Kisses Sweeter Than Wine, 3/4

[topaz119]

Katie takes one look at Jared's face the next morning and the teasing light fades out of her eyes. Jared hasn't looked in the mirror at all, not even when he brushed his teeth, but he doesn't think he slept more than a couple of minutes and every time he blinks, it feels like sandpaper scraping over his corneas.

"I'm driving," Katie says, stooping to dig through her bag. "You can sleep--"

Jared laughs at that; he can't help it that it sounds more like he's choking. "Yeah, I don't think so, K."

"Ambien, right here," she says, standing up and holding out the prescription Chad had hassled Jared into filling back when he and Sandy were falling apart and he spent half the night trying to figure out how getting everything he'd never even dreamed about somehow meant he had to fuck up the one good thing he'd ever managed to hold onto. "I know you don't want it, but you look like shit and you have to be on camera in less than twenty-four hours."

Jared shakes his head, but takes the bottle from her anyway and lets her get behind the wheel, even though it's generally agreed that driving with Katie is taking your life in your hands. She gets them out of the city with only a single incident that requires her to flip off the driver of the car she'd just passed--Seriously, bitch, did you not think I'd notice how you suddenly hit the gas as soon as I put my blinker on?--and navigates her way around and through the construction east of the city.

"Thanks," Jared says, finally.

"I was planning on driving anyway," Katie answers, with a quick glance at him. "Just, you know, thought it'd be more because you had an awesome night of sex, not because… Well, not because someone kicked your teeth in."

"The sex was awesome," Jared says. "And then I asked him if he wanted to come hang out with us for these last couple of weeks."

"And he said no?" Katie asks after a couple of seconds.

Jared shrugs. "He started to say yes, I saw it." Katie stays quiet this time. Looking at her, Jared knows she won't push any further, but the words come spilling out anyway. "He thought we were together. You and me."

"Did you tell him that that it's not just no, it's holy crap, no?"

"It doesn't matter," Jared makes himself say. "He honest-to-God thought I'm the kind of guy who'd fuck him in the alley and set him up like, like a fucktoy on the side."

"Jared--" Katie starts, but Jared cuts her off.

"It doesn't matter, K." He's gone over this again and again, all night long, and it always comes back to the look in Jensen's eyes as he told Jared it never seemed to work out any other way. "I missed the call on the guy, okay? I'll live."

Jared closes his eyes and leans his head back against the window. It's not subtle--he hears Katie snort--but she doesn't say anything more for the rest of the drive out to the Eastern Shore and the family-run hard-shell crabbing business that's next on the shooting schedule.

Jensen keeps Chris and Misha at bay for a week with increasingly flimsy excuses, which is quite the accomplishment given that Misha not only owns the converted warehouse Jensen's lived in since he landed in DC, but lives and works there, too. Chris is easier: he's out on the road a lot, so all Jensen has to do is return calls when he knows Chris can't take them, but all the whole exercise does is delay the inevitable. He's not especially surprised when they show up with a fifth of Chris's favorite bourbon and barbecue from the place down by Fredricksburg that's little more than a cinderblock deathtrap but has the best ribs known to man.

"Jesus Christ, have you even showered this week?" Chris demands when Jensen opens the door and blinks owlishly in the light from the setting sun. "Eat, goddamnit," he says when Jensen can't come up with anything to say. "And then you're telling us what the fuck is going on if I have to pull it out of you myself."

"How appetizing," Jensen says, but he lets them in and gets down real plates and heavy glasses for the whiskey. The apartment is spotless, scrubbed to within an inch of Jensen's life. He can see Misha taking it all in with a single glance; what Misha can't see is that every file, every drawer, every cupboard is just as spotless, and reorganized to boot--plus, every project, even the little things that generally aren't worth the time it takes to write them up and e-mail them, are done and filed and there are a dozen outstanding proposals waiting for editors to get back to him.

Jensen's subconscious isn't subtle, but just because he knows that about himself doesn't mean he's felt the need to stop it in the last week.

Chris props his feet up on the table in front of the sofa and accidentally on purpose kicks the stack of magazines there to the floor. Jensen lets it go.

The ribs are good, as always, and maybe Jensen isn't quite as far gone as he's been thinking, because he doesn't even get twitchy about how they're using paper towels for napkins or how they're just tossing them into a pile on the floor once they need new ones.

"Okay," Jensen says, before they can get going on him again. "You have to let me tell this from the beginning." Chris rolls his eyes but nods, and Jensen starts with San Antonio and the bar and the Home Run Derby.

"You're fucking kidding me," Chris says, right before he all but falls off the couch laughing. "You hooked up with the guy you were interviewing? You?"

"Shut up," Jensen grumbles, finally giving in and collecting all the dishes and crap to take over to the sink. Chris ignores him and keeps right on laughing. "You act like I'm a monk or something."

"Or something," Chris agrees. "Seriously, man, this last year I've lost count of all the guys you've left crying in their scotch because you won't give them the time of day, and you go off and screw a guy you have to work with the next day? Were you high?" He turns to Misha. "Does he even get high?"

"Remind me why I let you in my house again?" Jensen flops back down on the couch and eyes Chris sourly. Chris snickers at him again, but reaches back and grabs the bottle of bourbon and pours another slug into Jensen's glass.

"Because I put up with your shit," Chris says. Jensen snorts. "And I bring the good stuff."

"Yeah, yeah," Jensen mutters, taking another drink. It really is the good stuff--single-barrel, hand-drawn bourbon from a tiny distillery in Tennessee that Chris swears is located on a creek that flows straight from heaven. There are times when Jensen wonders if Chris goes to Tennessee for Nashville or because it's a good excuse to head out and buy another case. "Trust me, I wasn't exactly planning on anything like that happening. It just... happened."

"And then you got up and went and did the interview?" Misha makes an impatient gesture; Chris pours himself another half-glass. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," Jensen answers. "I did." He doesn't actually say believe it or not, but he can't keep it completely out of his voice.

"How'd that work out?" Chris's voice is curious, but not unkind.

"Easier than you'd ever believe," Jensen says, thinking about the morning and breakfast; Jared's hands moving, clean and sure. "I just needed enough for a sidebar--they were doing profiles of the reality show winners. It ended up being the easiest thing I've written in a long time. Even with the, uh, complications," he adds quietly.

"Good," Misha says, just as quietly. "On both counts, especially since it's been a while since you've let anything complicate your life."

"Guys--" Jensen starts.

"Seriously, Jen," Chris says. "It's been almost a year. I know all hell broke loose there at the end, but it's about time you got back out there."

"One random hook-up isn't--"

"Save it, Ackles. One random hook-up isn't much for me or Misha, or, hell, half the city, but for you? It's like signing the Declaration."

Jensen shrugs, watching the amber liquid slosh around in his glass, and Misha says, "Plus, it wasn't just the once, right?"

"Oh, yeah, it gets even better," Jensen answers. The other two shut up and let him get through the whole disaster after the last dinner, not saying anything until he finishes, and even then there's a long look exchanged between them before Chris says, "Not that I'm jumping on you or anything, but maybe you were wrong?"

"Given my track record?" Jensen asks, and the three of them go back far enough that he doesn't try particularly hard to keep the bitter edge out of his voice.

"Look," Chris sighs. "Two guys don't make the entire world bad."

"I appreciate the pep talk, but seriously." Jensen can't help it; he can't sit there and watch them watch him. It's probably not any better that he's up and pacing around the room--Misha's psychoanalytic brain has got to be having a field day--but it at least burns off some of the jittery tension talking about this, any of this, always causes. He's changed a lot about his life, but the part where he should never acknowledge that he's allowed it to get messy is something he's not sure he's ever going to get past. "I'm close to thirty and I've had two serious relationships in my life, let two guys get close, and both of them--"

Jensen closes his mouth with a snap, before it all--all the ugliness, all the humiliation and the self-loathing--comes spilling out. It could happen to anyone once, but twice? Jensen is just fooling himself that he has any kind of judgement when it comes to getting naked with guys.

"At least you've had two that were serious," Chris says, in the voice that says they're probably not stopping until the bottle of bourbon is gone. Judging from his sigh, Misha recognizes it, too. Jensen has absolutely no problem with that plan.

"You two are definitely a pair tonight. Made for each other," Misha says, like he's doing much better.

Chris snorts. "As long as it doesn't involve getting naked, yeah, we're made for each other."

"Moron," Jensen says, tossing back the rest of what's in his glass in one breath. "As if you're my type at all."

"Hey," Chris yells. "Treat that with respect--it didn't sit in an oak barrel for eight years for you to knock it back like it's rotgut."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Jensen says, holding out his glass. "C'mon, hit me again. And you're behind. Both of you."

"Christ, this is going to get ugly," Chris says, but he fills Jensen's glass and adds more to his own. Jensen's been all about the control this last week, making sure his life was as orderly as he can make it, and that's done shit for him.

Time for a change.

Sometime in the night, before things get too blurred--so it's before dawn, because Jensen definitely remembers seeing the sky starting to lighten and not being able to figure out why for a couple of minutes--Chris takes his glass out of his hand and makes him pay attention to Misha, sitting on the floor in lotus position. "I think you want to go see if you were wrong, and I don't think that's such a bad idea," Misha says.

Chris nods solemnly. Jensen pretends like he doesn't understand, but he's sure Misha knows he's gotten his point across, even if all Jensen does is roll his eyes and reach for the bottle.

All in all, it's not a bad way to spend the night, other than the part Jensen always forgets: bourbon hangovers suck.

"Hey, look," Jensen says, as Chris finally manages to get himself vertical and out the door the next day. "Thanks. For all of it."

Misha had disappeared sometime after dawn. Based on prior experience--and a deeply held suspicion that he must have a hyperbaric chamber to speed-cure his hangovers--he'll pop up shortly and continue to harass Jensen until he makes a decision.

"What are friends for, if not to invite themselves over and flirt with alcohol poisoning?" Chris is still pale, but the shower had helped. At least he's not green anymore. "Catch you later, man."

Jensen watches him head down the hall toward the stairs, and Jensen is finally, blessedly alone, even if that does mean he doesn't have much of an excuse not to think things through.

It's only a little after five--neither one of them had so much as twitched before three--so Jensen fishes the loaf of Wonder bread out of the freezer--he keeps a stash of its comforting blandness for emergencies like this--and makes himself a dinner of peanut-butter toast to go along with the gallon of water he's choking down while he thinks about his options.

They're pretty basic: play it safe, assume he was right and move on; or take a risk. Since his lizard brain is all about never saying Jared's name out loud again, Jensen is pretty sure he should be doing the exact opposite of that even though he's also aware that if he was wrong, Jared would be fully justified in taking one look at him and decking him.

Jared had said he had a couple more weeks of shooting, but he hadn't said where. That's okay, though; Jensen can research. It's his specialty, after all. Dealing with people gets him into trouble, but research? He can do that. Later, though. After he stops feeling like he's going to throw up all his internal organs.

It doesn't take him long to find Jared's crew the next morning. There are a trail of stories in local papers along the Eastern Shore, and in one of them Jared mentions that he's really looking forward to an extended visit in Williamsburg. The dates match, and when Jensen calls the newsroom at WTKR the nice intern tells him that yes, Jared Padalecki's still in the area, filming at one of the restored buildings in the colonial village.

Before Jensen can talk himself out of it, he showers and gets in the car. It's only a couple of hours and if he focuses on something else he can make it there before he talks himself out of it. The weather is okay--cloudy and cold, but no rain or sleet or snow--and traffic is light; he makes a conscious choice to see that as the universe helping him along. He's made it around Richmond and almost to the split to Roanoke when Chris calls. Jensen's tempted to let it go to voicemail, but he's done that too often lately so he braces himself and takes the call.

Chris laughs when Jensen admits where he is, but only a little. "Want me to go find Danneel so she can give you the sincere, supportive friend speech?"

"Nah," Jensen says. "I'll live without it. Look, I'm almost to my exit--"

"Yeah, yeah," Chris says. "I don't hear from you in the next couple of days and I really will sic Danni on you."

"I'll be in touch," Jensen promises. Chris makes a rude noise. "I will--I mean, I might only be telling you to leave me alone, but I swear I won't go underground."

Chris just grunts and the call beeps off, which leaves Jensen with nothing to do but navigate his way through all the tourist crap that lines the outskirts of Williamsburg. He parks and finds the bus and buys a ticket and figures out where Jared's actually shooting and gets all the way to the inn before he hits the unmovable roadblock, in the form of the security team that isn't buying his story of being there for an interview.

"I'm sorry, sir," the guy at the door keeps saying. "But if you're not on the list, you're not on the list, and I will lose my job if I let you in."

Jensen's about to let it go--trying to get on set was worth a shot, but if he's gotten this far with the whole stupid idea he can keep himself from bailing for a few more hours while he waits around for Jared to finish up and come out on his own--when Chad comes out and sees him.

"I got it, Mike; thanks," he says to the guard while he motions Jensen over. "Dude," he hisses to Jensen. "You have exactly one minute to convince me why I should let you near my boy, and the only reason you're getting even that long is because he's a fucking mess and nothing I've got has worked so far."

"We left some things… hanging," Jensen says, after a couple of seconds. "I'm here to finish the conversation, but I'm not making any promises that it'll be better if I do."

Chad looks at him for a long moment, then shrugs. "Yeah, it's a crapshoot, but I guess you're better than nothing."

Jensen should probably object to that characterization, but since he mostly agrees, he keeps his mouth shut. He follows Chad inside the inn, stepping carefully over cabling and power cords and all the trappings of the twenty-first century duct-taped to the eighteenth-century background. They're shooting in the kitchen, at the back of the house; Chad leaves him just outside the door with another hiss to stay out of sight until they've got the last shot.

They have the door propped open to get a little air into the room; Jensen can stay mostly out of sight but still see where Jared's set up behind a big oak table with an enormous fireplace at his back, people milling around dealing with lights and microphones. They have blackout curtains blocking the light from the outside doors and windows, and cutting the good-sized room down to a tiny section around Jared that feels claustrophobic even though Jensen's standing on the other side of the door.

"Sasquatch," Chad yells from where he and a couple of other guys are clustered around a monitor, sheets of paper in hand. "We are so close I can taste the first round you're buying for everyone. Mr. Director here tells me we need one last setup of you manhandling that stuffing; one good, clean shot of the ham while you're stuffing it with the stuffing" -- there's a burst of tired laughter from everyone, like it's a lame joke but it's their lame joke and they'll laugh at it until they kill someone -- "and one prettypretty shot of the whole thing going over the fire. Three setups, three shots, and we are done for the week." There's a ragged cheer at that and Jared takes a deep breath and nods.

"Let's do it," Chad says, and the whole production moves into action. Jensen stays outside, but he edges closer as they work. With all the lights in Jared's face, Jensen might as well be standing in a cave. Jared takes another couple of deep breaths and Jensen sees him step into whatever headspace it is that lets him talk individually to every single person who's watching him. They hand him a couple of big spoons to mix the stuffing, but he laughs and says everyone knows he's not going to miss a chance to play with his food as he leaves them on the table and digs into the huge bowl with both hands. He stops and lets them reset so they can get close-ups, not losing the attitude, and they keep moving fast, getting him a butterflied, bone-in ham to stuff and roll and tie. They stop twice for close-ups there and Jared's a little more subdued each time they come back, but it still looks and sounds good. He hangs on until they finally get the last shot of him moving the huge cast-iron dutch oven over the fire before he lets go of it all, and Jensen steps back out of range as they kill the lights and call it a day.

He hears Chad call Jared over and into a low, murmured conversation--more quiet than he would have thought either of them capable of--and he's not surprised to see Jared at the door a couple of seconds later, no smile at all in his eyes.

"I don't--I know you're in the middle of work," Jensen says. "I just wanted to talk for a couple of minutes."

Jared doesn't move for a few seconds, then nods his head toward the front of the inn. "Sure," he says, flat and even. It's not right, Jared's voice with no emotion, no animation, but Jensen can't really do anything about it. He walks back out the way he came, Jared close and silent behind him. Once they get outside it's loud and bright, the street full of tourists and school groups, with little groups of costumed interpreters milling around. He lets Jared lead them around the side of the building, away from everything, but once they're alone again, he still doesn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry I just left," Jensen finally says, because that's the truth, at least. "It wasn't fair."

Jared nods, a small, contained movement that's really not like him, but something around his eyes relaxes. "I wish you hadn't, but staying probably wouldn't have made much difference. It was more what you said. I don't know that your being here now is going to change anything."

It's what Jensen expected to hear, but it's still a disappointment. "You were there with a date," he says quietly. "And we were fucking on my car. That's not what I want my life to be."

"Katie's the supervising producer," Jared says. "She's inside now, if you want to talk to her, but we hang out when we're on the road. Keep each other out of trouble." He gets quiet again, then adds, "I would have told you that, if you'd asked."

"Maybe you could have told me that before things got going," Jensen said.

Jared sighs. "Maybe I should have, but it didn't occur to me--I mean, it's just Katie, we don't think of each other like that, and besides, I was too wound up, being there with you. And then, I--just. You said some really bad stuff, about me, and you, and--"

"I have had some pretty craptastic luck in the relationship department," Jensen says. "Or, no, not luck, because that makes it sound like it's all out of my control, and that's not right. I just, you had a date and we were fucking behind her back and how was I supposed to know she wasn't a date?"

"I--look, you just assumed I'd do something shitty like that." Jared pushes his hair back off his face and he doesn't look happy, but he's at least talking to Jensen, not at some point over his shoulder. "That's what I--what I can't--"

"What you can't get past," Jensen finishes for him.

"Yeah," Jared says. "I mean, I get that I was all over you and it was hotter than hell, me sucking you off in that alley, like, my brain wasn't working, I get that I should have said something, but knowing you thought that about me… That, it hurt and I can't figure out how to let go of it."

"I thought about Katie, and I was back to being second-best," Jensen says. "I couldn't believe I'd done it again, and yeah, it hurt."

It gets quiet, and it's not exactly comfortable, but it's better than it was. Jensen thinks he's going to have to live with that.

"So," Jared says after a bit. "Where does that leave us?"

"I don't know," Jensen answers. "Maybe we should leave well enough alone and let it all go."

"Maybe," Jared says. He's quiet for a few seconds. "We could still talk, though. Right?"

"I don't--" Jensen breaks off, because Jared's looking at him again, looking at him, not over his shoulder, and Jensen isn't going to be the one who makes him stop, no matter how bad an idea keeping in touch is going to be. "Yeah, I guess."

"Okay," Jared says, a tiny smile in his eyes. "Look, I have to get back in there, but we'll be going out after, do you want to --"

"No," Jensen says. "I think it's probably better if I go, but thanks." There's an awkward second where Jensen doesn't know whether to shake Jared's hand or what, but in the end, he just nods and starts back toward where he parked his car.

"Jen," Jared calls. When Jensen turns around, he shrugs. "I was wrong; it does make a difference that you came."

"Good," Jensen says. "I'm glad."

His cell phone ringing jolts Jensen out of the first real sleep he's gotten since everything fell apart with Jared. "Are you awake?" Mackenzie says, as soon as he manages to answer. "I need you to be awake, Jensen. I'm set for interviews and stuff in two weeks."

"Terrific--"

"Jen," Mackenzie interrupts, her voice dropping in dramatic fashion. "These aren't admissions interviews. They're the final round of this scholarship I applied for," she finishes in a whisper.

"What happened to Pi Phi at UT?" Jensen teases. "How it was going to be easier to just go with the flow…?"

"Ninety-nine percent sure," Mackenzie answers. "That's plenty of room to change my mind."

"Of course."

"And, okay, here's the big thing--can I stay with you?"

Jensen is dumbfounded, enough that she hurries on before he can answer. "The only time I could schedule the interviews, Mom has some stuff going on and I know it's a huge imposition, and I totally understand if you don't want me all up in your business--"

"No!" Jensen finally manages to say. "No, it's good. Of course you can stay with me if you want to."

"Oh, thank God," Mackenzie says. "You weren't saying anything and I thought I'd messed everything up there for a couple of seconds."

"I was just… surprised that-- Have you--Does Dad know about this?"

"He said it was fine with him, but that he didn't want me to get my hopes up because you'd made it clear you didn't want to be bothered with family."

"Let me guess," Jensen says, through gritted teeth. "It was all very quiet and civilized."

"Well, of course," Mackenzie says. "I brought it up at dinner, because you know it's easier when they're both in the same room and haven't had time to get their stories straight--" Jensen doesn't, actually, but there's another reason why his little sister is going to take over the world-- "and I was just as polite, because it's easy to be that way when I know I'm right, but then you were quiet and I thought maybe he was right after all and--"

"No," Jensen says. "He's not."

"Good," Mackenzie answers. "And not just because I need a place to stay. You know that, right?" Jensen mmms a quiet affirmative, because she's off on her next tear. "Oh, God, this is really happening. Okay, okay, I need to be calm and have Mom get my flights and think about what I'm going to wear--How much luggage do you think I can bring with me?"

Jensen closes his eyes for a second, and then looks around his tiny apartment with its one bed and practically nonexistent bathroom. Now might be a good time to invest in an air mattress. And maybe ask Misha where he gets the coat racks they use when they're staging a dinner in somebody's house.

"Okay," Katie says, on their last night. The season's wrapped and it's just the three of them and a fifth of Wild Turkey Special Reserve, back on the bus. It's a bad idea, since they all have early morning flights, but splitting the bottle was the best compromise they could come up with. "I have kept my mouth shut," Chad snorts, but Katie ignores him, "for a week--shut up, Chad--but we're done now, and I'm not going to just leave it like this."

"Yeah," Chad says, the righteous look on his face not hiding the the evil smirk in his eyes one bit. "She's not going to leave it like this."

"Leave what like what?" Jared asks. He's not stupid enough to think Katie'll get distracted, but he can at least make her work for it.

"You," Katie says, closing in on Jared. "And the effing gorgeous guy from the underground restaurant." Jared squirms away from her on the couch, even though he knows it's useless, and sure enough Katie follows right along until Jared's trapped at the end. "He tracked you down. And?"

"Oh, come on," Jared says. "Don't tell me you were watching us."

"Dude," Chad says. "You were a freaking zombie after that shit went down. Of course we were watching you; we'd been watching you the entire goddamned week. I still don't know how you didn't set yourself on fire a couple of times."

He gives Jared that Jesus-Christ-I-don't-know-why-I-even-care look, but Jared recognizes the stubborn glint in his eye.

"We talked, okay?" Jared's going for calm and mature; what he ends up with is sulky teenager.

Katie sighs. "You talked. We saw that. And?"

"He apologized. I apologized." Jared shrugs. "We've talked, like, twice, since then. Just talking," Jared adds, before Chad can put words to the leer forming on his face.

"And you're good with that," Katie says, her tone so neutral she might as well be screaming liarliarpantsonfire.

"Sure," Jared answers, just as neutrally. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't ask me," Katie mutters, giving up and reaching for the bourbon. "I just work here."

Jared lets her refill his glass and pretends he's not thinking about all the reasons he's not okay with how things stand between him and Jensen.

"I like Misha," Mackenzie says from her perch on Jensen's couch, where she's been ensconced since her arrival three days before. "But I probably shouldn't tell you that, should I?"

Jensen thinks about his sweet baby sister and Misha, and shakes his head. "God, please don't, at least not for a couple of years."

"Well," Mackenzie says, motioning impatiently for Jensen to hand over the caramel corn that they finally managed to make without burning, "if it makes you feel any better, he looks at me like I'm a little girl he wants to spoil, not like anything more grown-up."

"Good," Jensen says. "Really. Good."

"Yeah, that usually bugs me, but I think it's probably for the best this time." She crams a handful of popcorn in her mouth and Jensen breathes a sigh of relief that unfortunately turns out to be short-lived. "Now, Chris, on the other hand…"

Jensen counts to ten, because he's pretty sure she's yanking his chain, and sure enough, she's laughing at him, a long peal that reminds him of summers and the brat who always wanted to tag along with him.

"God, your face," Mackenzie says, still giggling, and he throws a handful of popcorn at her on principle. "Like he's treated me like anything but an extra sister. Anyway. I really like your friends--they're awesome and funny, and Danneel is gorgeous and she's going to take me shopping tomorrow, so I need to go get some cash, okay? You have a great life, which is what I've been imagining you having for years since you've been in your not-talking-to-people-at-home mood--which I totally understand and support, because hi, I live there, too; I know how all up-into-themselves they can be, but are you just not introducing me to your boyfriend, or do you really not have one?"

Jensen is proud that he doesn't choke on his own popcorn, but that doesn't last long because there's still a question to answer. "Free as a bird," he manages to say, but he knows before he's finished that it's not going to satisfy her.

"Why?" Mackenzie watches him closely. "You're funny and smart and gorgeous--and I know you; you're the biggest romantic I've ever met."

"It just is what it is, princess." He'd thought he was to the point where he believed that, but then Jared happened.

"Yeah, so I'd like to think, but everybody gets this look when I mention it, and then they change the subject really fast." She cocks her head at him. "Like you're doing right now. Was whatever happened really all that bad?"

"Nobody died, if that's what you're asking," Jensen says.

"I know you've grown up thinking I'm this bubble-headed princess, because that's what everybody thinks and it's easier to let them think that and go do my own thing while they're not paying attention, but I'm really not, and--"

"No," Jensen says. "I know that. I do. I'm sorry I let you get caught in the crossfire of all the stuff between Dad and me. I'm so sorry I missed the last couple of years."

Mackenzie smiles at him, dazzling, and Jensen does not envy the poor saps who have fallen or are going to fall into her web. Then again, he's not going to mind the company. "Thank you." She puts down the bowl of caramel corn and crawls over to join him on the floor and hug him. "You're sweet, but are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Jensen answers. "I just swore off dating for a while. And maybe I let it get to me a little too much. That's what Chris thinks."

"What does Misha think?"

"Misha likes it when I'm miserable," Jensen says. "Means I spend ridiculous amounts of time on his crazy ideas."

"I think he came up with the crazy idea to get you out of your funk, but hey, I'm just the little sister, what do I know?"

"Not that I am for a second doubting your evil genius, but I honestly don't think that's what got Misha all cranked up about the supper-club thing."

She smiles at him as though he's completely brainless but she loves him anyway, and moves on for her next surgical strike. "So there's been, like, nobody since the stupid moron who stomped on your heart?"

From the way she says it, he can tell she knows about Jared. She probably wormed it out of Chris. "There was somebody, but… I jumped to conclusions and he took offense and… It didn't really work out."

"Did you want it to?" she asks. "Or did you just mess up to get out of it?"

"You are too young to know that much about how to sabotage a relationship," Jensen says, honestly shocked.

"Please." Mackenzie waves her hand, airy and dismissive. "I go to an all-girls boarding school. Half the girls who go there are in therapy and the other half should be. You really don't want to know what I know."

"Dad must be thrilled at the extra value he's getting for his money," Jensen mutters.

"He'd stroke out if he knew even a tenth of the drama that goes on. But really, he should be impressed. I mean, there's all this stuff happening but our SAT scores are aces and everybody looks fabulous at the deb balls. You think that happens by accident?"

"I'm afraid to ask, but I probably should--"

"Oh, no," Mackenzie says. "I'm fine. Number One: I am too smart to get caught up in it all. People-smart, not book-smart, though I'm doing pretty damn okay there, too. Number Two: I do have a therapist and she's awesome, so I don't cut or drink or snort coke or starve myself or puke anytime I eat something or sleep with any guy who smiles at me or blow them in the back seat and claim I'm saving myself for marriage." She stops to take a breath and Jensen feels a little sick at the horrors she's just blithely rattled off. "And Number Three: don't think I'm forgetting that you haven't answered my question yet."

"Number One--I know you're smart, but that doesn't mean things can't happen that are too much for you, so, Number Two--you call me if you need to talk to somebody who isn't a shrink." Jensen glares at her, waiting for her nod of acknowledgment before he finishes with, "And Number Three… no, I think I just messed up."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Yeah, I did." Jensen takes the popcorn she offers and pokes through it. "It's better--we're at least on speaking terms now, but… That's about as far as we've gotten."

"Would you want more if he did? I mean, he screwed up, too--seriously, don't look at me like that; you didn't do whatever you did in a vacuum."

"I don't know, princess," Jensen says. "Maybe."

"Well," Mackenzie sighs. "At least you're talking. That's something, right?"

"It is," Jensen says, quietly. "It really is."

"Man, you know I love you like a brother," Rafael says, as Jared reaches over the bar for another beer. It's late, and he's been drinking for the whole night, but he's mostly just mellow and he can walk back to the condo if he needs to. "But if you're still here in five minutes, you're helping me break down the range for spring cleaning."

"I could do that," Jared answers, shrugging. "It always goes faster if we both do it."

"It does." Rafe wipes down the bar and eyes Jared curiously. "I figured you'd have better things to do by now."

"Man, not you, too." Jared drinks half the beer in one go. "I'm on vacation, okay? I can do any damn thing I want."

"Not sayin' you can't," Rafe agrees. Jared waits, but he doesn't say anything more. But Jared knows that look in his eye, the one that says he's not going anywhere if Jared wants to talk about it, and if he doesn't, well, Rafe will just make him.

"I'm just… really tired of everybody thinking I'm something I'm not," Jared finally offers, coming around the bar so they can head back into the kitchen together. They break down the range twice a year, tear it apart for cleaning and reassemble it in the space of a night. If Jared thinks about it, he can remember every single time he's done it, him and Rafe; every year from the time he was fifteen until the first year after he won. It's disgusting, but there's always a bottle of tequila around to ease the way and there's something therapeutic about getting everything clean enough to shine.

Rafe doesn't say anything, not until Jared's stripped down to a 'beater and jeans and they have the front panel off and soaking. The kitchen's still hotter than hell; the near-boiling water they're dumping over the dissassembled parts in the sink only adds to the humidity and the shot Rafe pours for them just amps everything up even more.

"And that's different from the way it's always been, how?" Rafe finally asks.

"It's not," Jared sighs, tossing the burner guards into the sink to soak.

"Never bothered you before," Rafe says. "Or were you just going along with it?"

"Nah, it never really did," Jared says. "I never cared." He reaches back for a wrench to loosen up the last couple of bolts holding the cooktop shield on. "I still don't, mostly."

If it had been anyone other than Rafe, they'd have smacked Jared upside the head and told him to get on with it, but that's why Jared only talks like this to Rafe; always has, from the time he was sixteen on.

"You remember when I was in here last summer?" Jared says, after a while. "The All-Star Game was on."

"Yeah," Rafe says, nodding. "You left with a guy."

Jared laughs, because trust Rafe to be keeping an eye on him, even now. "Yeah, I did. He's kinda still around." It's a half-hour and another three shots each before Jared finishes telling him everything that's happened.

"Seems pretty simple to me. The ball's in your court, man." Rafe wipes the sweat out of his eyes with the back of his wrist.

"I guess," Jared says. "I don't really know what I want, though."

"Bullshit," Rafe snorts. Jared starts to object, but Rafe fixes him with a cut-the-crap look and he ends up shrugging.

"You know exactly what you want." Rafe pours out another two shots. "You just don't want to admit it."

"Maybe," Jared mutters.

"Now, there's a surprise," Rafe says. "Look, you skate by on whatever, it's all good--because you honestly don't care. Until you do."

"Shut up and give me the damn tequila," Jared says.


Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four