FIC: The Dead Ringer (1/2) | Jared/Misha | R
Rating: R
Word Count: ~14k
Summary: Misha was the best private investigator in Los Angeles until he married Jared and his billions. Now, between spending his husband's money, drinking to excess, and bantering with Jared like it's his job, life is too full for anything like real work. Enter Jensen Ackles, his missing father, eccentric family, and possible mob connections…and you have a case for murder that may be juicy enough to bring Misha out of retirement.
Notes: Written for spn_cinema, based on The Thin Man. There aren't enough thanks in the world for my wonderful beta, greybhan311. She's the best! My eternal apologies to Samantha Ferris for making her old enough to be Jensen's mother. Since Supernatural already made JDM old enough to play his father, I consider myself off the hook with that one.
~*~
So many eyes tracked Jared as he walked the length of the pool, Misha figured he could pay for a day’s worth of drinks if he charged admission for the view. Jared was surely aware of his audience, and he milked the attention for all it was worth in his tight blue swim trunks and newly acquired California tan. He didn’t hesitate when he climbed the ladder and ran the length of the board to spring seamlessly into a textbook perfect dive, all long lines and hard muscle. He bobbed up and shook the water from his hair like a glorious Labrador before tossing a knowing look Misha's way as if to ask, enjoying the show?
Misha was enjoying the show, very much, maybe as much as he was enjoying his third Bloody Mary. The Beverly Hills Hotel prided itself on exceptional service, but it had taken the bartender a couple of tries to get Misha's very particular Bloody Mary requirements just so. Now that she had, Misha felt honor bound to express his appreciation by drinking as many as possible.
The glass was nearly empty, and Misha felt too lazy to pour a new one from the pitcher that sat on the side table, so he watched Jared a while longer before leaning back in the lounger to wait for a server to come by. It was a rough life.
He'd just closed his eyes for a nap - it had been a late night after all - when he felt a long shadow fall over him, silently chilling the warmth of the sunlight that spilled into the private poolside cabana.
Maybe if I'm very, very still, whoever it is will go away, Misha thought, as he settled in to wait the shadow out. When the shadow didn't budge, Misha opened one eye, hidden behind mirrored aviator shades, to see if it was Jared playing some kind of game. While the form wasn't clear, backlit as it was by the late morning sun, it was definitely large and definitely male. Still, Misha would know his husband anywhere and this wasn't Jared. Heaving a put upon sigh, he gestured to the table.
"Make yourself useful, will you? Pour me another Bloody Mary."
Shadow Man made a noise, which might have been a choked laugh, but could have been phlegm, and did as he was asked, handing Misha his drink before taking a seat next to the lounger.
"You're Misha Collins," the man said.
Wonderful. Now he’d have to figure out how Shadow Man knew him and what he wanted. It was always something.
"The very one," Misha affirmed. "Though it's Misha Padalecki-Collins these days."
"Very domestic."
"Mm. Don't tell the Missus, though. He still thinks it's Misha Collins-Padalecki."
"Sounds dodgy."
"It's a cause of constant strife in an otherwise perfect marriage."
"I heard you retired from the detective business," Shadow Man said.
"To take on the arduous task of managing the billions I married my husband for."
"Somehow, I doubt that's the case."
"I beg your pardon? I manage those billions beautifully." Misha made a gesture to indicate the luxury that surrounded them. "Can't you tell?"
"I doubt that's why you married him."
"Well, he's not hard to look at and he's a beast between the sheets, but don't tell him I said so. It'd just go to his head."
"You don't know who I am, do you?"
Misha looked over then, pushed up his shades, and gave Shadow Man the once over. And then the twice-over. Not bad.
"No, but I'd like to."
The man laughed, revealing a Hollywood smile that crinkled his eyes. They were a beautiful green, his skin was freckled but tan. Not bad at all.
"I'm Jensen Ackles," he said.
"Jeff's son?"
"That's me. All grown up. Remember when you used to bounce me on your knee?"
"You wound me, or you would have if I'd bounced you on my knee." Misha took a judicious sip of his Bloody Mary. "Weren’t you in college the last time I saw you?"
"That's right. I was wasting my time at UCLA on the five year plan and lusting over the private eye my father hired to investigate, who was it?" He mused as he leaned back in his chair. "I can't recall."
Misha waved his hand. "I’m not sure. Some patent thief, I assume. I did a lot of work for Jeff."
"Not lately, though."
"Not for a few years, since Jared made an honest man of me."
"Well, you made quite an impression," Jensen admitted. "The brave private eye who wouldn't let the dastardly criminal get away with stealing dad’s latest computer whatchamacallit."
"Was that nearly ten years ago?" Misha asked. "God. I remember you now. You were adorable. Why didn't I sleep with you, again?"
"Probably something boring, like professionalism."
"How quaint. For the record, I'm over that now."
"And how does the other Mr. Collins-Padalecki…"
"Padalecki-Collins."
"Excuse me. How does Mr. Padalecki-Collins feel about that?"
"He's a trust fund baby. He abhors professionalism in all its forms."
"Speaking of professionalism…"
"We were not."
"It's a segue, go with it." Jensen shifted in his seat as his expression furrowed into something worried, maybe a little sad; he leaned in closer to rest a hand on the lounger. Misha couldn't help but think this may have been done for effect. "It's about my dad."
"Handsome, one might say grizzled, brilliant mind, wandering eye."
"Yeah, that's the list," Jensen agreed. "I haven't heard from him in almost three months and I'm starting to worry."
"Doesn’t sound so unusual for Jeff."
"He’s never gone this long without at least a call." Jensen placed a hand on Misha's thigh, just above the knee but near enough to the goods to be considered inappropriate by anybody keeping score. "I was wondering if you could check into it for me?"
"Check into what?"
It was Jared, all six foot something of him (Misha thought it would be rude to keep count), big and wet and smiling at Jensen like he was candy in a bowl. He reached for a towel behind Jensen and pulled a face; it was his scrunched up nose, well what have we here, this looks like fun, can I bring him home, Daddy, please, face. Misha waited until Jensen turned toward Jared to stick his tongue out in response.
Jared flashed his brightest megawatt grin at Jensen, all dimples and white teeth. They were shark teeth, but Misha didn't see any reason to warn Jensen about that. He didn't know what Jared was thinking - was Jensen the big fish or the bait? It'd be fun to find out.
"My father," Jensen replied. He started to stand, possibly in an attempt to meet Jared on solid ground, but Jared waved him back down and walked over to sit on the edge of the lounger. "He's been missing a while. Misha used to do some work for him sometimes. I was seeing if maybe he'd help."
"And I was about to tell him, sorry, I'm not in the father-finding business anymore. Oh, and Jared, Jensen. Jensen, Jared," he said by way of introduction.
Jared looked at Misha. "But it should be easy enough, if you worked with him before. You should help."
Misha felt his expression sour as he realized his glass was nearly empty again. How the hell did that keep happening?
"We're on vacation," Misha said. "Jeff'll turn up. It's no big deal."
Jared glared at Misha's glass. "How many of those have you had?"
"Four."
Jared turned his attention to Jensen. "Will you do me a big favor?" He asked, all charm. "Go order another pitcher from that nice bartender, two if you plan on joining us. Be sure to get five glasses for me. I need to even the score."
Jensen was so busy staring at Jared it took him a beat to catch up. Misha had seen the look before - sometimes it took newbies a few minutes to take Jared all in. "Um, sure," he said, finally, excusing himself to head to the bar.
Jared turned to Misha and spoke in a hurry. "He's gorgeous, tell me everything."
"That's Jensen Ackles. His father is Jeffrey Dean Morgan-"
"The inventor?"
"Yes, he's-"
"Different last names?"
"I believe Ackles is the last name of a stepfather. No, it was a stage name. I can't really remember. That family's crazy. Who knows what all they get up to?"
"They sound like fun."
"It's not a Padalecki family picnic, but they'll do."
Jared leaned in to drop a kiss to the tip of Misha's nose. "Go on."
"So, Daddy Morgan's been gone a few months and Jensen wants to find him," Misha said mildly as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind Jared's ear. "Probably needs money."
"Cynic."
"That's why you love me."
"No," Jared corrected. "I love you because you make me look good. We've been over this before, sweetie."
"I'm not sweet, I'm sour."
"You're a big marshmallow, and you will help that hottie find his father."
"Why?"
"Did you miss the 'hottie' part? Besides, it'll be fun. You're bored out of your mind here."
"We're on vacation. I'm supposed to be bored out of my mind. It's the whole point."
Jared brushed his long fingers up Misha's thigh, digging in just a little over the patch of skin where Jensen had placed his hand, and leered, half seductive, half comical. "That's not the point of vacation, baby."
"Have mercy, Jared. I'm an old man," Misha begged, though his dick did express interest. "I need to come up for air every now and then."
"Air and Bloody Marys."
"I'll drink to that."
"If Jensen ever comes back with that order." It was as if Jared could read his mind, and Misha regarded him fondly. Sometimes he felt like he must have the goofiest grin on his face. He practiced a downward turn of his lips to counteract it. Jared smiled and turned his gaze to the poolside bar.
"Fuck," he said. "It's Chad."
Misha's lips took a downward turn for real. Fucking Chad.
"What's he doing here?"
"Right now? He's flirting with your new client."
"He's not my...wait, what?" Misha exclaimed. "Gross."
"I don't know. Jensen seems into it."
Misha refused to look. It was too distressing for someone as pretty as Jensen Ackles to be caught even breathing the same air as Chad Michael Murray, much less flirting.
"Will this hell never end?"
"There, there, it'll be all right." Jared swung around to recline next to his husband. He pulled his shades down and squirmed into position, bumping against Misha with his absurdly long limbs and ridiculous muscles, to watch the show and report a play-by-play.
"Chad's working all his best moves," Jared said. "The big smile, scrunchy eyes, moving in just a little too close."
"Those aren't good moves."
"They are for Chad. Jensen does this thing where he looks down, then peers up through his girly eyelashes."
"Know your strengths," Misha said. "And don't forget the booze." He was starting to feel forlorn over the missing drinks.
"Yep," Jared proclaimed. "He's definitely flirting back."
"Should we warn him about Murray?"
"He's a big boy. Besides, you won't even help him find his missing father. What do you care?"
"I care."
"You do not. You're heartless."
"You said I was sweet," Misha reminded him. "And Morgan's fine. This disappearing act isn't unusual."
"But Jensen's worried. Can't you at least make some calls?"
Jared had that look, half puppy, half mule, and Misha knew he wasn't going to win this one.
"Fine. I can call Jeff's lawyer, see what he's heard."
"I've already talked to Jim." It was Jensen, returned with a huge tray of chilled glasses. Chad was hot on his heels with a second tray, loaded down with two big pitchers of, well, Nirvana, as far as Misha was concerned.
"Pour," Misha commanded Chad.
"Nice to see you, too."
Jared grinned. "You'd best mind the master. He's starting to get the shakes."
Chad set about the task of filling the glasses, five for Jared, one each for everyone else. "They're sending another pitcher soon," he assured them. "Who's Jim?"
"Jim Beaver," Jensen answered. "My father's attorney."
Chad snorted. "Beaver."
"Really?" Jared asked.
"Come on, it's funny."
Jensen stared at Chad, openly bewildered.
"Oh, he's real," Misha said.
"And he's got the sense of humor of a twelve year old."
"You picked him," Misha reminded his husband.
Jared took offense. "When I was twelve. I haven't been able to shake him."
"I'm right here, guys."
Misha took a long, happy swallow from his Bloody Mary. Next to him, Jared gulped his down like he was in a competition at a kegger. He smacked his lips when he finished and reached for glass number two.
Jensen was doing some awkward flirting thing with his eyes. Well, it wasn't awkward, really, so much as it was…directed toward Chad, which Misha counted as a tragedy.
"What did Jim have to say?" Misha asked.
Jensen shrugged. "Not much. He hasn't heard from Dad either, but he says he must have access to his accounts from wherever he is since the money's all coming through."
"Who to?"
"Who to what?"
"Oh, I know this game," Jared said, reaching for his third drink.
"Who does the money go to?"
"Well, Dad manages the business accounts, of course. But Jim’s concern would have been his retainer, and my monthly stipend, I guess, since I was the one asking."
"See!" Jared waved a finger toward Jensen in triumph. "He's not after his dad for money if he's still getting his stipend."
Misha patted Jared on the knee and soldiered on. "Who inherits if anything happens to your father?"
"Me, I guess."
Chad moved his chair closer to Jensen. "Oh? How much?"
"Smooth, Chad. Very smooth," Jared said, raising his glass in a lazy salute.
Jensen grimaced and wiped some excess Bloody Mary from his mouth.
"So, you talked to Jim," Misha said. "Anybody else?"
"No. I tried to contact Dad's old assistant, but he moved back to Spain a few months ago, and I haven’t been able to reach him."
"This is Javier, I take it?" Misha said.
"Yes, he worked with Dad for years. If anybody would know his whereabouts, it’d be Javier."
"He still the spitting image of dear old dad?"
"Yeah."
"That was always kind of spooky," Misha said. "What about Julia Wolf? She still around?"
Jensen expressed his feelings on the subject of Julia Wolf in the form of a full body shudder. "Yeah, she and my dad are still together as far as I know, for whatever that’s worth, but I didn't try to contact her directly. Jim said he'd talk to her."
"I assume she's one of the financial obligations your father's still taking care of."
"Oh, yeah," Jensen said, his tone bitter but dull. "We'd all have heard about it by now if she wasn't getting hers."
Misha considered the new information as he watched his husband down Bloody Mary number three and reach for four. Jared looked at it long and hard before belching theatrically and diving in.
"Impressive," Jensen murmured, and he looked like he meant it. Misha practiced the downward turn of his lips. If you were going to hang with the Padalecki-Collins', it was important to appreciate class.
"So, Misha claims to manage the money," Jensen said. "What do you do, Jared?"
Jared seemed surprised by the question. It was rare to see him at a loss for words, and Misha took pity. "It's okay, dear. Take your time."
Chad piped up, "He's a philanderer."
"Philanthropist," Jared corrected. His slur was barely noticeable.
"Whatever. All I know's, they have so much money they spend most of their time figuring out how to give it away, but it never comes around to me."
"What about you, Jensen?" Misha asked. "I'm sure you were majoring in something fascinating at UCLA."
"I work in development at one of the studios. I was taking a meeting here this morning when I spotted you from across the pool."
"You work behind the camera?" Jared asked, sounding unbearably sad. "That's a shame, what with your face and all. You belong in front of it."
Jensen ducked his head. Misha gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was the sun that turned him pink. "It never took. But thank you."
Chad looked put-out. "Yeah, Jared's a real sweetheart," he said and placed his hand on Jensen's knee. Jensen didn't move it, or recoil in horror, so Misha could only assume the poor man was touched in the head.
"Why don't we blow this joint?" Chad said to Jensen. "Misha can make his calls and we can spend a few hours on the golf course."
Misha was prepared to help Jensen with an excuse to avoid this terrible fate, but Jensen just smiled and placed his hand over Chad's. "Sure, sounds good."
Misha choked on his drink and Jared patted his back. "It'll be all right," he stage whispered. "It's best for him to suffer through the Chad experience all at once, like pulling off a Band-Aid."
"Still here," Chad said.
But not for long. He and Jensen both rose to take their leave. Misha considered standing too, to give them a manly handshake goodbye, but the thought was fleeting. Jared was three sheets to the wind, at least, and starting to cling. Misha didn't think he had the energy to move, anyway. Jensen and Chad were already waving their goodbyes before he could test it out.
"You'll let me know what you hear?" Jensen called back.
"Absolutely. You know where to find me."
"Bungalow number twelve," Jared said. "Come by any time."
Misha made a mental note to call on some contacts that afternoon and settled in for a lazy hour or two of making out with his husband. Yeah, life was pretty rough.
~*~
Jared felt confident Misha had already taken The Case of the Disappearing Daddy. Misha just didn’t know it yet, which wasn't so unusual. He ended up ass first in all sorts of trouble without realizing it. It was pretty much how Jared landed him in the first place.
"We should go out for drinks," Misha said. "See and be seen."
Sadie whimpered and buried her head in her paws. One vote against, then. Jared scratched her between the ears. Only four months free from the shelter, the fifty pound mutt was already accustomed to expressing her opinion and having it respected. Jared was determined to take her side in the matter.
"But it's after ten already."
"So?"
"What if Jensen comes by?"
Misha rolled his eyes and measured out a gin and tonic. It was obvious he wasn't going to win this one, though his refusal to give up the fight was nothing short of adorable.
"Jim's stopping by tomorrow," Misha said. "Jensen can come then."
"You didn't even get his number."
"I got it from Jim. I'll call in the morning."
"You do care."
Jared batted his eyelashes but gave up quickly, fearing from Misha's reaction it was more seizurey than seductive. He joined his husband at the bar and started mixing daiquiris.
"I married a girly-drink drunk."
Misha always sounded so put out when he said it, Jared sometimes added little umbrellas to amplify the effect. He leaned down for a kiss, slow and sweet, and sort of tipsy, their specialty. It was going well enough that he was sure the idea of going out for the night was forgotten when there was a knock at the door.
Jared pulled back. "Who could that be?"
Misha walked over to answer it. "If it's fucking Chad, I'll kill him."
There was another knock, louder this time.
"Be nice."
"He's not staying. I hate that guy."
"You can't go to heaven with hate in your heart," Jared said in a pitch-perfect imitation of his Aunt Cathy.
"Wherever I go, I'm dragging you with me, so be sure to wear flame-retardant underwear."
"Wouldn't it be simpler to go commando?"
The smile he received as his answer could best be described as lecherous.
The knocking at the door took on a quick staccato rhythm. "Hold your horses," Misha said, opening it to a very much worse for the wear Jensen Ackles.
"The prodigal son has returned," Jared said, moving forward to greet him.
Jensen’s face was all determined concentration when he pointed his finger. "Jared!" He pointed at Misha. "Misha!" He looked down at Sadie, who was standing on her Gucci dog bed and eyeing him with suspicion. "Dog!"
If a dog could roll its eyes, well. Sadie turned tail and walked to the master bedroom, clearly not up for this brand of nonsense.
"Good job," Misha said, waving a hand in front of Jensen's face. "You smell like a back alley."
"I've been in an alley. I think. Well, there was a club and it had an alley. Chad's weird."
He was shit-faced. Jared wondered if the night could get any better.
"Have a seat before you tip over."
Jared stepped behind Jensen to place his hands at his waist and walk him to the sofa. Well, half walk, half manhandle. Misha watched the proceedings with a raised brow.
"Get him some water," Jared said.
Jensen landed in a heap on the sofa. "Oh, soft."
"Yes, very."
Misha twisted the cap off a bottled water and handed it to Jensen.
"Thank you. You're both so, so nice," Jensen said. Misha had a point - the man smelled like the back side of a brewery.
"You're so, so drunk." Jared patted his head. Jensen leaned into it, a happy sigh escaping his lips.
"Yes."
"Rank amateur," Misha said.
"I think you're right," Jensen replied. "I should go pro."
"It takes years of practice and you have to start young," Misha told him. "It may be too late for you."
"Don't be discouraging." Jared took a seat next to Jensen and looped an arm around his shoulders. "It's never too late to start."
"You're so, so nice," Jensen said again, right before he face-planted onto Jared's shoulder. He only stayed planted a second before he bounced back up and shook his head.
Jared curled his free hand over Jensen’s and pushed the water bottle to his mouth in an easy motion. Jensen gulped down the water with unquestioning obedience borne of extreme inebriation before setting it aside and lolling against Jared. He reached a hand to Misha. At Jared's nod, Misha took it and let it swing between them.
"What a rotten night," Jensen slurred.
"You were with Chad." Misha pulled his hand out of Jensen's to sit at his other side.
"No, that was all right. I'm used to the type."
"You poor thing," Jared said, reaching around Jensen to pinch Misha's side. Misha leaned back to throw him a glare.
"I went to my mother's earlier, to let her know you were looking into Dad's whereabouts, Misha."
"Yeah? How's Samantha doing these days?"
"Same as ever, but her husbands keep getting sleazier and sleazier." The words ran together in a slur, shleashier and shleashier. "I mean, the latest one sucks."
"What's his name?" Misha asked.
Jared beamed. Clearly, his husband was on the case.
"Mark Sheppard. He had the nerve to ask me if I'd take care of my mom financially when I inherited. When? Dad's not dead yet as far as we know. Am I right?"
"Absolutely." Jared massaged comforting circles along Jensen's back.
"Not to mention his son, Vincent."
"Whose son?"
"Mark's. My stepbrother. Try to keep up."
"What about him?" Misha prompted.
"Hmm?"
"Vincent? You don't like him?"
"He's creepy; still lives at home even though he must be pushing thirty. Always talking about serial killers."
"That is creepy," Jared agreed. "Finish your water and let's get you to bed."
Misha and Jensen both turned to stare, their expressions a matched set of alarm teetering on something very much like hope.
"No offense to Jensen, but I'm not certain he's capable of informed consent."
"Not to mention the smell," Jared agreed. "I meant let's get him to bed in the guest room."
Jensen leaned back into the cushions and graced Jared with a blank expression that was all drunken stupor.
"Come on, I'll help you," Jared said, rising to his feet and pulling Jensen with him. Jensen promptly fell back to the sofa with a thump, eyes closed, mouth open.
"Looks like he's down for the count," Misha announced.
"No wonder you made such a brilliant detective."
There was nothing to be done about it, Jared decided. He didn't want to leave Jensen on the sofa where Sadie could come by and lick him. There was no telling what kind of diseases she was apt to pick up. He hauled Jensen up in a fireman's carry and headed toward the guest room.
"Mmm," Misha said from his spot on the sofa.
"Huh?"
"Just enjoying the view."
Jared deposited Jensen on the bed and removed his shoes while Misha brought in a couple of extra bottled waters and some Tylenol just in case. For his part, Jensen contributed some rather unattractive snoring and a line of drool down his chin.
"I'm wiped," Jared said. "Let's go to bed and do horrible things to each other."
"Twist my arm."
Jared did, but he was gentle about it. Misha was far more delicate than he'd care to admit, or maybe Jared just liked to think so. Either way, by the time they stumbled into their bedroom, there was plenty of groping going on, none of it likely to cause harm.
Misha pushed Jared to the bed and stood between his thighs, drew his own tie off and dropped it to hang loosely around Jared's neck. He pulled himself in by its ends and pressed their lips together. Jared licked his way into Misha’s mouth to deepen the kiss.
When Misha lost his balance and pushed Jared back with the force of his body falling over him, Jared dropped his hands to Misha's ass, squeezed, then drew his arms over his head so Misha could get the leverage he needed to strip Jared's shirt.
"What are you in the mood for?" Misha asked.
"Making you come so hard, you'll need an IV for a week."
"Sounds vaguely terrifying."
Jared pressed wet, open kisses along Misha's jaw and rolled him onto his back. "I'm going to..." He quickly worked loose the buttons of Misha's shirt, dropped a kiss to the pulse point at the base of his neck. "Suck you."
Misha groaned and pulled Jared in closer by the hair. It hurt a little. He didn't complain.
"Gonna take you so deep," Jared continued as he worked his way down, sliding his tongue in a long, deliberate line from Misha's chest to his stomach. "And so long." He let his breath tickle Misha's belly until it pulled a laugh. "Make you scream so loud, it'll cross state lines and be declared a federal offense."
"I'm going to let you," Misha said, rolling his hips when Jared reached for his fly. "Because I'm a humani-"
There was a noise, a low scritch-scratch at the front door, and they both went still, Jared's face perilously close to his husband's crotch. Nothing followed. Jared was on the verge of ignoring it when there was a thump and loud barks punctured the silence as Sadie rushed from her spot on the floor to the main room.
"Fuck," Jared said in unison with his husband.
Misha groaned. "I guess it's too late to hope it's nothing?"
"I'll get it."
It was only fair. Misha was a little worse for wear and flat on his back, after all.
"For God's sake, get rid of them. Especially if it's Chad."
Sadie was scratching at the door by the time Jared got there, whimpering like there was a juicy cat on the other side. He muscled her back with one hand and peered through the peep hole. The man on the other side was balding and doughy, probably someone with the wrong room.
Jared opened it. "Listen, man, it's kind of la-"
The man looked Jared in the eye, and Jared looked back, so it took just a second longer than it should for his gaze to travel down and take in the very serious gun pointed at his midsection. Jared was fond of his midsection, and became quickly determined to keep it from getting shot. Sadie apparently had a similar revelation, and maybe a more than passing familiarity with guns, so she took the opportunity to shut up and make herself scarce.
"Misha Collins here?" The man asked, his tone all business.
"I'm sorry. You must have the wrong bungalow."
"This is number twelve, right?"
"Yes, but no Misha Collins here."
"I hear he's got a husband built like a Greek statue. That's not you?"
"Well, you know…I mean, no. That's not me. Husband? Ew. Gay marriage. Yuck. Am I right?"
"Live and let live, I say."
"It's all fun and games until somebody pulls a gun, I guess."
"So, he's in the bedroom?"
"Um. No. Try bungalow ten. All kinds of late parties. Very unsavory."
"You're going to walk in front of me to the bedroom now. And if you mutter one word of warning, I’ll shoot you in the head."
"Just like that, huh?"
"Just like that."
Jared had a new philosophy: mind the man with the gun and leave the rest to God, or whoever. He walked through the door to the bedroom.
"Where is he?" The man asked.
"I told you, he's not here." Jared eyeballed the empty room and gulped. What next?
"Get down." Misha's voice was low and firm, and closer than Jared had expected.
Assuming the command was aimed at him, Jared dropped. Misha swung out from behind the door to rush their intruder. Seeing as how Misha was unarmed, the situation wasn't ideal, but Jared didn't have any better ideas so he crawled away while Misha and the man struggled for the gun.
The man gained some leverage and pushed Misha off, the weapon still clutched in his hand.
"You need to keep your nose out of Morgan's business," he said.
Jared spun around, still crouched low. The motion must have caught the man's eye because he moved his arm and Jared found himself looking directly into the barrel of the gun.
"There's just no reasoning with you, is there?" Misha said.
He went after the gun again, pushing the guy’s arm up so it wasn't aimed at Jared. Figuring it was now or never, Jared rushed the man from his crouched position. He was in the middle of a full-rush tackle when there was a flash and a noise so loud he lost the plot for a second.
Holy shit, he thought, the gun went off. Misha staggered backward as momentum carried Jared forward and he tackled the intruder to the ground. He used all his considerable weight to hold him down while Misha picked up the gun that had landed just inches away and held it to the man's head.
"Get the handcuffs," Misha said.
It was fortunate that both he and Misha were dedicated enough to authenticity that the cuffs were real and not some flimsy little feathered things from a sex shop. Jared pulled them out of the nightstand and walked back over to wrangle their intruder into a chair. That’s when he noticed Misha holding his side.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm fine. Just cuff him to the chair. Be sure to get both hands behind him."
Jared did as he was told while the guy panted heavily, his breath all cheap cigars and cheaper beer. His work done, Jared took a good look at Misha, who had backed out of the guy's reach to set the gun on the dresser. Blood seeped through the side of his white shirt in an ugly, expanding circle.
"You were shot."
"It's a scratch." Misha peeled back the shirt to get a better look. "Just a graze, really," he said, like he was calming an angry bear, or a scared one.
"Graze, my ass. You were shot."
Jared was on Misha in a flash, settling him down on the edge of the bed and peering at his wound like he knew what to do about it.
"First Aid kit," Misha said. He sounded a hell of a lot calmer than Jared felt.
"Yeah."
The sound of sirens pierced the night as Jared pulled the kit out of the bathroom cabinet and returned to douse his husband's side with rubbing alcohol. Strangely enough, Misha had been telling the truth. It really was just a graze. The medical tape he used to hold the gauze in place said The Beverly Hills Hotel in big cursive letters. Nice touch.
Misha nodded his head toward the sound of the sirens. "That'll be for you," he told the intruder. "You made an awful lot of noise with that big gun of yours."
"They don't take kindly to that sort of thing at The Beverly," Jared was happy to report.
Misha was well known among the cops who showed up just a few minutes later, and they made quite a fuss. It'd been nearly three years since he gave up the private eye business in Los Angeles to marry Jared and move to Boston, but he had the kind of reputation that held.
As it turned out, Misha wasn't the only one whose reputation preceded him. They knew the guy in the handcuffs, too. His name was Vikhrov, Vik for short, a low level low life with the Russian mob.
Half an hour later, after Misha repeatedly and firmly refused all suggestions that he go to the hospital, the cops were gone and they were alone again in the aftermath. Sadie made an appearance, pretty as you please, like she hadn't disappeared at the first sign of trouble.
"Smart girl," Jared said, holding out his hand for a doggie shake.
"Speaking of…Jensen certainly made himself scarce."
Misha had a point. It was the first time Jared thought of their guest since the trouble started. They opened his bedroom door to find Jensen still dead to the world, snoring like a freight train, drool pooling on his pillow.
"Now that's a skill," Misha said.
When they climbed into bed, after a couple of glasses of wine to help them sleep, Jared made sure to switch sides so he wouldn't bump up against Misha's wound.
"You were injured in the line of fire."
"Yes, I'm very brave."
"My hero." Jared said it like it was a joke, but he kind of meant it.
"What about you? Big strong man, tackling that criminal to the ground." Misha said it like it was a joke, but Jared figured he probably kind of meant it, too.
Breakfast was delivered at the bright and early hour of ten a.m. Misha made a show of wincing as he poured the coffee, which Jared made a point to ignore. It wouldn't do to coddle him.
A freshly showered Jensen padded into the room wearing a fluffy hotel bathrobe and probably nothing else but the towel he was rubbing through his hair.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Jared said. "How are you feeling?"
"Good as new. Thanks for putting me up last night. I, uh, don't remember much."
"Probably for the best," Misha said. "What with Chad and all."
"How about you guys? Quiet night?"
Jared snorted. "If by quiet, you mean gangsters, guns and policemen. Around here, we just call it Thursday."
Jensen looked at him, all wide-eyed surprise, while Misha reached for the paper and read the headline out loud: "Mobster Mayhem at the Legendary Beverly Hills Hotel!"
"That's us," Jared said, delighted.
"Oh, and will you listen to this?" Misha continued. "‘Criminal at his doorstep brings world famous Private Investigator Misha Collins, currently the husband of high-society's own Jared Padalecki’, that's you honey-buns, ‘out of retirement. The bad guy didn't stand a chance.’"
Next
Word Count: ~14k
Summary: Misha was the best private investigator in Los Angeles until he married Jared and his billions. Now, between spending his husband's money, drinking to excess, and bantering with Jared like it's his job, life is too full for anything like real work. Enter Jensen Ackles, his missing father, eccentric family, and possible mob connections…and you have a case for murder that may be juicy enough to bring Misha out of retirement.
Notes: Written for spn_cinema, based on The Thin Man. There aren't enough thanks in the world for my wonderful beta, greybhan311. She's the best! My eternal apologies to Samantha Ferris for making her old enough to be Jensen's mother. Since Supernatural already made JDM old enough to play his father, I consider myself off the hook with that one.
~*~
So many eyes tracked Jared as he walked the length of the pool, Misha figured he could pay for a day’s worth of drinks if he charged admission for the view. Jared was surely aware of his audience, and he milked the attention for all it was worth in his tight blue swim trunks and newly acquired California tan. He didn’t hesitate when he climbed the ladder and ran the length of the board to spring seamlessly into a textbook perfect dive, all long lines and hard muscle. He bobbed up and shook the water from his hair like a glorious Labrador before tossing a knowing look Misha's way as if to ask, enjoying the show?
Misha was enjoying the show, very much, maybe as much as he was enjoying his third Bloody Mary. The Beverly Hills Hotel prided itself on exceptional service, but it had taken the bartender a couple of tries to get Misha's very particular Bloody Mary requirements just so. Now that she had, Misha felt honor bound to express his appreciation by drinking as many as possible.
The glass was nearly empty, and Misha felt too lazy to pour a new one from the pitcher that sat on the side table, so he watched Jared a while longer before leaning back in the lounger to wait for a server to come by. It was a rough life.
He'd just closed his eyes for a nap - it had been a late night after all - when he felt a long shadow fall over him, silently chilling the warmth of the sunlight that spilled into the private poolside cabana.
Maybe if I'm very, very still, whoever it is will go away, Misha thought, as he settled in to wait the shadow out. When the shadow didn't budge, Misha opened one eye, hidden behind mirrored aviator shades, to see if it was Jared playing some kind of game. While the form wasn't clear, backlit as it was by the late morning sun, it was definitely large and definitely male. Still, Misha would know his husband anywhere and this wasn't Jared. Heaving a put upon sigh, he gestured to the table.
"Make yourself useful, will you? Pour me another Bloody Mary."
Shadow Man made a noise, which might have been a choked laugh, but could have been phlegm, and did as he was asked, handing Misha his drink before taking a seat next to the lounger.
"You're Misha Collins," the man said.
Wonderful. Now he’d have to figure out how Shadow Man knew him and what he wanted. It was always something.
"The very one," Misha affirmed. "Though it's Misha Padalecki-Collins these days."
"Very domestic."
"Mm. Don't tell the Missus, though. He still thinks it's Misha Collins-Padalecki."
"Sounds dodgy."
"It's a cause of constant strife in an otherwise perfect marriage."
"I heard you retired from the detective business," Shadow Man said.
"To take on the arduous task of managing the billions I married my husband for."
"Somehow, I doubt that's the case."
"I beg your pardon? I manage those billions beautifully." Misha made a gesture to indicate the luxury that surrounded them. "Can't you tell?"
"I doubt that's why you married him."
"Well, he's not hard to look at and he's a beast between the sheets, but don't tell him I said so. It'd just go to his head."
"You don't know who I am, do you?"
Misha looked over then, pushed up his shades, and gave Shadow Man the once over. And then the twice-over. Not bad.
"No, but I'd like to."
The man laughed, revealing a Hollywood smile that crinkled his eyes. They were a beautiful green, his skin was freckled but tan. Not bad at all.
"I'm Jensen Ackles," he said.
"Jeff's son?"
"That's me. All grown up. Remember when you used to bounce me on your knee?"
"You wound me, or you would have if I'd bounced you on my knee." Misha took a judicious sip of his Bloody Mary. "Weren’t you in college the last time I saw you?"
"That's right. I was wasting my time at UCLA on the five year plan and lusting over the private eye my father hired to investigate, who was it?" He mused as he leaned back in his chair. "I can't recall."
Misha waved his hand. "I’m not sure. Some patent thief, I assume. I did a lot of work for Jeff."
"Not lately, though."
"Not for a few years, since Jared made an honest man of me."
"Well, you made quite an impression," Jensen admitted. "The brave private eye who wouldn't let the dastardly criminal get away with stealing dad’s latest computer whatchamacallit."
"Was that nearly ten years ago?" Misha asked. "God. I remember you now. You were adorable. Why didn't I sleep with you, again?"
"Probably something boring, like professionalism."
"How quaint. For the record, I'm over that now."
"And how does the other Mr. Collins-Padalecki…"
"Padalecki-Collins."
"Excuse me. How does Mr. Padalecki-Collins feel about that?"
"He's a trust fund baby. He abhors professionalism in all its forms."
"Speaking of professionalism…"
"We were not."
"It's a segue, go with it." Jensen shifted in his seat as his expression furrowed into something worried, maybe a little sad; he leaned in closer to rest a hand on the lounger. Misha couldn't help but think this may have been done for effect. "It's about my dad."
"Handsome, one might say grizzled, brilliant mind, wandering eye."
"Yeah, that's the list," Jensen agreed. "I haven't heard from him in almost three months and I'm starting to worry."
"Doesn’t sound so unusual for Jeff."
"He’s never gone this long without at least a call." Jensen placed a hand on Misha's thigh, just above the knee but near enough to the goods to be considered inappropriate by anybody keeping score. "I was wondering if you could check into it for me?"
"Check into what?"
It was Jared, all six foot something of him (Misha thought it would be rude to keep count), big and wet and smiling at Jensen like he was candy in a bowl. He reached for a towel behind Jensen and pulled a face; it was his scrunched up nose, well what have we here, this looks like fun, can I bring him home, Daddy, please, face. Misha waited until Jensen turned toward Jared to stick his tongue out in response.
Jared flashed his brightest megawatt grin at Jensen, all dimples and white teeth. They were shark teeth, but Misha didn't see any reason to warn Jensen about that. He didn't know what Jared was thinking - was Jensen the big fish or the bait? It'd be fun to find out.
"My father," Jensen replied. He started to stand, possibly in an attempt to meet Jared on solid ground, but Jared waved him back down and walked over to sit on the edge of the lounger. "He's been missing a while. Misha used to do some work for him sometimes. I was seeing if maybe he'd help."
"And I was about to tell him, sorry, I'm not in the father-finding business anymore. Oh, and Jared, Jensen. Jensen, Jared," he said by way of introduction.
Jared looked at Misha. "But it should be easy enough, if you worked with him before. You should help."
Misha felt his expression sour as he realized his glass was nearly empty again. How the hell did that keep happening?
"We're on vacation," Misha said. "Jeff'll turn up. It's no big deal."
Jared glared at Misha's glass. "How many of those have you had?"
"Four."
Jared turned his attention to Jensen. "Will you do me a big favor?" He asked, all charm. "Go order another pitcher from that nice bartender, two if you plan on joining us. Be sure to get five glasses for me. I need to even the score."
Jensen was so busy staring at Jared it took him a beat to catch up. Misha had seen the look before - sometimes it took newbies a few minutes to take Jared all in. "Um, sure," he said, finally, excusing himself to head to the bar.
Jared turned to Misha and spoke in a hurry. "He's gorgeous, tell me everything."
"That's Jensen Ackles. His father is Jeffrey Dean Morgan-"
"The inventor?"
"Yes, he's-"
"Different last names?"
"I believe Ackles is the last name of a stepfather. No, it was a stage name. I can't really remember. That family's crazy. Who knows what all they get up to?"
"They sound like fun."
"It's not a Padalecki family picnic, but they'll do."
Jared leaned in to drop a kiss to the tip of Misha's nose. "Go on."
"So, Daddy Morgan's been gone a few months and Jensen wants to find him," Misha said mildly as he tucked a strand of damp hair behind Jared's ear. "Probably needs money."
"Cynic."
"That's why you love me."
"No," Jared corrected. "I love you because you make me look good. We've been over this before, sweetie."
"I'm not sweet, I'm sour."
"You're a big marshmallow, and you will help that hottie find his father."
"Why?"
"Did you miss the 'hottie' part? Besides, it'll be fun. You're bored out of your mind here."
"We're on vacation. I'm supposed to be bored out of my mind. It's the whole point."
Jared brushed his long fingers up Misha's thigh, digging in just a little over the patch of skin where Jensen had placed his hand, and leered, half seductive, half comical. "That's not the point of vacation, baby."
"Have mercy, Jared. I'm an old man," Misha begged, though his dick did express interest. "I need to come up for air every now and then."
"Air and Bloody Marys."
"I'll drink to that."
"If Jensen ever comes back with that order." It was as if Jared could read his mind, and Misha regarded him fondly. Sometimes he felt like he must have the goofiest grin on his face. He practiced a downward turn of his lips to counteract it. Jared smiled and turned his gaze to the poolside bar.
"Fuck," he said. "It's Chad."
Misha's lips took a downward turn for real. Fucking Chad.
"What's he doing here?"
"Right now? He's flirting with your new client."
"He's not my...wait, what?" Misha exclaimed. "Gross."
"I don't know. Jensen seems into it."
Misha refused to look. It was too distressing for someone as pretty as Jensen Ackles to be caught even breathing the same air as Chad Michael Murray, much less flirting.
"Will this hell never end?"
"There, there, it'll be all right." Jared swung around to recline next to his husband. He pulled his shades down and squirmed into position, bumping against Misha with his absurdly long limbs and ridiculous muscles, to watch the show and report a play-by-play.
"Chad's working all his best moves," Jared said. "The big smile, scrunchy eyes, moving in just a little too close."
"Those aren't good moves."
"They are for Chad. Jensen does this thing where he looks down, then peers up through his girly eyelashes."
"Know your strengths," Misha said. "And don't forget the booze." He was starting to feel forlorn over the missing drinks.
"Yep," Jared proclaimed. "He's definitely flirting back."
"Should we warn him about Murray?"
"He's a big boy. Besides, you won't even help him find his missing father. What do you care?"
"I care."
"You do not. You're heartless."
"You said I was sweet," Misha reminded him. "And Morgan's fine. This disappearing act isn't unusual."
"But Jensen's worried. Can't you at least make some calls?"
Jared had that look, half puppy, half mule, and Misha knew he wasn't going to win this one.
"Fine. I can call Jeff's lawyer, see what he's heard."
"I've already talked to Jim." It was Jensen, returned with a huge tray of chilled glasses. Chad was hot on his heels with a second tray, loaded down with two big pitchers of, well, Nirvana, as far as Misha was concerned.
"Pour," Misha commanded Chad.
"Nice to see you, too."
Jared grinned. "You'd best mind the master. He's starting to get the shakes."
Chad set about the task of filling the glasses, five for Jared, one each for everyone else. "They're sending another pitcher soon," he assured them. "Who's Jim?"
"Jim Beaver," Jensen answered. "My father's attorney."
Chad snorted. "Beaver."
"Really?" Jared asked.
"Come on, it's funny."
Jensen stared at Chad, openly bewildered.
"Oh, he's real," Misha said.
"And he's got the sense of humor of a twelve year old."
"You picked him," Misha reminded his husband.
Jared took offense. "When I was twelve. I haven't been able to shake him."
"I'm right here, guys."
Misha took a long, happy swallow from his Bloody Mary. Next to him, Jared gulped his down like he was in a competition at a kegger. He smacked his lips when he finished and reached for glass number two.
Jensen was doing some awkward flirting thing with his eyes. Well, it wasn't awkward, really, so much as it was…directed toward Chad, which Misha counted as a tragedy.
"What did Jim have to say?" Misha asked.
Jensen shrugged. "Not much. He hasn't heard from Dad either, but he says he must have access to his accounts from wherever he is since the money's all coming through."
"Who to?"
"Who to what?"
"Oh, I know this game," Jared said, reaching for his third drink.
"Who does the money go to?"
"Well, Dad manages the business accounts, of course. But Jim’s concern would have been his retainer, and my monthly stipend, I guess, since I was the one asking."
"See!" Jared waved a finger toward Jensen in triumph. "He's not after his dad for money if he's still getting his stipend."
Misha patted Jared on the knee and soldiered on. "Who inherits if anything happens to your father?"
"Me, I guess."
Chad moved his chair closer to Jensen. "Oh? How much?"
"Smooth, Chad. Very smooth," Jared said, raising his glass in a lazy salute.
Jensen grimaced and wiped some excess Bloody Mary from his mouth.
"So, you talked to Jim," Misha said. "Anybody else?"
"No. I tried to contact Dad's old assistant, but he moved back to Spain a few months ago, and I haven’t been able to reach him."
"This is Javier, I take it?" Misha said.
"Yes, he worked with Dad for years. If anybody would know his whereabouts, it’d be Javier."
"He still the spitting image of dear old dad?"
"Yeah."
"That was always kind of spooky," Misha said. "What about Julia Wolf? She still around?"
Jensen expressed his feelings on the subject of Julia Wolf in the form of a full body shudder. "Yeah, she and my dad are still together as far as I know, for whatever that’s worth, but I didn't try to contact her directly. Jim said he'd talk to her."
"I assume she's one of the financial obligations your father's still taking care of."
"Oh, yeah," Jensen said, his tone bitter but dull. "We'd all have heard about it by now if she wasn't getting hers."
Misha considered the new information as he watched his husband down Bloody Mary number three and reach for four. Jared looked at it long and hard before belching theatrically and diving in.
"Impressive," Jensen murmured, and he looked like he meant it. Misha practiced the downward turn of his lips. If you were going to hang with the Padalecki-Collins', it was important to appreciate class.
"So, Misha claims to manage the money," Jensen said. "What do you do, Jared?"
Jared seemed surprised by the question. It was rare to see him at a loss for words, and Misha took pity. "It's okay, dear. Take your time."
Chad piped up, "He's a philanderer."
"Philanthropist," Jared corrected. His slur was barely noticeable.
"Whatever. All I know's, they have so much money they spend most of their time figuring out how to give it away, but it never comes around to me."
"What about you, Jensen?" Misha asked. "I'm sure you were majoring in something fascinating at UCLA."
"I work in development at one of the studios. I was taking a meeting here this morning when I spotted you from across the pool."
"You work behind the camera?" Jared asked, sounding unbearably sad. "That's a shame, what with your face and all. You belong in front of it."
Jensen ducked his head. Misha gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was the sun that turned him pink. "It never took. But thank you."
Chad looked put-out. "Yeah, Jared's a real sweetheart," he said and placed his hand on Jensen's knee. Jensen didn't move it, or recoil in horror, so Misha could only assume the poor man was touched in the head.
"Why don't we blow this joint?" Chad said to Jensen. "Misha can make his calls and we can spend a few hours on the golf course."
Misha was prepared to help Jensen with an excuse to avoid this terrible fate, but Jensen just smiled and placed his hand over Chad's. "Sure, sounds good."
Misha choked on his drink and Jared patted his back. "It'll be all right," he stage whispered. "It's best for him to suffer through the Chad experience all at once, like pulling off a Band-Aid."
"Still here," Chad said.
But not for long. He and Jensen both rose to take their leave. Misha considered standing too, to give them a manly handshake goodbye, but the thought was fleeting. Jared was three sheets to the wind, at least, and starting to cling. Misha didn't think he had the energy to move, anyway. Jensen and Chad were already waving their goodbyes before he could test it out.
"You'll let me know what you hear?" Jensen called back.
"Absolutely. You know where to find me."
"Bungalow number twelve," Jared said. "Come by any time."
Misha made a mental note to call on some contacts that afternoon and settled in for a lazy hour or two of making out with his husband. Yeah, life was pretty rough.
~*~
Jared felt confident Misha had already taken The Case of the Disappearing Daddy. Misha just didn’t know it yet, which wasn't so unusual. He ended up ass first in all sorts of trouble without realizing it. It was pretty much how Jared landed him in the first place.
"We should go out for drinks," Misha said. "See and be seen."
Sadie whimpered and buried her head in her paws. One vote against, then. Jared scratched her between the ears. Only four months free from the shelter, the fifty pound mutt was already accustomed to expressing her opinion and having it respected. Jared was determined to take her side in the matter.
"But it's after ten already."
"So?"
"What if Jensen comes by?"
Misha rolled his eyes and measured out a gin and tonic. It was obvious he wasn't going to win this one, though his refusal to give up the fight was nothing short of adorable.
"Jim's stopping by tomorrow," Misha said. "Jensen can come then."
"You didn't even get his number."
"I got it from Jim. I'll call in the morning."
"You do care."
Jared batted his eyelashes but gave up quickly, fearing from Misha's reaction it was more seizurey than seductive. He joined his husband at the bar and started mixing daiquiris.
"I married a girly-drink drunk."
Misha always sounded so put out when he said it, Jared sometimes added little umbrellas to amplify the effect. He leaned down for a kiss, slow and sweet, and sort of tipsy, their specialty. It was going well enough that he was sure the idea of going out for the night was forgotten when there was a knock at the door.
Jared pulled back. "Who could that be?"
Misha walked over to answer it. "If it's fucking Chad, I'll kill him."
There was another knock, louder this time.
"Be nice."
"He's not staying. I hate that guy."
"You can't go to heaven with hate in your heart," Jared said in a pitch-perfect imitation of his Aunt Cathy.
"Wherever I go, I'm dragging you with me, so be sure to wear flame-retardant underwear."
"Wouldn't it be simpler to go commando?"
The smile he received as his answer could best be described as lecherous.
The knocking at the door took on a quick staccato rhythm. "Hold your horses," Misha said, opening it to a very much worse for the wear Jensen Ackles.
"The prodigal son has returned," Jared said, moving forward to greet him.
Jensen’s face was all determined concentration when he pointed his finger. "Jared!" He pointed at Misha. "Misha!" He looked down at Sadie, who was standing on her Gucci dog bed and eyeing him with suspicion. "Dog!"
If a dog could roll its eyes, well. Sadie turned tail and walked to the master bedroom, clearly not up for this brand of nonsense.
"Good job," Misha said, waving a hand in front of Jensen's face. "You smell like a back alley."
"I've been in an alley. I think. Well, there was a club and it had an alley. Chad's weird."
He was shit-faced. Jared wondered if the night could get any better.
"Have a seat before you tip over."
Jared stepped behind Jensen to place his hands at his waist and walk him to the sofa. Well, half walk, half manhandle. Misha watched the proceedings with a raised brow.
"Get him some water," Jared said.
Jensen landed in a heap on the sofa. "Oh, soft."
"Yes, very."
Misha twisted the cap off a bottled water and handed it to Jensen.
"Thank you. You're both so, so nice," Jensen said. Misha had a point - the man smelled like the back side of a brewery.
"You're so, so drunk." Jared patted his head. Jensen leaned into it, a happy sigh escaping his lips.
"Yes."
"Rank amateur," Misha said.
"I think you're right," Jensen replied. "I should go pro."
"It takes years of practice and you have to start young," Misha told him. "It may be too late for you."
"Don't be discouraging." Jared took a seat next to Jensen and looped an arm around his shoulders. "It's never too late to start."
"You're so, so nice," Jensen said again, right before he face-planted onto Jared's shoulder. He only stayed planted a second before he bounced back up and shook his head.
Jared curled his free hand over Jensen’s and pushed the water bottle to his mouth in an easy motion. Jensen gulped down the water with unquestioning obedience borne of extreme inebriation before setting it aside and lolling against Jared. He reached a hand to Misha. At Jared's nod, Misha took it and let it swing between them.
"What a rotten night," Jensen slurred.
"You were with Chad." Misha pulled his hand out of Jensen's to sit at his other side.
"No, that was all right. I'm used to the type."
"You poor thing," Jared said, reaching around Jensen to pinch Misha's side. Misha leaned back to throw him a glare.
"I went to my mother's earlier, to let her know you were looking into Dad's whereabouts, Misha."
"Yeah? How's Samantha doing these days?"
"Same as ever, but her husbands keep getting sleazier and sleazier." The words ran together in a slur, shleashier and shleashier. "I mean, the latest one sucks."
"What's his name?" Misha asked.
Jared beamed. Clearly, his husband was on the case.
"Mark Sheppard. He had the nerve to ask me if I'd take care of my mom financially when I inherited. When? Dad's not dead yet as far as we know. Am I right?"
"Absolutely." Jared massaged comforting circles along Jensen's back.
"Not to mention his son, Vincent."
"Whose son?"
"Mark's. My stepbrother. Try to keep up."
"What about him?" Misha prompted.
"Hmm?"
"Vincent? You don't like him?"
"He's creepy; still lives at home even though he must be pushing thirty. Always talking about serial killers."
"That is creepy," Jared agreed. "Finish your water and let's get you to bed."
Misha and Jensen both turned to stare, their expressions a matched set of alarm teetering on something very much like hope.
"No offense to Jensen, but I'm not certain he's capable of informed consent."
"Not to mention the smell," Jared agreed. "I meant let's get him to bed in the guest room."
Jensen leaned back into the cushions and graced Jared with a blank expression that was all drunken stupor.
"Come on, I'll help you," Jared said, rising to his feet and pulling Jensen with him. Jensen promptly fell back to the sofa with a thump, eyes closed, mouth open.
"Looks like he's down for the count," Misha announced.
"No wonder you made such a brilliant detective."
There was nothing to be done about it, Jared decided. He didn't want to leave Jensen on the sofa where Sadie could come by and lick him. There was no telling what kind of diseases she was apt to pick up. He hauled Jensen up in a fireman's carry and headed toward the guest room.
"Mmm," Misha said from his spot on the sofa.
"Huh?"
"Just enjoying the view."
Jared deposited Jensen on the bed and removed his shoes while Misha brought in a couple of extra bottled waters and some Tylenol just in case. For his part, Jensen contributed some rather unattractive snoring and a line of drool down his chin.
"I'm wiped," Jared said. "Let's go to bed and do horrible things to each other."
"Twist my arm."
Jared did, but he was gentle about it. Misha was far more delicate than he'd care to admit, or maybe Jared just liked to think so. Either way, by the time they stumbled into their bedroom, there was plenty of groping going on, none of it likely to cause harm.
Misha pushed Jared to the bed and stood between his thighs, drew his own tie off and dropped it to hang loosely around Jared's neck. He pulled himself in by its ends and pressed their lips together. Jared licked his way into Misha’s mouth to deepen the kiss.
When Misha lost his balance and pushed Jared back with the force of his body falling over him, Jared dropped his hands to Misha's ass, squeezed, then drew his arms over his head so Misha could get the leverage he needed to strip Jared's shirt.
"What are you in the mood for?" Misha asked.
"Making you come so hard, you'll need an IV for a week."
"Sounds vaguely terrifying."
Jared pressed wet, open kisses along Misha's jaw and rolled him onto his back. "I'm going to..." He quickly worked loose the buttons of Misha's shirt, dropped a kiss to the pulse point at the base of his neck. "Suck you."
Misha groaned and pulled Jared in closer by the hair. It hurt a little. He didn't complain.
"Gonna take you so deep," Jared continued as he worked his way down, sliding his tongue in a long, deliberate line from Misha's chest to his stomach. "And so long." He let his breath tickle Misha's belly until it pulled a laugh. "Make you scream so loud, it'll cross state lines and be declared a federal offense."
"I'm going to let you," Misha said, rolling his hips when Jared reached for his fly. "Because I'm a humani-"
There was a noise, a low scritch-scratch at the front door, and they both went still, Jared's face perilously close to his husband's crotch. Nothing followed. Jared was on the verge of ignoring it when there was a thump and loud barks punctured the silence as Sadie rushed from her spot on the floor to the main room.
"Fuck," Jared said in unison with his husband.
Misha groaned. "I guess it's too late to hope it's nothing?"
"I'll get it."
It was only fair. Misha was a little worse for wear and flat on his back, after all.
"For God's sake, get rid of them. Especially if it's Chad."
Sadie was scratching at the door by the time Jared got there, whimpering like there was a juicy cat on the other side. He muscled her back with one hand and peered through the peep hole. The man on the other side was balding and doughy, probably someone with the wrong room.
Jared opened it. "Listen, man, it's kind of la-"
The man looked Jared in the eye, and Jared looked back, so it took just a second longer than it should for his gaze to travel down and take in the very serious gun pointed at his midsection. Jared was fond of his midsection, and became quickly determined to keep it from getting shot. Sadie apparently had a similar revelation, and maybe a more than passing familiarity with guns, so she took the opportunity to shut up and make herself scarce.
"Misha Collins here?" The man asked, his tone all business.
"I'm sorry. You must have the wrong bungalow."
"This is number twelve, right?"
"Yes, but no Misha Collins here."
"I hear he's got a husband built like a Greek statue. That's not you?"
"Well, you know…I mean, no. That's not me. Husband? Ew. Gay marriage. Yuck. Am I right?"
"Live and let live, I say."
"It's all fun and games until somebody pulls a gun, I guess."
"So, he's in the bedroom?"
"Um. No. Try bungalow ten. All kinds of late parties. Very unsavory."
"You're going to walk in front of me to the bedroom now. And if you mutter one word of warning, I’ll shoot you in the head."
"Just like that, huh?"
"Just like that."
Jared had a new philosophy: mind the man with the gun and leave the rest to God, or whoever. He walked through the door to the bedroom.
"Where is he?" The man asked.
"I told you, he's not here." Jared eyeballed the empty room and gulped. What next?
"Get down." Misha's voice was low and firm, and closer than Jared had expected.
Assuming the command was aimed at him, Jared dropped. Misha swung out from behind the door to rush their intruder. Seeing as how Misha was unarmed, the situation wasn't ideal, but Jared didn't have any better ideas so he crawled away while Misha and the man struggled for the gun.
The man gained some leverage and pushed Misha off, the weapon still clutched in his hand.
"You need to keep your nose out of Morgan's business," he said.
Jared spun around, still crouched low. The motion must have caught the man's eye because he moved his arm and Jared found himself looking directly into the barrel of the gun.
"There's just no reasoning with you, is there?" Misha said.
He went after the gun again, pushing the guy’s arm up so it wasn't aimed at Jared. Figuring it was now or never, Jared rushed the man from his crouched position. He was in the middle of a full-rush tackle when there was a flash and a noise so loud he lost the plot for a second.
Holy shit, he thought, the gun went off. Misha staggered backward as momentum carried Jared forward and he tackled the intruder to the ground. He used all his considerable weight to hold him down while Misha picked up the gun that had landed just inches away and held it to the man's head.
"Get the handcuffs," Misha said.
It was fortunate that both he and Misha were dedicated enough to authenticity that the cuffs were real and not some flimsy little feathered things from a sex shop. Jared pulled them out of the nightstand and walked back over to wrangle their intruder into a chair. That’s when he noticed Misha holding his side.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm fine. Just cuff him to the chair. Be sure to get both hands behind him."
Jared did as he was told while the guy panted heavily, his breath all cheap cigars and cheaper beer. His work done, Jared took a good look at Misha, who had backed out of the guy's reach to set the gun on the dresser. Blood seeped through the side of his white shirt in an ugly, expanding circle.
"You were shot."
"It's a scratch." Misha peeled back the shirt to get a better look. "Just a graze, really," he said, like he was calming an angry bear, or a scared one.
"Graze, my ass. You were shot."
Jared was on Misha in a flash, settling him down on the edge of the bed and peering at his wound like he knew what to do about it.
"First Aid kit," Misha said. He sounded a hell of a lot calmer than Jared felt.
"Yeah."
The sound of sirens pierced the night as Jared pulled the kit out of the bathroom cabinet and returned to douse his husband's side with rubbing alcohol. Strangely enough, Misha had been telling the truth. It really was just a graze. The medical tape he used to hold the gauze in place said The Beverly Hills Hotel in big cursive letters. Nice touch.
Misha nodded his head toward the sound of the sirens. "That'll be for you," he told the intruder. "You made an awful lot of noise with that big gun of yours."
"They don't take kindly to that sort of thing at The Beverly," Jared was happy to report.
Misha was well known among the cops who showed up just a few minutes later, and they made quite a fuss. It'd been nearly three years since he gave up the private eye business in Los Angeles to marry Jared and move to Boston, but he had the kind of reputation that held.
As it turned out, Misha wasn't the only one whose reputation preceded him. They knew the guy in the handcuffs, too. His name was Vikhrov, Vik for short, a low level low life with the Russian mob.
Half an hour later, after Misha repeatedly and firmly refused all suggestions that he go to the hospital, the cops were gone and they were alone again in the aftermath. Sadie made an appearance, pretty as you please, like she hadn't disappeared at the first sign of trouble.
"Smart girl," Jared said, holding out his hand for a doggie shake.
"Speaking of…Jensen certainly made himself scarce."
Misha had a point. It was the first time Jared thought of their guest since the trouble started. They opened his bedroom door to find Jensen still dead to the world, snoring like a freight train, drool pooling on his pillow.
"Now that's a skill," Misha said.
When they climbed into bed, after a couple of glasses of wine to help them sleep, Jared made sure to switch sides so he wouldn't bump up against Misha's wound.
"You were injured in the line of fire."
"Yes, I'm very brave."
"My hero." Jared said it like it was a joke, but he kind of meant it.
"What about you? Big strong man, tackling that criminal to the ground." Misha said it like it was a joke, but Jared figured he probably kind of meant it, too.
Breakfast was delivered at the bright and early hour of ten a.m. Misha made a show of wincing as he poured the coffee, which Jared made a point to ignore. It wouldn't do to coddle him.
A freshly showered Jensen padded into the room wearing a fluffy hotel bathrobe and probably nothing else but the towel he was rubbing through his hair.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Jared said. "How are you feeling?"
"Good as new. Thanks for putting me up last night. I, uh, don't remember much."
"Probably for the best," Misha said. "What with Chad and all."
"How about you guys? Quiet night?"
Jared snorted. "If by quiet, you mean gangsters, guns and policemen. Around here, we just call it Thursday."
Jensen looked at him, all wide-eyed surprise, while Misha reached for the paper and read the headline out loud: "Mobster Mayhem at the Legendary Beverly Hills Hotel!"
"That's us," Jared said, delighted.
"Oh, and will you listen to this?" Misha continued. "‘Criminal at his doorstep brings world famous Private Investigator Misha Collins, currently the husband of high-society's own Jared Padalecki’, that's you honey-buns, ‘out of retirement. The bad guy didn't stand a chance.’"
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