Work Text:
i’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch, cherry bomb
6:08 PM
If you had told 25-year-old Carlos Reyes – alone on his couch, drinking a beer in the dark because what was the point of turning on a lamp just for himself – that within a few years he would be married to his soulmate and raising a child who was also his brother-in-law, he’d have laughed himself stupid.
And yet.
These days, he comes home to light and laughter, warm hugs and warmer kisses, purring cats and a practically-purring husband. Man and beast both can typically be satisfied with head scritches and several minutes of devoted attention; both also tend to swat at him if he stops his ministrations too early.
This particular Wednesday in June, Carlos wants nothing more than to beeline to the couch and initiate a snuggle pile, stat. It’s been such a weird day, he just wants to lay down and not move for 2 - 4 business hours.
There had been the incident with the llama, then a suspect had erupted into a massive nosebleed halfway through a confession and passed out. Lunch had been skipped in favor of a foot chase after a hatchet-wielding clown, and then there had been a second llama incident. And he’d then had to rewrite the report about the clown situation because the system had eaten his first submission.
To top it off, despite having escaped work on-time for once, he’s somehow still late after stopping in the parking lot to jumpstart a detective’s car. She’d been beyond grateful, had repeatedly tried to give him $20, and then, horrifyingly, asked him out to dinner. Flummoxed, he’d held up his left hand as both shield and rejection, wedding ring catching the late-afternoon sun. The detective had turned so red so fast that he became concerned for her blood pressure, and what followed was one of the most awkward silences he’d ever been part of. He’s not sure which of them made a speedier exit.
When he did finally get to his car, he’d attempted to text TK that he was on his way home, only to discover that his phone had died at some point this afternoon. He briefly contemplates buying a lottery ticket – because seriously, what are the odds?! – but decides that will just make this hellish day even longer.
Nearly an hour after leaving the station, approaching their subdivision at a crawl due to unusual traffic, his stomach churns at the tell-tale aura of red and blue lights emanating from ahead. The dead phone in his pocket becomes infinitely heavy, and a vague nebula of worry sparks to life in the back of his brain. It would be his luck that the one day he doesn’t have a charger in the car is the day he needs it. He’d discovered last night that one of the cats had chewed through the cable that lived on his night stand, so he’d had to steal the one from the truck, and then forgotten to take it back with him.
In his defense, he’d been running late this morning. TK had been in a mood, grabbing his ass eight times in twenty minutes (including once in the shower, when Carlos hadn’t even realized he was upstairs). Putting on pants had been seen as an act of open hostility, the response to which was TK stripping naked and taking a flying leap toward his husband, who managed to land them both on the bed but then found himself pinned beneath five feet eleven inches of lean muscle and thick thighs and strong hands and a mouth that immediately occupied itself with correcting his heinous crime of daring to utilize a zipper.
In the end, he’d arrived to work only seven minutes early, instead of his usual fifteen. It wasn’t until an hour later – after the morning meeting with the chief – that Campbell had bothered to tell him he had a giant hickey showing over his collar. Fortunately, Carlos has kept a stick of concealer in his work bag since the first week of knowing TK Strand. It’s come in handy a fair number of times over the years.
The car behind him honks, startles him back to the present. Sawhorse barricades block the entrance to his neighborhood, and two-dozen folks are milling around nearby, agitated. A few are being interviewed by a news crew, who manage to look bored with the whole affair.
The barricade is being manned by a rookie-looking cop who is not doing much in the way of crowd control, being too busy petting Cheese, a yellow lab who lives down the street. There are lots of dogs out here, actually, plus a fair number of cats – some in carriers, some in arms, all varying levels of upset. An older man is standing separate from the group, wearing a pristine three-piece suit and with several large exotic birds perched on him. He makes a mental note to ask around about that later. Far too many questions at the minute.
Carlos nearly crashes into the car in front of him when he spots his favorite seven-year-old in the world, holding a black cat under one arm and an unphased bearded dragon in the other. Just behind Jonah are Elle and Liam, their newest neighbors, each holding another Strand-Reyes cat. He’ll have to thank them later, after he freaks out about whatever is happening.
Elle appears to have been crying. Uno – who simply cannot abide by sad humans – keeps rubbing his face on hers. Jonah’s expression is perfectly blank, the way it gets when he’s truly upset. It all bodes horribly.
As does the distinct lack of TKs.
An officer directing traffic knocks on his window and barks at him to move along. Blinking rapidly as his brain catches up with itself, he protests that he actually lives here, which earns a grimace.
“I’d go hang out somewhere else, if you can. This mess is gonna be another few…” She trails off as her eyes fall on the Ranger star pinned to his shirt. “Shit, are you Reyes?”
Carlos nods, and definitely does not panic.
“Shit,” she reiterates. “They’ve been trying to reach you. It’s your husband.”
“Where–” his voice cracks. “Is he okay?” He counts it as a personal victory that he manages words, rather than incoherent screaming.
She winces. “So far, yes, but you should talk to the IC. Come with me.”
Catastrophizing, he parks on the shoulder and follows her through the mob of onlookers, stopping briefly to hug Jonah and hand Elle his keys, insisting they go back to the truck. Her lip wobbles and she starts crying again, but dutifully begins herding the kids in that direction. Uno stretches up to lick away her tears, like the adorable weirdo he is.
Clearing the edge of the crowd sends Carlos into a full spiral as he counts the sea of vehicles now visible beyond the barricade. No sirens going, but scattered along his street are a half-dozen patrol units, three ambulances, two fire engines, and a mobile command tent.
His attempt to ask what the hell is going on gets drowned out by the arrival of the bomb squad.
you got the peaches, i got the cream
2:09 PM
“Okay buddy,” TK says, brushing crumbs off his hands. “We’ve got pretzels, chocolate chips, shredded coconut, walnuts, and candied pecans. Do you remember what the last thing is? The secret ingredient?”
Jonah taps his chin, hmmming exaggeratedly and giggling when a calico cat jumps on the counter for the third time in twenty minutes. “Is it Twoey hair?”
“Not quite.” TK shoos the beast back to the floor. “But it does start with t.”
“Tofu?” Jonah offers a mischievous grin.
“You want to put tofu in cookies? Who are you, Grandpa Owen?!”
Jonah giggles again and points to a cabinet just out of reach. He’s short for his age, but TK had a crazy growth spurt around then, and Jonah hopes he will, too. He hates not being able to reach things. “How about toffee?”
“That sounds much better, let’s try that!” TK slides the jar down to the counter so the kid can reach from the stepstool.
“How much?” Jonah asks, unscrewing the lid.
“Mom always said to measure with your heart.”
Jonah contemplates for almost one second before upending the entire jar into the mix.
“Yeah, alright,” TK sighs, defeated. “I set myself up for that one.” He holds the bowl steady so Jonah can stir.
By the time the cookies are in the oven and the mess has been cleaned up, they both look like they’ve been rolling in dirt. Jonah changes into his current favorite shirt while TK gets into his last clean pair of jeans. He swears he just did laundry? He’s half-convinced the dryer eats pants and turns them into socks. It would certainly explain the state of his closet.
Reconvening at the oven to watch the timer count down the last minute, their mouths water at the smell in here. With eighteen seconds to spare, the doorbell rings. A glance out the window reveals a receding UPS truck. “Can you grab that off the porch? I need to watch these.”
Jonah runs off to do as asked while TK digs an oven mitt out of a drawer; he’s transferring cookies to a wire rack by the time the kid returns with a small brown box under his arm, which he deposits on the kitchen table before heading to the fridge to pay the ice tax.
Uno, their Very Orange cat who is so full of love that there was no room for brain cells, is absolutely fascinated by the ice dispenser. He’ll stretch up on his back legs, stare intently at the chute, and eventually start yelling and pawing the freezer door if a cold rock doesn’t magically appear. He doesn’t then do anything with it, just likes to watch it melt. Sometimes his sister will steal the cube to chase around the kitchen. Fortunately, Twoey has discovered a sunbeam in the living room and can’t be bothered to get up right now, so Uno’s prize is safe from interference.
“These need to cool a few minutes before we head out. What shoes are you wearing today?”
Jonah turns toward the hall closet, but changes his mind halfway there and pivots to barrel upstairs instead. A minute later, it sounds like a small avalanche occurs in his room, followed by a muffled, “I’m okay!”
By the time everything has been restuffed into the doom pit that is that kid’s bedroom closet, the cookies have cooled and been transferred to a travel container, and TK has glanced at the return address on the box and hurriedly shoved it onto the top shelf of the hall closet to deal with later. He locks the front door and lets Jonah carry the cookies as they head for a playdate four houses down.
Neither of them realize they’re being watched.
i may be bad, but i’m perfectly good at it
2:56 PM
Lucas sneers to himself as Pretty Boy passes by with a box of cookies, brat in tow. The dumbass doesn’t spot him, busy pointing at something on the sidewalk. Probably another damn bug – the man rescues bugs incessantly, and now the kid has started helping. Fucking fairies.
They pass right by his Jeep, parked at the curb in the same place it’s been parked every day for the past few weeks. Nobody seems to realize that he doesn’t live here. Whatever happened to Neighborhood Watch? He could be anybody. Morons.
I could kill him and be gone before he knows what hit him.
Pretty Boy moves a second caterpillar off the sidewalk, then turns up a driveway. She lets him in, hugs him like a whore, seems ecstatic about the goddamn cookies.
That settles it, he’s going through with it.
Today.
Grabbing a tablet from the passenger seat, he pulls up a live feed of the kitchen, watches her pour four glasses of milk, splashing on the counter. Stupid bitch always was clumsy. Pretty Boy leaps up to grab a towel, mops up the spill like a damn maid.
They’ll be mopping him up soon enough. All of them.
Liam would be unfortunate collateral, but sacrifices must be made. The boy had never been good at anything, anyway, so no great loss there.
Besides, I’m still young. Can still start over. Do it right this time.
He’d just have to start pushing earlier, insist on basketball, or football. Something to make him proud, someone to brag about. The way it should be!
Call this one a trial run, bad luck and weak genes.
He’ll just have to choose more carefully next time.
love is like a bomb, baby
3:04 PM
Jonah and Liam each devour three cookies in the time it takes their parents to eat one. By the time Elle starts on a second, the kids have sped into the backyard to play what sounds like an intense game of one-on-one tag. Or, possibly, just to yell. Unclear.
This constitutes major progress for Liam, who had been concerningly quiet when they first met. Apparently, the boy’s father had had Opinions about any noise that interrupted his gaming, and it was “best not to upset him.” Which sounded to Carlos and TK both like code for abuse, but there was nothing to be done now.
Six weeks ago, Elle had officially been awarded full custody.
Licking chocolate off his thumb, TK crosses to the sink to rinse out the kids’ milk cups, glancing into the backyard on the way. Whatever game was happening had moved to the swingset, and both boys were giggling maniacally, competing to see who could fly higher. The set is still relatively new, but has already been heavily used. He and Carlos had helped put it together three weekends ago, and Liam had been on it every day since, according to his mother.
They tried to help her where they could. Details had been vague, but it was clear that Liam’s father had been a real piece of work, even before the custody battle. Whatever the man had shouted at her in court after the decision came down had earned him 30 days in jail and a restraining order.
Good riddance, frankly.
Beep.
“Oh, not again!” Elle groans, glaring up at the offending smoke detector. “I just changed the damn battery last month!”
“Are you sure that’s what it is?” TK squints at the ceiling. “It sounds strange.”
“What else would it be?” Another beep. “Ugh! Stupid thing.” She jumps out of her chair and starts dragging it across the room, grumbling to herself.
TK intercepts. “You sit, I’ve got this. Do you have a battery tester?”
“What, no!” She smacks his arm, as if he’d just suggested something outrageous. “You already swiped the dishes from me, I can do this! It’s my fault anyway, I’m sure. I didn’t get it seated right, or something. I’d never actually done it before. Lucas says I always–” She clams up, mouth snapping shut audibly as her teeth click together.
TK eases the chair out of her hands and coaxes her back to the table to sit down. There follows a minute of ragged breathing before she steels herself, opens her mouth… and says nothing. After the fifth time this repeats, he lobs an easy question to help her along.
“I take it Lucas is Liam’s father?” The few pieces of information they had gathered about the man had never before included his name.
She nods, lets out a weird laugh-hiccup, and opens the floodgates. “He always did that kind of maintenance stuff. I was so grateful to him, because I hate heights.” She smiles bitterly. “Of course, he wasn’t actually doing anything. He was taking the cash I gave him and buying himself lunch, or bourbon.”
She reaches for the cookies again, devours half of one in a single bite, chews aggressively.
“I always thought I was bad with money, but it turns out I can budget just fine when nobody’s stealing from me.” She jumps up, busies herself for a minute with making a concerningly-strong pot of coffee, then starts digging through a kitchen drawer that appears to hold every random item she’s ever come across in her life.
Another beep, which they both ignore.
“When we moved out of his place, I was furious at myself for waiting so long. He’d just changed the batteries a few days before, supposedly, so I went to take them out, take them with me to our new place, since I’d paid for them.”
She’s elbow deep in the drawer now, with a growing pile of discarded objects creeping onto the stovetop.
“It wasn’t just that he hadn’t changed them. He’d messed with the wires, disabled…something or other, I don’t know. He was good at stuff like that. We didn’t even have working smoke detectors, for god knows how long! But the moment his stupid fucking game controller starts acting up, he runs out for a new one. Ha!” She whips her hand out of the abyss to hold up a battery tester triumphantly, which sends a paper clip and a roll of smiley face stickers flying across the room. She starts reloading the drawer, sweeping everything back into it and jiggling it by the handle to settle the items enough to be able to close the thing. A fascinating organizational method.
“He wasn’t even working, the last few years. I thought he was so great, staying home with Liam. He got laid off at the start of the pandemic, when Liam was still a baby, and with the daycares closed, and me working so much overtime…” She goes quiet for a minute, abandons her project to pour a cup of coffee. Stirs in one tiny splash of creamer; TK half-expects the spoon to remain standing when she lets go.
“He made it sound like such a good thing. And I thought…I don’t know what I thought. That he was finally taking an interest in his child? That he would start helping around the house? I certainly never thought–” She cuts herself off with a sob, suddenly looking much younger than she probably is. Twenty-three, at a guess. Maybe twenty-five. Certainly no more than that. And with Liam being eight, that makes the circumstances of his birth questionable at best.
TK – empathetic as they come – can’t stand how upset she is. Chair scraping the floor, he jumps up and offers a hug, which she falls into. She continues after a moment, muffled by his shoulder. “Last December, I came home early. I was supposed to be gone overnight, but I was sick as a dog, so they sent me home. Walked in to see him pouring vodka into Liam’s apple juice. He actually got irritated that I was upset about it! Said it was fine because he’d been doing it for years, so that Liam would sleep through the night. Because otherwise he had nightmares. Bastard!” She shouts the last word, and tears away, starts pacing like a caged animal.
Beep. She growls up at the ceiling. If looks could kill. TK nudges her back down into a chair and goes to see about the noise.
Twisting the unit out of its holder proves tricky – it’s a bit tight, but eventually gives. He removes the battery and tests it. Solid green. Strange.
Beep.
TK frowns. That was definitely not the unit in his hand, and it also definitely came from above him. Squinting into a small cavity that had been cut into the ceiling, it takes him a moment to work out what he’s seeing. A tiny lens is pointed right at his face, with what would be a perfect view of the hallway. Wildly confused, he prods at it, and the whole thing slides out of the ceiling like a piece of metal spaghetti. Borescope, his brain provides, unasked.
Beep. A small red light flashes in time with the sound.
It’s now that it occurs to him this could be evidence.
Oh, well. Pennies and pounds.
The unit unplugs easily, the wire more than halfway falling out anyway.
“What the fuck?!” Elle had come into the hall with a fresh battery.
TK steps down from the chair, holds out the camera to her. “I take it this isn’t yours?”
“No! Where– oh, god.”
“What?”
“The door. The front door.” She drops the battery, suddenly pale. “A few weeks ago, I got home from work and the front door was unlocked. I thought I’d just left in a hurry and forgot, but...oh, god.”
“Okay,” he soothes, steering her toward the kitchen. “You need to call the police. I’m sure it’s too late for the door, but the camera might have prints.” He sets the device on the table.
“I can’t believe he would do this!”
“Who–you think this was Lucas?”
“Who else would it be?!”
TK grimaces. “Make the call, say you think it’s him. Tell them about the restraining order. I’m gonna look around. And I’m calling Carlos.”
She stands frozen for a few seconds before jumping into action, hurrying to where she’d left her phone on the counter. TK digs his own phone out of his pocket and calls his husband, but it goes straight to voicemail. He can hear Elle on the line with 9-1-1, explaining the situation. She manages to cram a truly impressive amount of swearing into each sentence, which would be funny under other circumstances.
He goes on the hunt, finding two more cameras but leaving them in place – one in the garage, another in Liam’s room. He suspects there’s one in Elle’s room, as well, but he doesn’t go in there. Tries Carlos again, gets voicemail again; leaves a message that he hopes sounds calmer than he feels. He’s furious, on her behalf. Goes to check on the kids, because it’s been a minute and seeing Jonah always calms him down.
He accidentally interrupts an intense game of something like tetherball, which does not appear to be going well due to its somewhat precarious construction. Best he can tell, they tied a ball into a sock, tied the sock to a jumprope, strung it over the top bar of the swingset, and were now flailing at it wildly with teeball bats that rarely connected. Elle finds him while he’s studying their setup, seems equally baffled, and whispers that someone should be here soon.
She eats the rest of the cookies while they wait, getting angrier by the minute. By the time a patrol unit pulls up outside, she’s pacing in the living room, and TK has found another pair of cameras in the bathroom and laundry room.
“They’re here!” She heads to the door to let them in, yanks it open angrily. “What…fuck, what now?”
TK joins her in the doorway. Perplexingly, a delivery of flowers has been left on the porch – red roses in a semitransparent blue vase. On instinct, he picks it up to clear the way for the officer approaching the house. There’s a small tink like a dropped coin as something falls to the brick porch, and the vase beeps loudly.
Everyone freezes.
TK, Elle, and the approaching officer all register it at the same time: he is holding a bomb.
Which has just been activated.
Insane though it is, the first thought that comes to mind is that he can’t die right now, because he has dishes to wash.
The second, far more rational thought, is about collateral damage. Jonah and Liam are in the backyard – what, thirty feet away? Forty? Too close for comfort. Elle is right beside him – if she even survived, she’d likely have permanent, life-altering injuries. The officer retreating at speed might be okay, hard to tell.
The third thought is that this might really be it. This one might take. He’s gotten himself out of a lot of truly shitty situations, but this feels like the end of the line. Jumping over bombs was one thing. Outrunning one? Out of the question.
There would be an adjustment period, obviously, but Carlos would be a great single-parent. He would have to buck up and learn to clean Lou II’s tank, though. TK had been doing that particular job since the bearded dragon came into their life, but he had full faith in Carlos’ ability to rise to the occasion. Every occasion. Science fairs and school dances and first crushes and senior prom. Teaching Jonah to shave. To drive.
TK wishes desperately that he’d called his dad this morning like he originally intended.
His fourth thought is to hope that Jonah would be okay. Dead mom, dad in prison effectively forever, Papa Bro blasted to smithereens. All before the age of eight? Tough break. He’d hoped Jonah would break the cycle, but it seemed the curse of the Strand name would continue its destructive path of childhood trauma.
His fifth thought is smug righteousness that this means the damn social worker had been wrong. Turns out, stay-at-home dad is way more dangerous than paramedic and firefighter combined.
It’s this, more than anything, that snaps him into gear.
Spite was useful. Motivating.
Productive.
He either would or would not get out of this situation. Best to assume success.
Step one: clear the area. “Elle?” His voice is bright, betraying none of his anxieties. Lock those away for later, there’s work to do.
“Yeah?” It’s barely a whisper, and she sounds like she’s two seconds from crying, but she’s otherwise holding it together pretty well, all things considered.
“Go get the kids. Leave out the side door. Circle around to the patrol unit, I’m sure he’s calling it in. Tell him about Lucas. And then call Carlos to come get Jonah. I don’t want him seeing any of this.”
“I’m so sorry, TK,” she wobbles. “I’m so sorry.”
She can’t see his face, but he smiles anyway. “It’s okay, Elle. It’s gonna be okay. But you need to move. Right now.”
i’m the fox you’ve been waiting for
6:13 PM
Despite the bomb squad’s tire-screeching arrival, there follows a frustrating lack of activity. Not having had a chance to say anything, Carlos stands to the side and listens to the Incident Commander lay out the situation. He’s pretty sure he dissociates through half of it. It’s not his husband that picked up a bomb. It’s some other man standing over there, alone, holding what is possibly an explosive device. Which may or may not be armed? Unclear.
“We sent in a drone,” the man is saying. “Looks like there was fishing line tied to the porch railing that pulled a pin when he picked up the vase. Homeowner says there was a loud beep.” The man flips around a tablet, shows the bomb tech the drone footage.
“Damn,” the tech says, unaware of what that does to Carlos’ heart rate. “I’ll have to look closer to confirm, but I’d say that’s motion activated, or it’d have gone off by now. Which is good, actually. That means we’ve got time. What’s his name?”
“Tyler,” the IC says.
The tech nods. “And how long has Tyler–”
“TK,” Carlos interrupts by accident.
“Excuse me?” Everyone turns to look at him.
“TK,” he repeats. “He goes by TK.” This feels important, for some reason.
“And you are?” Irritation drips from every word.
“Reyes.”
The IC’s face hardens. “The husband.” It’s not a question.
“Yes,” he answers anyway, because the other option is to lay down and cry.
“You’re here as a professional courtesy, Ranger. Interrupt again, and you’re gone. Got it?” Carlos resists the urge to punch him, nods instead. The man turns back to the tech, ignoring Carlos. “We haven’t got close enough to talk to him yet, but we interviewed the homeowner. It’s been over two hours since the pin was pulled. I’d like to wrap this up before we hit hour three, in case it is on a timer, but that’s likely a nonissue.”
The tech nods. “I’ll send someone in, see what we’re working with. If it’s set up how I think it is, this should be easy.”
Carlos will believe that when TK is out of harm’s way, and not one millisecond before. And then he might just chain him to the bed.
Not for fun, this time.
razzle ‘n’ a dazzle ‘n’ a flash a little light
6:24 PM
The end of TK’s nose itches, and it’s actually driving him insane. It’s taking so much concentration to not absentmindedly reach up to scratch that the itch is now the only thing he can focus on, so time has slowed to an absolute crawl. The good news is, he doesn't think the device is on a timer. The bad news is, that means his nose will continue to itch for at least another, what, thirty minutes? Likely more. And he may have to pee his pants, which would be a real shame – this is his last clean pair.
Someone had already flown in a drone to take a look, and a minute ago a small robot had started up the driveway, looking quite comical as it was essentially a Roomba holding an iPad on a stick. It was communication though, which was something. As it was, the officer who had been approaching to come look at the hidden cameras – god, that was only two hours ago – had also frozen for a moment, then backed up like…well, like he was fleeing a bomb. He’d kept calling questions to him, but it was hard to shout without moving. And he was pretty sure he shouldn’t move. It was all a bit of a blur after that, though he knows the surrounding houses were evacuated at some point.
Elle, initially stuck processing, had been surprisingly chill about going to collect the kids from the backyard and leaving via the garage’s side door. He did see her freak out once they got to the street, but that’s perfectly reasonable, to be honest. He’ll also freak out later. After he pees, and then hugs his family for three hours.
There are other priorities at the minute.
If this thing were on a timer, it would surely have gone off by now. And likely wouldn’t have needed an activation pin, or whatever it was that fell to the floor earlier. So, probably motion-activated. Hence, itchy nose.
Damn! He’d managed to stop thinking about it for twenty whole seconds, but now he’s hyper-aware again.
Eventually, the robot arrives, video call already active. “Hi, TK. My name is Bonnie, and I’m gonna help you out of this, okay? How are you doing? Silly question, I know, but I have to ask.” The woman on the video call smiles ruefully at her little joke. Talk about a captive audience.
“Oh, you know. Been better, been worse.”
“You’ve been worse than this?” Genuine surprise.
It’s now TK’s turn to smile ruefully. “Not my first rodeo with a bomb, and standing here is way easier than leapfrog in a minefield.”
Her eyes widen. “That was you?! They still tell that story at the academy, Dumb and Dumber!” She catches herself, winces when she realizes what she said. “Sorry.”
TK tries desperately not to laugh. “No, that’s fair. Definitely one of the stupider things I’ve ever done.”
“Anyway,” she composes herself. “Let’s get you out of here to be dumb another day.”
“I’m sure my family would appreciate that.” Or at least, Carlos would appreciate the opportunity to kill TK himself.
The silly-looking robot moves closer, the iPad rotating to catch the vase from different angles, including underneath, which must look strange from a distance. “Okay,” Bonnie says after a minute of careful observation. “I’m going to shine a light through the bottom to get a better look. Close your eyes, okay? This is gonna be really bright.”
TK does as instructed, and braces himself as she counts down from three. Despite the warning, it still feels like the sun has suddenly clicked on in front of his face, and he has to fight the urge to open his eyes to see what’s happening. The light moves around and repositions, accompanied by some quiet hmming.
“Good news, I don’t see any sort of timing mechanism. This appears to be strictly motion-activated.” The light shuts off. “I’m gonna grab some equipment and come join you on the porch, okay? I have an idea that should work.”
“Sure,” TK agrees, as if he has a choice.
A minute or so later, Bonnie arrives with a large funnel and a plastic container full of white powder, grinning at his confusion. “The water in the vase will trigger the device if it moves too much, so we need to stop the water from moving. I’m assuming you don’t want to stand here forever, so I’m using this.” She shakes the container. “It’s basically Quickcrete. Hardens on contact with liquid. It won’t turn solid, but it’ll jellify the water enough that minor vibrations won’t set it off.”
“And that actually works?”
“It will either work perfectly, or it immediately won’t be our problem anymore. I like those odds.”
TK contemplates for a moment, and decides that Bonnie is certifiably insane.
“That’s what my husband says, too!” she laughs.
Shit. Must have said that out loud.
“But he must be into it,” she continues, unphased. “Going on twelve years now.” She carefully starts parting the flowers in the vase, pressing the spout of the funnel through the gap she creates.
“Mine might actually kill me if I end up in the hospital again. He says my next trip to the ICU should be free with loyalty points.”
“What, like a BOGO special?”
“Something like that.”
She cocks her head, studying him. “You lead an interesting life, TK.”
“Says the bomb tech.”
“Touché,” she shrugs. TK watches with a sort of detached fascination as Bonnie carefully shakes the powder into the funnel, and resists the incredible urge to cheer when she says it’s working. “We’ll give that another minute to set up, and then use a super high-tech device to help you put it down safely.”
Over her shoulder, he can see two men approaching with what looks like a small car jack and a stack of cookie sheets. Truly, every step of this process is more baffling than the last. The other techs arrive, set the jack on the brick directly under the vase, and start unstacking the metal trays. Working together, they lay one tray on the jack’s flat plane – a base plate of some kind that has grooves along all sides, which allow them to slot other trays into place and carefully clip them together. After perhaps ninety seconds, he is standing over effectively an empty box, just missing one side and a lid.
“I know it looks like a cookie sheet,” Bonnie taps her foot on one of the trays still laying on the ground. “But it’s basically Captain America’s shield. This baby has contained blasts from much bigger devices than what you’ve got there. We’ll raise the platform up as high as we can, until you can just let go to set it down. Get you out of the way, put the lid on the box, and set it off. Much safer to do it here than try to transport it. Then we do a bit of cleanup while you talk to a bunch of people, and we’ll be out of your hair. Hopefully never have to see each other again! How does that sound?”
“It sounds insane, but I trust your judgement. Just maybe not your husband’s. No offense.”
She laughs, but the plan goes off without a hitch.
The moment he’s no longer in contact with the vase, his bladder goes into crisis mode. Free at last, TK sprints up the driveway, past his (incredibly confused) husband’s open arms, and beelines back to his house. He barely makes it, but pees harder than he’s ever peed in his life, after which his entire body sags in relief. He catches himself against the bathroom counter, knees suddenly wobbly, and then bursts into tears for some reason.
Delayed stress, probably. Let’s go with that.
A muffled blast from outside brings him back to the moment, and he starts laughing hysterically. He’s still laughing when Carlos finds him a minute later, gathers him up in a bone-crushing bear hug, and buries his face in his shoulder. He thinks his husband might be muttering something about chains, but he can’t quite make it out.
sometime, anytime, sugar me sweet
9:57 PM
After a quick debrief, a group hug that borders on five straight minutes, and a dinner of pizza and ice cream, the Strand-Reyes Family – along with Elle and Liam – find themselves piled on the couch. Uno is still glued to Elle’s side, sensing her continued distress.
Jonah, though he says he’s fine, has largely refused to let go of TK’s arm since they were reunited, but starts to loosen his grip a bit once he realizes a sleepover is on the table. With Lucas still in the wind, and Elle’s house still an active crime scene, she and Liam would be staying with them for the time being. By the time the kids go to bed, he’s visibly much calmer, and has engaged Liam in a spirited debate about waffles vs. pancakes. Somehow, the winner was poptarts.
Twoey flits from lap to lap, unable to decide where to be. Mama Smudge has taken up residence on top of Lou II’s tank, directly next to the heat lamp, and joins the lizard in watching them all judgily. Elle and Carlos spend a good hour talking about the pros and cons of various security systems, which is enough to send anyone to sleep on a good day.
TK wakes up in relative darkness, unable to breathe; an eight-pound shadow is sleeping demurely on his neck, casually suffocating him. She chirps grumpily when he sits up and dislodges her, hoping off to go have a snack or possibly plot world domination. Both were equally likely.
Socked feet on the stairs. Carlos comes into view, breaking into a wide grin when he sees his husband awake. “I couldn’t decide whether to wake you or try to carry you to bed.”
“Try? You could totally carry me.”
“I know,” comes the smug reply. “But carrying you tends to lead to activities best left for when we don’t have guests.”
TK jumps up – wide awake now – reaches for his husband, whispers giddily, “I can be quiet.”
Carlos chuckles and flops forward into a hug. “Baby, have you met yourself? No, you can’t be.”
TK huffs, and faux-stomps off. A few stairs up from the bottom, he turns and whispers over his shoulder. “By the way, you got a package today. From your favorite purveyor of fine toys. It’s in the hall closet. Bring it up with you.”
Carlos’ eyes widen comically and he whisper-shouts, “Are you insane? We have people over.”
Unabashed, TK cocks an eyebrow, continues up the stairs while murmuring, “I’m sure we could find a way to keep my mouth occupied.”
Trying desperately to reason with his downstairs brain, it takes all of ten seconds to lose the fight before Carlos skids to the closet. Scooping up his prize, he follows his menace of a husband upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.