Work Text:
My Partner the Hero
by Allie
The pizza box was thrown away, and the paper plates. Travis’s leather jacket hung neatly, and he wore his pajama bottoms for sleeping, no shirt.
A short time ago, Wes had gone home, waving a casual farewell and saying "See you."
"Yeah, see you partner," Travis had replied, and watched Wes walk away, confident and casual, and, as always looking perfectly groomed in his suit, like he’d stepped out of a men’s clothing catalog or something.
Travis yawned and headed to bed. Today had been good. They’d finished up the last of the case and paperwork, accepted their kudos from the other cops and the FBI (Travis’s kudos really, because he’d solved the case). But Wes had been there for backup when he needed him most. And they were getting along better, after their little apology time and eating together.
Yeah, good times. He crawled into bed and closed his eyes reminiscently. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d go on a date. But something about almost getting killed the day before could take it out of a man, even Travis. Not that he’d ever admit it. If anyone asked, he’d be sure to make up a great story about the wonderful woman he met tonight.
He rubbed the back of his hand on his forehead, grimacing. Bantering with Wes had made the time go better, helped him through that let-down feeling after the euphoria of solving the case.
For some reason, the second night after solving a case was usually the worst. The first day, you were too excited and exhausted to lay awake and remember little things like, oh, guns pointed at your head.
He closed his eyes, and the picture from yesterday flashed in front of him again. Him, still handcuffed, keeping down the dirty prison guard perp. His partner going after the writer perp.
And damn, but his partner had been cool.
Playin’ chicken!
He would never, never tell Wes, but…
That was like something out of an action movie!
Give him his due, Wes hadn’t acted like it was anything special, the way he pulled his car around and headed for hers, head-on. He hadn’t flinched.
Travis cupped his hands behind his neck and grinned towards the ceiling. You did all right, partner.
For a moment, his smile faded. Back in the old days, he would’ve told Wes. He would’ve told him right away just how cool he’d been, not waited twenty-four hours and still not said anything. These days, they never encouraged each other like they used to.
He grimaced at these thoughts. He and Wes were making progress, yeah… but they were nowhere near the level of their early partnership days. He shifted uncomfortably. All he’d done for this case was critique Wes. Tell him what he’d done wrong.
Well, except for Wes’s cooking. Again, Travis winced. He had kinda couched all his compliments about Wes’s cooking inside insults.
Damn, man. But you were cool…
He rolled onto his side and pulled a pillow into his arms. Back when he was a kid, he couldn’t sleep without holding onto a pillow. He wasn’t so bad these days, but once in a while…
He closed his eyes and saw the gun again. Man, he didn’t usually let things like this bother him.
Guns, gunshots, whatever. All part of the job. Except he’d thought he was on his own. No partner backing him up.
Back when he worked with his old partner, he used to get that crawling feeling down his back a lot. He didn’t know if his partner would be there for him or not. Seriously paying attention or not. Ignoring him or playing jokes, or what. Those days had been bad.
He’d never felt that way working with Wes. Well, not till he ran off on his own and told Wes not to bother following.
When Travis saw that gun aimed at his head, it all that flashed through his mind, and he thought: Wes.
He should’ve let Wes come along, even if he didn’t believe Travis’s hunch. Because Wes was always competent. Even if Travis teased him about it, he appreciated Wes’s competence. Well, when he thought about it, he appreciated it. He’d just sort of got used to Wes always having his back, didn’t think about it anymore.
But it wasn’t like that at first. Travis had been so glad to have a partner who listened to him and backed him up. They’d been such buddies at first. He went out of his way to try to draw Wes out, make him laugh. (And you could, in those days. You could make Wes laugh!)
Now all they seemed to see were the flaws in each other. He rolled over onto his back again, releasing the pillow, and scowled at the ceiling. Damn it, I am not doing this. I am not calling my partner at… He glanced at the glowing numbers on his bedside clock. Midnight. I am not calling my partner at midnight.
Travis rolled his eyes, sighed, and reached for his phone.
I am so not calling….
He hit speed dial one.
Okay, but I’m not talking to him.
The number rang on the other end. He imagined Wes, rumpled and grumpy from sleep, scowling and answering with a curt "Yeah?"
I’ll pretend I pocket dialed him. Yeah.
Wes picked up on the third ring. "Hello?" He sounded alert. Awake.
Travis grimaced and rubbed a thumb against his brow. Oh yeah. Wes was probably still driving home. Just because it felt like Travis had been lying awake in bed for hours didn’t mean he actually had been.
"Hey, man," said Travis cautiously.
"Travis, what is it? I’m driving. Do you want me to break the law?"
"You could, um, pull over onto the side of the road." He grimaced. Did he just say that? What happened to pocket dialing?
Wes heaved a huge, put-upon sigh. Travis heard the little ‘bing’ of his turn signal, and grinned in spite of himself. He reached up, rubbed at his mouth, trying to rub the smile off. Because Wes could tell.
"So, um, you parked, man?"
"Yeah, ‘man,’ I’m parked. What is it?"
Travis could feel Wes giving him his full attention, his scary-intense attention, the way he gave to all areas of his life that he thought deserved it. Cleaning his desk. Picking out lunch. Even his partner, when Travis could get his attention…
Oh man, you used to cook for me all the time, didn’t you, partner? You were taking care of me, and I thought it was all Alex!
Even now, with their issues, Wes bought him bagels, making sure he had breakfast every day....
"Well?" Wes was getting that irritated edge to his voice, sharper now.
Travis swallowed. He squeezed the phone in his hand and winced at the squeaking sound it made against his sweaty palm. "Damn, man, you were cool yesterday." He squeezed his eyes shut and blurted the rest of it out. "When you played chicken, you were amazing. Like something out of a movie. I didn’t know you could drive like that. Why don’t you drive like that when I’m riding with you?"
"That’s what this is about?" Wes sounded amused but also flattered. "My driving? I didn’t do anything special. Just my job."
Travis heaved a huge breath, as quietly as he could. "Well, it worked. And it looked cool."
"Thanks."
And then because he couldn’t leave it like that, he rushed on: "And next time you’re going to back me up, be on time!"
He heard a chuckle over the phone. "Sure thing. But only if you’re on time for work!"
"Oh, man, I am always on time! It is always the right time when I arrive!"
Wait… he’d made Wes laugh? Had Wes just laughed? He wanted to rewind the last minute and play that back again. It wasn’t a sound he heard often, and he hadn’t really thought he could make Wes laugh anymore, even a little bit.
Laughter was one of the things he missed most about their earlier partnership, when it was new and they treated each other with a sort of careful respect, and laughed.
"All right, cowboy, go to bed," said Wes, still with that smile in his voice.
‘Cowboy?’ He mouthed the word, decided not to take it up tonight, and answered instead, "Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget my cream cheese tomorrow!"
"You can get your own cream cheese, in your own Travis time. I’m not buying bagels for breakfast tomorrow."
"You’re not?" His fist squeezed at his side, and he heard the ridiculously disappointed sound in his own voice, the same way he’d sounded when his partner hadn’t made any chicken parmesan for him.
As grown up and mature as Travis was (big, bad-ass cop and everything), he kind of had this thing about food. He liked it. A lot. A good meal, or at least plenty of food on hand to reach any time of day or night, made him feel content and happy, and sort of… safe.
He didn’t like thinking about that much, like he was some kind of food addict, and he should star in his own reality show expose: Cops and Comfort Food. But things like Wes trying to get him to do that weird cleanse diet thing recently, or no longer bringing breakfast… well, that didn’t really work for him.
Wes sighed, his put-upon, ‘I’m-always-the-responsible-one’ sigh. "I’ll bring those breakfast sandwiches you like instead."
Travis brightened. "Which, the ones from McDonalds?"
"Yesss," said Wes, dragging out the word like it was forced from him. "But one of these days, you’re going to buy breakfast—and it had better be a good one!"
"Okay, partner. Okay. You just say the word and we’ll go to Denny’s some morning. You can pour all the syrup over your waffles, and fill each and every one of the little squares perfectly."
"I’m hanging up now!"
"Me too. Hey, extra ketchup, okay? And those little salt packets. They never put enough salt on. And how about some some—"
Wes hung up.
Travis put his phone away, grinning. He stretched out on the bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He crossed his ankles at the foot of the bed, and heaved a sigh. Breakfast sandwiches. Mm. Now there was a lot to think about, with breakfast sandwiches…