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Silver Star, CWrpf, JA/JDM, 1/2
Title: Silver Star
Fandom: CWrpf
Pairing: Jensen/JDM
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~20,000 words
Warnings: Guns, threats, people get hurt
A/N: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_meanttobe challenge. My prompt was:
Beneath the Badge === As a Texas Ranger, Hayes Keller was used to tough assignments. But protecting Taylor Landis after a recent attack and keeping his professional distance was the most challenging job Hayes had ever faced. Every instinct told him not to let her get under his skin, but sticking by her side--all day and through the hot summer night--was pushing him to the limit. (1)
It, uh, got a little complicated on me. Thanks and babbling at the end.
Also posted in one part at AOOO, here.
Jeff Morgan hated hospitals. There was good reason to be there--Jeff couldn't argue with a man who refused to leave his friend and business partner, not even to meet with the people supposed to be protecting him--but even walking down the halls, passing white coats and scrubs and the occasional patient out walking slowly with a hovering relative and trailing IV pole, was enough to make Jeff's shoulders and jaw tighten. He kept his mouth shut, though, and followed his lieutenant into the small conference room that had been set aside for them. The Austin city police were already there, as well as representatives from the Travis County sheriff and the Texas State DPS. With Jeff and Lt. Martinez there from the Rangers, it made a full house. Everyone had stacks of manila folders with them, messy and thick, notes and photos spilling out of them as everyone set them down on the polished wood table and worked on their defensive postures. The only thing that would make it worse in Jeff's mind would be if the feds were on the case, too, but since everything had happened inside the borders of Texas, they were on their own.
For now.
There was a silent jockeying for who was going to run the meeting. Jeff didn't give a good goddamn; all he wanted was to get it over with, so he could get on with his job, but he ground his teeth and pretended like it was important. The Austin chief won out, finally; technically, they were all sitting in his jurisdiction, even if the "incidents" had happened all over the damn state, with the most recent, and serious, out in Travis County. It turned out not to be a bad thing: the aide who actually gave the briefing was concise and organized. Jeff had read everything he covered, but it never hurt to confirm that.
"We have an escalating pattern of threats and harassment, beginning with the letter of 15 March, demanding all work cease on the Riverwalk project, petty vandalism at the job site itself, increasingly hostile letters, and phone calls to both Mr. Padalecki and Mr. Ackles, their foremen, and most recently, to their private phone numbers. Up until the incident two nights ago, there was no physical harm to anyone."
Jeff was sourly amused at how they were skipping right over the part where it had taken a good 24 hours before anyone had even admitted that the "incident" was related to the threats. From the terse update Jeff had gotten on his way up from McAllen, no one had suspected anything but bad luck and a driver who, by his own admission, tended to push his vehicles well beyond the limits of their suspensions. Blow-outs on a back-country road could turn ugly in a split-second; it wasn't until Jared Padalecki had woken up enough to communicate that someone had shot out the front passenger-side tire on the pick-up truck he'd been driving that people started putting things together. Actually, Jeff corrected himself silently, it wasn't until the boys at the DPS crime lab had corroborated Padalecki's story that things got cranking. What really got Jeff's attention was that it had only taken a couple of hours to get that corroboration. That was a sign of some serious string-pulling and glad-handing at the highest levels.
Jeff tuned back in to Assistant #2, who was far less concise, and followed idly along with the word-by-word dissection of the threatening letters and transcripts of calls that had made it to voicemail. Jeff had listened to the actual recordings on the way over to the hospital--they weren't getting anything from them other than heavy breathing and a voice synthesizer, but it was sometimes helpful to have the specific words spelled out and in front of you. It was very rarely helpful, however, to have them read to you in a voice that wasn't even as dynamic as the synthesized version in the original. Jeff was ready to tune back out again, when there was a cursory knock at the door and Jeff could finally get a look at Jensen Ackles in real life.
Jeff recognized him right off. Even the blurred grainy pictures that had been emailed to him that morning were enough to give him the general idea of the man, but they, as always, failed to convey what Jeff always wanted to know most--the way a person moved, how they shaped and filled the space around them. Given what Jeff knew about Jensen Ackles--highly successful at a young age, well-known on the society pages of both Austin and his hometown of Dallas, reportedly focused and driven, openly gay--he found himself intrigued by the quiet and contained presence he projected. Jeff could see him taking in the entire room, acknowledging those he knew as he moved to the seat at the conference table kept open for him. The chief greeted him with a handshake, nodded his assistant back into his seat and got down to the nitty gritty, which was that everyone in the room, every law enforcement agency involved, felt that the attacks weren't done yet.
Ackles took the news as though it wasn't anything he hadn't already worked out for himself, and then extended the thought in the logical direction. "And you still don't have any leads." It was a statement, not a question. There was a lot of eye-shifting going on between the local guys and the state troopers.
"Nothing concrete," Jeff's lieutenant answered, equally as blunt. "And the consensus is that the best way we're going to smoke this sonofabitch out is--"
"To use me as bait," Ackles said, coolly. He met the lieutenant's eyes dead-on.
"Yes, sir," Martinez said. "Not something I like--not something any of us like--but with the proper precautions, something we think might work."
"The proper precautions?"
"That'd be where I come in," Jeff said, stepping forward from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Ranger Sergeant Morgan, Mr. Ackles. I'll be your bodyguard."
The pictures Jeff had seen had hinted at the directness of Ackles's gaze, but they failed at sketching out the intensity in the green eyes that met Jeff's own without hesitation. Jeff read stubbornness and intelligence and determination, and wasn't at all surprised by the crisp, rapid-fire questions that followed: How long? and What about Jared, who's keeping him safe? and The people who work for us?
Jeff let the higher-ups spin their plans and projections while he kept his focus on the silent communication between them. Padalecki was getting plain-clothes city detectives around the clock, but for the rest of it, they were going to play it dumb, as though they hadn't figured out there was a connection between the threatening calls and letters and the accident. It really didn't make Jeff happy, using a civilian as bait, but nobody was asking him, which was Exhibit A as to why he was a Ranger now, instead of a senior detective.
"So, if I understand this properly, what it comes down to is I go about my business, with the addition of Sergeant Morgan here, and we count on whoever this is getting cocky and tipping his hand," Ackles said.
"We're giving it a week," the chief said. "The escalation pattern says he's going to try something again soon. We'll keep working every angle, of course; if nothing breaks quickly, we'll have to discuss other measures, but for right now, seeing you around in your usual routine... We think it might rattle him some, get him rushed enough that he makes a mistake."
"And I rate a Ranger for all this?"
"Special request of the governor," Jeff's lieutenant said, and Jeff was watching everything close enough to see how the skin around Ackles's eyes tightened, as though he were annoyed, but not surprised.
"Fine." Cool green eyes took Jeff's measure again. "If we're going to do this, let's get started. I've been here since I got the call about Jared; everything else has been on hold."
"I'm good," Jeff said, stepping back to collect his files and get the standard Call in; stay sharp; you're not expendable line from the lieutenant. It rubbed a lot of the newer guys the wrong way, but Jeff had seen way too many good men go down on the most routine of assignments to blow off a reminder that somebody had his back.
He had a feeling he was going to need all the luck he could get with this case.
***
Jensen wasn't sure what he was supposed to think after multiple law-enforcement agencies dropped the bomb that not only was somebody out to get him, but that the best way to catch them was to let them come after him.
Chief Curtis, from the Austin city police followed him right out the door. Jensen knew the guy a little, but he knew enough to know Jared had worked with him before, on a Big Brothers project.
"How's Jared?" Curtis asked, quietly.
"Awake," Jensen answered, rolling his eyes. "Starving. Alternating between charming the staff and raising holy hell about being stuck in bed." He couldn't help smiling a little at the expression on the chief's face. "Yeah, he rolled the truck, broke his leg and cracked four ribs and he's already whining about having to be still."
"Well, they don't call him Sasquatch for nothing," the chief said, smiling. "Still, that's good to hear."
"It is," Jensen agreed. "It'd be better if we could just keep him sedated until he can get around on his own, but I'll take the bitching and moaning over him being in a coma any day."
"Absolutely," the chief agreed, shaking hands once again going back into the conference room, nodding as Morgan, the Ranger came out. He fell into step easily with Jensen.
"They were shooting Jared up with a whole cocktail of painkillers right when I was leaving to come talk to everyone," Jensen said, as they wound their way through the hospital corridors, aiming for the elevators to the parking garage. "He wasn't real happy about it, but I saw the look in the charge nurse's eyes--he's drooling on the pillow by now because she was really damn tired of dealing with him."
Morgan nodded. "You might want to tell your buddy it's never a good idea to wear out the nurses."
"Yeah, you'd think he'd figure that out sooner or later--he's a smart guy--but it probably wouldn't hurt to break it down into words of a syllable or less." The elevator arrived with an obnoxious ding that sounded like freedom to Jensen; Morgan looked as though he agreed. "I'm on four--you?"
"Two," Morgan answered, pushing the button. "And you'll need to be with me."
"Is that really necessary? I thought the point was to pretend nothing's going on?"
"Someone put three rounds from a Remington 7600 into the tires of your partner's truck," Morgan said, evenly. "I'm not going to be doing much good if I'm fifty feet behind you in a different car if it happens again. I'm not saying that they won't try it again, even if you're with me, but at least I've actually driven through something like that."
"Right," Jensen answered, after the briefest of pauses. "Sorry. This is going to take some getting used to."
"It usually does," Morgan said. "Not a problem." Unless you want to make it one, his eyes added, and Jensen nodded fractionally.
"I need to get some things from my car," Jensen said, as they got off the elevator. "Files, notes--I pretty much dropped everything when Jared's family called."
"Sure," Morgan said, unlocking the doors on a Bronco. "We'll loop down and you can get whatever you need." He cranked the engine and shifted into reverse.
"This thing is a tank," Jensen said, watching Morgan navigate delicately out into the narrow traffic lane. He wasn't sure there was room for more than one person between it and the parked cars. "And I'm speaking as someone who spends a fair amount of time in an F-150."
"Drives like one, too," Morgan said, with a surprisingly infectious grin. "I'm on the road a lot; at least this thing's big enough I can be in it all day without my bad knee raising holy hell."
"Yeah," Jensen said, sobering quickly. "That's why we have the trucks--enough space for even Jared."
"It's probably good he had all that steel around him," Morgan said, quiet and matter-of-fact. "And that he was wearing a seatbelt, so he wasn't thrown."
"Yeah," Jensen said again, pushing the images out of his mind. Whatever the fuck was going on, Jared was okay, at least for now. He took a deep breath and pointed. "My car's at the end, down that way."
"I can call and have somebody get it out--"
"No," Jensen said, quick enough that Morgan looked over at him. He shook his head and shrugged, a little sheepish. "Sorry--she's my baby. Nobody touches her but me."
Morgan didn't say anything, but when Jensen pointed out where he'd parked the Corvette, he whistled long and low. Jensen couldn't help smiling as he got out of the Bronco and circled around to unlock the passenger-side door. All his stuff was still there, right where he'd thrown it as he'd come out of the condo two mornings ago, aggravated because Jared hadn't checked in the night before. Half the time, Jared forgot about it, so Jensen hadn't really been worried, not until he'd taken the call from Sherri, on the road up from San Antonio.
"Ah, now, that is sweet," Morgan drawled, drawing Jensen's attention back to the present. "I wouldn't let anybody touch her either."
"Thanks," Jensen said. "My brother found her in a junkyard a long time ago; I put her back together myself."
"Nice work if you can get it." Morgan put the parking brake on and got down to look a little more closely. "With the split rear window... A '63, yeah?"
"Yeah," Jensen said. "Totally rebuilt--I'd pop the hood for you, but the light in here isn't worth shit." Jensen transferred his laptop bag and a box of files into the back of the Bronco. "You're safe for now."
"Nah," Morgan said, making sure the back window was locked and climbing back up into the driver's seat. "I'll hold you to it when we're not on the clock here."
"Okay," Jensen said, after a couple of seconds. Most people could care less about the work that went into restoring something like a vintage Corvette, but Morgan's voice had been sincere. Jensen settled himself in the passenger seat and pressed hard at the bridge of his nose, as though that might push back the exhaustion of the last 36 hours. "Deal."
He stayed quiet while Morgan got them out of the garage, speaking only when asked where they were going so the address could get fed into the GPS, but he had a list of questions and there in the car, alone and relatively quiet, seemed to be as good a time as any to start getting answers.
"So," Jensen said, once they were out on the street and moving. "How's this going to work?"
Morgan considered his answer for a few seconds. "Normally, we'd be in a safe house," he started, before glancing across the front seat. The windows on the Bronco were tinted, but it was still mid-afternoon and the glare from the sun had been enough to have them both reaching for sunglasses as soon as they'd gotten out of the parking deck. Jensen couldn't read anything behind the sunglasses, but, tired or not, he was pretty sure his own game face was in play.
"I've worked a good number of security cases, private ones as well as ones with the local and state cops, but as far as I can tell, we're making this one up as we go along," Morgan finally said. Jensen nodded, a little surprised by the candor, but appreciative all the same. Morgan added, "I don't like this set-up at all, but it wasn't my call. We'd be doing things a hell of a lot differently if it was."
"All right, then," Jensen said. "I guess we'll just see how things play out."
***
The offices were tucked away in a quiet street, not far from the Capitol. Jeff parked the Bronco and followed Ackles in the front door. The lobby was flooded with sunlight from the skylights and the floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the room, facing out into an inner courtyard. The rest of the walls were covered with giant photos of buildings--public spaces as well as private homes--that Jeff figured out quickly enough were the firm's design.
The lobby was empty except for a couple standing in front of the reception desk--or, rather, once Jeff got a good look at body language, a man and a woman, because she was not having any of his shit, for all that he was nearly a foot taller, even counting the good-sized heels on the cowboy boots that went with the jeans and suede jacket. On the job or not, Jeff could admire the legs they showcased. And it was screamingly clear that the guy was, at the very least, a pain in the ass. Slick, Jeff thought, all trendy haircut and clothes. They broke off their heated discussion as they heard the door open.
"Jen!" the woman said, spinning on one heel, and starting across the room toward Ackles, the other guy completely dismissed. Jeff kept his face straight, but gave her points for knowing how to cut the legs out from under a guy. With style. "How is he?" she called, before she got even halfway across the lobby.
"He's banged up, but he's gonna be fine, Dani." Ackles caught her in a hard hug.
"Really?" she asked, into his shoulder. "The hospital's just saying he's stable, no details, and there's no way I was going to bother his family."
"Swear to God," Ackles said, setting her back on her feet. "He's whiny and crabby and doing his best impersonation of a two-year-old."
"Okay, good." She gathered herself with a quick shake and touched the corners of her eyes with the tips of her fingers, careful not to smudge her make-up.
"Tears?" Ackles' grin was relaxed and familiar, completely at odds with the cool professionalism in every picture Jeff had seen of him. "Sweetie, don't tell me you're going soft on us--"
"One word, Ackles," she snapped. "One word of this to Jared and I will rebook you into a Motel 6 for every single business trip between now and the end of the year."
Ackles smirked, but held up his hands in the universal I surrender gesture, before he turned to where the other guy still stood, trying to look like he wasn't ready to throw a tantrum over not being the center of attention.
"Michael," Ackles said, and Jeff had to work hard not to double-take at the change in his tone, from open and warm with Dani to cool, verging on downright unfriendly. "It's been a while."
"I heard about Jared," Michael answered, with an expression that--almost--passed for compassionate and concerned. Slick needed to work on the edges of the act, Jeff thought. They didn't quite match up with the rest of the front. "I thought I'd come by and see you needed any help. It must be a madhouse, what with having to cover all the projects you've got working."
Jeff wasn't impressed; neither was Dani, not to judge by the way she had gone back into attack posture.
"We're fine. Dani is a genius at keeping projects on track, no matter what," Ackles said, firmly steering the other man toward the door. "We'll let you know if we need anything."
He held the door open as he finished speaking, and stood, waiting expectantly until Slick nodded and walked outside.
"Very impressive," Slick said. "But remember, Jen... I know you, and I know you like to push people away right when you need them most. My assistant knows to put you through to me immediately, just in case." He smiled a superior sort of smile and nodded in the same way to Dani before he turned and walked off toward the parking lot.
Dani held her tongue until the door was closed. "Nothing personal, Jensen, but God almighty, you have some shitty taste in boyfriends."
"Ex-boyfriends," Ackles said. "But I'm not going to argue with you. What the hell was he doing here?"
"I have no idea, but get this--he wanted to leave you a note, in your office." Dani shuddered, and while most of it was for show, Jeff could see the kernel of truth in there. "That's what we were arguing about when you got here."
"You know, I stopped trying to figure out Michael's motivations a while ago," Ackles said.
"And a good day that was, too," Dani fired back. "Okay, enough about the jerk. Your voicemail is full; Tommy called through to my line, to make sure you got his point that you needed to call if there's anything they can do, and Kane's in my office, working through the schedules with me."
She eyed Jeff speculatively.
"This is Jeff Morgan," Ackles started, and Jeff could tell he was about to explain everything. Jeff caught his eye and shook his head fractionally, and Ackles shifted gears smoothly. "He's working on a--on a project of my mother's, so if we can find him an empty desk, that'd be good."
Jeff pasted a smile on his face--they really should have gone over things but it was a Saturday, and neither of them expected anyone to be in the office--but Dani only nodded and showed him to a relatively large conference room.
Jeff took the opportunity to call in and double-check that nothing had changed on the case--which it hadn't--and jot a few notes to himself. When Ackles came in a few minutes later, Jeff couldn't help smirking. "I work for your mother?"
"Trust me, she has her fingers in so damn many different pies, no one's going to question it, even if they do peg you as a Ranger." Ackles shrugged. "Plus, I have a pretty good feeling she's been making calls and pushing things along--that 'personal request of the governor'... If that wasn't her, I'll stand everybody who works for me a round at the next happy hour, so you are working for her, in a sense."
Jeff nodded thoughtfully. "Someone got things moving pretty fast, no doubt about it. Everything from the lab getting a look at the tires from the accident to everybody playing nice and cooperating on this."
"And you getting hauled in from McAllen to babysit me." Ackles was really damn good at keeping his voice and face under control, but Jeff could tell this wasn't sitting right with him, and it had nothing to do with the part where he was a moving target.
"Part of the job," Jeff said, keeping his own voice dead serious. "And nothing I haven't done before, both in uniform and privately."
"I'll take your word for it," Ackles said. "But I'm still seeing her fingerprints all over this."
Jeff hesitated, not exactly sure how to say what needed to be said. He'd done a few security cases where the individual in question spent all their time trying to lose him--teenagers, usually, not wanting to understand the seriousness of the situation. In one or two instances, they'd actually been correct, but that didn't mean Jeff still hadn't grimly hung on and outsmarted them. Ackles didn't seem the type to play games, but Jeff had been around too long to not to catch the warning signs of someone pushed past their limit.
"I'm fine," Ackles said, before Jeff could find the right words. "I'm not going to make this any harder than it needs to be, at least not the part of it that's right here and now." Jeff nodded and Ackles grinned suddenly. "Besides, she'll probably have a fit or two when she hears that I've got you working for her. She's very particular about who she hires."
"I'll leave that to you," Jeff said, dryly.
"Listen," Ackles said. "Dani's got things mostly under control here, and a lot of what I'm going to need to do, I can do at home--which is seriously where I'd rather be after being at the hospital for the last however many days--but there's stuff we have to get done, now."
"I'm good," Jeff answered. "All those cops on TV--combined, they don't do the paperwork one of us has to do out here in the real world. My lieutenant would be thrilled to get some from me."
"He married? We can introduce him to Dani; it'd be a match made in heaven." Ackles leaned back out the door, and gestured toward the office across the hall, where Jeff could see Dani at her desk, peering intently at three monitors and chewing on a pen. "I'm thinking about an hour, okay?"
"I'll be here," Jeff said, emptying out his pockets, smoothing out the crumpled index cards and starting to assemble them in some sort of logical order.
***
Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, but by the time he and Dani finished working out all the projects that Jared had been covering and who could deal with which ones, it probably a good thing Jensen had somebody to do the driving.
Morgan was quiet, speaking only to verify the address of Jensen's condo, then letting silence fill the car. Jensen appreciated the quiet, but he was halfway asleep as it was, and if he went all the way out, there was no way he was waking up any time soon.
"So, you do this for fun, too?" he said, randomly. He didn't blame Morgan at all for the half-smirk he threw in Jensen's direction. "Sorry. I haven't slept in..." He honestly couldn't remember what day it was. Jared had had the accident Wednesday night, but he got lost trying to figure out how long ago that was. "In a while," he compromised. "And you mentioned private cases...?"
"Well, I wouldn't call it for fun," Morgan answered. "I took a little break from active duty for a year or so. Paid the bills doing security."
"But the Rangers made you an offer you couldn't refuse?" Jensen quipped, or at least attempted to. At this point Jared would usually be rolling his eyes and telling him to leave the actual talking-to-people to him.
"I liked feeling like I was helping people," Morgan answered, slowly. "Private security is... a lot of the time, it's a vanity. Somebody wants to feel important, that kind of thing. I went back to DPS, worked there a couple of years, and made the switch over to the Rangers as soon as they'd accept me."
Jensen nodded, a little surprised by the answer. "Being a Ranger, though," he said. "That's pretty solitary."
"I cover McAllen and generally get called in for cases like this--kidnapping, extortion, that kind of thing. I end up working with the local cops often enough."
They drove in silence for a few minutes, the quiet broken only by the synthesized voice of the GPS. Jensen was right on the edge of sleep when Morgan spoke again.
"Paint." Morgan flicked his eyes over to Jensen. "That's what I do for fun. I paint. Landscapes, mostly."
"Yeah?" Jensen said. You just never could tell about people, he thought. "I fool around with photography," he managed to wake up enough to say. Morgan smiled and the rest of the trip was quiet. Friendly, though.
Jensen pulled himself together enough to get them into his condo and to generally point Morgan toward the guest suite, before he stumbled into his own bedroom and fell onto the bed, too tired to even shower.
It was twilight when he woke, still tired, but starving, so that the shower took second place again, at least until he could make a call for some food. He hadn't really forgotten about Morgan, but it was still unexpected, coming down the hall and into the living area of the condo and seeing him in his shirt sleeves, the leather of a shoulder holster dark against the crisp white of his shirt, papers and files spread out in front of him on the table.
"Wasn't sure if you were out for the rest of the day, too," Morgan said, looking up as Jensen crossed the room.
"Food?" Jensen croaked, digging in the kitchen drawer for the sheaf of take-out menus he kept around and waving them in Morgan's general direction. "I don't care what, as long as it's not hospital food."
"Works for me," Morgan said, taking the menus and opening one randomly. "Tell me what you want and I can order if you want to shower."
"Just tell them it's my usual and add whatever you want," Jensen said, turning right back around and aiming for the bathroom. "And yes, I do have a usual at every place you've got a menu for and they all know what it is. Yes, it's sad, and I'm a pathetic loser who doesn't like to try new things, but that's how it is."
"Dani's assessment?" Morgan guessed. The smile that played around his eyes made him look a decade younger.
"With supporting insults from Jared," Jensen called back over his shoulder. "They tag team me. I let them, because they have to have a little fun in their own sad, pathetic lives, and I'm the kind of guy who wants his friends to be happy."
"I'll be sure to let them know that you haven't overcome your disability," Morgan said.
"You do that," Jensen said, and shut the bathroom door on Morgan's low, quiet laughter.
***
Again, it wasn't as though Jensen actually forgot why Jeff Morgan was in his house, at his table, but when he came back out from the shower and there was take-out from Threadgills spread across the counter and actual sweet tea not from a mix in the stainless steel refrigerator that generally existed only to hold styrofoam boxes of restaurant leftovers, it was as though his brain let him have a little time off, at least until he absently picked up the pile of index cards stacked next to the phone. They were covered with notes made in black ink, the handwriting crisp and decisive, his name and Jared's and Dani's and Kane's, where they were when every call came in, when Jared's accident had happened. It was like touching an ungrounded wire, a quick jolting shock, when he realized they were Morgan's list of suspects.
Jensen looked up, too startled to hide anything, and Morgan looked back at him, his eyes steady. "I think better when I can lay everything out, sort through it however makes the most sense," he said, and Jensen nodded once.
He looked back down at the cards he still held, staring blankly at the top one--Danneel Harris--admin--access to schedules, cars, phones--and said, "This fucking sucks."
***
Jeff watched carefully, but Ackles only shuffled through the cards, reading them quickly, before he tapped them on the edge of the table, reassembling them into a neat pile before he handed them back to Jeff.
"Michael's last name is Weatherly," he said, his voice tired and strained. "We met in grad school. Started out working for the same firm in Dallas. Haven't really spoken in a couple of years." He wandered into the kitchen and refilled his glass of iced tea from the pitcher Jeff had made while he'd been asleep. "And Dani's a full partner. Always has been. I do design; Jared puts them up; Dani makes sure we actually make money at it all. You don't want to be in the blast radius if somebody calls her an admin to her face--" He slammed the refrigerator door hard enough to rattle the frame. "I'm sorry, but you can't possibly be serious. You can't think she had anything to do with this."
"I write everything down," Jeff said, and he could tell that Ackles knew it wasn't an answer to his question. It was the best Jeff could offer, though. "Your name's in there, too. And Jared's."
"Great," Ackles snapped. "Somebody shot at my best friend, put him in the hospital, and he's on the list, too. Awesome. Really."
"Right," Jeff said. "Somebody did do their best to take Jared out of the picture, and it's looking like somebody who knows an awful lot about your firm, this project."
"Which, if we don't bring it in on schedule, is probably enough to put us all under, so why would any of us do that?"
"Motives are the least logical thing of all," Jeff answered. "People do things that are unspeakable, for reasons that I wouldn't even notice."
"Like I said, this whole thing fucking sucks." For a second, Ackles looked as though he was about to put his fist through the wall, but he took a deep breath and willed everything back down. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to dump on you."
"It does suck." Jeff slipped the cards in his pocket. "With any luck, we'll catch a break here quickly and this'll all be resolved."
"Yeah, except for the part where there's a chance the resolution's going to suck just as hard--" Ackles broke off and turned toward the front door. Jeff heard it, too--someone fumbling with the lock--but before he could do much more than yank Ackles out of the line of fire, the door slammed open, catching on the chain lock and bouncing back.
"Ow--Shit, Jen, quit trying to kill me with security and let me in."
Ackles sighed and twisted away from where Jeff still had a grip on his arm. "I thought you were out finding your Zen, Misha," he called, arching one eyebrow at Jeff in a perfect, unspoken, so now what? Jeff shrugged, and then followed him across the room to the door.
"This is Zen, or at least as Zen as I can get when Jared's in the hospital and I have to find out third-hand about it."
"It's been a little crazy, and you were off communing with nature," Ackles said, getting the chain lock off and stepping back. Jeff got a quick impression of whipcord lean with dark hair, well-worn hiking boots and pants that matched the backpack leaning outside the door before the other man stepped inside and brushed a possessive kiss across Ackles' mouth.
"You look like crap," he said, running his thumb over the shadows that lay like bruises under Ackles' eyes. "So I'll give you a break for not leaving a message on the voicemail you know damn well I can't not check."
He looked past Ackles and caught sight of Jeff for the first time, sharp blue eyes skimming quickly over the shoulder holster and Jeff's service revolver, and lingering for a second on the badge still clipped to his belt, the silver star of the Rangers unmistakable against the dark leather.
"This is going to be a good story, isn't it?" he said, and went to bring his backpack inside.
***
Before Jensen could even open his mouth, Morgan shrugged and said, "Not really. Old friend of the family."
"Really?" Misha could infuse more into a single word than anyone other than Jensen's mother, but he wasn't usually blatant enough to make Jensen want to wince.
"Really," Morgan answered, with a little edge to his voice. His smile was as polite and bland as Dani's best why yes, I am telling you to fuck off, thanks for noticing expression, and Jensen figured it meant about the same thing, too.
"Really," Jensen said, before things got completely out of hand. "Nothing exciting at all, Misha. Life's still boring around here."
"Jared rolling a truck, notwithstanding," Misha said, and that sick feeling of watching Jared through the glass windows in ICU washed over Jensen again.
"Yeah," Jensen said. "That's enough excitement for the rest of the year." He wandered back into the kitchen, and poked at the remains of dinner.
"He looked--well, he looked like hell," Misha murmured, coming up behind Jensen and putting his hands on Jensen's shoulders. "But even as high as he was, he sounded like himself. Maybe a little less loud, but still all there."
"Once he woke up, it was better," Jensen said. "I doubt the nurses think so, but, yeah, it looks like he's going to be okay."
Misha dug his thumbs in, right where Jensen's shoulders and neck always knotted up, rocking them back and forth a few times before he let go. "I'm going to shower," he said, picking up his backpack and heading toward the master bath. "Save me the rest of your chicken-fried steak and a biscuit or two."
Once the door to the bedroom closed, Jensen took a deep breath and let it trickle out slowly. Morgan crossed his arms and shook his head, muttering under his breath. Jensen caught something that sounded like amateur hour, but when Morgan spoke it was only to ask, "Anybody else have a key to this place?"
"Dani and Jay, but they knock first." Jensen started stacking up the to-go boxes, to give himself something to do. "Misha's... Misha."
"So I gathered," Morgan said, dry enough to cure paint. He made a quick pass and grabbed the glasses and plates they'd been eating off of, rinsing them quickly and stacking them in the sink before going back and gathering his notes and laptop. He stuffed everything randomly in a cheap nylon bag. "I can deal with this in the other room."
"Collins," Jensen said, right before Morgan got to the door to the guest suite. "Misha Collins. For your notes."
Morgan nodded and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Jensen alone in the living area. The summer twilight had finally faded to darkness. Outside the long sweep of windows--his condo had been two adjacent units before he'd opened them up and merged them into a wide, shallow space--the city was outlined in lights, and it felt like it had been an eternity since the last time he'd watched the night fall, even though it hadn't even been a week.
Jensen finished cleaning up, putting the few dishes they'd used into the dishwasher and fixing Misha a plate for whenever he emerged. He was restless and tense, and he thought about finding a bottle of wine or hell, going straight for the vodka in the liquor cabinet, but he already felt completely out of control; he didn't need to add to it. In the end, he got more tea and settled on the couch, laptop on the table in front of it. His concentration levels were shot, but he might be able to get through one or two of the things on his list.
Misha took his time in the shower, but Jensen had expected that. When he finally wandered back out, he was wearing a pair of Jensen's sleep pants--which Jensen also expected--and a towel looped around his neck. Even in the low light, Jensen could tell he hadn't shaved. He stopped for a moment behind Jensen, looking over his shoulder at the spreadsheet on the screen and laughing softly.
"I don't even have to touch you to know you're even more knotted up than you were an hour ago." He did touch Jensen, though, a quick brush with the back of his hand above the collar of Jensen's t-shirt, before he moved off to the kitchen. "The last thing you need is numbers; shut that down."
Jensen ignored him. He was right--the last thing Jensen wanted to be dealing with was reviewing budgets, but it had to be done. All he was doing was double-checking Dani's work; it wasn't the end of the world. He made himself ignore Misha's mutterings and got through the file by the time Misha finished eating and sat down next to him. He even managed to get everything saved and his fingers out of the way before Misha closed the laptop on him.
"Too tense," Misha said, one hand sliding up Jensen's arm. "We can fix that."
"I'm fine--" Jensen started, but apparently it was his turn to be ignored.
"You'd have to be quiet," Misha said, as though Jensen hadn't said a word. "That makes it better, though, doesn't it?" He was barely touching Jensen, nothing more than the lightest brush of his fingertips on Jensen's skin, but it didn't matter. It never did--they could be ten feet apart and he could still wind Jensen up as easily as he could if they were naked and pressed up against each other.
"That's what we're going to do," Misha murmured, soft scrape of stubble under Jensen's jaw, along the line of his neck. "In your room, on your bed... spread you out and take my time."
Jensen closed his eyes and fought back a shudder, but Misha knew, like always.
"All you have to do is be quiet," Misha said, his hand warm on Jensen's hip, his thigh. "You can do that, can't you, Jensen?" His hand traced back and forth, slow and teasing. Jensen didn't say anything, but he didn't resist when Misha stood up and tugged him to his feet. "You like doing that."
Jensen didn't agree, but he didn't argue either.
"You like when all you have to do is take it." Misha was relentless when he put his mind to something. "I like giving it to you."
"Misha--"
"I know," Misha said, not taking his hands off Jensen. "I know what you said, and you know it's fine, but just tonight, let me take care of you."
Jensen made himself breathe, easy and steady, and counted to ten. If he said no, Misha would back off, and they'd go back to whatever it was that they were now. That was what he should say, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that he could say it, but when he looked at Misha, really looked, he didn't see anything but concern and love looking back at him. It wasn't the right kind of love, but Misha did care. For the thousandth time, Jensen wished that was enough.
"Yeah," Jensen said, finally, exhaling on a sigh. "Yeah, okay."
"Good," Misha said, his hands fitting to the curve of Jensen's jaw, holding Jensen steady while Misha kissed him, slow, careful kisses that Jensen let himself fall into. "So good, Jen; it'll be so good."
Jensen backed toward his room, pulling Misha with him, stripping his shirt off, and putting everything else out of his mind.
***
Jeff stayed still until the door to the other bedroom closed, and then leaned back against the wall and scrubbed his hand through his hair, hard. Jesus, this case was fucking him up. Accidentally interrupting was one thing--once he opened to door to the guest suite, the entire condo was one long room, and even from the opposite end it was impossible to miss the two men on the couch--but what the hell was he thinking, standing there and watching?
He waited another few moments before moving quickly through the living area to where he'd left the overnight bag with his shaving kit under the small table next to the front door. The room was quiet, nothing but faint sounds of the city from the other side of the long wall of windows and the soft tick-tick-tick of the vintage clock that hung on one wall. Jeff wasn't listening for anything else, but he couldn't get those low, hoarse whispers--you'd have to be quiet; that makes it better; you like doing that--out of his head.
Or, if he was perfectly honest with himself--and Jeff really fucking needed to start doing that--it was Jensen's reaction that he couldn't get out of his head. And if he kept up with the honesty, he didn't want it out of his head. Which was… problematic, at the very least, he told himself. Not disastrous, not quite, but not good. And while he was on his soapbox and the rest of his brain might be listening, he needed to stomp down hard on that knee-jerk reaction he had not two seconds after Misha Collins waltzed into the picture, the one that had him all but pissing on the walls to mark the sleek, modern condo as his own territory.
He showered quickly--and did not jerk off thinking about whatever was going on in the other bedroom, at least he had that much self-control, thank fucking Christ--and spent a little more time with his notes. He needed to have more of an idea of where Jensen had to be and when, so he could interact a little more efficiently with the local cops, but there wasn't much else he could do. Personally, his life was on hold, but he'd been doing this long enough that it wasn't a big deal, even if he didn't get home for another week. He'd made the calls on the trip up, so the dogs were fine and his house was set, and his mom wouldn't flip if he didn't return her calls. There wasn't much else to worry about, which was fairly pathetic, given his age, and not how he'd ever seen his life turning out, but it was what it was.
It wasn't even midnight, but it had been a long fucking day, and he reminded himself that nobody was going to profit if he wasn't on his best game the next day. He still didn't think he was going to get much sleep, but somebody was looking out for him--he was out cold two minutes after he put his head down and didn't wake until the alarm on his phone went off right before dawn.
The windows all faced north, so the sky was only beginning to lighten, but he smelled coffee, so he pulled on a pair of sweats and--cautiously--opened the door. Jensen was leaning against the counter, an oversized mug clutched in one hand. He was already dressed for the day in khakis and a dusty green button-down, but his feet were bare and he didn't look particularly awake.
He looked up as Jeff closed the door, waving in the general direction of a gleaming, expensive-looking coffee maker, mumbling what Jeff took to be an invitation to serve himself. Jeff had seen cars with less chrome than what was on display on the counter, but the coffee that came out of it was prime stuff, so he bit back the snark and filled the mug to the top.
Jensen shoved cream and sugar at him, but Jeff shook his head. "Black's fine."
"Cliché, much?" Jensen muttered. "I'd have thought the ink would have given you a pass on the manly coffee shit." He gestured to where the sleeve of Jeff's t-shirt had ridden up, showing off the bottom half of the cross tattooed on his arm.
"Peer pressure is an ugly thing," Jeff deadpanned. "Even with the ink, none of the other Rangers will play with me if I pussy out and drink my coffee light."
Jensen looked at him, quick and sharp before he snorted. "I didn't think you guys were allowed to have a sense of humor."
"We hide it from the civilians," Jeff answered. "Union rules. Don't rat me out."
"Christ, and here I thought I was going to have a quiet morning with Misha back out on his vision quest."
"Already?" Jeff thought he got enough disinterest into his tone to not raise any hackles, but Jensen wasn't looking at him, so he couldn't be sure.
"He decided he'd rather return to nature rather than be around me covering a couple of construction sites." Jensen rolled his eyes. "He's probably right."
"So it's my lucky week, that's what you're telling me?"
"You have no idea," Jensen said. "Even better, there's a brunch today, at the children's hospital. Fundraiser. We're doing an atrium for them, breaking ground next month, and with Jared laid up, I kinda have to show."
"Brunch?" Jeff asked. "Brunch?
"Quiche and all. How's that fit with the union rules?" Jensen had a damned impressive innocent face. "I suppose we could call it lunch for all official purposes."
"That'd probably work better." Jeff had worked a hell of a lot of cases, but he didn't think he'd ever stood around and joked with a civilian in the middle of one.
"I'll make a note," Jensen said, letting a little smirk curve his mouth before he drained his coffee. "I was kinda hoping to go by the hospital and check on Jared before that, though."
"Whatever your schedule is," Jeff said, refilling both their coffees. "That's the point of me being your uninvited house guest."
"All right," Jensen said. "If we get there early enough, he probably won't have had time to get twitchy about not being able to bounce off the walls like usual, which, trust me, can only be a good thing--"
His cell phone rang, interrupting him mid-sentence, and Jeff pretended not to notice that it took him a second to steel himself to look at the display. Jeff didn't blame him; picking up the phone to people threatening you got old, fast. Once Jensen gave him the okay that it was Dani, Jeff took the chance to duck back into the bedroom and start making a few calls of his own. His liaison in the Austin PD didn't have much to add to the previous day's report, and the news from state crime lab was that they were making the report official, which meant that if they ever caught the shooter, they'd probably lead with attempted murder charges. He didn't mention that to Jensen; if Jensen asked, Jeff would tell him, but murder was one of those words best left for the DA's office to bring up.
Jensen had added shoes by the time Jeff got dressed and back out into the living area. His eyes flickered over Jeff's shoulder holster; Jeff felt the irrational need to tell him he hadn't had to draw his gun in over a year, and hadn't fired it in almost three times as long, not unless you counted time at the range. He didn't though, just shrugged into his jacket and waited while Jensen made sure he had everything he needed.
The trip back to the hospital was fast and easy; it was still too early on a Sunday morning for there to be much in the way of traffic, or have trouble finding parking when they got there. The detective outside Padalecki's room--who, Jesus, looked about twelve--nodded Jensen inside without any fuss as soon as Jeff flashed his badge; everything quiet and calm enough that Jeff was thinking about maybe finding another hit of coffee when the shouting started inside the room.
Jeff looked at the young detective, who looked back at Jeff, clearly out of his depth. "Some cases," Jeff said, as the door to the room was jerked open from the inside. "They never end up going by the book."
"Oh, for God's sake," Jensen snapped. "Morgan, come in here so my idiot partner can see what a suspicious, untrusting son of a bitch you are and get off his high horse about this whole thing."
The detective gaped. Jeff shrugged, and patted the kid on the shoulder. "This is definitely that kind of a case."
Part 2
Fandom: CWrpf
Pairing: Jensen/JDM
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~20,000 words
Warnings: Guns, threats, people get hurt
A/N: Written for the
spn_meanttobe challenge. My prompt was: Beneath the Badge === As a Texas Ranger, Hayes Keller was used to tough assignments. But protecting Taylor Landis after a recent attack and keeping his professional distance was the most challenging job Hayes had ever faced. Every instinct told him not to let her get under his skin, but sticking by her side--all day and through the hot summer night--was pushing him to the limit. (1)
It, uh, got a little complicated on me. Thanks and babbling at the end.
Also posted in one part at AOOO, here.
Jeff Morgan hated hospitals. There was good reason to be there--Jeff couldn't argue with a man who refused to leave his friend and business partner, not even to meet with the people supposed to be protecting him--but even walking down the halls, passing white coats and scrubs and the occasional patient out walking slowly with a hovering relative and trailing IV pole, was enough to make Jeff's shoulders and jaw tighten. He kept his mouth shut, though, and followed his lieutenant into the small conference room that had been set aside for them. The Austin city police were already there, as well as representatives from the Travis County sheriff and the Texas State DPS. With Jeff and Lt. Martinez there from the Rangers, it made a full house. Everyone had stacks of manila folders with them, messy and thick, notes and photos spilling out of them as everyone set them down on the polished wood table and worked on their defensive postures. The only thing that would make it worse in Jeff's mind would be if the feds were on the case, too, but since everything had happened inside the borders of Texas, they were on their own.
For now.
There was a silent jockeying for who was going to run the meeting. Jeff didn't give a good goddamn; all he wanted was to get it over with, so he could get on with his job, but he ground his teeth and pretended like it was important. The Austin chief won out, finally; technically, they were all sitting in his jurisdiction, even if the "incidents" had happened all over the damn state, with the most recent, and serious, out in Travis County. It turned out not to be a bad thing: the aide who actually gave the briefing was concise and organized. Jeff had read everything he covered, but it never hurt to confirm that.
"We have an escalating pattern of threats and harassment, beginning with the letter of 15 March, demanding all work cease on the Riverwalk project, petty vandalism at the job site itself, increasingly hostile letters, and phone calls to both Mr. Padalecki and Mr. Ackles, their foremen, and most recently, to their private phone numbers. Up until the incident two nights ago, there was no physical harm to anyone."
Jeff was sourly amused at how they were skipping right over the part where it had taken a good 24 hours before anyone had even admitted that the "incident" was related to the threats. From the terse update Jeff had gotten on his way up from McAllen, no one had suspected anything but bad luck and a driver who, by his own admission, tended to push his vehicles well beyond the limits of their suspensions. Blow-outs on a back-country road could turn ugly in a split-second; it wasn't until Jared Padalecki had woken up enough to communicate that someone had shot out the front passenger-side tire on the pick-up truck he'd been driving that people started putting things together. Actually, Jeff corrected himself silently, it wasn't until the boys at the DPS crime lab had corroborated Padalecki's story that things got cranking. What really got Jeff's attention was that it had only taken a couple of hours to get that corroboration. That was a sign of some serious string-pulling and glad-handing at the highest levels.
Jeff tuned back in to Assistant #2, who was far less concise, and followed idly along with the word-by-word dissection of the threatening letters and transcripts of calls that had made it to voicemail. Jeff had listened to the actual recordings on the way over to the hospital--they weren't getting anything from them other than heavy breathing and a voice synthesizer, but it was sometimes helpful to have the specific words spelled out and in front of you. It was very rarely helpful, however, to have them read to you in a voice that wasn't even as dynamic as the synthesized version in the original. Jeff was ready to tune back out again, when there was a cursory knock at the door and Jeff could finally get a look at Jensen Ackles in real life.
Jeff recognized him right off. Even the blurred grainy pictures that had been emailed to him that morning were enough to give him the general idea of the man, but they, as always, failed to convey what Jeff always wanted to know most--the way a person moved, how they shaped and filled the space around them. Given what Jeff knew about Jensen Ackles--highly successful at a young age, well-known on the society pages of both Austin and his hometown of Dallas, reportedly focused and driven, openly gay--he found himself intrigued by the quiet and contained presence he projected. Jeff could see him taking in the entire room, acknowledging those he knew as he moved to the seat at the conference table kept open for him. The chief greeted him with a handshake, nodded his assistant back into his seat and got down to the nitty gritty, which was that everyone in the room, every law enforcement agency involved, felt that the attacks weren't done yet.
Ackles took the news as though it wasn't anything he hadn't already worked out for himself, and then extended the thought in the logical direction. "And you still don't have any leads." It was a statement, not a question. There was a lot of eye-shifting going on between the local guys and the state troopers.
"Nothing concrete," Jeff's lieutenant answered, equally as blunt. "And the consensus is that the best way we're going to smoke this sonofabitch out is--"
"To use me as bait," Ackles said, coolly. He met the lieutenant's eyes dead-on.
"Yes, sir," Martinez said. "Not something I like--not something any of us like--but with the proper precautions, something we think might work."
"The proper precautions?"
"That'd be where I come in," Jeff said, stepping forward from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Ranger Sergeant Morgan, Mr. Ackles. I'll be your bodyguard."
The pictures Jeff had seen had hinted at the directness of Ackles's gaze, but they failed at sketching out the intensity in the green eyes that met Jeff's own without hesitation. Jeff read stubbornness and intelligence and determination, and wasn't at all surprised by the crisp, rapid-fire questions that followed: How long? and What about Jared, who's keeping him safe? and The people who work for us?
Jeff let the higher-ups spin their plans and projections while he kept his focus on the silent communication between them. Padalecki was getting plain-clothes city detectives around the clock, but for the rest of it, they were going to play it dumb, as though they hadn't figured out there was a connection between the threatening calls and letters and the accident. It really didn't make Jeff happy, using a civilian as bait, but nobody was asking him, which was Exhibit A as to why he was a Ranger now, instead of a senior detective.
"So, if I understand this properly, what it comes down to is I go about my business, with the addition of Sergeant Morgan here, and we count on whoever this is getting cocky and tipping his hand," Ackles said.
"We're giving it a week," the chief said. "The escalation pattern says he's going to try something again soon. We'll keep working every angle, of course; if nothing breaks quickly, we'll have to discuss other measures, but for right now, seeing you around in your usual routine... We think it might rattle him some, get him rushed enough that he makes a mistake."
"And I rate a Ranger for all this?"
"Special request of the governor," Jeff's lieutenant said, and Jeff was watching everything close enough to see how the skin around Ackles's eyes tightened, as though he were annoyed, but not surprised.
"Fine." Cool green eyes took Jeff's measure again. "If we're going to do this, let's get started. I've been here since I got the call about Jared; everything else has been on hold."
"I'm good," Jeff said, stepping back to collect his files and get the standard Call in; stay sharp; you're not expendable line from the lieutenant. It rubbed a lot of the newer guys the wrong way, but Jeff had seen way too many good men go down on the most routine of assignments to blow off a reminder that somebody had his back.
He had a feeling he was going to need all the luck he could get with this case.
Jensen wasn't sure what he was supposed to think after multiple law-enforcement agencies dropped the bomb that not only was somebody out to get him, but that the best way to catch them was to let them come after him.
Chief Curtis, from the Austin city police followed him right out the door. Jensen knew the guy a little, but he knew enough to know Jared had worked with him before, on a Big Brothers project.
"How's Jared?" Curtis asked, quietly.
"Awake," Jensen answered, rolling his eyes. "Starving. Alternating between charming the staff and raising holy hell about being stuck in bed." He couldn't help smiling a little at the expression on the chief's face. "Yeah, he rolled the truck, broke his leg and cracked four ribs and he's already whining about having to be still."
"Well, they don't call him Sasquatch for nothing," the chief said, smiling. "Still, that's good to hear."
"It is," Jensen agreed. "It'd be better if we could just keep him sedated until he can get around on his own, but I'll take the bitching and moaning over him being in a coma any day."
"Absolutely," the chief agreed, shaking hands once again going back into the conference room, nodding as Morgan, the Ranger came out. He fell into step easily with Jensen.
"They were shooting Jared up with a whole cocktail of painkillers right when I was leaving to come talk to everyone," Jensen said, as they wound their way through the hospital corridors, aiming for the elevators to the parking garage. "He wasn't real happy about it, but I saw the look in the charge nurse's eyes--he's drooling on the pillow by now because she was really damn tired of dealing with him."
Morgan nodded. "You might want to tell your buddy it's never a good idea to wear out the nurses."
"Yeah, you'd think he'd figure that out sooner or later--he's a smart guy--but it probably wouldn't hurt to break it down into words of a syllable or less." The elevator arrived with an obnoxious ding that sounded like freedom to Jensen; Morgan looked as though he agreed. "I'm on four--you?"
"Two," Morgan answered, pushing the button. "And you'll need to be with me."
"Is that really necessary? I thought the point was to pretend nothing's going on?"
"Someone put three rounds from a Remington 7600 into the tires of your partner's truck," Morgan said, evenly. "I'm not going to be doing much good if I'm fifty feet behind you in a different car if it happens again. I'm not saying that they won't try it again, even if you're with me, but at least I've actually driven through something like that."
"Right," Jensen answered, after the briefest of pauses. "Sorry. This is going to take some getting used to."
"It usually does," Morgan said. "Not a problem." Unless you want to make it one, his eyes added, and Jensen nodded fractionally.
"I need to get some things from my car," Jensen said, as they got off the elevator. "Files, notes--I pretty much dropped everything when Jared's family called."
"Sure," Morgan said, unlocking the doors on a Bronco. "We'll loop down and you can get whatever you need." He cranked the engine and shifted into reverse.
"This thing is a tank," Jensen said, watching Morgan navigate delicately out into the narrow traffic lane. He wasn't sure there was room for more than one person between it and the parked cars. "And I'm speaking as someone who spends a fair amount of time in an F-150."
"Drives like one, too," Morgan said, with a surprisingly infectious grin. "I'm on the road a lot; at least this thing's big enough I can be in it all day without my bad knee raising holy hell."
"Yeah," Jensen said, sobering quickly. "That's why we have the trucks--enough space for even Jared."
"It's probably good he had all that steel around him," Morgan said, quiet and matter-of-fact. "And that he was wearing a seatbelt, so he wasn't thrown."
"Yeah," Jensen said again, pushing the images out of his mind. Whatever the fuck was going on, Jared was okay, at least for now. He took a deep breath and pointed. "My car's at the end, down that way."
"I can call and have somebody get it out--"
"No," Jensen said, quick enough that Morgan looked over at him. He shook his head and shrugged, a little sheepish. "Sorry--she's my baby. Nobody touches her but me."
Morgan didn't say anything, but when Jensen pointed out where he'd parked the Corvette, he whistled long and low. Jensen couldn't help smiling as he got out of the Bronco and circled around to unlock the passenger-side door. All his stuff was still there, right where he'd thrown it as he'd come out of the condo two mornings ago, aggravated because Jared hadn't checked in the night before. Half the time, Jared forgot about it, so Jensen hadn't really been worried, not until he'd taken the call from Sherri, on the road up from San Antonio.
"Ah, now, that is sweet," Morgan drawled, drawing Jensen's attention back to the present. "I wouldn't let anybody touch her either."
"Thanks," Jensen said. "My brother found her in a junkyard a long time ago; I put her back together myself."
"Nice work if you can get it." Morgan put the parking brake on and got down to look a little more closely. "With the split rear window... A '63, yeah?"
"Yeah," Jensen said. "Totally rebuilt--I'd pop the hood for you, but the light in here isn't worth shit." Jensen transferred his laptop bag and a box of files into the back of the Bronco. "You're safe for now."
"Nah," Morgan said, making sure the back window was locked and climbing back up into the driver's seat. "I'll hold you to it when we're not on the clock here."
"Okay," Jensen said, after a couple of seconds. Most people could care less about the work that went into restoring something like a vintage Corvette, but Morgan's voice had been sincere. Jensen settled himself in the passenger seat and pressed hard at the bridge of his nose, as though that might push back the exhaustion of the last 36 hours. "Deal."
He stayed quiet while Morgan got them out of the garage, speaking only when asked where they were going so the address could get fed into the GPS, but he had a list of questions and there in the car, alone and relatively quiet, seemed to be as good a time as any to start getting answers.
"So," Jensen said, once they were out on the street and moving. "How's this going to work?"
Morgan considered his answer for a few seconds. "Normally, we'd be in a safe house," he started, before glancing across the front seat. The windows on the Bronco were tinted, but it was still mid-afternoon and the glare from the sun had been enough to have them both reaching for sunglasses as soon as they'd gotten out of the parking deck. Jensen couldn't read anything behind the sunglasses, but, tired or not, he was pretty sure his own game face was in play.
"I've worked a good number of security cases, private ones as well as ones with the local and state cops, but as far as I can tell, we're making this one up as we go along," Morgan finally said. Jensen nodded, a little surprised by the candor, but appreciative all the same. Morgan added, "I don't like this set-up at all, but it wasn't my call. We'd be doing things a hell of a lot differently if it was."
"All right, then," Jensen said. "I guess we'll just see how things play out."
The offices were tucked away in a quiet street, not far from the Capitol. Jeff parked the Bronco and followed Ackles in the front door. The lobby was flooded with sunlight from the skylights and the floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side of the room, facing out into an inner courtyard. The rest of the walls were covered with giant photos of buildings--public spaces as well as private homes--that Jeff figured out quickly enough were the firm's design.
The lobby was empty except for a couple standing in front of the reception desk--or, rather, once Jeff got a good look at body language, a man and a woman, because she was not having any of his shit, for all that he was nearly a foot taller, even counting the good-sized heels on the cowboy boots that went with the jeans and suede jacket. On the job or not, Jeff could admire the legs they showcased. And it was screamingly clear that the guy was, at the very least, a pain in the ass. Slick, Jeff thought, all trendy haircut and clothes. They broke off their heated discussion as they heard the door open.
"Jen!" the woman said, spinning on one heel, and starting across the room toward Ackles, the other guy completely dismissed. Jeff kept his face straight, but gave her points for knowing how to cut the legs out from under a guy. With style. "How is he?" she called, before she got even halfway across the lobby.
"He's banged up, but he's gonna be fine, Dani." Ackles caught her in a hard hug.
"Really?" she asked, into his shoulder. "The hospital's just saying he's stable, no details, and there's no way I was going to bother his family."
"Swear to God," Ackles said, setting her back on her feet. "He's whiny and crabby and doing his best impersonation of a two-year-old."
"Okay, good." She gathered herself with a quick shake and touched the corners of her eyes with the tips of her fingers, careful not to smudge her make-up.
"Tears?" Ackles' grin was relaxed and familiar, completely at odds with the cool professionalism in every picture Jeff had seen of him. "Sweetie, don't tell me you're going soft on us--"
"One word, Ackles," she snapped. "One word of this to Jared and I will rebook you into a Motel 6 for every single business trip between now and the end of the year."
Ackles smirked, but held up his hands in the universal I surrender gesture, before he turned to where the other guy still stood, trying to look like he wasn't ready to throw a tantrum over not being the center of attention.
"Michael," Ackles said, and Jeff had to work hard not to double-take at the change in his tone, from open and warm with Dani to cool, verging on downright unfriendly. "It's been a while."
"I heard about Jared," Michael answered, with an expression that--almost--passed for compassionate and concerned. Slick needed to work on the edges of the act, Jeff thought. They didn't quite match up with the rest of the front. "I thought I'd come by and see you needed any help. It must be a madhouse, what with having to cover all the projects you've got working."
Jeff wasn't impressed; neither was Dani, not to judge by the way she had gone back into attack posture.
"We're fine. Dani is a genius at keeping projects on track, no matter what," Ackles said, firmly steering the other man toward the door. "We'll let you know if we need anything."
He held the door open as he finished speaking, and stood, waiting expectantly until Slick nodded and walked outside.
"Very impressive," Slick said. "But remember, Jen... I know you, and I know you like to push people away right when you need them most. My assistant knows to put you through to me immediately, just in case." He smiled a superior sort of smile and nodded in the same way to Dani before he turned and walked off toward the parking lot.
Dani held her tongue until the door was closed. "Nothing personal, Jensen, but God almighty, you have some shitty taste in boyfriends."
"Ex-boyfriends," Ackles said. "But I'm not going to argue with you. What the hell was he doing here?"
"I have no idea, but get this--he wanted to leave you a note, in your office." Dani shuddered, and while most of it was for show, Jeff could see the kernel of truth in there. "That's what we were arguing about when you got here."
"You know, I stopped trying to figure out Michael's motivations a while ago," Ackles said.
"And a good day that was, too," Dani fired back. "Okay, enough about the jerk. Your voicemail is full; Tommy called through to my line, to make sure you got his point that you needed to call if there's anything they can do, and Kane's in my office, working through the schedules with me."
She eyed Jeff speculatively.
"This is Jeff Morgan," Ackles started, and Jeff could tell he was about to explain everything. Jeff caught his eye and shook his head fractionally, and Ackles shifted gears smoothly. "He's working on a--on a project of my mother's, so if we can find him an empty desk, that'd be good."
Jeff pasted a smile on his face--they really should have gone over things but it was a Saturday, and neither of them expected anyone to be in the office--but Dani only nodded and showed him to a relatively large conference room.
Jeff took the opportunity to call in and double-check that nothing had changed on the case--which it hadn't--and jot a few notes to himself. When Ackles came in a few minutes later, Jeff couldn't help smirking. "I work for your mother?"
"Trust me, she has her fingers in so damn many different pies, no one's going to question it, even if they do peg you as a Ranger." Ackles shrugged. "Plus, I have a pretty good feeling she's been making calls and pushing things along--that 'personal request of the governor'... If that wasn't her, I'll stand everybody who works for me a round at the next happy hour, so you are working for her, in a sense."
Jeff nodded thoughtfully. "Someone got things moving pretty fast, no doubt about it. Everything from the lab getting a look at the tires from the accident to everybody playing nice and cooperating on this."
"And you getting hauled in from McAllen to babysit me." Ackles was really damn good at keeping his voice and face under control, but Jeff could tell this wasn't sitting right with him, and it had nothing to do with the part where he was a moving target.
"Part of the job," Jeff said, keeping his own voice dead serious. "And nothing I haven't done before, both in uniform and privately."
"I'll take your word for it," Ackles said. "But I'm still seeing her fingerprints all over this."
Jeff hesitated, not exactly sure how to say what needed to be said. He'd done a few security cases where the individual in question spent all their time trying to lose him--teenagers, usually, not wanting to understand the seriousness of the situation. In one or two instances, they'd actually been correct, but that didn't mean Jeff still hadn't grimly hung on and outsmarted them. Ackles didn't seem the type to play games, but Jeff had been around too long to not to catch the warning signs of someone pushed past their limit.
"I'm fine," Ackles said, before Jeff could find the right words. "I'm not going to make this any harder than it needs to be, at least not the part of it that's right here and now." Jeff nodded and Ackles grinned suddenly. "Besides, she'll probably have a fit or two when she hears that I've got you working for her. She's very particular about who she hires."
"I'll leave that to you," Jeff said, dryly.
"Listen," Ackles said. "Dani's got things mostly under control here, and a lot of what I'm going to need to do, I can do at home--which is seriously where I'd rather be after being at the hospital for the last however many days--but there's stuff we have to get done, now."
"I'm good," Jeff answered. "All those cops on TV--combined, they don't do the paperwork one of us has to do out here in the real world. My lieutenant would be thrilled to get some from me."
"He married? We can introduce him to Dani; it'd be a match made in heaven." Ackles leaned back out the door, and gestured toward the office across the hall, where Jeff could see Dani at her desk, peering intently at three monitors and chewing on a pen. "I'm thinking about an hour, okay?"
"I'll be here," Jeff said, emptying out his pockets, smoothing out the crumpled index cards and starting to assemble them in some sort of logical order.
Not that he'd ever admit it out loud, but by the time he and Dani finished working out all the projects that Jared had been covering and who could deal with which ones, it probably a good thing Jensen had somebody to do the driving.
Morgan was quiet, speaking only to verify the address of Jensen's condo, then letting silence fill the car. Jensen appreciated the quiet, but he was halfway asleep as it was, and if he went all the way out, there was no way he was waking up any time soon.
"So, you do this for fun, too?" he said, randomly. He didn't blame Morgan at all for the half-smirk he threw in Jensen's direction. "Sorry. I haven't slept in..." He honestly couldn't remember what day it was. Jared had had the accident Wednesday night, but he got lost trying to figure out how long ago that was. "In a while," he compromised. "And you mentioned private cases...?"
"Well, I wouldn't call it for fun," Morgan answered. "I took a little break from active duty for a year or so. Paid the bills doing security."
"But the Rangers made you an offer you couldn't refuse?" Jensen quipped, or at least attempted to. At this point Jared would usually be rolling his eyes and telling him to leave the actual talking-to-people to him.
"I liked feeling like I was helping people," Morgan answered, slowly. "Private security is... a lot of the time, it's a vanity. Somebody wants to feel important, that kind of thing. I went back to DPS, worked there a couple of years, and made the switch over to the Rangers as soon as they'd accept me."
Jensen nodded, a little surprised by the answer. "Being a Ranger, though," he said. "That's pretty solitary."
"I cover McAllen and generally get called in for cases like this--kidnapping, extortion, that kind of thing. I end up working with the local cops often enough."
They drove in silence for a few minutes, the quiet broken only by the synthesized voice of the GPS. Jensen was right on the edge of sleep when Morgan spoke again.
"Paint." Morgan flicked his eyes over to Jensen. "That's what I do for fun. I paint. Landscapes, mostly."
"Yeah?" Jensen said. You just never could tell about people, he thought. "I fool around with photography," he managed to wake up enough to say. Morgan smiled and the rest of the trip was quiet. Friendly, though.
Jensen pulled himself together enough to get them into his condo and to generally point Morgan toward the guest suite, before he stumbled into his own bedroom and fell onto the bed, too tired to even shower.
It was twilight when he woke, still tired, but starving, so that the shower took second place again, at least until he could make a call for some food. He hadn't really forgotten about Morgan, but it was still unexpected, coming down the hall and into the living area of the condo and seeing him in his shirt sleeves, the leather of a shoulder holster dark against the crisp white of his shirt, papers and files spread out in front of him on the table.
"Wasn't sure if you were out for the rest of the day, too," Morgan said, looking up as Jensen crossed the room.
"Food?" Jensen croaked, digging in the kitchen drawer for the sheaf of take-out menus he kept around and waving them in Morgan's general direction. "I don't care what, as long as it's not hospital food."
"Works for me," Morgan said, taking the menus and opening one randomly. "Tell me what you want and I can order if you want to shower."
"Just tell them it's my usual and add whatever you want," Jensen said, turning right back around and aiming for the bathroom. "And yes, I do have a usual at every place you've got a menu for and they all know what it is. Yes, it's sad, and I'm a pathetic loser who doesn't like to try new things, but that's how it is."
"Dani's assessment?" Morgan guessed. The smile that played around his eyes made him look a decade younger.
"With supporting insults from Jared," Jensen called back over his shoulder. "They tag team me. I let them, because they have to have a little fun in their own sad, pathetic lives, and I'm the kind of guy who wants his friends to be happy."
"I'll be sure to let them know that you haven't overcome your disability," Morgan said.
"You do that," Jensen said, and shut the bathroom door on Morgan's low, quiet laughter.
Again, it wasn't as though Jensen actually forgot why Jeff Morgan was in his house, at his table, but when he came back out from the shower and there was take-out from Threadgills spread across the counter and actual sweet tea not from a mix in the stainless steel refrigerator that generally existed only to hold styrofoam boxes of restaurant leftovers, it was as though his brain let him have a little time off, at least until he absently picked up the pile of index cards stacked next to the phone. They were covered with notes made in black ink, the handwriting crisp and decisive, his name and Jared's and Dani's and Kane's, where they were when every call came in, when Jared's accident had happened. It was like touching an ungrounded wire, a quick jolting shock, when he realized they were Morgan's list of suspects.
Jensen looked up, too startled to hide anything, and Morgan looked back at him, his eyes steady. "I think better when I can lay everything out, sort through it however makes the most sense," he said, and Jensen nodded once.
He looked back down at the cards he still held, staring blankly at the top one--Danneel Harris--admin--access to schedules, cars, phones--and said, "This fucking sucks."
Jeff watched carefully, but Ackles only shuffled through the cards, reading them quickly, before he tapped them on the edge of the table, reassembling them into a neat pile before he handed them back to Jeff.
"Michael's last name is Weatherly," he said, his voice tired and strained. "We met in grad school. Started out working for the same firm in Dallas. Haven't really spoken in a couple of years." He wandered into the kitchen and refilled his glass of iced tea from the pitcher Jeff had made while he'd been asleep. "And Dani's a full partner. Always has been. I do design; Jared puts them up; Dani makes sure we actually make money at it all. You don't want to be in the blast radius if somebody calls her an admin to her face--" He slammed the refrigerator door hard enough to rattle the frame. "I'm sorry, but you can't possibly be serious. You can't think she had anything to do with this."
"I write everything down," Jeff said, and he could tell that Ackles knew it wasn't an answer to his question. It was the best Jeff could offer, though. "Your name's in there, too. And Jared's."
"Great," Ackles snapped. "Somebody shot at my best friend, put him in the hospital, and he's on the list, too. Awesome. Really."
"Right," Jeff said. "Somebody did do their best to take Jared out of the picture, and it's looking like somebody who knows an awful lot about your firm, this project."
"Which, if we don't bring it in on schedule, is probably enough to put us all under, so why would any of us do that?"
"Motives are the least logical thing of all," Jeff answered. "People do things that are unspeakable, for reasons that I wouldn't even notice."
"Like I said, this whole thing fucking sucks." For a second, Ackles looked as though he was about to put his fist through the wall, but he took a deep breath and willed everything back down. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to dump on you."
"It does suck." Jeff slipped the cards in his pocket. "With any luck, we'll catch a break here quickly and this'll all be resolved."
"Yeah, except for the part where there's a chance the resolution's going to suck just as hard--" Ackles broke off and turned toward the front door. Jeff heard it, too--someone fumbling with the lock--but before he could do much more than yank Ackles out of the line of fire, the door slammed open, catching on the chain lock and bouncing back.
"Ow--Shit, Jen, quit trying to kill me with security and let me in."
Ackles sighed and twisted away from where Jeff still had a grip on his arm. "I thought you were out finding your Zen, Misha," he called, arching one eyebrow at Jeff in a perfect, unspoken, so now what? Jeff shrugged, and then followed him across the room to the door.
"This is Zen, or at least as Zen as I can get when Jared's in the hospital and I have to find out third-hand about it."
"It's been a little crazy, and you were off communing with nature," Ackles said, getting the chain lock off and stepping back. Jeff got a quick impression of whipcord lean with dark hair, well-worn hiking boots and pants that matched the backpack leaning outside the door before the other man stepped inside and brushed a possessive kiss across Ackles' mouth.
"You look like crap," he said, running his thumb over the shadows that lay like bruises under Ackles' eyes. "So I'll give you a break for not leaving a message on the voicemail you know damn well I can't not check."
He looked past Ackles and caught sight of Jeff for the first time, sharp blue eyes skimming quickly over the shoulder holster and Jeff's service revolver, and lingering for a second on the badge still clipped to his belt, the silver star of the Rangers unmistakable against the dark leather.
"This is going to be a good story, isn't it?" he said, and went to bring his backpack inside.
Before Jensen could even open his mouth, Morgan shrugged and said, "Not really. Old friend of the family."
"Really?" Misha could infuse more into a single word than anyone other than Jensen's mother, but he wasn't usually blatant enough to make Jensen want to wince.
"Really," Morgan answered, with a little edge to his voice. His smile was as polite and bland as Dani's best why yes, I am telling you to fuck off, thanks for noticing expression, and Jensen figured it meant about the same thing, too.
"Really," Jensen said, before things got completely out of hand. "Nothing exciting at all, Misha. Life's still boring around here."
"Jared rolling a truck, notwithstanding," Misha said, and that sick feeling of watching Jared through the glass windows in ICU washed over Jensen again.
"Yeah," Jensen said. "That's enough excitement for the rest of the year." He wandered back into the kitchen, and poked at the remains of dinner.
"He looked--well, he looked like hell," Misha murmured, coming up behind Jensen and putting his hands on Jensen's shoulders. "But even as high as he was, he sounded like himself. Maybe a little less loud, but still all there."
"Once he woke up, it was better," Jensen said. "I doubt the nurses think so, but, yeah, it looks like he's going to be okay."
Misha dug his thumbs in, right where Jensen's shoulders and neck always knotted up, rocking them back and forth a few times before he let go. "I'm going to shower," he said, picking up his backpack and heading toward the master bath. "Save me the rest of your chicken-fried steak and a biscuit or two."
Once the door to the bedroom closed, Jensen took a deep breath and let it trickle out slowly. Morgan crossed his arms and shook his head, muttering under his breath. Jensen caught something that sounded like amateur hour, but when Morgan spoke it was only to ask, "Anybody else have a key to this place?"
"Dani and Jay, but they knock first." Jensen started stacking up the to-go boxes, to give himself something to do. "Misha's... Misha."
"So I gathered," Morgan said, dry enough to cure paint. He made a quick pass and grabbed the glasses and plates they'd been eating off of, rinsing them quickly and stacking them in the sink before going back and gathering his notes and laptop. He stuffed everything randomly in a cheap nylon bag. "I can deal with this in the other room."
"Collins," Jensen said, right before Morgan got to the door to the guest suite. "Misha Collins. For your notes."
Morgan nodded and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving Jensen alone in the living area. The summer twilight had finally faded to darkness. Outside the long sweep of windows--his condo had been two adjacent units before he'd opened them up and merged them into a wide, shallow space--the city was outlined in lights, and it felt like it had been an eternity since the last time he'd watched the night fall, even though it hadn't even been a week.
Jensen finished cleaning up, putting the few dishes they'd used into the dishwasher and fixing Misha a plate for whenever he emerged. He was restless and tense, and he thought about finding a bottle of wine or hell, going straight for the vodka in the liquor cabinet, but he already felt completely out of control; he didn't need to add to it. In the end, he got more tea and settled on the couch, laptop on the table in front of it. His concentration levels were shot, but he might be able to get through one or two of the things on his list.
Misha took his time in the shower, but Jensen had expected that. When he finally wandered back out, he was wearing a pair of Jensen's sleep pants--which Jensen also expected--and a towel looped around his neck. Even in the low light, Jensen could tell he hadn't shaved. He stopped for a moment behind Jensen, looking over his shoulder at the spreadsheet on the screen and laughing softly.
"I don't even have to touch you to know you're even more knotted up than you were an hour ago." He did touch Jensen, though, a quick brush with the back of his hand above the collar of Jensen's t-shirt, before he moved off to the kitchen. "The last thing you need is numbers; shut that down."
Jensen ignored him. He was right--the last thing Jensen wanted to be dealing with was reviewing budgets, but it had to be done. All he was doing was double-checking Dani's work; it wasn't the end of the world. He made himself ignore Misha's mutterings and got through the file by the time Misha finished eating and sat down next to him. He even managed to get everything saved and his fingers out of the way before Misha closed the laptop on him.
"Too tense," Misha said, one hand sliding up Jensen's arm. "We can fix that."
"I'm fine--" Jensen started, but apparently it was his turn to be ignored.
"You'd have to be quiet," Misha said, as though Jensen hadn't said a word. "That makes it better, though, doesn't it?" He was barely touching Jensen, nothing more than the lightest brush of his fingertips on Jensen's skin, but it didn't matter. It never did--they could be ten feet apart and he could still wind Jensen up as easily as he could if they were naked and pressed up against each other.
"That's what we're going to do," Misha murmured, soft scrape of stubble under Jensen's jaw, along the line of his neck. "In your room, on your bed... spread you out and take my time."
Jensen closed his eyes and fought back a shudder, but Misha knew, like always.
"All you have to do is be quiet," Misha said, his hand warm on Jensen's hip, his thigh. "You can do that, can't you, Jensen?" His hand traced back and forth, slow and teasing. Jensen didn't say anything, but he didn't resist when Misha stood up and tugged him to his feet. "You like doing that."
Jensen didn't agree, but he didn't argue either.
"You like when all you have to do is take it." Misha was relentless when he put his mind to something. "I like giving it to you."
"Misha--"
"I know," Misha said, not taking his hands off Jensen. "I know what you said, and you know it's fine, but just tonight, let me take care of you."
Jensen made himself breathe, easy and steady, and counted to ten. If he said no, Misha would back off, and they'd go back to whatever it was that they were now. That was what he should say, if for no other reason than to prove to himself that he could say it, but when he looked at Misha, really looked, he didn't see anything but concern and love looking back at him. It wasn't the right kind of love, but Misha did care. For the thousandth time, Jensen wished that was enough.
"Yeah," Jensen said, finally, exhaling on a sigh. "Yeah, okay."
"Good," Misha said, his hands fitting to the curve of Jensen's jaw, holding Jensen steady while Misha kissed him, slow, careful kisses that Jensen let himself fall into. "So good, Jen; it'll be so good."
Jensen backed toward his room, pulling Misha with him, stripping his shirt off, and putting everything else out of his mind.
Jeff stayed still until the door to the other bedroom closed, and then leaned back against the wall and scrubbed his hand through his hair, hard. Jesus, this case was fucking him up. Accidentally interrupting was one thing--once he opened to door to the guest suite, the entire condo was one long room, and even from the opposite end it was impossible to miss the two men on the couch--but what the hell was he thinking, standing there and watching?
He waited another few moments before moving quickly through the living area to where he'd left the overnight bag with his shaving kit under the small table next to the front door. The room was quiet, nothing but faint sounds of the city from the other side of the long wall of windows and the soft tick-tick-tick of the vintage clock that hung on one wall. Jeff wasn't listening for anything else, but he couldn't get those low, hoarse whispers--you'd have to be quiet; that makes it better; you like doing that--out of his head.
Or, if he was perfectly honest with himself--and Jeff really fucking needed to start doing that--it was Jensen's reaction that he couldn't get out of his head. And if he kept up with the honesty, he didn't want it out of his head. Which was… problematic, at the very least, he told himself. Not disastrous, not quite, but not good. And while he was on his soapbox and the rest of his brain might be listening, he needed to stomp down hard on that knee-jerk reaction he had not two seconds after Misha Collins waltzed into the picture, the one that had him all but pissing on the walls to mark the sleek, modern condo as his own territory.
He showered quickly--and did not jerk off thinking about whatever was going on in the other bedroom, at least he had that much self-control, thank fucking Christ--and spent a little more time with his notes. He needed to have more of an idea of where Jensen had to be and when, so he could interact a little more efficiently with the local cops, but there wasn't much else he could do. Personally, his life was on hold, but he'd been doing this long enough that it wasn't a big deal, even if he didn't get home for another week. He'd made the calls on the trip up, so the dogs were fine and his house was set, and his mom wouldn't flip if he didn't return her calls. There wasn't much else to worry about, which was fairly pathetic, given his age, and not how he'd ever seen his life turning out, but it was what it was.
It wasn't even midnight, but it had been a long fucking day, and he reminded himself that nobody was going to profit if he wasn't on his best game the next day. He still didn't think he was going to get much sleep, but somebody was looking out for him--he was out cold two minutes after he put his head down and didn't wake until the alarm on his phone went off right before dawn.
The windows all faced north, so the sky was only beginning to lighten, but he smelled coffee, so he pulled on a pair of sweats and--cautiously--opened the door. Jensen was leaning against the counter, an oversized mug clutched in one hand. He was already dressed for the day in khakis and a dusty green button-down, but his feet were bare and he didn't look particularly awake.
He looked up as Jeff closed the door, waving in the general direction of a gleaming, expensive-looking coffee maker, mumbling what Jeff took to be an invitation to serve himself. Jeff had seen cars with less chrome than what was on display on the counter, but the coffee that came out of it was prime stuff, so he bit back the snark and filled the mug to the top.
Jensen shoved cream and sugar at him, but Jeff shook his head. "Black's fine."
"Cliché, much?" Jensen muttered. "I'd have thought the ink would have given you a pass on the manly coffee shit." He gestured to where the sleeve of Jeff's t-shirt had ridden up, showing off the bottom half of the cross tattooed on his arm.
"Peer pressure is an ugly thing," Jeff deadpanned. "Even with the ink, none of the other Rangers will play with me if I pussy out and drink my coffee light."
Jensen looked at him, quick and sharp before he snorted. "I didn't think you guys were allowed to have a sense of humor."
"We hide it from the civilians," Jeff answered. "Union rules. Don't rat me out."
"Christ, and here I thought I was going to have a quiet morning with Misha back out on his vision quest."
"Already?" Jeff thought he got enough disinterest into his tone to not raise any hackles, but Jensen wasn't looking at him, so he couldn't be sure.
"He decided he'd rather return to nature rather than be around me covering a couple of construction sites." Jensen rolled his eyes. "He's probably right."
"So it's my lucky week, that's what you're telling me?"
"You have no idea," Jensen said. "Even better, there's a brunch today, at the children's hospital. Fundraiser. We're doing an atrium for them, breaking ground next month, and with Jared laid up, I kinda have to show."
"Brunch?" Jeff asked. "Brunch?
"Quiche and all. How's that fit with the union rules?" Jensen had a damned impressive innocent face. "I suppose we could call it lunch for all official purposes."
"That'd probably work better." Jeff had worked a hell of a lot of cases, but he didn't think he'd ever stood around and joked with a civilian in the middle of one.
"I'll make a note," Jensen said, letting a little smirk curve his mouth before he drained his coffee. "I was kinda hoping to go by the hospital and check on Jared before that, though."
"Whatever your schedule is," Jeff said, refilling both their coffees. "That's the point of me being your uninvited house guest."
"All right," Jensen said. "If we get there early enough, he probably won't have had time to get twitchy about not being able to bounce off the walls like usual, which, trust me, can only be a good thing--"
His cell phone rang, interrupting him mid-sentence, and Jeff pretended not to notice that it took him a second to steel himself to look at the display. Jeff didn't blame him; picking up the phone to people threatening you got old, fast. Once Jensen gave him the okay that it was Dani, Jeff took the chance to duck back into the bedroom and start making a few calls of his own. His liaison in the Austin PD didn't have much to add to the previous day's report, and the news from state crime lab was that they were making the report official, which meant that if they ever caught the shooter, they'd probably lead with attempted murder charges. He didn't mention that to Jensen; if Jensen asked, Jeff would tell him, but murder was one of those words best left for the DA's office to bring up.
Jensen had added shoes by the time Jeff got dressed and back out into the living area. His eyes flickered over Jeff's shoulder holster; Jeff felt the irrational need to tell him he hadn't had to draw his gun in over a year, and hadn't fired it in almost three times as long, not unless you counted time at the range. He didn't though, just shrugged into his jacket and waited while Jensen made sure he had everything he needed.
The trip back to the hospital was fast and easy; it was still too early on a Sunday morning for there to be much in the way of traffic, or have trouble finding parking when they got there. The detective outside Padalecki's room--who, Jesus, looked about twelve--nodded Jensen inside without any fuss as soon as Jeff flashed his badge; everything quiet and calm enough that Jeff was thinking about maybe finding another hit of coffee when the shouting started inside the room.
Jeff looked at the young detective, who looked back at Jeff, clearly out of his depth. "Some cases," Jeff said, as the door to the room was jerked open from the inside. "They never end up going by the book."
"Oh, for God's sake," Jensen snapped. "Morgan, come in here so my idiot partner can see what a suspicious, untrusting son of a bitch you are and get off his high horse about this whole thing."
The detective gaped. Jeff shrugged, and patted the kid on the shoulder. "This is definitely that kind of a case."
Part 2
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