Mountie Duck, part 1/3
ART POST || MASTER || PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3
Jared is a Mountie. Today is Friday and it is time for him to give out his 25th official hug of the morning.
Ackles, Jensen, who isn't a Canadian either (judging by his passport) is not impressed. He does not wait for Jared to come around his booth, instead just makes toward the red dotted line that runs across the floor near the Border Control exit.
"American!" Jared shouts. "Stop in the name of the law!"
Jensen Ackles steadfastly approaches American soil.
Jared jogs a little. "You're about to leave Canada without getting your official hug!"
But Jensen is now across the border. Jared hears him mutter, "I guess I forgot," before he disappears into the sunlight.
Jared sighs and heads back to his station. As expected, his comm buzzes a minute later and the voice of Mountie in Chief Samantha Ferris crackles out of the speaker. "Mountie Padalecki."
He presses the large, red button. "Yes, ma'am?"
"I'd like to see you for a moment."
From the booth opposite, Mountie Hodge gives him a sympathetic look which helps as much as it can, and from further down, overseeing the line that's coming in stateside, Mountie Palicki sends him a shrug.
Jared walks sharply to the back office, thinking, drat, not again.
A week later, Jared is at the ready, watching for the familiar set of shoulders in the line of border crossers, a line which winds back to the Canada-side entry of the station. Although Jensen is not in sight, Jared knows it is only a matter of time. And to think that Friday used to be his favorite day of the week- now it's a day steeped in shame, tarnished.
His record, otherwise perfect, is marred by Jensen Ackles.
The fact that the station is walk-through certainly makes things difficult, but Jared has conviction. He rolls his shoulders, stretches an arm behind his back to prepare for a long grab, gearing himself up for his weekly brush with this, as of yet unattained, victory.
He cannot afford another demerit.
It shouldn't be all that hard. When Jared got hired on, the Chief explained how exit hugging was a long-standing, two hundred year old tradition, no way of getting around it. Tradition is a rock, she said. So Jared thought it was strange when at first this hug business seemed to make everyone uncomfortable. In the face of this awkwardness, he made sure to smile big and throw on some of those Texas manners like his momma taught him, and he stuck to it for months, so that now he gets cheerful hellos instead, and only the occasional sidelong glance.
Jared loves his job, and he's really fucking good at it, but Jensen is the one person who continues to evade him. Jared thanks god every day for this opportunity, this second chance that fell into his lap, and he has made it his mission to fit in with the other Mounties, to uphold all Mountie law and custom, which includes hugging every border crosser to the best of his ability. As a Mountie, he, Aldis, and Adrianne get their own booths, and their badges are gold-plated and shine when there's sun. Jared polishes his every morning and leaves it on his bedside table at night as a reminder of how far he's come.
Jared forces himself to relax as one of his regulars, Etta, steps up to the booth.
"Morning, Mountie Padalecki," she says.
Jared sends her a sunny smile. "Mornin."
He takes her passport, gives it a once over, and passes it back over the booth. Then, he steps around to her side and she sets down her briefcase momentarily to allow herself to be caught up in an up-to-regulation bear hug - one lasting at least three seconds and not exceeding seven - after which Jared steps back around his booth and repeats the process, okaying a guy in a baseball hat that almost gets knocked off when Jared pulls him in close.
It's good. It's familiar. It is eight-thirty in the morning and his line is all browsing through newspapers and talking to the people near them, and almost every person who steps up greets him with a smile.
"Good morning, Mountie Padalecki," a man by the legal name of Christian Kane says. He's holding a cup of coffee bearing the America's Hat insignia and his tight rock star jeans are secured by a belt with a lone star on it.
Jared flips open the passport and studies Chris's picture. "It's a nice one."
"You've seen that picture a hundred times," Chris tells him.
"Never fails to amuse."
The picture was taken in 2002, and in it Chris has short hair with bleached tips. Jared holds it up to check against Chris now, with his flowing locks and stubble.
Suddenly, at the next booth over, there is the tragic sound of a man failing.
They turn to see that Aldis is rubbing a hand over the back of his neck while Alona Tal leans against his booth.
"What?" she asks. "No hug today?"
Aldis says, "Um, yeah, I-"
She is short and slim and looks like she can drop a guy with a well-placed jab of her fist. Aldis, normally unmoved, seems flustered. He laughs, overly loud, and when he hugs her, it's with a stilted pat to the shoulder.
"This is really embarrassing," Jared says.
"No kidding," Chris agrees.
Alona is one of Aldis's regulars and it always goes like this. Aldis has been working at Larkspur's Border Control for five years, so he shouldn't be this bad at mandated hugging. It's hilarious.
Jared has regulars, too: businesswomen who cross every morning, guys who are half-asleep and surly... and Jensen. But where Jensen is mysterious, crossing once a week, sometimes more, with barely a word, Alona is almost flirty.
"Well, work calls," says Chris. "Come here." He opens his arms wide and Jared gives him a hug with an extra back slap.
He waves and tells him to "have a good day, you hear?" and then looks over to check on Aldis.
Currently, Aldis is watching Alona walk away, and when she's out of sight, out across the border and into the chilly world of North Dakota, he gives a fist pump and says, "Fuck yes!" which startles the old man Jared's got encircled in his arms.
Jared lets the guy go. "What?"
"She gave me a five seconder!" Aldis says. While he's been covering his interest well, he hasn't been covering it that well.
"This is getting kind of creepy," Jared says. "It's my Mountie duty to tell you when you've reached that point."
Aldis checks a passport with gusto, and then, with his chin pressed into some guy's toupee, asks Jared, "You think she likes horses? Because chicks, like, dig horses, you know?"
"Aldis...."
"She's adorable. And sweet. Do you think she seems sweet?"
"Seems dangerous."
"What? No way."
"Look, I used to work with a bunch of extremely competent women. Alona definitely knows how to dropkick a guy, if you know what I mean."
Aldis rolls his eyes at Jared but then looks past him, toward the door. When Jared turns, he sees Jensen idling by the gift store, deceptively nondescript. Jared accepts the passport of the next person in line, on autopilot.
Today is the day, he thinks, and even though there are still at least twenty people between him and his destiny, he cracks his knuckles surreptitiously and widens his stance. He nods almost imperceptibly at Aldis. Aldis gives him a thumbs up.
It's Friday, and Jensen is back.
Sneaking a glance back to where Jensen is leafing through a guidebook, Jared is reminded how Jensen Ackles is the most gorgeous man he has ever met, like some higher power decided to make the perfect guy, no holds barred. When Jensen comes through his booth, the very fact of Jensen's existence makes Jared feel unhinged. It makes him want to do all sorts of... passport stamping. Jensen, however, is a miscreant and a delinquent, and Jared should remember that.
The moment of truth nears. Jensen calmly shuffles forward, two steps at a time, as each person passes by Jared's booth. By the time Jensen steps up to stand opposite, briefcase in hand and hair tousled casually like he has better things to think about, Jared's completely prepared. He feels like he's on track again, bending a leg, hand on one knee, gearing to take off. His senses are on high alert.
Jensen doesn't even look at him. It's nothing new. Jared feels annoyance-based desire well in his chest.
Jensen steps up.
"Good morning," Jared says, like this is a simple request, like there's not a chase about to go down. "Passport, please."
Jensen slides it over the desk.
Jared examines the picture.
"What was the purpose of your stay?"
"Business."
"And what is your line of work?"
"I take on independent clients. My work is... personal."
"So you're self-employed?"
"Well, I contract myself out, you could say."
"Could you specify what the service you provide is?"
Jensen takes a second to respond. "It's not exactly something I'd put on a business card, let's just leave it at that."
Jared freezes and meets Jensen's eyes. Of all the times Jared's asked that question, Jensen's never once given more information, never implied that he and Jared might be involved in the same circles.
Jensen, however, looks unimpressed, bored. "Am I free to go?"
Jared looks at the passport one more time, and then passes it back over. "Not just yet. Please wait where you are so I can-"
Jensen turns and wanders off.
Jared points a finger and steps around his booth. "Oh no you don't."
But Jensen takes a couple long strides without looking back, then steps over the dotted line like it's nothing. To Jared, it is everything. If he were of a surlier disposition, he would doubtless throw his hat down and yell, "Curses!" Being eternally optimistic, however, he only experiences the thrill of a challenge.
"Mountie Padalecki," he hears over the intercom.
He presses the button, speaking into the microphone even as he watches Jensen slip around the corner into the United States. "I'll be right there."
Jared thinks that if anyone can help him, it's Chad. Chad, who is a much better judge of character than Jared is. That's what made him a successful pimp, after all. But he and Jared don't do that anymore, not since they got kicked out of America. Or, fled. Whatever.
Jared gets home at six. Chad's in the livingroom, messing around on his computer. "How was work, babe?"
Jared slings his bag over a chair. "I'm not your boyfriend. Please get one."
Chad takes a bite of his sandwich and Jared frisbees his hat at him. Chad catches it one-handed and flips it onto his head, then gets up to head into the kitchen on socked feet, Jared following.
"You know that guy I told you about? The guy who I keep getting called in about?"
"The hug guy?"
"Yeah. I think he might be in the business."
"A hooker?"
"High-class prostitute," Jared corrects. "Also, he still wouldn't give me a hug."
"You'd think that would be the easiest part of your job."
Jared laughs. “Oh right, totally.”
Chad hands him a beer. Jared twists the cap off.
"It's just, he's quick. I'm behind a booth. He's like... he's like a ninja or something." Jared neglects to mention how Jensen also makes his chest feel tight and his mouth go dry. He drinks. "I have three demerits."
"What does that get you in Canadian?"
"I had to do overtime face painting for the kids waiting in line."
"Aw, look at that smile."
Jared rolls his eyes. "Okay, so I liked it. Most enjoyable part of my day. Shut the fuck up. But really, I hate disappointing superiors."
"I noticed," Chad says.
"You're not my superior."
"Well, not anymore, seeing as someone-"
"Look,"says Jared. "That was all you. I told you I didn't think I should do such high-profile clients, but you cared too much about money and too little about discretion." It's an old argument.
"I told you to duck photographers," Chad says, mildly.
"How can you duck photographers when you're on the arm of a US Senator?"
"I don't know, man. Anyway, Canada's fucking sweet, so we're good. And it's a damn good picture." Chad looks over at the bookshelf, fondly.
Jared groans. "No. Man, don't put that up in our apartment."
He stalks over to grab the picture, which is displayed in a sparkly pink frame that reads "best friends forever." It's black and white and cut from the front page of a tabloid, which is where the whole fleeing the country thing came in. He's not ashamed of his past, personally, but he remembers that night, the night which got him expatriated, the senator whispering state secrets into his skin.
That had been a risk he'd taken and it had backfired and now he is living with the consequences. He puts the picture frame face down.
"I'm supposed to be high-class, not high-profile. Distinct difference there."
Chad shrugs. "All I'm saying is, you're lucky I had you get that outfit."
Jared still can't believe it worked. He remembers how he had been shivering and freaked out that the mounted border patrol would cart him away to jail for impersonating law enforcement. It was either that or boot them back over the border into the US, and neither outcome was a good one.
What had really happened, though, was he and Chad stumbled in through the front door of a checkpoint in this five road border town that is full of tourist shops with postcards of wildlife he now sends to his mom every week or so. Chad's hands were cuffed and Jared was pushing him roughly between the shoulder blades, trying to make it look real.
Inside, Aldis was leaning on an elbow, chin on his hand.
"You there," Jared shouted, voice echoing in the open room.
Aldis straightened to attention at the sight of them. "Can I help you?" he asked, suspicion clear.
Jared would have been suspicious, too, in Aldis's position.
"I found this one trying to make a break for it." He shook Chad to make his point.
"Break for it?" Aldis looked between the two of them.
"Yes. Heading into America through the forest. But don't worry, I got him." By this point he'd dragged Chad up to Aldis's booth. He held out a hand. "Good evening. I haven't been to your station until tonight. My name is Mountie Padalecki."
Aldis looked further uncertain, but he shook Jared's hand with a firm grip before saying, "Nice to meet you. I'm Mountie Hodge. I'll call my superior."
Jared waved this off. "No, no need. I'll just take him back over into town."
Aldis glanced between the two of them again. Jared stood a little taller, to look the part, although in reality he probably looked exhausted from running. The handcuffs were pink and fuzzy leopard-print and Jared just wanted to get into bed, any bed.
Now is the time we're arrested for real, he thought. On either side of the border, we're going to be caught.
But then Aldis pressed a red button on his booth and spoke into it. "I have a Mountie Padalecki here. He's apprehended a fugitive."
This was answered with a deep silence.
Then, a phone rang at Aldis's elbow. He answered, listened for a second, and then put it on speakerphone.
"This is Mountie in Chief Samantha Ferris," said the voice on the other end.
"At your service, ma'am."
Jared repeated his story, more surely this time. He stood at his full height, like he was self-assured rather than freaked the fuck out, just in case there were security cameras.
"Well," the voice said. "I want you to know, Mountie Pada-"
"Padalecki."
"-Padalecki. That we at Larkspur support your efforts, and commend you, for all your hard work."
"Oh! Well, it's no trouble, ma'am. Just... just protecting our great country."
"Hm."
During the ensuing pause, Jared feared for his life and well-being. Then, the Chief said:
"It sounds like we could use you at our station."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm offering you a job, Mountie Padalecki. We're a small crossing, but we'd be glad for the help. Tell me, are you very attached to your station?"
Jared didn't know what to say. He had thought they would get over the border, or they would fail. He hadn't expected to be offered employment. "No, ma'am."
"Then report to work first thing. I don't have time for arguing with your supervisor, what with criminals leaking through into the US-" at this Aldis gave Chad a severe look of reproof "-so I hope you won't mind passing along the news yourself."
"Not at all," he said.
That night she sent Aldis to drive them to a hotel where they would spend two, paid-for weeks to give Jared time to look for a place to stay in town.
"What about him?" asked Jared, jerking his thumb at Chad who was checking out the room and looking through the TV guide.
"It was cowardly," said Aldis. "But he must have had good reason to be on the run."
The look he gave Jared at that point seemed significant, but Jared didn't follow.
The man cleared his throat before continuing, "We at Larkspur believe in second chances. You two are very brave- I mean, you are very brave to escape over the border. Or rather, come back over. Ahem, I mean, our station could use someone like you around."
Jared was pleased, if not a bit perplexed. He tapped the doorjamb twice and gave Mountie Hodge his most reassuring smile. "Thanks. We- I mean, I- really appreciate it."
"You have a good night," said Aldis.
Jared started work on Monday.
"Time to get smashed," Chad says now, six months after their big escape. "Get into some real clothes, man. That thing hugs your ass. I can't believe you haven't asked for a real Mountie uniform yet. How does your boss let you wear this one?"
"I didn't want to inconvenience them," he says. "They were already giving me a job."
Although it's true, his outfit includes a red jacket and tight, black shorts. It's for decorative purposes only, the sort of thing you rip off while roleplaying in a fancy hotel room, and not for outdoor use.
So Jared changes into jeans and a more appropriate shirt and they head out. The town is piled up with snow and looks like a holiday getaway, quaint and remote, but with friendly lights running all the roads. The Bar is a ten minute walk from their apartment, and it's great. It's a dive, low-lit with three beers on tap and a bunch of stuff in cans, but the real selling point is the stage and the live band every weekend.
In short, Larkspur is perfect. Chad and he go to the Bar on Mondays and sometimes Thursdays, and usually Friday and Saturday... really any time Danneel isn't serving drinks.
She isn't working tonight. There's a band warming up on stage and, three drinks in, Jared's feeling thankful for alcohol and thankful for Bartender Louis, who has a ridiculous crush on Chad, which means that the evening is pretty much awesome.
"Chad is great," Louis says, passing him another beer over the bar.
"Chad?" For a second Jared is all saddened about crushing Louis's heart or something, the heart of the only bartender who serves them, but then he remembers that he is a bartender, which means he is resilient. "He's a total loser, man."
"He told me that he went to uni for business," Louis says.
"That's true."
"And he ran a start-up company of over fifty employees for the past five years."
"That is...also technically true."
"He drives a crackin' scooter."
"Whatever."
"And he beat Uncharted 3 in two days."
"That makes him a geek."
"No, it means he's brilliant."
Jared says, "Well, I was there, too!"
"He said you fell asleep," Louis says, with an unexpectedly sassy hair flip.
"Okay, fine," Jared's forced to concede.
Louis smiles beatifically. Jared likes him anyway.
"You know," Jared tells him. "He's been on this whole kick lately. This whole thing where he feels like he's been given a second chance at life, and he's like, following his dreams, living each day to the fullest."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, so. If you're strapped for conversation topics, you might want to talk to him about that."
Louis's eyes crinkle. "Thanks."
Jared nods, and turns away to listen to the music. In doing so, he knocks into someone.
He can't keep the smile off his face when he sees who it is.
"Hey! Jensen Ross Ackles!"
It's totally Jensen, although the guy is dressed casually and isn't carrying a briefcase.
Jensen ducks his head. "Yep, that's my name. Now, if you'll excuse me-"
Jared steps in his path and holds up a hand. "No, hold on. Look."
Jensen actually stops, which is a win as far as Jared is concerned. It's never happened before.
"I'm not confrontational," Jared says.
Jensen raises his eyebrows. "Dude, you're a freaking Mountie." Jared allows this. "You've got more muscles than your horse."
"Yeah, well." Jared shrugs. He doesn't technically ride yet, but he neglects to correct Jensen on this point because he is going to be promoted to riding in a month, anyway. "Hey, so, I'm not usually the guy to ask about feelings and shit, but I've got to ask: why won't you hug me? I mean, it's kind of embarrassing, in front of everyone, you know…."
"Man." Jensen looks around the bar, then back to Jared, cleft chin to bootstraps. It's almost a sneer. "Just because some guy's wearing a uniform, doesn't mean I have to let him hug me."
"Okay, that's valid. You know, at the job I had before this, the question of safe consent came up a lot." He makes meaningful eyes at Jensen. "You gotta establish clear boundaries, emphasize clear communication. Especially when you have a really hands-on job."
"All right."
Jared is dying to ask the question that's been on his mind all day, but before he can, Jensen frowns, like he's just caught himself being friendly.
"But anyway. The hug rule is some new thing. I don't like it."
"New?"
"Um, yeah. It was instated, like, six months ago."
"Huh," Jared says, counting back in his head. "That's about when I joined."
"Joined?" Jensen narrows his eyes. "I thought you had to do a desk job for a couple of years before you're allowed in public."
Jared has no fucking clue. He says instead, "Which one of us is the Mountie here?"
Jensen acknowledges this with a silent inclination of his head.
Conversation seemingly over, Jared goes to clap him on the shoulder, but Jensen catches his wrist.
"You a ninja or something?" Jared asks. It is something he has been suspecting.
Jensen frowns. "Something like that."
Jared really wants to keep talking to him. He says, "So are you gonna let me buy you a drink or what?"
"Jesus," Jensen says to himself. "I don't usually come Fridays and now I know why. Okay, look, Jared."
Jared grins, then falters. "Wait, how do you know my name?"
"I don't accept drinks from strangers, okay?"
"Even if we're both from Texas?"
"Huh?"
"Come on, man. Texas!" Jared lets the twang out. Jensen's eyes widen. "Was that supposed to be a secret or something?"
Jensen shakes his head. "You got it wrong. I'm full-blood South Dakotan."
"Bullshit."
"You've seen my passport."
"Yeah? Well, I don't believe it." Something occurs to him. "Hey! Why are you in Canada again anyway? You crossed over this morning!"
Jensen squints at him. "The more important question is, how are you allowed to be a Mountie, if you're not Canadian?"
"Well..." Jared leans in. "They never checked."
Jensen considers this. "Not smart to be telling just anyone that."
"You're not just anyone." Jared is probably somewhat inebriated, and he stands by this justification.
"Goodnight, Jared."
Jared shrugs. "Next time, then."
Jensen rolls his eyes, like yeah, he'll bite but thinks Jared's being stupid. "Next time what?"
"Next time you'll take me up on that drink offer."
"Whatever."
Jared turns to flag down Louis, blood thrumming. He orders four shots of tequila and two beers, hoping Jensen's decided to stay. He knows how it goes, however, and isn't surprised when he turns back, cool beers in hand, and Jensen is gone.
The next morning, Jared spends five minutes fantasizing about pulling the quilt up over his face before managing to flop an arm out and catch the edge of the covers in his hand. Daylight hitting him full in the face, there seems to be a disconnect between his brain and his arm in the form of a layer of grungy, alcohol-induced head-throb. He chews on his pillowcase a little. It's currently in his mouth. He frowns, scrunching his eyes and rubbing his face into the pillow, before rolling over, losing his other arm beneath him.
The door creaks open, and he tenses on reflex to catch the weight of two overgrown puppies.
But it's just Chad, who neither tramples him nor licks him all over, but does wake him up fully, saying, "You were shitfaced last night. I have pictures."
The door clicks shut. Jared sighs and rolls over on his back to stare at the ceiling, thinking of Harley and Sadie, back in Texas with his parents. It makes him somewhat melancholy. He generally avoids thinking about them.
His clock reads ten to seven, which means he doesn't have to be in for another forty minutes, which gives him time for a shower and at least three bowls of cereal and maybe some eggs and maybe a couple cups of coffee.
Jared showers with his forehead pressed against the tile of the wall, hot water beating steady on the back of his neck and shoulders. He soaps up, trying to gather the vestiges of last night in his memory, anything past the impression that Jensen had been hot in a black t-shirt and dark jeans, hair styled, and that Jensen had all but admitted to being in the life. It's probably too good to be true, but it's possible. In any case, Jared hopes he wasn't too obvious in thinking Jensen was the most gorgeous thing since Wonderbread and the American Dream. Well, not obvious besides offering to buy him a drink and hitting on him. That was just a thing, though.
He heads to the kitchen, where he eats breakfast standing up. Chad is wandering the living room and kitchen in a thermal and pink boxers, one sock on.
"Still up?" Jared asks.
Chad says, "Yeah." It's mostly all yawn. He thumps Jared on the shoulder as he passes, twice, hard. "You're doing good, kid. Have a good one."
Jared nods, puts the pan back on the stove and the bottle of OJ back in the fridge, feeling cloudy. It's one of those mornings where you need good things beat into you until you feel all right.
This is his general impression, when chilly sun shines relentlessly cheerful as he walks to work, boots crunching a thin layer of snow into the sidewalk. He doesn't have time to grab his usual half-mocha half-whip half-caramel cappuccino from America's Hat, much to his chagrin.
The line coming into Canada isn't nearly as friendly as the one leaving it. Adrianne is smiley, albeit no-nonsense, but people look harried, warming their hands in their pockets, adjusting scarves. Meanwhile, on his end of Border Control, a man gives Jared a pleasant nod and then steps into his embrace. Jared thinks, maybe the promise of a hug really does raise morale.
Jared is giving the next person in line a squeeze when he catches sight of Welling.
"Who's Welling?" Aldis asks from his booth. Jared had apparently muttered the name aloud in foreboding tones.
"No one." Jared checks another passport.
Welling is the pale man in the black suit who is seated under the awning of Canada's Boot at a patio table. He is there every day, and he's always watching Jared. Jared knows because the guy sits sipping at a paper cup in dark glasses that make him stand out rather than fade into the background like he obviously seems to think. It's a rain-or-shine type of situation. Snow, too.
The only reason Jared knows Welling's name is that he and Chad had been stoned, and Jared had gone on about the guy in a suit who watched him from Canada's Boot, Chad made an international call and hired a private investigator. The next day, a woman with straight blonde hair and a hundred-dollar (American) smile passed through border check and said, conversationally as Jared was checking her passport, "His name is Tom Welling. He's a G-Man with a whole lotta patience."
"FBI?" Jared whispered, manfully.
She nodded, and said as she leaned in for a hug, "I don't know what sort of trouble you and your friend have gotten yourselves into, but this is as far as I go. I don't do FBI."
"I understand."
"Take care of yourself," she said into his shoulder.
Jared snaps back to the present to check a passport and give a hug, feeling Welling's eyes on the station as a low-level buzz of stress. Sometimes Jared imagines they are having staring matches.
Alona is third in line, coming through on Adrianne's side.
"Hey," Jared says to Aldis. "Your girlfriend's back."
Aldis makes a very unconvincing noise of dismissal. "She's not my girlfriend."
"Fine," she says. She holds up a paper cup with a map of America sketched on the sleeve. "Jared, how do you feel about lattes?"
"Yes! I love Canada's Boot!" Jared says, accepting the steaming drink with absolutely no hesitation. Although it could do with chocolate shavings and maybe some vanilla, it is damn good coffee.
Aldis's entire demeanor changes. "No, baby, I'll treat you right!"
"Aw," Alona says. "You're cute. But don't worry, I'll keep you."
Jared tunes them out in favor of licking froth off the rim of the cup. He does really love coffee, and even though the coffee shop is within sight of the Border Control exit, the not so small issue of his being unable to cross onto American soil has imbued the place with some false symbolic value. He wants it because he can't have it.
Well, there's always America's Hat, he tells himself, which is just outside of Border Control in the opposite direction, on the safer, Canadian side of the border, like a mirror.
Alona has come over to stand on the wrong side of the line. Jared doesn't think anyone is supposed to hang out with them while they're on duty, but she seems to be the exception to the No Loitering rule. If such a rule exists. Jared hasn't read the Mountie handbook so he can't really be held accountable.
He tells her, "Oh my god, this is exactly what I needed. Thanks, Alona. Or really, thanks, Aldis."
"I hate you," Aldis says.
Alona looks out at the Boot. "We need to get those two together."
"Who?" Jared asks.
"The two coffee guys," she says, eye-roll implied.
"Not everything is a relationship waiting to happen."
"Everything is definitely a relationship waiting to happen. Just most of the time it doesn't happen. It would be good for business, anyway."
Jared shrugs, unconvinced.
Aldis laughs. "My non-girlfriend is adorable."
"I'm a romantic at heart, even if I do enjoy killing people."
Jared laughs - especially because Alona is great at the whole deadpan, cold eyes of a killer thing-and asks, "Aren't they like, rivals?"
He's heard that the guy who runs the Boot is so grumpy it curdles the milk. His name is Jim Beaver and he has a scruffy and yellowed beard and yells at damn kids to get off of his establishment. The Hat, on the other hand, is run by an entrepreneurial British man named Mark Sheppard, who Jared kind of really admires.
"Greatest love sprung from my latest hate," Alona says. "That sort of dynamic."
"Have they even met?"
"No, dummy, they live on opposite sides of the border and work rival coffee shops seven days a week. They probably avoid each other, and with good reason. And Jim would eat Mark for breakfast."
"Naw," Aldis says. "Sheppard's a feisty guy. He'd turn it around and make it kinky."
Jared considers the owner of the Hat, who is always dressed in a slick black suit with a black shirt, and imagines him dating some hick dude. Owing to his previous line of work, Jared has seen and done all sorts of things, so he can imagine it well.
By now the morning rush has ended but they have an hour until the lunch crowd moves in. Alona and Aldis are arguing and Adrianne goes to groom the horses.
Jared takes another sip of his coffee. Maybe he groans out loud.
"You sound like a porn star."
Jared jumps to attention. His first instinct is to take off running, thinking, they know! But instead he whirls to find Jensen idling there in Jared's otherwise empty line.
Jared says, "Porn star? Who? Me? Nuh uh." And it's not a lie- he's never done porn.
He rubs his palms against his shorts, because his hands have gone sweaty.
Jensen frowns at him but then shrugs and lays his passport out on the booth. Jared flips through it and looks at Jensen's picture, for the nth time. He's almost fond of it, in its familiarity. Jensen's hair is a little more military-cut than it is now, and he looks shifty, like Jared always feels in front of cameras. Especially now that he knows what detrimental effects one photo can have on a guy's life and livelihood.
"You're here today," Jared notes.
Jensen has his eyes fixed on his passport, like he's willing Jared to hand it back so he can escape. "Yeah, business has really picked up."
Jared looks up. "Oh, hey, are you wearing makeup-"
Jensen reaches to touch his face, then frowns and stops himself.
"Freckles," Jared decides, sympathetically. "I've had to cover up blemishes, too. Some clients, man."
Jensen remains impassive. Finally, when Jared thinks he's not going to respond, Jensen says, "Yeah, I ended up working all night with a client and didn't have time to remove it."
This is not actual confirmation of anything, Jared has to remind himself. But what other jobs require concealer and staying up all night? If it is true, Jensen looks admirably put-together for a long night of hooking up, not followed by a shower.
Jensen surprises him by asking, "What is it that you used to do?"
Jared smiles. "That's classified."
Jensen considers him for a long moment. When he manages to evade Jared once again, it somehow feels like progress.
The rest of the day is awesome. Mountie in Chief Ferris gives him another demerit but commends him on the orderliness of his line and on his general good nature. Jared loves his life and he loves Canada and-
As he's stepping into his apartment, he hears someone calling his name down the hall.
"Jared!"
He waves inside at Chad who is just pulling on jeans in the living room, then he grabs onto the door frame again and swings to look out into the hall.
"Oh, hey!"
It's Genevieve, their landlady. She frowns as she gets closer. "Hey, yourself."
Jared is taken aback. "What did I-"
"Don’t pretend you don’t know what I could be referring to."
"Uh."
She waits like an elementary school teacher while he thinks, while he slowly shakes his head. She crosses her arms. "Give it a second."
Jared frowns and leans against the door frame, searching his mind for what Genevieve could be- "Oh! Oh shit. Uh."
She sighs. "How many times, Padalecki?"
"You know what?" he says. "You're totally right. It just completely slipped my mind."
"I know, just...take in your recycling, Jared. I remind you every week. It shouldn't be that hard. Mrs. Mlakar on third is going to hit it with her car again. You know how old she is."
Jared does actually feel some remorse. Genevieve's a really nice girl, if harried. He says, "I know. Man, I'm usually not that-"
Chad shoves Jared out of the doorway. "Let's go." He looks at Genevieve, then jerks his chin down the hall. "Grab your jacket. Let's go."
She frowns again. "Where are we-"
"Getting you wasted in apology for leaving out the trashcans, apparently. Come on."
"No, that's all right."
Jared has not once seen Genevieve outside of the apartment building. She has an office on the first floor with cute flower decorations and posters from B-horror movies.
"It's Saturday night!" Chard all but whines.
"No, I really couldn't."
"Why not?"
Jared tries for puppy dog eyes. "Yeah, come on! You never come out with us."
Genevieve looks away, no match for the eyes. "Fine. But I'm expecting drinks, not just weird jager shots."
Chad makes gun motions. "You're a classy lady, I can dig it."
She looks at him like she's already regretting her decision. "Right."
Chad eats tic tacs in the doorway while Jared runs inside to pull on real clothes, and a minute or two later, Genevieve comes back in dark jeans, a coat, and strappy heels.
She gives him a once-over. "You clean up well, Padalecki."
"I could say the same thing about you," he says, then, "Not that you don't normally- I mean-"
She sighs and drags Chad along. Jared jogs to catch up.
It’s winter and drifts of snow are shoved up against the sidewalks from evening street cleaning. Happy people greet each other on every corner, milling around near the homestyle restaurant on the corner and a convenience store. A car stops for them and the driver waves. It's stupid how much Jared's grown to like this town.
They skirt patches of black ice and Chad tries and fails to charm Genevieve. Over half a year of five line conversations, Jared's picked up that she's lived in Larkspur for her whole life and likes animals, and that's about it. But now she's hanging out, that's something.
When they reach the Bar, there's a band Jared's never heard before, but he likes them.
Genevieve looks around, taking in the thick crowd and dull lights that swing over tables. "This place isn't so bad."
"You seriously never come here?"
"I try not to."
"Oh yeah? Not your style?" Chad asks.
"Yeah, that's it. Not my style."
"Holy shit, you're totally lying!" Chad yells back as they push their way to the bar. "Did you get kicked out once or something?"
"Okay, look," Genevieve says. "I went away to college, and stayed away for grad school." She smiles, embarrassed. "I haven't gone out much since I got back, and if I do, I go to the martini bar on Front Street."
"Well then," Jared says. "This is the beginning of a beautiful tradition."
He pulls out his wallet, all set to get them drinks, but then he sees who's at the bar.
"Aw, man."
Genevieve pulls up near his elbow. "What?"
"Danneel's on tonight," he says. "She never serves us."
"Why not?"
"Oh, you know...."
Genevieve raises an eyebrow. "You're hard to miss, Padalecki."
"Yeah, well. That's how I know it's personal."
"What? Did you get kicked out? Because that's honestly hilarious."
"Jared's right," Chad says. "Let's go. There's a reason we only come here certain days."
"Might as well go to that martini bar," Jared says, but Genevieve removes her coat and hands it to him.
"Just....whatever." She looks almost annoyed. She must really want that free drink.
She steps up to the bar, taps a finger on the wood, and like some sort of sorcery, Danneel turns and looks their way.
Jared and Chad's jaws drop.
"Holy shit."
"What the-"
Because Danneel is smiling.
Chad looks at Jared and Jared looks at Chad. Danneel is in a black Frankenhooker t-shirt that clings to her flat stomach and she's got her hair up in a ponytail and dark eyeliner and she looks scary hot when she looks their way again, like she's actually giving her the time of day.
There's a protracted silence that Jared does not dare break. This is like some quiet miracle. He wonders if they will actually get drinks.
Genevieve gives Jared an unimpressed look, like 'are you really this bad at life?' Danneel looks away to serve another customer.
Jared lets out a breath. "Well."
But then he is interrupted when a pink drink and two beers slide down the bar to stop directly in front of them. Genevieve takes the pink one and sucks on the cherry.
Chad's about to say something, but Jared steps on his foot. Danneel doesn't look their way.
Genevieve takes a sip of her drink.
Chad says, "Did that just-"
Jared takes a beer and downs half like it's the last one he'll ever get. "I don't believe that just... Genevieve, from now on-"
"Fine," she says. "I like my drinks free, anyway."
"Can't argue with that." He gets a smile, for the first time maybe since they moved in. "Now, we gonna listen to the music or what?"
Half an hour later, Jared is leaning back against the bar, a fourth free beer dangling from his hand while Chad tells Genevieve how he's got game. He's got natural charm, a certain magnetism. And a web show.
"I don't mean to brag, but I'm kind of a big deal."
"Right," she says.
"No, really. You may have seen me online."
"I haven't."
Jared tunes this out, all of his attention focused on Christian Kane. The guy's sweating under the bright lights and totally rocking out, cupping the microphone in one hand and kind of making out with it while he croons out Texas twang like it's going out of style. Steve shoulders in and they sing the chorus into the same microphone. Jared is proud to have facilitated their movement between countries.
This song's about love that's yours for the taking, about green eyes and the stars above, and it reminds Jared of home. Not his old apartment in North Dakota, and not his apartment way back at UT. It reminds him of San Antonio, of driving with the windows down in his red junker truck while night air blustered in, warm and brokenhearted.
He starts paying attention again when he hears Chad say, "Naw, Jared doesn't date."
"Oh, I see."
"Hey. I just can't be tied down," Jared says. "There's a difference."
"You've been here six months," Genevieve says.
"You say that like it's a crime."
"It's just, you have a nice job, doing important government work. Do you just suck at women or something?"
"He does," Chad says. "He totally does! That is classic!"
"All right, all right," Jared says. "I suck, I have no game. I couldn't score if my life depended on it."
Chad laughs into his beer. Jared leans against the bar on an elbow and shakes his head. From '09 to the tail end of 2011, Jared slept with a comparatively high volume of customers and he was good at it, too. So, yeah. He definitely has some game.
He doesn't say this aloud, though. He says, "something like that" and clinks his beer against Chad's and finishes it off. He thinks about how there are times when he really misses his old job, but life throws you the choice between self-expatriation or jail time, and you take the slings as they come.
Genevieve is suddenly looking past his shoulder, eyebrows raised, and Danneel pauses wiping down the bar, looking moderately impressed. When he shifts to see past Jared, too, Chad says, "Well, damn."
Jared turns to look and sees Jensen by the door. Jensen, who is dressed in a dark jacket over a dark button-down, and worn jeans.
Jensen makes his way from the entrance, face lighting prettily as he pushes through the crowd. Jared fumbles for his beer and then drinks half in two seconds flat, but it doesn't do anything other than make him want to lick the salt off Jensen's neck and get his hands spanned around that waist.
When they are close enough to talk, Jensen comes to a halt. He looks Jared over, something considering, and says, "Hey."
Jared says, "Hey yourself."
There's a lull, it seems like the whole bar's gone quiet even though the music's still going, the crowd's still talking. Jensen looks almost laid-back this time around, amused even.
"You gonna buy me a drink or what?"
Jared turns to the bar, widening his eyes at Danneel and praying harder than he ever has in his life that she'll serve them. Whether its because of Genevieve or she can tell this is really, extremely important to him, Danneel fills four shot glasses without saying a word, then walks away.
Jared turns, aware Chad and Genevieve are watching. He and Jensen down the shots, and then Jared taps the bar top with his fingertips and says, "So."
Jensen scans the bar and crowd.
When he finally answers it's to say, low, "There are three exits to this place, a storage room, and a bathroom. Your pick."
Two minutes later, Jared gets Jensen up against a pallet of beer cases in the storage room.
He shucks his jacket off onto a half-open box of tequila bottles in the corner, then steps in close.
"Oh great," Jensen says. "Is this retribution for the hug thing?"
But he's sliding hands into Jared's back pockets to grab his ass and urge him closer, a move that's surprisingly handsy for someone who doesn't like to be touched, so Jared doesn't stop.
"Maybe."
Jared loves the way his hands look splayed over Jensen's hips, thumbs through belt loops, and how hot Jensen's body is against him.
Jensen raises an eyebrow, something smug, but Jared's feeling pretty smug himself. He rubs his knuckles between them, down Jensen's abs, and says, "So, any restrictions?"
Jensen catches Jared's hand and twists, just this side of painful. He drags Jared down an inch and says against his mouth, "Yeah. Nothing above the belt. You?"
"No kissing," Jared says, Jensen's breath on his lips.
Jensen's eyes don't even flicker to Jared's mouth, he just holds eye contact and says, "Wouldn't dream of it."
Jared drops to his knees.
He's not on autopilot but just really fucking into this, dragging his hands down Jensen's thighs and rubbing his cheek against the line of Jensen's dick, pulling a surprised sound.
"Dude," Jensen says. "My jeans are still on-"
"You always a talker?"
There's an annoyed silence. Jared finally looks up, and then shoots a pointed look at the belt that's at eye-level.
Jensen says, "Lazyass," under his breath, and undoes the buckle.
He gets Jensen's fly down, no hands, pulling the tab with his teeth before fisting handfuls of jeans and tugging them down to Jensen's ankles. He looks up to where Jensen's eyes are lowered, mouth open, breathing quick in anticipation.
"That's it," Jared tells him. "You gonna be good for me, sweetheart?"
Jensen laughs. It's breathless. "Now who's a talker?"
"I don't have to be. I can do it any way you like."
Jared can. He knows how to sweet-talk a nervous guy into feeling like a champ, and he can talk dirty with the best of them. He rubs his cheek over Jensen's boxer briefs, then tugs them down, feeling an answering twitch in his own pants.
He stops when Jensen puts a hand in his hair. Jared looks up at him again. Of course, Jensen's a pro. Jared recognizes this waiting game as a technique he uses to ramp up the sexual tension.
But then, Jensen sticks a hand in his back pocket and pulls out a condom. Jared looks at it and then back to Jensen's face.
"All right," Jared says, like a question.
"That a problem?"
Jensen must be all about safe sex, which is obviously a good thing. Jared personally never did anal without protection, but there were a few blow jobs, when offered enough money- Jared feels oddly cowed by this, Jensen being safer than he is.
Well, he's going to make it good for Jensen, he'll make sure of it. Getting a fellow guy in their line of work laid back against crates in a back room, totally hard for it, has piqued Jared's competitive streak.
Jensen rips open the condom packet, and says, "Hurry up and blow me."
"Nice," Jared deadpans, but gets to it, pulse picking up.
He uses his mouth on Jensen again, latex unrolling under his lips down the length of him, as far as Jared can go. Jensen scrapes his fingers through Jared's hair and tugs.
Jared's almost choking, his jaw aches. He hasn't done this in months, a guy gets out of practice. Jensen seems to notice. He presses a knuckle against Jared's jaw, says, "You got it."
Jared may be a pro, but that doesn't change the fact that this is the hottest thing. And it doesn't mean he's not surprised when Jensen hauls him up after he's finished and pushes Jared back against a leaking cooler. He shoves a hand in Jared's pants and fists him, biting the side of Jared's neck.
It's slightly sinister. Jared comes, hard.
When twenty seconds have passed-maybe a minute-Jared pushes Jensen off. He says, "So, following guys into potentially hazardous storage rooms. You do that for all your clients?"
Jensen says, "No, gotta say this is a real first for me."
Jared's glad to hear Jensen isn't sketchy for just anyone. His knees ache as he zips up his jeans.
"So," he asks. "Why this bar?"
Jensen doesn't look at him. "Only one in town."
"True."
Jensen shrugs. "I like the music."
Jared says, "Can't take the Texas outta the boy, I guess."
"You're delusional, man." Jensen's still not looking at him and Jared knows how it goes. Jensen rights his jacket and says, bland, "It's a fucking lie. You hear any Texas in my voice?"
The storage room window is small and high on the wall. Jensen leaps through it like it's nothing, leaving Jared to go back into the bar alone. Fucking show off.
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