Compartment Syndrome
Feb. 13th, 2010 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jimmyhkim21Title: Compartment Syndrome
Pairing: ja/jp
Rating: R for language and violence
Word Count: ~6900
Summary: Jared discovers there's no such thing as 'happily ever after', and that's fine. Because, right now, he'd happily settle for just 'after'.
Notes: Timestamp fic for Parting Gifts. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
theditor who won my services in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_haiti. Just a thought: do not look up the following medical terms on the internet. They are usually paired with graphic images not conducive to sleeping or keeping your food down.
Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
March, 2010
New York City
Jared yawned as he tossed his soiled towel onto the floor while toeing off his ratty sneakers. He knew Jensen would be annoyed to no end if he spotted them but Jared really wanted to take a shower.
Then, feeling a bit more human, he’d come back downstairs and pick up his workout gear. Jared had to admit he would have to give more thought to fixing up the empty bedroom into a workout room. The gym downstairs was fantastic, but on the days when Jared only had to run, a treadmill would do just fine.
He heard his cell ring and began fumbling through his workout bag to find it. It stopped only to have his office phone pick up the chorus.
“Shit!’ Jared was hoping the call would come earlier, but now that it did he found himself woefully unprepared. Jared dropped the bag at the top of the stairs and bolted to answer the phone.
Jensen closed the door behind him and turned around to be greeted by Jared's worn-down sneakers and a used towel. He then heard Jared’s loud voice boisterously conversing in his office and decided not to bother his husband. For the moment.
“Oh, Christ,” Jensen muttered when he got a whiff of Jared’s sneakers. He gingerly held them between his index finger and thumb and put them in the hallway closet. He peeked in further to make sure that both baking soda boxes were open.
Have to get Jared new sneakers, Jensen thought. And burn these. Maybe bury the ashes with a stalk of fresh garlic just to make sure.
With a grin, Jensen opened his Blackberry and began looking for the exact same type and brand. Early in their relationship Jensen discovered Jared preferred specific type of sneakers, in a size smaller than he’d usually wear. Jensen was bewildered by this, but never took the time to find out why. Then, to his unending amusement, he discovered Jared had stashed a dozen of his ‘preferred’ running shoes much like a hoarder. However, over the years Jared had systematically gone through his collection until there was none left.
Jensen climbed the stairs, only paying attention to the steps when necessary. He found a site that carried the Holy Grail of Running Shoes and began plugging in his credit card numbers. Just before he reached the landing, Jensen caught a glimpse of white but couldn't identify what the fleeting color was until it was too late.
“Oh shit!’ he hollered as his left foot landed on the edge of Jared's iTouch. Desperately trying to avoid its complete destruction, Jensen twisted his foot away only to have it slide off the step.
For a moment, he was still standing, his arms wildly pinwheeling.
Then, he fell.
Jensen knew enough to relax his body in the hopes of avoiding spinal injury. But his fall was deafening and by the time he landed at the bottom of the stairs, Jensen was hollering loud enough to pull Jared from his office.
“Oh my God!” Jared yelled and bolted down the same steps, almost falling himself when he stepped on his crushed iTouch. But he managed to regain his balance and made it down safely.
“Oh fuck,” Jensen hissed. “I broke my arm.”
“Let me see,” Jared whispered, and gently rolled Jensen to his back.
Jared clenched his teeth hard and fast. Jensen hadn’t only broken his arm; a shard of the Blackberry’s plastic casing was embedded deep into the flesh.
“I’m going to call downstairs,” Jared said. “Someone there should know where to go.”
Jensen nodded slightly while cradling the damaged arm into his body. Jared ran to the phone and dialed the building's security office. Jerry, a private bodyguard, took the emergency elevators and was on the top floor within two minutes.
“Call for an ambulance?” Jensen asked, white-lipped.
“No, bleeding isn’t too heavy,” Jerry said. “And the way the traffic’s now, it’d be better if we took Riverside Park to Presbyterian.”
“Jensen? Think you can make it?” Jared asked.
Jensen gave a terse nod. "Yeah, let's do it."
Jared ended up physically supporting Jensen down to the garage. Jerry reached Adam, the other bodyguard on call, and told him about the situation. Adam promised to get Jared's car and wait for them in the garage.
In less than five minutes the armored GMC truck roared out of the underground garage, nearly colliding with a taxi. In fact, they were so close, Jared could see the pale outraged face of the driver and the enthusiastic waving of the man’s middle finger.
Jensen must have seen the same thing because he coughed a weak laugh. Jared looked at him and noted his pallor had visibly worsened.
“Stay with me,” he said harshly.
“Not going anywhere,” Jensen said. “I’ve had worse than this.”
“Not helping.”
“Sorry,” Jensen said. “I didn’t mean that.”
Jared hated that he made Jensen apologize for getting kidnapped and tortured. “I wasn't looking for an apology,” he said hurriedly. “You know how I can get.”
Jensen’s face broke into a beatific smile. “I do.”
Jared’s grasp around Jensen’s frame tightened as he rested his head on Jensen’s shoulder. The two men kept quiet until Adam pulled up to Presbyterian’s emergency entrance. He put the parking brake on and kept the truck in idle while Jerry opened the door for them. The two men went inside with Jerry as their escort. When he saw medical personnel reach them, Adam pulled the truck out of the drive and went down the parking garage where he would wait until summoned.
Jared watched silently as the surgeon examined Jensen’s digital x-rays. “Well, you are both lucky and unlucky man today, Mr. Ackles,” Dr. Ang said. “You broke the radius, but the good news is that it’s a very clean break.”
“So, no surgery?” Jensen looked up at the doctor, hope flooding his face.
“No surgery,” Dr. Ang agreed. “You’re going to need some stitches. We're also going to have to set the bone, but after that? With some antibiotics and careful handling, your arm should be fine.”
“Thank you,” Jensen said, his shoulders relaxing dramatically.
It was only then Jared realized how scared Jensen actually was.
“So, why don’t we get started. I'm not going to lie: the cast's going to be itchy as hell, but I’m sure you’ll prefer that to multiple surgeries.”
“Not complaining," was Jensen's grateful answer.
Jared had to leave when doctors descended into the room. He wanted to be with Jensen but his husband insisted he wait outside since he knew only too well the reasons for Jared’s desire to stay.
Guilt, not love, should make someone stay by your side, no matter how trivial or important the event was.
Jared paced statically, belatedly realizing he'd probably tweaked his ankle earlier.
We are getting a fucking treadmill, Jared vowed. And a gym.
Dr. Ang stepped out after very long two hours. “He’s fine. Pretty much out of it, but otherwise he’s okay. It helps to be healthy, fit, and impatient.”
Jared smiled. “He started grumbling the moment I left?”
“As soon as the door closed,” Dr. Ang said. “I knew his angelic act was too good to be true.”
“He was worried about me,” Jared explained. “He had … an accident before and I didn’t react well then.”
“I saw the finger,” Dr. Ang said. “Well, you’re welcome to take him home. Just make sure he takes his medication. Infection is always a problem. Do you want to fill the prescription here or do you have an account somewhere? I can send it directly to the pharmacy if you like.”
“That would be great,” Jared paused. “I … I don’t know where it is, actually.”
“But Mr. Ackles does?”
“Yeah,” Jared answered sheepishly.
“I’ll find out and double-check, just to make sure.”
“Thank you,” Jared said.
In times like this, Jared wondered if he actually became what he set out to be. After Jensen’s extended stay in Beth Israel, Jared had developed an aversion to hospitals to such a degree that only Jensen went with Anna whenever she went for her annual check-ups. Jared unfailingly drove them, of course, and back, but he would wait in the car or a coffee shop nearby until the appointment was over.
Jared ended up waiting for almost an hour before the door opened again. Dr. Ang gave an apologetic smile and pointed behind him. “I’m afraid Mr. Ackles has fallen asleep while we were trying to find out which pharmacy has your account.
“We ended up calling nineteen stores. One of them was in California?”
Jared closed his eyes. Of course. Jensen stored that type of information in his Blackberry and now, with the damn thing in bits and pieces, Jensen was going to have to rebuild everything.
“I’m guessing it was in his Blackberry?” Dr. Ang asked. “The one I pulled out of his arm earlier?”
“Yeah, basically.” Jared peeked in and spotted Jensen snoring softly on the examination bed. All the nurses were staring at him, eyes wide in order to drink in the sight of the beautiful man sprawled out in front of them.
Jared stood for a moment, letting them have their fill. Then he moved in, and being such a big man – his entrance was duly noted.
“You can take him home now,” Dr. Ang said dryly. “We’re done here.”
“Do we need to fill out any paperwork?” Jared asked.
“No need. We did it while calling the stores,” Dr. Ang said, lips quirking to a secretive smile.
Jared grinned and gently shook Jensen. “Hey, babe, time to go home.”
Jensen opened his eyes but it took him a while to focus on Jared. “I’m sorry.”
Jared leaned in. “Sorry for what?”
“I lost all your shoes. I found them and then … poof … I lost them. All twelve.
“I suck.”
“Okay, we’re going now,” Jared said, choking back his laugh. He helped a nurse put Jensen in a wheelchair. “I’ll take him, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine,” Dr. Ang said.
Jared wheeled Jensen out and found Jerry right outside the door. “Adam’s waiting,” Jerry said. “There’s a separate exit we can use.”
“Thank you,” Jared said.
Jensen fell asleep in the elevator and continued his Sleeping Beauty routine even when Adam and Jared manhandled him into bed. After the two guards left, Jared gently undressed Jensen while making sure his injured arm wasn’t moved too often.
Jared closed the bedroom door then went to the front stairs. He spotted his workout bag and its contents strewn all about. Jared closed his eyes and gave a sigh of dismay. He had dropped the bag in his eagerness to get the call and didn’t look back. If he had spared a glance he would've seen the bag had spilled open, flinging its contents willy-nilly.
Jared swiped his car keys from the floor then slowly moved down the stairs, picking up everything, including the remains of Jensen’s Blackberry. He noticed that while damage was bad, there was a chance that he could get the information transferred to another.
Better get him a new one, ‘cause when he wakes up without his trusty Jeeves, Jensen’s gonna have a shit fit.
Jared looked around for his sneakers but didn’t find them. Out of suspicion, he peeked into the closet and spotted them.
Jared sat down on the floor and stared at the sneakers.
I promised, didn’t I? I promised I’d do better. After all that’s happened – I swore and he believed me.
Jared knew he was overreacting, but he had to admit he hadn’t given his family the attention they deserved. Not really.
When they first moved to New York, things were fine. Then the bottom dropped out of the real estate market, and the word ‘Recession’ was bandied about with the capital ‘R’ instead of little ‘r’.
The Padalecki firm had tied in most of their capital to the building of Ross Tower. This turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. Because most of the used capital hadn’t been from a bank or a third party, they weren't forced to auction off the units to pay off debts not their own. However, their income was severely tied to the health of the Tower and the money it generated.
Jared had planned to retire by the end of 2009. Instead, he was forced to take over the business end of Ross Tower by July, and had been heavily involved in selling the units since then. Jared knew the money was out there. The rich, the truly rich, would ride out this round of economic hardship as they’d done so many times before. And they would be voraciously examining what treasures could be plucked from the ruins.
Jared knew only too well what they would look at, too: real estate.
In New York City, one thing was more valuable than gold, stocks, or anything sold on Madison, and that was land, or reasonable interpretation thereof. So, he began networking through his friends and business acquaintances, putting out feelers that Ross Tower’s prestigious units would be available for purchase as scheduled. And though the prices would not be going down much, they would be dropping somewhat.
With some finesse and a lot of bald-face lying, Jared managed to rope in quite a few interested buyers who were willing to invest in favorably-reviewed property located right next to Central Park. It also helped that Ross Tower had unobstructed view of the world-renown greenspace and was backed up by an architectural firm famous for their work in earthquake-prone Japan.
Still, Jared had made a promise, didn’t he? To Anna? To Jensen? To be there when they needed him? If Anna hadn’t been visiting Jensen’s folks in Dallas, what would she be doing now? Would she be reliving what had happened during that horrific night when Jensen was beaten unconscious within inches of her?
Jared shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it, not really. He had work that needed to be done, such as hiring a third assistant to help him better manage his time and take on some of the burden. Jared had done much of the footwork and now … well, Ross Tower could use another pair of helping hands. Or two, maybe.
Jared remembered the real estate agent Chad mentioned in passing. He knew she’d be glad to get some business and made a mental note to call Chad after dinner to get her number.
Jared looked up the stairs and wondered if Jensen was asleep. He could do some reading in the bedroom while waiting for his husband to wake up from his drug-induced sleep. But first, Jared called to the front desk and told them about the delivery from the pharmacy he was expecting. They promised to bring it to him as soon as the courier dropped it off. He then brewed a cup of coffee, grabbed his laptop, and quietly made his way back to Jensen who was still mercifully unconscious.
Jared gently kissed Jensen on his forehead then leaned back on his side of the bed to read the latest updates from the accounting firm.
Two Weeks Later
Jared was a great deal more attentive, and it did not go unnoticed by Jensen who was grateful. With his right arm incapacitated, Jensen was forced to take a break from his work. Not that he should. Since the economic slump, the donations to his charities had been halved. But Jensen knew the money was still out there; he’d just have to dig deeper and harder.
It was frustrating, really, and Jensen was actually relieved to take a step back. It helped that Jared seemed to have gotten the same memo. Not that Jensen could grudge Jared his work ethic; especially since his family needed Jared to step up to the plate and help rescue Ross Tower. Jensen also admired Jared’s tenacity and his showmanship: when the two combined into one man, the results were uniformly astonishing. Half of the empty units in the building were snapped up; a lot of them to rich parents whose children would be attending schools in the City. They were investing, of course, and right smartly too. And from what Jensen had managed to overhear, probably twenty more would be sold by summer. So, in comparison to other empty condo buildings, Ross Tower was doing well.
Jensen wondered if the drive came from Jared’s desire to excel or that he missed being the kingpin in business – any business – where the competition left only one winner and thus one survivor.
Jensen treated his musings with humor and silence. He didn’t want to concern Jared with his suspicions and the last thing Jensen needed to do was occupy his time with such foolish thoughts. Not when the poor just got poorer. And the elderly continued to get neglected without someone to fight in their corner on a daily basis.
Jensen wondered if he should invite Chad over for lunch. The man just returned from a trip to Beijing in order to secure a trade right for some kind of gemstone that Jensen couldn’t care less about. And though they didn't spend time together without Jared in the mix, it would be good to talk to someone who wasn't too concerned about Jensen's latest mishap. And - let's face it - Chad, though generous, didn't have a sympathetic bone in his body.
As Jensen opened the fridge his injured arm gave its usual twinge. Wincing, he examined the cast. It had been uncomfortable the last three days and Jensen was starting to feel slightly feverish.
What the fuck. It’s only been two weeks since I’ve broken the goddamn thing. I should be glad I’m not rolling around in pain, hollering for meds.
Jensen grimaced when he remembered the taste of the antibiotics and their side effects. Boy, was he glad when his bathroom trips became regular and not a cause for celebration!
Smirking, Jensen decided to make grilled chicken sandwich. Then he grabbed few beers because whenever Chad was over, beers were a definite necessity.
Jared noticed Jensen’s strange moodiness but chalked it up to the stressful hell that was his work. With the economy the way it was, it was a miracle that Jensen was generating any kind of money for his numerous causes.
“Jared?” Jensen’s voice sounded strangely light … almost deflated.
Jared peeked into the bathroom and found Jensen opening drawers, searching. “What are you looking for?”
“The thermometer,” Jensen answered. “Have you seen it anywhere?”
“Yeah, it’s in Anna’s bathroom,” Jared replied. He took a closer look and saw beads of of sweat on Jensen's brow. “You think you got a fever?”
Jensen nodded. “Yeah, slightly. I took couple of Tylenols few hours ago but I don’t feel any better.”
“Let me get it.”
Jared felt something twinge inside his gut. Chad told him about the impromptu lunch with Jensen and how it was cut short because Jensen couldn't keep his food down. Jared’s alarms went off but later calmed down when Jensen explained about his poor reactions to the antibiotics, not to mention the painkillers.
Still, knowing that Jensen retch into the toilet was not something he could forget any time in the near future.
Jared found the thermometer and returned to Jensen who was leaning against the sink. “Let me do it,” Jared said. He placed it in Jensen’s right ear and waited for the beep.
“102,” Jared read. “You’ve got a fever.”
“Measure the other ear,” Jensen said. “You know how unreliable that thing could be.”
Jared then saw the color in Jensen’s cheeks was not the usual healthy flush and knew he was probably coming down with something. Jared took the temperature again.
“103.8,” he read, his voice gone low.
Jensen looked at him, eyes wide with alarm.
Jared retook the temperature in the right ear. “104.1”
“Shit,” Jensen said, leaning harder into the sink.
“We’re getting you back to Presbyterian,” Jared said. “Just grab your clothes. We’ll sort out everything later.”
The fact that Jensen did as ordered spooked Jared more than the temperature readouts. This time Jared drove to the hospital and went through admissions with Jensen. Dr. Ang was paged and though he was off-duty, he promised to come back to Presbyterian.
Dr. Masters, the surgeon on call, read the vitals. He examined Jensen’s injured arm as best he could. “Do you feel anything uncomfortable, besides what you’d expected?”
“No, not really,” Jensen said. “The cast got tight but that’s about it.”
“Are you tired? Lethargic during daytime? Taking naps when you usually don’t?”
“I’ve been on antibiotics and painkillers the last thirteen days. I’ve been falling asleep all over the place.”
Dr. Masters gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.” He touched Jensen’s fingers. “Any pain? Any tingling?”
Jensen shook his head and then paused. “Well, my arm’s been twinging sometimes. Like it’s being poked by needles … knitting needles to be honest. But that’s about it.”
Dr. Masters made some noncommittal noises and said, “You know, why don’t we open the cast now. Dr. Ang should be here within the hour, and I’d like to take a look at what’s happening.”
Jared shoved down whatever worries he had and remained silent. Watching Jensen explain his condition was like witnessing a man waking up from a dream. And that meant Jensen had been free-floating. Jared thought his husband was just tripping from the painkillers, but now he wondered if there could be another cause for Jensen’s odd behavior the last few days.
They were moved to a formal examination room on the surgical floor. The staff buzzed around the two men, getting ready for more than what Jared though would be a simple cracking of the cast, especially when a nurse placed a tray of syringes next to Dr. Masters.
And when the cast was peeled off, Jared realized why there was such a complex preparation.
“What the fuck?” Jensen’s weak voice echoed into the silent room. “Oh my God … what happened to my arm?”
Jared couldn’t say anything: his whole being was riveted to the Lovecraftian mess that was on display.
Dr. Masters said briskly, “It’s infected. We’re going to need to admit you to the hospital. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes,” Jensen replied. “Doctor, is that gangrene I’m smelling?”
“No, it’s not,” Dr. Masters said. “But it’s not good either.”
Jared looked at Jensen whose eyes dominated his face; his lips pulled back into a grimace as Dr. Masters gently peeled away the rest of the cast from the arm. And that took some work because the forearm had swollen to such a degree, it had the same thickness as Jensen’s biceps. If it weren’t for the dimple caused by Jensen’s elbow, the entire thing had more than a passing resemblance to an oversized sausage swollen in its casing.
“Oh my God,” Jared finally managed to croak out after getting control of his roiling stomach.
“What is that smell?” Jensen demanded. “What is that smell?”
“Mr. Ackles, your arm’s still broken so we’re going to have to lay you down on the bed without jostling it. Please, don’t move. Do you want a sedative?”
“As soon as you tell me what I'm smelling!” Jensen demanded forcefully.
“When a cast is opened, it’s going to smell awful,” Dr. Masters explained patiently. “But there is the infection, which also contributes to the odor.”
The explanation seemed to placate Jensen, and with the help of two nurses, he laid down. As soon as the IV was set up, Dr. Masters plunged in a syringe, and it was a toss-up as to if the contents were antibiotics or a sedative.
Jared was glad that Jensen was able to accept Dr. Masters’ answer, but none of that explained the pinkish-greenish coating that colored the inside of the cast. Or the absence of the black sutures that dotted Jensen’s arm before the cast was put on.
He watched the nurses clinically and swiftly undress Jensen, and stuff the clothes carelessly into a hospital bag.
“Where are they going?” he asked Dr. Masters when Jensen was wheeled out of the room.
“He’s been admitted,” Dr. Masters replied. “We’re going to move him to another room where Dr. Ang can examine him further.”
“Are his bones damaged? Will he be able to use his arm again?”
Dr. Masters didn’t reply immediately and that was when Jared realized the news could become great deal worse.
“Are they going to have to take off his arm?” he asked hoarsely.
“We’re not sure; and with some aggressive treatments, no," Dr. Masters answered. "We don’t know how deep the infection has set in, but the bloodwork should tell us a great deal more.”
Jared had about a dozen questions but he was too afraid of the answers, so he kept his mouth shut.
Dr. Ang looked even more tight-lipped than Jensen who had calmed down without the help of a sedative. Jared thought he did so probably out of embarrassment. If it were Jared, he’d still be hysterical and demanding some non-threatening answers to his questions.
Jensen waited until Dr. Ang finished reading before asking, “How did this happen?”
“In spite of our efforts, an infection has set in and taken hold,” Dr. Ang answered promptly, "because the antibiotics we gave you didn’t work. So, we’re going to switch and put you on a course with much stronger ones.”
“What about the … swelling?” Jensen asked.
“It’s called compartment syndrome,” Dr. Ang said. “We’re going to have to perform a fasciotomy in order to relieve the pressure.”
“Surgery?” Jared was finally pissed enough to ask. “In his condition?”
“The sutures need to be taken out,” Dr. Ang said. “So, we’re going to make the incision in the same place to relieve the pressure.”
“Will it be a full surgery, then?”
“Yes,” Dr. Ang replied. “We should do it as soon as possible.”
“Okay then,” Jensen said. “What happens if … if the surgery doesn’t work?”
Dr. Ang’s gaze fell to the folders in his hands. “We’re not there yet, not by any means, Mr. Ackles. I think we should concentrate the problem we're facing right now.”
The non-answer made Jared’s heart skip faster, as he and Jensen understood what Dr. Ang wasn’t telling them.
“The anesthesiologist will be here to speak with you,” Dr. Ang said. He got up and left with two nurses caught in his drift.
Jensen looked up at Jared with tired eyes. “Can you call my folks? Tell them what’s happened? Then talk to Anna?”
“Do you want to talk to her?” Jared asked.
“Yeah,” Jensen answered. “I’m sure she’s going to want to check in on me.”
“I'll call right now,” Jared said then pulled out his cell. Jensen was surprised because Jared would step outside to make such calls, but his husband was beyond such dissimulations now.
The operation passed swiftly as there were two surgeons in the room. But, for Jared, it felt like an entire day. And when they wheeled Jensen into the room, Jared felt his heart plummet.
“Jesus,” he whispered as he collapsed into the chair closest to the bed.
The station nurse who was checking the morphine drip heard him. “It looks a lot worse than you think.”
“But … but it’s … all … exposed.”
“That’s the only way to relieve the pressure. And, in his case, it will also help the doctors deal with the infection.”
“Okay,” Jared said weakly. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem, he should be coming out in about twenty minutes. Press the buzzer if you need to.”
Jared nodded and leaned back into the armchair. He heard Jerry tactfully shuffle right outside the room and asked, “Can you close the door? Please.”
“Not a problem,” the bodyguard replied before gently shutting the door.
Jensen woke up in less than fifteen minutes. He looked groggily at Jared then tears slowly fell.
“Hey, hey, no need for that,” Jared said, wiping away the wet tracks that marred the beautiful face.
“I’m sorry,” Jensen croaked out. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this again…”
“Like what? It’s just a … flesh wound,” Jared replied, hoping the weak joke would stop Jensen from marching down whatever dark path he’d chosen.
“I swore you'd never go through this again. And I don’t know what’s wrong and I don’t want to take it out on you.”
Jared leaned over and kissed Jensen’s chapped lips. “There's nothing that's wrong that can't be fixed. And you're not doing anything to me. Get some rest. I’ll be right here: I promise.”
“Okay.”
And with that Jensen fell back asleep. Jared watched him and felt nothing but sadness. Not pity, not worry. Just sadness. He knew why Jensen’s emotions were pinging all over the place: fear. But Jensen had conditioned himself not to be scared – to the point that he couldn’t deal with it when it had seeped behind his defenses. Jared wondered how in hell Jensen dealt with his kidnapping, if at all.
He was so busy taking care of us he didn’t stop to take care of himself. Jesus Christ, when will I ever learn?
Jared tenderly combed Jensen’s sweat-stiffened hair. He didn’t know what to do now, but he would by the time Jensen came home.
By then, Jared was going to have a goddamn war plan drawn up.
One Month Later
When Jared deposited Jensen on their bed, he was sure Jensen had lost weight. The sweatshirt was practically flapping around him and Jensen had to tighten his belt quite far to make sure his jeans just didn’t slide off of his hips.
Not that Jared would mind even though Jensen was pretty much as he was when he’d first broken his arm: high, starving for food, and completely discombobulated.
Just on the drive back home, Jensen had switched topics from when the oyster season would start to 2010 tax forms for certain type of donations over ten thousand dollars to the size of Anna’s shoes. And how big a ‘fucking headache’ it was to find that one size translated to something completely different when you switched brands.
Jared listened to Jensen’s ramblings with bliss. Yes, Jensen could’ve confused and probably pissed off the Dalai Lama, but Jared couldn’t care less. Jensen could’ve been reading the goddamn phonebook and Jared would’ve been smiling from ear to ear.
Because, you see, Jensen was talking. And equally importantly they were going home.
Jared heard Jensen snuffle and his grin got bigger. There would be time for Jensen to eat and regain his weight. There would also be time for Jensen to wrap Anna’s birthday presents he’d bought so thoughtfully months before the party. And there would be time for Jared to tease him mercilessly for all the foolish talk Jensen had spouted under medication because after a morphine hit, Jensen was a fountain of information – some private, some not: but all hilarious.
Jared tucked another pillow around Jensen, not that he needed it, but it made Jared feel better. And made Jensen look protected, somehow.
He went to his office to make a call. “Hi, Donna? Yeah, he’s back. And no you can't because he’s asleep.”
“Oh good,” she said. “How does he look?”
“Same as yesterday,” Jared teased her. “He’s definitely thinner.”
“I wish I could see him now!”
“You know how he feels about looking weak in front of you guys,” Jared said.
“I know,” she said, sounding annoyed and mournful. “I thought he’d be over that by now.”
“Give him two days,” Jared soothed his mother-in-law. “Then I’ll send the plane over.”
“His arm? How is it?”
“Gross looking, but still attached. And with some physical therapy he’ll be fine.”
“Thank God,” Donna whispered. “I looked up fasciotomy online and it was disgusting!”
Jared knew only too well what she was talking about. His stomach decided to do the hurly burly when he watched a nurse change the dressings on the wound for the first time.
"Where's Anna?" Donna asked, her voice brightening at the mere mentioning of her granddaughter.
"She has ballet today, so I'm going to pick her up at seven."
“I’ll let you get back to Jensen,” Donna said. “Call me as soon as he wakes up.”
“Okay, take care!”
With that Jared went downstairs to make himself a sandwich and check the mail. When he saw the thick envelope from Forbes Jared gave a huff of annoyed sigh.
Fuck me. Now?
He had volunteered to be a subject in an article so he could garnish more attention for Ross Tower. Unfortunately, the magazine decided to use this opportunity as a way to target their younger demographics.
So, they selected certain academically bright students in Stuyvesant and Bronx Science and asked them to write down what questions they would ask the famous (and infamous) Jared Padalecki if they had the chance.
I guess they’re taking lessons from Teen Vogue nowadays, he thought uncharitably as he flipped through reams and reams of material.
The magazine had given him the freedom to choose which questions he’d answer, but how in hell could he when he had what looked like over five hundred of them in his hands?
With a grunt he tossed them on the counter and promptly forgot about it. He had better things to take care of.
With a smile, Jared went upstairs with a cold beer in his hand and a Stephen King book in the other. While Jensen was in the hospital, Jared hired not one but two real estate agents who came armed with a bevy of assistants. They were appreciative of his special situation, and even more for the lucrative contract he was offering. So, by the time Jensen was discharged, Jared was able to unload a lot of the work onto his new employees who picked it all up without missing a beat.
At first, he was uneasy, but things were going smoothly. And since he was still just a call away, the prospective buyers were more than understanding after hearing about Jared’s personal situation.
Besides, Jensen also talked in his sleep, especially when heavily sedated. Jared planned to record few choice bits then insert them into their Christmas cards.
That ought to make up for the stunt Jensen pulled last year. Jared still received emails from his old college acquaintances, all wondering if he actually did go through with the sex change.
Jensen wondered why in hell he was hobbling when it was his arm that was broken. Nevertheless, he still found himself limping to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. He’d woken up when the pain meds had worn out and discovered it was three-thirty in the goddamn morning. And since he couldn't take any of his medications without food, Jensen had to have at least a bowl of soup.
Waking Jared to help him was not an option since the man was passed out from exhaustion. After some searching, Jensen pulled out a Chinese takeout box, gave it the classic sniff test, and then reheated it in the microwave after identifying the foodstuff as possibly chicken fried rice. With broccoli.
Hopefully.
Unfortunately, after polishing off the box Jensen realized he was genuinely hungry, so he ended up digging into the freezer for some pizza. After finishing half the pie, Jensen sat down and decided to pace himself before he hoovered the entire refrigerator down his gullet.
Forbes?
Jensen pulled the packet open and read the cover letter. Then he remembered what Jared had told him months before, and grinned.
I can just see Jared looking at this thing before setting it on fire. I better make sure he actually fills this out. He needs all the publicity he can get.
But, as soon as he crawled back in bed with a full stomach, Jensen completely forgot about the questionnaire.
Two days later, he spotted it again and this time on Jared’s night table. Chuckling softly, Jensen reached over to read it in leisure as Jared was at work, signing off two contracts.
What would you tell the people responsible for allowing their companies to fail? No holds barred.
“Stop fucking around with other people’s money like it’s spam.”
Jensen would have to speak to Jared about how serious this Forbes interview really was. And what kind of image Jared wanted to portray to the outside world during such hard times. Of course, Jensen would have to stop laughing first.
After finally getting control of his hilarity Jensen plowed on.
Do you agree with the government’s desire to create a stronger oversight committee? To monitor Wall Street?
“I do, but monitoring Wall Street is useless. What happens there is the endgame, not the beginning. If you really want to stop the fire before it spreads, you must go to the university clubs, the five-star restaurants, and all those fancy schmancy parties they throw to congratulate themselves on how fabulously rich they have become. Preferably with an automatic. And some uncalled-for violence should be scheduled at regular intervals – maiming would be a definite plus. That way there’s motivation for the fuckers not to pull this kind of shit again.”
Jensen was startled. Jared was one of those men who attended the university club lunches and New Years Eve parties held amidst private art collections. Obviously, his disenchantment with that part of his life was more than complete.
Jensen also remembered when Jared had offered to buy a remote cabin in Oregon as a retirement present. He thought Jared was kidding; now he wasn’t sure.
How does it feel to be the only open gay man in a business atmosphere that seems to encourage uber-macho behavior? Do you find it aggravating? Have you been subjected to discrimination because of your sexual preference?
“I am six-five, clocking in at two-hundred-twenty-pounds. I can bench press three-hundred-fifty-pounds, and palm a basketball without a problem. So, no, I have never faced blatant discrimination. There are definitely bigots in the rarefied halls I travel, but nobody’s suicidal.
“Besides, Jensen makes everyone a little gay. Take a look at the guy."
Jensen rolled his eyes. This was an old joke that just got older every time he heard it. He had witnessed Jared get flak for being openly gay, but Jensen knew him well enough to know Jared wasn’t bothered by the discrimination they sometimes faced as a couple. However, now Jensen couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Jared did to thicken his skin since by the time Jensen met him, Jared was already well prepped in dealing with bigots in Brioni suits.
What is your favorite movie?
“Jaws. I see that movie every Halloween. It’s a ritual. Jensen says the shark eats almost as much as I do.”
Jensen smirked. It was a strange thing to get used to, but after the first three years (and countless beers) Jensen began looking forward to watching Jaws after Anna went to bed. It also helped to have a top-of-the-line home entertainment system, so the screams and the kick-ass 'da-dump' could be felt in the bones.
What made you join your father’s business? Didn’t you want to go out on your own?
“I did it because of Jensen. And if you print this I will KILL you. Twice.”
Jensen looked numbly at the answer. He had no idea what Jared meant. Jensen had never pressured him to join his father’s enterprise. In fact, by the time he considered their relationship to be a lifetime commitment deal, Jared was already heading the company.
Right then and there Jensen forced himself to make a decision, and chose never to ask Jared. It wasn’t important now. His kidnapping had changed everything from when they first met and fell in love. And the changes were for the better, so Jensen had no desire to seek answers to questions that benefitted no one.
He put down the stack and rearranged just as he found it. Then he heard Jared open the door downstairs and limped out to the second floor landing.
The sight that greeted him made him smile from ear to ear.
Jared was holding an all-too-familiar red bag from FAO Schwartz. And peeking out of it was a stuffed horse with beautiful brown eyes complete with long lashes. They had both agreed that Anna had more than enough presents from them, but it was obvious Jared thought one more couldn’t hurt, and would probably get lost in the seven they already had hidden in their bathroom closet.
Jared put the bag on the floor and then pulled out a small black box. Even from distance Jensen immediately identified it as a Blackberry. Then listened as Jared whistled a jaunty tune while stuffing the impromptu gift into the hallway closet. Hidden in order to surprise Jensen later, privately.
Jensen felt the first shove of pain and knew it was time for him to take his medicine, but he’d wait until Jared came upstairs. Jensen knew Jared liked to fuss over him when he was sick, and now Jensen knew it was all right for Jared to see him weak and needy.
After all, that’s what you do with people you love. And trust.
The End
Pairing: ja/jp
Rating: R for language and violence
Word Count: ~6900
Summary: Jared discovers there's no such thing as 'happily ever after', and that's fine. Because, right now, he'd happily settle for just 'after'.
Notes: Timestamp fic for Parting Gifts. Written for
theditor who won my services inhelp_haiti. Just a thought: do not look up the following medical terms on the internet. They are usually paired with graphic images not conducive to sleeping or keeping your food down.Disclaimer: 127.5% fiction.
March, 2010
New York City
Jared yawned as he tossed his soiled towel onto the floor while toeing off his ratty sneakers. He knew Jensen would be annoyed to no end if he spotted them but Jared really wanted to take a shower.
Then, feeling a bit more human, he’d come back downstairs and pick up his workout gear. Jared had to admit he would have to give more thought to fixing up the empty bedroom into a workout room. The gym downstairs was fantastic, but on the days when Jared only had to run, a treadmill would do just fine.
He heard his cell ring and began fumbling through his workout bag to find it. It stopped only to have his office phone pick up the chorus.
“Shit!’ Jared was hoping the call would come earlier, but now that it did he found himself woefully unprepared. Jared dropped the bag at the top of the stairs and bolted to answer the phone.
Jensen closed the door behind him and turned around to be greeted by Jared's worn-down sneakers and a used towel. He then heard Jared’s loud voice boisterously conversing in his office and decided not to bother his husband. For the moment.
“Oh, Christ,” Jensen muttered when he got a whiff of Jared’s sneakers. He gingerly held them between his index finger and thumb and put them in the hallway closet. He peeked in further to make sure that both baking soda boxes were open.
Have to get Jared new sneakers, Jensen thought. And burn these. Maybe bury the ashes with a stalk of fresh garlic just to make sure.
With a grin, Jensen opened his Blackberry and began looking for the exact same type and brand. Early in their relationship Jensen discovered Jared preferred specific type of sneakers, in a size smaller than he’d usually wear. Jensen was bewildered by this, but never took the time to find out why. Then, to his unending amusement, he discovered Jared had stashed a dozen of his ‘preferred’ running shoes much like a hoarder. However, over the years Jared had systematically gone through his collection until there was none left.
Jensen climbed the stairs, only paying attention to the steps when necessary. He found a site that carried the Holy Grail of Running Shoes and began plugging in his credit card numbers. Just before he reached the landing, Jensen caught a glimpse of white but couldn't identify what the fleeting color was until it was too late.
“Oh shit!’ he hollered as his left foot landed on the edge of Jared's iTouch. Desperately trying to avoid its complete destruction, Jensen twisted his foot away only to have it slide off the step.
For a moment, he was still standing, his arms wildly pinwheeling.
Then, he fell.
Jensen knew enough to relax his body in the hopes of avoiding spinal injury. But his fall was deafening and by the time he landed at the bottom of the stairs, Jensen was hollering loud enough to pull Jared from his office.
“Oh my God!” Jared yelled and bolted down the same steps, almost falling himself when he stepped on his crushed iTouch. But he managed to regain his balance and made it down safely.
“Oh fuck,” Jensen hissed. “I broke my arm.”
“Let me see,” Jared whispered, and gently rolled Jensen to his back.
Jared clenched his teeth hard and fast. Jensen hadn’t only broken his arm; a shard of the Blackberry’s plastic casing was embedded deep into the flesh.
“I’m going to call downstairs,” Jared said. “Someone there should know where to go.”
Jensen nodded slightly while cradling the damaged arm into his body. Jared ran to the phone and dialed the building's security office. Jerry, a private bodyguard, took the emergency elevators and was on the top floor within two minutes.
“Call for an ambulance?” Jensen asked, white-lipped.
“No, bleeding isn’t too heavy,” Jerry said. “And the way the traffic’s now, it’d be better if we took Riverside Park to Presbyterian.”
“Jensen? Think you can make it?” Jared asked.
Jensen gave a terse nod. "Yeah, let's do it."
Jared ended up physically supporting Jensen down to the garage. Jerry reached Adam, the other bodyguard on call, and told him about the situation. Adam promised to get Jared's car and wait for them in the garage.
In less than five minutes the armored GMC truck roared out of the underground garage, nearly colliding with a taxi. In fact, they were so close, Jared could see the pale outraged face of the driver and the enthusiastic waving of the man’s middle finger.
Jensen must have seen the same thing because he coughed a weak laugh. Jared looked at him and noted his pallor had visibly worsened.
“Stay with me,” he said harshly.
“Not going anywhere,” Jensen said. “I’ve had worse than this.”
“Not helping.”
“Sorry,” Jensen said. “I didn’t mean that.”
Jared hated that he made Jensen apologize for getting kidnapped and tortured. “I wasn't looking for an apology,” he said hurriedly. “You know how I can get.”
Jensen’s face broke into a beatific smile. “I do.”
Jared’s grasp around Jensen’s frame tightened as he rested his head on Jensen’s shoulder. The two men kept quiet until Adam pulled up to Presbyterian’s emergency entrance. He put the parking brake on and kept the truck in idle while Jerry opened the door for them. The two men went inside with Jerry as their escort. When he saw medical personnel reach them, Adam pulled the truck out of the drive and went down the parking garage where he would wait until summoned.
Jared watched silently as the surgeon examined Jensen’s digital x-rays. “Well, you are both lucky and unlucky man today, Mr. Ackles,” Dr. Ang said. “You broke the radius, but the good news is that it’s a very clean break.”
“So, no surgery?” Jensen looked up at the doctor, hope flooding his face.
“No surgery,” Dr. Ang agreed. “You’re going to need some stitches. We're also going to have to set the bone, but after that? With some antibiotics and careful handling, your arm should be fine.”
“Thank you,” Jensen said, his shoulders relaxing dramatically.
It was only then Jared realized how scared Jensen actually was.
“So, why don’t we get started. I'm not going to lie: the cast's going to be itchy as hell, but I’m sure you’ll prefer that to multiple surgeries.”
“Not complaining," was Jensen's grateful answer.
Jared had to leave when doctors descended into the room. He wanted to be with Jensen but his husband insisted he wait outside since he knew only too well the reasons for Jared’s desire to stay.
Guilt, not love, should make someone stay by your side, no matter how trivial or important the event was.
Jared paced statically, belatedly realizing he'd probably tweaked his ankle earlier.
We are getting a fucking treadmill, Jared vowed. And a gym.
Dr. Ang stepped out after very long two hours. “He’s fine. Pretty much out of it, but otherwise he’s okay. It helps to be healthy, fit, and impatient.”
Jared smiled. “He started grumbling the moment I left?”
“As soon as the door closed,” Dr. Ang said. “I knew his angelic act was too good to be true.”
“He was worried about me,” Jared explained. “He had … an accident before and I didn’t react well then.”
“I saw the finger,” Dr. Ang said. “Well, you’re welcome to take him home. Just make sure he takes his medication. Infection is always a problem. Do you want to fill the prescription here or do you have an account somewhere? I can send it directly to the pharmacy if you like.”
“That would be great,” Jared paused. “I … I don’t know where it is, actually.”
“But Mr. Ackles does?”
“Yeah,” Jared answered sheepishly.
“I’ll find out and double-check, just to make sure.”
“Thank you,” Jared said.
In times like this, Jared wondered if he actually became what he set out to be. After Jensen’s extended stay in Beth Israel, Jared had developed an aversion to hospitals to such a degree that only Jensen went with Anna whenever she went for her annual check-ups. Jared unfailingly drove them, of course, and back, but he would wait in the car or a coffee shop nearby until the appointment was over.
Jared ended up waiting for almost an hour before the door opened again. Dr. Ang gave an apologetic smile and pointed behind him. “I’m afraid Mr. Ackles has fallen asleep while we were trying to find out which pharmacy has your account.
“We ended up calling nineteen stores. One of them was in California?”
Jared closed his eyes. Of course. Jensen stored that type of information in his Blackberry and now, with the damn thing in bits and pieces, Jensen was going to have to rebuild everything.
“I’m guessing it was in his Blackberry?” Dr. Ang asked. “The one I pulled out of his arm earlier?”
“Yeah, basically.” Jared peeked in and spotted Jensen snoring softly on the examination bed. All the nurses were staring at him, eyes wide in order to drink in the sight of the beautiful man sprawled out in front of them.
Jared stood for a moment, letting them have their fill. Then he moved in, and being such a big man – his entrance was duly noted.
“You can take him home now,” Dr. Ang said dryly. “We’re done here.”
“Do we need to fill out any paperwork?” Jared asked.
“No need. We did it while calling the stores,” Dr. Ang said, lips quirking to a secretive smile.
Jared grinned and gently shook Jensen. “Hey, babe, time to go home.”
Jensen opened his eyes but it took him a while to focus on Jared. “I’m sorry.”
Jared leaned in. “Sorry for what?”
“I lost all your shoes. I found them and then … poof … I lost them. All twelve.
“I suck.”
“Okay, we’re going now,” Jared said, choking back his laugh. He helped a nurse put Jensen in a wheelchair. “I’ll take him, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine,” Dr. Ang said.
Jared wheeled Jensen out and found Jerry right outside the door. “Adam’s waiting,” Jerry said. “There’s a separate exit we can use.”
“Thank you,” Jared said.
Jensen fell asleep in the elevator and continued his Sleeping Beauty routine even when Adam and Jared manhandled him into bed. After the two guards left, Jared gently undressed Jensen while making sure his injured arm wasn’t moved too often.
Jared closed the bedroom door then went to the front stairs. He spotted his workout bag and its contents strewn all about. Jared closed his eyes and gave a sigh of dismay. He had dropped the bag in his eagerness to get the call and didn’t look back. If he had spared a glance he would've seen the bag had spilled open, flinging its contents willy-nilly.
Jared swiped his car keys from the floor then slowly moved down the stairs, picking up everything, including the remains of Jensen’s Blackberry. He noticed that while damage was bad, there was a chance that he could get the information transferred to another.
Better get him a new one, ‘cause when he wakes up without his trusty Jeeves, Jensen’s gonna have a shit fit.
Jared looked around for his sneakers but didn’t find them. Out of suspicion, he peeked into the closet and spotted them.
Jared sat down on the floor and stared at the sneakers.
I promised, didn’t I? I promised I’d do better. After all that’s happened – I swore and he believed me.
Jared knew he was overreacting, but he had to admit he hadn’t given his family the attention they deserved. Not really.
When they first moved to New York, things were fine. Then the bottom dropped out of the real estate market, and the word ‘Recession’ was bandied about with the capital ‘R’ instead of little ‘r’.
The Padalecki firm had tied in most of their capital to the building of Ross Tower. This turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. Because most of the used capital hadn’t been from a bank or a third party, they weren't forced to auction off the units to pay off debts not their own. However, their income was severely tied to the health of the Tower and the money it generated.
Jared had planned to retire by the end of 2009. Instead, he was forced to take over the business end of Ross Tower by July, and had been heavily involved in selling the units since then. Jared knew the money was out there. The rich, the truly rich, would ride out this round of economic hardship as they’d done so many times before. And they would be voraciously examining what treasures could be plucked from the ruins.
Jared knew only too well what they would look at, too: real estate.
In New York City, one thing was more valuable than gold, stocks, or anything sold on Madison, and that was land, or reasonable interpretation thereof. So, he began networking through his friends and business acquaintances, putting out feelers that Ross Tower’s prestigious units would be available for purchase as scheduled. And though the prices would not be going down much, they would be dropping somewhat.
With some finesse and a lot of bald-face lying, Jared managed to rope in quite a few interested buyers who were willing to invest in favorably-reviewed property located right next to Central Park. It also helped that Ross Tower had unobstructed view of the world-renown greenspace and was backed up by an architectural firm famous for their work in earthquake-prone Japan.
Still, Jared had made a promise, didn’t he? To Anna? To Jensen? To be there when they needed him? If Anna hadn’t been visiting Jensen’s folks in Dallas, what would she be doing now? Would she be reliving what had happened during that horrific night when Jensen was beaten unconscious within inches of her?
Jared shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it, not really. He had work that needed to be done, such as hiring a third assistant to help him better manage his time and take on some of the burden. Jared had done much of the footwork and now … well, Ross Tower could use another pair of helping hands. Or two, maybe.
Jared remembered the real estate agent Chad mentioned in passing. He knew she’d be glad to get some business and made a mental note to call Chad after dinner to get her number.
Jared looked up the stairs and wondered if Jensen was asleep. He could do some reading in the bedroom while waiting for his husband to wake up from his drug-induced sleep. But first, Jared called to the front desk and told them about the delivery from the pharmacy he was expecting. They promised to bring it to him as soon as the courier dropped it off. He then brewed a cup of coffee, grabbed his laptop, and quietly made his way back to Jensen who was still mercifully unconscious.
Jared gently kissed Jensen on his forehead then leaned back on his side of the bed to read the latest updates from the accounting firm.
Two Weeks Later
Jared was a great deal more attentive, and it did not go unnoticed by Jensen who was grateful. With his right arm incapacitated, Jensen was forced to take a break from his work. Not that he should. Since the economic slump, the donations to his charities had been halved. But Jensen knew the money was still out there; he’d just have to dig deeper and harder.
It was frustrating, really, and Jensen was actually relieved to take a step back. It helped that Jared seemed to have gotten the same memo. Not that Jensen could grudge Jared his work ethic; especially since his family needed Jared to step up to the plate and help rescue Ross Tower. Jensen also admired Jared’s tenacity and his showmanship: when the two combined into one man, the results were uniformly astonishing. Half of the empty units in the building were snapped up; a lot of them to rich parents whose children would be attending schools in the City. They were investing, of course, and right smartly too. And from what Jensen had managed to overhear, probably twenty more would be sold by summer. So, in comparison to other empty condo buildings, Ross Tower was doing well.
Jensen wondered if the drive came from Jared’s desire to excel or that he missed being the kingpin in business – any business – where the competition left only one winner and thus one survivor.
Jensen treated his musings with humor and silence. He didn’t want to concern Jared with his suspicions and the last thing Jensen needed to do was occupy his time with such foolish thoughts. Not when the poor just got poorer. And the elderly continued to get neglected without someone to fight in their corner on a daily basis.
Jensen wondered if he should invite Chad over for lunch. The man just returned from a trip to Beijing in order to secure a trade right for some kind of gemstone that Jensen couldn’t care less about. And though they didn't spend time together without Jared in the mix, it would be good to talk to someone who wasn't too concerned about Jensen's latest mishap. And - let's face it - Chad, though generous, didn't have a sympathetic bone in his body.
As Jensen opened the fridge his injured arm gave its usual twinge. Wincing, he examined the cast. It had been uncomfortable the last three days and Jensen was starting to feel slightly feverish.
What the fuck. It’s only been two weeks since I’ve broken the goddamn thing. I should be glad I’m not rolling around in pain, hollering for meds.
Jensen grimaced when he remembered the taste of the antibiotics and their side effects. Boy, was he glad when his bathroom trips became regular and not a cause for celebration!
Smirking, Jensen decided to make grilled chicken sandwich. Then he grabbed few beers because whenever Chad was over, beers were a definite necessity.
Jared noticed Jensen’s strange moodiness but chalked it up to the stressful hell that was his work. With the economy the way it was, it was a miracle that Jensen was generating any kind of money for his numerous causes.
“Jared?” Jensen’s voice sounded strangely light … almost deflated.
Jared peeked into the bathroom and found Jensen opening drawers, searching. “What are you looking for?”
“The thermometer,” Jensen answered. “Have you seen it anywhere?”
“Yeah, it’s in Anna’s bathroom,” Jared replied. He took a closer look and saw beads of of sweat on Jensen's brow. “You think you got a fever?”
Jensen nodded. “Yeah, slightly. I took couple of Tylenols few hours ago but I don’t feel any better.”
“Let me get it.”
Jared felt something twinge inside his gut. Chad told him about the impromptu lunch with Jensen and how it was cut short because Jensen couldn't keep his food down. Jared’s alarms went off but later calmed down when Jensen explained about his poor reactions to the antibiotics, not to mention the painkillers.
Still, knowing that Jensen retch into the toilet was not something he could forget any time in the near future.
Jared found the thermometer and returned to Jensen who was leaning against the sink. “Let me do it,” Jared said. He placed it in Jensen’s right ear and waited for the beep.
“102,” Jared read. “You’ve got a fever.”
“Measure the other ear,” Jensen said. “You know how unreliable that thing could be.”
Jared then saw the color in Jensen’s cheeks was not the usual healthy flush and knew he was probably coming down with something. Jared took the temperature again.
“103.8,” he read, his voice gone low.
Jensen looked at him, eyes wide with alarm.
Jared retook the temperature in the right ear. “104.1”
“Shit,” Jensen said, leaning harder into the sink.
“We’re getting you back to Presbyterian,” Jared said. “Just grab your clothes. We’ll sort out everything later.”
The fact that Jensen did as ordered spooked Jared more than the temperature readouts. This time Jared drove to the hospital and went through admissions with Jensen. Dr. Ang was paged and though he was off-duty, he promised to come back to Presbyterian.
Dr. Masters, the surgeon on call, read the vitals. He examined Jensen’s injured arm as best he could. “Do you feel anything uncomfortable, besides what you’d expected?”
“No, not really,” Jensen said. “The cast got tight but that’s about it.”
“Are you tired? Lethargic during daytime? Taking naps when you usually don’t?”
“I’ve been on antibiotics and painkillers the last thirteen days. I’ve been falling asleep all over the place.”
Dr. Masters gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry, that was a stupid question.” He touched Jensen’s fingers. “Any pain? Any tingling?”
Jensen shook his head and then paused. “Well, my arm’s been twinging sometimes. Like it’s being poked by needles … knitting needles to be honest. But that’s about it.”
Dr. Masters made some noncommittal noises and said, “You know, why don’t we open the cast now. Dr. Ang should be here within the hour, and I’d like to take a look at what’s happening.”
Jared shoved down whatever worries he had and remained silent. Watching Jensen explain his condition was like witnessing a man waking up from a dream. And that meant Jensen had been free-floating. Jared thought his husband was just tripping from the painkillers, but now he wondered if there could be another cause for Jensen’s odd behavior the last few days.
They were moved to a formal examination room on the surgical floor. The staff buzzed around the two men, getting ready for more than what Jared though would be a simple cracking of the cast, especially when a nurse placed a tray of syringes next to Dr. Masters.
And when the cast was peeled off, Jared realized why there was such a complex preparation.
“What the fuck?” Jensen’s weak voice echoed into the silent room. “Oh my God … what happened to my arm?”
Jared couldn’t say anything: his whole being was riveted to the Lovecraftian mess that was on display.
Dr. Masters said briskly, “It’s infected. We’re going to need to admit you to the hospital. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes,” Jensen replied. “Doctor, is that gangrene I’m smelling?”
“No, it’s not,” Dr. Masters said. “But it’s not good either.”
Jared looked at Jensen whose eyes dominated his face; his lips pulled back into a grimace as Dr. Masters gently peeled away the rest of the cast from the arm. And that took some work because the forearm had swollen to such a degree, it had the same thickness as Jensen’s biceps. If it weren’t for the dimple caused by Jensen’s elbow, the entire thing had more than a passing resemblance to an oversized sausage swollen in its casing.
“Oh my God,” Jared finally managed to croak out after getting control of his roiling stomach.
“What is that smell?” Jensen demanded. “What is that smell?”
“Mr. Ackles, your arm’s still broken so we’re going to have to lay you down on the bed without jostling it. Please, don’t move. Do you want a sedative?”
“As soon as you tell me what I'm smelling!” Jensen demanded forcefully.
“When a cast is opened, it’s going to smell awful,” Dr. Masters explained patiently. “But there is the infection, which also contributes to the odor.”
The explanation seemed to placate Jensen, and with the help of two nurses, he laid down. As soon as the IV was set up, Dr. Masters plunged in a syringe, and it was a toss-up as to if the contents were antibiotics or a sedative.
Jared was glad that Jensen was able to accept Dr. Masters’ answer, but none of that explained the pinkish-greenish coating that colored the inside of the cast. Or the absence of the black sutures that dotted Jensen’s arm before the cast was put on.
He watched the nurses clinically and swiftly undress Jensen, and stuff the clothes carelessly into a hospital bag.
“Where are they going?” he asked Dr. Masters when Jensen was wheeled out of the room.
“He’s been admitted,” Dr. Masters replied. “We’re going to move him to another room where Dr. Ang can examine him further.”
“Are his bones damaged? Will he be able to use his arm again?”
Dr. Masters didn’t reply immediately and that was when Jared realized the news could become great deal worse.
“Are they going to have to take off his arm?” he asked hoarsely.
“We’re not sure; and with some aggressive treatments, no," Dr. Masters answered. "We don’t know how deep the infection has set in, but the bloodwork should tell us a great deal more.”
Jared had about a dozen questions but he was too afraid of the answers, so he kept his mouth shut.
Dr. Ang looked even more tight-lipped than Jensen who had calmed down without the help of a sedative. Jared thought he did so probably out of embarrassment. If it were Jared, he’d still be hysterical and demanding some non-threatening answers to his questions.
Jensen waited until Dr. Ang finished reading before asking, “How did this happen?”
“In spite of our efforts, an infection has set in and taken hold,” Dr. Ang answered promptly, "because the antibiotics we gave you didn’t work. So, we’re going to switch and put you on a course with much stronger ones.”
“What about the … swelling?” Jensen asked.
“It’s called compartment syndrome,” Dr. Ang said. “We’re going to have to perform a fasciotomy in order to relieve the pressure.”
“Surgery?” Jared was finally pissed enough to ask. “In his condition?”
“The sutures need to be taken out,” Dr. Ang said. “So, we’re going to make the incision in the same place to relieve the pressure.”
“Will it be a full surgery, then?”
“Yes,” Dr. Ang replied. “We should do it as soon as possible.”
“Okay then,” Jensen said. “What happens if … if the surgery doesn’t work?”
Dr. Ang’s gaze fell to the folders in his hands. “We’re not there yet, not by any means, Mr. Ackles. I think we should concentrate the problem we're facing right now.”
The non-answer made Jared’s heart skip faster, as he and Jensen understood what Dr. Ang wasn’t telling them.
“The anesthesiologist will be here to speak with you,” Dr. Ang said. He got up and left with two nurses caught in his drift.
Jensen looked up at Jared with tired eyes. “Can you call my folks? Tell them what’s happened? Then talk to Anna?”
“Do you want to talk to her?” Jared asked.
“Yeah,” Jensen answered. “I’m sure she’s going to want to check in on me.”
“I'll call right now,” Jared said then pulled out his cell. Jensen was surprised because Jared would step outside to make such calls, but his husband was beyond such dissimulations now.
The operation passed swiftly as there were two surgeons in the room. But, for Jared, it felt like an entire day. And when they wheeled Jensen into the room, Jared felt his heart plummet.
“Jesus,” he whispered as he collapsed into the chair closest to the bed.
The station nurse who was checking the morphine drip heard him. “It looks a lot worse than you think.”
“But … but it’s … all … exposed.”
“That’s the only way to relieve the pressure. And, in his case, it will also help the doctors deal with the infection.”
“Okay,” Jared said weakly. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem, he should be coming out in about twenty minutes. Press the buzzer if you need to.”
Jared nodded and leaned back into the armchair. He heard Jerry tactfully shuffle right outside the room and asked, “Can you close the door? Please.”
“Not a problem,” the bodyguard replied before gently shutting the door.
Jensen woke up in less than fifteen minutes. He looked groggily at Jared then tears slowly fell.
“Hey, hey, no need for that,” Jared said, wiping away the wet tracks that marred the beautiful face.
“I’m sorry,” Jensen croaked out. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this again…”
“Like what? It’s just a … flesh wound,” Jared replied, hoping the weak joke would stop Jensen from marching down whatever dark path he’d chosen.
“I swore you'd never go through this again. And I don’t know what’s wrong and I don’t want to take it out on you.”
Jared leaned over and kissed Jensen’s chapped lips. “There's nothing that's wrong that can't be fixed. And you're not doing anything to me. Get some rest. I’ll be right here: I promise.”
“Okay.”
And with that Jensen fell back asleep. Jared watched him and felt nothing but sadness. Not pity, not worry. Just sadness. He knew why Jensen’s emotions were pinging all over the place: fear. But Jensen had conditioned himself not to be scared – to the point that he couldn’t deal with it when it had seeped behind his defenses. Jared wondered how in hell Jensen dealt with his kidnapping, if at all.
He was so busy taking care of us he didn’t stop to take care of himself. Jesus Christ, when will I ever learn?
Jared tenderly combed Jensen’s sweat-stiffened hair. He didn’t know what to do now, but he would by the time Jensen came home.
By then, Jared was going to have a goddamn war plan drawn up.
One Month Later
When Jared deposited Jensen on their bed, he was sure Jensen had lost weight. The sweatshirt was practically flapping around him and Jensen had to tighten his belt quite far to make sure his jeans just didn’t slide off of his hips.
Not that Jared would mind even though Jensen was pretty much as he was when he’d first broken his arm: high, starving for food, and completely discombobulated.
Just on the drive back home, Jensen had switched topics from when the oyster season would start to 2010 tax forms for certain type of donations over ten thousand dollars to the size of Anna’s shoes. And how big a ‘fucking headache’ it was to find that one size translated to something completely different when you switched brands.
Jared listened to Jensen’s ramblings with bliss. Yes, Jensen could’ve confused and probably pissed off the Dalai Lama, but Jared couldn’t care less. Jensen could’ve been reading the goddamn phonebook and Jared would’ve been smiling from ear to ear.
Because, you see, Jensen was talking. And equally importantly they were going home.
Jared heard Jensen snuffle and his grin got bigger. There would be time for Jensen to eat and regain his weight. There would also be time for Jensen to wrap Anna’s birthday presents he’d bought so thoughtfully months before the party. And there would be time for Jared to tease him mercilessly for all the foolish talk Jensen had spouted under medication because after a morphine hit, Jensen was a fountain of information – some private, some not: but all hilarious.
Jared tucked another pillow around Jensen, not that he needed it, but it made Jared feel better. And made Jensen look protected, somehow.
He went to his office to make a call. “Hi, Donna? Yeah, he’s back. And no you can't because he’s asleep.”
“Oh good,” she said. “How does he look?”
“Same as yesterday,” Jared teased her. “He’s definitely thinner.”
“I wish I could see him now!”
“You know how he feels about looking weak in front of you guys,” Jared said.
“I know,” she said, sounding annoyed and mournful. “I thought he’d be over that by now.”
“Give him two days,” Jared soothed his mother-in-law. “Then I’ll send the plane over.”
“His arm? How is it?”
“Gross looking, but still attached. And with some physical therapy he’ll be fine.”
“Thank God,” Donna whispered. “I looked up fasciotomy online and it was disgusting!”
Jared knew only too well what she was talking about. His stomach decided to do the hurly burly when he watched a nurse change the dressings on the wound for the first time.
"Where's Anna?" Donna asked, her voice brightening at the mere mentioning of her granddaughter.
"She has ballet today, so I'm going to pick her up at seven."
“I’ll let you get back to Jensen,” Donna said. “Call me as soon as he wakes up.”
“Okay, take care!”
With that Jared went downstairs to make himself a sandwich and check the mail. When he saw the thick envelope from Forbes Jared gave a huff of annoyed sigh.
Fuck me. Now?
He had volunteered to be a subject in an article so he could garnish more attention for Ross Tower. Unfortunately, the magazine decided to use this opportunity as a way to target their younger demographics.
So, they selected certain academically bright students in Stuyvesant and Bronx Science and asked them to write down what questions they would ask the famous (and infamous) Jared Padalecki if they had the chance.
I guess they’re taking lessons from Teen Vogue nowadays, he thought uncharitably as he flipped through reams and reams of material.
The magazine had given him the freedom to choose which questions he’d answer, but how in hell could he when he had what looked like over five hundred of them in his hands?
With a grunt he tossed them on the counter and promptly forgot about it. He had better things to take care of.
With a smile, Jared went upstairs with a cold beer in his hand and a Stephen King book in the other. While Jensen was in the hospital, Jared hired not one but two real estate agents who came armed with a bevy of assistants. They were appreciative of his special situation, and even more for the lucrative contract he was offering. So, by the time Jensen was discharged, Jared was able to unload a lot of the work onto his new employees who picked it all up without missing a beat.
At first, he was uneasy, but things were going smoothly. And since he was still just a call away, the prospective buyers were more than understanding after hearing about Jared’s personal situation.
Besides, Jensen also talked in his sleep, especially when heavily sedated. Jared planned to record few choice bits then insert them into their Christmas cards.
That ought to make up for the stunt Jensen pulled last year. Jared still received emails from his old college acquaintances, all wondering if he actually did go through with the sex change.
Jensen wondered why in hell he was hobbling when it was his arm that was broken. Nevertheless, he still found himself limping to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. He’d woken up when the pain meds had worn out and discovered it was three-thirty in the goddamn morning. And since he couldn't take any of his medications without food, Jensen had to have at least a bowl of soup.
Waking Jared to help him was not an option since the man was passed out from exhaustion. After some searching, Jensen pulled out a Chinese takeout box, gave it the classic sniff test, and then reheated it in the microwave after identifying the foodstuff as possibly chicken fried rice. With broccoli.
Hopefully.
Unfortunately, after polishing off the box Jensen realized he was genuinely hungry, so he ended up digging into the freezer for some pizza. After finishing half the pie, Jensen sat down and decided to pace himself before he hoovered the entire refrigerator down his gullet.
Forbes?
Jensen pulled the packet open and read the cover letter. Then he remembered what Jared had told him months before, and grinned.
I can just see Jared looking at this thing before setting it on fire. I better make sure he actually fills this out. He needs all the publicity he can get.
But, as soon as he crawled back in bed with a full stomach, Jensen completely forgot about the questionnaire.
Two days later, he spotted it again and this time on Jared’s night table. Chuckling softly, Jensen reached over to read it in leisure as Jared was at work, signing off two contracts.
What would you tell the people responsible for allowing their companies to fail? No holds barred.
“Stop fucking around with other people’s money like it’s spam.”
Jensen would have to speak to Jared about how serious this Forbes interview really was. And what kind of image Jared wanted to portray to the outside world during such hard times. Of course, Jensen would have to stop laughing first.
After finally getting control of his hilarity Jensen plowed on.
Do you agree with the government’s desire to create a stronger oversight committee? To monitor Wall Street?
“I do, but monitoring Wall Street is useless. What happens there is the endgame, not the beginning. If you really want to stop the fire before it spreads, you must go to the university clubs, the five-star restaurants, and all those fancy schmancy parties they throw to congratulate themselves on how fabulously rich they have become. Preferably with an automatic. And some uncalled-for violence should be scheduled at regular intervals – maiming would be a definite plus. That way there’s motivation for the fuckers not to pull this kind of shit again.”
Jensen was startled. Jared was one of those men who attended the university club lunches and New Years Eve parties held amidst private art collections. Obviously, his disenchantment with that part of his life was more than complete.
Jensen also remembered when Jared had offered to buy a remote cabin in Oregon as a retirement present. He thought Jared was kidding; now he wasn’t sure.
How does it feel to be the only open gay man in a business atmosphere that seems to encourage uber-macho behavior? Do you find it aggravating? Have you been subjected to discrimination because of your sexual preference?
“I am six-five, clocking in at two-hundred-twenty-pounds. I can bench press three-hundred-fifty-pounds, and palm a basketball without a problem. So, no, I have never faced blatant discrimination. There are definitely bigots in the rarefied halls I travel, but nobody’s suicidal.
“Besides, Jensen makes everyone a little gay. Take a look at the guy."
Jensen rolled his eyes. This was an old joke that just got older every time he heard it. He had witnessed Jared get flak for being openly gay, but Jensen knew him well enough to know Jared wasn’t bothered by the discrimination they sometimes faced as a couple. However, now Jensen couldn’t help but wonder exactly what Jared did to thicken his skin since by the time Jensen met him, Jared was already well prepped in dealing with bigots in Brioni suits.
What is your favorite movie?
“Jaws. I see that movie every Halloween. It’s a ritual. Jensen says the shark eats almost as much as I do.”
Jensen smirked. It was a strange thing to get used to, but after the first three years (and countless beers) Jensen began looking forward to watching Jaws after Anna went to bed. It also helped to have a top-of-the-line home entertainment system, so the screams and the kick-ass 'da-dump' could be felt in the bones.
What made you join your father’s business? Didn’t you want to go out on your own?
“I did it because of Jensen. And if you print this I will KILL you. Twice.”
Jensen looked numbly at the answer. He had no idea what Jared meant. Jensen had never pressured him to join his father’s enterprise. In fact, by the time he considered their relationship to be a lifetime commitment deal, Jared was already heading the company.
Right then and there Jensen forced himself to make a decision, and chose never to ask Jared. It wasn’t important now. His kidnapping had changed everything from when they first met and fell in love. And the changes were for the better, so Jensen had no desire to seek answers to questions that benefitted no one.
He put down the stack and rearranged just as he found it. Then he heard Jared open the door downstairs and limped out to the second floor landing.
The sight that greeted him made him smile from ear to ear.
Jared was holding an all-too-familiar red bag from FAO Schwartz. And peeking out of it was a stuffed horse with beautiful brown eyes complete with long lashes. They had both agreed that Anna had more than enough presents from them, but it was obvious Jared thought one more couldn’t hurt, and would probably get lost in the seven they already had hidden in their bathroom closet.
Jared put the bag on the floor and then pulled out a small black box. Even from distance Jensen immediately identified it as a Blackberry. Then listened as Jared whistled a jaunty tune while stuffing the impromptu gift into the hallway closet. Hidden in order to surprise Jensen later, privately.
Jensen felt the first shove of pain and knew it was time for him to take his medicine, but he’d wait until Jared came upstairs. Jensen knew Jared liked to fuss over him when he was sick, and now Jensen knew it was all right for Jared to see him weak and needy.
After all, that’s what you do with people you love. And trust.
The End
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Date: 2010-02-16 07:59 pm (UTC)