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Casey tightens his grip on Carter's hand, the two of them trembling. He steps away from Travis and presses harder against his best friend. Casey winds an arm around his waist, trapping him there.
"Put the boy down," someone barks. "Or this ends bloody."
"I rather like blood," the man says with a creepy fucking grin. His accent is, surprisingly, American. He presses his gun harder against Elliot's head. Elliot doesn't even react, his blinks slow and his body loose.
"We know the boy was bought and used by Borris Pasternak. He's not yours. You're just a grunt." Whoever is speaking now is calmer than the others. Probably skilled in negotiating for hostages. At least, Carter fucking hopes. "You can walk away from this with a slap on the wrist. Just give us the boy."
The guy scoffs and shifts his body to the left. "We both know-" but whatever they both know never gets said because someone shoots the man in the center of his forehead. He falls back, the gun and Elliot both tumbling from his hands. The gun goes off when it hits the ground, but Carter can't see if it shoots anyone.
A woman is now cradling Elliot while a man wraps a blanket around him. Elliot makes a soft strangled sort of sound as he's moved around. Someone tells him, "You're safe now. You're okay. We're going to bring you to your mom."
"I don't like that game," the boy slurs, his eyes falling shut. A tear falls down his cheek. "C-can we play a different one?"
Carter's heart shatters. His knees give out. Either Casey's do too, or Carter falling brings him down. Either way, they end up on the floor together, sobbing in relief and grief. Elliot still has a long way to go - they both know that from their own experience. But he's safe now. They finally fucking saved him.
"Carter," Travis says at some point, his hand gentle on Carter's shoulder. "Sweetheart."
Carter wipes at his face and turns to look at the man he loves. The man who saved him, and Casey, and now Elliot.
Travis's hand is outstretched, offering him something.
It’s a picture of Elliot. He looks so fucking young, wearing a pair of jeans, a button-down shirt, and a terribly tied tie. His hair is a mess, his smile unbelievably wide as he holds up a trophy for the camera. A science fair banner is in the background. 8th grade. A woman with kind eyes and a warm smile stands beside him with an arm around his shoulders. They look a lot alike.
Carter’s eyes fill with fresh tears as he carefully accepts the gift and pushes to his feet.
He already knows what he’s meant to do with it. He was just studying the boards on display for all of the survivors they’ve recovered. Boards that Elliot now belongs to.
Ace approaches him with a careful smile, handing him a thumbtack.
“Thanks,” Carter whispers. Then he leaves both men behind and heads to the corkboard with the survivors from Travis’s own files. It feels right to put Elliot there, even if he technically wasn’t connected to Travis in the same way as the others.
"Casey?" He turns to his friend, realizing he needs to be a part of this. "Want to help?"
Casey goes straight to him. He smiles when Carter hands him the thumbtack, the two of them locking eyes for a second as they take the moment in before turning their focus back to the board.
With shaking hands, Carter puts Elliot’s picture between the photograph of Jonathan Queen and a photo of a young girl in a sundress. Elliot’s smile is fucking brilliant. Carter matches it with one of his own, despite the fat tears falling down his cheeks. Casey is wearing one too as he pushes the tack through the photo to keep it in place.
"Bad guys lose in the end," Casey whispers. The words are an echo from the cage when Carter had first met him and Elliot. Elliot wouldn't stop crying, but Casey had soothed him. "They always fucking lose in the end. You just have to wait long enough."
"We win," Carter adds as he takes Casey's hand in his. Casey squeezes his hand tight, like he's terrified of letting go. "We fucking win."
Chapter Twenty
News about Elliot's rescue travels fast through the house. Despite none of the other survivors having known him, his case had been mentioned enough for them to have gotten attached. That's why by the time Carter and Casey leave Ace's office, there's a celebration going on in the living room - complete with snacks and booze.
Nolan offers them each what he calls a tequila shot, but is really tequila poured into small coffee mugs. It takes three gulps before they manage to get the 'shots' down, but neither boy complains. Carter is so fucking happy, he doesn't even bother to ask for a lime to suck on.
For a while, Carter loses track of things - how much he drinks, where Travis is, the filter on his tongue. He tells Nolan he should totally fuck Maison. He tells Bryce he has a nice ass. He tells Casey his daddy is totally checking him out. He doesn't tell Matt anything because Matt is gone, but he tells anyone that will listen that he thinks Matt is the coolest. He also yells across the room at Ace that his soy candles are the best for hot sex - pun intended.
Then he catches sight of his boyfriend and forgets anything else exists.
Travis looks like sex on a fucking stick, his cheeks flushed, his hair sweaty and disheveled. His movements are loose as he talks and laughs with his friends, his big, strong, capable hands cradling a bottle of beer like he often holds Carter's face or hips or cock.
When Carter approaches him, his brown eyes are bright with joy. Until he realizes where exactly he's looking, his gaze narrowing on Carter, and then they're… well, still full joy, but… softer.
Love.
That's what it is, Carter realizes through his tequila fog. Travis is looking at him with love.
