audrarose

"You owe me."

Jensen looked over the top of the car at Justin, who was rolling his head back and loosening the muscles in his neck. The light from the streetlamp made his blond hair sort of glow and his voice echoed weirdly off the wet pavement of the quiet suburban street.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Jensen answered. "Pizza. I'll even get that freaky German wheat beer you like. Dude, I told you I'd buy when we get back to the city. Hold your horses."

"No, you owe me pizza and beer for life," Justin said. "You said two hours to help your roommate move. Except that was really ten. In the rain. How can one person have that much junk in one shitty apartment?"

Jensen rubbed at his own sore shoulder. "Obviously the laws of physics don't apply. And okay, it took longer than I thought," Jensen conceded. "But since I'm letting you move into said shitty apartment..."

"...like you could afford Wrigleyville on your own..."

"... you should not be bitching. Dude. No more Chris."

Justin smirked at him in the moonlight. "No more catching him and Becca in the shower."

"No more of his crappy taste in music," Jensen agreed, loudly, looking over to where Chris had come out onto the front step of the bungalow.

"We heard that, assholes," Chris called from the front step, arm draped around Becca's waist.

Becca elbowed him hard. "Not in front of our new neighbors, okay? Let them keep their illusions for at least a day. Hey, drive safe, you guys. That storm's moving in fast."

Jensen looked toward the west, where big black clouds blotted out the stars. He could hear thunder in the distance.

"Think we can beat it home?" he asked Justin.

"Dude. I'm exhausted, I'm thirsty -- and I don't even know where we are. I'm not staying out here in the sticks. No offense, newly-weds," he added, as Chris and Becca walked up to them.

"Now that we're suburban, we're never gonna see you guys again, are we?" Chris complained, and it sounded like he was only half-kidding. "It's, like, a twenty minute drive."

Jensen and Justin both made non-committal noises.

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up, get out of here," Chris said, hugging Jensen briefly. "Thanks for the help."

"Not a problem. We'll be calling you to move Justin in, don't worry." Jensen looked over at Justin. "Toss me the keys."
'
"No way are you driving, " Justin said. "I want to get there some time tonight."

Jensen climbed into the car and Justin started backing out of the driveway before he'd pulled the passenger door shut. "Hey, hey, slow it down, dude. You're gonna kill us," Jensen said.

"Screw that," Justin said with a grin. "If we haul ass maybe we can catch Steve's last set. Let's move."


**



one year later

"Stop complaining and just listen," Allison said, wiping her hands on her apron and hopping up to sit on the counter.

"How many of these poems are there?" Jared asked, leaning his hip next to her and crossing his arms.

The Daily Grind was almost empty, with just a few people sipping coffee on the big couches in front of the row of French doors opening onto Fremont Street and one guy at one of the scarred wooden tables with the Chicago Reader spread out in front of him, iPod turned up so loud Jared could hear it from the counter. It was just as well the place was dead, because Allison hadn't gone near the espresso machine in half an hour.

"There's only one more," she said. "I need to decide which one to use tomorrow." She closed her eyes and pushed her fingers through her short, blonde hair, shook out her hands and took a breath. Then she opened her eyes and stared laser-like at Jared, her entire body going suddenly still.

"Nobody knows you. You are the neighbor of nothing.
You do not see the rain falling and the man walking away,
the soiled wind blowing its ashes across the city.
You do not see the sun dragging the moon like an echo."

Jared took an involuntary step back. Allison grasped his shoulders.

"You do not see the bruised heart go up in flames," she continued.
"the skulls of the innocent turn into smoke.
You do not see the scars of plenty, the eyes without light.
It is over. It is winter," she said solemnly. "and the new year. "

Suddenly she smiled. "How'd that make you feel?"

Jared blinked at her. "Scared?" he said warily. "Mostly of you?"

"Oh, come on. That's all? No sense of loss? No sudden awareness of the futility of the universe?"

Jared decided to be cautious. "I think I liked the other one better. The woman who doesn't believe in anything."

Allison crossed her arms. "Alix Olsen?" she said, considering. "Okay, snaps for digging the radical feminist hardline, and the impression I'm going for here is definitely think-y and deep... but I thought maybe I'd go for something with with less of an edge?"

"Um. The smoking skulls poem had an edge. I have to tell you."

"Ah, but you have to admit -- it was deep."

"Cavernous," Jared agreed. "Since when does Porchlight do poetry nights anyway? I haven't been gone that long."

Allison hopped off the counter. "This isn't for theater."

There was an edge in her voice, a shadow Jared picked up on immediately. "Porchlight doing okay?" he asked, and he felt like an ass for not asking her before.

She smiled but didn't look at him, just ran a bleached rag over the counter. "Same old, same old. We're still running Babes With Blades so we can cover the rent, but I think we're going to be able to do a Caryl Churchill retrospective next fall." She shook her head. "The last year hasn't been as good for us as it has for you."

That made Jared stand still.

He wasn't amazed by how quickly the feeling came back; the memory of being desperate to book enough carpentry work to cover studio time and materials, buying from scrap yards when he could afford it and scavenging from job-site dumpsters when he couldn't. What shocked him was how quickly he'd forgotten.

"Allie..." he started, contrite. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she said, looking up at him, finally. She smiled for real then, put her hands on his shoulders. "Hey, I'm thrilled for you. Don't think I'm not. I'm so proud of what you've done, this recognition -- I tell everybody."

She pointed at the bulletin board by the front door, where Jared could see his Time magazine cover from earlier that year peeking out between playbills and torn flyers with phone numbers for sublets.

"You put it up?" Jared said, feeling self-conscious.

"You think?" Allison asked, flicking her fingers against Jared's shoulder, almost hard enough to sting. "After every Maya Lin wanna-be in the country submitted a design for the Memorial, and you won? I almost took out an ad myself." She shook her head and moved to the other side of the counter, continuing to wipe it down. "Besides, in this neighborhood, you're a rockstar, baby. When the traveling exhibition was announced, Ferris Galleries put up enough flyers to circle the globe. I think Samantha sees strip-mall outlets with whales and country-cottages in your future."

"Tell me about it," Jared agreed gloomily.

She shot him a glance. "Do not tell me you're complaining."

"I'm not," Jared protested. "It's just kinda weird, you know?"

"Weird?" Allison sounded skeptical. "Jared. The final installation is going to be on the Mall in DC forever. Haven't you thought about that? Hundreds of years from now, people will be looking at your work. Barring, you know. Nukes."

"Yeah, I've definitely thought about it," Jared said, subdued. "I just still can't believe it."

Allison looked at him, her smile suddenly going soft with affection. "I'm so proud of you, Jay."

Jared cleared his throat. "It's going to happen for you, too. You're too talented for it not to. I know it."

Allison rolled her eyes. "Okay, well... thanks. I wasn't looking for compliments, but I'll take it. Drink your latte before I make you pay for it."

Jared drank, happy to change the subject. "So if the death poems aren't for Porchlight, what are they for?"

"Open mike night at the bookstore. The theme de jour is Regret. Or Remorse... something grim like that. And you're coming to support me."

"A bunch of vegans reading death poems? Maybe if you pay me." He took another sip as she stuck out her tongue at him. "Why all this focus on amateur night, anyway?"

"You never know who's going to show up at these things. It's good exposure," she said, too non-chalantly, giving far too much attention to stacking paper cups. Finally she shrugged. "There's... this guy. Works there. I might be trying to impress him."

"You might, huh?" Jared smiled as the color flooded her cheeks. "And who is this Bookstore Guy? Come on, details. Spill it."

Allison smiled self-consciously. "He's a guy and he works at the bookstore. He's also possibly the other half of my soul, only he hasn't quite figured that out yet." She looked up over Jared's shoulder. "And speaking of the bookstore."

Jared turned to where she was looking, at the guy walking slowly along the sidewalk in front of the French doors with a big dog on a lead in front of him.

"That's your Bookstore Guy?" he asked, feeling a little strangled.

The guy was tall, but not as tall as he was, Jared noted, eyes automatically appreciating broad shoulders and slim hips, but it was when he stopped to look down at his dog and adjust the lead with his profile turned toward them that Jared's heart kind of stopped.

"I think I see the appeal," Jared murmured. He couldn't blame her, not for a second, but the swift dart of disappointment that came over him was a surprise.

"No, that's not him," Allison said beneath her breath, smiling at the man moving carefully into the store with a slightly uneven gait, studying them warily through thin, dark-rimmed glasses. He looked down at his dog again, and Jared realized that the handle of the dog's lead was a rigid U-shape, and she was wearing a service harness.

"And if we're talking in capital letters, that would be Jensen: Gorgeous Mystery Guy," Allison breathed. She smiled brightly as he reached the counter. "Hey. The usual order?"

The guy nodded. "Plus an extra double-shot latte."

Jared listened as Allison asked Jensen how his day was going, but he tried really hard not to look like he was listening. The guy's vioce was quiet, contained but not un-friendly, and he looked puzzled when he caught Jared looking, turning away immediately. Jared looked away, too, but he found himself glancing back, because Allison wasn't exaggerating. The guy was gorgeous for sure; serious eyes that might be green behind his glasses, light dust of freckles across his cheeks, and his mouth... Well.

"Wow," Jared said.

The guy looked over at him sharply, questioning.

"Your dog's really beautiful," Jared grinned. "Is it okay if I pet her?"

"Oh." The guy almost smiled then, giving a flash of even, white teeth that made Jared's neck tingle. "Go ahead. She's not working right now; it's okay."

Jared knelt down and put his fingers through the soft fur, scratched behind her ears. "What's her name?"

"That's Sadie," Jensen said, and his voice softened. "Part shepherd, part dingo, believe it or not. Thinks she's human, though."

"So one of those lattes is for her, huh?" Jared asked, glancing up with a grin. For a second he didn't think the guy was going to answer, but finally the corner of his mouth quirked.

"Nah, she's more of a machiatto girl, actually."

When the guy nodded toward Sadie the light hit his cheek, and Jared noticed the faint spider-web trace of scars over his left cheek-bone and temple, disappearing into his hairline. Jensen looked away immediately.

"Speaking of machiattos," Allison said, glancing at Jared with her eyebrows threatening to meet her hairline. "Do you have your Caffeine Club card? I think you qualify for another free one."

"You can't be making money off me," the guy said pleasantly, pulling a few bills out of his wallet along with a small card. "I think I end up with one of these every other day."

"I think half the Grind's receipts come from keeping the Fremont staff wired," Allison smiled, ringing up his order. "The owners can probably swing it."

"Good to hear," Jensen said, and took his change, starting to balance the cardboard tray of coffee cups on one hand.

Getting ready to leave.

"Can I carry some of that?" Jared asked desperately.

He looked surprised. "That's okay. I'm only going next door."

"The Fremont?" Jared cast about frantically. "I love that place. I'm there all the time."

The guy nodded slowly. "Yeah? I work there. I don't think I've ever seen you there, actually."

"Oh, I mean I used to go there. All the time. I've been out of town. For awhile. Just back in. But I love it. Yeah." He thought quickly. "Open mike nights are my favorite. Never used to miss one."

"Oh," Jensen said, while Allison pretended to strangle herself past his line of vision. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Jared hoped his grin wasn't too manic. "Definitely. For sure. Um. I'm Jared, by the way."

He seemed to draw back a little, but took Jared's offered hand anyway, his grasp strong and slightly cool. "Jensen."

"Hey, Jensen. It's good to meet you." Jared loved the way Jensen's name sounded on his tongue and had to stop himself from saying it again. "Okay, great. See you tomorrow."

Jensen nodded, looking a a little bemused, and headed for the exit, balancing the coffee tray easily in one hand.

**

"You hit on his dog," Allison said, as soon as the door closed behind Jensen's back.

"What?" Jared asked, trying to look innocent. "I like dogs. And that's an awesome dog."

"You hit on him through his service dog. You have no shame at all."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it? We have a date."

"Uh huh." Allison looked at him skeptically as she wiped down the counter in front of the cream station. "I wouldn't call that a date. But, okay, that's farther than anyone else has gotten, I'll give you that."

"Anyone else?" Jared asked. "What are you talking about? Come on, give it up."

"Fine. Make yourself useful and grab some packets of raw sugar."

"So. The details?" Jared said, handing her the box.

"That's the thing -- there aren't any. He showed up eight months ago with that gorgeous dog and a full ankle-hip cast on his leg; he even had a neck brace at first, I think. Other than that, I know he works at the Fremont, and I'm pretty sure he lives with my Bookstore Guy in the apartment over the shop -- brother or step-brother, something."

"Boyfriend?" Jared asked, feeling a little discouraged. "I mean, they live together, right?"

"No. Definitely no. They walk in the park across the street all the time, and you can tell they're close, but not like that. The weird thing is, he doesn't go anywhere. Half the cast of Porchlight's asked him out-- you know, offered him tickets to the show, invitations to after-parties, and zilch. He just smiles and says thank you and never shows up. Erica asked him; hell, even Chad tried. Just give it up."

Jared looked at the door where Jensen had left. "Well, I haven't tried yet."

**

Open Mike Night at the Fremont
8:00 pm Thursday, May 28th
Theme: Regret and Remorse
All degrees of sanity and moral outrage welcome.

"So that's the travel section," Jensen said, turning from the low shelf in front of the window, offset from the front door so it would be the first thing customers saw when they came in. "The local history's there, too; tourist stuff mostly, and you have to keep an eye on it because it gets messed up pretty regularly."

Tom nodded and looked around the store again. He seemed a little overwhelmed, kind of like he had during the entire tour, but Jensen was encouraged to see that he didn't look like he was thinking about quitting yet.

Jensen waved a hand toward the open area in the middle of the store, where the late-evening light was streaming in through the huge windows, making the hardwood floor gleam dully in the glow and dust motes dance around in the two-story high space. "We do the signings here. Kristin's in charge of booking the authors." He nodded at the dark-haired girl sitting behind the information desk. "And then Political Sci, Biographies and Poetry are upstairs in the loft with the lounge where the book groups meet."

"There's a book group every night?" Tom asked.

Jensen nodded. "Sometimes two. We've got, I don't know -- twenty subjects, last count? All kinds of special interests; literary fiction, poetry, open mike night... I'm kind of in charge of organizing, but Michael runs them... here's a schedule." Jensen picked a flyer up off Kristen's desk and handed it to Tom.

"So we've got Open Mike tonight," Tom read, "and tomorrow is Contemporary Environmental Poets followed by... Homoerotic Archetypes in Western American Lit?"

"Or gay cowboys for short. At first I had the greenies scheduled with Conservative Political Commentary, but I had to switch them to different nights. I thought there was going to be a throw-down during the passing period."

"Hey, Jen -- did the Dutton shipment make it onto the shelves yet?" Jeff was talking as he came down the open staircase from the loft, looking at an open file-folder balanced on a stack of books.

"Almost," Jensen answered. "Mike's working on it."

"I can help him, if you want," Tom offered.

Jeff looked up at Tom, his expression a little blank.

"This is Tom," Jensen explained. "The new guy," he added, when Jeff's expression didn't change.

"Oh. Right." Jeff's gaze flicked over Tom briefly, and he gave a grudging nod. "Great. Get him started on the self-help re-org. He can help Mike with the shelving."

"Hallelujah for that," said Michael, waving from behind a half-shelf near the back wall. "Religious studies is a disaster. Hey, I made a joke."

"You got it," Jensen said, as Jeff headed around a corner into the next room without a word.

"I hear he can be kind of intense to work for," Tom said quietly, warily watching Jeff's retreating back.

"He's my step-brother," Jensen said, resigned, ignoring Tom's widening eyes. "And yeah. Pretty much."

"Oh, shit, I didn't know --"

"Dude, it's okay. No big deal."

"No, really -- I'm sorry. I don't care if he's a dick," Tom said, then rubbed his eyes. "I mean, if he is a dick. Sorry, fuck. It's just that I've been wanting to work here since I moved into the neighborhood. It's like being part of history. I'd put up with a lot of dick-ness, believe me." Tom waved his arms, indicating the store like he wanted to hug it.

Jensen understood how he felt. "Don't worry about it. It's cool. And he's only a dick half the time."

Tom smiled at Jensen in relief. "Thanks. But no coffee bar, huh?"

Jensen held his breath but it was already too late; Kristen was looking over at them like they'd crawled up from the sewers.

"Where exactly do you think you are?" she asked. "Husseini read here last month, Chabon just did a signing on Tuesday... we co-sponsored Rowling's Symphony Center gig with the Chicago library last summer... for God's sake, we're the Fremont Street Book Company; we're not... Starbucks." She waved a hand and went back to her computer as Tom stared at her.

Jensen leaned his hip against her desk to ease the ache in his leg. He shrugged apologetically at Tom. "We're not. But, hey -- the Daily Grind next door sells some seriously rocking shade-grown Arabica. Free Trade."

"Sure, it's organic, great," Kristen said. "Only that blonde girl that works there uses 2 percent milk when I specifically ask for skim."

"Yeah, Kay, it's a dairy conspiracy," Jensen said.

"It is," she said seriously. "And I think she gives Jeff caffeinated coffee in the mornings. He hasn't tried to hang anyone lately."

Jensen raised a hand. "Okay, that would be me. I stopped ordering de-caf for him."

Kristen gaped at him, apalled. "Jensen! That's criminal! He's doing a 30-day purification regimen!"

"He finished that thing two weeks ago," Mike said, joining them. "Now he's just punishing us for mis-counting the Dr. Suess back list during inventory."

Jensen sighed and glanced over at Tom. "Yeah, remind me to give you a copy of 'The Places You'll Go' before you leave tonight. Or three."

"If I really wanted to punish you, I'd have given up sex," Jeff said, coming out from the back room. He handed Mike a stack of books. "Shelve these, please."

"I thought you gave up sex in like, '97," Jensen said.

Jeff looked at him blandly. "I thought you were getting ready for open mike."

"Yes, right, moving on that."

Jeff turned back toward his office as they scattered. "I expect you people to at least pretend to work when you're on the clock, okay? Can we all just do that?"

**

And if a light is broken,
if one of them goes out,
as well they may, of course,
and substance takes from shadow
its absolute divorce,
be reassured, in darkness,
the self is never lost.
Rolfe Humphries


Jensen looked around the loft. The couches were arranged in a circle in the open space in front of Poetry, with extra chairs dragged over from the lounge because open mike night always drew a crowd even bigger than the Potter Appreciation Group. The low tables scattered in between the seating had some books stacked up from the after-work rush, but it wasn't too bad and Jensen's leg was aching too much to re-shelve at the moment, so he just grabbed a few empty cups from the Grind and tossed them in the trash, then shoved the books into piles.

As soon as the first few people started drifting up the stairs clutching their coffee cups and notebooks Jensen sat at a high counter against the back wall, his injured leg propped out in front of him and Sadie at his feet. He started passing a sign-up sheet around and answering questions, so he couldn't peer over the railing and watch the door like he wanted to.

Not that he expected the gorgeous guy from the coffee shop to actually show.

Now that he thought about it, Jared couldn't possibly as good-looking as he remembered, anyway. Or as friendly. Though Jensen was pretty sure the blinding warmth of that smile wasn't something he'd imagined.

"We're going to get started," Mike announced. "As you know, tonight's theme is 'Regret', so if you can all settle down, we can get started on all the ways we've managed to screw up our lives. Who wants to go first?"

Jensen turned back to his paperwork with a surprising pang of topic-appropriate emotion, but decided it was just as well Jared wasn't coming. The idea of seeing him again, actually talking to him for longer than it took to buy coffee was too... unsettling.

Too unrealistic, he reminded himself.

He'd absolutely convinced himself of that, more or less, so he was utterly floored when a paper cup smelling of chocolate appeared on the table in front of him, held by a large, interestingly callused hand.

"Venti mocha machiatto, right?" Jensen looked up at Jared's words, and okay, make that absolutely as gorgeous as he remembered, from floppy hair to frank, friendly smile. Jared was just exactly the type of guy Jensen would have gone for.

Before.

The thought brought a sharp, cool jab to Jensen's chest and he couldn't find his voice, could only look up at Jared and smile in a way that he hoped wasn't as twisted as it felt. Luckily Jared didn't linger.

"They're getting started," he said. "Allison's going to kill me if I miss her smoking skull poem. You gonna be around?"

Jensen managed to nod and watched Jared head over to the couch where Allison from the Grind was sitting; watched him fold his long, lanky body down onto the cushions and stretch his legs out in front of him for miles. Jensen took a breath. He leaned his aching leg into Sadie's side, felt the warmth of her go through to the place where the pain always started and let it funnel away.

After two poems about desperation and Allison's rendition of Strand's cheery New Year's ode, Jensen started feeling less like he was going to panic. He concentrated on the staff scheduling notebook in front of him and a grid of the street fair hours for the following weekend, trying to figure out who he was going to have to call in to work it. Even when Jared slipped away from the group and headed back to join him he didn't flee, simply took a deep gulp of the coffee Jared had brought and managed a tight smile.

"Thanks," he said, when Jared sat down beside him. "For this."

"Don't mention it. Didn't know if you wanted coffee this late. Caffeine and all." Jared paused when Jensen didn't say anything. "Because it's night."

Say something, Jensen told himself. For God's sake, say something. He cleared his throat. "I think it's the only thing that keeps me conscious, honestly."

"I hear that." Jared looked down at the books on the counter, waiting to be shelved. "Hey, Ezra Stoller. I'm a fan."

"Yeah?" Jensen said, grasping at the subject like a life preserver. "What period?"

"Mostly the early stuff, like the Fallingwater series, but it's all good. He has such a phenomenal sense of space."

"Are you studying him?" Jensen said, relaxing despite himself.

"Not formally, or anything. I've just gotten interested in how sculptural shapes translate onto film lately," he said. "I'm an artist." He shrugged, flipping through the Stoller book idly.

Keep talking, Jensen thought. If he didn't keep talking Jared was going to get bored and then Jared was going to leave and suddenly that was the absolute last thing Jensen wanted. "We put photos on our website," Jensen blurted.

He watched Jared's eyes come up, curious, but behind the curiosity Jensen could hear the unspoken And?

"The street fair's next weekend. I'm kind of on the committee. All the stores on Fremont had to send someone." Oh, God, too much detail. Jensen took a breath, tried to re-group. "If you wanted to take pictures for the website..."

It was a stupid idea. It was a stupid idea and Jeff was going to kill him, but how bad could the photos be?

"It doesn't pay, but we'd credit you," he went on, when Jared just blinked at him. "I mean, the site gets a lot of traffic, because, you know. It's the Fremont. It'd be exposure, anyway."

Jared seemed a little dazed at the idea. "I'd -- yeah," he said, finally. "Great. I'd love to take pictures of the street fair. Only --."

"Only?"

"Well, I'd need you to show me what you want me to focus on. What areas you want me to shoot."

"Oh." Jensen hadn't thought about it. "The store, for sure. Maybe the art fair set-up in the park... I could make a list." Jensen started flipping through the pile of papers in front of him to find a blank sheet.

"Or you could show me."

Jensen looked up in surprise.

"I've been away from the neighborhood awhile," Jared went on, talking a little too fast. "You could show me the places you want me to shoot and then we could talk about it. Maybe over dinner?" Jared paused, like he was waiting for something.

At first Jensen didn't get it. He couldn't figure out why Jared needed to be shown around a neighborhood he apparently lived in, but then the details started to trickle down. A walk through the park. Dinner. A date.

Going somewhere with Jared on a date.

Somewhere else.

The panic rushed in, cold fingers crawling down his neck and wrapping around his ribcage, making it difficult to breathe.

"Just Tres Bean or something, no big deal," Jared said, the friendly expression on his face freezing a little.

Jensen should say no. He knew that, but maybe it would be okay, though, because Jensen knew that place, the little vegan restaurant across the park. He could see it from the front of the store. The dread began to ease.

"That sounds great," he heard himself say, and the tightness in his throat started to loosen a little. He was surprised at how evenly the words came out. "Tres Bean sounds really good."

"Yeah?" Jared's smile was back and Jensen felt like he could just bask in it. "Would tomorrow night work for you?"

Jensen was nodding when Allison walked up to them, scowling.

"All that angst for nothing; he didn't even show. Hey, Jensen." She looked back and forth between them. "What did I miss?"

Jensen cleared his throat. "Jared's going to photograph the street fair for our website."

Allison tilted her head to look at Jared, mouth twisting. "He is?"

"I am," Jared said, evenly. "Allison."

"Do you hear me saying anything?" she asked as Mike walked up to them, leaning over from a few steps away, like he didn't want to interrupt.

"I'm sorry," he said, "But, dude. I have to ask. You're Jared Padalecki, aren't you?"

Jared's expression was almost comical, like he'd been caught out doing something embarrassing. "Yeah. That's me."

Mike grabbed Jared's hand, shook it once, hard. "This is so cool. I'm a huge fan. I saw the Time Magazine spread on the New Arcadia in Heidelberg; just unbelievable. I've been to Millennium Park three times since you installed Crossings. Can I ask you something?" Mike didn't wait for an answer. "Kranzer in the New Yorker said you showed influences from Eliasson, but I don't see it -- if anything I'd say you've got an Archie Held vibe going. Am I crazy?"

Jared seemed even more embarrassed, if that were possible. "Held's a genius," Jared murmured. "If you see anything of Held in my stuff, I'm flattered."

Jensen just looked at Jared as he remembered the pictures in the Tribune of the traveling exhibit of the Memorial, in Chicago for a few weeks before it's final installation in DC. His brain started making connections between the picture of the artist and the guy who brought him coffee.

And who he'd asked to take pictures of the street fair.

For free.

Before he could back track or apologize Jared was looking at him and saying, "So tomorrow night at seven, right? I'll meet you here," and disappearing down the steps to the front door, dragging Allison behind him.


**

Sadie pushed into him a little and Jensen increased his pace accordingly, taking a deep breath of the spring air. The park wasn't nearly as crowded as it would be when school let out, so he took advantage of the free space on the sidewalk and let Sadie lead.

"You've got some speed today," Jeff said.

Jensen glanced over at him. Two more turns and they'd be at the park bench where they always stopped for a breather, but today maybe he didn't need to rest his leg quite yet. Jeff was going to fall over in shock. Jensen grinned.

"Gonna leave you in the dust, old man."

Jeff snorted at that, but sped up fractionally.

"So I was wondering," Jensen said. "Do we have any kind of a budget for photography at the street fair?"

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "If by budget you mean Mike with a digital camera doing some overtime, I guess it's covered."

"Yeah, that's what I figured." Jensen thought gloomily. He'd googled Jared and found photos of gigantic public sculpture that turned water and bronze into light and motion. He'd also found commissions that started in the mid six figures. Obviously, it had been a longshot. "Hey, can I get off early tonight?" Jensen asked.

Jeff looked puzzled. "Well... yeah. Sure."

Jensen knew he was just dying to ask why, but Jensen let it hang for a second anyway. Then he grinned.

"I'm meeting someone after work. I'd like to clean up a little. You know. Make the attempt."

Jeff stopped walking completely. "You have a date?"

It was impossible for Jensen to keep a straight face. "Well, I don't know if it's a date exactly. It's dinner."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You. Are going to dinner. Where?" Jeff's smile was wider than Jensen had seen it in months, and it made him wonder why he hadn't noticed how little his older brother seemed to smile anymore.

"Just Tres Bean," Jensen said, waving a hand toward the restaurant across the street, suddenly self-conscious and hoping if his face was red Jeff would think it was the physical exertion. "No big deal."

"No big deal." Jeff just looked at him for a second and then laughed and started walking again. "Hey, if you say so." Jeff picked up the pace. "So. You got another lap in you?"

Jensen wanted to laugh, too. "Just try to keep up."

**

"Come on. How can you not have a camera?" Jared propped the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and typed Fremont Street Book Co. into google. "Don't you guys do publicity shots at Porchlight?"

"Me?" Allsion asked, indignant. "How do you not have a camera? Mister Artist Big-Shot Winner Guy."

"I do. It's in storage... half my stuff's in boxes somewhere between Chicago and Stuttgart... I guess I could buy one..." Jared scrolled down the staff listing on the Fremont's site, looking for Jensen's name.

"I can't believe you told him you're a photographer," Allison said.

"I did not tell him I was a photographer!" Jared protested. "I told him I was interested in photography; there's a difference. It's almost true. Plus I took two semesters of Intro to Photographic Imaging in art school. How hard can it be?"

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetie," she said. "First you hit on his dog, and now this. You're going to burn in hell."

**

When Jared arrived at the bookstore that evening Jensen was waiting out front, standing with Sadie at his feet and wearing loose jeans and an over-sized button-down shirt. Jared had the impression that either the clothes weren't his or he'd lost a lot of muscle and bulk since the last time he'd worn them, but he still looked pretty hot. When Jensen saw Jared he adjusted his glasses and smiled a little crookedly, and Jared let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"Hey," Jared said, automatically reaching down to pet Sadie, who bumped his hand happily.

"Hey," Jensen responded, watching his dog strain into Jared's touch. "She really seems to like you," Jensen remarked as Jared straightened.

"That's good, right?" Jared asked. He smiled when Jensen shrugged and said, "So you ready to go? I figured we could walk around the park and the street a little bit, get the layout of the fair, then grab some dinner. That Bean place, or wherever."

"Tres Bean is good," Jensen said quickly. "Do you want to start with the park? Most of the kids' events are going to be held there," he continued as they crossed the street. "That always ups the cute factor in the photo spread."

"You know, there must have been five of these fair things in the time I lived here, and I don't think I ever once paid attention," Jared remarked. "Though now that I think about it, wasn't Blind Melon here? I think I saw them play."

"It's possible," Jensen said. "This is actually the first one I've been involved in. I know the police close off Fremont and the connecting streets so the band stage can go up in the intersection. Local bands. Beer tent. That kind of thing."

The traffic was light and the evening was warm, with soft light filtering though the trees as they entered the park. It was a perfect evening to be outside and Jared glanced over at Jensen to make sure they weren't walking too fast. Jensen's limp was almost invisible, just the slightest favoring of his right leg, and for about the tenth time since they met he wondered how Jensen got the limp in the first place.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Jensen said, glancing at Jared before turning his attention back to the sidewalk.

Jared was startled out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry?"

"The pictures," Jensen said. "Photographing the street fair. I wouldn't have asked if I'd known who you were." He gave Jared his tilted grin again and a sidelong look through his glasses. "You could have said something."

Jared had to laugh. "What could I have said, exactly? The truth is, I design fountains and I make sculpture out of scrap metal. And I'm interested in photography." It was his turn to give Jensen a sidelong grin. "There's no guarantee of quality here, I think you should know that. I haven't taken pictures since art school."

"Hmmm. So your commission of 'nothing' might be in line, then?"

"It's very possible."

"Fair enough." Jensen pointed to an open area next to the playground. "The balloon toss is going to be going on there, plus I think they've got a face painter and henna booth..."

"Clown with balloons?"

"What kind of half-ass street fair you think we're running?" Jensen raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

"Just checking."

Jared listened to Jensen talk about tarot booths and craft shows, vegan food vendors and folk music tents, while he seemed to relax a little more with every word. Jared was content to just listen, learning the cadence of Jensen's voice, watching the movement of his arm and shoulder as he pointed out areas to photograph. There was only one awkward moment, right before they crossed the street to the restaurant, when Jensen stiffened up, seeming suddenly uncomfortable.

"Is something wrong?" Jared asked, puzzled, looking up and down the street for a clue.

Finally Jensen shook his head and took hold of Sadie's lead. "No. Nothing. But." He hesitated. "Maybe we could sit outside? Sadie might be more comfortable."

"Sounds fine."

And it actually seemed to be fine, once they were sitting at a table on the sidewalk, with city lights around them and the skyline close on the horizon, soft music from inside the restaurant drifting out to linger behind the soft hum of conversation from the other tables. After a few deep breaths Jensen seemed to relax again, and when he smiled at Jared across the table Jared grinned back.

"So do you know what's good?" Jared asked. "You probably come here all the time."

"Mostly take-out," Jensen said. "They have a mean tabouli salad."

"I'm thinking more along the lines of a cheeseburger," Jared said, scanning the menu.

"You've been gone awhile, haven't you?" Jensen said, reading his own. "It's kind of tough to find animal protein in this neighborhood. But hey, you're in luck -- I think there's actual scrambled eggs in the egg rolls."

"Sounds great," Jared said, resigned. He closed his menu. "But we have to go to The Chop House next time. I'll buy you a porterhouse."

Jensen kept his eyes on his menu, expression unreadable, but before Jared could ask what Jensen thought about that, the waiter came up to their table. Between ordering beer and tuscan chicken salad that might or might not atually contain chicken, Jared couldn't find an opening.

"I googled you," Jensen said after their drinks arrived, surprising Jared mid-sip.

He choked a little. "Really?"

"Your work. The New Arcadia in Heidelberg." Jensen seemed shy suddenly. "It's amazing."

Jared found himself getting warm, and took another drink to hide it. "Thanks."

"I'm kind of a lit guy, you know? I don't know anything about art. Especially water sculpture. But... the only thing I could think when I saw it was that it was... peaceful."

Jared nodded slowly. "That's it. Exactly that. That particular piece is about contemplation. It's about silence. The stillness of interior space." He grinned down at his sandwich. "Don't get me started. But, yeah. Thank you."

"I'd really like to see your work in person sometime," Jensen said. His voice was subdued, almost wistful.

Jared studied him, feeling a little self-conscious suddenly, like this was something important. "If you really want to go, I'll go with you to the park. Millennium. The show will be there another four weeks."

For a long time, Jensen didn't say anything at all, just ate his salad like it required all his attention. Finally Jensen looked up at him. "Four more weeks?" he asked, looking far too serious for the question.

Jared nodded.

"Okay," Jensen said. "I'd like that. Some time before it ends, I'll go." Like it was a promise.

"Great." Jared nodded again, feeling a little puzzled by the solemn expression on Jensen's face. "Just let me know when."

Jared was relieved at how easily they talked through dinner, though, and then through another glass of wine each and through coffee it seemed like neither of them wanted, but Jared ordered because he wasn't ready for the night to be over. Any other time with any other guy he was interested in the way he was interested in Jensen, he would have suggested they go back to his place, but there was a distance there, Jensen approaching and retreating and he didn't know what to make of it.

Finally, Jensen took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, his fingers straying over to his scarred temple.

"Do you have a headache?" Jared asked. He tried not to stare when Jensen looked up at him for the first time without the plastic frames in the way.

"It's nothing," Jensen said. "I'm still not used to these glasses. I used to wear contacts, but I can't anymore." Jensen stirred his coffee for second.

"I was in a car accident," he said, finally, looking up at Jared as he said it, though he immediately looked down at his cup again. "Shattered my leg in a few places." He tapped his temple. "Head injury, too. Contacts give me a headache, now; I don't know why." He shrugged, elaborately casual.

"Rough," Jared said carefully, not sure how else to respond, though his throat tightened at the thought of what kind of accident would leave those kinds of injuries. At the thought of Jensen in that kind of accident. "How long ago?"

"About a year." Jensen rubbed the side of his leg, and then just started talking, like he was giving Jared more details about the street fair. "Big rig on the Eisenhower, came over the divider in a rainstorm." Jensen's words were casual but Jared saw the way he tightened his fingers around the handle of his coffee cup, the way he leaned his leg into Sadie. "Slid right into us, out of nowhere. Crushed us into the embankment."

"Us?" Jared asked, the word coming out before he could stop himself, but Jensen didn't react.

"Yeah, me and a friend of mine," Jensen murmured. "He wasn't as lucky as I was."

Jared shook his head, automatically reaching out to put his hand over Jensen's on the table. "God, Jen. I'm sorry."

For a second Jensen let his hand rest beneath Jared's, fingers tense, then he pulled away. Reached down to pet Sadie. "I don't usually talk about it. I don't know why I'm mentioning it, now; I guess I just wanted you to know. In case you were curious."

For a second, Jared didn't know what to say. He cleared his throat. "Thanks for telling me."

Jensen smiled awkwardly and put his glasses back on. "Yeah, well. Thanks for listening."

**

Jensen took a deep breath as they crossed the street back into the park, feeling like he'd left parts of himself scattered over the pavement and it was going to take awhile to pull himself back together. Jared suggested taking the long way back through the park and Jensen didn't even think about it before he nodded.

It seemed like he could do anything tonight. The ache in his leg seemed distant and faraway, something that didn't belong on a night like this, because he'd walked across the street and eaten dinner with an attractive guy in an actual restaurant, just like anyone at all.

Not only that, he'd told Jared about the accident. Just opened his mouth and started talking, and he'd been able to do it without hearing the grind of metal or the pin-bright shatter of glass, without feeling blood in his eyes or the scrape of bone on bone in his leg.

Without hearing that awful silence in answer every time he'd asked Justin if he was okay.

He couldn't turn to Jared and say, "I did this, just now I actually did this," because he knew it would sound a little crazy, so instead he breathed in deep and let Sadie walk a little faster, listened to Jared talk about how he'd missed seeing the Chicago skyline when he was in Germany and wondered if it was possible to fix everything in one night.

Until the pain stopped being quite so faraway. Until it radiated up through his hip with every step and he was spending more concentration on putting one foot in front of the other than on what Jared was saying, feeling his jaw start to ache with the effort of keeping it clenched tight against the pain.

"God, I'm an idiot," Jared said, suddenly. "Sit down."

They'd reached the bench where he and Jeff always stopped for a breather, and he'd never been so happy to see it in his life. "Just muscle cramps," he gritted out through his teeth as he practically fell onto the bench. "It's no big deal. Fucking hell."

"Oh, yeah, obviously no big deal at all. Dude, I've had charley-horses that made me want to put my fist through the wall. Is it your quads?" Jared knelt down on the walk, lay his hand on the top of Jensen's leg. "If you're sure it's just muscular, I think I can help you."

"No, don't. It's okay -- fuck," he started, but when Jared's big hands closed over his thigh, hard fingers digging into the knotted muscle of his leg, he couldn't stop the pained groan that slipped out. He bit the inside of his lip to keep from making another sound and just gripped Jared's shoulder like he was going to put his fingers through it.

Jared didn't seem to notice, though. He just started talking, words Jensen couldn't make himself understand until the worst of the pain had subsided and he didn't think he was going to fall off the bench and writhe on the ground any time soon.

Then he realized Jared was talking to Sadie.

Jared looked up self-consciously when he realized Jensen was watching him. "She's really restless," Jared said.

Jensen glanced at Sadie, who let out a whine. He dropped his hand from the deathgrip he had on Jared's shoulder and held it out for her to nose at. "I think... maybe she thinks you're hurting me. It's okay, girl." Jensen wished his voice didn't sound so strained.

"Yeah, pretty girl, I'd never hurt him. Don't you know that?"

Jared's voice was as soothing as his hands, and Jensen felt a suspicious sting behind his eyes so he swallowed and leaned his head back on the hard wood of the bench, let it ground him while he concentrated on the fucking miracle of the pain flowing away through Jared's hands.

"So," he managed to say, taking a deep breath before he started. "You into physical therapy on the side?"

Jared laughed. "I played soccer in high school. Double practices in the summer in Houston, you see a lot of muscle cramps. I got pretty good at this." He pressed the heel of his palm into the big muscle of Jensen's thigh, so deep Jensen thought he touched bone. "It's not as good through the denim, though. This would work a lot better on your skin."

Jared glanced up from under floppy bangs at the same time Jensen looked down, meeting Jensen's eyes, looking playful and beautiful and suddenly it was utterly obvious to Jensen in a way it should have been from the beginning that Jared was kneeling on the ground, crouched between Jensen's knees with his hands curving around Jensen's thigh. Touching him the way no one but therapists had touched him in over a year.

That alone was a simple miracle, but coming on a night when he'd left Fremont street, too, crossed the park and walked out into the world, it wasn't any wonder that his eyes burned wet. He had to close them when Jared caught the implication of their position, too, and let the palm of one big hand run up Jensen's leg, curve briefly around his hip. So much heat and strength there, and God, what Jensen would like to do with him if only he weren't so tired he thought he might dissolve into the bench beneath him before he'd get the chance to try.

"Is that better?" Jared asked, clearing his throat a little.

All Jensen could do was nod.

"You're wiped out," Jared said, voice rough and his hands squeezing once more before leaving Jensen's body. "You should have said something."

Jensen grinned crookedly and gave Jared's words back to him. "What could I have said exactly? I've been too busy trying to impress you with my endurance. Besides," he shrugged a little. "It was worth it."

The sudden, beaming smile he got from Jared was worth it, too, and he forgot to be embarrassed when Jared hauled him to his feet. Jared hung onto his hand a few seconds past too long, the other hand curled loosely around Jensen's bicep, while Jensen held on to steady himself. The air seemed to get close.

Jensen looked across the park to the store flanking the corner, windows lit up like a beacon. "I'm good from here," Jensen told him.

"Yeah?" Jared asked doubtfully, looking across the park to the Fremont.

"Really. Good as new. Whatever you did was magical," Jensen said, anxious to get away before he had to sit down again. "You should keep it in mind in case, you know. That art thing doesn't work out."

"Any time," Jared said, and the flick of his eyes over Jensen's body made warmth burn in Jensen's chest.

"So. I guess I'll see you Saturday at the street fair?" Jensen asked, feeling a little awkward.

Jared nodded, absently, his eyes on Jensen's mouth. Jensen couldn't help tightening his hand on Jared's shoulder.

"You're sure you're okay from here?" Jared whispered, leaning in closer. "Because I could walk you... wherever."

Jensen let his fingers brush over the smooth skin above Jared's collar; the warm, softness of it making him want so badly to follow the line of his shirt down, see if the rest of his skin felt as good.

But then what?

Jensen was keenly aware of the pain in his leg, only temporarily at bay, along with the faint ringing of a migraine roaring off in the distance. Jensen reluctantly dropped his hand.

"I better go," he said.

Jared took a deep breath and stepped back. His grin looked strained but his hands on Jensen's arms were gentle. "Okay. Saturday, then. Definitely, definitely Saturday."

As Jared walked away, Jensen couldn't resist calling him back, just for a second. "Hey, Jared?"

He turned at the bend in the path, lit by the streetlight. "Yeah?"

Jensen's heart was pounding hard, but he made his voice casual and even. "We're doing open mike night on the roof after. It's kind of a tradition for the fair volunteers -- Jeff makes eight-bean tofu chili and everyone who wants to survive grills stuff instead. I can promise you a cheese burger. If you wanted to come."

Jared's sudden smile was blazing. "I wouldn't miss it."

part two