In Production- Part Two (J2) NC-17

[reccea]

Title: In Production
Author: reccea
Artist: waterofthemoon
Genre: RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Master Art Post
Master Fic Post

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five and Epilogue



Part Two

Jensen's assistant, Liz, is waiting for Jared when he gets to Charles De Gaulle. She looks aggrieved and is holding up a sign saying S. Winchester, in Jensen's handwriting. Jared's chest aches in that good way and he can't keep the smile off his face.

He walks up to her and takes the sign from her hands gently. "Hey, Liz." He folds it under his arm and shifts his duffel bag a little further back. Liz tries to reach for one of his bags, but Jared's not going to let someone half his size carry his luggage, so he shifts away from her pointedly.

"Did you have a good flight, Mr. Padalecki?” she asks, pulling a set of keys from her purse.

"Does he let you call him Mr. Ackles?" Jared follows her out the doors.

She shakes her head. "How was your flight, Jared?"

"Great." Jared gives her a full smile, hoping to coax one out in return. "I slept the whole way."

"Do you want me to drop you off at the set then? Or would you rather just go on to the apartment?"

"I thought it was a closed set."

Liz looks back at him, amusement all over her pale face. "Not for you."

What amuses the hell out of Jared is how freeways everywhere look exactly the same. Same concrete, same dirt, same bunch of assholes cutting each other off. What does change, though, are the cars. Pretty much, Jared figures, he can't really drive anywhere in Europe because he is actually bigger than most of their cars. The set looks to be somewhere at the outer edges of the city, but Jared doesn't exactly have the layout firm in his mind yet. Liz parks the car, then walks him past the security guard and on to Jensen's trailer. The man himself is still filming a scene somewhere, but Liz gets Jared set up with some food from catering, some movies, and the location of Jen's game system.

"He's got a break in about a half hour, so he should be heading back here then." Liz opens the door. "I'm going to send someone ahead to the apartment with your luggage, and I'll be around set if you need me. You've got my number." She'd made him plug her number into his phone on the drive over, a little concerned at his own lack of assistant. Jared has an assistant because he actually can't get to the store on most days and trying to keep his schedule straight is a living hell. He doesn't need to worry about any of those things here so his assistant, Mark, is back in LA enjoying a nice vacation of occasional phone calls, some email forwarding, and helping Sandy with whatever she needs.

"Food'll be by in a minute," she says as she heads out the door. Jared salutes her with his phone. Probably, Jared figures, Jensen warned her about Jared's vacuum of a stomach.

It's closer to an hour later when Jensen finally makes it back to his trailer. He's breathless--he probably ran over--and wearing a grey suit that looks like something Cary Grant would wear, his hair is carefully slicked back. Time travel movie Jared thinks, smirking and giving Jensen a good once over.

Jensen ignores the look and just claps Jared on the shoulder. "You made it."

Jared rolls his eyes and pulls Jensen into a tight hug. "You sent me a ticket," he reminds Jensen.

"Yeah, yeah." Jensen pulls back to get a good look at Jared. "Anybody bring food by?"

"I'm not a bottomless pit!" Jared objects.

Jensen laughs, clapping Jared's arm. "I've been on set for seven hours. I'm fucking starving. It's not always all about you."

The set is like every other, a hundred people running around getting things done, but the food isn't. There are baguettes, paninis, and a couple of people making crepes to order. Jensen orders for them both and sends Jared to another table to get the coffee. They go back to the trailer with their hands full. Jensen lays the spread out and then tugs his shirt and tie off.

"Keep spilling on yourself?" Jared takes a bit of crepe and sighs happily.

"Shut up." Jensen grabs a cup of coffee. He takes his seat and digs in. "I've got one more scene, and then I'm good to go. It's not gonna be too long. You good with hanging around?"

"I think I can manage it."

Jensen has an apartment just a few streets away from the Champs-Elysees, on the Rue de Faubourg de St. Honore. The building is old--of course, it's Paris--but incredibly well maintained. The inside is extravagant, marble staircase and floors, the whole lot. The apartment takes up half the fifth floor, with a long dining room in the front, four bedrooms, and a large main room.

The kitchen is the room furthest back in the flat. It's small enough to be cozy but big enough that both of them can fit in it without any manhandling/orchestration. The washer and dryer are there, between the sink and the back door. The washer's good, but the dryer doesn't work for shit, and Jared keeps threatening to buy clothesline to sling from the windows.

The backdoor is older than the front, and clearly there's been less concern about its appearance. The locks are new and state-of-the-art, but the door itself looks out of fashion with the rest of the place, too carved and curved to be modern.

"Fire escape?" he asks, third night in, because he figures he should know and he's starting to want to explore.

"Back entrance." Jensen is freeing a chicken from its innards and giving his all towards not looking repulsed. The butcher's shop had been filled with animals still in their natural state, and they'd both been surprised enough to be really precise in terms of "please no feet, heads or feathers, thank you."

"Huh, cool."

"There's a little courtyard downstairs you can use it to get to, but mostly it's just kind of dark and...."

"Medieval?" Jared suggests, more than a little hopefully.

Jensen smiles, "Yeah, like a freaking dungeon, actually. But I take the trash out that way, so as soon as I'm done with this we'll go down."

The small courtyard is a few steps removed from glory but nothing that Jared hasn't seen before. The back stairwell, though, is something else. It's dark and smells a little like mildew. Jared has to stoop down as he walks through it, but it's foreign in a way that the gleaming front lobby of the building just isn't. It kicks him in the chest, the dank smell of it, the unfamiliar landscape. The simple fact that he's in fucking Paris.

The courtyard has a small side gate that leads out to the street backing the building, further from the commotion of the busy main drag. It isn't a place that any photographers would happen upon, and that cinches it for Jared. He badgers a gate key out of Jensen and only goes through the front when he's with Jen.

He almost never sees anyone else taking the back way except a woman and a young girl. He's seen enough designer kids’ clothes to know them for what they are, and he's also pretty clear that the woman holding her hand isn't wearing anything near designer. So it's the servants’ entrance, apparently, and Jared likes it all the better for it. He always smiles at the woman whenever they cross paths, which isn't more than once a week. Sometimes she smiles back, but she never gives him that look, like she thinks she must know him from somewhere, so he's pretty sure she's smiling because he's a nice guy, not because he's on her TV once a week.

There are ways of blending in with the crowd. It's not easy for either of them. Jensen's a hell of a lot more attractive than your average bear, so-to-speak, and even with a week's worth a beard, sunglasses, and an ugly old trucker hat, he'll turn heads. But he's better at it than Jared. Hiding gorgeous is a hell of a lot easier than hiding six foot-five inches. People always look because they just aren't expecting it.

But even so, there are ways. Cardinal rule, stupid as it sounds, is don't go out with a bodyguard. You walk around surrounded by a bunch of linebackers and it's pretty much like putting it on a billboard. "Rich and famous guy you might recognize right here!" Second is knowing how to dress. There are places you can get away with playing the tourist because the natives will do anything not to catch your eye, but there's a fifty-fifty chance that you're also asking to get mugged, and if you've followed rule number one, then getting mugged is not a place you want to be. So the smart thing is to watch the way everyone else dresses and walks. If you can find the right gait and the right outfit, then people don't give you a second glance. And if no one's looking twice, then no one's looking for autographs and that makes you just another dot in the crowd.

It's not easy, but in a place like Paris it's worth it. Especially because the studio's managed to keep the paparazzi away from Jensen's place by false plants in hotels, and it'd suck to put all that hard work to waste.

That first week, Jared hits all the big tourist traps. He’s been to Paris before, yes, but it still seems like the thing to do. It’s early enough in the season that there’s not a lot of congestion and not as much of a chance of him being recognized despite his precautions.

He doesn’t have a plan, but he has a map in his front pocket and a metro pass in his wallet. He takes the Champs-Elysees up to the Arc de Triomphe, marveling at the cars circling it. He lives in LA, so he’s used to the cars, but having a monument at the center of them is breathtaking.

He takes the tunnel under the cars with the rest of the pedestrians to get to the Arc. He walks around it before taking the stairs up to get the view from the rooftop. The view from the Eiffel Tower is better, but this one’s still amazing. It’s still fucking Paris, as far as the eye can see.

From there it’s the Metro to the Louvre. There’s a basement entrance he could take, but he’s not interested in going inside just yet. He thinks the Louvre is probably going to take up its own week, and he’s thinking about spreading the rest of the city’s museums out to only one every other week. But he walks the whole outer edge, walks under the arc Napoleon had built, to get to the giant glass pyramid in the center.

That week he goes to Notre Dame--saving the towers for when he can bring Jensen back with him--and Sainte-Chapelle, passing the Conciergerie and the Palais de Justice. He visits the Eiffel Tower and spends a few hours hanging out in its shadow, awed by its size and watching other people be awed too.

He hits the Opera House and St. Sulpice and this mall with a stained glass dome for a ceiling. He passes Pompidou Centre and drags Jensen back to see it that night because he’d completely forgotten.

“Everything’s on the outside,” Jensen looks at the rows of pipes laid along the outer walls of the building.

“And color coded.” Jared holds out the brochure.

Jensen laughs, taking the brochure and smacking Jared’s arm with it.

“Gotta love modern art,” Jared says feelingly.

Jensen lays a hand on his back, thumb pressed to a knob of his spine. “Getting you to come out here and stay with me wasn’t a bad idea, now, was it?”

Jared looks at the building, at the people milling around it, some with maps in hands and some rushing about with bags and phones and their daily lives. He elbows Jensen gently. “You just haven’t had time to regret it, yet.”

“Regret it?” Jensen scoffs. He pushes Jared down the street, towards a well-lit café, and the metro stop where they came in. “Now I don’t have to ask Liz to do my grocery shopping.”

“She’s still trying to get you to go vegetarian?” He thought she’d given that up a year ago.

“Oh, she’s over that,” Jensen shook his head. “She just comes back from the store going on about unpasteurized dairy products, and I don’t want to know.”

“Unpasteurized,” Jared repeats.

“I just said I don’t want to know,” Jensen rolls his eyes. “Not that I asked her to go on in great detail.”

They get food at the café, sit outside under the faint stars, and take it all in. “I like Paris.” Jared takes the last bite of his baguette.

Jensen lays a hand on Jared’s knee and pushes himself up. “Thought you might.” He hooks an arm around Jared’s shoulders, Jared stooping automatically to make it less awkward, and leads them back home.

Jared finds a café two streets over that has an open air section, good service, great coffee, and anonymity. He goes almost every morning and sits outside for hours, just watching people pass by. There are a few other regulars, study groups and a few old men with just their newspapers for company, and none of them look at Jared like he's got a familiar face. He sees a lot more dogs than cats, and learns a few words beyond please and thank you, but most of the staff speaks English, and he gets the feeling his accent is something awful.

When it veers toward lunchtime, he ventures out into the city. He tries Chinese food, Thai, Indian, and Italian. Eggs are better on pizza than he'd have guessed, and cider is the best drink to have with a ham and cheese crepe. He finds a great little crepe place in the Latin Quarter where the special is a cider and crepe for cheap, and it's not like he needs to save the money, but it's neat to sit there with the college kids and the workers on a quick lunch break and just be.

He walks along the Seine, takes pictures of pink-flowered trees behind Notre Dame, the river, and the Eiffel Tower in the distance. He has a mental list of places he's going to drag Jensen to, because the guy's all work and sleep and hasn't been enjoying Paris at all. He spends a few days at Montmartre, buying paintings to send to his family, and climbing to the top of Sacre Coeur to see the city from the great height of the hill. He puts Moulin Rouge on the list, not because it looks any more like a place to be, but because he knows Jensen'll think it's hilarious too.

Not having a car is weird, though Jensen's got a Mercedes rental he can use when he wants to. But taking the Metro, once he's used to the smell and the warnings of pickpockets on the train, is fun. Each stop has a different look, a different sign and tone. The one closest to the apartment is art nouveau, and he knows Sandy has a picture frame made to look like it.

He shops at the basement-level grocery section of Monoprix, which, near as he can tell, is the French version of Target. He buys milk in a box, yogurt that's not sour, and this granola chocolate cereal that Jensen's addicted to. Occasionally he'll wander through an open air market, but he's pretty content with the normal conveniences and anyway, the market's better with company.

Jensen comes in through the back door, take-out in one hand, phone in the other. "Sure, sure, yeah," he says, waving at Jared after he puts the take-out on the counter. "But I still think I'm going to go with--" Jensen cuts off with a grimace and waves his hand around to say 'won't shut up'.

Jared grabs two plates from the cupboard and starts unpacking the bags. Chinese again, unsurprisingly. Jensen's developed a thing for the French version of Chinese food.

Jensen grabs two beers from the fridge and uncaps them. "Okay, Rick. I hear you, but it's still no." Jensen rubs his face with one hand. "Really. I'll talk to you later. Yeah. Goodbye Rick." The last is said forcefully, and Jensen shoves his phone to the end of the table.

"Rick really wants you to take a part instead of taking a vacation." Jared's just guessing.

Jensen takes a swig from his beer. "He's a good agent--gotten me a hell of a lot further than anyone else--but he's a jackass sometimes."

Jared tipped his beer in Jen's direction. "I hear that."

Jensen digs into his food, brow furrowed. He's pale, freckles bold in the overhead lights, and he has the frustrated look to his eyes that always means he's running straight at his breaking point.

"You’ve got tomorrow off." Jared licks sauce from his thumb.

Jensen watches him warily. "Right."

Jared shrugs, "You look like you could use a real drink. And maybe a bar fight."

Jensen smirks, leaning back in his chair. "We have a rule against any more bar fights, remember?"

"I found a bar that has decent beer on tap and no paparazzi out front." Jared says it like he's dangling a carrot on a stick.

Jensen looks pleased. "I knew I kept you around for a reason."

The bar is a little pretentious, but the staff isn't. There's modern art all along the walls, but the furniture's comfortable and the music's decent. It’s pretty crowded but, like Jared was betting on, they aren't the crowds Jen hates. No one's crushing into them; no one's interrupting conversations or asking for autographs. Jensen loosens up enough that he calls some guys from the set and they build up a little crowd of their own. Everyone's telling stories and buying rounds. Jensen's drunk enough that he's laughing too loud at everything but still sober enough to tell the taxi where to go.

"More shots?" He has to lean in close for Jensen to hear.

"More shots." Jensen reaches into his back pocket for his wallet.

Jared puts a hand on his arm. "I've got it." He pats Jen's arm once and heads for the bar.

He’s waiting for the drink when she catches his eye. She's tall, taller than Jensen probably. He'd figure her for a model except for the way her hips move when she walks and the bare makeup on her face. She has command of the room, all eyes on her stomach and the full breasts above. She knows the crowd, is waving to someone as she walks to the bar.

When he catches her eye she smiles at him, and he feels an electric thrill run over him. Maybe.

It’s been ten years since he’s been with anyone but Sandy, so he feels awkward at first. He tries to make small talk, and she’s interested enough to give him more than a few openings. He brings the round of drinks and Yvette back to the table. He introduces her around and the group's cool enough not to make any comments or shoot him any looks. That alone tells him how long it’s been since he went home with a girl who wasn’t Sandy. All of his friends are mature now.

Jensen makes a shooing motion at him and gets involved in a serious discussion of Clooney movies with several of the guys at the table. Yvette puts her hand on his back as they leave the bar.

Her breasts feel small in his hands, her body too long under his, and the way she arches her back is so breathtakingly unfamiliar. Her voice is low and she curses every time he hits a sweet spot, merde over and over when he gets the hang of her body.

When he comes, he says, fuck and doesn’t say anything else. He used to whisper against Sandy’s throat, tell her things she already knew, praise every inch of her skin. He liked saying her name, would catch his breath between the syllables and listen to her laugh.

He pulls his clothes on and takes the number Yvette scribbles down for him. They both know he won’t call, but it’s the polite thing to do on both their parts. She doesn’t get out of bed before he leaves.

Jensen's still up when he comes home, sitting on the couch front of the TV, wearing a white t-shirt, plaid boxers and his glasses. There's a full glass of water on the coffee table. The AC is turned up high again; Jared thinks twice before he shrugs his jacket off and throws it on the empty chair. "Why're you still up?"

Jensen mutes the TV. "Was hungry when I got back so I made a sandwich and there was a marathon of your show on. Four a.m, man, which is just sad."

"It's just not that big here." Jared digs around in the cupboards until he finds where Jensen moved the coffee. He pulls out the bag and one of the filters. "Which is probably okay because don't the French love--shit, who was it? Hasslehoff?"

"Hasslehoff was big in Germany, I think. The French loved Jerry Lewis."

"Right, Jerry Lewis." Jared got down two mugs. "My mom liked Dean Martin better."

Jensen comes into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly. "I still don't get how they got to be partners. Someone that cool with someone that not? Though, okay, people probably wonder the same thing about us."

"Right," Jared nods. "You're just such a dork it's amazing I can be seen in public with you."

Jensen snorts as he pulls out a chair and sits at the table. He drums his fingers on the wood and keeps his eyes on Jared as he grabs the box of Cruesli cereal out of the cupboard. "You feel any better?"

Jared grabs two bowls and empties the box into them. "Not really," he shrugs. "It's jut sex, you know?"

"Sex with somebody who isn't Sandy." Jensen says quietly.

"Yeah," Jared rubs his forehead and stares at the coffee pot, slowly filling up.

"I'm just saying." Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jensen shrug. It has always felt, right from that first 'hello', that he's known Jensen his whole life. And Jared has a moment where his chest goes tight, because Jensen has never known him when he wasn't with Sandy.

He gets the milk, pours it in with the cereal, and passes a bowl to Jensen. "It was just a thing," he says, setting his own bowl down at the seat across from Jen's. He turns around, leaning on the counter, looking at the coffee fill the pot.

"It's not--" Jensen shakes his head. "Okay, I'm fucking this up."

Jared turns his head so he can look Jen in the eye. "You're not, man."

Jensen gets up out of his chair, walking around the table opposite from Jared to get to the silverware. "You don't have to talk to me. But you can. That's all I'm saying."

Jared holds his hand out for a spoon. "I know."

Jensen drops the spoon into his waiting palm. "Rebounds aren't ever as good as you think they'll be."

The coffee pot lets out a small beep, signaling it's done. Jared sticks his spoon in his mouth so he has his hands free to grab the coffee and pour. He nods at Jen and shoos him back to his seat with a grunt as he sets down the first mug by Jensen's cereal. He feels looser, wilder, less bound by his life. But he doesn't feel better.

Jared doesn't bother trying to get close to the Mona Lisa. The thing with being his height is having to be aware of the fact that people just can't see over you. He stands near the back of the crowd and manages to get a pretty decent look. It isn't as impressive as he was expecting. And it's fucking tiny. Sure, she has a great smile, but he's seen it on TV, in posters, and on t-shirts his whole life. It's disappointing, actually, and he has to hope the rest of the world's great masterpieces won't be the same.

He still has a few more days worth left and the Musee d'Orsay too.

He's moved back through the oncoming crowd of pilgrims when his phone comes cheerily to life, piping out KC and the Sunshine Band. Jared blanches, grabbing it from his pocket quickly with clumsy hands and turning it on. "Hey, Jen," he whispers.

"Bad time?"

Jared hustles down the hall and out one of the doors into a garden. "No, it's cool. I'm at the Louvre and the Da Vinci crowd isn't too fond of 70s music."

"Please tell me that's not still my ring tone."

Jared blithely ignores him. "What's up?"

Jensen coughs. "I'm having a crappy day."

Jared frowns, following the path further out from the building. "Everything okay?"

"Nothing's wrong," Jensen says quickly. "I'm just covered in fake blood, had to do the last scene fucking forty-two times, and I fell wrong on one of the stunts so I've got this bruise on my thigh already."

"Shouldn't they be sending you home?"

"It's really just a bruise. And we've only got Clooney for the next two days."

"I'm sorry, man."

"Is there anything at the Louvre that won't be there tomorrow?"

Jared turns right around, heading back for the museum. "Want me to grab you coffee before I get there?"

"How about I have it waiting for you instead, huh?" He can hear Jensen's smile, the way his voice is suddenly looser and deeper. "Maybe a crepe or something?"

"Fuck that," Jared ducks back inside, making for one of the exits. "I know you've got Cadbury in your trailer."

True to his word, there's a cappuccino waiting for Jared in Jensen's trailer. It's a huge cup, steaming still, and it smells like heaven.

"Always smells better than it tastes." Jensen is leaning back on his couch in an undershirt and his boxers. He's holding an icepack against the mottled red skin of his thigh.

"I'm betting this tastes better than it should, though." Jared picks the cup up and takes the chair to Jensen's right. He kicks his feet up onto the small table. "That's gonna look ugly tomorrow."

"It's not gonna win me any beauty contests as it is." Jensen settles back against the pillow, braced on the arm of the couch behind him. "I get a three-day weekend out of it, though. After Clooney wraps I'm getting an extra day off while the crew gets location shots."

"You swing that because you're a diva?" There are three Cadbury bars on the table, stacked like dominoes by Jared's feet.

"I swung it because I almost fucking cried in public." Jensen rolls his head to look at Jared and gives him a lazy smile.

"You on anything?" Jared thinks he looks a little too relaxed to be in the middle of filming.

Jensen shakes his head and reaches for a water bottle with his free hand. "Aspirin and the ice pack. I'm not gonna film close-ups with my pupils blown. Not the kind of publicity I need."

Jared reaches out, rests his hand against the hard line of Jensen's shoulder. The muscle is hard, knotted under his grip. "You don't even need publicity anymore, do you?"

"I tried telling my agent that, and he had a little nervous breakdown." Jensen closed his eyes. There's blood on the right side of his face, artfully splashed across his nose and down by his mouth. It's makeup, of course, and not an unfamiliar sight for Jared.

"What scenes are you shooting today?" He runs his thumb over the curve of Jensen's shoulder bone, feeling the dip of the joint.

"We finally finished the bit in the fifties where Clooney leaves me high and dry and in an hour, when they've finished the lighting, it'll be sixty-four where he kills my wife." Jensen brings the hand not on his ice pack up to gesture at his face. "See the splatter?"

Jared smiles, "I can't believe fucking Clooney is your bad guy mastermind."

Jensen takes the icepack off his leg and sets it on the table. "It's a damn good part."

"I know man. I've read the script three times already. It's all good." Jared takes a sip from the cup and the coffee tastes rich and just the right side of bitter.

Jensen sits up, swinging his legs off the couch with a wince. "Thank you. For coming down."

"Don't thank me, ass." Jared waves him off. "You're letting me stay at your place. The least I can do is come and see your ugly mug sometimes."

Jensen picks up one of the candy bars off the table and opens it up. He breaks off a chunk before passing it to Jared. "I have to cry for the next four hours and I do not have that kind of energy."

Jared holds his cup out. "Drink."

Jensen bites into the chocolate. "I can get my own coffee, man."

Jared pushes the cup into Jensen's hand and Jensen takes it with a roll of the eyes. "What you need," Jared says, already smiling at the memory, "is to buy yourself a pet. So you can find the right motivation to sob your little heart out."

Jensen barks out a surprised laugh. "Fuck, I'd almost forgotten about that. You almost making yourself sick thinking about Sadie and Harley."

Jared taps the cup. "They were good dogs."

Jensen obligingly takes a drink. "That they were."

"I've always thought you could use a pet." Jared bites into the chocolate bar in his hand.

"I've got other things to think about losing that'll make me cry a lot harder than a cat that I'm never home to see." Jensen rubs his hand absently over the raised red skin of his thigh. "I'm just not feeling it today. Not enough sleep or something."

Jared steals the coffee out of Jensen's hand, takes a long drink and then passes it back. "Want to walk through the scene with me? See if it helps?"

Jensen shakes his head, sets the coffee down and leans back into the couch. "Got a better idea. You tell me all about the Louvre, and I'll sit here with my eyes closed, pretending to listen."

Jared raises his eyebrows. "Energy through osmosis?"

Jensen arches an eyebrow. "When did you start using big words?"

Jared breaks off another piece of the chocolate bar and shoves it into Jensen's mouth. "Don't be a dick." He stands up, steps over the small table and sits down on the couch next to Jensen. He sits close, arm resting against Jensen's, thighs touching, but careful of the raw side. He picks the ice pack up, rests it against the angry flesh and then settles back. Jensen tilts to the right a little, pressing against him.

Jared slips an arm over Jensen's shoulder, bracing his head away from the wall. "The thing about being tall - and I know you would have trouble understanding, but--"

Jensen smacks his thigh, and then leaves his hand there, knuckles curling against the tip of his kneecap.

Jared grins. "The thing is, that standing in front of a painting is kind of rude, seeing as how you block the whole thing from view. So when I saw that crowd around the Mona Lisa, man, I didn't even try. My mama raised me better than that."

Jensen smiles, but he doesn't open his eyes. Jared runs his thumbs over the curve of Jensen's shoulder, the muscle slowly giving way and loosening under his touch. "Figure tomorrow I'll go check out the Eiffel Tower. Can't block that from view, now can I?"

When the PA knocks on the door, Jen's been asleep a good forty-five minutes, face tucked into Jared's neck. Jared's shoulder is numb and Jensen's breath tickles, but he doesn't mind. He nudges his shoulder, jostles Jensen's head oh so gently until he gets a grunt and Jensen pulls away.

"Think you gotta get to wardrobe," he says.

Jensen nods, bleary-eyed, and pushes himself up, making a pained face. Jared gets up, holds out the pair of jeans that had been tossed over the back of the chair. Jensen pulls them on, yawning, and Jared tags along to wardrobe. Jensen gets back into the same suit Jared's been seeing him in, tight, tapered at the ankles, looking for all the world like he's stepped out of an Ed Sullivan appearance. His hair had been plastered to his head and after a bit more hairspray and a light coating of face powder Jensen's good to go again. He drags Jared to the set, makes him sit in Jensen's chair and says, offhandedly, to Clooney, "You know Jared right?"

Jared has seen him in passing a few times, but it's not like they've ever had a good one-on-one. Clooney smiles, says, "Yeah, nice to see you again, Padalecki."

Ridley Scott claps his hands together, getting everyone's attention, and then it's off to the races. Anne Hathaway is playing Jensen's wife, their fourth movie together, and Jared's pretty sure it's mostly stunt casting. It's a small role, but the public really seems to like them together--Sandy adored all three movies, to the point that Jared could quote a good half the dialogue--so her death, even though it's pretty early on, will have a deep impact. Also, she acts her fucking socks off in the scene, coughing up blood like she really just can't breathe, clawing at Jensen's shirt as he cries. When she goes still, mouth open and red against Jensen's collar, Jared's chest hurts.

Clooney plays it low key, reasonable in his heartlessness, and his restraint really sells the scene, brings it home. The script is good, one Jared would have snagged in a heartbeat, but seeing it all come together, watching the subtle play of emotions over Jensen's face, the way his fists clench white while he struggles to keep his voice steady. If it weren't a movie about time-travel Jared thinks he'd have another nomination in the bag.

Jensen's favoring his leg pretty badly the next morning, wearing a pair of pants that look old and soft as anything. He comes into the kitchen just after Jared gets back from his run. It’s a lot earlier than Jared's expecting because the next two days are night shoots and he kind of figured on not seeing Jen until Clooney's on a plane to Italy. Jensen sets two aspirin on the counter while he pours a glass of water and after he downs them he mumbles, "Hi."

“Morning,” Jared says. "How bad's the bruise?"

"Worse than the time I slid off the hood of the Impala," Jensen smiles faintly.

Jared remembers the slide, the fall, the cursing, and the uncontrollable laughter. And even if he didn’t, there’s a gag reel with the whole thing. “When do you have to be on set?”

Jensen downs the aspirin. “Eleven-thirty makeup.”

Jared gets up from the table. “Forget your cereal. Let’s go get breakfast.” He moves off down the hallway to his room.

“That involves getting dressed!” Jensen shouts.

“Was gonna have to happen eventually!” Jared takes off his workout clothes, finding clean jeans and an unwrinkled t-shirt. He harasses Jensen until the guy finds his wallet.

It’s a short walk to the café, but Jared suggests the car because Jensen’s limping. Jensen waves him off with, “Just have to let the muscles warm up”, and pushes Jared out the back door.

They get Jared’s usual table, and he has fun whispering to Jensen the names and temperaments of the patrons and staff alike.

The amount of caffeine Jared's imbibed over the last two months should have his heart on a constant state of alert, but instead it's like he's acclimated. It takes two or three espressos before he even feels it. He's wondering if it's an abuse of power and waste of fame to drag a French barista back to America. Because he fucking loves the coffee here. He's got a favorite drink at a favorite shop and yeah, it's something he has a twin of at home but here it feels decadent. Here he gets to spend hours sitting at a table, drinking, reading, thinking, relaxing. It's weird to think that when he'll look back on this summer, he'll probably remember this cafe the most vividly.

Jensen orders hot chocolate. He gets three calls and a half dozen text messages before their drinks arrive.

"You avoiding someone?" Jared picks at his napkin.

"Rick," Jensen takes his phone out and hits a few buttons. "He knows I have the day off, and he wants to talk projects with me."

"Good agent." Jared's agent, Anne, has strict instructions not to call him until July. If there's a part she can't bear to let him pass by, then she's allowed to email. Jared hasn't checked his email in a week.

"He's persistent," Jensen agrees.

The waiter brings over their drinks and after he leaves them Jared asks, "So what's the project he's so insistent about?"

"They sent me a script for a new Alamo."

Jared sets his cappuccino down. "Okay, see, that could be amazing."

Jensen swallows a bit of croissant. "I could put in a good word for you."

Jared hasn’t achieved crossover status, and everyone he knows keeps saying the same shitty thing. He’s a movie star, all right; he just has to find the right vehicle. Like he hasn't fucking tried. "The script's good?"

"It's the Alamo. You think I'd be interested if I thought I was going to embarrass myself?"

Jared gives him a look.

"Fuck you," Jensen laughs. "Really though, you and me? It'd be good. We could even use our real accents for once."

Jared taps his fingers on the table, smiling. "I don't even remember my real accent."

Jensen picks his mug up. "One week filming in Texas and you won't be able to remember anything else."

Jared decides he likes the sculpture gardens at the Louvre best. He takes dozens of pictures, angled to make things look bigger or more menacing than they actually are. He gets a shot that makes it seem like the once-bronze warrior is about to clock the camera, and he sends it to Chad.

Chad sends back “Are you cool?”

Jared feels like shit because he hasn’t talked to Chad since before all this started, and he really should have. He calls, and Chad’s groggy and uncooperative with the nine hour time difference, but they talk long enough that Chad’s assured of Jared’s sanity and Jared’s assured that Chad’s not completely pissed at him.

Jensen bitches a lot, but he’s showered, dressed, and out the door by eight a.m. The towers haven’t opened yet, but there’s already a small line. Jared drags Jensen to it.

"I could probably have gotten us an after-hours tour. So we wouldn't have to wait in line with all these nice people," Jensen whispers in Jared's ear.

The couple in front of Jared reeks of heavy powdery perfume and cigarette smoke. They're Americans, the kind of loud, obnoxious ones that make Jared flush with embarrassment. He elbows Jensen hard. "We're tourists today, remember?"

Jensen pulls his baseball cap further down his forehead. "Okay, well if at any point during the day you decide that this was a bad plan, just feel free to say so."

Jared almost says so once they get to the stairs. A winding staircase is manageable, but, add in the fact that it just isn’t built for a guy his size? It takes a while to get to the top.

"We totally almost got run over by those elderly women," Jensen says amiably, walking over to the ledge.

"I have big feet, and the steps are fucking tiny." Jared scowls. "Shut up."

Jensen takes the camera from Jared’s pocket and pushes him close to one gargoyle. “Pose,” he orders.

Jared poses obligingly, the requisite serious and ridiculous pictures, bunny ear-ing the gargoyle before stealing his camera back and getting pictures he can sell to the rags if his career ever crashes.

The bell tower is smaller than he expects, one door particularly hard to get through without bending in half. Jensen tells him about a terrible Hunchback script he’d read once and mockingly recites what little dialogue he can remember. What Jared knows of the story comes from a vague memory of listening to his mother read aloud, and the Disney movie his sister spent one summer obsessing over.

“Sanctuary” is the thing he remembers most, and he imagines it, the loneliness of looking out at the city of people below and never being able to reach them. "I didn't cheat on her," he blurts out, surprising them both.

Jensen’s mouth twists, and he grabs Jared by the arm, pulling him back outside and over to an unoccupied corner. "Jesus, Jared. Did you think I didn't know that?"

"I don't know, yes?" Jared runs a hand roughly through his hair, pushing it out of his face. "I felt like I needed to say it."

Jensen frowns. "You're the most loyal guy I know, Jared."

“That doesn’t mean-“

Jensen put his left hand on Jared’s shoulder, thumb notched on his clavicle. “It’s okay to not be in love anymore.”

Jared breathes in and out twice. He keeps his eyes on Jensen’s chin. “I’m kind of a mess,” he admits.

“Yeah.” Jensen puts his right hand on Jared’s other shoulder and squeezes. “You’re probably gonna be for a while.”

Jared nods, not sure what to say.

“You wanna go?”

Jared shakes his head and wipes at his face. “I planned this whole day. No nervous breakdowns allowed.”

Jensen frowns. “Jared.”

Jared smiles, “Really. I know. I gotta keep moving, Jen. So come on and move with me.”

They finish Notre Dame and move to Sainte Chapelle. From there, Jared takes Jensen to his favorite crepe place where they have too many ciders and talk too loud for a good long while.

Jared made reservations at the Eiffel Tower for dinner, so they wander that area for a little while before taking the elevators to the top.

“Pretty amazing.” Jensen stands right in front of the small red dot on the glass wall, representing the direction of Los Angeles. “What man can do, you know?”

“Come on,” Jared grabs his hand. “Still got the last flight of stairs.”

They get outside, Jensen swearing at the wind and the sheer scope of the view. Jared presses himself against the metal wall and takes a picture of Jensen and the city beyond him. He looks terrified and exhilarated all at once, and he’s got the best smile on his face.

Jared trades places with him, hands the camera over, and smiles as wide as he can. He thinks, Yeah. It’s going to be just fine.

Jensen fumbles with his keys, wheezing from trying to keep his laughter down, and gets the back door open. Jared shuts it behind them, and Jensen's half bent over with a full belly laugh.

"Sure, sure. Real funny." Jared tries to act sore about it, but Jensen laughing like that is rare enough to conquer anything. And anyway, Jared's never been the type to be real concerned with embarrassment. It's a familiar laugh, one he misses so hard some days, and watching Jensen--the way the corners of his eyes crinkle and his smile spreads full blown over his face--is enough to make his chest hurt.

Jensen wipes at his face, clearing away a few tears of giddy joy, and finally gets the fridge door open. He pulls out two small containers, the yogurt that wasn't really yogurt, and Jared grabs the two spoons.

"It's pretty pathetic, you know. Sitting in your kitchen, eating foofy yogurt, after spending the day wandering Paris."

Jensen grabs the yogurt back out of Jared’s hand.

“Hey!” Jared objects.

“You asked for it.” Jensen puts both his and Jared's back in the fridge.

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

Jensen grins. “Whatever.”

Jensen knows this bar, right off St. Honore, that's got an upstairs VIP section with a dance floor and a clientele that leaves them alone. It's in walking distance, and probably Jared will never be so old that a good bar in walking distance won't be a godsend.

Jensen doesn’t call any of the guys on the way, so it’s just the two of them at the table, drinking, and laughing, and retelling old, familiar jokes.

Jared volunteers to get the third round, leaves Jen at the table, and heads for the bar. He squeezes in between two other guys and has to wait for the bartender to get to his side of the bar. He places his order and notices that the man to his right is watching him.

The guy has light brown hair, bright green eyes, and this smile that makes heads turn. He's a notch above the crowd, and he meets Jared's eye calmly, a hunter with his sights trained.

“Philippe.” He has a strong, solid handshake. He looks at Jared’s mouth, and then up at his eyes.

“Jay,” Jared says without thinking.

Philippe is a friend of the owner and works in real estate, handling expensive properties and top notch clientèle. He doesn’t tell Jared this in an arrogant way, but in the offhanded way that means it’s a fact of life and not his selling point. He has a wide full mouth that Jared wants to touch every inch of, and if his smile is any indication, Philippe's not opposed to the idea himself.

Philippe glances towards the back, the men’s room sign well-lit. Jared follows his gaze and considers. Before Sandy, he went through a phase, new in Hollywood, and stretching himself every which way. He slept with a few guys back then, seeing what he wanted, and trying to figure out who he was.

He didn't stop sleeping with guys because he didn't like it. He stopped because he liked Sandy more.

Someone taps his arm and Jared looks over to see Jensen at his side, nodding towards the front door. "I'm gonna head out."

“Oh, uh.” It makes Jared's breath catch, and he's sober enough to see the similarities. And to recognize the lines he shouldn’t cross. He draws a blank for a full second, words not making sense and then he rights himself. “Just let me settle the tab.”

Jensen furrows his brow. “You don’t have to leave.”

Jared turns from him to smile at Philippe. “It was nice to meet you.”

The man doesn’t look pleased, but he smiles back, and ducks away politely all the same. Jared signs off on his bill, gets his card back, and then lets Jensen lead the way out.

“You could have gone home with him,” Jensen says, when they’ve turned the corner back onto St. Honore.

“I wanted to go home with you.” Jared shrugs.

“He recognize you?” Jensen looks confused, like he thinks there has to be a better reason than the one Jared already gave him. He gets the keys out of his pocket and unlocks the gate to the back courtyard.

“No, I don’t think so,” Jared follows him through the courtyard and up the back stairwell. When they get inside the flat, Jared thinks to ask, “Why would it matter?”

Jensen shrugs his jacket off. "Just figured you better be careful is all."

Jared locks the door. "What's that mean?"

Jensen kicks off his shoes, picks them up and heads for his bedroom. "Well, look. You want to come out, be my guest. It's not bad nowadays. But if you do it now, the big story will be that your wife left you because you're gay."

Jared leans back against the counter and tries really hard not to get pissed off. "You know that's not what happened."

Jensen comes back into the kitchen in just his t-shirt and boxers. "I know that, but I’m not everybody."

Jared opens his mouth to reply, but Jensen holds up a hand. "Seriously. All I meant was I just think you should be careful. You don't want to rebound so hard you hit the front page."

Bob Singer’s on the short list of people who actually know where Jared is and he’d sworn up and down he wouldn’t call unless it was actually important. So when his name comes up on Jared’s phone just after dinner, Jared excuses himself from Jensen’s group of friends and goes to his room to answer. “Hey, Bob.”

“We’ve got a small problem,” Bob says, not bothering with the bullshit. “Allison’s been put on bed rest.”

Jared sits on his bed, toeing off his shoes. “She okay?”

“The doctors think she’ll be fine, but it means that with maternity leave and everything, she won’t be back until January, at the earliest.”

Jared scratches the back of his neck. “Well, shit.”

“The writers are going to start back early and rework the structure for the season. We have a plan; I’ll email you details when we have them a little more solid. But I wanted you to know.”

“Yeah. Thanks, you know, for handling all this while I’m gone.” He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. “Should I change my flight?”

Bob makes a gruff noise. “No need. There’s nothing you need to be here in person for. Just be sure to check your email and touch base if anything comes up on your end.”

“Will do,” Jared nods, even if Bob can’t see him. He doesn’t figure it hurts.

“You doing okay?”

Jared smiles. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good. I’ll call you next week, unless something else happens.”

“Thanks. Talk to you later.” Jared hangs up the phone and then dials Allison’s number.

She answers on the third ring. “I’ve been ratted out already?”

“You feeling okay?” Jared gets up and closes his door, lessening the noise from the dinner party.

“I’m feeling fine. My doctor’s just being a drama queen.” She sounds defiantly cheerful.

“You sure?” He unlocks and opens his window so he can get to the shutters.

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I get a free pass to watch TV for the next four straight months. It’s great from that perspective.”

He latches the shutters closed. “A win-win, huh?”

“Sure!” She laughs. “I’m allowed to get fat and relax. I’ll never go back to work once I get used to this kind of treatment.”

He closes the window with a sigh. “Alli.”

She sighs back, sounding annoyed and frustrated. “I’m sorry. I know this is going to suck for you.”

Jared snorts. “You don’t get to apologize to me. You just have to promise to follow doctor’s orders. I want you back in top shape, okay?”

“Yes, sir!” He can almost see the salute.

He laughs. “Great. Just great.”

“How’re the French treating you?”

“Good. And Jensen doesn’t suck too bad either.” He tells her about getting passed on the stairs by senior citizens and about Jensen’s movie. It’s nice to hear her voice and he feels good for making her laugh. She sounds better when they finally hang up, none of her cheer forced. And Jared goes back to the party only a little less lively than he’d been.

The new plan is to have Allison’s character, Mel, be held by the serial killer until Allison’s good to come back. Jared gets a few emails detailing how that had precedence with the cases that had been presented before. He throws out a few ideas for the general season breakdown that has to be reworked and calls Bob more than a few times over the next week.

It’s July before he gets to finish up his tourist list. He gets Jensen to spend the day at Versailles with him, both of them decked out in ball caps and horribly obvious, because passing for nobodies together is pretty much a no-go. They sign autographs and then escape out to the long garden. They walk along the small lakes and try to decide who they know that would build something quite as ostentatious.

“Tom would have a hall of mirrors,” Jensen argues, and Jared makes him agree that way back when Tom would have, but that his head had gone back down with age so now, probably not.

“Maybe you should get a hall of mirrors,” Jared says, when they get back to the car.

Jensen shakes his head and points to the lines at the outside of his eyes. “Laugh lines, man. No hall of mirrors for me.”

Jared leans over the hood of the car and raises both his eyebrows. Jensen grins and the lines are abundant, stretching out from the corners of his eyes. “You never looked better,” Jared says and means it.

Jensen rolls his eyes but Jared can tell he wants to smile.

It’s Jensen’s idea to go to the Pere Lachaise Cemetery. “We’ve got to see Morrison’s grave.”

Morrison’s grave is a disappointment, nothing special about it but the graffiti. There are other graves, though, rows of them that are nothing short of art. Cloaked statues weeping against mausoleums, and carved representations of the dead, laid out on stone. There’s a row for those who didn’t survive the Holocaust, and they make Jared’s stomach turn with their horror and beauty.

“Do you think Oscar Wilde would have wanted a giant winged guy on his tomb?” Jared can’t figure out if he thinks it looks cool or not.

Jensen thinks about it and finally comes up with, “Well, it makes an impression.”

Jensen insisted they buy flowers before they came, said it was only right, and Jared leaves them at graves here and there and feels better for it. They both leave flowers for Morrison.

“It’s a rite of passage,” Jensen says.

“Aren’t we both a little old for that?” Jared puts his flowers beneath the small picture of Morrison that someone had left behind.

“A pilgrimage?” Jensen tries instead.

“Better,” Jared agrees. He holds the map out and tries to figure out which way is out.

The last scene filmed is actually the first scene in the script. Jensen standing alone in the pouring rain, looking up at the sky.

There are a few takes of running beforehand, which has Jared grinning from ear to ear. Changing your walk is one thing. It takes focus but it's not impossible and sometimes it's just the thing that cinches the character. Knowing how someone walks can tell you a hell of a lot.

Running is altogether different. Sure, you can change it, but it's more trouble than it's worth mostly. It takes an absurd amount of concentration, and it takes away from everything else. Start trying to run like another person and dialogue gets fucked up, blocking's a lost cause, and you look like a complete ass. So, generally speaking, how you run is how you run, end of story.

Watching Jensen run under the rain machines going full tilt is so familiar, so like old times, that Jared has to keep himself from jumping up and running with him. At the end of eight takes Jensen is all pleas and clasped hands, big eyes, and a lot of labored laughing. Scott waves him off to prep the last scene, and Jensen collapses into the chair next to Jared's and says, "Not a word, man."

Jared reaches out, flicks Jensen in the arm, but says nothing. He lets Jensen catch his breath in companionable silence.

The last scene is quiet. There's no dialogue, no explosions or pages of blocking. Jensen closes his eyes, swallows, opens them again and tilts his head up to look at the overcast sky. He doesn't blink under the heavy curtain of water.

It's a still, slow shot that makes Jared feel restless. His skin crawls, partly out of sympathy because, though it's warm outside he knows the water is damn cold.

In person it's uncomfortable, too personal and too close.

But on the third take Jared gets himself near a monitor, and fuck if it doesn't look like magic on screen. Unsettling, with a terrible melancholy still. But definitely magic.

Jensen bumps against him after, covered in towels as he makes his way back to the trailer. "What're you thinking, big guy?"

Jared reaches out, runs his fingers through Jensen's slick hair. "Who in the Foreign Press I have to buy off to get you that Golden Globe."

Jensen socks him in the arm and then opens the trailer door and lets Jared go in first.

The night before Jared heads back to California, Jensen takes him out to dinner. Jensen won't tell him where, keeps repeating "it's a surprise," over and over, and refuses to budge. They’ve already done the Eiffel Tower restaurant so Jared can't figure out what would be a big enough deal that Jensen would want to create anticipation. They spend the day walking around the city, doing the whole 'one last time at' thing, so they wander through the side streets of the Latin Quarter, wave at the gargoyles on Notre Dame, see the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the Arc de Triumph. It's a good day, quiet and relaxed, with no obligations.

Instead of taking the Mercedes, Jensen heads to the sidewalk. Jared follows amiably, curious, but in no great rush. The restaurant is at the end of the street, across from the metro stop and Jared has seen it everyday.

"You’ve got to be kidding me." Jared laughs in disbelief.

Jensen walks up to the front door and holds it open for Jared like a gentleman. "Couldn't let you leave France before you try the Tex Mex."

Jared has to hold back from cracking up but he wants to bad, wants to laugh his ass off, slap his knees, the whole bit. He rubs his face, laughing into his hand for a minute before composing himself. Jensen presents himself to the maitre'd and they're taken to a table in the back. The menu is in French and Jared's a little afraid to order. Jensen spots Cerveza on the drink menu and orders two of them. Food-wise, he talks their waiter into bringing a little of everything.

"I have to know what French nachos taste like," he tells Jared, smile as wide as it gets.

"Good thing you're heading home soon too, because you're gonna want real Mexican so bad after this," Jared shakes his head.

"I've been craving carne asada for three weeks straight now. I'm kind of over it." Jensen shrugs.

The tacos are all right, the cheese is funny and there are a lot of things off about the spices. The enchiladas are jut not good, but the nachos are the most fucked up things Jared's ever seen in his life.

“Doritos," he says again, astounded.

Jensen pokes the chips with the tip of his fork. "Covered in honest-to-god nacho cheese."

Jared sets his silverware down and shakes his head. "I can't do it. I just can't."

Jensen looks around the restaurant at the different tables. "A lot of them are eating it and they seem to like it."

Jared pushes the plate closer to Jensen. "Nacho cheese covered nacho cheese Doritos." He doesn't really feel the need to defend himself.

"Okay, yeah." Jensen takes the napkin from his lap and sets it on the table. "I can't do it. It's just too gross."

Jensen puts his hands in his pockets. "I've got to get back by the first of August. Filming for Let Down starts that week at the Universal lot. So I'll call you and let you know when I get in town."

Jared hooks his arm over Jensen's shoulder and slows down to match his gait. “You act like I’m going to actually want to see you when you get to LA.”

Jensen snickers. “You’re going to miss me so bad it hurts, Padalecki.”

“We’ll always have Paris.” Jared says gravely and with what he has to admit is a bad Bogart impression.

Jensen fishes the keys from his pocket. “You ever even seen Casablanca?”

“Shut up,” Jared follows him up the stairs, two at a time. “Bogart’s cool.”

“Cooler than you, that’s for sure.” Jensen gets the door unlocked and holds it open for Jared.

“Thanks for dinner, asshole.” Jared tosses his own set of keys on the front table. He figures he’ll leave them where Jensen or Liz can find them.

“You’re welcome,” Jensen puts his keys down next to Jared’s. "I'm glad you took the plane ticket, Jared."

Jared shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Thanks for letting me hide out."

"You weren't hiding out.” Jensen turns the hall lights on. “You were taking time off. Which isn't a crime."

“Either way,” Jared shrugs. “I probably would have spent the summer playing video games and being lonely, if you hadn’t invited me.”

“You would have been playing video games with Chad and wishing you were lonely.” Jensen is halfway to his room when he turns around, serious expression on his face. "But you know, when I get back in town, there’s an open door policy. If you can't stand being alone you can always come over.”

Jared almost makes the easy joke. He almost says, “What and interrupt you and Dakota?” but Jensen’s making a genuine offer and he deserves the same kind of response. “You’re a good friend.”

Jensen shrugs, smile in his eyes. “It’s a two-way street.”

Jensen drives him to the airport, helps him get his bags out of the trunk and suffers nobly through a hug that Jared has a hard time ending. When he pulls back, he holds Jensen at arm’s length and says, “Thank you,” because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Jensen hugs him again, short and sweet and then steps back out of reach. He closes his trunk and taps it once, taking a minute before looking up with a sly grin. He gestures to the uniformed man coming towards them for luggage.

“Guess I’ll see you when you get back to LA.”

“Have a safe flight, Jay.” With a rueful smile, like he’s been trying to resist, he tips an imaginary hat in Jared’s direction before he gets back into the car. “Here’s looking at you kid.”

Part Three