A/N: I'm probably going to fail my exam tomorrow morning, but a reviewer made a suggestion/request, and who am I to ignore such wonderful inspiration? Thank you to that reviewer, and to anyone else who has taken the time to review my other stories. You guys ROCK. I'm working on another piece, but it's a bit longer and school/work/my minimal social life keep getting in the way. But I'm pretty excited about it, it's going to be a fun one. Best case scenario, I'll finish it this weekend. Worst case, I forget all about it and find it a year from now amongst files and files of mad FanFiction nonsense.

I'm bascially sleep deprived, because I'm an idiot who can't seem to prioritize, so I apologize if this one is a little out of character or there are horrifying mistakes.

It's different from my other stuff, a little more serious perhaps. Wes whump abounds, as always. No slash, as always. Bromance, as always. Characters don't belong to me, as always.

I know what you're thinking: God, does she ever shut up?

No, not really.

Enjoy.

It was almost 9:00. Wes was never this late. Travis glanced at the clock again, just to be sure he had read it right.

Yep, 8:52.

Wes was very, very late.

Travis stood from his desk and sauntered into the captain's office. He knocked on the doorframe before leaning inside.

"Hey cap, you heard from Wes?" he asked casually.

Captain Sutton looked up from his paperwork and studied Travis over the top of his reading glasses.

"No," he said slowly, "why?" Travis cursed internally.

"It's probably nothing," he said. Captain Sutton narrowed his eyes. Travis stepped into the office and tried to make casual gestures to downplay his inner concern. "He's late, even by my standards, and not picking up his cell." The captain's eyes widened slightly and he leaned back in his chair, evaluating.

"Go by his place," he said.

Travis parked his motorcycle across the street from Wes's hotel and made his way to the bank of elevators inside.

He tried to calm his mind as he approached Wes's door. He told himself his partner had most likely just overslept, or his alarm had shorted out and that a very cranky and slightly embarrassed Wes Mitchell would greet him when he knocked.

He rapped his knuckles on the door and waited, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans and smiling politely at a couple that passed him in the hallway.

He knocked again with the same results.

"Wes?" he shouted through the door, knocking a little harder this time.

Still nothing.

He glanced up and down the hallway before reaching for his wallet. Unbeknownst to Wes, he'd finagled himself a copy of his room key from a pretty front desk attendant a few weeks back. Mostly he'd planned to use it to mess with Wes in some way, but it came in handy in the rare situation he was facing now.

He slipped into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Wes? Man you better have a real good excuse for making me break into your place," he called. There were no lights on that Travis could see, and the blinds appeared to be drawn. He stepped further into the room. "Wes?"

Something crashed to Travis's left, and he instinctively drew his gun turning quickly to address the threat.

To his surprise, he found himself pointing his gun at his partner, who in an attempt to pull himself off the floor had knocked over his bedside table and sent a lamp crashing to the floor.

Travis holstered his weapon and ran over to his partner.

"Wes, what the hell?" he grabbed his partner under the arms and hefted him into a sitting position on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed. Travis kneeled on Wes's left side, avoiding his partner's outstretched legs. Wes reeked of alcohol, and was barely keeping his eyes open.

His partner let out a depressing laugh, his head flopping back to rest against the side of his mattress.

"Heeeeyy Travis," he slurred, laughing again.

Travis was well and truly concerned now.

"Wes, what the hell is the matter with you? It's 9am and you're drunk off your ass?" Wes tilted toward him, and Travis quickly caught his partner's shoulder before he could hit the ground, righting him.

Wes couldn't seem to stop laughing, his eyes glazed in a far away stare.

"Just didn't feel like being conscious today," he grinned at Travis, finally turning to face him. Travis noticed blood was running from a cut over Wes's right eyebrow. He must have hit his head in his failed attempt to leave the floor. Wes laughed again, head lolling to the side. The laughing was really starting to freak Travis out.

"Alright, let's get you cleaned up," Travis said, patting Wes on the shoulder. Wes shook his head, nearly toppling over again.

"Nope, nope, I'm fine," he said, attempting to push Travis's hand off him, and whacking his partner in the face instead.

"Uh huh, sure," he said. "Come on buddy, up," he lifted Wes under the arms, his partner didn't help lift himself and Travis was shocked by how heavy such a skinny looking man could be.

He hefted Wes across the room, dragging his partner's feet along the floor, to an armchair. Wes was still dressed in his pajamas, a dark gray t-shirt and black sweats. He didn't look like he'd done much sleeping though, there were dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked the same as it had the day before.

Knowledge hit Travis like a freight train.

The day before was the 5th. Which meant today was the 6th. Which meant-

"Shit," Travis said softly, stepping back from his partner's slumped form. "It's your anniversary."

Wes's head rolled back, as he was unable to hold it steady. Travis caught the devastated look all the same.

"I'm just fine," Wes said, but his deep voice was thick with emotion.

Travis didn't know what to do. His partner was drunker than Travis had ever seen him. He hesitated, standing awkwardly and staring at Wes, who was petting the arm of the chair.

"Shit," Travis said again under his breath. He looked around the room. There was a small coffee maker in the tiny kitchenette wannabe to his right. He glanced at his partner: eyes barely open, sprawled across the chair, legs stretched out into the room. His cheeks were flushed bright red, making Travis feel like he was taking care of a fifteen year old who'd just happened upon his father's liquor cabinet. Travis shook his head and made for the coffee maker. He set a strong pot brewing before rummaging through Wes's cabinets in search of a first aid kit.

Finding one in the bathroom cabinet, he made his way over to his partner, the scent of fresh coffee making its way through the room.

Wes had his head resting on the back of the chair and was staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey Wes, buddy can you look at me?" Travis said, gently tapping his partner's knee as he pulled the chair's footstool over and sat in front of Wes.

Wes rolled his head forward and managed to hold it a little steadier this time. Travis took this as a good sign.

"What?" Wes slurred, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"You hit your head, I need to patch it up," Travis explained, opening the first aid kit on his lap and selecting an antiseptic wipe and a set of small butterfly bandages before placing the kit on the floor.

He looked up to see tears had formed in his partner's eyes.

"I miss her Travis," he said so softly Travis almost couldn't make out the words. Travis sat still, frozen in his partner's sad gaze. "She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I blew it." He shook his head and sniffed, wiping clumsily at his eyes.

Travis sighed.

"You didn't blow it Wes," he said, opening the antiseptic wipe and carefully cleaning his partner's head wound. Wes didn't even flinch. "You did what you had to do. Stuff happens." He had no idea what to say. Wes had never fully explained what happened between Alex and him, and Travis knew better than to bring it up.

Wes just stared at him, eyes more fully open now. Travis avoided his gaze by focusing intently on applying three butterfly bandages to the gash above Wes's eyebrow.

"I shouldn't have done it," he looked down at his lap. Travis's heart skipped a beat. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious what had gone on between Wes and his ex. He'd always had a feeling that, despite the front Wes put on, that divorce hadn't been his idea. He didn't say anything; doing so would be taking advantage of Wes's inebriated state. Wes continued anyway. "I never should have become a cop." That surprised Travis, and he couldn't stop the words spilling out.

"That's why she left you? I always just figured she got tired of your personality," he joked as he collected the wrappers of the medical supplies.

Wes chuckled ruefully, head falling back against the chair again. Travis stood up, grinning at his partner.

"Coffee's ready," he said, grabbing two mugs from the counter and filling them with the steaming brew. He took up his spot on the footstool again, carefully handing his partner one of the mugs. Wes appeared to be sobering up just by Travis's unusual presence in his home, as he held the mug with steady hands. Travis studied his partner with a watchful eye as he sipped his coffee. He set his mug on the floor suddenly and stood up. Wes watched him go with confusion on his face.

Travis reappeared with a large glass of water and two small white pills.

"On second thought, you're probably going to need aspirin more than coffee," he explained, dropping the pills in Wes's hand and exchanging the coffee mug for the water glass. Wes blinked at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Travis," he said slowly, holding the pills and water in his hands. "What are you doing here?" Travis stood staring at Wes, unsure how to answer.

"You didn't show up for work," he finally stated. There, that was safe. Wes's eyes narrowed.

"I know that's why you came here," Wes responded, not taking his eyes off Travis. "Why are you still here? You could have just dumped me in bed and left. You could have just left once you knew I was alive," he said. Travis rubbed the back of his neck and avoided his partner's gaze. Damn, he sobered up quick when he wanted to, Travis thought to himself. Finally he dropped back onto the footstool with a sigh.

"Fine, I was worried, alright?" Wes's expression changed very slightly, curiosity and, was that a little bit of smugness? Travis ran a hand over his face. "You seemed about one drink away from alcohol poisoning, and if you died I'd have to get a new partner who I'm sure wouldn't be nearly as entertaining to annoy," he said, gently nudging Wes's knee with his own.

Wes wasn't buying it.

"Guilt," he said finally.

Travis dropped the fake smile from his face, standing up.

"This is why you lost Alex Wes, you drive people away that are trying to care about you," Travis's words came out deadly quiet. "Sleep it off," he tossed over his shoulder as he stalked toward the door.

Wes sat stunned for half a second. Then he stormed after Travis, grabbing his arm and spinning him so they were face to face.

"You don't know anything about me," he said, his voice deadlier than Travis's, face inches from Travis's. Travis ripped his arm from Wes's grasp.

"Who's fault is that, huh Wes? You don't let anybody get close to you! Nobody knows what you're thinking or feeling, and eventually we're all just going to give up. Like Alex did."

Travis's head snapped to the side as Wes's fist connected with his face. Travis reacted before he thought, landing a vicious punch to Wes's stomach, and as he doubled over Travis hit him across the face, knocking him to the floor.

Travis blinked the anger from his eyes, breathing hard. He stared at his partner, sprawled on his back on the floor looking dazed.

"Shit, Wes, I-"

"You should go," Wes breathed, pain lacing his words. Travis had half a mind to do just that when he remembered something Dr. Ryan had said.

Critical people are trying to keep the world at arm's length... They don't think they deserve the affection of others…

Travis looked up at the ceiling. He could feel blood running from his lower lip and absently wiped it away. He looked down at Wes, who had closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry Wes."

He leaned down as Wes's eyes sprang open, reaching a hand out to his partner. Wes eyed him warily for a beat, considering his words, before accepting the offered hand and allowing Travis to haul him to his feet. Travis could see a bruise forming on Wes's cheek, and he held his midsection protectively. Travis helped him back to the armchair, and retrieved the water glass and aspirin from the floor. This time Wes immediately downed the pills and the entire glass of water.

Wes looked at Travis, who was still standing, looking unsure. He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry too," he said finally. He stared at his bare feet. "I'm kind of a mess today," he said to the floor. Travis laughed out loud at that.

"Yeah, just a little," he agreed, taking a seat back on the footstool. Wes's hand brushed against the bandages on his forehead as he went to run a hand through his hair. He looked up at Travis as he fingered the bandages.

"Thanks," he said, his deep voice had just a little smile in it this time.

"You must still be drunk, you just apologized and thanked me in the span of five minutes," Travis said with a mock serious look on his face. "I think you need more coffee."

"Yeah, but not this crap you made," Wes said gesturing to the mug on the floor. "Who taught you how to make coffee? A caveman?"