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Carter leans back against the headboard, staring down at his hands in his lap. "It's okay. I was more upset with what they said about you. It's like they don't get that you fucking saved their lives."
"I hurt them along the way, though. I understand why they can't let that go." Travis clears his throat. "I get why you can't let it go."
"What happened between you and them, and what happened between you and me, are two very different things."
"Which is why you think they shouldn't be mad at me, but you still are."
Carter picks imaginary lint off the blanket covering his legs as he quite obviously changes the subject. "I'm sorry about Nolan. Him kneeling for you or whatever. That must have been hard."
"Yeah, that was… awful." The final word sounds broken. It's enough to force Carter to look up at him. His expression is just as pained. "I caught him by surprise. Ran into him coming around the corner. He just fucking dropped to his knees without thinking. Called me Master Roarke."
Carter's heart aches. "It'll take them all a while to break that instinct. Especially those that were with you so long. But they’re okay. Or, they’re at least getting the chance to become okay. And that’s because of you."
"Yeah, maybe." Travis shrugs, clearly not in the mood to play hero tonight. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans before giving Carter a sad sort of smile. Carter decides then that he likes Travis in jeans. A lot. Maybe tomorrow he won’t avoid him, just to enjoy the sight in better lighting. “Well… good night, Carter.”
“Yeah,” Carter whispers. “Good night.”
Travis jerks his head in a nod and starts to turn toward the door. Carter’s heart lurches. “Travis,” he calls before the man can leave.
Travis turns back to him, the hope on his face strong enough to see even in the dim lighting. “Yeah?”
“What about you?” Carter asks softly. “Are you okay?"
Travis swallows hard before turning his chin to look Carter directly in the eye. "No, Carter. I don't think I am."
Before Carter can figure out what to say to the brutal honesty, Travis speaks again. "I know we said last night would be the last, but… can I stay here again? Just one last time?”
Carter can’t possibly say no.
The next day in the safehouse is the shittiest day so far for both men.
In the morning, Carter has a doctor’s appointment. The doctor had tended to all the survivors who planned to leave the house first, wanting to make sure they had clean bills of health before sending them on their way, but Travis insisted that Carter be the first survivor to be seen once those were out of the way. That’s why he finds himself in the doctor’s makeshift office first thing after an awkward breakfast full of everyone staring at him and Travis like they’re a zoo exhibit even though they didn’t so much as look in each other’s direction the whole meal.
Carter didn’t realize how hard the check-up would be. It starts off simple enough, the doctor - a kind looking older man with graying hair at his temples and wire framed glasses - introducing himself as Dr. Deacon and telling Carter his credentials. He’s apparently helped hundreds of survivors so far with the organization. He also takes care of the operatives. Carter holds his tongue, wanting badly to ask how Travis’s injured side is coming along, how Maison is healing after his rape and torture, how Casey’s poor body is recovering.
As a reward for staying quiet, he gets shown a sterile packet with needles inside of it. “I’ll start with taking your vitals and drawing some blood. Then we can talk about any concerns you might have.”
“I have concerns about the needles,” Carter mumbles.
“Yeah, no one is ever a big fan of those.” Dr. Deacon laughs. “We can take your vitals first.”
His blood pressure is a little low.
“Most likely from dehydration and poor nutrition, but we’ll understand the issue better when we see what your lab tests say,” the doctor explains. “If we can’t get it to come up, we’ll have to give you some medication though. We’ll start you with some vitamins. Maybe an IV bag or two full of the good stuff. Have you been having trouble with dizziness? Fatigue? Nausea?”
Carter forces a laugh. “Yeah. Pretty often.”
“I suppose that’s to be expected, low blood pressure or not, hey?” Dr. Deacon gives him an apologetic smile. “But now that the other factors are taken out of the equation, if those symptoms persist, we can probably chalk them up to the low blood pressure. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.”
“Like I said though, we’ll wait for the lab results. The private lab I use is efficient. We’ll have the results back by tonight, most likely.”
Carter eyes the pack of needles, knowing they’re key to these lab tests getting done. He’s not so sure he wants to know the results badly enough.
“Now, things like confusion, cold sweats, rapid breathing, extreme dizziness - those are all things that can be signs of shock, which can come from low blood pressure. Promise me you’ll tell someone if you feel any of them, alright?”
“Yeah,” Carter tells the pack of needles. He’s starting to feel some of those symptoms now. Funny how panic works like that. “Do we really need to test my blood? Can’t we just wait and see a few days? Maybe it’ll go away. I’ll eat really well. And drink a lot of water, I swear.”
