Gunshy - Part 2
Masterpost
Part 2
A couple days later, they're standing around waiting for a crew to haul a car with a body in the trunk out of the Chicago River when Jared gets an idea.
"How do you feel about blind dates?" he says, while Jensen's attempting to keep his scarf from escaping in a sudden gust of wind.
"Logical," Jensen says. "A means of extending one's kin-group and if you think about Dunbar's number, they make sense from the perspective of -"
"I meant, would you go on one," Jared says, laughing.
"Probably," Jensen says. "If you found someone who was capable of holding a conversation." He considers. "On the other hand, if you're just trying to get me laid, I like height." He glances at Jared. "Also, large hands." Enough of Jensen's face is hidden by his scarf that Jared can't actually tell whether he's kidding or not. He probably is.
"Anything else, your highness?" Jared says, grinning, as the work crew breaks open the back of the car.
"That's about it," Jensen says, then brightens. "Hey, adipocere!"
Jared realizes the entire process might be more challenging than he thought.
It takes Jared a couple of nights to narrow down his list of potential dates for Jensen, and two more days to catch his choice in her office. Katie Heigl is blond, 5'9'', and better with a gun than almost any other agent Jared can think of. She also minored in anthropology, which Jared figures ought to give Jensen something to work with. The only reason Jared hasn't slept with her is because she keeps turning him down, but he figures it's worth a shot. Jensen's starting to get too enthused about new cases.
"Hey," he says, when he finally manages to find her. "You want to go on a date with my partner?"
"Open relationship, Padalecki?" she says, leaning back against her desk with a grin. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Hilarious," Jared says. "I meant Jensen."
Katie looks vaguely amused. "At the ME's office?"
"Do I have some other partner?" Jared says.
"Aside from the five you got rid of?" Katie says. "What is this, eight months? Nine? He's got to be interesting to have put up with you that long. Although I must admit I'm disappointed, the pool on how long you'd stick with him ran out last August."
"I'll be sure to invite you to our commitment ceremony," Jared says. "Friday night?"
"Why not," Katie says. "I can torture you with explicit sexual details if it goes well."
"Thanks," Jared says. "Looking forward to it."
By Thursday morning, Jared would actually welcome explicit sexual details if it meant Jensen would loosen up; after two hours of Jensen snapping at him over Jared's apparent failure to know every bone marker, Jared makes an excuse about needing to check on some dental records and goes to avoid him near Jeff's desk.
"Are you ever worried he's going to shove an instrument into a vital organ just because you don't know what the medial malleolus is?" Jared says under his breath, picking up a file when Jensen glances over at Jeff's desk from the exam table.
"No, mostly because I know it's on the tibia," Jeff says, grinning, and turns his chair around. "Jensen?"
"What?" Jensen mutters, still poking at a bone, and Jeff leans back in his chair.
"Either go shut your office door and take advantage of the porn Kristen keeps downloading to your laptop or take a walk and get some coffee," Jeff says. "Your bad mood is starting to scare your FBI agent."
"I'm fine," Jensen says, and Jeff rolls his eyes and gets up out of his chair before Jared can point out that he doesn't really mind.
"Jensen," Jeff says, and wraps a hand around his shoulder. "Seriously. Coffee."
Jared's expecting Jensen to push out of it, but he inhales and leans into Jeff's hand for a second. "You want anything?" he says, finally.
Jared knows Jeff and Jensen have known each other for almost fifteen years, but sometimes watching them together is still weird; Jensen's different with Jeff than with anyone else Jared's ever seen him interact with.
"Double espresso," Jeff says. "Ask Jared."
Jensen pulls off his gloves and shoves his hands in his pockets after Jeff backs off, then sits down in Jeff's office chair. "Coffee?" he says, without really looking at Jared.
"Large and black," Jared says, nudging his shoulder against Jensen's with a smile when he stands up, and Jensen looks relieved.
It takes him an hour to come back, but Jared's coffee's still hot and Jensen's in a significantly better mood. He settles in to sort through a tray of bones found at a construction site - supposedly animal, but they need to be checked under a microscope - and Jared leans up against the table beside him.
"So," he says. "Don't make plans for tomorrow night. I found you a date."
"Oh, god," Jensen says, pulling back. "I didn't think you were being serious."
"Tall, blond, and more than capable of handling a gun," Jared says, cheerfully, and slaps Jensen on the shoulder.
"The sad part is," Jensen says, "you probably don't even mean that as a euphemism."
"Nah," Jared says. "Best shot in the Chicago office." He grins. "Well, mostly."
"Good to know you're selecting potential partners based on their ability to shoot me," Jensen says, leaning back over the scope. "I'm so glad you value our partnership."
"Hey, sarcasm," Jared says, taking a long drag of his coffee. "You must be excited."
"No idea how I'll survive until tomorrow evening," Jensen murmurs, and puts on another slide of bone.
Joking aside, Jensen doesn't seem too put off about the idea, which is why Jared's more than a little confused at the look that crosses Jensen's face when Katie steps into the lab around seven. He looks like Jared's just tried to set him up with an ex, which doesn't make any sense considering he's reasonably certain Jensen and Katie have only met once or twice, in passing.
"Jensen, you know Katie," Jared says, wondering what in the hell Jensen's problem is, but Jensen's face clears after a minute and he offers a hand with a slightly forced smile.
"Pleasure," she says, barely pausing at the way Jensen's looking at her, and offers him a grin.
"Nice to meet you," Jensen says, and Jared's about to try to break the ice when Katie leans around both of them.
"Hey, is that one of the new PCR systems?" she says, gesturing over Jensen's shoulder, and Jensen's suddenly relaxed again.
"Would you like to take a look?" he says. "Our DNA specialist has been customizing the method it uses to amplify." Neither of them notices when Jared slips out the door.
Jensen sends him a text just after midnight - "had a nice evening, thanks" - so Jared has no fucking idea what the problem is when Jensen ducks his head and disappears into his office a minute after Jared steps into the lab the next morning. He doesn't even say hello, and Jeff gives Jared a look before he walks across the lab to try the door, which is apparently locked. He's about to turn around and come back with coffee later when Kristen comes around the corner, grabs his sleeve, and hauls him into the walk-in refrigerator used for storing samples.
"Hey," Jared says, jerking his hand back. He's tired and confused and Jensen's apparently avoiding him. Kristen's manhandling isn't helping the situation.
"Sit," Kristen says, pointing a crate in the corner. "I lost rock-paper-scissors, so you get to talk to me instead of Jeff."
"Talk?" Jared manages, and Kristen rolls her eyes and starts sorting through Ziploc bags of bone fragments. She looks serious in a way that Jared's not used to; Kristen cracks jokes even when they're working on brutal murder cases. The way she's looking at him is uncomfortable, focused and slightly determined.
"I looked at your file," she says. "You aced your psychology courses at Swarthmore, you have an MA in criminalistics from the University of Michigan, everyone you worked with in Iraq had nothing but good things to say about your teamwork, and you passed the profiling section of your FBI training with flying colors, so how the hell can you be so bad at reading people?"
"Uh," Jared says.
"Jeff and I have categories for dealing with things that come up with Jensen," Kristen continues. "He talks him out of falling for people he shouldn't, I deal with his incredibly stupid exes, you get the idea." She gives him a long look. "And we had to invent a category for you at two in the morning last night, because seriously, Jared, no one on the planet has ever known Jensen for more than a week and still been laboring under the delusion that he was straight."
"What?" Jared says.
"You tried to set him up with a girl," Kristen says. "Not really a smart move."
"He's never mentioned anything about - that he was gay," Jared says, finally. "Ever. I didn't actually know."
"Putting aside the fact that he owns tropical fish and is really terrible at remembering to clear the gay porn from his browser history," Kristen says, "it's Jensen."
In retrospect, Jared knows it probably should have been obvious; Jensen doesn't flirt back when Kristen does, has never looked twice at any of the women they've interviewed, and dodged the question every time Jared brought up ex-girlfriends.
"Yeah," Jared says, softly, and Kristen pulls out a bag.
"He thinks you know and that you're pretending he's straight because you disapprove," she says. "Jeff's trying to convince him that you're just an idiot, but you might want to fix it." She looks at him for a long minute. "The guy trusts three people on the planet and surprisingly enough, you're one of them, so try not to fuck this one up."
"Yeah," Jared says, getting to his feet. "I'll go talk to him."
"That or Jeff's locking you in here for the rest of the century," Kristen says, with a smile. "Just don't let either of them throw anything at you."
Jeff's still standing outside Jensen's door when Jared comes out, obviously trying to hold a conversation through it, but he shuts up when Jared settles a hand against the doorknob.
"I didn't know," Jared says, finally, just to stop Jeff from looking at him like that, and Jeff steps back.
"I know a lot of ways to get rid of a body," he says. "I considered several of them this morning."
"I get it," Jared says, and waits for Jeff to head back to his desk before he leans up against the doorframe and knocks.
"Jensen," he says. "Open the door."
There isn't actually an answer, so Jared gives it another minute, then jiggles the doorknob again. "If you make me shoot this off, I'm going to damage evidence, but I'll do it if I have to. Easier if you just open up, though."
Jared's starting to think he's really going to have to go ask the medical examiner for the master key when the lock clicks. "Please just go away," Jensen says, pulling open the door. "I don't want to see you." He looks exhausted, red-eyed, and Jared can't tell if it's from not sleeping or something else, but he hates it either way.
"Hey," Jared says, low. "It's not what you think. Let me in."
Jensen steps back, but Jared's almost positive it's more out of exhaustion than actual belief. Jared shuts the door and moves to sit on the sofa, giving Jensen plenty of space.
"I get it, okay?" Jensen says. "Working with me was novel, you got to pretend you were doing something cool, and it was going great until you realized, and I don't know if you just think it's wrong or if you're worried that I spend all my time thinking about fucking you, but -"
Jared stands up fast and narrowly manages to avoid tipping over the coffee table as he wraps a hand around Jensen's wrist and puts a hand over his mouth, cutting him off. He keeps his grip loose enough that Jensen's not going to start freaking out, but holds it until he's sure Jensen isn't going to keep trying to talk himself into something.
"You didn't tell me you preferred men," Jared says, quietly, taking his hand down. "And you haven't dated anyone since I met you. I should have asked, but I didn't think about it, because you're my partner. It didn't matter."
Jensen doesn't relax, and Jared watches him for a minute, then realizes that he hasn't said what Jensen needs to hear. "I don't care," he says. "It doesn't matter to me who you date or don't date. You're good at your job and you're a good guy, that's all that matters."
Jensen looks at him, close enough that Jared can feel it when the tension finally leaves his shoulders, and he tugs his hand out of Jared's grip and rubs his face. "I hate it when Jeff's right," he mutters, and Jared pulls Jensen into a fast hug before he starts over thinking it again.
When he pulls back, Jensen looks embarrassed and faintly pleased, like he was expecting something else entirely, and fumbles on his desk for a file. "Some of us have to get work done," he says, but he’s smiling. "Don't you have suspects to apprehend and paperwork to do?"
"Probably," Jared says, "but I'm sure someone else can handle it for a day." He tugs the file out of Jensen's hands. "What are we working on?"
"Possible gang violence," Jensen says. "They found the body at a construction site on the South Side."
"Oh, look, witness testimony," Jared says, grinning, and settles in on Jensen's couch to start figuring out a suspect list.
About three weeks later, Jared's sitting in traffic on Lake Shore Drive, approximately a hundred yards from where he was an hour ago, and seriously considering abandoning the FBI Altima and claiming it was carjacked. He's had plenty of bad mornings since he moved to Chicago, mostly involving blood-covered crime scenes and missing kids, but Jared's starting to think that today might top them all.
The worst part is, it's not like his morning is the only part that's been lousy; last night wasn't exactly great either. He hates running people down at the best of times, and he hates it a hell of a lot more when he gets shot. While bulletproof vests are a fantastic invention and he's really fucking glad not to have his internal organs plastered all over the pavement, they don't do much about absorbing force. Katie brought down the suspect, but Jared's got a cracked rib and his chest is about eight different shades of purple and green, but it's not like he hasn't taken a hit before. Policy dictates that anyone who gets shot with a vest on has to see a doctor, which ordinarily Jared fully agrees with, mostly because vicodin tends to make the whole getting shot thing a lot more bearable, but the FBI medical position at the Chicago office hasn't been filled for six months. Jared had to spend half the night waiting in the ER for someone to take two chest x-rays and give him a bottle of Tylenol-3.
Jared also managed to forget to tell them not to call his emergency contact, and he's still considering heading back to the hospital and punching the lights out of whoever called Jensen and told him that he'd been shot in the chest, no mitigating details, because Jared's never seen him that hysterical.
He knows, technically, that he's supposed to be in bed, but casualty number two of the gunshot - past Jared's favorite shirt - was his cell phone, which Jared left in his suit pocket. Apparently it couldn't withstand the trauma of being clipped by a bullet. Jared doesn't have a landline - he never bothered to have one put in when he moved back from Iraq - and there's absolutely no way that he can be completely out of contact for two days, which is why he's stuck in a car next to Grant Park; two traffic accidents and construction on one of the main streets mean that this is the only way for Jared to get to the Verizon store.
Jared's GPS won't stop pointing out that he's exactly half a mile from his destination, which really isn't fucking helping, and he has absolutely no idea what's going on at the office or with Jensen. He's seriously considering stopping at the Starbucks across the street just to have something to do when traffic finally picks up, and the reason for the total fucking mess becomes more obvious when Jared gets closer to Roosevelt.
There's something strange going on at the Field; instead of the usual crowds of tourists and middle school kids, there are five or six police cars and an ambulance parked right in front of the steps. Jared can't see into the parking lot, but there's a police cordon in place, and Jared can see someone putting up yellow caution tape across the entirety of the front steps. They don't usually close the museum for medical emergencies - and Jared can tell the museum is being closed, because the group of people milling around on the front lawn have to be employees - but there isn't anything identifiable about most of the cars parked near the museum. Jared's best guess is a robbery, but he figures he'll hear about it soon enough, so he takes a right, parks the car, and finds the goddamned cell phone store.
It takes half an hour for them to deactivate his old phone and for Jared to convince them that he doesn't actually want a pink RAZR, and by the time the sales associate starts programming his new phone, Jared's seriously starting to regret not taking any painkillers.
"It'll just take a minute to sync up," the guy says, cheerfully, then jumps when the phone rings. And keeps ringing. "Whoever's calling has good timing," he jokes, and Jared's stomach sinks.
"Jesus," Jensen says, the second Jared picks up, "we've all been calling for the past two hours, I almost sent Jeff to your apartment. Get the hell over to the Field."
"Yeah," Jared says, adrenaline already kicking in to combat the dull ache across his chest, "I'll be there in five minutes."
Two police officers meet him in the rotunda, and Jared sees Jensen halfway up a staircase, looking anxious and more than a little keyed up.
"You want to fill me in?" Jared says, and Jensen passes over a pair of gloves and a flashlight, walking straight through a door marked Museum Staff Only.
It's a wing of the museum Jared's never been in before. "These are the Ancient American collections," Jensen says. "I'm not entirely sure they should have closed down the museum, I don't think this is the crime scene and the press attention is going to be phenomenal, but -" he pushes open a door and Jared's faced with a sudden rush of people.
"This room is exhibit preparation for a display on the Crow they're conducting later this year," Jensen says; the lights are dim, and there are artifacts spread out on low exam tables that are lit from underneath, just like the specialized ones they have in the side lab at the ME's office. There's clothing arranged on mannequins - delicately beaded regalia and an enormous headdress - and two people in lab coats who seem distinctly nervous and unhappy.
Nothing looks out of place - no blood, no signs of a struggle, and Jared doesn't even see the body until he finds Kristen, who's crouched in the corner with a photographer over what Jared first thinks is one of the labeled crates stacked against the walls and then realizes, with a sinking feeling, is a trunk.
"Jesus christ," he says, and Jensen sidesteps a tray of instruments to stand beside him.
"Now we know where he's cleaning the bodies," he says, and Jared has to look away when Kristen steps back with a vial and he catches sight of a perfectly preserved hand lying against the edge of the lid, like someone's sleeping inside.
An hour later, Jared's in the hallway trying to have a conversation with the museum director - who wants the artifacts moved out of the room, even though it's an active crime scene - when Kristen interrupts and pulls him down a hallway.
"I need Agent Padalecki," she says. "It's crucial."
Jared has no idea what he's supposed to do about bugs, let alone why they're leaving the crime scene, but she unlocks another side room, this one almost empty, where Jeff's sitting next to three or four laptops and Jensen's setting up a table.
"You look like hell," Jensen says, and Jared's suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that he didn't feel up to a shower after leaving the hospital and that he's still in jeans and a sweatshirt.
"Sit," Jensen says, and hands him four ibuprofen, a cup of coffee, and a sandwich from the downstairs café. "Eat. You're no good to me if you collapse."
"Bossy," Jared says, but he's more relieved than irritated.
Jeff's got a button down from the gift shop's travelers' section that he passes over without looking up from the laptop, and Kristen goes back to the crime scene while Jared's eating. She's long gone by the time Jared starts trying to get his sweatshirt off - the sweatshirt he put on last night, before he had a chance to get stiff. He's mostly stuck by the time Jeff notices, and by the time Jensen looks up from his dog-eared bone manual, Jared's managed to elbow himself in the rib. He narrowly avoids falling over.
"Jesus," Jensen says, looking like he's trying not to laugh, and stands up from the plastic collapsible chair he's been sitting in for the past half hour.
"Shouldn't you be working?" Jared manages, and Jensen crosses the room to slide his hands underneath Jared's sweatshirt, tugging up.
"No bones yet," Jensen says. "The pathologist is dealing with the body. Can you lift your arms?"
Jared gets them half way up, so Jensen pulls Jared's sweatshirt over his head and off, hands warm through the t-shirt he has on underneath.
"I can take it from here," Jared says, mostly because Jensen's still got a hand spread out against his chest, frowning, and it's weird.
"He's lying," Jeff says, still not bothering to turn around.
"I can see your bruises through your shirt," Jensen says, running his thumb along the edge of one, and Jared shivers involuntarily. Jensen's got the look on his face that means he's trying to solve a problem, and Jared's bruises really don't need any more attention than they're already getting, let alone some sort of solution.
"It's threadbare," he says, "and it's also cold in here."
Jensen steps behind him to let Jared slide into the shirt without having to lift his arms again, then pushes Jared's hands away and buttons it.
"I know you're not going to go home if I tell you to," Jensen says, pushing Jared back toward a chair before he can start trying to protest. "But you're going to sit while you interview because you have a fractured seventh rib and substantial contusions."
Jeff stops typing and passes over a laptop, and Jared decides against protesting that Jensen's treating him like he's a five year old because the idea of staying off his feet is starting to sound really fucking good. Jared's pulling up the FBI database to take notes when Jensen comes back with one of the anthropologists working on the exhibition.
"Special Agent Padalecki is speaking with persons of interest in our mobile command center," Jensen says, just outside the door, and Jared narrowly avoids choking on his coffee.
"Thank you, Dr. Ackles," he says, trying to keep a straight face, and starts a new document: Lisa Albright, curator.
"So," he says, "how long have you been working at the museum?" and settles back in his chair.
Jared's entire afternoon of interviewing provides almost nothing to work with; no one remembers the trunk being brought in, but then again, no one remembers it being there in the first place either, and the upper corridor is a security nightmare. There are multiple access points, and only the rooms designed to store valuable artifacts have security footage; the hallway and the room the body was found in have cameras, but they're nonfunctional and haven't recorded since the system was installed. All it takes to get into the room is a museum ID card - available both to museum employees and consultants -and a set of keys. Since the lock hasn't been changed in the last five years and the room is designated as general storage, the official keys have passed through god knows how many curators. Jared doesn't want to think about how many copies are in existence.
The only major discovery is Kristen's; she stops by between a security guard and another curator, the last of the people on Jared's list, and presents him with a vial. It has a couple of beetles inside, and Kristen looks exhausted.
"Jensen thought that the remains had been sitting for a long time, but he couldn't figure out why the bones were so clean yet still held together, which ruled out any sort of physical cleaning process," she says. "These are why, they're dermestid beetles. They eat flesh."
Jared looks at the beetles scrambling around in the bottom of the vial. "I thought they fumigated the collections. How'd they find their way in?"
"They were put there," Kristen says. "They wouldn't have colonized the body for days yet in an ordinary scenario, if any had been able to find their way into that trunk. But when I got here, there were probably somewhere between a thousand and fifteen hundred beetles in with the body."
"Jesus," Jared says.
"That many, you could clean a body in a couple of weeks to a month," she says, leaning back in her chair. "The pathologist can give you a better estimate, but I can tell you that the body's been here for less than two days. Otherwise, with that number of dermestids, it would be in worse condition."
"Are these hard to get a hold of?" Jared says. "Please tell me this is the beetle equivalent of that moth in Silence of the Lambs."
Kristen snorts. "You can order them off the internet, Clarice," she says, then grins. "Or steal them from the museum's bone room. They have a colony they use to clean specimens. I'm going to run a DNA comparison. If it's a match, then we'll know that the beetles with the body came from the museum."
"Which increases the likelihood that we're dealing with a museum employee," Jared says, trying to lean forward on the table without bothering his rib.
Jeff pulls off a pair of headphones and surfaces from the position he's been in all afternoon, stretching. "Pathology got viable fingerprints, but IAFIS hasn't kicked back a match yet. I'll do some facial work when we get back to the lab, see if I can put together a sketch from the soft tissue before I start looking through missing persons reports. And there's always DNA."
Kristen's cell phone goes off, and she stands up. "Jensen and I have to sit in on the autopsy," she says. "I'll call you when we're close to done."
"We'll get dinner," Jeff says, then glances at Jared, who's trying hard not to notice the fact that his side's starting to feel like it's on fire. "More accurately, I'll prop Jared up on Jensen's couch and get dinner."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jared mutters. "I think I can manage take out."
"God, you're worse than Jensen," Kristen says. "You know, I think there are men out there who aren't into stubborn denial."
"Yeah, but they're boring," Jeff says, grinning.
"Boring would be nice," Kristen says, laughing, and lets herself out the door.
By the time Jared finishes up the last of the interviews, he's actually willing to let Jeff drive him back to the ME's office. Jared feels every single bump in the road, and when they get there, he's so far beyond caring that he sits down on Jensen's couch and thinks about actually letting someone else do all the paperwork.
"You haven't said anything for the past half an hour," Jeff says, leaning against the doorway. "If we have to take you back to the ER, Jensen's going to be pissed, so where are the drugs I know they prescribed and that you're so valiantly refusing to take?"
"In my apartment," Jared says; it's not so much that he's refusing to take drugs as the fact that he thought he was going to be out of the house for an hour this morning, and it's been an entire day of talking to people and climbing stairs.
"I'm really starting to question the FBI's intelligence requirements," Jeff says and disappears back into the lab.
Jared's starting to think that maybe he's been left to die in Jensen's office when Jeff comes back with his keys in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. "You owe me a favor," he says. "I got Fred to write you a prescription for enough vicodin to get you through the night."
Fred is Fred Lehne, the medical examiner, and Jared vaguely recalls at least ten lectures from Jensen on the differences between coroners and ME's, one of which is that ME's have to actually go through medical school.
Jeff hands over two pills, a bottle of water, and a granola bar. Jared eats the granola bar first, mostly because he knows what happens when you take vicodin on an empty stomach. Puking with a broken rib is up there on the list of experiences he never wants to have.
"Get some sleep, they're probably gonna be another hour or two," Jeff says, reaching to pull the blanket off the back of Jensen's sofa - it's from Peru, where Jensen did some work on Incan mummies - and covers Jared with it. "We'll wake you up for dinner."
"Thanks," Jared says, and even though he isn't expecting to be able to sleep until the drugs kick in, he's out within a couple minutes.
When he wakes up an hour later, Jensen's at his desk, showered and in clean clothes.
"Hey, take it easy," he says when Jared tries to sit up, and shuts his laptop to come sit on the sofa. "Jeff and Kristen went to get pizza."
Jared's warm and pretty much pain free, and Jensen's close and easy to lean up against. "Hey," Jared says, drowsily, settling his head on Jensen's shoulder. "How'd the autopsy go?"
Jensen stiffens up for a second, then relaxes and starts to laugh. "You're stoned, aren't you," he says, and Jared decides that it's a fair assessment, considering the fact that he's getting distracted by how good Jensen's shirt smells.
"Vicodin is awesome," Jared says, and Jensen's just sliding a hand up to the back of his neck when Kristen shoves open the door, holding two boxes of pizza.
"I hear Jeff drugged our friendly neighborhood FBI agent," she says. "Can I pry state secrets out of him?"
"Maybe after dinner," Jensen says, dryly, and Jeff pushes Kristen out of the doorway.
"Cheese for you and Kristen, bacon and mushroom for those of us with actual palates," Jeff says.
The pizza's good, but it's hard not to notice how off everyone seems; Jensen and Jeff both look exhausted, and Kristen barely touches her pizza. Jared knows they're not used to dealing with bodies instead of skeletons, especially not young women, and that serial cases tend to take a lot out of everyone. Jared's seriously considering giving Jensen a hug when Kristen leans across the table to look at him.
"You know," she says, "your pupils are about twice their normal size. Which one of us is taking you home with us tonight?"
"I just need a ride," Jared says, firmly. "To my apartment."
"Yeah, no," Jeff says, between bites of pizza. "You shouldn't be left alone, and you can't even stand up, let alone walk your dogs."
Jared's briefly considering conceding that Jensen can stay over - Jensen's warm, and Jared could probably talk him into taking Sadie and Harley downstairs - when Jeff glances at Jensen, who hasn't said anything since the pizza showed up.
"It's Friday night and today absolutely sucked," Jeff says. "I'm up for getting phenomenally drunk at your place, who's in?"
"God, yes," Jensen says, leaning back from Jared.
"Like I'm leaving Jared alone with you idiots and alcohol," Kristen says. "I'll watch him."
"Hey," Jared says, mostly because he doesn't need watching and he's not allowed to mix alcohol with painkillers, but Kristen's already standing.
"Jeff's truck?" she says. "We can put him in the back."
Jared knows that normal people don't talk about their friends like cargo, but Jensen looks significantly more relaxed, so he decides to shut up. The back of Jeff's car - with Jensen's blanket and a pillow stolen from one of the lounges - actually is pretty comfortable, and it's substantially improved when Kristen and Jensen go upstairs to his apartment and bring down the dogs, who promptly pile in on top of his legs.
"Nice porn collection," Kristen says, handing over an overnight bag, and Jared briefly considers killing her before he realizes that Jensen's laughing, which probably means that she's fucking with him.
"Good to know you're into firemen too," Jared says, and sleeps the rest of the way to Jensen's house.
By the time Jeff pulls in, the vicodin-induced fog has mostly lifted, and some of the pain is coming back, although it's not as bad. Jensen lets Sadie and Harley out into his backyard while Jeff pours them a bowl of food, and Kristen disappears and comes back a couple minutes later in a sweatshirt and jeans, then wanders into the kitchen while Jared settles in on the couch.
Jared got too used to transfers to think about buying a place like this - DC, New York, London, Baghdad, Chicago. This posting's permanent, or at least it's solid until he wants to move, but Jared's used to living in apartments, and the idea of owning a house on his own is strange. He's willing to admit, though, that if he did ever think about it, he'd want to own one like Jensen's; it's open, with big windows and high ceilings, comfortably modern furniture and a yard for the dogs. Jensen's even got a fireplace and a plasma screen, and even if Jared's only been here a couple of times, it feels familiar and warm.
"They broke out the tequila," she says, passing over the bowl of popcorn. "I'm thinking cars getting blown up, scantily clad women, and plenty of high speed chase scenes."
"Sounds good," Jared says, and Kristen passes over an ice pack.
"Jensen said to 'focus that on the epicenter of the trauma,'" Kristen says. "I'd just put it on the biggest bruise."
The movie isn't bad - it's got an appropriate amount of violence and cars - but Jared can't seem to focus, probably because of the drugs, and half an hour into it, he's starting to think about going outside to check on the dogs or maybe taking a shower.
"Stop squirming," Kristen says. "Go get some more popcorn and another ice pack."
"Sure," Jared says, and he's halfway into the kitchen and reaching for the freezer door when he realizes that he's interrupting.
The bottle of tequila they stopped for on the way home is three quarters empty, and Jensen's a lightweight, at least in Jared's relatively limited experience, which means that he wasn't kidding about getting really fucking drunk. The alcohol explains why Jeff's got Jensen pressed up against the kitchen counter, but Jared can't quite wrap his head around the rest of it: that they're kissing, or Jeff's hands at Jensen's belt, or the way Jensen looks, flushed and laughing. Jared's almost positive they're just screwing around - it looks friendly, comfortable, without anything behind it - and he's made out with friends for worse reasons than wanting to blow off steam, but it still feels weird. Jensen's open, leaning into Jeff's touch, and Jared can see a whole lot of skin where Jeff's got a hand underneath Jensen's shirt, spread out against the small of his back. He's already way too warm, and when he watches Jensen's head go back and Jeff's mouth against the curve of his jaw, he feels his face heat. He's pretty sure it's embarrassment.
"You need something, Jared?" Jensen says, low, hips lined up against Jeff's. It's friendly, almost concerned, and the fact that he's got Jensen's full attention is what throws him, more than anything else.
"Just an ice pack," he manages, fumbling his way into the freezer, and then backs the hell out of the kitchen.
"Hey," Kristen says, "forgetting something, Padalecki?"
Jared realizes he's still holding the empty popcorn bowl. "You know," he says, finally. "I figured if Jeff was going to get drunk and make out with someone, it'd be you."
"Oh, yeah," Kristen says, and turns up the DVD. "They do that once in a while."
Jared waits for further explanation for a minute before he realizes that Kristen isn't going to say anything else. It's probably just another dysfunctional thing - and Jared doesn't mind putting up with most of it, mostly because it's been a long time since he had people to look out for him in addition to people he looked out for, but the fact is that Jensen and Jeff have known each other for well over ten years and Kristen's worked with Jeff for five or six, so there's a lot he doesn't get about the relationships - that he should let go of, but Jared can't get the image of Jensen out of his head, relaxed and obviously turned on.
It's almost another half hour before Jeff and Jensen come out of the kitchen, and as Jensen slides in beside him on the couch, Jared realizes exactly what's behind the running joke about how obvious Jensen is when he's getting laid.
"Hey," Jensen says, less tense than Jared's ever seen him, and smiles, starting to wrap himself around Jared's side, a knee already across Jared's thighs. "You find your - uh, ice pack?"
Jared feels himself go stiff before he realizes that he's pushing Jensen back.
"Sorry," Jared manages, just to keep Jensen from thinking he's freaking out about anything, which he's not, "I need more ice."
Jared manages to get into the kitchen without Jensen saying something, and he's standing with the freezer door open, debating between a bag of frozen peas and a box of spinach when he realizes that Jeff's leaning up against the counter, waiting for him to say something.
"It's not the gay thing," Jared says, which is about when he realizes that he's still probably too drugged to be having this conversation. "I'd - be hypocritical, I've -" And really, it's not like Jared's never fooled around with another guy, in college and at Quantico, he just likes women a hell of a lot more. He inhales, slowly, and reaches for the peas, not looking at Jeff. "I'm just - not used to it."
Jared's expecting Jeff to be angry - he's really hoping nobody decides to throw any punches, considering the state of his ribs, but he'd understand it, because Jensen is Jeff's best friend, and Jared gets that kind of protection - so he ends up more than a little startled by the laugh from behind him.
"I was in here to get a beer," Jeff says, and nudges him out of the way to grab a Corona. "But Jensen's just -" He pops the cap on the countertop, watching Jared. "He's smarter than both of us combined, but he's bad with people. He's had a couple god awful relationships that really didn't help, and add that to the fact that he's always been close to cold and you start to figure out why he doesn't have a social life."
"Yeah," Jared says, waiting.
"And he's even worse with -" Jeff gestures with his bottle. "Getting close to people, so he gets drunk because that's the only way he's figured out to ask for it. That's how he'd be if he let himself, but it's Jensen."
It clicks, why Jensen's so different when he's overtired or when he's drinking, and Jared feels better about it.
"Thanks," he says, and Jeff laughs again, and pushes him toward the living room.
"Play nice," he says. "Stop over thinking things, that's Jensen's job."
Jensen stays back for a minute while Jared sits down and rearranges the peas, but Jared only hesitates for a second before reaching out to slide an arm around Jensen's shoulders, pulling him in; Jared's used to casual contact, and Jensen's his partner. They should be better at this. It's as easy as that.
"Sorry," he says, tugging him in, "just watch my side," and Jensen's stares for a minute, then relaxes into it all at once, curled in against Jared's chest.
By the time the movie ends, Jensen's asleep, face against Jared's shoulder, his palm warm underneath Jared's t-shirt. As new and awkwardly uncomfortable as it is, the second vicodin Jeff pushed on him is starting to kick in, and Jared's warm and sleepy. Having Jensen this close feels good, mostly because Jared can make sure nothing bad is going to happen, and he's settling in closer and thinking about a blanket when Kristen stands up to turn the television off.
"So," she says, and Jeff pauses half way into a stretch when she leans in close, "how drunk are you?"
"Pretty drunk," Jeff admits, low, and Jared realizes that they both think he's asleep.
"Yeah," Kristen says. "I think you should leave Jensen to Jared. Then we could go upstairs and have sex that isn't friends with benefits."
Jared realizes, abruptly, that he probably should've moved; on the other hand, the look on Jeff's face is going to provide Christmas party stories for the next twenty years.
"What?" Jeff says, after a long pause, and Kristen's face softens.
"I like you," she says. "And I've got it on good authority that you have elaborate fantasies involving cohabitation and dogs, so I figure we should just get the awkward first time sex out of the way and then go on some dates." She grins. "Just to put you out of your misery."
"I might have to kill Jensen," Jeff says, and Kristen closes her fingers in his collar and wraps her other hand around his wrist.
"Later," she murmurs. "Right now, I want to know what you taste like."
"God, yes," Jeff says, rough, unsteady, and Jared focuses on Jensen's shoulder, not watching them kiss, but it's hard to miss the way Jeff's looking at her, something entirely different than what Jared walked in on earlier.
Jared pretends to be asleep until he hears them hit the top of the stairs, which is about when he realizes that even with the second vicodin, he really can't spend the entire night on the couch with Jensen half in his lap.
"Hey," he says, wrapping a palm around Jensen's shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck, and Jensen wakes up with a yawn, blinking at Jared's collar.
"I don't know where your bedroom is," Jared murmurs, and Jensen stares at him for a minute, obviously not awake and still more than a little drunk.
"I probably shouldn't sleep on the couch," Jared coaxes, and Jensen suddenly relaxes, sliding out of Jared's lap to stand up.
"You melted my peas," he says, drowsily, and takes the bag of them, disappearing into the kitchen. Jared's just starting to wonder if he should follow when Jensen comes back, reaching out to pull Jared up off the couch.
"Upstairs," he says, steady enough that Jared wonders for a second if he's sobered up, but he's way too relaxed, climbing the stairs - Jared's really starting to fucking hate stairs - and when they hit the bedroom, Jensen starts losing clothes with no hesitation.
Jared's used to Jensen in multiple layers, t-shirts and button downs and jackets, and it's personal to see him in less, like some sort of invasion of privacy. Jensen's reserved, cautious, and even if they just spent an hour together on the couch, Jared can't quite match up the Jensen who gets overly enthused about bone fragments to the Jensen who's pulling off his shirt and stepping into the bathroom.
Jensen comes out a minute later, holding something, and makes a soft, impatient noise when he realizes that Jared's still by the door.
"Come to bed," he says, tugging on the hem of Jared's sweatshirt, and Jared lifts his arms, trying not to wince as Jensen pulls it off, standing a hell of a lot closer than usual.
"Relax," Jensen says, peeling the back off the heating pad he’s holding and sticking it to Jared's shoulder, right where the muscle's starting to get tense. "You're translating -" He pauses, then smiles. "You're keeping your shoulder muscles tight because it - uh, it makes your rib hurt less. But it's just making everything worse."
"Might've overdone it," Jared admits, leaning into it instead of pulling away when Jensen rubs the palm of his hand over Jared's shoulder and pushes his thumb right at the worst spot, just between Jared's shoulder and neck, nudging the tension out. His hands aren't as steady as they usually are, but it still feels good.
"Come on," Jensen says, and Jared doesn't really question it when Jensen slides behind him, face against the curve of Jared's shoulder.
There's a long, easy silence, long enough that Jared's staring to think that Jensen's gone to sleep, when Jensen shifts back.
"I stole your x-rays," he says. He sounds hesitant, like he's worried Jared's going to be angry about it, so Jared rolls onto his side, meeting his eyes.
"Yeah?" he says, trying not to laugh. "Spying on my very complicated fracture pattern, Ackles?"
"No," Jensen says. "Maybe." He reaches out and traces his fingers over Jared's side, brushing his thumb in a slow circle. It should hurt - Jared knows it should hurt - but it doesn't. Jensen's hands are just warm. "I wanted to -" He stops at a scar, one Jared got playing touch football in somebody's backyard in high school, and presses his thumb up against it. "I thought I should know your skeleton. So I could identify you."
As morbid as it is, Jared understands the impulse; he never wants Jensen to be one of those skeletons in the attic, unknown and unlooked for, with no identity and no one to grieve for them.
"Yeah?" Jared says. "Find out anything interesting?"
"You broke your left arm four or five times when you were a kid," Jensen says.
"Bicycles and I didn't really get along," Jared says, settling in, so close their stomachs are almost touching.
"Your triquetral's reconstructed," Jensen murmurs. "You broke your right ulna, parry fracture, probably two or three years ago. You've got a pin in your femur, and you've rebroken this rib three or four times in the same spot. You get shot at a lot, but none of the bullets have done more than graze a bone." He closes his eyes, wrapping his palm around Jared's ribcage. "Your os coxae are more gracile than I expected." Jensen smiles. "And you have an additional costal notch on your sternum."
"You're drunk," Jared points out, and Jensen laughs.
"Probably," he says. "But I could match you to medical records."
"Sure," Jared says. "Maybe you could steal those too."
"Could make Jeff do it," Jensen murmurs, drowsy. "Kristen already stole your FBI file."
"I know," Jared says. "I'm sure everyone enjoyed reading about the time when I snuck a bunch of girls into Quantico."
"Sneaked," Jensen corrects, softly, and a minute later, his body relaxes into sleep, hand still pressed against Jared's side.
Jared's unfortunately more skilled than he'd like at untangling himself from sleeping, partially clothed people; football meant a lot of bus trips, Iraq meant a lot of sleeping in tents and sharing sleeping bags, even if he wasn't, strictly speaking, in the military, and Jared's lost count of the number of stakeouts he's been on that required sleeping in the backseat of a car. The next morning, it's not hard to get away from Jensen, who rolls over into a new position and takes Jared's spot. Jared pulls an extra blanket up so he can feel less guilty about leaving Jensen to freeze and finds a button down in his overnight bag that he can actually shrug into.
Kristen's in the kitchen with a bowl of cereal, watching the dogs play in the backyard, and Jared pours himself a cup of coffee.
"So how was the awkward first time sex?" he says, trying not to laugh, and Kristen lifts a hand to hit him, then lets it fall, laughing.
"Less agonizing than expected," she says, "or did you enjoy listening in on that too?"
"No thanks," Jared says, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "How's Jeff? I heard the shower."
"Hung over," Kristen says, adding more milk. She smiles at her cereal bowl, the kind of smile Jared knows isn't meant for him. "Happy, though. I think."
"You think?"" Jared says.
"I think," Kristen says. "He woke up this morning, stared at me for fifteen minutes, and got in the shower without saying anything, so there's still a strong possibility he thinks he's hallucinating."
"Oh god," Jared says, laughing. "You should probably take him coffee. Maybe get in the shower with him."
"I thought about it," Kristen says. "But he might get the mistaken impression that I'm nice, and then where would we be?"
"Think of it as lulling him into complacency."
"True," she says, still smiling. "That way he won't be expecting me to torture him all the way to work."
Jared's not surprised that Jeff and Kristen are going in; even if it's Saturday, the body needs processing, and Jeff's going to want to run DNA.
"Listen," Jared says. "If the pathologist decides they're going to get something out of the bones, get Jeff to clean them. Jensen can take a look Monday."
Jared can't remember the last time Jensen actually took a weekend off, and considering the fact that Jared woke up to a text message informing him that he was officially on forced medical leave, he's in a good position to pretend that he shouldn't be left alone.
"Sounds good," Kristen says, and pours an extra cup of coffee. "I'm going to go make sure Jeff hasn't died."
"Hey," Jared says, and she turns around for a second. "You did good, Bell."
She smiles. "Yeah," she says, "I'm really starting to think so."
Jared showers downstairs - there's a bathroom off of Jensen's office, which has bones and paperwork on nearly every surface - and he’s halfway through his second bowl of cheerios when Jensen stumbles into the kitchen.
He stares at the coffee pot for a minute, leaning against the counter, then pulls a bottle of Advil out of the cabinet and takes four, sinking down into the chair next to Jared's.
Jared nudges his cup of coffee into Jensen's field of vision, and Jensen immediately wraps his hands around it and starts to drink.
"You might want some water," Jared says, trying not to laugh, and Jensen makes a noise and shuts his eyes, tilting his chair away from the window.
"I hate tequila," Jensen says. "What happened last night?"
"You hooked up with Jeff, then Jeff and Kristen slept together," Jared says. "I just want you to know that as the only one who didn't get any action last night, I reserve the right to bring a date next time."
Jensen goes abruptly pale and stands up fast; Jared's starting to wonder if maybe the Jeff thing wasn't a bigger deal than Kristen implied when he disappears down the hall.
"Sorry," Jensen says when he comes back, wrapped up in a robe from the downstairs bathroom, glasses on again. He looks miserable enough that Jared takes pity on him and shuts the blinds, then steps up behind Jensen - who's reaching for a mug - and slides his hands up. Jensen freezes with his hand on the cabinet handle, and Jared pulls back the collar of his robe and presses his thumbs into the back of Jensen's neck, pushing his head forward gently. It seems stupid to Jared that the only time Jensen really relaxes is when he's drunk.
"Take it easy," he murmurs, and Jensen lets his arm fall and spreads his hands out against the counter, unsteady, as Jared rubs his shoulders.
"Better?" Jared says, pouring Jensen another cup of coffee.
"Yeah," Jensen says, sounding surprised, and takes the mug. "Did Jeff say anything about cleaning the bones?"
"He's handling it," Jared says. "You're keeping an eye on me to make sure I don't do anything reckless."
Jensen laughs. "Define reckless."
"Putting in a full day of work interviewing people, apparently," Jared says. "You'd think they'd appreciate my dedication."
"I'm sure they'd especially appreciate it when you develop a collapsed lung and can't run down criminals because you're on forced bed rest," Jensen says. "You're supposed to be taking it easy."
"I did," Jared says. "I was sitting down."
"I remember when I thought having an FBI partner was going to be educational," Jensen says.
Jensen downs three more cups of coffee and disappears to shower, and by the time he comes downstairs again, it's clear it's not going to rain. It's early March in Chicago, so the likelihood that any decent weather will last longer than a day is low, but if Jared can't be at work, he might as well be outside.
"You want to go to the park?" Jared offers. He's almost positive Jensen's going to try to get some work in, so he's expecting to have to argue for it, but Jensen just reaches under the counter and pulls out a thermos.
"Let me put a blanket in the back of the car for the dogs," he says. "I'll bring some files."
It takes an hour to get across the city, but Jared falls asleep ten minutes after Jensen pulls out and doesn't wake up until the car is already parked. Jensen pulls on a sweater and takes the dogs while Jared finds a suitable spot to spread out a blanket. He folds over one of Jensen's old comforters a couple times to keep from actually lying on the ground, which mostly takes care of his rib, and steals some of Jensen's coffee. Jared's fully expecting Jensen to bury himself in casework, but he reaches into his bag and pulls out a can of tennis balls. They're new, and Jared's abruptly confused - Jensen won't stop claiming tennis is one of the most traumatic sports for the skeleton, which makes Jared pretty sure he's just never played football - but he works it out when Jensen tosses a ball to Sadie.
"Hey," he says, feeling suddenly warm, "you bought them toys."
Jensen looks embarrassed, suddenly stiff and formal. "You always forget when you bring them over, I thought it would be okay."
"It's great," Jared says, reaching out to rub Harley's head when he flops down next to the blanket. "There's just one problem."
"What?" Jensen says.
"I think they're starting to like you better than me," Jared says, grinning. "Stop trying to steal my dogs, Ackles."
Jensen's shoulders come down as he laughs, and Jared settles in with his book while Jensen chases the dogs around, down to the edge of the water and back. Jared's almost asleep again by the time Jensen gives up on throwing the tennis ball - the vicodin's starting to be irritating - but he wakes up when Jensen stretches out beside him, Sadie curling up against his back.
"Hey," Jensen says, sounding vaguely surprised. "You're reading White?"
"Yeah," Jared says, with a smile. "Figured it might come in handy to be able to figure out what the hell you're talking about."
He ordered a copy of the bone manual Jensen never leaves behind from Amazon a couple weeks back, and he's not exactly up to identifying teeth yet, but he knows all the bones. When Jared rolls over, shading his eyes against the sun, Jensen's looking at him in a way that makes him swallow hard. It's not entirely readable, somewhere between stubborn affection and frustration, and Jared can't begin to place it.
"Hey," he says, managing a smile. "It's not like I'm any good at it. Your job's safe."
"Good," Jensen says, softly, and reaches out to spread his fingers out against Jared's chest, propped up on one elbow. "I like working with you."
It's been a long time, Jared realizes, since he's had a partner, someone who he trusts to have his back just as much as he has theirs, and it's easy to acknowledge that the way he feels about Jensen, the protective instinct and affection and respect that go with knowing someone, doesn't go away when he leaves the ME's office. It's been a long time since Jared's had this kind of family, and it's easier to admit to himself than he thought it'd be that he's done moving around and working with people he doesn't trust.
"Yeah," Jared says, "me too," and falls asleep in the sun.
PART THREE