18. Chapter Eighteen #2
“Trav?” I ask, keeping my voice low and soothing.
I shove back the waves of exhaustion washing over me.
I know how to do this. I don’t care how tired I am, my body can do this on autopilot.
How many times have I talked Keaton off the ledge?
I may not know what happened or what’s going through his head, but I know how to bring it to a halt.
“You’re safe, Travis. You’re okay. We’re just friends here, yeah?
You’re at the safehouse. You’re safe. I’m Ace, and Maison and Jake and Deacon and Doc Singh are here.
Carter is here. Casey and Matt and Nolan and Bryce are here.
Everybody is safe. You’re safe. Can you repeat that for me, man?
Where are you, Travis? What is this place? ”
He blinks a few times before his eyes focus on me. His hand wavers closer to his weapon before he lets it fall limp at his side.
“At the safehouse,” he croaks. “Safe.”
“Yeah, man. Exactly. Shake it off, alright? Whatever’s stuck on you, just shake it off. It doesn’t get to follow you here. Tell it to go the fuck away. You are Travis, you are safe, and none of it can get you here.”
He nods, moving his shoulders like he’s trying to physically shrug the weight off of himself. “Yeah. Yes. Can’t - can’t get me here.”
“That’s right. You’re safe, man. It’s all good. Mission is over, yeah?”
“Yeah. Over.” His eyes are fixed somewhere over my shoulder, darting back and forth like he’s analyzing a puzzle. It’s just a wall behind me. Whatever he’s figuring out, it’s in his head. I know he’s figured it out when he brings his gaze back to me, locking our eyes. “I need to see Carter.”
“Oh, well, now,” I say, mostly to buy myself time. If it came to the two of us, I'm fully aware Travis would win the battle. Not that I think Travis would fight me physically. Not if he was in his right mind. It’s just… I’m not entirely convinced he’s in that right mind at the moment.
“Please?” He looks at me, eyes wide, pleading.
He looks like he’s in pain. Like he just survived something catastrophic and he’s begging me to help him.
“I have to see Carter. I have to. Is Maison awake? Don’t wake him.
Please, Ace, if he’s not awake, don’t wake him up.
Not yet. Just let me go. Give - give me an hour, yeah?
Or two? Give me two hours. If he’s sleeping, I’ll leave him be.
I just have to see him. You know? I need to see him.
One last time. Please? I kept him and I can’t and I have to see him.
Please let me see him one last time, Ace. I gotta see him.”
There are things we should do right now. He needs to decompress, talk out the mission, get down any details before things get muddled. He needs to eat. He definitely needs to shower. Then he needs rest.
I need some fucking rest.
But he’s telling me he needs Carter more than any of that, and I’m not going to be the one to tell him he’s wrong.
Partly because it’s not my place. Mostly because I’m not sure if he’s wrong at all.
I think the one thing that might be able to stop him from completely unraveling is the blue-eyed boy down the hall.
“Go ahead,” I tell him. Then, realizing something, “Wait. Your gun - is it hot?”
He startles, his hand moving toward his holster. An operative should always know if their weapon is ready to be fired or not. It sets me on edge that he hesitates. The feeling is only made worse when he actually has to remove the gun and check it before he can promise, “It’s safe.”
“Good. Keep it that way. Come find me if you need anything. Go see your boy.”
“He's not mine,” he says almost defensively.
If I wasn't so tired, I'd probably laugh. The sound that comes out of me is a heavy sigh instead. “Yeah, okay.”
He hesitates before just walking away with a shake of his head. I think I hear him mumble something like kept him, but decide it's not my business. Not tonight, at least. I'll check on him tomorrow.
I'm halfway to the stairs when I decide to double-back to the living room. There's an oversized throw blanket that usually hangs out on the arm of one of the chairs or along the back of the couch. It's slightly heavier than a usual throw, soft and warm. I grab it, just in case.
I enter my office quietly, knowing Matt is inside by the fact that both locks were engaged.
He's lying on the couch, head on the throw pillow and legs curled a little more than necessary.
His blue bunny is out of his hiding spot, tucked safely under Matt's chin instead.
I can't stop the smile that appears at the sight. I wouldn't want to even if I could.
“I grabbed a blanket,” I tell him when he blinks his sleepy eyes open to look at me. “Do you want it?”
He nods, adjusting half-heartedly like he's considering getting up. “It's alright, just stay comfortable.”
He listens, relaxing back into the couch and remaining that way even as I hover over him to drape the blanket across his body.
He does a little shimmy beneath it once it's settled, like he's trying to burrow.
I gently tug the top up until it's curled around his shoulder, brushing lightly against his jaw.
He sighs, soft and sleepy, and clumsily brings a hand to his chin to thank me.
“No problem. Just throw something if you need me. Uh-” I pause, looking around for something he can throw since he’s currently using his pillow and I’m not sure where his notebook ended up.
I’d hate for him to have to resort to his bunny.
Even if the little guy has bad taste in music, he doesn’t deserve to be yeeted across my office.
I head back to my desk, opening the second drawer on the right and digging around until I find one of those toys Adam bought me when he moved in.
Fidgets, he called them. He said they’re something I desperately needed as a teenager and am lucky enough to have as an adult.
I’m supposed to play with them when I’m feeling anxious or can’t concentrate. I forgot about them until now.
The softest thing is sort of like a stressball but filled with jelly instead of foam.
I feel like it wouldn’t hurt too much if it was lobbed at me or my computer, so I bring it over to Matt and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“There. Go ahead and throw that at me if you need something, alright?”
He glances at it before just closing his eyes and visibly relaxing into the couch.
I barely catch myself from reaching out to run a hand through his hair.
The urge came out of nowhere - or… everywhere, maybe.
I clench my hands into fists, forcing myself to back away to my desk before I get any other sleep-addled, crazy fucking ideas.
Then I force my gaze away, too. Just to be safe.
I check my phone for the first time in a little too long, wincing when I see the missed calls and texts from Keaton.
He’s not pissed yet, just worried, so I hurry to text him back and let him know that I’m not alone and won’t be for a while, but I’ll call him when I can.
The single emoji he sends back is grumpy, but resigned. I’ll take that in a heartbeat.
I crack open another energy drink as I finish entering information into Mica’s file before closing it out and submitting it to the database as completed.
Matt is still sleeping peacefully on the couch, not having moved an inch as far as I can tell.
I reward myself with a few minutes of just sitting back and relaxing, taking sips of my drink and letting my eyes wander to Matt over and over again, no matter how many times I drag them away.
He looks so unbelievably peaceful.
Safe.
Maybe I let myself sit a little longer than just a few minutes appreciating that, but it’s not like it’s hurting anyone, right?
When I catch sight of Nolan on the security feed, awake and sneaking out of Maison’s bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen, I force myself to stop being lazy and head down to talk to him. He’s likely my best chance to keep the peace in the house today, with Travis back and already with Carter.
Maybe that’s not fair to put on him, but it’s not like I’ll come out and say it. I won’t even imply it. I’ll just give him the information and let whatever happens happen. He’s a smart man. If he cares about Maison like I think he does, he’ll take things from there.
Then again, if Maison is as stubborn as I think he is, there might be no hope, regardless of what the two men are starting to feel for each other.
I decide to stick around after I’ve given Nolan the warning that Mica is dead and Travis came back upset before going to Carter’s room to see him - and not coming back out of his room, as of now.
He’s clearly nervous about the news, deep in thought as he makes a small plate of food and asks if there’s a paper and pen around so he can write a note.
It’s not my finest moment when I let myself be nosey and peek over his shoulder to see that it’s a note about eating and seeing the doctor ASAP.
It isn’t until he’s headed upstairs with the note, food, and a bottle of juice all balanced on a baking sheet he’s using like a tray that I realize it might not be a note for Maison.
It might be for Matt.
Does Matt need to see the doctor? Should I go wake him up? Should I let Nolan know where he is?
He comes down just a minute later, though, no tray in hand.
Considering he doesn't look worried, even giving me a gentle smile as he passes by toward the sliding glass door that leads outside, it must have been for Maison after all.
There's no way he'd be this calm if he couldn't find Matt - unless Matt left the office while I was down here?
But then that would mean Matt really is the one that needs to see the doctor.
But… for what? Why? His speech? His diet? Is he malnourished? Is he making himself sick? Is he already sick and that's what's making it hard for him to eat? Could I help? Should I do something?