Fic: Jared Padalecki’s Journal, Part 11 [J2]
For all parts, click on the 'fic:jpj' tag. For rating, pairings and notes, see part 1.
April 2
Bench:
Squat:
No. of beers: all that were left in the fridge, even the weird Christmas flavored ones
Step zero of Jared’s coping plan: wake up, five seconds from throwing up all over his bed, and stagger-sprint to the toilet. Step zero wasn’t really planned, it just kinda happened. After a pleasant interlude of throwing up followed by Advil, water, and a tepid shower, he was ready to make a real plan.
Step one of Jared’s coping plan: make a pitcher of margaritas with the fancy tequila he’d been saving for a special occasion. Step two: watch every episode of Gossip Girl, followed by Gilmore Girls, while drinking said margaritas. He sobbed during Rory and Dean’s breakup (the first one) and fell asleep on the couch soon after.
On the second day, he decided to try a different, less girly approach. He watched his Supernatural DVDs - up until the lady in Red Sky at Morning reminded him too much of Ellen, which reminded him of the barbecue, which reminded him of what had happened after the barbecue. After that, he switched to Scrubs.
By the third day, he’d drunk everything alcoholic in his house except for that hideous maple-flavored liqueur that Chris had gotten him as a gag gift during that time when Jared had been obsessed with due South (what, Paul Gross was hot in that Mountie outfit. Great ass.). And he’d eaten everything edible except the steel-cut oats he’d bought during one of his attempts at eating better and that had sat untouched for a couple years. He read the back of the box. “30 minutes to cook! Screw that.” He grabbed a handful and started chewing. And chewing and chewing. 5 minutes later, he’d managed to swallow the mouthful, with the aid of a full glass of water.
When he didn't answer their calls and texts, his friends staged an intervention. Chris wrestled him into the shower (dude was short, but *wiry*). Beth picked out some clothes for him, and, wrinkling her nose, bagged up all the dirty laundry on teh floor to be dropped off at the laundromat. Aldis arrived in time to hand him a take-out coffee, which, judging from the way Jared started vibrating after just a few sips of it, had about 19 shots of espresso. They hustled him out of his apartment and went to Jared’s favorite Japanese restaurant. After stuffing himself with sushi (but no sake - Jared acknowledged Aldis’s point about giving his liver a few days to recover, if he was honest with himself) and helping come up with many elaborate revenge fantasies on Misha, Jared felt more prepared to go back to work.
April 5
Bench:
Squat:
No. of beers: 0 - should be praised for my admirable restraint
Jared spent his first morning back at work sneaking glances across the office. He used to love the fact that from his desk (if he craned his neck just so - it was nice to be tall sometimes) he had a direct view into Misha’s office, at least when the door was open. But the door had been shut most of the morning. Jared could only see glimpses of movement through the sidelight windows beside the door. He knew that Misha and the woman from last night - in his head Jared had dubbed her evil demon chick - had been shut in there together since 10. He ate his lunch of a Power Bar at his desk so he could keep up the surveillance, which is how he caught demon chick leaving around 1:30 pm.
Jared squared his shoulders. Enough putting it off; he should just bite the bullet, rip the bandage off quickly, all those uncomfortable sounding metaphors. He knocked on Misha’s office door, clutching a sheaf of printouts in his hand.
“Come in,” Misha called.
Jared eased the door open and stood in front of Misha’s desk. “The ads on Facebook for ‘My Car, Myself’ have been very successful. We’ve been targeting vintage car groups, males of baby boomer age, that sort of demographic, and the click-through rate has been excellent. The entries for the ‘67 Impala giveaway have…”
Misha cut him off. “Listen, Jay, I never meant for you to… You know how it is, sometimes you just click with someone. When Katie came in from LA… I think I might love her, actually. I’ve never felt this way before.”
“But you’ve only just met,” Jared protested disbelievingly.
Misha looked chagrined, now, on top of apologetic, and Jared’s stomach twisted further. “Oh. You didn’t just meet her.”
“No,” Misha admitted. “We met a few months ago when I was out in the LA office on some projects.”
Jared nodded stiffly. “I see. Best wishes to you both,” he scraped out, and practically ran from Misha’s office. He headed straight for the handicapped bathroom, locking himself in. He didn’t cry, or not a lot anyway, just sat on the toilet, his shoulders slumped, staring at the hideously ugly linoleum on the bathroom floor.
A few minutes later someone tried the door handle, and then knocked. “Hello?,” a male voice called.
Jared stood up, quickly blowing his nose and splashing cold water on his face. He swiped a towel across his face and opened the door. “Sorry, Jim,” he said to the man in a wheelchair who was waiting to use the bathroom.
Jim looked up at him, his eyes widening as he took in Jared’s red eyes. “No problem, son,” he replied gently, and rolled himself into the bathroom as Jared turned away. Shit. Jim works in finance, on the far side of the floor. If he knows what’s going on, then *everyone* has to know.
When Jared got back to his desk, his worst fears were realized. Carver Edlund was looking at him with a pitying expression (which for Carver looked kinda like bad indigestion, Jared had to say). Jared quickly looked down at his desk, but Carver was not to be dissuaded.
“Remember, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” Carver said, as if imparting a deep dark secret.
“I could arrange that,” Jared muttered.
“Pardon?,” Carver asked.
“Nothing. Listen, I got a lot of work to do, so...”
Carver nodded understandingly. Jared gritted his teeth and turned to his computer, opening a series of spreadsheets and clicking intently. Eventually this day has to end, right?
April 2
Bench:
Squat:
No. of beers: all that were left in the fridge, even the weird Christmas flavored ones
Step zero of Jared’s coping plan: wake up, five seconds from throwing up all over his bed, and stagger-sprint to the toilet. Step zero wasn’t really planned, it just kinda happened. After a pleasant interlude of throwing up followed by Advil, water, and a tepid shower, he was ready to make a real plan.
Step one of Jared’s coping plan: make a pitcher of margaritas with the fancy tequila he’d been saving for a special occasion. Step two: watch every episode of Gossip Girl, followed by Gilmore Girls, while drinking said margaritas. He sobbed during Rory and Dean’s breakup (the first one) and fell asleep on the couch soon after.
On the second day, he decided to try a different, less girly approach. He watched his Supernatural DVDs - up until the lady in Red Sky at Morning reminded him too much of Ellen, which reminded him of the barbecue, which reminded him of what had happened after the barbecue. After that, he switched to Scrubs.
By the third day, he’d drunk everything alcoholic in his house except for that hideous maple-flavored liqueur that Chris had gotten him as a gag gift during that time when Jared had been obsessed with due South (what, Paul Gross was hot in that Mountie outfit. Great ass.). And he’d eaten everything edible except the steel-cut oats he’d bought during one of his attempts at eating better and that had sat untouched for a couple years. He read the back of the box. “30 minutes to cook! Screw that.” He grabbed a handful and started chewing. And chewing and chewing. 5 minutes later, he’d managed to swallow the mouthful, with the aid of a full glass of water.
When he didn't answer their calls and texts, his friends staged an intervention. Chris wrestled him into the shower (dude was short, but *wiry*). Beth picked out some clothes for him, and, wrinkling her nose, bagged up all the dirty laundry on teh floor to be dropped off at the laundromat. Aldis arrived in time to hand him a take-out coffee, which, judging from the way Jared started vibrating after just a few sips of it, had about 19 shots of espresso. They hustled him out of his apartment and went to Jared’s favorite Japanese restaurant. After stuffing himself with sushi (but no sake - Jared acknowledged Aldis’s point about giving his liver a few days to recover, if he was honest with himself) and helping come up with many elaborate revenge fantasies on Misha, Jared felt more prepared to go back to work.
April 5
Bench:
Squat:
No. of beers: 0 - should be praised for my admirable restraint
Jared spent his first morning back at work sneaking glances across the office. He used to love the fact that from his desk (if he craned his neck just so - it was nice to be tall sometimes) he had a direct view into Misha’s office, at least when the door was open. But the door had been shut most of the morning. Jared could only see glimpses of movement through the sidelight windows beside the door. He knew that Misha and the woman from last night - in his head Jared had dubbed her evil demon chick - had been shut in there together since 10. He ate his lunch of a Power Bar at his desk so he could keep up the surveillance, which is how he caught demon chick leaving around 1:30 pm.
Jared squared his shoulders. Enough putting it off; he should just bite the bullet, rip the bandage off quickly, all those uncomfortable sounding metaphors. He knocked on Misha’s office door, clutching a sheaf of printouts in his hand.
“Come in,” Misha called.
Jared eased the door open and stood in front of Misha’s desk. “The ads on Facebook for ‘My Car, Myself’ have been very successful. We’ve been targeting vintage car groups, males of baby boomer age, that sort of demographic, and the click-through rate has been excellent. The entries for the ‘67 Impala giveaway have…”
Misha cut him off. “Listen, Jay, I never meant for you to… You know how it is, sometimes you just click with someone. When Katie came in from LA… I think I might love her, actually. I’ve never felt this way before.”
“But you’ve only just met,” Jared protested disbelievingly.
Misha looked chagrined, now, on top of apologetic, and Jared’s stomach twisted further. “Oh. You didn’t just meet her.”
“No,” Misha admitted. “We met a few months ago when I was out in the LA office on some projects.”
Jared nodded stiffly. “I see. Best wishes to you both,” he scraped out, and practically ran from Misha’s office. He headed straight for the handicapped bathroom, locking himself in. He didn’t cry, or not a lot anyway, just sat on the toilet, his shoulders slumped, staring at the hideously ugly linoleum on the bathroom floor.
A few minutes later someone tried the door handle, and then knocked. “Hello?,” a male voice called.
Jared stood up, quickly blowing his nose and splashing cold water on his face. He swiped a towel across his face and opened the door. “Sorry, Jim,” he said to the man in a wheelchair who was waiting to use the bathroom.
Jim looked up at him, his eyes widening as he took in Jared’s red eyes. “No problem, son,” he replied gently, and rolled himself into the bathroom as Jared turned away. Shit. Jim works in finance, on the far side of the floor. If he knows what’s going on, then *everyone* has to know.
When Jared got back to his desk, his worst fears were realized. Carver Edlund was looking at him with a pitying expression (which for Carver looked kinda like bad indigestion, Jared had to say). Jared quickly looked down at his desk, but Carver was not to be dissuaded.
“Remember, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger,” Carver said, as if imparting a deep dark secret.
“I could arrange that,” Jared muttered.
“Pardon?,” Carver asked.
“Nothing. Listen, I got a lot of work to do, so...”
Carver nodded understandingly. Jared gritted his teeth and turned to his computer, opening a series of spreadsheets and clicking intently. Eventually this day has to end, right?