SPN J2 AU Fic: Black Flag Over Texas (2/4)

[electricalgwen]

Masterpost

Part Two

Her phone rings at one a.m., twice. It stops, rings again once, then, after another pause, twice. The number’s blocked, but there’s only one person who’ll call at this time and in this pattern. She answers it the next time it rings.

“Someone’s snooping around.”

She rubs her eyes. “What? Where?”

“In our system.”

“Have they got anything?”

“Probably not. But it doesn’t look random.”

“Shit.”

“You’re going to have to speed up the timeline.”

“I can’t.” She frowns. “I’m not in yet. I can’t do anything until I get that access.”

“So get it.”

“I’m trying! It’s only one of the most secure systems in the world, you know!” She makes a face at the phone, thankful there’s no video link. “I’m doing my best.”

“How far off are you?”

She honestly doesn’t know. Maybe a month.

“A couple of weeks.”

There’s a pause, then a sigh. “I guess that’ll have to do. We’re going to move ahead with the other operation at your site in the meantime. Keep your distance.”

“How am I supposed to make sure of that,” she says tartly, “when you won’t tell me who’s involved?”

“You know it’s better that way,” the voice rebukes. “Just keep your head down. Do your job. You’ll know when it happens.”

“Fine.”

“And keep me in the loop. I want to know the minute you have access.”

She grits her teeth. “Fine.”

“One more thing,” the voice says. “We don’t know yet who’s snooping, or how they found us. But it’s conceivable they’ve got someone on the ground there. I’m having Spider check it out. Be careful.”

She hangs up the phone and goes back to bed, but it takes her a long time to get back to sleep.

She believes in what she’s doing, but it’s been easy so far; it’s felt unreal. A game. Codes and numbers and computers; plans and strategies. Pieces put in motion, but the effects have been far off from her.

Someone on the ground. Someone nearby.

The dark is very dark.

Jensen finds himself falling into his new cover with unexpected ease. He’s never going to love mornings, but after the first couple of weeks it gets easier to stay awake through Quantitative Methods. He spends a startling amount of time at the library – turns out all those blocks of free time in an academic schedule are necessary; who knew? He’s got his assignments, reading and memorizing and shit, but somewhat to his surprise he finds within a few weeks that that’s all become pretty routine. He finishes early most nights, winds up working out or playing Call of Duty for hours, and still gets decent grades on the first few assignments.

If he’s honest, Jared is indirectly responsible for a lot of his academic achievement. He doesn’t want to look like a moron in seminar class or in the discussion group.

After the second seminar class, Jared asks if he wants to go for coffee again. The third time, Jensen asks, and from then on it’s assumed. They hang out on a couple of other occasions, in larger groups. Phil has a barbeque one Saturday and invites them both. Mike organizes a laser tag event. Jensen thinks about declining that one, worried that in the heat of the moment his competitive instinct might override common sense and give him away, but reasons that ex-military is a good enough explanation for his abilities. He wins – might have been unusual not to – but he takes his time and keeps his shots this side of believable. Mostly he has a great time watching Jared chase around, hyped up on adrenaline and even sweatier than usual.

Jared’s actually pretty good. Mike’s team would have been sunk without him and Bethie. Bethie’s sneaky; she’s not an aggressive shooter, but she’s stealthy and when she has time to line up a shot, she rarely misses. Jensen takes her out right at the end. She isn’t upset at all, just laughs and throws her arms around his neck in an exuberant hug. “I can’t believe I lasted that long!”

They don’t get to hang out as much as Jensen would like, but it’s probably for the best, given that he’s here on an actual job. Besides, Jared’s pretty busy, got a dissertation to write.

“Come by the office after class tomorrow?” Jared says one day, scribbling the room number on a scrap of paper. “I’ve got a couple of books you might be interested in.”

Jensen finds the office at the end of a long hall. The door has a carefully lettered sign on red paper saying “IS THE COFFEE MAKER OFF??? Remember when you nearly burned the place down!”

There are noises coming from beyond the half-closed door. Positively orgasmic noises. He nearly turns around and leaves, but he wasn’t being stealthy about his approach. “Jensen? That you?”

He pushes the door open. “Yeah.”

Jared is sprawled in a chair, blissful and dopey expression on his face. Sandy’s standing behind him, giving him a shoulder massage.

“She is the best at this,” Jared sighs happily. “I advise being really nice to her.”

Sandy laughs. “Nah, you’re just easy to please.”

“Mmmph.” Jared drops his chin on his chest and emits a happy groan as Sandy digs her knuckles into his right trapezius.

Great. Now Jensen can add an audio track to his nightly jerk-off fantasies.

“On the corner of my desk.” Jared waves in its general direction. “When you were talking about citizen groups the other day, I remembered I had this book on the decline of political parties and the rise of citizen movements. Figured you might like to read it.”

“Thanks.”

“There you go,” Sandy says, smoothing her hands out along Jared’s shoulders and down his arms. “All better.”

Jared stands, rolling his neck. “Seriously. You are the best.”

“I’ve got to get back to work.” Sandy looks apologetically at Jensen. “Sorry. I have a ton of assignments to grade.”

“No problem,” Jensen says. “I should get going.”

“Are you walking?” Jared starts gathering papers together on his desk. “I’m heading out as well.”

“Got my car,” Jensen says. “Want a lift?”

“Yeah.” Jared smiles at him. “That’d be great.”

Jensen’s car turns out to be a big black behemoth of a truck. There’s a teeny-tiny sigil on the back indicating…

“Hybrid?”

“Biofuel,” Jensen says, defensively.

“Cool,” Jared grins.

The hint of belligerence in Jensen’s stance vanishes instantly. “Glad you think so.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jared’s honestly bewildered.

Jensen blinks at him. “We’re in Texas. The state was practically founded on oil. I’ve had people I don’t even know come up and tell me it’s unpatriotic to drive this thing.”

Jared snorts. “Yeah, well. I love Texas and all, but I’d like there to be a Texas for my kids to love.” He takes in Jensen’s raised eyebrows and waves his hands frantically. “I mean, if I ever have any.”

“You should, man. You’d be an awesome dad. And you and Sandy would have gorgeous kids.”

Jared laughs at that. “Me and Sandy? Hey. No. Did you think…? Man, no. We’re just friends.”

“Really?” Jensen says blankly.

“Really,” Jared confirms. “She’s great but she’s not my type.”

He slants Jensen a quick glance as he says it.

“So, a bunch of us are going out Friday to celebrate the end of mid-terms.” He knows Jensen’s been stressing about the tests. He also knows Jensen’s going to ace them; he’s smarter than he gives himself credit for.

“After discussion group?” Jensen asks, turning right out of the parking lot.

“There won’t be discussion group that day. We’ll meet up downtown.” The sun’s low and in his eyes; Jared flips the sun visor down. “You’ll come?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” They’re approaching a set of lights; Jensen signals and pulls into the left lane. “Uh, where am I going?”

“The right way, actually,” Jared frowns. “That was lucky. Sorry, I forgot I needed to give you directions. Turn left here.”

The hybrid corners surprisingly well. Jensen denies being a Formula One driver in a previous life. Jared laughs and claims not to believe him.

Since Jensen doesn’t have anywhere to be Friday afternoon, he sets up a physical meeting with Jeff and the team. It's a good time to check in: Katie's back from Washington, and Aldis has apparently made a breakthrough.

He takes the usual precautions to make sure he isn’t followed, and when he walks into headquarters, the usual safe feeling envelops him. He’s gone on a couple of long assignments before and coming back to headquarters always feels like coming home.

He supposes it’s the closest thing he’s got to home now, really. The house he grew up in hasn’t been home for a long time. His apartment isn’t home. Even the place he shares with Chris isn’t home. It’s where he keeps his stuff and where he sleeps when he’s not on assignment elsewhere, but it’s just practical. He moves at least every couple of years; there’s no emotional tie to this place any more than there was the last. Headquarters, on the other hand, is the same as it’s been since he joined, and most of the people who care about him hang out there.

“You’re really going for the student look, huh?” Aldis looks askance at his band T-shirt.

“Could be worse,” Jensen says. “I could grow my hair long.”

“Maybe in liberal arts,” Aldis snorts. “PoliSci, I’m surprised they’re not making you wear a three piece suit.”

“This is grad school,” Katie says. “Appearance doesn’t matter.”

“Grades do, though.” Jensen gives Aldis a smug grin. “Please note that you have not had to fake any of mine yet.”

“I did notice that.” Aldis leans in and eyes Jensen closely. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re Jensen’s smart clone. Or an alien replacement. Which might explain the change in fashion sense.”

“Enough,” Jeff says. “Aldis, how about you bring us up to speed?”

“Right,” Aldis says, and spins to face the screen. “I’m not gonna bother telling you how complicated this was, because you wouldn’t appreciate it anyway, but basically I have pulled off a miracle and located the needle you were looking for in that haystack we call Google Mail.”

He clicks and brings up an email that looks like strings of random numbers.

“I located this email…”

He hits another button, and the numbers morph into words.

“…and decrypted it.”

They all scan the text as Jeff summarizes it.

“This is their next move. They’re trying to get into government computers and plant information to make it appear the federal government is engaged in various underhanded manipulations to strip states of their rights. It’ll look like the government’s centralizing control of things like health and education: trying to get a stranglehold on things that states typically have local control over.”

Jeff sits on the edge of his desk. “They’re hoping to provoke public outrage that’ll further bolster the secessionist agenda. Anti-government activists will be all over that, and even moderates are likely to swing to the defence of the states.”

“If they get that kind of access to government computers, they could do a lot more than that.” Katie bites her lip. “Are you able to trace their hackers from this email?”

“Not yet,” says Aldis, “but I’ll keep trying. I want to get my own access into the system too. Then maybe I’ll stand half a chance of counteracting whatever they try next.”

“Keep working on it,” Jeff says. “Will you be able to recognize planted files?”

Aldis waggles his head side to side. “Maybe. The trouble’s knowing where to look. Any given file, I can tell you if it’s the real deal or Astroturf. But there’s a million files in there. It’s not like I’m gonna be scanning them all every day, so they put one in, it’s got a good chance of slipping past me. Plus, if I were them, I’d put them in a highly classified area – it’d be more believable that way, more PR damage – and I’ll need better access to get at that. It’s gonna take ridiculous luck, or some inside information, to catch things before they do any damage.”

“Any news on the inside?” Jeff turns to Jensen. So does everyone else.

“Not much,” Jensen admits.

In his weekly updates to Jeff, he describes any new people he’s met, what’s being talked about in the group, who’s been hanging around with whom. He’s passed on the names of everyone affiliated with the group so far, both the regulars and those who dropped in occasionally, and within twenty-four hours Aldis had dug up nearly everything there was to know about them.

He’d been both eager and reluctant to hear what Aldis had to say about Jared, and found himself making mental notes of which supermarket Jared shopped at and where he usually went running. He’d rebuked himself for being stupid, and thanked his lucky stars Jeff or Chris hadn’t picked up on anything. At least, he’d been pretty sure they hadn’t, until he walked in today and Chris asked him how Mr. Tall, Dark and Sexy was doing with his dissertation.

“I might be able to help you out a little,” Aldis says. “Maybe narrow the search. I’ve been working on profiling our suspects.”

Jensen frowns. “I thought pretty much the entire group fit your specs?”

“If you’re doing it the old-fashioned way.” Aldis’s expression makes clear what he thinks of that. “I’ve refined the algorithm to take advantage of additional factors and weighted logic. I tested it on several past scenarios to calibrate it, and then I ran it twenty times with varied guess input. One name keeps coming up with very high probability.”

His glance keeps flipping from Jeff to Chris; he doesn’t meet Jensen’s eyes.

Jensen is starting to get a bad feeling about this.

Aldis starts ticking off on his fingers. “Terrorists are usually young, socially alienated, and single. They might have a friend or a relative in the group. We know we’re looking at someone who’s pissed at the government. It might be over something personal, rather than ideological. Evidence suggests he’s…”

“Do we know it’s a he?” Jensen interrupts.

Aldis inclines his head in Jensen’s direction, but still doesn’t look directly at him. “Ninety-nine point two percent probability. He’s in his late twenties, knows his way around the city. Knows his way around people. Not military, but has some knowledge: might have a relative in the Army, or,” Aldis pauses, “has studied history, military thinking and social science. Well-read.”

Jensen grits his teeth. He’s perfectly aware of where Aldis is going.

“He’s good with computers, and a lot better than most at covering his tracks, but I’ve managed to get one or two hits on his access. He’s definitely used wifi points on or around campus.”

“Cut the dramatic build-up,” Jensen snaps. “It’s not Jared.” For one thing, social alienation and Jared Padalecki are mutually exclusive concepts.

Jeff sighs. “Listen, Jensen…”

“No, you listen,” Jensen snaps. “I’ve listened to enough of this computer babble over the last few years to know Aldis could be talking bullshit. The algorithm gives you a probability. And it’s all based on what he put in to it. You can’t account for things like…like emotion or altruism or…or gut instinct, okay?”

He stops, aware he’s sounding like an idiot.

“Actually, I can…” Aldis starts.

“Not the point,” Jeff says gently. “Jensen, this guy seems like a nice guy. Maybe he’s the real deal. But we have to at least consider the possibility that he’s involved.”

“I know,” Jensen mutters. “I did.”

“I know you did.” Jeff sighs. “I need you not to lose sight of that. You made friends with him to learn more about him. I know you like him, and that makes it hard to stay objective. But you have to.”

Jensen nods.

“We’re going out tonight.”

“You and Jared?” Katie raises an eyebrow.

“All of us,” Jensen snaps. “The gang. They’re going drinking. People’ll be more unguarded and relaxed. I’ll make the rounds, talk to everyone, but,” he glares at Jeff, “I’ll try and lead Jared a little more. See what I can get.”

“Great.” Jeff rests a hand on his shoulder and Jensen thinks he’s going to say something further, but he just pats his shoulder a couple of times before standing and leaving the room.

There’s a pause before Katie makes an effort to brighten the mood. “Have fun tonight!”

“Going drinking on a Friday night,” Aldis says. “Wish I got your kind of assignment.”

“You couldn’t handle his kind of assignment.” Katie shoots him with a finger-gun. “It takes someone with special skills. Like a complete lack of fear. Or dress sense.”

“Why do I hang around with you guys again?”

The place fills up early on Fridays. It’s easy to find an inconspicuous spot and keep watch. The man known to some as Spider doesn’t worry about the press of people in the club – the more the better, in terms of concealment. It’s never going to be hard to spot his target.

Jared shows up at the club surprisingly early. He’s hardly come out at all this year, and on the rare occasions that girl of his drags him along, he usually arrives later and leaves after only an hour.

Spider smirks. Jared’s invited that little crush of his along tonight. Probably wants to make sure the guy doesn’t show up before he does, and take off if he doesn’t see Jared – or hook up with someone else.

He reads the signs, and heads for the bar just before Jared does.

Jared shoulders up next to him and orders his usual beer plus an assortment of drinks for the others at his table. It’s very simple, in the crowd, to pass the palm of his hand over Jared’s glass, especially when Jared turns away to smile at the girl on the other side of him.

Jared plays it well, but come on. Nobody’s that nice. It’s a great public personality, but it’s a little over the top. The guy’s been less visible this year, occupied with something – he says it’s writing a dissertation – ever since he took an interest in their group.

Someone’s on the ground. Spider intends to prove it’s Jared.

He watches from his vantage point until Jared has downed the last of his beer. Someone else gestures to the bar and spreads their hands, looking around the table, clearly offering to get the next round. Damn. He needs Jared to get up.

…There. Good. Jared’s pushing back his chair too. Looks like the diuretic’s kicking in.

Jared’s buddy moves toward the bar, but Jared heads for the men’s room. Spider follows.

Bathroom etiquette works to his advantage: Jared never so much as glances at him as they walk in. Luck’s favoring him too; there are a couple of other guys there, but they’re gone by the time Jared finishes pissing. He lets Jared wash his hands before stepping up beside him and nailing him in the solar plexus.

Jared folds, breath whooshing out and muscles locking up. Good. He’s not much of a fighter, and Jared’s got the advantage in both height and weight. He’s got tactical drugs in his inside pocket – more of the stuff he’s already given him, plus a couple of extra options – but he’d rather not use more than he has to.

Do it cleanly. In and out without a sound or trace. The best way not to get caught is never to let them know there’s anyone to catch in the first place.

He slings Jared’s arm over his shoulder and hauls him towards the door. Jared’s sneakers drag and squeak on the tile as he mostly stumbles over his own feet.

Another guy pushes past them as he manhandles Jared out the door; thankfully it’s not one of Jared’s friends. Jared’s trying to say something but his diaphragm’s still locked up, not allowing him to get a proper breath. It’s easy to dig an elbow into his side, eliciting a groan. Spider keeps his face turned away from the guy and says to Jared, “C’mon, buddy. Time to get you home.”

“Overdid it, huh?” the guy says, and helpfully holds the door for them.

He veers left, until the door swings closed behind them, at which point he reverses abruptly and heads down the hall to the supply closet.

Once they’re in, door safely shut, he releases Jared and pats him warmly on the back. He straightens his jacket and smiles at him. Trust me, the smile says, everything’s fine.

“What are we doing here?” Jared blinks around.

“Hey, sit down,” he says, infusing camaraderie into every syllable. Jared should be highly suggestible right now. “You were feeling a little rough. Thought we should take a break.”

He puts a hand on Jared’s shoulder, and gently but firmly guides him down to sit on a crate. Jared lets his head flop back against the wall and watches him with mild curiosity. He turns away briefly to wedge a broom handle across the door, then leans his back against the door, posture relaxed and open.

“Do I know you?” Jared mumbles.

“Course you do, buddy.” He winks at him. “I’m helping you track them down. Remember?”

Jared screws up his face. “Track who down?”

“The separatists.”

Jared stares blankly.

“Anarchists.”

Jared squints and tilts his head. His hair falls in his eyes and he shakes his head. His coordination’s still off by a mile, and that little movement starts him falling to the right, tipping off his crate. It’s mostly luck that he gets one hand out, stops himself before breaking his nose against the cement floor.

“The terrorists, Jared.” He lets urgency bleed into his tone. “You’re after them. I’m here to help you but you have to tell me what you know.”

Jared pushes himself back upright. “This is a good movie.” He fucking giggles. “Does it have Lucy Liu in it?”

“No,” he snaps. Jared’s face falls.

He shoves down his annoyance, trying not to telegraph it in his body language. Deep breath. Relax the shoulders. Steady, trustworthy voice. “You know it’s not a movie, Jared. It’s all real. You’re doing us proud, aren’t you, keeping the secret? But you don’t have to hide from me. I’m on your side. They sent me to help you.”

“I’m in the movie?” Jared perks up. “Do I get to meet Lucy?”

He resists the temptation to bang his head against the wall and tries another line of attack.

Twenty minutes and his best drug later, he gives into temptation and punches the wall.

Jared isn’t an agent. He isn’t after the separatists. He has no idea they exist. He really is just another head-in-the-clouds grad student. Arguing and writing and navel-gazing in his ivory tower, not a clue what’s coming.

He grits his teeth in frustration. Someone’s here, he knows it. Someone’s after him and the best ally he’s ever recruited, and he has no idea how close they’ve gotten or who the fuck they are. Tonight was supposed to be paydirt and instead he’s got squat.

“Needed a little break from the dancing,” he suggests to Jared, and steers him down the hallway, staying behind him out of his line of sight. Jared’ll forget him the minute he’s gone.

“You’re just here for a good time,” he murmurs in Jared’s ear, and pushes him out into the swirling crowd. He watches long enough to make sure that Jared’s heading to the dance floor, and then slides out the back door.

Jensen’s still simmering when he gets to the club.

Jeff’s right, of course he’s right. It’s why Jensen’s so angry at himself. He knows it’s a bad idea to trust Jared, and it’s a completely fucking idiotic idea to even consider getting involved with Jared. Quite apart from the fact that Jared isn’t interested.

Sex as a means to an end is all very well. Jensen’s enjoyed the occasional seduction in pursuit of a job – it’s often more effective than threats or stealth, and far more pleasurable – but the key is never getting emotionally involved. And he’s known from the minute he first ran into Jared that that was a near impossibility here. Even if he could seduce Jared, throwing sex into the mix between them would be a damn fool thing to do.

He sees Jared the minute he walks in.

Jared’s out on the dance floor, flailing madly, towering over his dance partner. She puts a hand on his arm and he leans down to let her yell something in his ear. Whatever it is makes him laugh.

Jensen can’t hear it, of course, over the pulse of the music, but he knows that laugh.

He looks around and sees a couple of other people he recognizes. Phil’s at the bar, draped over a redhead; judging from the way he’s waving his hands he’s attempting to describe the topology of the Grand Canyon, or possibly a kangaroo birth. Mia’s seated against one wall, sipping something neon green and eyeing the dancers with amusement.

His eyes, and his feet, are drawn inexorably back to Jared.

Jensen doesn’t dance. Yet here he is, on the dance floor.

“Jensen!” Jared yells, spotting him. “Dude! I wasn’t sure you were gonna come. This is awesome!”

Jared’s erstwhile dance partner says something else and points over to the bar. Jared nods, eyes never leaving Jensen. He moves into Jensen’s space – very much into Jensen’s space, and dampens the intensity of his dancing somewhat.

“You look like you’re having a good time,” Jensen hollers. They’re right up by one of the speakers, it’s almost impossible to hear.

“Yeah!” Jared shouts back. “I haven’t been out in forever, man! Fuck, I needed this.”

The lights are patterning Jared’s hair in kaleidoscope hues, shifting like his eyes. He throws his head back and grins wild and white, and Jensen’s eyes can’t leave the long lines of his neck and collarbone. A bead of sweat pools in the hollow of his throat and Jensen barely stops the urge to lean in and lick it.

The beat shifts, slows slightly, deep bass vibrating through everything: the floor, their feet, their skulls. Their hips. Jared is moving closer, pushed into Jensen by the surging of the crowd. The few inches of height Jared has on him have never been so obvious, as Jared grips Jensen’s hips and pulls him in snug, plastering their bodies together.

Jensen’s ears are buzzing,

“This place about to blow…oh oh oh…”

Jared’s singing along, just enough off-key to make it truly horrible, or it would be if Jensen were actually focusing on the music, instead of watching Jared’s tongue and lips shape words.

“This place about to blow…”

Jared’s head tips forward. He’s no longer singing; he speaks directly into Jensen’s ear.

“Me too.”

Jensen would defy anyone not to be distracted by the feel of Jared Padalecki’s lips on their ear, the side of their face. For a moment, he doesn’t really process the words.

“Me too, Jen.” Jared’s voice is deep and wrecked, and he’s breathing fast. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot. Wanted this. Wanted you. Gotta get off this fucking dance floor, Jen, or I’m gonna blow right here in my jeans.”

Jensen literally gasps at that, sucks in a huge gulp of air.

Jared’s switched up the pace again, grinding harder and faster against him, and Jensen can feel how fucking huge and hard Jared’s cock is, shoving up against his thigh and his own throbbing erection.

Jared pulls back and stares straight into Jensen’s eyes, still rutting frantically into Jensen. His sweaty bangs are falling in his face, his mouth is open on gasps of pleasure. He looks desperate and delicious, open and so damn eager it breaks something in Jensen. His eyes are almost black, the shifting colors eaten up by arousal.

“Wanna, gonna,” Jared says, “not here, c’mon,” and he’s got an arm round Jensen’s waist, pulling him to the edge of the dance floor and down the narrow hallway to the john.

The floor’s sticky underfoot and there’s probably guys at the urinals watching Jared manhandle Jensen into a stall but Jensen can’t give a damn about that when Jared’s tearing his jeans open and wrapping a massive paw around his aching dick.

He can’t give a damn about anything but this, right here, Jared’s hands and mouth on him. Jared might be an anarchist, he might be straight, he might kick Jensen’s ass in the morning, but right now he feels and smells and tastes like everything Jensen’s ever wanted and Jensen is not strong enough to back away.

Jared’s muttering sweet filth in his ear, and he’s jerking Jensen’s dick a little too hard and fast. It’s exactly what Jensen needs right now; he groans, shoving his hips forward, arching into Jared’s grip. Jared’s riding his thigh, licking his neck, and then he bites down on Jensen’s earlobe and that’s it. Jensen’s coming unstoppably, hard and blind and helpless, surrounded by Jared.

His legs threaten to give out; it’s only Jared’s weight pinning him against the side of the stall that keeps him upright as he slowly comes back to himself. He’s dizzy, head spinning from alcohol and oxygen deprivation and the most intense orgasm he’s had since, fuck, possibly ever, but he’s with it enough to lock his knees and shove a hand down between their bodies. He was raised that way.

Well, his momma never actually discussed the etiquette of sex in a nightclub bathroom, but the point is, he’s enough of a gentleman to reciprocate.

Jared is leaning heavily against him, panting open-mouthed and wet against his neck. He knocks Jared’s hand out of the way and is struggling with Jared’s zipper when he realizes the denim around it is damp. Soaked, even. Sodden with come, and holy fuck Jared, apparently-not-so-straight-Jared, just came in his pants from giving Jensen a fucking handjob.

He takes a moment to process the mind-blowing nature of this, then wipes and buttons himself up as best as possible. Jared is floppy and mumbly against him. He has to shove Jared backwards to maneuver the stall door open around them.

The minute the door’s open, he knows it’s bad news. There are four guys lounging against the row of sinks on the far wall.

He looks the middle one straight in the eye, gives a terse nod of his head, and looks away. Trying to signal I don’t want any trouble, but also, leave us alone and nobody gets hurt.

He knows it’s not going to work the moment Jared steps out of the stall behind him. Their expressions turn hungry, and there’s an ugly murmur. The middle guy shoves off the sinks and ambles towards them.

Jensen tries never to create unnecessary disturbance when he’s on assignment, it can gather unwanted attention. Usually he’d keep moving for the door, but he’s got Jared to consider. Jared, who’s drunk and post-orgasmic and apparently oblivious to the change in atmosphere.

“Where you think you’re goin’, fag?” the lead guy sneers, and his buddies rumble agreement and menace.

Jared staggers up beside him, makes a goofy noise, and rests his chin on Jensen’s shoulder. One of the men makes a gagging sound.

Clearly Jared is going to be no help at all.

Jensen pushes Jared behind him. He can hear the slither of fabric as Jared slides down the wall, folding up into a pile of long limbs, but he ignores it for now, focusing his senses on the four men who have them cornered. His right hand curls into a fist.

“Look, he’s gonna show us his little fag moves,” one of them slurs, and Jensen leaps into action.

The leader is felled instantly by a solid blow to the jaw plus a knee to the gut, and Jensen shoves him backwards to crash into one of the others. The remaining two come at him hard, one from each side; he takes the one on the left first, blocking the guy’s wild swing with his left forearm and breaking his collarbone with the edge of his right hand. The guy yells in pain and shock and automatically curls forward slightly; Jensen kicks him in the groin and brings an elbow down hard on the back of his head, and that’s that.

The guy behind him meanwhile lands a punch to Jensen’s kidney, but Jensen’s already spinning back, avoiding the kick aimed at his knee. He grabs the man’s foot and flips him; there’s an echoing smack as skull meets tile.

The leader’s still winded, gasping in a heap, but his buddy’s pushed him off and recovered his balance, and now throws himself at Jensen with a yell. Both hands are going for his throat.

Jensen suppresses an eyeroll – fucking rookie move – sidesteps, and as the guy crashes against the wall beside him he locks him in place with an arm behind his neck and grabs the guy’s arm, twisting it up behind his back.

The guy fights to break his hold, rather predictably rearing back. Jensen releases the pressure on the back of his neck enough that the man’s head comes back several inches, and then drives the heel of his hand straight forward, hard and fast against the back of the skull. The man’s head slams into the wall and he crumples in Jensen’s grip.

Jensen drops him – taking care not to drop him on Jared – kicks him hard in the stomach to be sure, and whirls back to check on the leader. The whole thing’s taken maybe thirty seconds.

The leader’s conscious, but he’s groaning and not making any move to get up. Jensen steps over the bodies of his douchebag buddies and leans down slightly, meeting and holdling his gaze.

“You like those moves?” he says softly. “Didn’t even use my knife.”

He gestures toward his left boot, and watches the man’s eyes widen.

“We’ll be leaving now,” he says. “Any trouble comes from this, I will find you, and I will gut you.”

Shit, Chris would laugh his head off if he heard that.

Apparently he’s convincing, though, because the guy moans and clenches his eyes shut, shaking his head.

Jensen sighs and turns back to Jared, who appears to be only marginally more conscious than Jensen’s playmates.

“You were awesome,” Jared slurs as Jensen hauls him to his feet. “You gotta teach me that. I mean, I can fight, but that. That was awesome.”

“Maybe when you’re sober, buddy.” Jensen steadies him with a hand on each shoulder, gives him a little shake and releases him. “C’mon. Gotta get you home.”

“Home sucks,” Jared says mulishly. “Wanna dance.”

He moves in toward Jensen again, placing his hands on Jensen’s hips, and sways in place. “C’mon, Jen. Dance with me.”

Jensen’s answering laugh cuts off short as Jared’s knees buckle. He barely manages to get his arms under Jared’s, and staggers under the weight as Jared flops forward onto him.

“Shit, man,” he says, shaking Jared gently. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Dunno,” Jared mumbles. “Some. ‘S a good party.” He straightens up again, pats Jensen sloppily on the head and steps back. “Don’ go t’enough parties. Feels funny.”

Jensen frowns and looks more closely at Jared. His pupils are still massively dilated.

An icy shock of adrenaline pours through Jensen’s system. Jared’s pupils weren’t dilated from arousal – well, okay, arousal had definitely been in the mix, given all the dirty talk and rubbing and coming, but it wasn’t just arousal. Wasn’t just Jensen doing it to him. He’s fucking drugged.

And Jensen hadn’t noticed. Jensen had…

He gets a grip. Okay, it’s not like he raped Jared. He’s not gonna beat himself up over it, because Jared had been doing all the leading, it was all Jensen could do to keep up with the ride, but the fact remains that he’s had sex with Jared while Jared was under the influence of god knows what, which is hardly an auspicious start to their…

Christ. He has a sudden urge to smack his head against the wall. This isn’t a goddamn relationship, and given the events of tonight, it’s not gonna be. Plus, Jared is still a fucking suspect.

Not that he looks like he could plot his way out of a paper bag right now. Jared’s eyelids have fallen shut again and he’s swaying. Damn it, he’s practically asleep on his feet.

“Jesus,” Jensen mutters, slinging Jared’s arm over his shoulders. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Hailing a taxi is relatively easy; it’s early yet. Folding Jared’s long limbs into the back is more complicated. Jensen gives the driver his own address. Jared shouldn’t be left alone.

By the time the vehicle pulls up outside Jensen’s building, Jared is snoring open-mouthed against Jensen’s neck. Jensen pays the driver before shaking Jared and shoving him out the curbside door.

Jared manages to stay on his feet as they weave up the walk, but he seems to have decided that Jensen is his own personal pillow or something because he’s draped over Jensen’s back, drooling into his hair for fuck’s sake, as Jensen unlocks his door and elbows it open.

He shoves Jared through and props him against the wall, supporting him with one hand as he kicks his shoes off and considers what to do next. He doesn’t have a spare room, and Jared’s gonna feel bad enough in the morning as it is without being folded in half on the couch.

He sighs and steers Jared down the hall to his room. Jared pretty much faceplants on the bed the instant Jensen lets go. He pulls off Jared’s sneakers and wedges the pillow under his head in such a way that he’s sure Jared isn’t going to suffocate.

He briefly debates trying to remove Jared’s jeans – they’re sticky now; they’ll be painfully unpleasant when he wakes up – but Jared makes a complaining noise and wriggles away when Jensen tries to roll him over, and he abandons the attempt.

He’s not sure he wants to know what Jared looks like half-naked in his bed, anyway. Jared was drugged. He was drugged and horny and Jensen was there and this probably won’t mean a damn thing. No point tormenting himself with something he can’t have.

And maybe if the universe gets flipped on its head and something goes right in Jensen’s love life for a change, there should be lots of opportunity to find out what naked Jared looks like in his bed.

Musing about that nicely counteracts the uncomfortableness of the sofa, and he falls asleep.

Things do not get flipped on their head.

Jensen jerks awake to the noise of water running. He’s on the sofa, there’s a horrible crick in his neck, and Jared is presumably in his shower.

He’s making scrambled eggs when Jared walks into the kitchen wearing a towel and one of Jensen’s T-shirts. Jensen tries hard not to drool or swallow his tongue.

“Hey,” Jared says. “So, um. I’m guessing I got pretty messed up last night.”

Jensen nods. “Yeah.”

“I mean, really.” Jared pushes his free hand through his hair; the other’s gripping the towel. “I must have been in bad shape if you didn’t just drop me off at my place.”

“You were kinda out of it.” Jensen shrugs and pokes at the eggs.

“I don’t remember a thing.”

Jensen had figured: it’s the way his universe works. Still depressing to hear it confirmed, though.

“I don’t usually drink that much.” Jared frowns. “I can’t even remember drinking. I have never gotten this fucked up before, man. I mean, I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember leaving my office. I must have gone home and gotten changed, because I wasn’t wearing what I had on for class. But it’s just… gone.”

The eggs are done. Jensen removes the pan from the heat.

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

“No problem.” Jensen bites his lip. “Do you wanna borrow some clean clothes?”

He’s going to have to tell Jared at least some of the story. He’d rather be dealing with a clothed Jared.

“Yeah.” Jared’s voice is steady, although a faint blush sneaks up the back of his neck. “Sorry for stealing your shirt. My stuff, uh, smells like a bar.”

“I can imagine.” The lie makes Jensen’s decision easy. Jared probably thinks he got off with a girl, or maybe jerked off before passing out. Jensen’s not gonna mess things up between them by telling him a truth he doesn’t remember and didn’t mean.

He finds Jared a pair of sweatpants; they’re a little short, but they do the job. They eat their eggs in silence, but it’s a friendly silence.

“I’ll drive you home,” Jensen says, gathering the plates and stacking them in the sink.

“I don’t wanna put you out any further.” Jared brings the coffee cups over. “I can walk.”

“Not a problem.” Jensen shrugs. “I didn’t really have plans. Gotta get out and do a grocery run anyway. And…” He frowns and trails off. Jared had better know what happened – some of what happened – in case there are after effects.

“And?”

“I think you should take it easy. I don’t think you drank too much last night.”

Jared raises his eyebrows. “Dude. I really, really did.”

Jensen shakes his head. “I don’t think that was all alcohol. I think somebody slipped you something.”

Jared wrinkles up his forehead in puzzlement. “You mean, like, a roofie?”

“I dunno. Something. You were...” amazing “…really out of it, and your pupils were funny. Plus, not remembering part of the night is one thing, but to forget half your afternoon? That’s odd.”

Jared blinks. “I guess. But why would someone do that?” He blushes. “I’m not exactly the usual date rape candidate.”

“Still got your wallet?” Jensen shrugs, fighting down his own blush. “Dunno. Maybe you got someone else’s drink by accident.”

It’s a good question, though. Did someone give it to Jared on purpose? And the memory loss is more intense than any date-rape drug Jensen’s heard of before. What is it, and who’s making it?

Maybe Jared is involved in something shady after all.

Or – the thought sluices through him like ice water – maybe someone’s after him and got Jared instead.

He dismisses the thought. That doesn’t make sense: Jared was drugged before Jensen arrived at the club. The drink couldn’t have been meant for him.

“Maybe.” Jared frowns. “Wow. So I guess I really owe you for helping me out.”

“Any time.” Jensen says. “It wasn’t so bad.”

She’s sitting at her usual place in the café, early afternoon sun warming her back. Her coffee’s long gone and she’s forgotten her sandwich, half-eaten beside her, as she works.

Her hands flit over the tablet, tapping and touching. Anyone watching probably assumes she’s playing Angry Birds, tongue-tip rolled between her teeth in concentration.

There’s a lot more at stake though. One of these days, the explosions will be real. She doesn’t like to think too hard about that part yet. Still, you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs, as her grandmother used to say.

Each day she gets a little farther. Another door, another trap, another layer. She’s working her way in, bit by bit, worm boring to the heart of the apple. Her grandmother had other sayings too, about patience, and she repeats those to herself like a mantra when she gets frustrated. Time is important, things are starting to move, but the one thing she cannot afford is detection. The best way not to get caught is never to let them know there’s anyone to catch in the first place.

It sort of is like Angry Birds, in that each small victory leads to another challenge. And they’re getting harder. The last one took her six days.

So when she cracks yet another layer of their security, slides her way on in, she smiles in satisfaction and looks away, savoring it for a moment. She stretches her shoulders, reaches for the pen and notebook beside her and ticks off the strategy that worked.

Her sandwich is a little soggy, having sat half-eaten and forgotten, but she’s suddenly ravenous. She takes a big bite, puts it back on the plate, and licks her fingers before looking back to the screen.

At which point she nearly spits tunafish all over it. She’s in.

All the way in.

She gulps her half-chewed mouthful and stares. The landscape is huge. Unfamiliar but structured code, layers of access climbing and stretching out, and it’s all hers. Ripe for exploration, understanding – and adjustment.

She doesn’t mean to but she lets out a startled cry of delight.

She claps a hand over her mouth promptly, looking around. A few people are staring in dispproval or curiosity. She shrugs at them, widens her eyes and smiles bashfully.

“He asked me out!” she squeaks, clutching the tablet to her chest.

Whatever works.

As soon as the attention settles down, she goes back, has a look around, and begins planning. She’ll want to test things out first. Make a few tiny adjustments. If they work… well, then the real work can begin.


Part Three