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"Why? What changed?"
"He became fucking suicidal, okay?" Travis snaps. He runs a hand through his hair, scraping his nails against his scalp. "I couldn't let him - he had to know I was going to save him in the end."
Dr. Singh sits back in his chair, looking at Travis like he's assessing him. Then he says, very casually, like it's fucking nothing, "You fell in love with him."
Travis just locks his jaw and glares at the man.
"Did he love you back?" Dr. Singh asks softly.
"I don't want to talk about Carter," he says again.
Dr. Singh watches him for an excruciatingly long moment before nodding and making a note. Then he asks, "Are you happy you survived your operation, Travis?"
Travis huffs. "What the fuck kind of question is that?"
"An important one."
"Obviously I'm happy I'm alive."
"It's not obvious. Many operatives find themselves disillusioned when they survive their operation. They often find peace in the thought of death at the end of it all. When faced with their sudden survival, when faced with a future, many of them struggle."
Travis looks back at the painting, remembering the desperation in Carter’s eyes when he all but ordered Travis to survive the operation’s endgame. The determination in his voice when he all but ordered Travis to make it out alive. Such a tough, adorable little shit. Travis’s lips twitch, fondness warming his chest.
Dr. Singh notices it. "What did you just think of, Travis?"
Travis gives the same answer as the last time he was asked the question. "It's not important."
"Carter isn't important?"
Travis flinches, looking back at the doctor. "How do you know it was about Carter?"
"I didn't. But I had a hunch." And Travis confirmed it. Shit. "Is he the reason you're happy you survived?"
"He-" Travis stops himself. This man doesn't deserve to know the details of what they had. He doesn't even deserve to know about Carter being suicidal. Carter will be pissed if he finds out Travis told someone - told the fucking therapist of all people - that. "I'm not going to say this again - I don't want to talk about Carter."
"But he seems to be wrapped up in so much."
"No Carter," Travis all but growls. "Or this is over."
Dr. Singh frowns at him, but he doesn't wait long before nodding and sitting back in his chair. "Then let's go back to before Carter. Back to the beginning. Tell me about your first day as Nathan Roarke."
Carter waits in his room for hours. He skips lunch and dinner - because he promised to eat well if Dr. Deacon didn’t make him do the blood draw, and the doctor made him do the blood draw anyway, so…
Despite not having a clock or a phone, he knows when it’s nighttime because of the window in his room. He can also tell because the house starts to settle and go quiet.
But Travis never shows.
He tries to distract himself doing the stretches that Dr. Deacon had shown him for his shoulder, working the muscle after with his fingers to massage it like the doctor recommended. He has a mild pain killer and muscle relaxant he can take at bedtime to help him sleep through the pain, but he doesn’t want to take them yet. Not before he sees Travis. Not until he can grill him on secret injections and demand information on his wounded side and maybe figure out how to squeeze another one last time out of the whole ordeal.
Travis still doesn’t show.
Eventually, Carter tugs on sweatpants and a sweatshirt and sneaks his way out of his room and through the house. Nolan and Maison are actually in the living room, engaged in a conversation that has them turned to face each other on the couch, knees touching, heads bent close. Carter lets himself pause for just a second to consider how strange that is before hurrying off to Travis’s room.
He considers knocking, but then decides to just let himself in.
Travis is lounging against his pillows wearing nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs. A manilla folder rests on his bare stomach, one of his hands holding a piece of paper up so he can read it. The only light in the room is the soft glow coming from the bedside lamp. It makes one side of his hair look golden and angelic. When he registers the noise of Carter’s entrance, he lowers the paper and smiles softly at him. “Hey you.”
“Hey.” Carter closes the door behind himself, nibbling on his bottom lip. “You never came to my room…”
