There's no escaping the smoke no matter where Carlos goes. It's in the air outside forcing school children in and thinning the streets until the once thriving city feels more like a ghost town. There's not even a reprieve when he gets home after his shift, the scent clinging to his hair and uniform even after multiple washes. A permanent ashy reminder in his mouth and nose of where his boyfriend is.

The wildfires mean that TK hasn't been able to come home in weeks, camping out with the rest of the firefighters in makeshift tents wherever they can find safety for a couple of hours. He's barely heard from his boyfriend in that time either, a few brief phone calls barely long enough to find out how the other is, and mostly just a text at the end of each day to let Carlos know that he's still alive out there, still battling on. Carlos doesn't let it show how much he clings to those nightly texts, how his eyes trace over the words until they blur together and he can recite them from memory anyway.

These shifts Carlos works while TK is away are maybe the hardest of his career, and certainly the worst since those early days where Carlos had felt like his heart would beat right out of his chest every minute of his shift. These weeks while the wildfires have waged are different, a different kind of fear, a lesson in organised chaos. The Austin FD having sent so many of their crews to help in neighbouring San Angelo have left little more than a skeleton staff to deal with the run of the mill fires in Austin while the police are called in to try and fill the gaps as best they can. Not running into the fires themselves of course, but more and more they're called to assist with medical calls, to lend a hand with crowd control, whatever that can do to help out. Carlos is almost grateful for the long, hard shifts that leave him exhausted by the time he collapses into the bed at the end of each one.

Almost.

Almost, because it doesn't seem to matter how busy or how hard a shift is, his mind inevitably turns to TK, wondering where he is, how he is. With that smoke hanging in the air as the fires rage and rage it's impossible to keep his thoughts from his boyfriend for long. It's especially hard at night, in the bed that feels too big and too empty without TK there to fill it, and it seems that no matter how tired Carlos is, he doesn't sleep any better, not with TK gone.

It's during one of his shifts, weeks into the wildfires, while he and Mitchell are driving around in their patrol car, her behind the wheel, while Carlos watches a news report on the fires on his phone, when they get a call out from dispatch. It's outside of their usual beat, right on the border where their jurisdiction bleeds into the San Angelo PD's, but it's a report of looting and given how stretched everyone's resources are at the moment, Carlos and Mitchell both agree to take it.

The looters are long gone by the time they pull up at the address, leaving the caller, the homeowner, kicking at some blackened remains of her house. Carlos shudders as he steps out of the patrol car, unable to keep his eyes from raking over the destroyed house, which had clearly once been surrounded by dense scrub, but which is now as flattened as the house itself. Fear tears at him as he imagines the kind of fire that can raze houses and scrubland like this, then imagines his boyfriend facing down that kind of fire.

"Are you alright, Ma'am," Mitchell calls as they approach, and the woman scoffs something like a laugh.

Carlos can't say he blames her for the reaction. He doesn't think his reaction would be any better if this was all that remained of his home, his memories.

"There's barely anything left, and they still-" she breaks off with a shake of her head and kicks another piece of debris. "Bastards."

"I'm sorry," Carlos offers her, the only thing he can in this moment, and she nods, although he's not sure his words are any real help.

"My wife's a captain with the San Angelo FD," the woman says, and Carlos isn't sure how to help but to listen. "She was out fighting these fires while our house burned. She knows it's gone but she hasn't seen it yet… it's going to kill her."

"I'm sorry," Carlos says again. Then, "My boyfriend's with the 126 in the Austin FD."

He doesn't need to say that TK's out there as well, because when he meets the gaze of the woman he's sure the fear reflecting out of his eyes is the exact same as that in the woman's face. She nods slowly, and there's understanding in that nod, a shared pain, a shared fear, both worrying about the people they love.

Mitchell clears her throat and offers to take a description of the looters, which the woman gives half-heartedly. They all know the likelihood they find the people that had kicked the woman when she was already down, but it feels the least they can do.

They leave the woman with a brief touch on her shoulder, but haven't made it to the patrol car when her sharp cry has them whirling back around. But while she looks unhurt, the woman does have tears streaming down her face, one hand over her mouth, as she gazes down at her phone.

Her voice is little more than a whisper and yet it carries all the way to them. "It's contained, they're saying they finally have the fire contained."

Relief so intense that it nearly buckles his knees sweeps through Carlos, even as he pulls his phone out to find a text from TK already waiting for him, telling him that he's okay and he'll be home that night. Carlos is grateful for Mitchell's hand that's suddenly on his shoulder because he feels on the verge of sinking to the ground right there amongst the blackened grass. He and the woman both look up from their phone, meeting each other's gaze, and that same relief is reflecting back at him, both of them knowing that they'll be okay no matter what else has happened.

Carlos is exhausted by the time his shift comes to an end but he's too keyed up to sleep, instead pacing around the bottom floor of his loft until he hears the quiet sound of a key turning in the lock. TK clearly hadn't even stopped at the station long enough to do more than drop his gear because he's absolutely filthy, still wearing a soot-stained uniform, and face covered in ash. But Carlos doesn't care, and TK must not either, because he takes a few steps into the loft and slams into Carlos, both of them wrapping their arms around one another.

"Hey baby," TK murmurs into his neck, and he sounds tired, so bone-wearily tired that Carlos holds him a little tighter, taking his weight.

"Hey," he says in return, then says it again, dragging a hand up and down TK's back in a reminder that he's here now, that he's safe.

Later he'll coax TK upstairs and into the shower, later he and TK will curl up in their bed warm and together, but for now they just hold one another.


Just a short, light one for today's prompt. All my limited knowledge comes from bushfires in Australia so apologies for any inaccuracies. Hope you enjoyed it x