ forehead. “I’m thinking that’s going to take at least five stitches, Carlos, that’s not nothing.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was serving papers and I don’t even know what happened.”
“You don’t know or you don’t remember?” TK frowns and he knows he should mention the concussion but instead Carlos just shrugs.
TK gives a little sigh as he hugs Carlos tightly. “Do you need anything?”
“Just you. I feel better now that you’re here.”
“You big softie,” TK teases.
“How does it feel to be on that side of the exam table?” Carlos asks.
“Not good,” TK murmurs. “I hate seeing you hurting.”
TK steps back as a nurse joins them, setting out everything they’ll need for the stitches.
“Why are you sitting up, Mr. Reyes?” The nurse gently guides him so he’s settled back in the bed. “The doctor will be right in, and then we’ll get you checked in,” he says.
“You’re admitting him?” TK asks, surprised and he turns to look at Carlos. “What didn’t you tell me? Did you lose consciousness?”
“Twice,” the nurse chirps. “Once on scene and once in my ER.”
“Carlos!”
“I’m fine,” he insists.
TK opens his mouth, likely to protest, when the doctor walks in. TK doesn’t argue, but slides to the head of the bed and sits, slipping his hand into Carlos’ for comfort. He stays silent while the doctor stitches up Carlos’ forehead. It’s a quick affair and it doesn’t hurt the way Carlos expects it to, but Carlos squeezes TK’s hand the whole time.
“They’re almost ready for you upstairs, officer. We’ll keep you overnight for observation and do another CT scan in the morning.” The nurse pushes in a wheelchair and Carlos sighs.
“Another CT? How hard were you hit?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles. He clumsily slides off the bed and TK steadies him until he gets settled in the wheelchair whispering something about hospital policy.
“I’ll call your parents and then I’ll be up.” Carlos gives a half-nod, even though he really doesn’t want to be alone.
It takes longer for him to change and climb into bed than he thought it would. Getting comfortable is a joke, but he tries to relax and wait for TK. He doesn’t have to wait long, however, TK joins him in minutes.
“Tell me a story,” Carlos says, closing his eyes.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t walk to talk. I like hearing your voice,” Carlos explains.
“Okay,” TK says. He joins Carlos in the bed that’s not really big enough for two, and talks.
+1
Carlos’ radio crackles to life.
“RA 126… We need APD assistance in the kitchen.” It’s Tommy’s voice, calm as always. He can vaguely make out Nancy’s voice in the background but she doesn’t sound as calm.
He grabs another officer’s attention, a rookie, and turns him back toward the residence they had just cleared.
“Go,” he orders. He draws his firearm, holding it at a low ready, and follows him into the house. The new officer stops suddenly, just past the threshold of the kitchen, and Carlos would have bumped into him if he hadn’t been on high alert.
Just past the rookie, he sees Nancy and Tommy kneeling - TK lying in a pool of blood between them.
“Dude came up the basement stairs,” Nancy says, not taking her eyes off TK. “He had a knife.” She jerks her head towards the open screen door. “Went out the back.”
Carlos whips around, stepping towards the other officer. “I thought you cleared the basement?” he asks.
“I-I-I did!” He insists, taking a step away from a very angry Carlos.
Carlos cocks his head to the side and steps towards him, backing him against the counter. He sees Tommy coming towards them in his peripherals, but keeps his focus on the young officer. “You did? Then why is my husband-”
“Carlos!” Tommy’s hand is on his shoulder, gently pulling him back. “Let your sergeant deal with him.” Carlos glances to the side and sees TK reaching for him, despite Nancy’s efforts to keep him still.
He turns back towards the rookie. “Get back up and search the area.”
“Yes, sir.” Carlos steps aside and the younger officer hurries past, shouting into his radio.
“TK?” Carlos turns and kneels at TK’s side, smoothing his hair back and caressing his cheek softly. Up close, it looks worse than he thought, but TK is moving and talking and laughing at him, so he hopes it’s not life-threatening.
“You were really giving him the business,” TK chuckles.
“He had one job, TK, keeping you three safe.”
“Two outta three isn’t bad,” TK jokes. “Besides, I’ll be okay.”
“You always are.”
Carlos watches anxiously as Nancy and Tommy load TK onto a stretcher, prepping him for transport.
“You coming?” Tommy asks.
TK chuckles again. “That’s a dumb question. Of course, he is. I need him. He’s always here when I need him.” Carlos follows Tommy and climbs into the ambulance.
The ride to the hospital takes ages and yet, in no time, TK is being ripped away from him and whisked up to surgery, and Carlos is shuttled to the waiting room with the rest of the 126. He tries to collapse into a chair but Paul stops him and pulls him into the bathroom, helping him wash the blood from his hands.
He sits and waits, paces and waits, but mostly waits.
“Mr. Reyes-Strand?”
“Yes?” Carlos jumps up. “Is he-”
“Surgery went well. He’s awake and asking for you.” Carlos sighs with relief and hurries down the hallway. “He needs to rest, but you can have a few minutes with him.”
Carlos agrees and before he steps into the room, he can see TK’s already reaching for him.
“See, babe, I told you I’d be okay.”
“You did,” Carlos laughs and sniffles. “Are you in any pain?”
“A fair amount,” TK admits.
Carlos starts to pull away. “I’ll grab the doctor.”
TK keeps a tight grip on his hand. “Later. Right now, all I want is you.”
Carlos nods. He sits on the edge of the bed as best he can, and holds his husband.
This is my last story that’s not back on track with the Michael!whump in my Villainous verse (better title still in progress). This should be the last bit that focuses on Michael and Fayelin’s backstory, and after this, we’ll continue with our regularly scheduled whump story. I’ve got some good stuff planned for Michael and Endeavor returns and... I don’t want to spoil it :)
@winedark-whump This is the one I’ve been dying to show you! I’m so excited. Okay, here we go.
.......
A crash in another woke Michael from his light sleep. He sat up slowly, trying not to put any stress on the nothingness that was his left arm. Arrow had patched him up, crying the entire time. She had sobbed apologies, both fully coherent and utterly nonsensical. He could barely acknowledge her, whether it was from the drugs she had snuck for him or the grief that overwhelmed him, he wasn’t entirely sure. He did remember her saying since it was her fault that everything had happened the way it did, the least she could do was make sure he had a place to stay, saying he could crash at his place until he was strong enough to move. He hadn’t really responded to her, unable to form words of reassurance or defiance. Mostly, he had just wanted to go back to sleep, where he could pretend that his fiance wasn’t dead, where he still had both of his arms, and where he wasn’t crashing in a Heroes apartment. That had been a week ago.
A hard thump followed the crash. That concerned him, Arrow had said that no other Heroes knew where she lived as it was against their policy to reveal information that could potentially be tortured out of someone. Once he was upright, he put his feet on the cold floor. Her apartment wasn’t much really, it was just a bedroom with no furniture except a mattress, a kitchenette, and a bathroom, with no carpeting, or even drapes on the window (she had told him, embarrassed, while working, that she used foil in order to trap the heat in winter) so he knew it wouldn’t be robbers. Who would rob somewhere on the bad side of town, with no drapes, and foil on the windows? Absolutely no one, and he was sure of it.
So he made his way into the kitchen, grabbing first the baseball bat underneath her bed. He knew she had one, all girls who lived on this side of town did. He didn’t have the strength to charge it up but, in a pinch, he could do some damage with it. He toed open the door, and dropped the bat. Arrow was spread out across the floor, fallen pots and pans from the stove around her.
“I told you we could just share the bed.” Michael joked listlessly. “You don’t have to sleep on the kitchen floor.”
A watery chuckle was his reply.
“Don’t think I could move even if you wanted me to.”
Michael frowned. Arrow then shifted, lifting her head up with great effort, and horror flashed through his veins. Arrow’s face was badly beaten, eyes almost swollen shut, blood everywhere, lips split and cracked, and her nose looked broken. It had taken him a moment to see that Arrow was even under what was left of that face.
With a burst of adrenaline, he grabbed her shirt with his good arm and dragged her over to the bed he’d just been sleeping on. She didn’t protest the entire time.
“You weren’t this beat up the last time I saw you.” Michael said. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Arrow replied.
“It matters.” Michael insisted, latching onto the first emotion he’d felt in days. “Did they give you another mission? Did someone hurt you because of the Explosion?”
Arrow flinched. “Just drop it, okay, it doesn’t matter!”
“It matters!” Michael shouted. Arrow flinched again, tears welling up in her eyes, and he forced himself to calm down. “Please, who did this to you?”
The dam burst and Arrow dissolved into tears. Michael sat on the bed beside her.
“I thought they were my friends.”
“What?” Michael asked in horror but Arrow misunderstood.
“I thought they were my friends!” She shouted. “I trusted them! They said I was no different from the very criminals I hunted!”
Michael just stared at her. Arrow choked back her tears as best as she could.
“I killed your Mirror.” She whispered, as if admitting it aloud were physically painful to her. Knowing her ethics, it probably did. “It was an accident but it still happened. And I blew off your arm, and I brought you to my own fucking apartment, and they screamed at me for not capturing you!”
A pit of dread crept into Michael’s veins.
“I didn’t tell them you were here.” Arrow sighed, noticing Michael’s discomfort. “They called me a traitor. Said Killian’s death changed me too much. Wait- fuck! You know what? I don’t care. Yes, Soldier’s name was Killian. I’m a traitor anyway, may as well stop fighting it.”
In a move he never could’ve predicted, Arrow took off her blood-stained mask, revealing the very young face underneath it.
“You’re just a kid.” Michael breathed.
Arrow shrugged. She slowly sat up to match his posture, wincing.
“Look, Arrow-”
“Fayelin.”
“Excuse me?” Michael asked.
“You’ve seen me without my mask, you’re staying in my shitty ass apartment, and you know Killian’s name, so you may as well know mine. My name is Fayelin. Fayelin Skye.”
“Michael Winters.” Michael stuck his hand out on instinct.
Arr-Fayelin shook it easily.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered.
“I know.”
“No, I mean, fuck, I am so, so sorry for what happened.” Fayelin tentatively wiped away her fresh tears. “You lost someone more important to you than your own life and it’s all my fault and I’m so, so sorry for that in a way I can’t put into words. But that’s not what this one was about.”
She turned to face him, grunting as she shifted, clearly trying to work through the pain.
“I’m sorry I believed them.”
Michael frowned, confused.
“I’m sorry I believed their lies. I’m sorry I let them brainwash me into thinking you were basically subhuman. I’m sorry I thought that all of your kind was the same and couldn’t be trusted, and because of that mistrust you lost someone you loved. I thought none of your kind was capable of real love. Seeing what you’re going through, I know now how truly wrong I was. I let them twist me up to be as bad as they were and I was proud of it. To have my own kind turn against me for the wrong reasons, I’m… I just can’t. I was wrong in what I did but what they’ve done to me just confirms everything you Villains have been saying for years. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I was apart of that system. I have done horrible things to you, I will never stop apologizing for that. I’m going to try for the rest of my life to wipe out the red in my ledger. I wish I could’ve seen sooner, what they were doing to me, what I was turning myself into. I’m sorry I let my grief after Killian turn me into a weapon of propaganda and destruction for them. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, I’ll never ask that of you, what I did was unforgivable. I just… I just need you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“Look, Fayelin, you fucked up. You fucked up in a way that can’t be undone. And it hurts, it’ll always hurt… I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you… I don’t even know if I’ll ever want to forgive you… but maybe, just maybe… we can fight against their lies together. We can fight against their fucked up system… so it never happens again. Not to me, or anyone else.”
