Lieutenant Mac Toledo of the Greeley police department is all business. Jensen had bonded with the man when Cassidy had introduced them the day before. The group is stationed a mile out from the drug dealers’ base; the Lieutenant and his two officers listen along with Davis as Cassidy and Jensen recite the plan.

“We’re goin’ in quiet, on foot,” Jensen says. “They might be expectin’ a raid after the shoot-out a few nights ago, but we’ve been keepin’ an eye on the roads in and out and they haven’t bothered to up their manpower.”

“There’s a possibility that our two missing persons are in the compound somewhere,” Cassidy adds, handing printed photos around. “We don’t know if they’re hostages or accomplices. If they’re accomplices, hopefully they’ll be smart enough to surrender right off the bat.”

Wishful thinking, Jensen knows.

“Everyone in there should be considered armed and dangerous,” Jensen says. “They’re not shy about leavin’ bodies, we know that.”

“So watch your back and stay in contact,” Toledo finishes for the group.

As a last, sobering note, Cassidy adds, “Med techs and transports will be standing by, waiting for our call.”

Jensen’s off in his own world while everyone gears up. They’ll come at the farm from the back road, runnin’ with silent sirens to give them an edge. He’s been over the plan so many times, he’s sick of thinking. Mo’s safe in the motel room, but Jensen had spent an extra five minutes giving his pup a belly rub this morning.

Just in case.

He’s out of sorts today, too big for his body. While he can, he entertains thoughts of Jared to give himself a distraction, letting the impending action disappear for a few minutes before they roll out and get into all sorts of trouble.

Without meaning to, the Doc’s got Jensen tied up in knots. On the road so much, he’s used to wantin’ and gettin’ at the same time. No one walks through his door without both of them being good ‘n satisfied. Waiting’s a new game and Jensen’s not sold on it. He definitely isn’t wise to the rules.

Whatever Jared’s got planned better be damned good, that’s for sure.

Cassidy comes over and taps his shoulder, gettin’ him back in the moment.

“Ready?”

Jensen checks his holster and clips one last time and says, “Always.”



Pure luck brings Jensen to within ten feet of the weathered farmhouse before he’s spotted.

The other five lawmen are spread out, circling in on the house after they’d quietly cleared the half-dozen outbuildings. Their vehicles are stashed a quarter-mile back on the road, masking their approach. Everything’s going like clock-work until Jensen comes up on the backside of the farmhouse.

He’s caught by surprise when a dark haired, bearded man rounds the corner. His big, gnarled hands are workin’ at his fly; he’s probably a look-out sneaking away from his post to take a leak. The man’s face goes white, nearly pissing himself right there at the sight of the Ranger staring him down with a gun in hand, but he recovers quickly when he sees Jensen’s badge. The man tenses, gets a swing off before Jensen can bring his gun up between them, and his fist rains down in an arc, nailing Jensen hard on the side of his face. Jensen’s gun falls to the grass, out of reach.

The strike lights Jensen up like a storm electrifying the plains. The look-out goes to open his mouth – a warning yell – but Jensen drives his shoulders into the man’s chest and knocks the wind straight outta him. Bitten-down fingernails claw to get a grip on Jensen’s face and neck, digging like a dull, serrated blade as the man tries to fight him off.

Jensen loses his advantage and is roughly shoved away. Seeing his opening, the man throws an upper-cut that lands square on Jensen’s jaw. Jensen hits back, aims a chop right over the man’s carotid artery that stuns him for the second it takes for Jensen to fight outta the man’s grip.

The man comes at him hard as soon as Jensen goes for his gun. Blows land over Jensen’s ribs, choking his breath, but he counters with sharp jabs into the man’s kidneys, dropping him to his knees. A few more hits to the head and the man’s out cold, but Jensen’s face feels like an egg, cracked and scrambled.

Finding his gun in the grass, Jensen moves right along behind the house. No one comes running; Jensen hopes like hell the fight didn’t cause too much commotion.

A minute later, Jensen comes up on Davis grappling with a man who’s stick-thin but swinging his arms like a windmill and keeping Davis from taking him down. The man’s eyes are too bright, the drugs in his blood making him hard to fight off, and he’s so wound up he doesn’t hear Jensen approaching from behind. He’s afforded no warning when Jensen’s gun hits him in the neck and drops him like a lead weight.

“Man, I”– Davis gasps –“thanks, he was crazy.”

He tosses Davis a spare pair of handcuffs, nodding over his shoulder towards the man he’d already taken care of. “Get ‘em cuffed to something solid and try to keep ‘em quiet. Make sure they’re not going anywhere.”

Jensen creeps up onto the porch, going still when he catches movement behind the thin dirty sheets strung up like curtains. A glance around the landscape doesn’t reveal Cassidy, Toledo, or the other two officers unless they’re already inside.

The front door’s ajar, crooked as if it’s about to fall off the rusty hinges, and Jensen pushes it open, letting his gun lead the way into the room. There ain’t much to the place, furniture’s long been cleared out or sold off, and every footstep Jensen takes sends a plume of fine, gray dust up into the air. No one ever accused drug dealers of keepin’ a clean hideout.

A shadow disappears through a sagging doorway ahead on Jensen’s left. He follows silently into an empty kitchen where brown and green bottles are stacked up in the sink, cardboard boxes and Styrofoam cups littered on the black and white tile floor. On the far side of the kitchen, another door stands between Jensen and the low murmur of multiple voices.

He takes a deep breath, ignoring the dust that’s irritating his eyes and nose, and moves forward. The knob rattles in Jensen’s hand; he pulls back. The voices cut off and before Jensen can hustle backwards into the front room for cover, the door opens.

Five people are on the other side, four men and one woman. Two outta the five stunned faces match the grainy photos on Cassidy’s handout – seems they’re not missing anymore.

The man standing in the open door is scrawny and the dim indoor light hits his bald head. He double-takes at the sight of Jensen. “Who the hell are you?”

Jensen suddenly finds himself starin’ down the barrels of three weapons. Not the worst he’s faced in his violent career, but his heart stops for a split second before the adrenaline kicks in. He considers pulling his trigger and escaping while the dealers worry about the bullets, but he wants to buy time for Cassidy and the others to find him.

Jensen vowed to end this here, today.

“I know him,” one of the men sneers. “He’s a damn cop!”

Jensen recognizes two of the three gunmen. One’s easily discernible from his hooked nose and thin, greasy mustache; that’s the bastard who’d grazed Jensen’s arm on the night Corbin was murdered and, unfortunately for him, pistol-whipped Jared. Jensen’s aching to make him pay for that. His accomplice from that night is obvious thanks to the thick, blood-soaked bandage wrapped tightly around the fat flesh of his right shoulder.

“Look who we have here.” Jensen’s lip curls. “How’s the shoulder, bubba? I got you good, didn’t I?”

Bubba’s pale face wobbles, gun wavering in the grip of his weak hand. His aim doesn’t worry Jensen a whole hell of a lot.

“I got a piece of you too, cop,” the hooked-nose man sneers. “Should’ve just finished you off back at the damn doctor’s.”

“Yup.” Jensen smiles; the bravado this guy’s throwing out makes no difference to him. “Probably should’ve.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hook says, “you’re all alone now.”

Jensen lines the center of the man’s forehead up in his sights. “You’re dumber than you look and that’s quite an accomplishment.”

“You think insultin’ me is gonna get you outta this?”

“It’s makin’ me feel a hell of a lot better.”

Hook’s eyes narrow. He opens his mouth to fire back but the far door in the room behind him is suddenly kicked open, wood busted straight off its hinges. Toledo storms into the room with his two officers backing him up, all three of their weapons raised.

“Weapons on the ground, now!” Toledo shouts.

“Boss?” The third gunman, a young guy from Idle, darts a nervous look towards the bald man who’s clearly not thrilled about being outted as the ringleader.

“Shut up!”

“So you’re the boss?” Jensen drawls. “Good to know.”

With four guns pointed at him, the gunman from Idle begins to lower his weapon. The young woman’s hands are already in the air. Light, booted steps approach Jensen from the back and out of the corner of his eye Jensen sees Cassidy come up next to him.

“What’re you gonna do, cop?” Hook taunts Jensen, the others looking on to see which way the battle’s gonna swing. Jensen’s already put this one in the win column so long as no one gets testy with their weapons. “You ain’t gonna shoot us without cause, I know the rules.”

“Oh no,” Jensen laughs. “This is a Texas Ranger operation, dipshit. Do you know what that means?”

Bubba shrugs; the bald leader and Hook share a look.

“Go on and tell them what that means, Ranger,” Toledo says, voice hard.

“We still got rights,” the bald man says, voice holding less water.

“Could be, but I am well within my rights to shoot you, considering you’re goin’ down for the murder of a town Sheriff and the attempted murder of a Ranger,” Jensen counters. “Really, I’m not too fond of paperwork and there’s a hell of a lot less for a dead man than a live one.” His voice goes hard. “So if you don’t put down your guns right now and kick ‘em this way? I will shoot and when I do, I be aiming to kill.”

Jensen imagines he could hear a pin drop in the sudden silence as the gunmen estimate their piss-poor chances and the lawmen tense up, ready for anything. No one moves and Jensen clenches his teeth, scowling. He pulls back on his trigger…

Three guns hit the floor, and Cassidy and Toledo move forward to take the dealers into custody.

“That’s what I thought,” Jensen hisses.



The ragged face in the mirror stares out at Jensen and asks what the hell he’s thinking. This is the face Jared’s gonna see later. Jensen’s never been one for self-flattery, but the picture ain’t pretty.

His eyelids are red, drier than they oughta be. The skin under his eyes is shadowed; the left is somehow darker than the right, making Jensen appear like an unbalanced shade of himself. His jaw sports scruff from the beard he thinks about but never commits to. At least he can shave that off, but one little change won’t do much for the rest of him.

Jensen’s got his work cut out, navigating the razor over tender skin, around his many hurts. The cuts and bruises are even more noticeable when his face is smooth, but what’s done is done.

He owns one suit jacket, a charcoal gray number Morgan made him buy for court. He’d balked, but at least the captain hadn’t forced him into buying the whole ensemble. Tonight he slips it on gingerly over the white t-shirt and black henley he’d changed into after taking Mo for a walk, trying not to pull too much on the bandage around his arm, and keeps the boots and jeans he was already wearing.

He clips the holster onto his belt but he leaves the badge in the nightstand drawer. Mo’s asleep when he leaves, full bowls of food and water to hold him over ‘til the morning.

The clinic is dark when Jensen pulls up outside. The parking lot’s empty except for the Sabre and Jared’s car. Jensen takes a long look around but the street’s quiet in both directions.

At the door, he holds down the intercom button he’d seen Cassidy use. “Jared?”

And a second later, the Doc’s distorted voice hisses through the speaker. “Hey, I closed the office a little while ago. I’ll buzz you up to the apartment, hang on…”

Jensen climbs the narrow staircase once the lock disengages. There’s a door at the top, and Jensen knocks after taking a deep breath.

He’s imagining all kinds of ways tonight could go. Jensen wouldn’t blame the Doc if he slammed the door in his face on account of the beating he took. Might be enough to turn Jared around on his plans.

Lookin’ as rough as he does, Jensen’s expecting a lecture. He’s not too fond of gettin’ them, but if he has to endure a few words from the Doc in order to move to the more entertaining parts of the night, he might not mind so much.

Jensen definitely isn’t expecting Jared to answer the door and invite him in while wearing nothing but loose jeans that cling to his trim hips. Jared’s a big man, and that’s a hell of a lot of skin he’s showing off. The light hair dusted across Jared’s sternum makes Jensen’s mouth water for a taste of what he’s seeing.

“Am I early?”

Jared shakes his head. “Right on time, actually.”

“Really.” Jensen doesn’t make it a question. “Well, you’ve got my attention, Doc.”

“Good,” Jared says, letting the nickname slide for once. The door shuts and Jensen’s pinned in the entry. He’s not looking for a way out. “I was making sure last night wasn’t a fluke.”

“By gettin’ undressed before I got here?” Jensen follows the divots at Jared’s hips, then brings his eyes back and tilts his chin up. “I’m flattered, but I wish you’d saved the show.”

Jensen gets little warning before Jared’s kissing him – the Doc’s fond of surprises. Jared standing there half naked might’ve been a big clue this would happen, but Jensen’s not too keen on hindsight. Jared’s big paws wrap around Jensen’s face, holding him like there’s a chance he’ll run, and his forearms lean heavily on Jensen’s chest.

Jensen’s been remembering their last kiss all damn day, happy to add more details to flesh out the memory. Jared angles his head instinctively, pulling Jensen’s lips forward between his teeth if there’s even a hint of Jensen backing away.

Their lips hold each other's shape when they finally do allow some space between them.

Jared asks, “Are you coming in?” and Jensen’s left with no other urge than to follow.

The lecture never comes. Jared delivers a long look once they’re in the kitchen and his scrutiny has Jensen aching to scratch at the cuts scattered across his face. He raises a hand but Jared’s fingers are there to stop him.

“That’ll make it worse.”

Their eyes meet, Jensen silently asking the Doc to spare him any more concern. Without a word, he knows when Jared agrees to hold off.

“Nice jacket,” Jared says instead, fingers skimming down beneath Jensen’s lapels. “I didn’t think you owned one.”

“It’s a special occasion.”

“Why’s that?”

Jensen smiles. “We had a clean bust and booked the dealers, no loose ends. It ain’t always this easy so I want to savor my victory,” he touts.

“And I’m part of your victory?” Jared’s hands find purchase in the jacket’s fabric, spreading around Jensen’s sides to haul him closer.

“I seem to remember hearing you had plans for me,” Jensen says, desperately needing the thing that’s been dangling in front of his face since last night, taunting him. He’s crazy for it, unwilling to admit how wound up the Doc’s gotten him just yet. “Can’t we just…”

“Yeah,” Jared sobers, his eyes intent. “We can.”

Jensen kisses him; there’s nothing else he needs to say.

Jared is half naked already so Jensen’s clothes bear the brunt of their focus. The Doc takes extra care stripping off his jacket and tossing it aside – so much for dressing up – and he’s patient when he gets underneath, helping Jensen get outta the snug, black shirt without tugging on his arm too much. Jared’s hands go for his belt, but Jensen stops him.

“Wouldn’t want this goin’ off in the middle of things,” he says, pulling his belt and holster off and setting them on the counter. “Might kill the mood.”

The next stop is Jared’s bedroom, down an undecorated hallway with pale green carpeting. Jared walks in, flips on a single floor lamp and waits as if Jensen’s gonna comment on the room. He couldn’t care less about Jared’s taste in furniture so long as there’s a bed that’ll fit ‘em both. Jensen’s not planning to stop for conversation; he walks to the bed and carefully pulls off his white undershirt, hearing static pops as he stretches the cotton over his ears.

There is room to spare as they fall to the mattress, denim and skin causing all kinds of friction between them. Jared’s fingers make a run for Jensen’s zipper and Jensen doesn’t stop him. At this point, amped up on the sights and smells and fuckin’ sounds the Doc’s providing, a tornado could rip through Idle and Jensen wouldn’t let Jared go for shelter.

They’ve passed the last stop sign on this road – no rest for miles.

Jared puts a match to the heat building inside Jensen. His big hands never let up on their forceful grip and Jensen knows without asking that the Doc’s the kind of man he can really tumble with, no fears and no reservations. Jensen’s always appreciated a reckless personality in bed – livin’ on the edge isn’t restricted to daylight – but Jared is working the entire package. Looks that hooked Jensen right away and a personality that dug and needled until it suddenly didn’t. The Doc’s spark kept him coming back and now he’s ignited by the full force of it.

Stripping without a show, Jensen crawls over Jared’s body, teeth grazing over the curves of hard muscle.

Jared gasps. “Didn’t think you’d be a biter.”

“You were thinkin’ about me?” Jensen asks, pulling red marks to the surface of Jared’s paler torso. “I’m flattered.”

He gentles his attentions when he drops below Jared’s belly, every touch to the sensitive skin making Jared jump beneath him. Jensen teases with his mouth, every nerve in his lips bent on finding little weaknesses to exploit.

“What else were you thinkin’?”

Jared hums as Jensen’s tongue taunts with shallow trips below the top of his jeans, his fingers curled around the denim.

“I thought you might leave town before we got a chance to do this,” Jared says around a beautiful, broken sound.

“And that would’ve been a shame,” Jensen tells him, rubbing his chin in deliberate circles over Jared’s cock. Jared’s legs wriggle out from under Jensen’s body and bend up, his knees raised as tall peaks on either side. He tugs at Jared’s jeans a bit harder. “I think these need to go.”

Jensen had entertained the idea of what he might be see once Jared was naked, but the reality is so much better than any imagining conjured late at night in a lonely bed. Jared is long lines and endless skin, fine hair on his chest and down his legs that strokes like silk over Jensen’s skin.

Keeping Jared beneath him, Jensen kneads at Jared’s chest, teeth catching his shoulder in an easy grasp. “Gonna let me fuck you?”

“Maybe I’ll be fucking you,” Jared counters, twisting Jensen’s head back ‘round to meet his eyes, fingers sunk tight in Jensen’s hair. “I am taller.”

Jensen bites at the Doc’s chin, perfectly in range. Lickin’ away the hurt before layin’ it right back down.

“I’ve got a gun.”

“That’s a stupid rule.”

“’Bout as stupid as the shorter-guy-bends-over rule,” Jensen says. He stretches up to Jared’s lips, their bodies warm and undulating together. “You want me to fuck you, trust me.”

“Why should I let you?”

Jensen devours the question with a rough tongue, pushing through to that deeper heat and bringing Jared across with him.

“Because I want to,” he growls, “and when I want something, there’s nothing that’ll stop me from gettin’ it. If I have to fight you right here on this bed, I will. I’ll roll you under me and keep you there ‘til you’re tired of being on the edge. If I have to stroke every part of you, kiss you ‘til you’re begging me, I’ll do it. You can try my patience, Jared, but I want you so bad…”

Jared bares his throat, giving Jensen a taut stretch of skin to work at. The discussion quelled, Jensen loses himself in acres of warm skin, fighting with himself to keep it slow and steady. The Doc may have given it up, but that don’t mean Jensen’s letting him off easy – he might only get one chance to make the most of things.

When his fingers slip down behind Jared’s cock, the Doc squeezes his legs tightly around Jensen.

He looks up and says, “I thought you weren’t gonna fight me.”

“I’m not,” Jared pants, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t persuade me a little. What’d you say about kissing me ‘til I was begging for it?”

Jensen laughs, crawling back up. “Have it your way, Doc.”

“Don’t call me–” Jared starts, but Jensen’s mouth is right there to shut him up.



Midnight comes and goes with little to mark the time besides the novelty of sharing a bed with someone other than Mo. Jensen’s too wrecked to stretch his arms and legs, a day’s worth of hurts and exertions weighing on him. He bears it well with Jared lying equally tuckered out next to him.

Jared’s bed is rumpled beyond repair; one sheet survived the maelstrom of two very enthusiastic lovers and is now tugged above their waists. Sharing one another for warmth, their bodies are slack after round two. The quiet doesn’t last long, Jared’s voice breaking into the night in a more serious tone.

“How are you still alive?”

“Dumb luck and stubbornness, mostly.”

The mattress dips as Jared rolls towards him, feeling light pressure from Jared’s fingers as they walk over his shoulder and up to his face.

“Is this what you’re gonna do for the rest of your life?” Jared touches his brow, ghosting over Jensen’s raw wounds. The contusions are gonna bruise and the torn skin’ll sting for a few days, but the pain has settled to a throb at the back of Jensen’s mind.

“Don’t see why not.” That’s what Jensen means to say, but the words don’t make it out. The job’s been his life since he was old enough to know what he wanted. ‘Course, he never meant to run with the job this far. He’d started out with the idealism of youth and the eagerness of a new recruit ready to make his mark in the great Service of Texas. Lasted five years before he hardened and saw bad guys getting off on technicalities while good men suffered.

He exhales against Jared’s wrist and pulls the hand down over his chest.

“Maybe not forever,” he murmurs.

Neither of them says anything else that night.



“It’s done.”

Jensen pulls the phone away to spare his eardrums while JD whoops.

“Thank God,” his Captain says. “I can’t wait to tell McKellip that he should lose my number.”

“You don’t even want to see what favors you can get outta the guy first?” Jensen asks. “That’s a damn shame.”

“Asking for favors might give Rand the idea that I’m keen on working with him again. I’d rather be the meat guy down at one of those gator farms on the Gulf.”

Jensen laughs. “It’s never too late for a new career.”

“Is it going to be an open-and-shut case?”

“These guys don’t have a prayer of gettin’ off,” Jensen says. “I identified the man who shot me and once the ballistics are run through the state lab, it’s gonna confirm that they’re responsible for the murders of Lucas Corbin and Gabriel Hicks.”

“Maybe you can get a confession out of someone and save the federal government from financing their trials.”

“Once they hear all the charges laid against ‘em, someone’s bound to start flapping their gums for a deal. But those two locals who ran with the group are gonna make good witnesses if this ever goes up in the courts.”

“If we prosecute this as a Union case…” JD whistles. “None of them will see daylight again. Union work camps aren’t exactly the minimum security rec centers the damn Americans call ‘prisons.’ Everyone’s in custody at this point?”

“Down in Greeley, yeah,” Jensen tells his captain. “Idle doesn’t have the capacity to hold ‘em long term so Toledo offered. It’ll all be in my report. I’ll finish it and get it off to you in a couple of days.”

JD hums. “How about the stash y’all found when you raided the place? Is it secure?”

“We took custody of the cash and the drugs,” Jensen explains, remembering Cassidy’s expression when she’d seen the profits the dealers had reaped. “It’s all secure.”

“Not at the Sheriff’s station, right?”

“You think I’m a rookie?” Jensen scoffs. “Got it locked down tight in an old bank building. Davis and two of the Greeley officers are taking turns watchin’ it round the clock.”

“Good, I want to close the books on this one. I’ll get in touch with the Ranger’s office up in Denver. I think Javier Bardem’s still running the show there – he’s a decent guy. I’ll have him send a unit to take custody of your perps and the evidence, but it might take a few days.”

“Thanks, Morgan.”

“So, nothing but a few loose ends to tie up and then you can get paid and move on. McKellip said he’d have his accountants wire the money as soon as arrests were made and the job finished.” JD sighs. “I might be able to swing you another job right away.”

“Listen, Captain–” Jensen hesitates. “The Sabre’s all shot up and she’s gonna need some work before I get back on the road.”

“No need to explain, Jensen. I know how you feel about that damn car. Just let me know, alright?”

“Sure,” he says. “Thanks, Morgan. I’ll be in touch.”

Mo’s got a curious tilt to his head when Jensen hangs up. The mutt’s developed a good sense for Jensen’s moods, but he’s stumped.

Jensen’s worked dozens of towns, just as many jobs, and he never sticks around longer than he needs to. When a job’s done, Jensen’s warm welcome is usually revoked. Once a town is clean, Jensen sticks out with his gun and his swagger; he rides off before anyone can not-so-subtly suggest that he make himself scarce.

He’s never been allowed to stay and become one of them. Jensen’s almost got himself convinced that he’s not ready to try.

Facts are, the Sabre needs work before he can race outta Colorado and his report’s barely started. Jensen knows he’s fooling himself, but it’s easier to focus on the concrete reasons for hanging around.



Leaving Mo to putter around the room, Jensen heads back to the station. There’s a warm smile on his face when he passes the clinic. Jared had asked him to stay for breakfast earlier this morning and tried plying him with coffee, but Mo was waiting and JD needed an update. The Doc’s body spread out and sleepy-warm had been mighty tempting – almost as good as the thought of fresh coffee – but until JD got his report, the Ranger was still on the job.

When Jensen gets to the station, the atmosphere inside is much different than any previous time Jensen’s come through. Cassidy’s leaning over the main desk behind a woman Jensen doesn’t recognize, but the deputy introduces her as Nordia, part of the administrative staff.

Nordia smiles when she shakes Jensen’s hand, thanking him for a few days off. “My husband’s working up in the mountains for two weeks and my son’s in school. It was practically a vacation.”

From Nordia’s cheery manner Jensen guesses Cassidy hasn’t filled her staff in on the details of their short hiatus. No reason to put people in a panic about events already behind them.

Once they’re behind closed doors in Cassidy’s office, she lets out a deep breath. “I was too keyed up to sleep last night. How about you?”

“I managed alright,” Jensen says.

“I thought you might be walking in here with your final report, ready to head out.”

“Got a few things I need to do first. It might take me a few days to get out of your jurisdiction, but if that’s a problem...”

Cassidy smiles. “You can stay as long as you need to,” she says, surprising him. “Truth is, Jensen, I wouldn’t mind if you stuck around for a few days just in case. I’ve got a lot to handle, stepping in for Corbin and keeping the details quiet. Can the Rangers spare you for a little while?”

“I wasn’t plannin’ on lining up another job right away,” he says. “I’m just about as busted up as my car. Know anyone that can help me with that?”

“Something tells me you’ve already been to see the doctor about your face.” Cassidy keeps her grin from getting too big. “As for your car, there’s a garage called Alfonzo’s over on the frontage road. Alfie works on the town vehicles and if you show him your badge, he’ll give you a pretty good rate.”

“Mind if I run the Sabre over there for a check before we start on the reports?”

“Take as long as you need.” Cassidy sighs, freckles pulling tight as she scrunches her nose. “I hate paperwork.”

The garage is a few blocks away and Jensen finds it easily. A man in a bowling shirt with a face as round as his belly walks out and sizes up the Sabre as soon as Jensen pulls in, a wide toothy grin on his face. In a thick Tejano accent, he introduces himself as Alfie.

“You ever worked on a Sabre?” Jensen asks.

“Mi sobrino has a classic car shop down in Chihuahua,” Alfie says. “I helped him out with a few. You see more of these down there. It’s an impressive car, señor, not many want to bother with an engine like this.” He winces when he sees the bullet holes, but doesn’t ask how they got there. Jensen appreciates the discretion. “It doesn’t look like the engine’s your problem.”

They walk around to the front of the car and Jensen points out two more holes. “It might be worth checking out. She’s runnin’ fine now, but…”

“But sometimes rocks can fly up and do some damage, si?”

Jensen laughs. “Just what I was thinking.”

Alfie places a hand over his heart and promises to take good care of Jensen’s girl. Fighting past the pang Jensen feels handing over his spare keys, he leaves the Sabre in one of the bays, glad he’d emptied the car before he drove to the station.

Jensen’s faces a short walk back to the station but he stops to pick up sandwiches and coffee along the way to make the impending paperwork easier to swallow. Writing up his work for the higher-ups and bureaucrats to comb through is his least favorite part of the job next to getting shot.

Hell, sometimes he’d rather take the bullet.



Mo begins to woof a second before Jared knocks on Jensen’s door.

“It’s open,” he calls, holding his mutt by the scruff until Jared walks in and shuts the door.

“Hey, I – whoa.” Jared only gets a few words out before Mo’s on him. The pup rears up for a good scratch before dropping to the floor and wagging his tail. Jared sets a six-pack on the table and asks, “Is Cassidy here?”

Jensen’s wearing a blank look until Jared points to the sedan belonging to the Idle Sheriff’s Department sitting in the lot. “That’s Davis’s.”

Jared raises an eyebrow.

“They offered me the Sheriff’s Mustang as a loner, but I didn’t want it,” he explains. “Davis said he’d take it and I got his sedan ‘til my car’s outta the shop.”

“Who’d you take it to?”

“Alfie.”

“He’ll do a good job,” Jared says, “but I don’t know if he’s had much experience patching up bullet holes.”

“Not like you,” Jensen teases.

“You’re the only patient I’ve treated who wasn’t accidentally shot with a hunting rifle.” Jared laughs. “There’s a difference.”

“You’re tellin’ me I’m special.”

“That’s one word I was thinking of, yeah.” Jared’s smile evens out as he spots the pieces of Jensen’s nomadic existence scattered around the room. “This is everything you carry with you on the road?”

Jensen figures the bags and boxes don’t look like much, but he’s whittled his life down to the bare essentials, everything else falling by the side of the road along the way.

“It’s easier to get up and go when you don’t have a hell of a lot,” Jensen says. “I had to get it out of the car. Sorry if it’s a little crowded in here.”

The Doc shakes his head and sees the black-labeled bottle on Jensen’s nightstand.

“Sleeping aid?”

“Just ‘cause it wasn’t prescribed by a doctor like you, doesn’t mean it’s ineffective,” Jensen says with a grin. It gives the Doc another excuse to stare at him, eyes lookin’ deeper than Jensen’s comfortable with, but if anyone’s earned the right to do that, it’s Jared. “Some nights are harder than others. I haven’t needed a drink since I got shot.”

“Too much on your mind?” Jared asks.

“Too damn tired,” Jensen says. “Thinkin’ too much is what gets me needing a drink in the first place. You ever had Texas Red Eye?”

“I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” Jared lifts the bottle and scans the label. He’s less than a foot outta Jensen’s reach and Jensen’s fingers are twitching. “They might as well call this pure ethanol and be done with it.”

Jensen breathes in a subtle whiff of cologne. Seems like the Doc paid extra attention to his appearance tonight. It doesn’t matter to Jensen, he would’ve taken him half naked again or in a burlap sack, but Jared’s wearing dark jeans, tighter than Jensen’s seen and it’s a sight his eyes ain’t done appreciating, topped with a pink shirt. Jensen wants to hate the pastel button-down on principle, but the Doc makes it work. You can take the man out of California, but you can’t beat the Californian fashion sense outta him, Jensen figures.

He grabs the Red Eye from Jared’s hand and unscrews the top, taking a long swig without flinching. Then he passes it back, voice whiskey-rough. “Have a swallow.”

“I like having a functioning liver.”

“Be a cowboy,” Jensen teases. “One sip won’t kill you.”

Jared’s forehead wrinkles in distaste. “Do you have a glass?”

“Only mouth’s been on that is mine, and you didn’t seem to mind my mouth on–”

“Fine.” Jared lifts the bottle to his lips, takes a deep breath, and gulps down a mouthful. Jensen’s more than a little turned on, even after the Doc comes up sputterin’. “It tastes like gasoline!”

“Takes some getting used to,” Jensen laughs as he takes the bottle away and sets it down, patting Jared’s back as he coughs through a fit. “Your throat won’t actually start bleeding, no matter how it feels.”

From then on they stick to the six-pack Jared brought in, sitting around Jensen’s table with Mo snoozing between their feet. Their first beers are drained during casual conversation, Jared sharing stories about local folks Jensen’s probably never gonna meet.

“What about Cassidy?”

“Hmm?” Jared sets his bottle down. “She hadn’t been here for very long when I came, but we hit it off right away, I guess because neither of us was born here. She grew up Union, I didn’t, but we were still friends. Think she’ll become Sheriff now?”

“Hard to say,” Jensen answers; he rarely dips his feet into town politics or ranks. “If she wants it, I don’t see why the county wouldn’t keep her on.”

They both reach for their second beer, alcohol steering the conversation into deeper waters.

“What about you?”

Jensen glances over with the bottle perched on his lips. He sees Jared swallow, that smooth throat workin’ through another question.

“Have you ever considered a job like being Sheriff?”

“Nope.” Jensen can’t say for sure he’s not lying, but Jared can’t read him that well yet. “Never been part of my plan.”

“What is the plan?”

“Make enough money to quit the law altogether,” Jensen says, twisting his bottle. The room’s gone quiet; even Mo’s snoring has faded to light breathing. “Then I’ll go back to Texas and buy some land, figure things out from there.”

“Doesn’t sound like a complete plan,” Jared says. “How close are you to quitting?”

Jensen sighs. He hates thinkin’ about the money – getting paid is usually a direct result of having to use his gun on someone and that idea doesn’t always sit right. But he says, “I thought this job could’ve been the out I was looking for.”

“Why’s that?”

“The money’s good.” Jensen winks but there’s no humor in Jared’s expression. The Doc is closed off, like plantation shutters pulled against bad weather. Jensen can’t figure what he said wrong so he takes a long drink and wonders at the circumstances that brought him to Idle.

A thought hits him. “Hey, ever heard of a man named Rand McKellip?”

Jared presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, why?”

“He’s a man that had something to do with me gettin’ put on this job in the first place,” Jensen explains. “I thought, since he had an interest in Idle, y’all might know something about him.”

“Sorry, if he’s a local guy I don’t know him.”

“That’s fine. He doesn’t have to live around here, he just has to pay me.”

Jensen lets the subject drop and focuses on more enjoyable things. Namely the Doc and the obscene length of his legs stretched out next to Jensen’s chair – the way he spreads his thighs as if he’s invitin’ Jensen right in. Jared finishes his beer, casual as you please, like he has no idea the effect his body’s having on Jensen. But the smirk tilting the corner of his lips ruins the innocence.

Instead of going for a third beer, Jensen stands up and leans over Jared, threading his hand through Jared’s hair and tugging. Brings Jared’s lips right under him, already parted. No surprise in this kiss; they both know what’s coming and walk in with their eyes open.

It’s thrilling the way their mouths come together; there’s something new to marvel at every time. Jared is completely open underneath Jensen, throat arched back and paintin’ a pretty picture of compliance, but he knows the Doc has the strength to buck up and toss Jensen on his ass.

“I was waiting for that,” Jared says when his lips are free. “I guess we’re done talking.”

Jensen pulls Jared off his chair. Mo whines, but the mutt just rolls into the empty space where Jared’s feet had been.

“Conversation’s good and all, but it’s a crime to have you sittin’ right next to a bed when I’d rather just get you on it.”

Shirts come off while they’re standing. Jared’s hands circle carefully around Jensen’s upper arm and Jensen intervenes before Jared can check under the clean bandage.

“Later,” he promises, tilting up to catch Jared’s mouth

Their hips bump together while they kiss, sway comin’ straight from Jared’s body and flowing through Jensen. He rocks forward and Jared pushes back, Jared’s belt buckle leaving impressions on Jensen’s lower stomach. Jared grapples against Jensen’s hands, laughing and falling onto the mattress, pulling Jensen down to land next to him. They roll and curve into one another’s touch, knees slotting together to gain leverage and friction. Muscles are loose, never forcing the issue, and smiles are felt even in the deepest kiss.

Jensen nudges Jared onto his back, but Jared rolls right through the motion until Jensen’s the one pinned belly-up. Their belts are gone, jeans unfastened to let wandering hands slip and tease underneath.

“I noticed something last night,” Jared says, holding his lips just out of reach. Jensen bucks but gains no ground. “You don’t like being the one on your back.”

Jensen narrows his eyes, lips cocked and ready to disarm the Doc with a smile. “I wanted to fuck you. You seemed to like it.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He snuffs out Jensen’s smile with a long lick running down Jensen’s throat, tongue thick and supple. Almighty, Jensen thinks, Jared’s mouth is a wonder. “You don’t like being under someone, even now. I can feel it in your arms.”

Jared’s hands curl around Jensen’s shoulders where his muscles are tensed to fight; Jensen takes a deep breath and wills his body loose.

“Better?” Jensen snaps, not meaning to.

The Doc doesn’t take the bait, tongue slipping over the ridge of Jensen’s collarbone, carving out a trail between the ginger freckles dropped randomly across Jensen’s chest.

“I ain’t great with it,” Jensen says, hiding the admission behind a heavy drawl.

Instead of looking puzzled, Jared’s eyes burn dark and his grin turns wicked. “We’re just gonna have to change that.”

“Jared–”

“Let me,” Jared says, hot breath blowing over Jensen’s skin to melt his objections. “You can try my patience,” he mocks Jensen with his own words, “but I want to do this for you so bad, Jensen.”

More than Jared’s touch, more than his low voice, it’s the way he says Jensen’s name that has him givin’ in. Desire and hope, a plea for trust, all breathed into one word. Permission given, they finish stripping, never moving more than a hand’s breadth away from one another. Jensen’s been exposed, but where he’s tucked close to Jared’s body, he feels less like an open target.

Jared straddles Jensen’s hips, brown hair swinging loose around his eyes as he rocks back and forth.

“Guess you are a cowboy,” Jensen teases, arching his body into the friction. His palms are open on Jared’s stomach, thumbs moving over the blood vessels beneath Jared’s skin. He follows along to where the veins thicken and pulse above Jared’s groin, blood pumping down; it’s gonna take a lot to fill Jared’s cock, already getting heavy and warm under Jensen’s hand. He’s caught up in staring as Jared gets hard, panting above Jensen as he realizes what Jensen’s focused on.

Jensen had thrown a stash of rubbers in the nightstand earlier, hoping for these very circumstances. Jared rips one out of the foil and uses lube to slick up Jensen’s wrapped cock, twisting his wrist a few times to whet Jensen’s whistle. Jensen’s fingers still throb from pumping into Jared just a few minutes ago, alongside two of Jared’s own fingers, to loosen him up, but that tiny ache is obliterated when Jared sinks down on his dick.

On either side of Jensen’s chest, Jared’s thighs are squeezin’ so tight, he can hardly breathe. It’s worth being a little lightheaded to see Jared arching his back, chest lifted and muscles flexed.

“Goddamn,” Jensen hisses. “Look at that body.”

Jared takes the compliment and repays Jensen with a kiss when he’s finally able to move, canting his hips in a slow grind against Jensen’s groin. In all the times Jensen’s had someone sharin’ his bed, he’s never felt anything close to this, the weight of Jared overwhelming his body and embracing his soul.

The headboard becomes leverage; Jensen’s palms are spread out on the cheap wood, helping him push back and up, gettin’ deeper inside Jared each time he thrusts. Jared has his hands braced around Jensen’s ribs, clutching his sides tightly like he’s in serious need, cock dark and bouncing.

They fuck hard and heavy, sweat makin’ them rut fluidly against one another, until Jared falls against Jensen’s chest and stops moving.

“Y’alright?” Jensen asks, cock throbbing in tempo with the beat of his heart. His hands fall to Jared’s face, lifting his chin until their lips are close.

“Just making it last,” Jared says, lopsided smile lasting only until Jensen kisses him, rough lips and teeth compensating for the lack of stimulation down south.

No way Jensen can go all night, but his body’s damn willing to try – though truthfully he’s a little grateful for the moment to catch his breath.

Jared pushes back into the seat of Jensen’s hips. “Am I changing your mind at all?”

“Might be.” Jensen laughs, pressing his hips up a fraction of an inch, nowhere near enough for either of them. “Could use a little more persuadin’.”

“That so?” Jared doesn’t sound surprised. He levers himself away from Jensen’s chest, fully stretched out, and reaches behind himself. The touch of Jared’s sweaty palm is a warm shock, rubbing down his own stretched ass, squeezing the base of Jensen’s dick and fluttering over his balls. He teases further, daring fingers touching Jensen’s ass. Pure reflex has Jensen snapping his hips up to escape the pressure, sensation like the crack of a whip. Jared’s grin gains an edge and his hand retreats, rolling the soft sweaty skin of Jensen’s balls between his fingers.

“Yeah–” Jensen exhales. “C’mon, keep fuckin’ yourself.”

“I knew you’d warm up to this.”

They slide back into a fast rhythm. Jared’s cock is hard and flush with blood again – nothin’ better than a man who loves gettin’ fucked – the pink tip hitting Jensen’s belly button with every hard bounce of Jared’s hips. The head of Jared’s cock is rosy and sweet looking and if Jensen could stand to lose the pressure of Jared’s ass wrapped around his dick, he’d throw the Doc off and get his mouth on it, lips stretching and pulling the loose skin that covers it.

Next time, he promises.

“I want you to come like this, under me,” Jared says, rise and fall of his body beginning to falter. His hips come down heavy and lift nice ’n slow, muscles exhausted from working towards Jensen’s pleasure. “Want you to love it.”

“Fuck,” Jensen moans, “I do. I do, Jared…”

Jensen comes and his brain stops working for a moment just to feel the weight on his hips, Jared’s palms curling against his chest as he rocks Jensen through his orgasm.

Jared sags and collapses to the side, weight pulling him off Jensen’s slick, rubber-sheathed cock. The Doc’s hard, magnificently flushed with blood throbbing under his skin like a map pointing Jensen down to Jared’s groin.

Jensen leans over Jared’s chest, stroking Jared’s dick off fast with his right hand, the left tucked under his head. His nose drags along Jared’s sweaty collarbone, greedy for the scent that gets stronger under Jared’s arm. Jared writhes next to him, lookin’ huge on the motel mattress and moanin’ mindlessly like his brain’s got no say anymore.

He likes every sound that’s coming outta Jared’s mouth, tightening his grip to see what else he can pull from Jared. The Doc throws his head into the pillow behind him, jaw locked, and breathes hard through his nose.

Jensen wants to take him apart completely. His teeth bite lightly around the fleshy part of Jared’s ear, hand twisting over Jared’s cock, and he says, “Next time, I’m getting’ this in me.”

Jared shatters like a mirror behind a fist, heaving and groaning as the pieces cut him sweetly. Jensen’s keen to roll on top of Jared and ride that wave, exploit that hot mouth with a smothering kiss, and come all over again. He’s never been so turned on watching another man come – used to be just another act to get through – but Jared’s orgasm is violent and beautiful, even better that it comes from Jensen’s hand.

He shares that thought with Jared, in less poetic words, when they’re lying next to one another ten minutes later.

“I think you gave me a new fetish.”

“Hmm?” Jared turns his head on the flat pillow, eyes reflecting the dim motel light. His lips quirk when he asks, “What?”

“You come like a man dyin’ for it. Almost had me ready to fuck you again right there.” Jared ducks his chin, his shyness amusing after the way he’d ridden Jensen like a prize thoroughbred. “Wouldn’t mind seein’ that a few more times.”

“You might get lucky,” Jared says to the pillow. “Are you hanging around for a while, then?”

Jensen breaks eye contact. “I’m not gonna get very far without the Sabre.”

Jared hums. There are plenty of things Jensen could say but none of ‘em are going to sit right.

There’s no disguising the fact that Jensen’s always headin’ in the same direction – away.

The moment drags its feet until it passes completely, the occasional truck rolling by on the highway the only thing ruining the quiet. He’s got no thought to kick Jared out; if Jared intends to stay ‘til the sun comes up, Jensen won’t tell him otherwise. The bed’s hardly big enough for them but it’s nice to feel Jared inches away when Jensen shifts, better than sharing a bed with Mo who kicks out with his oversized feet while he chases rabbits in his puppy dreams and snores.

Jensen drifts off in the warmth of man-made heat just as soon as he stops remembering why this thing with the Doc – with Jared – could be a rotten idea.



Mo steals his third French fry of the night right outta Jensen’s fingers.

“Watch it,” Jensen chides, yanking the greasy paper bag across his lap and out of his sneaky pup’s reach. Mo gives him nothing but a floppy-eared, innocent look – after all, the mutt’s only taking advantage of Jensen’s distraction.

He and Mo are only an hour into an eight-hour shift watching the old bank. As far as safe-houses go, it’s not too bad. The front doors are glass set into solid oak and, inside, the unused back vault is sturdy and well-built. The only things moving outside are insects drawn in by security lights mounted on the sides of the dull brick.

Jensen thought about asking Jared to join him, but the Doc might not appreciate sitting in Davis’s sedan – one that smells strangely like grass and oranges – ‘til four a.m. watching an empty building. They’d gotten breakfast together. Jared rode in the passenger seat, directing Jensen to a hole-in-the-wall with thick Texas French toast and even better coffee, but Jared needed to put in a full day at the clinic to catch up on his own work.

“Keep an eye out, Mo. You let me know if you see anything, okay?” Jensen doesn’t need to talk, but Mo’s decent company, wagging his tail whenever he hears Jensen’s voice.

And it ain’t like time away from the Doc’s gonna kill Jensen. He can’t have Jared every night despite living in a body that craves him and a heart that throws in a plea every now ’n then. The distance feels too much like practice for the day he finally drives outta Idle, but it’s necessary.

Because he’s gonna leave. Maybe not tomorrow or the day after that, but Jensen’ll put Idle in his rearview like he has with all the towns before.

Where he’ll end up next is the question.

Texas is the heart of the Union. That’s where all the political power and most of the Union money lives, but Jensen wouldn’t be able to stand day-to-day life down there. He prefers the little towns scattered throughout the Secessionland that survived on their own; where populations started out small and stayed that way.

There are cities and town of all sizes on the mighty Mississippi River – Jensen’s worked quite a few – but there’s a different kind of tension at the Union’s eastern border with the United States, a constant friction in the air like pesky static. To the folks along the river, fifty years hasn’t been long enough to forget the divisive battles that near-on became a second American Civil War.

Jensen doesn’t blame ‘em.

Where others might think they’d be better off living in Texas, where life’s moved beyond the Division, or leaving to settle in California or the U.S., Jensen’s happy with more open land and fewer people. Idle strikes the kind of balance Jensen could live with.

Mo woofs, breaking Jensen outta his thoughts to scan the area outside the car, but the pup’s only eyeing the last of Jensen’s fries.

“Are you tellin’ me I oughta be paying attention?” Jensen asks, handing over a crispy fry. “Alright, you win.”

Thinking about Idle and what staying here for a spell would require is more than Jensen can handle, but he’s facing seven empty hours with nothing else to ponder.

It’s gonna be a long damn night.



Jensen’s at the station early the next morning to finish his report, used to functioning on a few scant hours of sleep. Cassidy lets him have the conference room to himself where it’s nice and quiet. Nordia pops her head in the door at eleven with fresh coffee, staying for small talk while Jensen gives his back a good stretch.

Paperwork is not Jensen’s specialty.

He holds his breath while the report’s transmitting over the satellite connection, status bar creeping forward at an infuriating pace, but it’s years more efficient than sending it by mail. Might take a week to get down to Dallas from here depending on the service and JD would be on Jensen’s case ‘til it got there.

Jensen swings by Alfie’s to check on his girl and gets the Tejano’s promise that the Sabre won’t take more than another day to fix. He’s already sick of driving Davis’s sedan with all of its funky odors – he needs his baby back.

The clinic’s his next stop, a smile on Jensen’s face when he thinks about seein’ the Doc again even if it’s just to take him out for a quick bite. But as Jensen pulls into the lot and gets out of the sedan, his expression breaks faster than thin ice under a heavy boot.

Jensen has killed before. He’s seen the light go out of a dying man’s eyes and walked into a room not knowing if he’d be leaving on his own two feet or the four wheels of a gurney. But he’s never felt the blood freeze in his veins the way it does now, his insides knotted up so bad he might drop to his knees on the asphalt. Feels like he’s wearing lead shoes; his feet are useless and his eyes are burning. Jensen can’t blink but he desperately wants to, anything that’ll erase the shock of what he’s seeing.

Jared is standing with a shorter man outside the clinic’s front door. Words don’t carry across the lot, but Jensen sees mouths moving and watches Jared shake the man’s hand, a friendly smile on both faces.

The man next to Jared is unremarkable compared to the Doc’s strong frame and bright expression. He’s built of features Jensen has never forgotten: a narrow chin that lends his face a half-finished look, close-set brown eyes that can stare down into a lawman’s soul and find the darkness, and a broad nose with wide, upturned nostrils. A man who’s never been called handsome in his life, but doesn’t give a damn so long as people are lookin’ the other way while he pulls a trick.

In the minute it takes for Jensen to get his legs to cooperate, Jared and the man disappear. Jensen swings his head in every direction but finds no hint to where they’ve gone. The front door to the clinic is shut, casting a harsh glare from the afternoon sun straight into Jensen’s eyes, but he runs, fingers already unclipping his holster.

He enters with his gun drawn, the memory of walking in to find the Doc curled up and beaten on the floor fighting with the way he’d seen Jared shake that man’s hand minutes ago.

The waiting room is quiet as a morgue; Jensen doesn’t call out.

He steps carefully, boots silent on the carpet, alert as he rounds the corner towards Jared’s cramped office. His perception is narrowed to catch any sound or the tiniest hint of movement, deliberate steps getting him within an arm’s length of the office door.

Jared steps through, nose buried in a file, and Jensen reacts instinctively. The Doc’s back cracks the drywall where Jensen shoves him up against it, papers falling like snowflakes to land around their feet.

“What the – Jensen!”

The pistol pressed hard into Jared’s shoulder knocks the rest of the wind outta him.

“Jensen”– his voice cracks –“what’s going on? Let me go.”

Jensen reads nothing but pure terror in Jared’s eyes, honest and frantic. He lets the Doc’s feet drop to the floor but barely gives him an inch to move, adrenaline waning as he holsters his gun.

“Jensen?”

“Are you alone?”

“What?”

“Is there anyone else in here?” His tone demands an answer.

“No, I”– Jared scrambles and the words start comin’ –“I don’t have any afternoon appointments, so I let Loralie go home. Why? What the hell's going on?”

“And the man you were just talkin’ to,” Jensen hisses, “if he didn’t have an appointment, then who was he?”

“What are you talking about?”

Jensen leans into Jared’s space. The Doc flinches when the holster makes contact with his thigh. His green eyes hold no warmth for the Ranger starin’ him down, only fear. Jensen doesn’t care; his mind’s a wreck, suddenly tossed back five years to when his life as a Highway Patrol officer ended and he took up the mantle of lawman.

“What was the plan, Doc? Were you gonna get me all twisted up over you ‘til I couldn’t see straight?”

“Jensen.” His name falls from Jared’s lips but he’s too far gone into a memory where Jared can’t follow.

“You kept me blind to the scam you’re runnin’,” he accuses, eyes boring straight into Jared’s gaping expression. “Is that why you’re here, Jared? No wonder you don’t fit in…you’re the inside man. Actin’ like this is your town, like you belong, but you had me fooled.” Jensen stops, lips curling. “Or did you think that you could turn me – was that it? You found an angle you could work and get a little something for yourself in the meantime.”

“Enough!” Jared snaps and in the blink of an eye knocks Jensen against the opposite wall with a solid hit to his chest. He crowds into Jensen’s space and sucks the oxygen right outta the hallway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jared spits, cheeks red with rage, “but you need to stop.”

Jensen refuses to meet Jared’s eyes once the tables have turned, fixatin’ on the pair of dents from where Jared’s shoulder blades were forced into the paint.

“Jensen?”

Jensen’s sick of hearing his name come outta Jared’s mouth, a different tone each time. He spins, knocking Jared hard in the shoulder, and tries to put one foot in front of the other.

Objectively, he knows he’s not thinkin’ straight – Jared fogs up his head – but emotionally, Jensen needs to get the hell out of the hallway before he does something he’ll regret. Jensen’s built a stone path out of should-haves and what-ifs and it’s leading him nowhere besides an early grave. One more regret might do him in.

He makes it to the door before Jared snags his arm.

“Are you gonna talk to me?”

“Leave it,” Jensen snaps. He’s surprised when Jared obeys, dropping his elbow and backing up, seeing something in Jensen’s that says he’ll get nothing further.

The parking lot’s as empty now as it was ten minutes ago – feels like a damn eternity since he pulled up with nothin’ else on his mind besides lunch and the Doc. Jensen starts the engine and hammers the gas, tearing across the blacktop like it’ll absorb his rage.

He has a good idea where he needs to be headin’.