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DALLAS MAVERICK DMN's exclusive interview with State Senator Jensen Ackles, one year after the upset election they said a Democrat couldn't win.
The ring of the phone almost gives him a heart attack, and he realizes he's been listening to it in his dreams for twenty minutes. He snatches it out of its cradle, fully intending to tell the person on the other end of the line to go to hell, and then he remembers that he doesn't want to read about it in the paper. "What time is it?" he asks instead, and tries as hard as he can to make that sound exactly like 'go to hell.' "Time to get a move on," says the gravelly voice on the other end. "Luis called a special session first thing in the morning and you have to vote." Jensen flops back down into the pillows and sighs something that might be construed as obscenity, if it were clearer. It takes a minute for the words to sink in, but when they do, he squints one eye. "Wait, why's Luis calling it?" "No time for chitchat, but I'll short it up for you: Dewey Galeos is outta here. Texas needs a new lieutenant governor and we're voting the minute they open those doors, so get out of bed and get your ass to Austin." "Christ, Jim. What'd you do, tap his phone? " "I'm not at liberty to say." Jensen rubs a hand across his face. It's too early for sarcasm. "Did you get my tickets?" "Yep. See you in an hour." It's a long flight. Or, actually, it's about a half an hour, but it feels longer because they don't let people check the freaking internet mid-air. At the arrivals gate, Gabe is waiting for him, a bright smile in the dawning sunshine. For a split second, Jensen hates him. If Adrianne were here, she'd have the decency to keep a straight face in the morning. But Adrianne's about two hundred miles back the way he came, and Gabe's holding a cup of coffee and a crisp copy of the Statesman. "You can live," he says, cautiously taking the coffee just in case it's too full, but it's perfect and not too hot. Gabe isn't Adrianne, but he's getting there. Jensen reaches for the newspaper. "Thank you, sir," Gabe smiles, holding the paper back. "I have the car waiting, but you'd better get in before you start reading. Mister Beaver was pretty particular about the timing, sir." Jensen fumbles for the newsprint. "Give me the paper or I'll tell Adrianne on you. I will, Gabriel. I'm not fooling around, here." Gabe heads for the door, the paper still secured under his arm. "That's actually fairly terrifying, but I'm more scared of Mister Beaver than I am of her. He can kill a man with his thumb, sir; did you know that?" "You're fired." Gabe exits into the sun and ignores Jensen being blinded as he heads for the cab. "You told me never to take seriously any changes in my job made before ten in the morning, sir. After you." Jensen climbs into the back of the car and barely refrains from hitting his head on the roof. "I don't remember asking for a clown cab." Gabe leans forward. "The Capitol, please, and we need to be there by eight." The cab rips off into the street and Jensen snatches the paper out of Gabe's hands. HELL OF A PAPERWEIGHT 2009 Livingston Award for National Reporting recipient Jared Padalecki never picks up in the lunchroom, but we're glad we hired him anyway. "You got three minutes. Make it good." "I'm telling you, Morgan," Jared says, trying to balance a pencil on the end of his finger. "I can get him." The editor-in-chief of the Los Angeles Times, Jeff Morgan, circles around his desk and shoves Jared's boots off the edge. Jared was really slouching, so they hit the floor and send a nervous twinge shivering up his heels, which is the most awful thing all day, including the work coffee. Also, the pencil falls. Morgan just folds his arms and leans against the desk. "Tell me another one, Padalecki. Nobody can get him." Jared stands up and starts to pace. He always paces when he's working himself up, and Morgan's office is good for it. "No, no. You mean nobody ever has. I'm telling you, man, I can get an exclusive one-on-one with Jensen Ackles. I'm a Texan, I know the material, and I am one charming son of a bitch when I try. Besides, I have an angle." Morgan narrows his eyes. He looks critical and contemptuous, which Jared knows means he's listening. "You have an angle. To get into the back pocket of the prettiest Democrat since JFK. They're gonna put that kid in the Senate race and then in the White House and they'll do it all with the women's vote, and you have an angle? What, did you go to grade school together?" "He'll buy it," Jared grins. "He needs it. And the best part of it is that you get to hit me." Morgan's cynicism turns outright bewildered. "I what?" "You have to hit me, and then fire me. In public. You can come up with whatever reason you want, but I'm gonna tell Jim Beaver it's because I'm gay and you're a bigot." There's a lengthy pause in which Jared is halfway excited and halfway wondering if he'll have a job when he leaves the office. But as he watches, that muscle in Morgan's cheek starts to roll. That's his considering muscle. Denise in Foreign told Jared that the week after he was hired. "I like it," Morgan says tentatively. "But you'll have to play it close to the chest. I mean close. You better be a hell of an actor." "You think they hand out Livingstons to shitty ones?" Morgan gives him a rare, wry smile. "Keep it in your pants, kid." Jared beams at him. "Hey, the looks'll fade one day. I gotta trade on something." "All right, all right." Morgan waves his hand and goes to sit down. He pulls out his checkbook and a pad of paper, slaps both on top of the sea of paperwork that is his desk. "Give me the specifics. I want a timeline. When are you thinking to start this thing?" Jared holds his breath. "I was kind of thinking right around the time I leave this office." "Go straight home?" Morgan starts drawing some obscure hieroglyphics on the page, and Jared starts to breathe again. "No. I wait two weeks or so to cry about how I ruined my life, then get my shit together and ship it back to my parents house while I book into a hotel and look for an apartment. It'll take about a week after that to think about looking for a new job, and that's when I start shopping the resume around. Beaver should have it on his desk by mid-February." "Good. I'll type up a half-assed letter of reference and mail it to you." "Perfect." "What about the -" Morgan's thought is cut off by a sharp rap at the door. Nancy's crisp voice calls through the wood. "Vote's in!" "Who is it?" Morgan roars back. "Turn it on," Nancy crows. "You won't believe it!" Morgan aims a remote at the television mounted in the corner. It displays a ridiculously high number in green digits. " -firmation that the runoff vote has come back moments ago and the results are definitive. The new President of the State Senate and interim Lieutenant Governor for the state of Texas is State Senator Jensen Ackles of Dallas District 16." Jared watches the reporter smile at the camera. "I know the coffee stand next to the station will be happy to hear our fellow reporters from out East will be sticking around. Back to you, Leslie." Morgan mutes the TV. That muscle in his cheek jumps again, and after a second he looks back to Jared. "Okay. How are you going to check in with me?" "I'll get a web-based email address." "Good." 'TENANT WATCH What's Jensen Ackles up to? Is Texas in for more than it bargained for? We help you decipher the first moves in the strategy of this reclusive newcomer to the national stage. The sun's setting when Jensen gets into the black car at the bottom of the Capitol's steps. His ear hurts from having the phone pressed to it all day, and Governor Evans's smarmy, deficient vibe is still all over him. He sighs as he falls back against the cushions. "Where are we on the budget?" The leggy blonde sitting beside him holds up an imperious finger. "What, now? Jim. It's the end of the day." "Let me talk to him." Jensen motions for the phone, but she waves him away. The car hasn't even moved yet. He scowls at her. "Y'know, Adrianne, I'm pretty sure I own that phone." If she's heard him, she makes no indication. Her fine brows draw together, blonde on alabaster. She's a stunning woman, beautiful and smart and capable, and if she wasn't his assistant, he might have asked her out already. As it stands, he'll have to settle for glaring at her and subsequently being ignored - which is almost like a relationship anyway. "Can't this wait?" she asks the phone, looking annoyed on his behalf, which she always does with perfect accuracy. "Okay. Okay. I'll pick up food and fresh clothes for the... yes, you will. You know you will. Mr. Beaver, I respect you as a top-notch advisor and my secondary boss, but in this case you should really shut up and trust me. Okay. They have a really good lemon chicken, actually. Okay. Bye." She thumbs the button on the phone and flips her hair back over her shoulder. Jensen winces. "Tell me I don't have to." Adrianne gives him an apologetic look. "He's coming in now. Sorry. Chinese okay?" "No," Jensen says, crossing his arms. "I wanna go home. I need a shower and a shave, and I need food that came out of the ground instead of a box." She makes that face, the one that means he's being unreasonable and irresponsible and also pouting like a four year old. "Jensen, what happens when you argue with me?" "I present my position in a reasoned and logical manner and you ride right over me with no respect for the rules of order." "Exactly. Go back to your office and meet Jim. He says we have a surprise tomorrow morning and you need to prepare. I'll get you clean clothes and you can shower down in the gym." Her tone is almost bright enough that he suspects she's having fun with this, but not quite. "He didn't say what kind of a surprise, did he?" "Oh, yes, the kind that's easily solved with no headache." "Oh, good," Jensen says, opening the car door. "Because I was promised a cushy government job." "I'll get you steamed veggies." "...And the ginger beef." "And the ginger beef. He'll be here in twenty minutes. Go." Jensen closes the door and watches the car pull away. It's a long trudge through the rotunda to the elevators, but once he's spent fifteen minutes down in the extension letting steam and water pound the tension out of his shoulders, he has to admit he feels better. They have disposable razors at the gift shop, but he rubs a hand across his cheek and decides it'll keep until morning. He dresses in his old clothes, which aren't quite so repugnant as he'd thought, and then heads back up to the Capitol building. He still hasn't gotten used to the new office. You have to cross the Senate chamber floor to get to it, back in its own corner of the building with the office of the Senate Secretary. He has two reception rooms of his own, to say nothing of the staff office and the back conference room and the semi-private elevator. It's kind of a step up, really, from the fourth floor closet they put him in before. Gabe's at his desk, and when Jensen comes in, he looks up with a kind smile. "Welcome back, sir. Mr. Beaver's in your office." "I told you to call me Jim," hollers Jim from somewhere past Jensen's office door. Gabe raises his voice just enough to be heard. "Yes, sir!" "Fantastic," Jensen deadpans, hanging his coat on the rack. "Aren't you about done for the day?" "Just waiting until Adrianne gets in," Gabe says. "I'm to make sure you're all right until she gets here." Jensen leans a hand on Gabe's desk. "Does she know I'm actually 32 years old?" "She does, sir." "And that I'm mostly responsible for running a state that has over 23 million people in it?" "I believe she has those figures." "You're on my side, right, Gabe?" "You're my boss, sir." "Okay, then. We'll be in the back. And can you grab me a Fresca out of the fridge?" "Coming up. Mr. Beaver?" "Yeah, me too," Jim calls, and Jensen walks into his office as he takes his suit jacket off. Jim is hunched over the coffee table, also in shirtsleeves. His glasses are sliding down his nose as he squints at the papers in front of him, and his shirt is bunched up under his black suspenders. His jacket's over one of the chairs, so Jensen puts his down there too. "Governor exercised his right to call the Senate into special session as of tomorrow morning," he says. "I know," Jim murmurs, not looking up from the brief in front of him. "Seems he can't say no to his party if they just whine at him loud enough. He said it just like that, too." Jensen puts some false heartiness into his voice, puffing up his chest like the stuffed shirt he was talking to an hour ago. "You know how it is, Jensen. They get something in their teeth and suddenly their constituents have been screaming for it for years and they'll never get elected without it. Sure, Perry, I know all about that. Those senile old senators, they'd lose their heads if they weren't attached." Jim puffs a little breath out his nose, short and ill tempered. "He didn't happen to mention what kind of bill his guys were gonna put forward, did he?" "No. Why? Is that it?" "Take a look." Jim hands the paper over to Jensen, and while there is minimal difference between his serious face and his flippant face, Jensen's learned by now to tell the difference. He reads the paper. MISTER ACKLES GOES TO AUSTIN With the legislature in recess and no end in sight, the Chronicle goes inside the Capitol as our own State Senator Olsen crosses the floor to aid the new Lieutenant Governor's bizarre - but effective - filibuster. Jared reminds himself for the eleventh time since he met Jim Beaver to sit up straight and not mouth off. He's in the lieutenant governor's conference room and it's coming on 5:00 p.m. He was here at noon, but Jim didn't have time to see him until an hour ago. That is, Mr. Beaver didn't have time. He slips and uses the reporter-familiar address even once, it'll raise eyebrows. They're through all the official questions now. Jared's been asked about why it took so long to get his degree from UCLA (Variety made him finish it before they'd let him have the political beat - true), why he decided to make the move to active politics and away from journalism (it's a good opportunity, the lieutenant governor is a good man, and it's a chance to come home - true), why he left his last employer (personal differences with staff - true enough to be believable because Morgan's a bastard). Now they're onto dangerous ground: small talk. Jim leans back in his chair, cool as an aiming sniper. "Okay, Jared. I'll tell you straight up, you're looking good. I just want to run a couple of things by you before I wrap this up." "Shoot." "Found this floating around the LAPD." Jim pushes a piece of paper across the table. Jared's a little blindsided; he wasn't expecting this to crop up. Even so, he barely has to look at it before nodding, his mouth tight. "No one's supposed to be able to get this," he says. "I guess when they say expunged from the record, what they really mean is in the bottom drawer." "I got hold of it," Jim says. "Someone else could." Jared fixes the man with a look and forgets to avoid poking his finger at the table. "And I'll tell them then what I'm telling you now - it was a personal beef, the officer who brought me in wasn't even on duty, I was acquitted of all charges, and it is a god damn felony to access personal information you got no right to." Jim regards him for a long minute, neither moving nor speaking. Finally, he taps a finger against his lips. "That's pretty good." "You're damn right it's good," Jared says, leaning back in his chair and letting his temper settle back down. "Might wanna lose the cussing, though." Jared feels the edges of his cheekbones go pink. "Yes, sir." Jim leans his elbows on the table then, adjusts his glasses and tilts his head to read off Jared's resume. "You're all settled in now? Got a place to hang your hat?" "Here in Austin, yes sir. On Lamar and Fifth street." "Nice. Had a chance to see any of the town yet?" Jared nods, but inside he's cooling down, slowing up. These are questions that put him in the minefield, things that'll make him have to lie. It's too soon to bring this up, and Jim is the wrong person to bring it up to. "I've seen a little," he allows. "Took a day to walk along Guadalupe." "Great part of town. Only got popular a couple years ago, but you'd never know it." "I suppose so. Don't do a lot of club hopping." Jared grins, and is relieved to see Jim grin back. You can't club-hop when you're in politics. There's discretion involved. Jared hopes Jim will catch the subtle clue, back off the topic. "Well, don't look too down in the mouth on it. Got any friends around town?" Dammit. Jared musters a smile. "Not as yet, but I'm hoping to change that." Jim laughs easily. Here it comes. "What about back in L.A.? Leave a girlfriend back there?" "No, no," Jared says, trying to sound casual. This is all wrong. He's out on his ass if he says it straight out; no, he's got to meet Ackles, got to confess it in person, to his face. Then comes the forgiveness, the trust, the secrets, and that's what he's here for. But if he holds back now and then confesses later, Jim's gonna know there's something rotten in Denmark. A stand-up guy puts his cards on the table right now, and Jared's supposed to be a stand-up guy, so he's out of options and - "Excuse me, Mr. Beaver?" The eager, charming young secretary from outside comes charging into the room without so much as a knock. "He's making a speech, sir." Jim's eyes go wide. "Say again, Gabriel." "He's closing the day," the guy says, his voice wobbling a little with panic. "He's making a speech, he's not mincing words and there are reporters massing on the south lawn. I'm sorry to interrupt your meeting, sir, but I thought you'd want to know immediately." Jim sighs and stands up. He sweeps the papers into a stack and then straightens his tie. "Okay, son. Let's go take a looky-loo." Jim moves straight to the door and Jared expects Gabe to follow him, but the secretary is over by the window craning his neck to count cameras. Jim turns around, looks at Jared and lifts one eyebrow. "You coming or not?" "I think that's Anderson Cooper!" Gabe's practically climbing out the window. "Yes, sir," Jared says, and hurries to follow him. They walk together through corridors and doors, and then through a set of wide double doors that open onto the second floor gallery. The senate floor spreads out below them, rows of hundred-year-old desks and terrazzo, and it is in session. Jared goes to sit down, but Jim puts a hand on his arm. "He won't be long," he says, a wry smile on his face for the strident and forceful man below. Ackles speaks from behind his dark, aged desk, color high in his cheeks, his tie loosened over the course of the day. That's fair, Jared thinks. It's been a long one for him, listening to the senators that support him bring issue after issue to the floor: points of order in the minutes, lectures on the finer points of agriculture, approval for money for new pens, anything at all that will give the new Lieutenant Governor the option of calling on someone who won't bring up SB-295. Jared's sending stories back to L.A. every single day, published under a pseudonym by-line, and they're all on SB-295 because not even Morgan will let this one slide. The bill is being brought by some of the wilier Republican senators. It'll eliminate funding for cafeterias in public schools, instead giving the money as a lump sum to the boards to use at their discretion. Studies have shown that most schools will get a Pizza Hut into the lunchroom and spend the money on other things. Poor kids starve, their grades evaporate. Rich kids buy pizza every day and the sports programs suffer. It's a no-starter and it'd never have made it onto the floor with an elected guy behind the desk, but Republicans want to make the Democrat look bad, and this is a great way to do it. If Ackles allows the bill to be heard and voted down, the press will say they might as well have had a monkey in the chair because anybody can do nothing. If he uses his veto, he'll be written off as a partisan hack who's only furthering the Democratic agenda. It was a great ploy, Jared has to admit, and a great response strategy to pull this demented filibuster. He's even got some of the more moderate Republicans leaping on the chance to air their little pet issues, which tells Jared that his opposition here isn't very organized. It's certainly got the media's attention; even on the national scale, people are watching this guy. The trick now is to play it right. Ackles is leaning his elbows on the desk, his hands in fists. "You don't need to tell me this is a waste of time," he tells the assembly. "I know it's a waste of time! We all have businesses and families that need us, we all have things we'd rather be doing. But see, the difference between you and me is I don't give a damn!" Ackles sighs and leans back in his chair. He pushes his glasses down and rubs the bridge of his nose. "We are statesmen, and it's high time we started acting like it. I see a sea of talent here, people counting on us to govern them with care, courage and even grace, and we are letting them down! I'm not naive. I know this is politics. But I'm not out of line to suggest that serving the best interests of the people is more important than seeing what we can sell them, and anybody who suggests I am is gonna find himself wishing he hadn't; you can quote me on that." He raps the gavel then, as if to better punctuate the invitation. "This session is now called to recess. I'll see you all tomorrow." The room erupts in a flurry of conversation as Ackles stands up and heads for the doors. Jim catches Jared by the arm. "Come on," he says. "You gotta catch him before he gets to the steps." The two of them make a fast break out of the gallery and down to the rotunda. Just as they hit the floor, the chamber doors come open and Ackles leads the pack. People are talking on all sides of him, talking at each other and at him and at their assistants. Jim catches two of the senators immediately and Jared's good enough to know his cue when he sees it. He walks up to Ackles' side and tries his best to bulk up his shoulders, look like a bodyguard. He wishes he had sunglasses. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he says, putting a hand on Ackles' shoulder. Ackles stops, but Jared's looking at the men on either side of him. "Mr. Ackles needs to address the press. If you could give us a minute?" The two senators look a little upset, but they grant the space. The word press buys you a lot of latitude. Ackles, meanwhile, turns to Jared. "I'm sorry," he says, extending his hand. "Have we met?" "Not as yet, sir. Jared Padalecki. I'm your press secretary." "Jensen Ackles," he replies, and holds out his hand. Jared almost laughs - as though there's anybody in this building who doesn't know who this is - but holds it back as he gives the man a handshake his daddy'd be proud of. Ackles gives him a careful, public sort of smile. "We're still interviewing for that post, actually. You'll want to speak to my office upstairs." Jared shakes his head. "I already have. Respectfully, sir, you really don't have time to talk to me for long. I'm told there's a selection of high profile media right outside and you need to know what to tell them." "I'm fairly certain I can manage, Mister, I'm sorry..." "Padalecki," Jared supplies. "Mister Padalecki." Jared can sense him gearing up for some kind of apology and decides to just take the bull by the horns. He reaches out and tugs the corners of Ackles' collar straight, and then fixes his tie. "You should really wear yellow ties," he notes. "You're too pale but you can't tan or you'll look like you just came back from Bermuda." "I have freckles," Ackles explains, trying to back up. Jared sees him look in Jim's direction, and whatever Jim does must soothe him down, because he refrains from punching Jared in the face. "We'll deal with that," Jared assures him. "Listen, I heard your speech. You're good at getting mad, so do it when you're out there. Talk about starving, uneducated kids, give them the sound bites they want, and then call your guys dedicated legislators for keeping it off the floor. Mention Zappirelli by name. Then say Texans should call their senators and tell them to get off SB-295 and get back to work." "Are you sure? Won't that lose us points with the senators?" "Not in any way that matters to us. Go out there and blast 'em. You have people all fired up, so we're gonna use it." Ackles nods absently. "Okay. Where are they?" "South lawn," Jared says. "When you're done, have your driver take you to Eddie V's on East 5th. I'll bring Mr. Beaver and we'll go over some details. And, Mister Ackles?" "Jensen is fine." Jared holds out his hand and smiles. "Gimme your glasses, Jensen." "But I can't see without them." "CNN's out there. I'll give them back." Jensen takes them off and hands them over. Jared tucks them carefully into his breast pocket, and watches as Jensen heads out into the sea of flashing cameras. TEXAS FIGHTS FOR EDUCATION FUTURE Newly minted Lieutenant Governor calls on state Republicans to "get back to work" and drop their controversial bill to cut funding to public schools. Jensen's sipping the foam off his beer when Jim and Jared come through the door. He was half expecting Jim to come in alone and explain that real politicians are a tiny bit more circumspect about who they take advice from, and how they answer questions on national television. But Jared walks in right behind him, just like he's always been there, and Jensen feels his chest unknot. He is, perhaps, not completely ruined. Jim spots him and leads Jared to the table. "Nice job up there," he says, as the two of them sit down. "They loved you," Jared says, smiling like a piranha. He produces Jensen's glasses from somewhere, and when Jensen takes them they're warm to the touch. He settles them on his nose and notes, for the second time, that the guy is really young. "Jared tells me he's my press secretary," Jensen says. "Did we start hiring people without talking to me?" Jim lifts an eyebrow. "Just ballsy," Jared smiles. "Jim didn't tell me that I had the job, but you don't set a guy loose on your candidate if you're not pretty damn sure." "Good resume," Jim nods. "Good job with the press today. And he makes you look older." "Somebody has to," Jared puts in. "You make him look fourteen on camera." "Don't I know it." Jensen wants to take exception to that, but it's not really contestable. He pats his pockets for his lighter and frowns. "Listen, Jared, there are just a couple of questions I want to ask you before I sign off on having you with us." "Shoot," Jared says, looking as relaxed as a day at the beach. "First, I need to know that you're on board with my agenda. I don't need anybody with me who doesn't understand what I'm about." "Sir, I'm a press agent. I can sell whatever you give me." Jensen leans on the table and fixes Jared right between the eyes. "I told you, my name is Jensen. And I also told you that I need you to understand what I'm about. Now, are you gonna sell me on you, or are you gonna give me what I'm looking for?" There's a moment of silence as Jared looks to Jim, looks at his hands. "I'm sorry. Go on." "It's all right. I'm a democrat and I'm vocal about that. I'm a big spender. I believe in a lot of things that'll get me in trouble down here. I'm pro-choice, pro-immigration, pro-safety-net and pro-gun-control. And even though they'd never let me say so in an election, I'd strip the word marriage out of the civil code entirely, given half a chance; call everything a civil union. Get the state's nose the hell out of something that's purely God's business and put it into life insurance and health benefits, where it belongs." "Amen," Jim notes quietly. Jared's nodding along. "I'm aware of your policies on those issues. I did my homework, and I can tell you without reservation that -" "I wasn't finished," Jensen says, cutting him off. Jared shows one palm. "Sorry." "It's all right. The second part of this, and most important to me, is that I'm first and foremost a Texan. I believe in my people, Jared, and I'm talking about the whole state here, not just the third that'll vote for me. We get a lot of crap from the rest of the country for being backwards hicks and I'm sick and goddamn tired of it, not to put too fine a point. Now, I admit we got our fair share of idiots, but there's no state in the union that doesn't. My friends, my neighbors, they're good folks. I'm not here to drag them anywhere they don't want to be. They have more than enough people talking down to them as is. Your top priority as my voice to the world is to help me put what I do into layman's terms and make sure it reaches everyone it can. They've been turned around and lied to by bastards and thieves for too long. If I do nothing else in office except bring them the truth, I'll sleep like a baby at night." There's a long silence this time as Jared absorbs. Jensen leans back in his chair to show he's finished, and waits. Finally, Jared presses his lips together. "I understand. It's not the easiest line in the world to walk, but I can walk it." "You're sure?" Jensen asks kindly. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to back out." Jared gives him a serious look, out of place on his youthful face. "Look. If Texas is gonna bring in a Democrat, it's gonna be you. And I don't mean to sound mercenary, but working with you right now is going to open a lot of doors for me, maybe for you. I don't know how far we'll go together, but I'm not lacking in ambition. It's a challenging job, you're right about that. But it's right for me, and I'm right for you." Jim laughs, easy and warm. "Don't say that until you've passed the second test, kid." "What's the second test?" Jared asks, playing it up. "Bring it on, I'll take it." Jensen smiles. "She oughta be here in about five minutes." "She?" The waiter interrupts them and asks for their order. They're just debating having some nachos when Adrianne comes through the door. "You have Mike Richardson in half an hour," she says, sitting down at the table and taking his beer away. She sips it and puts it down in front of her without hesitation, and opens her notebook. The waiter asks her if he can get her something to drink, mischief in his eye, and she smiles at him. "Could I get a ginger ale, please?" He notes it on his pad and slides away. "Wasn't he going to bring me nachos?" Jensen asks the table. Jim narrows his eyes at the menu. "The pretty girl told him to get a drink, Jensen." "Oh." Jim looks over the rims of his glasses. "Adrianne, meet Jared Padalecki, recently of the Los Angeles Times. He's our pick for Press Secretary." "Very nice to meet you," she says, and extends her perfectly manicured hand across the table. Jared takes it and gives her a good solid handshake, the kind you give a constituent. "Adrianne Palicki, Jensen's executive assistant." "Nice to meet you, too. They tell me I need to sneak past you to get into the office." Adrianne gives him a royal smile. "I'm sure I have no idea what they could have been talking about, Mr. Padalecki. My job is to ensure that the Lieutenant Governor's daily activities run as smoothly as possible, and if he's chosen you for the post then my aim is to get you settled in and brought up to speed." "I see," Jared says, a returning smile curving at the corners of his mouth. "I don't suppose you'd be in charge of which desk I wind up at." "I would." "And what aide I wind up with." "Yes." "And possibly my social life, if I stick around long enough." "Very much so." "Understood." The waiter turns up with a ginger ale, and they order nachos all around. "So talk to me about strategy," Jim says. "We've got a candidate here that's coming up for re-election in seven months." "I've given that a great deal of thought," Jared says, leaning forward. "Jensen, you said something to me ten minutes ago that's gonna win this thing for you. We got 'em on the issues except for gun control, which we can work on. The experience problem is dead weight, but with a good performance over the next few months, we can cinch that up. We're gonna need a solid win on at least two things, and no setbacks, not a single problem. Barring that, the only thing we really need to do is solve the question of how to bring over the people who'd rather vote Republican, and that's your silver bullet. You're a Democrat who's a patriot, and I can sell that to prime time. If we can get the country to love you, and start loving Texas a little bit into the bargain, you can start changing the decor in that brand new office of yours." Jensen knits his eyebrows. "Wait a second." "We're talking about the senate seat," Jim says, just checking in, making sure. "You're on page, right?" "Oh no, sir," Jared says, sitting back in his chair like a man in his own living room. "I'm talking about the office you're in right now. First up are the primaries, and I don't mean to sound like I swagger, but Senator Watkins doesn't have your financing or your camera appeal. I can take him with one hand tied behind my back." Jensen's mind is buzzing. Chris Watkins is going to be the Democratic nominee, it's just a given. He's the guy they run for Governor but that's only because they've never had a chance of winning before. He's the best guy in the Texas DNC, they're gonna run him. They owe him, after all his time; they'll never go for a kid out of Richardson, even if the press does like him. And even if Hell froze over and they did put Jensen on the ticket, the chances of winning the election with any Democrat is a million to one. This is Texas. It's never been on the table, and it isn't now. It's a silly idea. It'd never really work. Adrianne sips Jensen's beer. "I like him," she says, tilting the glass toward Jared. "He can stay." ROCKING THE BOAT Senator Jane Rock (R-12) forced a controversial Senate bill off the Republican agenda over the weekend. Though Democrats scrambled to claim credit, Senator Rock owned the airwaves. Jared shoulders the door to the conference room open. He's trying to balance a cup of coffee and four newspapers, and his phone is ringing, which is an impossible situation to be in at seven in the morning, and yet here he is. Jensen, hunched over a stack of briefs and memos spread over the surface of the conference table, shoots him a hopeful look. "You have coffee," he notes. "Yeah," Jared says, dumping the newspapers on the table. He manages to pull his cell phone out just in time to miss the call. "Did you bring me a coffee?" Jared frowns at the number on the caller ID display, because it's only showing four digits and therefore can't be a phone number. "No." Jensen leans back in his chair and arches the crick out of his neck. "Y'know, next time you're getting one," he says, trailing it off suggestively. "I'm not bringin' you coffee." "But you could." The far door swings open to admit Jim. "Mornin', Jared." "Hi," Jared scowls, trying to make the phone spit out his recent caller list. It's new. "You pick up coffee on the way in?" "I didn't get you one." "I'm sure your mama's proud," Jim rumbles, setting himself into a chair. "What's on the table today?" "Jensen's giving me unilateral permission to speak to the press." "Still funny," Jensen grumbles. Jared tries to drown himself in his coffee cup, and Jim taps his fingers on the table. "Okay. You two get the giggles out. I'm going to try getting Ruger or Smith on the phone. April isn't far enough away that we have time to screw around." With a pointed look shot at each of them, Jim walks out into the main office. Jensen hunches over the papers again. "Okay. I'm working. I'm working hard." Jared sits back in his chair and thinks like a political strategist. "You have to have Ruger to pull in Ways and Means, and you have to have Ways and Means or the House'll spit back your budget like sour milk." "I still think if we had Smith and, I don't know. Ryerson." "Ryerson's up in November." "Karnes." "She's up." "Bartlett?" "Jensen, Sam Bartlett hates you." Jensen throws his pen onto the table and rubs his hands over his face. "But his seat's not up for election this year, is it?" Jared smiles at him. In the last week, he's been developing this really disconcerting habit of grinning like a fool at the Texas Lieutenant Governor, and it's freaking him out but he can't stop. "No, it isn't. But he really hates your guts." "So I need Ruger by January," Jensen sighs. "What do I have to give him?" "First things first. Whatever you want written in stone on your budget has to be locked down by Halloween and not a day after. That way, if November comes around and there's a new guy in this office, at least you'll still be elected to your senate seat. Can't boot a Democrat who gave you a working budget." Jensen gives him this wide-eyed look that puts the freckles front and center. He looks about four years old. "You think we're gonna lose?" He tries to be as gentle as he can. "...You don't?" "Well, no, I do, but I don't think you're allowed to." "Jensen." "I think I pay you not to." "You pay me to be honest." "I don't remember writing that down." "It was there, trust me. Listen, you can't ever make that face on camera." Jensen pulls that wide-eyed blink again. "What face?" "You think you're funny." "I think I'm adorable." "That's where you're right, but you can't make that face on camera or people are gonna think you're four years old." "Fine," Jensen huffs. "So what do I have to give Ruger?" Jared smiles, and this time he feels the blood in it. "Nothing. It's time we put the press to work for you, Jensen. Even Texas journalists had to go to college, and that makes them your friends. If Ruger doesn't wanna play ball, I'll bury him." Jensen frowns, and this time he's serious. "I don't want you going after his daughter," he says, poking at the table. "She's in a bad way, but family's off limits." "I knew you'd say that," Jared says, feeling a funny, spreading warmth in his chest that's surely a reaction to being right about this guy. "That's why I told a friend at the Statesman that I might be able to swing him an interview on the budget planning session." "I don't follow." Jared makes his point by poking a pen at the prison spending reports. "He'll ask you about Ways & Means, and he'll bring up Ruger because he knows it's your only shot. You'll say Ruger's a fine example of the House and he'll ask for a comment on the daughter. When you say you're way above personal attacks..." "Then Ruger can't hit back. And he'll know I can hit him on any policy issue I want and it'll stick," Jensen finishes. "He won't get it at first because it'll just look..." "It'll look like you're a man of principle." "But I am a man of principle." "I know. Enjoy the one and only time in your life that that's gonna work for you in politics." Jensen laughs, ducking his head. Jared's observed this man carefully over the past several days; he's getting to know the tics and idiosyncrasies. It seems to be coming easy, actually; it took him years to be able to read some of the poker faces in L.A., but he feels like he could explain what each crinkle and line on Jensen's face indicates. Maybe it's just because he's been studying the guy for the story. Maybe. "Listen," Jensen says, and makes the crook of brow and twist of lips that means he's about to say something that makes him uncomfortable. It's a faintly sheepish look, actually. Jared's never quite seen this look before. "I don't mean to make mountains out of molehills, but..." "No, what is it?" Jared leans on his elbows. Jensen looks fiercely at the papers, out the window, and scratches the back of his neck. "A minute ago I was cracking wise about being adorable and you said..." "I said you were right," Jared confirms, making his face serious and sober. Inside, he's doing a fucking dance. He was really hoping Jensen would take the bait the first time, and he did. Pay dirt. "You understand, I have to ask." Jensen actually looks ashamed of himself. For the tenth time, Jared repeats to himself what Jensen's job is and where they are, but that doesn't make it any less surreal. Nobody's this nice, or if they are, then they sure as shit aren't this lucky. "I get it," he says, strictly schooling his face. His stomach's in knots over whether or not he can keep this all buttoned down, so he lets the nerves show. They're in character. "Ask me what you gotta ask me." His voice is a whisper. The soft tick of the clock is the only other sound. "Jared, are you gay?" "Yes." "Shit." Jensen stands up and paces over to the window, where he looks out on the lawn. "Shit." "I understand," Jared says, carefully keeping his eyes to his papers. He keeps his voice low, too, pitched so it won't carry. "I told myself I wouldn't lie, but I'll tell you, it's hard to see the moral high ground from here." From here, Jensen can just give him his walking papers. Nobody'd blame him except maybe the law. Hell, if it got out that he fired a gay man, he'd probably still be polling high while they carted him off to jail. Any politician with a lick of sense would just bundle Jared quietly away and pretend nothing ever happened. But Jensen's not going to. That's what Jared came here for, it's what he's banking on. Jensen smacks his hand against the window frame and makes the pane rattle, but when he talks, his voice is low down too. "You really stuck me in it, Jared." "I know," he says, making it kind. Making the choice seem easy. "I'm sorry, man. I never... I'll just go. No trouble." He pushes his chair away from the table. "Sit your ass down." Jared does that. "I told you, I won't make trouble. I want you to win." "And I will." He turns then, his face like the wrath of God Himself. "You stuck me in it, Jared, and now I own you. If there's one thing I've learned in this business, it's that you don't let go of people you trust. You're going to be loyal to me now because you don't have any choice, and maybe because you want to, and I don't see any reason I oughta get rid of a really good press secretary just because you gave me blackmail over you." Jared lets himself smile, feeling genuinely fond of the man in front of him. Such gravitas. Such poise. Such blind, dumb naiveté. "You're very kind," he says. "But I'm a liability and you know it." Jensen's face goes completely serious, then, and Jared feels his smile fade. "I don't discriminate," Jensen says firmly. "I know it's gauche, but I actually do mean what I say. I'm not firing you over something like this, and I want to make it clear that you're not required to hide it in order to keep your job. You're an astute political mind, Jared, and I want you on my team. Anything else is immaterial." In his mind, Jared is picturing the seal of the president between Jensen's hands. He's too honest to ever make it that far, but it's a nice dream. "I'm with you," he finally says, and stands up to shake Jensen's hand. It's firm and warm and right, it's everything it could be. With a handshake like that, it might not matter that he's too honest. "Good," Jensen nods. "Now get me Ruger and maybe one day I'll let you have enough spare time to exercise your civil liberties." Jared bursts out laughing. GALEOS AUDITORS UNDER SUSPICION Just days before the gubernatorial primaries, auditors responsible for discovering the extent of fraud in the Lieutenant Governor's office face allegations of partisanship and misconduct from GOP state senators. Jensen sits down on the sofa and leans his elbows on his knees. Jared refuses to look up, his pen scratching at the papers in front of him. They're both tired and cranky and sick of fielding calls from the House Minority Leader, but Jensen just keeps staring. "What?" Jared finally asks, right through his teeth. "I need you to tell me the truth." Jared sighs and hangs his head. His hair flops down, warm brown waves hiding his eyes. "About what?" he asks, and he sounds beleaguered, harried, defensive. Jensen doesn't flinch. "I can't wear blue ties. I can't wear Democrat colors around my neck. Admit it." When Jared looks up, he actually appears to be taking Jensen seriously for a whole five seconds. That being unbearable, Jensen grins at him wide enough to crack his face. Jared throws his notepad at Jensen's chest and it hits right on the pointy part. "You son of a bitch," Jensen laughs, pressing the heel of his hand against his sternum. They're at Jensen's condo off Republic Square trying to spin the audit disaster. They've been trying to spin the audit disaster since two days before it broke, and they've been failing and failing and then failing some more. Every time they've come up with a strategy, it's been instantly countered - they decided to cast suspicion on this aide and suddenly that aide is on Newsweek and it's out of the bag, it can't be done. Jim's the one who finally suggested that they get out of the Capitol, and when they were done calling him a paranoiac, they listened. Jared talked about putting out fake stories to a bunch of different staffers and seeing which one got countered. Jim thought it was a great idea. Jensen had to talk fast, and then flat-out order them not to before they'd drop it, but moving things to Jensen's place was their compromise, so there was really no choice. Adrianne and Jim left hours ago, but Jared's like a pit bull with a bone on this one, and that's how they find themselves here. Jared scowls at him across the coffee table. "I'm getting a beer," he announces, and unfolds himself from the armchair. "You want a beer? I'm getting a beer." "Get me a beer," Jensen calls after him. Jared waves a hand at him without looking back. Jensen grabs the stereo remote off the table and pushes the button, but NPR is saying something about the revolution in Venezuela and Jensen can't listen to that right now. He switches stations, listening to the ting of bottle caps popping across his kitchen counter until he finds a sound to match. The U of T student radio catches his ears; some genius kid spinning Stevie Ray Vaughan all night. That'll do just fine. Jared plunks a cold bottle down on the table and hits the armchair like a ton of bricks. "Seriously, man, if I never see Kirby Stevens' name again, it'll be too soon." "Is he the one that talked to the Times?" "The El Paso Times, yeah." Jensen winces and takes a slug off his bottle. "We could be more screwed." "How?" "I don't know, but let me believe it." Jared laughs, tired and wore out, and after that they can sit quietly for a while. There's good guitar and cold beer, and they're playing hooky. It's not a great moment, but it's okay, and that's better than they've had for a while, so Jensen puts his feet up and relaxes into it. "Hey," he says, letting the words out as they come to his head. "We know each other pretty well by now, don't we?" Jared shrugs. "Sure." "Mind if I ask you something? Personal, I mean." "Yeah, go ahead." Jensen plays with the words for a second until they sound right, and takes it slow so he won't fuck up. "At what time in your life did you look at a guy and go, That is so fine, I gotta get some? Was it since you were a kid, or what? And you can tell me to go to hell on this one if you want. Get out of jail free." Jared laughs, soft and warm. "I'ma tell the El Paso Times you were gonna throw me in jail." "They'd never convict me." Jensen hides his smile against the lip of his bottle, willing to let it drop. There's a long second where he's sure that's what's going on, but then Jared leans back on the sofa and sighs. "Wasn't anything like that," he says, picking at the label on his beer, peeling it away in slow strips. "I was just mindin' my own business, having a life, y'know. And then one day I saw a guy I wanted to get close to. Not, like, bend him over or anything, just... shit, I don't know. Talk to him. Find out about him, I guess." Jensen nods, being careful to mind the Ps and Qs by looking only at his beer, too. "What made that guy special, if you don't mind my asking?" Jared lifts one shoulder, lets it drop again. "He just seemed good, y'know? Seemed like... a good guy." He laughs a little, ducks his head. "I don't really know how to explain." There's a long moment of silence between them, quiet without needing to be otherwise. Stevie's not happy about it flooding down in Texas, and Jensen gets it. "Hey," he says, thinking out loud. "Let me ask you something else." "Shoot," Jared answers, and puts his feet on Jensen's coffee table. "I'm Lieutenant Governor because the Republicans put me there. There are four GOP senators for every Dem, so it had to be a tactic." Jared nods along; this much is self-explanatory. "Okay." Jensen peels more of his label off. "Thing is, the guys with me on the filibuster weren't the guys who voted me in, I'm sure of it. I asked a couple of them and the numbers don't jive. If it wasn't them pulling for me on the ticket, then there's only one bunch of guys it could be." "The ones that hate you." "Right. And if you and me can figure this out, then so can the rest of the Texas Dems, and if the Republicans are doing what they're doing..." "Making you look like a fool so they can get re-elected on partisanship alone." "Then why would the convention ever set me up in the primary?" Jensen looks at Jared's face then, lost. "If I'm only here to be a sacrificial goat, then why wouldn't they be putting all their money and effort behind Dell? Why am I even a candidate?" Jared smiles and ducks his head. He could be a movie star, Jensen thinks, or a model. He's got that kind of perfect, handsome face that people like to put on TV. When Jared looks up again, the hard-edged toughness has gone out of him and all that's left is a kind of warm, open faith that Jensen hasn't seen in a long time. "'Cause they believe in you, stupid." Jensen wants to deny it. There's a spinning, dizzy confidence twisting up in him that makes him want to charge a windmill. Or the Governor's office. He wants to do something dumb because it's right, and that's a dangerous impulse. "Don't let it go to your head," Jared says, right on time. "But don't forget it, either." Jensen really looks at him again, and finds that hard edge carved into the corners of Jared's smile. He's never trusted anybody as much as he trusts Jim and Adrianne, but suddenly he needs to show Jared what it means to him to be understood like this. To know Jared has his back like this. "I could... I want you to know that..." Suddenly, Jared's warmth evaporates. He holds up a hand, takes his feet off the table. "No, don't. I... I know what you mean, so just don't get into the habit of saying shit like that out loud. For my peace of mind," he laughs, just soft, to take the sting out of it. Jensen stuffs it back down, what he was feeling. It's an old reaction, something practiced and familiar, and it goes easy. He takes a sip of his beer to get the taste out of his mouth, and then puts it down on the table. "You're right," he says. "Course. Let's get back to it." "I think you should do an interview," Jared says, and it's only the eleventh time. Jensen scowls at him. "How many times are we gonna have this conversation?" he asks. "I'm not the story. The issues are the story, and they're always gonna be." "But we're-" "No," Jensen repeats. "We're not there. We're not playing that game, okay? So let's just figure out which choirboy I can tap to pick up the audit. I want Stevens out of the news." Jared shakes his head. "You're not gonna like it." "Why?" "I think we should pick a Republican. And not just any Republican, but somebody that fucking hates us, somebody that wants us to roast." "Man, I'd take Bill O'Reilly at this point if he could just be transparent and accountable." "If wishes were horses," Jared laughs, and the two of them bend their heads over the coffee table. TEXAS CLEANS HOUSE Texas Governor Perry Evans at a special press conference yesterday announced his new commission to investigate insider trading in the Texas Capitol building. The commission is funded through a special non-profit trust that takes the burden off the taxpayer. "Wise up!" Morgan is shouting. His voice is too loud; Jared's in the kitchen of his rented apartment with his cell pressed against his ear, and Jensen's in the living room. If Jensen asks, Jared'll say it's his dad. "I get the stress test," Morgan goes on. "But how long do you have to keep at it to get this story?" "A private non-profit trust?" Jared whispers urgently into the phone. "Come on, man, you know what that means. I'm close to it, you just gotta let me do my thing." "You better be close to it after six fucking months," Morgan hollers. "The new guy likes your office, by the way. I think he's getting comfortable." "Blow me," Jared growls. "You're the one supposed to be gay. I want something more than a human interest piece on my fax in a week, Jared." "Fine." Jared hangs up on him and doesn't feel even a little bit bad. He shoves his phone into his pocket as he walks into the living room, where Jensen paces up and down the front hall. "Sorry," he says, shrugging his shoulders apologetically. "My dad." "No, of course," Jensen says, his head down, his hand tugging at the hair along the nape of his neck. "Your family, you have to." Jared walks toward him, puts a hand on his shoulder. It's wet with rain. The jacket's probably ruined. "Man, what are you doing here? It's gotta be two in the morning," he says, and he means to say more but Jensen sends a fist crashing into the wall. Jared grabs him then, his shoulders, trying to hold him in one spot. "Hey!" "God damn it. I wanted a choirboy, Jared! I said a fucking choir boy!" Jared ignores the blood that dots his wall and fights against Jensen's attempts to throw him off. This has been a long time coming and he wants Jensen to get this all out where it belongs, so he just agrees. "I know," he says. "It's my fault. I'm sorry." "I wanted Mother Teresa with an adding machine, but instead I've got a privately funded bunch of lobbyists who'll bury the evidence so far that we'd have to go to fucking China to get it, and I told you -" He struggles again, pushing Jared back against the wall. The rage is right on the surface now, and Jared wants him to hit the wall, hit Jared's face, anything but the last few weeks of his harsh, cutting contempt. He's been irritable with Jim, arrogant with Adrianne, and outright bitchy to poor Gabe. The rest of the staff have been summarily ignored. There are deep purple shadows under his eyes because he hasn't been sleeping. This can't be allowed to continue. But as Jared braces himself for the punch, Jensen only looks at him. Slowly, something deep in him starts to crumble, and Jared cups a hand around the back of his neck because this is just as good as rage. Maybe better. "It's okay," he tries, hoping he sounds convincing. "I know it looks bad, but we'll get through. We'll find a way." Jensen leans his forehead against Jared's, and his voice is a whisper. "They're all... they're counting on me. Evans, fucking Evans is covering for Galeos and I have to get him, but I can't..." "You'll find a way," Jared says. "We'll find one. We just have to keep looking." "It's not your fault," Jensen says, closing his eyes. His hands loosen a little on Jared's shirt. "I'm sorry I said that, I didn't mean it." "It's okay." Jared squeezes his hand at the back of Jensen's neck, where the skin is clammy and damp. "Come on, let me get you some dry clothes. You gotta be freezing." Jensen's hands tighten again; he pushes his fists against Jared's chest. The air gets close around them, and Jared feels his heartbeat pick up, pick up. "Don't," Jensen murmurs, turning his face away. "I don't wanna..." This conversation is turning dangerous. Jared knows what he's supposed to do, but for the hundredth time since he met this man, something else is more important. "So don't," he says, squeezing the back of Jensen's neck, where all the muscles are tense as rock. "You're safe here, okay? Don't worry about what's out there, just let me handle it. I'll take care of-" Jensen shoves him against the wall one more time, then leans in and presses his mouth to Jared's own. It's a heart-pounding, impossible, unstoppable thing. Jared didn't want to know this, he didn't want any proof of this, but here it is and the worst part is that he can't even focus on how screwed he is in regard to his journalistic integrity because the kissing doesn't actually, it isn't, it, the. Jensen smells like rain, like melted mint hair gel and fresh linen. His mouth is just a wide expanse of desert, starving for any hint of feeling, and he uses it like a weapon. Jared is overwhelmed, and he means to put a stop to it about ten times but can't seem to get his limbs to obey commands from the brain because this is good. It shouldn't be, it was never supposed to be, but somehow it's good. They break apart for a second, just to breathe, and Jensen is laughing. It's just a low, quiet kind of thing, but his teeth flash in the streetlight coming through the window. "I didn't know I was gonna do that." Jared can't really talk yet. He's stuck on kissing. "Um." "I know it's inappropriate. I'm your boss, I shouldn't." He stands away from Jared then, creates that distance. Jared can see him putting that part of himself away and just stares, just watches. When Jensen catches him with the wide-eyed face, his brow quirks. "What?" Jared can hardly believe he even has to say it. "You shouldn't... because you're my boss?" "Yeah," Jensen says, the quirk turning into a furrow. "I'm sorry, I should have... you shouldn't worry about your job if you-" Jared pushes Jensen up against the opposite wall without hesitating. "I'm not worried about my job, you jackass!" His voice is a furious whisper and he can hear that it's not right, that he should chill out, but he can't seem to make himself. "Has it occurred to you that they fucking lynch people in this state for being gay? You're a fucking senator! What's wrong with you?" He shakes Jensen by the lapels at that, shoving at him, unable to believe his own ears. Something has to be wrong with him. Nobody is this good, nobody. Jensen smiles, which is totally wrong. "You know, you're hot when you're calling me a jackass." Jared's about to call him an idiot, too, a naive and blind idealist that has no idea how to be practical or even a little bit smart, but he can't because Jensen's hand is at the small of his back under his shirt, and the kissing is really an excellent conversational tactic. He means to pull Jensen away by the hair, but there's not enough to grip and it turns into a slow, heavy grip. He means to step away, but Jensen follows after him and then they're pressed together. He certainly doesn't mean to kiss back, but... but he just is. Jensen's hands are everywhere, places that Jared's mind can't really accept. Men don't put their hands in his hair, against his side, brushing soft against the skin. The backs of Jensen's knuckles against his belly are something with which he is not prepared to deal, but he can only grip Jensen harder and think it really loudly. He's too warm, too confused, and there's this strong urge in his belly that's getting louder every minute. Jared's so close to listening. And then there's a brush of fingers right there, right where he wants it. Jensen presses his palm against Jared's jeans, and all of a sudden it's too much. "I'm sorry," he says, pulling himself back. "I can't, Jensen, I'm." "No," Jensen says, wiping a hand across his mouth, pulling back as well. "No, it's okay. It was wrong of me, I apologize." Jared shoves at his shoulder. "Not because of that. Don't be stupid." Jensen looks at him, little boy lost, the unpicturable face. "Then... why?" "I like you," Jared explains, and realizes after he's said it that it's a shitty thing to say. "I don't want to... be trouble for you," he tries, not like that's a lot better. But it turns out that he's found the one person in the world that'd try with him. "It's complicated," Jensen says, nodding. "Just the wrong time." "Exactly," Jared breathes, stepping back again. There's a slight breeze and he shivers, which is when he realizes that if Jensen was soaked before, it stands to reason that pressing against him might make them both wet. "I got spare clothes around here," he says. "I'll go find something that'll fit you. Go get a towel from the bathroom, warm up." He escapes to the bedroom, and it doesn't make any more sense in there, but at least he's not in danger of doing anything even more stupid. At least there, he can't ask Jensen any questions. STEWART, COLBERT LIVE IN AUSTIN Reporter-shy incumbent Lieutenant Governor Jensen Ackles will give his first high-profile interview on Comedy Central's popular satire, The Daily Show. That program and its sister show, The Colbert Report, broadcast live tonight from Austin Music Hall. "Now, I don't know if you're aware of this, but here on the show we've adopted a code word - a password if you will - for your controversial term." Jensen gives a shy laugh, not because it's the right PR move but because he hasn't been able to not laugh since he heard of it. "I may have been apprised of something like that, yeah." "Something like that." "Yeah, I think it's 'competencegate' that you call it?" His last words are drowned out by the roar of laughter and applause. There's the sound of the logo flashing across the screen, a thunderous riff they devised when they slam the iron letters onto the blue box beside Jon's head. Jensen doesn't look out at the audience or he knows he'll blush, so he just focuses on the straight-faced comedian across the desk, who's blessedly holding it together so that Jensen can too. "I admit, Jon, I was a little surprised by the reference." "And why's that?" "I'm a little surprised at the notion that Texas would find competence scandalous. I mean, we got the Cowboys." The crowd cheers, of course, because the Cowboys are always a safe play with a Texas crowd. Jon laughs gamely. Backstage, Jensen can spot Jared doing a little dance. "And failing that," Jon notes, "you got the Cowgirls." "Yes, that's exactly right." "A model of competence if I ever saw one." "They could run the state. I could deputize them." "I think that's a great idea." "Gotta be good for PR." "No kidding. The reason I bring it up-" "The Cowgirls?" "No, no," Jon says, pulling a Serious Reporter Face for the cameras once more as they slap the logo on the screen. "Competencegate." "Ah." "The reason I bring it up is that people are saying - serious people, not me - people are saying that despite the fact that you personally don't give a lot of interviews, that your office has really been getting the word out about what you're doing." "Oh, yes," Jensen says, sitting up a little straighter. He can sense this ball coming, Jon lobbing it right over the plate. "I'm hearing your press secretary kills at parties." "Yes," Jensen says, perfectly straight faced. "It's in his job description that he deals with my political adversaries." Jon cracks up and the audience follows. "Does he get good benefits for that?" "You know, I'm pretty sure we pay him in food. The guy's practically a defensive line all by himself, he's about eight feet tall." Jon beams. "Listen, Mr. Lieutenant Governor, I wanna tell you, it's been an absolute delight to have you here and thank you so much for doing the show." The crowd's yelling is drowning them out again, but Jensen shakes Jon Stewart's hand like it's totally fine, like this stuff happens all the time. "Thanks for inviting me." "Any time, please, come back soon." The crane swoops away, and Jon leans in to say the next part. "I just hope we haven't put you off real reporters." "Not as gun shy as I seem," Jensen smiles, keeping his voice low. Out in the crowd, the set director stands up out of his chair. "And we're out!" The crowd quiets down and the handlers come to hustle Jensen off the stage. He lifts a hand to the crowd and they cheer again as the signs buzz to silence them. Jared whacks him on the shoulder the second he clears the camera zone. "I'm booking you on Barbara Walters." "When?" Jensen asks, rubbing his shoulder. "How's tomorrow? Why didn't I know you interviewed like that?" Adrianne brushes her hair over her shoulder without looking up from Jensen's appointment book. "Because he doesn't. Whatever drug you gave him, you could make a fortune selling in Washington." Jensen nods, pulling a hangdog face. "She's right. I'm too small time for you now." Jared nods and turns his face away, and Jensen's heart drops into his shoes. It's been weeks since The Incident, and things haven't been right since. They've been dodging each other in the office, they're imposing on Jim because they can't be alone together, and Jensen's running out of ways to explain it to the rest of the staff. Gabe's been walking on eggshells like he did something wrong. Jensen had thought they were getting better in the past few days, but this is just... it's an untenable situation and it's gotta end. That's all there is to it. Only he's been the one insisting he needs Jim's advice and snapping at anybody who mentions Jared's name. It's hard to problem-solve when you're the problem. "You stepped on it with the veterans, though." Jared's voice is even and confident. Jensen automatically scowls at him. "What? I did not." "You did. I gave you punchy sound bites with words like honor and respect and, your pardon, sir, you droned them like a table saw." "I did not," Jensen says, narrowing his eyes as Adrianne herds them toward the car. He turns to look at her. "Jared has hearing problems. Book him an appointment with somebody." "Book Jensen speech therapy." "I am not involved in this," she insists, and opens the car door. Jensen climbs in, and swears he can feel her firm hand shoving at his back. Jared is shoved in behind him, and the two of them buckle in. Adrianne gets in the front with the driver, and he puts a hand behind her headrest and checks his shoulder. "Where to, sir?" Jensen worries at his lip. "Gotta debrief," he says quietly, for Jared's ears. "My place?" "Wanna stop and get Jim?" he asks, only a little hesitant. Jensen shrugs, hoping it's not too nonchalant. "No, he watched it. There'll be reporters at the Capitol anyway." "Okay, then," Jared nods. "Home?" Jensen tells the driver, ignoring the upward lilt at the end of the word. "You got it, sir." Adrianne's shoulders relax by a half a fraction, and Jensen pretends he can't tell. PRIMARY DEMOCRAT Polls show incumbent Jensen Ackles leading Republican challenger Buck Carson in the Lt. Gov race. But is the media polling for leadership and issues, or Capitol's Sexiest Man? Ginger Jackson-Oglethorpe shows the biases in this special Independence Day op-ed. "Five minutes!" Jared hollers, slamming in through the back door and fumbling with his ringing cell phone. "You're gonna miss the fireworks," Jim calls. They're in the capital city, Jared wants to tell him. The fireworks are gonna go on for hours. But it's useless to argue. He leans against the counter so he can see if anybody else decides to come in, and flips open the phone. "I told you not to call me on this phone," he says, by way of hello. "How much longer?" Morgan says, straight off. Jared can hear the fireworks on his end crackling across the line. "I didn't hate the exclusive last month, and he was funny. But it was nine kinds of important policy decisions and serious plans for the future. I can't sell a paper without the dirt, Jared." Jared sighs. "I know." "And if he's clean..." "There's no story, I know. I just... I need a little more time." There's a pause, miles and miles between Los Angeles and Texas making themselves heard in pops and cracks. Finally, Morgan gives a sigh, like he's just leaned back in his chair and given up on living. "It's been a long time, Jared." "I know." "You been across those ropes from us. All your edge is going to smoothing things down instead of digging 'em up. You're starting to get used to it." Jared's heart is kicking against his ribs. Outside, Jensen loses his marshmallow in the fire and one of the staff throws a fresh one at him. He catches it out of the air and points a finger, but he's laughing. Everyone's laughing. "I'm not," Jared says, weaker than he'd like. "I'm not. I'm close to something, okay? Something real. You just have to give me some time." "You're not on my payroll," Morgan says gruffly. "But I'm giving your office away." "Fine," Jared says. "Okay. Not Rosenbaum." Morgan snorts and then hangs up on him. Which, okay, wasn't unexpected. He'll only accept delay for so long. Jared stares at his phone for a long minute and honestly thinks about calling his dad or his brother for advice until he remembers that he'd have to explain what the story was, and how he could possibly be sure it was true. And that will not be happening. He rubs a hand across his face as the fireworks, the hoots and hollers start outside. Happy birthday, land of the free, home of the brave. His phone just about jumps out of his hand, and Jared just about jumps out of his skin. He checks the display - private number. Huh. He flips it open and leans against Jensen's kitchen counter. "Hello?" "Mister Padalecki," says a smooth, jovial voice. "I do have the correct number, I hope." There's a broad swath of West Texas in it, just the right amount for a microphone. Jared recognizes it immediately, and shoulder checks for anybody who might have come into the kitchen. They're all still outside, drinking Shiner and watching the technicolor sky. "Governor Evans," Jared says, with all caution. "Happy Independence to you." "And to you, Jared! You don't mind if I call you Jared. With friends and family, I hope." Jared coughs. "What can I do for you, sir?" Evans clears his throat, the self-important prick. "I'll cut straight to the chase, son. I think you and me are in a position to be of some assistance to each other. You're a smart kid, got a hell of a career in front of you. I'm gonna offer you a hand up." Jared's blood is going cold. It's a hundred degrees in this kitchen and he's got the shivers. "I'm pretty happy with my current job," he says, but he's pretty sure this isn't an offer. "I'd say so!" Evans booms. "You bring in what I've got, and Jeff Morgan will give you a corner office." Jared's speechless. He knows better than to protest, too - Evans wouldn't have called if he didn't have a reliable source. "It's rock solid as it'll get," Evans continues. "Receipts, sworn statements. I can hand you a campaign contribution scandal that'll be on every major network, and you can waltz straight into the Washington Post." Jared grinds his teeth for a second. "It isn't real." Evans' smug smile leaks down the phone line and drips onto the floor. "They'll never prove it. I have friends in the Capitol, son. I can open doors for you. Do the smart thing, here. Don't fuck yourself out of a future." Jared holds the dead line pressed to his ear for long minutes, ignoring the booming outside. THERE'S NO DRAW IN POLITICS The upcoming election is barely a month away, and Lieutenant Governor Jensen Ackles is making records again, this time as the first Democrat to lead a Texas state political race in sixty years. We take a look at the candidates that have caught the national eye. It's about eleven at night when Jensen's meeting with Appropriations finally gets out. He opens the door to his office's conference room with heavy weight on his shoulders, expecting at least another hour of debriefing and number-juggling before he can go home. He got them to consider sponsored counselling for veterans, though he had to put school vouchers back on the table. It's not a zero sum day, though. That counts for something. "Hey." Jensen pauses in the act of slinging his jacket over the back of a chair to look; Jared's at one end of the table surrounded by crumpled scraps of looseleaf. He was working on that speech when Jensen left here at noon. His shaggy hair's been getting the brunt of his frustrations, too. Jensen can see where he's tugged and pulled at it, run his hand through it, where it's fallen back in his eyes. He undoes his cuffs as he walks over to Jared, breathing out a sigh. "Okay. Let's hear it." "It's not finished," Jared protests. "Don't care," Jensen says, sitting down in a chair and pulling his tie open. "Read it." Jared sighs, but he picks up his pad and clears his throat. "Terror, drugs, crime, poverty, illiteracy; it seems like there's a war for everything these days. Stuff your money under your mattress, because you never know when the bank might close or your job get shipped overseas." "Kind of a downer," Jensen notes, but Jared holds up his hand, still reading. "This is a hard time for every one of us. But there's reason to hope." Jensen lifts an eyebrow. "Sure hope so." Jared throws his pad down on the table and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I told you it wasn't finished." With a smile, Jensen picks up the pad and finds Jared's place. "There's reason to hope," he continues. "Because if there's one thing we need to get through hard times, it's a belief that things are going to get better. We trust in ourselves, in our family, friends and neighbors, and in the government we voted for to be there when we need them. We have faith that the system will work if we participate, and we've done that today. I hope you'll all join me in pledging our support to the new Lieutenant Governor to work for the interests of all Texans..." Jensen trails off, as does the sentence on the page. Scratch marks litter the page, thick and angry, but nowhere more so than here. "I have to have one," Jensen says softly. "My margin sucks. One point. Two. It could go either way." Jared reaches for the pad. "I know. I'll get it done." Jensen hands it over and watches Jared tear the page off, crumple it and toss it down the table. Jensen leans forward and puts his hand on Jared's wrist. "Listen to me." Jared pulls away, shaking his head. "No, you listen, Jensen. The fact that you even fucking have a margin is insane." He pushes away from the table and stands up, starts to pace. He always does that when his mind is clogged up with something awful, as though he thinks if says it out loud, he better be ready to outrun it. "The people in this state don't elect Democrats. When the other choice was Nixon, these people kept at it. They don't care about what you're trying to do; they don't care whether things get better. And they're not going to until it's their asses on the line, and then you won't be able to help them anyway. But the worst part, Jensen, the worst part of all of this is that you're probably the only person alive who doesn't understand that! I have to write something for you to say when you give this job over to somebody who's almost definitely on the payroll of a corrupt good old boy, and every word I put on paper makes me feel like I'm gonna throw up, but the worst part, the worst part, is that I know when you say it you're gonna mean every goddamn word!" Jensen gets up. This pacing is more frenetic than he's used to; Jared's gearing up to hit something. He reaches out his hands and starts walking, slow enough to give Jared some warning. "Calm down." "Wise up!" Jared says, on the verge of shouting. "Not everybody's as good as you are, Jensen! Most people just want to take you for what they can get!" He takes Jared by the shoulders, making his hands firm and strong. "Stop," he says, trying to get Jared to look him in the eye. "You need to stop." Jared grabs his wrists this time, face flushed. "You need to start," he says urgently. "How long ago that we had a leak in this office? Did you even sweep for bugs?" "You're overreacting," Jensen starts, but Jared cuts him off. "You didn't. I told Jim and he booked the guys the next day, but you just ignored it. You have to suspect people, Jensen. What're you gonna do when I..." "You wanna know how much I trust you?" Jensen asks, suddenly furious. "You want to know?" "No," Jared says instantly, heatedly. "I don't, man, come on." "You come on," Jensen whispers, and grabs his wrist. It's the dead of night and they can't possibly be recorded, but it's still the Capitol building. It's still the seat of power. Jensen makes a decision and hauls Jared after him, and he figures it's a mark of some kind of real feeling that Jared follows. In his office, he locks the door behind him. "You can't," Jared says, his voice barely there. Jensen ignores him and locks the other two doors. Jared backs toward the desk, hands out. "Mr. Lieutenant Governor." "Don't try it," Jensen says, crossing the floor between them. He pushes Jared's hand out of his way and points a finger at his chest. "You can't pull the boss card when you spent all morning beating the shit out of me about school vouchers." "You gave it to them!" Jared shouts, suddenly angry instead of defensive. "I told you not to-" "They gave me veteran counselling for it," Jensen fires back. "And you're changing the subject." "There's no subject!" Jared hisses. "There's school vouchers. This is your office." "I know where we are," Jensen tells him, pushing close and putting his hand at Jared's waist. It's as warm as he remembers; a guy that big puts out heat like a furnace. "I thought about this, since your place." "Don't," Jared says, pushing at him. "You can't do this, you have to be able to tell the truth." Jensen lets his thumb coast over the white shirt, across a lean belly and toward his button fly. "I always do," he says simply. "You're worth it." "You don't know what you're talking about," Jared says, trying to back up. Jensen just follows, until he's got Jared wedged against his desk, pushing the pens and lamp around. "I know enough," he says, and angles his head for a kiss. Jared takes it for all of two seconds before he turns his face away, but Jensen just pops the first button. "Don't," Jared tries. It's wavering now, closer to a plea than an order, and Jensen can fill in what he needs to know. He remembers what Jared said, back then - afraid of making trouble. Afraid to get found out, to get lynched, afraid of what he wants and who he is. "I told you," Jensen says, moving his mouth across the jaw and neck he's wanted to kiss since he saw them. "It's my choice to make. So just... shut up." Jared grabs at Jensen's shirt, right at the shoulder. His collar gets tugged out of place, and then Jensen's thumb finds another button with a warm, heavy ridge underneath it, and the hand in his shirt goes slack. "Shit," Jared whispers, slurring the hell out of the word like he's forgotten he's from California. Slow and deliberate, Jensen runs his thumb along that length, pressing his palm against Jared's belly. He's rewarded with a sigh, hitching and resentful, and it slips into his body and curls down low. "Give it up," he whispers, tucking his thumb into the next buttonhole and popping it easily. Jared's fist curls in the fabric of the shirt. He drags at Jensen, not to get him anywhere, but just to drag at him. "I don't..." "I know you don't," Jensen says up against his neck, where it's warm and brown and sugary, sunkissed and right. "Just let me." The last button is an easy kill. Jensen pushes his hand in, under, past, and finds Jared ready and waiting for him. "Jesus," Jared sighs, leaning against the desk hard enough to make it hiccup against the floor. Jensen strokes him hard and slow, savoring the sounds he makes. He twists his wrist right there, where it counts, and when Jared lets his head fall back, Jensen takes it as an invitation. He presses his mouth at the base of that throat and squeezes his hand, and when Jared's hips twitch and push back, Jensen can taste the groan he makes. "I want," Jared breathes, shivering light. "No time," Jensen apologizes, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Come on." Jared turns his face then, and Jensen's heart leaps up into his throat as Jared kisses him for all he's worth. It's desperate, awkward and bumpy and imperfect, and Jensen pours his soul into it and hopes Jared can tell what it means. He pumps his fist, lets his thumb slip in the slick that's there, and Jared moans right into his mouth when it's time. His whole huge body goes shivery and off balance, and Jensen tries to hold him so he won't fall down, to squeeze just right so he can have what he needs at the same time. His shaggy hair brushes his temples, his mouth is stung red and he looks like he ought to be taken home and treated right and maybe never let out of bed, and Jensen's own cock throbs in his pants like it could convince Jensen to forget what time it is and where he's at. Instead, Jensen gives it a second and then reaches for a kleenex off the table. "Okay?" he asks softly, kissing at Jared's jaw. "Shit, Jensen." Jensen can't help but smile. "That's a yes, I hope." Jared fumbles around with his pants, getting himself put away. Jensen can feel tension creeping up on them, but that's because of where they are and what they were doing. He doesn't expect an answer right now, but he's sure he's doing the right thing. Jared needed to know this. "I'm gonna, um." Jared points in the vague direction of the hall. He looks absolutely miserable, and Jensen can't help but smile at him. "You're kidding, right?" Jared's white-around-the-edges eyes are so funny that Jensen can't hold back a laugh. He straightens his collar, his tie, so he can walk down the hall without blushing. "I'm not saying you have to come home with me tonight. But if you don't, I'll have to do everything myself, and I think that'd be a shame. Don't you?" Jared takes a step away from the desk, his eyes gone heavy and hot again. One of Jensen's super-expensive pens thumps down to the carpet, followed by an empty coffee cup. Jensen watches Jared startle out of his one-track mind and try to catch things, put them right. It's hard to keep from touching him, but if that's gonna happen, they really have to get out of here. He backs up toward the conference room. "I'll go get my stuff together," he smiles. "You can follow me, if you want." It doesn't take long to turn off lights and put things into his briefcase. He's just slinging his suit jacket over one shoulder and deciding that Jared's going to leave him hanging when the door opens up. "I'll follow you," Jared says softly, his cheeks still flushed. He straightens things on the table that don't need straightening. "In my car. So I'll have it in the morning." Jensen swallows, his mouth gone dry. "Sure," he says, and takes them down to the parking lot. It's a long, silent drive - he doesn't play any music, doesn't want anything to distract him any more than he already is. He swears he can hear the beat of his heart, all the way there. At home he pulls into his garage, punches the door button and goes inside - Jared always parks in the driveway. The house is dark, and he could swear there's an air of waiting. For ten long minutes, there's no sound on the drive. Jensen drinks a glass of water, gets rid of his shoes and socks, tries not to act like he's got a sure thing coming. For all he knows, Jared got cold feet. Jared decided to do something stupid and noble. Jared found some bullshit reason not to come here and do the things Jensen knows goddamn well he's meant to be doing. He turns on CNN and steadfastly ignores the four sounds that could be someone on the driveway, someone outside. Then there's a hesitant knock at the door, and Jensen puts down his glass with a thump. "Shit!" He should have left it open, he should have turned the porch light on. He runs to the door and opens it, and there's Jared holding a drugstore bag and a sheepish blush. "Sorry," he says, with a little shrug. "I made a quick stop, but." "Come in," Jensen says, backing up. He wants to drag Jared in by the tie, but there are neighbors. The second Jared gets the door closed, Jensen pushes him up against it. "Tell me you haven't been wanting this," he challenges, pushing his knee between Jared's, his nose into that sunburnt neck. "Late nights in the conference room, I coulda swore I caught you staring at me, wanting me to come over there..." Jared reaches up and tugs at his tie, at Jensen's. Lazy, slow, taking his time along Jensen's chest, his shirt buttons. His breath is shivery, taking all the punch out of his voice. "Dunno. I think I... God, help me with this." Jensen ignores him in favor of a kiss. He just wants a taste of it again, the hot and helpless tremble he got in his office. Jared gives it up right away and Jensen's shirt drags at his shoulders when Jared grips it hard. "Shh," Jensen murmurs against his lips, between breaths. "Bedroom's at the back. Come on." He takes Jared's hand to lead him, and feels a secret thrill run up his spine. You can't hold hands, out there. There are lots of things they're about to do that you can't even hint at, out there. Jensen spares a second to begrudge that, to hate that he had to go across the fucking Atlantic to find this out about himself when he was a kid. A second to hate that he can't take Jared out someplace and kiss him across a table full of wine and carbonara. But, he thinks, shouldering open his door, until he can change the world, tonight will have to do. "Listen," Jared says tentatively, pushing the door shut behind him. "I, uh. I don't have a lot of experience at this kind of thing." Jensen grins, teeth itching with the urge to get on the hints of skin. "Don't worry about it," he says, coming up to undo buttons and pull away that tie. "Been a while for me, too." Jared's eyes are wide in the low light, his hands hesitant. But Jensen's pulling at his belt, kissing the strong line of his jaw, and he knows what he's about to do isn't the kind of thing you need a lot of experience to appreciate, anyway. He can't quite bring himself to push the white shirt off Jared's shoulders, no, it looks too fucking good where it is. He runs his hands down the broad, soft skin he's revealed, and it's hot under his hands. "Ready for more?" he whispers, pushing his nose under Jared's ear. "But," Jared huffs out, his voice bottomed out and breathless. "What about you, I mean. I already." Jensen gives in to the urge and bites a little at that brown sugar skin. "I'm not keepin' score." Jared twists his head, giving more room and then less; Jensen can feel the groan under his lips, a prickle of stubble bruising them softly. He can feel Jared gripping at him, pushing, and then he's pushing down on Jensen's shoulders and that's just fine. Jensen drops to his knees and grabs the pharmacy bag, drops it to the floor. He presses his open mouth against the warm skin in front of him, feeling the muscle under his tongue. "God damn," he murmurs, tasting salt and sweet. "Jared." A hand cups the back of his head, harsh breath gulped down above. "Do it," Jared begs, pressing his hips forward. "Look so fuckin good, come on, please." He pushes his other hand down to open his button, draw down the zipper. It's been such a long time since Jensen caught that scent: primal, sharp sex. His hands curl with the urge to push and shove and take, he feels hungry and licks his lips, knowing what he'll find as he pulls the fabric away. He touches first with his hands, the softly hidden skin inside the hip, at the top of the thigh, that's hot as Jensen's tongue when he presses it there. He runs his hands around to touch the back of the thighs, feel the curve of Jared's ass heavy at the tops of his fingers. He feels drunk on hundred-proof, and he hasn't even touched his dick. "Please," Jared is mumbling on a breath, less a word than a moan. Jensen can feel him twitch along his cheek and can't resist opening his mouth over the thick side of him, just to hear him moan for real. He grips Jared's hip to keep him still and uses his other hand to coax his legs apart. "Brace your feet," he says, and isn't surprised to hear his own voice gone rough as the Devil's. "Trust me, you're gonna need it." Jared doesn't hesitate anymore, no, just does as he's told and braces his feet wide apart. Jensen chances a look up and sees that Jared's hair is shadowing his eyes, blocking the light from the window. His mouth is kissed and lush, though, that can be seen. Jensen licks his lips again, more obvious this time, and cups his hand around Jared's cock. "Fuckin' shit," Jared hisses, his fists tightening in Jensen's hair and shirt. Jensen licks him all the way from balls to tip, and when he sinks Jared into his mouth it's the most unbearably sexy thing he's done in he can't remember how long. It's heavy and smooth against his tongue, like holding someone's heart in your hands. If he didn't give a damn about Jared, he'd be in love with him after this, that's for fucking sure. Jensen closes his eyes and presses down, taking more, wanting everything. He wants his jaw to stretch, his throat to close up, he wants to feel when it gets so good that Jared's body moves without his telling it to. Jared doesn't disappoint; he's an eminently satisfying mess. He pulls too hard on Jensen's hair when he remembers he can use his hands, and mumbles half-formed praise and curses with the little breath Jensen allows him. It'd almost be tempting to make him come again, Jensen thinks smugly, licking his way down until there's no part of that heavy length he hasn't tasted. But then he might not let Jensen finish this. Carefully, gently, Jensen edges up toward him and guides hips with his hands. Jared takes a second to figure out where they're going, but he thumps down onto the bed quick enough once he does, spreading his legs wide and urging Jensen's face back between them. "Good thing," he pants. "Couldn't f-fuckin' stand up anymore. Come on, God, come on." Jensen presses his mouth to spit-damp skin, revelling in the way Jared allows him to touch, explore. He can settle a palm on bare, soft skin, push a knee aside to settle closer, he can press his nose against the scent of man and breathe. It makes him dizzy, and he snatches the pharmacy bag up to shake the things inside loose. The little bottle almost rolls away on him, but he manages what he needs and then he's pressing his fingers against the hot place he wants, sucking Jared with a slow, filthy slide of his tongue. He can't wait, he can't wait, and he rubs heavy circles around the little spot and then presses inside. Jared shouts something unintelligible and freezes, practically a foot off the mattress. "Sorry, sorry," Jensen murmurs against his skin, kissing and licking his apology. "I'll go slow, baby, don't worry, just let me." He dives back into it and draws hard with his lips, fucks Jared with his mouth until he feels Jared start moving again. Just a little at a time, then, letting him get off on the fingers as much as the blowjob. It takes a fair bit for him to get into it, and Jensen worries for a second that maybe Jared doesn't like it. But no, he's sure Jared would have said something. They trust each other. Jared would have told him something as important as this. And then it's irrelevant because Jared starts to cuss. Really bad, too, turning the air blue around them in between things like don't stop, harder, more. Jensen would smile, if he weren't occupied. The hand at the back of his neck turns harsh and controlling as Jared figures things out, holding Jensen still to push into, onto. Jensen just holds still and lets him do it as long as he wants, feeling the need build in his belly. He breathes carefully as his cheeks flush, keeps his wrist locked as his cock starts to push against fabric, against the bed. It's good, it's really fucking good. "Okay," Jared rasps, through gritted teeth. "Come on, fuck me. Do it if you're gonna do it, I'm good. I'm ready." "Thank Christ," Jensen bites off, and grabs the box of condoms off the floor to rip it open with his teeth. For all he was having an awesome time five seconds ago, suddenly all he can think about is that it's finally time, and how long it's been, and how much he fucking wants it. It takes him a second to work things out, stumbling over unfamiliar ground. One-handed condom application - the bane of mankind. But even that frustration is a little bit welcome, if only because it's meant to be part of sex, and sex is like a long-lost friend. Sex with someone he actually gives a goddamn about is also... unfamiliar. When he's ready, he looks up to meet Jared's eyes and finds himself reeling with vertigo, the depth of feeling in him a yawning chasm when he's so used to necessarily shallow waters. Jensen stands up and helps Jared shove up the mattress so he can climb on. He presses Jared down into the covers, like to like, and when his shirt gets in the way of feeling skin, he shucks it to the side. He cups that strong jaw, draws his thumb across the rime of stubble and remembers how it goes deep gold when the sun hits it in the morning. "Say you want me," Jensen asks, kissing his lips against Jared's. Jared's lashes come down; he looks away, though his hands are warm against Jensen's back. "I do," he says, voice like a secret. All the fight comes out of him, the tension and sharpness, bleeding away into the sheets. "I do want you, Jensen." He sounds sad, and Jensen kisses him again. "I'm right here," he offers. "You can have me, I'm here." Jared uses one leg to grip Jensen's hips, pressing them together. "Show me, then," he says, and pulls him down to kiss. Jensen feels something thump painfully against his ribs. He slides his hand down Jared's belly so he can stroke him, tight and strong. He wants Jared with him, right here with him, and pulls back just enough to open his eyes, watch Jared's face. He promised to go slow, but seeing the face he knows so well underneath him makes his higher functions short out. It's sex like it always should have been but wasn't allowed to be, and before he knows it he's pushing deep and feels the sting of nails in his back. "So fuckin good," he whispers, rocking his hips, squeezing Jared's cock. "Like that, baby?" Jared's teeth flash in the dark blue light; he tosses his head to the side. "Faster," he growls heavily, bracing his heel against the mattress. "I can take it, come on. Come on, do it." The deepest, animal parts of Jensen's brain take him over, snap his hips, make him lean down and bite along chest and collarbone. He wants to make his mark, wants Jared to burn under his shirt tomorrow. Maybe somebody'll see it. Who fucking cares? Jared's panting into Jensen's hair. Sometimes it sounds like words, but Jensen can't make them out and doesn't bother to try. He twists his wrist in firm, fast strokes instead, and listens to the sounds turn into pure, simple groans, heavy with need. "Come on," Jensen rumbles against his ear, letting his hips find a solid, steady, bone-melting rhythm. "Let me feel you do it, come on, let me..." Jared's hand shoves between them and wraps around Jensen's fist. He squeezes harder and Jensen lets him, lets him set the pace and show him how to get him off. His voice goes shivering and quiet, choked up in the back of his throat, and he throws his head back on the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut. He bucks his hips against Jensen's fist, his cock, and when he finally starts to pulse in Jensen's hand, his eyes open wide and sightless at the ceiling. Jensen grinds hard against him because it's all he can do; it's so tight that he can't even move. It hurts a little, and it's so fucking good. "You," Jared gulps out with the first breath he takes, his body still twitching. He pulls Jensen's hand away and plants one foot on the mattress. "You now. Come on." He's panting every word, his eyes unfocused. Jensen leans down to kiss him, still buried as deep as he'll go. It's not long before the lassitude slides through Jared enough that he can start to move again, and Jensen does that with abandon now that he can. Now that it's finally time. Jared murmurs encouragement, putting fingerprints on his back, on his ass, do it fucking do it fuck me yeah I want you to do it Jensen give it to me. It's so strong when it happens, tension and fear and poison falling away in a blinding rush. It's raw, hollowing, and Jensen pushes his face into Jared's shoulder and holds on so tight his fingers ache. After, he lifts his head and pulls away so carefully, as though one or both of them might be hurt if he didn't take care. He kisses Jared's chest as he rolls away - just have to go deal with this, back in a second. Jared just groans and rolls onto his side, which Jensen interprets as sore but satisfied. He makes quick work of the bathroom because he's in a hurry to come back. Every second of night is stolen, and now that he's back in his right mind, he knows it. It's something to make the most of. He helps Jared get the blankets off the bed, finds their boxers. Neither of them really like to sleep naked, it turns out, and when they go to apologize to one another and it turns out they don't need to, they share a sheepish laugh. When Jensen pulls the covers up over them, he can feel the weight on the other half of the bed. He's deeply asleep in moments, and it is dreamless and warm. A CHAT WITH PERRY We got the chance to pick Governor Evans's brain about the candidates for Lieutenant Governor, particularly the incumbent. His answers might surprise you. It's four in the morning, and Jared can't sleep. He washed off in the sink at midnight and laid in bed for another hour, staring at the ceiling, listening to Jensen's sleeping breath. He's played solitaire on his laptop, watched the news on mute, worked on three different speeches, and typed two sentences of an article that he immediately trashed. After that, it was more solitaire. He's exhausted and sick and no matter how he tries to think up compromise scenarios that would be actually plausible, he finds something wrong with them all. He gets dressed, packs his stuff, grabs Jensen's keys and writes a note. He leaves it on the pillow, some bullshit excuse about an emergency at home that makes him hate himself. It's not like he has any options, though. The truth right now isn't the kind of thing you leave in a note. He leaves Jensen's house, gets in his car and drives. It's always cleared his head before, and as the sun gets busy warming the sky, he gives in to the urge to put words together in his head. I didn't think. It wasn't because I wanted. I never meant to. None of them even approach the right thing, of course, and Jared's not surprised. He's been trying combinations in his head for months now, and it just sounds like a big excuse, which is what it is. There's only one thing he can do. If he called his dad, or his brother, they'd tell him what he already knows. He pulls out his cell phone, and calls Perry's home number. Hopefully he won't get the wife. A couple hours later, he's back at Jensen's door, where he stands and pretends he's going to knock. He even lifts his hand, puts it on the door to feel the gritty texture under his palm. The morning's clear and quiet, somebody's sprinkler clicking softly a few doors down, but he can't hear it. It's too bright out here. He doesn't deserve to be here, in the light, even if it is for the last time. There's a sharp sound, all of a sudden, a cracking thump-thump-thump. Jared blinks, and then realizes that's the sound a knock makes. That he's lowering his knuckles. That the door's going to open. He considers making a break for it, but Jensen would spot the car. He waits forever and nobody comes, so he knocks again, and finally the door swings open. Jensen's standing there in a worn old concert t-shirt and a pair of plaid flannel house pants. He's carrying a toothbrush and his hair is laid in dark spikes, still wet from the shower. "Jared," he says, his face full of concern and kindness. "What's wrong? I got your note. Come in." "I can't," Jared tells him, stepping back off the porch. "I have to... I have to tell you something." Something cold and heavy has settled on his heart, hurting where it freezes. "What is it?" Jensen says, stepping out onto the porch with bare feet. He wants to come further, but Jared holds out a hand so he'll stop. Jensen gives a helpless little shrug, a half smile with these wide open eyes that would stop a room in its tracks. "Can't be that bad, whatever it is. Tell me." "Here," Jared says, and pushes a fat manila envelope into his hands. "It's a full-on faked plan to discredit you, and tape of me picking it up from Evans' assistant. Should be more than enough to get a hearing." Jensen's eyes widen; he tears open the envelope and looks through a few of the pages. "Jesus. Jared, how the hell did you get this?" "Evans called me, offered it to me. Said he could fix me up in Washington." Jensen peers at him, confused. He puts the envelope on his patio table and takes a step forward. Jared has to do the same, can't get close or he'll crumble. Jensen's hand, arrested in mid-air, drops back to his side. "Why you?" he asks, and the note of suspicion in his voice is too terrible to allow. Jared stares at him for a long second, fixing the picture in his mind. Savoring the last moments in which, stolen or not, he has this friendship. "I lied to you," he blurts out. "I'm a reporter, I mean, I was a reporter. I came here to get a story on you back when you didn't give them, and I never meant to..." The disbelief is on Jensen's face, the step back, the shuttering has started. Jared tosses his self-respect and good intentions out the window and pleads with both barrels. "Please believe me, Jensen, you gotta believe me that I didn't say anything. I didn't tell anybody anything that could damage-" He stops as pain explodes across his face. He didn't even see the fist coming. He reels back onto the lawn and puts up a hand to defend himself, but he's too late; the second and third hits come fast and hard and he falls on his ass in the morning dew, pushing his face down and trying not to take it in the kidneys because he'll be goddamned if he's going to hit back. He deserves it. There's a tiny, horrible part of him that hopes it'll be enough that he took it. But then it stops. Nothing's happening except the chill soaking into the leg of his jeans, and he risks a look upward. Jensen stands over him with fists still clenched at his sides. The knuckles on his right side are reddened. Wanting anything else, Jared forces himself to look up, to look at his face. There's nothing there but red rage. There's no hint of feeling, of forgiveness. Jared knows better than to ask. He backs away, an inch at a time through the grass. Where he belongs. Abruptly, Jensen turns around and storms into the house. The door slams so hard it makes the windows shudder in their frames. On the stone walkway, his toothbrush lies on its side. Jared sits up and wipes his face with his sleeve. There's blood when he looks, streaking the fabric. Carefully, mindful of the twinges and bumps, Jared picks himself up, gets in his car and drives away. He thought he'd be comforted by knowing he did what was right. As the sun starts to paint the high rises downtown, he thinks he should have lied forever. GOV. EVANS ARRESTED; LT. GOV. ACKLES RESIGNS Texas politics exploded today as former Lieutenant Governor Ackles revealed not only corruption in the Governor's office, but shocked all by coming out of the closet on national television. Watch former Austin mayor Wesley Jenkins's swearing-in here! There's a woman on TV sticking a microphone in the face of the brand new Lieutenant Governor. Everybody's wearing a Colgate smile, and somewhere there's an Oxxford that's out of red ties. Jensen might be on the sofa, but he's not watching. There's a short stack of legal briefs on the coffee table. It's light work, pleas and motions, meant without irony. Big brother's idea of easing him back into the business, and it's a play for their skittish patriarch as much as for Jensen's peace of mind. Take it easy. Start slow. He's not reading them. They wouldn't take much, anyway. There are three ice cubes in this glass of scotch. Jensen's staring at it, and though he very much means to be drinking it, to be kick-starting himself into some kind of direction even if that direction is down, the scotch just stays in the glass. It belongs someplace else, in the hand of a man with a different job. He's still in Austin. This house isn't ready to sell, and the Richardson condo's closed for the season anyway. The condo doesn't have a lawn; this place needs upkeep. There's more space. All these things he tells himself, and knows they aren't true. He tosses back his three fingers, and though they burn pleasantly in his chest, he knows he won't have another one. He could call out for food from the stack of menus in the kitchen, but it's too early, so instead he goes to the bedroom and finds a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. This has been his compromise - act like a depressive shut-in slug all day, except for an hour of running when he gets too bored. Sometimes it's two hours. Sometimes it's six. He's got an iPod. The doorbell rings just as he's doing up his shoes, and Jensen sighs. The reporters moved on a couple of weeks after his announcement - not because it got old, but because he took them all to the notary with him to get one of those Texas special gun permits, and then recited to them the trespassing laws. He never actually had to get a gun. They got the point. Except this one, obviously. Jensen goes straight to the door with the full intention of kicking the guy to the curb, but when he gets his hand on the doorknob it occurs to him that reporters usually knock until their knuckles bleed. This was a polite doorbell ring - it might be one of those kids. After the reporters died off, Jensen started to get phone messages from these... kids. He's still listed and due to whatever stubborn principle made him keep the house, he kept his number. Some of the messages were short, no callback number or even last name. Just some poor kid talking about how he never knew who he was until he saw the Lieutenant Governor on TV. One girl whispered to his machine that her parents would kill her if they knew she'd called, and why, but she wanted him to know that she thought he was so brave. She hoped she'd be that brave one day, she said. Those calls make him want to pick up the phone, but he knows what'd happen if he did. Angry parents, a witch-hunt, more reporters. The last thing he needs. He still opens the door. There are two people on the porch. One of them is an old friend, a person he loves to the bottom of his heart. Her long blonde hair is shining in the sunlight, and her perpetually bored-slash-annoyed expression is a sight for sore eyes. He would smile at her; he would sweep her into his arms and hug her now that he doesn't have to be proper with her anymore. She'd hit him, but it'd be worth it. He hasn't seen Adrianne in months. But then, there's the man she brought with her. He's going to have a hard time forgiving her for this, no matter how much he missed her. "Let us in," Adrianne says, as gentle as she's ever been, which is to say, as a silenced Beretta. Jensen walks away from the door and into the living room. The maid hasn't been here in weeks, and if it were just Adrianne here, he'd feel bad. Their footsteps come after him, brusque heels and painfully hesitant boots. "Talk fast," Jensen says. "We have an idea," Adrianne starts. Jensen turns around and pins her in place with his eyes. "Not you." He turns to look at the familiar face beside her, the hunched shoulders and shaggy hair. He looks exactly like Jensen remembers, and it just goes to show you can't judge a book by its cover. Some books look beautiful and good and so fucking sorry they could sit down and die on your floor. But you open up that pretty cover and there's nothing but a liar. Jensen can't unclench his teeth, so he talks through them. "She's bought you about sixty seconds, so go on and say what you're gonna say." Jared opens his mouth and closes it again. He looks at his feet, at the walls, anyplace but Jensen. Finally, he turns to Adrianne and says something so low it's almost unintelligible. She frowns at him. "I'm in this for him," she says, crossing her arms. "Not you." "Please," Jared returns, and gives her the exact same desperately unfair look that dogs give you at the table. "I just... I need a minute." She huffs, but she goes out the front door. Jensen doesn't blame her for giving in; it's not like Jared fucked her, just her career. He guesses even he might have been able to forgive, if it'd been one or the other. Out on the porch, Jensen can hear her cell phone flipping open just as the door closes; the beeping of her keypad, and almost smiles. Adrianne doesn't stay still very long. Jared has the balls to fidget, and it almost makes Jensen punch him that he's trying to play up being scared or nervous. He doesn't look up, just eyes the couch and bites his lip. "I keep wanting... last time I tried to apologize to you, I thought you were gonna kill me." "That's not what you're here for," Jensen growls, his fists already clenching by his sides. "Don't waste my time." "Oh, yeah, 'cause you're really using it," Jared retorts hotly. He gestures at Jensen's running clothes. "You gonna go file a motion like that? Serve some papers? Judge'll probably love it." Jensen can't believe his ears. It's so surprising, coming from Jared, as to be kind of laughable. "Are you giving me emotional advice?" Silence falls like snow. Jared's mouth hangs open, cut off in mid-tirade. He was just getting worked up, too; Jensen can see his shoulders slump and his face fall. It's viscerally satisfying to hurt him. To see the look on his face that Jensen finds in the mirror at three in the morning. "Was that all?" he sneers. "I'm sure you've got a deadline on this follow-up piece. What, your award shelf was getting a little light? Need something to round out your collection?" Jared shakes his head. "I knew you wouldn't look. You didn't even look." "I'm surprised you didn't send me a copy," Jensen says, his voice rising and his ears starting to buzz. He shouldn't be letting this get to him; he should be moving on, long past the backstabbing. He should kick Jared's ass right to the curb, but instead the burning in his chest gets stronger and it starts to spill from his mouth, hateful and ugly. "Where'd the article land you, huh? The Times? The Post? I'm sure you pared it down to something just sensational enough to get you international attention, Jared, you're skilled. You're a fucking artist." "Jensen." "Tell me!" Jensen shouts, pacing past the couch. "Tell me which personal details you put in it. Tell me which ones you left out to salvage my pride, because of our friendship, which parts of my life you didn't share with the public because of your journalistic integrity, Jared! That's why you're here, right? To convince me to tell my side of the story? For the sake of the truth, or the cause, or the kids, something like that?" "You don't understand-" Jensen's right in front of him now, close enough to feel the shimmer of heat off his skin. Close enough to smell his cologne. He shoves Jared a little, and the touch burns his palm. "You think I'm still naïve enough to believe that starry-eyed bullshit, is that it? Tell me! Ask me to trust you, motherfucker! Do it!" "I didn't write an article!" Jared shouts, stepping back out of range. His hair's in his eyes, his shoulders set. "I didn't write a fucking word about you, asshole, I only came here to get you to run for mayor!" There's that silence again. It's like Jared hit him; there's white sparks swimming at the corner of Jensen's vision and his ears are ringing a little. He tries to blink it away, and it only half works. "What'd you say?" Jared's shoulders are rounded, but his voice is clear through gritted teeth. "I didn't write an article. The L.A. Times righteously fired my ass, again, and now I work the Austin metro beat at the Statesman. Some prick with an uncle in the House has the Capitol, not that he makes any more than me." Jensen stares at him for a long second - two, three - before turning around and wandering in the direction of his fireplace. He braces a hand on the mantle, trying to get hold of his head, the weakness in his legs, the vague nausea. "I said I wanted you to run-" "Yeah, I heard what you said," Jensen interrupts. "Just... give me a minute." A less fraught silence answers him, which Jensen takes to mean he can disappear into his own thoughts. This is... he hadn't planned for this. If this is true, if Jared never filed a story - if he let himself get fired before he'd say anything about the months they spent together - then that means Jensen trusted a different kind of person than he thought he had. That the last month beating himself up over having such epically shitty judgement as to deliver his dreams and his heart into the hands of a con artist, well, might not have been entirely warranted. If Jared really changed, over the time he was here... "Why me?" he asks, because he's been asking himself that for weeks and never found an answer that doesn't make him sick. "Why'd you pick me, when you were in L.A.? Was I so obvious that you thought I'd make a good scandal, or..." Jared rubs a hand over his face, his mouth tight. "No, no, it wasn't... I picked you because you were gonna make my career. Didn't matter if you were in a scandal or not; you were the most interesting politician in the country. Honest, forthright, hopelessly idealistic even though it made no fucking sense for you to be that way, given where you're from and what you believe, and I... I thought I knew you, I guess. It felt like I knew you." He sighs and finally meets Jensen's eyes, and the hazel is as warm and sad and strong as old wood. "I still feel like that. Never stopped thinking about you, not for all this time. I can't write so much as a restaurant review, let alone a serious article, and I know you're the reason why. I want back in, and I'll work for it. You don't have to trust me. I wouldn't trust me either." Jensen's hardly listening to him by the end of the speech. He's revising the history in his head, and it changes who he's been and who Jared's been. Who they're going to be. This changes everything. "I get you," he says. The words are out of his mouth before he really knows he's planning to say them, but once they're out there he doesn't want to take them back. "If I run, if I win, I get you. Communications advisor. Something." Jared blinks at him. "I have signatures," he says, holding out a brown manila envelope that Jensen somehow failed to register as relevant before now. "You need two thousand signatures to run; I got 'em last week. We have about a month to campaign before special election." "You'll work for me as hard as you ever did," Jensen says, totally ignoring him as he circles around the couch again. "You'll bust your ass for me at all hours. Whenever I need you, you're in the room." Jared shakes his head a little, his brow furrowing. Jensen can see him struggle to catch up to the conversation. "You haven't even checked to see if I'm telling the truth," Jared says. "About the article." Jensen lets himself smile the smile he wants to give, wide and sharp and predatory. "You're not lying. I'd know." Jared's practically backed against the wall. He's watching Jensen like he might go off at any minute, suspicious and wary. "And... I'd be forgiven? Just like that?" "Well, you could grovel some, if you wanted." Jensen feels like a kid, like an idealist. Like he recognizes himself again. Everything feels different, better. He could laugh, over nothing, right this second. Jared gives a wry chuckle, letting his hair fall forward. "I thought I'd have to talk you into it. Adrianne said you wouldn't recognize a win if it bit you on the ass." Jensen grins at him. "She said that about me before. But that's not the point, because I'd never win." "What're you talking about?" Jared fires back, indignant. "You can win this thing." Jensen just laughs. "Come on, man. Where do you think we are, Massachusetts? I can run, though. I can run a hell of an issues campaign, and maybe score some points that way. Make 'em make some promises they'll get held to. That'll be good enough." It takes a second. Jensen watches him fight it, and it's a good fight. But eventually, he nods, and Jensen smiles. "Okay. Go get Adrianne." Jared turns to go, but as he passes by, Jensen catches his wrist. "Wait," he says. "One thing first." It all feels too good to let it go without some sign that things have changed. He tugs gently on Jared's hand, and it doesn't take much to pull him near enough. He puts his mouth to Jared's, soft and even a little wistful. He's a good man in the end, even if did kind of fuck Jensen's life over. He deserves something for doing the right thing, even if it's just a kiss. Jared sighs deep and puts a hand at the nape of Jensen's neck. "Thank God," Jared breathes, muffled against Jensen's lips, and steps close. His other hand comes sliding up under the t-shirt, and then Jensen's the one blinking the shock away. "Hold on," he mumbles, trying to ignore the press of Jared's body, the way he's fitting them together. He didn't mean this. He only wanted to seal the deal. "Jared, wait." "What?" Jared asks, his voice gone heavy with need between them. He cups the back of Jensen's neck, so close. "Please don't tell me you don't want this, because it's all I wanted to do for so fuckin' long, Jensen, God. I only wanted you." He pushes their mouths together again, steals the breath from Jensen's chest. He tries to pry Jared away - not very hard, but he tries. "But. Just. Mmf." There's a thigh between his, harsh denim rasping across his skin. There are hands on his skin, teeth in his bottom lip, and they're Jared's. This feeling for him ought to be dead, he shouldn't make Jensen's heart ache, but here's the taste of him and the summer smell of his hair in the sun, and suddenly Jensen's chest is thudding against his ribs and he can't breathe. "Adrianne's right outside," he mumbles, a last ditch effort. "We won't be long," says Jared, deep and raw against his throat. A hand slides up his side, around his back, pulling him close. "Jensen. I need you. God, I missed you so much." It's a split second decision that makes him grab Jared's shirt and pull him to the couch. They fall together, bumping and knocking in ways both pleasant and painful, but it all feels right, feels like what they've done to each other, for each other, with each other. Jensen manages to get the shirt off Jared's shoulders, get hands into that untameable mess of hair. "Come on," Jensen tells him, whispering against the spot under his ear. "I missed you too, you son of a bitch." Jared pushes up against him, hip to hip. The thick press against Jensen's dick is painfully good. "Shit, yeah," Jared growls, more mangled syllables than words. He's rocking them together, pushing his hand into Jensen's shorts. It's a simple thing to haul him down by the hair, to kiss his mouth, demand full attention. "Together," Jensen tells him, cocking his hips against Jared's hand. "You too." Jared's breathless, gasping, but he flips his own buttons open and then they're together in his broad hand, skin to skin. It's so fucking good, and Jensen shoves into his hand and against his cock, his fingers digging against that same sun-warmed hip and shoulder. It's just what he remembers, being this close to him, kissing his face as they hitch against one another in perfect time. He watches those eyes and thinks maybe God really did have a plan for him, and maybe it's this man. "I love you," Jared confesses against his lips, ragged and hushed. "I didn't know." It's too much. Jensen spills into Jared's hand with a jagged cry, a thousand emotions splintering through him, cutting him up. It's too quick and not enough; he'd do this forever if he could, hold Jared as he shuddered and came until revelation. "Me too," he pants in the warm aftermath, and runs a gentle hand up and down Jared's back. "Me too." AUSTIN CITY LIMITS In an unprecedented surprise upset, Austin gave the nod to controversial figure Jensen Ackles in a special mayoral election to replace outgoing city father Wesley Jenkins. The openly gay Mr. Ackles will be sworn into office at City Hall this morning. "Are you sure, baby?" asks Jared's mama, the worry all over her voice. "It's just bad luck." Jared shifts to hold the phone against his shoulder, leaving his hands free to lift the coffee mugs out of their cardboard box and into the cupboard. "Quit your fussing," he laughs warmly. "We don't need anything, we're all set up here. I'm the first lady of Austin, Mama, I gotta have a nice house." She rolls her eyes. He can hear it across the phone line. "Don't get smart. I'm your mother, I'm allowed to have concerns." Jared stops unpacking and leans his hip against the counter. "I don't get it, though. I mean, I got Jensen, I got a nice house and a good job -" "But it isn't writing," his mother says softly. "I know you said you didn't mind going to work for Jensen, honey, but I can't help but wonder if you really want to be a communications advisor." "Director," Jared corrects automatically. Jensen had felt that advisor wouldn't convey the proper authority to staff and made him change it. "Director, fine. It's just, you worked so hard to get to the Times and then that award? I worry that you're making the best of a bad situation instead of doing what you really want." Jared shakes his head. "Mama, listen. I only ever decided to be a reporter because I wanted to change things. Jensen's changes things the minute he wakes up in the morning. Working with him is like getting the news before it happens; it's like making the news, understand? And it's not just 'cause I'm in politics, it's because he's Jensen. I know Daddy thinks Jensen's politics are pie in the sky, but I really believe in what we're doing. I think we can help people. This where I oughta be, and... it's kind of where I always shoulda been, y'know? I didn't know it'd be this much fun." He finds himself smiling at the end of it. Good speech. He should write some of it down. There's no sound on the other end of the line, and Jared starts to worry. "Mama, you still there?" "I'm here, baby." She's sniffling. Oh no. "But I gotta run, all right? Now listen, I love you so much." "You too. Same to Daddy." "I'll tell him. You take care of that boy, and you make sure he takes care of you!" Jared laughs. "Mama, you can't call the mayor of Austin that boy." "He's my son in law; I'll call him anything I please." Jensen's voice drifts in from the foyer. "Is that your mother? Tell her I'm not taking her china!" "Bye, Mama," Jared smiles, and thumbs off his phone. He leans into the fridge, grabs two icy bottles and sets them on the kitchen table. They just got finished getting the last of the boxes upstairs, and he just got off the phone with his mother, so he figures they've earned it. First and last month's rent is paid, there's a spare set of keys for Adrianne and it's only the 2nd. Jensen comes in, dusting his hands on his jeans. He pops the caps off the bottles with his ring, which never gets less sexy. His tie's already loosened; he does it the second he gets out of the public eye, every time. Jared's tried like hell to get him to leave it alone when they're at the office, but he just says city politics is more forgiving and then tosses the tie across the room. Jensen puts the bottle to his lips and takes a long swig. "That's the stuff." Jared sips at his beer, and makes his move. "So, I was just thinking about getting a dog." "What?" "A big one, too, not like a Pomeranian. Anything smaller than a football and I wanna chuck it off the balcony." Jensen squints up his face like there's a combination of old garlic and fresh onion in the air. Every one of his faces is pure comedy; Jared only learned this when he wasn't constantly watching out for the cameras. "Come on," Jensen objects. "It'd shed everywhere." "Good for the pictures," Jared counters. "Yeah, my suit covered with dog hair is what the people wanna see in a candidate." Jared lets himself smile. "You're not a candidate anymore," he reminds Jensen, feeling that insane, shocked elation rise in his throat again. It'll probably fade soon. "Then they especially wanna see dog hair on their mayor's suit," Jensen deprecates. Jared can see the corners of his eyes crinkle, though, and knows what it means. Still, it's politics to play along. Might as well. "You're right," he says. "There are other ways to show off family values to a state that thinks we don't have any." "Yeah?" Jensen asks absently, pushing his shoes off with his toes. "Like what?" Jared shrugs his coat off. "We could go hunting." Jensen laughs, warm and quiet. "That's rural values, not family." "Oh yeah. I could garden." Getting up from the table, Jensen stretches his arms up to the ceiling and then pads over to the cabinets. Their groceries are on the counters, taking up valuable real estate, and Jensen pokes into one of the bags. "Except last time I checked, you're not actually a woman." "First gentleman, I think is the term." "No gentleman would sit on his ass while I put these away." "Fine," Jared sighs, hauling himself out of the chair. It's not really a trial, but it's always fun to tease him. He puts a gallon of milk in the door of the fridge, and another in the back. "We could adopt." Jensen chuckles again. "You're too immature." "I'm a paragon." "I'm too immature." Jared pauses in the act of putting crackers in a cupboard. "You got me there." "Also," Jensen adds, rearranging a shelf in the fridge to his liking. "It's illegal." "Aren't you in government or something?" "One thing at a time." "You don't put the eggs in the door?" Jared asks, watching Jensen push a carton in. Jensen looks up at him with innocent eyes. "Why, you do?" "Yeah," Jared says, walking over to him and holding out his hand. Jensen gives him the carton without a fight, a smile lighting up his face. "The things I do for you." Jared laughs at it, at them. They switch places and he starts loading the eggs in the door while Jensen puts his fiber cereal away. They make that stuff out of the cardboard boxes other cereal comes in, and he tried telling Jensen that when they were shopping, but it was no good. They were stopped eight times on that trip, by kindly women wanting to congratulate them on being so brave and such good boys and on winning and all. One guy shook Jensen's hand and said he voted for them. Them, like it was the pair of them on the ballot. Jared had smiled, and Jensen had thanked him, and the guy said that cardboard cereal was good for you, and now Jensen's putting it next to the Cap'n Crunch in their house. Their house. "Well," Jared says, clearing his throat. "If we can't have the family life, we can at least take advantage of being out and proud. We can hit the bars. Guadalupe calls." "Unh uh," Jensen says, wagging a finger. "No way. I am a gay man in public office, which means I'll be canonized after I die because of the exemplary life I lead." Jared looks at him. "I could learn to love antiquing?" "Too much of a stereotype," Jensen smiles. "We can go to church." Jared crosses his arms over his chest. "If I'm going to church, I'm coming home to a golden retriever." "Fine." Jensen sighs and rolls his eyes, but he's grinning like he always does when Jared's got him. "Fine. We'll adopt a dog." "Two." "What!?" Jared turns on every ounce of charm he's got, taking a step toward Jensen and pleading with his eyes. "We're out of the house all day, Jensen. Big dogs get lonely on their own." "No way," Jensen insists as he tosses empty plastic bags into the recycling thing in the pantry. "You're cute, Jared, but you're not that cute. No way." "I'm fighting this," Jared says, picking up his jacket and Jensen's shoes. He heads through the living room on the way to their bedroom, knowing Jensen will follow. "All the way to city hall!" "I am the law!" Jensen calls back. It takes a minute for Jensen to double check the locks and the lights and the stove and the windows. He isn't obsessive about it, it's just an habit he's got. Still, Jared learned early on in their cohabitation that it was pointless to argue with him, so now he uses the time to chuck his clothes in the hamper and brush his teeth. Jensen walks into the bathroom as Jared's leaning over to spit, and slaps him hard on the boxers. Jared turns his head to look over his shoulder. "It is damn fine, and it is not yours tonight. My dog needs a brother." Jensen's pulling his contact solution out of the medicine cabinet. "You don't have a dog." "I'm gonna, and she's gonna need a brother." They bicker around each other, and then through the door, and all the way into bed. Jensen's the last one in, and he kills the lights and then slides his hand over Jared's chest. "Unh uh," Jared says, pushing his hand away. "I said it and I meant it. Good night." Jensen pauses, then lifts up onto one elbow so he can look down at Jared's face. "You're not serious." "I'm not fucking around," Jared tells him seriously, meeting his eyes in the dim glow from the streetlights. "Since I was a kid, I promised myself I'd grow up and get two dogs and a picket fence and marry my best friend. I can't get the marriage part, so the least you can do is not welsh on the dogs." Jensen rubs his thumb over Jared's temple. "I'm sorry," he says softly, and not for the first time. "We can still move to-" "Shut up with that," Jared says, pushing at him. "I told you." "I know," Jensen says. He leans down then, brushes a light kiss across the ridge of Jared's cheekbone. "I'm so glad it's you here with me, you know that? I couldn't have done it with anyone else." It's Jared's turn to roll his eyes. "Come on, man. If I hadn't turned up you'd be so hard done by, 'cause you'd be in Congress by now." "No, I'm being serious," Jensen insists. He holds Jared's eyes with his own. "I was lying as much as you ever were, but worse; I lied to everyone. I lied to myself." Jared watches him silently. Jensen's said this before, sort of, but never quite this openly, and it's both terrifying and exhilarating. He touches his fingertips to Jared's cheek, draws them down in a warm glide. "If it wasn't for you, I'd still be doing it, and it sucked, man, let me tell you. I could have asked for a better coming out party, sure, but... I wouldn't have chosen anyone else to be there at the end of it." His chest is heavy with the weight of all those words. He crushes Jensen to him without a word for long seconds, and Jensen hugs back and waits for him to be okay. It takes a minute. When he lets Jensen go, his eyes are dry and his breathing is under control. "Okay," he nods. "Okay. I'm planning your Senate campaign right now, I just want you to know that." Jensen laughs and kisses him, and it's funny and warm and playful. When they pull apart, Jared wraps his arms around Jensen's shoulders and holds on tight. Jensen gives a heavy, long-suffering sigh. "Two dogs?" "Two. Dogs." Jensen sighs a little. "You're gonna make me get the huge ones that drool and eat my shoes, aren't you?" "Oh," Jared says, looking him right in the eyes with the most earnest expression he can manage. "We'll have to get them their own shoes to eat." Jensen gives him a withering look, and its effect on Jared is anything but. "You're putting out for this," Jensen says flatly. "You're goddamn right," Jared growls, and rolls him to the other side of their bed. It's a long time before they get to sleep, but it's worth it. It's all worth it. A/N: 24451 words. Graphics by |
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