Chapter Text
“Hey, up here!” called out a familiar voice from up top a decrepit old set of set of stairs.
“Oh, cool,” chirped Nancy happily beside him. "It's a Carlos call. Things always go smoother when he's around."
If they had to deal with the police watching over their shoulders, waiting for the chance to drag interrogate their patients, it was always always better to have someone capable of a bit of patience and compassion. Not all cops liked to prioritize human life like Carlos did.
“Alright TK, Nancy, you know what to do,” said Tommy. “Most likely scenario is the batch was contaminated with fentanyl. If Narcan doesn’t work, then we look at the possibility of a non-opioid source of contamination.”
They had been called onto the site of a drug bust at a local den that had been moving a lot of supply. He didn't know the details, but apparently the police busted in the doors just in time to stumble onto the scene of a mass overdose, likely the result of a contaminated batch of heroin. According to dispatch they had five ODs on their hands.
The first floor of the derelict building had already been swept. There were a few of the occupants on the street outside in cuffs as they arrived, looking sickly and pathetic. A twinge of sympathy sparked in TK’s chest. The closest he'd ever come to being cuffed outside a drug den was when he was 22 and the cops had busted into an old squat he used to score at in Queens. He'd been passed out right by the fire escape, giving him just enough time to scramble out and avoid arrest.
An arrest would have cost him everything. His father had said in no uncertain terms that no firehouse in New York would employ him after his overdose. Even moving to Texas wouldn't have been enough to save his career if he'd actually copped a charge. How many of these poor souls strung out and cuffed on the sidewalk were about to lose everything?
Inside the house, he saw disgusting old mattresses on the floor along with all sorts of paraphernalia left behind in the raid.
TK, Nancy, and Tommy ran up the stairs in the direction of Carlos’ voice, armed with plenty of Narcan and ready to go.
Graffiti covered every wall. Nonsensical words scrawled over the walls in multi colored marker and spray paint. Cliche tags from the world's least creative gangsters. A bible verse. A phone number. One phrase, right near the top of the stairs, broke through and etched itself on TK's brain.
We all come back in the end.
He wanted to find whoever wrote it, grab them by the shoulders, and shake them. "It doesn't have to be like that," he could tell them. "You can get out and stay out."
Texas wasn't New York, but places like this were the same everywhere you went. He hated the spark of familiarity he felt on calls like this. He always felt a little bit at home in the filth, and that realization always clung to him even more than the grime did.
It had been four months since his mother's passing.
Responding to overdoses and drug related emergencies was standard work for a paramedic. TK had done it literally hundreds of times with no issue. He worked through it in his own way and over time he had become increasingly desensitized, able to compartmentalize what he saw at work away from his personal history. It was no harder for him to face a call like this than it was for Tommy to respond to an aneurysm. It sucked, but they were professionals. You do what you have to do.
Recently, though, since Gwyn, things had been… weird.
He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but he felt like they had been responding to less overdose calls. He was sure the others had been strange towards him, especially Nancy. He expected that to some degree, after all, he had just suffered a major loss. A bit of concern and attentiveness was normal. But it was more than that. Even now as they climbed the stairs past the graffiti covered walls, Nancy was glancing back at him nervously.
He didn’t think she really understood what a place like this was to him. She gave him the same kind of worried looks last time they responded to an OD of a rich housewife out in the suburbs who was misusing her prescription meds. A pill popping suburbanite with a legitimate prescription given by a morally questionable doctor was an addict, sure, but not a junkie. Junkies spent time in places like this. They were dirty. Dirty clothes dirty floors dirty needles because addiction is dirty. That's why when you stop it you say you're getting clean. TK learned quickly that if you just look clean enough, presentable enough, it takes a lot more for people to really see the shape of the problem. To really understand the depth of it. He knew nobody at the 126 saw him like that. He made sure of it.
Still, he couldn’t help but sweat a little at the idea that she might have guessed more about his past than he'd ever told her.
When they burst onto the landing of the second floor, they were quickly directed into two separate rooms by Carlos and another officer. Carlos gave a brief nod of recognition upon seeing which paramedic team had taken the call, but otherwise remained completely focused on his work.
The two rooms were parallel in the narrow hallway, doors facing each other. Tommy ran off to the left and TK and Nancy went to the right.
“I’ve got two in here!” called Tommy from across the hall.
“We have three!” TK called back.
She and TK fell to their knees, each beside a separate figure sprawled on the ratty carpet. TK took the pulse of the young woman in front of him. It was shallow and far too slow, just like her breathing. He looked up at Nancy, who was staring sadly down at an older man with sunken eyes and constellations of track marks on his limp arms.
Nancy glanced back to TK and shook her head minutely. It was enough for him to know the man was beyond the care they could provide. “Asphyxiated,” she explained. A trail of drying vomit trickled from the man's mouth.
She was already moving over to the third patient. There was no time to dwell on someone they were too late to save when there were others still alive for them to help.
“Responsive to Narcan!” shouted Tommy from the other room.
TK, already administering the Narcan to his own patient, breathed a sigh of relief. A few seconds later, the young woman he was tending to opened her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. He rubbed her shoulder as she curled onto her side and immediately puked. It was only moments after that Nancy’s patient did the same thing.
He winced. There was no feeling quite like the sharp awakening of Narcan after an OD, as he knew only too well.
“You’re alright,” said TK gently to the woman. “I’m a paramedic and I'm here to help,” he explained.
Small and fearful, she asked, “What happened?”
Now that he was getting a good look at her, she wasn't really a woman. She was just a girl. Pretty, when he looked past the pallid, clammy skin and puffy eyes. Far too young to be where she was.
“You and your buddies here got hotshots. You overdosed and I had to administer Narcan. It feels like shit, I know, but I need you to stay focused for me. Sweetheart, I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what you’ve been taking,” he said, and he could hear Nancy having a very similar conversation with the young man across the room. Undoubtedly, Tommy was doing the same with the two she was looking after.
The girl opened her mouth to speak but was struck silent as her eyes landed on something over TK’s shoulder. He turned around, following her gaze to the cop who wasn't Carlos, looming in the door frame. His arms were crossed, and he looked entirely uninterested in what was happening. The lead detective on the case, presumably. Not one that TK had met before.
Carlos appeared not far behind the man only a moment later.
“Are there any more in the house, or is this everyone?” TK asked, directing the question over the man's shoulder to Carlos.
“Everyone else has been taken outside for processing,” said the Detective, a middle-aged white man with short, greying hair. “Detective Falco, VICE,” he introduced himself, offering no hand to shake. “We’ve got the scumbag who’s been slinging tainted heroin in the back of a patrol car. Just waiting to get details so we can process the last couple junkies and get out of here,” he said, looking at the girl like she was completely inconsequential dirt on his shoe.
“TK Strand, 126,” he responded tersely. “I’d like a private word with my patient, if you don’t mind.”
The detective gave him a look that could only be described as condescending, but he nodded. “As long you don't let her run off on us,” he said before stepping back into the hall.
TK shot Carlos an incredulous look, to which Carlos just shook his head apologetically, then stepped away in the same direction as the detective.
He turned back to his patient, looking at the vitals from the blood pressure cuff and Pulseox. “Hey, it’s alright. I don’t have to tell them anything you say to me,” he assured her, speaking not much above a whisper. “I've been able to reverse the fentanyl overdose, but you haven’t stabilized as much as I would like. You’re not looking so hot, hon,” he said with a soft smile.
Her eyes were glazed and disoriented. She was hypertensive. It was clear she was on more than opioids. He was pretty sure he knew what, but it was important to be certain he was treating for right narcotic. He looked at her encouragingly.
She glanced towards the door, but TK squeezed her hand to bring her focus back to him. "I can't treat you if you don't talk to me," he said, firm but gentle. "I promise, it stays between us."
She nodded hesitantly.
“We were doin' speedballs. Me and Damien. He had some good crack and was real nice about sharing,” she explained, quiet and shaky. She raised her head and looked over to the older man, who was already gone by the time they arrived. His heart ached as he realized that this was the ‘Damien’ she was referring to. “Oh my lord,” she breathed, hands flying up over her mouth. “Oh my lord!”
TK put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Were you friends?”
She shook her head. “I only met him today. He was nice to me.”
He squeezed her upper arm before letting her go and getting the necessary medication out of his kit to treat the secondary substance abuse and get her blood pressure under control. Nancy had walked past him while they were talking, escorting her own patient out to the hallway before checking in on Tommy and offering a hand.
An older man befriending a girl and offering her drugs. It sounded so nefarious on the face of it, but it was like that sometimes. The older junkies taking the young ones under their wings, trying to give them a safe high and stop others from taking advantage.
Then again, sometimes it was just an act, with taking advantage being the end goal. TK had encountered both types in his time. He chose to believe that in this case, the man's intentions were good. It was an easy choice to make, since Damien would never have the chance to prove him wrong.
TK looked around the room. There were discarded needles scattered about, including right next to the girl, along with a blackened spoon and all the other familiar tools of the trade. His eyes landed on the little plastic baggie with some off-white powder still leftover. Even knowing it was a bad batch that had taken the life of a man just three feet from where he knelt, a curious longing fluttered beneath his ribs.
He must have lingered too long, because when he looked back at the girl, no older than 19 if he had to guess, she was staring back far too knowingly. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
He helped her up, escorting her into the hall with the others, away from the body of her not-friend. “We’ll be taking you all to hospital in just a minute. Is there anyone I can call for you?” His eyes flicked in the direction of the first floor, where he knew the unpleasant detective was waiting. “Anyone who could get you a lawyer?”
She sniffed, leaning almost all her weight on him. When she spoke, her voice was watery and weak. “My big brother,” she said, and TK pulled out his phone with one hand and typed in the number that she rattled out.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked, wondering how long he’d been in Texas before he’d picked up Judd’s habit of peppering his speech with pet names. She was just so damn young.
“Ellie.”
He set her down gently next to Nancy’s patient, who was incredibly quiet but seemed otherwise alright. He ducked his head in on Tommy and Nancy in the other room. The two people they were working on were conscious and talking.
“Dispatch said another team is on the way. They’ll take two to hospital, we’ll take the others. Shouldn’t be long,” said Tommy.
“Okay. I’m just going to call my girl's next of kin. It’ll only take a second,” he said.
Tommy gave him the go-ahead, and he stepped off to make the call, wandering a short way down the stairs for privacy. Ellie’s brother answered the call with distress and relief in equal measure. He didn’t take any convincing at all to come help his little sister, and TK arranged for him to meet her at the hospital. He was glad to know she had someone in her corner. It was a rare thing for a person in her position to have that kind of safety net, and the sort of thing that made all the difference.
When he hung up and turned to head back upstairs, he came face to face with Carlos. He checked over Carlos’ shoulder to make sure nobody was watching them.
“Hey babe,” he smiled weakly, reaching out and giving Carlos’ hand a brief squeeze.
Carlos glanced back over his shoulder nervously, but smiled back at TK.
It’s not as if he wasn’t out at work, but being a gay Latino cop in Texas wasn’t exactly a cake walk, especially when he wasn’t working with his usual people. TK hated seeing him look over his shoulder. He hated the way Carlos let go of his hand so quickly. But he understood.
“So, how’d you end up working with Detective Asshole up there?” asked TK quietly.
Carlos folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the wall. “Covering a shift as a favor for a friend over on VICE squad. You doing alright?”
“I’m fine. Why?” responded TK defensively.
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Because one of the people in there just died?”
“Oh. Yeah. I don’t know. Nothing we could do for him, but it always stings, you know?” Carlos nodded. Of course he knew. “Hey, Carlos,” added TK, “they already got the guy they were after with this raid, right? They really need to press charges against the others? I mean, what good is that going to do anyone?”
“Falco is pretty gung-ho,” said Carlos with a frown. “I can try to talk him out of it, but I doubt he’ll listen to someone he doesn’t really know.”
“It’s no good for anyone for some kid to get a felony on her record when what she really needs is help,” he said bitterly.
“You know I agree,” said Carlos sympathetically. “Look, I’ll see what I can do. You just focus on getting them all to hospital.”
TK’s face softened. He nodded.
He knew Carlos meant it when he said he’d try. That Carlos had just as much of an issue with power tripping, bigoted, asshole cops as he did, if not more.
He, Tommy, and Nancy wrapped up what they were doing and, with the assistance of the newly arrived paramedic crew, they loaded up all of their patients. TK scowled as Tommy filled the cops in on what hospitals they would be taken to. She was only doing her job. He knew it. It wouldn't help any of them to sour their relationship with the police.
It still boiled his blood to see her extend professional courtesy to a dick like Falco at the potential cost of their patients futures.
Ellie and the young man Nancy had been working on came in the rig with them. They weren’t far from the hospital and the drive was spent in relative silence. Both of their passengers were shaky, the symptoms of withdrawal coming hard and fast. Ellie kept looking up at him as if she wanted to say something, but she kept her mouth shut.
Nancy was also side eyeing him. There was a hint of concern in her warm brown eyes that was grating on his nerves. He’d been nothing but professional. He had no idea what had been up with her recently but he had half a mind to tell her to back the hell off.
When they got to the hospital, both patients let themselves be escorted to the ER. It was often the case that OD’s refused to be taken to Emergency after their initial treatment by paramedics, but everyone involved this time seemed more than happy to put off dealing with the police as long as possible. Or to have the opportunity to do a runner from the ER before the cops got there, he suspected. The nurses quickly took them off their hands.
TK was halfway to stepping back into the rig, ready to continue his shift, when he excused himself abruptly. With a quick “Back in a minute” he jogged to the emergency room in search of Ellie, ignoring the baffled looks from Tommy and Nancy.
When he saw her, she was sitting on a hospital bed and had her head buried in the chest of a good looking middle aged man who TK assumed was her brother. The man, who was stroking her hair, looked up as he approached.
“Is something wrong?” he asked nervously.
“No, nothing,” TK assured him, prompting Ellie to extricate herself from her brother and look up at him with red, watery eyes. “I’m TK, the paramedic you spoke to on the phone,” he said, holding out his hand. The brother shook it gratefully. “You mind if I have a quick word with your sister?”
He hesitated, but when Ellie nodded at him, he capitulated with a tight smile. “Sure, I’ll just grab a cup of water.”
He stepped away, leaving TK and the tired young woman alone.
“You must think I’m real stupid, huh?” she asked sheepishly. “Doin' what I do when I got family who care. What have I got to run away from, right?” she asked in that Texan drawl that he had come to appreciate so much in his time down south.
“No,” said TK without hesitation. “I don’t think that. I think it was brave of you to let me call him.”
“Did you call your family?” she asked pointedly, finding a bit of her strength. "When it was you that needed help?"
TK bowed his head for just a moment. Nobody ever clocked him as being in recovery. It was always something that surprised other people about him. But other addicts could always spot him a mile off.
“No, I was never that strong. But I didn't need to call them. They found me and helped me anyway, no matter how many times I messed up,” he said with a sad smile. “Have you got your phone on you?”
She nodded. She scrunched her face up in confusion when he held out his hand, but she unlocked her phone and placed it in his palm anyway. He opened up her contacts and punched his number in, then handed her phone back.
“Call me if you ever need to talk to someone who gets it,” he said.
She grasped her phone tightly in trembling hands and nodded. “Thank you,” she breathed.
Neither of the others questioned him when he got back.
They finished off the last few hours of their shift without any major incidents. Nancy went back to her usual goofy self and stopped shooting him weird looks, and he almost forgot about it altogether.
“Hey Nance, you wanna come check out our new dart board?” he asked as they were packing up in the locker room. “Carlos isn’t off work for a couple hours, but I’m ready to break it in,” he grinned.
“Hell yeah I do,” she exclaimed. “What about you, boss? You feel like pretending to lose at darts so you don’t make us feel bad? Again?”
Tommy laughed. “No, I’m good, thanks. I’ve finally got a full weekend off and I cannot wait to spend every second of it with my girls.”
TK’s heart swelled at the warmth in her voice. As the child of a first responder, he knew just how hard it could be on a kid to have a parent who worked this kind of job. Especially for Tommy’s girls, losing their father so young. He knew exactly how much it meant to them that their mother made them priority one, always.
Owen… well. He did what he could and had the decency to feel guilty about all the things he didn't do. He was trying very hard to make it up to him now. They were both trying. It had to be enough.
“You ready?” asked Nancy, snapping him out of his reverie.
“Yeah,” he said, plastering on a smile. “Let’s get out of here.”