SPN J2 AU Fic: Black Flag Over Texas (1/4)

[electricalgwen]

Black Flag Over Texas

Jeff knew what he was doing, calling the meeting for such an early hour.

Jeff always knows what he’s doing. In the three years Jensen’s worked for him, he’s never once seen Jeff make a misstep. There’ve been a couple of times Jensen couldn’t imagine things would all work out, figured Jeff must have screwed up somewhere, but in the end it would all fall into place and, yeah, part of the plan all along.

It’s the main reason Jensen’s still here. He hadn’t exactly planned to end up working for a criminal organization – which, okay, the Ghosts are a pretty moral group, but still they’re technically criminals – but a) it pays the bills, b) he’s good at it, and c) he can’t stand working with idiots. Any other workplace he’s been in, this has been a problem. Occasionally one which led to him being fired, or resigning in a spectacularly vocal fashion.

Jeff doesn’t put up with idiots either.

Unfortunately, being forewarned does not always translate into being forearmed. Jensen is perfectly aware of Jeff’s powers of planning and manipulation, but even he’s not immune to them, especially when Jeff holds team meetings at fucking seven a.m.

Katie slides into the seat beside him, taking a slurp of coffee.

Jensen cracks his eyes open. “Where’d you get that?!”

She whisks it out of his reach. “Hands off, Ackles.”

“Mine’s gone,” he says, pitifully.

She’s unmoved. “Tough. You should have gotten extra-large.”

“I did.”

She clucks her tongue. “You really need to get a handle on this addiction of yours.”

“Man’s gotta have a vice,” Chris says, dropping into the seat on Jensen’s other side. “Coffee’s less trouble than booze or women.”

“Speaking of which, thanks for last night.” Jensen rolls his head on the back of the seat, twisting to look at his roommate.

Katie splutters into her coffee. Chris glares at Jensen. “What?”

“Thanks for not bringing her home.” Jensen shrugs. “I appreciated being able to take a shower without some girl wandering in. For a change.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t with a girl. I was working, you dick.”

“Don’t let him shit you.” Aldis appears on the far side of Cassidy. “I did all the work. He just hung around looking scary.”

“Hey,” Chris objects. “I hit a couple of people for you.”

“Yeah, but you like doing that.”

“And you like hacking. Still counts as work.”

Aldis sighs. “It’s not hacking. When I was fourteen, in my mom’s basement, using stolen internet to adjust my school records? That was hacking. This is cyberespionage.”

“A rose by any other name…” Jensen intones.

“Shut up.” Aldis glares at him. “Katie, can’t you spill your coffee on him or something?”

“I think he’d enjoy it too much.”

“What were you after?” Jensen’s genuinely curious. He likes hearing Aldis rattle on about computers. At first he’d get lost after the first few sentences, but after several months working with the guy, he can actually understand at least half the stuff Aldis says.

It’s been a mutually beneficial friendship. Aldis was fit and all, but couldn’t fight worth a damn when Jeff signed him up. Jensen and Chris took it on themselves to teach him enough that he wouldn’t get himself killed in his first month out.

“Well, you know that StarOil job?” Jensen nods. “Turns out, the overseas accounts…”

The door flies open and the last member of the team strolls in.

“Whoa,” Jeff says. “I’m impressed, Jensen. Thought I might have to send Cassidy to shake your ass out of bed.”

“Nah,” Jensen yawns. “I’m a professional. You pay me to be somewhere at seven a.m., I’ll be there.”

“I’m not paying you.”

“Indirectly.” Jensen shrugs. “Can’t get paid for a job if I don’t show up and get given it.”

“Glad to see your work ethic is in order.”

Jensen nods, and shuts his eyes; the sun is rising blindingly over Jeff’s left shoulder. “So, give us the rundown, and I can go back to sleep.”

Jeff chuckles.

“Consider this morning a practice run. Getting used to your new schedule.”

Jensen opens his eyes, so he can narrow them and glare at Jeff. “What new schedule?”

Jeff hits a button. The window shades slide down, and the projector hums to life. Instead of the usual – video surveillance footage, weapons specs, photos of their mark – the wall is lit up with...

“A class schedule?” Aldis says.

Jensen has a bad feeling about this.

“Jensen’s class schedule,” Jeff confirms. “You’re going back to school. Congratulations on making it in to the Masters’ program, by the way. It’s pretty competitive.”

“Uh uh.” Jensen shakes his head. Jeff’s expression doesn’t change. He holds up his hands. “No way. Send Cassidy.”

“I will,” Jeff says mildly. “But I need her on something else. You’re my choice for on-campus. I need you to be undercover for the next few months, infiltrating a student group.”

“I’m too old.” Beside him, Katie gives an unlady-like snort. “No one’s gonna believe I’m starting college now.”

“Jesus, Ackles. You ever hear of a mature student?”

Jensen glares; she’s really not helping.

“That’s the idea,” Jeff says dryly, “although I might have to rethink the mature bit.”

“Kane looks like a college boy,” Jensen retorts.

“Fuck that, I do not.”

“Sure you do. All grunge band and shit. You hardly ever go to class, just play the campus bar and smoke up.”

Jeff shakes his head. “You.”

Jensen sulks.

“You’re ex-military.” Jeff points at Jensen. “Served a couple of tours overseas. Did a pretty good job, too. Good enough that when you had to leave the military, you managed to leave with a clean record and some funding to go back to college. You’re signed up for a Master’s degree in PoliSci, with an elective in criminology.”

“Fancy,” Chris says. “What’s he gonna do with that?”

“I’m not gonna actually get a degree,” Jensen grits out. “Hell, I’m not even sure I’m gonna take this job.”

That’s the point at which Jeff usually bitches at him, reminding him of the amount of money involved and how lucky he is to be working for him. Followed by Jensen snarking back to preserve some self-respect, even though in the end they both know he’s gonna do whatever crazy thing Jeff’s dreamed up for him this time. It’s the same for everyone on the team. They're independent contractors, after all. Could leave any time they liked. They just don’t choose to, that’s all. Jeff’s gigs are good ones.

It doesn’t happen that way today, though. Jeff is silent. That’s unusual enough in itself to make the banter stop. They all sit quietly, looking to Jeff, who’s staring at the floor.

“Look,” he says finally, and his tone is stark and serious. “I know most of our jobs are for money. Good money.”

“Great money,” Aldis interjects.

“Great money,” Jeff agrees. “But this one’s different. I’m not even sure I can see all of this one. We play it right, there’s probably money in it. Somewhere. But that’s not the reason I’m taking this one on.”

Jensen narrows his eyes and stares at Jeff. Jeff’s looking around at each of them in turn; when he meets Jensen’s gaze, he holds it only briefly, then drops his eyes.

Jensen sucks in a breath.

“Who’s hiring us?” he asks.

Jeff closes his eyes for a few seconds, before smiling ruefully and shaking his head.

“Never just a pretty face,” he says.

“Nobody’s hiring, are they?” Jensen chews his bottom lip. “You’re doing this one yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s in it for us?”

“Don’t worry,” Jeff says wearily. “I’ll pay you the usual amount. Assuming we’re all still alive and out of prison.”

He sets his coffee mug on the desk.

“You guys listen to the news, right?”

Aldis waffles a hand back and forth. Jeff sighs.

“Listen, read, whatever. You must have noticed there’s been a lot of political shit lately.”

“There’s always a lot of political shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. But most of it’s posturing. Partisan fights, arguments over details. It’s theater for the plebs. The stuff that’s been going on the last several months though, it’s different. That shit with the government threatening to shut down, the Wisconsin stupidity. States passing reactive laws to get around decisions made by Washington or the Federal courts. The wave of Green protests in northern California.”

Katie’s nodding. She looks pissed.

“I was talking to a guy the other day,” Jeff continues. Jensen isn’t surprised; Jeff’s always talking to some guy or other. Always anonymous, occasionally trustworthy, they could be anyone from the squeegee kid on the corner to the leader of a small nation. Jensen’s never actually wanted to know too much about the mechanics of Jeff’s operation. Jeff runs a solid team, he picks good jobs – enough of a challenge to stay interesting; not so much that Jensen fears dying before he’s thirty-five – and he stays out of trouble. Jensen’s happy being a mercenary.

“We figure this is being organized.”

Chris looks dubious, to put it mildly. “Organized? What’s organized about shit like that?”

“It’s different groups,” Katie says. “Different levels of government. Different issues. How are they connected?”

Jensen notes the wording. Not, what makes you think they’re connected, or how could they be. They’ve all learned better than to doubt Jeff.

“What do they have in common?”

“People are idiots,” Chris drawls.

“They’re related to the stock market,” Aldis proposes. Katie just shrugs.

Jeff turns to look at Jensen.

He doesn’t want to disappoint Jeff, but he can’t quite grasp the shape of it. That’s what Jeff’s best at: hints and edges, shapes and shadows. Discerning patterns from chaos. He shakes his head.

“One theme that keeps coming up,” Jeff says, “is conflict between state and federal jurisdiction. It feels like someone’s working on weakening federal authority. Giving states reason to challenge it. Or reason to break away.”

“Break away?” Aldis scoffs. “Nobody’s that crazy.”

“Sure they are,” Katie says. “My friend’s neighbor is that crazy. Belongs to the Republic of Texas Separatist Movement and everything.”

“There’ve been various separatist movements around the country for a long time,” Jeff says. “Texas is only one. There’s Cascadia in the north-west. The Mormons would love to run Utah themselves, and the Confederacy’s never really settled in well. The whole Patriot Movement is basically a loose confederation of anti-government organizations – groups and individuals who think the US government is illegally infringing on citizens’ liberties.”

Aldis snorts. “They’re a bunch of racist, right-wing gonzos.”

“Yeah, but a lot of them are basically separatists,” Jeff says. “And the atmosphere’s right. A couple of years ago, a poll suggested that almost a quarter of Americans supported a state’s right to peacefully secede from the US. A quarter! That’s the highest rate since the Civil War.”

“But that’s just theoretical,” Katie interjects. “Polls don’t reflect reality. If a group really tried to pull out of the country, don’t you think people would object?”

“The government would,” Jeff says. “People? I’m not sure. ‘People’ is a tough concept.”

“The sheep’ll go where they’re led,” Chris says.

Aldis chuckles. Chris looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“Sheeple,” Aldis grins. “Like…” He subsides, shaking his head, as the rest of the team roll their eyes and turn their attention back to Jeff.

“This guy came to me because he has good intel that suggests there’s a group right here in town that’s up to their neck in it. Texas is already pretty unhappy with Washington. Give it a nudge in the right direction, and things could start going south pretty fast.”

“What kind of nudge?”

Jeff shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s where you come in.”

He turns back to the wall still showing the weekly schedule of a PoliSci Master’s student.

“There’s a student society in the PoliSci department. It bills itself as a discussion and philosophy group. Mostly shooting the shit over a beer on Friday afternoons, that sort of thing. They host a couple of debates a year, sponsor a visiting speaker. We’re pretty sure at least one of our targets is a member of the group.”

“Makes sense,” Katie says. “Most activists are young.”

“So are a lot of terrorists,” Jeff says grimly. “They love student societies. Great places to promote their political ideas and identify possible recruits.”

“Plus it gives them a safe public space to meet in person,” Jensen says.

“Terrorists?” Aldis says. “Whoa, hold up. You think that’s the kind of thing they’re planning?”

“What’s the kind of thing?” Chris says.

“Blowing shit up? Assassinating the President? You know, terrorist stuff.”

“I don’t know what they’re planning,” Jeff says. “They may not be using terrorist tactics, but we can’t rule anything out. I need you,” he looks at Jensen, “to get into the group, identify our target and get me whatever information you can.”

“No sweat,” Jensen says.

Jeff narrows his eyes at him. “We get one shot at this. Take your time. And when you think you’ve got something, bring it directly to me. Do not engage. I want to know what they’re planning; I want to know anyone they’re working with. For all I know we’ve got the national organizers right here in our town, but this bunch might be small fry and we’ll have to follow a trail back to headquarters. So keep cover no matter what, until I pull you out. Okay? Big picture, here.”

Jensen gives him a flat stare. “Got it.”

“Could take months,” Chris says, looking far too amused. “His cover’ll have to be convincing. Class projects. Exams. Term papers.”

“Fuck you.” Jensen presses the heel of his hand against his forehead.

“I need you in Washington.” Jeff turns to Katie. “Get in with the environmental lobbyists. Find out who’s really behind the representatives pushing for energy reform – who’s actually devising their strategy.”

“Relevance?” Katie frowns.

“If the government passes any more laws that could be seen as anti-oil – you know, things like carbon tax or increased clean-up penalties – some powerful Texans are gonna be pretty damn unhappy.”

Katie purses her lips. “Those are good things. Those are things I want to see passed. You’re not telling me everyone who supports the environment is a terrorist.”

“No,” Jeff says, “but it’s a contentious issue and they’d get farther with some diplomacy. They’re pushing too hard. My guess is they’re being manipulated into an aggressive approach, by someone aiming to drive a wedge between Texas and the federal government.”

It makes sense. Jensen watches Katie twiddle her hair around a finger, something she always does when she’s processing.

“Aldis and Chris will stay local,” Jeff continues. “We’ll work on similar infiltration and surveillance on the electronic side of things. Find a way in, look around, but again, don’t engage. You find a trail, follow it but keep your distance.”

“When you say we,” Aldis sighs, “you of course mean me. Please tell me you’re not gonna make me haul this Luddite around,” he tilts his head at Chris, “to annoy me while I’m working.”

“I’ll keep him busy,” Jeff says mildly. “We’ll still take the occasional side job, but be ready to respond to any intel that Jensen identifies.”

He looks around at each of them. “And be careful. I know, I know,” he holds up a forestalling hand, “you always are. But this is different than our usual. Guys out to make a buck or cheat the system – they’ll cut and run if the payoff’s not there, if we make it dangerous for them. But these guys, they’re fighting for ideals. They want to bring the system down, they want anarchy. They’re not gonna quit when we think they will. When they should.”

“We’re fighting anarchists?” Aldis shakes his head. “I feel like I’m in a TinTin cartoon.”

Katie looks blank. “What do dogs have to do with anything?”

“Not RinTinTin.” Aldis rolls his eyes. “Man, does nobody read the classics? TinTin, you know, with the anarchists always sneaking around with their bombs and their little black berets…”

“This isn’t France.” Chris turns back to Jeff. “It’s not gonna be that easy. Did your informer have anything useful for us? Do we know what they’re planning?”

Jeff shakes his head. “Not sure yet. We do know they’re good with computers. They may be planning something along those lines: a virus, or a security breach. Or they may have something more direct in mind. Couple of years ago, a German group published a website that was basically a how-to manual for grass-roots terrorism: detailed descriptions of how to damage rail lines, power pylons, law enforcement vehicles, you name it.”

He rubs his jaw. “The Republic of Texas guys, the traditional groups – they’re older. This one’s different, I think. The fact it’s based on campus means it’s a young group, or trying to appeal to youth, and that usually means a higher potential for violence. I don’t wanna see my city – my country – torn all to hell.”

He looks around at each of them in turn. “Whatever its faults, I think this is a good country. I think we’re stronger together, and we keep each other in check. I don’t like the idea of where Texas might be headed, if she’s out on her own.”

“So, it’s not our usual type of job. You don’t have to sign up for this one. But I’m taking it on, and I want you with me. You’re a damn good team.”

Jensen has good instincts. They’ve saved his ass more times than he can count.

Right now, they are suggesting he might want to consider declining this job, and instead run hard in the opposite direction.

Sometimes, you’ve gotta ignore base instinct.

He curses his moral conscience and nods. “I’m in.”

Jared shoulders open the door to his office. Sandy squeals when she sees him, jumping up and holding the door open for him. He puts his armful of books on the floor beside his desk and scoops her into a hug. “Hey, beautiful!”

The PoliSci department has been steadily expanding, and for the past several years the number of grad students has exceeded the number of office rooms available. As a final year PhD candidate, he could have pushed to be given one of the single offices. They’re shoebox-tiny, though, make him feel claustrophobic. He’d shared with Sandy last year – her first year, his second – and they’d hit it off immediately. She’d listened to his rants, told him when he was being stupid, asked him questions that made him think, and harassed him about writing his dissertation in just sufficient quantities to make him do it without making him snap. They’ve critiqued each other’s thesis proposals, taken a couple of classes together, gotten drunk together, and once, in a fit of spectacularly bad judgment, made out. Getting past that, with grace and no hard feelings, confirmed them as friends for life.

It doesn’t bother Jared to share the space as he reads, highlights, writes, edits, makes bad coffee in his teensy ancient coffeemaker and occasionally takes a five minute break to play mini-basketball. They work out mutually exclusive office hours for the courses they’re TA-ing, and otherwise Jared never minds having her around. Sandy’s a whole lot quieter than the couple in the apartment next to his, who have astoundingly loud sex (which may or may not involve a trapeze, whips, or fruit) at unpredictable hours; writing at home is a non-starter. Plus, she brings him cookies.

“Did you have a good Christmas?” She steps back, looks him up and down. “New clothes! Nice.”

“Mom went all out.” Jared grins. “Figured I’d start the semester off looking sharp. You know I’m gonna spend the last month before my defense in nothing but pajama pants.”

She laughs. “Just promise me you’ll remember to wear a shirt when teaching. I don’t need another bunch of lovesick undergrads stalking our office.”

“I’m not doing any undergrad lectures this term.” Jared allows himself to smirk just a little. “Final semester, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Sandy sighs. “I don’t have undergrads, but McKean asked me to give a couple of lectures in Applied Regression.”

“Wow!” Jared grins. “That’s impressive.” Second year grad students teaching the first years isn’t unheard of, but it’s not exactly common. Sandy had aced that course, though, and McKean’s not known for giving his own lectures.

Sandy shrugs. “Good thing I kept all my notes from last year. People hate that class. I didn’t really want to take it on, but it’s not like I could say no. I keep telling myself it’ll look good on my teaching CV.”

She drops into her chair and shoots him a mischievous grin. “I’m also telling myself there’s bound to be at least one hot guy looking to me to teach him stuff.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s against policy to date one of your students,” Jared points out. “Abuse of authority, sexual harassment – any of that ringing a bell?”

“Oh, I know.” Sandy smiles dreamily. “I just like having a nice view when I’m droning on to a mass of people who aren’t listening.”

Jared laughs. “I guess.”

Sandy spins her chair idly, kicking at the leg of her desk. “Anyway, I’m not the issue. We still need to find you someone to date.”

“Nah.” Jared’s used to Sandy trying to set him up. She’s convinced that he’s secretly miserable, or bitter, or saving himself, and no matter what he says, she won’t believe he just can’t be bothered right now.

Sure, his last relationship had burned him. Badly, even. And fine, he hasn’t made much of an effort recently. But it’s not like he’s sworn off dating forever. It’s just…this is his final year. He doesn’t have time or energy to devote to anyone at this point.

Sandy keeps saying that love shouldn’t be that much work, that Jared’s relationships are too one-sided, that he needs to find someone who’ll treat him right. That he just needs to meet the right person. That when he does, he’ll know.

Jared thinks Sandy’s been reading far too many women’s magazines, but he has the sense not to tell her that. They share an office, after all.

“Seriously, Sandy. It’s my last term. I’ve got a dissertation to finish and defend, I have to put in my hours at the library, and I don’t want to skip out on the Friday group.” He sighs. “And, they’re still making me take that damn seminar class.”

“What?” Sandy looks outraged. “The one you couldn’t get into in first year? You’re way beyond that now! I thought they were going to waive it?”

“So did I.” Jared sighs heavily. “But admin says it’s a required class and I have to have it on my transcript to graduate.”

“You could appeal!” Sandy’s always standing up for the oppressed; Jared thinks it’s adorable, but usually completely unnecessary in his case. “It was their administrative error, screwing up your registration.”

“I guess I could,” Jared shrugs, “but it’s not worth it. I don’t think it’s gonna take a whole lot of work, and the discussions’ll probably be interesting. It’s just kind of annoying they’re making me do it now, on top of all the other stuff I have to do.”

He smiles at her. “So, you can lay off the match-making. I’m going steady with books all semester.”

Sandy smiles back. “But at the end of it, you’ll be done! Dr. Jared Padalecki. Any school with half a brain will be falling over themselves to hire you.”

“Here’s hoping.”

Her smile fades. “I’ll miss you.”

Jared’s stomach rumbles loudly, ruining the moment.

“Campus café?” Sandy says.

“Right behind you.”

Sandy retrieves her purse and they head for the door.

“And then,” she says, as Jared locks it behind them, “we’ll find someone to fall head over heels for you.”

Jared grins and slings his arm around her shoulder as they head down the hall. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Hey, it’s about making you happy.” Sandy nudges him with her elbow. “You can’t hide out with me and my cookies for ever, you know.”

He knows. The end’s in sight. He just has to make it through the term, finish his dissertation, find a job, and… start his life.

Whatever that is.

Jensen’s first morning on campus could start out better. Of course, the fact that it’s morning is a significant part of the problem.

“Eight-thirty class?” he’d said, staring incredulously at the schedule. “Who the fuck can think straight at eight-thirty in the goddamn morning?”

“Get a coffee maker with a timer,” Katie advised.

Jensen did. And sent the bill to Jeff. He’s moved into a small bachelor apartment near campus, so now he doesn’t even have Chris to kick him out of bed in the mornings.

He’s still mostly stumbling around with his eyes shut. All in all, he’s lucky that what finally stops him is colliding with someone, not falling down a set of stairs or walking in front of the Route 883 bus.

“Hey,” a voice says. It’s a nice voice, but it’s far too warm and cheery for this hour of the morning. “You okay?”

“Sorry, man,” Jensen says, forcing his eyelids open a crack.

Enough visual information gets through to kick his brain into high gear, and his eyes snap fully open. Holy shit, the guy in front of him is gorgeous. Jensen nearly starts drooling. He figures he could probably blame it on still being asleep.

“Sorry,” he says again. “Didn’t see you. I’m, uh, not really a morning person.”

The guy’s laugh is as big and beautiful as he is. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Jensen,” Jensen says, sticking out a hand.

“Jensen,” the guy repeats, engulfing Jensen’s hand in his own and shaking it firmly. Jensen imagines those large hands other places on his body, and barely manages not to whimper. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jared.”

“Jared.” Jensen nods. “So you’re, uh, a student here? Too?”

Christ, he sounds like a moron. Jeff should kick his ass. Then again, Jeff should have known not to send Jensen on early morning missions. Plus, Jeff probably hadn’t figured in the effect of Jensen meeting the hottest guy he has ever seen.

“Yeah.” Jared smiles, finally letting Jensen’s hand drop. “I’m doing a PhD in PoliSci. My last year.”

“Cool.” Gorgeous and smart. Jensen mentally kicks himself. He’s here on a job. This is an in, if he’s lucky. Odds are the guy’s straight; Jensen can’t afford to scare him off. “I’m in PoliSci too. Just starting a Master’s.”

“Awesome!” Jared beams at him. Fuck, he has dimples. This is manifestly unfair. “Hey, are you in the Democratization seminar class?”

“Uh.” Jensen pulls out his phone and tries to bring up his schedule. “I think so? Is that after lunch?”

“Yeah.” Jared’s still grinning. “I’ll see you there.”

“You teaching it?”

Jared laughs. “Nope. I missed taking it my first year. They’re making me do it if I wanna graduate.”

Jensen frowns. “Wow. That’s gotta suck.”

“Kinda,” Jared says, “but it shouldn’t be too hard.” He turns that killer smile on Jensen again. “And hey, now I know somebody in the class.”

Jensen manages to swallow the words maybe we can study together! because he is not actually a freshman crushing on the captain of the football team, and simply nods.

“So what have you got this morning?” Jared asks. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t be ambulatory this early if you didn’t have to be?”

“Introduction to Quantitative Methods,” Jensen says. “The coffee should have kicked in by then.”

Jared laughs. “Let’s hope so.”

He fiddles with the strap of his bag. “Um, do you know your way there? I’m heading in the same direction.”

“Awesome,” Jensen says. “I can keep my eyes shut that much longer. Just shove me when I need to change direction.”

He’s already memorized the campus map (plus the maintenance tunnels, main electrical and phone cable entry points, and campus security schedules) but there’s no reason to tell Jared that.

Jared laughs again, and puts a hand between Jensen’s shoulder blades. “No problem. This way.”

He drops his hand as soon as they start walking, but its warmth lingers.

The short walk to the School of Management building is punctuated by Jared waving or calling hello to numerous students and a few professors. He’s obviously a friendly and connected guy. Jensen’s here to meet and scrutinize people on campus; it’s practically in his job description to hang out with Jared as much as possible.

Maybe this assignment isn’t going to suck after all.

“Here you are.” Jared waves at the yellow brick building. “Third floor. I’ll see you at seminar, okay?”

“Sure thing. Thanks.”

Jared gives a last wave and grin, and takes off.

Jensen takes a deep breath. Usually, when he’s heading into unknown territory, he’s got a gun. And sure, he could take the entire building with his freshly sharpened pencils, but this new environment is scary in a different way.

“Onward and upward,” he mutters, and enters.

The room’s not hard to find. He’s a few minutes early. Students are starting to trickle in: some in small groups, a few on their own. Most of them greet others as they make their way to their seats. They’ll know each other from last term; he’ll have to make his way into those groups and connections. He gives the occasional acknowledging nod to people walking past, but doesn’t smile; being overly friendly would be odd. It’s all about blending in.

The professor walks in and calls the class to order, then starts outlining the course structure and requirements.

Jensen stares down at the page in front of him, a whole new, crisp, blank notebook full of possibility, and starts doodling. He stops abruptly and flips the page over fast when he realizes he’s drawing a diagram of a dismantled handgun. One girl a couple of seats over gives him a funny look, but she doesn’t seem freaked or anything, so he figures it’s because of his sudden flurry of movement, not because she saw it.

From then on, he mostly sleeps through that first class, which moves on to discuss office hours, grading policies, and the evils of cheating; as far as he can tell it covers very little actual content. He’s good at sleeping lightly on the job, the slightest aberrant noise waking him up just enough to check it out but not so much he can’t fall back to sleep immediately if, as is usually the case, it turns out to be nothing sinister. It’s a fairly simple matter to adjust to the lecture hall, and he wakes up only briefly to scribble down exam dates and once to move his bag so someone can get by.

It’s the first class of the term. He’s got time to catch up.

“You’ll have to be a student,” Jeff had said. “Take advantage of it. Learn something.”

“Oh, come on. I don’t actually have to take the tests and shit, right?” Jensen said. “Get Aldis to fake the grades.”

“Nope,” Jeff said. “You know the drill. It’s gotta be believable. You’re infiltrating. Play the damn part. You don’t need to get all A’s, but you gotta do your homework. I won’t let you fail out of the course – if it comes to that we’ll fake it. But it won’t.”

He’ll need to pay more attention in future, if he’s going to ID possible anarchists, but he figures that falling asleep in the first class probably goes a long way to establishing his credentials as a run-of-the-mill grad student.

Eating lunch in the green space near the softball field, Jensen watches students come and go. Groups and individuals mix and meet, stop, talk, mingle, move on. Eat, read, text, make out. The sun’s weak but warm, and everyone seems relaxed. It’s hard to believe the place is a hotbed of anarchy and potential terrorism.

Then again, it’s hard to believe it’s a place of erudition and higher learning, either. Appearances can be deceiving.

After lunch, he does a little scouting around. Studying the Google Earth map is one thing, but there’s no substitute for walking the terrain yourself. He drops by the library, student center, and checks out the athletics facilities. Katie was right; he really doesn’t stand out that much. There are a lot of baby undergrads, of course, but plenty of ‘mature’ students as well.

He keeps an eye on the time and makes sure he’s early for his intro seminar class.

Jared’s already there, chatting with the professor as they drag tables and chairs into a cooperative configuration. He waves Jensen in, introduces him to the professor, and ends up sitting beside him.

The next two hours are an eye opener for Jensen. Right from the beginning, the professor makes it clear this is their class. He’ll give them learning objectives and an introductory lecture, but after that, it’s up to them to seek out sources, learn stuff, and bring it back to the class to share with their fellow students.

“You’re not undergrads,” he says. “You don’t need to be spoonfed. Teach yourselves, teach each other.”

Then he launches into a lecture on hegemony and consensual means of social control, and Jensen tries not to be left in the dust. He can fail every other class, what the hell, but he’s not going to look like an idiot in front of Jared if he can possibly help it.

By the end of lecture, his brain feels overstuffed. If he moves his head too quickly, knowledge will slosh out of his ears. He’s genuinely interested, though. When the prof breaks them up into groups of four, Jared grabs his elbow and pulls him into a group.

“So, problems with bringing globalization under democratic control,” Jared says. “The US is a big one, obviously, and authoritarian regimes. What else?”

“Obviously,” Jensen mutters to himself, and lets the other group members do most of the discussing. They brainstorm for the next twenty minutes, and settle on their respective research topics for next week.

“Wanna get coffee?” Jared asks, as they head for the door.

“Dumb question,” Jensen grins, trying not to read too much into it.

“Addict,” Jared shoots back. “C’mon, I’ll show you the cafeteria.”

They talk, hit it off, clash over sports teams. Jensen learns that Jared, like him, has an older brother and a younger sister.

Unlike him, Jared’s really close to his family. They’re down in San Antonio, but he calls them at least a couple of nights a week, and goes down for a visit whenever he can. Jensen glosses over the fact that his family live practically next door and they haven’t spoken in years. Instead, he tells Jared mostly-fictional stories about his time in the military. He did actually have some military training, back when; it’s served him well, and allows him to make up some reasonably believable tales.

Jared’s had to give up some of his activities this year, needing to concentrate on his dissertation. He still participates in the Safe Walk campus escort program, though. He also volunteers at an animal rescue shelter.

He’s too damn perfect to be real. Or gay.

If Jensen were smart, he’d slam a lid on this right now. He starts putting a bit of distance into the conversation, wrapping things up. He pays, gets up to go.

“Thanks for helping me find my bearings today,” he says. “See you in class?”

“Actually,” Jared says, ducking his head, “I, uh, wondered if you’d like to come along to a thing we have on Fridays? It’s – well, I guess officially it’s the PoliSci Grad Student Society, that’s what it says on the charter, but it’s a pretty informal group; some of the History and Sociology grad students come too. Mostly we get together over beer and snacks, argue philosophy and politics and models of government... I think Mike and Phil just see it as the starting point for their weekend of drunkenness, and Lara only comes to lust over Mike – but some of the others are really into it, and they’re really smart. I used it as a testing ground when I was starting work on my dissertation. If the group couldn’t totally shred my arguments, I figured I had a good place to start.”

Jensen refrains from punching the air in triumph, instead looking politely interested. He’s being handed an open invitation to the exact group he’s here to infiltrate. PoliSci and Sociology students. Debates about the role of government.

“You could get to meet some of the others in the department,” Jared continues. “We’re pretty friendly. And did I mention there’s beer? Sometimes even cookies. This week we’re having a formal debate, so no pressure for you to join in, just come along and watch.” He smiles. If Jensen had had any doubts about joining the group, they’d have evaporated in the face of those dimples. “I admit to having an ulterior motive here: I’m the group organizer. We’re always looking to expand the membership. But seriously, I think you’d enjoy it.”

Well, fuck.

Jared is hot and smart and seemingly one of the nicest guys Jensen’s ever met. And possibly a terrorist.

The universe obviously hates Jensen.

He gets through the next couple of days without seeing Jared. He finds his way to his classes – he’s only late for one, Political Economy of Multinational Corporations, and as it turns out, when he gets there the professor’s talking about the impact of foreign investment on sovereignty and domestic policy, using an example that Jensen knows inside out: it’s a mission he ran for Jeff last year. Maybe academia isn’t completely divorced from the real world after all. He finds the lecture enjoyable and amusing, although he refrains from correcting the professor on a couple of details.

Friday afternoon, he checks the room number Jared had scribbled on the corner of his class notes, and heads off to do some infiltrating.

“Jensen!” Jared grins widely and waves him in. “Hey man, I’m glad you could make it!”

The room’s a student lounge, furnished with faded but comfortable chairs, a couple of sofas, and mismatched tables ringed with heat and condensation marks. Jared gestures to the far corner, where a couple of guys are poking through a cooler. “Beer’s over there. Or do you want coffee? I could make coffee.”

Jensen smiles and shakes his head. “Beer’s great, thanks.”

“We’ll do our best to keep you awake.” Jared points to a woman perched on the arm of a sofa. “Mia’s opening the debate tonight. She’s in the second year of her Master’s, gonna convert to a PhD. If you need any help with Quantitative Methods, she’s your girl. I think she actually understands stats.”

He drops an arm around Jensen’s shoulders. “Here, let me introduce you.” Before Jensen can voice any protest, he’s walked them over to the sofa and given Jensen a gentle push. “Sit. I’ll get you a beer.”

“New member on the team?” Mia says, raising her eyebrows. “It’s a bit late, we’ve already decided on strategy.”

“Nah,” Jared says, “not this week at least. Maybe he’ll join in next time. Everybody, this is Jensen, he’s new to the Master’s program.” He points in turn to the people on the sofa and in the chairs opposite, and those clustered around the cooler. “Mia, Phil, Anna, Bethie, Zach. Steve. That’s Gabe and Mike over there.”

“Sandy coming today?” Phil asks.

“She’d better,” Jared says. “She agreed to moderate.”

“Aw,” Phil complains. “She’s no fun.”

“She doesn’t let you cheat, you mean,” Bethie says, and everyone laughs.

“Beer,” Jared says, pointing at Jensen and backing away. “Anyone else?”

He brings a beer for Jensen, and one for Zach. Their fingers touch as he hands over the bottle and Jensen glances up. Jared’s smiling down at him, the same infectious smile he gives everyone, but for a moment it feels like there’s a flicker of something else.

“Sorry I’m late!”

Jared’s head snaps up and he beams wider, dashing over to the door and scooping the newest arrival into a hug. She squeals as her feet leave the ground.

“Thank God you’re here,” says the redhead on the other end of the sofa. “I thought we’d get stuck with Mike as the judge.”

“Can’t,” Mike calls over. “I’m arguing opposition.”

“That’s a relief,” the redhead says. “I’m not in any shape to do push-ups today.”

Jensen watches Jared lower the new arrival – who must be Sandy – to the ground. He’s ducking his head down and talking to her earnestly. They’re obviously close. Very good friends, at least.

“Did you bring cookies?” Jared says.

Sandy shakes her head. “I made some, but I forgot them in our room. I thought about going back to get them but I was already running late.”

Jared mock pouts. “Oh well. More for me later!”

So they’re together, Jensen thinks. Well. Good. Another reason not to do something stupid.

“So, welcome,” the guy next to him says, breaking into his contemplation. “Jensen, was it?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, pulling his attention away from Jared. “Phil, right?”

Phil spends the next several minutes interrogating him about his knowledge of the campus sororities, refusing to believe that Jensen knows nothing and couldn’t care less. Jensen learns that Phil’s a History major, and there’s a betting pool on how many years it’ll take him to finish his PhD. Seven is currently the favored number, according to Mia.

Phil gets up to grab a beer; Mia trails after him. Jensen sneaks a quick peek towards the door, but Jared and Sandy are still talking. He turns back and the redhead on the other end of the sofa is watching him.

“Hey,” she says. “I’m Anna. I’m first year PoliSci too, but I started in September.”

Most people do, after all. He answers the implicit question: “Yeah. Timing didn’t quite work out for me.”

“What were you doing before?”

“Military,” Jensen tells her. “Just got released a couple of months ago.”

“Injury?”

He’d considered that. Easier in some ways. But Jeff had vetoed it, too much bother to fake.

“No.” He doesn’t elaborate.

She nods. Her gaze darts to Jared and back. “Then I won’t ask.”

He blinks. “Am I that obvious?”

“No. Probably just to me. I’m good at that.” She picks at the label of her beer bottle. “Did you like it?”

“What?”

“Being a soldier.”

Jensen pauses a moment and takes a drink before replying.

“Some of it,” he says. “It helps if you’re on a mission you believe in.”

“Were you?”

“Most of the time.”

She gazes silently at him for several seconds. It’s disconcerting.

“Yes,” she says finally. “That’s important.”

Someone grabs his elbow. It’s Phil.

“You wanted to know where the men’s room was, right?” Phil says. “I’ll show you before they get underway here.”

It’s a clumsy way of getting him out in the hall alone, but it’s not bad for an amateur. Jensen goes with it.

“Not that one,” Phil says, as soon as they’re outside the door. “She looks nice, but man, she is not worth the effort. Crazy smart and a little out of touch with the real world, you know? I tried for two months solid.”

“I wasn’t trying to pick her up,” Jensen says mildly. “Where’s the men’s room?”

“Down there.” Phil gestures to the left. “Whatever, man. Just trying to save you some heartbreak. She’s here on a full ride, spends all her time studying. Says she doesn’t want a boyfriend.”

“Fine by me,” Jensen says, clapping Phil on the shoulder. “Neither do I. It’s not a good time right now.”

He heads for the washroom without waiting for Phil’s reaction. He hadn’t really planned to come out publicly in his first week, but fuck it. If it gets him shunned, maybe that’ll make him a more appealing recruit. Terrorist groups tend to go for the loners, the isolated, the bitter and angry and depressed.

When he returns to the room, people have shoved the furniture into new configurations. His spot on the sofa is still free, though, and Phil gives him a nod and doesn’t flinch away when Jensen sits back down beside him.

Jared’s got the debate teams facing off in opposing rows, and he’s giving a short introductory talk. He flashes Jensen a particularly bright grin when he mentions they have a few newcomers in the audience, and Jensen can’t help the answering smile that tugs at his own mouth. So much for appearing isolated and depressed.

The question posed for discussion this week is fairly innocuous. Jensen sits back, listens to arguments for and against proportional representation, and watches the entire group. Nobody seems suspicious.

But Jeff is seldom wrong, and Jeff thinks this gathering contains one or more terrorists. Secessionists. Anarchists. People who actually want the U.S. to fall apart.

Jensen’s a proud Texas boy, sure. But plotting against the Federal government? That’s a bit much, even for someone like him who operates outside the law half the time.

It would mean civil war.

Zach finishes the last rebuttal, and everyone applauds. Sandy polls the audience and declares Mike’s team the winner. The teams shake hands, and things start breaking up, people drifting into small groups of conversation.

Jensen stands and stretches. He drifts towards the front of the room, where Jared’s starting to push chairs back into their original configuration.

“I need to get going,” Sandy is saying to Jared as he approaches. “See you Monday? And if you’re in over the weekend, don’t you dare eat all the cookies.”

“Cookies?” Jensen says, smiling at her.

“Oh hey, this is our newest recruit,” Jared says, and Jensen does an internal double-take at Jared’s choice of words. “Jensen. I lured him here with the promise of cookies. Jensen, this is Sandy, cookie baker extraordinaire.”

“Sorry!” Sandy smiles at him. “I made peanut butter cornflake ones for tonight but I accidentally left them in the office.”

She rises on her toes and gives Jared a quick peck on the cheek. “Don’t work too hard.” She turns to go, giving Jensen another dazzling smile. “Nice to meet you. Come back next week and maybe you’ll get lucky!”

Cookies, Jensen reminds himself, she’s talking about cookies. Although he’s inordinately pleased that apparently Jared and Sandy aren’t living together after all.

…Okay, he really needs to redirect his deductive skills. The important thing here is who’s a terrorist, not who may or may not be dating Jared.

“We’re heading downtown,” Mike announces, coming up behind him. “Hey, Padalecki, you in? Zach’s coming, and a few of the girls.”

Jared’s gaze catches on Jensen for a split second before sliding past him to Mike. “Not tonight, thanks. I’ve got some reading I wanna get done.”

“Want a hand with clean up?”

“Nah. You guys get going. There’s not much to do.”

“I can help with it,” Jensen says.

Mike throws them a lopsided salute. “Many thanks. We’ll get it next week. See you then!”

“Thanks,” Jared says, as the room empties out. “You don’t have to, there’s really not much to do.”

“I don’t mind.” Jensen shrugs. “I’ll get the bottles.”

He scouts the room, collecting any empties left on the floor or between chair cushions, while Jared rearranges furniture.

“Seems like a pretty cool group,” he says. “Did you start it? How long has it been around?”

“God, no, I can’t take credit. I only ended up taking over the group last spring because no one else wanted to,” Jared says. “This guy Graham started it up…”

He explains that Graham was a fellow grad student who had a passionate interest in philosophy, politics, and social justice. However, shortly after Christmas, Graham had developed an equally passionate interest in a nurse he’d met at a Doctors Without Borders fundraiser, and had left to build and run a clinic in The Gambia. People wanted to see the group continue, but nobody wanted to lead it, so Jared stepped up.

“Being the leader doesn’t mean much.” He chuckles. “I guess it looks good on my resume. All it really means, though, is that I’m the one who books the room and tells people whose turn it is to bring snacks.”

“Tough job, but someone’s gotta do it,” Jensen agrees.

“I organize topics and speakers too,” Jared says. “On days when we have actual debates. We aren’t usually that formal, but I thought it’d be a good draw for the first meeting of the new year, to get people back in the groove. We usually do a couple of debates each term. The rest of the time, it’s more of a free for all; nobody really chairs things unless it gets too out of hand.”

Jensen feels reassured that Jared didn’t actually start the group. Maybe being the leader doesn’t really mean anything. The anarchists could still be using the group as a cover and a recruiting zone, but they might not have founded it, just taken advantage of something that was already there.

“You finish your assignment yet?” Jared says.

“Yup.” Jensen’s proud of himself for that. “Got it done yesterday.”

“Oh,” says Jared. “Good for you. I gotta do mine this weekend.”

Jensen catches himself thinking that maybe he won’t complete his before the weekend, next time.

“Okay, well,” Jared says. It’s clear they’re done; they head for the door and Jared turns out the lights as they leave. “Thanks for coming out. Guess I’ll see you in class?”

“Sure thing.”

They exit the building and go their separate ways with a quick nod and wave. Jensen promptly melts into the shadows, so Jared won’t see him if he looks back; it’s wasted effort, however, as Jared doesn’t look back. Not that there was any reason he would.

Jensen mentally slaps himself around the head yet again and goes home.

That night, he makes the weekly check-in call to Jeff via Skype. Aldis gave him something to plug in between his wifi base station and the wall jack, which he’d assured Jensen would block almost any attempts at tracing him. Jensen believes him, but he still fires up Tor before connecting.

He’s occasionally accused of paranoia; he prefers to think of it as carefulness.

Jeff’s pleased with his report.

“In within the first week?” He purses his lips and nods approvingly. “Good. It does sound like that group’s the most likely cover. Keep an open mind, though. Pay attention to what students and professors are saying in class. Go to other campus events. Talk to as many people as possible.”

“Be social, you mean,” Jensen says dryly. “You know I hate that.”

Jeff’s laugh crackles in his speakers. “You’ll survive. C’mon, you’re getting a chance to go back to college life. Relive the crazy times. There must be some perks.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, thinking of Jared’s smile. “I guess there are. How’s everyone else doing?”

“Oh, fine. Mostly.” Jeff sighs. “Kane’s going stir-crazy. He wanted to go to D.C. with Cassidy but I vetoed that.”

Jensen chuckles. “Bull in a china shop.”

“Yeah. I’ve got Aldis working on tracing contacts and emails. You let me know if you need him to do anything, though.”

“I don’t have anything solid. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have him take a look at the group members, though. I’ll send you a list.”

“Don’t send it.” Jeff leans out of the camera’s field of view. “Give me the names, I’ll write ‘em down.”

“I don’t have all the last names.”

Jeff raises an eyebrow. “Don’t worry. He’ll find them.”

Aldis almost certainly will, but again, it never hurts to be careful. “Okay, but I’ll get them for next week; we can cross-check.”

He reels off the list of names. He’s a professional; he doesn’t hesitate for even a moment before the last one.

Jared Padalecki.


Part Two