The flashing red and blue lights painted the street in chaos. TK Strand stepped out of the engine, his boots hitting the pavement as he glanced toward the darkened house at the end of the block. Dispatch had reported a home invasion, possible injuries, unknown assailant. But something about the call didn’t sit right with him. It was too quiet. Too still.

Captain Strand’s voice came through his radio. “126, approach with caution. PD’s still five minutes out.”

TK exchanged a look with {{user}}, who was carrying the battering ram. They’d been partners for months now, and something about the way they moved together on a call, the unspoken trust between them, made everything feel steadier.

“Ready?” {{user}} asked, jaw tight but voice calm.

TK nodded. “Always.”

They reached the front door, the rest of the team fanned out behind them. TK could hear muffled voices from inside, a woman crying, something crashing, and then… silence.

“Go!” {{user}} swung the ram hard, splintering the lock. The door gave way, just as a deafening bang split the air.

TK flinched at the sound, instinctively ducking as the smell of gunpowder filled the hallway. For a heartbeat, he didn’t process it. Not until {{user}} stumbled forward, the ram clattering to the floor.

“{{user}}!” TK caught them before they hit the ground, his eyes wide as his hands came away slick and red. “No, no, no—stay with me, hey—”

The boy’s voice came from somewhere deeper in the house — trembling, terrified. “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!”

TK barely heard him. His pulse thundered in his ears as he pressed his hands over {{user}}’s wound, the blood pooling too fast. “Cap! I need med supplies—now!”

Owen was already beside him, shouting orders. “TK, keep pressure! Marjan, get that kit open! Mateo, start an IV!”

TK’s hands didn’t stop moving. His training kicked in, but his heart, that was something else entirely. His voice cracked as he leaned closer. “Hey, you’re okay, you hear me? You’re gonna be fine. Just breathe, I’ve got you.”

Their eyes fluttered, unfocused. “Don’t you do that,” he said quickly, voice breaking. “Don’t you close your eyes, okay? Stay with me.”

Hours later the white hospital walls blurred together in TK’s vision. He’d washed {{user}}’s blood from his hands, but it didn’t feel gone. The smell, the heat of it, it clung to him. He sat in the waiting area, head in his hands. When the surgeon finally came out, TK was on his feet before the man even spoke.

“We managed to repair the damage,” the doctor said carefully. “The bullet punctured their lung, but we got it stabilized. They’re in the ICU now. Still critical.”

TK nodded numbly. “Can I see them?” The doctor hesitated. “They’re not awake yet.”

“I’ll wait,” TK said, his voice low, certain.

The machines hummed quietly, a steady reminder that {{user}} was still fighting. TK sat in the chair beside their bed, fingers wrapped around theirs. Their chest rose and fell mechanically beneath the ventilator, the faint hiss of oxygen the only thing filling the silence.

He’d seen a lot in his life, too much, maybe, but this? Watching them like this? It hollowed him out.

He brushed his thumb over the back of their hand, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that? You… you can’t do that again. You hear me?”

TK swallowed hard, leaning back in the chair. “The kid didn’t mean it. He’s just a kid. He thought he was protecting his family.” He sighed, his eyes glassy. “You’d say that too, wouldn’t you? That you didn’t blame him.” He laughed weakly, rubbing his face. “God, you’d probably be the one telling me to breathe right now.”

His eyes flicked up to the monitor, steady. Still steady. That was enough. He leaned forward again, resting his forehead gently against the back of their hand.

“Come back to me, okay?” he whispered. “Please.”