Author's Note: So. A little longer than I was planning, and after several stumbling attempts, it just sort of took off. For those of you asking, yes, both Travis and Wes get to be badasses in this. However, Wes has to wait a minute. Also, his reaction in therapy is something I've seen people do. Case example, my partner – we had to go to therapy after he was shot, and when someone asked him if he'd told his wife, he reacted the same way as Wes does. Read and review as always! SERIOUS WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Wes brings up a rather horrid memory of his childhood. The story is now going into T and possibly M territory. If child abuse strikes close to home, don't read this.

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And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again

Cause I have other things to fill my time
You take what is yours and I'll take mine
Now let me at the truth
Which will refresh my broken mind

- The Cave, Mumford and Sons

Wes didn't get the option of whether or not he wanted to spend the night in the guest room. Travis was bound and determined to keep an eye on his partner, especially when Wes came damned close to a panic attack twice more at the precinct. The only thing that really seemed to help was divert his attention, and fast. Travis wasn't a fan of the 'causing pain distracts from panic', but he figured out that irritating Wes worked just the same. The hyperventilating would only start if Wes started to think about his parents, so Travis simply didn't allow the possibility.

This idea had its perks.

But at the end of the day, Travis saw his partner balk at the idea of going back to his hotel by himself. He actually walked with Travis all the way out to the parking garage, playing with his keys the whole time. When he got to the Chrysler, he paused, taking a deep breath before turning around. Wes had barely opened his mouth when Travis clapped him on the back, grinning broadly.

"Do I have a deal for you," Travis said, smiling. "I finally managed to clean up the mess you made last time you came to visit. What say we put a couple more dents in the wall? I'm beginning to like the character it gives the place, you know? Makes me think of all the foster homes I grew up in. Besides, you're going to have to give me a ride anyway, my bike insurance ran out."

Wes rolled his eyes. "Of course it did. Because keeping track of simple things like when you insurance is no longer valid doesn't even make it to your radar."

"If it's not exciting, why bother?" Travis said, sliding into the passenger seat.

Fortunately, the night passed with little incident, and if Wes had nightmares, he kept them to himself. They both pretended like there was nothing out of the ordinairy, and they didn't mention it again. There was a lot they didn't talk about.

They didn't speak of Wes's family, or the demand his father placed on him, or even the vague threat that Travis wanted to report to the Captain. But technically, Mr. Mitchell hadn't committed any crime, except violate the restraining order, and if Wes wasn't the one to press charges, there wasn't anything Travis could do. It irritated the crap out of him, and he really, really wanted to talk to Wes about it…but his partner would just ignore him or tell him to drop the subject if it was mentioned.

After five years of being partners, Travis was used to it. And he wasn't really okay with it, but he also knew that the more someone pushed Wes to do something, the more resistance they encountered. But that didn't mean he was going to like it. Or that he had to obey that rule now. Besides, to be perfectly honest…organ stealing horribly abusive parents were a little beyond his realm of expertise.

Until they had to hide the bodies, anyway.

"Look, Wes," Travis began for what felt like the fifth time that afternoon alone. "I'm just saying maybe you should talk to Dr. Ryan about it. She already knows what's going on, she works wonders for us, and I don't even have to be there. You can sign up for like private sessions or something. But you really, really, really need to talk to someone about it. Or you're gonna like…explode."

The two of them were sitting in the car, keeping tabs on a possible witness to a local liquor store robbery. Surveillance was the worst part of robbery/homicide division, and it always made Travis talk more than he should. He kind of wished that just once it would be Wes who started talking, but no…the CIA would be lucky to get info out of Wes if he didn't feel like sharing. Though waterboarding was beginning to sound like a possibility…

Wes rolled his eyes at Travis's predictably dramatic conclusion. "I am not going to explode. And I have been to a therapist. A few of them. I've seen enough of them. And yes, seeing Dr. Ryan for more than just our usual session counts as another one. I'm not talking about it with someone else."

"Can I talk about it then?" Travis asked.

Wes raised an eyebrow. "What could you possibly need to bring this up for?"

"Because it's freaking me out, man!" Travis said, before biting his lip. "You know what, never mind. I'm just gonna shut up now." He grabbed the binoculars from Wes's unresisting grip.

Wes frowned, glancing out the window before back at his partner. Travis was hunched up, shoulders forward and his head pulled down low, almost like a turtle, into his jacket collar. One foot was up on the dash, and since he didn't have shoes on, Wes didn't really care – one of the concessions he'd made thanks to therapy. No shoes on the dash didn't mean no feet. But he seemed…tense. It was such a foreign concept to Wes to see Travis as anything other than goofy and carefree, even when interrogating a suspect or chasing down a gunman. He'd make a game of anything.

Admittedly, he was a little surprised at the wide berth Travis gave the subject of his father or his parents in general. He expected Travis to harp on him to spill his life story to him, because that's how Travis was. He cared, but he wasn't the type to be patient about getting details – which is why he wound up in so much trouble with due process.

"What could possibly be bothering you about this whole thing?" Wes asked. "You're not the one whose dad showed up after fifteen years to try and steal a liver."

Travis ignored him, humming to himself one of his ridiculous chase theme songs.

"Travis, you can't bring this up and then ignore it. What could possibly freak you out in this? It has nothing to do with you!" Wes demanded.

"Because it has to do with you!" Travis blurted out in frustration. "God, Wes, I know we're not the best of friends, but Jesus, we're still partners! And this crap is right out of a goddamn horror movie! Ever since you told me what your dad wanted from you, I've been having all these bizarre nightmares about being strapped to a table and hacked open while the Joker laughs maniacally overhead, and if I'm having nightmares about it, then I know you have to be! You already look like a freakin' zombie from no sleep and honestly, you're beginning to worry me. I'm not saying talk to me about it, I'm just saying talk to someone."

Wes fought the urge to stare open mouthed at his partner, who after his little explosion went right back to staring pointedly out the window, despite the fact that their suspect was nowhere to be seen.

"But why?" he asked. "I mean…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "You're not even a part of it…"

Travis slammed the binoculars down with an audible crack, but he didn't care. "Christ, Wes, did I not just say-" whatever words he was going to say were lost when he saw the look on his partner's face. "You seriously don't know why I care? Why it matters to me?"

Wes felt himself flush scarlet in embarrassment, and turned towards the window. "You don't have to say it like that. I'm not an idiot."

Travis chuckled without humor. "Jeez, they did a number on you. Haven't you ever had a friend who just…cared?" When Wes remained silent, Travis backtracked hastily. "That didn't come out how I meant it…I just meant…God, how do women do this without killing one another?"

Wes raised an eyebrow without saying anything.

"This-" Travis waved a hand between the two of them. "Share feelings and make progress and…all that crap."

"You're the one with the sisters. You tell me," Wes said, one corner of his lip twitching upwards.

"You had a wife!" Travis pointed out.

"And look how that turned out," Wes answered, crossing his arms.

Travis made a "pft" sound, waving his hand at him. "Whatever. You get the point."

Wes was quiet for a moment, and Travis thought he wasn't going to say anything else, but then he sighed. "Does it really…bother you?" he asked.

"What? Your dad?"

Wes nodded.

"Yeah, it does. What bothers me more is that you never said yes or no, which means somewhere in that brilliant mind of yours, you were contemplating saying yes. After all the shit he did to you, you still had a moment where you thought this might be a good idea. And that's why I want you to talk to someone about it." Travis picked the binoculars up again. "By the way, if you do say yes, I'll kill you."

Wes sighed. "Fine. But if I have to talk to someone else about this, I'm making you come, too."

"What? How come I need more therapy?" Travis said, smiling.

Wes felt red start to creep up his neck again, and he desperately wished he'd stop doing that. "Because if I have to talk to someone…I only want to have to say things once."

Travis sobered for a moment. "Yeah. I'll go. Don't worry about it."

"One question though."

"Yeah?"

"Why is it the Joker standing over you?"

"Because in my dreams, I'm Batman. Duh."

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Wes was beginning to regret his decision, but it was too late now. Besides. As much as he was loathed to admit it, Travis might have a point. He wasn't sleeping well at night anymore, and even when he did, he was plagued with nightmares. It was beginning to affect his work to the point that he had Travis doing spellcheck for him, of all things, because he was too tired half the time to tell up from down, never mind 'their' from 'they're'.

He'd actually asked if he could bring it up in the couple's therapy group, which shocked Travis, given how tight lipped he was normally. However, he'd learned through his first bought of therapy that just one on one sessions didn't work for him. He didn't like being the center of attention, he didn't like making eye contact when he could avoid it, and just having someone else there to deflect to worked a lot better. Admittedly, his other group was formed of other abuse cases, but the principle was the same. He hoped.

Except when it came time to actually discuss it, he found himself balking at the idea of having to talk about it. Actually, close to panicking. He kept clenching his hands against the fabric of his pants, trying to breathe normally and was only moderately successful, but he refused to freak out like he did with Travis.

Mind over matter. Right? Right.

"Wes, I want to help," Dr. Ryan said, patiently, soothingly. Somehow, that grated on Wes's already frayed nerves. "We want to help." She gestured around to the other three couples. "I like to think in the past few months we've all come to care about one another. And I know that I specialize in couples therapy and group counseling, but I do have a doctorate in psychology. I want to help you move past this. Who knows? Perhaps it will improve your ability to make a connection with others."

The group nodded their assent, their vague platitudes mildly soothing. Wes looked helplessly over to Travis, who shrugged.

"Personally, I think it'll do you good to talk to someone. But it's your call on the who and when," Travis said. "But keeping it bottled up…that's not healthy."

Wes turned back to the group, studying their faces for any signs of deceit. There was nothing there except the honest desire to help – maybe just to make up for the pushing a few weeks ago that started this epic mess. Of course, this was still pushing, but it was at least to help instead of just making assumptions.

Wes sighed. "Before we start, I'm setting one ground rule, and if you can't agree to it, this isn't happening, agreed?"

Dr. Ryan nodded. "We'll try to abide by it. What are your terms?"

"I don't have to give any details. If I tell you I'm not answering, that's the end of it. But I will…try…to as open as I can."

Travis hit his foot with his shoe, smiling. "If anyone is too shy to ask for his number, ask me after class."

"I will strangle you, Travis, and leave the body where no one can find it," Wes snapped back. There. Everything back to normal.

Dr. Ryan smiled at the chuckling group. "So tell us, Wes. Have you ever spoken about your family to anyone in a counseling group?"

Wes flexed his hands, smoothing the material down where he'd bunched it under his fingers. "Yes. When I was eighteen, I saw a psychiatrist as part of my emancipation hearing."

"Do you feel you benefitted from it?"

Wes cleared his throat, before taking a deep breath. Just think of it like a hearing. "To a point, yes. He at least convinced me that the long arm of my parents didn't extend to everyone. Obviously, I didn't really get past the trust issues…" Wes smirked.

"What made you stop seeing him? You said he helped you to a point. What was that stopping point?"

"I stopped going when he insisted neither of us could move forward in counseling until I forgave my parents and tried to make amends." Wes's voice dropped about ten degrees, and anyone could tell that it was not something he was willing to negotiate with.

"You don't feel that you would benefit from it? Or you don't believe your parents deserve a chance to make amends?" Dr. Ryan asked.

Travis snorted. "They deserve a punch to the throat."

"I don't think that they have a right to ask such a thing," Wes replied. "They never expressed any regret for what they did, so I don't have any for leaving them."

"Have you contacted them at all since you were emancipated?" Peter asked.

"No," Wes said.

"They might have changed..." Peter said carefully. "I had a friend who was emancipated from her parents when she was seventeen. She's not close with her parents now, but they can at least be civil towards each other."

"They haven't changed at all," said Wes.

"Have they contacted you?" Dr. Ryan asked curiously. "You seem awfully sure nothing has changed."

Wes shot a glance over to Travis, who nodded slightly in encouragement. Anyone else would've missed the subtle movement. "Yeah. My father showed up at the precinct the other day, asking for help."

"So he's open to reaching out to you?" Dr. Ryan asked. "That's always a good sign."

"No, he's open to making subtle threats about my non-compliance to help how he wants me to. And no, I will not change my mind. I'm not answering anything further on it," Wes stated, crossing his arms.

"Okay, that's fair," Dr. Ryan said, back pedaling. "You said your father contacted you. What about your mother?"

Wes felt his breathing hitch and his heart skip a beat. "My mom?"

"Yes, Wes. Your mum. Have you had any contact with her?"

"No…" Wes shifted in his chair, suddenly aware that this might be a really bad idea, no matter what Travis thought. Some nightmares were better left alone, no matter how bad they were.

"Do you think she would be more approachable than your father?"

"He already said he wasn't contacting his parents," Mr. Dumont said, and Travis made a mental note to buy that man a beer.

"But mothers always care about their children differently than fathers," Mrs. Dumont pressed, and Travis made a mental note to…do something not nice.

Dr. Ryan was fortunately keeping a better eye on Wes than she did the first time the subject was dredged up, and now she was noting with concern all the signals Wes was sending off. His breathing suddenly sped up, and he'd lost all color he'd had, making the shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep even more enunciated. This wasn't a subject to bring up with the group. It might not be something for him to bring up with her at all.

"Wes, we can talk about something else, if you like," she said gently. "You look like you've had enough for today."

The bewildered look she received confirmed her theory that Wes had wandered off in his own head for a moment as soon as the subject of his mother was brought up.

"But the only thing he's ever said about his parents had to do with his father. Maybe his mother was in the same boat as him and he just didn't see it," Mrs. Dumont said.

Travis was ignoring her, because he remembered his partner telling him that his mother had once struck him hard enough to knock an adult tooth out of his head when he was twelve. He didn't really care if she had been abused, it didn't give her the right to turn around and revisit it upon her son. "Wes, deep breaths, huh? I'll even go for shallow ones right now, but you gotta breathe…"

"Mrs. Dumont, I realize you're trying to help, but I think that's enough for today," Dr. Ryan said sternly.

The older woman looked slightly abashed, but just couldn't seem to accept that not all mothers deserved an award. "But…maybe they could find some common ground…bond…."

At that last word, Wes burst out laughing. Not a humorless chuckle, or a genuine laugh. It was a high-pitched burst of hysterical laughing, and he immediately put his hand to his mouth. But he didn't stop laughing. It was like he couldn't.

"Wes, calm down," Dr. Ryan tried, shooting daggers at Mrs. Dumont who finally found the sense to shut up. "You're fine, Wes. We don't have to discuss anything else, all right? We're done for the day."

Wes didn't stop – he just shook his head, his breathing hitching slightly as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

"Wes? You're freaking people out," Travis said, and was tempted to hit Wes's knee right where the nerve was, just to interrupt the disturbing laughter. It had to be painful, laughing like that, and Wes's arm was holding on to his stomach where there was probably a stitch forming.

"What's so funny?" Rozelle whispered to Clyde, who shrugged.

It was actually Dakota who answered, and her husband looked a little shocked. "Hysterical laughter is a symptom of anxiety. Some people laugh at inappropriate things because it's just how they process their emotions. You shouldn't have kept pushing," she said, scowling at Mrs. Dumont.

"I still don't know what I said to make him laugh…" she said doubtfully.

"He's not laughing because it's funny," Travis said harshly, watching as his partner's face was turning red, and tears were running over his hand. "He told you not chase a subject he didn't want to talk about! Wes! Breathe!" Desperate to get him to stop, he muttered a quick 'sorry' before he grabbed the nerve under Wes's tricep and twisted.

"OW!"

Wes rubbed at his arm, still trying to smother a few stray snickers, but the hysterical laughter was gone, dying out as quickly as it had come on.

"Sorry, man. But I had to try something, and my aim isn't good enough to hit your funny bone," Travis said apologetically. "You okay?"

Wes swiped furiously at his eyes, erasing all evidence of what just happened. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good…"

"I assume you don't want to talk about what just happened," Dr. Ryan said, breathing a mental sigh of relief, but noting she should probably discuss with Travis better ways to bring Wes down than causing pain.

Wes didn't immediately say anything, and Dr. Ryan thought he would keep quiet, but after a moment he spoke. The tone was disturbingly flat, lacking any emotion that was expressed a minute ago, however inappropriate.

"You could say my mother and I already had a bond. Don't be too embarrassed, Mrs. Dumont. Everyone else could see the marks my father left on me. My mother…left much deeper ones, that no one else could see." Wes's blue eyes suddenly found the floor incredibly interesting. "But it was her steps that I was terrified of stopping outside my door late at night, when she knew no one else could hear us."

Travis suddenly wanted to punch Mrs. Dumont for making Wes say what he thought he was about to. He didn't want to hear it. Wes already lived in a nightmare. He didn't deserve…

"Her and her special little boy…"

And Travis felt his heart break.

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Ok, so I fought with this for a while. This is a subject I'm familiar with, but not between a parent and child. My dog and I do a lot of therapy work with former kidnap victims, etc. They tell that dog a lot of horrible things. So this is roughly adapted to make it fit the storyline. What do you guys (and gals) think he means by that? I wonder if I'm being to vague…or too explicit. Let me know if it lives up to your expectations. Taking stories slow is also not something I'm very good at, but I think I might want to make this longer than originally planned…