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His legs wobble as he pushes to his feet. He stumbles a step or two, then catches himself against the wall. He leans there for a few seconds as he works hard to breathe. When he thinks he’s got it together again, he slowly moves toward the door. He makes it there.
Then he realizes he’s in nothing but underwear.
With a frustrated sigh, he forces himself to backtrack until he’s found a pair of sweatpants and a sweater. He’s exhausted enough to consider turning back to bed and trying to sleep again. It’s been… days since he slept well. Turns out, with Travis not in his bed, Carter can’t get any rest. Nightmares plague him when he doesn’t have that man by his side.
Real funny, universe. Real fucking funny.
Equipped in sweatpants, a sweater, and a whole lot of anger - at the universe and himself - Carter heads to the kitchen. He’s decided against water. It’s definitely a tequila kind of night.
Carter stops short when he sees someone standing in the kitchen, heart lurching up into his throat. The man is tall and broad, wearing black tactical pants, a black quarter-zip, and heavy black leather boots. He's staring down at an open file, hands braced on each side of it against the granite countertop, fingers spread wide. He has scruff on his chin and jaw - almost enough to be considered a beard. And his hair is long enough to fall onto his forehead.
"Nathan," Carter breathes.
The man straightens immediately, brown eyes squinting. His lips curl into a wry smile when he realizes it’s Carter. "Haven't been called that in a while."
"Right. I - sorry." Carter flinches. He’s been so good at remembering that, but seeing the man had just caught him so off guard, and he's pretty sure he’s still half-asleep. "Travis."
Travis’s lips twitch. "Hello."
"I didn't know you were back."
"Just got here an hour ago." He closes the file, then leans his forearms down on the countertop and clasps his hands together. His knuckles are bruised and scabbed. "How are you? It's been… a while."
8 days, 21 hours, and a handful of minutes. But who’s counting?
"Casey is doing a lot better. And 3 more survivors have left. The ones that are still here are struggling, but they're getting there. Nolan has even stopped calling everyone sir, and the other night he made it through a whole meal without needing to leave. And Matt is coming around more. He still hasn't talked, but… it's something. A good start."
Travis frowns, his eyebrows pulling together. God, he's handsome. "That's all great, but I was asking about you."
"Maison hasn't been keeping you updated?" Carter asks, hoping to wiggle out of answering.
"You're still not talking to Maison."
Carter smirks. "So he is keeping you updated."
"Of course he is." Travis's expression softens. "I worry. Constantly."
Carter's smirk falls. He feels like his heart is back in his throat. "I was here - safe. If either of us should have been worried, it was me.”
“Were you?” he asks, folding his arms over his chest. He tilts his head like he’s genuinely curious. “Were you worried about me, Carter?”
“Yes.” He laughs a little breathlessly after the admission. Apparently hard to get isn’t on the menu tonight. Not when he’s so incredibly fucking relieved to see this man again. “Is it over? Did you get Mica?”
Travis leans his hip against the edge of the counter and sighs. “No. He slipped through our fingers somehow. But we already have a new lead, so it shouldn’t be long before we find him again.”
“Before you have to leave again,” Carter corrects.
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t someone else chase him? I mean, you just got back. Shouldn’t you get, like, a fucking vacation or something?”
Travis’s lips twitch toward a smile before falling again. “This is my job, Carter. And Mica is my responsibility.”
“What about me?” The minute the words are out, Carter regrets them. He takes a step back and shakes his head. “Forget I said that. I don’t know why I just said that.”
“Carter-”
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Carter says quickly. He takes another step back. And another. “I’m - I’m really glad you’re safe.”
