AN: Probably heavy bromance in the future, but you slash readers can read it any way you want. This will only be two or three chapters, posted over the next day. Reviews feed my starving soul.
Captain Mike Sutton: "Without Wes, Travis will wind up getting himself killed. Without Travis,Wes will over think himself and never make an arrest again."
"That's it." Sutton's weary voice echoed off the walls of his office as he rose to his feet.
Travis and Wes paused, both half out of their seats and nostrils flaring. Their fists were clenched and they were a word away from blows. The Detectives waited a beat before they slowly sat back down, still glaring at one another.
"I've had it with the both of you. From now on, Travis, you'll be with Waltham. Wes, you're with DiMarco." Sutton took his seat and gave his best detectives his worst look.
The pair looked at their captain with disbelief etched over their faces.
"Wait, Cap, —" Travis began.
"—you can't split us up." Wes finished.
Sutton gave them a hard stare. "I can and I did. It's effective until further notice. Now leave; I have better things to do than babysit the two of you."
"But, Cap'n—" Wes started.
Travis finished. "We're your best detectives."
"With all due respect, sir, it's…" Wes sighed, at a loss for a proper word.
"Idiotic…sir." Travis said. "We're partners."
"I don't care if you're conjoined twins." Sutton yelled. "If the two of you had the brains to act like partners before I split you apart, it wouldn't come to this."
"Cap—" They tried for one last ditch plea.
"No, that's it. Out of my office. Now." The Captain snapped. He gave a heavy sigh, and rubbed his brow with the knuckle of his thumb.
It was barely a week later, and Wes came in to a near silent office. His brow furrowed in confusion, but no one would meet his eye until he walked by the Captain's office. Sutton called him in.
"Waltham's been killed." Sutton said bluntly. There was no easing into it, no asking him to take a seat. He just said it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.
"Oh, geez, Captain." Wes breathed. "I mean, I only met him once but…what about his partn—"
It hit him, ike a literal hammer to the stomach. There was no air left in his lungs. Wes grabbed hold of the chair, his exhale coming out a tiny squeak. The room spun.
"Take a seat, son." Sutton gently pushed him onto the chair.
Wes held his head in his hands, dragging his fingernails over his scalp. "Travis is dead." He choked out.
"Missing." Sutton corrected. "And as far as I'm concerned, no body means no dead cop."
"How'd it happen?"
"We're still not sure." The Captain took a seat behind his desk. "They were investigating the homicides of the three college girls then the call comes in. Different MO; Waltham was stabbed." Sutton sniffed, eyes red-rimmed.
"Where was he killed? Do you have witnesses? Suspects?"
Sutton exhaled slowly. "Wes, go home. I've got half the station on this."
"That's not enough." The Detective snapped, looking up sharply.
The Captain's face immediately turned into a mask of anger. "Hey, as much as I wish it could, crime does not stop because Travis is missing. I have more case loads than this precinct can handle, and a hundred people asking me where their loved ones are, when their killers will be brought to justice. So, if you think I haven't done everything I can to help Travis then, so help me—" Sutton's voice hitched and he stopped short, rubbing a hand roughly over his jaw as he forced himself into a calmer state. "Go home, Wes. That's an order." He breathed.
Wes stood, fist clenched and jaw working with silent fury. Without another word, he stalked out of the office. He managed to make it to his car without incident, but as soon as he threw himself into the seat, he struck the steering wheel repeatedly. He hit the wheel until it his hand grew numb and every blow sent sharp tingling sensations up to his elbow. All he wanted was a distraction, something to keep his mind off everything that had happened in the passed ten minutes. It did not work.
"God, Travis." Wes groaned as he let his head fall to rest on the steering wheel with a dull thud.
He was nursing a bottle of Scotch when the knock came at his door. He tried ignoring it; there was only one person he wanted to see, and he would not be knocking on his door. The knocks persisted and, as much as he wanted to, he could not ignore them any longer.
"Go. Away." Wes yelled before he downed the rest of his drink in one go.
"Wes, it's Alex." Her familiar voice called through the door. "Please, let me in. I heard what happened."
"Alex…" The Detective poured another drink. "I can't…I just can't right now."
"Wes, please open the door." Came Dr. Ryan's voice. "You haven't been answering your phone. We're worried about you."
Wes snorted. "Just…go home. I'm…fine. You can leave."
"I had really hoped we wouldn't get to this."
There was a click of the lock and the creak of his door opening. Wes groaned inwardly and put his drink aside. He glared as he stood, stopping them before they came too far inside.
"I'm sorry." Alex cried as she ran to him. "I'm so sorry. We came as soon as Sutton called."
Wes had one hand in his pocket and the other on the small of Alex's back. He buried his nose in the crook of her neck, trying to get the comfort he once did from her. He could not so he pulled away.
"I'm terribly sorry to hear about Travis." Dr. Ryan looked at him and her eyes were brimmed with tears. "If there's anything we can do." Her hands were clasped piteously.
"I'm sure Sutton will find him." Alex assured him, brushing a tear from her cheek.
Wes looked away. "Dead or alive?" He sat back down, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.
Dr. Ryan moved to stand in front of him. "I can't believe you'd actually give up like this."
"Give up?" Wes looked at her sharply, his eyes flashing with rage and disgust. "I've been thrown out of the station until further orders, I can't look for clues and no one will tell me anything because they could get suspended. Worse, my new partner won't give me anything to work with. So, don't tell me I've given up because I've been road blocked." He snapped.
"Wes, we're here to help you." Alex said softly.
"No, you're here to console me." Wes leapt to his feet to pace the room, drink back in his hand. "You come here acting like…like Travis is already dead." His voice hitched and he held a hand over his eyes to stop the flood of tears threatening to come.
"He isn't dead." Ryan assured him.
"What if he is?" Wes roared, throwing the glass across the room. It shattered on the wall in a spray of glass and alcohol. He scrubbed a hand furiously over his face as he continued his pacing. "Waltham wasn't shot, he was stabbed. So, there were either two or something happened to Travis."
"But there's no body." Alex interjected. "So he's still a alive."
"Absence of a body does not mean there isn't one. Travis never would have just left his partner — left anyone — to die. He could have been hurt, unable to call for backup. They may just not have found him yet."
"Perhaps someone else rendered him incapable of helping?" Ryan asked.
"But why kill Waltham but not Travis?" Alex asked.
"He could have been alerted. Maybe the killer only wanted one person."
Wes took his bottom lip between his teeth and bit reflectively. "But why kidnap someone, a Detective, and kill the other?" The look he gave them said he already knew the answer.
"Ransom." Alex answered. "Killing Detective Waltham shows they're serious about doing harm."
Wes shook his head. "There's no ransom. That much I do know. I think the killer got the advantage over Travis then killed Waltham. He goes back to finish the job but can't, killing someone who's unconscious, perhaps, is a lot harder than killing someone who can kill you. So, what does he do? He can't leave Travis, he could identify him. Can't bring himself to kill him. All he can do is take him."
Alex inhaled slowly. "What happens when Travis wakes up?"
Dr. Ryan moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her eyes darkening in thought. "He'll be in no position to harm the killer, I imagine. And if he can't hurt anyone, then the killer may still be unable to bring himself to do finish what he started. He may leave Travis somewhere to, well, to die. Somewhere isolated where there would be little chance of someone finding him…alive." Ryan paused a beat. "Wes, I wanted to give you some time to grieve before I said anything; I was afraid what it might do."
Wes felt his heart pound against his chest, and for a second he was afraid it might burst right through. "What is it?"
"They found a police officer: stabbed to death. He was two miles from where Waltham was found."
Wes swore loudly. He kicked the dresser and swore louder. His body tensed like a livewire, and he ran a hand through his hair so roughly it hurt.
"He's working his way up." He forced through clenched teeth. "The bastard is going to keep killing until he works his way up to killing Travis then the whole thing starts again."
"But Travis is safe for now. As terrible as this sounds, this could be good. This gives you more clues to find whoever did this." Alex said, looking between the others.
Ryan looked at her sadly. "Unfortunately, our killer seems to have a penchant for violent behavior as the stabbing suggested. I'm afraid it may be only days before…" She looked down at her hands. "Well, before Travis…expires."
Travis was missing for fifty-three days. By Day Four, Wes was back at work. By Day Fifteen, Sutton could only afford to keep four detectives on the case. Murdered police officers stopped on Day Seventeen. The next day, Wes curled up on his bed and cried so hard his stomach rolled, and he wretched all over the hotel carpet. In some sick way it reminded him of the time he and Travis accidently inhaled some drugs from a bust. They had laughed so hard and the room spun so bad they threw up in the warehouse corner.
Alex wouldn't leave him alone. She slept on a cot in his room; he passed out on her couch. He didn't go to group; there was no couple anymore.
"Wes, we need to talk." Alex said softly as she watched her ex pour over files that had become a permanent fixture on her dining table. He didn't respond. "I want to believe Travis is alive just as much as you do, I really do, but you can't—"
"Don't say it." Wes gave her a hard stare with eyes red from lack of sleep. "Don't say anything."
"All I'm saying is that you should slow down. You can't help anyone like this."
"I can't slow down, not while he's still out there." Wes yelled as jabbed a finger to the door. He looked away from her, training his eyes on the files. They were engraved in his mind at this point but he still went over them with the slightest glimmer of hope of catching something he may have missed.
"I love Travis so much, and I would give anything for him to be alright." Alex cried as he turned his back to her. "But this is killing you."
"This," Wes swept a hand over the files, "is killing Travis and annoying you."
"Don't you dare say that." Alex's expression was tinged with guilt. "But I told you, a hundred times, it was dangerous. And, God…Travis was such a good man but do you see now? Wes, I don't want to lose you, not like that." She raked her hair from her face, giving a stuttering exhale as she watched him grab his jacket. "Where are you going?"
"Out. I need…I need to think. Travis is still alive and I can't give up on him." He locked eyes with her. "He's my partner, and I know he'd do the same for me."
He drove for a bit, rubbing sleep from his eyes until he couldn't stand the tight space or flashing lights of the city. With a heavy sigh, Wes went back to his apartment, his feet feeling like lead. As soon as he opened the door, a foul smell, a mixture of defecation, bile, and piss, assaulted his nose. Quietly, Wes drew his gun from its holster on his waist and opened the door slowly.
"Is there anyone here? Don't move or I'll shoot." Wes called into the darkened room. He flipped on a light switch before covering his nose in the crook of his elbow.
"Alright, I want you to come out slowly." He ordered, voice muffled by his arm.
There was a shuffling behind the door to the bathroom, like rats in the darkened alleyways.
"I know you're here." Wes growled. "Open the door slowly."
The door creaked open a crack and a person peered through to look at the Detective.
Wes had never, and know would never, know a pair of blue eyes quite like Travis'. He knew, even through the finger-sized crack, he knew it was the other man.
Wes dropped his gun and threw open the door in one fluid motion, catching the missing detective off guard as he threw his arms around him and brought them crashing to the ground. Even though Travis had a full grown beard and reeked all seven circles of hell, Wes held on for dear life.