be kind, unwind, 1/6

[harwhon]

I.

‘No problem, mister Vaughan. We’ll get that sorted immediately, and we apologize for the mix-up,’ Jensen says with a smirk, even though he is speaking on his headset. He’s pacing his office nervously, gesturing wildly with his right hand, baseball clutched in his left. ‘Tell you what, to show you how much we appreciate your patience, I’ll throw in a second ad, free of charge. Nothing special. Just another version of the first, different colors. Variation sells, right?’

There’s a short rap on the door and Christian Kane walks in, mouth open and question already on his tongue, but Jensen holds up a finger to silence him.

‘Good, I’m glad.’ He breathes deeply. Crisis averted. ‘I apologize again, mister Vaughan. If there’s anything at all we can help you with, don’t hesitate to call. You got my direct line. Okay. Bye.’

‘Trouble?’ Chris asks, his expression somewhere in between amused and surprised, as Jensen sighs heavily and throws his earpiece on his desk, nails still digging into the leather of the baseball.

‘One of the ads for the insurance company-‘

‘Vaughan Insurance?’ Chris interrupts. ‘Can’t believe you roped him in. I heard the old man is ridiculously demanding.’

‘Whoever told you that, they weren’t lying,’ Jensen says, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘I think I just took ten years off my life, working with that guy.’

‘He’s loaded, man,’ Chris tells him with held up hands, as if that’s a good enough reason to put up with anything - and in this business, Jensen guesses it is. ‘And he does like, four or five different campaigns a year. They already love you upstairs - you get him to stay, they’ll be marrying you to their daughters, next thing you know.’

‘If my designers keep fucking up like this, there ain’t a chance in hell that’s gonna happen,’ Jensen snorts. ‘So hold the invitations for a while.’

‘That Murray-kid again?’ Chris winces in sympathy. ‘Remind me why you haven’t kicked him to the curb yet.’

‘Kid’s got skill,’ Jensen says, shrugging. ‘He’s just gotta learn to tone it down a little.’

‘If by “a little” you mean “entirely”.’ Chris says, face carefully blank, even though Jensen can hear the laughter in his words. 'You explain how less is more?'

‘Judging from the picture of him and those half-naked girls on his desktop, he doesn't agree,’ he answers and sits down, immediately taking out a stack of folders from one of the drawers in his desk and sorting through them.

‘Or from the viruses I have to keep pulling off his computer,’ Chris huffs. ‘You think by now the guy would have understood that the attachments will not get him a bigger dick, no matter how often he opens them.’

Jensen rolls his eyes and sighs. ‘Right. Did you drop by for another reason besides laughing at my misery?’

'Did I ever before?' Chris cocks one eyebrow.

Jensen looks up and shrugs, but turns back to his files quickly. 'I live in hope.'

Chris laughs, even though he chooses to ignore Jensen's crack. 'Bunch of us are going out to lunch. I've been sent to rally the troops.'

'Can't, got work to do,' Jensen tells him, almost automatically. He doesn't even take the time to meet Chris's eyes. Not just because what he says is true and he's got another one of Chad's major cock-ups to fix but also because he knows he's not going to like the look on his friend's face.

'Right,' Chris drawls, voice rough and low. His intonation's telling Jensen he was absolutely right. 'And I'll let you work, soon as you come up with a better excuse not to come.'

Jensen fixes him with an annoyed stare and licks his lips before saying, 'I'm serious.'

'You always are,' Chris tells him with a smile, making Jensen wonder how the guy manages to sound friendly and threatening at the same time. He takes a moment - as if waiting to see whether Jensen's going to comment - but continues when he notices that he's not going to get a reply. He sounds much more agitated this time. 'Man, seriously, you can't keep living this life of yours. When do you ever have fun?'

'I have fun.' Jensen frowns, feeling slightly insulted.

'Fun ain't passing out behind the tv, watching re-runs of the Joy of Painting,' Chris says, arms spread out as if he's challenging Jensen (who is trying really hard to hide that Chris guessed his exact favorite pastime by concentrating on taking apart his pen). He quickly lets them fall loosely to his side, however, and sighs. 'You said it wasn't gonna be like this anymore.'

'What are you, my momma?' Jensen says with his eyebrows raised. 'It won't. As soon as this Vaughan-thing is sorted.'

Chris replies without missing a beat. 'Like with the soup ads. Or the bank-thing.'

'I like to do a good job. I'm not like you slackers,' Jensen jokes, hoping that a bit of humor will divert his friend long enough to let it drop. If not, he knows exactly how this conversation's going to end.

'You just don't like talking to people,' Chris says with a snort. 'Man, I didn't wanna say anything, but you never get out of your office and it's not going down well with the work folk, they're getting restless. Soon, you'll have a rebellion on your hands. So smile and get out there and get your hands dirty.'

'That's a new one, I like it,' Jensen deadpans.

Chris laughs. 'Thanks. Think it'll work someday?'

'Might. Same time next week?' he answers, laughing too.

'Sure thing. Always a pleasure.' Chris gives him a half-smile and makes to leave. He stops before he's out the office, though, hand resting on the doorknob. 'But Jensen, man, I mean it. Take some time off. This life you're living, working all the time. It ain't healthy.'

'Thanks, momma,' Jensen tells him as he's already hunched over the million folders currently on his desk.




II.

Jensen is out of his mind with rage by the time he's reviewed the entire Vaughan-file and the five thousand ways Chad Michael Murray almost brutally slaughtered the deal with their client. Not only did he not meet a single of Perry Vaughan's demands, he also made about seven atrocious, cluttered ads too many. Which means that Jensen, as the only person to have direct contact with the customer, has a) not a single design to show Vaughan at their meeting tomorrow, b) no choice but to piss off his team and force them to work overtime so they'll at least make their hard deadline next week and c) to find a good explanation for wasting a lot of time and money on nothing when the big boss asks for it, and there isn't one.

He's starting to worry if Murray's extremely latent talent is worth it. This is the third time something similar has happened since he joined Jensen's team. Six months ago.

So it should be no surprise that when Jensen has been standing at Murray's desk for five entire minutes without seeing a trace of the man in question (aside from the version on his desktop, leering at him from amidst a throng of barely legal girls clad in sponge bikinis), Chris's suggestion of curb-kicking is starting to sound mighty fine.

And when he finally does lay eyes on the guy, he's holding a donut and a Styrofoam Starbucks cup in one hand and a cell in the other - on which he's talking very loudly.

'Dude. No. I'm telling you, the man is like a robot,' he says around a mouthful of donut. 'Or a nazi. Like a robot-nazi. There's no talking to the guy. Weatherly tried once and he was like, there was steam coming out of his ears, man. It's like he has three settings: displeased, displeaseder and boiling.'

Jensen listens to this as Murray walks up to his desk and he thinks now would be a good time to interrupt, but he's so angry it's like his teeth have been cemented together and his jaws are locked (and the fact that this seems to prove Murray right only enrages him further).

It doesn't matter, because in any situation, a seething Jensen Ackles is hard to miss and Murray notices him quickly as he nears.

'Exactly! Like a giant robotic nazi-kettle, that's exactly what-' His face falls completely when he spots his boss leaning against his desk. Jensen half expects his eyes to pop out of their sockets and roll to the floor. Instead, Murray clears his throat uncomfortably and says, 'Jay, man, I gotta go. It's tea time.'

If there had been one thing Chad Michael Murray could have said to save his ass, that was not it.

Jensen's first reaction is to take the Styrofoam cup and throw it into the trash. He barely registers how decidedly not empty it is and hears the coffee sloshing in the trash can.

'Dude. What the hell?' Murray blurts, completely taken by surprise.

You got work to do,' Jensen spits, teeth still grinding together. He slams Murray's wannabe-neon-signs down on the desk. 'What the hell possessed you to make these when they're not even in a five mile-radius of what the customer requested?'

'The man is like a million years old! He doesn't know what a good ad is,' Murray argues heatedly. 'This'll catch people's attention.'

'The only people's attention it will catch, Murray, is prostitutes and five-year-old girls that want to become princesses when they grow up,' Jensen growls, letting his voice drop the lowest it's ever been. 'If that's the kind of thing you like, that's fine. But don't bring your personal fantasies into this.'

'Fuck you, man!' Murray yells, outraged. 'You don't know Jack squat about me.'

'I know you'll be looking for a new job if you keep this up,' he replies. He's been biting down so hard - trying to control his anger - that he can feel the joints in his jaw pop.

'You what? You're a fucking douchebag, you know that?' Murray spreads his arms, as if he's daring Jensen to have at him. 'Always up in your office, you don't even look at us twice if you can help it. You think you can tell me how to do my job?'

'Yes. You work for me,' Jensen says and jabs himself in the chest with his index finger. He can just feel the eyes of the entire work floor burning holes through his clothes and skin. 'You can think about me what you like, I don't care. But I do my job the way I'm supposed to - I expect the same from you.'

'You don't do anything else! You're crazy,' Murray shouts back before Jensen's done speaking, not even attempting to keep the volume down. 'Maybe you should go lookin' for a life, man, instead of harassing your designers. Normal people like having one just fine.'

And that, that is the final straw.

'Well then, I hope you'll enjoy yours,' Jensen tells him, voice cracking slightly. 'You're out. Playtime's over.'

If everyone had already been watching them stealthily from behind their computers, then they've given up all pretense now. The floor is creepily quiet: there's not a single paper rustling, no clacking of fingers on keyboards. Only the buzzing of the fluorescent lights and Jensen's heavy breathing can be heard.

'Jensen.' A hand grabs his right arm and pulls him back slightly. He recognizes the voice as Steve's, who is currently trying everything he can to catch his eye. 'Jensen. Hey!'

He finally gives up the glaring contest he's got going with Murray to look at his friend. 'What?'

'Calm down,' Steve says softly. 'Take it easy. This ain't something you want your entire team to hear.'

'Oh yeah?' Jensen snorts, so on edge he's ready to pick a fight with anyone. But then he looks around to the other designers: half of them are staring back with a look of frightened disbelief, the other half are shooting daggers at him. He takes a deep breath, trying to get the adrenaline out of his body. 'Yeah. Okay.'

'Okay,' Steve echoes, still holding his arm firmly, as if Jensen might punch Murray's lights out the moment he stops. 'Take a break. We're having a drink in the bar around the corner. Come with us.'

'No,' Jensen says immediately, shaking his head. 'I gotta-'

'Whatever it is you gotta, it can wait,' Steve interrupts, but he manages to keep his voice soothing and quiet. 'You're not gonna do it well, wound up like this. One drink, half an hour, that's all.'

'No, I-'

'Come.' It's an order - Steve doesn't order anyone around, ever. He's polite and gentle, all pleases and thank yous, all the time (which is why he’s head of HR). And for a second, Jensen doesn't dare refuse him, which is all the time he needs to nod, apparently.

'Alright,' Steve says, finally satisfied, as he lets go.

Jensen's still angry as fuck, ready to snap at any sudden movements almost and it kills him that he knows Steve is right.

'What about me?' Murray calls as they're leaving and it takes all of Jensen's willpower not to turn around and clock him one.

'You're okay. You will clean up your mess and fix what you did wrong. No payment,' Steve says sternly and it's the most authoritative Jensen's ever heard him be. When Murray starts to argue, he repeats, ‘No payment. You messed up. The team's not taking the fall for you on this one. You set this straight, kid. Right, Jensen?'

He refuses to face Murray, but he does take another breath to make sure his voice will come out as collected and steady as Steve's has. 'This is your last chance, Murray. You fuck this up and we're done.'

Jensen throws Steve a quick look, telling him they're leaving, now. His friend nods almost imperceptibly and follows him out without another word.




III.

They’re quiet for a while, even after their orders have come, and the atmosphere is tense, awkward. Jensen can’t even care, he’s too angry still, too much adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

And what’s making it even worse is that he’s standing here, completely uselessly, biding his time till he can go back to the office so he can fix this mess and get his shitload of other work done.

But when Chris clears his throat somewhat uncomfortably and all eyes that were previously stubbornly fixed on the floor of the bar (or the ceiling or the window or basically anything but Jensen) are suddenly on his friend. He smiles and says, ‘Shit, Jensen. I’m flattered you all of a sudden started listenin’ to me, but when I told you to get your hands dirty, this wasn’t what I meant.’

He has to think back to the conversation they’d had earlier that morning, but when he does, that appears to be enough to entirely deflate the balloon of anger in his stomach and he starts laughing.

For a moment, everyone but him and Chris glances around nervously, as if they’re afraid Jensen has lost it completely. But Steve catches on quickly and joins them, and just like that, the awkwardness is gone.

Jensen feels like a bit of a douche, though, and promptly orders a new round - his treat.

‘You can’t let him get to you like that, man,’ Chris says, finishing off his beer. ‘Murray’s a jackass, everyone knows that.’

‘He shouldn’t let anything get to him like that,’ Mike chimes in. ‘He was right to wanna fire the guy.’

‘Watch it, Rosenbaum,’ Steve says quickly, pointing a finger at him from over his bottle. ‘We’re not going down that road again.’

‘We’re kind of surprised you lasted as long as you did, actually,’ Tom tells him and suddenly flushes, looking horribly guilty.

Jensen narrows his eyes at him and the other three men, who are all doing their darndest to look innocent. He chuckles. ‘Alright, who won?’

‘Won what?’ Chris asks with a sweet voice that’s not doing anything to hide how much exactly he knows what Jensen’s talking about.

‘The poll you had going on when I would snap.’ He glances around, eyeing his colleagues carefully. ‘Tom, was it you? I promise I won’t be mad if the winner splits the profits.’

Just then, the round of beers Jensen ordered arrives and Steve slumps his shoulders, sighing, and pulls a couple of bills out of his pocket. ‘I guess this one’s on me, then.’

‘Really?’ Jensen asks Chris over the laughter that erupts at the comment. ‘Wasn’t you?’

‘Had you down for next week,’ Chris admits after eyeing him for a few seconds, as if he was deciding if it was safe to tell Jensen. ‘Would rather it hadn’t happened, though.’

‘Well, jerk had it coming, if you ask me,’ Mike interrupts. ‘I put money on three months ago.’

‘That soon? You underestimate my stamina,’ Jensen jokes, but he notices the uncomfortable look the other men share and frowns. He turns to Tom and asks, ‘What about you?’

‘Little under two months,’ he answers quietly. ‘Sorry.’

‘Guy knows he’s uptight,’ Mike says, slinging an arm over Jensen’s shoulders. ‘No need to apologize.’

He shrugs him off, though, and feels his face grow hot. Just like that, the conversation and the amicable atmosphere die down again. ‘Uptight? Is that what you all think?’

‘It is just work, Jensen,’ Tom says carefully, as if any sudden move might make him lash out like a wild cat.

‘Just wo- what?’

‘He has a point, man,’ Chris tries, clumsily shifting his weight from one foot to another. The guy’s his best friend and Jensen knows him inside out. He’s got a heart of gold, but Chris’s temper is the worst he’s ever seen: he gets angry and irrational, lets his feelings guide him all the time. The fact that he’s now making a very conscious effort to stay calm means he’s thought about this for a long time, that he’s talked about it with the other men too. ‘We all wanna do a good job and no one’s blaming you for it, right. But we’re worried. You should lighten up every once in a while.’

Jensen feels his stomach drop, hotness of his cheeks spreading all over, as if he might burst out of his skin. Hoping to find a bit of support with Steve, he turns to look at him, but the man simply states, ‘This is the first time you’ve joined us for just about anything in the past thirty-three weeks.’

He thinks back, trying to find another instance when he’d been out with his friends or when he’d had lunch with them and draws a complete blank.

‘That’s eight months,’ Steve supplies further, as if Jensen hasn’t done the math himself. His tone isn’t accusing or angry, like it’s just an observation he wants Jensen to consider. It’s only then that a switch flips in his mind and sighs. He was made Project Manager eight months before.

‘So?’ he tries half-heartedly, shrugging.

‘Maybe you should get something to do,’ Mike tells him. ‘Get a hobby, let off some steam.’

‘Careful,’ Chris growls, eyes shooting daggers, at the exact time Jensen says, ‘You sound like Murray.’

Mike quickly holds his hands up in surrender. ‘I don’t mean it as an insult. I mean that you should reward yourself for the good work you’ve been doing. What else would you spend the money on, anyway?’

‘I’m saving up,’ he bites out, briefly considering how long it would take him to make it to the door and make a run for it. He came out to relax, to get back to work with a clear mind so he can get his cases finished in time. And because he was forced to, obviously. Doesn't mean he feels like being told how to live by Michael Rosenbaum, of all people.

‘Less saving, more savoring!’

‘Savoring what?’ Jensen spits.

‘The moment!’ Mike says loudly and claps him on the shoulder, completely ignoring the pissed-off look Jensen’s giving him. ‘You can savor anything you want. You got the money, you got the looks-‘

‘Yes, Mike, everything but the actual time.’ He rolls his eyes and takes another swig of his beer. He’s not nearly drunk enough to have this conversation. And what’s worse, he can’t afford to get drunk right now - he can practically hear the Vaughan-case calling.

‘Then make the time,’ Chris says, as if it’s really that simple. ‘Come on, man. If we can do it, you can. Tom’s got a wife and kid to entertain. He’s taking them on a trip next weekend, ain’t that right?’

‘Three-day-holiday at the Hamptons,’ Tom says, careful not to meet Jensen’s eyes. ‘It’s our anniversary.’

‘And Steve and I are still doin’ gigs all over the place,’ he continues. ‘When’s the last time you came to see us play? Used to be you came every chance you had. Brought Danneel with and everything.’

Jensen looks over to Steve, who doesn’t say anything, merely raises his bottle to Chris in agreement. ‘That’s different. You and Steve aren’t Project Managers,’ he says petulantly.

‘And I think none of us want to know what Mike is up to most of his spare time,’ Chris continues like Jensen hasn’t even spoken, ‘but he’s got lots of it, at least.’

‘I’d be offended if you weren’t probably right,’ Mike tells Chris as he’s craning his neck, looking for the waitress to order another round. Jensen can’t believe how proud the guy sounds. ‘It’s true. Do what we all do: delegate. You got the budget and the people. Morgan doesn’t expect you to do everything on your own.’

‘Delegating means looking everything over and correcting mistakes, sending it back and correcting again,’ Jensen argues heatedly. ‘It’s more work that way, for me and my team.’

‘Because you’re the only one who can do it properly, right?’ Steve is looking at him, still speaks with a friendly and light voice, but he recognizes it as fake immediately. 'The only one on your team that knows how to get it done? Christ, Jensen, next thing you know, you’re making the ads yourself too.'

‘When did you start planning this little intervention?’ he asks, glancing around the group once more.

‘Just about the time we did the poll,’ Mike supplies helpfully, handing out the newly arrived bottles of beer. ‘This one’s on me.’

‘Rosenbaum, can it,’ Chris says through gritted teeth, but accepts the beer anyway. Jensen does too, completely abandoning his original plan of not getting wasted. ‘Listen, Jensen, one of your designers just called you a robot. And then you tried to fire him in full view of your team.’

Jensen starts to argue, wants to say how everyone else had told him to get rid of Murray ages ago and that it’s a shitty move they’re holding this against him now. But Tom, rather uncharacteristically, cuts him off.

‘Look, what I think Mike and all of us are trying to say is that it wasn’t wrong of you to want to kick Murray out,’ he says quietly, in the sensible and respectful tone that makes him the good businessman he is. ‘But believe it or not, your designers like having him around. He’s a jerk and a jackass, but he’s the life of the party on an otherwise dull work floor. He’s got stories and rather impressive photographic evidence that they get to hear and see every day. Only time they see you is when you’re complaining about what they did wrong.’

‘What does that mean?’ Jensen asks, wondering if Tom’s just insulted him. It feels like that anyway.

‘You gotta try and see it the way they do,’ Steve says simply. ‘They don’t know you, not as a person. They know you’re the boss, but other than that, they don’t know the next thing about you. Murray basically shares his vitals with them at pretty regular intervals. He’s one of them and if you tear him a new one where everyone can see it, they’re not gonna be too happy with you.’

‘You wouldn’t be either if the tables were turned,’ Chris chimes in. ‘It’s one thing to wanna do a good job, man, but you ain’t happy and neither is your team. This ain’t gonna last, is all we’re saying.’

Jensen nods, feeling defeated, even if he still doesn’t believe they’re right and drains his bottle in the hope it’ll help him relax now his friends have had a chance to speak their mind. He takes a deep breath and, desperately wanting to change the topic, says, ‘So how ‘bout that Spurs-game on Saturday?’

Chris cracks a wide smile and slaps him on the back, cheering. The conversation never once turns back to his situation, but even when he argues the best tactics for his team to win, Jensen can’t stop thinking about what his friends have said.




IV.

First thing he does when he gets back from work -after neatly depositing his keys in the art-deco bowl next to the front door- is boot up his home computer. If he puts in another hour or two, he might get most of the work done on that coffee-ad he's got to present in two days. And after that, there might even be time to work on Murray's fuck-ups.

He sighs heavily when he sees the time on the clock (which is angrily flashing 7:33 - he should never have gone and gotten those beers with his friends) and gets the two massive folders from his briefcase. He absently leafs through one of them before deciding that he's definitely gonna need another beer to get through the night.

When he opens the fridge to get one, he notices it's been re-stocked. He glances around the kitchen and sees that the dishes have been done too.

'Huh,' he mutters under his breath. 'Must be Tuesday.'

Which is the days his housekeeper, Marguerite, comes by. Not that Jensen's such a messy person or that his house gets really dirty that he needs one - he's never home long enough to make a mess - but he hired her way back when Danneel and her five million pairs of shoes and her dog were still living with him and he really didn't have the faintest idea how to start organizing all of that and get rid of the hair Icarus seemed dead set on leaving just about everywhere.

After Danneel left, he just didn’t have the heart to fire her and she noticed quickly that her work load was cut in half so she took it upon herself to do the groceries. Jensen can’t imagine life without Marguerite anymore. Last thing he wants when he gets home from work is going back out to the supermarket. So now, he just leaves a fifty on the counter, makes a list of things he needs if he thinks of it - which is not often at all, and at any rate, Marguerite knows better what to get than he does. She gets to keep the change and if he’s lucky, she’ll have made him food that will last him a couple of days. It’s a good arrangement.

He drags himself back to his computer and sighs heavily. It’s not like he actually wants to do this, but if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll never get it done and it’s not like work stops coming at one point. Or like he knows what to do with his time if he doesn’t work. There’s nothing on television worth watching at this time of night that he doesn’t need to have seen the previous episode of. He can’t stay behind the TV without getting antsy about work, anyway. Reading’s out of the question - he can’t even remember the last time he managed to actually finish a book, or thought one was worth finishing. He could go out, but he doesn’t have a clue of where to go to, where the cool joints are these days and he wouldn’t know anyone to go with either.

Nope. Work’s the only option here. And that’s a good thing. He’s not getting paid to half-ass his job.




V.

Jensen’s hands are slightly sweaty, even after he’s wiped them on his slacks about a hundred times in the last fifteen minutes. The report he’s been twisting in his hands is damp, even, and he’s mildly panicking over how he’s going to explain that to his boss.

Thank God he stayed up last night to finish it or he’d have had nothing to show Morgan now, as he called their meeting about three days early. He’ll be sure to rub that in Chris’s face when he gets the chance.

Morgan isn’t yet in his office - granted, Jensen is about four minutes early - so he’s got nothing else to do except for pacing the hallway, trying not to show anyone passing that he’s actually nervous.

He isn’t usually, that’s the thing. Jensen can handle stress pretty well. In fact, he’s sure he’s done his best work when the pressure was so high, someone a bit more high strung would’ve collapsed underneath its weight. But this time, he feels as if a lot is riding on his explanation of the Vaughan-file. His outburst a couple of days ago has been the talk of his floor, at least, and he’s hoping to God it hasn’t made the three floors up to the chairmen of the board. He’s got enough problems to explain away with this case, even without trying to justify why he snapped.

‘Jensen,’ a warm voice says from behind him. ‘Morning.’

Jeffrey Dean Morgan is smiling at him as he opens the door to his office and moves aside to let Jensen in first. Jensen is fairly sure that he’s actually a pretty cool guy in real life, and he’s pleasant enough whenever you cross him in the hall, but anyone that’s ever been in a meeting with him knows that Morgan is a real ball buster and one of the biggest hardasses you’ll ever meet.

So he’s at a bit of a loss when Morgan sits down behind his desk, stares at him for a good minute and asks, ‘So, how are you, Jensen?’

He assumes that it’s just a weird choice of words for Morgan, or that maybe he’s even misunderstood and launches into a speech on his revised plan for Vaughan Insurance, but his boss hardly lets him finish one sentence before holding up his hand to silence him.

‘I didn’t ask about the case,’ he says simply.

Jensen is quiet for a moment as he thinks this over, but his brain keeps concluding that his boss can’t actually be asking about his personal life, as there is no precedent in the entire four years he’s worked here, and eventually just tells him, ‘I’ve no idea what you’re asking me, sir.’

‘I’m asking you how you’re doing, son,’ Morgan says, eyebrows raised as if it should have been obvious the first time around. ‘Are you happy? You’ve been working hard, don’t think we haven’t noticed.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Jensen replies, hardly believing what he’s hearing.

Morgan nods and takes a file from his desk, looks through it as if it’s the most intriguing thing he’s ever read. ‘Says here you haven’t had a day off in years. Not since June 2007.’

‘Well, to be honest, that wasn’t really a day off,’ Jensen says defensively. ‘I had to have my appendix taken out.’

‘And you’ve got about a month’s worth of overtime,’ Morgan continues, as if Jensen hasn’t even spoken. ‘Now, you know we can’t pay you for those hours.’

‘No no,’ Jensen says immediately. ‘That’s not - I know that, but the work’s gotta get done.’

‘Right, exactly,’ Morgan agrees, smile lingering on his face. ‘And we want you to know how appreciative we are of that, so we’re gonna give you a few days off, comp time. Take the chance to have some fun, relax a little bit.’

Jensen’s just about to refuse, say that he’s about a month behind on his projects because of Murray’s ridiculous tendency to showcase and that he doesn’t actually have the time to take time off, when it hits him that that is exactly what this is about. He feels the back of his neck grow hot and he’s willing away the sense of dread and nerves that’s hit him tenfold since standing out in the hallway. ‘That’s very kind of you, sir, but that won’t be necessary.’

‘I know it’s not necessary,’ Morgan tells him, leaning back in his chair. ‘Consider it our way of thanking you.’

‘With all due respect, sir,’ Jensen says, gripping the arm rests of the black leather chair tightly, 'I’ll just have twice as much work to do when I come back and I’ll just be adding straight back to my overtime.’

Morgan is quiet for a moment and just looks at Jensen, as if he's trying to mind control him into taking the time off. But when Jensen hasn't actually changed his mind a couple moments later, he just sighs heavily and sits up again. 'Listen, son, let's not pretend that we don't both know what this is about. I'm giving you an easy out, here.'

'Out?' Jensen blurts without thinking. 'But I-'

'An easy way out of this situation,' Morgan corrects himself. 'Your team isn't happy with how things went down, couple days back, and from what I heard, I can't blame 'em.'

'I know that I crossed the line,' Jensen starts to explain, feeling his face flush. 'Murray-'

'Murray is a spoiled rich kid, that much is true,' his boss cuts across him. 'But he's a good designer. His ads are a bit garish at times, but if I recall correctly, you were the one who wanted to hire him. Said that with a bit of steering, he could be one of the best in the company.'

'I've been trying to steer, believe me,' Jensen tells Morgan before he can stop himself. 'He's out of control.'

'Then get him back in it.' When Jensen just gives him a puzzled look, Morgan shakes his head and explains again. 'Listen, Jensen, you do good work and you work hard, none of us are gonna deny that. But you gotta know when to let go, when to take the time off, when to give the time off and when to tell your people they did good. Being a Project Manager is more than managing a project. You gotta manage your people too and you're doing excellent on the first front, but I gotta say, you're making a bit of a mess on the second.'

'How?' he asks, genuinely at a loss for what he did wrong. 'I've been working hard, trying to get my designers to do their best, stretch their abilities-'

'Exactly,' Morgan says and points at him. 'You're stretching them too hard and you're doing the same to yourself. And that's gonna go well for a while, but at some point, someone -either you or one of your workers- is going to stop stretching and start tearing and from what I heard, that don't seem like it's far off.'

His boss pauses here, like he's giving Jensen a moment to process all he's said. When Morgan's still looking at him after he's long catalogued everything, however, Jensen gets uncomfortable and gives him a faint nod. And it seems that was what Morgan was waiting for, because he gives him a tiny smile and leans over to him, arms on his desk, as if he's about to share a secret. 'So here's what we're going to do: you are taking two days off because you're overworked, you're gonna have a gay old time back at your place or wherever and you're gonna come back on Monday, relaxed and slightly less demanding and then all problems are cleared, you get that?'

'I- I can't,' Jensen stutters and he's pretty sure he's never been so intimidated by anyone, not even when he first met Chris at college and the man had -extremely drunkenly- threatened to wipe the floor with his face.

Morgan sighs again, appears to be gearing up for another round of arguments, when Jensen finally manages to string together a decent sentence. 'No, I mean, I would do this, but I've got a meeting with Vaughan Insurance tomorrow to set things straight, meeting with Vaughan himself the day after that. There's no way I can get any of the other Project Managers clued in on time and even then there's still the issue that Vaughan probably won't want to deal with a new rep.'

He gets another hard stare from Morgan, as if he's working out if Jensen's actually telling the truth. Eventually, the man sighs and nods. 'Shit. Old Vaughan wasn't easy to get a hold of. Fine. Can you handle these meetings and your other projects and your designers without taking it down the same road you did this week?'

'Definitely,' Jensen says eagerly, making a mental note to thank the Lord on his knees he actually managed to think of that excuse when he did. 'It won't happen again.'

'It better won't,' Morgan says and waves his hand dismissively, signaling to Jensen that the conversation is over. 'Next time I hear you nearly clock one of your employers, you're getting more than a couple days off, and that won't be coming out of your overtime.'

'Yes, sir,' he agrees quickly, already getting up to get the hell out of that office. Just before he's out the door, though, he hears his boss call for him again, so he turns and asks, 'Sir?'

'You're a good kid,' Morgan tells him and Jensen can't actually make out if he's completely serious or just saying it to boost Jensen's ego. 'You could have a good life. It don't always have to be about work. You might wanna try doing that sometime.'

He nods and makes a hasty retreat. He's almost back in his own office when he freezes and realizes that Jeffrey Dean Morgan basically told him the exact same thing Murray did. His face gets hot again and he thinks that if he keeps getting this angry, he might just punch a hole through one of his walls sometime soon.

But then he deflates a little and thinks that if the entire world is yelling this at him - well. They might not be right, but they won't stop bugging him unless he gives in, either. So he might as well give them the impression he's caving. Which is why he whips out his phone and starts texting Danneel.

Going down to the bar round the corner from work later. Think you can make it? J.

It's been a while since he's seen her, a couple weeks probably, but there's nothing that takes the edge off like being around Danneel. So when the positive reply comes a good ten minutes later, he's actually looking forward, for the first time in long, to getting off work.

Or maybe just to getting off.




VI.

Jensen knows the exact moment Danneel walks in, because it’s the moment when all the men in the bar take just a second too long to answer, miss their mouths by just a fraction and spill beer all over their ties. It’s exactly one moment before all the people they’re talking to turn their heads toward the door.

He follows their example and, sure enough, Danneel Harris has just walked in, looking breathtaking as ever in an old t-shirt, denim mini-skirt and worn-down Converse that Jensen knows for a fact she’s had for ages. Her sunglasses are up in her hair, making it look messier than it actually is and she’s not even wearing make-up, as if he’s just pulled her away from doing laundry.

It still makes him half an inch taller, knowing that he’s the one she’s gonna walk up to, that he’s the reason she’s here at all. Sometimes he wonders why it didn’t work out between the two of them; he wonders if he should’ve given it more time or if he should’ve given her more and taken less. He thinks that, if circumstances had been different, they could’ve had a pretty great life together.

‘Hey,’ she says when she reaches him. She has a smile on her face, as if she’s genuinely happy to see him, but her hands don’t leave her back pockets. ‘You ready?’

Circumstances aren’t different, he reminds himself, and that means it’ll only work if they change, if they both change. And that’s something neither of them was willing to do, he guesses. Sometimes, love just isn’t enough, or there just isn’t enough love. So he’ll just have to settle for what they do still have, which is really great sex.

He follows her out, mirroring her smile, and if it bothers her that his hand snakes just a bit back and south even before they’re out the door, she doesn’t let it show.




VII.

Their fingers are intertwined by the time they’re in the parking lot and she leads him straight to his car, just the way she always does. (She has a thing for his dark blue Range Rover, he knows.) But there’s a spring in her step and she’s tugging just a bit harder than usual.

‘Hold up,’ Jensen says, still wearing that smile, as he’s trying to slow her down. ‘Where’s the fire?’

‘My apartment, if we don’t hurry up,’ she answers and she’s already fished the keys out of his pocket and is opening the door, her other hand pulling the shades out of her hair. ‘My laundry’s finished in fifteen minutes and if I don’t get the shirts out immediately, I’m never gonna get the rumples out. You’re lucky I came.’

‘Not yet, you didn’t.’ He has to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing as he follows her in, his hands working on loosening his tie and the buttons of his shirt. He knows this girl so well, knows everything about her, and that’s exactly why he likes being with her so much.

Because it’s always great with Danneel: always certain, quick and organized. No surprises. Like a dance they know all the steps to, an act they choreographed themselves. There’s no mess, no fuss, no puzzling and no searching, because they’re already clear on what the other likes.

Jensen knows exactly what buttons to push to give her what she needs; knows that if he kisses her on the soft skin where her jaw and earlobe meet, it drives her crazy, that a hand to the insides of her knees and elbows does much more for her than cupping her breasts. Knows that under no circumstances should he ever touch her belly, because it’s the only place she’s really ticklish and she’ll be in fits of laughter for minutes on end and the moment will be ruined.

And she knows how sensitive the soles of his feet and the sides of his ribcage are. Knows that he likes her on top, setting the pace, and that if she wants to finish him off in fifteen seconds flat, all she has to do is put her lips to his Adam’s apple and hum.

So that’s how they do it - it’s a sure and steady cadence, perfected after years of training.

Car and elbow. Lobejaw and ribcage. Top to bottom. In and out.

Adam’s apple. Belly.

Twelve minutes and forty-three seconds.

(Danneel’s shirts remain unrumpled.)

*




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