Big Bang 2012: Love Lies Burning. 10/24
The burglar alarm isn’t set when Jared wakes the next morning. He’s alone in his sheets and he’s disappointed. The haze of constant rain had made it impossible to know if the green eyed hobo had watched him yesterday evening and there had been no visitor in the night. He had made no attempt to increase his security and he’s not going to apologize for the overt display that mimicked the painting that stands on the easel in his studio. Jared has been simultaneously disturbed and thrilled by the thought of his drugged vulnerability under the bulk of a man with green, green eyes who could have done anything he wanted with him and he would have been helpless to prevent it. Just thinking about it now makes his morning wood throb and he reluctantly moves his hand to take care of it, hard and fast. He knows it’s been too long without somebody to make him scream and beg and whimper. He should find a hook up or a casual romance, but it’s dangerous for business and right now he can only think of one somebody. He wants Jen to bite, lick and take him. It’s obsessive, unrealistic and the hottest daydream he’s had in years.
Jared washes, shaves and brushes his teeth, he’ll take a shower at the gym. He will adjust his routine a little but he isn’t going to let a few bruised ribs prevent his morning exercise. He’s sure his decision has nothing to do with the slim possibility that this time when he looks, Jen might be there.
Jensen shivers in the bitter morning air that hangs still in the abandoned apartment. He feels light headed and weak. There’s a sink of cold water that he’s using to wash and shave but it feels unusually harsh and he trembles with the splash of it on his skin. He was stupid to spend so long in the rain the night before but sometimes, when he panics, his feet take him to places without his conscious thought. He had come-to outside Jared’s house. The light had shone dull around the tall man, sitting quiet and alone in his comfortable chair, in his large lonely house. Jensen had felt the biting cold then and wanted the warmth of a strong, firm body next to him. Instead he had turned to trudge through the gloom to his squat. He had stripped his soaked clothes from his skin and huddled in his sleeping bag with Sadie at his side but he couldn’t sleep for the bone deep chill that had settled on him.
There’s a hot tickle at the back of his throat, and Jensen coughs. A wakeful night has given him opportunity to think and make new resolutions with a plan on paper and a commitment to change. He knows that he’s different, and he knows why he is different but he’s also not incapable or disabled. He has difficulties socialising and he’s read enough to be able to use the proper words for it and be aware that it shouldn’t preclude him from living what others would call a normal life, within limitations.
What he has never considered, before now, is the sort of life he wants to lead or what goals he should fulfil. He used to have ambition. There was the desire, as a young child, to be normal or at least to be in the same class as the rest of the children his age, instead of being with babies two years his junior. Then there was hope that he could live up to his stepfather’s ambitions to escape their run-down trailer with skill of James Bond and daring of Robin Hood. That had ended with his stepfather in jail. He had wanted to rewind time so he could attend school at all, instead of being confined, silent and angry, to the prison of their shabby trailer with his mother’s resentful schooling. When Josh left school, it had become more focused. His brother was going to work double shifts and weekends, any stupid hours to earn the money that would take them both away to the big city, where Jensen could stop hiding and they could both start afresh. That dream had crashed in flames with Josh’s death in the Becks factory explosion. For five years following his brother's death it became about vengeful justice and wanting his Mama to look at him and see a son, instead of a flawed burden who could never be right in God’s eyes.
Justice is weighted to the wealthy and revenge is a cold dish that can lead to regret. His mother is buried deep in her own head and Jared Padalecki is drowning in his past. There are already too many victims claimed by the Becks explosion. If he loses himself on the streets then it is another life needlessly wasted for one moment of teenage stupidity. He can do better. He once promised Josh he would succeed, and he wants to fulfil that vow. For the past two years, eight months and three days his life has been about making three little words happen, but they never did. He’s now resigned to the fact that there is more to the problem than will power. The words won’t happen unless he accepts help.
In short, he’s twenty eight years old, he’s alone and drifting, he’s a virgin, and it’s about time he got his shit together.
Chad’s grin is pearly and wide when he sees Jensen waiting for him. Sadie lolls her tongue and settles outside the Center in a way that suggests she’s happy with this familiar arrangement.
They walk through the door together, at the same time and Jen proffers a handful of change, the full swim fee, but he waves it away. “If you have a moment, after you’re done, nobody shines the sinks and faucets in the changing rooms like you do. We missed you dude. Are you okay?”
Jen signs ‘Okay, tired,’ with trembling hands and struggles to secrete the cash in his backpack. Chad doesn’t miss the paleness of his face or the way Jen’s freckles stand out in stark relief. The cough that bubbles from the back of his throat has Chad frowning at him and looking at the dark, damp patches on his clothes.
“Don’t over do it, Jen, and get yourself a good hot shower after, ‘kay?”
Jensen’s not looking at him any more and Chad isn’t sure that he’s heard him. Chad sighs and returns to his morning routine.
By 7:00 a.m. Jensen’s body cuts through cool, chlorinated water. His strokes are smooth and even but by ten lengths he is slowing and at twelve he swallows water as he coughs, which makes him splutter and choke. He swims fifteen lengths and his legs feel like jelly when he climbs the ladder and exits. When he returns to the changing rooms to collect his miniature towel, Chad is waiting for him. It is unusual and gives Jensen the jitters, even more so because he cannot see his clothes anywhere.
Chad holds up a huge, fluffy towel and hands it to him. “Last shower on the right is hottest and there’s soap in the dispenser. Use your towel to dry, then wrap this one around you and come to the lifeguard’s mess room. I’ve put a heater on in there.” Jen’s eyes widen and Chad raises his hand up in a peculiarly strong stop motion which morphs into a pointing finger wag. “You don’t get a choice because your clothes are in our dryer. You are not leaving here in damp clothes, dude. You were wet through, and it’s not healthy.”
Jensen is uncomfortable in the plastic bucket chair and the waves of radiant heat from the little halogen heater are almost unbearable, but the mug of hot chocolate that Chad has forced into his hand is sweet and delicious. There is a door to reception on one side and another door to the pool on the other, Chad has left the door to reception ajar and Jensen is acutely aware that anybody crossing the lobby can glance through the gap to see him, wrapped like an errant child. A number of people come in to use the pool and the gym, some gossiping in pairs, others focused and alone. They are all Padalecki employees, and he recognizes most of them. Some of them glance at him but none of them say anything. He is absently padding at the thick soft fibres of the towel when there’s the sound of a honey drawl, and Chad’s jumpy, unconvincing reply.
“I don’t recognize that man. We agreed exclusive hours for Padalecki with your bosses, Mr. Murray.”
“He’s a friend, just tryin’ out, we’re always on the lookout for potential life guards.”
Jared’s hair is damp but he’s letting it fall forward over the blues and yellows that color his swollen eyelid and bruised cheek. He’s dressed for work after a gentle gym session and leans slightly to one side with an arm against his bruised ribs. Chad is unnerved by the intensity with which the Padalecki CEO is regarding the towel-swaddled man. It makes him think of a starving man at a Thanksgiving feast. The knowing way that Jen is raking his eyes over Mr Padalecki’s smartly suited body is worthy of a gay porn movie (which Chad is never going to admit to having watched, however drunk he was at the time) and is equally alarming, especially since he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jen as much as acknowledge another person.
The scabbing lip curls, “You’re a bad liar, Mr. Murray. If you want to support a local charity, then that is admirable, but don’t do it on our time. Is that clear?” He speaks the word charity with a particularly nasty inflection and Chad winces but it doesn’t alter the tramp’s stare.
“He’s in a private staff area. It is no concern of yours, sir.” Chad is polite but he can’t believe his own words as they tumble from his mouth, they are just asking for trouble.
If looks could kill, Chad would be on a life support system, but Jared doesn’t say anything else. He’s leaving when Jensen doubles over with a hacking cough that has his eyes watering. The noise forces a look over the executive’s shoulder and for a moment something other than derision flickers behind his façade. It’s probably the closest thing to concern that Chad has ever seen on his face. It doesn’t last, and he watches his back recede as he leaves.
“What was that all about?” Chad takes advantage of the lull in business to return to the mess room.
Jen shrugs and sips at his hot chocolate.
“He’s good looking,” continues Chad, “Doesn’t mean he’s a good man. Not at all.”
There’s another shrug from the man in the towel.
“Your things should be dry now.” He collects them from the utility cupboard and hands them over. They are fragrant with the smell of clothes freshener and warm to the touch and Jen instinctively brings them to his nose and rubs them against his cheek before tucking them under his arm to sign ‘Thanks.’
“Well there’s a cost, my man.” Chad smirks and Jen stiffens with worry.
“Your friend Sophia was here looking for you. Task one is to find her and let her know that you are alive and well. Task two is to make sure she knows what an awesome buddy the Chadmeister is, because dude, she is one classy lady and she needs a classy man like me in her life.”
Chad is being all kinds of cheesy and has both thumbs pointing to himself. Jensen relaxes. Growing up with a cocky big brother means he’s used to boy talk and bravado.
“Of course if you were interested I wouldn’t hit on her because we’re pals, right? Pals don’t do that. I figure you’ve had plenty of time to do her if you wanted and besides,” Chad shakes his head, “Padalecki? Seriously? Not only are you batting for the other team, you have super bad taste in men,” he draws breath, hoping he hasn’t misread the signs.
Jensen is concentrating on the conversation. It’s the most human he’s felt in a long time. Chad said they are pals and it’s a warm, happy feeling to hear the word. Friends are a good thing. They are on his list, and there’s been no judgement for his preferences. A small grin graces his face crinkling the lines around his eyes. He puts his mug and his clothes on the table, ‘He’s not bad, he just thinks he is.’ It’s the longest and most intimate thing he’s signed in forever, and it’s kind of amusing that he’s half naked in a strange room with Chad, of all people.
Chad does a double take, his ASL is hardly perfect. It is a requirement for his job but it was a short, basic course and there were a number of hot sports ed. chicks from the local authority that took the classes with him. It was kinda distracting. He never expected a signed discussion in real life. He stares at his own fingers slowly translating parts back before he mostly gets it.
“Oh, wow.” Chad is suddenly serious. “Jen, you don’t know him.”
There’s sad, lopsided smile that Jensen gives, ‘I really do,’ his fingers work. He gulps the last of his drink and grabs his clothes.
Chad’s voice follows him, “Hey, how? Don’t leave me hanging here,” but the manager has clients to attend to and an enquiry at the desk
Jensen shines the changing rooms until they gleam. He’s all alone, in the sterile white and blue. He relaxes and lets a vibration rise in his throat, there’s a grating hum which echoes against tiled walls before he coughs. It scrapes his throat and tightens his lungs but it is all sound and that’s good.
Padalecki Inc.’s CEO scowls at his doorman and slams the glass door too hard behind himself. The receptionist bids him a good morning and one of his marketing managers hurries to keep the elevator door open for him. There’s a flurry of good mornings in the elevator and in the corridor that connects to his office. If anyone notices Jared’s bruises nobody is going to mention them.
Alona closes the tabs on the exclusive gay dating agencies she’s been browsing just before Jared stalks past. He picks a mug out of her outstretched hand and takes a sip.
“This coffee tastes like shit, Alona.”
Yep. Jared Padalecki definitely needs to get laid.
He clicks his briefcase open on his desk and pulls a stack of papers from it, “Where’s the figures?” Jared yells through the open door at his assistant.
Alona grins, nothing changes. “Misha’s on his way up.”
“Oh.”
Alona fiddles with her hair as she checks the mail. She feels his gaze on her and sits a little straighter.
“You have bags under your eyes. You should make sure you get enough sleep.”
She quirks a brow, “You’ll have to speak to Misha about that, sir.” Alona fights to suppress the giggle that’s bubbling in her chest and continues with the mail straight faced.
There’s a momentary stillness from her boss, then he tilts his head as if he’s about to speak but decides not to.
“What’s my schedule?”
“Misha says he has good news first. You have a ten o’clock with marketing for the Rainbow Factory’s new launch. Lunchtime is free, you have a personal appointment pencilled in for two, Jeff has requested to fit him in for three, and commerce has sent some contracts for you to approve. There are a couple of major equipment sales to sign off. I’ve put them on your desk.”
“Right. Good.” He takes the documents that she’s waving at him and grips them over tight, “Ms. Tal, can I call you Alona? Yesterday was, er odd. I’m sorry for the whole, well you know.”
She taps her foot and Jared is reminded of a strict school marm, “The whole, throwing me out into the cold without the courtesy of a cab.”
“Yes, um, that.”
“You can call me Alona, sir, and I’ll forgive you this time, since there were mind altering drugs involved.”
“ ‘kay. Good then, and call me Jared. It’s, well, should have been that before now really. Good chat.”
She’s smiling up at the big man with wonder. Who would have guessed that she only had to take a firm attitude to get the guy to roll over like a puppy?
“Oh, there’s one more thing. Be a doll and nip over to the pharmacy for me. Get a bottle of cough syrup. None of the cheap stuff. Something that works.” He pauses to think, “...and some of those cold and flu capsules, ones that can be taken with the syrup.”
Oh well, Rome wasn’t built in a day, she thinks, internally cringing at the menial task and the way it was worded. “Sure Jared. Do you feel like you have a cold starting?”
“No.” The look he gives her implies it’s a crazy question and she breathes slowly and counts to ten in her head.
Misha has the most excessive and ridiculous grin on his face when he arrives. He has acres of paperwork and a bottle of champagne in his hand. He’s shaking the bottle and there’s no time to question it before there’s an explosive pop, a cork whizzes across the room to crash into the wall and a fountain of bubbly liquid hits the ceiling tiles and drips back to the carpet.
“What the fuck, Mish?!” Jared gasps. The sweet smell hangs in the air and there’s the faint fizzing of bubbles dissolving into the thick woollen pile.
The blue eyed man hands the foam-wet bottle to Alona who grabs tissues to wipe the mess and disappears in a search for wine glasses. Misha embraces his friend, he pulls back and hands him a pen and two files, “Sign them.”
“Ouch!” Jared rubs his sore chest before putting pen to paper with a flourish and looking questioningly at his friend.
“I didn’t want to say anything before now. I’ve checked and checked again. The IRS has confirmed that we will be receiving a tax rebate in order of about a million, we’ve completed sales of redundant stock and equipment in all of our factories and we are well ahead of forecasts. Jay-man, I am looking at the permanent majority shareholder of Padalecki Inc. We did it! Even with Linden, even accounting for any number of disasters that can befall us before the audit is signed off, there’s nothing that can take you into the red in the next few weeks.”
“We overpaid taxes? How did that happen? Christ! You sneaky bastard, you put up a smoke screen didn’t you?”
Misha shuffled a little, “I may have made a small error in favor of the IRS when I first arrived. It’s a very, very safe place to hide a substantial sum, as long as you know how to retrieve it in good time.”
“Crazy bastard.”
“But you love me.”
“Yeah, man. I do. Shit!” Jared is feeling light headed and he hasn’t had a drop of bubbly. He sits heavily in his huge leather swivel chair. Two years of heartache and stress. He has his affirmation; he is every bit as good at business as his father was, maybe better. It should feel special and exciting but all he feels is empty. He surmises that it’s probably a mix of shock and disbelief. He will allow himself to be dizzy with success later. Until then, there’s a little matter of cup cakes. Rainbow is launching a new cake mix, and he’s promised to look over their marketing plans and give them the congratulations they are due. “Mish, put this on ice, I have a marketing meeting.”
“Seriously? They don’t need you there. C’mon Jay. This is epic.”
It doesn’t feel epic. It feels like kicking his brother when he’s down, and now he’s regretting the bitter reprisal that was specifically aimed, in high definition photographic glory, at Jeff’s wife, the day before. “Rainbow has turned in a good profit for us and their R & D department has worked hard at this, I think they’re owed, don’t you?” Jared is uncharacteristically short with Misha. “It’s 9:30 in the morning. Get a carton of orange juice and let your team have mimosas at morning break. They've been stars.”
Misha claps him on the back, “And that is why you are so good at this business. We’ll catch up later, ‘kay?”
There’s the sound of a throat being cleared and they turn to find Jeff standing in the doorway. He’s looking at them with his nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Jeff, did you want to see me?” Jared’s voice is quiet.
“We have a meeting at three if you’re not too busy celebrating. Until then I was going to take a few hours off. I have some boxes to move, from home, y’know. I said goodbye to the kids this morning but Lacey says she’ll be out today if I want to take my clothes and things. I’ll be staying at the Marriott for now.” Jeff’s eyes are bright and watery, his suit is rumpled and his shoulders are sagging.
Seeing his brother in distress is like a punch to the gut. Jared takes strides over to him. His first reaction is to put an arm around him and draw him close but Jeff backs away. Jared drops his hands to his side and waits for the physical assault but his brother doesn’t move to strike him.
“You did this. Don’t you even …” Jeff snarls, “This isn’t over, little bro. It is far from finished.” Jeff’s words are a promise and a threat, and they are spoken with chilling intent and resentment.
Jared is full of tension as he watches Jeff exit the building and climb into a cab by Padalecki Gardens. He picks up the binoculars that lie on the ledge, intending to capture the detail of his brother’s face but is captivated instead, by Jen, who sits on a bench in the gardens, like he’s never been gone. He has Sadie at his feet, a pastel in his hand and the sketch pad on his lap. He’s working with absolute concentration, and his tongue sticks out between his teeth. Jared adjusts the Nikon focus to its finest. He can almost count the freckles and touch the long lashes. It has a strangely calming effect on him. His heartbeat slows to a steady rate and he breathes deeply. He tears his attention away with reluctance but not before noticing the heavily built man who loiters at the garden gates pointing some sort of camera phone at the absorbed artist. He wonders if he is Jim Beaver’s man and makes a mental note to ask.
“Your ten o’clock has arrived.” Alona’s voice cuts into Jared's thoughts, she sounds disturbingly happy. “Look! Everyone has cake.” Between shiny painted fingernails his P.A. is holding a garish, multi-colored cup cake in a case adorned with a bright rainbow. “It’s like a unicorn’s tea party,” she grins cheerfully, before wandering off to pour herself a coffee to accompany the treat.
Jared puts his hand to his face in mock despair, “Give me strength,” he mutters, then yells after her, “There’s a market niche!” He just has to remember that for the next ninety minutes.
Part 11
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