J2 | In Your Honor | NC-17 (Part One)
Then
It wasn’t like anyone expected world peace any time soon. But creatures rising from the ocean was quite far from the possibility of a new war.
They were ugly monsters, the kaijus, hybrids of animals more tailored to water and those that walked the Earth before the Big Bang. Some had faces like hammerhead sharks with scaled alligator tails. Others were pterodactyl in front with a dozen tentacles out the back. They were the things nightmares were scared of, creatures measuring nearly four stories tall, and hundreds of feet long. Breaking through a rift in the Pacific Ocean floor, they attacked without regularity, except that there never seemed to be an end to the attacks. Shorelines were obliterated and coastal towns razed down to soil.
There was no feasible defense.
That is until the government backed and funded a program to create a new army, one joined by other nations to stop the dreaded evil that came from thousands of leagues below. Piloting a jaegar became a two-man job. Partners, essential mates, were required to drift and ride through the explosive power of operating these killing machines. Together, pilots would sync everything. Thoughts, movements, memories-everything was open to one’s partner, and drift compatible was more than just getting along. It was a lifetime commitment and only the selected few could effectively manage it to prolonged success.
A decade into the program and progress was a noticeable thing; the creatures were going down, the machines built to destroy. On scale with the kaijus, these jaegers were the new pride of the human race, and the pilots who served inside the cockpit were more than a little idolized.
Which drew Jensen into the program. He’d dreamed about joining the Pan Pacific Defense Corps since he was a little kid watching the victories on TV. At eighteen, he jumped in with two feet forward and eyes wide open, and he excelled immediately. It was a lifelong dream to pilot a jaeger, to have such a profound connection with his copilot that they could mind meld, operate like one kick-ass, efficient kaiju-fighting operation.
Twenty kills in five years was practically a record. But it wasn’t enough; the kaiju were progressing. Mutating maybe. The scientists hadn’t yet figured out how they were rising more quickly, attacking Pacific coasts more frequently and with a strength never seen before. One the jaegers couldn’t keep up with.
As more pilots went down and jaegers were trashed, the program lost its support from both the government and the people. Jensen, too, for he abandoned ship once the chance for survival thinned to next to none.
He knew no one was happy with his decision, least of all his copilot. They were partners for nearly a decade, had known each other for the entirety of their service, but Jensen was hitting his mid-thirties and knew this wasn’t a way to live. It was only a way to die.
What he learned in those next five years, however, is that living didn’t really happen anyway.
Now
Jensen wobbles on his barstool. An inch or two spills out of his pint of beer, but the rest stays put so he considers it a success. He still hates this chair, though, with its off-kilter feet. Seems like a decent parallel to his life, he figures. Finally gets himself a seat and a couple of cold ones after a long day sweating away another shift, and there’s one leg just ready to crack out from underneath him.
Which it does just two minutes later, and Jensen drops to the ground in a pathetic sprawl.
The bar goes quiet for a few seconds then erupts in a mix of laughter and mumbled gossip about who they’re witnessing having a truly spectacular day.
“Way to go, Maverick!” someone across the bar yells.
Followed by, “Tripping over your own damned feet like a wasted jaeger.”
"Maybe he'll run out like he did from the Corps."
“Don’t worry, folks,” Jensen waves off, trying for affable even while truly embarrassed. “I didn’t break anything.”
“Too bad.”
Jensen smiles tightly and shuffles to the next bar stool. He settles most of his weight forward on the wooden, worn-out bar top, and shakes the now fully-spilled beer from his hands. He asks the bartender for something to clean the mess and she tosses a rag at his face.
Still smiling, and still quite angrily, he mutters, “You serve your country and this is the love you get.”
“Didn’t serve it for too long, now did ya, cowboy?” the bartender asks.
He looks at her for a while, takes in her dark hair and round eyes. While he knows she’s familiar and one of only three servers in this neighborhood bar, he can’t come up with her name. Especially not after as many pints as he’s had. He really wishes he had her name on hand to fling off a nice little tirade about what it really takes to step inside a jaeger, all the unknown after-effects of the drift, where your brain runs on autopilot with your partner inhabiting the same space and the long, listless fall that lingers at the back of your head while you attempt to recover from that kind of psychological invasion. But he knows it’s a lost cause.
He learned that lesson his first year out of the Corps.
People are still laughing here and there, like they’re having a grand chuckle over the sad state of Jensen’s life. Five, six years ago, he and his partner were at the top of the game. They were worldwide super stars who’d taken down the most kaijus in the span of a year. But since then, he’s had months-long stints at odd jobs until he nailed down something more permanent with the East Pacific Development Force.
The government sold it as a way to right what went wrong in the war, but all he’s really doing is working with clean-up crews to clear out damaged lots so everything can be scrapped while the population moves inland.
Sadly, everyone in the area knows his story and reminds him time and time again-especially in this bar.
Like when Yankee Hank, a transplant from New York who brags about moving closer to the war for a great cause, knocks on the bar and yells for Jensen’s attention. “Hey, Maverick! How’s about you tell us another war story? Maybe one that doesn’t end in you fucking up?”
Jensen rolls his eyes and gulps at the fresh beer the bartender gladly takes his money for. “You know what, Hank?” he starts as he slowly turns towards the portly middle aged guy now standing beside him. “You’re right. I did a lot of fucking up. And I did a lot of fucking down. I did a lot of fucking, period. But your mom never complained.”
It takes five minutes for the brawl to start and end, and this is how Jensen ends up on his ass, outside, in the pouring rain.
Something drips down into his eyes and he thinks it’s just the rain. After blinking and losing momentary sight, Jensen realizes it’s blood. He rolls over to his knees and hunches down and away from the rain as he touches his eye and cheek.
Red rain runs between his fingers and it hurts to blink away the wetness spilling over his head and into his face. He wipes away the bloody cut under his eye then blinks when there’s a sudden stoppage of water falling on his back and a handkerchief in his eye line.
He blinks through the remaining rain and blood, and sees the delicately embroidered grey PPDC in perfect white fabric.
Like his day could get any worse, now he’s got the Pan Pacific Defense following him around.
Maybe something about misrepresenting the Corps, even all these years later. Maybe they’re unhappy that he’s moved on to working with the East Pacific Development Force. Or maybe he’s just got the dumb luck of running into his former commander with that dark, serious face and even darker eyes that never give anything away. Seconds after losing a pathetic bar fight and Jensen feels his day going from terrible to exceptionally shitty.
Commander Idris Elba was the meanest son of a bitch when Jensen went through Basic Training, but had quickly taken a liking to Jensen once he’d proven himself in his jaeger. Though Elba wouldn’t let on much beyond short, sly smiles or a quick pat on the back.
“You need a hand up, ranger?” No matter how helpful Elba tries to be, it sounds patronizing.
Covering his embarrassment, Jensen chuckles and gets to his feet of his own accord, now protected by the man’s wide umbrella. “You ask any of the assholes inside and I ain’t been a ranger for a second of my life.”
“They must know a different man then.” Elba lifts the handkerchief higher. “Looks like you need this.”
“I need a lot of things, but a visit from the Corps is furthest from the list.” Jensen clears more blood away then swipes his dirty hands on the sides of his even dirtier work pants. “I heard the government’s shutting you folks down … I guess you've got a lot of time on your hands to come visiting old ghosts.”
“Something like that.”
Jensen takes in his old commander standing as straight and impenetrable as a brick wall, hand still clutching the handle of the umbrella, and appearing completely unnerved as rain drips down the shoulders of his dress blues. Even after five years of being out of the Corps, Jensen feels a bit under the man’s orders so he stands straighter and pulls his shoulders back. “Except I’ve never known you to do anything fun, so I’m assuming this visit is more business than pleasure.”
Elba nods minutely and almost smiles. “That you would be right about. Should we head back in to talk in a drier place?”
Chuckling, Jensen shakes his head. “I highly doubt I’m welcome back there. Like, ever.”
“Then I guess I’ll just get to the point.” Elba pauses dramatically, as if he’s gearing up for a big speech, but all he says is, “We’re bringing you back in.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Since when are traitors welcome in the Corps?”
“I didn’t call you a traitor.”
“Everyone else did when I walked out. I wouldn’t blame you, though. Plenty of people have called me worse.”
Instead of replying to that, Elba coolly states his intention again. “We need you back in our program. One last dance. We need our best.”
Jensen swallows as he thinks back to the glory days, a long time back when he was at the height of his potential and there was nothing but clear skies ahead of him. Thunder and lightning off in the distance remind him of how far he’s moved on since then. “I’m sure you’ll do fine without me.”
Elba glances around as if he doesn’t care what Jensen has to say on the matter. “I’ve already got Rosenbaum and Welling back.”
Four years before Jensen left the Corps, those two were recruited by the Department of Defense to help design better jaegers, which was a far better excuse for leaving than fear.
With a snort, Jensen lets his shoulders drop, as he wants to pull away from this conversation, wants to forget about the past and continue on, even if pathetically. “They’re probably tearing up the barracks.”
“Hodge and Cassidy are still around.”
“And drinking all the good liquor,” Jensen easily dismisses as well.
“Jensen,” Elba says carefully with a long look.
A chill runs down Jensen's spine, chasing his mind back to the solid partnership he'd shared inside his jaeger. After a rough swallow, he manages to ask fairly levelly, “And what about Jared?”
“He’s there, too.”
There's no way Jensen can believe his old partner is feeling good about any part of this idea. “And he’s okay with you pulling out all the stops and returning?”
“He never left. Been with us the whole time.”
He’s not sure why it bothers him, but it does. Jensen walked away from the program; it’s not unlikely that Jared found himself another copilot. Still … Jensen feels confused and troubled by thinking about it. “He is, huh?”
Elba suddenly seems happy to share the news. “He’s Commander now.”
“Jeez,” Jensen laughs, trying to ignore the idea that Jared’s trajectory continued onward while Jensen’s took a nosedive. “What’s that make you then?”
“General.”
He immediately knows there’s hardly any room to debate with a general, especially one who’s able to track Jensen all the way to Alaska. Who knows where Elba would go to corner Jensen next time? “So, my arguing on this whole point is moot, ain’t it?”
Elba slowly smiles and it’s only a little bit scary, if Jensen really admits it.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jensen grumbles. After a moment, he looks around him, unimpressed by the mass of rain filling in potholes that litter much of this coastal town, thanks to one of the first attacks. “So Jared’s stepping down to fly again?”
“Not quite. He’s training new hopefuls, looking for your new partner.”
“Well, that sounds promising,” Jensen deadpans. “Being thrown back into a machine with a perfect stranger.”
“Are you in?” Elba asks, no bullshit or needling. Just straightforward and expectant.
Which makes Jensen slowly nod.
Later he’ll acknowledge that he’s more than a little excited at the opportunity.
Elba tells Jensen that he can go home to tie up loose ends and pack then meet up at the nearby airport to head out west to the Corps’ new facility across the Pacific. Sad fact is that Jensen’s life is nothing but loose ends and he actually doesn’t own much in the way of clothes, so all he does is sleep terribly for a few hours then call Elba at dawn to get the show on the road.
The helicopter’s blades are too loud for any conversation, which only makes Jensen’s mind roam the longer they’re in the air. He thinks about what kind of homecoming he’ll receive once they’ve landed. There’s a small corner of his brain that’s holding out hope that it’s a good one, where everyone will smile and glad-hand one another, excited to be back in the same space. Of course, the rest of him is jittery with the same nerves that wouldn’t let him rest and had filled his sleep with worry of how little pleasure anyone will take in his presence.
Once the chopper’s hit the ground and he’s got his knapsack over his shoulder, Jensen’s anxiety cools a bit as he feels sudden comfort at being back on base. Not the same one, but it’s just like the place where he spent nearly half his life. It's all sense memory at this point. Sun that shone down when they played touch football out on the jet landing pad; cool water soothing aches and pains after diving off the side of the brig; fresh salt air that filled his nose the first time he landed. Fond memories, all of them.
Still, some on the landing strip don’t even look his way; others offer polite smiles, but most double-take then roll their eyes or give him dirty looks. He tells himself he doesn’t care; he’s finally back.
It’s the same once inside the industrial compound, with the mess of people moving this way and that on dedicated paths. Some pay him no mind while others are still bothered to see him.
He tries to focus, instead, on the height of the reinforced walls, stretching a few stories upward with exposed beams and ceilings, which makes everything echo in the space. He doesn’t think he can even hear himself think. There are a handful of hallways on his left and another set on his right that seem to narrow into small tunnels the further they go. And clear ahead of him, the great hall comes to an end with a wall and two-story doors that are mechanically heavy and loud as they pull open.
Elba silently leads Jensen through the doorway and into the belly of the complex where staff are busy at the main console that stretches for nearly a football field with a clear glass wall ahead that shows off the jaeger stations.
Jensen’s breath catches in his throat. The wide expanse ahead is even wider and taller than the front hall, but it’s also filled with technicians working on various levels to rehab the jaegers. And straight ahead is Chevy Violet, the nearly 300-foot weapon that Jensen rode for a decade. The last time he saw her, she was little more than mottled black trash as they’d lost their third battle in as many months and had to retreat as another wave of jaegers came in to salvage the fight.
Today, Chevy Violet is gleaming under the lights hanging from the ceiling, and sparks fly away from her shield as techs seal her seams. Jensen sees it more like fireworks declaring her return.
“Ackles!” is shouted just before he’s attacked from behind. Someone jumps at his back, makes him stumble forward, then wraps slender arms and legs around him in a vise grip.
In a matter of seconds, he’s yanking onto one arm, twisting his torso away, and flinging the person to the ground with a loud umph!
“What kind of hello is that?” Katie Cassidy complains with an over-pronounced frown.
Jensen still has his knee digging into her hip and his hands holding her arms tight to her chest, but he smiles a little at seeing his old comrade. “You jumped me like a monkey. What kind of hello is that?”
Cassidy slips her leg up to push it down on Jensen’s chest, spinning them over to swap positions. This time, Jensen’s the one releasing a weary umph! and the group around them are laughing. He hopes it’s not at him.
With a grin, Cassidy pats his cheek. “You need a shave, Ackles.”
Jensen flicks her shin, bare below the twist she’s put into the hem of her uniform pants. “As do you.”
“Cassidy! Ackles!” Elba orders.
The get off the floor and stop screwing around is implied in the roughness of the Commander's-General’s-tone. They follow suit immediately and Jensen then notices that the communications team is getting back to the console as if they couldn’t care less that Jensen has returned.
His reception seems to have landed a bit in between what he had looked forward to and what he’d feared all along.
Either Cassidy senses that or she’s bored already; either way, she drags them both out of the communications bay and off to the left. The setup feels familiar to the base they’d all called home back in Northern California, and he’s starting to feel it out in his head. They’re heading right to the barracks.
“Figured you’d need a nice round of beauty sleep before the whole rigmarole tomorrow.”
“What’s the good General got on tap for us?” he asks, walking alongside her and resolutely ignoring the odd glances from everyone they pass.
“Commander Padalecki has a full day of training on the schedule.”
Jensen ignores how his stomach flops at the mention of Jared’s rank, let alone his name. “Sounds like a good chance for us to work out the kinks.”
“Speak for yourself, Ackles,” Cassidy admonishes as she stops at a door. “Hodge and I have been in tip-top shape since you ran out for a pack of cigarettes and conveniently never came back.”
“Wait, look,” he tries to explain, but she waves him off.
“Don’t bother, seriously. I’m over it.” Somehow, it seems both dismissive and earnest. “Others really aren’t, but I’m actually happy to see your pretty little mug. It’ll be fun to ride in formation again.”
Jensen smiles a bit and fondly recalls the missions they’d taken together.
Before his mind runs too far into the past, Cassidy smacks his duffle, then his cheek. “You settle in, scrub that pretty face, then head on down for chow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he happily replies with a quick salute. Just as she’s dashed back into the fuss of people walking by, and as he’s bringing his hand down from his forehead, he spots a familiar dark mop of hair far above the mass.
People turn this way and that, which grants Jensen a better look at Jared with his face turned down to talk to a brunette female cadet in casual greys. He continues to watch and lets his memories flow warmly over him. In seconds, he can imagine dozens of Jared’s smiles pre- and post-drift, high on the thrill of piloting Chevy Violet and carrying the war.
It’s gone once Jared’s head picks up, eyes combing the area, and he catches sight of Jensen.
Slowly, Jensen smiles and tips his head, starts to salute the new commander and take a step forward. The cadet turns and her dark eyes widen when she sees Jensen watching them. Quick as the whole moment has happened, the cadet is saluting Jared, he’s nodding back at her, then she’s heading right for Jensen as Jared disappears around a corner.
Jensen is still watching cadets turning around that same corner, waiting for Jared to reappear, when the cadet stops right in front of him.
“Captain Ackles,” she says in greeting, voice tight and straightforward.
He wonders if she’s fresh out of training with rough directives for titles etched into her brain or if she’s just that committed to the Corps. She barely comes up to Jensen’s chest and her face is bright with youth, yet her shoulders are perfectly parallel to the floor. Jensen is quite impressed with the straight lines of her salute and the rest of her uniform as she lets her hands set at her sides.
Jensen half-asses his salute with a small smile. “At ease, cadet.”
“Major,” she corrects immediately. “Major Cortese, the Commander’s right-hand man.”
“Or woman,” he jokes, but she doesn’t budge. “What can I do you for, Major?”
She gestures at the still-closed door to Jensen’s new home and it’s then that Jensen sees the clipboard tucked tightly in her hand. He wonders what kind of orders she’s on here, or even under Jared. “After you, Captain?”
Jensen gets the door open and takes the quick tour around the standard bunk room with a cot in one corner, cabinetry in the other, and a stainless steel sink attached to the wall. He always thought the barracks were more prison than comfort, especially with its vaguely wet and metal smell in the air. But it served as home for half his life.
When he faces Cortese, he smiles. “Smells just like I remember.”
“If you insist, sir.” Then she gets down to business, relaying the schedule for the rest of the afternoon, evening, and into the next day. It all includes more hours of training than Jensen’s had since Basic, but he can’t argue until she mentions that she’s his guide here on base.
“For what?” he asks.
“To acclimate you back to the Corps, sir.”
“To accli-do they really think I forgot how I spent eighteen years of my life?”
“Seventeen.”
He frowns and takes a quick breath. “Seventeen, fine. I tend to round up a little.”
“So I’ve been warned.”
“By who?”
“The Commander.”
Jensen licks his bottom lip with annoyance then bites it with the sudden worry over how those few seconds of seeing Jared in the hall went-or rather, how Jared went away as soon as they’d happened. He also worries over the next two days and if he’s going to be treated like a Private, First Class.
It’s something like that when Major Cortese straightens her stance and shoulders, and gives him a curt nod. “Mess at 1800.”
“What if I’m not hungry?” he asks, just to see how she would respond.
“That’s between you and your stomach,” she replies swiftly. Then she salutes, turns on her heel, and heads in the direction Jared had gone.
Her exit is as sudden as Jared’s, and Jensen is sure she’ll be a thorn in his side.
In the Mess Hall, Jensen slides between tables and finds that he’s quite unwelcome at any of them. Cassidy is off to his left, but she’s also flanked by Hodge, Rosenbaum, and Welling, and the three men don’t seem too interested in letting him near their table.
After a slow trip around the room, he sits down at a corner table where a plain-clothes, short, scruffy-faced guy sits. The man’s hair is as much of a mess as his clothes - which aren’t that bad, but considering they’re on base and everyone else in the room adheres to strict codes, he seems quite out of place.
The guy glances up like he barely minds Jensen joining him, but then he makes a double-take and stutters with a harsh laugh. “Oh, yes, let’s make CD’s life even worse and stow him away with the outcast.”
Jensen furrows his brow and leans closer when he realizes those seated around them are staring oddly; he’s not up for inviting them to a conversation that is this strange right off the bat. “CD?”
Pulling at his cuffed shirtsleeves, the guy reveals an elegantly-scripted tattoo across his inner forearm. Charlie Danger it reads and Jensen lifts an eyebrow in return. “CD, Charlie Danger,” the guy says harshly, voice gravelly yet nervous. “Get it? Good.” And just as quickly as he’s bared the tattoo, he covers it up again.
“Your name is Charlie Danger?” Before the guy can answer, Jensen logs the overall look of the man, including the yellow name badge clipped to a pocket of his hooded jacket. The stack of files at the guy’s elbow are also a big sign, and Jensen laughs. “We have a scientist named Charlie Danger?”
The guy’s not happy with that and rolls his eyes while leaning closer to whisper. “It’s Day, the last name. First name’s still Charlie, but I was an idiot at 18 and made a bad decision with some ink. Like you weren’t a moron when you were 18.”
“I joined the Corps when I was 18,” Jensen replies plainly.
Charlie seems to think on that, nodding this way and that, then shrugs. “Seems about equal for stupidity.” He then reveals a tattoo on his other forearm, this one more menacing yet beautiful in its strong lines and the sweeping curves of tentacles. “Got this one when I was 35. Not such a stupid mistake that time, huh?”
It’s a kaiju, looking a lot like a Category III Jensen and Jared took down near Manila a few years into their run. Jensen’s not sure a permanent reminder of this monster is any stupider than what he did when he was 35-walk away.
Suddenly, the Mess grows quiet and Jensen glances up to see Jared entering the room with Major Cortese at his side. Jared’s eyes comb the room and stop at their table, first focusing on Charlie with a quick nod, then stalling when he catches Jensen. Jared looks back to Charlie and makes a quick motion with his fingers.
“What’s up with the Major?” Jensen asks quietly, wondering how tightly she’s tied to Jared’s side … and wanting to get dirt on Jared, himself.
“The Commander’s partner? You don’t wanna go there. No one goes there.”
“What do you mean … partner?”
Charlie doesn’t answer; he’s quickly pulling his files into one arm and balancing his half-eaten dinner tray in the other.
"What’re you in a rush for?”
“The Commander calls? You jump. I’m surprised you don’t realize that already, with your history and all.”
Then he’s gone, following Jared and the Major, who both give Jensen a long look before they go out to the hallway.
Jensen’s really beginning to loathe hasty exits.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Jensen says as kindly as possible when he runs into the Major outside the fight room the next morning.
Cortese slowly lifts her head from where she’d been busy with her clipboard, and takes her time to assess him. “You think?”
“I was pondering it,” he says with a shrug. “What do you think?”
“I think you look like shit.” A beat later, she adds, “Sir.”
Jensen considers calling her out for her sass, but there’s a part of him that is rather impressed. And she’s probably very right after he had a rough night of sleep. Those restless dreams were full of his past with the Defense and second chances slipping through his fingers. Moving on, he nods at Genevieve and grants her a small smile. “That’s fair.”
“You need coffee.”
He recognizes that she says it, rather than asks it, so he nods again and follows when she kicks into a quick march towards the Mess Hall.
“So what’s on the schedule today?
“Mess at 0600, auditions at 0700, and Mess again at 1200,” she recites as if she were reading her clipboard. The piece remains tucked at her side, fingers roped around the edge, but she’s facing forward with her face as tight as her ponytail.
Jensen steps faster to keep up with her as she weaves between other rangers and staff heading in all directions to start their day. “Wait, wait … what do you mean auditions?”
“Sir, yes, sir. Auditions at 0700.”
“Whose idea was that?”
“The Commander’s.”
“Jared?” Jensen shrieks then haughtily laughs. “That asshole is making me audition? Who does he think he is?”
Genevieve comes to an abrupt stop and salutes the blue suit standing tall before them. “Pretty sure he thinks he’s the Commander.”
Jensen sighs. “He’s still an asshole,” he mutters before really catching up to the situation. A second later he’s staring at Jared, face to face and toe to toe.
He thinks Jared looks older, worn down, tired, even pissed.
He also thinks Jared is just as beautiful as when they were a bunch of cocky rangers fighting evil together.
“Captain Ackles,” Jared says tightly, “Is there a problem?”
“Jared,” he murmurs, caught between those long ago memories he dreamt throughout the night and the sudden sight of Jared staying solid like steel that refuses to budge.
“Commander Padalecki,” Genevieve says, still at attention with her hand at her temple in salute.
“At ease, Major.”
Jensen belatedly-and quite lamely-salutes Jared. It feels all kinds of wrong. Back in their days together, they stayed up all hours of the night, drank until Jared became maudlin, then jumped out of their bunks at sunrise to sail in their jaeger.
“Is there are a problem here?” Jared asks her, and she quickly shakes her head with a respectful no, sir.
“Yeah, there is,” Jensen says. “Why do I have to audition?”
Jared blinks at him and tilts his head just a few degrees. “Excuse me?”
“Auditions? She said I have to audition at 0700.” He looks to Genevieve, but she remains stoic with her chin raised and eyes focused straight ahead of her. “Oh, don’t act like you didn’t say that.”
“I didn’t,” she replies.
“You little -” he stops himself, especially after having come to some level of respect when she first appeared on his doorstep.
“I didn’t say you had to audition. I said you had to attend auditions.”
Jensen laughs and looks to Jared, who is watching him but showing no interest either way. “Am I going crazy?”
“Yes, you are,” Genevieve says and lets out a tiny smirk that she straightens when Jared clears his throat.
“Cortese,” Jared admonishes her, and now it’s Jensen’s time to smirk. But it doesn’t last long, because Jared stared right him. “Do we have a problem, Captain?”
Jensen attempts to smile, yet realizes it doesn’t feel right. Not with his old partner glaring at him like this, as if they hadn’t spent half their lives side by side, sharing the cockpit, life, and much more while in the drift. “No, of course not, but Jared-”
“Good, then I believe you have breakfast before we meet in the Training Room at 0700. You best eat before you get irritable and say something you’ll regret.”
He lets out a breathy chuckle, nervous with how terribly their first meeting in years is going. “Jared, hey, why don’t we grab breakfast together and then maybe-”
“Very good, ranger.”
Jared makes another one of his quick exits with Genevieve following, so Jensen is left in the hallway to finish his own thoughts.
Jensen watches Jared’s back as he leaves and mumbles, “Then maybe we can catch up and talk.”
Once Jared is gone around a corner, Jensen sighs. “Or maybe not.”
In the Mess Hall, he finds Katie and Aldis at the same table as last night but with fewer companions. Jensen takes a seat on Katie’s bench and nods at Aldis with a smile, testing the man’s opinions-and memories.
Katie smiles like she always has and even knocks their shoulders together while Aldis finishes chewing part of a biscuit and watches them. “How was your first night back on the boat?”
“It’s kinda big for a boat,” Jensen jokes about the cruiser.
“Kinda big for a whole lotta things,” Aldis says.
Jensen nods, remembering their saying back in basic training. “But not big enough for egos.” He flings a two-fingered salute towards Aldis. “Never was and still ain’t.”
“No, son, it ain’t,” he replies with a small smile, and Jensen knows they’re on okay ground.
It should be a nice win in his pocket, but Jensen still burns from his interaction with Jared in the hallway. He falls back into that conversation and pictures Jared’s face, relives the tone of his voice, even feels tendrils of ice slink along his skin when he thinks about the wall Jared had up between them.
Katie elbows him, dragging him back to the present. “Hello?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just … what’s up?”
“So you ready for auditions?”
He rolls his eyes and stabs his fork into scrambled eggs that crumble under the attack. “What kind of bullshit is that? They asked me back. And now they’re asking me to audition?”
“Uh, well, they didn’t really do that,” Aldis says with his eyebrows furrowed.
Katie shushes him, all while Jensen sits forward and nudges her away when she fights to grab his attention. “They didn’t do what?”
“Ask you to audition,” Katie insists while Aldis says, “Ask you back.”
Jensen stares at Aldis and searches the man’s dark eyes for a crack in that steady gaze. His stomach turns and his head spins to think that Elba came for him at that bar, but maybe he wasn’t really welcome here again.
Katie coughs uncomfortably and picks up her fork and knife again. Aldis does, too, eating even while staring right back at Jensen.
“What?” Aldis asks blandly, “Did you want to hear you were a first round draft pick? After you went out in the middle of the night?”
Jensen sets his jaw, realizing that just like with Katie, it doesn’t matter how much time has passed or what any of them say, there will always be this thorn stubbornly making its way through the Corps. And it’s called Jensen Ackles, the Goldenboy Who Quit.
He snorts and shakes his head, feeling like he’s about to give up on the day. Even when it’s only 0625. “No one’s gonna forgive that, huh?”
“Especially not if you’re back to dance with Chevy Violet.”
A look of anger flashes over Aldis’ face before he settles back into the calm, relaxed guy Jensen called a good neighbor long ago.
“It’s not a big deal,” Katie insists while stealing a forkful of hash browns from Aldis’ plate. “It happened and now it’s our last march before the end of the world. There won’t be any grudges in the afterlife, no matter who was invited or who walked on.”
Jensen knows she’s doing her best to put it to rest, but he’s still bothered with the idea he wasn’t really wanted back. “You know, Elba came for me.” Aldis and Katie each pause mid-chew to look at him. “I’m not some third-string walk-on freshman here. Elba asked me to come back.”
“Yeah, well,” Aldis sighs, “he’s the only one the Commander has to listen to these days.”
“So Jared didn’t want me back?”
“Not a lot of people did.” After a beat, Aldis adds, “Sorry, bro, but you know how it goes around here. Drift to the death.”
Jensen has no answer to that as that’s exactly why he left-to avoid the end of that unsaid motto among the rangers who ever called this cruiser home. He also has no way to reason Jared not wanting him here aside from all that’s sat between them, anger and confusion rotting long enough that there’s nothing left but brittle bone. And Jensen knows he hasn’t been here a full day yet, but just maybe he’s already set to break.
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