our parts are slightly used | part five

[kelleigh]

There are bells ringing. Someone’s shouting, but it’s difficult to make out the voice over the clamor. Are they back at base already? Jared can’t remember the ride back to-

“…a perimeter! Iron Man! Shubert! On our six, now! Cover fire!”

Jared snaps to attention. Gotta follow orders. He hustles behind the truck, Shubert beside him. Jared’s head is full of cotton, but it’s immediately clear his four-vehicle convoy’s under attack.

Ping, ping. Slap, ping. Bullets on metal. Incoming hostile fire. Jared catalogs trajectories, determines enemy positions. Fires back at heads popping up behind stone walls, shots from Shubert’s rifle repeating seconds behind his like an echo.

Patters on his helmet-when did it start raining? Jared hasn’t seen rain in a month. The sun is dim behind scratchy brown haze. Stones drop at Jared’s feet. Not rain…dirt and rock falling from the sky.

“Grenade!”

His spine locks. Panic, too real, unavoidable. No time to brace for impact-get your head down! Feels like an earthquake behind his back, the explosion bombarding the truck. Someone crawls up beside him, unrecognizable. Check the patch. It’s Meechum, one of their drivers, looking like a comic book villain with half his face lost under shards of glass from a shattered window.

“Meech! Can you see?”

“I’m good, I’m good!”

Shots around the clock in every direction, snapping volleys back and forth. Another explosion sends more dirt up into the air. The grenade missing the mark. We are the mark. Oh fuck, fuck. Jared can’t breathe.

There’s blood coming down with the earthen rain, now. Fuck! Am I hit? None of them are supposed to die out here. Still can’t breathe, choking on the dirt. Feels a band across his throat-it’s only his goddamn chin strap cutting off his air.

Crack. Wet gurgling beside him. “Shubert!”

But Shubert’s on the ground and he’s not moving. Blood paints the gravel. Jared and Meechum fire in sweeping arcs, stone turning to white dust where shots go wide. Puffs of red when they connect.

Quieter now. Three, four, five seconds between shots. Voices, shouts, as soldiers from Jared’s company call out. Meechum crawls to Shubert’s side, rolls him and gasps at the amount of blood-caked dirt covering Shubert’s motionless chest. Another soldier, Shelton from E.O.D., hustles towards them.

“Gotta get these trucks moving!”

“How many down?” Jared shouts.

“Don’t know! Get ‘em loaded. No help for ‘em out here!”

Columns of smoke, warped metal lying in mangled heaps on the gravel road, crude buildings reduced to rubble. The smoldering carcass of a vehicle off to Jared’s left at the head of the convoy.

The roadside bomb. He remembers now: the initial impact, having to exfil from the vehicles-they’re big targets. Jared was dazed, temporarily insensate.

He sees friends on the ground, misshapen piles of camouflage and limbs in the dirt. Jared hurries towards them, not moving as easily as he ought to be, pain in his shoulder, throat, and calf.

A frantic shout from a nearby rooftop. Not in English. Jared spins. There’s another car across the street, right across from Jared’s vehicle, its tires shot out. And he knows…

No! No, no, no!

He screams. “THERE’S ANOTHER-”

The second bomb detonates.



Bad things come in threes. Celebrity deaths. Star Wars prequels. Jonas Brothers. Even plain-old, everyday crap seems to cycle through in three rounds, each trying to deliver the knock-out punch.

The car accident is more of a hassle than anything significant.

It happens while Jensen’s navigating through the jam-packed parking lot at Trader Joe’s. One minute he’s cursing the lack of common sense and the next, some dude driving a snow-beast backs into the rear side panel of his Acura. Goddamn idiot was texting, oblivious to the line of cars behind him.

The groceries take more of a beating than Jensen’s sedan. Summer cherries bleeding out on the leather, a package of frozen edamame that is beyond saving, two grass-fed steaks pronounced dead at the scene. Jensen sends a quick text to Jared before he’s dragged into the mindless bureaucracy of car accidents. The police officer called to the scene cares more about the fact that the driver of the white SUV was fiddling with his phone (a fact bystanders are clamoring to point out) than facilitating the insurance-swap.

An hour later he pulls his slightly crumpled Acura into the garage, temples beginning to throb. He’d tried calling Jared from the scene but gave up after being sent to voicemail. Resigned to salvaging whatever he can from for dinner and going to bed early, Jensen’s utterly unprepared to be seized and hauled through the door as soon as he opens it.

“Wha-”

But Jared swallows the remaining sounds of Jensen’s outcry. He’s helpless, Jared’s mouth laying claim almost immediately and giving no quarter. Elbows knock against the wall, bags dropped to the floor. Jensen spares a thought for the groceries he’d saved before deciding he doesn’t really give a shit.

The sex rocks Jensen harder than the fender-bender.

“I got your fuckin’ text,” Jared growls, roughly stripping him out of his shirt and slacks. “Next time, elaborate when you get in a goddamn car wreck!”

Jensen fights for breath in order to explain that it hardly qualified as a wreck, and that he’d tried to call, but Jared wants none of it. Once Jensen’s naked above the waist, Jared grabs his shoulders and spins him into the wall next to the door, less than ten feet between him and his banged-up Acura. Jensen presses his palms to the wall, submitting, because there are worse things than coming home and being devoured by his frantic boyfriend.

“Didn’t know if you were hurt, if you were coming home…” Jared pants against the back of Jensen’s neck, teeth bared against his skin. His fingers dig and tear at the button and zipper on Jensen’s pants, careless and impatient, but Jensen notices the way they tremble as they’re dragged across his belly.

Feeling Jared’s fear puts a whole new spin on the sex. Jensen arches away from the wall, offers up his body for Jared to work out his angst and panic. Rushed and intense, there’s no foreplay beyond the pull of Jared’s teeth on the side of his throat and the ten-point pressure of his fingers. No matter, because Jensen’s cock could hammer nails, engorged with such a rush of blood, Jensen’s surprised he’s not dizzy. Jared rushes to prepare him, producing a packet of lube from his jeans (and holy fuck, Jared’s still completely dressed, about to jackhammer Jensen into the drywall) and getting straight to business.

Every sound Jensen makes rebounds off the wall and hits him full-force. He’s drowning in the noise, the rush of blood in his ears and the labored gasps behind him as he’s impaled on Jared’s bare, slicked-down cock.

Jensen’s mind and body dissociate from one another for a moment. They’ve only barebacked twice since the results of their blood tests came back negative. Sometimes, in the thick of passion, they still grab a condom purely out of habit. But each time they fuck bare, the feeling short-circuits something in Jensen’s wiring; whether he’s on the giving end or receiving like he is now. It’s as if Jared’s pulse beats within him, syncing their heartbeats. The mental image of Jared’s unwrapped dick rubbing over his prostate spikes his pleasure-there’s still something illicit about not using a condom, and the taboo makes the sex exponentially hotter.

Jared is whispering as he fucks Jensen wide open, bitten-off syllables exhaled against his ear.

“Can’t lose you, Jen-need you so fuckin’ bad.”

Even with only a handful of brain cells to rub together, Jensen’s smart enough to know that his vehicular mishap somehow triggered Jared’s fierce desires, and he has every intention of addressing that after Jared finishes taking him apart thrust by thrust.

Jared stops and starts, dick pulling out to leave Jensen’s hole gaping (he feels so empty) before he slams back in, sobs muffled in Jensen’s hair and against his shoulder. The adrenaline that had whipped Jared into a frenzy is bleeding out of him now, but they’re both still so goddamn hard and desperate.

“C’mon,” Jensen moans. “You’re supposed to be fucking me. Can’t stop now, Jay.” He encourages Jared by grinding his ass back into the cradle of Jared’s hips, built by God to the exact specifications of Jensen’s body. Reaching back, he snags Jared’s shirt and pulls him in until they’re standing back-to-chest, calves-to-shins-a perfect, interlocking pair.

Smalls thrusts now, agonizingly accurate across Jensen’s prostate. Jared swivels his hips, leans forward and nuzzles against Jensen’s cheek.

“I’m never gonna stop,” he whispers, heavy words said in the heat of the moment, but remembered forever. “You close?”

So close it’s painful, but Jensen can’t get ahold of the words, tilting his hips back and begging for a long, deep slide to finish him off. With a resurgence of energy, Jared obliges. Coming feels like a free fall, endless and weightless, a gut-dropping plunge. His muscles wring Jared’s orgasm from his body, flooding and fulfilling.

Jensen and Jared fall forward against the wall and spend a full minute trying to catch their breath.

“You’re really okay?” Jared asks, voice wrecked, and somehow Jensen knows he isn’t referring to the rougher-than-usual sex.

“A hundred percent, I promise,” Jensen says, bringing his lips around for the languid kiss he’s been craving.

Dinner ends up being an underwhelming buffet of leftovers, during which Jensen recaps his parking-lot misfortune. Jared empathizes with his indignation, righteously angry at the texting driver, but there’s a glint in his eyes that doesn’t fade. He may appear calm, but there’s a storm beneath the surface.

Afterward, Jared takes him to bed for a slower, more seductive affirmation. The accident is all but forgotten until the sun rises.



During the first week in August, Jensen and Jared are fighting the heat and humidity of the high Texas summer and debating the merits of a long weekend somewhere less oppressive.

“We could go to New Orleans,” Jared suggests, fanning himself with the newspaper. This early, the heat is bearable as they try to enjoy a Sunday morning in the shade on Jensen’s back porch. “I’ve never been to Bourbon Street.”

“Pretty sure Louisiana’s just as bad,” Jensen says sluggishly, blood low on caffeine. The thought of a hot cup of coffee was unbearable.

“The Bahamas? The heat never feels as bad when you’re at the beach, right?” Jared winks. “I’m pretty sure you could afford to whisk me away to the islands.”

They can definitely afford it. Before he met Jared, Jensen rarely took vacations, limiting himself to a personal day here and there, but the idea of a romantic getaway, just the two of them, has been on his mind for a while. Jensen sits down at his computer that afternoon and begins researching the possibility of a last-minute island vacation.

That’s when his mom calls.

She prefaces the call by saying, “Now I don’t want you to freak out,” which obviously has him doing just that. “Your father was down in Sedona hiking with the guys…”

As Jensen sits dumbstruck in the office, she goes on to explain that Jensen’s dad had slipped off a low ledge, fracturing his pelvis and his tailbone when he hit the rocky ground ten feet below.

Immediately, Jensen’s making plans. “If I can get a flight out tonight, I can be there in a couple of hours,” he says, clicking back into the airline sites to check flights to Flagstaff. “Do you need me to drive you down to Sedona?”

“Jensen,” she cuts him off, “your father’s already back here. The car trip wasn’t pleasant for him, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“How the hell could he be back already if…” Common sense catches up to Jensen. “Wait, when did this happen?”

She sighs. “Last weekend.”

“And you didn’tcallme?” His shout draws Jared into the office. He sits in the chair opposite Jensen and waits. “What the hell, Mom?”

“I knew you’d want to drop everything and fly out here,” she says. Jensen definitely hasn’t inherited her patience. “Your father is fine, Jensen. He’s embarrassed,” she adds chidingly. “He’s been hiking for years, and now he’s gone and broken his ass on some rocks!”

Not even her humor soothes Jensen’s dander. “So Dad’s home? He’s not in the hospital?”

Jared looks up. He sets his hand on the desk with the palm up. Jensen reaches over and folds their fingers together. Jared doesn’t let go the entire time Jensen’s listening to his mom explain that his dad won’t need surgery-the fracture hadn’t gone all the way through his hip joint-but he would need physical therapy once he got back on his feet, which won’t be for at least four weeks.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come out there?” Jensen asks. “I can take the time, and I know Jared would want to come, too.” He feels Jared squeeze his hand. “Even just to give you a break.”

She agrees to ask Jensen’s dad when he’s feeling more conversational. Apparently the pain meds have taken a lot out of him.

“Flagstaff wouldn’t be a bad place for a vacation,” Jared offers once Jensen hangs up, his nerves shot to hell. “Maybe we can go later this month.”

“There are no beaches,” Jensen says. “And we’d probably get stuck doing all kinds of work around the house while my dad’s out of commission.”

Jensen tries to hide the tremor in his voice, but Jared rounds the desk and pulls Jensen to his feet, surrounding him with warm arms. “He’s gonna be fine, Jen. You heard what your mom said. With some good PT, he’ll be back to normal in six months at the most. You’ll see that for yourself when we fly out there in a few weeks.”

Every muscle in Jensen’s body feels like it’s been shaped out of lead as Jared walks him into the living room and leads him to the couch, arranging them both comfortably on the cushions. Jared idly flips through the channels until he finds the NASCAR race-a guilty pleasure that takes little to no effort to watch-before heading into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for Jensen (damn the heat, his body needs the jolt).

“Thank you,” Jensen says later on, still curled up against Jared’s shoulder, mug clutched in his hands. “Y’know, for making sure I didn’t go off the deep end.”

“Your dad’s a strong guy, and I’m sure he’ll be a much better patient than I was.” Jensen soaks up the affection for a few minutes before he hears Jared laugh. “But don’t think this means you’re off the hook for an island getaway. I need to see you in a tight little pair of swim trunks,” he says, licking his lips.

Jensen presses closer to Jared’s side, dragging his fingers up and down Jared’s forearm. “I’ve got a pair of those, you know.” He watches the bounce of Jared’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. “I’ll model them for you sometime.”

“I’m free now,” Jared says, but he makes no move to abscond with Jensen into the bedroom.

They while away the entire afternoon on the couch, travel plans forgotten. Jensen idly fiddles with Jared’s dog tags, pulling them out from underneath Jared’s shirt and smoothing his fingers over the warm stainless steel. There are times Jensen can’t stand the sight of them, mostly when Jared’s anger flares or one of his nightmares keeps Jensen awake all night. The tags are a constant reminder of the terrible things Jared’s gone through. But at other times, like now, Jensen sees the dog tags as a symbol of Jared’s strength; he wouldn’t have survived nearly a decade in the Army without an enormous reserve of fortitude and determination, virtues that Jensen has come to depend on.

Eventually, Jared places his hand over Jensen’s, stilling the restless movements of his fingers. “Feeling up to dinner?”

Jensen’s growling stomach answers for him.



Life gives Jensen a short respite. He books a four-day trip to Flagstaff for the end of August and promises Jared that they’ll make it to the Bahamas, or Key West, or Jamaica sometime in the fall. With images of warm, white beaches and sapphire waters, Jensen pushes himself a little bit harder on his runs. Goes the extra mile, literally, to make sure that when Jared does see him in his skimpy swim trunks, it’ll be a sight he’ll never forget.

Jensen talks to his parents every day. The first time he sees his dad on video chat, Jensen starts crying, more out of relief than anything. Despite his mom’s assurances, he’s been worried sick, but seeing his dad, even in a weakened state, settles most of his fear. He updates his mom with their travel info and tells her to start a list of things that’ll need doing while he and Jared are in Flagstaff.

One Friday night, Jensen tags along to Jared and Roller’s self-defense class. Jared pulls him onto the mats for a ‘demonstration’ in front of the girls-should’ve seen that coming-and they giggle when Jensen falls for an embarrassingly easy takedown.

At work, Jensen’s forced to bail on a few of his break-time coffee dates on account of work piling up. With their vacation less than two weeks away, Jensen can’t procrastinate; he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of their trip. But on Wednesday, Jared surprises him by bringing lunch up to EKI.

“Rich said he could cover the desk alone for thirty minutes or so,” Jared tells him, setting their BLT wraps on the desk. “And you’re still responsible for making coffee.”

Cindy pops her head in while they’re eating, gives Jared a quick little wave before begging Jensen to switch clients with her. The change means a bigger headache but fewer man-hours, so he agrees and gets back to his lunch.

“You’ve really got your work cut out for you, huh?” Jared remarks after Cindy leaves. “All this so you can cash in a few of your vacation days?”

Jensen nods. “Not like it’s really a vacation,” he says. “It’ll be tough enough without me having to think about work.”

“Hey, I plan on making sure you get some time to actually relax.”

“You, too. Right?”

Jared waves it away. “What’s stressful about my job? I hand out badges and give directions.”

“And take down purse snatchers,” Jensen reminds him. “That’s how we met, remember?”

Jared’s gaze grows fond. “How could I ever forget? God bless that scumbag.”

On Thursday, Jensen works non-stop from the time he arrives until two, determined to keep today’s coffee-date. It’s all about productivity, he tells himself. He simply works better when he’s able to recharge his batteries with a caffeine-and-boyfriend fix. Based on Jared’s beaming smile when Jensen enters the lobby, the same goes for him.

“We should see a movie tonight,” Jensen suggests, desperate for a night of mindless entertainment.

“Yeah?” Jared glances up from his phone. “A little action in the back row?”

“Sure, if the movie sucks…”

Rich had gone to make his rounds, leaving Jensen and Jared alone at the desk. Foot traffic is light this time of day; the lobby is quiet and peaceful. Jensen would happily stay down here all afternoon if-

The fire alarm screams throughout the lobby, startling Jensen so hard that his lower body is shot numb-no feeling below his stomach. Claxons release an ear-shredding wail while strobe lights paired with the alarms flash in every direction. Seconds feel like hours, but Jensen’s heart finally kick-starts itself.

He spins towards Jared, shouting, “Do you think it’s a false alarm or-”

Jensen doesn’t bother finishing the question. Behind the desk, Jared has gone perfectly still, body locked in a freeze-frame. Paralyzed. A total nervous system shutdown. Jared’s eyes are twin vacuums, void of life. His mind has retreated, hooked and dragged halfway around the world like a prisoner taken into custody. Jensen does a double-take to ensure his boyfriend’s still breathing.

Behind him, each of the six elevator door open in succession. They’re automatically rerouted to the lobby in the event of a fire. Some are empty, but confused employees stumble out of the others, hands flat over their ears as they rush towards the front door. Jensen’s worked in the Ross Building long enough to know that the elevators don’t go into lockdown during scheduled drills. Either someone’s pulled the alarm accidentally, or-

“Jared!” Rich’s voice crackles through Jared’s radio, barely audible over the alarm. “9-1-1 dispatch is reporting calls from the tenth floor! Stay in the lobby,” he orders, “and make sure everyone coming through there gets out okay!”

Jared doesn’t even blink.

Word must spread throughout the building as the alarms continue to blare. The stairwell doors open; men and women in suits and sharp attire come rushing out to fill the lobby. Jensen looks at Jared, shouts his name. An idea occurs to him when Jared fails to react.

“Sergeant!” he screams. “Snap out of it!”

Jared comes around immediately, swinging his head in every direction until he focuses on Jensen. He looks down at his radio through which Rich continues to shout.

“Do you copy, Jared? Make sure the lobby is cleared!”

Decisively, Jared follows Rich’s order. He grabs Jensen on his way around the desk.

“Get outside, Jensen.”

“I can help you!” Jensen insists. The crowd of displaced employees is swelling around them. Through the front windows, Jensen sees multiple trucks from Dallas Fire-Rescue come screeching to a halt alongside the building.

“Help me outside, please! Try to keep people calm and get them away from the building.”

The fervor in Jared’s eyes leaves Jensen no choice but to give in. Caught in a rip tide of corporate employees, he’s torn from Jared and pulled through the front doors and out onto the sidewalk.



“An electrical fire.” Jensen presses his cell phone to his cheek and closes his eyes. “I still can’t believe it.”

“I heard someone saying it started on the tenth floor and took out several offices within that law firm,” Cindy tells him. “Is Jared home yet?”

“Not yet.” Jensen looks out the front window as he says it, hoping to see his boyfriend’s truck pull into the driveway. “He called to say that the building had been cleared and no one was hurt. I guess one of the firefighters passed the info along.”

Jensen hasn’t seen Jared since they were parted in the lobby, and he’s desperate for Jared to come home. He’s less worried about the outcome of the fire than he is about the way Jared reacted to the alarms. All signs pointed to a traumatic flashback.

After ending his call with Cindy, Jensen sits by the windows and waits, passing his phone between his hands and willing it to ring. Jared finally pulls up twenty minutes later. Through the window, Jensen can see that his face displays no emotion.

Jensen braces for rage, for despair, for the burning pain of having to relive a terrible memory, but what happens next comes as a shock.

Jared walks into the room and drops his bag. He grabs Jensen as soon as he sees him, slamming his mouth down on Jensen’s before he can utter a single syllable, picking him up and ramming him into the wall like a forklift.

His lips are cold pressure, not the welcoming warmth Jensen’s used to. Jensen’s mouth is driven wide open; he feels the strain in the corners, skin stretched to its limit. What Jared is doing doesn’t fit the definition of a kiss-it’s vicious, emotionless-and Jensen tries to fight his way out. But something, anger or adrenaline, lends Jared extra strength. He binds Jensen in a steel embrace, fingers digging towards skin, shoving clothes aside.

Jensen’s lips are battered and swollen; he can barely feel his tongue. But he summons every ounce of power he possesses, wedges his arms between their chests and heaves Jared back.

“What the fuck?”

Either Jared is oblivious to Jensen’s rage or he’s ignoring it. “Please, Jen,” he outright begs. “Please just let me. I need you so fucking much right now.”

His eyes are wild, unbalanced, and his posture is ramrod-stiff. When Jensen fails to immediately move out of range, Jared slides back into his space, pressing them chest-to-chest. This time he uses distraction as opposed to violence.

“I’ve gotta know you’re okay, Jen. Please, you’ve gotta let me see you…” Jared’s lips ghost across his eyelids. “Touch you…” He finds Jensen’s hand and squeezes. “Feel you. You’ve gotta fuck me, Jen.”

Jensen’s primal urges demand that he fold; the fire might not have been a major incident, but he wants to feel alive nevertheless. He needs something to fill the void left by his fear response, and rough, life-affirming sex sounds as good as anything else. However, the rest of Jensen’s mind is throwing up roadblocks and warning signs, because this isn’t Jared. Jensen may be the one restrained, but it’s Jared who’s incapable of consent.

If Jensen were to use Jared like that, like he’s nothing but a hole to fuck, he’d never forgive himself.

“Step back, Sergeant,” Jensen growls, dodging Jared’s lips. As it had in the lobby, the use of Jared’s rank unlocks something within his mind. He blinks away the frenzy, eyes becoming glassy-bright and sharp like polished bullets. He eases his hold, and Jensen side-steps away along the wall.

“Jensen?”

“We can’t do this, Jay,” he says, shaking his head. “Not while you’re so…messed up.”

It is, without a doubt, the worst thing Jensen could say. Every feature on Jared’s face is brought to a point; he wears the shadows like a mask.

“Suddenly I’m not good enough to have sex with you?”

“How could you possibly think that’s what I meant?” Jensen asks, eyes stinging as he dams up his tears. Evidently Jared’s unable to process just how wrecked he is. “What happened today was not okay. You need-”

“Don’t.” The single word possesses more bite than a piranha. “Don’t you dare tell me what I need, Jensen. You know nothing about it!” He spins away with the force of a tornado, pushing clear of Jensen as if physical proximity will hurt him. His dress shirt is rumpled, sleeves haphazardly rolled up, but his uniform jacket and emerald tie are missing from the ensemble.

Jensen reels. “I’ve been living with you for months, Jared! I know what’s been going on.”

“Bullshit,” Jared snaps. “You have no idea what I’ve been through! You went to some rich, pretty-boy military school, and then what? Did you decide you were too special to join the fight?” His eyes focus into deadly points. “Or were you scared?”

With a few careless words, Jared rips open an old wound; the thrashing pain leaves Jensen gasping.

Winded from the emotional uppercut, Jensen weakly shouts back, “This isn’t about me! I’ve watched you struggle for a long time. After what happened with the alarms…you need to get help.”

“Oh, so now you want to help me? News flash, Jensen! You’re not the first person who thought fixing me would make them feel better. People have tried!” His voice booms. “The Army fucked it up. My parents gave up. What makes you think you can do any better?”

His words batter Jensen’s defenses. He’s only ever heard Jared rave about his time in the service, but in the end, they’d cut him loose, too.

“Is that how you really feel about me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. He was willing to cut Jared some slack after the fire alarms fucked with his head, but this… “God, Jared. How could you think that? I want this for you, not me!”

When he looks over at Jared, he sees some of the aggression draining out of his posture.

“I’ve seen what the stress is doing to you,” Jensen points out. “You’re barely holding it together right now. And I know-I know-you don’t want to be broken anymore.”

Jared’s expression morphs into something twisted and painful. His eyes are bloodshot and his lips curl downward. “You think I’m broken,” he mutters in defeat.

“No! Absolutely not.” Jensen had deliberately used the word Jared hated so much, and his reaction told Jensen all he needed to know. “But that’s how you think of yourself, isn’t it?”

Jared stares through the shine of his tears. “How-

“Because I love you, Jared, and I know you.” Jensen takes a few steps closer to his boyfriend, both of them blinking back tears. “You think accepting help means admitting that you’re broken, but all it really means is that you want to live a better life. Who wouldn’t want that, Jared?”

For once the room is silent as Jensen watches Jared fight with himself. The lack of shouting is almost painful, but Jensen keeps his mouth shut, stoic in his support, and lets Jared work through everything that’s been flung back and forth.

When Jared does move, it’s to gauge the distance between them. Jensen expects him to rush forward, take the first step towards putting this wretched day behind them, but instead he’s forced to watch the color drain out of Jared’s face.

“Oh god,” he mutters, backing away. His shoulder hits the wall and he stumbles. Jensen jumps forward to catch him, but Jared jerks in the opposite direction. “Please,” he whispers, eyes everywhere but on Jensen, “I need to go.”

Jensen is on Jared’s heels as he heads quickly towards the front door. If Jared leaves now, there’s no telling what’s going to happen.

“Jared-”

“Just…” Jared hesitates with a white-knuckled grip on the doorknob. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“You can’t just leave!” Jensen shouts desperately, but the door’s already swinging shut in his face.



Jensen spends the next thirty minutes standing still as a statue, willing the front door to open and reveal Jared on the other side. He waits and watches, telling himself, “Any time now…”

But nothing happens. Not until Jensen’s cell phone rings and breaks his vigil. He digs it out of his pocket and answers without looking at the display.

“Jared?”

“Sorry, man.”

“Blake?”

“Yup.” Blake sighs. “I’m guessin’ Jared’s not there, huh?”

“You’d be right,” Jensen says. “Have you talked to him lately?”

“That’s sort of why I’m calling. Jared stopped by here not that long ago.”

“He did?” Jensen clutches the phone so hard, he’s afraid the screen’s going to shatter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” Blake tells him. “He came to the door, but Cindy’s been here since y’alls building was evacuated earlier. When he saw her, he left. He looked pretty spooked, man. Are y’all okay?”

Jensen can’t bring himself to explain. He can’t even keep things straight in his own head. “It’s just been a crazy day,” he says. “If you see or hear from him, will you call me?”

Blake promises to do so, but Jensen doesn’t feel any relief when he hangs up. With nothing else to do, he calls Jared’s cell phone and gets dumped into voicemail. The line beeps and starts recording. Jensen opens his mouth to fill the dead air, but nothing comes out.

He ends the call.

Jensen doesn’t seek out distractions; they find him. His dad calls after reading about the evacuation online, and Jensen allays his fears by telling him that he and Jared are both okay (physically, at least). After that, emails from EKI pop up in his inbox one after another. The first summarizes today’s incident without going into much detail and confirms that no one in the company was hurt. The second email brings the announcement that until the Ross Building is deemed structurally sound, EKI’s offices will be closed, but employees will be allowed to collect their personal belongings.

Jensen resigns himself to working from home (the last place he wants to be) for the next few days, too many events on the schedule for the firm to simply drop everything.

The phone rings again around seven p.m. and Jensen throws up a quick prayer that it’s Jared saying he’s on his way home.

No such luck.

“Jared wanted me to let you know he’s staying at a motel for the night,” Blake says; his normally animated drawl sounds flat.

“Wait, when did he tell you that?”

“He called me ten minutes ago.”

Jensen rubs his temples. “Which motel?”

“That’s the thing,” Blake says. “He didn’t tell me, probably ‘cause he knew I’d pass it right on to you.”

“Well did he say anything else?” Jensen asks through clenched teeth. It’s hard not to lash out at Blake, but he’s merely the messenger. “Did he tell you what happened during the evacuation?”

“No, but I could take a pretty good guess. Something like that would throw any of us for a loop.”

Jensen keeps pressing, but Blake has nothing else to say. He’s jumpy after he ends the call, filled with the urge to go out and look for Jared, but he has no idea where to start. There are dozens of motels in the area-hundreds if he considers the rest of the city. Agitated, he thumbs through his contacts and paces while he calls a few of their friends.

Outside of a few texts and forwarded email jokes, Mark hasn’t spoken to Jared since the last basketball game. Neither has Lincoln. Jensen can’t get a hold of Jimmy, but when he calls DJ, it’s Ben who picks up the phone.

“What’s up, Jensen? Need me to get DJ?”

“Yeah. Well, no, it’s okay,” Jensen fumbles with his words. “Look, have either of you heard from Jared tonight?”

“No...” Ben draws the word out, mind jumping to conclusions. “Wait, do you think something happened? When was the last time you saw him?”

“Ben, hold up,” Jensen says, “It’s not like that. Jared was here for a while and, well, I guess we kind of had a fight and he left.”

“He left?”

“Yeah.” Jensen waits through a few seconds of silence before Ben speaks again, voice suddenly an octave higher.

“That goddamn idiot! I’m gonna go find him right now. I can’t believe this, what the hell was he-hey!” There’s a struggle on the other end of the line. “DJ-stop, hey! Give it back, dammit!”

Then, Jensen hears DJ’s voice. “Hey, Jensen. Sorry about that. Ben’s a little worked up. What were you saying about Jared?”

Jensen recounts the highlights from the moment the fire alarm went off all the way through Blake telling him about Jared getting a motel room. DJ listens quietly, nothing to add once Jensen’s finished. He and Ben haven’t heard from Jared, but DJ promises to let him know if that changes. He also promises to keep Ben from going out and doing anything stupid.

“Which is tough,” he says, not without humor, “’cause he does a lot of stupid shit. But listen, Jensen…Jared’s one of my best friends,” DJ adds solemnly. “Hell, I love him like a brother. If he tells me something in confidence, I’m not gonna share it with you.”

“I know, DJ. I understand. Just tell me if he calls or stops by, okay?”



What follows is the worst weekend of Jensen’s life.

On Friday, he drives to the Ross Building at eight a.m. to collect his computer and his bag along with anything he needs to work from home. Part of him thinks he’s going to find Jared behind the security desk when he arrives, but it’s empty. There are no obvious signs of the fire that prompted yesterday’s evacuation, but walking into the building feels strange, none of the hustle and bustle Jensen’s used to. Corporate employees come and go silently, stepping around contractors and building inspectors.

Later in the day, Jensen meets Cindy and Melanie for a long lunch to prioritize their work. They accomplish next to nothing, focused more on yesterday’s insanity than anything relating to their upcoming events. Cindy throws him a pointed look each time he checks his phone for new texts or a missed call.

Jensen skips basketball on Saturday. He’s not sure which possibility scares him more: showing up at the rec center and not seeing Jared, or seeing him and being struck down all over again by the force of Jared’s anger. So he remains in bed, buried under his covers with his cell phone lying next to him. Just in case.

Both Blake and DJ send texts to let Jensen know that Jared was a no-show.

By Saturday night, Jensen’s worked himself into a desperate frenzy. Looking for any kind of distraction, he cleans the kitchen until it’s spotless, throwing away bags of old food and take-out containers. He mows the lawn and does his best to tend Jared’s flowerbeds without completely ruining his boyfriend’s hard work. With his fingers buried in moist soil, the scent of fresh clippings hanging around like an invisible cloud, it’s the closest Jensen’s felt to Jared since he disappeared on Wednesday night.

Jensen swings violently between emotions, and the ride leaves him dizzy and more nauseous than when he rode The Conquistador at Six Flags Over Texas. One minute he’s pissed off, jamming his hands into the dirt while he curses Jared for abandoning him without so much as a fucking text to let Jensen know he’s alright. The next he’s miserable, flopping over onto his back in the grass and staring up at the annoyingly blue sky, longing for nighttime so that he could find a star to wish upon.

When Jensen calls Warren on Sunday morning to beg off from golf, Warren insists that they have lunch at the club instead. Jensen never intends on venting, but Warren’s an outsider to the situation-no ties to Jared or the Army. Warren’s concern lies only with Jensen, no one else, and that fact has him spilling his guts while he stabs listlessly at his pear and salmon salad.

“I had a feeling something like this would happen,” Warren says, waving away their server as he tries to fill their water glasses. “How are you holding up?”

“Not great,” Jensen admits. “I can’t fix on one emotion. I’m angry, depressed, but above everything else, I’m just confused. I don’t really know what happened.”

“Sounds to me like Jared was terrified.”

“But of what?” Jensen ends the charade of eating, tosses his fork on the table. “The alarms? The flashback?” He’s positive Jared’s mind had subjected him to a full-color replay of what happened to his convoy in Afghanistan over a year ago, but Jensen would never hold that, or the fact that he froze, against him.

“Based on what you’ve told me, Jared’s been suffering from flashbacks for a long time,” Warren says. His gray eyes hold no judgment; their cloudy depths swirl in a way Jensen finds soothing. But he misses warm hazel with flashes of green. “Perhaps he was terrified of you.”

Jensen is flabbergasted. “I was only trying to help him,” he hisses, knowing that the country club elite wouldn’t appreciate an outburst in the dining room.

“And I’d imagine that’s what scared him. The way you told me Jared feels about his condition…perhaps he doesn’t think that he’s worthy of your help. He doesn’t want you to find him lacking in any way.”

Privately, Jensen has thought the same thing, never admitting it out loud. But he can’t tell Jared how wrong his conclusion is, if his boyfriend won’t come home or answer his calls.

“Do you think I need to break up with him?”

“Of course not,” Warren says almost immediately. “And neither do you, or else you would have done it already. You’re not the type of man to lock himself into a relationship you no longer want or need.”

Warren lets that sink in as he calmly goes back to eating his endive and gorgonzola salad. Never once had Jensen considered taking that step, but he needed to hear someone else acknowledge his decision.



By Monday, Jensen and the rest of EKI’s employees are allowed to return to the Ross Building.

Jensen hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, his mind a maelstrom of anxiety stirred up by the fact that he would see Jared in the morning. He tried to think of what he would say, how he would act. Whether he’d kiss Jared in front of anyone in the lobby, or throw a punch.

His head’s still spinning when he walks through the front doors; Jensen figures he’ll know what to do the second he lays eyes on his boyfriend.

There’s only one problem: Jared’s not here.

“Rich!” Jensen calls out to the other security guard. “Is Jared upstairs?”

Rich shakes his head. “He didn’t tell you? I got an email this morning saying that he was placed at another property that was understaffed for a couple of days.”

Jensen takes a step back. His stomach is threatening to revolt and bring back his beggar’s breakfast of toast and coffee. Rich says something else before he walks away but it falls on deaf ears. Upstairs, Jensen feels next-to-useless. Thankfully, the office is in chaos from lost time, so no one notices his temporary incompetence and inability to process any of the tasks waiting on his desk.

He has no idea what to do; his plans hinged on actually seeing Jared. His absence could be a coincidence-maybe Jared had no choice in his reassignment-but Jensen’s gut says otherwise. Inevitably, he begins to question everything he knows about their relationship. If Jared is this unwilling to accept help for his PTSD, how long is Jensen going to be able to handle the symptoms before they amass into one giant emotional wrecking ball?

After Cindy stops by and passes along that Blake’s received no word from Jared, Jensen does his best to be a productive member of his firm, no other avenue left open to him. But in the end, he chalks the day up to a total loss.



Jensen locks himself into his office on Wednesday afternoon, no longer able to deal with Cindy’s sad eyes or his coworkers’ requests. If he’s going to salvage the day (because Monday and Tuesday were total crap-fests), he needs silence.

He’s forgetting that silence is a breeding ground for doubt and insecurity. So either way, Jensen’s screwed. His life has morphed into a monotonous waking nightmare that drains him little by little. He has no appetite for lunch. The break room has ceased to be a haven-Jensen can’t bring himself to go anywhere near the coffee machine. Worn down and under-caffeinated, Jensen tries to focus, but that’s a tall order.

Sitting at his elbow, Jensen’s phone mocks him with a blank screen. He’s left Jared a lifetime’s worth of voicemails already, but he can’t stop thinking of more he could say, desperate for the one thing that will diffuse the situation.

Strangely his mind circles around Warren: wealthy, sophisticated, and well-known throughout the state. While they were sleeping together, Jensen wanted to emulate Warren, achieve some of the same things while he created a name for himself. But their paths diverged, an event Jensen can look back on without emotion, and Jensen’s future changed. The same way it had when he graduated from the Citadel and chose not to continue on to officer’s school, a decision Jared used against him the last time they saw one another.

Jensen had questioned his choice for years, never came close to feeling regret until last week. What was the point of going to the Citadel if he wasn’t going to serve his country?

Fed up of thinking himself into another dead end, Jensen keels forward and drops his head on the desk. Knocking his forehead a few times, Jensen sighs. Becoming a soldier just wasn’t the mantle he was meant to take up.

Wait.

Jensen’s eyes pop open. He scrambles for his phone, nearly knocking it off his desk along with all of his files. Jared’s number is still at the top of his call list.

There’s one more thing he needs to say.



It nearly gives Jensen a heart attack to see Jared’s truck in the driveway when he gets home. Jensen grabs his bag and rushes inside before a sudden wave of lightheadedness can drop him on the concrete.

“Jared!” he calls out as he steps inside, barely keeping a handle on his nerves. “Are you in here?”

The kitchen, Jared’s favorite room in the house, is empty. So are the living room and the back porch. With his pulse pounding in his ears, Jensen hurries into their bedroom. There he finds Jared kneeling next to a suitcase, clothes and hangers spread out all around him on the floor and the bed.

Jensen loses what’s left of his breath. He collapses but the doorjamb is there to catch him. Jared hears the noise and looks up. When he does, Jensen sees a thin, white cord hanging between Jared’s pocket and his ear. Their eyes lock; Jared pulls out his headphones.

“Jensen? Are you okay?” He stands with some effort, holding his hip. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

The suitcase pulls Jensen’s entire focus. “You’re leaving me.”

Jared’s gaze sweeps between Jensen’s dazed expression and the bed covered in evidence. “What? Why would I-” His mouth slams closed with an audible click, but Jensen’s still reeling.

“I’m so sorry.” Jensen lets the doorframe take his weight. “I know I fucked up, but I’ve been so scared…”

“I know,” Jared says quietly. “I’ve been a little afraid of coming back here, too. Until this afternoon.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and yanks the headphones from the jack. Tapping the screen, Jared gets into his voicemail and turns on the speaker.

“I don’t know if you’re getting these anymore…” Jensen’s own voice carries across the room. “But there’s something I want you to know. Yeah, I never joined the service, and you can hold it against me all you want, but maybe I was never meant to fight. Maybe I’m just supposed to love a man who has, and be there for him after the war left him scarred. I don’t-”

There’s a muffled sound as his voice drops off; Jensen remembers rubbing his hand down his face.

“I hope you know that I’m not trying to turn you back into the person you were before you enlisted, ‘cause I don’t know him. That’s not the man I fell in love with-the guy I still love. So please, Jared, come home. Talk to me, because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if I can’t see you.”

The message ends and leaves a gaping silence. Jared tosses his phone on the bed amongst his things.

Finally, he says, “I came home, Jensen. After that message, how could I stay away?”

“Then why are you packing?”

“Seriously?” Jensen hasn’t heard Jared laugh in a week. Hearing it now, even for a second, is the best kind of pain relief. “Jensen, we’re flying out to Flagstaff tomorrow morning. Did you forget about our trip?”

“I-”

“You did!”

Before Jensen can defend his horrible lapse in memory, Jared gathers him into his arms. Jensen folds into the embrace without thinking, breathes Jared in while silently vowing never to let him go again.

“I’ve been freaking out, Jen,” Jared is saying. Jensen tries to snap out of his stupor and listen. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home, but I couldn’t figure out what to say.”

“Me neither,” Jensen admits, face pressed against Jared’s shoulder.

“Based on the number of voicemails I got, you had a lot to say.”

“Never the right thing.”

Jared softly lays his lips on Jensen’s forehead. “All the right things. I just couldn’t listen until today.”

They make their way to the bed as one where they sit between piles of Jared’s clothing.

Jensen leans back so that he can look Jared in the eye. “Why not?”

“Like I said, I was afraid. I saw everything falling apart, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I thought the voicemails were you saying that you’d realized I wasn’t worth sticking around for.”

“But you left,” Jensen points out.

“I shouldn’t have. But you’re smart, Jensen, and you’re beautiful. So far out of my league, it’s not even funny, but I fell in love with you anyway. And it was amazing because you wanted me in spite of everything. In spite of my leg…”

“I don’t love you in spite of anything,” Jensen insists. “There are no exceptions for this, Jared.”

“Then I guess I really need to work on being good enough, huh?”

Jensen leans forward and finds Jared’s mouth to shut him up. The second Jared’s lips part for him, a week’s worth of hurt fades away like a bad dream. Soft at first, Jensen is soon moaning into Jared’s mouth, swept up in the feel of him. He’s kissed Jared a thousand times, but when he was alone, no amount of alcohol or fantasy could bring back the exact sensations. Memory wasn’t good enough; Jensen can no longer survive without the real thing.

“You’re good enough,” Jensen whispers. “I promise.”

“I believe you, but I can be better. I want to be better,” Jared swears, lips touching Jensen’s cheek. “Ben told me about this group he started going to, and he offered to go with me.”

Despite his current euphoria, Jensen stiffens.

“But I told him I’d rather go with you,” Jared says, his grin a flash of white Jensen’s happy to see. “Things won’t change overnight, obviously. It might be tough for a while.”

Jensen’s lips inch closer to Jared’s. “We’ll be okay.” He initiates another kiss, unable to get enough. Only this time, Jared grabs his shoulders and pulls him flat onto the bed where they’re wrapped up in the scent of cotton and clean laundry.

“I won’t quit,” Jared promises when Jensen breaks away to catch his breath. “Not while I have you.”

Jensen could say that he’ll always be here however Jared needs him, but it means forsaking Jared’s lips and that’s just not going to happen. He rolls Jared beneath him and coaxes his tongue further out of hiding until Jared can suck lightly on the supple muscle. As soon as he does, Jared’s hips are rocking up against his thigh-a triggered response-igniting both of them with the friction between Jared’s jeans and Jensen’s slacks.

Jared’s hand curls around the back of Jensen’s head, and he twists his neck to feel those fingers rake through his hair. The touch is gently possessive and perfect. Jensen’s mouth skates across Jared’s cheek, down to his jaw where he hears a faint rasp as his teeth catch Jared’s stubble. He’d been too preoccupied to process Jared’s physical appearance before, but a week apart has taken the same toll on him as it had on Jensen. There’s evidence of more than one sleepless night in the smudged circles beneath Jared’s eyes, anxiousness in his carelessly combed hair. But his eyes reflect the same yearning as Jensen’s and while Jensen is careful not to jostle Jared’s left leg (unwilling to ignore how it pained him to stand earlier), the rest of his body responds eagerly.

Jensen prescribes plenty of bed-rest for their condition, which should be easy to fulfill as Jensen doesn’t plan on going anywhere until they’re forced to leave for the airport tomorrow morning.



The bigger the fight, the better the make-up sex.

As Jensen falls to pieces in Jared’s mouth, he admits that the saying has merit. Make-up sex is amazing, but it’s something he’d rather not repeat so long as the fighting and the fucking come as a package deal. That, and he’s not sure he could withstand this kind of intensity on a regular basis; some of the sensations have been permanently seared into his brain like a brand. It’s good in a way, because Jensen never wants to forget what drove their relationship to this point.

Earlier, Jensen bent himself to the task of making Jared come hard enough to forget the last week, sealing his lips around Jared’s dick like a vacuum while impaling him on two slippery fingers. When Jared’s thrashing and reckless thrusts began to bruise Jensen’s cheeks, he pulled off and drove a third finger into Jared’s tight ass. Achingly full, Jared came less than a minute later, sated limbs spread-eagled in every direction.

Jared had then done his best to soothe Jensen’s sore lips with gentle pecks and an apologetic tongue, but Jensen was burning too hot to wait any longer, his cock raised to attention and demanding the wet satisfaction of Jared’s mouth.

Now, Jared’s tongue curls around the head of his cock, as if he’s a lollipop and Jared is seeking out every sweet drop. He must love the taste, flexing his tongue into a point and flicking it over the slit, swirling around and below the ridge, all the while never easing his grip on Jensen’s thighs, squeezing as if he’ll be able to knead Jensen’s orgasm right out of him.

And, essentially, that’s what happens. Jensen’s spine locks, his come releasing in a wash down Jared’s throat. Jared suckles him through it, looking up the length of Jensen’s body. The bedroom light catches his eyes, highlighting streaks of green and gold, and the sight is like an orgasm for his heart. Jensen lights up from the inside, fingers and toes still tingling when Jared drops his head on the pillow next to Jensen’s.

The bedroom is a mess, Jared’s clean clothes tossed onto the floor along with everything Jared and Jensen were wearing, but Jensen doesn’t care. Being naked is so much better.

Jensen needs to pack for Flagstaff (and Jared need to repack), but he decides it can wait. All night if they find better ways to spend their time. Lying here with Jared, sharing their first peaceful moment together in almost a week, takes precedence. Jared will always take precedence.

His fingers drift up and over Jared’s ribcage, thumb catching on the edge of Jared’s dog tags.

Softly, he whispers, “No one can take away your service, but you don’t have to be a soldier anymore.”

“I know.” Jared lays his hand over Jensen’s and pulls it away. With his other hand, he lifts the ball chain over his head and sets his dog tags on the nightstand. Then he smiles at Jensen. “Small steps, right?”

Yeah, Jensen has a feeling they’re going to be just fine.



EPILOGUE.

Jared’s just dozing off when someone invades the small, shady oasis he’d discovered behind the officer’s mess. Whoever it is kicks his bare foot with a flip flop. He blinks, happy to see that it’s Jankowski-or, DJ to everyone on base except his superiors.

“Is the football game over?”

“The 81st kicked ass, dude!” There are triangles of sweat darkening his ARMY t-shirt at the collar and under his arms. “We could’ve used you, Iron Man.”

Jared holds up the letter in his hands. “From my sister.”

Beside him, Rufus whines for more attention as Jared has stopped scratching behind his ears. The black and white mutt is one of half a dozen strays on base who benefit greatly from the kindness of soldiers.

“So what’s up, man?” DJ flops down next to him. “You’ve been kinda quiet the last couple days. Bad news from home?”

Jared shakes his head. “Nothing like that. Just thinking about the future.”

DJ laughs. “Ain’t we all. Me? I’m gonna head back to Texas, maybe open a restaurant. No more tours for me,” he adds. “I can’t fucking stand all this dirt.”

Afghanistan has stolen Jared’s ability to see colors besides brown, olive, and gray. Everything around them is covered in a layer of earthen dust, dry to the touch. Jared would give anything to see a bright blue, an emerald green…any color but bright red.

“You got plans when you go back, Iron Man?”

Not everyone likes talking about the future. A jinx to some, but Jared’s been thinking on it more and more. This is his third tour-he can phase out when it’s over.

“I want to go back to Texas, too,” Jared says. “Get a big house with a barbecue, maybe adopt a couple of dogs,” he adds, grinning fondly over at Rufus.

“Gonna finish college?” DJ’s aware of the fact that Jared had only made it through one year before he enlisted. Before 9/11 changed everything.

Jared shrugs. “I don’t think I’d go back to architecture. Maybe designing landscapes or something.”

“Playing in the dirt, huh?” DJ laughs. “After all this? You must be fucking crazy, man.”

The two of them settle into an easy silence, a luxury they’re rarely afforded, but Jared can’t stop thinking about what he wants when the Army no longer has a say in his life. He leans back, takes a deep breath of warm, foreign air, and envisions a lazy afternoon on a wide back porch. Looking out over a yard he’d worked his sweat into, feeling a new kind of pride. His dogs chasing a tennis ball back and forth over green grass. The sun just beginning to set, painting the sky in gold and purple.

He imagines a handsome man stepping through the back door with a pair of ice-cold beers, dogs barking as he leans down and kisses Jared hello. His face is shadowed in contrast to the southern sun, but Jared pictures vibrant eyes filled with color-so much color-and a smile built just for him.

There are days when Jared doubts he’ll live to see any of it, but that’s part of being out here. He carries the fear with him, better than denying that it’s there, and thanks God every time he comes to a moment like this: a moment of peace that allows Jared to escape into his imagination and smile back at the man sharing his perfect future.

And he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’ll get lucky.

FIN.



MASTER POST.

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