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Caught Inside, 3/4
-- 3 --
Jensen sticks mostly to beer during the night, so he's okay to drive when Jared manhandles the keys to the Jeep out of Jeff's pocket. He wonders when he turned into the designated driver kind of a guy, but then again, he's not really all that sober. It's more that the other two are gone.
Jensen has no idea if Jared's leaving a car or why he's leaving with them but it's pure comedy gold watching all six-four of drunken windsurfer getting himself into the back of Jeff's CJ-7. It's even better when they get to Jared's place, halfway up Haleakala, with what Jensen would bet would be spectacular views, and Jensen gets to imagine Jared in the land of manicured landscaping and security huts.
"You're not quite living like where we just left, yet?" Jensen tosses back over his shoulder. Jared hadn't been lying earlier--it's still a condo development--but it's definitely not slumming.
"I know it's up-country, but it has a pool," Jared sighs, looking half-embarrassed, half-resigned. "I can get in a couple of miles before I really even wake up. Makes it easier to train."
He directs Jensen around the curving streets--the kind of curves that are there deliberately, so the landscapers can create "plantscapes"--to his corner unit, and it's almost as amusing watching him unfold himself out of the back, groaning and stretching.
"Thanks for the ride," Jared says. "Drinking with those guys is gonna kill me one day."
"Lightweight," Jensen answers, but he's mildly impressed that Jared gets the door open on the first try. It gives him a slight bit of hope that Jared might actually make it to a bed before he passes out. He glances over at Jeff, expecting him to be gone, too, but finds dark eyes looking back at him fairly steadily.
"Christ, I am not in the fucking mood to deal with shit in town tonight," Jeff says, his voice gritty and raw, which isn't surprising seeing as how Jensen doesn't think he shut up for more than ten seconds during the night.
"Yeah?" Jensen drawls. "I never would have guessed." He navigates back out to the main road and slants another look at Jeff. "Where to, man?"
"Somewhere where there aren't waves." Jeff leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.
"Yeah," Jensen snorts. "How drunk are you again?"
"Really, really fuckin' drunk," Jeff answers, sighing. "Home's fine."
Jensen only takes one wrong turn and figures it out pretty quick, so he's parking the Jeep at Jeff's in less than twenty minutes, but it's still edging on toward dawn.
"Come on," Jeff says, hauling himself out of the passenger seat. "Key's on the ring you've got."
He's more-or-less steady on his feet and really damn impatient for a guy who Jensen figures has a blood alcohol count close to lethal injection territory.
"You figure your shit out yet?" Jeff asks, as Jensen gets the door open.
"Smooth," Jensen says. "If I didn't know better it'd be like I was the one trying to drink my body weight in vodka tonight."
"Don't knock the classics, boy." Jeff doesn't bother with lights, just moves straight toward the bedroom, looking back over his shoulder at Jensen. "If you're staying, let's go."
Jensen shrugs and follows Jeff, not saying anything until they're on the bed. "No," he finally says, into the dark. "I haven't figured shit out yet."
"Welcome to the club," Jeff answers.
The shower's running when Jensen pries his eyes open; the clock says just past eight, which, given that it'd been almost dawn when they got back, is motherfucking insane. He pulls a pillow over his head and goes back out, waking up again when Jeff comes out of the bathroom, towel low on his hips. He looks like hell, twenty years older than he is, eyes red and face drawn, but his hands are steady as he pulls clean clothes from the dresser. Jensen groans into the pillow.
"I'm not disturbing you, am I, pretty boy?" Jeff's voice sounds even rougher than he looks. "Wouldn't want to be fucking with your beauty sleep."
"How the fuck are you even vertical, old man?" Jensen ended up sleeping in his contacts, but even dry-eyed and blurry, he catches the glare Jeff sends his way.
"Years of experience, Jenny."
Jeff's gone before Jensen can do anything more than flip him off, but he seeing as how the glare wasn't accompanied by a 'get the fuck out of my bed,' Jensen rolls back over and crashes back out, filing the slight edge in Jeff's voice away for later.
Jensen can hear them before he even pushes open the door to the bar, but even so, he barely has time to flatten himself against the side as Sandy comes flying through.
"For God's sake, just go by the bank," Jeff growls. "Last time I looked, I wasn't paying you for insights into my life."
"The bank will be open for hours and trust me, you couldn't pay me enough to take on your life." She rolls her eyes at Jensen, pony-tail flipping as she turns down the street. "See if you can shove some aspirin down his stubborn throat, because I will not be responsible for my actions if he's this crabby all night long."
Jeff slams down a case of beer, still growling under his breath, like now that he's started, he doesn't see much need to stop, even if Sandy's three blocks away and still telling everyone she sees to start gearing up for the big surf because Jeff's in one of his moods.
"Hey, there, Prince Charming," Jensen says, letting the wind catch the door and slam it shut, and then smirking at Jeff's wince. "You having fun pulling pigtails and being mean to the little girls?"
"Fuck you."
"Any time, old man." Jensen leans against the bar and lets a little bit of a smile curve his mouth. Jeff gives him the once-over that says he gets that Jensen was serious, but before he can answer the door bangs open again and Hurricane Jared blows in.
"Jeff, man, can I talk to you?" Jared's voice is hoarse and his energy has a sharp, manic edge. Jensen starts to put it down to the late night, but then he catches how Jared keeps glancing over at the door. The guys Jensen can see through the big, plate glass window are wearing the standard beach uniform of board shorts and surfing shirts, but they still scream corporate money. Jared drags Jeff off toward the small office Jeff keeps in the back, but Jeff stops them right inside the kitchen door and it doesn't take long before he's coming right back out again, his jaw so tight Jensen would bet his next residual that he's ground the top layer of enamel off his teeth.
"For Christ's sake, Jared," Jeff grits out, not even bothering to look back. "Grow up and make a decision on your own."
Steve's head whips around at that; even Chris stops what he's doing and slews around to stare. Jensen knows his own face is nowhere near under control, but Jeff's slamming glasses around and Jared goes out in a rush, his head down to avoid eye contact. He doesn't slam the door, but he doesn't make an effort to catch it, either, and the wind does the work for him.
"Motherfuck," Jeff snarls, all but throwing down the crate of glasses he's got in his hands and stalking out the kitchen door.
Jensen really, really doesn't need this shit, but he waves Steve off and follows Jeff anyway. He catches a flash of surprise in Steve's eyes, which pisses him off to no fucking end, but since he's not exactly planning on playing peacemaker with Jeff's attitude, him being a little extra aggravated isn't gonna hurt.
"Yo, dumbass," Jensen says, when he gets through the kitchen and close enough to the office to see Jeff. He's standing with his back to the door, hands planted on the desk, head down. "That was impressive. What's next? Lessons on how to kick puppies?"
"You come for your fuck, boy?" Jeff doesn't bother to turn around. "Because I'm not seeing much reason for you to be around otherwise."
"Oh, yeah," Jensen drawls, as irritatingly as possible. "Now, that'd be entertaining--fucking you and that chip on your shoulder."
"Haven't heard you complain yet," Jeff says, but the fight's draining out of him. Jensen can see it in the slope of his back, even before Jeff slants a look sideways at him. "The chip's always there, in case you hadn't figured that out yet." Shrugging, Jensen holds Jeff's gaze until Jeff closes his eyes and shakes his head once. "Jesus, I need to get my act together."
"First good idea you've had all day, far as I can tell." Now that Jensen's reasonably certain he's not going to have to be ducking a right hook, he moves closer, until he can lean against the door. "Maybe you could clear out for a while."
"I do that every time I have a shitty day and I lose this, too." Jeff draws a breath in deep, holds it, and then stands up and scrubs his hand through his hair. "All right, let me go see if Sandy's back from the bank so I can get off her shit list, at least."
"This should be good," Jensen says. Jeff gives him a long, level look, but he doesn’t have much room to argue. "Raincheck on the fuck?"
Jeff snorts and bangs open the swinging door to the front room, but he's still a little off his game and Jensen catches the half-smile that quirks up the corner of his mouth. It's still only Steve and Chris out there, both of them watching Jensen and Jeff with frank appraisal. Jeff mutters something that might be an apology or might be a variation on 'fuck off.' Jensen figures it's about an even chance on either.
"Well, aren't you the sweet talker," Chris says, when Jensen finally wanders over to where he's working on the sound set-up, such as it is. He gestures to where Jeff's actually picked up the bottle of ibuprofen Steve's left on the bar, all without threatening to rip anybody's head off. "Must be those pretty eyes 'cause you weren't back there long enough for anything else."
"Wouldn't you like to know," Jensen says, gritting his teeth at how easily Chris can put him back to being twelve. Chris grins, like he knows exactly how irritating he's being, the fucker, and Jensen rolls his eyes. "He's back down off the edge. More or less."
"Yeah, that's good," Chris says. "Seein' as how I figure he can lighten the hell up or end up running the place himself tonight. Or get his head knocked off by a little bitty thing."
Jensen shrugs, because he's pretty sure Jeff's got a handle on whatever's bugging the shit out of him and there's not much more Jensen's prepared to do about it, but then Steve comes over and all of Jensen's disinterest goes up in smoke. He stands there while Steve and Chris poke and prod at the wiring, thinking that it's okay, he can deal, right up until he hears himself saying, "Thanks for the show of support, man," and walking off to go haul in cases of beer.
Personally, Jensen thinks Sandy lets Jeff off the hook too easily, but then, she really is a nice person, and Jensen should be thankful for small mercies, because even though she doesn't pitch a fit at Jeff--not even when she finds out about the thing with Jared--and Jeff's managing not to act like a complete prick, it's still a long day. Jensen's having no luck letting go of shit, enough that he's not even trying to hide how he's biting his tongue whenever Steve's around. He takes off later in the afternoon and ends up going for a run, his best tactic when he wants to punch something and has enough brain cells firing to know it's a bad idea.
Somewhere around the two-mile mark, it hits him that he maybe hasn't done too badly with the clean slate being out here on the edge of the Pacific has handed him. He stops out by Ho'okipa and takes his time walking it out, so he doesn't cramp up, and wants to punch something all over again, because it sucks beyond the telling that the first time he gets slapped in the face with how things used to be ends up coming from Steve.
A truck pulls up alongside him; Jensen steps back off the road before he recognizes Danneel behind the wheel.
"Hey, gorgeous." It's her usual greeting, but delivered with about a tenth of her usual energy. "What're you doing out here? I thought you were strictly working Baby Beach on your own."
"Yeah," Jensen says. "I'm out here... hell, I don't know why I'm out here." That sounds marginally better than I'm having a tantrum over my ex thinking I'm as much of a jerk as I think I am. "Not surfing, though, which, by the way, I know you've got the Grand prix or whatever coming up and all, but you look like shit."
"Normally, I'd leave your sweet ass right here for saying something like that," Danneel says. "But since looking like shit is about a thousand times better than I thought I was doing, I'm gonna say thank you, instead." She jerks her head toward the passenger seat. "You want a ride somewhere?"
Jensen considers running back for all of a second and a half. "Sure," he says. "As long as you promise you're not going to pass out at the wheel and kill me."
"Pinkie swear, baby." Danneel makes a show of checking for traffic and eases the truck back out onto the road from the soft shoulder. "I haven't dragged my ass out of bed before dawn for the last three months just to die the week I can actually do something for real." She shakes her head, laughing a little. "I might flame out from nerves, but I am way too fucking stubborn to give myself an actual physical out."
"Good to know," Jensen says. It's an easy ride back into town, and then there's no real way to avoid going back to Steve's place. Somebody's looking out for Jensen, though: the little house is empty, so he can shower in peace and put off trying to figure out what he's supposed to do next. Most of his brain wants to take the easy way out, open a beer and sit outside and listen to the island settle for the night, but another part is stubbornly insisting he'd be a fucking tool if he did it that way. He's usually pretty good at ignoring that voice, but tonight it won't let him go.
It's already packed and hot at Jeff's, people crowded around tables and spilling out of the door. Sandy's sliding in and around the crowd, her tray up over head as she shows the ropes to another girl, and Jeff barely has time to nod when he catches sight of Jensen. Steve and Chris are both on stage with guitars, but they're taking turns singing, so Jensen's guessing it's going to be a long night.
The usual table's taken--and Jared isn't around anyway, not that that's much of a surprise--so Jensen finds a couple of square inches at the end of the bar and reaches over to get himself a draft. It's a seriously tourist crowd tonight; about the only other person Jensen recognizes is Sandy's boyfriend, Zack or Zeke or whatever, standing next to him.
"Zeke," Jensen says, in his best I'm-really-not-in-the-mood-for-social-niceties-but-I-like-your-girlfriend tone.
"Zack," Zack corrects. Jensen grunts a non-verbal apology, but Z-boy never slows down enough to hear it. "I seriously don't get the appeal of this place, but whatever it is, Morgan must be raking it in."
Jensen nods and reminds himself he shouldn't turn his back on the idiot because Sandy's all but beaming at seeing them talking. "It's got a good vibe," he says, as short as he can.
"No telling what he could make if he sold the property; he’s had it since there wasn’t anything here but the hippies." Zack waves his hand. "He could set up again anywhere. It’s not like this is anything all that special."
Jensen’s a lot more pissed at the dismissive tone than he probably should be; Zack's so fucking clueless it's ridiculous.
"Well, like you said, he's been here a while," Jensen says, through gritted teeth. "He's dug in."
"Not really my scene," Zack says. "But hey, as long as it's somebody's right?" He laughs in a perfect imitation of the last casting agent Jensen saw, the one who told him that he was sure Jensen was somebody's dream boy, but the pretty look just wasn't working for him.
Jensen does turn away on that, reaching back over the bar to refill his glass and counting to ten. Zack's moved off to annoy some other guy by the time Jensen looks back, almost certainly because the new guy is higher up on the food chain than Jensen is. Thank God.
"Moron," he mutters.
"Yeah," Jeff agrees, closer than Jensen had realized. "But the last one was dealing out of her bedroom, and the one before that couldn't think his way out of a goddamned paper bag." He slides another beer down toward Jensen. "She'll tell you she's still light-years ahead of me, though."
"Yeah? She right?"
"Hell, yeah," Jeff says, shrugging. "None of hers have come after her with a broken bottle."
"Good to know I've got room to improvise," Jensen says. Jeff snorts and goes back to being the genial host, but Jensen can see the edges around the act tonight.
Danneel blows Jensen a kiss when she comes in, but she doesn't fight her way down to where he is, just sits up on the other end of the bar, holding court with a couple of guys Jensen vaguely recognizes--maybe the guys who rent the other place Jeff owns, more of the crowd Jensen privately calls the Pro Fun Circuit, who move with the weather--snowboarding in the winter, surfing on the shoulder seasons, rock-climbing and kayaking in the summer.
Steve and Chris switch off playing most of the night; Jensen could go and hang out with whoever's not on stage, but he stays where he is. Jeff doesn't say anything. It could be because he's going non-stop behind the bar, but Jensen's pretty sure it's more because he's staying out of it all.
Jensen doesn't move from where he's lounging until the last few drunk idiots head out to look for their boards. Jensen hopes they don't succeed; he can't see how they think they're sober enough to take on the ocean, but of all the things that aren't his problem, they're not even making the list. Jeff looks around, like he's knows he should start closing up for the night, but doesn't have a clue where to begin.
"Raincheck?" Jensen asks.
Jeff looks around one more time before he nods. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah." His voice strengthens, but he still sounds like there's not a whole hell of a lot he cares about. Jensen could take offense, but since it matches his mood perfectly, he follows Jeff out the back. They don't bother with lights at the house, or with any of the niceties. Jensen strips down as soon as they get in the bedroom, nothing fancy, just drops his shirt and shorts on the floor and leans back when Jeff crowds up close behind him.
Jeff's got his hands all over Jensen, rougher than their usual--nothing Jensen's going to complain about, even if he is going to end up marked all to hell and back--but he's not in the mood for a quick fuck against the wall tonight.
"Bed," he says, shoving Jeff in that direction, hissing as Jeff's nails scrape low on his belly. "First things first." He pushes Jeff down on the bed and goes to his knees, shouldering Jeff's legs apart, making a place for himself. Jeff stays quiet, but Jensen's been with him long enough to know how what he likes; knows to lick over the head of Jeff's dick as lightly as he can, and then spend an equal amount of time teasing the sweet spot under the crown. Jeff holds out longer than Jensen expects, but on the third go-round, his hands knot tight in Jensen's hair.
Whatever it is Jeff doesn't want to deal with, Jensen will match him straight up. Sex isn't going to fix things, but it'll at least wear them out enough to sleep.
When Jeff's watch beeps the next morning, Jensen knows he can stay as long as he wants at Jeff's, or he can go hang out wherever Jeff's heading off to, stay there long enough that Steve will have gotten back home and headed out again. He doesn't, though. He rolls over and finds his clothes, and fills a thermos from the Mr. Coffee on Jeff's counter. Jeff's still in lock-down mode, leaving with nothing but a quick nod, but Jensen figures getting out on the water by himself will probably help more than anything Jensen can do to knock whatever's eating him out of commission.
It's still dark as Jensen walks the familiar way between Jeff's and Steve's. When he gets to the little frame house, he can see Steve moving around inside, the usual pre-dawn routine of caffeine and rashguards and energy bars.
Jensen stands out on the grass for a long time until eventually--of course--Steve comes out. Steve hesitates when he sees Jensen, which is about as weird as it gets, and jolts Jensen out of his indecision. He takes the two steps to get to the bottom of the steps.
"I wasn't surprised that you were going after him--I mean, I was, but not for the reason you're thinking." Steve's face is still in the shadows; Jensen can't see it, not really, even though they're only a couple of feet apart, but he sees Steve react when he can't hold back from muttering, "Give me a fucking break."
"Jen," Steve sighs. "C'mon. I know you. I know you." He doesn't add sometimes better than you do, but Jensen hears it loud and fucking clear, which is pretty much the problem, except he doesn't know how to say, You're not supposed to be the one who's surprised when I'm not acting like an ass without sounding like he's begging for scraps.
Steve puts the thermos down on the top step and sits down next to it. "You don't let go, not when you give a shit." He looks up, right at Jensen. "You care about something, it's next to impossible to get you to walk."
"Maybe," Jensen says, suddenly sure they're not talking about Jeff or the day before. "Hasn't really helped much."
"Okay, yeah." Steve keeps right on holding Jensen's eye. "I left anyway. But it wasn't about you--"
"Yeah, we've had this talk. It wasn't me, you needed out, needed someplace that wasn't there." Jensen waves a little, encompassing the house and the mountains behind it, the ocean in the other direction. Chris, asleep somewhere inside. "I got it." It's not really the truth, though; Jensen's never quite been able to believe that was all it was, and Steve probably knows that, too.
"I couldn't stay," Steve says, after a lengthening silence that Jensen really can't call anything but awkward. "I know you never quite believed that, but I'm glad you came. I didn't think you would, not really. Yesterday... it--I just hadn't realized you'd dug yourself in here that much. Enough that you cared. So--"
"Steve--" Jensen starts, but Steve's not quite finished.
"So yeah, that surprised me… and I can't decide if I'm more happy that you're here, that you're really here and you care, or…"
"Or what?" Jensen's voice is stuck somewhere in his throat.
"Or really pissed off with the universe for the timing of all this. Everything."
Steve hauls himself to his feet and bumps his shoulder into Jensen as he goes past. Jensen could stop him, but since he doesn't have any idea what to say, he lets him go. As he goes up the steps, he's not at all surprised to see Chris watching from just inside the screen door.
"If this is the part where you tell me what an idiot I am, can we skip ahead to where you leave me to contemplate my general worthlessness?" Jensen says.
"You're not the only idiot," Chris says, shrugging and stepping back. "It's pretty damn entertaining, if you ask me."
"You know, if there's one thing I am sure of, it's that I didn't. Ask you," Jensen says, and he means for it to come out more sharply than it does, but he can blame that on the rest of the weirdness that's been this day so far.
"Nope," Chris agrees. "Doesn't mean it's not true." He wanders back over to the kitchen and starts grinding coffee beans. "This'll be ready in ten," he says, which gives Jensen enough time to pretend like he's got a grip on things and go take a shower.
"Two more beers," Sandy yells. Between the crowd and Steve and Chris jamming on stage, Jensen has to bend close to hear her. He might not be as into the whole surfing-as-Zen thing as the rest of them, but it doesn't take a genius to pick up that things have shifted. It's not only Jeff's--every place in town is packing them in. At Jeff’s, though, it’s not only tourists, but the crowd everyone’s coming to see, the guys waiting around for the big stuff, for the breaks from the first set of storms out in the Pacific.
It's pretty easy to figure out who are the tourists: the ones who come in yelling for Jeff are who everyone else is here to see. Jeff knows them all, every last detail about competitions and exhibitions in California and Oahu and Australia and South Africa. Jensen remembers the kids from Hana and their shock that he didn't surf and understands it a little better now.
It's not just old home week, though; Jeff never takes a break, never sits down unless he's out on the floor with a group. He always does decent business, but as the week goes along, Jensen figures it has to be like Christmas for a toy store, both the good and the bad. Steve spends every spare minute he's got dealing with whatever Jeff can't get to; Sandy's a blur, weaving in and out of the crowded tables; and even Chris is hauling cases off supplier trucks in the morning. Jensen's been telling his inner bitch, the one that keeps mentioning how none of this is his problem, that he would have to be a complete dick to sit around and ignore everything. He's not positive it's working, but he figures the entire trip has been an exercise in ignoring that voice, so he might as well keep going.
Right as Jeff finishes up the round of shooters Sandy needs and Jensen adds the beers, Chris calls for Jensen. "This one doesn't sound right without you, man."
There's a smattering of applause that's not so faint as to be embarrassing; when Jensen looks, he knows all the faces behind it, never mind that the place is jammed full of strangers. Steve's sliding through familiar chords and Chris is weaving notes around him already.
"Christ," he mutters to Jeff, wiping his hands on the towel he has tucked into his jeans. "Bartender and back-up singer. Every goddamned thing I swore I wasn't going to end up doing."
"Yeah," Jeff drawls, as Jensen goes over the bar. "I can tell how much it's fucking you up."
Jensen flips him off automatically, but Jeff's got a point. This should be bothering him a whole lot more than it is--it should feel like he's failing--but then he's managed to make it through the mob and up onto the stage. Steve's hitting the chords that really start the song and there's no time to think about anything but hitting his entry.
Steve still doesn't miss many mornings out on the water; Jensen's not sure how he's not killing himself from sleep deprivation, but then again, Jensen's out there a lot, too. He usually isn't catching more than one decent ride, but even if he's only sitting out on the board, it's worth dragging his ass out of bed. The clouds sweep in one morning, and Jensen doesn't even think to try to set up and catch a ride, just sits in the middle of the quiet storm and lets the sound of rain on water sink into him.
Steve drifts over, not saying anything as the squall blows through.
"You're not writing," Jensen says, after a bit. He's not entirely sure why he's bringing that up, but it feels like the right time.
"Chris been telling stories?" Steve asks.
"A little," Jensen admits. "It's hard to miss, though."
The wind picks up and starts whipping the rain down on them too hard to be comfortable, but neither one of them makes a move to leave. After a bit, Steve says, "When I left LA, I wanted out so bad, I couldn't think straight, and Hawaii was the last place I could remember that everything was easy. Right."
He stops talking, but Jensen knows he's not finished.
"I drifted around for a couple of months... Spent some time on Oahu and the Big Island, thought about going over to Molokai, but ended up here. I didn't expect to stay for more than a couple of weeks, but everything fell in place, and here I am." He looks at Jensen and laughs. "None of which answered your question, though."
Jensen shrugs. "You don't have to answer. I was just curious."
"Nah, it's okay," Steve says. "I was writing all along, but it was crap, all of it. Constant noise. And I got here and kinda just stuck and… I kept tripping over how I couldn't hear anything over that noise. So… I stopped. Figured I'd see what I could hear if I wasn't trying to lay it all out there again."
Jensen nods. Steve sounds okay about it, even good, so he's not going to push.
"Chris doesn't get this," Steve says, unexpectedly. "Being out here. Never has."
"'M not sure I get it either." Jensen shakes the rain out of his eyes. "Not so I can make sense of it."
"You're here, yeah?"
"Yeah." Jensen grins. "Don't ask me why, though."
"Whatever works," Steve says, smiling, and Jensen's not going to argue with that.
Jeff won't let Danneel work, not when she's supposed to be keeping sharp while everyone waits around for the guys running the Grand Prixe to decide that the weather and wave conditions are right. Sandy has a never-ending stream of friends who fill in, but Dani comes by every night anyway, lets Jeff and Sandy mother-hen her a little, gets in a little flirting with the Pro-Fun boys. Jensen's seen Sandy with Jared a couple of mornings, but Jared's still staying away from the cafe. Sandy says he's focusing on the upcoming competition, but Jensen doesn't need Danneel rolling her eyes to know that Jared's not exactly the type to go into hibernation before an event. She shoots Jeff a look of equal parts exasperation and resignation; Jeff ignores her, like he's ignoring everything else around him, and she sighs and goes back to moaning to Jensen about the goddamned weather not cooperating.
"Jared said the word is day after tomorrow looks good. And the day after that, too." Sandy slides in beside Danneel and loads up her tray. "When do the women go off?"
"Freestyle is set for the second day, early." Danneel puts her head down on the bar with a faint whimper.
"You're gonna kick butt, girl." Sandy pets her hair gently, and then smiles up at Jensen. "Jared's heat is supposed to start around four on the first day. Want to watch with me?"
"Me?" Jensen asks. "You know I won't have the faintest idea of what I'll be looking at, right?"
"Dani's all official, so she gets to watch from the pavilions. Zack hasn't called me back, but he probably has to work, and I'm not in the mood to go anywhere with Jeff," Sandy says, matter-of-factly. She glances over at Jeff and sighs. "Just… not dealing with it. So, do you want to watch with me or not?
"Yeah," Jensen says. Sandy isn't bothering to lower her voice; Jensen's fairly certain Jeff's heard every word, but he's not getting in the middle of those two. No way. "Sure."
For such a tiny person, Sandy is an unstoppable force when she wants to be. She pokes and slides and smiles and Jensen's pretty sure he sees her elbow a few guys twice her size out of her way, until they're in what she deems the perfect spot for watching the competition, high on the cliff looking over the water. Jensen's been out to Ho'okipa, even managed to catch one memorable ride that felt like he was going to die any second, but he's never seen it like this, with a couple hundred people jamming in close to watch the first rounds. He doesn't want to think how many are going to show for the finals. The wind is steady and strong and the waves are breaking fast, right on top of each other and not only nonstop, but definitely in stupid size territory, the kind where you have to be insane to even think about splashing around in the shallows when they break, much less deliberately going out to ride them.
An air horn goes off right as they get settled and the guys already out working the waves start to back off. Jensen recognizes Jared as one of the ones leaving the beach, the sail on his rig featuring headache-inducing stripes of pink and orange. Jensen's actually a little surprised Jared's wetsuit isn't striped to match, but he supposes he should be grateful for small mercies.
"Here we go." Sandy takes a deep breath and pulls a pair of binoculars out of her backpack and it takes about ten seconds, long enough for Jared to hit his first jump, for Jensen to decide that Jared really and truly is missing a part of his brain.
When the air horn goes off again to end the heat, Sandy knows just where to go to meet up with Jared. Judging from the mob that's surrounding Jared, Jensen figures that the reason he's a little shell-shocked isn't just that he's never seen a world class competition before. Jared breaks off from the group surrounding him and lopes over toward Jensen and Sandy, smacking high-fives randomly as he goes. He grabs Sandy like she doesn't weigh much more than a doll (which she doesn't) and laughs along with her.
"Not a brain cell in there, huh?" Jensen says, smacking Jared on the back of his head. "I don't know what to say, man. I guess, good heat?"
"Except for the part where I thought you were going for more than one spock-540," Sandy says. "And you kind of stuttered on the shaka."
"Picky, picky, picky," Jared answers, turning her upside down and ignoring her shrieks. "She's way more into this shit than I am."
"Jared, come on, stop--" Sandy's laughing so hard she can barely speak.
"Not until you say something nice." Jared's smirk is fairly impressive, given his usual open smile.
"This is total blackmail--stop! Okay, the stalled loop that you threw at the end? That was gorgeous."
Jensen has no idea what she's talking about, except he figures the stalled loop was the thing that looked like just a jump, Jared hanging in the air at a truly stupid height before whipping down and over and into a front flip, kind of like what he's doing to Sandy right now. Jensen takes a quick step back to avoid being smacked by wildly flailing arms as Jared flips her back upright and sets her on her feet.
The crowd shifts; up on the side of the pavilions, at the edge of the parking lot, he's somehow not surprised to see Jeff leaning against his Jeep, watching them. Judging by how far he and Sandy had to walk after they'd parked by the side of the road, Jensen figures Jeff's been there for a while. He turns back to tell Sandy, and catches Jared in an uncharacteristically still moment, looking past him, watching Jeff back, his eyes serious and guarded.
A dozen little things start shifting in Jensen's head--the beer in the cooler that nobody but Jared drinks, all the times Jared's around before- or after-hours, Jeff watching Jared walk out of the café with a pick-up, Steve's voice telling Jensen the next day that he'd never seen Jeff go home with anyone local… They've been there all along; Jensen's just finally seeing them at the right angle.
Jared turns away to talk to a couple of guys with video equipment, but Jeff doesn't take his eyes off him, not that Jensen can tell, and all the sliding pieces fall into place nice and neat. Jensen gets within conversational distance of Jeff before Jeff even notices he's there.
"So," Jensen says, ignoring Jeff's growl, "I was thinking there had to be a reason why you're fucking around with me when you can't take your eyes off Jared, and he's pretty much the same with you. I figure he's young enough to be stupid about shit like that. All I got for you is that you're plain stupid."
Jeff ignores him, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and shaking one out. He cups his hands around his lighter and drags deep before he looks at Jensen through the smoke, his eyes flat. "Not now, Jen."
Jensen intercepts the pack before Jeff slips it back into his pocket. "Nice day, pretty view... Jared's got people lining up to talk to him; Sandy's a little distracted." He waits until Jeff takes the hint and hands over his lighter, too. "No time like the present."
Jensen's halfway done with the cigarette before Jeff sighs. "Look at him," Jeff says, motioning to where Jared's still talking to guys with notebooks and cameras, gesturing enthusiastically toward the water, breaking off occasionally to yell insults and compliments back and forth with half a dozen other guys, all wearing competitor numbers.
"Yeah?" Jensen shrugs. "He likes what he does. He's good at what he does."
"He's not just good," Jeff says. "Most of the guys out there could do what he does. But they don't. They don't focus; they get caught up in fifteen kinds of BS; they don't take it seriously. He does."
"Okay, I'll give you that," Jensen answers. "Still doesn't answer my question."
"He... doesn't need anything distracting him." Jeff's studying the ground in front of him, refusing to make eye contact. "He needs to quit thinking I know shit."
"Because you're tired of being Yoda?" Jensen needs to remember to keep his mouth shut; it's not like he's going to get anything out of this deal, except for probably not getting fucked anymore, if the look in Jeff's eyes is anything to go by. He'd stab himself if he could, but since he was stupid enough to open the whole can of worms, he's damn well not backing off now. "Give me a fuckin' break, okay? You want me to go away, at least spin me something halfway believable. Like, hell---I don't even know. I mean, he's young, yeah, but he's not that much younger than me, and I think we've established that fucking me's not a problem. "
"Fine," Jeff grits out. "You want believable--how about this. All this--" he jerks his hand out, encompassing the crowd and the video equipment, Jared and all the people crowded around him. "It can go like that." He snaps his fingers. "Especially--especially--if you're cocky and stupid and don't keep your eye on the ball. If you're so fucking full of yourself, hey, king kahuna, hellman, so fucking blind to how thin that knife's edge under your feet really is."
"Right," Jensen drawls, taking the final drag off his cigarette. "Let's be real clear here, and please don't tell me I'm the only one who knows we're not talking about Jared now."
Jeff curses, low and ugly, but doesn't say anything else, and finally Jensen sighs. "Look, I get that blowing out your knee fucked things up, but--it's an insane way to make a living. Shit happens. Hell, how many guys went down today--"
"Going down out there, that's one thing," Jeff says, flat and dull. "Spending half your life fucked-up, enough so you take yourself out just walking down stairs, that's another."
"Okay, so--"
"And keeping yourself fucked up after that, so you don't have to deal with reality, until there's nothing left but a condemned building you don't even remember buying...that's something else altogether." Jeff crushes out the rest of his cigarette. "Nobody--nobody--needs to be coming to me for anything."
"Yeah, because you haven't done anything since then." Jensen keeps his eyes on the ocean, on the steady roll of the waves and the back-and-forth of the four guys who are working the last heat of the day. "You know, I get the whole not being happy with history thing, but there's that and then there's just plain running scared. Jared's managing pretty well. You might want to keep that in mind for the next time you tell yourself we're fucking so you don't mess things up for him."
Sandy's coming toward them; Jensen pushes himself off the hood of the Jeep and goes to meet her. He could hang out here longer, but he's not counting on Jeff giving him a ride back to town and he'll be damned if he's going to walk five miles just to say more things for Jeff to ignore.
"That looked like it went well," Sandy says, squinting over Jensen's shoulder to where Jeff's still wallowing.
"You have no idea," Jensen answers. Sandy snorts, and Jensen remembers the odd looks she's been giving Jeff ever since he started sleeping with Jensen. "Well, okay, maybe you do."
"I'd say that they're really, really stupid, but they've been there for me, through a lot of spectacularly bad guys, so I don't have the room to talk."
"Me either," Jensen says. "But I said it anyway."
"You know what?" Sandy links her arm through his and smiles up at him. "Even if Steve's not around, I have the keys to the cafe, and a killer recipe for rum punch. And if that's too much work, we can always stop and get a shave ice and pour some vodka over it."
"You're on, darlin'," Jensen says, smiling back at her. The side of the road is rocky and uneven enough that they can't walk quickly, but even with having to pick their way along the road to where they parked Sandy's car, plus the crazy tourist traffic, they'll still be back in town in under an hour. "You are definitely on."
The spiked shave ice wins out in the end; on a whim, Jensen grabs a couple extra and passes them along to Steve and Chris at the cafe. Peace offering for Steve, who-the-fuck-knows-what for Chris, but it's less of thing than he's half-afraid it'll be. Steve just grins at him; Chris actually glances up from where he's scribbling something in his notebook to say thanks; and Sandy looks like she's about to pat him on the head for being a good boy. At least there's vodka, Jensen thinks, settling himself on the bar within easy reach of the bottle.
Jeff comes in right as they're licking the last sticky drops off their hands, everyone nice and mellow. Jensen waits for the blow-up, but Jeff just ducks behind the bar and reaches for the coffee.
"It's... Christ, I thought I had this under control," Jeff says, quietly enough that Jensen has to move closer to hear him. "All of it."
"Tell me about it," Jensen says, maybe a little more honestly than he intends. Jeff snorts and Jensen can't help smiling, too. "Your call, man. I'm good either way."
"Your heartbreak is killing me," Jeff says, dry enough to cure paint.
"Ditto." Jensen crumples the little paper cone and rings the trash bin behind the bar for a three-pointer. "Swear to God, I won't be coming after you with a broken bottle."
It's not really much, but it's not just going along with whatever, either. Jensen feels a little stupid at the jolt of something--satisfaction, maybe; or pride--that he gets when Jeff gives him a long, thoughtful look and nods.
"Steve," Jeff says, more loudly. "I've been out at Hook since sun-up; I'm gonna grab a shower and be back in five. It's shaping up to be a madhouse tonight--"
"Yeah," Steve says. "Let me call around and see if anybody can drop us some extra kegs."
Chris at least has the sense to wait until Jeff's gone before he cocks an eyebrow at Jensen and says, "No invite to join him? Definitely losing your touch, Hollywood."
"Oh, it's gone like you wouldn't believe, Kane." Jensen picks up the mug Jeff had been drinking from and dumps it in the sink.
Steve's watching and Jensen shrugs. It's not a big deal; he doesn't want Steve thinking it is. Sandy looks around the room, still mostly a disaster from the night before, and sighs.
"Okay, six more days of this insanity, tops. Three, if the weather holds."
Steve pulls her into a one-armed hug and she burrows into him for a second. "I know I should be rooting for six, just for all the money, but I am so tired this year." She tilts her head up to look at Steve. "And don't tell me to stop getting up early to deal with everything else, either."
"You know I wouldn't do that," Steve says, kissing her on the top of her head. "You might want to try a nap sometimes, though."
"No time for that, either, not if I want to have any kind of a social life, even one that's as lame as mine." She disappears into the kitchen with a tray of dirty glasses, and Jensen can hear her banging around with the dishwasher.
Steve heads back into the kitchen to deal with the crates and boxes the suppliers dropped off right as Jeff is coming back through the door on his way to the coffee. As tired as he looks, Jensen wonders if he ever actually went to bed the night before. Now that Jensen's figured out the underlying story, he's willing to bet Jeff sat around and argued with himself all night.
Jensen's halfway through taking notes as Jeff goes through the bar and figures out what needs to be re-stocked before it occurs to him that he could be the one taking a nap, but the thought's there and gone almost before he notices it.
Jensen's not exactly happy about crawling out of bed before ten the next morning, especially not when the night before didn't end until close to five, but Sandy says Danneel's heat is one of the first ones, and Jensen figures getting by on a couple of hours of sleep isn't going to kill him.
Sandy brings breakfast--and not just muffins. She chatters on about how the eggs in the quiche are free-range and the vegetables are organic, with Jensen nodding and making encouraging noises but not really listening, not once he's reasonably sure there's nothing even remotely related to Spam--or tofu--in whatever she's feeding him. They get an okay parking spot by the side of the road--not all that close to Ho'okipa, but it won't be too bad of a hike--and sit on the trunk to eat. The breeze is fresh and warm, salty, right off the ocean, and Sandy calls out hellos to everyone she knows who walks by. Jensen's mildly shocked to realize he recognizes at least half of them.
They work their way back to the same spot on the cliff, Sandy all but vibrating with nervous tension.
"She really, really needs this," Sandy says, when Jensen slings an arm around her shoulder and tells her he's afraid she's going to spazz right off the cliff. "I'm always keyed up for Jared's runs, but Dani... she's right on the edge now."
"She's been working her ass off," Jensen says. "Hasn't slacked off at all, not that I can tell." He's not exactly an expert, but Sandy nods anyway.
"I don't think she's going to psych herself out, not this time, but she really needs a good run to start."
Jensen's way too familiar with how easy it is to fuck yourself over, no matter how well prepared you are, but he only says, "Yeah, well, I'm counting on you to keep me up on the details. Staying vertical, I got, but the rest of it is totally lost on me."
The air horn goes off and Sandy tightens her grip on Jensen's arm, digging her nails in hard. Jensen manfully doesn't wince, but he doesn't think it's fair that there's no one to notice but him.
Danneel stays vertical the entire heat, and according to Sandy, hits more than enough good stuff to get through to the next round. Sandy drags him back down off the lookout and through the crowds milling around on the beach so they can find Danneel and Sandy can lob off a few I-told-you-sos.
When they get there, Jared's already with Danneel--with the big number pinned to his wetsuit he can cruise around pretty much anywhere he wants. Sandy--barely--lets him finish up with the technical dissection before she launches herself at Danneel. Jensen braces himself for the kind of shrieking that could shatter glass, but instead there's just some massive hugging and a few tears. Followed by the expected I-told-you-sos.
Jensen settles for a quick tug on Danneel's ponytail and extracts a promise that she'll still sit with him at Jeff's even now that she's on her way to the big time. "Keep me safe from all those piranhas out there," Jensen says, grinning at how he can practically see the stress sloughing off her.
He backs off to let her talk to a couple of other competitors and nearly steps on Jeff, coming up behind him.
"Looks like we can stop pretending I'm not gonna need to hire that second waitress," Jeff says.
"God, don't jinx me," Danneel answers. "It's only the first round." Jeff laughs, while Sandy shushes her, launching into the power-of-positive-thinking speech, and there's a small surge and eddy in the crowds moving along the narrow strip of beach. Jensen ends up between Jeff and Jared for a fast few seconds before Jeff gets called over to another group a couple steps away. Jensen is really very proud of himself for not laughing out loud, but he's gonna lose it if he keeps looking at Jeff, so he half-turns toward Jared and says the first thing that pops into his head.
"You two on speaking terms yet? Or do we need to turn Sandy loose on him?"
"We're good," Jared says. "We talked, and I... y'know, I should be doing more of this business shit myself, stop bugging people, so..."
"Really," Jensen says, and he probably shouldn’t be surprised that Jeff pussied out of saying what really needed to be said, let Jared jump to the obvious conclusion, but he does have his limits, and he's not even going to try to keep the sarcasm levels down. "You had that conversation, huh?"
"Um, yeah. So, I'll probably come by tonight." Jared blinks, obviously thrown a little but Jeff heard Jensen, too, and that's really what Jensen was after.
"Every night's a party," Jensen says, and then gets himself away from the people who have every right to be celebrating. He can wait for Sandy someplace where he's not tempted to explain the ABCs of deflection to Jared right in Danneel's lap.
Jared's next round is supposed to start in an hour or so; Sandy's staying around to watch. Jensen could hitch a ride back to town--that was the plan--but he ends up walking a little ways down the beach, away from the crowds and just chilling for a while. He's spent more time alone since he's gotten here than in the entire time he was in LA. He supposes he should be thinking deep, meaningful thoughts, or meditating, or something equally worthy, but that's probably a little too much to ask.
He's far enough away that the air horns sometimes get lost in the wind and the surf, but there's no mistaking Jared's headache-inducing sail when he starts out for his heat. There's not time for Jensen to get back up to Sandy's prime position on the cliff, so he watches from down low. He can't see as much from there, but half the people standing around him are either in the competition or sound like they're running it, and he can't help hearing their offhand comments. Most of them expect Jared to take the freestyle category, this being his home beach and all. Jensen thinks about everything Jeff said--and the stuff he didn't say, but Jensen's seen for himself--and has to wonder how Jared's dealing with the weight of those expectations.
Jared waves as he walks back up the beach at the end of his heat; Jensen watches with a critical eye as Jared weaves through crowd, but Jared never fails to stop and smile and say hi, even when Jensen can tell he doesn't know the person he's talking to.
"Hey, man," Jared calls, as soon as he gets close enough. "Thought you were strictly here for the girl-talent, today."
"Figured you'd be more entertaining than watching the inside of my eyelids," Jensen says.
"Dude. You gave up a nap for me?" Jared strikes a pose, hand over his heart. "I'm honored."
"Yeah, well, remember that tonight, when I lose my grip and bitchslap the first idiot who asks for a Surfer on Acid."
"That's what Jeff keeps the baseball bat behind the bar for," Jared says, laughing.
"No," Sandy says, coming up behind Jensen, clipping her phone to the waistband of her shorts. "That's what he thinks he keeps it there for. It's really there so I can dream of beating some sense into him when he's being a pain."
She pecks Jared on the cheek and tells him where he didn't quite hit the mark, but then looks at Jensen to see if he's ready to leave.
"Places to go--"
"People to do," Jared finishes with her.
"Yeah, go on, rub it in," Jensen says. "Some of us don't have anything better to do than head back for a nap." He pretends not to see how closely Jared's watching him; he's at least a good enough actor to fake that. And to pretend he doesn't know that Jeff's around somewhere, too.
Sandy links arms with Jensen as they walk back to the car. "That was... tactful," she says, with a half-smile.
"Too tired for sarcasm," Jensen shrugs. "Plus, y'know, there's not really any good way to announce, Hey, not fucking." Especially when he's not supposed to know that Jared gives a damn who Jeff's fucking.
"I swear," Sandy says. "This week's been ten kinds of crazy." She laughs, but it doesn't sound like her usual happy giggle.
"You okay?"
"Sure," Sandy says, too lightly, too quickly. "Just tired."
"If you say so," Jensen answers after a bit, letting her change the subject and fill the rest of the trip back to Steve's with mindless chatter.