NC-17 | Broken Bone | Part 1
Jensen’s in the break room when the news hits. He’s pushing his fork through his rotini pasta from the night before.
Danneel, Chris, and a few others rush into the room, tripping over each other and breaking Jensen from the magazine he’s skimming at his elbow. Chris turns up the TV hanging in the corner while Danneel’s barking the channel at him.
“TNT. TNT you idiot. It’s thirty-one!”
“I know what it is, shut up,” Chris snaps back.
Danneel parrots him with a pathetic impersonation of a child.
Jensen looks up and waves his fork at her. “Hey, you mind?”
She glances down at his meal then up to him. “No,” she smiles.
“I do,” he lamely argues, ignoring how Chris shoots him an ugly face just for kicks. It happens more often than not.
Danneel points a thumb between her and Chris. “Well, we don’t.”
“As I’ve learned.”
Her face breaks into something more excited. “Did you hear?”
He rolls his eyes and goes back to his dinner. He’s starving and tired, having just taken five patients back to back, forced from room to room to room with barely a moment to breathe. He’s got another ninety minutes until he’s done with his appointments, but he’d rather snack now and then get into his paperwork before facing a long ride home.
“I hear you two yappin’,” he says with a fake smile.
Chris claps loudly when he hits the channel. Then it gets awfully quiet aside from voices on TV rumbling about some serious matter. “Whoa, not good,” Chris groans.
Jensen takes a moment to see what they’re watching. It’s the Bulls game, he can tell that much with the wood flooring and white and red jerseys huddled together as a black-poloed trainer shoulders his way into the mess. Professionally, Jensen’s interested in what appears to be a fairly serious injury on the floor. Personally, he couldn’t give a shit. Basketball lost any meaning to him more than a decade ago.
“I thought you had a patient,” he says around his chewing, flicking his eyes up to Danneel.
She nods to the side as she gives her full attention to the screen. “Yeah, Scott Willis.”
Jensen realizes there’s a college-aged kid standing next to her, and the kid offers Jensen a short wave, and a meager, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jensen returns much the same with a motion of his fork.
Danneel is distracted when she says, “Scott’s phone went off in the middle of our session,” with her eyes still glued to the screen.
“ESPN says Pads screwed his knee,” Scott explains, looking at Jensen for a moment.
Jensen goes back to his magazine, not giving a crap what they’re talking about or why it’s such a rush for them to see it all.
“Dude, that’s gotta be an ACL,” Chris declares, pointing at the TV.
“My bet's on lateral,” Kristen says as she enters the room to join the crowd that’s now blocking Jensen’s view.
He shouldn’t care that he can’t see the screen, but knowing there’s a big fuss over something he can’t even witness for himself is slightly annoying. Everyone interrupting his break is extremely annoying.
“Maybe it’s a meniscus,” Danneel suggests.
Chris laughs then announces, “Twenty on ACL.”
Jensen’s kind of disturbed with how quickly everyone moves to slap money on the table. Seeing how excited they get over major injuries, he can’t believe he calls these people friends. He stares at the pile of bills in front of his plate. “You do know I’m eating here?”
Danneel smacks her lips together. “Think we’ll get him?”
“No way,” Kristen answers quickly. “He’ll probably go to Barrington. He lives up north.”
“Yeah, but we had Rose’s sprain,” Danneel argues back.
Jessica announces her entrance by saying, “’Cause he’s from West Chicago. No way would his lazy ass go all the way to Barrington. ”
Brain working, Jensen considers the fact that their clinic has taken care of a few low level Chicago athletes, and even with Derek Rose coming in for an ankle sprain, it was just a few weeks for easy care that the team’s management demanded before contract renewals.
Their clinic is far out west in the suburbs and they get their fill of minor league baseball players, college jocks, and the average everyday John and Jane recovering from surgery. Hearing Kristen and Danneel bicker over what new patients they’ll get is just ridiculous.
The room collectively groans and yelps, taking a step back from the TV. Jensen looks up in time to see the replay where two players run into each other, knees banging around, until one gives way and the whole leg twists to the side. Going back to real time, two trainers are assisting that player off the floor, and the guy’s knee is bent back about forty-five degrees - a good angle to keep it off the floor and the joints in place - and he’s hopping forward on his left foot.
“Damn,” Kristen murmurs. “Boy still looks good.”
Jessica laughs and elbows her. “That boy’s all in pain and you’re still objectifying him?”
Kristen puts her hands out to massage thin air and grins. “I like my men in a li’l bit of pain.”
Danneel stands and runs her hands down her shirt to straighten it. They’re all in standard gear - Athletical uniform polos and khaki pants - but of course hers hugs her in all the right places. Scott Willis’s eyes roam her body while she smiles at Jensen, completely unaware. “What d’you say, Jen?” She puts her hand out. “Thumb wrestle for the new recruit?”
He flicks his eyebrows, completely unimpressed, and tries to focus on his meal. Danneel leans across the table and fusses the edges of his hair with a laugh before she pushes Scott ahead of her and people start filtering out.
Chris stands at Jensen’s side to collect the money and nudges Jensen’s shoulder. “You want in on this?”
He takes a moment to think it over, and while he doesn’t grant much levity to their betting, he can’t help making an educated guess. “You got PCL yet?”
“It’s yours,” Chris grins. He knocks Jensen between his shoulders as Jensen fishes a twenty out of his wallet.
He’s left in relative quiet again, except the TV’s still going loudly and the sportscasters are still blabbering on about the incident. Jensen knows basketball, even if he refuses to care anymore. He lived through the Jordan years, fell in love with Rodman’s obnoxious nature once it was on Chicago’s side, and he still remembers Kerr’s three-pointer to lock out the Suns in overtime.
According to newscasts and headlines, this season has been one for the record books, threatening to knock down the six-time Championship legends of the Michael Jordan era. Born and bred as a sports fan in Chicago, Jensen can admit there’s a tiny corner of his heart that twists at the realization: just twenty minutes into Game Four of the Eastern Conference Finals, the Bulls’ hopes of making the Big Show are dashed with their MVP’s bad knee.
It’s not a good day in Chicago, but Jensen continues eating and then finishes the night like any other with paperwork and a dark drive home.
+++
It’s all over the news, the papers, the internet, and all anyone can talk about. It ranges from disappointment for the end of the Bulls' most promising season in years to speculation of the player’s career. Apparently he’s a free agent next season and the Bulls’ front office could be looking for a change if the MVP’s not back to tip-top shape by the next pre-season.
Six months until then. Six months to recover from a major knee injury isn’t unheard of, but it’s unlikely to be back to 100 percent for a professional athlete. Especially given how intense basketball is on the knees.
Jensen empathizes, but he doesn’t think any more of it. In fact, he resolutely ignores all the complaints and worry for what this means for the Bulls franchise or the young star’s future. Jensen does well enough that he forgets the matter.
That is until he gets to Athletical around ten to go through his files and prepare for his first patient at eleven. With the last half of his granola bar sticking out from the corner of his mouth, he grabs his folders and walks to the break room, stopping at the doorway to find it filled with his coworkers.
“What the fuck?” he mumbles just before pulling the bar from his mouth. He winces when he sees Samantha Smith, his supervisor, smirking at him.
“Morning, Jensen.”
“Morning,” he nods, repositioning the folders under his arm. “What’s going on?”
“Who’s got PCL?” Jessica complains from her place right in front of the TV. It’s tuned to Sportscenter, and even on mute, the ESPN ribbon runs with details from last night’s incident and the official statement on the injury. Jensen steps just inside the room and slowly smiles when she glares at him. “You’re such a douche.”
He sticks his granola bar back into the side of his mouth and grabs the stack of bills from her hand. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You would,” she mumbles, leaning against the table and facing Samantha.
“Now that you’re all paid up,” their supervisor starts, granting Jensen a small smile. “We’ve got a little business to discuss this morning. Chris is going part-time, and we’ve got a few off-site clients coming up, so I’m going to shift the schedules around a bit. We’ll all have to pick up some extra loads.”
The crowd groans and Jensen wants to shrug. He doesn’t exactly love his hours - appointments from eleven in the morning to nine at night with at least 30 minutes to start the day and another to end it with paperwork - but he doubts he’ll be bothered much by this. He has seniority, his patients are always vocal about their satisfaction with treatment, and most changes seem to pass him completely given he already works the latest hours on the schedule.
There’s more grumbling and Jensen watches without much care, but he is a bit amused by everyone getting up in arms for a change they’re not even certain of. He keeps chewing on his snack, down to the very end of the bar, when Samantha appears in front of him.
“Hi,” she says brightly, but he reads something else in her eyes.
He swallows the rest of his bite. “Hi.”
“Are you interested in off-site clients? I know you’ve got the short end of the stick as far as schedules go. Maybe getting out during the day would do you some good.”
“Do I need me some good?” he asks slowly. He’s heard enough grumbling from the supervisor about his coworkers, thankfully missing out on any opinions she might have on him. He does his best to reserve his work gripes for people who aren’t above him, and Samantha’s nothing but kind when she talks to him. Still, he’s not sure what she really thinks of him either way.
“No, not what I mean,” she explains quickly, nicely. “I’m just asking.” She leans in, covering her mouth, and whispering conspiratorially. “You’re the only one not complaining.”
Jensen nods, chuckles a little, and shifts his files more comfortably. “Well, I just figure I’ll wait to complain ‘til it affects me.”
She laughs along with him then cuts back to the point. “So, are you interested?”
He thinks on it for a few seconds. He’s usually stepping up to help when they’re short-staffed or any of his colleagues needs a second hand or consult. He likes his job and doesn’t mind too much when asked for something extra, but he’s not sure if she’s asking or suggesting. “Do you need people to go?”
“Just asking.” Samantha taps at a notebook she’d been holding at her side. “I’m making a list of those who are available.”
“Yeah, sure, put me on it,” he says with a short nod.
Danneel pops up over Samantha’s shoulder as Jensen’s name is being written down. “You’ve got me on there, too, right?”
Samantha smiles sweetly, almost too much, and nods at Danneel. “Yes, Harris. I got you down there the first three times you asked.”
Once their supervisor is gone, Danneel grins at Jensen. “She’s the best.”
“God, you’re such an ass-kisser,” Jensen laughs and drops his files to the table to get work.
“And you’re not?” Danneel asks, knocking at the tabletop when he sits. “Always here an hour early and staying an hour late.”
He flips a folder open and motions at the scribbles he’d taken a week ago for his regular Tuesday 11am patient. “When the hell do you get your notes done?”
“I have my ways.”
“I’ll bet you do,” he returns with a sly look, eliciting a grin from her. “Did you really ask Sam four times to get on the list?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Why?” he asks, laughing.
“You do know who she’s talking about right?”
Jensen had a vague notion it’s for the Chicago All Star, but he’s not about to live on assumptions. “Yeah, and?”
Danneel’s eyes widen and her breath catches before she rattles out, “Oh, God, how could you not care? The person who fixes that knee is gonna be golden and set up for life. Can you imagine the word-of-mouth for cleaning up a knee worth that much? My career would be set for professional sports. Not to mention chance to get seats to a game or NBA gear.”
Jensen nods and grants a small smile. He gets it, and can appreciate Danneel’s high - perhaps lofty - career goals.
She grins as she pats his shoulder, nudging harder when she asks, “You up for beers on Thursday?”
“As always,” he waves her off.
+++
Two Thursdays later, everything changes.
Everyone’s corralled in the break room again and Samantha’s standing in the corner, going up on her tiptoes to turn the TV off. She grins when everyone moans that Sportcenter’s gone. It’s the first time in weeks that Jensen hasn’t had to see it at work, and he’s grateful.
Until Samantha claps her hands and breaks the din of complaint. “I’m sure you all heard about our newest client. So I’ll just go quick and save you all the speculation. Jared Padalecki has signed on for home service and Jensen’s been assigned.”
The room erupts into anger and jealousy, a few loud cries of Why not me? But mostly a lot of Why him?
“No kidding,” Jensen says on a sudden outburst. He can’t believe he says it or that everyone stops to look at him. He takes in the room and finds coworkers eying him bitterly and some close friends frowning with their own disappointment. “Why me?”
“Yeah,” Jessica asks. She crosses her arms tightly and glares at him then eases up a bit when she turns to Samantha. “Why Jensen?”
“Well, you don’t have to say it like that,” Jensen argues.
Samantha clears her throat and stands firm, hands on her hips. “Chris is already cutting hours. Justin’s unable to travel, Tom and Mike are likely to rob the man of all his jerseys and awards, and the rest of you are far too excited about nabbing a husband.”
Jensen tsks and tosses a hand out. “So, because I’m not excited about it, you’re making me do this?”
Tipping her head Samantha gives him a long look, assessing even. “You said you were interested in off-site work.”
“That’s before I knew who it was.”
As soon as he’s said it, he realizes it’s the wrong thing to say. Everyone in the room is ready to throw down for the chance and he’s the last one to give two shits about the case. He’s well aware that Jared Padalecki is one of the NBA’s hottest stars and how Chicago fell over itself when he was signed two years ago. This last season shoved the Bulls into the limelight with the one-two punch of Rose and Padalecki, and it’s like the town is dusting off a shelf for all the Championship trophies to come. But still, Jensen doesn’t care.
The room clears without anyone saying much more, friends and coworkers - a few kind enemies - alike giving him strange looks. Samantha approaches him with a soft hand on his shoulder. “Just, go out there for an assessment and see what happens. I really don’t want to send one of the girls out there to seduce him.”
“This is so fucked up,” he mumbles, not even realizing it until her eyes widen. After a long breath and reconsidering the fact that he got into physical therapy to help people, he shrugs off his attitude and nods. “Alright. But what about my other patients?”
“Like I said before. Schedules are being rearranged.”
Another sigh and he tosses his hand out. “Then I guess I’ve got nothing else to complain about, huh?”
Samantha smiles warmly. “You don’t often, do you?”
+++
“This is bull shit,” Jensen mutters as Chris sets four bottles of beer at their table.
Danneel elbows him in side, Kristen gets him in the other hip, and Chris gives him a dirty look as he sits down.
“I would gladly give any of you the spot,” he says with his arms motioning around the table.
“Then why don’t you?” Jessica asks, smacking the tabletop before making a fist. “That could solve all our problems. Rock, paper, scissors, who wants it?”
“Look at it this way,” Chris prompts. His head’s turned towards the screen about forty feet behind Jensen at the far wall. Game Two of NBA Finals is going on, and still Jensen doesn’t bother to watch. “Samantha trusts you.”
A few of the girls break into arguments with him, a slew of what d’you mean? and I’m trustworthy! and You can shove your trust -
Jensen claps his hands quickly and spreads them out before shouting over them. “God! You guys are giving me a headache.” When they settle down, so does he, dropping his hands to the table and taking a long drink from his bottle. “It’s not like I asked for this.”
Kristen sets her elbow to the table and rests her cheek in her hand. She’s slouching and frowning right at him, looking like a little kid who lost her bike privileges. “I don’t know why you’re so uninterested. He’s got a new girl on his arm every week. I bet you could pick up the leftovers.”
Jessica jumps towards Kristen and they start gossiping over the last supermodel to be seen in Padalecki’s United Center suite.
Jensen rolls his eyes and looks to Chris. “You believe this shit?”
“I believe Tinkerbelle has a point,” Chris returns with a smirk. When he leans in closer, his voice drops low. “If it were anyone else at this table, it’d be a major point.”
Jensen stares at his friend with his bottle up to his mouth, but not taking it yet. He should really stop drinking with coworkers and letting secrets out. He’s not female, so yeah, he doesn’t give a shit who Padalecki’s seen with. Chris pointing it out isn’t helping things, but Chris isn’t totally wrong. “You’re such an asshole,” he shoots back, but he’s laughing when Chris grins and playfully smacks Jensen’s cheek.
The subject drops and Jensen doesn’t dare bring it up again, seeing how the girls flare up with the topic. But on the way through the parking lot, just before midnight with a soft breeze cooling off the warm June night, Danneel steps up and eyes him.
“You really don’t wanna do this?”
“Not really,” he chuckles, fiddling with his keys so he can get into his car and drive on home.
“God, Jen,” she sighs as wonder slips into her voice. “It’s Jared Padalecki. Five-time NBA All Star. MVP. Chicago’s hottest athlete. Literally.”
Jensen finally opens the car door and leans against it. “And his knee’s a piece of garbage. What’s your point?”
“You can make him better. You and your magic fingers,” she insists, wiggling her own fingers at him and giggling. She’s had far too many mojitos for a work night.
He laughs, both at and with her, then nudges her away. “Go home. You’ll need to sleep this one off before tomorrow.”
She seems to stumble for a second, but rights herself, looking far too serious than he wants right now. “Jen, seriously. Think of where you could go after this? Getting that guy back on the court? You’d have offers flying in from any team.”
Jensen shakes his head and forces a laugh, trying to keep it light. “I really don’t care. I’m fine where I am. Who wants to work in pro sports?”
“Me!” she shouts, laughing near hysterically for how she seems to not buy his line. “Anyone else at the clinic? Any other clinic would die for him on their list!” He doesn’t budge and she finally lets it go, crossing a few empty parking spots between her car and his. She keeps turning back to laugh. “You know everyone’s just jealous? You’re one lucky fella!”
Shaking his head, he ignores her words and the small smile that stays in place for the drive home. One thing he considers? He gets to sleep in and avoid the clinic for a few hours. That’s worth enough to give it a try.
+++
The house Jared Padalecki is renting is not quite a mansion, but it’s close. It’s larger than any home Jensen sees in his middle-income suburb, has three levels, a yard larger than any park in his neighborhood, and a tall fence that says more than enough: Someone important lives here and stay the hell away.
Danneel and Chris texted Jensen during his commute, each sharing facts about the place the MVP calls home during the season. A retired couple with old money has been renting the place to Padalecki since he made them an offer that allowed them to live the in Florida year round, instead of just vacationing. It doesn’t come with a staff, but apparently Padalecki has hired himself a maid, because a tall, attractive blonde woman in a black and white uniform opens the door to Jensen.
The skirt is a quite bit shorter than Jensen would imagine for respectable help. Then again, he’s never hired a maid, so how’s he to know?
She pulls the door completely open to let him in and smirks, cocking her head to the side and her hip to the doorway. “Why hello,” she says with pure, obvious intent.
“Hi,” he says with a short nod. He takes a quick look around the open floor plan and he can’t sense another soul in the house. Maybe he had the day wrong, or maybe his patient’s blowing him off. “I’m here for Jared-”
She chuckles lightly, eyes drifting up the massively wide staircase that turns and vanishes into the east wing. “Well, that’s incredible timing. I just got done.” It’s a long moment for her eyes to drag across Jensen’s body.
Jensen wants to turn away from the look, but he’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do here. He knows it’s inappropriate - and it’s definitely unwanted - but these people have money, and he’s never done off-site visits before. He’ll deal it for a few minutes if he must.
“And what’re you supposed to be?” she asks.
“Jensen Ackles,” he answers. He nudges the athletic bag he’s got slung across his shoulders and resting at his hip. “I’m the physical therapist.”
She laughs, then releases a low sigh. “Oh, how timely. That’s real rich.” With that troublesome smirk back in place, she pulls her hair up to a messy bun and ties it with a black rubber band from around her wrist. “Well, I’m sure he’ll love it. And your uniform. Very dedicated.”
He glances down to his red Athletical polo tucked into black khakis. He’s about to explain it’s all standard uniform, on or off site, but he doesn’t want to waste more time under her stare, now that she’s biting into her lower lip and more obvious than before. “Yeah, alright,” he says firmly then points up the staircase. “Is he up there?”
“Oh, yeah,” she chuckles. “I doubt he’s moving for a while. I think I wore him out but good.”
Trying in earnest to not roll his eyes, not wanting to sully his first impression with anyone in this house, he bites his tongue and points again. “Up and to the left, and then?”
She wets her lips even as she steps out to the front stoop. “Last bedroom, you can’t miss it.” She waves as she takes the few stairs to the circle drive. “Have fun, Jensen Ackles, Physical Therapist.”
He shuts the door before she can say more. After a long breath and an even longer look through the spacious foyer covered in cream floor tiles and gold-framed art, Jensen forces himself up the stairs, to the left, and all the way down the hallway. He passes five rooms on the way, and this is only half the house. At the very least, he’s seen how the other half lives, and it’s very well.
His footsteps are heavy on the waxed wood flooring, and as he nears the last bedroom, he hears a low laugh from behind the cracked door.
“You comin’ back for more?”
Jensen stalls outside the room, takes another deep breath, and clears his throat as he knocks at the door frame. Hitting the door makes it crack open wider and Jensen peeks inside to see the NBA All-Star still in bed, bare-chested and likely completely naked give how the sheets don’t cover much of his midsection. “Mr. Padalecki?”
“I already paid Katie.”
“No, I’m not - Mr. Padalecki, can I come in?”
There’s silence for a bit longer than Jensen expects, so he glances inside again and he sees Padalecki pulling the sheet to cover more of his lap and look up. The guy’s face opens in surprise, then something more akin to how Jensen had been greeted at the front door. “Oh, well, hello.”
“Hi there,” is his short reply. He’s, a bit resentful of being hit on twice now when he’s on the clock. “The maid let me in? I can wait downstairs ‘til you’re ready.”
“No, no, come in,” Padalecki insists with a crooked smile and his fingers flicking in the air. “I didn’t realize there was a two-for-one special or whatever.”
Jensen goes speechless, recalling all the gossip people spread at work about all the girls this guy sleeps with and the lucky ones who hang on his arm more than once. Being hit on by this alpha male is surprising and frankly, as a professional, quite insulting. “Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen says in the sternest voice possible.
“Jared,” he replies easily, that same lopsided smile in place.
Jensen pushes the door fully open and clears his throat, sounding more angry than nervous. It’s fitting he figures, because that’s sort of how he’s feeling. “I’m your physical therapist.”
Jared tips his head and his eyes narrow as he takes in all of Jensen. “It’s kind of a shitty costume.”
“Excuse me?”
“No scrubs?”
Jensen tugs at the shoulder of his shirt to display the full logo near his left shoulder. “I’m from Athletical.”
Jared mumbles the words back then flushes and chuckles to himself, looking down for a second. “I have an appointment,” he says, as if reminding himself. “It’s two o’clock, ain’t it?”
Nodding, Jensen crosses his arms. “Two-ten now, but yeah. You have an appointment.”
“Should we just … do it right here?” Jared asks. He’s back to smirking as his hands rest low on his hips, nudging the sheet a little lower. “I’m not exactly mobile you know?”
Jensen clears his throat and takes in the room, logging the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the sprawling back lawn. The sunlight streams in and brightens the large bedroom, but Jensen’s mood is dark with his new client’s behavior. He doesn’t have patience for this. It happens at work, sure. People hit on him and flirt and try to insist on prolonged treatment just so he’ll work with them more. But he’s not about to take it from some spoiled, rich athlete who likely never hears no.
“These appointments do happen with clothes,” Jensen says tightly.
“That’s fine. You can keep yours on.”
Jesus, Jensen knew this was a horrible idea. And he says so with a rough cough as he walks right out of the room. “Alright, I’m leaving.”
“No, wait!” Jared calls out, but Jensen keeps walking.
“They’ll send someone else!” Jensen yells back.
“No! Okay! I’m sorry!” Jensen’s right at the top of the stairs when Jared wails, “I’m fucking sorry, c’mon!”
He stops and bites at the corner of his mouth, so wanting to leave the desperation in Jared’s voice is surprising and pathetic, and truthfully, it’s something Jensen has gotten to know well throughout his career, and even before that. There’s a long moment of Jensen just standing there with one foot hovering over the first step down and his hand clenched around the railing. He so wants to bolt and let Danneel or Jessica deal with this. They’d love it, even while he loathes it and wants to be hundreds of miles away. But then Jared’s voice calls out again.
“Are you still there?”
Jensen wishes he wasn’t.
“You are, aren’t you? Okay, if you’re still there and you can hear me, I promise I’ll behave. And put on pants. Well, shorts, so you’ll have to deal with my legs. They’re very nice legs, though, so I don’t know if you’ll have a problem with that.”
Unfortunately, Jensen chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “You shredded your knee. I’m not so sure you can claim good legs anymore.”
“So you know that I’ve got good legs, huh?” When Jensen leans back to look down the hallway, he can see Jared still in bed, hunched over to the side so he can spot Jensen as well. “See, I knew you were still there.”
Jensen scrubs his hand over his face and keeps it over his mouth so he won’t say anything stupid. Or rude.
“They said you were the best,” Jared persists. “I asked for the best, and you’re here. You really gonna leave me hanging? Leave your city hanging with a forward and his shitty knee?”
“Do you have shorts on yet?” Jensen asks, keeping his eyes away from the bedroom.
“Are you coming back in here?” Jared asks, the playful tone slipping back into more.
“Only if you’re clothed.”
“I’ve got a sheet.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing this,” Jensen says, taking the stairs quickly.
“Okay, okay!” Jared shouts. “I’m putting shorts on.” Then he grumbles, “Christ, you’re a tight ass.”
Jensen waits until he hears Jared shuffling around and enough painful complaining to figure Jared’s gotten himself into something decent, and he heads back into the bedroom. He is hesitant, however, at the doorway, creeping around the side of the door when the bed is empty. He finds Jared in a pair of black netted shorts and standing at the side of the bed with little help from a cane.
Jensen yanks his bag over his shoulder and tosses it down, swearing under his breath as he crosses the room. With firm hands under Jared’s arms, he pushes up to keep Jared steady and lessen some of the weight on the bad knee.
“Is this all it takes to get close to you, doc?” Jared asks lightly, hand slipping over Jensen’s side and close to his ass.
Jensen shifts to the side and bats Jared’s hand away from him. “I’m not a doctor. And you shouldn’t even be attempting to walk yet,” Jensen insists. He steps forward to lead Jared back to the bed then glares at him as he sits at the edge and lets his knee bend comfortably, hand rubbing over it. At the sight of Jared’s face twisting and barely hiding the pain, Jensen sighs and drops to one knee. He’s sure Jared’s knee is burning through the sharp pain; he saw the MRIs and this is worse than a typical PCL tear. There’s a reason Jared’s unable to stay on two feet right now.
“Okay,” Jensen says slowly. “When you’re ready, I’d like to assess your knee.”
Jared sucks his lips into his mouth and takes a breath so deep, his chest puffs out even with his chin tucked down.
Slowly, Jared’s hand falls away from his knee and Jensen carefully moves closer, pressing his thumb around the two joints of the knee, feeling for swelling and muscle twitches when Jensen’s movements are too much for Jared to stay still. Jensen slips a hand under Jared’s knee and softly holds the side of it with his other, looking up hesitantly. “Breath in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
“Are you my Lamaze coach now?” Jared asks with surprising bite to his words.
Jensen shakes his head, smiling a little. Maybe he’s a little excited to inflict a bit of pain on Jared, after all he’s had to put up with so far. “I’m gonna check your range of motion.”
“Trust me, I have none.”
Slowly, Jensen moves the hand under Jared’s knee to cup his calf and lifts. “You’ve been following your immediate treatments?” he asks, satisfied when Jared nods. With his fingers pressed into Jared’s knee, Jensen feels for the shift of muscles and tendons as he carefully moves the leg a few inches up and down, all while speaking gently. “You’re keeping it immobile?”
“Mostly,” Jared mumbles then winces and his knee tenses under Jensen’s hands.
He continues on with his movements, trying to keep Jared focused on his questions. “Did they give you a walker?”
“Yeah, it’s real sexy.”
“Hence the cane?”
“It’s a li’l more respectable.”
Jensen shifts to the side and starts pushing on Jared’s shin, still assessing the pressure in Jared’s knee and keeping an eye on how the muscles in Jared’s thigh compensate for the pain. “I bet your maid really likes it.” Jensen rises, but keeps his hold around Jared’s knee and nods at him. “Shift back on the bed, on your back.”
Jared slides back on the mattress, keeping his right leg in Jensen’s hold and drops to his back. “I can’t walk, ya know?” he sighs.
“The fact that I had to catch you before you hit the floor kinda clued me in.” Jensen keeps one hand under Jared’s knee and carefully leads his leg down, watching for the moment Jared can’t handle the pressure in his joints. “Or the fact that I’m even here.”
He keeps staring at the ceiling and now his voice drops low in complaint. “I can’t exactly go out and meet people.”
“So, she makes house calls.”
Jared winks and rubs his foot on his good leg against Jensen’s thigh. “She’s very thorough.”
Jensen moves as far from the touch as he can while still testing Jared’s knee. “I don’t need to hear about her cleaning techniques.”
“Katie’s not my maid.”
Glancing up, Jensen smarts off, “Yeah, I got that.”
“Ahh!” he flinches. Then he curls his lips more playfully. “If you wanna get me twisted up, you just gotta ask.” Jensen remains quiet and keeps working, even as Jared says, “This is more foreplay than I’m used to, doc.”
“I’m not a doctor,” he reminds Jared.
“Is there something better I can call you?”
“Jensen.”
“That’s no fun,” he playfully pouts. “If we’re gonna be spending all this time together, you’ve gotta loosen up, ya know?”
Jensen lowers Jared’s leg for a few seconds before he tries gauging Jared’s muscles again. “You’ve got a girl on speed dial, but you’re hitting on your physical therapist?”
“Maybe I like that you’re a tight ass.”
When he moves a little fast and Jared hisses, Jensen does his best not to grin.
“Do you really need to do this?” Jared asks as he tries to pull his leg from Jensen’s hands
Jensen leans with it, keeping the leg supported. “Do you really need to walk again?”
Jared looks up at Jensen and there’s something burning around the edges of his glare that starts to even out. His eyes soften and he bites into his lower lip, only barely appearing angry with his tongue pushing inside his mouth, down towards his jaw. Jensen knows that feeling, has seen it a hundred times in his patients and even in his own mirror. Samantha has told him it’s why he’s so good with the ones who are bitter over their injuries, pissed off at seasons and dreams cut short. Because he knows how it goes.
Jensen rubs with a bit of comfort over the knee and gets back to his assessment. “Just a few more minutes. I’m trying to find the extent of the injury and how much you’ve healed so far.”
“The MRIs could tell you that,” Jared grumbles, but he doesn’t flinch away as Jensen lifts his leg again.
“It doesn’t tell me levels of pain, just the size of the tear.”
Jared sucks in a breath and releases it on a short, angry noise. “Matt said it was just a sprain.”
“Who’s Matt?” he asks, not caring so much as wanting to keep Jared distracted through the pain.
He sets his hands on his stomach, but Jensen can see how he pushes them down, as if trying to focus more on that pressure than whatever he’s feeling in his knee. “My agent. He said it was a sprain and I’d be back in business in a few weeks.”
Jensen doesn’t respond, because he absolutely knows that’s a lie.
“What? I’m gonna be fine, right?” Jared suddenly clamps his hand around Jensen’s wrist to get his attention. “It’s just a sprain or something, right?”
He’s not up for delivering bad news, but he’s also never been one for dishonesty in treatment. As he straightens Jared’s leg as much as possible, as slowly as he can, he lightly shakes his head. “You’ve got a strain here. It’s gonna take some time to heal and then retrain the muscle.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Sprain is like a pulled muscle,” he answers vaguely.
“And?”
Jensen eyes Jared for a few seconds then concentrates on how he’s shifting Jared’s knee. “You strained your PCL. It’s a tear in the ligament.”
“PCL? You sure?”
“I won a hundred on it,” he jokes. “So, yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh, pretty sure, okay,” Jared mocks, flinging Jensen’s hand off his knee and trying to shift away. He sets his leg down to the bed and sits up with his hands propping him up, looking far beyond pissed.
Jensen spreads his hands out. “You want help, or what?”
“You won a bet on my knee?” he complains. “What kind of asshole-”
“Look,” Jensen interrupts, “Either your trainer is dyslexic, or your agent is just trying to make you feel good. As a trained professional, I’m gonna go with you needing your ego stroked.”
Jared tips his head, eyes narrowing as he stares at Jensen. “So you’re all kinds of asshole, huh?”
He laughs to himself and nods as he steps away from the bed. “Yeah, it’s been said.” He moves over to where he’d dropped his bag on the floor and pulls the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll give my notes to whoever’s assigned to your case.”
Rolling to his side and wincing with the swing of his knee, Jared fumbles to lean on his elbow. “What, that’s it? Twenty minutes and you’re done?”
“Anyone else can handle it,” Jensen says quickly, motioning towards him. “You’ll be back on your feet soon.”
“Back on my feet by pre-season?” he asks, a slight hopeful tone creeping in.
Jensen wavers in place. This is his client, albeit one who’s been trouble from the first words out of his mouth. Still, Jared’s a patient, and Jensen’s not up for trampling someone’s career. “It’s not impossible.”
“But?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Well, shit, don’t go easy on me.”
“I’m sure my replacement will,” Jensen says with a firm nod. When Jared doesn’t argue, he steps into the hallway and leaves.
+++
As soon as he’s walking out of the locker room at work, Jessica and Kristen fall into step with him, rattling off questions. What’s he like? and What was he wearing? and Please tell me he’s single.
He stops near the front desk, prepared to check in for his next appointment, and faces them. “He was buck-ass naked because he just fucked his maid.”
They both lean back from his abrupt statement and furrow their brows.
“And he cried through the assessment,” he tacks on with a nod, going for downright facetious. He doesn’t really care if it pisses them off - or even sullies their vision of adoration. He’s pissed off from the whole visit and lost all patience in Padalecki’s bedroom. “Like a little girl, tears streaming down his face, and begging for his mom.”
Jessica and Kristen share a look, then their faces drop. “Oh, my God, that’s so-”Jessica says with a slight whine.
“Adorable,” Kristen tacks on, and now they’re both smiling. “He’s a total mama’s boy.”
“God, a man like that, so hot and muscular and with feelings,” Jessica rambles on, biting into her lower lip.
Jensen rolls his eyes, spins to the desk, and puts his files on the surface as he scopes out the schedule the receptionist swings his way.
“Jensen?”
“Yeah?” he sighs. When he turns, he sees Samantha standing at the edge of the counter, and he bets she’s been there the whole time. “Yeah, hi, Samantha,” he says quickly, trying to smile for his boss. “How are you?”
“I’m good. How was your visit?”
“It was … it was okay.”
Jensen’s nodding even when she seems to question him with her eyebrows going high. “Jared Padalecki called.”
“Yeah, look,” he starts with a hand out towards her.
“He asked that you not come back next Friday.”
Jensen nods again and fights for a good excuse for what all went on. He doesn’t want to admit that Jared was fighting to get into his pants, nor does he want to admit that he couldn’t be a professional and do his job in spite of it. But he also isn’t set for whatever walking away from a high-profile patient would say for his work ethic if he doesn’t have his own reasons.
“He wants you there on Monday instead. Apparently he’s concerned about his recovery and wants total attention.”
“Excuse me?” he asks, coughing lightly.
Samantha smiles and taps his elbow. “You’re the best. And he wants the best.”
Jensen wants to groan, wants to argue and bitch about what he put up with in those twenty minutes, but he has to admit there’s a fair amount of confidence flaring up at his boss reinforcing that he’s damned good at his job.
“We’re getting a transfer from Barrington to handle your early afternoon workload so you can be there as needed.”
“Yeah, but I -”
“And there’s bit of a raise for it,” she adds with a wink. “Mr. Padalecki insisted on it so he could receive full treatment.”
Jensen runs his hand over his head, feeling so far in it that he can’t see or speak clearly. “Samantha, I don’t think -”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Are you turning down a raise, Jensen?”
He frowns. “I don’t really want to.”
“But?”
“I’m not sure it’s a good thing,” he says, but it comes out more like a question. He’s really pretty sure it’s a bad idea, but there’s no way to relay to his boss why without putting himself under the microscope for great mockery from his coworkers and possibly outing one of the City’s beloved stars.
She laughs again, now grinning and excited. “Jared Padalecki is insisting on one of Athletical’s therapists. It’s a great thing. Do you have any idea what this means for our group?”
Jensen manages a smile, but he’s sure it’s rather pathetic. “Less time with me?”
She’s still laughing, patting his arm as she passes and moves on to whatever she’s got planned for the rest of her afternoon.
He presses the heel of his hand into his eye, hard, complaining, “Fuck,” to no one in particular.
Except Danneel appears, hip-checking him off-balance. “So? How’s Chicago’s king?”
“He was great,” Jensen says tightly. He grabs his files off the counter and shoots her a fake, bright smile.
“Boy, aren’t you excited,” she jokes.
“He’s kind of a dick,” he says before he can take it back.
“Really?”
“Yeah, he’s entitled and bossy and sleazy.”
She smirks. “As all good athletes are.”
He bites his tongue to not say anything too harsh when Samantha walks behind the counter to grab a few files. “I’m going every day next week. It’s gonna be awesome.”
As he walks to his first exam room, he can hear Danneel groaning, “Oh, my God, so jealous.”
NEXT
Originally posted at http://www.dreamwidth.org/12345.html