Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Six weeks - April

Wes looked at himself in the mirror and cringed. He was paler than normal and dark circles had taken up residence under his eyes. It was becoming harder and harder to keep food down and most meals wound up in the toilet before he got halfway through them.

At first, he figured the lethargy was a holdover from the massive hangover, but when it only increased as the days went on, he began to worry. Seventeen days after his ill advised tryst with Travis, the puking began. He'd been tempted to visit the doctor when a snippet of a conversation he'd had with Travis flashed back to him. It suddenly all made sense.

Wes Mitchell was fucking pregnant.

And Travis Goddamn Marks was the baby daddy.

Wes pulled himself together and made it to work on time. Barely. It aggravated him that he wasn't his usual thirty minutes early, but he let himself off the hook for once. He'd had a rough morning, one that consisted of a glass of orange juice, half a banana and three trips to throw it all back up. Needless to say, he was exhausted and cranky. And starving.

Travis slid into his chair across from Wes, grinning. Wes knew that smile all too well. It was one his partner wore often, usually the morning after a successful conquest. Normally, that smile grated on Wes' nerves, annoyed him to no end simply due to the bravado behind it. Today, it inspired unsolicited rage in him. Anger so strong that he was ashamed at the power of it.

"So, have a good weekend, baby?" Travis leaned on folded arms, leering at Wes on the other side. "Because, if not? I had enough fun for both of us. Hoo boy!"

The rage within Wes reached a pinnacle and threatened to overflow and explode out of him in one large burst of fury. He stood abruptly, slapping a hand over his mouth and ran out of the department's main room.

Wes only barely made the men's room before the bile rose and he vomited for what seemed like the fiftieth time that morning. Tears rose unbidden and he let them fall, unable to control his emotions any better than he could his rebellious stomach.

He'd been a fool to think Travis would have remembered what had transpired between them six weeks prior. He was an even bigger rube to think Travis would have cared, even if he had remembered. It tore at his shattered heart every time Travis called him 'baby' so casually. Each utterance of the word brought back sweat-slicked memories of a night drenched in tequila, followed by a knife to the gut.

And here he was, carrying the bastard's child because he'd been too arrogant to acknowledge his feelings for Travis, thus convincing himself he had no need for the new male birth control patch. If he hadn't been so deep in denial, maybe he wouldn't be so utterly fucked at the moment.

In his defense, he didn't have a clue that Travis was bisexual. He thought he'd have to watch from the sidelines as his partner made his way through every female in the department, always the wingman and never the date.

Travis' confession rang in his memory. I find you incredibly sexy...

"Wes?" Travis' voice echoed in the empty restroom. "You in here, man?"

Wes took a deep breath. He had to keep this quiet, Travis could not know he was pregnant, not yet. And he positively could not ever know the baby was his. "Yeah," he called weakly from the last stall on the left. He wiped away the last of the tears, flushed, and faced the father of his child.

"You okay because you look rough, baby."

Wes winced, his heart breaking a little more. "Must've been something I ate. And please stop calling me baby. You know how much I hate that."

"Sure, man. Sorry. Why don't you knock off for today and get some rest? I can handle the legwork for one day."

He was tempted. The morning sickness had been a bitch all weekend, leaving him weak, but being near Travis was the only thing holding him together. Even as hurt as he was, working by his lover's side gave him the illusion they were a real couple. His stomach heaved, sending him running again.

"I take that to mean yes?"

The sound of Wes trying to dump his lungs into the toilet was his only answer.

Several hours later, he was awoken by a pounding at his hotel door. He was halfway to answering it when he heard his partner's voice.

"You still alive in there, Blondie? I brought food."

Wes' stomach rolled in protest at the mere mention of food but he let Travis in anyway.

"Hey, you look better," he noticed. "Got a little color back."

Wes was afraid to admit the color was likely left over from the rather explicit dream he'd been having about his partner when he'd been awakened. Changing the subject, he asked, "What did you bring? It smells good." For the first time in days, his stomach growled instead of rumbled.

"Sandwich for me, some chicken noodle soup for you. Here," he said, setting the food on the dining table, "come eat."

Wes complied, sitting and carefully sipping the broth. When his stomach didn't immediately revolt, he tried a chunk of carrot. "Thank you, Travis, I haven't eaten in days. But you didn't have to do this."

He sat down at the table across from Wes and frowned. "Of course I did. You're my partner and I was worried about you. You never get sick."

That much was true, even if he wasn't sick now. Instead of protesting, he kept his mouth shut and ate, listening to Travis detail the results of the day's interviews. The case was moving forward and that was a good thing. Travis had made decent progress and that was even better.

He watched Travis finish the last bits of his sandwich through fluttering eyelids, dozing as he sat. It brought a sad smile to Travis' face, one he barely noticed in his exhaustion.

Travis stood, taking Wes' arm gently. "Come on, time for bed, Wes. You need your beauty sleep."

Wes allowed Travis to help him back to his room. He didn't even protest when his partner tucked him in and kissed his forehead, a waft of his cologne settling in his nose. When Travis wished him 'sweet dreams, baby', he found it didn't hurt nearly as much when he was being so sweet.

Travis let himself out after assessing that Wes was well and truly asleep.

Wes drifted off thinking that Travis would be a fabulous daddy when the time came.

Travis sat on the foot of his bed, thinking about Wes. He'd been sick an awful lot lately and he was losing weight. It worried Travis to the point of thinking the blonde needed an intervention. Crabby, Travis was used to. But tired and crabby and puking? That was something new.

Kicking his shoes off, he lay back on his bed, closing his eyes and remembering the smell of Wes' body as he tucked him into bed an hour ago. The sight of his pale neck rose in his mind, that length of pure, unmarked skin tempting him. He wanted to get his teeth into it, nip at it, leave only the slightest marking proving Wes was his.

He was only partly ashamed to discover that he was aroused by this image, these thoughts of biting his partner's flawless skin. His cock hardened, pressing against the front of his jeans, eliciting a groan out of Travis. If only the dreams would stop, maybe every glimpse of Wes wouldn't leave him weak and wanting. He wasn't so lucky, however. They seemed to return to taunt him at least twice a week, getting more graphic and intense as the weeks wore on.

And it was killing him.

Dr. Ryan had informed them that it was natural to dream about your partner, more so in a case like theirs where they were constantly putting themselves in danger for the case. The mind's reaction to stressful or worrisome situations manifest in many ways, she'd assured them. Travis was worried that stress was not what was manifesting in these overtly sexual dreams involving him and Wes and a bottle of Cabo Wabo.

Another groan escaped him as the visual of his body entangled with his partner's flashed through his mind for the thirteenth time that afternoon. He rubbed his hand along the length of his agonizing erection, attempting to soothe it somewhat without success.

"Wessss," he hissed, "you're going to kill me, baby."

Travis gave up fighting the urge. The sound of his zipper coming down filled the room. Taking his engorged dick into his hand, he stroked himself slowly, his teeth burying themselves in his bottom lip. Wes' blue eyes filled his mind's eye. His imagination trailed from those clear orbs to his full mouth, catching just a glimpse of that sexy-as-hell dimple. He bucked into his own hand, mentally disrobing Wes article by article until he stood in nothing but a pair of emerald green boxers, cock hard and ready, begging for attention.

In his fantasy, Travis gave Wes' cock all the attention it deserved. Stroking him first, then pulling him into his mouth, sucking, nibbling on the head. His hands roamed and caressed his lover, touching him and fondling him, and finally squeezing his taut ass cheeks between them. Wes' hips rocked forward, Travis taking him deeper, loving the taste and feel of his partner in his mouth. Travis knew instinctively that Wes was close. He kneaded Wes' ass with strong fingers, pulling him close, holding him while he pumped his cock between Travis' lips.

The sound of Wes coming undone in his dreams pushed Travis' hot button hard. He came on the heels of his imaginary lover, grunting and grinding against his palm. Relief flooded him, releasing laughter bordering on the hysterical.

"How sad am I," he said into the empty room, sighing. "I have a dozen gorgeous women on speed dial and yet, here I am, jacking off to a fantasy revolving around my partner. My sick partner, at that."

His relief turned to sadness, his laughter to tears.

"Today we're going to be discussing secrets and how they affect our relationships. Now, we're not talking about the little secrets, we all have those and they're healthy. Our partners don't always need to know every little detail of our lives or our pasts. Having those little things that are our own solely can be a good thing. It's when you begin to hide the larger things, the things that actually affect the stability of your relationship that you have a problem."

"Like that ex-girlfriend that found you on Facebook," Rozelle added helpfully, side-eyeing her husband as she did so. Clyde slunk down in his chair a little farther.

"Or that the ex-wife is suddenly demanding more child support," Mrs. Dumont added even more supportively.

"Yes," Dr. Ryan agreed while trying not to laugh, "those are both very good examples. And while the ex-girlfriend might not mean any harm and the ex-wife may have suddenly hit a rough patch financially, these are both things that should be addressed openly."

"Told you," Rozelle elbowed Clyde in the arm.

"Yes, honey, you did, and I said I was sorry," he defended.

"Looks like you need to keep saying it," Wes added.

Dr. Ryan ignored his jab for the moment and looked at Dakota and Peter. "What kind of secrets have you discovered between the two of you? You don't have to be specific either, we're not here to air the other's dirty laundry, only to gain an idea of how keeping things from your loved ones strains your interactions."

Dakota grinned and squeezed her husband's hand. "We don't have secrets, we tell each other everything, don't we?"

Peter's brown eyes widened in fear for a moment before settling back to normal. He clasped his free hand over the top of Dakota's giving a nervous squeeze. "No, we sure don't, do we?"

Travis looked at Wes and rolled his eyes. Wes gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Boys," Dr. Ryan's voice drew their attention back to where it was supposed to be. "All that silent communication between you suggests you don't believe Dakota and Peter. Care to explain?"

"Oh no, Dr. Ryan, it's not that at all," Travis began with a look to Wes. At the other's nod, Travis continued. "We believe Dakota has no problem telling poor Peter every detail of her life… in detail."

"It's Peter that has the secrets," Wes added.

"I… but I…" Peter stammered.

"Oh, they're probably not anything big – maybe he stopped for a burger because he knew she was making some god-awful recipe of her mother's for dinner – but they're there."

Dr. Ryan frowned at Wes for a moment before Travis drew her focus again.

"Right, Peter man, you need to learn to lie better, your eyes were everywhere but on your wife when you agreed with her. Classic sign of a fibber."

"And you fidget," Wes agreed.

"Peter," Dakota asked, alarmed, "is this true?"

"Okay," he caved, launching to his feet. "They're right, I'm lying. I did stop and have a burger the other night…"

Dakota's face scrunched up and then realization hit her. "Wednesday. You stopped on Wednesday, didn't you?"

"Yes!" He knelt before her, taking her hands in his. "I'm sorry honey, I just can't stand that tofu stir fry you make. I know you mean well but…"

"But it's awful," she replied.

"Yes, it is and…"

"And I hate it too. I only kept making it because you said you liked it." Relief washed over the young couple as they hugged out their breakthrough.

"And you tell me that I need to be more polite," Wes asked Travis. "This is where polite gets you – it leaves you stuck eating food you hate and wearing a funny sweater at Christmas."

"You are such a stick in the mud," Travis told him, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But it's why I love you sooooo much."

"You are such a jerk," Wes retorted, heart leaping at the words Travis said, even in jest.

"Boys," Dr. Ryan said again, bringing everyone's attention back to the center. "What about you. Do either of you keep secrets from the other? On the job, that is. Since you're not an actual couple, as you both keep reminding us all, your private life doesn't count in this instance."

The words stung as she said them, although Wes knew he deserved to hear them from her. Dr. Ryan was right, they protested vehemently any time anyone suggested they were an actual couple. "Nope," Wes admitted, shaking his head, "no professional secrets between the two of us…" It wasn't' actually a lie because the real secret he was keeping was purely personal.

Travis studied Wes for a moment before agreeing. "Right. We're together ten or twelve hours a day, it's really hard to keep anything quiet. We're good. Can we go now?"

"No you may not," she scolded. "We still have work to do. Our first exercise today is…"

Wes tuned her out as he watched Dakota and Peter stand and hug again. They were probably the most annoying couple in the group if only because they were so young and new in their love. They hadn't been together long enough to have experienced betrayal and hurt like he had with Alex. Or more recently with Travis, although that wasn't being very fair to Travis. Their relationship was still rather pristine and it made his soul ache for them. He was relatively certain that they'd make it for the long haul, they were too in tune with each other for it to end any other way. Anything could happen though, and things that happened out of the blue are the ones that tested your relationship the most.

He knew that one far too well these days.

Travis had his hands on Rozelle's shoulders, teasing her about something while Clyde watched, half suspicious, half amused. Wes chuckled to himself and thought he ought to go save Clyde from having to punch his partner with so many witnesses present. He pushed himself to his feet and immediately regretted it. The room swam around him and he felt faint. A set of strong arms steadied him, the scent of that familiar cologne suggesting it was Travis who held him.

"Easy there, cowboy, you're still not one hundred percent, remember? Sit back down and I'll go get you some water." Travis bolted from the room and went in search of a vending machine.

"Everything okay, Wes?" Dr. Ryan had her concerned voice on.

"Yes, I'm fine," he reassured her. "Had something that didn't agree with me over the weekend."

She studied him for a brief time before nodding. "Food poisoning can take a bit to get out of your system sometimes. Remember to keep hydrated."

"I keep telling him that, Dr. Ryan, but he won't listen to me," Travis announced, returning with a sweating bottle of cold water. "Drink up," he insisted.

Wes obliged. He sipped slowly from the bottle, knowing from experience that even too much water too fast would send him barreling for the boy's room. Slowly, he started to feel better and the room slowed to its normal pace. "Thank you, Travis. For both the water and the steadying hand."

Travis shrugged, "Hey, it's what partners are for, right?" He tossed a wink at Wes and went off to join in the group activity the others were playing.

He didn't notice Dr. Ryan continuing to watch him.

"That was a rough session, wasn't it?" Travis slowed his usual pace to match Wes'. "All those accusations and nasty glares. Brrr…" He gave a mock shiver for emphasis.

Wes let a half smile adorn his lips. "Mr. and Mrs. Dumont were the worst, I think. They've been married too long and know each other too well. He should have known b better."

"I know it, man. This is why you don't get serious, am I right?"

Travis was shaking his head, laughing at the absurdity of getting serious with someone and missed the pained look that crossed Wes' face. "Yeah, I guess so," he agreed, wanting to do anything but.

"Oh, hey, how about we grab a bite to eat before heading home? I was thinking that maybe you aren't getting enough protein in addition to being dehydrated. Low iron levels can cause dizziness. Jonelle told me that."

"And you remembered, how sweet. Thanks, but I'm going to have to pass, maybe tomorrow."

"Aw, come on, man. I know you're not getting enough to eat. Look at you – you're getting scrawny."

"I'm not scrawny," he protested, "I'm lean. There's a difference."

"Uh-huh, if you say so. I still think you need a sammich. Come on, humor me for once. I found a new place that I think you'll like – and your tummy shouldn't protest too much either."

"God, I hope not," he admitted. "I'm sick of being sick."

"Good, you can drive."

They piled into Wes' car and made their way to the place Travis had stumbled across. While Wes wasn't certain that Chinese was the best thing for his stomach, Travis assured him that if he ordered wisely, he'd be okay.

For once, Travis had been right. Garlic noodles and tofu had been what he'd decided on, despite Travis' protesting. "Man, I can't eat tofu!"

"I thought this was my meal?"

"Well, it is, but you always share your Chinese, don't you know anything?" He tsked playfully at the thought of eating only his own food.

Apparently, he didn't know anything at all. He and Alex had rarely eaten Chinese food and, when they did, they certainly didn't share. After watching Travis order, he could see the sense in it. A pile of your food, a pile of their food and you both got one heck of a meal.

"I guess I don't. I do know, however, that unlike Peter and Dakota, that I like tofu. It's good for you and it's loaded with protein. And, if it's cooked right, it's very tasty."

"We'll have to see about that," Travis warned.

As it turned out, Travis did like properly cooked tofu and Wes' garlic noodles, too. He plowed through most of his Mongolian beef plus at least half of Wes' food. Currently, he was nibbling on a fortune cookie and grinning.

"What's so funny?"

"My fortune. Listen to this: You only need look to your own reflection for inspiration because you are beautiful! How right they are."

"You are an idiot. A vain, vain idiot." But Wes couldn't deny the truth of it. More and more he'd been thinking about the baby and what he – or she – might look like, hoping he had Travis' misty blue eyes and tranquil temperament.

"Nah, you're just jealous. Open yours. And how's your stomach? Holding on so far?"

Wes looked up from unwrapping the cookie and nodded. "So far, so good." He broke open the cookie and pulled out the little slip of paper. He read it, blinked and read it again.

"Okay, that face of yours is telling me this one's a good one. Spill."

"It's nothing Travis, I…" His eyes flicked back to the incriminating slip of paper.

"Oh for the love of tofu, give it to me!" Travis reached out and snatched the fortune out of Wes' fingers before he could react. "Hah. I love it. 'Instead of worrying and agonizing, move ahead constructively.' They obviously don't know you very well, do they?" Travis stood and held out his hand. "I think it's time to get out of here."

Wes nodded, secreting away the little fortune before Travis could see. "Agreed, I'm exhausted." He took his partner's hand, allowing him to help him to his feet. They walked in silence to Wes' car and then rode in more silence back to where Travis had left his motorcycle.

"Thanks again for dinner, Travis. I needed that."

"We both did. See you in the morning, and hopefully no more puking on your part. It was a bit gross, just so ya know."

As if he needed reminding. "Sorry about that, I promise to do better tomorrow."

"See that you do." He slung one long leg across the seat of his bike and settled the helmet on his head. With a last wave and the roar of his engine, he left Wes standing in the parking lot, alone with his thoughts.

Wes watched as he drove away, wondering if their child would be reckless and daring like Travis or boring and steadfast like himself. He took comfort in the thought that he might be both. Adventurous tempered with logic and common sense. It was the best he could hope for, he supposed.

With a sigh, he unlocked the car doors and reached for the handle when the baby decided that he, on second thought, did not like Chinese after all, and sent Wes running for the nearest trash receptacle. While he hurled up every last bit of his dinner, he prayed to whatever god was listening that this ended soon. He had thirty-four more weeks to go and if his body insisted on puking eighteen times a day for the next eight months, he was going to commit hari-kari, baby or not.

Women truly were the stronger sex if they managed to bear child after child despite all the horrors he was currently experiencing. He made a mental note to surf the internet for any information he could find on this whole mess, hoping that something might help save his hide before he went completely crazy.