Like a Hurricane
Fandom: RPF
Category/Rated: Slash, NC-17
Year/Length: 2010/Work in Progress
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, Chris/Steve, Jensen/Steve, and possibly other pairings within the verse.
Disclaimer: This is AU and just for fun. I don't believe it really happened.
Author's Notes: This was spawned from a commentfic meme that splashpink was running. I picked her scenario, but it grew... I have to thank her for the prompt.
Beta: by titheniel, who made this comm and nagged me a teeny bit. She's helped me get it up and running, for which I thank her a whole heap. Thanks to marys_scribbles for continuing beta. peppervl did the honors on part 4.
| 2: Wasted Jensen | 3: Come Around More | 4: Chasing Dreams for Everyone But Me |
"And the Grammy goes to..."
Beyonce slid the envelope that contained the winner of 'best album of the year' open, and the crowd held its breath as she paused theatrically.
"Jared Padalecki," smirked Adam Lambert, reading over her shoulder, and the two superstars applauded as Jared, for once wearing a suit, rose to his feet to make for the podium. Accepting his statuette, he stooped towards the microphone and bent to adjust it, chuckling as he straightened up again with it at the correct height.
"Oh, wow, what can I say?" His trademark beaming smile seemed to almost split his face in half, and there was riotous applause as he raised his trophy high and let out a whoop. "Y'all are responsible for me being here tonight. If you hadn't bought my record, I'd still be in San Antonio, washing dishes and emptying ashtrays." He looked around himself, a softer smile on his face. "So many of the guys I love are here tonight, and I owe my success to them too."
His gaze traveled over the audience, picking out famous faces as he clutched his statuette. "I want to thank my manager, Misha, and my sister, Megan, for giving me the strength and courage to..."
He broke off for a moment. One face loomed at him, standing out from amid the crowd of applauding celebrities. One man, who'd gone from colleague, lover and best friend to bitter rival was staring at him impassively as if daring him to claim any of the credit for his rise to fame. He felt a tingle travel the length of his spine and suddenly his achievement tasted of ashes.
"...to pick myself up and put my words and music out there. Thank you everyone."
Bowing to the audience, he turned and walked off the stage, thoroughly discomfited.
The awards ceremony continued, building towards the final accolade, that of Artist of the Year, and as that moment drew closer, Jared couldn't stop himself from looking over at the table where Jensen Ackles and his entourage were sitting.
Jensen, still boyish looking with his bangs in his eyes and kohl rimmed eyes was apparently doing his best to ignore Jared's presence, leaning over to murmur something to Steve, his lead guitarist and then collapsing against him in fits of laughter. It was evident that he was enjoying the night.
As always these days, Jared turned away offers of alcohol, choosing instead to drink mocktails, starting with virgin coladas and then switching to kiwi sparkles after the waiter had murmured the ingredients. Misha was on form, and it was evident that he'd smoked up before the ceremony, because he was apparently starving now. He'd eaten everything put in front of him and most of Megan's too.
"You're a shoe-in for best artist," he said now, reaching over to filch a lump of sugar from the bowl that had been distributed along with the coffee. "Trust me, nobody else stands a chance."
Jared was about to respond, when Taylor Swift, the previous year's winner mounted the stage alongside Justin Timberlake, and the audience fell quiet, a thrum of anticipation in the air, so palpable that one could feel it through the soles of one's feet.
There was a moment or two of banter between the two artists that was so obviously scripted that it fell flat, and then Justin produced the envelope containing the information everyone was waiting to hear. "The nominees for best rock vocals are as follows," he called. "Adam Lambert, Lady Gaga, Jared Padalecki, Rihanna and Jensen Ackles." He turned as Taylor introduced the montage of the nominees' musical efforts.
"What?" Megan turned to Misha. "You didn't tell me he was a nominee too."
"Why? Are you worried?" Misha shrugged and turned back to the stage. "It's in the bag. Ready to go get your award, Jay?"
"Shut up! Adam'll take it for sure. He's amazing." Jared was watching the screen, which was currently showing a clip of Jensen, pouring his heart out singing, 'Blaze'," and the applause that followed the short snippet sent that cold feeling down through his gut again.
"And the winner is..." The room held its collective breath. "Jensen Ackles."
There were gasps as Jensen rose to go and accept his award, limping, depending on the stick in his hand as he climbed the stairs to the stage.
Jensen, black hair streaked with silver, wore black leather with silver buckles, studs and chains. The stick he carried was ebony with silver handle and tip, and there was a silver snake coiled around his left arm from shoulder to wrist. He was smiling, and as he accepted the award, the applause was deafening.
To Jared, it felt like a knife turning in his gut as he saw his past and all his lost dreams for the future standing up there on the stage waiting for the cheers to die down.
"I'd like to thank Steve, Danni, Jonah and David, Jason, and Riley, and all the guys in the back room - Darren and Cris and the rest who helped me get back up when I thought that was it." Jensen's voice was deep and his face seemed to glow, lambent green eyes shining out from the dark make-up and full lips quirked in a lop-sided smile. "But really, this award belongs to the one who should've been here to receive it. Christian, I know that you're up there, watching us right now. Put down that bottle of Jack and get with the program. This one's for you."
There was a gentle chuckle from the audience, followed by a storm of applause. One by one, the watching celebrities rose to their feet as the whole auditorium paid homage to Christian Kane, who wasn't there, and who never would be again.
The awards dinner concluded soon after that, and Misha dragged Jared, still feeling numb and unsettled, over to the after party where there were lines of reporters clamoring for their five minutes with the winners. Jared was soon surrounded by people who wanted copy for their publication, and Misha was busy discussing fees with Rolling Stone, who wanted to do an article about Jared's rise to fame. It was quite some time before he managed to escape and head for the quiet of the men's room to wash his face and try to compose himself.
He was partway through emptying his bladder, when he heard the door behind him open, and the halting steps of someone else approaching the urinals. A glance to his side revealed that his worst fears were confirmed. Jensen had taken his place at the stall next to his amidst the creak of leather, and the purr of his descending zipper heralded his intention to take a leak. There seemed no escape, unless he was prepared to risk peeing down his own leg by cutting off the stream prematurely.
Eyes fixed firmly to the front in the time honored way of all men in public urinals, trying to hurry so that he could make good his escape. It was not to be.
"Good album." Jensen's voice was deep and harsh, and it was obvious that he was spoiling for a fight.
"Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you." He gave Jensen a fleeting, somewhat sickly smile. "How've you been."
"You care?" Jensen laughed without any humor in the sound. "Thought you were all about hittin' an' runnin' away."
"Excuse me? I wasn't the one that ran. You checked yourself out of the hospital and never told me where you'd gone. I looked for you for weeks. You never even let me know about Chris's funeral." Jared had forgotten about taking off even though he'd finished with the urinal. He adjusted his clothing and wheeled to face Jensen. "You left me flat."
"You're kidding me." Jensen's eyes sparked green fire as his voice rose. "You're the one that walked away. Danni told me..." He'd balled his fists, and now, as Jared leaned towards him, he struck out, the blow to Jared's shoulder. "Just get out of my way, why don't you?"
Jared's face paled as he stumbled backwards to lean against the porcelain, and he looked away, discomfited. He was livid now, and his hands shot out to grip Jensen's shoulders and shake him until he could hear his teeth rattling. "And just what did Danneel say?" he growled. "Whatever it was, she must have read my mind, considering I never said a word to the bitch except for asking her to get out and let me sit with you without her constant bitching."
"Say what you like about Danni." Jensen's voice was low, but the anger vibrated through it. "She's got more loyalty in her little finger than you have in your entire fucking..."
"Enough!" Jared's fingers bit into Jensen's shoulders. "You picked her over me, but she's a lying snake, and someday you'll regret it." He shoved Jensen back, hard, and Jensen, trying to save himself, pinwheeled his arms, put out his injured leg, and when, inevitably, it folded under him, he toppled, landing on the smooth, hard tile with a distressed sound. Jared stood there for a moment, horrified at his own actions. It took him a minute to process what he'd done, but then he dropped to his knees to help. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry."
He bent to reach out a hand to help Jensen up, and instead found himself hitting the tile in his turn as Jensen kicked out at him and shoved him off balance. Scrambling round, he raised his fist, would have struck Jensen, but he paused, heart pounding with the adrenaline that demanded fight or flight... or fuck, because this was Jensen, with his lop sided smile, his expressive eyes and his sultry mouth. He reached instead, grabbing Jensen's face and bending to bite at his mouth, less a caress and more a claim.
He'd forgotten how soft those lips were; he'd forgotten the taste of Jensen. The air flew from his lungs as he looked down at Jensen. Anger colored his cheeks, and his eyes were snapping with fury. "Jesus," he growled again, and pulled Jensen to him, claiming that sensual mouth and delving into it with his tongue. "Never wanted to let you go. Never would."
"Danneel said..." Jensen's voice was thready, and he was struggling against Jared, fists smacking and pounding on Jared's back as he tried to get him off. "Danneel told me what you said about being tied to a cripple. How could I even be with you after that? I can't even stand to see you."
"Fuck Danneel. She's a lying bitch and always was!" Jared moaned softly as he kissed and nipped his way over the lush mouth and down over Jensen's neck. "Never said anything about you to her."
He didn't know whether Jensen had believed him or not, but when Jensen finally relaxed against him, Jared let out a sigh and pulled him closer, not caring, bodies grinding together there on the floor of the bathroom. His hand crept down to cup Jensen's leather encased groin, and he gave a breathless chuckle. "You look fucking hot, but dude, you're wrapped up like a goddamned sausage."
"Never did have any patience, did you?" Jensen was bucking up into his touch as he spoke. What Jared might have answered was never heard, because Steve came into the bathroom at that moment.
"Jen, you're needed for a photo op," he announced, looking anywhere except where the two of them were sprawled on the floor. "Danni's got the guy from Rolling Stone all lined up, but you have to come now, or you'll lose it."
Sitting up straight, Jensen shook himself, suddenly as remote as if they'd never been rolling around on the floor in the throes of passion, and Jared rolled clumsily away, winding up on his knees, thankful that the dark silk of his suit wouldn't show the stresses he'd put it through.
Jensen looked incredible, kiss-plumped lips curved in an expression that might have been regret. "Okay, man, I'm there. Gimme a hand up."
As Jared crouched, seemingly forgotten, Jensen was helped up, and away, and was gone, leaving him to wonder just what Danneel had said, and whether he would ever be able to claim back what had been his.
2: Wasted Jensen
We have to go back in time to see how this story unfolds, so I am taking the reader back 10 years to where things began.
The young man standing at the bar with his beer clasped idly between his hands looked familiar, although Steve couldn't quite place him. He'd clapped and whistled loudly as Steve finished his set and came down off the tiny stage, and now, as Steve went up to the bar, the young man greeted the musician with a shy smile.
"Can I buy you a beer?" The soft voice had a southern twang to it, and Steve looked up, smiling,
"Sure you can." He gave the youngster a sideways smirk. "Rule 1 in the musicians' handbook. Never turn down free booze. It's against our religion."
"Oh, yeah?" The candid green gaze seemed to grow suddenly more remote. "What religion would that be?"
"Confirmed drunkard." Steve noted the sudden withdrawal with interest. As the bartender put two beers on the counter, he turned and held out his hand. "Steve Carlson," he murmured. "You new in town?"
There was a moment's hesitation before the guarded look left the youngster's eyes, and they crinkled up into a smile that transformed his sulky looking face.
"Yeah, I haven't been here long. I'm Jensen." Steve's hand was taken and shaken vigorously. "Loved the set. You've got a cool sound."
"Thanks." As ever, Steve didn't want to talk about what was behind him; he wanted to hang out and play. The set had barely begun to slake his need for music, and as the audience was beginning to leave, he gave Jensen a wide smile. "Do you play?" he asked.
"A little." The young man's voice was deep and firm, but he spread his hands in a gesture of denial. "Not like you though. Nothing like as good."
Steve wasn't really sure why this kid had captured his attention, but there was something about this Jensen that drew him. As the bartender pushed a bottle of Jack over the bar for him, Steve nodded his thanks, reached to take it and turned to his new acquaintance.
"C'mon over and we'll find you a guitar. Me an' the boys like to jam a little after a gig."
Jensen's eyes opened wide, and he looked somewhat taken aback, but he grabbed hold of his beer and followed Steve back to the corner where Steve's friends were sitting. Steve introduced him around, and for a little while he sat watching, sipping his beer as first Steve, then another guy whose name was Corey, began to sing. When they launched into "Freebird," Jensen began to harmonize, his voice sweet as it wove between the voices of the other two.
Nodding, Steve gave him a wink and a smile. The kid could certainly sing, that was for sure, and he wondered what else Jensen could do. He reached onto the stage to grab a guitar one of the other musicians had left on its stand and passed it over to Jensen, nodding approvingly as the youngster quickly tuned it and then joined in with the song they were playing.
It was three am before the guy behind the bar finally came around, jingling his keys and growling that they'd outstayed their welcome and that he had a home to go to. Steve gave him a grin but rose to his feet to start packing his instruments away. Jensen, who had been sitting, softly crooning something he didn't recognize, reluctantly laid down the guitar he'd been strumming and rose to his feet. "Guess I should take off too," he said, slurring a little. "Got a call-back in the morning. Might be a part for me."
"How are you getting home?" Steve was closing up his guitar case as he spoke, and as he straightened up Jensen grinned at him. "I'm walking. I only live about ten blocks over." He executed a little dance step and hiccupped slightly as he bumped into the bar.
"Whoa, whoa," Steve chuckled as he surveyed Jensen's slightly fuddled expression. "Not letting you walk home at this time in the morning. I'd worry. I'm gonna get a cab, so hold on, and I'll drop you off."
The youngster gave Steve a long, distrustful look before finally smiling at him and nodding his head. "Okay, thanks," he murmured, ducking his head in the bashful way Steve was starting to recognize. He'd recognized the distrust too, filed it away for probing later, if he got the opportunity. For now he just gathered up the guitar and his jacket, waved to the bartender and headed for the door with Jensen in tow.
The three floor apartment block Jensen indicated was somewhat dilapidated, and Jensen had his keys out of his pocket before the cab had come to a halt. Steve had ripped off the top from his empty matchbook and scribbled his number, handing it to Jensen, who rewarded him with a smile that crinkled up his eyes and took Steve's breath away. Pointing up at a window over the front door, Jensen showed Steve the Texas flag hanging there. "Cool drapes, yeah?" he murmured.
"Very cool," answered Steve, unable to do other than respond to the grin. "Listen, man, I had fun tonight. You wanna call me tomorrow, and we can arrange to get together and jam a little?"
"That'd be awesome." Whatever misgivings Jensen had had earlier seemed to have vaporized on the journey home. "I've got a call-back first thing."
"Yeah, good luck with that, kid." There was affection in Steve's voice. This youngster had somehow broken through Steve's reserve, and he suddenly determined that the two of them would be friends. "Listen, don't call me too early or you'll make my eyeballs bleed, okay?" Steve reached to ruffle the glossy, streaked hair, "Bout three in the afternoon is plenty soon enough, K?"
"Three. You got it." Jensen was already slipping out of the cab, a lithe figure with a cocky, bow-legged strut that suddenly dried out Steve's mouth and made him bite his lip.
As the cab pulled away, Steve was already mentally compiling the things he'd learned about Jensen, and making lists of things he wanted to know.
Jensen didn't call him the day after, and not the day after that either. Steve felt a little pang as the days passed, but he was busy, and he didn't have time to go looking for Jensen – didn't know his last name or his number . All he knew was the apartment block he'd delivered Jensen to, and finally decided that he'd go round and see what was up once the weekend rolled around.
Thursday night arrived. He was playing the Hotel Café, and he always loved that, got off on the way the regulars dug his music. He'd only played there a handful of times so far, but the place never failed to fill him with excitement; there was just something about it.
The doors opened at ten, and the lines outside began to file into the venue, eager to grab drinks and get good seats and be ready for the show. Steve had just finished his sound check when he saw Jensen come in. He waved and was going to go over to speak with him, but just at that moment David came to talk to him about the idea he'd had for a sax break in one of the songs they'd been rehearsing. By the time he was done, Jensen had melted into the crowd.
It was a good night, and Steve was very close to drunk by the time the set was done. Someone had sent up a bottle of Jack, and he'd stopped using a glass in favor of clapping the bottle to his lips and allowing it to trickle, salty and sharp, down into his mouth. When he finally stepped down off the stage to head to the gents, he was concentrating on walking a straight line, and almost didn't see Jensen until he practically collided with him.
"Hey," he slurred, swaying slightly as he steadied himself. "Sorry, man."
"S'okay." Jensen shied away, face averted, but not before Steve had noticed the purple and yellow bruise that stained the high cheekbone and partly closed one of the youngster's eyes.
"Whoa, wait up!" Steve reached for Jensen, grabbed his arm and tugged him close as he was attempting to make his getaway. "What the hell happened to you? You look like you went a couple of rounds with Mike Tyson or something."
"I... I guess I'm clumsy," said Jensen, his voice soft, his eyes lowered as he spoke. "Walked into a..."
"Don't give me that!" Steve frowned. "I can see the fingerprints on your cheek. What's going on, dude? Who hit you?"
The young man's eyes widened, but he didn't say anything. When he finally did speak, all he said was, "Can we just play something?"
Nodding, Steve turned back towards the stage, a little gesture of his head inviting Jensen to join him. It wasn't long before they were engrossed in the music, fingers spidering over frets as they picked out tune after tune. Their voices seemed to blend, and when Jensen sang he closed his eyes, face uplifted as if the act of making music conferred grace on him.
Steve had always been a night owl, and it seemed that Jensen was too, but finally the bar staff came and told them that it was closing time, and reluctantly Steve began to pack away his instruments.
"Want a ride?" The flush that crept over Jensen's cheeks at Steve's words made him frown, and for a moment it seemed as if the young man was going to refuse, but finally his lips curved in a smile, and he nodded, shyly.
"Thanks, man. You know, you don't have to if it's out of your way."
"Don't be an idiot!" Steve was bending to put his guitar into its case. "Ain't gonna leave you to walk home at this time of night."
Jensen didn't answer, but he shouldered some of the PA equipment and turned to follow the guitarist out of the bar. The cab hadn't arrived yet, and Steve was just turning to go back into the bar when the tall, dark figure materialized out of the shadows.
"So that's where you are, you little shit!" The voice was deep and harsh, and Jensen made a soft little sound somewhere between a gasp and a whine.
"I was only..." He didn't manage to say anything further before the figure had stepped forward and seized him by the throat. Steve's eyes widened, and for a moment he froze, unable to believe what was taking place right in front of his eyes. With a small part of his mind he registered that the cab had pulled up and was waiting for them, but most of his attention was on the scene being played out in front of him. Some idiot was attacking his friend. Steve didn't hesitate.
As Jensen began to struggle, Steve reached into his pocket for the Stevens Steel that he used to play his slide guitar and launched into the fray, smacking Jensen's abuser around the head with it and nodding grimly as the newcomer released his friend and staggered back to lean on the wall, nursing his ear.
"Get in the car." Steve's voice was stern, and Jensen didn't do more than gape at him as he stumbled to the cab and did as he was told. Without saying anything further, Steve turned and gave his address to the cabbie, then climbed in next to Jensen as the driver pulled away.
It was a few minutes before Steve turned to Jensen. He could feel the kid shaking next to him, and wondered how on earth he'd gotten himself into that kind of situation. He was about to say something when Jensen turned to him and met his eyes.
His voice was low, when he finally began to speak, and Steve had to strain to hear him.
"His name is Ritz," murmured the young man. "I met him when I moved in. He's in the next apartment along, and we were getting friendly, but then I made the mistake of going after a part in this soap he's on, and..." For a moment, Jensen didn't continue. It seemed as if he was thinking better about sharing his story, and Steve was about to let him off the hook when he suddenly began again.
"I didn't know. I swear I didn't know. My agent sent me to an audition, and I got a call-back, and this morning I heard that I got the part." He swallowed, coughed before continuing, his voice husky. "I didn't know that it was the part he'd been playing. See, they canned him for... for drinking, and I took his part. He spotted the directions to the audition on my dresser and... and called me a treacherous son of a bitch. We got into it, and there was a fight. He thinks that I made friends with him on purpose, so I could steal his job, but it's not true."
"He sounds kinda nuts to me. You probably should move." Steve put a hand on Jensen's shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Get right away from the guy before he does something permanent to you."
"Yeah." Jensen hung his head. "There aren't that many cheap apartments around."
Nodding, Steve said nothing for a moment or two, but as the cabbie drew up outside the house where Steve was renting the basement, he smiled. "You can stay here tonight anyway," he murmured. "And you need to press charges. That dude is completely out of control."
"Yeah, I guess." Jensen sighed as Steve reached to touch the bruise on Jensen's cheek. "I didn't want it to look bad, considering I took his job."
"You don't want that asshole jumping out on you when you least expect it," said Steve as he unlocked the door and stood aside to usher Jensen in. "Apart from everything else, it's gonna piss the makeup girls off on your show if they have to keep concealing the shiners."
Smirking, the young man entered the house, looking around himself as he went. He'd brought one of Steve's guitars from the cab, and as Steve closed and bolted the door he looked around to see where he might set it down.
Steve's place was comfortably furnished, with oiled pine and Navajo rugs, and the first thing that caught the eye was the number of guitars scattered around. As Jensen turned back to ask where Steve wanted him to put the one in his hands, the musician was busy taking in the loose limbed, rangy body and graceful gait of his visitor. He'd already noticed the brilliant green eyes with their thickly fringed lashes, and the tender mouth that seemed to promise things he would never dare articulate. Stepping forward, he gave his guest a smile. "Just stick it in the corner over there and come take a load off," he said, tossing his denim jacket onto a chair.
Putting the guitar where Steve had indicated, Jensen turned back to Steve. "Listen, I really don't like to impose..." he said, his voice soft and somehow vulnerable.
"You aren't." Steve went into the kitchen to find a couple of highball glasses and a bottle of Jack. "Mi casa es su casa, and all that hospitable shit," he said, returning to hold out one of the glasses to Jensen. "I'm hoping that you're gonna help me out some."
"Help you?" Jensen looked baffled. He murmured his thanks as he took the glass from his host and brought it to his lips. "I'm kinda tempted to say, 'how can li'l ol' me he'p you,' 'cos you don't look like you need any help at all." The exaggerated Penelope Pitstop impression was high and shrill.
Laughing, Steve leaned forward, glass in hand. "That song I was putting together tonight. 'Come Around More, Nicole Kidman.' You did an awesome harmony. I want you to help me work on it, maybe put it onto tape. I'm gonna put out a CD, and while it's self-financed and won't go anywhere much, I want it to be as good as it can be, you know?"
Jensen's eyes sparkled, Steve was convinced that they glowed, an inner light shining from them in a way that hit him somewhere low in his belly, igniting a licking heat that warmed places he usually associated with rounder curves, softer cheeks and higher voices. Clearing his throat, he lapsed into silence, watching as the soft line of Jensen's full mouth curved up in a smile.
"You want me to sing?" There was pride in Jensen's expression, and a little fear too. "You know I ain't a performer really, except for acting a bit."
"Does it matter?" Steve dropped onto the couch beside Jensen, lounging bonelessly as he surveyed his guest. "You sing like a bird, and you can hear the harmony before I even think of it. Performer or not, it works for me. So what do you say?"
"'Course! I'd be proud to help out. Jensen gave him a soft smile and yawned widely, prompting Steve to go and retrieve the spare bedding. Returning with his arms full of pillows and sheets, he studied the young man he'd invited into his home. Jensen's face was pale, and the bruises stood out like graffiti on a work of art. His eyes, usually a lustrous green, seemed to be somehow faded, and dark shadows around them showed just how tired he was.
"You're running on empty, man," murmured Steve, quickly making up a bed for Jensen on the couch and going to find a couple of bottles of water. "Get some sleep. What time do you have to be out in the morning?" he asked as he passed a bottle over to Jensen.
"I don't have to be out any time tomorrow. I report to the Days of our Lives set on Monday at 8am, but until then I get to sleep." He yawned, smiling sleepily at Steve and began to shuck his clothes, skinning down to his boxers and hopping into the nest Steve had created for him, watching while the musician put his guitars away.
"Awesome. We can maybe work on that song tomorrow, if you don't have anywhere else to be?" he said, turning to look at Jensen. A moment later, he was shaking his head with a grin. Jensen was out for the count, thick lashes fanning out over bruised cheeks, and soft mouth slightly open as he snored gently. "Oh, well, goodnight, man," he said, grinning, and made for his own bed, extinguishing the lights on his way up the stairs.
3: Come Around More
Here's a little more of how the boys became who they were in the opening chapter.
Steve Carlson was by no means a morning person. When he finally stumbled out of bed it was almost noon, and he thought that his eyeballs might bleed if he looked too hard at the daylight. A shower and a handful of ibuprofen helped, and he felt strong enough to drag himself through to the kitchen and make himself a cup of corpse reviver.
As he passed through the still-darkened living room, he could hear the little, snuffling snores that indicated his guest was still lost to the world. Grinning to himself, he made for the kitchen and set about making a full pot of coffee. At the time Steve wasn't quite sure how, but in after years he came to realize that the scent of coffee acted as a powerful stimulant for Jensen, but that first morning he was happily humming to himself as he beat eggs ready for scrambling and put bacon on to broil. He jumped as his young guest materialized in the doorway, eyes half closed and face flushed with sleep, and made directly for the coffee machine.
Casting a sideways glance at Jensen, Steve smiled to himself, recognizing a fellow addict and wordlessly passed him a mug. "Go for it," he said, winking, although Jensen, semi-comatose, didn't seem to notice. Reaching for the carafe holding the life-giving fluid, Jensen yanked it out of the coffee maker and substituted his mug to capture the liquid that was pouring through the grounds.
"I saw a movie once about the mummy. It had Christopher Lee in it, and he was kept animate because he was fed on tanna leaves. Kinda reminds me of you." Steve was grinning as he watched Jensen inhale the fragrance of the rich, brown liquid before sipping it and moaning softly through pursed lips.
There was a pause during which Jensen drank half the mug down without so much as a breath, then he turned to Steve and beamed. "'S'important to have a good breakfast, my mama told me that."
"I bet she didn't mean just coffee." Steve was buttering toast as he spoke, and finally laid a plate full of food in front of his guest. "So dig in. Wouldn't want to let your mama down, would we?"
For a moment, there was a lost look in his young visitor's eyes, and Steve frowned, but it was gone in an instant, and the youngster fell on the food as if he were starving, mumbling his thanks around a forkful of egg.
"You got places to be?" Steve watched as Jensen cleared his plate and reached for the carafe of coffee, refilling their mugs as he spoke.
"Not today. Was gonna do nothing – maybe write home to my mom and dad." Jensen eyed Steve speculatively. "Why? You want me to wash your car or something?"
About to frown and ask him what the hell he was talking about, Steve noticed the gleam of humor in Jensen's eyes and laughed. "You can wash it if you like, but leave the rust, because it's holding the bodywork on." Reaching for the sugar, he eyed Jensen. "I want you to do that song with me. The 'Come Around More' one."
"Yeah." Jensen nodded. "Okay, but you're gonna have to find another name for the girl. You can't leave Nicole Kidman in there, even if she's hot."
"Guess not. She's certainly hot though." Steve made a gesture that indicated just how hot he thought Nicole Kidman was, and how he would handle her hotness, given half a chance.
"Dude, you and Nicole Kidman! Don't even think it. The woman's as tall as I am. She'd dwarf you if she wore high heels." There was a laugh in Jensen's voice as he pondered the actress in question.
"Ah, she's used to it. Tom Cruise is a fucking midget!" Steve began to tidy up the breakfast things, clearing the table and setting the dishwasher going while Jensen drank his coffee. There was a companionable silence for a while, and then he heard Jensen take a deep breath.
"Why did you bring me home with you?" he asked, his eyebrows raised, and Steve frowned. He wasn't quite sure why himself, except that the kid had appealed to him at a visceral level, and he hadn't wanted to let him go, had wanted to protect him.
He was about to deliver a non-committal answer, when something in Jensen's expression stopped him cold. "I guess I like you," he murmured, knocked somewhat off balance by the question and unsure what else to say. He was about to try and expand on that, when his young visitor suddenly gave him a brilliant smile and appeared to relax, smirking as he rose to follow Steve into his studio.
"Can't be too careful," he said. "Thought that you might want to white slave me. I'd fetch a pretty penny in Casablanca, you know."
"Shoot! I should've thought of that." Steve grinned as he dried his hands and tossed the dish towel over towards the laundry room. "Guess you're gonna be on your guard now, aren't you?"
"You bet your ass," smirked Jensen, rising to his feet. "You're going to have to lull me into a false sense of security, aren't you?"
As Steve led Jensen through the house to the room he'd set up as a studio, he couldn't help wondering about this odd, pretty young man who'd apparently become his friend.
The song was progressing. Jensen's voice complemented Steve's, and they sang it through a couple of times before Jensen, who had taken a seat at Steve's piano, turned to him. "Dude, Nicole Kidman just isn't right for the song. We need to change that, because I can't stop the giggles when we get to the chorus." He let his fingers idle on the keys of the piano. "Come around, Ronald Reagan..." he sang, and dissolved into laughter.
"Hell, no! Make it O. J. Simpson," smirked Steve, laughing.
"Or Alice Cooper." Jensen played a fanfare to counterpoint his suggestion. Or - I got it! – M. C. Hammer!"
"Christie Brinkley?" Steve's guitar played a triumphant chord.
"Well, at least she's the right sex." The piano was swift to respond, and Jensen gave Steve a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look like a mischievous five year old. He suddenly swiveled around on the stool and struck a choirboy pose, palms pressed together in an attitude of prayer. "Come around more, Barbara Walters," he sang, voice high and sweet. Steve choked with laughter and threw a pen at him, causing him to chuckle as it bounced off his chest. "I dunno. It needs to be a single name, not a first and last name. Would sound better if it was something like... Anastasia?"
"Doesn't fit. The scansion is wrong." Steve set his guitar down. "Hmmm... Carmelita? Barbarella? California?" He ran his fingers through his already tousled hair. "Oklahoma?"
"What's with all the states? You trying to tell me you're in a state about this?" Jensen was turning back to the piano when he suddenly paused. "I've got it. Alabama! Fits perfectly, and with a name like that she'd be bound to put out!"
"You're a dirty child!" Steve shook his head at his guest, but reached for his guitar and sang the chorus through experimentally. "But it works. Okay, let's go with Alabama."
Smirking, Jensen turned back to the piano, running through the opening chords as Steve's husky voice took up the melody of the verse. As the song came to an end, the two of them were grinning like fools. "That was pretty cool," murmured Jensen. "I like it. Here's to Alabama, wherever she is." He raised his coffee mug aloft.
Watching him, Steve felt something inside himself melt. He smiled as Jensen began to play a boogie, and soon joined in, fooling around and feeling somehow as if he'd found a missing piece of himself. He wasn't at all sure what Jensen meant to him, but he intended to hang in and find out.
They took to hanging out a lot after that. Jensen started work on Days, and found himself an apartment up above a comic store some ten blocks from Steve's basement, but he was most often found at Steve's, guitar in hand, voice raised in gleeful harmony. Steve tried his damnedest to get Jensen up on stage with him, but somehow Jensen never would.
It was almost Christmas, and Jensen had decided to throw a party. He'd told Steve that there would be a few friends, but somehow that had escalated, and people were spilling out of the apartment in every direction. Steve had never really thought of Jensen as the gregarious type, and he found himself blinking at the young actor's sudden transformation from quietly mischievous to complete party animal.
The kitchen floor was sticky with booze, and there was still plenty of that left even though it was now midnight. There was beer and wine, a row of bottles of spirits that people had brought, and a somewhat questionable punch that seemed to be fifty percent vodka and fifty percent Kool Aid, with grapes floating around in it. Steve had tried it and shuddered, but it seemed that Jensen was all for it.
The young actor had been happily drunk when Steve had arrived, and displaying a side of himself Steve had never seen. Gone was the thoughtful, quiet young man, and in his place was a wickedly funny, loud presence who was without doubt the life and soul of the party, There was a new guy who'd been brought by one of the staff from "Days," and whose name was Jason something. He and Jensen had hit it off, and when Steve got there the two of them were jamming to a version of Van Morrison's "Crazy Love." Steve felt just a little choked that his boy was singing with someone else.
As the party progressed, Jensen got louder, and more inebriated. When Steve rolled himself a joint and took himself out onto the balcony to smoke it, Jensen, by this time slurring his words a little, followed him out and took a seat beside him. Steve drew a lungful of aromatic smoke in and held it, wordlessly handing off the joint to his companion. Jensen mumbled thanks and placed it between his lips as Steve looked on, fascinated.
Letting out the smoke, Steve reached to take it back, and Jensen giggled.
"Man, I am so wasted." His eyes were hazy emeralds, clouded with alcohol and pot. The smile he wore was completely open, and although his face was a little flushed, his freckles still stood out, making him look somehow vulnerable.
"Yeah, you are." Steve grinned at him as he lay back in his seat, long legs splayed in front of him.
"Wanted to have some fun for a change." Jensen's voice was low, a growl in it that Steve hadn't heard before. He moved in his seat, surreptitiously adjusting his clothing. He wasn't gay – he knew he wasn't, but there was something about Jensen that always got to him. "Still do."
Steve took another hit from the joint, prevaricating as he stared at Jensen, and jumped as Jensen leaned forward to pluck it from his lips and place it between his own. "Hey!" he said, completely off balance. "You're pretty high. Maybe you should...?"
He didn't get the rest of his sentence out. Jensen growled, "Shotgun," and sucked the aromatic smoke deep into his lungs. Reaching to tangle his fingers in Steve's long hair he tugged, aligning their lips and pressing in close to begin blowing the smoke into Steve's very astonished mouth.
Jensen didn't seem inclined to let him go after he'd finished the exhale, and his tongue seemed to have followed the stream of smoke and was now mapping out the contours of Steve's oral cavity while the young actor made little, satisfied grunting sounds. All of a sudden there was nothing Steve wanted to do more than bend Jensen over the nearest article of furniture and possess him.
The young man tasted of that godawful punch, and tobacco and pot, and his lips were soft and plush. Long, thick eyelashes veiled eyes that were blown wide and black with only a tiny rim of green to show their color.
Letting him go for a moment, Jensen brought the joint up to Steve's lips. "Your turn. It's so much better when you share it," and Steve couldn't refuse, had to suck on the thing and take those lips again, sending the smoke back to Jensen.
He was harder than he'd ever been in his life. He wasn't sure how or why Jensen had gotten through his defenses, but he had, and Steve knew suddenly that there would be no going back from this. He took another, final drag, licked his way into Jensen's mouth and sent the smoke flowing through as Jensen gasped in a breath. He was rewarded when Jensen's fingers crept down into the V of his groin to press, finding his erection almost at once.
He felt dazed and horny. Jensen was warm in his arms, tongue curled against his as his hands explored, finding and teasing every hotspot on Steve's body. It would be so easy to give himself over to the younger man. He could feel the tingling tightness in his thighs that spoke of easy pleasure and stiffened a little, drawing back from Jensen, who blinked up at him owlishly, lips puffy with kisses and eyes blown wide.
"Get off me, Jen; I can't." Steve was never sure where he found the willpower to turn down what Jensen was offering to him. His voice was hoarse, harsh with desire as he captured Jensen's hands and brought them to his lips. "It's not that I don't want you," he growled as Jensen's eyes widened and his face began to crumple.
"What is it then? I can feel that you're..." Jensen indicated the bulge in Steve's pants as he spoke. His words were slurred a little, and his face had turned pink around the nose. He looked for all the world like a forlorn little boy.
"See, Jen, you're wasted – you said that yourself. I'm not gonna take advantage of you while you're trashed like this." Jensen's eyes filled with tears, and he made as if to say something. Steve lifted his hand and pressed the young man's lips closed. "Listen, if you still want to get it on in the morning, when you're sober, come tell me, and I'll do my best to oblige, all right?"
For a moment more, Jensen gazed at Steve, face blank as he processed the singer's words, and then the threatened tears spilled over to trickle down his cheeks. Steve's belly ran cold, because he'd never been able to handle tears. He pulled Jensen close and made vague shushing sounds as Jensen huddled in against him. "Hush now; it's okay. C'mon, Jen, don't cry."
"S'okay." Jensen was full-on slurring now. "Just... you're a nice guy, Steve."
"I try." Steve was frowning as he tried to divine Jensen's state of mind. The young man was still snuggled against him, relaxed now as he pressed tight into Steve's arms, and as Steve looked down at him he heard a faint snore. "Oh, shit!" he growled, mentally shaking his head. "Just what I need. A fucking puppy!"
Jensen made no response other than to snuffle a little and burrow deeper into Steve's embrace, and Steve sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he was likely to be there for sometime.
Philosophically fumbling in his pockets for cigarette case and lighter, he took out another joint, lit it and allowed the fragrant smoke to send him spinning out into the universe.
He awoke as the sun came up and poked grimy, glittering fingers into his eyes. His back was killing him, and his head was pounding in a way that made him wish he was dead. Jensen was still clinging to him, limpet-like as he slumbered on, drooling gently onto Steve's shoulder. Sighing, Steve attempted to disengage himself from the younger man, and then, when that didn't seem to be happening, struggled to his knees and shook the kid into semi-consciousness.
"C'mon, Jen. Need somewhere to lie down and die." Jensen's eyes didn't seem to be tracking, but he stumbled to his feet and stood swaying, still clutching at Steve's shoulder. For a moment, Steve thought that he might fall down, but then he began to lurch forward, back into the apartment.
It was quiet, save for a single, sleeping body that Steve vaguely recollected from earlier. Perhaps the man had crashed on the couch, but it seemed as though it had rejected him, because he was now sleeping peacefully on the floor next to it, and one of the cushions had slid off to lie on his back. Jensen paid him no mind, but led Steve through the debris to his bedroom.
"S'locked," he croaked, fumbling through his pockets. "Dun' wan' anyone fuckin' in m'bed."
Steve understood that. As Jensen found his key and swayed into the door to lean with his forehead against it, he gently removed the key from Jensen's grasp and used it, pushing the door open with a sigh of relief. Jensen was about to measure his length on the threadbare carpet as the support from the door was taken from him, and Steve cursed as he reached to grab him and stop his downward progress.
"Come on, Jen, let's get you horizontal." Fortunately it was only three steps to the bed, because it seemed that Jensen had relapsed into unconsciousness once again, and Steve was practically carrying him as they staggered together to collapse onto it.
He thought about moving, he really did. He thought about getting up and going to the couch, but somehow it didn't seem worth the trouble. He paused to toe off his shoes and then succumbed to the need for sleep.
Steve had no idea what time it was when he finally woke up. The sun was no longer in his eyes, and, although daylight still gleamed offensively past Jensen's thin curtains, it was obviously no longer morning. Jensen was curled up against him, his arm thrown over Steve's chest, and his cheek pressed against the sleeve of his T-shirt. It was sweet in a way. However, his mouth tasted as if he'd been chewing dogshit, and his head still throbbed as if his brain had somehow shrunk enough to rattle around inside his skull.
He made to get off the bed, and there was a muffled protest from the young man beside him. Jensen raised his head a little and fixed him with a beseeching gaze. He could feel his willpower leaving him. "Come on, Jen, you gotta let me up to go rinse out my mouth and take a leak."
The pout Jensen displayed was truly monumental. "Got water in the fridge," he murmured, voice husky with too much booze and not enough recovery time. "Bring us some?"
Nodding and then regretting it as he felt his brain threaten to leak out his ears, Steve rolled to sitting and then gingerly stood up. "Bathroom first," he croaked. "Can I borrow your toothbrush?"
"Only if you bring me water," Jensen moaned as he lay back against the pillows. "Smells like you now. Nice," he mumbled.
Carefully keeping his head as still as he possibly could, Steve stumbled out to find Jensen's bathroom. The fallen body in the living room seemed to have gone elsewhere. Steve looked at the couch as if he suspected it of devouring the hapless drunk.
Rinsing out his mouth and emptying his bladder made him feel a little better. He brushed his teeth and rinsed his head under the cold water tap then shambled off in search of the water Jensen promised was in the fridge.
Returning to the bedroom, Steve paused in the doorway, taking in the young man lying on the bed – they'd neither of them managed to undress or get under the covers before crashing out, and Jensen was still wearing his jeans and tight T-shirt, although somewhere along the line he'd shed his footwear. He looked debauched, mouth loose and puffy, and eyes glazed as he lay sprawled out on the coverlet. As Steve stepped in towards the bed, he lifted his head and reached out with a trembling hand for the bottle in Steve's hand, taking it from him, and then fumbling as he tried to unscrew the cap.
"Give it here," husked Steve, amusement in his voice as he took the bottle back and opened it for Jensen. The beaming smile with which he was gifted almost made up for the hangover he had, and he reached to touch Jensen's shoulder affectionately before clearing his throat. "Guess I'll be on my way. I need at least another four hours of sleep, and you look totally wrecked."
"No!" Jensen reached to grip Steve's wrist and tug him back towards the bed. "Stay here with me. We can get some more sleep. You shouldn't drive."
It was true; Steve knew that. He was still drunk, and if he left he ran the risk of getting picked up by the cops, but he was nervous. Jensen was right here, right now, inviting him into something he didn't know if he could handle.
He meant to say 'see you later.' He meant to turn away and walk out the door, maybe take a nosedive onto the newly vacated couch for an hour or so. Instead, he found himself nodding and peeling off his jeans and dress shirt before climbing into the bed beside a beaming Jensen, clad only in his Calvin Kleins.
The bed was comfortable, and Jensen snuggled up against his side as the two of them drifted off into healing slumber.
Part 4: Chasing Dreams for Everyone But Me
This episode: Back to the present day, we look at the aftermath of the Grammy Awards Ceremony. Just what happened the night that changed everything for the boys?
By the time Jared had collected his thoughts and headed back out to find his party, Jensen had left the building, hustled away by Steve and Danneel. He was about to leave himself, when he caught sight of Riley, still leaning up against the bar, apparently still happily basking in the glow of a successful evening. Frowning a little, Jared snagged a highball from the tray of a passing waiter and made his way over to join him.
"Hey." Jared leaned up against the bar, sliding in next to the diminutive actor/singer. Riley turned to greet him, the beaming smile on his face swiftly fading as he realized just who had joined him.
He didn't speak, merely nodding as he raised his eyes to meet Jared's, the cold expression on his face making Jared's heart sink.
"I won't keep you, man." Jared dove into the silence, trying to keep Riley from cutting him dead. "Just wanted to add my congratulations to the band. Jensen couldn't have done it without you guys." He drew a deep breath as he waited to see what Riley's reaction might be. They'd been friends once - even co-starred in that dumb movie with the Olsens together. If anyone was going to let him in and break the code of hostile silence that had been the norm since the night of the accident, it would be Riley.
"Yeah, thanks." The words were curt, unlike the garrulous Riley Jared had always known. Riley was turning away when Jared put his hand out to grab the man's shoulder.
"Wait." He hadn't meant to beg, but he heard the word emerge from his mouth as if it were from someone else, plaintive and needy. His encounter with Jensen had rattled him to his very core, and he wanted, desperately needed, to start rebuilding the bridges that had gone up in flames that dreadful night that had changed their lives forever.
"What do you want from me, Jared?" Riley sounded tired rather than hostile now, and Jared felt a little beacon of hope flare somewhere in his chest.
"I just want to talk, be friends again. I want to tell my story - to know what Danni said about me that turned you all against me the way it did. I want..."
"You know what you did - what you said." There was a bitterness in Riley's voice. "You have no idea what it did to Jensen to find out how you felt about him."
"That's just it. I don't." Jared felt himself tear up and averted his face, hoping to goodness that nobody in the still-busy marquee had noticed his sudden surge of emotion.
"Look, Jay, I ain't about to start talking behind anyone's back." The little singer appeared to come to a decision of some kind. He glanced down to where Jared's large hand was splayed across his jacket, and Jared swallowed as he let it fall away.
"Sorry, I just..." Jared was turning to go himself now, convinced that his pathetic attempt at breaking through the wall of silence that had been erected since the accident had failed. He stopped dead in his tracks as he heard Riley's voice again.
"Hey, listen, Jay, gimme your number. I'll see what I can do."
For a moment, Riley's words didn't compute, and then a tide of relief washed through Jared, turning him first cold, then hot as his body registered what had been said even before his brain had unscrambled it. He fumbled for the phone that Riley was extending to him, almost dropped it, hands shaking as he programmed his phone number into Riley's directory. He murmured his thanks as he gave it back to Riley, who took it without another word and turned away as he slipped it back into his pocket.
Jared watched him go, brain buzzing with the events of the evening, and was about to seek the exit himself when Misha caught up with him, expansive smile on his lips as he introduced a leggy brunette who turned out to be yet another teen mag reporter wanting an interview and, it seemed, possibly more, as she batted her lashes at him and licked her lips. He dropped neatly into his public persona, politely fending off her attempts at intimacy with the kind of easy charm that would leave her thinking he'd treated her well. By the time he'd finished telling her about his creative processes, while avoiding any possible discussion about the night of the accident that had changed all their lives, his head was pounding, and he felt sick to his stomach.
At first, Misha was not inclined to let him leave. The opportunity to garner publicity was, to him, far too valuable to turn down, and it was only when Katie pointed out that he was looking visibly green under his tan that the manager relented and called for Jared's driver.
Outside, the air was thick and thundery, and, even though the sun had long since set, the heat in the air made Jared's shirt stick to his skin. He was grateful to be able to slide into the waiting limo and sit back in the air conditioned silence, alone at last with his chosen means of self medication. As he reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat waiting for him, the memory of Jensen's body against his as they rolled around on the tiled floor of the men's restroom rose to taunt him, and with a half-choked sound of distress, Jared unscrewed the cap, raised the bottle to his lips and chugged.
By the time the car reached his house, out in Studio City, he'd forgotten all about the evening's triumph, Misha's efforts on his behalf, his own name, and, in fact, everything except for the way Jensen had felt.
His dreams that night were disturbingly, joyfully wet.
The following morning he woke with a pounding headache and an erection that was so hard it was almost numb.
Rolling out of the bed and staggering out to the bathroom, he dry-swallowed four aspirin and turned on the shower, stepping in as the cold water began to flow and cursing fervently as the shock of it began to chase the cobwebs from his brain.
Half an hour later, clean and clad in his most comfortable jeans and t-shirt, he'd succeeded in beating back the hangover a little, chased it away by the brutal application of caffeine, aspirin, and grim determination. He had nothing planned until the recording session that was booked for later that afternoon, and he was about to pour himself another coffee and retire to his music room with his guitar to try and finish off one last song for the new album he was putting together.
His phone rang. It would be Misha, he was sure, anxious to meet so they could discuss his interminable plans for capitalizing on his win the previous evening. He let it ring for a moment while he made his way through to the room where he kept his guitar and recording equipment, and almost let it go to voicemail.
It shrilled once again, and sighing, he pulled it from his pocket. It was a number he hadn't seen before, and he flipped it to his ear, jamming it between ear and shoulder as he reached for his guitar, intent on telling the reporter or whoever it was that they could shove it; he wasn't interested.
He wasn't prepared for Jensen's voice on the other end of the line, but the well remembered rasp that had always given away when Jensen was feeling nervous greeted him now. "Jay? That you? I got the right number, right?"
Jared shook himself, almost tripped over the pile of music books he'd left stacked in the middle of the floor, and sank down onto a stool, trying his damnedest not to let the phone slip from its position. "Jen? Is that you? "
"Yeah, it's me. Riley told me you wanted to talk to me, and I thought that I'd give you a call, find out where you wanted me to send the stuff I have of yours from when they packed up my stuff after they told me you bailed on me." Jensen's voice sounded flat, and Jared could picture him. This was Jensen at his most arrogant sounding, and Jared knew that inside the man would be cringing at his own temerity.
"I didn't bail," he said softly. "I never did. They moved you somewhere and didn't tell me where. By the time I regained consciousness you were gone." He paused. "It was a week before they let me out of the hospital, and I never stopped looking for you until Danni came by and delivered your message."
There was a pause, and when Jensen spoke, it was almost too quiet to hear. "Oh, yeah?"
"It was only when she told me what you'd said that I gave up trying to find you. I thought I was gonna die for a week or two. I bought a gun and used to fantasize just blowing my brains out, but I guess I was too much of a coward." Jared paused, set his coffee down on the floor, and rose to his feet so he could pace. "I just climbed inside a bottle of Jack Daniels and didn't come out for a year instead. I missed you so much. I couldn't believe that you'd just turned away from everything we had together. We were going to be together forever, and then you were gone."
His words seemed to echo into a silence broken only by the sound of his feet as he shuffled back and forth across the hardwood. When Jensen finally spoke again, it was to say, "I suppose we should meet - get a few things straightened out, shouldn't we?"
"I'd say!" There was a certain undertone of sarcasm in Jared's voice, but Jensen didn't appear to notice.
"It had better be somewhere we don't usually go, or the reporters will get involved and that will be that." The rough edge was back in Jensen's voice. "You know that Maggiano's at The Grove? You wanna meet there for... for lunch?"
The flood of warmth that washed through Jared almost made him stumble back. "You... I... what time?" he croaked, brain freewheeling as he heard the words he'd never thought possible again.
"I'll be there at 1pm, okay?" Jensen paused, and Jared was about to start babbling his thanks, when he spoke again. "Danni's got an appointment at that time, and I can walk from the apartment."
"I'll be there, I promise." There was a sharp click as Jensen hung up the phone, leaving Jared standing, staring into space as his heartbeat pounded a tattoo on the inside of his chest.
The fountains at The Grove were dancing when Jared walked through from the Farmer's Market, looking for Maggiano's. He'd told Jensen he knew it, but in fact, he had no idea where it was, and he was hoping it wasn't too difficult to find. As usual, the sky was cloudless, and as Jared passed the fountains, the fine spray from them was welcome on his overheated skin.
Spying the restaurant at last, he jogged the rest of the way across the courtyard, narrowly avoiding the little, old tram that was steadily winding its way down the track toward the mall with its payload of tourists.
The restaurant itself was in full swing, with diners chattering noisily as they ate, drank, laughed, and generally filled the room with the buzz of conversation. Jensen had already arrived; looking round, Jared could see him, his gaze drawn to the other singer as if by some immutable law.
Standing on the threshold, Jared could feel his heart stutter in his chest as he found and held Jensen's eyes. Stumbling forward, he went to join him, sending up a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening that this would resolve whatever circumstances had led to their estrangement.
"Hello." He stood beside the table, still drinking Jensen in with his eyes. Jensen studied Jared in turn, eyes wide and brow creased as he took in the way Jared was dancing from foot to foot.
"Jesus! Sit down, Jared, you make the place look untidy," murmured Jensen, his mouth crooked into the lop-sided smile he favored when he was in public.
Nodding, Jared took his seat opposite the other man. Jensen wore a pair of ripped and faded jeans and a T-shirt that announced some long ago Metallica tour. His stick rested beside his chair, ornately carved and inlaid with silver. He wasn't wearing all the stage make-up he had at the awards ceremony, and Jared could see new lines around Jensen's mouth - lines that spoke of pain endured, and which had been masked by the cosmetics he'd worn onstage. "It's so good to see you, Jen. I can't even begin to tell you what this means to me."
"Riley told me you were asking for me to call you. I couldn't quite work out why you suddenly changed your mind. I'm still a cripple, Jared; I always will be." Jensen's face had shut down, his eyes had skittered away from his to fix on his fingers, which were twisting together in a way that tore at Jared's heartstrings. Reaching forward, he laid his hand over Jensen's to stop them from their constant movement.
"Why do you suppose that would bother me even for a moment?" The words were thick on Jared's tongue as he tried desperately to convey to Jensen everything that he felt.
Jensen's eyes opened wide, his mouth opening in a soundless O. "But you said..."
And Jared lost his temper. "That's just it. I didn't say a fucking thing. Someone said it for me, and they lied. Who was it? Danni? I bet it was Danni. What did she say? Come on, Jen, tell me. All this time, and nobody would talk to me. I'm the only one in the fucking world who doesn't know what I was supposed to have said."
"She said that you didn't want anything to do with a cripple." Jensen's nose had turned pink, and Jared could tell that he was upset. His first thought was to jump up and start yelling, but this was Jensen, and he was right here, talking to him at last, and the last thing Jared wanted to do was drive him away. He swallowed back the obscenities that had leapt to his tongue and squeezed the hand he was still holding.
"She lied," he murmured. "Why would she have done that?"
Jensen had huddled into himself, and Jared was about to start talking about what his experiences with Danni had been when the server arrived to take their order. It was a few minutes before they were free to talk again, and by that time Jared's anger had receded, leaving him with just a desperate urge to set things right with Jensen, and an even greater one to see Danneel get her just desserts. He cleared his throat.
"Why don't I tell you what happened from my perspective?" he murmured, and Jensen, frowning, nodded.
"I think you'd better," he murmured. "I'm confused now about what you did say. Danni was so upset..." His voice trailed away, and Jared, whose anger had been starting to rise up again, gave himself a shake.
"As you know, I was up in the front of the bus with Chris when it happened. He was flyin' high, completely out of it from whatever he'd been sniffing, an' I was trying to persuade him to pull over and let me drive. You were sleeping like a baby across the back seat, and Steve was carrying on some discussion with David and Jason about the middle break for 'You Belong to Me.' I'd been getting more and more worried about Chris's driving - he was swerving from side to side and laughing, and I put my hand on the wheel." Jared swallowed, memories of that last moment when things might have changed flooding his mind. "I guess that in a way, Danni was right, because it might not have gone the way it did if I'd kept my hands to myself. Chris wrenched the wheel hard, and we went careening through the central reservation and down onto the other carriageway. All I remember before the lights went out is that Chris was laughing."
Reaching for his glass of water, Jared paused. Jensen was still frowning, but he said nothing, merely gestured for Jared to go on.
"I don't know much about the accident after that. I woke up in the hospital five days later with my arm in a cast, and there was a letter from Danni that told me you blamed me for the crash, and that I shouldn't ever try to contact you again. I tried to call, but everyone's numbers had been changed, and it was like there was a conspiracy of silence over the whole thing. Someone had been to the house and moved all your stuff out, and it was kinda like you'd never existed. For weeks, I couldn't even function. I didn't hear about Chris's funeral until well after the fact."
The frown was still on Jensen's face, and his eyes had glazed over as if he were seeing something a long way in the distance. It was at that moment the server descended on them with their entrees, and the two of them said nothing more as they began to eat. Jared's lasagna disappeared swiftly, and after a while, Jensen wordlessly pushed his Eggplant Parmesan over for him to finish off, for all the world as if they had never separated.
Full at last, Jared dared meet Jensen's eyes again. "So what happened? How come you disappeared from my life? I never understood how you could just vanish so completely. There was a time when I really seriously thought about killing myself rather than go on without you."
"It... it's complicated." Jensen nodded, then shrugged, apparently trying to order his words. "I was kept medicated for a while until they'd finished the surgeries I needed on my spine. I know they moved me to a hospital in Chicago, because that was supposed to be the best place for spinal cord injuries, and at first they said I'd never walk again." He reached for the glass of wine that so far he hadn't touched, sipping at it as if trying to put off further disclosures. Waiting as patiently as he could, Jared drank in the sight of him and ruthlessly suppressed his need to move, tap, and twitch, afraid that if he drew attention to himself Jensen would call the meeting short. When Jensen began to talk again Jared felt a flood of relief that made him shiver.
"At first it was all hazy, because I was medicated, and they were giving me all kinds of therapy. It was hard to tell what day it was, because everything hurt. I had the surgeries and then some shots that they said might help. I missed Chris's funeral too, although Steve told me about it. Funny - I couldn't accept that he was gone and kept on asking for him. I think that Steve especially wanted to just choke the shit out of me. I kept on asking for Chris, and for you. When Danni told me that you'd left me - that you couldn't bear to be saddled with a cripple, it was like my life was over." Jensen's mouth quivered, and he drank half of his wine as he gathered himself together again. "I guess it did the trick though, because what she said made me determined to walk again, just to show you!"
"I loved you; I don't think I've ever stopped loving you, Jen. If I'd known..." There was a lump in Jared's throat as he reached across the table to touch Jensen's cheek. "I think we need to have a talk with Danni; don't you?"
Flushing, Jensen lowered his gaze, eyes skittering away as Jared's words soaked in. "Like I said; it's complicated," he mumbled. "She and I... she was so supportive, so helpful after the crash. I owe her..."
"She lied. She broke us apart, and she almost succeeded in making sure we never had a chance to patch up our differences." Jared was angry - the thought that someone they trusted had cold-bloodedly manipulated them made him want to find her and beat her until she confessed. "Why aren't you just calling for her blood, like I am?"
The flush that had colored Jensen's cheeks was suddenly a crimson tide that stained him from ears to neck. "I... we... we got engaged. We're supposed to be getting married in May."
"And you aren't going to ask her what the fuck she thought she was doing?" Jared had raised his voice, and there was a sudden unfortunate silence in the busy restaurant as diners turned to see who was making the fuss. Angrier than ever, he leaned in towards his ex lover and hissed, "Aren't you even going to ask her about it?"
He waved the waiter over and fished out his credit card, asking for the check to be expedited, and Jensen, face pale as he looked on, suddenly pushed himself to his feet. "I'm gonna ask her about it, for sure," he said. "I hope you'll give me the time I need to do so."
The fury left Jared again abruptly, and he sat, wrung out, watching as Jensen bent to retrieve his stick. "Don't go, Jen; please don't go?"
"I have to, Jay. I need to get to the bottom of this. Listen, I have your number now. I'll call you once I've talked to her. Can you give me a little time?" And Jensen looked like a little boy, all wide eyes and bee-stung lips as he stood anxiously waiting for Jared's response. "I promise I'll call you tonight, okay?"
It would have to be okay. Jared nodded, then rose to his feet and stood, unsure of how to draw this meeting to a close. "You know where I live," he murmured. "Wanna come over instead of calling?"
A dimple peeped, and Jensen nodded. "Guess I should check if you've kept it the way it was, or if you've imported a whole menagerie of rescue dogs or something. I'll call you, okay?"
Placing one hand on Jared's shoulder to steady himself, he raised himself up to plant a chaste kiss on Jared's lips, but before Jared could respond, the waiter returned with his card and the check for signature, and by the time he was done, Jensen was gone.
TBC
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