A/N: Filling a prompt on LJ

PROMPT (ignore bolds, lines, italics in prompt, that's for me):

I've noticed there are no Non-con prompts here yet. Allow me to fix sees Wes at a bar (or where ever, really) follows him and attacks him. Said person/people had no idea who he was or what he did for a living, they just thought he was pretty and he was alone. He's (likely) not their first victim. Cue all the insuing angst that this type of attack causes.I'd prefer if there was no chance (or way) for Wes to hide what happened. He wasn't able to just get up and walk away, he needed hospitalization. And probably needs to stay with someone after, too... (If you have the attack happen in his car or hotel, he'll probably never want to see it again, in my opinion). How he reacts to what happened is really up to the filler. Does he get suicidal or self-destructive? Try to act like nothing happened? Get even more controling and OCD as a coping mechanism? Scream and cry and throw things (at Travis)? Panic attacks and PTSD? All or some combination of the above?*Shrugs*I don't really care how graphic or not you make the attack, the recovery is my favorite part of fics like this, so whatever the filler is comfortable with is fine!Gen, pre-slash or established relationship, whatever the filler likes, but no MCOH please. I kinda dislike (hate) fics that have the victim bouncing back like a daisy after something like this happens. Realistic reaction and recovery times are win.*G*

Warnings maybe any of the following in the prompt. If you do not like this type of prompt, I suggest you turn around, and browse away. *May be pre-slash. Mentions of rape, no graphic depiction. With stories like these, characters will seem OOC from time to time, especially the beginning.

Broken Glass

Chapter 1

The evening was just slipping into the night and Wes had realized he had been sitting at the bar stool for well over two hours. He and Travis had been working on the toughest case they had been assigned all month. He needed a place to think without Travis looming over him, and the last place Travis would look, would be the first place Wes would be.

Wes Mitchell hadn't ordered anything but a coke and a side of fries. He sat, nibbling on his snack as he thought deeply about his case. A rapist; dark brown hair and a little over six feet, targets female blondes at nightclubs or bars. He instinctively scanned the area with attentive eyes, but slowly let his guard drop when there were no potential victims.

The culprit wouldn't hit this spot.

Wes sighed, pinching the bridged of his nose as hard as he could, as a man took the adjacent seat.

"Hey there." The man spoke with an amiable ring to his voice. He eyed Wes, taking in the perfect smooth skin and the toned body under the fashionable suit and tie. He was going to be one fine piece of prey. "Long day at work?" The man continued, noticing Wes' distress.

"Yeah, a little." Wes replied without a smile, sliding off the bar stool. He straightened his suit, tucking his dress shirt back into his pants before leaving a dollar next to his glass.

"Where you going?"

"Home." The ex-lawyer called out, not in the mood to make a serious conversation "I've been here for too long, doing nothing." He quickly finished and excused himself, leaving the bar all together. This was the reason why his co-workers didn't enjoy to converse with Wes, if it wasn't cases or crimes, Wes wasn't concerned. As he stood outside his slick black vehicle, he wiped his hands on his pants before reaching for his car keys. Opening the door to his car, he heard the familiar sound of a gun click behind him.

"Unlock the passenger's door." The voice demanded lowly.

The blond exhaled heavily. "Alright." Wes replied calmly, slowly reaching for the button on the driver's door. Foot steps walked around him and he watched with a fixed gaze as the gunman walked around the his car, keeping his gun pointed at Wes the entire time. As his captor took his seat, he waved his gun, motioning for Wes to take his seat too.

"So instead of being a real man and asking me out on a date, you followed me?"

"Shut up and drive behind that building, four blocks down." The man demanded, pushing the barrel of the weapon to the side of the blonde's head.

Wes started the car and pressed gently on the gas pedal. His alert eyes would wander to the large fingers wrapped around the weapon, but a shove to the side of his forehead kept his eyes glued to the road.

"You know, putting a gun to my head won't make me drive any faster." He felt the press harder against his skin, and was able to hear the muscles tightening around the handle. "Okay, okay." He breathed out. "I'm driving."

He pulled into an alleyway as directed while strategizing a possible opening. He saw the man lower his gun slightly, and went for an elbow to his captor's cheekbone. However, his aim was skewed and the man whipped Wes' face mercilessly with the steel.

His vision blurred, as he felt his seat being pulled back, and his attacker crawled on top of him. Wes could see a glint of metal shine against the slightest bit of light that shone through the windows and he shut his eyes. This is it.

He heard a clank and a click, and he shot his eyes opened as soon as it happened. I'm not dead? He looked around, still seeing his assaulter looming over him. He tried lifting his arms, only to realize they were cuffed to the bottom bars of his seat.

"What the hell," Wes grunted as he tugged with futile effort. "Who are you?"

"Former cop from the NYPD." The brown haired man spoke lazily as he pressed his cheek against the smaller man beneath him.

"Don't be joking. I could have you arrested."

The brute man pressed his palm at the lower ends of Wes' belly, running his invasive hands downwards to the base. He grinned with sadistic intentions, slurring. "but I'll make sure you'll never tell."

CLCLCLCLCL

Travis Marks drove along the streets, pausing at stop lights, and driving on the greens. Wes wasn't at his favorite restaurant or his regular park bench, not at work, not at home… not with Alex either. He sighed as he pulled over to check his phone, frowning when Wes never replied to his texts or calls.

He didn't stress with Wes didn't respond, but he couldn't help but feel a little annoyed when he was purposely being ignored. Pulling up to his local bar, he began to type up another text message. A second after he hit send, he leaned against his motorcycle as the feeling of boredom began to set in.

He heard a vibration ring against his feet and he looked down, staring at the face of his own text message. Bending over, he picked up the phone, turning the device in his hands and quickly realized it belonged to his partner.

"Wes." Travis murmured, slipping the phone into his own pocket.

He leapt back onto his motorcycle and began to drive with more vigilant watch. His eyes scanned through the license plates of any dark vehicle as he dialed Captain Sutton on his phone.

"Hello?"

"Captain, it's Travis." He shouted over the noise of his bike. "I found Wes' phone on the floor, I think he's in trouble."

"Or, Travis, he just dropped it." His superior responded. "Did you call his home phone?"

"I tried everything. I can't find him anywhere… wait… I see his car." Travis replied with a cautious tone as he registered the plate from memory. He parked his motorcycle neatly against the curb, hopping off it with ease. With his field instincts kicking in, he moved swiftly, but silently, avoiding anything that could make a sound beneath him.

Travis peaked into the vehicle, finding his partner with eyes shut tightly and shallow breaths leaving his nose. Hands cuffed beneath his seat, articles of clothing missing from the blond's bare body, and bruises already forming over cuts; Travis spoke into his phone, "Captain, send me an ambulance, four north blocks from Barry's Bar."

He hung up and made his way to the driver's side door. He yanked at the handle, and glared at the car when the door didn't budge. Cupping his hands around his eyes, he peered inside, only to find all the doors locked and the keys sitting on the passenger seat.

With nothing of use around him except for the pipe on the floor, Travis picked up the cold piece of iron in his hands and leapt over to the passenger side door. Using all the strength he could muster up, he rammed the pipe into the window, unlocking the door as the glass shattered. He quickly lifted the keys off the seat as he got inside and shut down the car's alarm system.

Travis didn't want to, but he knew he would have to face him. He turned to his partner, and gently placed a hand on the man's bare shoulder, careful not to touch any wounds. "Wes." He whispered.

"God, no more…" Wes pleaded as he opened his eyes at the bare minimum.

"It's alright man, I'm gonna' get you outta' here." Travis reassured, pulling a set of keys out of the glove compartment. Surprise caught him off guard as he replayed the helplessness in the tone of Wes' voice, and the keys almost slipped from his grasp. He slid the keys into the handcuffs, only to learn that they would not fit. He cursed under his breath, searching the car's floor in hopes of a paperclip.

But of course not a paperclip was found. Wes was the King of Cleans after all.

"Wes, who did this to you?" Travis asked with urgency.

"I-I can't…" Wes choked, head turned away with too much shame to face his partner. "Oh god…" he spoke, voice cracking and terribly sore.

Wes shut his eyes tightly, and took a sharp inhale.

"Wes! What's the matter?"

Slut.

"Sto-pp it."

Travis reached over to his partner, his fingertips barely grazing white skin cells.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Wes screamed as loudly as he could. Pain took over his throat again and his voice made a few crackling noises before it left him completely. "D'nt 'ch- me…"

Travis immediately pulled his fingers back, unsure how to deal with the situation.

A dim flash of red and blue shone through the windows and the blaring sirens from squad cars and the ambulance came through. Travis left the car and turned to the Captain who first came to view.

"Travis, what happened?" Captain Sutton quickly asked.

"Captain, I need a lock picking kit, a paperclip, anything that can pick handcuffs." Travis stated as efficiently, watching as his superior waved off an officer to fetch the supplies. He led Sutton over to Wes' car, and the Captain was immediately taken back.

"Travis-"

"I don't know." The taller man responded grimly, taking the lock picking kit that was promptly handed to him. He got back into the car with gloved hands and Captain Sutton watching behind him. He lowered himself slowly to Wes' hand.

"St' 'way…" Wes huffed, pulling agitatedly against his restraints.

"Wes, it's Travis." His partner assured, speaking in a more soothing manner. "It's Travis, see. Look."

Innocent blue eyes turned with tears built at the bases. Wes gulped and released a shaky breath from his panicked stated, nodding as he accepted his partner's presence. He instinctively pulled away when Travis' dark skin grazed his pale hand. "Sorry." The blond murmured.

"Don't apologize. You did nothing wrong."

Just stay still. You're doing fine.

Wes' body jerked inwards as he took another heavy breath and Travis ceased his movements.

"You okay?"

Wes nodded and Travis continued as smoothly as possible. Marks couldn't help but to notice the damaged Wes had sustained to his fingers. His fingernails were chipped from clawing beneath his seat, exposing the sensitive skin from underneath. They no longer bled, but they were one of the many things that would have to be bandaged.

He wasn't surprised to find that the other hand had endured the same fate, handing the cuffs to evidence. A blanket soon came, and Travis wrapped the security blanket around Wes' bare body. "Ready to go?" He asked.

Wes shook his head negatively.

"Can you walk?" Travis questioned, still with a calming voice. His words were confident as he spoke, but his eyes were saddened when he received the same response. "I'm going to have to lift you, that okay?"

Wes nodded.

"Alright then." Travis gently carried his partner in both his arms while reminding him of how he took care of his foster siblings, when they were frightened. He could feel Wes' hair dig into his chest, and how his partner clutched tightly against the fabric of his dark t-shirt, as if all bad things could go away if he held on hard enough.

Travis felt his teardrops sink into his shirt by the time he reached the ambulance, and he tenderly set Wes inside. He tossed the keys to his motorcycle to Captain Sutton, nudging his head in the direction of his bike, turning away as Sutton nodded to the silent statement.

He headed himself into the medical van and took a seat as the paramedics shut the van's doors and ambulance took off, blaring sirens overhead.

Travis wiped his running nose as he sat in silence, watching as Wes's weary eyes eventually fell from exhaustion.

To be continued.