Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness
But it's better than drinkin' alone

(Piano Man – Billy Joel)

He leaned against the black Chrysler and watched his partner flirt and make eyes at the runner from the law office. This was the reason Wes preferred all couriers leave their packages at the security desk. It gave Travis less to work with. Most days, that is. As luck would have it, they ran into the runner on their way out of the office for lunch.

"Either ask her out or say goodbye and get it over with, Marks," he yelled finally. His rumbling stomach prompted the aggravated response, or so he told himself. "I'm starving."

Travis looked up at him briefly, probably rolling his eyes if he knew his partner. "Keep your pants on," he called back, annoyance clear in his voice.

"Yeah, it's all I do these days," he muttered, grimacing at how those words sounded even to himself. Sad. Pathetic. Desperate. You are not attracted to that asshole, he reminded his lonely heart. And you're definitely not jealous of her. Now, if he could only learn to believe it, he'd be golden. Another glance his partner's way showed he was finally leaving the buxom blonde behind and making his way over. "About time," he grumped.

"Man, cut me some slack. Did you see that girl? She was hoooooot," Travis sang.

Wes gave him a mental eye roll. "If you say so, Travis."

Travis tossed a glance back over his shoulder and caught the girl waving. "Man, how can you not say so? Did you even look at her?"

He tried so hard not to sound exasperated. They had this conversation on a regular basis and still Travis hadn't caught on. If he were into women – which, for the record, he was not – he'd not settle for something like that. Wes would definitely strive for a higher quality date. "She's not my type," he said instead.

Looking over at the still waving figure, Travis had to ask. "You say that every time, no matter the woman. What exactly is your type, Wes?"

Tall, dark-skinned, blue-eyed, loudmouthed. He almost smiled at that because the one trait that all his past crushes had had in common was the thing he thought he despised the most – a big mouth. In the interest of getting lunch as soon as possible, he decided to go with the safe answer. "Something more like Alex. Smart. Classy. Sophisticated."

And male. But he kept that last part to himself. He hadn't realized until it was too late that he hadn't ever really been attracted to his ex-wife. They'd been married for almost a year when he finally understood his colossal mistake. Life would have been so much easier if he'd never gotten married. On the plus side, they'd been too busy to have children which left one less worry to deal with in the end.

Travis made a disbelieving sound. "Sophisticated? Because that worked for you the first time around."

He wasn't sure if Travis was teasing or being honest. Either way, he was right on the money which burned his ass more than he wanted to admit. "Yes, sophisticated. I like a woman I can take to the symphony or to a museum. Someone who might appreciate a little culture, unlike you."

"Me?" Travis grinned, climbing into the passenger seat of Wes' car. "You want to take me to the symphony? Wesley Mitchell, you are a sly dog, coming on to me like that."

Wes slapped a hand over his face half in frustration and half to hide the embarrassed blush tinting his cheeks. He had thought to ask Travis the last time he'd had tickets but chickened out at the last minute, assuming he'd only get laughed at in return. "I just told you I prefer someone more sophisticated, Marks. So why the hell would I hit on you?"

In response, Travis treated Wes to one of those smiles that had made him fall in the first place. All white teeth and full, kissable lips, it caused a flutter within Wes' chest, in spite of all the frustrations the man holding the smile was causing him. Shoving down the inevitable betrayal of his emotions, Wes looked at Travis, waiting.

Travis shrugged. "Because I'm me?"

Because you're you. Score one more point for Travis Marks. Damn him to hell. Because he was right.

"Hey man," Travis said, stopping him before he could get into his car. "No hard feelings about earlier, right?"

It took a minute for Wes to put the ambiguous sentence into context. When he did, he bit his bottom lip, thinking how to respond. "No, Marks. No hard feelings. Just try to keep it in your pants at work next time."

"Deal," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across those luscious lips. "Unless it's just you and me next time."

He was gone before Wes could formulate a proper rebuttal, straddling his motorcycle and pulling out of the parking lot. It was official: Travis Marks was going to be the death of him.

"Evening, detective." The bartender greeted him like he was an old friend and, with as long as he'd been living in this hotel, they might as well be just that. "The usual?"

Wes nodded. "Please." He waited in silence while the bartender poured him two fingers of Scotch on the rocks. It was placed before him on a slip of a napkin moments later.

"Anything else," he asked, glancing down the bar at another patron signaling for his attention.

"No, thanks," Wes said. "Wait, actually – do you mind if I play the piano? It sits there every night and no one ever touches it. Seems like a shame to me."

The bartender, whose name was Andy he suddenly remembered, looked towards the piano and nodded. "There's a guy who comes in on Saturday nights to sing and play. I don't see what it'd hurt. Knock yourself out."

"Thanks," Wes said, watching the bartender walk away.

He took his drink and napkin in hand and moved over to the piano bench. Setting his drink on top, he opened the keyboard cover and toyed with the keys. What it was about Travis that brought the music out of him, he wasn't sure. All he knew was after watching his partner flirt all day with anything having breasts, he needed some sort of release and this was his only option.

It had been years since he'd played, long before his marriage had started to fall apart. But his fingers remembered and the rest of him fell into line shortly after. He played an old jazz piece that his mother had always loved, fingers flying along the keys like he'd never stopped. His body felt the rhythm and his soul felt free. Wes allowed his eyes to drift closed as he neared the end of the piece. Fingers hovering over the ivories, he allowed the music to fade before opening his eyes.

To find a woman standing before him.

"That was lovely," she said. "Do you know Piano Man by any chance?

Her smile was infectious, she'd really enjoyed his playing and that buoyed his spirits. Classic rock really wasn't his style but what kind of pianist would he be if he didn't know at least that one old standard? "Of course I know it. Would you like to hear it?"

She nodded and he began to play. He wasn't quite halfway into the first chorus when he heard her singing along beside him. Her voice was light and fresh and full of the tumultuous emotions he was feeling tonight.

She sang:

He said, "Son, can you play me a memory

I'm not really sure how it goes

But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete

When I wore a younger man's clothes."

He risked a glance up at her to find her eyes closed as his had been, face full of grief and loss. Wes wasn't sure of her story but he was certain that he'd found himself a kindred spirit tonight. Someone who might just understand what he was dealing with. On a whim, he asked, "Can I buy you a drink?"

She stared at him a moment, deciding whether to accept or flee. "I'm not sure. I'm not really ready…"

"It's okay," he assured her. "No strings here, just a drink and some mindless chatter, I promise."

She looked at him for a little longer, still unsure. Her intense scrutiny was beginning to make him feel a tad uncomfortable.

"I'm not actually interested in women either, if that helps any."

A burst of laughter escaped her. "I'm sorry, that wasn't funny but… well, I wasn't exactly expecting that kind of confession either. So yes, let's go have that drink."

Wes stood, leading her to a table in the corner and signaled for the bartender. Once she had her Shiraz and he had a fresh Scotch, things were easier. The words flowed unstoppable out of the both of them, forming a river of regret, sadness, and things left unsaid. In that dark corner of the bar, they became a mini support system for each other, lifting and buoying and simply being.

In the end, they'd decided that before she could ever move on, she had to face the truth of what her ex-boyfriend had put her through. Take the hurt out, look it over, and accept it. That it'd happened and that she wouldn't ever let it happen to her again. Wear that emotional scar like a badge of honor and cease to let it have control over her any longer.

For Wes, they had concluded that acceptance of his feelings was the first step to happiness. As long as he continued to deny how he felt, he would live in misery and frustration. Not that he believed telling Marks any of this would change a damn thing, but at least he'd have put it out there and taken that chance. If Travis rejected him, then so be it. He would deal with that when the time came.

Later, Wes sat on the edge of his bed, phone open to his messaging program. He stared at Travis' face, that smile burning a hole inside him that the Scotch couldn't ever touch. Thinking now would be a good time, while he was sleeping, to tell him all that he wanted to say, but not knowing how or where to begin. Sighing, Wes closed the text application and locked his phone.

Not tonight, he told himself. Give yourself some time, think about it, text him tomorrow. Or Thursday.

Or never.

He was hopeless, and that was the only thing he was willing to accept right now. Standing, he moved to the minibar and poured himself another finger of Scotch. Downing it quickly, he contemplated another, but he'd had three in the bar and another just now. Four was more than he ever had and five was excessive beyond compare. He looked back at the bottle, contemplating.

His phone rang.

It was quarter past two in the morning and Travis knew better, that when the phone was picked up on the other end, he was about to get an ear chewing he wasn't soon going to forget. But. But there had been something bothering Wes all afternoon and he'd be damned if he could figure it out. And that was making him crazy because usually Wes was pretty easy to figure out. If he was being a bitch, it was because Travis had a) screwed up, b) mouthed off, or c) screwed up and mouthed off.

Today, however, he'd done neither. Well, he'd mouthed off a little, but that was his thing. He harassed Wes and Wes put him in his place for it. It was how they communicated. Maybe it was a bit dysfunctional but it worked for them.

"Hello," Wes drawled into the phone.

Travis pulled his cell back from his head and stared at it for a moment, double checking to make sure he'd gotten the right number. "Wes man, that you? You sound… drunk."

"Me? Drunk?" He snorted, loudly. "I'd never be drunk. On call twenty-four-seven, right?"

Frowning into the phone, Travis agreed. "Right. You still sound a bit… off, man. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm finnnnne," he drew out. "You're the one calling in the middle of the night. I think you might be the drunken one."

Was that a slight slur he was hearing in Wes' words? Travis shook the thought off. Wes was right, he'd never get drunk drunk when he knew they could be called in at any time to visit a dead body or other assorted crime scene. "No, I'm painfully sober right now, baby."

"Baby? Naw, I'm not your baby, don't think I'll ever be your baby either."

He might be crazy, but Wes was definitely drunk because that wistful tone never touched his voice unless he'd had a few. Not that Travis had had much experience with an inebriated Wes, of course not, Wes had more self-control than that. Aside from the night his divorce had become final, Travis had seen him like this only one other time. So what was up with him tonight? "No, you're not my baby, Wes."

"Why not?" It was almost a whimper.

Travis laughed at the absurdity of the idea. "Why? Because I'm not even close to your type. I don't even know what your type is, Wes, but I'm sure it's not me."

"Why do you say that," he asked, curiosity overriding whatever had been in his voice a minute ago.

"I don't know, but that laundry list of faults you keep with my name at the top might be a good indicator."

"I'm sorry, Travis," Wes whispered. "I never meant to make you feel inferior."

"You didn't. Wes, you sure you're okay? You sound, well, awful." Travis massaged the back of his neck with his free hand, thinking.

Wes sighed, his breath rustling across the phone line. "I'm lonely, Travis. And maybe, just a tiny bit drunk, too."

A snorted bit of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. "I knew it! You were out drinking without me," Travis kidded.

"And playing the piano," he confessed. "I even met a girl, Travis."

"So why are you lonely if you met a girl? And where did you find a piano?"

"In the hotel bar," he said as if it made perfect sense. To which it did, if you took the time to think about it. But it was much too early – or late – for any kind of actual thinking as far as Travis was concerned. "Okay, and the girl? What about her?"

He could imagine Wes shrugging in the silence. "As nice as she was, she definitely wasn't my type."

"Why not?" Travis almost added that at this point, beggars couldn't be choosers, but he didn't want to insult his friend. Wes, after all, was a good looking man who had quite the following in the precinct. More than one female had asked Travis if his partner was seeing anyone lately. "You don't have to jump in bed with her or anything, but make a friend for god's sake."

"I don't like girls, Travis."

What? "Woah. Wait. Since when don't you like girls? What about Alex?" Where the hell was all of this coming from?

"Alex was a mistake," he said, simply. "I didn't realize until after we married that she wasn't… what I was looking for."

"But you made it work." He was dumbstruck because they'd made it work for a long time, too. Always the picture of happiness until she decided she didn't want to be married to a cop any longer and gave him the proverbial boot.

"That's because she didn't know. Still doesn't know, actually. No one knows." The last part was barely audible and Travis wasn't sure he'd even heard the words.

No one knows but me, he corrected silently. "Don't worry, I won't let anyone know, I promise. Now, get some sleep and I'll see you in a few hours. Okay, baby?"

"Yeah, okay," he acquiesced. "Night, Travis and thanks."

"Anytime. It's what partners are for, right? And to keep your secrets, too, he supposed.

"Right," Wes agreed. "That's what partners do."

Wes ended the call and left Travis sitting in bed, wondering what the hell had just happened. My partner just drunkenly came out to me… and I doubt he'll even remember it in the morning. Maybe that's for the best in the end.

The biggest question however, was why?

Wes woke up, face down in his pillow, head pounding. Bits and pieces of the night before darted through his brain, searing him with his idiocy. Had he really had three glasses of Scotch in the bar last night? Rubbing his fingers against his eyes, he sighed, not wanting to face the day. A knock on his door caused him to look up.

"Who the hell could possibly be at the door?" Bleary-eyed and grouchy, he hitched his pajama pants up over his hips and shuffled to the door. He opened his mouth to verbally abuse whoever it might be when he saw Travis standing on the other side of the open doorway. "Travis?"

"It's me, blondie," he announced, pushing his way inside the hotel room, the scent of fresh coffee wafting behind him. "I thought you might need a pick me up after last night."

"Last… night?" Wes closed the door and followed his partner into the kitchenette area. "What do you – how do you know about last night?"

Travis tilted his head and studied him for a moment. "You don't remember, do you? Huh, you must've been a lot drunker than you admitted to, Mitchell. I called you last night."

He did? When? "How badly did I embarrass myself?" It wasn't exactly what he wanted to ask – no, that was more along the lines of please tell me I didn't profess my undying love for you – but it was all he could spit out around the lump in his throat.

Those blue eyes watched him like they could see into the depths of his soul before pulling away and focusing on the bag he'd brought in with him. "Not so bad as you might think, Wes. Didn't confess to anything I didn't already know. Or suspect." He tossed him a wink and dug around in the bag for a bit.

Holy Christ on a cracker. Had he…? No, he couldn't have because if Travis knew how he felt, he'd be rubbing it in, reminding him that no one could resist his charm. So, what did he confess to?

"Here," Travis said again, poking his arm with a paper wrapped lump of something. "Eat. And don't give me any crap about how unhealthy it is, either. It'll be the best thing for your hangover, trust me."

Cautiously, Wes unwrapped the food and revealed an English muffin topped with sausage, egg and cheese. His stomach rolled but his mouth watered at the sight. "If I puke, I'm aiming towards you," he warned.

"Bring it on, baby," he laughed. Unwrapping his own sandwich, he held it up in a mock toast before taking a bite. "To drunken nights."

"To chasing this headache away," Wes replied.

"That, too," Travis commiserated. "Next time, call me. We can get wasted together."

Oh, that'd be lovely, he thought. Then I could spill my guts and embarrass myself even more than I already have. 'Travis, I love you. Travis, kiss me. Travis…' He shook his head, forcing the thoughts away before they could go too far.

"You okay man? You look flushed." Travis turned Wes' face towards him, giving his partner a good once-over.

Wes pulled out of his grip gently, the warm spots left from the tips of his fingers burning into his skin. "I'm fine," he lied. "And oddly enough, this tastes amazing. Got another in that bag?"

The smile that could weaken the knees of the most steadfast man was aimed in his direction. "You'd better believe it, baby. I got six, just in case. And coffee." He handed Wes another sandwich and pointed to a cardboard cup. "Drink up."

Travis watched Wes devour his second sandwich while sipping on his coffee. He hadn't been sure if coming by would be a good thing or only cause more trouble, but for once, it looked like he'd made the right decision. Smiling behind his sandwich, he wondered what other secrets Wes was harboring in that little blond head of his.

Only time will tell, he reminded himself, making a mental note to get the boy out for a few beers as soon as possible.