Cross The Line; Go The Distance. Part Two.



Back to Part One.


They don't go clubbing; Jared won't and Jensen can't.

He figures L.A. clubs and Vegas clubs probably have a lot in common, but Jensen's seen those places in full light, decorated with obscene yellow tape and bright evidence flags. Has almost no desire to set foot in one when he can't see what's around him.

The thought is a little appealing, though. He hasn't been dancing in years, since college, but it would be a whole different experience with Jared. If his boyfriend showed any interest in going, Jensen's sure he'd make the effort.

Jensen went out enough during school, it was Texas after all, and thinks those times were good enough to last for the rest of his life. After getting into criminalistics he never felt the need to party, even those first few years. Could have been he saw too much, too quickly, but he doesn't question himself. He's old enough to be comfortable with the way he lives. Work, sleep, eat - it had been fulfilling and simple.

But he did think Jared would be different, especially given how they met - Jared on a party trip to Vegas. Jared used go out quite a bit, he knows, heard a few stories about bars and back rooms. Nothing crazy, but his life in L.A. allowed for much more of it than Jensen's could. As in so many other ways, Jared surprised him.

Jared never seems to get bored, relieves Jensen that he doesn't have to suggest things to do. Even when Jensen's working, Jared keeps busy: running, talking to his agent and producers, using the gym membership Jensen got as a gift and never took advantage of, and rearranging Jensen's things to get him riled up.

Tonight, Jensen's restless, can't fathom why. It's a night off, both of them sprawled in the living room in jeans and t-shirts, and Jared's been back in his home for a week already.

The younger man can't sit still, playing some football video game. Jensen likes watching Jared play since he's completely useless. Sees the crazy expressions and ridiculous effort that's involved. The papers he was looking over are ignored on his lap in favor of Jared's enthusiasm for pixilated sports.

"Sure you don't want to play?" Jared asks, scooting forward and pumping the controller like the motion's somehow transferred onto the screen. "I'll even let you be the Patriots."

"Nah, I'm good watching."

"Watching, huh? Dude, not in the middle of the game!"

"Funny, dick."

Jared pushes a random sequence of buttons, jumps up as he obviously scores a touchdown. The joy passes quickly, the controller tossed aside as Jared leans back to look at him.

"You need a hobby, Jensen."

"Do you think I'm ten or something, Jare?" He jokes.

"You'd be a pretty smart ten year old," Jared says.

"I have hobbies," Jensen's on the defense.

"Like?"

"Well, there's a speech I'm writing for a conference in a couple of months. Plus, there's a phonetician in England I've been talking to, and we might write a study on linguistic veracity analysis, which could...be...are you laughing at me?"

"I'm trying not to laugh, seriously," Jared's face is red from the effort of holding back his snickering.

"What the fuck?"

"Those aren't hobbies, Jensen. That's homework."

"Well it's better than video games," Jensen pouts, not actually upset, fully understands what his life was like before Jared. Figures Jared might count as a hobby these days.

"Says you," Jared goes for the controller again. "I do lots of other things."

"Running, working out...running," Jensen grins. "Did I miss any?"

"You appreciate the results, don't lie."

"Whatever."

"I could always go back to L.A. if you don't appreciate it," Jared mutters, leer lightening the blow.

"Shut up," Jensen smacks Jared's thigh. "Play your stupid game."

He slides over, lays his head on the younger man's leg, papers landing on the floor.

"Just don't smack me in the head with that thing," he waves at the plastic gadget.

"I'll be careful baby," Jared mocks, pats Jensen's head. But he leaves his hand there, fingers running intermittently through the short strands while demonstrating his ability to play one-handed.

***

"Come on, Jensen," Nick throws the files across the table, pages strewn. "You know that guy's as guilty as much as the rest of us!"

Jensen shakes his head, weary. He hasn't gotten a migraine in weeks but can feel his temples starting to throb.

"I know, Nick, but we've done our jobs. The D.A.'s office is taking it from here."

It's a conversation repeated many times in the lab, all of them pushed beyond frustration now and again. And each one of them has supplied the voice of reason, but it's easy to forget.

"We're just pieces of this," he keeps going, lines practiced but truthful. "It's out of our hands."

"That's not enough for me!"

Raised voices are rare, Nick starting to attract attention. With so much tension in the lab, compliments of a stressful case spanning the last three nights, they can't help but take it out on each other. Even Greg's avoiding Nick, banter absent, while Warrick, Cath, and Sara retreat to other cases and hide in offices, leaving Jensen with the other Texan.

"Nick..."

"I know!" He almost slumps, sounding as tired as Jensen feels. "Jesus, Jensen, I get it. Heard it enough times out of my own mouth."

"Yeah, I wish tonight was over," he sighs. Emotional shifts wear them down faster than hectic ones, and someone was bound to break after this case. He hates that it's Nick this time; it affects Jensen more than the others despite their cooled relationship.

"Ugh, same here."

"Time for those fancy lawyers to pull their weight," Jensen tries and Nick stops grumbling.

They both reach to pick up the mess of paperwork and photos, Nick's small but thankful smile reassuring Jensen that his words were processed, accepted. Watching the other man leave layout, Jensen's phone rings. Unfortunately it's not Jared.

"Ackles."

"Hey, it's Curtis. I know day shift's almost in, but I've got a scene that might not wait - definite homicide."

"Where's the scene?"

"New development, a lot of unbuilt land," Sofia answers. "I just need a team to secure evidence before nature steps in. Coroner's almost on the scene."

Only an hour left until Jensen's done, but he's itching to get out of the lab. Bets he can get one or two of the others to go along.

"Sure, Sofia," Jensen starts towards his office. "Tell me the address."

***

There's an otherworldly feel to autopsy. When the doors slide shut behind Jensen he can only hear the thrum of the fans and Doc Robbins setting something down. The blue lights tint everything but the corpse is still dull and lifeless. Unreal.

He hates being here; corpses take getting used to, but they're different here, laid out and clean, than at a crime scene. It's not the sights and sounds that bother him, not really. Just the feeling - the reduction of a life to parts and mechanisms. Cause and result.

It's been a couple hours since Sofia's call. He'd taken Catherine with him but called in half the day shift when he saw the scene. Jensen could hardly hear Sofia list the details she knew, not much; could only see the mutilated body lying positioned on the dry ground.

He'd come back with the unidentified body, let Catherine and the others take off and given the scene to day shift. But he stayed, morbidly fascinated by their victim's injuries.

Jensen's gripping his camera tightly, listens to Robbins' discourse on injuries - torture and blood loss. Everything he's never wanted to hear at nine in the morning.

"...I've never seen anything like it," the medical examiner's saying, indicates the corpse's hands.

Jensen takes a series of photographs, catalogues every inch of the male body.

"Definitely tortured over a long period of time," Robbins keeps going. "The body's relatively clean but there's obvious malnourishment, indicators of disease. Then of course the methodical mutilation of the phalanges."

He can't look away.

"I can't imagine how painful that would have been," the camera flashes again, lights pale dermis obscenely. "Maybe death ended the misery."

"Probably not soon enough," Robbins points out. "Unfortunately the injuries to the hands happened well before death. Maybe a month, at least a few weeks."

"They still look raw though," Jensen questions, flinching as the doctor moves one of the unnaturally long fingers.

"That much tissue cut away? It would take a lot of time to stem bleeding, much less scab over. There are also indications that the wounds were repeatedly reopened."

"What kind of person would even think to do this?" Jensen asks rhetorically.

"Not really something out of the typical torture manual, no." The doctor leans close to their victim's right appendage, Jensen doing the same on the left. "It's precise though. The hands are complex, a lot of bones, nerves, and tendons. Mostly it's the muscle that's been cut away, bone still intact. It's immaculate, if depraved."

Robbins pushes himself back up straight; Jensen can feel his stare.

"You know, I paged Ryland," he starts. "they're taking this case, right?"

"Yeah, but since I was at the scene I offered to do this, help them out a bit. Scene'll take a while to clear and process."

"Makes your shift a lot longer, then."

"Guess so," Jensen sets the camera aside and steps back. "Got anything else for me?"

"Probably not for a while," the doctor answers. "But check back when you get in tonight. I'll definitely have more then."

Jensen knows he's being kicked out, likely for his own good. He doesn't want to leave, feels strange and almost nervous. Robbins is already starting his autopsy and Jensen needs to get his feet to move, motor control fighting with the urge to simply stand and stare.

Snap of a rib cracking breaks his trace and Jensen grabs the camera. He's through the doors when his phone vibrates, the fourth text message in the last two hours from Jared. Jensen figures it doesn't matter if he calls back right away.

He might as well go home.

***

Jared's not home when Jensen gets there, likely out running in the surprisingly mild late morning. It's a good thing; Jensen's on a manic edge, starts brewing a pot of the strongest coffee he can manage.

It's half gone by the time Jared walks in, sweaty and panting, pacing laps around the kitchen island to warm his body down. He's talking to Jensen, something about their neighbor, but it sounds far away, the dull buzz drowning Jared out. Fingers snap in front of his face, he's missed the entire conversation.

"Hey, you okay?"

Jensen blinks, no idea how to answer that.

"Jensen?" Much softer, Jared's closer. "Something at work?"

"I..." he tries, itches to say something but the synapses won't connect, can't put into words what he saw, what it made him feel. But Jared needs a response, deserves one. "I just need a little time to process."

He rarely gets like this, never since he met Jared, and it's hard to articulate. His team would understand, obsession can be part of the job. But even unable to open up to Jared right now, he wouldn't trade his company for the others'.

Jared nods, backs off. He goes for the coffee instead, Jensen interrupting before he can pour.

"It's regular."

"Shit," Jared swears but fills his mug anyway. "Now I know something's buggin' you if this isn't decaf."

And he's right, Jensen rarely craves extra caffeine as opposed to Jared who assumes it's one of the major food groups. He wants to be wired though, thoughts disjointed and fleeting, far from slowing down.

They're quiet during breakfast, Jared orders pizza and tips the guy extra. They're always the first delivery of the day. Still silent while Jared cleans up and takes a shower, coming back in a new t-shirt and boxers to where Jensen hasn't moved. From his seat at the counter he just watches; Jared flips on the television and grabs a controller. He won't push Jensen, never had, but this is different.

"Wanna watch, Jensen?"

He almost goes over, says yes. But he needs to lose it - all the energy, the racing thoughts. It's been building since he saw the body hours ago, not helped by coffee and anxiety. He has to lose himself right now and those video games aren't gonna cut it.

Escaping to his bedroom, he doesn't bother to close the door, Jared'll follow him. Strips off his shirt, starts on his slacks. Is down to his boxers when he feels Jared behind him. Large, gentle hands circle his waist, pull him back against a solid chest.

Any other night it would be more than enough, but it's not what Jensen desires. Jared's nuzzling at his throat, he hears the breathy "what's wrong?" before pulling away. Spins and grabs Jared, all but throwing him on the bed. His boyfriend rolls while Jensen watches, stripping his t-shirt and boxers, obviously picking up on Jensen's mood.

This is what he needs, climbs on top and seizes Jared's mouth. It's rough and dominating, unusual for them. The younger man's not passive, large palms grasping and tugging, fighting to rip Jensen's underwear off. He can feel the pads of Jared's fingers skim across his flesh, supple and skilled, whole and intact.

A flash of mutilated flesh fills his head and he forces it out; tries to replace it with the feel and image of Jared's hands but it's difficult, those pictures burned into memory. He stops biting at Jared's lips, reaches back and pins Jared's arms at his side.

"Jensen, please," Jared exhales; Jensen's never heard him beg, the sound tripping something in his mind. Not sure what Jared's begging for, explanation or continuation.

Their cocks are barely touching, Jensen's body arched away, Jared's instinctively mirroring. He rarely craves this, the control he's feeling, suddenly knows exactly what he wants to do.

He doesn't flip them, just moves off Jared and sits against the headboard, waits for the younger man to roll and look up. He does, hazel eyes gone dark, face and shoulders starting to flush. Watches as Jared half slides, half crawls to him, tongue tracing up Jensen's chest to his collarbone before detouring to his mouth, coaxing Jensen's tongue out to twine with his.

Reaching over for the bottle on the nightstand, Jensen grabs it and sees Jared stretch for a condom. He stops Jared's arm, draws it back to his chest.

"Hang on, Jared...just -" Jensen pulls the younger man onto his hands and knees facing him, broad back and narrow waist in a perfect display.

Jared's eyes focus on Jensen's fingers, watching him spread the slick gel. He moves forward, head resting at the bend of Jensen's neck as one slick digit slides into him. It's a stretch for Jensen but he works his middle finger around Jared's rim, pressing and flexing then slipping back inside. Jensen feels the sharp inhales and shaky exhales against his throat, rests his free hand on Jared's hip, rocking him slightly back and forth on his finger.

After a few minutes Jared's thrusting back on his own, tries to get Jensen to add another finger. When he doesn't, Jared surges forward and kneels over Jensen, dick pressed along Jensen's sternum and hands clutching the headboard. Jensen slips a second finger inside, loves the ragged moan from Jared.

"C'mon, Jensen, more," he manages, cock bumping Jensen's chin as he impales himself, starts to falter as he nears the edge.

Feeling that, Jensen pulls his fingers out.

"What're you doi -" is the only protest Jensen allows before he spins Jared around, yanks him back onto his lap.

"Yeah, like this..." Jensen whispers, bites Jared's earlobe and slides his fingers back down. Jared's spread over his thighs, back hot against his chest; his own legs keep Jared's apart as wide as he can. He finds Jared's lips, kissing him deeply as he's penetrated.

When he adds a third finger Jared starts to keen, arching and releasing. His eyes are scrunched tightly closed, but his mouth is open, breath mixing with Jensen's, panting mangled words and obscenities - everything telling Jensen not to stop.

They're barely kissing anymore. Jared's tongue is extended and Jensen can only manage to bite and suck at it, coordination taking him so far. Jared's body's twitching with every thrust of Jensen's fingers, muscles almost locked.

"Oh God, shit...Jensen..." He pushes the three fingers as deep as he can, Jared's body rigid in his arms. "There, oh fuckin' right there..."

Jared comes a few seconds later, muscles releasing as he coats his stomach, shaking as he rides the feeling. Pulling his fingers out, Jensen helps Jared off him, limbs bound to burn after being manhandled. His boyfriend flops onto his stomach at Jensen's side, surprises him when he languidly reaches for the ignored condom, tossing it to Jensen.

"Jen, fuck me..."

He hears but doesn't believe, definitely something they've never done. Suddenly Jensen's petrified, feels wrong. Something like this shouldn't be tainted by tonight, by Jensen's mood, though he knows Jared would never ask for anything he didn't want, wasn't prepared to give. Jared must see the apprehension on his face and he nuzzles against Jensen's thigh, his own legs spread and ready. Not vulnerable. Strong and permissive, inviting Jensen who doesn't think he can accept.

"Jare," he breathes, "I can just -"

"No, c'mon. Take me, Jen, I want it."

His control is gone, Jared's body drawing him over and he slides on the condom. Wonders if he even had control in the first place.

Jared's ass is slick and open, Jensen pushing right in. His hands grasp Jared's shoulders, steadying himself. He's too aroused to last, doesn't have the time to feel and think and process. There's merely Jared's tight body and Jensen's unable to bite back the sounds he's making. He fucks into Jared a handful of times before he's gone, filling the condom while Jared encourages him with soft words.

When the condom's tied off and gone, Jensen's back at Jared's side, thoughts mercilessly quieted. The younger man smiles, sleepy and sated. Jensen doesn't say anything, sure his behavior will be questioned later. He lets Jared press open kisses along his shoulder and welcomes the exhaustion that pulls him into darkness.

***

Jensen wakes up a few hours later, bright afternoon sun creeping in through the crack in the shades, one incandescent stripe splitting the room. Jared's made a mess of the covers - half wrapped around him and the other half kicked to the floor leaving none for Jensen. But Jared's warm enough next to him, still dead asleep.

He debates waking Jared up, crawl into his space and let the words go. They've always been fine with work talk - forensic stories traded for insider Hollywood gossip. Despite that, he doesn't think Jared should hear this, doesn't want the images in his head too. Bad enough he's stuck with them.

Jensen slips out and into the shower, has a few hours until he's due at the lab, but there's no harm in going early. Jared'll be asleep for a while before hitting the gym and Jensen wouldn't be great company. Won't drag Jared's mood down anymore than he already may have.

They're coming up on a few days off; he'll make it up to Jared then.

***

"Hey, it's me. Listen, I got a call from the show's producers, they need me back in L.A. for some promotional work, just a day or two. I meant to tell you earlier but I guess we got distracted. Anyway, the sooner I go, the sooner I can get back so I'm just gonna head out this morning. I'd fly, but I want to pick up some more of my things while I'm there so I'm taking the truck. Call me when you get a break. Later."

Jensen hits the 'call' button as soon as the message finishes. Gets Jared's voicemail in return and slams the phone shut. He's been at the lab since five last night, hadn't checked his cell.

It's a slow night, Warrick and Sara working their only call, Jensen back with the mutilated body from the day before. Day shift hadn't gotten much from their evidence, no leads possible without an I.D. on the victim. He'd gone over the body again with the medical examiner, tried his luck at identification but got no further.

He can't move on, wishes he had a new case to work but the pickings are slim. Jensen dials Jared again pointlessly. Hangs up when he hears Hodges calling him.

"Evening, Ackles."

"David, did you need something?:

"No, but I think you do," his tech is smirking. David's insufferable, but phenomenal if you can put up with him.

"And?" Jensen waits, let's Hodges have his moment.

"And Doc Robbins sent up a sample from your John Doe's tattoo, thought it might be homemade and recently done."

"Really?" He hadn't pursued the tattoo angle, their prevalence in Vegas makes it difficult, even the amateur variety.

"Yep, the Doc was right," David acknowledges. "Figured it was likely done around the time his hands were cut." He starts walking back to his lab with Jensen following. "Definitely not pro work, the sample was pen ink which I couldn't match to a specific brand - shame there's no database-"

"Hodges," he stops the chatter.

"Right, the ink was mixed with blood, which I sent to DNA to make sure it was all the vic's."

"That it?" Jensen asks, taking the printout Hodges hands him.

"Basically, unless Greg finds something to trump me. But, if you ever find the pen, I can match it."

"Thanks, David," he says as he leaves, staring at the chemical composition of the ink. The new evidence makes him anxious, potentially useless as it may be. It's something different, a new direction he can be pulled in if he lets himself go. Certainly more intriguing that paperwork and reviews.

Then he remembers Jared's message, gets hit with a serious pang of disappointment. Even if he could get out of here, his boyfriend wouldn't be home - no light at the end of his dark and depravity-filled tunnel.

It's the worst time for Jared to be leaving, though it was bound to happen. Maybe the time apart will give him the chance he needs to get through whatever this is.

Doesn't stop him from wishing Jared wasn't going anywhere.

***

"God damn, Ecklie."

Jensen slams the car door, pulling his other hand out of the way just in time. Finally in his own driveway, he takes a deep breath and wills away the encroaching headache, regretting that he'd ignored his two days off.

Just like the not-so-good old times.

Of course, the silver truck he sees parked in front of his house means those times have changed.

Sight of the shiny vehicle lifts a weight from Jensen's shoulders. Jared's been busy in L.A., barely able to spare a few minutes when Jensen called. He hesitates at the door, tries to find words to describe the pathetic monotony his life has become in a few short days and make Jared understand.

It's too hard, too complicated, and Jensen doesn't understand it himself. He just wants to focus on the fact that Jared's here, get back to the pattern they had before John Doe landed on Jensen's desk. Shouldn't have gotten involved with that case from the first, he admits, but scientists are notoriously unable to predict what will fascinate them: a bug, a witness, and a hopelessly unidentifiable man.

But it doesn't matter anymore, Jensen forced to move on and do his job - Ecklie was very clear on that.

Jared's at the counter when he walks in, newspaper and breakfast spread on the granite. He jumps up when he sees Jensen, moves towards him.

"Thought I heard you out there," he says, voice cheerful but cautious, likely unsure of what Jensen's going to say.

"Yeah, long night," Jensen scratches the back of his head. "Didn't know you'd be back already."

The younger man nods and they stare at each other for a moment before Jared, mimicking his actions from a few weeks ago, reaches for and envelops Jensen. This time, they're not in the lab and Jensen doesn't have to let go, allows himself to just be held in the embrace. He takes the comfort his boyfriend probably doesn't know he's offering, breathes it in deeply.

"Now are you going to tell me what's going on with you?"

Jensen hears the whispered question but doesn't break his hold on Jared. Instead he shifts to press their lips together, tastes tart orange juice on Jared's tongue when it softly tangles with Jensen's. His glasses are pushing uncomfortably into his nose, but he couldn't care less. He reaches to slide his fingers through Jared's hair, stops when he feels the slick trace of gel.

"What the...?"

"Oh, sorry," Jared shakes his head. "I left right after a photoshoot last night, wanted to get back. Meant to take a shower, get this shit out of my hair. Had to look like a sexy, FBI supernatural research geek, you know."

"A sexy geek? That even possible?" Jensen smiles, works his fingers through Jared's tamed strands, tries to mess them up.

"I'm lookin' at one."

"Aw, don't start that," Jensen pushes Jared away playfully. "Save any breakfast for me?"

"Yeah," Jared indicates the bakery bag on the counter. "Stopped by and got some of those awesome bagels on my way in."

As Jared's digging through the bag, pulling out a plain toasted bagel with plain cream cheese for him, Jensen thinks about the fact that Jared apparently hadn't stayed in L.A. a minute longer than he had to - suddenly feels worse that he'd acted like an ass.

"Listen, Jare," he tries softly.

"Eat first," Jensen interjects, slides Jensen's boring bagel across the counter, starting in on his own cinnamon raisin bagel with honey cream cheese. Jensen appreciates the chance to organize his thoughts, and eat, always more ornery on an empty stomach.

He hasn't been home much these last few days, didn't want to get used to a house minus Jared again. The couch in his office is as uncomfortable as the one here and he's glad things are heading back towards normal.

Jared's wiping up crumbs when Jensen starts again, but he's cut off one more time.

"You look tired," Jensen hears, glasses lifted off his face and set aside.

"No more than you," he responds, still able to make out darker circles under Jared's eyes, pupils and smile not as bright.

"Yeah, didn't really catch a lot of sleep in L.A., but make-up can cover anything."

Jared grabs his hand, walks them both to the bedroom, pulls off Jensen's button down when they get there. He's pushed to the bed, Jared following, until they're both settled on the comforter. Rather than being interrupted again, he waits for Jared to say anything. Is starting to relax when he finally does.

"Something wrong with us, Jen?"

He can read the nervousness in Jared's eyes.

"No. Shit, no," Jensen reassures first, scoots closer to Jared. "This is all me. Just me, and shit at the lab."

"Thought you got that you don't need to keep things from me. You could reach out when we met, shared the burden even though I didn't always understand." Jared pauses for a second, Jensen taking it in. "What's changed?"

He doesn't need to think about his response; it comes to him immediately.

"Nothing."

Jensen shifts forward into Jared's arms, kiss quickly escalating from gentle and comforting to heated. It's more than the kiss in the kitchen - more reassuring, more necessary - tongues winding around each other, soothing in their well known and practiced dance. Stroking and flexing, their hands move over each other. Barely sexual, he's still far from aroused, but Jensen feels a remarkable change. Chest lightens and mind eases.

When he pulls away, Jared's hand doesn't leave his hip, keeps them in close proximity.

"Whatever's got you on edge, you can tell me."

All the reluctance Jensen felt returns.

"I can't...you don't need to hear it," he strains, wills Jared to drop it but knows better.

"Maybe I don't need it, but you need someone to listen," Jared sighs, waits for Jensen to start talking but there's sill only silence. "Jen, I think you're trying to make this too complicated. Separate your work from me, draw lines and divide things. Look, it's easy to make things more complex, bigger and intricate. But it always ends up worse. It takes effort and strength to move in the opposite direction, to simplify things, but it'll pay off. This," he motions between them, "is simple. You talk, I listen. Whatever you need to say."

"You're right," Jensen admits quietly.

"One of my worst habits, sorry," Jared whispers back with a smile.

And Jensen suddenly feels like he can talk, isolated in the quiet and intimate space created between their lips, so different from the lab. So he does.

Jensen says everything he can, tells Jared all about the mutilated man that'd taken over his conscious thought. He describes the injuries he'd obsessed over, holds Jared's hand tightly when he does, feeling strong muscle and tendon. Tells how the unit had no leads, no identification, no idea where to go, and how Ecklie had finally come down on them this morning. Declared it an unsolved case until further notice, leaving Jensen with an empty and frustrated feeling, unwilling to turn his back on such a vicious and obvious murder.

True to his word, Jared listens; he doesn't need to say anything. Jensen's falling asleep by the time he finishes, eyes barely able to stay open. He feels Jared moving as he drifts off, his jeans are removed and the sheets pulled over them.

Unexpectedly, Jared snuggles against Jensen, both of them normally preferring space when going to sleep, post-coital cuddling excepted. It's a nice feeling though, Jared's face nuzzled into the crook of Jensen's neck, long limbs twining with his own. Just like that, Jensen knows he's been missed, again, even over such a short time.

And the feeling's definitely mutual.

***

Jensen's only been at the lab for ten minutes when the entire team is called to the scene of a double homicide.

He'd arrived at work feeling better - a good day's sleep and Jared's personalized version of therapy making all the difference. No time to show it though, his co-workers still giving him a wide berth as they arrive at the scene and start processing. Jensen delegates, sends everyone in a different direction and, for once, hears no back sassing. Makes him want to fake being over-hassled more often.

After reviewing with Detective Vartan, Jensen joins Nick and Catherine where they're setting up in the living room, cameras flashing as they document. His eyes take in the two victims, male and female, both dressed to the nines. Nick hasn't noticed Jensen's appearance; he's over by a camcorder already set up, glancing between the equipment and the candles, thankfully put out now, filling the room.

"Lights, camera," Nick looks down at the bloody bodies, smirking at Catherine. "And plenty of action."

Jensen can't help snorting, causes Nick to startle and look over. The Texan appears nervous - the lab's been humorless for days before this - but Jensen arches his eyebrow.

"Seriously, Stokes? Who says crap like that?"

Catherine starts laughing, tension snapped just like that, and Nick joins in when he sees the grin Jensen's sporting.

He figures it'll take him a few days to get back into the swing of things, back to the functional dysfunction his team seems to thrive on, but this is a good start.

***

Jensen drops his stack of mail on the desk, pulls off his tie. He and Catherine had ended their shift with an early morning court appearance, dragging themselves back to the lab only to find the rest of the team had skipped out a few minutes early. Guesses Catherine's gone by now too, but Jensen's taking his sweet time.

If he goes home now, Jared'll drag him along on his morning run, something he's been doing since getting back from Los Angeles a week ago. Another attempt to give Jensen a 'hobby', though he suspects Jared's also trying to keep him occupied, find a way to prevent his mind from drifting down darker paths. Right now, he's just trying to avoid physical activity, can still feel the burn in his thighs, uneager to repeat the torture. Of course, running behind his strong and agile boyfriend does have its perks. That and the post-run massages Jared's very capable of giving.

When he thinks about it, a run's not the worst idea - the aches worth it for the chance to manhandle a sweaty actor into their shower.

He quickly sorts his mail, puts aside everything that can wait until he's back tonight. Almost ready to leave, he picks up the last letter, thick envelope with his name on it and no return address. Confused, he opens it, a sheet of paper dropping into his hands. He carefully unfolds it, a detailed sketch appearing before his eyes.

It's beautiful in its detail, horrifying in its subject matter. A fine pencil drawing of a human hand, anatomically perfect except for what's missing. Flesh. Musculature. It's alien and horrible to look at, but Jensen recognizes it immediately, stomach dropping to the floor..

A Polaroid flutters onto the desk from the open envelope and Jensen immediately jumps back, grabs a pair of gloves, and tries not to hyperventilate.

The photograph is of Jared running, more than a week old since Jensen's not with him.

It screams silently at him from the desk, heavy black writing hurting his eyes.

Beautiful.

For now.



FIN

The J2/CSI 'Verse continues in I Offer You The Lean Streets.




Comments are welcomed and appreciated!

Notes: I based Jensen's "phobia" and complete lack of working knowledge of video games on myself. I've never played anything beyond the first issue Game Boy when I was like ten. I could no sooner tell the Xbox from the PS3. Just to show, it's ENTIRELY possible to be worthless when it comes to those things. ...And now you have your Author Trivia for today.

And not to forget, the idea of the mutilated hands comes from Mary Doria Russell's book The Sparrow. The description has stuck with me for years, and it's an image I've never been able to forget, so when I needed something for this fic, Emilio's hands immediately came to mind. So, if you recognized the mutilation, that's where it's from.

Thanks again to twofourteen who assured me that being diabolical with the ending was perfectly acceptable. =)