J2 | The Nature of My Game | NC-17 (2/4)

[dugindeep]

Previous: Part One

PART TWO

Amy Gumenick had spent most of her childhood circling the young pageant scene. Her sparkling blue eyes were only outshined by her sunny personality that charmed dozens upon dozens of judges on her way up to the statewide competition, which she deftly won.

She dated quarterbacks in high school and fraternity presidents in college. During post-grad, she wore a two-karat diamond on her ring finger and had plans to settle down with an MBA graduate with old money deep in his pockets. She had dreams of long yards and white fences, three kids running through a two-story Victorian house and a 7 AM kiss on the front stoop as a sendoff to her soon-to-be husband.

None of that came to be, however. Instead, she met Matt Cohen in a diner after a long night of margaritas with old sorority sisters.

His steely blue eyes caught hers immediately. Her attention was so rapt; she couldn’t bear to finish her ham and cheese omelet. She only stirred the hash browns around her plate with lazy turns of her fork as she continued to stare across the diner and hoped to never stop.

She left the diner with laughter shared among her friends even while her thoughts were swimming in his broad smile. That wide, white grin caught up to her before she could get her car door unlocked. They talked for a long while, leaned up against the back passenger door of her BMW, but all went quiet when his hand came up with careful fingers moving hair away from her cheek.

He kissed her first, but she never stopped it. Amy, in fact, continued on with deep, wet kisses that left them both breathless, until he whisked her away to his place and made her scream louder than any car alarm that was set off that night. Including hers while it remained in the diner parking lot and was emptied of any loose item.

Matt promised he’d handle it and three days later, he showed up on her doorstep with an armful of her belongings and a warm, promising smile on his face. She let him in and they had a repeat of their first night, though this time it was all done on the baby blue sheets of her four-post bed, with the sun streaming through pale yellow drapes, and not a speck of dust all around them. What did surround them were a few frames on the bedside tables, of Amy and her future husband staring at them as she straddled Matt’s legs, sunk down on his cock, and rode him all the way to completion.

When she collapsed on his chest, she looked at the frame of her and Tom on a Gulf Coast beach the very day he proposed to her. She smacked the picture down, rolled her and Matt over, and drowned herself in blue eyes that were brighter than Tom’s ever could be.

She’d never gotten an answer for how Matt retrieved her belongings, or how her car was returned in tip-top shape with even a minor scratch in the front quarter panel smoothed out. And she never received a clear explanation of what he did for a living, but she was in love-a deep, sudden, fully-engulfing love that she couldn’t run from until she realized it was too late.

That moment of realization wasn’t when she figured out that Matt was the go-to guy for James Patrick Stuart. And it wasn’t when she finally heard that a man went six feet under as payment for stealing her car. She couldn’t do more than turn a blind eye when she found out that thief was only one of dozens that Matt took down all in the name of love, respect, or duty.

She still married him, surrounded by friends and family, stitched up in the same Vera Wang she’d planned for when she thought she’d become a Welling. She continued to stand by his side, kiss him goodnight and good morning, and found herself taken care of by a different manner. Diamonds filled her jewelry box and they saw the best tourist destinations and ate at the finest restaurants in town. She was happily married until she wasn’t …

What tipped the scales was his devotion playing so soundly to Stuart, while Amy was in the backseat. Like when she announced she was pregnant and wanted to get married, but Matt insisted it would only hurt the family.

Stuart paid her a personal visit when he’d found out she let a few homicide detectives into her home when they were investigating a dead hooker found just outside Stuart’s club.

“Now, I’m not one to hit pregnant women,” Stuart said to her while he inspected his fingernails. He crossed his leg over his knee and leaned back into the lounge chair that accented the living room in her and Matt’s new penthouse suit.

Amy was held to the couch by two firm hands-a friend of the family, Stuart had insisted upon their arrival. She shifted on the firm cushions, did her best to shield her large, nearly-ready belly. “I didn’t tell them anything,” she insisted with tears falling down her cheeks.

“And I don’t really condone hitting pregnant women.”

“I swear,” she cried, “I didn’t say a word about you or Matt or the family.”

“But my friend Mark isn’t as adverse to it as I am.”

Amy continued to struggle out of the man’s grip, but it was no use, because Stuart was set on his punishment.

“And after all, it shouldn’t matter what sex, race, or religion, or even maternal status. We’re all worthy of being called a liar, aren’t we?”

Stuart rose from his seat, stood in front of her, then nodded at Pellegrino, who tugged so quickly on her hair, her head snapped back against the frame of the couch with a hard knock. She screamed with pain, but Stuart didn’t care, and no one was coming for her. She’d asked a dozen times where her husband was and Stuart insisted he was doing the same at the home of their bookkeeper, who’s new girlfriend was recently seen having coffee with a police officer.

“You know what I hate, Amy?” He shook his head and made certain to keep her gaze, even at the sharp angle her head was held at, or when she blinked away tears and whimpered in pain. “I hate rats. And I hate liars. And I hate rats to tell on me and my family, and then lie about it.”

“I didn’t do any of that! I swear!”

Stuart hummed, then tsked and shook his head. “If only I could believe you.”

Those final words hung heavy in the air as he nodded at Pellegrino before leaving the home without another look back.



This ain’t TV … you’re not nabbing your guy in an hour, Williams used to say whenever Jensen was impatient about a string of robberies or even domestic violence victims that were too scared to really turn against their significant others.

Jensen learned early how true that statement was, but it doesn’t mean he manages to be tolerant of how much time passes between one lead on Stuart and the next. Danneel reports that Stuart is laying low since she and Wade were arrested, says he’s been talking about police payrolls and snagging new employees to help avoid even the simplest of traffic stops.

Far too often, Jensen finds himself asking So, what’s going on here? when he sees Danneel, Manns, ADA Brown, and even Jared.

Jared, who runs into him on occasion - at the County building and at Buckmaster’s, the northside cop bar that is always a favorite late-night stop of Jensen's. A funny thing happens as Jensen waits for his case with Stuart to develop: things start to happen with Jared, and he finds himself enjoying it.

It’s something like dating without the labels, or maybe just a friends with benefits situation, except Jensen isn’t sure he’d call Jared just a friend. Not when they’re sharing rounds at Buckmaster’s and spending nights at each other’s places.

And he knows it’s something else when they’re grabbing a late dinner together at a greasy spoon, fresh-grilled burgers joined by a sloppy mess of cheese fries, and he has to leave without much of an explanation.

His phone beeps with a text from Turner & Hooch, an inside joke between him and Danneel. There are just three numbers 411 and he knows he needs to meet with her at their spot. Only, he can’t say that much to Jared.

He just takes a large bite of his burger, hurries out of the booth, and offers a small smile to Jared, who’s completely lost and yet a bit suspicious. “I’ve got a thing.”

“What kind of thing?" Jared asks, and Jensen knows he should ignore it, should keep on his path to the door, but he stops and Jared continues to stare at him. “I thought you said you were done for the night?”

“Yeah, you know,” he fumbles, trying to put together a good excuse. “But we’re not ever really done, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jared replies with a twist of his mouth.

The odd look on Jared’s face, filled with judgment and disappointment, stops Jensen in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”

Leaning back in the booth, Jared sets his arm over the back of the seat, huffs, and shrugs. “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

“That’s not nothing.”

“Just … you say you’re done for the night, and we’re having a nice dinner, then you run off on a booty call or something?”

Jensen chuckles. “Dinner at Chuck’s is hardly a nice dinner.”

Jared glares at him. “You know what I mean.”

Honestly, he replies, “I don’t know that I do.” After seconds of silence, Jensen chances to ask, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug.

Jensen sits back down on his side of the booth, slides his plate away from the place setting so he can rest his arms on the table, and settles in for some straight talk. “It’s not a booty call, I swear.”

Jared’s detective voice comes out, flippant and patient. “Why do you have to swear on that?”

He shrugs again. “It just seems like something you want me to swear on.”

“Is it your case? The one you’re always hush-hush on?”

“You know I can’t talk about that,” he murmurs back while intently watching Jared, trying to relay his honesty in the fact that he would if he could, but it will never happen.

“You’re not doing anything wrong, are you?”

“What?” he nearly shrieks, then glances around to make sure no one around them is paying them any attention.

“There’re a lot of bad guys on the force.”

Like I don’t know that, Jensen thinks, but instead frowns when he considers that Jared might think Jensen is one of them.

“And you’ve been pretty damn secretive since the day I met you.”

Jensen tries to deflect, to make them both feel better about the whole situation. He smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about … no one else knows about the boxes of Avengers comics in my storage space.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Jared mumbles.

“I just really like Captain America,” he jokes. “And so should you. He’s America’s greatest warrior.”

“Next to you?”

“Damn, right.”

Now they share a smile and the tension withers away. Enough so that Jensen is slower to leave the booth and sets a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I’ll drop by when I’m done with this and make it up to you.”

“I’ll be waiting with bells on,” he deadpans, then adds a flirty, “And nothing else.”

“That’s my guy.”

There’s another shared smile, something more private, intimate, and Jensen feels it in his stomach. That tiny burst of excitement turns into nerves when he shows up to the meeting spot with Danneel, halfway across town in another diner that looks much the same as the one he’d just escaped.

Danneel’s done up with an excessively high rack and plunging neckline, hair in messy waves, and a black leather jacket barely covering her top. If he didn’t know any better, he really would call her a working girl like the early excuse he fed Jared, but he knows it’s her part to play and she’s doing a damn fine job at it.

She also looks pissed off when he shows up, and she rolls her eyes when he sits across from her. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry … I was in the middle of a … thing.”

“A thing? Sounds exciting.”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“I’m hungry,” Danneel insists. “And impatient. I ordered for us.”

“I actually just ate.”

“With Padalecki?” she asks idly, then grabs her drink to sip through the straw while staring at him. “People do talk, you know?”

His stomach swirls and acid rises in his chest. “What people?”

“Stuart’s got a guy on the narc. They’re hoping to turn him.”

Jensen snorts and rubs a hand over his face. “He’d actually just asked me if I was one of the bad guys.”

Her voice drops, less attitude and more inquisitive, like back when she was in uniform. “Maybe he’s trying to get a reference on Stuart before he takes an envelope.”

“He’s not on Stuart’s payroll,” he insists.

“Not yet.”

“He’s not, and never will be. Jared’s one of the good guys.”

She rolls her eyes then leans back from the table when the waitress arrives to deliver their food. Once they’re left alone again, she smarts, “And he’s on a first-name basis, I see.”

“I know you didn’t call me to talk about who I’m sleeping with …”

A few fries are eaten, and Danneel acts as casually possible, all while her eyes comb the room, as they always do as an undercover always watching her back. “It’s about Brown. Stuart’s got someone in his office skimming files.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jensen whispers harshly. “How much money does he really have to be paying off all these people?”

She gives Jensen an empty smile while bringing her sandwich up to eat. “It’s gotta be Scrooge McDuck piles of money.”

Jensen fiddles with the plate in front of him, feeling his stomach calling for some of the bacon cheeseburger in front of him. “Do you have a name?”

“Abel.”

Jensen fishes through his memory and can’t recall encountering anyone with that name with any of his dealings with the DA’s office. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Danneel replies around her crunchy chewing of a BLT. “They were joking about Cain and Abel, and how the first human to die is also the first fallen with the DA.”

He plays with the burger on his plate and finally takes a greedy bite. His taste buds thank him, as does his only half-full stomach that hated walking out on dinner. “How much do they know?”

“Not much yet … there’re rumors about someone in the DA’s office fronting a mole, but they’re not sure which side of the fence it’s on yet.”

Around another healthy bite, Jensen asks, “So they don’t know if it’s with them or us?”

“They’re fishing for it. But there's also someone tied to Speight's case who's looking around.”

"Speaking of, did you find anything in that ledger?"

"I found a lot of things. My summarization is more like a dissertation." After a second, she snorts. “I thought you already ate?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles through his chewing, “tell me more.”



Come the weekend, Jensen’s called off to a crime scene far before he’d planned to even wake up. He has little info on why, has less to explain to Jared when he crawls out of the guy’s bed, but the address tells him the name of that pale face of the crime scene techs have been calling Jane Doe.

“Word has it one of your targets lives here.” Crime Scene Investigator Rob Benedict says while checking the body’s neck for bruising.

“Yeah, that’s Amy Gumenick.”

“Like, the beauty queen?” Benedict looks up quickly and squints with memory. “Wasn’t she Miss Newark or something?”

“Jersey,” Jensen replies flatly while staring at the poor woman’s face. “She was on the Miss America broadcast in 2003.”

“You must be a fan,” the man jokes from behind his camera.

“Just a professional interest.”

Jensen continues checking over the body. Her face has gone beyond pale, which he guesses is because she’s been here for a while. Could explain why he hadn’t heard from or about Cohen in a week or so. He was told about her interview with homicide, knew that Rosenbaum was heading up the case and had little to share, and now assumes word got around the station and into the wrong hands.

Or the right ones, as far as Cohen and Stuart were concerned.

Her eyes show signs of petechial, little blood vessels purged of their contents, and her neck has distinctly purple lines in the shapes of fingers.

The space around them is upended, drawers emptied to the floor, chairs ripped and turned over, and a number of crude drawings on the walls-all in an effort to show a break-in, theft, and a wrong time in the wrong place kind of death. But Jensen knows better by now.

Back at the B.O.C., there are nearly a hundred tapes of Amy walking alongside Cohen, talking to him on the phone, even waiting around to meet him out in the world, and Jensen has watched and listened to every single one in his effort to get more insight into the hitman’s life. This isn’t the first person that Jensen’s had to scratch off the Stuart Family Tree that also talked to the police. He’s sure it won’t be the last.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Rosenbaum says as he steps up beside Jensen.

Jensen nods in return then takes a second glance. “You caught this one, too?”

“We’re understaffed and overworked.”

“No rest for the wicked, eh?” Jensen asks with a little smirk.

“No rest for anyone these days,” Rosenbaum replies with a motion towards Amy Gumenick’s body. “What do you know about this?”

It doesn’t matter that he’s known Mike for over a decade, that they worked a short stint in homicide when they were both getting their legs under them. He’s not about to share facts with anyone not in the inner circle. “Not enough. What about you?”

Mike eyes him, a critical gaze of a seasoned detective. Jensen’s sure he’s aimed the same look at a number of suspects over the years-and that makes him wary in this moment, that Mike would eye him like a suspect, especially here.

“I just got on the scene,” Mike says, a bit of defense in his voice. “What should I know?”

Jensen shakes his head, trying to reason just how much he can share about the sad fact that a woman who fell in love with the wrong person has lost her life, no matter whose ring she wore on her finger.

“C’mon,” Mike needles, “you’re not gonna help out an old friend?”

“I don’t have much more than you do,” Jensen lies, waving off the question as if he could be ignored that easily. He’s still being carefully watched, can’t ignore the worry worming through his system as to why Mike is so interested to know when he supposedly is fresh to the case in just the last ten minutes.

“I doubt you’d be here if you didn’t have more than my blank slate.”

Jensen shrugs and fakes his best stupidity. “If I were smarter than you, I would’ve made it in homicide, right?” They laugh it off, and Jensen only relents a tiny tidbit to please Mike. “She’s married to Matt Cohen, who bought this penthouse just after the wedding. I don’t know what all they’ve been up to lately.”

“Isn’t Cohen one rung below Stuart?” Mike asks, seemingly out of curiosity, but Jensen learned long ago to trust few people in his life.

“Something like that.”

“You think he killed his wife? His big, fat, pregnant wife?”

“I don’t know about that. But I do know that anything is possible in love and death.”

Mike pats Jensen on the back and winks. “You got that right. Look, you hear anything, remember anything, or come across some good intel on Cohen, you give me a call, alright?”

Now Jensen watches Mike, though he tries to cut it short before Mike is clued into Jensen’s guarded distrust. “Yeah, and maybe you’ll do the same?”

“B.O.C. really looking into taking down Stuart?”

“That’s too big a fish,” Jensen laughs off. “We’re looking into smaller bait right now. Not that I can talk about it,” he adds quickly. “You know how it goes.”

“My lips are sealed,” he insists, mocking the motion with his fingers across his mouth.

“Appreciated.”

“Of course. That’s what friends are for?”

“Friends like you?” Jensen jokes.

Mike grins goofily then nudges Jensen’s side. “Speaking of, I’ve heard you’re hanging with a narc a lot lately.”

As if he wasn’t already on alert, his worry heightens and he straightens his back. “Says who?”

“A few friends around the office. So it’s true? You and Padalecki?”

“We exchanged some information on a case.” Jensen shrugs and focuses in on Rob moving around Amy Gumenick’s body with slow, methodical movements to as not to disrupt anything near her. “You know him? Is he a good cop?”

“Who’s asking? B.O.C., or Jenny Ross?”

Jensen rolls his eyes at the old nickname, one Mike used to insist be used undercover. “It’s all business,” he insists. “Just like you should be on this murder.”

“I’m all business, all the time, baby.”

Jensen shakes his head, takes another look at the scene while making mental notes about who to talk to later without raising suspicion, and then heads out with thoughts to call ADA Brown from the car.



“Gumenick is dead,” Jensen says once Brown picks up the call. It’s taken a few tries to reach him, with Brown’s assistant reporting the lawyer had a few court appearances. Now, Jensen sits in the parking lot of Jared’s condo, his car idling in case he needs to run off and talk to Brown or even Danneel, but she hasn’t returned his 411 text yet.

“Well, hello, Detective Ackles. And how are we today?”

“Pretty tired and grouchy, and now awfully interested in Cohen’s whereabouts.”

“I told you last week, and the one before that,” Brown insists coolly, “I need more than a hunch to get a warrant on him.”

“His wife’s dead body isn’t enough now?” Jensen complains.

“Is Homicide on it?”

“Yeah, Rosenbaum. Again. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Like what?”

Jensen doesn’t answer, biting his tongue and searching for the right words, knowing Brown wants something concrete to follow.

“Don’t tell me it’s a hunch,” Brown complains.

“It’s an extremely strong feeling,” he argues, “based on nearly two decades of good police work.”

“An extremely strong feeling sounds an awful lot like a hunch.”

Jensen sighs and bites at his bottom lip. “What if I’ve got something on tape?”

“Like what?”

“Like, some kind of threat to Amy’s life?” he offers. “Something that could indicate Cohen’s eventual connection to her murder.”

Brown takes his time, likely trying to fight the idea. He’s been fairly skeptical of Jensen’s whole set-up from the start. Getting the ADA to answer after three tries is pretty reasonable at this point with how slow he’s been to come around to the task force. “You bring me something material and I’ll look at it.”

“And you’ll get me a war-”

“I’ll look at it,” Brown repeats. “And then we’ll talk.”

“God, you’re such a pain in my ass,” Jensen complains with a small chuckle at the end.

“And you’re a total sweetheart.”

“You bet I am. Just ask …” He trails off when Jared comes to mind and he knows it’s not the right time to bring that name into the mix. But he probably should at some point, especially if he’s about to look into Rosenbaum after he brought Jared’s name into the mix.

“Your mother? I will when I see her tonight,” Brown laughs.

“You’re a dick, and I’m hanging up now.” And Jensen does, with Brown’s laughter still ringing in his ears. He shoves aside all thoughts of that terrible image of his mother going anywhere near the ADA, and finally turns off his car to head up to Jared’s.

He’s slow to knock on the door, curious how he’ll ask what Jared knows of Rosenbaum, how word got around about them, and if there’s any way he can look into Cohen on the narcotics side of things; maybe Cohen’s been seen around some of Jared’s contacts.

After a quick rap on the door, Jared calls out for Jensen to head in, which actually stalls Jensen for a few more seconds.

Once inside, he slowly looks around for Jared and finally hears noises from the kitchen off to the right. “You know,” Jensen calls out, “as a police officer, I would assume you’d have better sense about locking doors."

“Funny how you just came right in without searching the place,” Jared tosses back.

“I did. For a second. Or two,” he tacks on while still looking around Jared’s living room as if he expects something to be out of place. Then he’s quickly distracted by Jared breezing into the kitchen doorway and smirking at him. “I could’ve been a murderer or something, and you just called me right in, careless as you please.”

“You worry too much.”

“I worry the right amount,” he insists, and feels it hit real close to home after the day he’s had. Gumenick’s dead body is a solid image in his head, sad and troubling, and his interaction with Rosenbaum or the fact that Cohen hasn’t been seen in nearly two weeks does little to ease his concern.

“Well, you can start worrying about my capabilities in the kitchen because I made dinner.”

Jensen narrows his eyes. “It’s nine o’clock at night.”

“Is the sky still blue?” Jared snarks back.

“Not right now, because it’s really fucking late.”

“Did you eat yet?” And now Jared appears smug with his arms crossing over his chest, which seems broader than the last time Jensen had seen him. Which was just last night.

And fuck, Jensen is immediately distracted by the memory of them fucking through most of the night, barely sleeping, until Jensen was called away to the murder scene early this morning. “No,” he admits, then teases, “But that’s not really the point, now is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” Jared concedes. “The point is that I have steaks resting on the counter and cauliflower au gratin on the stovetop, all waiting for you to demolish it.”

“You’re trying to impress me,” Jensen points out with a crooked smile.

“I’d insist that I’m trying to feed you and be nice to you.”

Jensen takes a few steps forward, aware of the way Jared’s body leans away from the frame and towards him like a magnet being drawn home. “Oh really? Why is that?”

Jared shrugs, yet keeps his eyes right on Jensen’s, never daring to look away. “Just been in a good mood today.”

“And what has you in such a good mood?”

“It might’ve been the copious amount of orgasms before a certain someone ran out the door.”

Jensen bursts with a loud laugh, bright and amused. Then makes a face at the second half of that statement. “I’m sorry about that part. I was really hoping we could’ve gone for a record.”

“We’ve got tonight to try again.” Jared winks, then swings his arm out to latch onto Jensen’s belt and tug him forward. At what point Jensen had moved even closer to Jared, there’s no good answer, but Jensen is glad to be snugged up against Jared’s body now. “That is, if you can handle it on an empty stomach.”

Jensen immediately sets his hands on Jared’s ass, fingers pressing into his ass and keeping their groins flush together. He knows blood is now on its way to his dick, wonders-hell, hopes-that Jared will be there soon enough. “We could consider the steak a reward for the first round.” He nips a kiss at Jared’s chin, another a bit north on his jaw, then runs his lips over Jared’s ear. “That is if you don’t take too long.”

“No other way to find out …”

With an agreeable nod, Jensen drops to his knees and swiftly undoes Jared’s belt and pants, yanks his underwear down to his knees, then licks over the head of Jared’s cock. Jared sucks in a loud breath and immediately rests his hands on Jensen’s head, hips rocking forward as Jensen opens up around Jared’s dick. It slides quickly into Jensen’s wide mouth, his tongue and lips sucking tightly, wetly, noisily. He grips Jared’s thighs but keeps his mouth loose as Jared fucks in quick and deep, until Jensen holds Jared in place with Jared buried far inside.

“Jensen, fuck, you sure?” Jared grumbles, even as his hands slip to the back of Jensen’s head and keep him in place.

Jensen pulls off quickly then sucks hard at the head of Jared’s cock before diving back in to take Jared down. He repeats the method, gets faster and sloppier with each run down Jared’s dick, and with the way Jared’s whimpering floats higher and higher, Jensen knows it’s a good plan to stick to. Until Jared’s nails dig into his scalp, signal how close Jared is, and Jensen pulls back to fist him with a spit-soaked hand, going as quick as possible to get Jared off. At the first spurt of come, Jensen mouths at Jared’s cock again, sucking down all that Jared gives up and licking all around the rim of his cockhead until Jared whines at too much.

Without a word, Jared joins Jensen on the floor and rubs over Jensen’s hard-on while shoving his tongue down Jensen’s throat, seemingly as far down as his dick had just been. It doesn’t take much with Jared's fingers squeezing down around Jensen’s cock, pressing deep against denim and giving Jensen just enough to grind against until he’s coming in his pants. Just like that first time they’d met up for beers and Jensen lost any sense of control in the backseat of Jared’s SUV.

This time, he’s less embarrassed because Jared is happy to get Jensen out of his clothes, shower down with him in a stall that should be enough to hold an adult but can’t manage the two of them without a lot of bumped elbows, then dress him in his own oversized sweats and tee so they can sit together at the kitchen table and finally enjoy the dinner Jared had put together for them.

It doesn’t matter that it’s well past ten by now and Jensen’s completely drained, having put in another round in the shower, Jensen’s brain returns to how he’d spent his morning.

In between forkfuls of cauliflower, Jensen watches Jared as he thinks about asking his questions. He doesn’t have to work up too much courage; Jared breaks the ice.

“You look like you’re thinking too much,” he says after a long gulp of water.

Jensen looks right at Jared when he asks the question, needing to be sure of the exact reaction he has to it. “You know a Michael Rosenbaum?”

Jared seems to take his time, playing with the food on his plate, running his tongue over his teeth, until he finally picks up his head and turns to Jensen. “Who’s that?”

A long moment passes as Jensen considers Jared, tries to judge if Jared is really clueless on the fact or hiding his cards. “He’s a homicide cop.”

Now Jared shrugs and casually gets back to eating, mumbling between bites. “I might’ve run into him before.”

“Well, he seems to know you.” Jensen is laser focused on Jared, and everything seems obvious. The slow blink of his hazel eyes, a small twitch of the corner of his mouth, a thorough swallow that bulks out Jared’s neck. “Knew your name, even knew we were involved.”

Jared puts his fork down, wipes a napkin across his lips and sets it down next to his silverware, and fully turns towards Jensen with his elbow on the table. “And how do you know him?”

“Ran into him.”

“Where at?”

“At a scene.”

“A crime scene?” Jared asks, even when it’s obvious that two cops wouldn’t be a part of any other kind. And here, Jensen’s eyes narrow at Jared’s quick questions, but Jared simply shrugs in return, all happy-go-lucky. “Hey, I’m a cop … I can interrogate you, too.”

“I’m not interrogating you,” he defends quickly, because he most certainly doesn’t mean to. Maybe fish around for some information, sure, but he doesn’t intend to put Jared on defense.

“It sure feels like it,” Jared insists with a tip of his head.

Jensen sighs, dragging it out to settle himself of the tension he’s built in this room. He puts his things aside, pushing the plate away from the placemat in front of him, and shifts towards Jared. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was just alarming that he asked about you.”

Jared’s voice evens out into something more curious, maybe even confused or worried, really. “Where did you run into him?”

There’s a giant, rotund elephant in the room, one Jensen has fought ever since he first met Jared. How much does he tell about his case? How little can he get away with before someone will put a few lines together and realize the Bureau of Organized Crime has an undercover in Stuart’s organization.

Worse yet, Jensen worries about how quickly Jared will realize that undercover is Danneel.

In the end, Jensen decides the bare bones facts are enough. Jared’s police, too, after all; he’d find the same information in any computer. “We were at a murder scene this morning.”

“That’s where you had to go?”

He still remembers sliding out of bed, batting away Jared’s wandering hands that wanted to tug him back into bed. Jensen would’ve taken him up on that offer, would love to any other day of the week, but he knew it was bad news when Morgan was the one texting him the alert.

“Who’s the dead body?”

Jensen continues to stare at Jared as he relives this morning and how his stomach had turned over with a hard weight pressing against his sternum when he’d recognized Amy Gumenick.

“Is this all part of that super-secret case you can never talk about?” Jared asks, a little tight and a whole lot bothered with the fake smile on his face.

“Yeah,” he admits. There’s no point in deflecting it now, especially after doing it for this many months already. “It is part of that.”

“So, Mike’s investigating a murder related to your task force, and now you wanna know what I know?”

A few words line up and Jensen feels tiles clicking together with a loud echo. “So you do know him?” When Jared doesn’t answer, Jensen points out, “You called him Mike. And you know about a task force.”

Jared shuts his eyes and leans back in his seat. When he looks at Jensen again, there’s sadness creasing his beautiful features and Jensen’s heart pounds hard in his chest with fear of where this is going. “Yeah, I know him. Ran into him on my first case when Lindberg turned up dead.”

“And that’s it?” he asks quickly. “How would he know we were together?”

“I don’t know,” Jared replies with a shrug. “People talk. Just like they say you’re on some underground committee to take down every dirty cop in the city.” He goes quiet and carefully watches Jensen, eyes growing more concerned the longer they stare at one another. “Which makes me wonder why you’re asking me all these questions.”

“It’s not that, I swear.”

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t … I can’t go there.”

“With me or at all?”

“At all,” Jensen says firmly.

“I don’t know that I believe you,” Jared mumbles.

Jensen’s heart stops altogether, as does this moment as far as he’s concerned. His vision tilts enough to make him shuffle back in his seat as if he’ll fall right out of his chair, and it’s only worse when Jared shares his explanation.

“I mean, we met with you lying to me right off the bat. And ever since then, I just went along with your need for secrecy, as if this relationship wasn’t going anywhere. But I’m starting to think your motives aren’t my motives here.”

“I only lied in the beginning,” Jensen attempts with humor. “Since then, I’ve just been evasive.”

Jared’s only reply is an unamused stare, so Jensen lifts his hands in defense.

“Okay, sorry, that was a cheap joke.”

“And not a very good one,” Jared points out.

“I know. But, I just …” Jensen grasps at straws, begging himself to come up with the right words. And maybe even begging Jared for blind understanding. “Look, you’ve had cases, I’m sure, where you can't tell anyone else about details and witnesses and whatever other shit comes up that could get you into trouble.”

“Yeah, of course,” he half-laughs, “but I can usually talk to other cops about those things.”

Jensen feels Jared’s stare growing more critical, and he’s even less sure of how to get through this conversation. He’s suddenly tired and worn down, muscles so tight he feels uncomfortable in his chair. “Well, my stuff is on a need-to-know basis. And that’s about all I can offer you right now.”

"Right," Jared mumbles, setting his silverware on his plate and rising to put the used dishes in the sink. He stays at the counter, rigid back still facing Jensen, and he clears his throat. "I got an early thing in the morning."

Jensen recognizes the dismissal, considers ways to fight it. He's certain the only safe bet to winning Jared over in this moment is to tell him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but ... and yet, it's quite impossible at this time.

So all Jensen offers is a soft "yeah, of course," and heads on home.



“Detective Ackles,” ADA Brown rings out with false cheer when Jensen steps into his office. “Just the man I didn’t want to see today.”

“You’re real cute,” Jensen grumbles, waiting for the coffee to kick in.

“And you’re real cranky.”

Jensen doesn’t bother arguing that; he’d slept like hell last night. It was a long, slow ride back to his house after the stressful conversation with Jared, and an even longer night of tossing and turning when he wasn’t staring at the ceiling of his own bedroom. He didn’t realize how long it’d been since he’d slept alone … maybe only three months, but it was long enough to make an impression on his sleep habits.

“What do you know about a Mike Rosenbaum?” Jensen asks, bypassing any other pleasantries or small talk.

“Are we trying to subpoena him, too?”

“If you’ve got anything good on him, sure,” Jensen suggests with a wide motion of his arm. “Let’s go for the sweep.”

Brown gets back to his paperwork, files strewn across his desk, and his pen flying quickly on a legal pad. “Cassidy deals with him over on Homicide. I haven’t seen much of him in quite a few years.”

“You think she’d be willing to talk about him?”

The pen stops mid-word and Brown looks up from beneath his eyelashes, otherwise frozen from Jensen’s question. “And this is for?”

Slowly, Jensen offers, “Something like a hunch.”

Brown tosses his pen to the desk and leans back in his chair, making it rock back and forth. “You and your goddamn hunches. You really think they’re gonna lead anywhere tangible for us? You’ve got all these great ideas but no evidence on anything and I’m getting pretty tired of you wasting my time.”

“He’s investigating Amy Gumenick’s murder! And Speight's! Isn't that to make you suspicious?!” Jensen yells. Aggravation has his muscles twitching and fingers clenching. He waits until he has control over his voice to further explain. “He asked a few things that felt too close to this, and so I’m wondering what all he knows.”

“What kinds of things?” the ADA asks slowly, sitting forward as if he’s ready to listen very carefully.

Jensen fights against admitting to it, but he feels obligated to, especially after coming this far in the discussion. “About another cop, someone I know. It hit me the wrong way for him to ask.”

“What cop?”

“Jared Padalecki,” he murmurs, looking anywhere but at Brown.

“The guy who arrested your undercover? The one you couldn’t get any info out of?”

“Yeah, that one.” Finally, he faces Brown, tries to think of him as the old friend he used to be and not just the legal roadblock between Jensen’s case and putting Stuart behind bars. If he’s going to follow this premonition, then he needs to fully commit to it and keep Sterling in the know. “Which, relatedly … I should disclose a personal relationship with another officer whose name appears in my paperwork.”

“Are you trying to get me fired?” Brown bellows, standing quickly and kicking his desk. “Are you trying to get yourself fired while you’re at it? How the hell am I supposed to bring that information to my boss, yours, or even Morgan?”

“Maybe you just don’t?” he jokes, but it falls flat. He has to clear his throat and adjust his stance before trying again. “So, I just wanted you to know, about why I’m curious about Rosenbaum.”

“Yeah, what a great way to bring that to light.”

“At least I did?” Jensen offers, and again fails to gain any movement from the ADA. “What about Rosenbaum? Any chance we can get his file and see what his story is?”

“Highly unlikely,” Brown says, getting back to his paperwork and shoving Jensen off the trail. “He’s not on my roll call.”

Quietly, Jensen accepts the brush off and nods before turning to the door. “Understood.” Without a glance back, he heads over to ADA Katie Cassidy’s office, knocking even as she’s busy on the phone.

She puts her hand up to keep him at the doorway and continues with her conversation. It’s mostly legalese that Jensen semi-understands, yet it has no merit to his needs. He rocks on his heels, whistles, even softly claps his hands together every so often just to annoy her.

Once her call is ended, she's on her feet and marching out of her office. Jensen hurries to follow, trying to ask her what she knows about Rosenbaum, but is drowned out by her sudden shouting for someone down the hall.

"Abel! Do you have my 7-68 yet?"

"On it now," a younger guy smiles from behind a tiny desk just outside her office.

"Get it and bring it in here, we gotta file it in the next two hours."

Jensen flashes back to one of his most recent meetings with Danneel and the lead about someone in the DA's office being on the payroll. The tip hadn't gone anywhere substantial, but now that Jensen stands just twenty yards away, he's up for checking it out.

Especially with the guy pulling together files and rushing away from his desk to deliver whatever paperwork Cassidy needed. Jensen glances around then quickly observes the messy desk with manila and brown folders strewn about, loose leaf covering the rest of the desk. He shifts a few pages around, but nothing really comes to light. He even checks the rusty drawers of the desk that was likely one of the first brought into this building decades ago, and still comes up empty. The phone rings, and Jensen steps back quickly in alarm.

There is still no one around, and Abel doesn't return to answer the call. It rings five times then stops, immediately followed by the buzzing of a cell phone resting beneath two thick accordion files. Jensen moves the paperwork to look out of curiosity, and then freezes as he stares at the phone's display. Nine numbers add up to a whole heck of a lot more than a personal phone call.

He's seen a hell of a lot of numbers in his files-cell phones, office lines, home numbers-and this one is the most popular around the bend with Stuart's crew. It's Mark Pellegrino's cell, and it's tempting Jensen to answer.

The ringing ends before Jensen can pick it up, so he turns away, intent to leave and look into it in the most legal manner possible. Yet, the phone rings again, same number, and Jensen chances to answer it with a mellow, quiet, "Hello?"

"Mr. Flowers needs a search for the Canadian."

Jensen’s mind whirls to hear that name again. Mr. Flowers had shown up in dozens of call logs, yet there’s still no clear answer as to who it is, let alone who the Canadian could be. Still, Jensen’s more than certain it is Pellegrino talking. The voice sounds just like all the other calls Jensen's tapped from Danneel's undercover phone.

"He's planted the bush in the kitchen." As Jensen remains quiet, Pellegrino growls, "Do you hear me? Or do I have to talk to your sister again?"

There's a tiny bit of relief to realize that Abel was likely threatened into helping Stuart's organization, rather than turning against the government for fun and money. Then concern creeps in and Jensen knows he has to protect this kid and find out as much as he can.

"Yes, I hear you," Jensen mumbles back. "What is this for?"

"The beauty queen, you moron. Do we have to spell everything out to you?"

The call ends and Jensen drops the cell phone to the desk when Abel slowly approaches him. The kid's eyes are blown wide like a deer in headlights, and his hands clench around the files in his hands, crinkling papers.

"Why are you answering my phone?" Abel asks quietly.

Jensen puts his hands up in a calming nature, and drops his voices to be as soothing as possible. "I wasn't intending to, but-”

"Shit, you're Brown's guy!"

"I am-no-I’m not anyone's guy," Jensen insists, rounding the desk to put an arm around Abel and lead him away from the area. Incidentally, they head right for Brown. "Look, we can talk about this and get a civil conversation out of the way, and maybe even get a little help for your sister."

"What about my sister?!" he shouts. He backs away from Jensen, drops the files, and shifts to his left like he's ready to bolt.

As Jensen tries to calm Abel down, Brown comes out of his office and sighs. "Jesus, Ackles, of course you're part of someone going crazy in my office."

"Hey, Sterling," Jensen carefully smiles at the ADA, "I think we should all sit down and have a little talk with Mr. Abel here. And maybe even bring his sister in."

It takes more convincing from Jensen, a lot of veiled comments and insistences that Abel and his family will be immediately picked up and put into protection if he agrees to tell them all he knows about whatever search Pellegrino's looking to botch.

They sit down in Brown’s office, door closed, and everyone goes silent as Abel’s thin knee bounces up and down erratically. Jensen sits at the edge of the desk and rests his hand over Abel’s knee to calm him, asks him carefully to tell them everything, and listens closely as Abel says Stuart and Pellegrino had approached him a few months ago in the parking lot of the County Building.

“What have they asked you for?” Cassidy asks from where she stands by the door.

Abel looks over his shoulder then shies away from her intense gaze. “Advance warnings on things like phone taps. So they’d know what not to do or say …”

Jensen looks back to Brown and grimaces. “No wonder they dump all their phones.” He turns to Abel again and keeps his voice easy and loose to comfort the tension in them all. “Pellegrino said Mr. Flowers needed a search … who’s Mr. Flowers?”

Licking his lips, Abel stalls his answer, even looks away from Jensen and all other prying eyes in the room. “They never told me.”

“Jake, c’mon,” Jensen wheedles, “they had to have told you who he is.”

“What kind of trouble am I gonna be in?” he asks, eyes wide and mouth bitten red.

Cassidy speaks up first with an offer for immunity if he talks, and Brown follows it up with the promise for witness protection. Abel seems to think on it for far longer than Jensen is comfortable watching.

“Who is Mr. Flowers?” Jensen asks again.

“He’s in the police,” he mumbles.

Jensen sits up straight with a chill running down his spine. His fingers shake, along with his knees when he tries to stand. “What kind of police?”

“I don’t know!” Jake insists. “I just had an address to drop files off at. Once ADA Cassidy signed off on the files, I made copies, and dropped them at a P.O. box. I swear, that’s all I know, that’s it,” he tacks on quickly with the same wild, scared look in his eyes.

“Okay, okay,” Jensen says with a soft hush in his voice. He leans against the desk again and bends forward to look Abel in the eyes. “And he planted a bush?”

“Evidence,” he mumbles again. “It means he was planting evidence.”

Jensen sucks in a breath and sits up before twisting to stare at Brown, who remains quiet and still in his chair as if attempting to put all this information together. They always knew there’d been dirty cops, had a few names, but perhaps there was a new one they had to target.



Part Three