FIC: Rule number one: never be too eager to rush your opponent
Title: Rule number one: never be too eager to rush your opponent
Disney Prompt: The Pacifier
Rating: R for language
Word Count:
Warnings: Not betaed. Sorry. Also, some violence.
Summary: Written for j2-everafter - What happens when Jared receives orders to protect the son of the man his team failed to save?
He used to be called Joker.
It was a nickname he picked up in high school, one that stuck around through basic training and even through his placement with his squad. He remains, to this day, the only soldier to ever make Drill Sergeant Parks crack a smile. He was who people turned to when they were homesick, and he was always the first person to make a teammate laugh after a particularly difficult mission.
That was before the beach.
Now it’s just Jared.
*
His squad leader shows up with new orders, and Jared very nearly punches him.
“Sir, you’re not serious.”
At least Morgan looks a little apologetic as he hands Jared the papers. “Not my call, Padalecki. Orders came from on high. And I don’t like it any better than you do.”
The papers crunch in Jared’s fist as he takes them. “I’m a highly trained operative, sir. Not a babysitter.”
“Neither are Welling or Hodge. Or me, for that matter. But intel says the entire family is at risk until we find out if they knew anything about Ackles’ research, and so it is now our jobs to watch over them, regardless of our personal issues.” Then Morgan salutes, and Jared knows the matter is closed.
Upon Jared’s return salute, Morgan smiles slightly. “At least they gave you the cute one, right?”
*
Morgan’s right: Jensen is the cute one. Jared can remember looking at the guy’s file and thinking, Damn. The whole family seemed pretty attractive, but Jensen had a whole freckles-bowlegs-smile combo thing that made Jared sit up and notice.
So yeah, Jensen’s the cute one. He’s also the one who slams the door in Jared’s face when Jared shows up at his loft apartment. “You’re not welcome here,” he yells through the door.
Jared spends the next five minutes knocking, each repetition getting harder and louder. “I would rather not have this conversation through the door,” Jared says as he bangs on said door one last time.
“Then leave, because I’m not opening it again.”
Jared sighs. So much for the easy way.
Ten minutes later, he has sized up the outside of Jensen’s building, found the easiest way the scale up the walls, and is climbing through a loose window leading into Jensen’s bedroom.
The string of expletives Jensen yells when he sees Jared coming down his stairs would impress most of Jared’s squadron. Jensen scrambles over the back of his sofa, putting the piece of furniture between him and Jared, and it looks as though he’s trying to find something to throw. “How the hell did you get in here?” he finally asks.
Jared doesn’t stop walking, just hikes a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom. “Open window. We’re going to need to address that.”
“I live on the ninth floor!”
“Being able to get into impenetrable buildings is part of my job.”
The glare Jensen throws at Jared is downright icy. “I saw you and your team at the funeral. You and I both know exactly how good you are at your job. I don’t want you here.”
The barb shouldn’t sting, but it does, and suddenly Jared is back on the beach, where his laugh died suddenly in a red explosion right before his eyes. He hopes his face doesn’t show anything when he comes to a stop at the base of the stairs, stands at ease, and tells Jensen point-blank, “I have my orders. Every member of my team has protection duty for a member of your family, and until it has been determined that you are not in any danger, you are my responsibility.”
*
After that, Jensen apparently decides to just ignore him. He doesn’t say another word to Jared for the rest of the evening, just channel surfs with a vengeance. Jared takes advantage of the quiet and does a security sweep of the apartment, making sure all windows are locked tight and setting up some surveillance equipment.
When Jensen cooks dinner, he doesn’t prepare a second helping. Jared gets the hint.
And when he decides to go to bed, Jensen turns off all of the lights and leaves Jared sitting in the dark. At least the sofa is comfortable.
*
Jared is up with the dawn. The entire loft is still silent, no sign Jensen’s even close to stirring, so Jared takes the opportunity to go through as much of his morning routine as possible. He does forgo the usual run, not wanting to leave Jensen unattended for that long. He throws in an extra hundred jumping jacks to make up for it.
By the end, he’s worked up a sweat. There’s still no sign that Jensen will be waking up any time soon, so Jared heads for the downstairs bathroom. His shower is quick, just a wash and rinse, and when he steps out he realizes he’s left his bag behind. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he opens the door.
And finds Jensen standing in the living area, coffee mug in a grip that’s going looser by the second.
“Jesus,” Jensen mutters. It’s the first thing he’s said to Jared since yesterday afternoon.
He’s clearly gawking, eyes fixed on Jared’s chest. So, there’s that. It’s a little flattering, and if Jared didn’t know any better, he can swear he feels a smile sneaking up on him. He gives a small pec flex, just to see what Jensen’s reaction will be.
It seems to snap Jensen out of it, because he shakes himself a bit. “Sorry, geez, sorry.” He finally takes a sip of his coffee.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jared tells him. “Just forgot my bag.” He picks it up and carries it back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
When he comes back out, he can hear Jensen back upstairs. Jared heads to the kitchen and starts poking around for an idea for breakfast. When Jensen makes it back downstairs, decked out in slacks and a tie, Jared has put together a plate of scrambled eggs for each of them.
“Thanks,” Jensen tells him. The matter-of-fact tone from yesterday is back, but it’s slightly warmer than before.
Jared nods at him, refilling Jensen’s mug of coffee. “No problem. Thought it would be nice to have breakfast before we head to your office.”
“We?”
“What part of ‘you’re my responsibility’ did you not understand? I’m keeping an eye on you until I get the all-clear from my superiors.”
Jensen purses his lips, crossing his arms. After a moment, he huffs and storms out of the kitchen, leaving his breakfast untouched.
Jared shovels Jensen’s food onto his own plate. No sense in letting food go to waste.
*
Jensen doesn’t look happy when Jared slides into the passenger seat, but he doesn’t say anything.
The trip to Jensen’s modest office is just as silent. Jensen doesn’t even acknowledge him once they park, but at least he waits for Jared to get out of the car before activating the alarm.
There’s a crowd surrounding Jensen’s office door, nosey accountants all pushing forward to look at something, and Jared steps forward to push his way through.
The room is trashed. All five filing cabinets have been emptied and toppled across the floor, his desk drawers given the same treatment, and judging by the scattered computer parts everywhere, someone searched his system and got frustrated with what they found. Or didn’t find.
By now, Jensen has been able to shoulder his way past everyone. He takes one look at his ruined office, turns right back around and pushes his way back out. Jared is one step behind him.
*
They’re not even three blocks away before Jared has finished his call to CO Morgan. None of the other teams have reported any incidents, so Morgan tells him to keep extra vigilant and he’ll try to figure out why Jensen’s being targeted.
Jensen’s knuckles are white from clenching the wheel, and he doesn’t take his eyes off the road when he says, “I’ll give you sheets for the sofa when we get back.”
Jared nods.
*
There’s a man standing outside Jensen’s loft when they get back, hand poised to knock on the door. Jared’s already moving to intercept, but Jensen speaks up to stop him. “He’s a neighbor. Lives downstairs.”
“Jensen?” the neighbor asks. “I came up here to ask you to keep it down. Are you just getting home?”
Jared’s moving before the neighbor finishes speaking. It’s disturbingly easy to kick in Jensen’s door. The sight that greets them is even worse than the office. Even the couch cushions have been ripped open. Jared gives it a cursory look before moving on to the rest of the apartment. Every cabinet in the kitchen has been thrown open, some of his dinnerware in shards on the floor. Upstairs, the mattress has been flipped off the box spring, and all of the closet’s contents have been strewn about the room. Even the bathroom’s been tossed.
When Jared comes back downstairs, Jensen’s still standing outside the front door, staring at the mess that his apartment has become. The neighbor’s hanging back, his hand resting on Jensen’s shoulder. “Seriously, Jensen,” he says. “I can call the cops for you. Just say the word.”
“No,” Jared interrupts. “I’ve got it covered. You should go back to your place, Mister...”
“Collins. Misha, please.” He pats Jensen once, then steps back. “Let me know if you need anything, Jensen. I mean it. I’m right downstairs.” With that, he leaves.
Jared herds Jensen into the apartment and wedges the door shut as best he can.
*
Whoever trashed the place found and smashed four of Jared’s surveillance cameras. The one in the kitchen and one of the bedroom cameras are all that remain, and when Jared pulls up the footage on his mission-issued laptop, it makes him grit his teeth in frustration.
One man, judging by his build since his face is covered by a ski mask, is throwing around Jensen’s belongings, ripping art off the walls, looking for something. For a split second as the masked figure is tossing the bedroom, he pauses and then heads straight for the loose window. Tipped off someone was coming, then.
Also, Jared is so nailing that window shut.
As Jared watches, Jensen’s moving around him, attempting to clean up some of the mess. It’s clearly too much for him, though, because after fifteen minutes of trying to put things away into proper places that no longer exist, he throws his hands up in disgust.
“Fuck this,” Jensen says. “I can’t deal with this sober.” He heads for the kitchen, but stops and turns back. “You want a beer?”
*
“I didn’t want to believe you.”
They’re on the floor, sitting on the slashed sofa cushions, shoulders brushing one another’s. Jared’s been nursing his beer for the last hour, wanting to keep sharp, but Jensen seems to have no such qualms, finishing off the six pack on his own. He’s actually talking now.
“The moment I got the call, telling me that I was getting my own babysitter, I thought, ‘What else can these people do to me?’” Jensen tips back the last of the final bottle. “Took my dad from his cushy lab job and sequestered him away in some private military facility halfway across the world. Got him kidnapped. Got him killed.”
Jensen takes a moment to stare at the bottle still in his hand. “And then your people had the gall to tell me that the rest of my family was at risk just because there’s a chance one of us may have some knowledge or record of what he’d been working on.” With that, he chucks the glass at the nearest wall. It hits inches away from the one framed photo Jensen’s managed to get back up on the wall, and Jensen’s immediately on his feet, checking it for any damage.
“It’s a nice piece,” Jared tells him, pointing at the photograph.
“Thanks,” Jensen replies. “Took it in Wisconsin a couple years ago.”
“You took that shot?” Jared’s impressed. It’s a black and white image of the length of a pier, the far end of it shrouded in fog. The lamps lining the edge are on, giving the whole view a hazy glow. It’s sharp and soft at the same time, the kind of shot most photographers would probably kill to have in their portfolio. “It’s really good.”
“My father liked it too. He actually had this one matted and framed for me.” He runs his fingertips around the corner of the wooden frame. “Spent way too much. I think it was his way of apologizing for talking me into an accounting degree instead of supporting my original choice.”
“Which was?”
Jensen pats the frame. “Take a wild guess.” Apparently content that no damage was done by the shattering bottle, Jensen returns to his spot on the floor, crashing onto his cushion with a defeated slump.
“We had him, you know.” Jared doesn’t know why he’s suddenly talking about this. He just feels like he has to say something. “We had him out. We were on the beach, running for the chopper. I’d just told him a joke. He was smiling.” Jensen tenses up beside him, suddenly ramrod straight. To hell with keeping sharp, Jared chugs down what’s left of his beer. “It was instantaneous. One split second difference between him laughing at me and, well. We all dropped to the ground, but it was too late at that point. My CO came running up behind us, demanding if anyone knew where the shot came from.”
“Did you?”
“No, still don’t. I’ve gone over the scenario so many times in my head. We’d cleared the beach, had men on all points, and everyone in the compound was either restrained or dead.”
Jensen’s quiet for several moments after, just staring at him, and Jared can’t help but think he should say something else, tell the guy how he’s been spending every free moment he has poring over his team’s mission reports, retracing intel logs to find anything they may have missed.
“You know,” Jensen says. “You’ve got nice eyes. Sad, but nice. Very expressive. Bet they show up great on film. I’m gonna go get my camera. Upstairs.” He hops up again, brushing off his jeans as he does. When he reaches the base of the stairs, he pauses and looks back at Jared. “That’s a hint, by the way.”
When Jared raises an eyebrow at him, Jensen smiles. “Like I said, expressive eyes. As in, not subtle.”
*
Just like the previous day, Jared’s up with the dawn, but this time in a much better mood. Once they had gotten the mattress righted the previous night, Jensen’s bed proved itself to be considerably more comfortable than the sofa. Especially now, with Jensen curled up close beside him, their feet tangled together under the covers.
Jared raises his arms above his head in a stretch, his muscles achy in a way that has nothing to do with his normal morning work-out and everything to do with Jensen. He’s trying to decide between letting Jensen sleep and waking him up for round three when he feels a breeze on his arms.
When he turns around, he notices two things. One, the fucking loose window is wide open. And two, there’s a Sig pointed at his head.
“Morning, Romeo,” says the masked figure holding the gun. “Let’s wake Juliet here, and head downstairs. We have something to discuss.”
*
As they head for the stairs, Jared makes it a point to put himself between the gun and Jensen. Their attacker is smart enough to keep a good distance back, demanding they move slowly, but if the right moment comes around, Jared thinks he may be able to disarm the guy.
That plan falls to shit when they see the second masked man downstairs, also pointing a firearm at them.
“Find anything?” the first gunman, who Jared has designated Hostile 1, asks. Something about his voice is off, like he’s purposely trying to disguise it. His vowels are drawn out, accent too thick.
Jared takes a step.
“No,” the other one, Hostile 2, answers. “Doesn’t help that you wrecked the place yesterday. You sure there’s something here at all?”
Step.
“All intelligence points to Ackles having at least one hard copy of his research. And he didn’t have it with him when he reported to the compound after visiting his kid here. Trust me, I asked him hard enough. It has to be here somewhere.”
Step.
“Better be,” Hostile 2 says, adjusting his grip on his handgun. “The Russians are breathing down my neck, wanting to know where the hell their merchandise is.”
Step.
“Man, fuck you and the Russians. The way they’re panting over this research makes me think I’m not getting enough money from them.”
Jared uses their bickering to buy a few seconds of observation. Hostile 1 clearly knows what he’s doing, from his grip to his stance walking down the stairs. The guy may be talking, but he’s not distracted to the point of sloppiness.
Hostile 2, however, seems the weaker link. He keeps taking his eyes off them in order to look around the loft, consider additional hiding places, and Jared can use that. He hopes. It’s just a matter of keeping Jensen from getting hurt.
“You know,” Hostile 2 adds, “if you hadn’t shot the guy, we probably could have just kidnapped this kid of his and held him at gunpoint until Ackles told us where the hell he hid it.”
Jared freezes, one split second after Jensen does. He doesn’t bother saying anything. They both know what this means.
“Well, tough shit,” Hostile 1 says, and he moves in close, shoving his pistol between Jared’s shoulder blades. “He saw my face and would have given it all away to this joker and his team. So now, we question the shutterbug, find the doc’s paperwork and leave to meet your fucking Russians.”
Shutterbug.
Oh hell, he’ll apologize to Jensen later.
In one move, Jared shoves a leg into Jensen while lunging back at the gunman. He doesn’t have time to make sure Jensen made it down the rest of the stairs safely, but he hopes Jensen knew enough to roll for cover. This is the distraction Jared needed. The guy was a moron for not handcuffing them first, and Jared gets in one, two, three punches before the gunman goes limp.
There’s a yell from down below, and Jared looks up in time to Jensen smash what was left of one of his kitchen chairs into Hostile 2. The gun’s knocked free, and Jared vaults over the railing to scoop it up.
Jensen’s out of breath, and he looks down at the chair legs still in his hand before glancing back at Jared. “Better than the walk of shame, right?”
Jared can’t help it. He laughs. And it feels good.
*
The unmasking of their attackers goes as such. Jared duct tapes both men to Jensen’s stair railing. Misha’s crying under his mask. Jensen kicks him in the side, then goes to call the police. When Jared removes the other mask and finds Aldis, one of his teammates, he calls Morgan, calmly tells him what happened, and then spent the next fifteen minutes contemplating how to get away with murder before the cops show.
At least that explains where the shot on the beach came from. Hodge had the best cover, after all.
The place has been quiet for an hour when Jared finally gets the nerve to ask Jensen if he could see the photo his father framed for him. Jensen squeezes his eyes shut when Jared flicks open his boot knife to cut through the backing, but Jared tries to be as careful as he can.
Sure enough, there’s a booklet of papers hidden with the print, each page covered with equations.
“Think you might know some folks to give that to?” Jensen asks him.
Jared smiles. “A few come to mind.”
Jensen stares at the space where the photo had been hanging, cocks his head to the side. “Think you could help me find a new photo to put up there too?” He looks over at Jared and waggles his eyebrows. “You know, help?
“Yeah,” Jared laughs. “Think I could help with that too.”
THE END
Disney Prompt: The Pacifier
Rating: R for language
Word Count:
Warnings: Not betaed. Sorry. Also, some violence.
Summary: Written for j2-everafter - What happens when Jared receives orders to protect the son of the man his team failed to save?
He used to be called Joker.
It was a nickname he picked up in high school, one that stuck around through basic training and even through his placement with his squad. He remains, to this day, the only soldier to ever make Drill Sergeant Parks crack a smile. He was who people turned to when they were homesick, and he was always the first person to make a teammate laugh after a particularly difficult mission.
That was before the beach.
Now it’s just Jared.
*
His squad leader shows up with new orders, and Jared very nearly punches him.
“Sir, you’re not serious.”
At least Morgan looks a little apologetic as he hands Jared the papers. “Not my call, Padalecki. Orders came from on high. And I don’t like it any better than you do.”
The papers crunch in Jared’s fist as he takes them. “I’m a highly trained operative, sir. Not a babysitter.”
“Neither are Welling or Hodge. Or me, for that matter. But intel says the entire family is at risk until we find out if they knew anything about Ackles’ research, and so it is now our jobs to watch over them, regardless of our personal issues.” Then Morgan salutes, and Jared knows the matter is closed.
Upon Jared’s return salute, Morgan smiles slightly. “At least they gave you the cute one, right?”
*
Morgan’s right: Jensen is the cute one. Jared can remember looking at the guy’s file and thinking, Damn. The whole family seemed pretty attractive, but Jensen had a whole freckles-bowlegs-smile combo thing that made Jared sit up and notice.
So yeah, Jensen’s the cute one. He’s also the one who slams the door in Jared’s face when Jared shows up at his loft apartment. “You’re not welcome here,” he yells through the door.
Jared spends the next five minutes knocking, each repetition getting harder and louder. “I would rather not have this conversation through the door,” Jared says as he bangs on said door one last time.
“Then leave, because I’m not opening it again.”
Jared sighs. So much for the easy way.
Ten minutes later, he has sized up the outside of Jensen’s building, found the easiest way the scale up the walls, and is climbing through a loose window leading into Jensen’s bedroom.
The string of expletives Jensen yells when he sees Jared coming down his stairs would impress most of Jared’s squadron. Jensen scrambles over the back of his sofa, putting the piece of furniture between him and Jared, and it looks as though he’s trying to find something to throw. “How the hell did you get in here?” he finally asks.
Jared doesn’t stop walking, just hikes a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom. “Open window. We’re going to need to address that.”
“I live on the ninth floor!”
“Being able to get into impenetrable buildings is part of my job.”
The glare Jensen throws at Jared is downright icy. “I saw you and your team at the funeral. You and I both know exactly how good you are at your job. I don’t want you here.”
The barb shouldn’t sting, but it does, and suddenly Jared is back on the beach, where his laugh died suddenly in a red explosion right before his eyes. He hopes his face doesn’t show anything when he comes to a stop at the base of the stairs, stands at ease, and tells Jensen point-blank, “I have my orders. Every member of my team has protection duty for a member of your family, and until it has been determined that you are not in any danger, you are my responsibility.”
*
After that, Jensen apparently decides to just ignore him. He doesn’t say another word to Jared for the rest of the evening, just channel surfs with a vengeance. Jared takes advantage of the quiet and does a security sweep of the apartment, making sure all windows are locked tight and setting up some surveillance equipment.
When Jensen cooks dinner, he doesn’t prepare a second helping. Jared gets the hint.
And when he decides to go to bed, Jensen turns off all of the lights and leaves Jared sitting in the dark. At least the sofa is comfortable.
*
Jared is up with the dawn. The entire loft is still silent, no sign Jensen’s even close to stirring, so Jared takes the opportunity to go through as much of his morning routine as possible. He does forgo the usual run, not wanting to leave Jensen unattended for that long. He throws in an extra hundred jumping jacks to make up for it.
By the end, he’s worked up a sweat. There’s still no sign that Jensen will be waking up any time soon, so Jared heads for the downstairs bathroom. His shower is quick, just a wash and rinse, and when he steps out he realizes he’s left his bag behind. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he opens the door.
And finds Jensen standing in the living area, coffee mug in a grip that’s going looser by the second.
“Jesus,” Jensen mutters. It’s the first thing he’s said to Jared since yesterday afternoon.
He’s clearly gawking, eyes fixed on Jared’s chest. So, there’s that. It’s a little flattering, and if Jared didn’t know any better, he can swear he feels a smile sneaking up on him. He gives a small pec flex, just to see what Jensen’s reaction will be.
It seems to snap Jensen out of it, because he shakes himself a bit. “Sorry, geez, sorry.” He finally takes a sip of his coffee.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jared tells him. “Just forgot my bag.” He picks it up and carries it back into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
When he comes back out, he can hear Jensen back upstairs. Jared heads to the kitchen and starts poking around for an idea for breakfast. When Jensen makes it back downstairs, decked out in slacks and a tie, Jared has put together a plate of scrambled eggs for each of them.
“Thanks,” Jensen tells him. The matter-of-fact tone from yesterday is back, but it’s slightly warmer than before.
Jared nods at him, refilling Jensen’s mug of coffee. “No problem. Thought it would be nice to have breakfast before we head to your office.”
“We?”
“What part of ‘you’re my responsibility’ did you not understand? I’m keeping an eye on you until I get the all-clear from my superiors.”
Jensen purses his lips, crossing his arms. After a moment, he huffs and storms out of the kitchen, leaving his breakfast untouched.
Jared shovels Jensen’s food onto his own plate. No sense in letting food go to waste.
*
Jensen doesn’t look happy when Jared slides into the passenger seat, but he doesn’t say anything.
The trip to Jensen’s modest office is just as silent. Jensen doesn’t even acknowledge him once they park, but at least he waits for Jared to get out of the car before activating the alarm.
There’s a crowd surrounding Jensen’s office door, nosey accountants all pushing forward to look at something, and Jared steps forward to push his way through.
The room is trashed. All five filing cabinets have been emptied and toppled across the floor, his desk drawers given the same treatment, and judging by the scattered computer parts everywhere, someone searched his system and got frustrated with what they found. Or didn’t find.
By now, Jensen has been able to shoulder his way past everyone. He takes one look at his ruined office, turns right back around and pushes his way back out. Jared is one step behind him.
*
They’re not even three blocks away before Jared has finished his call to CO Morgan. None of the other teams have reported any incidents, so Morgan tells him to keep extra vigilant and he’ll try to figure out why Jensen’s being targeted.
Jensen’s knuckles are white from clenching the wheel, and he doesn’t take his eyes off the road when he says, “I’ll give you sheets for the sofa when we get back.”
Jared nods.
*
There’s a man standing outside Jensen’s loft when they get back, hand poised to knock on the door. Jared’s already moving to intercept, but Jensen speaks up to stop him. “He’s a neighbor. Lives downstairs.”
“Jensen?” the neighbor asks. “I came up here to ask you to keep it down. Are you just getting home?”
Jared’s moving before the neighbor finishes speaking. It’s disturbingly easy to kick in Jensen’s door. The sight that greets them is even worse than the office. Even the couch cushions have been ripped open. Jared gives it a cursory look before moving on to the rest of the apartment. Every cabinet in the kitchen has been thrown open, some of his dinnerware in shards on the floor. Upstairs, the mattress has been flipped off the box spring, and all of the closet’s contents have been strewn about the room. Even the bathroom’s been tossed.
When Jared comes back downstairs, Jensen’s still standing outside the front door, staring at the mess that his apartment has become. The neighbor’s hanging back, his hand resting on Jensen’s shoulder. “Seriously, Jensen,” he says. “I can call the cops for you. Just say the word.”
“No,” Jared interrupts. “I’ve got it covered. You should go back to your place, Mister...”
“Collins. Misha, please.” He pats Jensen once, then steps back. “Let me know if you need anything, Jensen. I mean it. I’m right downstairs.” With that, he leaves.
Jared herds Jensen into the apartment and wedges the door shut as best he can.
*
Whoever trashed the place found and smashed four of Jared’s surveillance cameras. The one in the kitchen and one of the bedroom cameras are all that remain, and when Jared pulls up the footage on his mission-issued laptop, it makes him grit his teeth in frustration.
One man, judging by his build since his face is covered by a ski mask, is throwing around Jensen’s belongings, ripping art off the walls, looking for something. For a split second as the masked figure is tossing the bedroom, he pauses and then heads straight for the loose window. Tipped off someone was coming, then.
Also, Jared is so nailing that window shut.
As Jared watches, Jensen’s moving around him, attempting to clean up some of the mess. It’s clearly too much for him, though, because after fifteen minutes of trying to put things away into proper places that no longer exist, he throws his hands up in disgust.
“Fuck this,” Jensen says. “I can’t deal with this sober.” He heads for the kitchen, but stops and turns back. “You want a beer?”
*
“I didn’t want to believe you.”
They’re on the floor, sitting on the slashed sofa cushions, shoulders brushing one another’s. Jared’s been nursing his beer for the last hour, wanting to keep sharp, but Jensen seems to have no such qualms, finishing off the six pack on his own. He’s actually talking now.
“The moment I got the call, telling me that I was getting my own babysitter, I thought, ‘What else can these people do to me?’” Jensen tips back the last of the final bottle. “Took my dad from his cushy lab job and sequestered him away in some private military facility halfway across the world. Got him kidnapped. Got him killed.”
Jensen takes a moment to stare at the bottle still in his hand. “And then your people had the gall to tell me that the rest of my family was at risk just because there’s a chance one of us may have some knowledge or record of what he’d been working on.” With that, he chucks the glass at the nearest wall. It hits inches away from the one framed photo Jensen’s managed to get back up on the wall, and Jensen’s immediately on his feet, checking it for any damage.
“It’s a nice piece,” Jared tells him, pointing at the photograph.
“Thanks,” Jensen replies. “Took it in Wisconsin a couple years ago.”
“You took that shot?” Jared’s impressed. It’s a black and white image of the length of a pier, the far end of it shrouded in fog. The lamps lining the edge are on, giving the whole view a hazy glow. It’s sharp and soft at the same time, the kind of shot most photographers would probably kill to have in their portfolio. “It’s really good.”
“My father liked it too. He actually had this one matted and framed for me.” He runs his fingertips around the corner of the wooden frame. “Spent way too much. I think it was his way of apologizing for talking me into an accounting degree instead of supporting my original choice.”
“Which was?”
Jensen pats the frame. “Take a wild guess.” Apparently content that no damage was done by the shattering bottle, Jensen returns to his spot on the floor, crashing onto his cushion with a defeated slump.
“We had him, you know.” Jared doesn’t know why he’s suddenly talking about this. He just feels like he has to say something. “We had him out. We were on the beach, running for the chopper. I’d just told him a joke. He was smiling.” Jensen tenses up beside him, suddenly ramrod straight. To hell with keeping sharp, Jared chugs down what’s left of his beer. “It was instantaneous. One split second difference between him laughing at me and, well. We all dropped to the ground, but it was too late at that point. My CO came running up behind us, demanding if anyone knew where the shot came from.”
“Did you?”
“No, still don’t. I’ve gone over the scenario so many times in my head. We’d cleared the beach, had men on all points, and everyone in the compound was either restrained or dead.”
Jensen’s quiet for several moments after, just staring at him, and Jared can’t help but think he should say something else, tell the guy how he’s been spending every free moment he has poring over his team’s mission reports, retracing intel logs to find anything they may have missed.
“You know,” Jensen says. “You’ve got nice eyes. Sad, but nice. Very expressive. Bet they show up great on film. I’m gonna go get my camera. Upstairs.” He hops up again, brushing off his jeans as he does. When he reaches the base of the stairs, he pauses and looks back at Jared. “That’s a hint, by the way.”
When Jared raises an eyebrow at him, Jensen smiles. “Like I said, expressive eyes. As in, not subtle.”
*
Just like the previous day, Jared’s up with the dawn, but this time in a much better mood. Once they had gotten the mattress righted the previous night, Jensen’s bed proved itself to be considerably more comfortable than the sofa. Especially now, with Jensen curled up close beside him, their feet tangled together under the covers.
Jared raises his arms above his head in a stretch, his muscles achy in a way that has nothing to do with his normal morning work-out and everything to do with Jensen. He’s trying to decide between letting Jensen sleep and waking him up for round three when he feels a breeze on his arms.
When he turns around, he notices two things. One, the fucking loose window is wide open. And two, there’s a Sig pointed at his head.
“Morning, Romeo,” says the masked figure holding the gun. “Let’s wake Juliet here, and head downstairs. We have something to discuss.”
*
As they head for the stairs, Jared makes it a point to put himself between the gun and Jensen. Their attacker is smart enough to keep a good distance back, demanding they move slowly, but if the right moment comes around, Jared thinks he may be able to disarm the guy.
That plan falls to shit when they see the second masked man downstairs, also pointing a firearm at them.
“Find anything?” the first gunman, who Jared has designated Hostile 1, asks. Something about his voice is off, like he’s purposely trying to disguise it. His vowels are drawn out, accent too thick.
Jared takes a step.
“No,” the other one, Hostile 2, answers. “Doesn’t help that you wrecked the place yesterday. You sure there’s something here at all?”
Step.
“All intelligence points to Ackles having at least one hard copy of his research. And he didn’t have it with him when he reported to the compound after visiting his kid here. Trust me, I asked him hard enough. It has to be here somewhere.”
Step.
“Better be,” Hostile 2 says, adjusting his grip on his handgun. “The Russians are breathing down my neck, wanting to know where the hell their merchandise is.”
Step.
“Man, fuck you and the Russians. The way they’re panting over this research makes me think I’m not getting enough money from them.”
Jared uses their bickering to buy a few seconds of observation. Hostile 1 clearly knows what he’s doing, from his grip to his stance walking down the stairs. The guy may be talking, but he’s not distracted to the point of sloppiness.
Hostile 2, however, seems the weaker link. He keeps taking his eyes off them in order to look around the loft, consider additional hiding places, and Jared can use that. He hopes. It’s just a matter of keeping Jensen from getting hurt.
“You know,” Hostile 2 adds, “if you hadn’t shot the guy, we probably could have just kidnapped this kid of his and held him at gunpoint until Ackles told us where the hell he hid it.”
Jared freezes, one split second after Jensen does. He doesn’t bother saying anything. They both know what this means.
“Well, tough shit,” Hostile 1 says, and he moves in close, shoving his pistol between Jared’s shoulder blades. “He saw my face and would have given it all away to this joker and his team. So now, we question the shutterbug, find the doc’s paperwork and leave to meet your fucking Russians.”
Shutterbug.
Oh hell, he’ll apologize to Jensen later.
In one move, Jared shoves a leg into Jensen while lunging back at the gunman. He doesn’t have time to make sure Jensen made it down the rest of the stairs safely, but he hopes Jensen knew enough to roll for cover. This is the distraction Jared needed. The guy was a moron for not handcuffing them first, and Jared gets in one, two, three punches before the gunman goes limp.
There’s a yell from down below, and Jared looks up in time to Jensen smash what was left of one of his kitchen chairs into Hostile 2. The gun’s knocked free, and Jared vaults over the railing to scoop it up.
Jensen’s out of breath, and he looks down at the chair legs still in his hand before glancing back at Jared. “Better than the walk of shame, right?”
Jared can’t help it. He laughs. And it feels good.
*
The unmasking of their attackers goes as such. Jared duct tapes both men to Jensen’s stair railing. Misha’s crying under his mask. Jensen kicks him in the side, then goes to call the police. When Jared removes the other mask and finds Aldis, one of his teammates, he calls Morgan, calmly tells him what happened, and then spent the next fifteen minutes contemplating how to get away with murder before the cops show.
At least that explains where the shot on the beach came from. Hodge had the best cover, after all.
The place has been quiet for an hour when Jared finally gets the nerve to ask Jensen if he could see the photo his father framed for him. Jensen squeezes his eyes shut when Jared flicks open his boot knife to cut through the backing, but Jared tries to be as careful as he can.
Sure enough, there’s a booklet of papers hidden with the print, each page covered with equations.
“Think you might know some folks to give that to?” Jensen asks him.
Jared smiles. “A few come to mind.”
Jensen stares at the space where the photo had been hanging, cocks his head to the side. “Think you could help me find a new photo to put up there too?” He looks over at Jared and waggles his eyebrows. “You know, help?
“Yeah,” Jared laughs. “Think I could help with that too.”
THE END