"A poet never takes notes. You never take notes in a love affair." – Robert Frost
They hadn't intended for it to continue. One and done had always been Travis' motto. Don't let them get under your skin and they can't affect you, right? And then he started sleeping with his partner.
He hadn't expected Wes to get under his skin either. Although what he had said was true – he had wanted a piece of that fine detective's ass for a long time – he had figured once would be enough. Satisfy his curiosity and move on. As luck would have it, that's not quite the way it worked out. For either of them.
Wes was weird for a few weeks after their first tryst, but slowly he settled down and started acting like the old Wes Mitchell – officious and arrogant – right up until Alex hit him with her first ultimatum.
"She said what, exactly?" Travis looked to him for a response and waited.
They had stopped for coffee at Wes' behest that afternoon. It had been raining again and it made Travis' mind wander to things better left in the past. Sitting across from Wes in this deserted diner wasn't helping matters any either. His poor partner must think he was boring him with as much as he had to repeat things today.
He cocked his head, watching Travis intently. "Are you even listening to me, Marks?"
Travis hung his head, feeling guilty. After a furtive look around the empty diner, he reached across the table and took Wes' hand in his. Somehow, he always managed to take hold of his left one, the hand bearing the golden band he refused to take off, no matter how bad things got at home. "I'm sorry, man, but the rain and everything… I can't keep my mind off it."
They both knew what he meant by it. It had been a no-fly zone for them both since the day it had happened. Wes allowed him to hold his hand – on top of the table, in full view, even – after the admission. It was the only way he could let him know he understood. "She's told me I have six months to make a choice. Either I get back with the law firm or we're done. No exceptions."
To Travis he seemed to have tempered his emotions where Alex was concerned. He was resigned to the idea that their marriage was done and he wasn't sure if it had more to do with her laying down the law or just his reluctance to return to it. Whichever was the case, there wasn't any sentimental outburst or desperate pleadings like there had been the first time. Nothing more than the cold, hard facts, a signature of Detective Wesley Mitchell's interrogation technique.
"Ever thought of becoming a public defender?" It wasn't an ideal choice as it would still take Wes away from him, but it fit with Wes' need to see justice done.
He shook his head slowly. "She'd never go for that. They've been holding a place for me at the firm and going back to handling high-dollar clients is the only thing that will make her happy."
"And she doesn't care that it isn't what makes you happy," he added quietly.
"Nope," he replied, watching Travis' thumb run along the curve of his wedding band.
That was the second time Wes cheated on his wife.
They left the diner with to-go cups of steaming hot coffee. Coffee they'd lace with Kahlua once they made it back to Travis' place. Safely entrenched in the security of his trailer, they could be and do whatever worked best for them, the rest of the world be damned.
The alcohol eased his conscience, it was the only reason he allowed his partner to pour a measure into his coffee that afternoon. This new relationship between them frightened him significantly less than what would happen should Alex ever discover their secret. He had stopped caring about her feelings, but his reputation was still on the line and that meant something.
Not to mention that he and Travis would be separated if they were discovered and, even though he refused to even contemplate that outcome, it was lodged in his brain's worry center.
Only by leaning into his partner's touch could he escape the cacophony of whispering voices. His father's reminding him what a disappointment he'd been. His own asserting what a lousy lawyer he'd turned out to be. His temporary wife's demanding he change or lose her forever.
Travis' hand on his face, his lips on his neck, melted all those nagging ghosts into the background. Marks' mere presence in his life steadied him, made him more grounded, secure. He looked away from Travis when these thoughts occurred to him. While he was easily able to think them, he'd never be able to admit to them aloud. And never, ever could he in Travis' company.
The physical love they shared went far beyond a simple act of pleasure. Travis used these stolen moments to remind himself – and his partner – that Wes was a real person, one who thought and felt and hurt. Things that Wes couldn't ever show outside of that quiet spot in his makeshift bedroom. From Travis' pillow, Wes could admit to all these things – and more. Wanting a small house with a large yard, an herb garden, and a swing set in one corner. The desire for a dog, or maybe, someday, children. All the things he'd planned and hoped for and found crushed to dust beneath his epic mistake.
Travis gathered all this bits and pieces of his friend's admissions and stored them away for those long, lonely nights when it was him and the empty room. He'd take them out and sort them, matching like with like, trying to puzzle together a more intimate portrait of the man that was Wesley Mitchell. Wes, the human, the person, not the detective or the ex-lawyer. Just Wes.
He had to admit, he liked all these tidbits of information he was sharing with him. Pillow talk, it was called, and now he understood why. Travis could cuddle this pillow next to his partner and talk the night away. Or be happy just listening.
He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep until his phone woke him. Alone in Travis' bed, Wes answered his phone, praying to whomever was listening that Alex bought his lies just one more time.
"Alex," he sighed.
"Wes," she said, suspicion lacing her voice, "where are you? Usually you call when you're going to be late."
He frowned at the ceiling, inwardly cursing himself for having let Travis' warm body seduce him again. "I know, honey, and I'm sorry. Travis –."
"Travis," she said, disbelieving. "You're going to blame this on Travis now?"
The sound of scuffling feet caused him to shift his gaze back towards earth. Wes looked down and met Travis' curious gaze, mouthing one word – Alex – that explained it all. "No, I'm not blaming Travis, Alex, we were following a lead and got caught up in it." He cringed at the flimsiness of his excuse, knowing that a lawyer as sharp as his wife would see right through it.
"You swear you're with Travis," Alex queried. And then, more softly, "You're not having an – an affair?"
That she suspected hit Wes in the gut like an iron pipe. "I swear, I'm with Travis, Alex. Why would you think that I was having," here the word stuck in his throat. "What makes you believe I'd ever do that to you?"
Travis lifted a curious eyebrow, but remained silent.
"You want to talk to Travis? He's right here?" Wes looked in his direction, begging his partner with his eyes for any help he could give.
"Heeeey, Alex," Travis called in Wes' direction. "I'll get him home soon, I promise."
Thank you, he mouthed, receiving a playful wink in return. Wes watched Travis leave the bedside and depart for parts unknown, although the kitchen was most likely. Alex was speaking again, but he wasn't hearing her, the idea she'd picked up on their affair sitting at the forefront of his mental list of things to freak out about later.
"Look, Wes," she was saying now, "I know you'd never do anything so pedestrian as cheat, but you have to admit, you've been acting oddly lately. Furtive almost."
He had to wonder if she was buying those word-a-day calendars again. "I'm sorry, Alex. This case has me stymied and we're at a loss for answers. I'll do better."
Wes figured even Travis could have heard the sigh if he'd still been in the room. "Wes, the only way you can do better is by giving up this idiotic pursuit of yours. Come back to the firm and get back to your life. Our life. What happened wasn't your fault and we both know it."
There wasn't anything he could say to that. He may have not been fully at fault, but he did fail and an innocent man went to jail because of it. Instead of telling her all this, she was quite well versed in his opinion on this matter, he simply told her he'd be home in an hour.
"So, I guess that means no dessert for us," Travis chirped from the kitchen.
"You heard that?" Wes rubbed his fingers against his eyes, attempting to erase the last few minutes from his memory.
"Look around you, man, how could I not?" Travis shuffled into the area that sufficed as a bedroom and sat by his partner's side. "You want to talk about it?"
He shook his head and then blurted, "She thinks I'm having an affair."
The smile on Travis' face fell. He had refused to think of what they had between them as an affair. Affairs were tawdry and cheap and illicit and this – this wasn't any of that. This, it was right. Perfect. And, he had to admit, so very, very wrong.
On the other hand, he'd grown so much closer to Wes over the days since their first hook up that he couldn't deny it had been good for him. For them both. Wes had loosened up, opened up even. He was volunteering things he'd have normally kept under wraps, thinking outside his normal constraints. Travis, well, he knew he'd matured a bit as well. Started owning up to his mistakes, even if it was only the little ones for now. They'd become better partners, something akin to friends almost. So, in what realm of understanding was any of this wrong?
In that realm where Wes was still married, a voice inside him reminded. Travis pointedly ignored that stupid ass voice. What did it know anyway?
"Why does she think you're having an affair?" He reached for Wes' hand, but it was snatched out of his reach before he could grasp those delicate fingers.
"Apparently it's obvious, Marks," Wes snarled, pain and fear mixing in those blue depths he called eyes. "I have to go."
The 'if I want to save my marriage' was left unspoken, even though they both knew there wasn't anything left worth saving. Travis knew better than to say as much, however.
Lashing out at Travis would solve nothing, but hadn't been able to stop the words from stampeding out of his reckless mouth. Instead of apologizing like a rational person, he stormed out of Travis' trailer, leaving him alone on the edge of the bed. A piece of Wes broke off and stayed in that room with this man who had become more than just another detective he'd been assigned to work with. It was a delicate piece and he left it lying at Travis Marks' feet.
Not quite three quarters of the way back to his frigid home did Wes realize that this was the beginning of the end. He wasn't sure how he knew that it was all about to hit the fan, just that it undoubtedly was time that it all fell the hell apart. All he could think was bring it on.