Enigma & T-Bone: An Origin Story

by EFAW

The origin of LA's first (and most dysfunctional) superhero duo! Too bad they hate each other. (Sort of.) And are stuck with each other. (Only sort of literally.) Wesvis. Superhero AU. Oneshot.

2. Chapter 2: The T-Bone Effect

Summary: The adventure continues! LA's most dysfunctional superhero duo must confront kidnappers, wild animals, and each other. The stakes have never been higher!

See first chapter for warnings.

OOOO

Enigma & T-Bone: An Origin Story: The T-Bone Effect

"Hear this now: I will always come for you."

—Westley, The Princess Bride

XXXX

Back In The Day

There is a vagabond laying on the couch.

Wes stares at the vagabond. The vagabond stares back,

Wes tightens his grip on his bag protectively and says, "Um."

The vagabond grins, a perfect white crescent in bruised mocha skin. "Hi. You must be the roommate."

"Um," Wes says again. He shuffles towards the bedrooms. "Yes. Hi. I—Paekman!"

His roommate pokes his head out of his room. "Yeah? Oh, hey Wes. You're home early."

Crossing the living room in two steps, Wes grabs Paekman's arm and pulls him into the bedroom, just behind the doorway. "Who is that and why is he on our couch?"

"That's Travis. He's a friend." Paekman shifts, scratching his neck. "I offered him our couch for a little while."

"You did what?"

"Look." Paekman shuffles an inch closer and drops his voice. "He's in a bit of a rough spot right now. He needs a place to stay and we have room."

Wes peeks around the doorway at the man on the couch. "He looks like he's been hit by a truck."

Paekman grimaces. "He fell in with kind of a shady crowd, and got in a bit of trouble."

"Oh, yes, Paekman, that's great. Let's invite someone who got in trouble with a shady crowd into our home. That's a stellar plan."

"Wes." Paekman clasps his hands in front of him, turning pleading eyes on Wes. "Man, Travis is a really good guy. It's just for a couple of weeks, just until he gets back on his feet. Please?"

Wes bites his lip. "I have rules…"

"I will sit him down and tell him all of your rules. Hell, I'll give him an annotated list."

"You don't have to go that far…"

"Please, Wes?" Paekman reaches out, puts his hand on Wes's shoulder. "He's a friend. I'd really appreciate it."

Wes peeks out the doorway again. Travis sees him this time and gives him a little smile and a tiny wave over the back of the couch. Wes can feel his resolve breaking.

"Fine," he sighs in defeat. "But I am not picking up after him."

Paekman breaks out in a huge grin and embraces him. "You won't have to, promise. Thank you, Wes."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Wes mutters, flustered and embarrassed, and he extricates himself from his friend's arms because he has a rule about hugs too.

Travis is still in the same spot when Wes comes back to the living room. He glances up, eyebrows raised in a polite query. Wes hesitates beside the couch.

"I, uh, I'll try to find some sheets for you. I think Paekman has an extra pillow…"

The smile Travis gives him is the warmest facial expression Wes has ever seen on anyone, like a sunny summer's day and melting chocolate and layers of blankets in the winter. "Thanks," he says, holding out his hand. "Travis Marks."

Wes slowly slips his palm against Travis's. "Wes Mitchell. Nice to meet you."

A spark erupts from their joined hands, like excitement and possibility.

XXXX

Now

Wes wakes up on the floor, which confuses him so much he simply lays there for a minute, blinking at the ceiling. Slowly, the events of—last night?—come filtering back. It seems too fantastical to be real. How could a man dissolve into light?

Then again, Wes can form glowing force fields with his mind, so 'impossible' has taken on a new meaning lately.

The sound of clacking draws his attention to the side. A familiar figure is seated in front of the bank of computers, typing away.

Wes clears his throat.

Kendall whirls around in her chair, a relieved smile lighting her face. "Wes! You're up! How are you feeling?"

She's awfully well-composed for someone who saw him dissolving away. He narrows his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten. In the morning," she adds for clarification.

Well, that would do it. She's had plenty of time to adjust.

"Why am I on the floor?"

"Because you guys are really heavy when you're dead weight. I got you a blanket, though."

Yes, she did. "I appreciate that." He goes to sit up, but his arm, stretched awkwardly over his head, doesn't come, caught fast. He rolls over and finds his arm has been tied to Travis's with computer cable, pressing the gauntlets together.

"What the hell?"

"You both just—" Kendall makes a motion with her hands like something being sucked together, "when the bracelet-thingys hit, but I didn't know if they needed to, like, recharge or something. I figured better safe than sorry."

Wes gently thumps his forehead against the ground. "I hate my life."

That's when Travis stirs, groaning, and says, "Why am I on the floor?"

XXXX

After a quick breakfast, they compare notes and determine that yes, what they thought happened did, in fact, happen. Now they're trying to figure out why.

"I felt really lightheaded," Wes says, working the problem aloud. "Kind of…fuzzy."

"Same," Travis agrees. "It was kind of like I was fading."

Wes snaps his fingers. "I felt like that before. Right after the labs exploded, remember? It was really fuzzy—"

"And our gauntlets hit," Travis chimes in, "and there was this deep 'klung!'"

"And everything just snapped into place," Wes finishes.

They mull over this.

"You know," Travis hesitantly offers, "the time between those two incidences—"

"No." Wes can follow the same train of thought, and he doesn't want to hear it. "Don't even say it."

"—is almost exactly twenty-four hours."

Dammit, he said it. "No. No, no, no." Wes covers his face and shakes his head. "No."

Kendall looks between the two of them. "I don't get it."

Wes's head shoots up, a poisonous glare aimed Travis's direction. "Are you seriously telling me if we don't hit these stupid bracelets together every twenty-four hours, we will disintegrate?"

Travis's face confirms his guess, but what he says is, "They're gauntlets, not bracelets."

"I don't care what they fucking called, Travis!"

Kendall's head is going back and forth like a tennis match, frowning in consideration. "I still don't get it. Is it really that big of a deal?"

"Not really," Travis says, at the same time that Wes snaps, "Yes!"

"Come on, Wes," Travis wheedles, "It's not that bad. We get superpowers."

"That's not an even trade-off!" Wes rockets to his feet, face screwed up, hands clenched at his sides. "You left, Travis! For seven years you were gone. You might as well have been dead!"

Travis looks stunned at his outburst, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. Wes is kind of surprised himself; none of this was supposed to come out.

But now that he's started, he can't seem to stop.

"I moved on, Travis! I got over you, I have a life that you're not a part of! Then you come waltzing in here like nothing's changed, drag me in the middle of all this shit, and now—now I literally can't live without you. I can't do this again! I can't!"

To his horror, his voice breaks, and he can feel tears welling in his eyes. He blinks furiously, refusing to let them fall.

He sees Travis open his mouth, and it's too much. He can't bear to hear whatever asinine justification Travis will come up with. He holds up a hand and snaps, "No," backing towards the door. "Don't say a word."

"Where are you going?" Kendall asks softly. Wes almost forgot she was there. Wonderful, his humiliation is now complete.

"Out," he says shortly, turning. "I just—I can't do this right now."

He gets all the way to the door before he whirls around and stomps back to Travis. He grabs the other man's arm and bangs the gauntlets together, a hollow 'klung!' that rings through his bones.

"There. Now I have a full day before I have to see your stupid face again."

He leaves before he can embarrass himself any further, slamming the door behind him.

XXXX

The slamming door is as loud as a gunshot in the quiet room. As the echoes fade away, Travis deflates, dropping his head in his hands and collapsing in on himself.

God, he had no idea. He knew Wes was upset about what happened, Paekman had said as much, but he'd had no idea it affected Wes like that.

He never wants to see Wes's face look like that again.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he mutters into his palms. "I just came for my friend's funeral."

In and out in a day, that was the plan. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Kendall's chair squeaks a little as she shifts. "Are you ever going to tell him?" she asks him gently, softly, like he's something fragile about to shatter. "About the real reason you left."

Travis lifts his head, peers blearily at her. "What do you know about it?"

"Nothing," she admits. "But I'm not so close, so I can see the things he's missing."

"Like what?"

"Like, he clearly thinks you left because you didn't care. It's just as obvious you didn't."

Travis exhales in a great, gusty sigh. "And you say that because…?"

"Because I've seen the way you look at him." She gives him a sympathetic smile. "You not caring is about the furthest thing from the truth, isn't it?"

Damn, she's good. He can see why Wes likes her.

"Look, Kendall." He sits up, rubs his hand over his face. "You're a sweet girl, but I really don't want to have this conversation with you."

"Of course not. You should be having it with Wes."

Well, yes, but… "I don't think he's in a listening mood right now."

"…that's probably true."

Travis scrubs his face one more time. It's not quite enough to banish Wes's anguished face from his mind, but maybe he deserves that, since he's the one who put it there.

"What have you gotten from Henry's computer?" he asks, moving behind Kendall's computer chair.

Kendall takes his totally unsubtle subject change and runs with it. "Not much. Whoever these guys are, they know how to cover their tracks. I've got a few leads, but I'm gonna need to do a bit more digging."

"Okay." Travis claps her gently on the shoulders. "I'm gonna head back to my place and get some stuff. You'll call if you find anything?"

"Definitely."

Travis takes his leave. On the street, he tucks his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders, just another nameless, faceless city-dweller about his business.

He hopes Wes is laying low.

God, how did everything go to shit so fast?

XXXX

It's probably stupid, coming here. Wes knows how these things work. The police always keep an eye on friends and family in case the fugitive returns to familiar grounds.

But Wes didn't know where else to go.

He's not dumb enough to actually go and see Alex. From his vantage on a park bench, he can see the entrance to her apartment building, and there's a comfort being here. Aside from Paekman, Alex is his closest friend, his confidante. She's the only one he ever talked about Travis with, so if he could go up there, tell her about what's happened these past few days, then maybe he could work through some things. Maybe.

Wes sighs, dropping his head on the back of the bench. Of course he's not going to. But he wants to.

There's just too much going on right now. He has no idea how he's supposed to work through his own feelings when they have this twenty-four hour time limit to deal with. Superpowers. They're on the run, and, of course, there's Paekman's murder to top it all off.

His own feelings easily drop to the bottom of the list with all that going on.

"What am I doing?" he questions the trees above him. He's not a superhero; he's not even a cop. He's a lawyer, 9-to-5 every day in a suit. He should go to the police, lay everything out, and put his faith in the system he's spent his whole life defending.

Instead, he's on the run with his ex, working with a hacker to find the truth. He'd panicked, is what. After the explosion, he'd been afraid and confused and Travis seemed to know what he was doing, so Wes had blindly followed his instructions.

"I can't do this." He's an ordinary guy who got involved way over his head and he doesn't know how to handle this. He should never have let Travis talk him into anything.

Travis.

No. No, no, he is not doing this. Not now, maybe not ever. That can of worms should never be opened.

Wes sighs, looks back at Alex's building. God, he wishes he could tell her what a strange, terrible, wonderful mess his life has suddenly become.

But not now. Soon. But now he has to go tell his ex they need a new plan because he just isn't cut out for this sort of thing.

"Oh yeah, this is gonna go well," he mutters, rising to his feet.

That's when about three pairs of hands grab him, and everything goes dark.

XXXX

Unsurprisingly, Wes isn't at Travis's place. Honestly, Travis came here because it was about the last place on earth he figured Wes would end up. But now that he's here, the little apartment feels cold and lonely and as impersonal as a doctor's office. The bags by the bed don't help—it just makes the place seem that much more transient, people living out of bags because they're just not staying that long.

Look at him, getting all maudlin when there are better things to be doing. He totally blames Wes.

Wes's picture frame is still on the table, face-down where Wes left it. Travis picks it up, studying the happy couple. Wes is smiling, alive and bright in a way Travis hasn't seen aimed his direction in a long time, and Alex is gorgeous, the same classic beauty Wes has—maybe not conventionally pretty, but a long time ago people would have made statues of them.

They were happy and in love, and the engagement may have fallen through but Wes still speaks of her so fondly. Still makes sure to grab her photo when he's going to ground.

Once upon a time, Travis was that happy. He lived in a crappy dormitory apartment with his lover and his best friend and he was willing to stay there forever, to make a home.

Instead, he lives out of bags in rooms with no life inside, moving from city to city and never settling down.

"At least you had a life," he tells the glossy portrait in his hands.

The photographed Wes grins at him, mocking him, and Travis feels something inside him snap.

He lets out a ferocious yell and tosses the frame across the room.

XXXX

Back In The Day

"Hey, Paekman."

The other man jumps, slapping on the lights. When he sees who's sitting in his living room, he freezes, mouth dropping to the floor.

"T-Travis? You…how? I don't—"

It's almost funny, seeing him so flabbergasted. Travis shoots him a small, tired smile. "Hey, man. Been a long time."

Paekman shuts the door behind him, looking around like he thinks someone might be listening in on them. "What are you doing here, Travis?" he hisses.

"Oh, you know. My…business troubles finally cleared up, so I thought I'd come say hi, test the waters. How's Wes doing?" He's proud of how casual he keeps that last question. All that practicing in the mirror paid off.

Paekman's face goes through a couple of permutations. "That's not a good idea, T."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. Just a couple of old friends catching up. It's not like I'm planning on—"

"He's getting married, Travis."

Travis can feel the color drain from his face, the ground yanked out beneath his feet. "What?" The word has to fight its way past a tight knot in his throat.

Paekman exhales sharply, runs a hand through his hair. "It's been two years, man. Did you think he would wait for you? Especially with the way you left?"

That hadn't been his prime concern at the time, no; he'd had other things to worry about. He'd figured Wes would be upset, but…

"I'd hoped he'd mellowed with time."

With a huff, Paekman drops into the chair opposite Travis. "Come on, T, Wes is the Olympic gold medalist of holding grudges, you know that."

"True, true." Travis stares at a spot inches above Paekman's head, tapping his fingers on his knees. "Married, huh? What's she like?"

"Travis, don't do this to yourself…"

"Is she pretty? I bet she's pretty."

"She's lovely," Paekman sighs, giving in. "Her name is Alex. She works at his law firm. She's really nice. You'd like her."

"I'm sure I would." Travis's smile is bitter and much too close to tears for his liking. "Is he happy, Paekman?"

His old friend's face is unbearably sympathetic, seeing way too much on Travis's. "Very."

If Travis doesn't get out of here right this second he's going to do something embarrassingly emotional. "Congrats are in order, then, I suppose," he chirps, falsely bright as he climbs to his feet.

"Travis." Paekman rises in alarm. "That's not a good idea. He really doesn't want to see you."

"Who said anything about seeing him?" Travis calls over his shoulder. "I was thinking of getting them a wedding present. Maybe a nice set of silverware."

XXXX

Now

The frame is still shattered on the floor when he emerges from the bathroom. Travis ignores it for about fifteen seconds before his guilty conscience urges him to pick it up.

Letting out a big, put-upon sigh, Travis crouches beside the mess to fish out the photo. The picture didn't fare too badly—just one tiny tear from the glass, up in the corner. Maybe Wes won't notice. (Wes will totally notice, but maybe he'll be a bit more forgiving since the scratch isn't in the middle of their faces.)

(Yeah right.)

Slowly, so as not to rip to photo any further, he eases it out from under the glass. Which reveals a second photo underneath. A familiar photo, one Travis recognizes intimately, because he has the same photo folded up on his wallet. Him and Wes and Paekman, all smiles and youthful cheer.

"This frame holds the most important picture I've got. I wasn't going to leave it behind."

"Dammit, Wes." Travis drops his hand, shakes it in disbelief. "You damn contrary bastard."

Right when he thought Wes was predictable, the man makes a sharp left turn and throws all of Travis's presumptions in the air. It's one of Travis's favorite things about Wes. It's also one of the man's most frustrating traits.

His phone buzzes while he's placing the photos on the table. It's an email coming in, which wouldn't catch his attention except the sender is Paekman.

Paekman, who has been dead over a week and was buried two days ago.

Travis feels a chill run down his spine.

The title of the email reads WATCH NOW! THIS IS IMPORTANT! But Travis can't get the video attachment to open on his phone. Since he doesn't have a computer here, he's going to have to go back to Kendall's.

Much as he'd love to debate all the ways Wes is a confusing, ornery bastard, this takes precedence.

He'll deal with Wes later. It's not like he's going anywhere.

XXXX

Wes wakes in the dark. Not actually dark, but a hood of some sort, judging by the musty fabric in front of his nose and mouth. Add that to the men that grabbed him and Wes is in serious trouble.

He tries not to panic. He is only moderately successful.

Don't panic. The key to these situations is to stay calm and assess the situation. Wes takes a few deep breaths, gags a little on the cloth over his face, and assesses the situation.

His arms are tied above his head, suspended from a—chain, his inquiring fingers tell him. He's dangling, stretched up enough his toes just barely brush the ground. His bare toes, because they took his shoes and socks and everything but his boxers what the fuck?

Okay, okay, deep breaths. Calm. He has assessed the situation. And?

He is so seriously fucked.

If it were Travis here, he'd start shooting, first the chains and then anyone who got in his way. Instead, he's here, him and his useless shield ability.

But why can't his powers be offensive? As far as he knows, they've got the same sort of energy. Different colors, sure, but that can't make that much of a difference. Why can't his powers be used offensively? If he created a shield within something—say, in the middle of the chain—then there's a chance the chain will dissolve away.

Wes has seen Travis's blasts melt rock to slag and vapor, and it's not like he has a lot of options here.

He takes a slow breath, clenches his fists, and concentrates.

Electricity courses through him, white-hot and agonizing. He screams, or thinks he does, jerking on the chain, body dancing on the lightning's storm. It's an eternity of agony in a few seconds, and when it stops Wes almost sobs in relief.

Over the blood pounding in his ears, he hears footsteps. A hand yanks the hood from his face; he blinks tears, squinting in the blinding brilliance after so long in the dark.

"I wouldn't try that again, Mitchell," a gravelly voice tells him. The blurry blob in front of him gradually resolves into a man's face, shaved head, squashed by too many fights, and grinning cruelly. "We didn't have a lot of time to perfect it," the man continues, "so it's a bit powerful. A few more jolts like that might just kill you."

Wes blinks again, limbs trembling involuntarily. He doesn't even try to stop it. "W-what…why—"

"You were the smart one, wearing a mask," the man says, pacing slowly in front of Wes. "But your boyfriend, not so smart. Once we identified him, it was a simple matter to figure out who you were."

"Not my boyfriend," Wes mumbles, barely keeping track of the man in front of him.

The man ignores him. "Of course, knowing Marks's identity didn't help us find him. He's good at hiding, going to ground. But you. You're predictable. We knew it was only a matter of time before you went some place familiar. And look at that. We were right!"

A cold spike of fear runs through him. Oh god, Alex. He lunges forward, chain jerking him to an unceremonious halt. "If you hurt her—!"

"Relax." The man pushes him back with a single, thick finger. "We didn't touch her. It's not her we want."

Wes unclenches, but just a fraction. They didn't hurt Alex, but only because they wanted Wes and Travis, and not for anything good. He's still in trouble here.

"Who are you?"

"John Crowl," his captor says, that same cruel grin on his face.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Wes snaps, fear making him sharp. He's alone and defenseless, and Travis can't swoop in and rescue him. Travis doesn't even know he was taken, and besides, after the way Wes treated him earlier…

At the very least, Wes can be confident Travis would save him for his own self-preservation. If he knew where Wes was.

Crowl smirks, crossing his arms in front of him and just casually radiating smug superiority. "You don't know me, but you, Wes Mitchell, are of great scientific interest to my group."

Wes feels another cold spike of fear run through him.

XXXX

"Hey Kendall," Travis calls as soon as he steps into the lair. "You got an extra computer I can watch a video on?"

It takes a second for her to pull herself from her computer screens, but then she shakes her head a little and focuses. "Yeah, um…here." From a nearby shelf, under a pile of other tech and cables, she pulls out a slim laptop. "Wi-fi should connect automatically."

Travis takes the laptop to the side room, sitting at the small table. Within moments, he has Paekman's email pulled up, the video buffered and ready to go.

Steeling himself, Travis presses play.

The video starts with Paekman sitting in his living room, calm, if a little nervous. He clears his throat, looks right at the camera, and says, "Travis, if you're watching this, I'm dead."

Travis flinches. On the screen, Paekman's face crumples, and he goes, "Oh god, I can't—" He reaches for the camera, and the screen goes momentarily blank.

Travis pauses the video and takes a second to compose himself.

When he presses play again, Paekman is back, looking shaken and upset, the way anyone would making this kind of video, but in control. Paekman was always good at that, keeping control of himself, level-headed, when Travis would fly off the handle in a heartbeat and even Wes would lose his temper on occasion. Travis suddenly misses Paekman fiercely, a sudden sharp pain that shoots through him like one of his lazer beams.

"Okay," Paekman says on the video. "Okay. So I'm dead." His voice cracks a little on the last word, but he gamely keeps going. "I don't know who exactly killed me, obviously, but I know who's responsible."

He leans forward, staring into the camera. Travis finds himself leaning forward as well, matching the urgency in his friend's body.

"They call themselves the SIS."

XXXX

"I work for a group called the SIS," Crowl says, strutting in front of Wes.

Wes rolls his eyes. "That means as much to me as your name did."

"We pride ourselves on our discretion."

"You mean you skulk in the shadows like cowards," Wes scoffs.

In hindsight, the fist he receives in his midsection shouldn't actually be a surprise. Antagonizing the man who kidnapped him, not the best idea. It knocks the breath out of him, though, leaving him dangling limp from the chains, gasping for breath.

Casually, Crowl flexes his fingers and continues his slow stalking in front of Wes. "SIS. Superior Intelligence Systems. We deal with cutting-edge science, breaking boundaries, going where others won't, and making a profit in the meantime. And when a new technology comes to our attention, we do our best to…acquire it."

Wes manages to get his feet under him and his breathing back under control, for the most part. "Paekman," he spits, venom in the words.

It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together and realize this SIS group—maybe John Crowl himself—had something to do with his friend's death.

"That's right," Crowl says, pleasantly surprised like his dog did a new trick. "Your friend Paek was working with a new type of energy. Very powerful. Very unstable. The SIS became interested in ways to…improve it."

"Weaponize it, you mean." It's not hard to see where this is going. A guy like Crowl isn't going to provide cheap clean energy for the disenfranchised. "Let me guess, Paekman said no."

"Unfortunately." Crowl pauses in front of him, shaking his head sadly. "We offered him so much, but he wanted none of it."

Good for you, Paekman. It may have gotten him killed, but Paekman stuck with his morals to the end. Good for you.

"Anyway," Crowl continues, "after the funeral, when we thought the cops wouldn't be paying any more attention, we sent a group to PC Labs to retrieve Paek's data. But there was an explosion, resulting in a very curious, very unique energy surge."

He whirls on Wes, leaning so close Wes scrabbles back as much as the chain will allow.

"Imagine my surprise," Crowl whispers, breath washing over Wes's face, "when we learned there were survivors to the explosion. And then, just a day later, one of our men was attacked by two men exhibiting very unusual powers. Coincidence? I think not."

"So? All this—" Wes rattles the chain over his head. "is because…what? You think I know something about Paekman's work?"

Crowl rears back, the look of shock on his face so exaggerated it'd be comical in other circumstances.

And then he laughs, head thrown back, a full belly laugh that shakes his whole body. "You?" he gasps, "You…know…" And he breaks down in another fit of laughter.

Wes is a little offended, honestly.

"You think we want you because you know something about Paek's research?" Crowl chortles, wiping his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Mitchell. You are Paek's research."

Oh shit.

XXXX

"A few weeks ago, I was approached by a man. He said he was part of a group called the SIS, and they were interested in my work. I'd never heard of them, but they were willing to fund my work, so I decided to check them out."

Paekman lets out a shaky breath and bows his head, hands clasped behind his neck. "I didn't find much, but it all seemed legit. No red flags. But…I don't know. I just got a funny feeling, you know? So I dug a little deeper."

He lifts his head, and even with the poor video quality, Travis can see the fear on Paekman's face.

"It's not good, man. The SIS, they've stolen work, copied research. Rumor has it they're involved in a lot of unethical stuff. No one's been killed, not that anyone can prove, I mean, but scientists have disappeared without a trace. It's not hard to guess who's behind it.

Paekman runs his hands over his face, and his voice cracks. "These are really bad guys, Trav. I don't think I'm gonna make it out of this one."

XXXX

"What do you mean, I'm his research?" Wes demands, mind reeling. It's his so-called superpowers, it has to be. They were standing right in the middle of a giant machine in Paekman's lab—he and Travis must have been bombarded with the energy. And then the explosion, and they were the only ones who survived…

"The energy is unstable," Crowl cheerfully informs him. "On its own, at least. Somehow it's bonded to your molecules, stabilizing it and allowing you a measure of control."

Wes is struck with the sudden certainty that Crowl is telling him all this because Wes isn't going to make it out of this alive.

"So what?" he snaps, clenching his hands. "You experiment on me, try to figure out how it all works. Then you kill me?"

Crowl pauses, eyes widening. "Why would we kill you?" He sounds genuinely surprised.

Wes isn't fooled. "You killed Paekman! He wouldn't do what you wanted so you killed him!"

Crowls surprise dwindles, and he shakes his head with a small chuckle. "I see. You think…" He gives another amused shake of his head. "We didn't kill Paek, Mitchell. We needed him. He knew more about the energy he was working with than anyone. We have some very smart people working for us, but it'll take them months, if not years, to reconstruct all of Paek's research. We wanted him with us."

But…that doesn't make sense. The police were looking into Paekman's death, and Paekman never would have worked for these guys. He had to have been murdered.

Unless…

"What are you saying?"

Smirking, relishing his next words, Crowl struts in front of him, radiating smug arrogance. "You can't figure it out? Your friend didn't want to work for us. Too many morals. So he killed himself."

It's like an actual, physical blow. "No…"

"Oh yes." Crowl is enjoying this, rubbing salt in the wounds. "He deleted his research and ran his car off the road. But he couldn't destroy his lab, so we sent a team to take what they could so we could recreate his experiments on our own."

"The labs are gone," Wes mumbles numbly.

"That's alright." All good cheer, Crowl claps him on the shoulder. "Now we've got you."

XXXX

"I'm not telling you this because I want you to do something about it," Paekman says, staring earnestly into the camera. "You hear me, Travis? These guys are worse than anything you've come up against. Leave it alone."

"Yeah right," Travis mutters, hands fisting in his lap, letting off tiny golden sparks. "You didn't want me to do anything, why'd you tell me all this?"

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," Paekman says, running his hand through his hair again. "I guess I just want someone to know the truth about what happened, and I can't tell Wes. You know how he gets. He'd run himself to the ground trying to solve my death. And that's if the SIS didn't get to him first."

Yeah, that's true.

Glaring into the camera now, Paekman holds out an admonishing finger. "I'm serious, Travis. Don't look into this. Drop it. It's not worth your life."

His face softens, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "Say hi to Wes for me."

The video ends.

Travis doesn't move for a long minute, staring at the blank screen. How is he supposed to ignore this? His friend was murdered and Travis knows who did it, and Paekman thinks he's going to just ignore that?

Yeah right.

"Travis!" Kendall calls from the next room. Travis shakes himself out of his daze, climbing to his feet. He's not gonna give this up. He's going to give the SIS to Kendall, she's going to give him a location, and he's gonna blow these bastards out of the water.

"Hey, Kendall, I got a name I need you to check—"

"We got a problem." Kendall turns to him, eyes wide, voice frantic. "I'm just getting a lot of police reports of a blonde Caucasian male being kidnapped off the street."

Travis hesitates, fear curdling his stomach. "It could be a coincidence…" He offers weakly.

"You and I both know how likely that is." She pulls up a map on her computer. "They're saying it happened in a park. Why would he be there?"

Travis moves up behind her, studying the map. "What's around the park?"

"I don't know, just a bunch of apartment buildings."

The cold, creeping tendrils of dread spread. "Is one of the tenants named Alex MacFarland?"

"Um…" Type type type. "Yeah, 417 Crescent Place, apartment 802."

Shit. Shit shit shit. Travis backs away, hands over his nose and mouth, doing his level best to swallow down the panic. They've got Wes. First they killed Paekman, now they've got Wes, and who knows what they're doing to him?

"Okay." Get yourself under control, Marks. Wes needs you. "Okay. Kendall, I need you to find me everything you can on a group called the SIS. And I need a location, 'cuz they've taken Wes."

XXXX

Back In The Day

"I'll be damned, Travis Marks."

The familiar voice is like a knife in the back. Travis clenches his teeth and turns, a grimace on his face that can in no way be mistaken for a smile. "Jason."

Jason grins at him, clapping him on the shoulder. "Long time no see. How you doin', brother?"

Travis isn't even subtle when he yanks his arm out from Jason's grasp. "You're not my brother." He turns and stomps down the sidewalk, hoping his sharp tone is enough to make Jason back off.

Undaunted, Jason trots up beside him. "So I have this problem," he says, gesturing grandly, "and I thought, you know, Travis could help!"

"No." Travis pauses, jabs a finger in Jason's chest. "I'm out. I'm done. I won't help you with your schemes. Leave me the fuck alone."

He only gets four steps away when Jason says, "Wes, huh?"

Travis stops dead, his glare enough to melt steel. Jason just strolls to his side once more, hands tucked casually in his pockets. "He's cute enough, I suppose, if you like that sort of thing. But, of course, you do, don't you? Never seen you stay with one person so long."

Travis's hand moves before he can stop himself, grabbing Jason's collar and slamming him into the nearest wall.

"Don't you dare."

Jason chuckles, low and mean. "He must be something special, huh? You care about him?"

"If you so much as talk to him—"

"Who said anything about talking?" Jason's eyes are hard, no trace of warmth or familiarity. Might as well have been a stranger. "Lots of things can happen to pretty blonde college students."

For a terrible, horrible second, Travis is overcome with a truly murderous rage. His vision goes red, and he wants to—he could—

"This," he hisses, trembling in rage or fear or maybe both, "this is why we're not brothers anymore."

Jason barely bats an eye. "I'll contact you with the details," he declares, extricating himself from Travis's grasp. "It'll be fun working with you again. Just like old times."

He throws a jaunty wave over his shoulder and saunters off, leaving Travis behind, shaking and furious and unable to do anything about it.

XXXX

Now

The boat is dark, sleek, and runs with a low rumble, cutting through the water like a hot knife through butter. It is exactly the sort of boat Travis imagines a drug dealer might have, which implies things about Money, the foster brother he borrowed the boat from, that he doesn't want to speculate too deeply on. He resists the urge to search the boat for secret hidey-holes.

Ahead of him, a shape looms from the darkness, black in the dark blue night, a mass of land floating on midnight water. Travis eases on the throttle, slowing the boat and guiding it across the water silently. He's tense, looking for patrols or guards, but as far as he can tell, the island is deserted.

Appearances can be deceiving.

After a lot of searching and electronic magic and trickery Travis didn't begin to understand, Kendall said she'd located the SIS. "Or, at least, one of their local bases," she'd added, printing out an overhead satellite view. "It's an island just beyond the international waterline."

"It looks abandoned," Travis pointed out, studying the printout. From above, the island looked like nothing but a mass of green trees and rocky embankments.

"It's not." She handed him another printout, this one done in infrared. Now he could see building outlines and a lot of hot, red-yellow bodies moving around. "It's all cleverly disguised. Now, I can't tell you which one is Wes. But if he's anywhere, I bet it's here."

"Alright." Handing the printouts back to her, Travis pulled out his phone. "I'm gonna call a man about a boat. And I'm gonna need a map to that island."

Now, here he is, coasting into shore with his engines dead, prepared to head into unknown hostile territory, alone without backup, to rescue his ex from the clutches of evil.

The things I do for you, Wes, he muses, but the thought is more rueful than bitter.

As quietly as he can, he finds a tiny little cove to stick the boat in. There aren't any footprints in the sand, so hopefully this area of the beach isn't visited a lot. His foster brother will kill him if anything happens to the boat.

Pulling out the tiniest penlight known to man, Travis studies the infrared scan of the island, then sets out.

He crosses paths with just one patrol, ducking behind a tree as they pass. Much as he'd love to wreak havoc and beat them blue until they tell him where he needs to go, the goal is to get in stealthily and find Wes. Then he can bust his way out causing as much chaos as humanly possible.

After all, who knows what they'll do to Wes if they know he's here.

He eventually finds a wall, hidden beneath a fake canopy of trees. From above, it would look just like a forest, as Travis has seen. It's clever; if he didn't hate these guys already, he'd be impressed. Keeping well away from the wall—just in case there are cameras or motion sensors—he edges along, looking for a door.

When he finds one, it has a keypad.

"Do you have any codebreaking things?" he'd asked Kendall before he left. "In case these guys have keypads on their doors? They seem the sort who'd have keypads on their doors."

She'd stared at him like he had two heads. "Why would I have codebreaking devices?" she gaped.

"I don't know. You're the hacker type, isn't that standard?"

"This isn't a movie, Travis. Besides, I'm just tech support. I don't need codebreaking devices."

He'd harumphed and put his hands on his hips. "Well, then, how am I supposed to get through their doors?"

She'd looked pointedly at his hands and said, "I'm sure you'll find away."

Now, Travis takes a breath, aims, and concentrates.

The golden beam of energy hits, not the door, but the wall ten feet from the door. Way he figures it, the door is probably wired with alarms and sensors; the wall, maybe not so much. If he can get through there, he might still have a chance at this whole stealth thing without people crawling out of the woodwork to stop him.

The hardest part is burning through the wall but no further. His power is still brand new, but he's gaining control with every second he uses it.

When the hole in the wall is large enough for him to stop through, Travis stops the energy and hunkers down, holding his breath. He waits a minute, then another, but nothing happens; no alarms, no guards, no patrols wandering by wondering what this giant hole is doing here.

Steeling himself for a fight and ready to face whatever's in the fortress, Travis darts inside.

XXXX

Wes feels woozy. Not like disintegrating-into-brightly-colored-energy-woozy, but lightheaded and dizzy like he's lost too much blood. He blames Crowl's scientists. They must have taken at least like nine gallons out of him. Plus clippings of his hair and any other body sample they could get their latex-covered hands on. Wes has never felt so violated.

Crowl didn't stay long after he finished gloating. Presumably men working for evil organizations have better things to do, like terrorizing small children and kicking puppies. He did leave a guard on the door and none of the scientists are allowed to be alone in the room with him, in case Wes, in his near-naked, chained up glory, comes up with a cunning plan to overpower the vampires.

"Is making me pass out the goal?" he asks the latest bloodsucker, jerking away from the needle zeroing in on his arm. "Because if it is, you are well on your way to accomplishing it."

"No speaking," Crowl's henchman snarls.

"Really?" Sometimes Wes curses his inability to keep his smart mouth to himself. "These people work for you. I'm sure they've done worse than this. You honestly think a few well-placed comments on my end will sway them to my side?"

The henchman stomps up, getting right in his face. "Shut. Up."

Wes snorts, not impressed by the show of dominance at all. "Or what?"

The 'or what' turns out to be a gag, cousin to the musty hood they've first had him in, and Wes immediately regrets it because he has no idea where this thing has been and now it is in his mouth.

The scientist finishes drawing blood and scurries out. The henchman smirks from the doorway. "Think I'll leave that in for a while. Get a little peace."

Wes shouts muffled invectives as the door slams shut, and once more he's left alone to ponder the absolute shithole his life has become.

Slowly, he settles, slumping in the chains. God, he doesn't know what to do. He's been kidnapped by people who clearly see him as nothing more than an experiment, nobody but the bad guys knows where he is, and even if Travis did know Wes isn't sure he'd come, not after how he'd stormed out earlier. Not after everything that's happened between them.

Self-preservation only goes so far.

That's not quite right. Wes does know what to do. He can only see one way out of this.

Paekman gave his life to keep his work out of these people's hands. After just a few hours in their grasp, Wes understands all too well why.

I'm sorry, Travis, he thinks, wishing there was some way Travis could hear him.

Eyes closed, he tightens his hands into fists and draws his power to the surface, letting it coalesce around him.

Electricity tears through him.

XXXX

Travis is getting awfully sick of these twisting hallways and endless walls of doors. This place is a maze. Where are all the signs saying 'Exit' and 'Control room' and 'Prisoners this way'?

"I don't have time for this," he grumbles, staring down another identical hallway. Okay, he's decided; next person he sees, he's going to grab by the throat and shake until they give him what he needs, subtlety be damned.

"Sounds like a plan," he congratulates himself sarcastically, stomping down the hall.

Then he turns and retraces his steps, staring at a plain metal door. Unlike all the other doors in this hallway, this one has light at the bottom.

" 'bout fucking time," he grins, and readies his lazer guns.

There are two people in the room, and they both freeze when he bursts through the melted door. Travis puts on his most charming grin. "So. Which one of you is gonna tell me where my boyfriend is?"

The big ugly dude in black raises a gun. Travis is faster. He's definitely getting the hang of this; he totally only stunned the guy instead of blowing a hole in his chest.

He turns on the woman, a brunette in a lab coat. "Your turn. You gonna help me or join your friend on the floor?"

The woman is staring at his hands, the way a ten-year-old looks at a candy bowl on Halloween. "Where does the energy come from? Do you draw it from your environment, or does it come from your body?"

"Hey!" Travis points his fingers threateningly. "Back off. I'm the one asking the questions here."

"Right, no, sure." The woman backs up a step, hands casually out at her sides. "You were looking for your boyfriend, you said?"

Oh man, Wes is gonna kill him when he finds out… "That's right. You people took him earlier today. I need to know where you're keeping him."

Hey eyes light up. "Can he do what you do?"

Travis hesitates. "Is that relevant?"

"…probably not."

"Then I need you to just tell me where they'd take him. Can you do that?"

She hesitates, drops her gaze, and Travis throws up his hands. "Goddammit." They could be doing god-knows what to Wes right now and he's found the one person in this place that can't help. He's about ready to start knocking down walls and to hell with the consequences.

"Fine," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. The other hand comes up, pointing at her. "Okay. I'm gonna have to knock you out, though."

"Wait!" She throws her hands up in front of her, shuffling back. "I don't know where they're keeping your boyfriend, but I can take you to the security room. It has all the camera feeds for the labs. I bet you can find him that way."

Travis squints suspiciously at her. "What's your name?"

"Jonelle." She lifts her head and doesn't seem frightened at all. "I can help you."

He only waffles for a moment before he steps aside, gesturing her into the hall. "Alright, Jonelle, lead on."

He doesn't trust her, of course. But he really doesn't have much of a choice.

XXXX

A few more jolts like that might just kill you.

The henchman rushes in, screaming into his radio as the electricity stops. Wes does his solid best not to pass out.

Carefully, he lifts his head. His vision swims, but he can see the henchman easily enough; the man is frantic, probably panicking over what Crowl will do to him if anything happens to Wes.

Behind the gag, Wes grins.

He clenches his fists.

XXXX

The security room is exactly where Jonelle said it would be. Travis stuns the guard and starts scrolling through camera feeds. Jonelle moves in beside him and helps.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, before he can stop himself. "I mean, you work for these guys."

She's silent for a long minute, staring at the monitor before her. Travis drops it; he's got bigger things to worry about, like finding Wes. So long as she doesn't betray him somehow, Travis can't afford to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I didn't—" She cuts herself off, biting her lip. She doesn't quite look at him. After another few moments have passed, she admits, "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Travis chances a quick glance at her, but Jonelle's attention is fixated on the monitor like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "What do you mean?"

She blinks hard, purses her lips. "My research wasn't going anywhere. They were going to cancel my grants. And then these guys showed up, said they could fund my life's work. It was like a dream come true."

"More like a nightmare," Travis mutters, can't help himself.

Jonelle hears it and chuckles, a harsh, bitter sound. "Yeah. Turns out they're not as altruistic as they made themselves out to be. They brought me here, wanted me to do…" She can't even get the words out, which gives Travis an inkling of how bad it was. "I tried to say no, but I was already in too deep. I was afraid they would kill me if I turned them down again."

Travis recognizes her tone of voice. It's desperation, trying to justify doing something horrible because all the other options are worse.

He's used that tone of voice a few times himself.

"I get it," he says, and he does. "Sometimes you have to do things you don't want to. Sometimes it's the only way."

Sometimes there is no right option, there's picking the lesser of two evils and living with the consequences, because you're damned if you do and damned if you don't.

Wes, he thinks bitterly, wouldn't understand at all.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and she ducks her head in acknowledgment.

Jonelle doesn't say anything else, and they scroll through the feeds in silence. Travis is bored already. Empty lab, empty lab, scientist with a pipette in a lab, empty storage room. Travis always figured evil never slept, but there's sure as hell not many people around.

"I found something," Jonelle says a few minutes later, just about when Travis has reached the breaking point. He eagerly abandons his monitors and hovers over her shoulder.

A half dozen goons are running down the hall, all cut from the same massive, took-too-many-hits-to-the-face cloth. Jonelle points to the man in the lead. "That's Crowl. He's…I don't know exactly what he does, but he's pretty high up."

"Can you figure out where he's going?"

"I can try…" She fiddles with the controls, and Travis goes back to his monitor, trying to pick up the group on his screen. A second later they've got the men, racing down the hall and piling into a room.

Neither of them are computer people like Kendall ("I'm a geneticist, okay, this isn't exactly my thing," Jonelle snaps in annoyed frustration, and Travis has never needed a particularly strong set of computer skills), but they manage between the two of them to find the camera feeds for the room the goons clambered into.

Travis's heart stops in his chest.

"Oh fuck."

Wes is suspended in the middle of the room, jerking wildly like a puppet.

Whatever they're doing, it's not good.

XXXX

Wes can barely see, there are so many spots in his vision, but he can recognize the harsh cadence of Crowl shouting orders. The words are fuzzy, distorted; over the racing pulse of his heart in his ears, he can't begin to make them out.

One more time, he thinks, one more time and his heart will probably just give out.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he thinks, and he—

tumbles to the floor, legs giving out beneath him. It knocks the air out of him, stuns him—he didn't have a chance to brace himself.

Then there are hands upon him, pulling at him, and he feebly tries to fight them off, pushing them away as best he can. No more, no more, he's done.

He clenches his fists and focuses every bit of his fading attention on his power.

The hands on his skin vanish, but the pain doesn't tear through him. After a second, Wes opens his eyes and blinks spots away, seeing, mere inches from his face, a perfect, seamless bubble of bright blue energy.

Behind the gag, Wes smiles.

"Stop him!" Crowl bellows, "Someone find a way to stop him!" Henchmen run around like chickens with their heads cut off, and a few white-coated scientists rush up to the energy shield, but they can't touch him.

Wes looks up, meets Crowl's eyes through the shield, and manages to hold one middle finger up in front of his face. Crowl reddens.

As forcefully as he can, Wes pushes his shield outward, a near-solid force exploding from his body, slamming scientists and henchmen alike into the walls.

As it turns out, his powers can be used offensively.

XXXX

"Whoo! That's my baby!" Travis pumps his fist in the air and does a quick touchdown dance. It always thrills him when people underestimate Wes. The man has always been sharper than he seems, and he doesn't hesitate to tear someone down if they've wronged him. Steel backbone, that's Wes all the way.

"Do you know where this is?" he demands of Jonelle, pointing at the monitor. "How do I get there?"

She stares at the monitor, eyes bright with a sort of fervid delight. "Amazing," she breathes, touching the screen, finger tracing the edge of Wes's shield.

"Jonelle! Hey!" Gently, Travis grabs her arm, forces her attention. "How do I get there?"

"Uh…" The scientist blinks as if dazed, giving her head a sharp shake. "Right. Let me see. This is…and we're…" Grabbing a piece of crumpled paper out of the trash, she scribbles a quick map. "Okay. We're the X, your boyfriend's at the star. It's not far."

"Perfect." Travis studies the map, memorizing it, then shoves it in his pocket in case his memory lets him down. He's halfway through the door before he pauses, glancing back, to see Jonelle at the monitor again, staring at Wes with that same rapt look of fascination on her face.

"Hey Jonelle." She blinks, turns to him. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "You should get out of here. Out of this place, this facility."

A wry, hollow smile lifts one corner of her mouth. Her eyes are flat. "Where would I go?"

"There's a boat in a little cove on the east side of the island. Wait like twenty minutes for us. If we're not there, you take it, you get as far away from these people as you can."

Her eyes widen. "You would do that?"

He just gives her a thin smile and backs out into the hallway. "Twenty minutes. Don't wait for us."

XXXX

"What do you hope to accomplish with this, Mitchell?" Crowl asks, arms crossed in front of him. He doesn't even sound upset—a little annoyed, maybe, but mostly disappointed, like Wes is making a fuss just to get a rise out of him. Wes has a sudden flashback to his mother, which is more than disturbing in his current predicament.

He pulls the gag off, spitting out the taste of musty, dirty fabric. "What do you think I'm trying to accomplish?"

"You don't even know where you are," Crowl says, in a very reasonable tone of voice like maybe if he just explains his logic, Wes will see how foolish he's being and will settle down. Wes doesn't know if Crowl honestly believes that will work, or if he's just stalling. Give these guys enough time, and they'll manage to knock him out, and when he wakes up whatever method they'll have to stop his powers won't be enough to kill him.

If he's going to do anything, he has to do it now.

Shaking, he draws himself to his knees, which is a lot harder than it should be. Though, considering how many volts he sent through his body, it's probably not as surprising as all that. Honestly, it's a miracle he's managed to keep his shield wrapped around himself, all things considered.

"You can't have me, Crowl," he says calmly, perversely enjoying the frustrated rage that swims across the man's face. "You're gonna have to kill me to get want you want. Only somehow, I don't think you can get what you want if I'm dead, or you wouldn't have stopped me earlier. You need me alive." He grins, the sharpest, shark-tooth smile he can find in himself. "You need both of us alive."

And if there's one thing Wes can count on, it's that they won't find Travis. The man knows how to hide, and in less than twenty-four hours none of it will matter anyway.

Crowl growls, fists tightening at his side, and Wes stares him down. It's a stalemate, but Wes has no intention of losing. Paekman showed him that sometimes you have to die for what you believe in, and Travis taught him a long time ago that you don't give up until you've stopped breathing, and sometimes not even then.

Either Crowl kills him, or Wes leaves this place. But he won't be Crowl's guinea pig.

The stalemate is broken by startled shouting from the hallway, and then gunfire. Crowl's head snaps around. Wes can do little more than stay where he is, wondering what fresh obstacle is getting thrown in his path now.

Not an obstacle, he realizes a second later, recognizing the exhilarated shouts from the hallway, not an obstacle at all, but Travis.

He really came. He found Wes and he came.

If he had the energy, he'd probably cry a little right now.

Travis bounds into the room, shooting golden beams of light in abandon, whooping like a cowboy. It's ridiculous and more than a little effective—the people hit aren't getting up again. Crowl dives behind a workbench; the majority of his men follow suit.

"Wes!" Barely pausing, Travis skids across the floor, crashing to his knees in front of him. He slides through Wes's shield like it's not even there—Wes absently wonders if that's because of the shared properties of their powers, or just because it's Travis.

It doesn't really matter, because Wes's shield automatically expands enough to cover them both, and Wes reaches out, grabs Travis's shoulders and pulls him close.

"You came," he gasps, and crashes their lips together.

Travis is startled just for a second before responding enthusiastically, and it's just like any one of their kisses, sparks of fire and lust, fueled by the competition and energy between them, a messy mix of feelings and thoughts that neither of them will ever admit aloud. It's been seven years, but this, this hasn't changed at all, and Wes has missed this.

"You came," he gasps as he pulls away, resting his forehead against Travis's. "You came for me." He can feel himself shaking, tiny convulsions he can't control, and if it were anyone else, he'd be ashamed of his weakness. In front of Travis, he just feels like maybe this isn't so hopeless after all.

"Course I came for you, baby," Travis murmurs gently, pressing a quick, chaste kiss against his lips. "I wouldn't leave you behind."

Wes could cry, were they not surrounded by evil henchmen in the bad guy's fortress.

Travis pulls away, just far enough to look him in the eye. "You ready to get out of here?"

"You have a plan?" Wes asks hopefully.

Travis just grins rakishly, a familiar devil-may-care smile that makes him look about ten years old and promises nothing good. "Of course not. Figure we'd make it up as we went along."

"That's not a good way to run a rescue operation, Travis!" Ah, yes, he also remembers this frustration that nags at his very soul when Travis is being particularly Travis. He forgot how much it annoyed him.

"It's all good, baby." That grin again, and Travis grabs his hand, holding it up. "We got this."

He bangs their gauntlets together, a solid 'klung!' reverberating through his body, and Wes actually feels a little bit better.

He almost believes they might have a chance.

XXXX

"Isn't this touching?" a smarmy, cruel voice sneers from the edge of the room. Travis tenses, turning, keeping his body between Wes and the voice. The man—Crowl, Jonelle had called him, the big bad boss goon—smirks at them from his spot behind a table. "But I'm glad. You saved us a lot of trouble hunting you down, Marks."

"Sorry to disappoint," Travis quips, "but we're not staying. People to see, evil megalomaniac groups to dismantle. You know how it is."

Crowl snorts. "You're outnumbered, and I've called for reinforcements. What do you hope to do here?"

A lance of golden light hits the table right by Crowl's head, turning it to melted plastic and metal. Travis grins at him. "I can shoot lazer beams with my fingers. I think we'll be okay."

Crowl leans around the table and fires, but the bullet pings harmlessly against Wes's shield. "It won't be that easy, Marks. We won't let you go, not now."

"I'm not giving you much choice in the matter." Man, this is so cool, trading witty quips with the bad guy like any respected superhero. He turns and grins over his shoulder at Wes. "Are you seeing this, babe? How cool is this?"

Wes just looks at him, gaze frighteningly blank, and Travis's stomach clenches. "Wes?"

Wes blinks slowly, slumping. Two things happen at once: Travis catches him, cursing; and another shot rings out, tearing through Travis's upper arm, making him curse again. Wes's shield is fading, flickering like an old static-y TV, and that…could be a problem. Lazer guns are great and all, but Travis was kind of counting on Wes's shield as a pretty damn big component of Operation Blast Their Way Out Of Here.

"Still so confident?" Crowl smirks, and Travis just smirks back at him, refusing to falter. Never let them see they're getting you down, that's the first rule of warfare.

Wes stirs against him, fingers feebly tightening in Travis's shirt. "Plan B?" he asks, voice little more than a breathy whisper.

"Workin' on it." Travis's gaze sweeps the room, looking for an escape route. "Just hang on a little longer, babe."

He can hear footsteps in the hall, reinforcements coming to back Crowl up.

XXXX

Back In The Day

Wes is asleep already. Travis slinks into the room silently, perching on the edge of the bed. His chest, as is typical around Wes, swells with an overwhelmingly fond affection, but covering all that is a cold dejection, a smoky pall in his soul that not even the sight of Wes can lift.

"I messed up, baby," he whispers, the words barely carrying even in the silent room. "I did something stupid and I messed up, and I—I don't know how to get out of this one."

He's still not sure how things went so wrong, but the how doesn't matter so much. The fact is, it did go bad, and everything is fucked, and if Travis stays here, he's gonna bring a world of hurt down on everything around him. Including Wes.

In the past, he's never had any trouble up and leaving when things got hot. He lives a transient life, never settling down for long, never even fully unpacking so he can make a quick getaway.

And now, for the first time, he doesn't want to go. He wants to stay here, in this shitty dorm apartment with Wes, making shitty jokes and eating Wes's cooking and having fights about whose turn it is to do the laundry. He wants this happiness.

But everything is fucked up beyond belief, and he needs to leave before it spills over onto Wes.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmurs, reaching out and petting Wes's hair. "I should have said no."

But even then, he hadn't been able to risk it. Not when Wes was on the line. God, everything had been so much easier before he took Paekman up on his offer, before he ever met Wes. Before, it had just been him, and leaving had been as simple as climbing on his bike and waving goodbye over his shoulder.

Now everything is so complicated, and he doesn't know what to do.

Wes stirs, eyes fluttering, and he turns, blinking drowsily up at Travis. When he sees who's leaning over him, his lips curl in this beatific, adoring smile, and there's not a single wall or barrier between them. Everything is written right on his face.

It makes Travis heart clench painfully in his chest.

"Hey," Wes mumbles, words slurred with sleep. "You're home late."

Home. God…

"Yeah." Travis is good at hiding what he's really feeling—he shoves the sudden tears down and returns Wes's smile with one of his own. "Late night. Got caught up."

"Mmm." Wes rolls over, nuzzling into Travis's palm. "You coming to bed?"

"Soon." Travis leans down, presses a gentle kiss to the blonde's forehead. "I'll be in soon. Go back to sleep."

Wes closes his eyes and mumbles, "Kay," already slipping back to sleep. Travis quietly gets up, biting his lip, and he makes sure to close the door behind him before he breaks down.

Shit. Shit. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was only supposed to stay a few weeks and move on. He wasn't supposed to care like this, wasn't supposed to make a home here.

He wasn't supposed to fall in love.

"I have to leave," he whispers to the darkened living room. "I have to leave right now." It won't take long—he always keeps an emergency bag packed for just this sort of occasion, and he knows how to get his stuff from the bedroom without waking Wes up. That won't be a problem.

No, the problem is that he's going to have to burn every fucking bridge with Wes, right now, make Wes hate him so fiercely that no one will ever come to him looking for Travis. He has to. It's the only way to keep Wes safe.

"Fuck." Why can't he keep Wes safe without breaking both of their hearts?

Shaking his head, Travis scrubs his face and pushes himself upright. No time for this. He needs to be out of here within the hour. He can break down properly when he's holed up somewhere, away from Wes.

Now. What's something terrible that will make Wes hate him for a while, but not so terrible that it can't possibly be forgiven once this all dies down?

Travis heads for the silverware drawer.

XXXX

Now

The footsteps pound up the hall, and Crowl smirks smugly at them. Travis curses and readies his finger guns, prepared to go down fighting if that's what it takes.

Then the tenor of those footsteps sinks in, and Travis frowns. That doesn't sound like people on a mission running to be Crowl's backup. That sounds like a panicked stampede.

Crowl hears it to, and the smirk drops off his face. He storms to the door. "What in the—"

A dozen people race by, people in white lab coats and black military-esque fatigues and all manner of undress. They're panicking, shouting at each other, and more than half of them are carrying weapons of some kind. Crowl reaches out and grabs the last straggler as the horde passes, a white-coated lab tech.

"What's happening?" Crowl shouts, shaking the tech. "What is this?"

The tech swallows, so pale his freckles stand out in stark relief. "Sir!" he squeaks, "Containment has failed!"

It means nothing to Travis, but it clearly means something to Crowl and his men. They all curse and grab their weapons.

And then Travis hears it.

Imagine a zoo. Imagine a zoo filled with every creature possible.

Now imagine that every one of those creatures is angry, and release them.

That's what Travis can hear, a wild cacophony of roars and growls and shrieks, screams and howls and he doesn't even know what else. It sounds like hundreds of animals, and they're all angry.

Travis doesn't know what experiments they've been doing on those animals, but it's clearly enough to freak out even Crowl.

Travis can use that.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs, slinging Wes's arm over his shoulder. "Plan B just arrived. I'm gonna need your shield again."

Wes groans, slumping against Travis's side, but the shield steadies marginally. Good enough.

Travis takes a breath, waits until Crowl is peering into the hall, and starts shooting. It's not the easiest thing moving while shooting and dragging Wes along, since Wes is pretty much at the end of his rope and not contributing much to the process. But the adrenaline is pumping and Travis is more than ready to get out of this evil place with its comic book villains, so he's making pretty good time.

He doesn't get Crowl. The man ducks behind his table when he realizes Travis is on the move, but that opens the doorway. Travis ducks into the hallway and holy shit.

There is a fucking wolf bounding down the hall.

Travis curses, resisting the immediate urge to duck back into the room he just came from. Crowl is still in there, and Travis isn't convinced the wolf is the bigger threat of the two. Seriously a fucking wolf. What the hell are these people doing?

He ducks just as the wolf leaps, claws scraping across the edge of Wes's shield. The shield flickers. Fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck. If there are more animals like that roaming around the halls, they won't last long without Wes's shield.

A wolf. What the fucking hell?

The wolf turns, claws skidding on the floor, and prepares to leap once more. Travis offers up a silent apology prayer and aims. The poor thing was probably just minding its own business, doing its own wolfy things, and then it got snatched and experimented on and it doesn't deserve this.

But if it's a choice between him and some mad scientist's experiment, he's gonna choose him every time. More importantly, he's going to choose Wes.

"Sorry buddy," he murmurs, and lets loose.

The wolf goes down. Well, most of the wolf goes down. The rest of it disappears as easily as rock and concrete does against his lazer guns.

For the first time, Travis feels a little bit sickened by his powers.

He can still hear the sounds of gunfire and enraged animal cries, but for the moment, this hallway is clear. He hustles towards the end before that changes. Last thing he needs is to shoot another innocent animal just to save his own skin. Or, worse yet, have Crowl emerge from his hidey-hole before he's gotten them to safety.

Wes groans on his shoulder and goes a little more boneless; the blue shield flickers and gets a little thinner.

"Hang in there, baby. Just a little bit farther." All they have to do is get outside. Then they'll go to the boat and…and fuck, he has no idea how long it's been. For all he knows, Jonelle is halfway to the city by now.

"I bet these guys have boats," he mutters to himself, lurching around the corner of the hall. "Big shiny evil boats. I'm totally gonna steal one. It's gonna be amazing."

In any other circumstances, Wes would have a pithy little comment. Right now he just exhales softly Travis gets a little more worried. So he does what he always does; pretends he's not freaking out inside.

"Next time I get to pass out at totally inopportune moments so you get to drag me out, alright? I mean, it's only fair."

Shit. He forgot how identical all these hallways are. He's totally turned around, has no idea how to get back to his starting point.

Fuck it. He'll just cut a hole through walls and start walking in a straight line. Eventually he'll end up outside, right?

"Travis!"

"Jesus!" He jumps, almost losing Wes and sending the beam of golden energy through the ceiling. It's a clean cut, no rubble or dust falling down on him, but still. He repositions Wes on his shoulder and turns.

Jonelle is standing at the end of the hallway, frantically waving him towards her. "Come on! This way!"

Travis is too relieved to be upset that she's not with the boat heading for shore and all the freedom that entails. He scampers towards her, keeping a wary eye out for wayward animals or henchmen. As soon as he's close enough, Jonelle ducks under Wes's other side, easing some of his weight.

"Why aren't you at the boat?" Travis asks, following her lead down the halls. "You should be long gone by now."

"It didn't feel right, leaving you behind." Jonelle stares down the hall, mouth a grim line. "I thought I'd start working on my redemption a little early."

"I take it all this—" He waves a hand, encompassing the continued screams of released animals, audible enough though luckily the hallway they're in remains clear. "—is your doing?"

She flashes him a grin that's got very little mirth in it. "I've done a lot of work in that section. I know all the codes."

Travis doesn't push.

They continue their journey uninterrupted, except for a minor scuffle they have to get through involving two goons facing off against two very pissed-off…ostriches? Travis doesn't even want to know. Then Jonelle says, "Almost there," and they turn the corner and there's a storage room with a very familiar hole in the wall.

"We made it, baby," Travis whispers, pressing a quick, light kiss against Wes's temple. "We're almost home."

If he hadn't had the evidence of Wes's shield around him this entire time, he wouldn't have even thought Wes was still conscious. As it is, he's pretty sure Wes has been focusing everything he has on keeping the shield up, setting aside little things like walking for later.

With Travis's words, Wes shudders, exhales a breathy, nearly inaudible, "Good," and passes out. The remnants of his shield vanish.

Silently, he swings Wes up into his arms and, with Jonelle leading the way, heads to the boat.

XXXX

Once away from the island, it's all smooth sailing, pun intended. Travis wraps Wes up in his jacket and lets Jonelle do a quick, brief examination while he steers. Just a few minutes from shore, she comes up, arms crossed.

"I think he'll be okay. He's got some burns from the electrocution, and some bruising, and he'll probably be a bit shocky for a while, but with rest, he should be fine. Honestly, he's doing a lot better than I would have expected." Her eyes trail to his forearm, to the metal gauntlet glinting silver in the dark night. "Something to do with that, I suppose?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Travis laughs, because who the hell knows anymore.

Money comes out onto the docks when the boat pulls up. He doesn't ask any questions, and he seems totally unfazed by the fact that Travis went out alone and came back with two extra people. He simply ties the boat to the dock and asks if they want a ride.

Travis declines the ride, but does ask to borrow a car. With some maneuvering, they get Wes situated in the back seat, Jonelle climbing in after him. For a second after he closes the door, Travis just stands there, feeling the adrenaline fade, leaving him shaky and dizzy. Fuck, fuck, that had been close tonight, and he'd almost—Wes had almost—

A big, heavy hand claps down on the back of his neck. Travis jumps, twisting to look up at his foster brother.

Despite his tattoos and his size, Money can pull off 'concerned endearing older brother' pretty well. "You alright, T-Bone?" he asks. "You need anything else?"

Travis manages a small, exhausted smile. "Nah, Money. I'm okay." If Travis did need anything else, he has no doubt Money would be able to make it happen, no matter how illegal. Sadly, illegal and impossible are two different things, and Money doesn't have the ability to go back in time so none of this ever happened, so Wes wasn't kidnapped and tortured and nearly electrocuted himself to death—

Travis clenches his eyes and forces the images away. Not the time. Not now.

When he opens them, Money is staring down at him in concern. "You sure you don't want me to give you a ride?" he asks.

Travis just shakes his head, slumping a little in his foster brother's grip. The big man easily holds his weight. "Nah. I appreciate it, but we're good." He highly doubts Kendall would appreciate a (possible) drug dealer knowing where she lives, even if he is Travis's brother.

Money gives him a gentle squeeze and nods, not liking it, but not about to argue. "You should come visit more often," he chides, like they're still kids. "Mama misses you."

Travis can't help but laugh at that, glancing down at the gauntlet on his arm. "You know, I think I'll be sticking around for a while."

They say their goodbyes, Travis promising to come over sometime later this week, and he climbs into the car. Jonelle has carefully buckled Wes into the backseat, sitting beside him so he slumps against her, supported. She meets his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"Everything okay?"

As reassuringly as he can, he says, "Yeah, everything's fine."

And at least for now, it is.

He makes one quick phone call in the car to update Kendall that they're all safe and sound and he's bringing a her guest, promising the full version of events tomorrow, once they're all rested. When he hangs up, he hastens to reassure Jonelle. "Kendall's great, you'll like her. She's got a spare room she's willing to share, and tomorrow…"

Jonelle runs her hand over her face and nods. "Yeah."

Neither of them knows what tomorrow is going to bring, but at least there will be a tomorrow, and it won't be anything like today.

Some days, that's more than enough.

Kendall is waiting at the front door of the apartment building, an unassuming redhead in a pale blue cardigan. Probably completely different from the types Jonelle dealt with on that island, and she only hesitates a minute before climbing out of the car.

"See you tomorrow," she says, and Travis waves two fingers. He lingers a moment, long enough to watch them shake hands, Kendall guiding Jonelle inside. As soon as the door closes behind the two women, Travis pulls away from the curb.

Wes is still unconscious when Travis pulls up in front of his place. Carefully, more carefully than he's treated pretty much anything in his life, Travis eases Wes into his arms and heads inside. He doesn't relax until he's shut the door behind him and locked it, and even then he has to deposit Wes on the bed and scour the room to make sure no one's been inside before his heart settles.

The last of the adrenaline fades away in a rush, and he collapses on the edge of the bed, dropping his head in his hands. "You scared me, baby," he mutters into his palms. "Don't do that again."

Wes, of course, doesn't answer.

Exhaustion makes his movements sluggish and clumsy. He strips out of his clothes, dropping them on the floor beside the bed, and crawls up next to Wes. He knows Wes wouldn't appreciate Travis draping himself against him, but Wes is unconscious and Travis needs the contact, needs to know that Wes is still alive, still breathing. He pulls Wes against him, an arm wrapped around his chest, and he can feel the movement of Wes's ribs, can feel every breath the blonde takes.

He thinks, wrapped up with Wes like this, he might be able to stave off the worst of the nightmares.

Sighing, Travis closes his eyes and tries to go to sleep. It'll be hard, he thinks, after the night he's had, but…

He's out before he can finish the thought.

XXXX

Back In The Day

He doesn't plan to kiss Travis. It just sort of happens. Travis is leaning against the counter, all long lines and expansive hand gestures as he talks, and Wes just thinks Wow, and leans in and presses their lips together. Travis freezes, hands in the air, and the moment drags on, a kiss that lasts an eternity.

Slowly, Wes pulls back and wonders if that was a supremely bad idea.

Travis blinks, a slow lazy sweep of lashes, and runs his thumb over his lower lip. "What was that for?" he asks, a mildly curious note in his voice.

Wes blinks back, retreating a step. "Sorry. I thought—my mistake. I wasn't—"

"Wes." Travis cuts him off gently, tone warm and an amused gleam in his eye. "I wasn't complaining. I just wondered what that was for."

Wes feels a little more hopeful. "You were flirting with me." He says this with more confidence than he feels. He's fairly certain Travis was flirting with him, but this sort of thing has never been his strong suit, and Travis is a pretty friendly guy. It is possible that Wes has misinterpreted events.

He really hopes he hasn't, though, because otherwise things will just get awkward, considering the 'few weeks' Travis was supposed to stay here has ended up being over two months and Wes is working on some pretty serious crush-like feelings here.

Travis rubs his thumb over his lip again, and that's really distracting and sexy and he should stop doing it at once. "Sure I was," he says, which brings Wes's spirits up because he was right, Travis was flirting with him! And then Travis adds, "I wasn't sure you'd noticed," and Wes's spirits plummet again.

"You wasn't sure I'd noticed?" How insulting is that? Even if it is marginally accurate.

"Well, you weren't responding to me." Travis shrugs. "I figured you either hadn't noticed or you weren't interested. I was hoping it was the former." He grins, that easy, butter-won't-melt smile that sends tingles down Wes's spine. (It was those tingles that clued Wes in that he might be a bit taken with Paekman's friend.) "I take it this means you are, in fact, interested?"

"I might be." Travis pushes off the counter, slinks across the room until he's standing right in front of Wes, and Wes feels his heart stutter in his chest. "I mean, if you are."

"Oh, trust me, Wes, I am definitely interested." Travis grins again, leaning in, and then they're kissing, and it's deeper than the first one, hotter, and Wes definitely didn't plan this but he's certainly not complaining.

Neither of them hear the door open until Paekman says, "Hey guys, I got the—woah!" They break apart to find Paekman standing in the doorway with a container of eggs in his hand, eyes wide.

Wes flushes; Travis grins and doesn't move more than an inch away from Wes. "Hey, Paekman."

Paekman slowly nods. "Okay. Not what I expected, but sure, I can run with it." Then he grins. "You know, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Wes groans and covers his eyes. "I hate you." When Travis drops his forehead onto Wes's shoulder and starts snickering uncontrollably, Wes clarifies, "I hate you both."

But of course he doesn't.

XXXX

Now

Wes wakes slowly, feeling warm and secure and safe. He revels in the feeling for a good five minutes, carefully categorizing the aches and pains in his body. Some sore spots, but nothing he can't live with. More important is the warmth around him, that feeling of being surrounded on all sides and protected.

Knowing what he's going to find, Wes unhurriedly opens his eyes, and he's met with Travis's face, peaceful in sleep.

Leisurely, Wes drinks in the sight, taking his time while Travis is still asleep. The other man has grown, matured some, but there's nothing here that Wes doesn't recognize from long ago. Travis has grown, but he hasn't changed all that much.

Despite himself and everything that happened between them, Wes feels a small, slow smile cross his face, full of fond nostalgia, because he remembers this, waking up to Travis's face every day, and he remembers how he felt every single time he opened his eyes and Travis was there.

Seven years is a long time, but right now, it might as well have been yesterday.

Gently, he reaches out, fingers ghosting over Travis's face, the angle of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. Familiar enough, even with all the ways that have changed.

Under his touch, Travis stirs, making a little snuffing/sighing sound, and his eyes flutter open. Wes doesn't remove his hand.

Gradually, Travis's eyes focus on Wes, and a sleepy smile curls his lips. "Hey. How you feeling?"

"I've been better," Wes admits, fingers tracing the shell of Travis's ear. "I still hate you, you know."

"Yeah." Travis's gaze is warm, soft, just the way Wes remembered. Seven years, and it's like nothing has changed at all. "I figured that."

It's too early and he's too content; Wes just can't muster up his normal level of antipathy for his ex. His hand settles, cupping the side of Travis's face, and he remembers kissing Travis last night—that, too, like nothing had changed.

So much time has passed, and some things will never be the same. But maybe some things never quite fade away, either.

"But maybe not as much as I did yesterday," he admits.

Travis's eyes crinkle at the corners, and he leans in, pressing their foreheads together. It's intimate, and sweet, and it reminds Wes of the old days, when they had nothing to worry about but themselves.

"You know what?" Travis murmurs. "I think I can live with that."

Wes thinks he can live with that too.

XXXX

They finally make it to Kendall's around noon, after reaffirming to themselves they are both very much alive. Wes aches in pretty much every part of his body, he has bruises that are already an ugly purple thanks to his rough treatment, and he has a nice set of burns around his wrist from the torture device they rigged him to.

"Could be worse," Travis tells him cheerfully when he complains about it. "You could be dead. Or still back there." Which is a very valid point, but doesn't keep Wes from throwing a wadded up piece of paper at him.

He's momentarily thrown when they step into the lair, because the woman sitting there definitely is not Kendall. But then Travis says, "Hey, Jonelle," and yes, that's right, Travis did mention her.

"Kendall's upstairs making sandwiches," Jonelle informs them, which makes Travis rush off to help because he's a five-year-old boy, seriously, all he thinks about is food and toys. Wes rolls his eyes and eases into a chair, ignoring the way the brunette is watching him.

"You're looking much better this morning," she says after a minute.

Wes laughs a little dryly. "That's funny, I feel like crap. Though, as Travis keeps pointing out, I could be feeling a lot worse."

She doesn't laugh. Her eyes are solemn and dark, her tone dead serious. "You could be."

And Wes is utterly reminded that Jonelle was there, subjected to Crowl and his men, forced to do terrible things just to stay alive. Wes was only there for one day; Jonelle was there for so much longer, and she still stayed strong, didn't give up and helped them when she could.

"Thank you," he says, as heartfelt as he can. "Thank you for everything."

Travis gave him the story on the way here. Without Jonelle, Wes doesn't know that they'd have made it off that island alive. They owe their lives to her.

She smiles, the sharp lines of her face softening, easing. "Thank you," she returns, and Wes knows getting her off the island is probably the least of it.

There's not much else to say, and a couple of minutes later, Kendall and Travis return with sandwiches, chips and soda.

They tell Kendall the story while they eat, all three of them filling in their respective parts of the tale. Kendall listens wide-eyed with horror, barely touching her food. Wes understands. It's the sort of thing that makes it easy to lose one's appetite. He's barely touched his sandwich.

(Travis, of course, eats on like he's never had food before, because he is a childish slob. Wes isn't even surprised.)

"And to think," Kendall breathes when the story is finished, "all this time and they were just offshore."

"The scariest monsters are the ones you don't know are right behind you," Jonelle says, crunching viciously on a chip.

There's an awkward silence.

Wes turns to Kendall. "What happened on your end while we were gone?"

"Well." Kendall gingerly picks the crust off her sandwich. "I gave Derek Henry to the police. I couldn't tie him to Paek's death, but there were some emails alluding to PC Labs the night of the explosion. Plus I found a bunch of stuff the FBI and the CIA are going to be very interested in. All sent to them in a helpful anonymous tip, of course." She grins and takes a sip of her soda. "Let's just say nothing ever really gets deleted from the internet."

It's kind of scary. She seems so sweet at first glance.

"So now what?" Wes puts down his sandwich, looks around the group. "We just…go back to our normal lives?"

Jonelle snorts. "It's been years. I don't have a normal life to go back to."

Wow. Way to be an insensitive jackass, Mitchell.

"Can we do that?" Travis asks around a mouthful of his sandwich. Wes scowls at him; he quickly swallows before speaking again. "I mean, the SIS is still out there. Crowl is still out there. Going back to our lives would be like painting targets on our backs." He holds up his arm, the gauntlet glistening in the lights. "Plus, there's this to consider."

Wes glares at his own gauntlet, as though enough force will make it fall right off. "So what, then? We go into hiding for the rest of our lives? Because I'm saying this now, that plan sucks."

There a long moment of silence. When Wes looks up, Travis is grinning.

"No."

"Aww, Wes, you haven't even heard what I'm gonna say!"

"I don't need to hear it to know I'm not going to like it."

"So here's my idea." Travis turns to the two women, ignoring Wes entirely. "We become a superhero team!"

Wes drops his head in hands. "I knew it."

Travis continues to ignore him. "I mean, we've got everything we need right here! We've got the secret lair, which is a must—"

"I never agreed to loan out my lair," Kendall interjects.

"—and we've got a reclusive hacker genius and a mad scientist—"

"Excuse you!" Jonelle exclaims.

"—and, of course, two superheroes." Travis holds out his hands, grinning triumphantly. "I even came up with names."

"I know I'm going to regret this," Wes purses his lips and looks at Travis, "but what did you come up with?"

The other man points dramatically at Wes. "You're Enigma. For the Enigma Project, right? Plus it's totally cool."

That's actually a half-decent name. Wes is more annoyed Travis came up with it first.

Travis points his thumbs at himself and beams. "And I'm gonna be T-Bone."

Wes covers his face and has to take a few breaths. "That's stupid. Your superhero name can't be your actual nickname. And what's the point of having a secret identity if you won't wear the mask?"

"The mask is stupid, Wes."

"I cannot believe I'm actually having this conversation."

"I don't know," Kendall says, cutting off Travis's next quip. She shrugs. "It could be kind of cool."

Wes should have remembered. She's like Travis when it comes to this superhero shit.

"You can't be serious." Wes looks imploringly at Jonelle, hoping for another voice of reason. "Tell me you're not buying this."

The brunette raises her eyebrows in a way that could mean You're absolutely right Wes how did they ever manage without you, or it could mean This is going to be awesome so suck it up.

"I've got nothing better to do," she says, which means Wes's first interpretation of her eyebrows was absolutely wrong. He needs to learn how to read people's facial expressions better. "We could track down the SIS while we help people. Isn't that better than doing nothing?"

Wes raises his eyes to the ceiling. "I'm surrounded by crazy people."

"Three to one. I think you lost this one, Wes," Kendall chirps, sounding much too excited about this whole thing.

"It's your job to convince your boyfriend," Jonelle informs Travis.

In his peripherals, Wes sees Travis freeze. A cold, deadly calm settles over him, and he slowly turns and looks at his ex.

"Your what?"

"It wasn't like that, man." Travis shifts, grins feebly. "You know how things get. Sometimes you say something in the heat of the moment—"

"The moment you called me your boyfriend?"

"Now, Wes." Warily, Travis puts his hands up, inching backwards. "Remember this morning? Remember how you didn't hate me as much today?"

Wes clenches his hands into fists, a bright blue glow bubbling up around his hands. "That doesn't give you the right to call me your boyfriend."

"Come on, man, we're gonna be superheroes together! Can't you let bygones be bygones?"

Wes leans forward and whispers one word, low and menacing, promising a world of hurt.

"Silverware."

Travis bolts. Wes leaps after him. Behind him, he can hear Kendall squawk, a frantic, "Not by the computers!"

As he chases after Travis, Wes thinks that Travis's superhero idea isn't complete crap. Dangerous, probably, and most definitely reckless, but they've got these powers so they might as well use them helping people. And, as Travis pointed out, the SIS is still out there. It would be good to practice using these powers as much as possible to be prepared for their next encounter.

He's going to give in, eventually. But not right away. And he certainly won't admit Travis's plans have merit. At least not aloud.

Travis leaps over a chair, grinning over his shoulder at Wes, urging him on. It's just like old times, when they used to get in one of their fights, racing around the dorm after each other while Paekman tried to intervene without physically getting between them in the process. For a moment, all the pain and anger of the last seven years is gone like it never was, and it's perfect.

Travis has to stick around for the foreseeable future, to bang their gauntlets every twenty-four hours. His life is on the line. This time, he has to stay.

Wes thinks he could probably get used to that.

He won't admit that, either.

OOOO

OOOO

Travis's aliases are, in order: his stage name, and characters from Barbershop, Takers, and Sleeper Cell.

PC Labs is a reference to Property Crimes, where Paekman worked before SIS, and Kelvin Yu is Paekman's actor.

This was a fun one to write. Let me know what you thought! Comments, reviews, and constructive criticism are always welcome.

Until next time~!