BIGBANG 2009!!!!
Title: ALL OF THOSE ABIDING HERE
Genre: RPS AU (SLASH)
Pairing(s):Jared/Jensen, Chris/Steve, Jeff/Samantha, brief mention of past Jensen/OMC, Jensen/Michael Weatherly, Jensen/David Boreanaz, and Jared/OMC.
Rating: 18/NC17
Warnings/Spoilers:Pre-Katrina New Orleans, angst, references to violence, extreme bad language (of all descriptions), references to past non-con, gay sex, nice!Michael Weatherly. AU, so no spoiler issues for the show.
Summary:Jensen Ackles was the first journalist in fifty years to be jailed for refusing to name his source. A year later he's out of jail and has to deal with a murder case, a new intern called Jared - who may have secrets of his own - and re-adjusting to life after jail. But the past is never far behind and what will happen when it starts to catch up with him?
Epilogue
Jensen scanned the bar. He finally saw who he was looking for, and walked across to their booth, sliding in opposite them.
Carter sipped his bourbon, “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Ackles?” he glanced around the bar, “I wouldn’t have thought this was your natural habitat any more than the Garden district.”
Jensen looked back at him; he wondered if Carter had always looked at him like that. He wondered if he had let himself be deceived or if Carter was just that good
My family are used to the best
“I came to speak to you,” he said.
“Strikes me that we don’t have too much to say to each other,” he grinned, “Less you’re thinkin’ of taking a swing at me, farm boy.”
“When you interviewed me, O’Riley really thought he was talking about a prison tat, didn’t he?”
“Well of course he did,” said Carter blandly, “What on earth else could we have been talking about?
Hold him down, for fucks sake.
Jensen snorted, and then cleared his throat and started to chuckle, “You’re the one who must be up to his neck with the Aryans - all I know? Flaherty had a go at you too.”
He smirked. “Something your Momma should of told you, son - real men get through life without rolling over and taking it up the ass.”
Jensen shrugged, “I guess she was more het up on teaching me that real men don’t hit women - and they don’t shoot them in the face, either.”
“And you’re telling me you regret her? A jumped up little bitch in a fancy car?” Carter signalled the waitress for another drink, “That chip on your shoulder ain’t convinced that the great state of Louisiana isn’t better off without her?”
“Very noble,” he said softly, “Would carry a whole lot more weight if she was the one you meant to kill.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you boy - especially not when you’re probably hooked up to a wire or have a recorder going in your pocket.”
“I’m not wired.”
“Well, you’ll have to forgive me for not taking your word for that.”
Jensen stood up, shrugged his suit jacket off, turned out the pockets of his trousers, and un-tucked his shirt, lifting it up, “No wire,” he said.
Carter raised his eyebrow, “You really wanna know, huh?”
“Yes,” he said, sitting back down, “It doesn’t bother you? That you got the wrong girl?”
He shrugged, “Not what I wanted. Comes from trusting a half-wit like O’Riley. Didn’t hurt none in the end - killed off her whistle blowing fantasy. Don’t reckon she’s that keen now that she’s seen the consequences.”
"And what about the Sanchezs? And the Kleins? And Sofia? She was 16 years old. A baby. What did they ever do to you?"
"I'm not gonna cry over a couple of Jews and a family of 'spics. Country will be better off without them."
"You're disgusting," said Jensen hoarsely, "Working for Shonran, that's just money, is it? And the Aryans? They your religion or something?"
He grinned, "There a bunch of useful lowlifes," he said, "But they're not wrong on everything."
Jensen looked over at a group of cops laughing by the bar, “How long?”
“Now, why would that matter to you?” He cocked his head to one side, “You lookin’ for a tale of woe? Money trouble and peer pressure sending a good cop over the edge?”
“Only if that were true.”
“Well it isn’t,” Carter leaned forward, “Cops are on the take everywhere, Jensen. All the time. Just like the rest of the population. Why the fuck should we put up with shitty pay checks and scumbags spitting on us, when the made-up little cunts who read press releases and the prick lawyers with gelled hair take home all the real money?”
“That’s not an original argument,” said Jensen, “And it’s not a very good one either.”
He chuckled. “And who are you, Jensen Ackles, to look down on me? I know all about you. Angola weren’t exactly the first time you got down on your knees, was it? Way I see it is this: we’re both whores, just I’m not pretending anything different and you are.”
“I don’t give a shit what you think of me - and I might not be wired, but d’you really think I’m not gonna repeat everything you said tonight to internal affairs?”
“You can repeat anything you want - they won’t believe you.”
“And why would that be?”
Carter leaned forward and ran his finger along Jensen’s jaw, “Because I’m a decorated NOPD officer with fifteen years under his belt,” he grinned, “And you’re a pansy-ass fag who couldn’t survive in jail without being someone’s bitch.”
“Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Take your fucking hands off me.”
He laughed, “Whatever you say, son,” he moved away and threw back the last of his liquor, “I’m sure I don’t need to apprise you of the reasons why you’d best be leaving this story alone?”
“You think I’m gonna listen to you?”
“I think you’re awful fond of your little group of cake boys - I mean, I should hate for your friend Kane to get busted for drugs again. Judge might not be so lenient this time. Or that roommate of yours. What’s his name? Carlson? That business down in Miami with him and that boy-“
“Screw you,” spat Jensen, “That kid was 17 going on 25. No one in their right mind would’ve pegged him for underage. And Steve was 22, for fucks sake - in half the world it’d be legal anyways.”
“Oh, I understand,” smirked Carter, “But an upright jury of citizens? I can’t see them being so...liberal. What d’you think, Ackles? You reckon this story is still worth it? No real proof, an editor who’s just about used up every bit of goodwill he’s ever had backing you? The Free Ackles brigade losing interest? And remember - these people have more money than God. That buys anything. Anyone. Anywhere. Just a few things for you to bear in mind.” He patted Jensen on the shoulder and left, calling out a thanks to the bar staff on the way.
He drew in a deep breath and clenched his fingers round his glass before downing the whiskey in one shot.
“Is your plan to sit here and get drunk?”
Jensen jerked his gaze up, “Jared, what the fuck-“
Jared slid into the booth opposite Jensen.
“Jared,” repeated Jensen, “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you.” He said dryly, “I know you think you’re the bomb when it comes to lying, but I have to say I think you kinda suck.”
“You heard,” he said flatly.
“I heard - though there wasn’t much there I hadn’t already figured,” he gave a sudden grin, “I didn’t reckon on Carter though - when did you?”
“When he interviewed me, I think,” Jensen looked up at the ceiling, “There was something...like, I don’t know. I think he smirked. Like, he knew something that O’Riley didn’t. Something about me...something about Flaherty.”
“Were you going to tell me?”
There’s things you don’t need to know, Jensen
“Tell you what?” Jensen signalled for a couple of drinks, “That I knew that the cop on the Mayes payroll was Carter, but, oh - couldn’t prove it none? And that he was probably in the pocket of the Aryans as well?”
“Were you ever gonna tell me what they did to you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Jensen looked at him, “I always figured I could handle myself - most situations? I thought I’d be fine. Worked out, learnt moves...but you know what? That means nothing in there. I meant nothing in there. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop anything and I sure as hell couldn‘t stop them. And no, I didn’t want to talk to you about being like that.”
Jared sighed, “I know this is a fucking cliché, but I’m really not the enemy.”
Jensen looked at him steadily, “Not the enemy, huh?”
“No.”
Jared’s shirt had a smudge on it, high up - on the collar.
Jensen thought he might have got on the elevator at Linda Mayes’ apartment. The place had looked like it needed a rub down. It brought to mind the guys back home. The ones that worked on the tractors and the pick-ups and the cars. Who’d let you jerk them off in the barn but would always wind up marrying that nice girl who waited at the diner. “How’s Nathaniel doing these days? Still married to the unhappy Katie I hear.”
The waitress brought their drinks over. She had a smile for Jensen and a wink for Jared.
Jared narrowed his eyes as she left, “You knew all along, didn’t you?”
"That you were working for Southern News?" He shrugged, “I’m not in the habit of working with people I don’t know. Made some enquires. Katie and I go way back - she was at Harvard around the same time as Linda and Caroline. That’s how I found out about the sorority connection.”
“Right,” said Jared slowly.
“So what angle you going go with now? I mean, unless you’re gonna straight out say- what? What was it you were hoping to find?”
“That you were a fake,” said Jared bluntly, “An up-his-own-ass, publicity-seeking jerk who engineered the contempt of court thing for the publicity. Kinda like the Arthur Miller of the Viuex Carré.”
“That what you’re gonna write?”
“Fuck’s sake, Jen! No, that’s not what I’m gonna write, I’m not a-“
Jensen raised his eyebrow, “Liar? Don’t sell yourself short, kid. You’ve been doing mighty fine so far.”
“Only about some things - we all lie, don’t we Jensen?”
“Don’t turn this round on me,” he took a sip, let the Wild Turkey roll on his tongue
Why d’you drink that? Makes you look like a-
and burn its way nice and easy down his throat, “We gave you a fair chance, and all the while you were good and cosy with Nathaniel Bartlett. Why you still here? Shouldn’t you be checking in with your boss?”
“He’s not my boss anymore.”
“Yeah? And how’s that?”
“I quit. Fronted up to Jeff, told him the whole thing. I didn’t know about the op-ed piece, I swear. I didn't tell anyone there we were sleeping together.”
“Really? And I- we’re supposed to believe that?”
“You can believe anything you want,” shot back Jared, “I’m not apologizing for coming here - we really thought there was an actual story.”
“We? Ahh - good old Nathanial. Tell me, he still screwing his junior reporters on the side?”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” countered Jared.
“C’mon Jared - you telling me you didn’t go through my resume with a fine toothcomb? You know I used to work on the Herald. The one he edited before Southern News. How d’you think I know about Mr Bartlett’s bedroom habits?”
Jared leaned back in the booth and took a swig of his own drink, “You and him huh?”
Jensen shrugged again, “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Yeah?”
“Figured he’d help my career.”
“That’s why you fucked him?”
“That’s why I let him fuck me,” corrected Jensen, an ugly smirk on his face, “How d’you think I went from dogsbody to trainee reporter in 6 months? It sure as hell wasn’t because Bartlett thought I had a talented brain.”
“You got some pretty good scoops on the Herald,” said Jared carelessly, “I guess it was worth Nathaniel’s time both ways.”
“How about you? I can’t really see a nice middle-class boy like you getting on his knees for a job. Especially not if he’s Richard Crale's son.”
“Maybe I was trying to escape nepotism.”
“Bullshit.”
“I liked how he looked. I like fucking, simple as that,” he said with a smile, “And unlike you I was a grown-up when I met him.”
“So was I.”
“Like you said - I do my research. I know you were 18 when you went to work for him.”
“Why is it that 18’s plenty old enough when they wanna shove a gun in your hand and send you to Baghdad, but it’s not old enough to screw around if you want to? I’m not a fucking victim Jared - I knew what I was doing.”
“And Nathanial didn’t suggest anything?”
“No.”
“My turn to call bullshit - he tried the same thing on me. Made a lot of noise about early promotion onto the editorial staff.”
Jensen frowned, “You said-“
“I said that’s not why I slept with him. Already had my eye on him, figured it wouldn’t do any harm to let him think what he wanted. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than be an editor.”
Jensen finished his whiskey in a single gulp, “You wanna another drink?”
“Sure.”
The waitress still smiled, but she’d quit with the winking. Jensen wondered if she’d picked up on his ‘fag’ vibe and mentally written off Jared by association
“It wasn’t like that,” he said suddenly.
“What wasn’t?” asked Jared.
“Me and Bartlett, he-“ Jensen paused, “He got me into a lot of stuff. You know, music, wine, that kind of thing. He taught me a hell of a lot about writing as well.”
“Okay,” said Jared neutrally, “I’m not arguing.”
Jensen swirled the drink round in the glass, “So what you going to do now you’ve thrown in the towel with Bartlett?”
“Carry on here, I guess - Jeff offered me a trainee position.”
“Before or after you dropped your little bombshell?”
“After.”
“Wow, you must’ve impressed him.”
“Well. Let’s just say that he put me through the wringer first - I thought he was gonna rip my throat out when I ‘fessed up.”
Jensen winced, “Yeah, confessing to Papa Jeff isn’t usually a pleasant experience.”
“Papa Jeff? You and him into a little Daddy play?”
He wrinkled his nose, “Dude! Sam would rip my balls off if I even flirted with him.”
“Good point - is all this okay with you? Me staying at the Post?
“It’s none of my business.”
Jared rubbed his eyes wearily, “Look, can we just forgot all this? Call a do-over?”
“What are you? Five?”
“Look, Jeff’s willing to let it go and-“
“You didn’t fuck Jeff.”
“No,” agreed Jared.
Jensen shrugged, “Leaves us at a bit of an impasse, wouldn’t you say?”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
Jared swallowed down his drink, put the glass down and stuck his hand out, “Hi,” he said brightly, “My name’s Jared Padalecki. I’m training to be a journalist. I’m from San Antonio in Texas. My Mom runs a couple of charities and my Dad was Richard Crale, the journalist who got himself killed in Lebanon, and yes - I am in therapy about my choice of words there. I like steaks, whiskey, baseball, Halo and pretty much anything written by Jack Kerouac. How d’you do?”
Jensen stared at him for a moment. Slowly, he reached out his hand and shook Jared’s, “Hi,” he said in reply, “I’m Jensen, I’m a journalist, I’m from Franklin County, Texas. My folks have a farm there. I’m in therapy because I went to jail for nine months and some bad shit happened. I like steaks and whiskey too, but I gotta say it’d have to be football, Madden, and anything written by Chuck Palahniuk.”
“Like things a bit dark side, huh?”
“And I guess you prefer them to meander, huh?”
“Touché,” said Jared, “So, Jensen Ackles, who’s from Franklin County, Texas. You wanna grab something to eat?”
“You asking me as a colleague?”
“No.”
“Friend? Because I have to say I think we’re kinda past that.”
“No - I’m asking you to have dinner with me.”
Jensen swallowed, “Then I guess I do want to get something to eat - you got somewhere in mind?”
“I know a place that has chicken fried steak to die for.”
He drained the last of his glass, “That sounds...”
“Jensen?” asked Jared quietly.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t-“ he stood up and left the booth.
Jared stared after him for a moment.
It was humid out.
Jensen almost laughed. It was always humid here: leastways, that was what it felt like to him. Fuck, he missed Texas like a damn limb. He looked up and down the street for a cab.
The door opened behind him, “Jensen?” He didn’t look back,
Jensen stared ahead, “I’m sorry Jared, I am really.”
He felt Jared step right behind him.
“If this is ‘cause of what I did-“
“It isn’t. It’s me I’m-“ he laughed again, “I’m really fucked up Jared.”
“So am I,” said Jared easily, “So is everyone. It’s all a matter of degree, right?”
“Then I think I’m at the full 360 then, huh?” said Jensen, scanning the street for a cab.
Jared moved in front of him and caught Jensen’s wrist, “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I’m sorry I lied, and I’m sorry I judged you, and I’m sorry I fucked you, and then walked out. And I really like you and I want to carry on seeing you but I’m not gonna fucking beg, Jensen. Not even for you.”
“I don’t want you to beg.”
“Okay.” Jared turned toward the street and hailed a cab.
Jensen watched as Jared walked to the car and got in, moving over in the seat, and leaving the open door behind him.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
Jensen looked back at the bar.
He got into the cab.
The End
Genre: RPS AU (SLASH)
Pairing(s):Jared/Jensen, Chris/Steve, Jeff/Samantha, brief mention of past Jensen/OMC, Jensen/Michael Weatherly, Jensen/David Boreanaz, and Jared/OMC.
Rating: 18/NC17
Warnings/Spoilers:Pre-Katrina New Orleans, angst, references to violence, extreme bad language (of all descriptions), references to past non-con, gay sex, nice!Michael Weatherly. AU, so no spoiler issues for the show.
Summary:Jensen Ackles was the first journalist in fifty years to be jailed for refusing to name his source. A year later he's out of jail and has to deal with a murder case, a new intern called Jared - who may have secrets of his own - and re-adjusting to life after jail. But the past is never far behind and what will happen when it starts to catch up with him?
Epilogue
Jensen scanned the bar. He finally saw who he was looking for, and walked across to their booth, sliding in opposite them.
Carter sipped his bourbon, “And to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Ackles?” he glanced around the bar, “I wouldn’t have thought this was your natural habitat any more than the Garden district.”
Jensen looked back at him; he wondered if Carter had always looked at him like that. He wondered if he had let himself be deceived or if Carter was just that good
My family are used to the best
“I came to speak to you,” he said.
“Strikes me that we don’t have too much to say to each other,” he grinned, “Less you’re thinkin’ of taking a swing at me, farm boy.”
“When you interviewed me, O’Riley really thought he was talking about a prison tat, didn’t he?”
“Well of course he did,” said Carter blandly, “What on earth else could we have been talking about?
Hold him down, for fucks sake.
Jensen snorted, and then cleared his throat and started to chuckle, “You’re the one who must be up to his neck with the Aryans - all I know? Flaherty had a go at you too.”
He smirked. “Something your Momma should of told you, son - real men get through life without rolling over and taking it up the ass.”
Jensen shrugged, “I guess she was more het up on teaching me that real men don’t hit women - and they don’t shoot them in the face, either.”
“And you’re telling me you regret her? A jumped up little bitch in a fancy car?” Carter signalled the waitress for another drink, “That chip on your shoulder ain’t convinced that the great state of Louisiana isn’t better off without her?”
“Very noble,” he said softly, “Would carry a whole lot more weight if she was the one you meant to kill.”
“I’ve nothing to say to you boy - especially not when you’re probably hooked up to a wire or have a recorder going in your pocket.”
“I’m not wired.”
“Well, you’ll have to forgive me for not taking your word for that.”
Jensen stood up, shrugged his suit jacket off, turned out the pockets of his trousers, and un-tucked his shirt, lifting it up, “No wire,” he said.
Carter raised his eyebrow, “You really wanna know, huh?”
“Yes,” he said, sitting back down, “It doesn’t bother you? That you got the wrong girl?”
He shrugged, “Not what I wanted. Comes from trusting a half-wit like O’Riley. Didn’t hurt none in the end - killed off her whistle blowing fantasy. Don’t reckon she’s that keen now that she’s seen the consequences.”
"And what about the Sanchezs? And the Kleins? And Sofia? She was 16 years old. A baby. What did they ever do to you?"
"I'm not gonna cry over a couple of Jews and a family of 'spics. Country will be better off without them."
"You're disgusting," said Jensen hoarsely, "Working for Shonran, that's just money, is it? And the Aryans? They your religion or something?"
He grinned, "There a bunch of useful lowlifes," he said, "But they're not wrong on everything."
Jensen looked over at a group of cops laughing by the bar, “How long?”
“Now, why would that matter to you?” He cocked his head to one side, “You lookin’ for a tale of woe? Money trouble and peer pressure sending a good cop over the edge?”
“Only if that were true.”
“Well it isn’t,” Carter leaned forward, “Cops are on the take everywhere, Jensen. All the time. Just like the rest of the population. Why the fuck should we put up with shitty pay checks and scumbags spitting on us, when the made-up little cunts who read press releases and the prick lawyers with gelled hair take home all the real money?”
“That’s not an original argument,” said Jensen, “And it’s not a very good one either.”
He chuckled. “And who are you, Jensen Ackles, to look down on me? I know all about you. Angola weren’t exactly the first time you got down on your knees, was it? Way I see it is this: we’re both whores, just I’m not pretending anything different and you are.”
“I don’t give a shit what you think of me - and I might not be wired, but d’you really think I’m not gonna repeat everything you said tonight to internal affairs?”
“You can repeat anything you want - they won’t believe you.”
“And why would that be?”
Carter leaned forward and ran his finger along Jensen’s jaw, “Because I’m a decorated NOPD officer with fifteen years under his belt,” he grinned, “And you’re a pansy-ass fag who couldn’t survive in jail without being someone’s bitch.”
“Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Take your fucking hands off me.”
He laughed, “Whatever you say, son,” he moved away and threw back the last of his liquor, “I’m sure I don’t need to apprise you of the reasons why you’d best be leaving this story alone?”
“You think I’m gonna listen to you?”
“I think you’re awful fond of your little group of cake boys - I mean, I should hate for your friend Kane to get busted for drugs again. Judge might not be so lenient this time. Or that roommate of yours. What’s his name? Carlson? That business down in Miami with him and that boy-“
“Screw you,” spat Jensen, “That kid was 17 going on 25. No one in their right mind would’ve pegged him for underage. And Steve was 22, for fucks sake - in half the world it’d be legal anyways.”
“Oh, I understand,” smirked Carter, “But an upright jury of citizens? I can’t see them being so...liberal. What d’you think, Ackles? You reckon this story is still worth it? No real proof, an editor who’s just about used up every bit of goodwill he’s ever had backing you? The Free Ackles brigade losing interest? And remember - these people have more money than God. That buys anything. Anyone. Anywhere. Just a few things for you to bear in mind.” He patted Jensen on the shoulder and left, calling out a thanks to the bar staff on the way.
He drew in a deep breath and clenched his fingers round his glass before downing the whiskey in one shot.
“Is your plan to sit here and get drunk?”
Jensen jerked his gaze up, “Jared, what the fuck-“
Jared slid into the booth opposite Jensen.
“Jared,” repeated Jensen, “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you.” He said dryly, “I know you think you’re the bomb when it comes to lying, but I have to say I think you kinda suck.”
“You heard,” he said flatly.
“I heard - though there wasn’t much there I hadn’t already figured,” he gave a sudden grin, “I didn’t reckon on Carter though - when did you?”
“When he interviewed me, I think,” Jensen looked up at the ceiling, “There was something...like, I don’t know. I think he smirked. Like, he knew something that O’Riley didn’t. Something about me...something about Flaherty.”
“Were you going to tell me?”
There’s things you don’t need to know, Jensen
“Tell you what?” Jensen signalled for a couple of drinks, “That I knew that the cop on the Mayes payroll was Carter, but, oh - couldn’t prove it none? And that he was probably in the pocket of the Aryans as well?”
“Were you ever gonna tell me what they did to you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Jensen looked at him, “I always figured I could handle myself - most situations? I thought I’d be fine. Worked out, learnt moves...but you know what? That means nothing in there. I meant nothing in there. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop anything and I sure as hell couldn‘t stop them. And no, I didn’t want to talk to you about being like that.”
Jared sighed, “I know this is a fucking cliché, but I’m really not the enemy.”
Jensen looked at him steadily, “Not the enemy, huh?”
“No.”
Jared’s shirt had a smudge on it, high up - on the collar.
Jensen thought he might have got on the elevator at Linda Mayes’ apartment. The place had looked like it needed a rub down. It brought to mind the guys back home. The ones that worked on the tractors and the pick-ups and the cars. Who’d let you jerk them off in the barn but would always wind up marrying that nice girl who waited at the diner. “How’s Nathaniel doing these days? Still married to the unhappy Katie I hear.”
The waitress brought their drinks over. She had a smile for Jensen and a wink for Jared.
Jared narrowed his eyes as she left, “You knew all along, didn’t you?”
"That you were working for Southern News?" He shrugged, “I’m not in the habit of working with people I don’t know. Made some enquires. Katie and I go way back - she was at Harvard around the same time as Linda and Caroline. That’s how I found out about the sorority connection.”
“Right,” said Jared slowly.
“So what angle you going go with now? I mean, unless you’re gonna straight out say- what? What was it you were hoping to find?”
“That you were a fake,” said Jared bluntly, “An up-his-own-ass, publicity-seeking jerk who engineered the contempt of court thing for the publicity. Kinda like the Arthur Miller of the Viuex Carré.”
“That what you’re gonna write?”
“Fuck’s sake, Jen! No, that’s not what I’m gonna write, I’m not a-“
Jensen raised his eyebrow, “Liar? Don’t sell yourself short, kid. You’ve been doing mighty fine so far.”
“Only about some things - we all lie, don’t we Jensen?”
“Don’t turn this round on me,” he took a sip, let the Wild Turkey roll on his tongue
Why d’you drink that? Makes you look like a-
and burn its way nice and easy down his throat, “We gave you a fair chance, and all the while you were good and cosy with Nathaniel Bartlett. Why you still here? Shouldn’t you be checking in with your boss?”
“He’s not my boss anymore.”
“Yeah? And how’s that?”
“I quit. Fronted up to Jeff, told him the whole thing. I didn’t know about the op-ed piece, I swear. I didn't tell anyone there we were sleeping together.”
“Really? And I- we’re supposed to believe that?”
“You can believe anything you want,” shot back Jared, “I’m not apologizing for coming here - we really thought there was an actual story.”
“We? Ahh - good old Nathanial. Tell me, he still screwing his junior reporters on the side?”
“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” countered Jared.
“C’mon Jared - you telling me you didn’t go through my resume with a fine toothcomb? You know I used to work on the Herald. The one he edited before Southern News. How d’you think I know about Mr Bartlett’s bedroom habits?”
Jared leaned back in the booth and took a swig of his own drink, “You and him huh?”
Jensen shrugged again, “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Yeah?”
“Figured he’d help my career.”
“That’s why you fucked him?”
“That’s why I let him fuck me,” corrected Jensen, an ugly smirk on his face, “How d’you think I went from dogsbody to trainee reporter in 6 months? It sure as hell wasn’t because Bartlett thought I had a talented brain.”
“You got some pretty good scoops on the Herald,” said Jared carelessly, “I guess it was worth Nathaniel’s time both ways.”
“How about you? I can’t really see a nice middle-class boy like you getting on his knees for a job. Especially not if he’s Richard Crale's son.”
“Maybe I was trying to escape nepotism.”
“Bullshit.”
“I liked how he looked. I like fucking, simple as that,” he said with a smile, “And unlike you I was a grown-up when I met him.”
“So was I.”
“Like you said - I do my research. I know you were 18 when you went to work for him.”
“Why is it that 18’s plenty old enough when they wanna shove a gun in your hand and send you to Baghdad, but it’s not old enough to screw around if you want to? I’m not a fucking victim Jared - I knew what I was doing.”
“And Nathanial didn’t suggest anything?”
“No.”
“My turn to call bullshit - he tried the same thing on me. Made a lot of noise about early promotion onto the editorial staff.”
Jensen frowned, “You said-“
“I said that’s not why I slept with him. Already had my eye on him, figured it wouldn’t do any harm to let him think what he wanted. I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than be an editor.”
Jensen finished his whiskey in a single gulp, “You wanna another drink?”
“Sure.”
The waitress still smiled, but she’d quit with the winking. Jensen wondered if she’d picked up on his ‘fag’ vibe and mentally written off Jared by association
“It wasn’t like that,” he said suddenly.
“What wasn’t?” asked Jared.
“Me and Bartlett, he-“ Jensen paused, “He got me into a lot of stuff. You know, music, wine, that kind of thing. He taught me a hell of a lot about writing as well.”
“Okay,” said Jared neutrally, “I’m not arguing.”
Jensen swirled the drink round in the glass, “So what you going to do now you’ve thrown in the towel with Bartlett?”
“Carry on here, I guess - Jeff offered me a trainee position.”
“Before or after you dropped your little bombshell?”
“After.”
“Wow, you must’ve impressed him.”
“Well. Let’s just say that he put me through the wringer first - I thought he was gonna rip my throat out when I ‘fessed up.”
Jensen winced, “Yeah, confessing to Papa Jeff isn’t usually a pleasant experience.”
“Papa Jeff? You and him into a little Daddy play?”
He wrinkled his nose, “Dude! Sam would rip my balls off if I even flirted with him.”
“Good point - is all this okay with you? Me staying at the Post?
“It’s none of my business.”
Jared rubbed his eyes wearily, “Look, can we just forgot all this? Call a do-over?”
“What are you? Five?”
“Look, Jeff’s willing to let it go and-“
“You didn’t fuck Jeff.”
“No,” agreed Jared.
Jensen shrugged, “Leaves us at a bit of an impasse, wouldn’t you say?”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
Jared swallowed down his drink, put the glass down and stuck his hand out, “Hi,” he said brightly, “My name’s Jared Padalecki. I’m training to be a journalist. I’m from San Antonio in Texas. My Mom runs a couple of charities and my Dad was Richard Crale, the journalist who got himself killed in Lebanon, and yes - I am in therapy about my choice of words there. I like steaks, whiskey, baseball, Halo and pretty much anything written by Jack Kerouac. How d’you do?”
Jensen stared at him for a moment. Slowly, he reached out his hand and shook Jared’s, “Hi,” he said in reply, “I’m Jensen, I’m a journalist, I’m from Franklin County, Texas. My folks have a farm there. I’m in therapy because I went to jail for nine months and some bad shit happened. I like steaks and whiskey too, but I gotta say it’d have to be football, Madden, and anything written by Chuck Palahniuk.”
“Like things a bit dark side, huh?”
“And I guess you prefer them to meander, huh?”
“Touché,” said Jared, “So, Jensen Ackles, who’s from Franklin County, Texas. You wanna grab something to eat?”
“You asking me as a colleague?”
“No.”
“Friend? Because I have to say I think we’re kinda past that.”
“No - I’m asking you to have dinner with me.”
Jensen swallowed, “Then I guess I do want to get something to eat - you got somewhere in mind?”
“I know a place that has chicken fried steak to die for.”
He drained the last of his glass, “That sounds...”
“Jensen?” asked Jared quietly.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I can’t-“ he stood up and left the booth.
Jared stared after him for a moment.
It was humid out.
Jensen almost laughed. It was always humid here: leastways, that was what it felt like to him. Fuck, he missed Texas like a damn limb. He looked up and down the street for a cab.
The door opened behind him, “Jensen?” He didn’t look back,
Jensen stared ahead, “I’m sorry Jared, I am really.”
He felt Jared step right behind him.
“If this is ‘cause of what I did-“
“It isn’t. It’s me I’m-“ he laughed again, “I’m really fucked up Jared.”
“So am I,” said Jared easily, “So is everyone. It’s all a matter of degree, right?”
“Then I think I’m at the full 360 then, huh?” said Jensen, scanning the street for a cab.
Jared moved in front of him and caught Jensen’s wrist, “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I’m sorry I lied, and I’m sorry I judged you, and I’m sorry I fucked you, and then walked out. And I really like you and I want to carry on seeing you but I’m not gonna fucking beg, Jensen. Not even for you.”
“I don’t want you to beg.”
“Okay.” Jared turned toward the street and hailed a cab.
Jensen watched as Jared walked to the car and got in, moving over in the seat, and leaving the open door behind him.
“Are you coming?” he asked.
Jensen looked back at the bar.
He got into the cab.
The End