J2 | In Your Honor | NC-17 (Part Two)

[dugindeep]

Part One


After breakfast, Jensen meanders through the training wing and fondly smiles at the sparring room where Tom and Mike are swinging left and right before Mike lands a swing-kick to the back of Tom’s knee and sweeps them both off the floor to grapple on the mat. There’s another couple boxing in the other corner, swinging and blocking in perfect timing without landing a hand on one another. Jensen’s impressed with the two women’s footwork and their ease at marching in circles as they take turns jabbing and round housing, while the other always sets her forearm up or ducks out of the way just in time.

Suddenly, the blond one slows and watches Jensen, now leaning against the doorway with his elbows and ankles crossed to appreciate the physicality in their sparring. The brunette pops her partner right in the nose then screeches in surprise.

“Jesus fuck, Bri! Why’d to stop blocking?”

Bri—the blond—is spread out on her back with one hand slowly coming up to cover her nose. Nasally, she complains, “Because of Ackles’s dumb face.”

Jensen hustles across the room to help her up, even while he’s thoroughly confused with how he’s to blame.

“If he didn’t look so pretty,” she whines as both her partner and Jensen get her up to her feet. When they pull away, Bri winces. “I mean, seriously, Kim, Look at him.”

Instantly, he remembers them. Buckmaster and Rhodes, the first ladies to drift together. Legends in their own rights, badass pilots who served the war well. Until the next class strode in and the women sought the sanctuary of home and family. Life.

“Yeah, seriously, Ackles,” Kim tacks on with a playful shove. “What’re you doing here?”

They obviously remember him, and kindly. Still, it’s a bit awkward to take in their delighted smiles at his presence, juxtaposed against their tough-as-nails stance of wide legs and arms crossed at their chests.

Jensen glances over his shoulder because the whole room is silent with Tom and Mike breaking to watch Jensen and the ladies. He shrugs as he turns back to Brianna and Kim. “Just taking a short tour before auditions.”

Mike snorts loud enough to be heard across the space, and Jensen shots him a dark look. Tom, too, when he sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Well, I meant back here, but okay,” Kim says. She has one eyebrow angled sharply up towards her hairline, but she’s smirking something fun and devilish. “Glad to have an extra set of hands.”

“And a mighty nice set of hands. Biceps and shoulders, too.” Brianna’s eyebrow and smirk match her partner’s, like she’s utterly delighted to be objectifying Jensen.

He waves off the praises with a light chuckle then eyes them for a long moment. “You’re the first to offer a kind sentiment since I’ve been here.”

“You know what I say?” Kim asks with a smart twist to her smile. “Water under the bridge.”

“For sure,” Brianna adds. “Build a bridge, and walk over it.”

“Get over it,” Kim subtly corrects.

“Either way?” Brianna insists with a cocky nature, maybe a little overdone to cover up her mistake. “You’re still moving over the water that’s under that bridge. So the metaphor still works.”

Jensen decides to leave before more is said. He inhales sharply and flashes a pert smile. “Yeah, okay, ladies. It’s been nice catching up.”

He leaves with them shouting well wishes at him, along with Mike and Tom once again stopping their work to watch him. The thought of tossing them the finger flashes, but he figures that’s no way to try to re-engage with the mission.

When he reaches the training room, Jared is there. Standing at the front of the room, his feet are perfectly shoulder-width apart, which is still quite a long space, and his shoulders sit straight beneath his uniform, with his hands tucked together at his back. His head is bowed with wisps of hair trickling down over his face, and Jensen’s mind drifts back to another lifetime.

One when Jared was in a different uniform, a totally different shell of himself. When they’d spend daylight out on the deck for morning runs, afternoon football games, and dusk breaks. Together, they would sit at the edge of the deck, air sifting through their hair, orange sun on their faces, legs dangling over a sea that was still on their side of the world.

When they weren’t up in his hair, Jared’s aviators reflected all of Jensen’s smiles, always reminding Jensen of just how much fun they had as partners, best friends, and one another’s lifeline.

There was never a good word for it, and they never bothered finding one. But Jared was Jensen’s entire life, maybe still is, when memories creep up on him. They were together, and now standing so far apart without a real conversation to share, Jensen recognizes how long ago those times were.

Jensen thinks about calling Jared’s name, running inside to hug him, patting him on the back, hard, to remind them both of all they had back then. When Jared suddenly glances up and meets Jensen’s eyes, his feet take action. Jared’s eyes flash with surprise then worry before shutting down. Jensen stops just as quickly as he’d entered the room, finally noticing Genevieve far off to the side.

“Captain Ackles,” she says firmly.

He comes to a stuttering stop then puts his frame at attention and nods at her. “Major.” A beat later, “Commander.”

“You’re early,” Jared points out with something like disappointment.

Uselessly, Jensen checks his watch; he knows he’s early, knows there’s not much else for him to do until he figures out how he’s going to drift without his perfect match beside him, and yet also knows he can’t and won’t say any of that.

“Eager for auditions, are we?”

Jared’s stoic face and tone haven’t broken, sending ripples of tension through the room. Jensen is happy, however, when he recognizes the way Jared’s eyes dip this way and that to observe Jensen. “Yes, sir,” Jensen finally replies with a smooth nod and smile. “Ready to get back in action.”

“Good. It’ll be good to find your new partner.”

“If you say so.”

Jared hmms and turns to Cortese, who keeps looking between each of them without a sign of judgement on her face. Just readiness for what to do next.

“Sir?” she asks quietly when Jared fails to give any direction.

Jensen closely watches them, maybe taking more time on Jared to pick up clues on what’s happening in this silent exchange. Or even to find his in to say something real.

Finally, Jared breathes deeply and grants Cortese a curt bob of his head. “I think you’ve got a handle on things here, Major.” He surprises both Jensen and the major by quickly turning on his heel and marching to the door.

“Commander?” Genevieve calls out just as Jensen says, “Jared, wait.”

She’s confused, but Jensen knows the brush off all too well.

Jared stops just in the doorway and shifts just enough to eye Jensen. So he takes his chance to call out to Jared, “Excuse me, Captain?”

Genevieve whispers, “Commander,” as a correction and Jensen laughs harshly.

“Oh, c’mon, really? Like we don’t have enough history between us to just use the names our mamas gave us?”

Jared regards him with wide eyes and a high brow line. His shock and disrespect resonates in the pucker of his lips.

“Look,” Jensen takes a deep breath before really getting down to things, “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, and there’s a lot for us to ta—”

“Captain,” Jared commands sharply, “I suggest you reconsider your tone and who you’re talking to.”

My best friend, he thinks. My soulmate.

Jared then looks beyond him to Cortese. “Major, you’re in charge. Keep your rangers in line.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds immediately, though doesn’t say anything more until the rest of the unit enters the room just before starting time.

Jensen stews off to the side with a wide bubble of personal space. He’s further angered that no one stands near him, but he’s also grateful to use that anger to ramp up the aggression to train and fight.

The first few guys who could possibly be his new partner seem to be physical replicas of Jared, in height and bulk, but they’re no match to the reality. Jensen easily tackles guy after guy to the mat and forces them to tap out.

Most laughable is when Wade comes forward with a sway in his steps and smirk on his face. Jensen stares at the man who stands nearly a foot below him, and doesn't bother to lift a hand in defense. So when Wade comes running at him with his eyes narrowed and his face in a mean grimace, Jensen just waits until the guy is close enough to sock him right in the nose.

Wade goes down like a sack of potatoes and Jensen remains calm and steady as he looks down at him.

"Well," Jensen says plainly.

Wade groans, even while others pick him up and drag him away.

Cortese sends Jensen a hard look, and he decides to act with a bit more decorum over the whole situation. So, Jensen crouches into position before Levy rushes at him, and it’s a quick spin, tuck, and flip to toss the guy on his back, knocking the wind out of him.

He does the same thing four more times before the Major calls an end to Levy’s torture.

There’s little reaction around the room. A few runs of grumbling and murmuring, and, surprisingly, Brianna and Kim clap respectfully.

Penikett starts off well enough, mixing up his jabs and uppercuts, swinging wide then short with sharp knees and leg sweeps, but Jensen skirts away from each and every strike.

One finally lands on his shoulder, yet Jensen gets the upper hand when he turns, wraps his elbow around Penikett’s bicep, and twists away then up his back. It gives Jensen the leverage to pitch them both down to the mat, Penikett face-first into the blue vinyl covering. Jensen shuffles over to cover Penikett before he can get up to his elbows, then wraps his arm around the guy’s neck and rolls them over so Jensen can wrap his legs around wide hips and thighs to minimize further movement.

A few shocked calls break up the throbbing heartbeat in Jensen’s ears, but he doesn’t let up. In fact, Jensen squeezes tighter, everywhere, and only stops when Penikett taps out.

Nominally, applause welcomes Jensen up to his feet, yet he still knows there are non-believers in the room who are rolling eyes and badmouthing him under hushed complaints.

Jensen stands tall, shakes out his shoulder and head, and then takes a ready position when Cortese calls for Stephen Amell.

The new contender steps forward with a grin and offers Jensen a hand to shake that Jensen slaps away.

“Just a couple of Texas boys,” Amell says. “You had luck with one before.”

“I wouldn’t go relying on luck, buddy,” Jensen replies through gritted teeth.

“I see how it’s gonna be.”

“I don’t think you do.” Jensen skips to the side when Amell leans in to start. They dance around one another, Amell watching each of Jensen’s movements, especially when he fakes a strike or makes a quick jump forward without getting too close.

Jensen takes a defensive position before quickly shuffling to his left and watching for the real attack.

Amell laughs derisively. “All I’m seeing here is someone who likes to run away.”

He narrows his eyes and smiles inside when Amell takes the moment to charge with a swift kick to Jensen’s thigh. It unbalances him for a few seconds, makes Jensen stumble long enough that Amell gets an arm around Jensen’s back and tugs back on Jensen’s shoulder. It’s not enough to stop Jensen, though, and he turns quickly with a knee to Amell's side and an open-palmed strike at his chin, forcing him to stutter back a few feet.

Jensen takes position again while Amell tweaks his head to the side then sizes Jensen up.

“I’m not giving up that easy,” Amell says.

“Good.” Jensen bites the inside of his mouth to stop a smile, but he lets it out when Amell rushes forward and tackles him so loosely that Jensen can once again turn out of the hold so they flip over a few times with Jensen ending up on top as Amell tries to slide away. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jensen mocks just before trapping Amell's shoulder with his legs coming up to flatten the guy’s arm down in an arm bar.

Amell’s face twists in pain but he doesn’t try to stop it. He fights, sure, but there’s little room to maneuver with Jensen’s quick adjustments in the hold to pull the forearm and threaten to pop the elbow forward.

The crowd now gets loud. It’s split between each of the rangers, and Jensen feeds off the excitement filling the room. He now beams at the angle of Amell’s arm, the sweat popping up all across the guy’s face, and the bright red tint of his skin.

“You giving up that easy?” Jensen asks. “Because I’m happy to let you.”

Amell tightens up everywhere, stops fighting, and is probably assessing the current predicament. Instead of doing anything constructive, he grunts, “Goddamn traitorous asshole.”

A whistle blows just before Cortese shouts, “Stop! That’s enough!”

Jensen ignores her and pulls away, letting go of Amell's arm last so he can fling the guy pathetically down to the ground. He crouches over him and spits on the mat mere inches from Amell's face. “And that traitorous asshole just kicked your ass. How’re you feeling now?”

Amell swings at him and Jensen tugs on the injured arm hard enough to make him yell in pain.

“I said that’s enough!” Cortese shouts even louder and the room goes quiet.

Just a tad bit out of breath, Jensen jumps up and glares at Amell, still laid out on the mat. "And I was just getting started."

"Everyone out," she orders then shrieks her whistle. The major adds, "Now!" when folks don’t immediately move. As Jensen follows the crowd, she calls for him. "Not so fast, Ackles!"

He slowly turns back around and offers up a smile—albeit, a pretty shitty one. "I thought class was dismissed?"

"No attitude, no bull. You're on my shit list now."

"Just now?"

She marches up to him and, even with the huge height difference, her anger is enough to bring Jensen down a peg or two. "I may not be the Commander, but he put me in charge. And under my orders, you will show up and be at the highest of standards. If you're going to be here, then you're giving one hundred percent."

Jensen stands a little straighter, irked by her implication that he's not dedicated to the cause. It wasn't the easiest of decisions to leave all those many years ago, but walking back through these halls has been even harder. "You think I came back here all set for this dumb suicide mission without being committed?"

"It's not a suicide mission! We're fighting for the survival of this planet."

He laughs, at her, at the words, at the fact that he’s bothering to be angered by it all. "That fight has been going on for a long time, sweetheart, and I've seen a lot of good people die for the cause. So don't go around thinking you've got any idea what kind of sacrifice it takes to be here."

"I know what kind of sacrifice it is.”

“Oh, really?”

“I've sat in those machines, for a long time after you quit. So don’t go assuming I’m unfit for my position just because I’m a woman, or because I’m seen as just the Commander’s receptionist."

Jensen steps back, considering her words and the strong stance in her legs and shoulders. She allows no room for confusion, but he still questions it. For all that he's new again, he's certain he would've heard somewhere about Cortese being a pilot.

"And why don't you anymore?" he asks.

"That's none of your business. Or anyone else's." Cortese softens her harsh look, even with her physicality firm in defense against him. "But no matter what happened in our jaeger, I stuck around."

"You, too, huh?" Jensen laughs bitterly. "Well, I'm so glad y'all are so welcoming and are begging me to be a part of the whole charade. No one wants me around, then maybe I'll just walk out, huh?"

Cortese flinches from his words, yet there’s no arguing with him.

And her chilly silence makes him want to leave even more.

His words had crept out far too soon for him to consider; now that they’re out? He's ready to pack up what few belongings he brought with him and leave.

When she doesn't move an inch, he takes a few steps away. And when she doesn't react to even more distance between them, he figures the decision has been made.

Twenty minutes later, he has his bag packed and his leather jacket over his shoulders, shucking the collar up as he marches from his room and out towards the front lobby of the facility. Heads turn, just as quickly as they had when he had first walked inside. This time, he’s far more resolute to ignore them and stay on track.

He doesn’t need this, hasn’t for years, and so there’s no reason to be fussed up about learning to move on. And that’s what he had never done in those years living a civilian life.

Once outside, cold, bitter rain drops down heavily, and he turns up his collar even higher to avoid the wetness leaking down his neck. He keeps walking with purpose to the at the far end of the dock, all the while ignoring yet recognizing the way other troops stop to watch him.

His boots pound heavy on the ground and rain slips down his hair, over his face, and into his ears. It splatters on cement and echoes all around him, but he still hears the faint shouts coming after him.

"Captain! Captain Ackles!"

Jensen wars with himself, his feet wanting to stop, while his brain shouts run run run.

"Captain!" is called again. Still, he won't stop. Not until he hears the frustration bleeding through the next order: "Goddammit, Jensen, will you stop?!"

He finally does, feet stalling in place, boots snapping together with military precision. Jensen closes his eyes against the continuing rain and hears wet footsteps hurrying to catch up, even when he refuses to move an inch.

"So, you're running again, huh?" Jared asks, frustration far too obvious. Nothing like the Commander of the last twenty four hours. More like the man he loved drifting with.

"It's not running when you're not wanted," he replies. He stares out into the dark water and can only see thick ropes of rain dropping from far above. It reminds him of long nights before even longer days of jumping into the cockpit of Chevy Violet with Jared alongside him. "I shouldn't've come in the first place. I know you didn't want me to."

Jared stands just behind him; Jensen can feel the warmth, hear the way the rain breaks around those broad shoulders. "Did I ever say that?"

Jensen rolls his eyes, then continues to watch the heavy rain break through the ocean's surface. He refuses to face Jared just yet. "You haven't said otherwise. In fact, you haven’t said a whole heck of a lot."

"What am I supposed to say? That I'm happy you're back?"

"Would it hurt that much?"

"After you ditched me?"

Now Jensen closes his eyes and feels rain slide down his eyelids, roll over his cheeks like tears. He wonders just what Jared looks like at this moment. What kind of mess his hair is, or what kind of distress wrecks his beautiful face, feeling as torn up as Jensen is with that very question.

Jensen always said he ran from a fight that was impossible to win. But he always ignored the fact that he ran from a love worth having.

He has no words to reply. All conscious thought escapes him and is instead replaced by a steady flow of memories—good and bad—of their days spent together on this very ship.

Maybe it was all too much to handle at once, or maybe not enough. Jensen has never been sure.

He'd loved Jared with every ounce of flesh he had in his body, but fear drove him far away.

Better to have never watched him die, he’d figured. It never really was about Jensen, after all.

It was always about Jared.

Jensen thinks about telling him that, but his lips won't move. His feet do finally allow him to about face and he wants to cry at the pathetic sight of Jared as a drowned rat who's angry beyond belief.

That anger reminds Jensen of just how unwelcome he's been since re-enlisting, and he clenches his fists at his sides to match the ire flashing in Jared's eyes.

"You didn't want me here anyway!" Jensen points out. "What does it matter if I walk out now?"

"For one, there's no way a chopper's flying out in this so that means you'll be walking right off the dock into rough waters.” Jared shrugs stiffly in his soaked, heavy uniform jacket. "But do whatever you want. You always did."

"What I want?" Jensen huffs and shuffles a few feet closer. "For the last few years we were together, it was what you wanted. You wanted to stay here, you wanted to keep fighting no matter what the ramifications, you didn't want to face a world outside of the walls of a jaeger."

"Yeah?” Jared harshly laughs. “And what did you want that was so much better?"

"To live!" he exclaims. "To be with you, out there where the sun meant another day of sunshine, not another day to face those monsters. But you never wanted that. So we stayed here."

Jared is shocked still, and Jensen thinks rightfully so. His mouth opens and closes, and while rain drips inside, no words come out.

"I stayed here, with you, instead,” Jensen points out. “I did what you wanted.”

"Such a hardship."

Jensen wants to argue about the torment he felt every time they stepped into their jaeger. Always wondering if they would return after a fight, or to what degree they'd really count themselves lucky ... How that was the real hardship.

He's saved from sharing any of that when Cortese jogs towards them, with a couple of soldiers trailing behind her. They're all saved from the downpour by the extravagantly wide umbrellas that dwarf each of them.

Still, Cortese is loud, just like in the training room just half an hour ago, when she yells for Jared. "Commander! You should be inside! There's a Category IV storm on the horizon."

Jared glances over his shoulder, only sparing her a moment of his attention before he faces Jensen and sighs. "Are we done here?"

Jensen stirs at the annoyance and frustration evident in Jared's stare. His nerves light up, and he widens his feet and crosses his shoulders, pretending he isn't already soaked to the bone or that the leather of his jacket squeaks as the sleeves rub together. "I don't know. Are we?"

"Commander!" Cortese yells, then ushers soldiers up to protect Jared from the rains.

The young ensign is fresh faced yet determined when he approaches Jared, lifting the umbrella high enough to cover them both. "Sir, you'll catch a cold out here."

Jensen laughs, shakes his head, and half turns away. "Yes, please, Commander. Beware of a cold with the end of the world on our doorstep."

Jared remains focused on Jensen as he takes the umbrella from the ensign. He steps forward with heavy footfalls and brings the cover to Jensen, much to Jensen's relief, though he won't say it aloud. "Are you coming back inside?"

He tips his head up to Jared and imagines how easy it could be to brush some of the errant rain off his cheek, tuck the mess of his grown-out bangs—once youthful and free—back behind his ears. In that moment, he knows that he hadn't ever really left this place. And couldn't imagine doing it again. Because for all that they've changed, some things remain the same.

"Yes, sir," he replies quietly. "Whatever you want."

The corner of Jared's mouth tips up, just a fraction, but it's enough for Jensen to have recognized it.




Going inside is more than just stepping foot back inside the complex. It means following Jared to his barracks and being awed by the impressive spread of space and furniture in the place. A wide oak desk off to the left, a handful of chairs circling the outside of it, a back-panel cabinet with liquor bottles and glasses. Jensen only barely notices Jared going there first; he's still amazed by the amount of room Jared has when they'd spent a decade sharing a barrack not even half as big.

Monitors fill the right wall like a bustling sports bar way back when, any number of sights in and around the base, along with a number of sonar screens circling with two-second updates. Aside from the technology, there appears to be a real living space, couch and arm chairs joined by side tables and a coffee table. As if this serves as Jared's nightly entertainment, a marked improvement to when they used to struggle to see through the static of old sports replays.

Jared clears his throat from just beside Jensen and offers a glass of amber in one hand and an exceptionally fluffy towel in the other.

Jensen thanks him for the glass and immediately drinks from it while watching the sonar cycle and update, soft beep, beep, beep bringing him back to immediacy of their mission.

"Have they heard anything yet?" Jensen asks, motioning his glass towards the screens.

"Not yet, but ... you know how it goes."

"Them assholes come out of nowhere."

"Yeah, exactly." Jared makes an odd noise, drawing Jensen's attention to the towel still in his hand. "Here, you probably ..."

"Oh, right," Jensen chuckles awkwardly. He fights to get the damp jacket off, fussing with where to put it. "I'm probably dripping all over your fancy digs. Can't flood the Commander's home, now can we?"

"Don't say it like that."

He looks to Jared, who remains standing next to him, spine straight as a board. "Don't say what like that?"

"Commander." Jared glides over to his desk, removing his own jacket, using a second towel to dry off. Maybe even distract himself from actually dealing with Jensen.

"How do I say it?" He continues to dab the towel across his arms, soaked shirt and pants, and again up through his hair. All while waiting for Jared to reply.

"Like it's a joke." Jared meets Jensen's eyes with a seriousness that punches Jensen in the gut. "Like I didn't earn my bars."

Jensen fumbles with the right words, so he goes for the cheap joke with a crooked smile. "Well, I mean, who would've thought Elba would ever get a promotion?"

"Or me?"

"No, of course not..." Jensen huffs, still struggling to speak his real thoughts. "I mean, I didn't ... " He tosses his jacket and towel over the back of the couch, tired of feeling so out of place when facing Jared, someone he's spent half his life with. With a quick tip of his hand, he finishes off the rest of the bourbon in his glass, though he doesn't think Jared was very generous with his pour anyway.

"Alright," Jensen says with a brief laugh, "what I mean is, you being in charge, yeah, it's all kinds of weird, but I'll deal with it, whatever you want."

Jared rolls his eyes then leans back on his desk. Jensen does his best to not admire the length of Jared's legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. "I don't want you to deal with it. I want you to accept and respect it."

"Yes, of course, sir," he tacks on, then gulps. Maybe it's the liquor, or maybe it's finally thawing out after the harsh rain, but Jensen's stomach warms and turns just enough to put him off center. "I will work on that. The accepting. And respecting."

"Appreciated," Jared says lightly, as if testing out the idea himself. "And you have to lose the attitude."

Jensen makes a face and Jared immediately points at him.

"That right there... you think this is some game where the old champ returns, and that isn't how it's going to be."

Deflating a bit, Jensen leans back on the edge of the couch. "Alright," he concedes.

"And I don't care how many guys you beat into the mat, you're getting a new partner."

"What's wrong with my old one?" Seconds after he's let the joke out, he realizes he actually means it.

"He's a little busy running the entire operation."

Jensen smiles when Jared lets a tiny one sneak past his impressively tight defenses. "That's a shame. He was one hell of a ranger." Jared's head tips down and Jensen adds, "Good personality, too." Now Jared stares at him, appearing to be amused yet fighting it. "Great ass, while I'm making a list."

Jared shakes his head and stands up. "You done?"

"I could go on ... how much time you got?" Jensen holds his empty glass out between them, daring Jared to extend this moment, maybe even breach the tension that could melt away into one hell of a reunion.

"The question is how much patience do I have for you." Jensen doesn't budge until Jared goes around the desk for the decanter. "If I pour you one, will you take it with you?"

Jensen steps up to the other side of the desk and figures he's been lucky enough for the night, and so he nods with a soft smile. His eyes drift down Jared's arm to where his long fingers are clutching the top of the decanter, then he lets them rise back to Jared's gaze as he takes a quick sip.

Jared clears his throat. “I’m serious, though. About the partner thing.”

“What’re my options?” Jensen teases.

“You go back to … whatever hole you were barely living in.”

He’s silenced by that: the words, the thought, the reality of it all.

In Jensen’s continued quiet, Jared lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Is that better than answering to me?”

“I suppose not,” he admits.

Behind Jensen, a loud beep sounds out, higher than the sonar, a few seconds longer, too. They both shift to look at the screen and Cortese's face appears. "Commander, the Canadian Prime Minister is holding for you."

"Oh, the major Major," Jensen smarts. When Cortese narrows her eyes, he lifts his glass in salute and smiles. "She can't see us, right?"

She scowls now, brow tightening with tiny creases.

"Absolutely," Jared says, smile and mischief more than apparent in his voice.

Jensen looks over his shoulder to smile at Jared, feeling a brief return to their days of pranks and laughter.

Then Jared clears his throat and commands the room with his booming, authoritative voice. "We're done here, Captain. I hope we don't have another encounter like this. Cortese, I'm ready for the Prime Minister."

It's as sharp a cutoff as Jensen could imagine, especially after the brief moments of lowered guards. Still, he salvages his bravado and backs out of the room, eyes on Jared the whole time. He tips his glass in thanks and leaves with a smile on his face, because this is movement.






Jensen sleeps hard and dreams light. For ages, he’s relived his years in the service via rough fights at sea, both real and imagined. This time, it’s about Jared and them.

He’s happy and sated when he opens his eyes. Hopes that whatever did—or didn’t—happen between them last night has greased the wheels towards returning to them.

With purpose, he heads to the Mess, only to be thrown back into his reality. He’s the delinquent step-child who’s done everyone wrong. If heads don’t turn to stare, they don’t turn at all, which Jensen wagers could be just as bad.

He bypasses a tray and the hot food line, and settles on fruit. An apple and banana fill his hands, and he’s chomping into red skin before he leaves the dining hall. Straight to the training room, briefly waylaid by Brianna and Kim. Both are full of smiles and glad-handing him for his efforts from the day before. They fake punches and kicks as they recount all that he did, but he just nods in thanks and returns to the place where it all went down.

The apple gets stuck in his mouth, teeth pressed in tight, when he’s left staring at a near-empty room. It feels a lot like the previous morning with Jared and Major Cortese the only attendees. Yet, everything looks different.

For one, Cortese is downright pissed and unhappy to see him, rather than just annoyed. Jared, on the other hand, has a playful smirk in place as he watches Jensen stumble to catch up to whatever these proceedings are.

“I know I’m early, but…” Jensen says with a wave of the apple now in his hand.

“Your auditions,” Jared offers, “your schedule. You ready?”

He glances around and is dumbstruck by the empty room. “Always ready,” he says from memory, the Corps own propaganda and mottos. Then shakes his head. “Ready for what?”

“Your new partner.”

Jensen laughs, takes a quick bite of his apple, and chews as he closes the space between himself and Jared. “Are you coming back? I mean, I had this dream, but figured it was gonna stay in my head.”

Cortese rolls her eyes at that. For Jared, however, a pleased albeit small smile warms his face.

“Not quite,” Jared replies tightly.

“Then where’s everyone at?”

“I thought you might like some privacy for this.”

Jensen flits his eyebrows suggestively. “Oh, really?”

“To avoid the criticism from the crowd.”

He laughs, bites again, and shakes his head, utterly skeptical of anything Jared could throw at him. At the age of 21, he’d battled Jared, who was just starting the ultimate bulk-up and has always carried a few extra inches on Jensen. It’d been far too close to call after a handful of long bouts, and when they still jumped up full of manic energy and joyful competition, Elba had called it a tie. And a partnership that carried them for years.

Jensen figures if he could outlast Jared back then, he can handle anything now. So when Jared summons someone with a quick hand wave, Jensen casually takes another bite of his apple with half the fruit now gone.

Entering the room is a rack of broad shoulders and a sculpted chest that stretches the PPDC training shirt impossibly tight. Later, Jensen will realize he has two extra inches from head to toe, but he already knows that he seriously lacks in the muscle department compared to this guy.

Those muscles are defined and impressive and intimidating, for sure. More solid than anyone Jensen battled yesterday, and far more bravado in the slicked back dark hair and childish smirk.

When they stand toe to toe, the guy smiles and puts his hand out to shake. “How ya doing? I’m Chris.”

Before Jensen realizes it, the apple has fallen out of his hand and splats on the mat. “Hi,” he says plainly then quickly turns to Jared. “Uh, seriously?”

Jared shrugs, stiff blue jacket rising awkwardly yet settling perfectly at Jared’s shoulders. “I don’t see any problem. You’re missing a partner. And so is Chris.”

Jensen crosses his arms and awkwardly laughs. “I mean, I’m not about to fight him. Not after yesterday.” He turns to Chris and stage whispers, “Nearly ripped a guy’s arm off.”

“I heard,” Chris acknowledges with a quick nod and smile. “Pretty impressive.” He flexes his biceps as he crosses his arms to mimic Jensen. “I’d be happy to see what you can do today.”

He gulps, then chuckles to cover up the noise. Those muscles scare Jensen a bit. Then he turns to Jared again and mouths seriously?

Jared stares at him, head tipped in a challenge. “One-way ticket to Alaska?”

There’s not much to do but sigh and pathetically nod in agreement. He turns to Chris, who’s already hunched down in a ready position for them to grapple.

“On three and go,” Jared says before counting down.

one

“Alright, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Jensen chuckles.

two

He tosses the banana far behind him and turns to face the competition.

three

And is swiftly knocked down with that thick shoulder smashing his rib cage.

The wind’s knocked out of him and he’s dizzy with his head bouncing on the mat. Chris maneuvers to the side so his forearm jams into Jensen’s neck and he smiles. “Go.”

“Yeah,” Jensen barely breathes out, “to the medic.”





He learns that Chris has a last name (Evans), a brother and sister (both younger), and a history not unlike most who signed onto the program.

His partner died in a mission just off the coast of Northeast Russia. The jaeger had been torn to pieces and Sebastian’s life slipped through Chris’s hands. Literally so, when sweaty palms ruined the grip Chris had on his partner.

It’s obvious that the memory—of that day, and his partner—hangs heavy, but it also drives him. So he’s fairly open talking about it, unlike Jensen.

Who closes up the second Chris offers him a beer from the small fridge in the corner of his barracks and asks what happened to Jensen’s partner.

Jensen’s frozen in place, unsure of how to really explain that nightmare, especially when he’s not sure if it’s slowly working its way into a pleasant dream. Jared had seemed entirely too amused by the dozen times Chris knocked him to the mat, and then impressed with Jensen’s mat skills when he’d pinned Chris nearly every time.

Still, Jared left the room with the same air of authority as he did the day before, bathing them in awkward silence when he nodded and hmphed on his way out the door.

“The eye?” Chris asks then tosses a bag of frozen peas at Jensen’s chest.

He lets out a surprised grunt when the icy bag hits his chest. It’s a bit shameful to accept a cold pack from the guy who gave you the black eye, but Chris is just so fucking likeable that Jensen has a hard time being mad about how insistent and hot the throbbing across his cheeks still is.

Busying himself with the pack over his eye, he lets Chris’s initial question hang around in the air. He distracts himself by assessing the room, with New England sports represented in posters and hats, and a sprinkling of framed family portraits on the tiny desk in the corner. “How long have you been stationed here?”

“Five years.”

Jensen makes a face, but hides it by comparing Chris’ face and those of his siblings’. According to Chris’ timeline, they’d come up through the Marines then called this place home. Until Chris and his partner took on an assignment that erased a life, one that seemed to be pretty stellar, for all that Chris has to brag about.

Just as Jensen had always feared for him and Jared.

“How about you?” Chris asks with an easy smile.

He’s slow to face Chris again, watches carefully for any break in the question. As if it’s just a test. Or a joke.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Chris quickly swipes at his mouth then sticks a finger inside, mumbling as he asks, “Or in my teeth?”

“Are you serious?”

“About my teeth?”

“About the question… about me?”

“Hell yeah. If we’re gonna be drifting, we might as well get to know one another. Right?”

Slowly, very, very slowly, Jensen begins to smile. This may be that second chance he’s always wanted. Just… in an unexpected package.





For their first test run, Chevy Violet is ready for them. Jensen admires the sleek metal angles and the bright bands of black, silver, and purple expertly patched together in her rehabilitation. He thinks it's like seeing God, when he rises in the lift and relives their history together. And Chris must see it on his face.

"You know... you can love your jaeger," Chris says with a sideways glance, "But you can't love your jaeger."

"It's far past love," Jensen murmurs, ignoring anything else once they're level with the cockpit.

They march down the catwalk and Jensen is moving on autopilot. Long-ago years spent here replay in muscle memory so he doesn't hesitate a single step as he enters Chevy Violet and settles into place in the cockpit. He remains confidently still as maintenance folks get everything into place, all while Chris prattles on.

"Looks like they haven't upgraded the screen assembly yet. In Captain America, there's 3D and periphery vision and radar all in the facial set."

Jensen snorts, keeps any other thoughts to himself like just a young ‘un or kid doesn't know what a real, hard-working machine looks like or any number of other smooth comebacks.

"What about sonar? You got anything for below depth?"

Now, Jensen smirks and tugs his helmet into place. "Yeah, it's called intuition and trusting your Operations Crew."

"If you say so."

And Jensen does, because once Rob and Rich begin speaking in their ears, a mess of codes and instructions, Jensen feels his heartbeat even out comfortably. He's done this before dozens of times, and new partner or not, he's ready to give it another go.

Once the machine whirs and shudders to life, Jensen closes his eyes with the quick buzz of Chris' mind syncing with his. A hundred snapshots run right by him of Chris and Sebastian. The mischievous smile of the lost partner. The sharp bravado and dare in his eyes. The quick charge of leadership that Chris' practicality evened out.

Then it's Jensen's brain putting on a show with Jared's wide, excitable grin and loud cheers as Chevy Violet took its first dive into the Pacific. That playful insistence that slowly ebbed into confidence. And the surprising cool that always kept them moving forward. Jensen could always be a bit pessimistic in their chances, begging them to rethink strategy. But nine times out of ten, Jared convinced him to stick to the plan, to see through to the planned success, and the bastard was never wrong.

"You ready for one?" Jensen calls out when he can feel the drift warming up to them, settling steady with a strange connection of both being pragmatists.

"Is that all you got?" Chris asks. His cockiness rattles Jensen's skull just a bit, but they're both lining up to move seconds later.

One solid step down the maintenance bay. And then another. Arms lift up with slow yet smooth swings as Chevy Violet carries herself with one capable shift after another until she reaches the end of the bay.

"Swing right!" Jensen calls out.

"Swinging right."

Hinges cry out with rust and bangs, but she turns as they steer. Without much prompting, Chris follows as Jensen picks up a quicker pace, strolling through the bay and testing out Chevy Violet's wingspan. Her fingertips grate against the inside walls and sparks fly behind her.

Chris curses and brings the left arm in, yet Jensen gets bolder. He knows what his baby can do, so he reaches up high and taps a series of thick, corded wires leading to the overhead spotlights. The ropes and lights sway hard enough to warrant them a warning from Rob’s ever-worried voice, and Jensen laughs with delight for getting his girl moving. He's not about to slow down now that her gears are running, no matter how painful the hinges still sound.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, "Daddy's home."

"You've gotta rethink this relationship, Ackles. And your speed, we're going in a ‘lil hot."

Jensen ignores the worry and instructs them to spin her back around just before hitting the far end of the bay. Her shoulders swipe the back wall and her fingers scrape against the side, but Jensen keeps her moving all the same. He eggs on her left side to jog, even as the right still drags a second too late.

"Gotta keep up, kid," he teases Chris.

"I'd worry more about how your girl is keeping up."

Excitement hums through his veins and practicality is edged out by performance. And his love for Chevy Violet, so he takes her on another quick spin to the right. Chris, however, falters. His brain, too, because now Jensen's mind is full of stark images, backdropped by an inky black sky.

Thick scaly fingers grab at the head of the jaeger ... not Chevy Violet, but a bright red, white, and blue beast of thick metal bolts and ties. The face is ripped off and Jensen swears he can feel the wind whipping at his face and burning his skin. Then he sees Chris in shotgun, Sebastian next to him, and those blue scaly digits swipe at them again. This time, they’re rewarded with Sebastian in hand. Somehow, Sebastian manages to grab at the edge of torn metal, somewhere around the hinge of the jaeger’s jaw.

Chris' blood runs icy hot as he unhooks all connections and runs forward to snatch Sebastian back. The Kaiju is too quick and strong, and yanks at the jaeger's opening to tip over the whole machine. Chris steadies himself inside the cockpit while he watches Sebastian free fall to a mess of rocky shores.

It's all over in seconds, and as shocking as it is to live, Jensen's still shouting at Chris to recover, to move on, to shift into some other vision.

He thinks it's fruitless as the sound of the jaeger plunging into the ocean drowns out any other noises. That is until there's the harsh scream of Chevy Violet's gears halting in place. They reconnect quick enough to get her hands up to soften the impact with the unforgiving wall. It would’ve been much worse at full speed.

Jensen snatches his helmet off, ready to scream at Chris, yet is quieted by the blabbering going on inside his ear with Rob and Rich freaking out enough for all three of them.

Slowly, Chris tugs his helmet off and sighs, staring straight ahead at the wall just inches from the Chevy Violet's nose. "Well, fuck me."

"You almost fucked us both," Jensen complains.

"Almost beats out absolutes." He chuckles a little, tampering down any cockiness with a quick look across the way.

"You sure you're good to drift?"

It's a question for the both of them ... Jensen's not sure if he's prepared to try this with someone he can't read. Chris has presented nothing but the nice, playful buddy. So assured that Jensen had predicted something a lot smoother happening on their first drift.

"I'm good. Just ... first run jitters. You know."

Jensen remembers being terrified to drift with Jared on their first run, something a lot like this one. Mostly because there was nothing more horrifying than to consider what would be seen inside by a guy he'd instantly clicked with, in a multitude of ways.

Jitters and sexual tension, surely. Not outright misery.

"Go again?" Chris offers, a sure smile working its way high on his face.

Jensen plays with his helmet, considers putting it back, then side eyes Chris. "Can I trust you not to smash my baby into a wall?"

"Hey, you're the one taking her on a fifty-yard dash."

He takes a deep breath and weighs his options. They don't have much time to practice, with Day's constantly updated predictions of an attack on the weekend's horizon. "You sure you're ready?"

"My recovery time is impeccable." Chris winks then shoves his helmet back on with a hard slap at the side. "Let's see what you got old man."

"This old man is gonna kick your ass," Jensen promises before snapping his helmet into place.

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