Disclaimer: If I owned Common Law, not only would there be a second season (and third season, and forth, etc.) but it would be so full of awesomeness, whump, shooting, angst, drama, group therapy, childish arguments, and brotherly moments, it would make your head explode. So, no. I don't own. *pouty face* :(
Warnings: Implied torture and mild language. No slash of any kind. If you want to pretend it is there in your own mind that is fine. It wasn't in the show so it isn't in my stories. Enjoy!
Don't Be Late
They had been arguing the day before.
That's nothing new, of course. They argued all the time. But this particular time, they had been arguing about the fact that Travis was late to work . . . again.
Now, Travis admits that he should have gotten in sooner, but it really wasn't his fault that he was late. He had "company" over last night; Lola, the waitress at the diner he ate dinner at that evening and just happened to clock off just as he was leaving. How was he supposed to know that Lola had accidentally unplugged his alarm clock when he brought her back to his place? So, he woke up a little late. Then he had to gas-up his bike, which was running on fumes because he neglected to do it yesterday (much to Wes's pleasure of starting up a new argument because he had told him to refuel his bike but Travis didn't, mostly just to spite Wes. Well, look where that got him.). After that it seemed like he hit every red light and construction zone in the city, and even with his bob-and-weave driving style it still took an extra twenty minutes to get to the office. At which point he was met by a particularly crabby Wes who complained about having to wait around for Travis for a full ninety-five minutes so they could chase down a lead together.
"Ten more minutes and I was going to take Kate and Amy, instead," Wes had said, with all of his usual Wes-ness. And then they were off. But the argument was certainly not dropped, and Travis was sure that Wes was going to bring it up in Group later this week. Really, it was just a series of unfortunate (well, not all of them were unfortunate) and unavoidable (despite what Wes says) events that lead to him being late.
So, they had been arguing the day before.
It wasn't a big fight, nothing major. The arguing seemed to stay within the 'playful' to 'annoying' range. No punches thrown, no sore subjects brought up. Well, Wes may have mentioned the stapler once or twice, but whatever. In fact, it had been a pretty good day. Their first lead was a dud, but their second hit the nail on the head, and led them to their number one suspect. The bust to catch the murderer went well, and was easy seeing as the guy was only armed with a knife that was dropped soon as Wes shot a round into the wall just above the suspect's shoulder when said suspect swiped his blade at Travis. So an easy bust with no injuries. Well, other than a cut on the guy's finger from his own switchblade. Pfft, amateur.
So, yesterday was a good day, even though they had been arguing.
About Travis being late. . .
And today, Wes is late.
By about two hours now.
Travis isn't worried. Just because Wes is never late unless it is something immediately dire or he had given fore warning, and Travis hasn't gotten so much as a text message from his absentee partner, Travis isn't worried. Wes is just trying to teach Travis a lesson by showing up late himself, which is really rather childish because Travis had wanted to show Wes that he could be responsible and cares about his job. Travis had arrived twenty whole minutes early for his shift. He was a little disappointed when eight o'clock came and went and Wes was nowhere to be seen. And as the minutes tick past, Travis is certainly not worried. Travis Marks doesn't do worried.
However, he may be growing slightly concerned.
After two hours of being bored and not-worried, and having sent his seventeenth text to Wes with no response, Travis finds himself in Kendall's lab, with said tech geek typing away at her computer.
"Hey Trav. Where's Tweedle Dee?" she asks as he walks in.
"Are you implying that I am Tweedle Dum?"
"Nope. 'Course not," she turns her head away from him but he still catches her amused smirk. "So what brings you down here partner-less? I don't have any info for you guys."
Travis takes a seat on the desk behind Kendall. "Nah, we're on cold cases 'til a new one comes in." Travis hesitates a moment before deciding how to answer her other question. He doesn't want to get Wes in trouble for being so late, but he is getting more . . . concerned by his absence. "And, actually, Wes hasn't shown up yet."
Kendall spins around in surprise. "Wes is late? Well, there isn't any fire falling from the sky, so it isn't the apocalypse. Maybe he had a hot date last night." She winks and scrunches her nose as she smiles mischievously and turns back to her computer, and all Travis can think is 'how can this girl like Wes?' and that he seriously needs to get those two together soon.
"Him getting laid on a night that I didn't? Now that would be the end of the world. Heh, more likely he's sleeping off a hangover after getting drunk alone 'cause he's a loser." Not his best comeback, but it makes his point.
This started a conversation about Wes's rather lacking love life and things about him and Travis that would foretell the coming apocalypse, which led into a discussion about a particularly difficult level of their favorite MMORPG, Apocalypse Moon. (*A/N: Massively Multi-player Online Role Playing Game to all you nongeeks and gamers. ;D*)
As Kendall is describing, in extreme detail, how she defeated a boss in twenty-five minutes that Travis had been trying to kill for a week, Travis's loud musical ringtone fills the room. He pulls his cell from his pocket and suppresses a breath of relief when he sees it is Wes calling. He flashes the caller ID picture at Kendall.
"He's trying to teach me not to be late," he informs the techy before he answers the phone. "Okay, ha ha, I get it. 'Don't come in late for work.' I'll remember," he announces into the receiver without preamble.
"Hello Detective Marks," replies an unfamiliar voice with manic cheerfulness that sends a cold chill up Travis's spine.
He grips the phone tighter to his ear. "Who is this? Where's Wes?" He glances at Kendall, and she nods, immediately starting up a trace.
"Detective Mitchell? Oh, he's right here. He's a little tied up at the moment, but I'm sure he's dying to hear from you."
In any other situation, Travis would've gone to town insulting that awful pun. As it is, he smirks a little, this guy is obviously not all there, only to have the expression fall off his face as he realizes the implications that fact might have on Wes, being held captive by a psycho.
"Would you like to speak to him? I can understand if you don't. He isn't the most pleasant of company." The stranger lets out a high pitched laugh at his own statement, which quickly changes into a bout of near-hysterical giggles. Whoever this guy is, he's either a complete nutcase or high out of his mind on something.
"No. Yes, I wanna talk to him," Travis demands carefully. There is a pause on the other end of the line, filled only with muffled noises.
He glances at Kendall again, who signals him by holding up four fingers.
'Keep him talking,' she mouths. 'Four minutes.'
The noises on the phone stop, then suddenly. . .
"Travis."
"Wes." It comes out more as a sigh of relief. "I'm gonna get you out of this, man," Travis assures in his usual confident tone, though a little strained near the end.
"I know, Travis." His voice sounds a little hoarse, but he is speaking with the same confidence Travis is pretending to have and admitting his trust and dammit! He is supposed to be the one reassuring Wes in this situation, not the other way around!
Travis takes a deep breath and reminds himself of his priorities at this moment. "Are you good? You hurt?"
"No, I'm alright. But Travis . . . "
". . . yeah?" Travis prompts tentatively.
"If you get stabbedby this prick, I'm going to shootyou myself. So, be careful, or I'm screwed."
It only takes a second for Travis to catch on. Emphasis on 'stabbed', guy's got a blade of some kind. Emphasis on 'shoot', Mr. Crazy has a gun, maybe even Wes's own sidearm. Emphasis on 'prick' (because, if that is the best insult Wes can think of at this moment, then they are both royally screwed) means Wes was likely drugged, but by how clear his voice is, the effects must have since worn off. Thank you Dr. Ryan and her communication exercises that one night got the boys talking about ways to signal each other if ever the need arose. And arose it has.
"I got you, partner," Travis replies with as much certainty as he can to let Wes know his message was received.
"Aww, how touching," sounds Mr. Crazy's too-cheerful voice again.
"What do you want?" Travis demands lowly.
"Straight to the point! I like that. You're a man I can respect, Detective Marks!"
Travis feels himself beginning to grow impatient, but holds his tongue for fear of what might happen to Wes.
Psycho guy continues, the smile unmistakable in his voice, "Now, as for what I want: you are going to set fire to the LAPD's evidence storehouse, Detective Marks."
A moment, and Travis snaps. "Look here, you psychopathic lunatic, you're going to let my partner go or else I'll hunt you down and put a bullet between your eyes," he threatens hotly.
Kendall is throwing him startled looks, but he doesn't care right now. Losing that warehouse would be the equivalent of letting loose half a prison full of scumbags and murderers, which certainly would happen soon as all the evidence for a few hundred closed and pending cases is destroyed. But if he doesn't, it's his partner's life. Wes would never do it, were he in this position. Travis only hopes the call trace proves fruitful so he won't have to make that choice.
Speaking of which, Kendall catches his eye and waves two fingers around, mouthing 'Two minutes.'
Travis takes a calming breath to help control his anger.
"Is that so?" Travis had been expecting a different reaction from the stranger. If anything, he sounds even more cheerful. "Shall we hear what Detective Mitchell has to say about that?"
Before Travis can respond, there is a beep and loud clatter as the phone is set on speaker and put down.
Wes's slightly hoarse voice assaults his ears once more. "Wait. Wh-what are you doing?" Did Wes sound . . . nervous? Okay, now Travis is worried.
"We are going to have ourselves a bit of fun, Detective Mitchell. Then we will see whether your partner is going to help us or not. But, who knows, perhaps Detective Marks will enjoy this as much as I will. I know how poorly the two of you get along. How's the couple's counseling going, by the way?"
Travis doesn't really like the sound of that. "What are you doing?"
His question is ignored. Wes's voice comes through the receiver again. "I – what? No no no! Wait. What are you–? Don't—!" Wes lets out a small cry of pain that is quickly muffled at the end, assumingly by Wes himself.
"Wes!"
"Now, what would you say that was, Detective Mitchell? Twenty-four, twenty-five words? Eh, we'll just make it an even twenty-six, shall we?" Another half-crazed giggle, followed almost immediately by a strained gasp from Wes.
"What are you doing to him?!" Travis yells into the phone, wishing he could climb through the phone and punch the smile off that whackjob's face.
"Merely tallying up your words, Detective Marks," the stranger finally answers. "As they say, 'words once spoken. . .'. I am just making them a bit more tangible and a lot more permanent." This guy can't seem to end a statement without breaking out into giggles.
He is getting a little ticked with these half answers. "What the hell are you talking about?!"
"H-he's carving tally marks into my leg with a knife. Flesh wounds, not deep, but . . ."
'But painful,' Travis finishes mentally. He opens his mouth to speak, not really sure what he's going to say, but is cut off by a particularly startled sounding yelp of pain through the phone receiver and Mr. Crazy's too-cheerful voice giving a playful reprimand.
"Now now, Detective Mitchell, don't be giving away all of our secrets. Now, where were we? Oh yes, three. . ."
As a quiet hiss filters through the receiver, Travis hits the mute and speaker buttons and sets the phone down. Though he tries to ignore the sounds emitting through the phone's tiny speaker, he can't help but flinch or wince every time a hiss, gasp, or grunt makes it to his ears, and cringes internally at the imagined sound of a blade being drawn across flesh.
He turns to Kendall with pleading eyes. But before he can ask her a thing, the computer lab door opens and Captain Sutton marches in.
"What is this about one of my best detectives being kidnapped?" Sutton demands, a frown fixed on his face.
"Captain," Travis pauses, unsure of how to start, but relieved to have someone more qualified to make decisions. "Wes didn't show up for work this morning, I thought he was just, ya'know, paying me back for being late yesterday. I've got the kidnapper on the phone; it's on mute, they can't hear us. Wes got a message to me, he says he was drugged, needle-to-the-neck style, and that the guy has a knife and a gun, possibly Wes's own. This guy's a real wackjob, Cap. He's already hurt Wes." Travis starts violently as a louder pained hiss from Wes makes its way through the room. "Is hurting him still," he amends.
"Sorry, Trav, I took the liberty of calling the Captain down. I have a trace running on the call. It bounced around a bit, which is why it's taking a few minutes, but definitely not a pro job. I'll have a location for you boys in a minute." Despite her sure words, he can clearly see worry lines etched into her forehead. It makes Travis think that maybe she likes Wes more than he realizes.
Sutton nods and turns back to Travis. "Has he made any demands?"
"Just one." Travis grimaces slightly. "For me to burn down the evidence storehouse. My response to that is why he's hurting Wes now."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
"Last night, about nine thirty – ten o'clock. We stopped off for drinks at the hotel bar. Dr. Ryan's doing," he adds at the questioning glance from Sutton. Dr. Ryan had enacted a policy this week of not going to bed mad after an argument during the day. So the boys had had a couple drinks together and talked a little, mostly about past cases, just enough to reassure each that the other wasn't angry or resentful about anything that night. Wes had let drop the subject of Travis's tardiness, and Travis had dropped the stapler debacle rehash. That was why Travis was a bit miffed when he thought Wes was still mad about it this morning. "I saw him get in the elevator before I left."
"I'll send ESU to Wes's hotel. If that's where he was grabbed, maybe we can get something on this guy. I've already got SWAT organizing, ready to mobilize soon as we have a location."
"Twenty-six," Mr. Crazy announces over the phone speaker, entirely unawares of the conversation that just took place. "There, all done. Come now, Detective Mitchell, don't look at me like that. It is not my fault that your partner let his mouth get away from him. And speaking of your partner, he has been awfully quiet. Detective Marks, anything you wish to say?"
Travis scrambles for the phone and clicks off the mute. "You better believe I have something to say, you—"
Sutton snatches the cellular away from him with one hand and holds up the other in a silencing gesture that instantly shuts Travis up. "This is Police Capitan Mike Sutton of LA's Robbery/Homicide division. I hear you have one of my detectives."
"And I believe I was talking to Detective Marks," the stranger says with sudden warning in his tone. "Kindly put him back on, please."
"If you're wanting something done, I am the one with the authority to get it done. What needs to happen for you to let him go?" negotiates Sutton as calmly and reasonably as he can.
"Now, now, Captain Sutton, you have me all wrong. I do not intend to let Detective Mitchell free. Detective Marks's cooperation merely determines how slowly or quickly Detective Mitchell will die."
"What? No," Travis rebuts quietly, at the same time Kendall almost whispers, "Oh God."
"Listen, we can work something out. No one—"
"No, youlisten, Captain Sutton," the man almost growls, the sudden change in emotion sending a spike of panic through Travis's brain. "Unless you want the last moments of Detective Mitchell's life to be him screaming in agony, I suggest that you GIVE THE PHONE BACK to Detective Marks!"
Letting out a breath, Sutton holds the phone out to Travis without a word.
Nostrils flaring and lips pressed into a thin line in an attempt to control his inner turmoil, Travis silently takes the phone back. His voice is quiet in suppressed emotion. "This is Marks."
"So glad to have you back, Detective Marks." Glee once again resounds in the guy's tone, but it doesn't dissipate any of Travis's fear for his partner. "I was beginning to think I would have to hurt Detective Mitchell again just to make my point clear. I wonder if you really care about your partner at all. So far you haven't done anything to try and stop me."
When Travis doesn't reply, Mr. Crazy continues his little speech. "That isn't very fun. I had hoped the two of you would be more entertaining than this. Or maybe, you want to hear your partner scream, Detective Marks? He's only made little sounds so far; tasty, but not very filling. Though I haven't reeeaaaally been trying."
Travis clenches his jaw so hard, he was surprised his teeth hadn't cracked yet. Kendall had one hand pressed to her mouth, the other typing furiously at her keyboard. Sutton just stands, staring at the phone, wishing there was something he could do.
"I bet his screams would be beauuuutiful, don't you think so, Detective Marks?"
Still Travis holds his tongue. The man snaps.
"Answer me!" The sound of fist meeting flesh, quickly followed by a very Wes-like grunt, punctuated the lunatic's demand.
"No. I don't want to hear him scream." The reply is reluctant, and more than a little forced, but still sincere.
"Are you sure? I think it would be so – much – fun!" Each word is punctuated with a strange noise Travis can't quite place, but knows it can't be good. He can faintly hear Wes trying to catch his breath.
"You're a crazy sorry son of a bitch."
"Really? Hmm, I think Detective Mitchell would disagree with you there, Detective Marks. Words like that could lead to punishment, after all. Don't you think, Detective Mitchell?"
"Nah, I agree with him. You are a crazy sorry son of a bitch." The sound of a hand slapping against flesh, and Travis imagined Wes spitting as he recovered. "And you hit like a grade school girl."
A vindictive smile crosses his face at his partner's words, even as fear clenches at his chest.
Without warning, Kendall jumps to her feet, letting out a gasp before covering her mouth with both hands, eyes flitting to the phone still held in Travis's hands. Quick as a flash, she reaches over and stabs at the mute button. Glancing between the two men in her lab, she exclaims excitedly, "I found him! I-I found his location! Ten-five-four-eight Lindon off twenty second street! I sent it the lead SWAT guy, um." She stumbles over the last sentence, clapping her hands together anxiously, before running them over her face and through her hair.
A new spark lit in Travis's eyes as he unmuted the phone again. "Listen to me you psychopathic little shit, if you even touch my partner again, there won't be anywhere on Earth you can hide that I won't find you. Wes? I'm coming for ya. Hold on man, I'm coming for you."
Travis is already halfway to the door when his partner calls his name, stopping him in his tracks. "Travis?"
"Yeah?" His hand is on the door handle, and he is flying out the door the moment Wes's words hit him, course set and his intentions written in every fiber of his being.
"Don't be late."
.
Author's Notes: My only question right now, should I continue? Let me know if you think I should! Take care! God bless!
-TheOneThatGotAway99