Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

November 29, 1983

Jared steps from the shower onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor. He dries off quickly, wrapping the towel around his waist, the sounds of Michael Jackson singing Billie Jean reaching him faintly from the outer room. He takes a moment to compose himself in the mirror, running a hand through his wet hair, strands falling forward across his forehead. He likes the way the longer length makes him look; younger, more gentle and soft. Stephen has been giving him a hard time about it because it doesn’t fit general protocol, but it’s been months now and Jared has no intention of cutting it shorter unless he has to.

He reaches for his watch lying on the vanity, putting it on with care. It’s a Patek Phillipe 1518 in steel, one of only four ever made, and this one is one of the original trio. On its intricate yet cleanly designed face, three tiny dials contained inside the main clock he can read the time, the month and date, and the cycle of the moon. It’s beautiful, precise, and it’s his most prized possession for reasons beyond being one of the most valuable watches in existence. Jared’s whole world turns on this tiny timepiece; his life can literally depend on it.

Right now, his watch says it’s April 2, Sunday, 9:47am, but through the bathroom window it’s deep into the night, cold stars twinkling in a late November sky. In the outer room, where his clothes are still scattered across the floor, is a pocket watch of little to no value that keeps an entirely different time—one that aligns with the picture outside this window.

He takes a breath and draws himself up, and then turns and opens the door to the bedroom.

Michael is still lying in the tangle of white bedsheets where Jared left him. His dark brown eyes, so full of hunger and heat earlier, are empty now, his nearly black brows slack. The tip of his pink tongue protrudes from his mouth, reminding Jared of how recently it had been inside him, that those tangled sheets are heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. Stained now, too, with the indelible purple-red of wine, the poisoned glass that had killed Michael lying near the edge of the bed.

“Russian spies,” Jared mutters, and shakes his head. “How many of you am I going to have to kill?”

Michael—better known as Mikhail to his comrades—doesn’t answer.

On the stereo set in one corner of the room, Michael Jackson gives way to Sting singing Every Breath You Take. Jared dresses quickly, smoothing the lines of his suit, documents he’d plucked from the safe tucked into the inside breast pocket. He touches them once, making sure they’re secure—

He smells it then; the bitter, burning scent like almonds and ozone, and turns, incredulous.

A man stands there, maybe the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. Freckles stand out against the faint tan of his skin, and his mouth… Jared could write poems about his mouth alone, the full, perfect shape of it. Wide green eyes and high cheekbones, light brown hair cropped short, and it’s the strangest feeling, to be noticing all of this right now, detail heightened by the adrenaline screaming through his veins.

There’s a gun clasped in the man’s hands, pointed directly at Jared’s heart. Thoughts scramble, clanging and clattering inside Jared’s mind and this can’t be real, can’t be happening. The only people who can reach him, the only people who know where he is, that he can be here at all, are the people he works for—and this man is none of them. It’s impossible.

And yet, more incredible than all of this are the tears in the man’s eyes, the unspeakable emotion and heartbreaking sadness held there.

The man’s fingers tremble, but the gun doesn’t waver.

“Jared,” the man whispers, and Jared can hear the gutted quality of the word, the utter desolation. “I’m sorry.”

Standing, staring down the barrel of a gun that’s about to end his life, and Jared only has one question.

“How do you know me?” Jared asks, voice soft and amazed.

The man winces, as if Jared’s words cause him pain, tears spilling over the edge of his lashes, and then his fingers tighten around the gun.

“I’m sorry,” the man whispers again, as if helpless.

The bullet takes Jared through the chest, pulverizing flesh and shattering bone, sending him reeling backward, knees giving way as he falls to the floor.

The room spins around him, careening out of control before it convulses, and Jared feels swallowed, as if by a huge, dark throat. Music warbles, thin and strange.

Oh, can't you see
You belong to me

Warmth beside him, arms underneath him, lifting his upper body from the floor. The man holds him tight, so close Jared can hear the desperate thundering of the man’s heartbeat pressed against his ear. The world swirls with a dizzying haze, growing faint, blackness spiraling inside it, and Jared lifts his head with the last of his strength, gazing up at the man, into those green eyes, uncomprehending.

“Who are you?” Jared gasps.

The brush of the man’s lips against Jared’s is almost gentle. He pulls a deep, shuddering breath, voice like broken glass as he says, “Heart in hand and hand in glove, now we say goodbye, my love.”

It’s the last thing Jared hears.

*

March 31, 2028 (Present Day)

Jared wakes to the weight of a warm body pressed up alongside him, a slender arm thrown across his chest. Early morning light fills the room through slitted blinds and he glances over at the clock on his night stand, grunting as he rolls away from the warmth beside him.

He’s overslept by a bit, but it had been worth it. He doesn’t delay in the shower, hurrying through it and toweling off quickly. As he exits the bathroom, there’s a stirring on the bed. 

Adrianne’s head rises from the covers, a tousled blonde mess, and she blinks at him with sleepy eyes.

Jared’s already sliding into a fresh pair of boxer briefs by the time she rouses herself enough to perch at the edge of the bed. She’s still naked, spine arching, heavy breasts rising to points as she lifts her arms above her head and stretches. 

“Ugh,” she says then, lowering her arms and pressing a hand against her forehead.

They’d come into the room, lips locked together, spinning against walls and practically falling down as they’d torn each other's clothes off. Her jacket is lying across the top of the dresser where it had landed during their intense make out session last night, and Jared picks it up, tossing it across the room to her.

She catches it, and within minutes they’re both fully dressed. She moves up to him, wrapping her arms around him and giving him that wide, gorgeous smile that had so captivated him last night.

“It was worth the hangover,” she says. “You’ve been on my list for a while, Padalecki.”

“I’m on everyone’s list,” Jared says and smirks, winking at her.

She laughs, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him briefly. “Seems like all the rumors were true. The hangover will go away in an hour or two. The rest of me will be sore all day.”

“It was my pleasure,” he assures her with a grin.

“Mmm,” she hums, appearing satisfied. She steps back from him then, reaching up and beginning to weave her hair into a messy braid.

Jared eyes himself in the mirror, and Adrianne tucks her braid down under her shirt, surveying his attire. “You’re casual today.”

“I have to meet with Felicia for a fitting. The seventies,” he says, and wrinkles his nose, drawing a delighted chuckle from Adrienne.

“Early or late seventies?” she asks, and then says, “The differences in fashion are pretty drastic.”

“Late seventies.” That’s broad enough. “But it’s bad at either end.”

She turns, scooting up beside him as she eyes herself in the mirror over the dresser. She smoothes her hands across the top of her head and then down her braid, shrugging as if to say, ‘good enough’.

“Thanks for a good time,” she says, turning toward him again.

“Thank you ,” Jared replies. He waits then, prepared for what usually comes next.

“Well, I should get going.”

He has to admit, he’s surprised. “So you’re not gonna ask me out for another drink tonight? Or ask when we can do this again?”

“Nope. You’re like lightning—you never strike the same place twice.” He tilts his head at her and she laughs. “Word gets around.”

“Well in that case…” Jared grabs her around the waist, pulls her in close and kisses her hard.

She draws back with another bright grin, and then pulls away. “See you around, Padalecki.” She heads for the door, pausing halfway through it to say, “Enjoy your paisley.” 

Then the door closes and he’s alone. He looks around the room and the mess they’d made of it last night and sighs. He consults the watch on his wrist and decides Housekeeping will be along soon enough to take care of it. Right now, he needs to meet with Felicia.

He runs his fingers through the length of his hair and then tugs on a baseball cap, stepping out the door a moment later.

*

Felicia is waiting for him when he arrives, several outfits placed on hangers to the sides of a floor length three way mirror. There are racks and racks of clothes on hangers off to one side, neatly arranged in rows and tagged with colors that indicate dates and clothing size. On the other side are dressing tables filled with make-up and dripping with wigs. A black and red feather boa is draped over the mirror of one, and Jared wonders who had to wear that.

Felicia is tiny, dressed in flowing pants with a swirling pattern rendered on them in black, cream and tan, the hems of them only clearing the floor by about an inch and a half even though the black heels she’s wearing have to be at least three inches tall. Her fancy black tank top has a tiny upside down triangle cut in it above her cleavage, a black ‘x’ of material criss-crossing it. Topped by her brilliant red hair styled in a long pixie cut, tips wild and spiky, she’s classy and sexy without being overdone.

Her heels click against the white tile as she closes the distance between them, one hip sticking out as she stops, hand placed dramatically on it.

“You look like something the cat dragged in,” she says, eyes critical as she looks him up and down.

“I look amazing and you know it,” Jared insists, blowing her a kiss.

“Uh huh,” Felicia says, unimpressed as she gives him a knowing look. “So who was it last night?”

Jared places a hand against his chest and feigns shock. “Felicia,” he gasps with mock admonition. “What makes you think I—”

“Save the innocent routine for your marks,” she tells him, rolling her eyes. 

“Why, I nevah!” Jared drawls in a deep Southern accent, placing a hand against his forehead like he might faint.

She cracks then, laughing at him, and punches him lightly in the abs. “You are such an idiot.”

Jared catches her by the wrist before she can draw back and pulls her up against him. “Careful,” he tells her with a wide grin. “I like it rough.”

“You can save the flirting for your marks, too,” she tells him, sticking her tongue out at him before she shoves him away.

It’s an old routine between the two of them. Jared works his charm like a master sculptor works his tools, and Felicia knows it. It doesn’t make her completely immune, but it gives her enough distance to poke fun at him.

Felicia urges him to go change, handing him an ugly brown suit with lapels that go on for miles. Jared’s upper lip curls as he eyes it, holding the handle like it might be a dangerous animal, and Felicia swats him on the back, making shooing motions toward the dressing room.

Jared changes, not even bothering to look at himself in the mirror more than once. The suit is awful, but he can pull off just about anything, even if he hates it.

Felicia has her tape measure out, a cushion of pins clipped to one wrist, and Jared takes his place in front of the three way mirror. 

Felicia crouches down, tugging at the hem of his pants. “So. Who was it this time?” she asks again, apparently unwilling to be thrown off the trail.

“Adrianne Palicki,” Jared replies. At least half the bar had seen them kissing and leaving together last night; it’s not like it’s a secret.

“What’s she do?” Felicia asks, raising a brow as she looks up at him.

“She’s a Biochemist, fresh off her Doctorate degree. She’s been here about four months now.”

“Palicki?” Felicia repeats, like she’s trying to remember something. “Didn’t you sleep with her before?” Felicia asks, frowning.

“That was Galecki ,” Jared corrects her. “The Physics Design Engineer.”

“Oh right!” Felicia says, as if she’d just remembered. “How could I forget? I spent a week trying to figure out how that one worked. Did he have to use a ladder?”

Jared snorts out a laugh. “Don’t make fun of the man for being short.”

“I’m not,” she insists. “But you are very tall.”

“We made it work,” Jared says, and shrugs.

She stands up straight again, holding the top of the tape measure against Jared’s hipbone. She grins and shakes her head as she bends slightly to measure the length of his upper leg. “Pretty soon you’re going to run out of new people to sleep with.”

“In a facility with a full time population of four hundred and twelve, not much rotation of new people in and out, and no time for a committed relationship, you do the best you can.”

“Some people have committed relationships around here. You just don’t want one,” Felicia chides him.

“Felicia,” Jared says, affecting dead seriousness. He raises his arms and looks down at himself, presenting his body to her. “It would be a crime not to share this with as many people as possible.”

He squints at his reflection in the mirror, and then adds, “Maybe not in this outfit, though.”

*

After about an hour of a procession of 70s outfits, each one more hideous than the last, he finally escapes his wardrobe fitting. He’s going to be early for his meeting with Stephen, so he takes his time getting there.

For something that falls just short of a military base, the facility was designed with care; light wood and lush colors, plants and pleasing art. Looking around, you’d never guess you were several miles beneath the earth’s surface. 

He walks down a curving corridor, left wall painted a muted lime green accented with tanned peach. Glass is set into the right hand wall to give the illusion of windows, and the light coming from them replicates the quality of daylight. The view through them shows a large, beautiful garden, filled with trees and flowers in rainbows of color. Jared knows they’re carefully cultivated and tended to by the botanists and scientists that work for the Department, implementing artificial daylight and a sprinkler system to imitate rain.

It isn’t raining ‘outside’ right now, but Jared knows on the days when it does, the lights dim down to a pale gray color, heavy downpour falling from above. Today, though, all seems clear and calm, only the slightest breeze—provided by wind machines—ruffling the flowers and tree leaves, artificial sunlight beaming bright and yellow tinted.

The whole facility is designed in a similar manner; windows lit up from behind blinds and curtains with artificial light that looks and feels like the real thing. There’s a gym, a bar, shops, a library, and nature trails through the garden, among other things. All of these elements are run mostly by former military members, and the result is a miniature city housed far below ground level.

Chad calls it a honey-trap. It’s kind of a weird thing to call it, but he’s also not entirely wrong. 

Jared glances down at his watch and wonders if he has time for a walk through one of the garden paths, and then frowns, deciding against it.

He arrives at Stephen’s office eleven minutes early, pausing as he hears voices coming from within. The door is open just a crack, and Jared sets one finger against it, nudging it open to a width of about two inches. 

Stephen is sitting behind his elaborate white oak desk, the name Stephen Amell etched in gold letters across the nameplate set at the outside edge. Jared turns his head slightly and he can see the back of a blond haired young man sitting in the chair in front of Stephen.

Alex Calvert, Jared thinks, remembering the file Stephen had shown him the day before. Twenty-one and a genius by all accounts; SR0’s newest jumper recruit.

Alex has already been briefed on the nature of their operations, but this is the formal orientation. Stephen is just beginning to get into the speech, and Jared leans his shoulder against the doorframe, focusing on Stephen.

“We work for the U.S. government, under a division of the CIA known as the Special Activities Center,” Stephen is explaining. “We’re a clandestine operation known as the Section of Revision Resolution at Ground Zero— SR0 for short. SR0 was created by SAC in 1979, employing members of the CIA and scientists from a company called Everon Technologies who had been working on developing a time travel process for over twenty years. With government funding and knowledge behind it, the process went online in 1984, and was perfected by 1989.”

Stephen pauses, giving Alex a moment to absorb all of that, and then he continues. “SR0 was founded with an objective: ‘the study and revision of historical events throughout time and the world that is principal to the improvement of, and maintaining the authority of, the United States of America’.”

Jared remembers jokingly asking why Stephen couldn’t just give him a pamphlet and spare Jared the speech. Stephen had favored him with a withering look, and said, with pure, dry wit, “Yes, let’s write it all down and print thousands of copies so any civilian can find them and read about what we’re doing here.”

Jared had liked him immediately.

“That sounds...” Alex trails off like he isn’t sure how to finish the sentence.

“It sounds grandiose,” Stephen finishes for him. “And potentially frightening. But what we do here, while important, is actually very small in scale.”

Stephen leans forward on his desk, forearms resting against it, hands clasped together as he continues speaking.

“We don’t seek to upend history, here. We’re not changing major events. We’re just giving history a nudge here, and a touch there to push events into turning out somewhat better than they would have, otherwise.” 

The corner of Jared’s mouth quirks in a smile, anticipating what’s coming next.

“We,” Stephen says with a grand gesture, “are in the business of making the country, and sometimes the entire world, a better place.”

It’s the punchline, the end of the speech, and there’s a lengthy pause while Alex seems to consider everything Stephen’s just said.

“So you don’t go back in time and do things like, stop the assassination of JFK?” Alex finally asks.

Stephen shakes his head. “No. And we don’t stop World War Two, or prevent the existence of Hitler. Those are what we call watershed moments, moments that affect history profoundly, and they must never be tampered with.”

“No one has ever tried?” Alex asks, like he’s doubtful.

Stephen shifts in his chair. “As I explained before, it’s not our goal to upend history. Who knows what the ramifications of that could be? Imagine if JFK had lived? The entire country might be a very different place than the one we know today. SR0 determined a long time ago that the risk of changing pivotal historical moments was far too high to attempt it.”

Alex only nods this time.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Stephen says, sympathetic. “That’s why we give you a few days between the initial briefing and the orientation. To give your mind time to acclimate to a reality where time travel is not only possible, but happening on a regular basis.” Stephen gives the young man a small smile. “How are you feeling about it all?”

“Good,” Alex says, and nods again. And then, “Excited,” he admits.

“Excellent,” Stephen responds, his smile growing wide.

There’s another momentary silence, and then Stephen asks Alex if he has any other questions. When the young man doesn’t seem to have any, Stephen gets Katie on the intercom, telling her to come by his office and take Alex on a tour of the facility. 

Stephen rises to his feet and walks around the desk to shake Alex’s hand. Jared can hardly notice the limp in Stephen’s left leg today, Stephen moving smoothly across the space between them.

When Stephen had been a field agent, he’d gone on an extremely dangerous mission for SR0 and ended up in a fire that had damaged his lower left leg so badly he’d had to retire from the field. He’s been a handler ever since.

Stephen moves to escort Alex toward the door, one hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

Jared steps back and knocks lightly on the door before pushing it the rest of the way open.

“Jared,” Stephen greets him, seeming delighted to see him. “Meet Alex Calvert, our newest recruit.”

Alex stops alongside Stephen, eyeing Jared with frank curiosity.

“Jared is one of our best agents,” Stephen tells Alex.

Jared holds out his hand and Alex takes it.

“So you’re also CIA,” Alex says, not quite making the words into a question.

“CIA espionage,” Jared confirms, adding, “with extensive military training.”

“I just got my Bachelor’s. And now… the CIA,” Alex says, like he almost can’t believe it.

“Welcome to the family,” Jared says, and lets go of the younger man’s hand. The kid looks pale and a little uncertain—kid, Jared thinks and laughs internally. Alex is only four years younger than Jared, but he looks like a kid, fresh out of high school and wet behind the ears. He wouldn’t be here, though, if he weren’t one of the best and brightest.

Jared can hear Katie coming up behind him at what he estimates is about ten paces, but he doesn’t turn, remaining relaxed, and feigning surprise when she pokes him in the spine.

“Bang. You’re dead,” she tells him, and he turns to find her grinning.

He holds up his hands, grinning back. “You got me.”

“I keep telling you, Stephen, I’m wasted here,” Katie says with a sarcastic breeziness. “Remind me again why I sit behind a desk for you?”

“Because you love me,” Stephen tells her.

Katie pauses, folding her arms over her chest and looking upward as she thinks. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “That isn’t it.”

“Because I’d be completely lost without you?” Stephen offers.

She narrows her eyes at him.

“Because I’d be utterly lost, incapable of accomplishing even the simplest task, and probably wander to my accidental death without you?”

Katie’s face brightens and she unfolds her arms. “That’s more like it.” She turns her attention to Alex then, giving him a big, bright smile. “Okay, new kid. Ready for your tour?”

“I’m twenty-one.” Alex seems mildly surprised at being called ‘kid’.

“That’s nice, kiddo.” Katie steps back and motions him along. “Let’s go.”

Jared watches her walk away, enjoying the way her pantsuit clings to her form, and next to him, Stephen snorts.

“That’s a lost cause. She’ll never give you the time of day.”

“No harm in admiring the scenery.” Jared shrugs and turns toward Stephen. “So,” he says, letting the word hang there for a moment. “You messaged me you had an unscheduled mission for me?”

“Yeah,” Stephen replies. “It was supposed to be on Jake’s schedule.”

You’d think, being in the time travel business, there’d be no need for such a thing as a schedule. But with ten agents running various missions in different decades at all times, there has to be a schedule to keep track of what’s happening and when. 

“Is it chained?” Jared asks. Some time change events are chained, dependent on each happening in the correct order, and it’s easier to do them in the order they need to be achieved. Less timekeeping headaches that way.

Stephen nods. “To Lauren’s mission next week.”

“I’m still on for nineteen-seventy-eight in four days, right?” Jared asks.

“Of course,” Stephen answers as he walks to his desk and picks up his tablet. He waits while the tablet confirms his retinal scan, and then he taps his fingers against the screen until he pulls up what he’s looking for.

“You’re gonna love this one,” Stephen assures him in that way that means Jared’s going to absolutely hate it.

He hands the tablet off to Jared, and Jared scrolls, reading through the case file. He sighs, shoulders slumping as he sees the date. “The eighties, Stephen? Again?”

“The Cold War is the gift that keeps on giving,” Stephen says by way of agreement. 

“It’s good to be the good guys,” Jared says, and sighs again. “When do I leave?”

“Day after tomorrow. One day prep, one day evaluation and assessment.”

“Felicia’s going to throw a fit.”

“Doesn’t she have an outfit from your other jumps that’ll work?”

Jared shrugs. “You know it has to be cleaned, and retailored, and inspected for—”

“Authenticity based on the specific year,” Stephen finishes, knowing the speech as well as Jared does. 

“You talk to her,” Jared says, pointing at Stephen. “I have to study.”

“Fine,” Stephen agrees with a long suffering sigh. “You’re buying the drinks tonight, though.”

“No, you are. Because you’re not the one who has to go to…” 

Jared consults the screen again and tries not to wince. “November twelfth, nineteen-eighty-three.”

*

Jared spends the day going over the mission, all the details memorized easily enough. He does a bit of research into hot topics, refreshing his memory on what was big in politics and music that year, as well as trends. He has a great memory when it comes to details, almost eidetic, but not quite. He travels through time a lot, and storing the details of eighty plus years can get complicated. He has to make sure his spoken knowledge is only up to the very day he’s going to be present in and not a moment beyond.

He makes sure he has everything down, and then he heads to the Underground. It’s one of two bars in the facility, but Jared prefers it because of the music they play; hard rock and alternative with an edge. The other local bar plays country and the occasional pop song and neither of those is really his thing.

He gets there early, settling into a booth in the back, rum and coke held in his hand.

He’s sitting there, watching people enter the bar when Katie slides into the booth across from him.

“Hey golden boy,” she quips, shooting him a toothy grin.

“Hey pretty lady,” Jared replies, equal parts surprised and pleased. Jared isn’t in the habit of thinking people are out of his league, but Katie Cassidy kind of is. She’s gorgeous, smart as hell, witty, clever and about as classy as it gets. She wields sarcasm like Jared wields his charm. 

“You waiting on Stephen?” she asks, and it isn’t really a question, but Jared nods anyway.

Katie rolls her eyes. “Always waiting around on that man. You know you deserve better.”

Jared grins, enjoying the game. “You’re the one who’s in love with him.”

Katie’s laugh is sharp and brief. “Even if I was, he’s in love with you .”

Jared laughs in return. “Even if that were true, it’s a lost cause.”

“Why aren’ t you interested?” Katie asks, like she really wants to know. “Lotta people here would give their left arm to sleep with the top level handler. And he’s definitely hot enough.”

Jared frowns, trying to consider her question seriously. “I don’t know. I’ve just never been interested. He’s my handler. That makes it different.”

Katie nods, red fingernails tapping against the side of her glass. They’ve been friendly acquaintances for the better part of two years—they don’t talk seriously very much, mostly teasing banter or talking about work—but tonight she seems a little… well, more serious.

She seems to debate something for a long moment and then taps her glass extra hard with the fingernail of her forefinger. “I wish I could say ‘he’s my boss, that makes it different’,” she says, biting off the words with bitterness before she takes a sip from her drink.

Oh. 

Shit. He’s been teasing Katie about being in love with Stephen for months now. He hadn’t realized… “Katie, you’re closer to him than anyone else. You know him better than anyone.”

Katie shakes her head, blonde hair shivering against her shoulders. She holds a black drink stirrer between her fingertips, swirling it, ice clinking against the glass around her gin and tonic. “You have no idea, Jared.”

Jared hesitates, uncertain of what to say. The truth is probably the best. “You do probably know him better than anyone else. So you know he’s gay.”

“Duh,” Katie responds, favoring him with a scathing look. “How stupid do you think I am ?” 

“Not even a little,” Jared tells her, honestly.

Katie huffs out a laugh and takes a sip from her drink. “You know. Sometimes—not often—but sometimes, like now, I get why everyone sleeps with you. You’ve really got that, ‘I’m aloof but sincere and I’ll show you my big hazel eyes and just enough of how much I care to get you to have sex with me’ thing going on.”

Jared stares at her for a few seconds in silence—they’ve sniped at each other before, but never this personally—and then he places his hand across his heart as if she’s mortally wounded him. “That hurts.”

“No,” she says. “It doesn’t. And that’s the point.”

It does hurt, a little, but he’s not about to get into that with the mood she’s in. Besides, they’ve never been very close and they’re not having a real conversation anyway. She’s blowing off steam, venting her frustration, not looking for advice. Jared wonders what happened tonight to put her in this state.

“If you say so,” is all he says, and her eyes roll to one side as she sips her drink.

He’s about to say more as her gaze sharpens, focusing.

“Look at him,” she breathes.

Alex is entering the bar, young and beautiful and so incredibly uncomfortable.

“You got a thing for the young ones?” Jared asks.

“You remember what it was like, being new here?” she asks, voice softer than maybe he’s ever heard it.

He remembers. How it felt to walk in these halls for the first time, filled with hope and excitement and the absolute sense of possibility. He still feels it, to some degree, but there was nothing like the beginning. Of falling in love with the whole idea.

“I remember,” he says.

Alex is making his way to the bar, several heads turning to follow his passage, and Jared thinks Alex probably won’t have much trouble fitting in.

“Sometimes I think about getting out of here,” Katie remarks, still staring at Alex.

Jared’s gaze tightens down on her, surprised and searching her face for clues. ”You?”

“What?” she asks with a harsh laugh as she swivels her head to look at him. “You think I’m a lifer just because I’ve got a thing for my boss?” She eyes him over the rim of her glass as she takes a drink, green eyes glimmering in the low light. “You really never think about it?”

“Not really.” Jared shrugs and toys with his glass, spinning it slowly back and forth, still looking at her. “Besides—We’re doing the Lord’s work,” he says, mimicking Stephen’s voice.

They stare at each other across their drinks in silence for the span of three seconds, and then they both burst out laughing. 

“He doesn’t even believe in God, you know that,” Katie says.

“Blasphemy!” Jared exclaims, and they both laugh again.

“Seriously, though,” she goes on, smile slowly fading from her face. “Sometimes I wish I could meet with the Director of this operation. Talk him up, see if there are any SR0 opportunities outside of this place they keep secret from us.” She sighs. “It’s such bullshit that we don’t get to meet with him.”

“Only the highest ranking operatives work with the Director,” Jared replies, and thinks he keeps the bitterness out of his voice pretty well.

“Well, that leaves you out,” she quips and smirks at him with her red lips.

It’s a deep cut, but he doesn’t flinch. He summons a crooked smile against the sting of bruised pride. ”Guess we’re both out in the cold.”

She plants her elbow on the table around her drink and leans slightly across the table towards him, eyes intense. “Yeah,” she agrees. “And doesn’t it just... “ she seems to search for words for a moment before she closes her fingers into fists, “make you crazy?”

There doesn’t seem to be any pretense in her, now, everything she’s feeling is clear in her eyes, her expression.

“Yeah,” he says, honest. “It does.” He nods, slow, thinking about just how much it drives him crazy, and then tilts his head in acceptance. “But I’ll get there,” he proclaims.

He picks up his drink and tilts it bottom up, draining it.

Katie recedes, drawing back to her side of the table. A small, almost grudging smile curves her ruby lips as she considers him, eyeing him like he’s either lost or won some kind of war and even she isn’t sure which one.

“Hang on to that optimism,” she tells him. “You’ll need it.”

He’s about to ask her what she means when he catches a glimpse of someone approaching them out of the corner of one eye. Katie follows his gaze and gives a hard, brilliant smile.

“There he is,” she says.

Jared half expects her to take off, given what she feels about Stephen, but instead she slides deeper into the booth, making room for Stephen to sit down.

“You two look like you’re having a blast,” Stephen observes, dry and sarcastic.

“We figured we’d wait until you got here to start doing shots,” Katie returns.

“Especially since you’re buying,” Jared adds, grinning at him.

“Don’t you have evals and damage control tomorrow?” Stephen asks, arching a brow at him.

“I do,” Jared agrees. “Which is why we need to get moving on those shots, because I have to be in bed in…” he lifts his wrist dramatically and looks at the watch there. “Three hours.”

“I’d try to talk you out of it,” Stephen says, resigned, “but I know better.”

“It’s like you know me,” Jared returns with a smile.

“You ever meet anyone who understands you more than I do, I’ll be shocked,” Stephen says with an easy smile.

“I meet that person, I’m probably getting married,” Jared replies, grinning back.

Stephen’s brows draw together and then he leans back, folding his arms across his chest in the picture of perfect confidence. “Never happen.”

Katie makes a retching sound deep in her throat. “You two are—”

They may never find out what she thinks they are, because just then she’s rudely interrupted by a new arrival at the table.

“I know y’all motherfuckers weren’t gonna start without me,” Chad says and pushes into the booth beside Jared, shoulder shoving into Jared’s.

“Don’t you have some fake work to do?” Stephen asks, arching a brow at Chad. 

Chad leans forward, considering Stephen with a feigned look of concern. “Aw, did you have a tough time sitting behind your desk today, Stevie?” He puts his elbows on the table and leans a little further toward Stephen, pitching his voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “Ass feeling a little flatter than usual?” he inquires with mock sympathy. “I get it, man. I mean, I don’t get it , because my ass is sprung . But I understand it must be hard. Oops,” Chad says, and covers his mouth as if he’d said something potentially offensive. “I meant soft .” 

Chad reaches across the table to pat Stephen’s hand in faux sympathy and Stephen shoves his hand away with a roll of his eyes.

“Sprung?” Stephen asks, mocking the word. “What does that even mean?”

“It means I got that fuck butt, baby,” Chad says with a lewd grin.

“Whatever,” Stephen declares. “I’m gonna go get the shots.”

Stephen gets up to go to the bar, and Chad yells after him, “Be whiter, dude.”

“You’re white, Chad,” Jared says.

Chad shrugs and swivels his head to look at Jared, sniffing with slow disdain. “Yeah, but I’m still way cooler than that guy.”

Stephen’s technically disabled, but he gets around fine most of the time, and he works out more than even Jared does. His ass is actually in great shape—Jared has noticed, even if it doesn’t do anything for him.

He sneaks a glance at Katie, to see if she’s watching Stephen walk away. She isn’t. Katie is watching Chad like she’s examining a particularly interesting and repulsive species of insect.

“S’up, Katie,” Chad says with a nod in her direction. 

Katie looks like she’s debating whether or not to address Chad at all, and Jared glances out across the room.

He spots Adrianne Palicki a few steps from the bar, drink in her hand as she looks around for somewhere to sit. Her eyes meet his own as they sweep the room, locking gazes for a moment, and Jared lifts his hand in a small wave. She waves back, and Jared thinks despite the smile she sends him, she looks somehow lost amidst the bar crowd. She’s only been here four months. Maybe she doesn’t have any friends yet.

He considers for a moment, and then motions her over to join them.

Her face lights up with a dazzling smile, and she threads her way through the crowd.

“Let her get in,” Jared says, elbowing Chad.

Chad gives him a knowing smirk and gets out of the booth, motioning for Adrianne to sit as Jared scoots further into the curved seat.

“What are you guys up to?” she asks as she settles in, Chad scooting in on her other side. Jared notes that she leaves some space between them, her body language casual and friendly, but not at all flirty. That makes him feel better about his decision to invite her to sit with them. It also makes him wonder why she isn’t flirty. After what they’d shared last night it would be natural for her to feel like they had a romantic connection.

“Waiting for Stephen to bring us back shots,” Jared says. “You want one?”

“Why not?” she says and shrugs.

She gives Jared another brilliant smile and he smiles back, saying, “Now it’s a party.”

*

Three hours later he’s regretting his decision to goad Stephen into doing shots. He downs three glasses of water, pops two ibuprofen and then brushes his teeth before he climbs into bed at the incredibly reasonable hour of 10:30pm.

He’s alone, and he’s not sure how he feels about it. Against his better judgment, he’d actually been thinking about inviting Adrianne back to his place again.

A repeat performance? From Jared Padalecki? He can almost hear Felicia’s teasing tone.

And well, why not? He’d liked her, the sex had been hot, and she seems to get that he’s not looking for anything permanent. It could have been fun.

He eyes the clock, sighs and lets his cheek sink into his bed pillow. Fun will just have to wait until after 1983.

Elsewhere…

Blue lights whirl and flash, piercing the smoke filled air of the club, their light reaching just to edges of where the tables begin, black lacquered surfaces reflecting color that diminishes as they fade further into the room, deeper into shadow, one by one. Pale arms rise and fall, bodies encased in skin tight vinyl, clinging leather or billowing cloth, all of it black as they spin and flow across the dance floor. 

The club is filled with the sound of wildly oscillating guitars, pierced by a wailing guitar slide, surrounded by tremolo throb and reverberating synth. It’s iconic and immediately recognizable from the first sound.

I am the son
And the heir
Of a shyness that is criminally vulgar

He sits at a table near the back of the club, his features mostly lost to shadow, appearing to watch the ebb and flow of people on the dance floor, an untouched drink sweating out onto the table in front of him.

He sees her the instant she enters. She’s impossible to miss; the strut of her legs, the switch of her hips, the sway of her shoulders. 

She’s a vision in black; skin tight leather pants and a shiny vinyl bustier corset, shiny boots rivet laced all the way to the knees, her hair bright, hot pink, cut in a short, angled bob. A spiked, leather collar circles her throat, a matching, wide leather bracelet on one slim wrist, all the bare skin in between glistening in the warmth of the club. Her makeup is dramatic, striking against her pale skin, eyes heavily lined and shaded dark, full lips a deep, dark wine color. Hips swaying side to side as she approaches, and then she pulls out the chair across from him, spinning around and straddling it before leaning her arms across the back.

A white man in a black and green zebra striped tank top pauses on his way past the table to stare at her.

She doesn’t even glance up at the random man, bright violet irises meeting his.

“I hear you’re looking for someone to put you in your place,” she says, loud, and succinct.

The man in the tank top lets out a low whistle, gives him a look of envy, and then the man shakes his head, moving on towards the dance floor.

“Took you long enough,” he says, when the man is gone.

“Don’t give me shit, Jensen,” she responds, tilting her head to one side.

He rests a hand against the table, palm up and open, spreading his fingers apart in a gesture that both offers peace and asks if she’d expected anything different.

“Did you have trouble getting out of the facility?” he asks.

“No trouble. It takes a long time to look this good,” she says, drawing up her shoulders and pushing out her chest.

He takes the bait, eyes trailing from her face to her considerable cleavage, lingering before he looks her in the eye again. “You do look amazing.”

“Don’t pretend you have any attraction to my boobs.”

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, low and easy. “I’m as hetero as they come.”

“You’re really not. But it’s cute that you think so.”

“The technical term,” he says, leaning a little closer across the table, as if confiding in her, “is heteroflexible . It’s part of the job.”

She eyes his outfit—such as it is. He’s dressed in leather pants and a leather vest, his only other adornments a vinyl biker cap and generous amounts of black eyeliner.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she tells him and shrugs. 

He chuckles and sits back slightly. “Did you engage with the target?”

“Of course I did,” she says, as if wondering what else he might have expected. 

“And?”

“And nothing,” she admits, and sighs. “It’s going to be a process.”

Jensen nods, unsurprised. “Keep at it. We’ll proceed with the original plan for now.”

“Sometimes this seems like an awful lot of effort to find out nothing,” she remarks. 

“We’re going to wipe SR0 out of existence,” he tells her, completely certain of this fact. “But it’s going to take time.” 

Her wine colored lips compress into a thin line. Jensen can see her swallow back the words she wants to say as she reaches into the back pocket of her pants. 

“I got the other information you wanted,” she says, instead, and slides a slip of paper across the space between them.

Jensen looks at it for a moment, memorizing what’s written there, and then reaches into the breast pocket of his leather vest, pulling out a lighter. A moment later, the piece of paper is so much ash falling to the floor.

“We done?” she asks.

“For now.”

She rises and spins the chair back around, sliding it into place beneath the table. The dance floor lights in the distance have switched over to pink now, reflecting off her vinyl top and coloring her bare skin, setting her magenta hair on fire.

He meets her eyes—her bright violet eyes, as fake as the wig she’s wearing.

“Stay sharp,” he tells her.

“Always,” she replies, giving him a hard smile.

Chapter Text

November 29, 1983 

Jared steps from the shower onto the cold tile of the bathroom floor. He dries off quickly, wrapping the towel around his waist, the sounds of Michael Jackson singing Billie Jean reaching him faintly from the outer room. He takes a moment to compose himself in the mirror, running a hand through his wet hair, strands falling forward across his forehead. 

He reaches for his watch lying on the vanity, putting the Patek Phillipe 1518 on with care. Right now, his watch says it’s April 2, Sunday, 9:47am, but through the bathroom window, it’s deep into the night, cold stars twinkling in a late November sky. 

He takes a breath and draws himself up, and then turns and opens the door to the bedroom.

Michael is still lying in the tangle of white bedsheets where Jared had left him. His dark brown eyes, so full of hunger and heat earlier, are empty now, his nearly black brows slack. The tip of his pink tongue protrudes from his mouth, reminding Jared of how recently it had been inside him, that those tangled sheets are heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. Stained now, too, with the indelible purple-red of wine, the poisoned glass that had killed Michael lying near the edge of the bed.

“Russian spies,” Jared mutters, and shakes his head. “How many of you am I going to have to kill?”

Michael—better known as Mikhail to his comrades—doesn’t answer.

On the stereo set in one corner of the room, Michael Jackson gives way to Sting singing Every Breath You Take. Jared dresses quickly, smoothing the lines of his suit, documents he’d plucked from the safe tucked into the inside breast pocket. He touches them once, making sure they’re secure, and then consults his watch.

He has twenty minutes until extraction, but he has one last piece of business to take care of before he leaves. Also, it’s a five minute walk to get to the phone booth on the corner, and he wants to leave time for any unforeseen complications.

He straightens the lines of his suit, pulling the knot of his tie into place, and then opens the door.

Mikhail’s compatriot John—aka Ivan Drozdov, aka last piece of business, aka unforeseen complication number one—is standing there, all six feet six inches and 350 pounds of him, one massive, meaty fist raised as if about to knock on the door. 

Jared had clearly underestimated the man’s metabolism—the dose he’d slipped into Ivan’s drink should have rendered him unconscious for at least another hour.  

Ivan’s eyes widen as he catches a glimpse of something behind Jared—most likely Mikhail’s body—and Jared lashes out with one fist, aiming for the man’s throat.

Ivan is too quick, catching Jared by the forearm and throwing his punch wide. Jared backs up, luring the man deeper into the room so they can fight without attracting attention, and the door slams shut as Ivan pulls out a gun. 

Jared spins inside the man’s reach, back slamming against Ivan’s chest, air pushing out from the larger man’s lungs as his back hits the door. Jared grabs the hand with the gun, slamming it across the doorframe of the bathroom with all his might. The bone in Ivan’s wrist snaps with a loud crack, and Ivan bellows with pain as the gun falls to the floor.

Jared kicks the gun hard, noting where it comes to rest beneath the bed closest to the door, and then he spins out of the man’s reach just before Ivan’s other arm can close around him.

Jared’s tall and well muscled, but he’s not bulky. Broken wrist or not, Ivan could probably squeeze him to death without breaking a sweat. Seeming enraged with pain now, Ivan advances on Jared, enormous body filling the short hallway into the room.

Jared had apparently also underestimated the large man’s speed, one huge fist catching a glancing blow against Jared’s cheek and leaving him slightly dazed. The man is incredibly strong and surprisingly fast; if he lets Ivan get inside the open area of the room where he has the advantage, Jared’s going to be in trouble.

Jared takes a two step running start and leaps at Ivan feet first, one foot landing solidly on the man’s chest, the other striking him beneath the chin with all Jared’s speed and weight behind it. Jared pushes off Ivan’s chest with his bracing foot, using his momentum to flip backward in a somersault, landing on his feet.

Ivan’s still in the process of falling back against the door, point of his chin raised high by Jared’s kick, and Jared rushes forward, grabs the man around the throat and propels him even more quickly into the door. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, sweat standing out on his skin, he looks around for some kind of weapon to press his momentary advantage.

There’s a fountain pen clipped to the front pocket of Ivan’s blazer, and Jared grabs it with his free hand, tearing the cap free with his teeth and plunging the writing tip deep into Ivan’s throat.

Jugular punctured, blood begins to spray forth like a fountain, Ivan’s hands flopping like beached fish as they try and fail to fasten on Jared.

Jared drags Ivan toward him, letting the man’s own weight topple him forward, then he releases his grip on the man and steps backward. Blood begins to pool beneath the man’s neck, rapid crimson sinking into the carpet, feet giving little twitches as he dies. 

Jared steps over the dying man and walks into the bathroom. He surveys his reflection, sighing as he sees the blood spatters across his face, droplets slowly seeping into his suit.

He cleans his face quickly and then steps over Ivan’s still body, moving into the room and changing into Mikhail’s shirt and suit jacket. Documents double checked, he puts them into the pocket of his stolen jacket. It barely fits across his shoulders, and he won’t be able to button it, but thankfully he won’t be here much longer.

He consults his watch again. Twelve minutes until extraction.

His pounding heart beginning to slow, adrenaline receding to a faint metallic taste at the back of his throat, he opens the door to the room just wide enough to scoot out of it.

The hotel hallway is empty, and he makes his way down the long corridor to the elevators. He pushes the down button, gratified when he only has to wait thirty-three seconds before the ding sounds its arrival.

Everything seems normal on the street, only a couple or two walking at this late hour, and he strides beneath the streetlights, wishing he had a coat as the November wind, turned icy during the dark hours, cuts straight through him. 

There’s a man in the phone booth, his shoulders leaned up against the glass, phone pressed to his ear, and he seems comfortable there, voice a low murmur of words Jared can’t make out through the glass. Jared sighs at the sight of unforeseen complication number two, and glances at his watch again, tensing. Extraction isn’t for another four minutes, but this guy looks like he’s settled in for the long haul.

Pay phones are vital to the extraction process during this era, an easy location point that locks in his coordinates once he answers. They’d agreed upon this particular phone booth, and his back-up location is a good ten minutes away. The hotel’s no good, too many floors and phones below and above him to lock in accurately. Cellphones have a much stronger, exact location due to the chips inside them, but cell phones are also a no go for this time period since they don’t exist yet. Ditto for any locator technology he could wear; if it were discovered by anyone in the past, it could have a huge impact on the timeline. So he’s stuck with the pay phone.

He takes a deep breath and raises his fist to knock on the glass.

“Hey buddy,” he calls loudly through the glass. “I need to make an important call.”

The head inside the booth turns slightly, a few more words murmured out across the line. 

If this guy decides to push it, it’ll be another half an hour before the next extraction attempt and Jared really doesn’t feel like spending more time on the freezing street tonight.

He bangs on the glass again. “Hey man. I’m not kidding. This is really important.”

The head inside the booth rolls in annoyance, uttering out a few more words—and then he mercifully hangs up the phone.

The door folds open and the guy turns, bumping into Jared hard as he passes. Jared guesses he can’t blame the guy for being irritated. Jared steps inside the booth, folding door squeaking as it closes. Through the dirty glass, faint fog rises from the empty sidewalks, street lights turning the man into a well built, well dressed silhouette, walking with a quick, easy gait. Jared’s eyes linger on the man’s form, wishing he had caught a glimpse of the man’s face.

He looks down at his watch, sees he’s made it by a minute and sixteen seconds, and exhales a breath that’s visible in the cold November night.

When he looks up again, the man has disappeared from view.

He turns, putting his shoulders against the glass like the man before him had, and reaches up, touching the papers in his inner breast pocket.

There’s nothing there.

He freezes, fingers faltering for a moment, and then digging deep into the pocket to verify what his brain already knows.

“No,” he whispers. “No no no.”

He checks all his other pockets before it hits him.

He looks up again, wide eyed, at the empty street.

That guy had pickpocketed him, stolen the documents right off him when he’d bumped into him, and for Jared not to have noticed, the guy must be very, very good. But how could he have known? Or had he just stolen whatever he could grab?

It’s then that Jared notices it. The faintest lingering scent of burnt almonds. Time burn.

Thoughts scramble, clanging and clattering inside Jared’s mind and this can’t be real, can’t be happening. The only people who know where he is, that he can be here at all, are the people he works for, and none of them would try to thwart his mission. It’s impossible.

Jared’s starts to turn, to push out through the phone booth door to the darkened street—

The phone rings, then, loud and shrill against the night’s silence.

Jared stops. The man, whoever he was, is long gone.

He turns, reaching out and settling his hand around the receiver. When the phone begins to ring a second time, he answers.

*

The first thing he says is, “I have to go back.”

Stephen is waiting for him, dressed in a navy suit that complements his dark blue eyes, brown hair cut close to his skull, short beard trimmed nicely along the angle of his handsome jawline. Stephen is smiling as Jared steps from the transition chamber, until Jared speaks again, repeating that he has to go back. 

The welcoming smile on Stephen’s face falters, slowly dissolving into confusion. Aldis Hodge is sitting behind the control panel, watching them both in fascinated silence. 

The transition chamber door closes behind Jared with a hiss, and Jared takes two quick steps forward, motioning at Aldis. “Set it up. I’m going back right fucking now.”

Stephen moves between Jared and Aldis with one, quick, efficient step, forcing Jared to look him in the eye. “What are you talking about?” Stephen demands.

“I have to go back,” Jared repeats, adamant. Anger has replaced shock now, flooding through him like bright fire. 

“You can’t go back.” Stephen is frowning and he looks concerned now, like he’s worried Jared’s last jump might have addled his brain. “Jared, you know that.” He reaches out as if to touch Jared, to console him, and Jared snatches his arm away, furious.

“I have to! There was another guy there, Stephen. He was a jumper. I don’t know how, but he was. He took the documents off me and—”

“Jared, stop. Slow down.” Stephen shakes his head, stepping closer to Jared, fingers moving like he wants to reach for Jared again but doesn’t quite dare.  “Another time traveler? You know that’s not possible.”

“I know ,” Jared snaps. He stops then, taking a breath and running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he says again, a bit more calm. “But I swear he was. And he took the documents—he knew I had the documents .”

“That’s…” Stephen pales beneath his tanned skin. “He took the documents?” He runs a hand across the stubble along his jaw and half turns, hissing out, “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees, loud as he throws up his hands. “No shit, ‘SHIT’.”

Stephen is still pale as he meets Jared’s gaze again, and Jared can see his mind spinning behind his eyes as he tries to make sense of what Jared is saying. “We can’t send you back to a moment you’ve already been to. If you ran into yourself…” Stephen shakes his head, his face working through a series of cataclysmic emotions that would be funny under other circumstances. ”And the timeline can only take so many changes in a particular spot before it starts to scar.”

“I know that , Stephen,” Jared says, voice lower now, but with warning rather than calm, his patience stretching thin. “But we have to risk it.”

Stephen begins pacing, agitated as he tries to work it through. “I need to take this to the top. This is beyond our scope, Jared, and it’s way beyond my authority.”

Jared’s thin thread of patience snaps. “You’re going to send me—”

The identity scanner connected to the door beeps then, light flashing green, startling Jared into silence.

An older man dressed in a silver gray suit steps inside, flanked by armed guards on either side. 

“Hodge,” the man snaps out without so much as glancing at Aldis. “You’re dismissed.”

“Sheppard?” Stephen asks, sounding as surprised by the man’s appearance as Jared feels.

Aldis scurries from the room so quickly he nearly trips over his own feet getting out the door. It’s another instance that would be comical under different circumstances, but Mark Sheppard isn’t the kind of man anyone wants to piss off. Him being here, now…

But why is he here? How could he have known—

Jared glances up, remembering the cameras in the room and feels his stomach sink. For the Deputy Director to show up, those documents must have been really important. And Jared had lost them. Jared’s anger flickers out and dies completely, replaced by apprehension. 

“Agents Amell and Padalecki, come with me,” Sheppard says, brisk before he turns, leading the way from the room.

Shit , Jared thinks, and falls into step alongside Stephen.

*

To Jared’s relief, the armed guards peel off to either side of the doors when they reach their destination. 

Mark Sheppard’s office is the antithesis of the rest of the facility, its colors and contours severe; muted stormcloud gray and milk pale white, furniture all in black. Even the art is sharp angles of black set against white, and the whole room has a feeling that’s modernized, sleek and soulless.

Jared’s only been in here twice. The first time was when he’d first joined SR0, and the second time had been for a very important mission debriefing. Both of those instances had been scheduled, and his current, unscheduled presence here is making him extremely uncomfortable. Stephen doesn’t look any more at ease, sitting beside him in a matching black leather chair.

Sheppard’s eyes are so dark they appear black, deep set in his face and inscrutable as he stares at them.

“Sir,” Stephen begins, awkward. “I was going to report this event to you, obviously, but you got there so quickly…” Stephen hesitates, and something inside Jared’s mind clicks.

“How did you get there so quickly?” Jared asks, voice soft as he dares to meet Sheppard’s eyes.

Sheppard favors Jared with the hint of a frosty smile. “Aldis Hodge was instructed to summon me via a call button if there was ever an instance like this.”

“A jumper encountering another jumper?” Jared asks, forgetting his fear for a moment.

Sheppard nods briefly, and Jared can feel Stephen’s eyes on him. 

“So I’m not wrong then,” Jared says. His stomach seems to twitch with excitement for a moment, and then the weight of realization sets in. If he’s right, if there are other jumpers, then—

“Sir,” Stephen begins again. “I could have handled this without Hodge needing to notify you. I can still handle it. Containment is—”

Sheppard cuts Stephen off with a simple shake of his head. “No,” he replies, calm. “It’s time.”

“The Director?” Stephen asks, and Jared doesn’t fully understand the question, but Sheppard nods.

Stephen opens his mouth, seeming to contemplate for a long moment. Finally, he closes it again and sits back in his chair, leather creaking. He rubs one hand along his jaw, not looking at Sheppard or Jared, now.

Sheppard’s eyes, black and shiny as beetle carapaces, settle on Jared fully, and Jared has to invoke his training to repress a shudder.

“We hadn’t intended for you to find out this way, Jared,” Sheppard says, and the use of Jared’s first name startles Jared. If he’d had to bet, he’d have come down on the side of Sheppard not even knowing his first name. The sound of his name in the other man’s mouth is unsettling in its intimacy.

“We had intended,” Sheppard goes on, “to reveal the truth to you bit by bit as you rose in rank. However, this incident necessitates that we bring you up to speed.”

Jared waits, perched on the edge of his seat, whole body thrumming with wild variations of emotion.

“There’s no way to ease you into this, now,” Sheppard informs him. “So prepare yourself.” 

Sheppard looks at him for what seems like a long time with those inscrutable black eyes, and then he goes on. 

“In two-thousand-eight, nineteen years after the time travel process was perfected, there were several agents in SR0 who wanted to use the project to their own benefit rather than the benefit of the country. One of those men was the head of SR0 at the time. He and the other perpetrators were found out, but before they could be captured, they escaped with information vital to the success of the project, including the theory and application of the time travel process, as well as engineering schematics.”

Jared sits, wordless, wondering how he could never have known any of this.

“They went rogue,” Sheppard continues. “They formed their own terrorist operation, now known as Checkmate. We’ve attempted to apprehend them many times over the years, but they’ve perfected the technology to the point that they can wear their time travel apparatus, which means they can transition in or out without the need to wait for extraction.”

“ That’s how he disappeared like that.” Jared halts, struggling to get his mind around all this information. Not only are there other time travelers out there, but… “They can wear their time travel machinery?” Jared asks, still not quite able to believe it. “They’ve made it portable?”

“The government proceeds slowly, carefully with advances in our technology, for obvious safety reasons.” Sheppard pauses, and then says, “Without laws, or rules of any kind, Checkmate has surpassed us in terms of technology. It’s one of many reasons they’re so dangerous.”

Jared thinks, turning all the information over in his mind. “So the man who stole the documents from me… he was Checkmate?”

Sheppard nods. “Almost certainly.”

“But why steal them? How would that benefit them?”

“Once upon a time, they might have stolen those documents to sell them to the highest Russian bidder in nineteen-eighty-three. Their goals have changed over time. For the last decade they’ve been working with other countries against the United States. Those alliances bring them power and affluence they never would have found working for the United States.”

“So they’re working with Russia?” 

“Among others,” Sheppard confirms.

A terrible thought strikes Jared then. “Have they sold the knowledge of how to time travel to other countries?” 

“Not that we’re aware of,” Sheppard replies. “They could sell the knowledge for billions, but power is even more important to them. This way, they’re the only ones who can procure whatever documents or information these other countries may want.” Sheppard levels his dark eyes on Jared. “A huge payoff isn’t what they want. They want to build an empire .”

The word sends chills down Jared’s spine. An entity with time traveling power and billions of dollars, allied with other countries against the United States would leave the US unlikely to survive.

“Then why haven’t we been fighting against them all this time?” Jared asks, unable to believe what he’s hearing.

“We have been,” Sheppard tells him. “That’s part of what we do here. We work against them through history. They don’t show up during our missions very often, but when they do, someone usually dies.” 

Jared can still fix this. This one thing, at least. “If I go back, I can—”

“No,” Sheppard cuts him off, wielding the single word with almost palpable power. “We won’t risk damage to the timeline for these documents. We’re going to call this one a loss.”

There are… a lot of things happening in Jared’s mind right now, and he’s going to have a lot to process when he leaves here, but there’s one thing that won’t stop nagging at him. “How did they know I had the documents?” he asks. “If they abandoned SR0 in two-thousand-eight there’s no way they could have access to current files.”

“Correct.” Sheppard nods. “That’s what we need to find out. They have an expert level hacker. It could be them, or...” Sheppard trails off, letting the word hang in the air for a moment.

“Or we have a mole,” Stephen finishes, morose.

Jared had nearly forgotten Stephen was there, he’s been silent for so long.

“Stephen,” Sheppard says, “finding out how they knew about this will be your job.”

Stephen looks miserable, but nods affirmation.

Sheppard returns his attention to Jared, then. “Congratulations, Jared. You’ve just been promoted to level twelve security clearance.” Sheppard’s brows draw downward and he gives Jared a grim smile. “Welcome to the war.”

*

Some time later, Jared is still shocked as he steps out into the hallway, Stephen following just behind him.

He’d been level 9 security clearance when he’d gone into the Deputy Director’s office. Now he’s level 12, and there are—there are other jumpers out there. Jumpers who aren’t sanctioned by the government, much less the CIA. Time traveling terrorists of all fucking things, and Stephen...

“You knew?” Jared demands, spinning on Stephen, accusing. “All this time, you knew there were other jumpers out there— evil jumpers. Legitimate fucking terrorists. And you never. Told. Me.”

“Jared. You’re CIA, too, you know the protocols—”

Jared clenches his hand into a fist and takes a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he exhales. “Yeah. I know. But—” he gets caught on the word, a dozen phrases springing to his tongue. The one that wants to come through is wrong, he knows it is, but it’s what he feels.

“Jared, you’re my friend. You know I care about you.” Stephen reaches out, settling a hand on Jared’s shoulder, and it’s all Jared can do not to yank away from the touch.

“But that doesn’t mean I could tell you the truth,” Stephen adds, voice low, almost soft.

Jared knows the rules, he understands protocol. He’s been an agent for five years, training for two, field agent for three, and he knows how this all works. But he can’t quite shake the feeling of betrayal.

“I’m… going to need some time,” Jared finally says, pulling gently from Stephen’s hand on his shoulder.

Stephen’s eyes widen slightly, flash of pain in them too obvious to misunderstand. If Jared weren’t so upset he might feel guilty for causing it, but he is, and he doesn’t. 

Stephen’s face smoothes as he lets his hand fall back to his side. He pushes both hands into his pockets before he nods. “I understand.”

Jared starts to turn away, but Stephen isn’t done yet.

“I understand. But I’m still your handler, and we’re going to have to deal with each other. The nineteen-seventy-eight mission is still scheduled for tomorrow, and you have psych and physical evals today.”

It takes him a moment, but Jared finally nods once. “Fine.”

“Good.” Stephen stands there a moment longer, as if he isn’t sure what else to say, and then he clears his throat. “I’m still going to need a full write up on the nineteen-eighty-three mission. We’ll do an extensive briefing on Checkmate after the nineteen-seventy-eight mission. I want to give you time to think and be comfortable with this before we dig deeper into it.”

Stephen’s eyes stutter to meet Jared’s directly, and the caring in them, the compassion, makes Jared’s chest hurt, makes him angry.

Jared nods again, uncertain what to say.

“I’ll see you in the morning, then.” Stephen’s parting words are given smoothly, but Jared can feel the awkwardness between them.

They look at each other for a few seconds, and then they both turn away, walking in opposite directions.

*

There are plenty of questions that occur to Jared after the fact, amongst which are wondering what level security clearance Dr. Lisa Berry—the facility psychologist—is. Can he talk to her about this? He must be able to; she's the psychologist for everyone located here. But he'd best double check with Stephen via text first.

He doesn't want to message Stephen right now, but he does it out of necessity, keeping it brief, professional and to the point. The answer turns out to be yes, and he wonders how many people here know about Checkmate. He doesn’t have much time to think about it right now. He’s got a mission report to write up and a physical evaluation in a few hours. His session with Dr. Berry won’t be until after dinner time. He supposes he can think about it then.

His phone dings with a text message, startling him. It’s from Chad. Shit. Chad. He didn’t even—does Chad know about this?

A quick review of some files reveals that Chad does know. Jared doesn’t feel any anger toward Chad like he had with Stephen, though. Just disappointment. It makes sense that Chad would know; Chad’s their Event Probability Coordinator—although they mostly refer to him as damage control. Chad’s supposed to know all viable factors involved with a mission in order to predict as many potential outcomes as possible. Although he definitely hadn’t called the outcome of Jared’s mission to 1983. 

There’s a difference, though. It’s Chad’s job to help protect the timeline first, the agent second. Stephen’s job is to keep his agents as safe as possible, and he definitely hasn’t been doing his job by keeping the existence of Checkmate a secret.

Jared tries to slip the noose of feelings tightening around his chest and compartmentalize. He knows Stephen couldn’t have told him. He knows that, but part of him is still angry.

Shit , Jared thinks, and sighs.

He’s okay with Chad knowing and that’s about it. He doesn’t know how to process any of the rest of it, particularly that Stephen has known all this time, but he has a lot left to do today. 

He takes a deep breath, pulling himself together. He’s an agent and a professional, and he’s very good at his job. He pushes all thoughts about Checkmate to the back of his mind and locks them away, focusing on the tasks ahead of him.

*

July 14, 1978

Summer is in full swing in Miami, oppressive heat rising from the moonlit streets and hanging on the moisture in the air, sticky and somehow sweet. Jared’s sitting at the outdoor bar at Fontainebleau, breeze coming in off the water with the smell of salt. He’s not far from the Forge, a well-known mob hangout at this point in history, but that particular posh bar and restaurant isn’t on his itinerary tonight.

Tommy the Train—a large, rotund man nicknamed after his unfortunate resemblance to Thomas the Train from the children’s books—should be stopping here on his way to the Forge shortly, and then Jared will have work to do, but for now, he’s enjoying this Friday night, stirring his drink more than indulging in it. He’s only been to Miami a handful of times, but there’s something about this city that works its way underneath his skin, a life and an energy to it like a heartbeat.

The lighting is low and set into the thatched roof of the open air bar, giving it a mellow, casual air. Latin music is playing from speakers at the corners of the bar, slow sultry guitar and drum beats, and the fashion of the 70s might suck, but everything else right here, right now, is fantastic. 

The music isn’t excessively loud, and he can hear someone approaching the bar behind him, to his left.

“Waiting for someone?” a male voice asks in a friendly tone.

Jared turns to answer the question, breath catching in his lungs as he sees the face of the man who’d asked it.

The angles of his face would make the creator of the golden ratio weep tears of joy, strongly lined and perfectly symmetrical. His green eyes are sharp with intelligence, a beautiful glass bottle green, deep crinkles extending from the corners, years of laughter written into their lines. His nose is perfect, and his mouth is full, wide, imminently devourable. His cheeks are dotted with freckles that would be invisible if Jared were a few feet further away.

He’s older than Jared by probably a decade, and by all visible evidence, more gorgeous for it.

“Just enjoying the night,” Jared says, years of training making it come out smooth.

“Right on. I’m Cliff,” the gorgeous man says and holds out one hand.

“Rick,” Jared returns and reaches out.

Fingertips glide past each other like silk until their palms slide together, fingers gripping tight. Jared has chemistry with most people, it’s one of the traits that makes him well suited to his line of work, but even so, there’s no accounting for the way electricity seems to crackle on the air between them, tingling up the length of the nerves in his arm from the heat of the man’s hand.

Cliff releases his hand and leans in across the bar next to Jared, ordering a drink from the bartender. Jared takes the moment to appreciate the glorious perfection of the man’s profile. 

Cliff is wearing a leisure suit similar to Jared’s, except that it’s mint green with a dark green button up underneath, throat and collarbone exposed at the top. He should look hideous, but Jared thinks this man could look good in anything. His light brown hair is cut short at the back of his collar, but longer on top and swept back from his face.

Jared pauses in his appreciation of Cliff to look a little harder at him. His suit is made of high quality thread, thin gold chain dangling from his neck as he leans, and his shoes are obviously expensive. He’s well groomed, his nails exceptionally clean and manicured, his hands soft and bereft of a wedding ring. He is wearing one ring on his right hand ring finger, though, wide and gold with a green gemstone that looks like an actual emerald set into it. Jared glimpses a watch just beneath the left hand sleeve of his suit jacket, and he can only catch a glimpse of the band, but it looks expensive as well, like it might be made of real gold.

He’s obviously from money, or makes a great deal of it, and Jared would be surprised if he did more than sit at a desk all day—when he’s not working out, that is, because he clearly does.

Cliff is relaxed and confident as he settles onto the stool next to Jared, turning to him with an open smile that makes him—unbelievably—about a million times more attractive.

“So are you local?” Cliff asks.

Jared nods. “Not a native, though. I’ve only been here a few years. Business investment has been good in this area for a while now.”

Cliff nods. “I’m on a working vacation from Hollywood. I love Miami, though.”

“Hollywood?” Jared asks. “You’re an actor?” He’s doubtful. If this guy were an actor, with that face, he’d be famous as all hell, his image plastered across billboards and history.

Cliff chuckles as if he finds the idea absurd. “Not at all. I’m a talent agent. I came here to scout out new faces.” 

The bartender delivers Cliff’s drink, then, but Cliff ignores it in favor of turning toward Jared. His eyes examine Jared’s face with bold confidence, tracing the lines and contours before returning to Jared’s eyes. 

“I know you said you’re in business investment, but have you ever thought about doing any modeling or acting work?” His gaze falls from Jared’s eyes again, encompassing the entirety of Jared’s frame, an exploration he does slowly, and with seeming enjoyment. “You’ve got the look,” he goes on. There’s an almost lustful quality to his tone that Jared is sure most people wouldn’t notice, but Jared’s been trained in recognizing nuances of tone.

“You think?” Jared asks, surprised. He knows he’s good looking and in great shape, but he’s not really movie star material.

Cliff picks up his drink and takes a sip, catching an ice cube between his teeth. It disappears between his lips and he rolls it around the inside of his mouth before he gives Jared another bold look up and down. “Absolutely.”

Jesus. Could this guy be any sexier? Jared thinks he probably can, and it’s a thought that stirs warmth low in his belly.

It’s 1978 and there are unspoken rules about how two men can interact in public. There are less rules in 2028, depending on where you are, but in 1978, there is absolutely no way two men can show attraction to each other in public without drawing a lot of unwanted attention. It’s dangerous to show attraction to another man at all unless you’re sure he swings that way, and this guy is riding the edge of the limits. 

Jared supposes Cliff could backtrack and apologize if Jared got upset, blame it on his work and they could laugh it off and move on. But Jared isn’t exactly inclined to dissuade him.

“I’m flattered,” Jared says, honest. “But I don’t think I’m ready to give up my career to run off to Hollywood,” he adds, smiling to show how ridiculous the idea seems. “You’ve got the look yourself, though,” he goes on, glad to have an excuse to let his eyes rove over the man’s musculature, obvious even through his suit.

Cliff gives out a joyful laugh and the transformation in him is majestic. He’s gorgeous anyway, but when he laughs he becomes some kind of godlike creature, unearthly in his beauty. It’s stunning.

“The look?” Cliff shifts his shoulders back and forth as if to say ‘maybe’. “But I definitely don’t have the talent. It turns out, I’m a terrible actor. That’s why I went into the agent business. If you can’t be an athlete, be an athletic supporter, right?” He tips up his drink, and Jared watches the line of his throat as he swallows.

Jared does a quick search of his memory, pausing for a moment longer to make it seem like he really had to think. “That’s from Grease, right?” he says, as if uncertain. “I just saw that last month.”

Cliff nods, setting his drink back down. “Great movie. I wish I’d been able to get some of my people in on it.”

Jared hesitates, and then decides to go for it. “John Travolta was a stone fox in it.”

“He’s got nothing on you,” Cliff tells him without missing a beat. It could be empty flattery, a little Hollywood slick to put Jared at ease, but Cliff never breaks eye contact with Jared, sincerity shining through him. 

Jared bites down on the inside of his cheek. “Must get lonely, being out on the road,” he remarks, almost as if changing the subject; they both know he isn’t.

“It’s always lonely; it’s Hollywood,” Cliff says, holding Jared’s eyes with his own. “What about you?” he asks. “Guy like you, I’m sure you don’t lack for company.”

“No,” Jared agrees. “I get plenty of company.”

“But no one special?” Cliff asks, his voice gentle now, like he really wants to know.

“No,” Jared says again.

“Me neither.” One of Cliff’s hands toy with his glass on the bar, and he finally glances away from Jared. “I meet people all the time in my line of work, but I’ve never quite… made that connection with anyone.” Until now, maybe , his eyes seem to say as he looks at Jared again.

For a moment, Jared thinks this must be a routine the guy pulls to entice people into bed—except this guy doesn’t need to play the game. The way he looks, the way he handles himself, he doesn’t need to lay his charm on this thick to make someone go home with him. Which means it must be genuine. And the strange thing is, Jared feels it, too. The chemistry, the connection between them, the way they’re having an intimate conversation that should take more than five minutes for them to be comfortable having.

“I meet a lot of people in my line of work, too,” Jared says. “They’re great for a night, but I’m usually not interested in more than that.”

“Right on,” Cliff says, nodding. “People are messy. Even messier in Hollywood. And finding someone to have a real conversation with?” Cliff huffs out a dismissive sound. “I love Hollywood, it’s fun, it keeps me on my toes. But it lacks integrity.” He looks away from Jared, out at their surroundings. “Not like this city. Everything here feels honest. The music, the people. It’s pretty, but it isn’t glitzy. It has a soul, you know?”

Cliff’s eyes move to Jared’s as if for confirmation, and then he chuckles. “Sorry. That probably sounds goofy.”

“Not at all,” Jared says, shaking his head. “I was just sitting here before you walked up, thinking the exact same thing.” He catches himself then, backtracking a little. “It’s one of the reasons I moved here.”

Cliff gives him a warm smile that’s somehow intimate despite the space between them. “I knew I liked you,” he says, admiring. He reaches out and puts his hand on Jared’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. He pulls back after an instant, seeming to understand he can’t linger too long, at least not in public, but his eyes tell Jared how very much he’d like to touch Jared more. 

Jared wants nothing more than to take Cliff by the hand and find the nearest hotel, but he’s on a mission and—

Damn. The mission. Jared looks around for the first time since Cliff sat down.

Across the bar, on one of the corners closest to the beach, the bartender is speaking in low tones with a large man, and Jared grits his teeth, recognizing Tommy the Train. 

Tommy seems satisfied with whatever the bartender has told him, nodding as he starts to pull back, and Jared tenses, realizing he’s going to miss his opportunity to catch Tommy before he leaves unless he can get out of this conversation quickly. That doesn’t seem likely, but he has to try.

“I’m sorry,” Jared says, straightening and looking at his watch. “I just realized how late it’s getting. I’ve got a reservation for dinner with some friends, and I’m going to miss it if I don’t get going.”

“That’s a shame,” Cliff says, and the disappointment in his tone is clear. Jared can relate. “I was hoping we’d…” Cliff lingers over the word for a moment, meeting Jared’s eyes, dark heat flickering in them, “have time to get to know each other better.” Cliff bites at one corner of his plush lower lip, and Jared wants to grind his teeth in frustration.

“That… would have been nice,” Jared manages, and he doesn’t have to fake the disappointment in his voice.

“It was great meeting you,” Cliff says after a moment. “If you ever get out to California, look me up.” He reaches into one jacket pocket and pulls out a business card, extending it to Jared. Jared closes his fingers around the card, his fingertips touching Cliff’s, and it’s electric, the thrill that rushes through him. He lets the touch linger a moment longer than he should, and finally draws away, tugging the card with him.

“I’d love to,” Jared tells him, sincere.

“Oh, and Rick,” Cliff says, stopping Jared with a hand on one of Jared’s arms. “Call me anyway. Any time.”

“I will,” Jared promises, wishing it were true. It’s not like he can just use government equipment to jump back to 1978 for a phone call or a vacation to the West Coast, but if he really lived here in 1978, nothing would be able to stop him from finding a way to see Cliff again, even if it was just for one night.

He takes one last look at that beautiful face, those bottle-green glass eyes staring into him with desire, and then, regretful, he pulls away.

The most gorgeous man in all existence is right here in 1978 and he wants to sleep with Jared. It doesn’t seem fair.

He looks down at the business card as he begins to walk away. It’s expensive card stock, thick and cream colored, the name Clifton Booth printed on it in raised, tan letters. Talent Agent is printed below that, Lights Up Talent Agency printed in the upper left, Hollywood address on the upper right and phone number along the bottom, centered. Jared pushes it into his inside jacket pocket and pushes away everything else with it.

Tommy the Train is already walking up the street that leads to the Forge, and Jared sighs inwardly. He can’t catch up to Tommy now without being obvious. 

It looks like he’s going to the Forge after all.

*

He can’t go into the Forge with a gun any more than he could have met with the Russians on his last mission while wearing one. The Forge is a well known mob hangout, full of people carrying guns, and the risk of being a ‘tourist’ caught with a weapon could mean Jared’s certain death. 

He bumps hard into a man going the other way on the street, spinning around and dropping the gun into a trash can before raising both hands and saying sorry. He does the drop to raised hands in a smooth, seamless motion, and the man hasn’t even fully turned around before it’s completed. 

He continues on his way, Tommy almost out of sight now, but it doesn’t matter. Jared knows where Tommy is going.

*

The Forge is refined elegance, cathedral ceilings and huge, curved archways between the rooms, walls a rich cream color, with just a touch of beautiful, pale brick on the inner walls. Enormous chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, rows and rows of prisms glittering with bright light that reflects off the cream colored chairs and tablecloths. Jared doesn’t have a reservation, but he’s done enough research to know how this works. The mob might fund the Forge even if they don’t technically own it, but it’s open to the public—if you’re rich and important enough.

He spins a story about being a talent agent from Hollywood on an unexpected trip to meet with an up and coming actress named Erica Iverson—have you heard of her? If you haven’t you will soon, and by the way, have you ever considered acting, because you have the look and there’s a lot of work out there for a man with a face as handsome as yours. Here’s my card—yes, that’s me, Clifton Booth. No, it’s all right, I don’t need a table, I’ve been here before, I know how it is, reserve months in advance unless you’re a star, I just want to sit at the bar and get a little of that Hollywood glamor, you know how it is, being far from home.

And then it’s all, why of course, sir, why didn’t you say so, sir? The bar is always open to people from Hollywood. Jared tips the man generously on the sly, giving him a discreet smile before he mouths, ‘call me’.

Tommy the Train isn’t extremely high ranking in the mob at this point, he’s more of a thug than anything else, someone who breaks kneecaps and does what he’s told. But he’s the cousin of someone who is important, and Jared—in true talent agent form—is about to make him a star. Jared is going to impart a very important piece of information to Tommy, one that will raise him in ranks and send the mob down a very specific side path.

They can’t stop the mob, but they can delay them a little. Keep them focused on other things for a bit while they work their magic somewhere else. Jared isn’t clear on the details of what that magic is, but he doesn’t need to be. 

Tommy is key because he’s the cousin of someone important, and he has, what is, in 1978, a very deep, dark secret.

Tommy likes men. 

Jared smoothes a hand along his lapel, and saunters up to the bar, moving in alongside Tommy.

*

Jared plays Tommy like a well tuned instrument, opening with his business investment ventures in the area before flirting as much as he safely can, pulling Tommy in deep before hinting at something big he has in the business investment pipeline. He lets Tommy question for a while, finally promising to tell before pulling the man down a private hallway that leads to bathrooms. He lets Tommy prod him for information a little more, and then he drops the bomb, watching Tommy’s eyes widen with satisfaction.

“Stay here,” Tommy tells him, taking him by the shoulders and spinning him around against the wall, big hands squeezing his shoulders tight. “I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t leave,” Jared pleads. “You can’t tell anyone. My ass would be fried if anyone found out.”

“Relax,” Tommy says, tiny mouth curling in a smile. “I just gotta use the bathroom.”

Jared heaves out a relieved sigh and nods. “Hurry.”

“I will,” Tommy promises, looking Jared up and down once before he lets go.

Tommy disappears inside the men’s room, and that’s Jared cue to leave. He’s done what he needed to do; time to go. He’s got a hotel room at Fontainebleau and several hours before extraction—he’d finished early and without needing to have sex with Tommy. It’s a win. 

He should go to his hotel room and wait there until it’s time to go to the phone booth. But he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to go back to Fontainebleau, find Clifton Booth, and then go back to his hotel room. It’s been over two hours, but Cliff might still be there. It’s possible.

He stands there in the hallway, debating for what seems like a very long time.

From behind the men’s bathroom door comes a muffled cry of pain.

It’s a private hallway, accessible only to the mob and other esteemed guests, and no one has been down it in the last twenty minutes. Jared’s kept track of who went in and came out. Tommy should be in there alone.

Jared moves forward carefully, angling his body alongside the wall, arm extended as he pushes the door open. He cranes his neck, peering around the edge.

There’s a deep pool of blood growing on the tiled bathroom floor between Tommy’s legs. He’s shoved up against the vanity row of sinks, head fallen back against the mirror, his generous abdomen pierced by a blade just beneath the heart. The hilt is still held by the hand of a man dressed in a mint green leisure suit.

“You were supposed to be gone,” the man says and sighs before twisting the knife harder, further into Tommy’s chest.

Well , Jared thinks, I found Cliff .

Chapter Text

Tommy heaves out a last, shuddering, blood filled breath and Cliff releases him, pulling the blade free and turning to Jared.

His mint green suit is spattered with blood, knife gripped tight in one hand as Tommy’s body slithers to the floor.

Cliff. It’s Cliff standing there, covered in Tommy’s blood and it takes Jared longer than it should to get his head around it, to understand what’s happening.

“You’re Checkmate,” Jared says, fairly spitting out the words.

“What gave it away?” Cliff asks, and then he moves, so fast Jared can barely track it.

Faster than thought, Jared moves backward, yanking the door toward him on pure instinct. The knife blade strikes the door so hard Jared can see the shiny, silver point as it exits the outside of the wood, barely two inches from his eyes.

Terrible actor my ass , Jared thinks, brain snarling the words.

Cliff—no, not Cliff, his name isn’t Cliff, his name as fake as everything else about him. The man inside the bathroom should be as weaponless as Jared is now, and he has more than a chance of taking the guy out.

He flings the bathroom door open, turning and lunging through it.

He gets his hands on the man’s shoulders, barely touching him before the man grabs him, spins him around and lets go, Jared’s own momentum carrying him to crash into the far wall.

“You should have let him go,” the man tells Jared. “I tried to delay you long enough to abandon the mission. Must be losing my touch,” he notes.

The guy, whoever he really is, reaches inside the jacket of his leisure suit and Jared reaches inside his own, knowing he’s already a precious fraction of a second too late to draw the gun that isn’t there anyway.

Instead of pulling out a gun, Jared hears the sound of something electronic engage, and the guy gives him a wide, triumphant smile.

“Bye, Jared,” he says, and vanishes into thin air.

*

Jared has hours to go over it. To think incessantly about it. And he’s still furious at 1:30am when he finally walks down the street and picks up the phone.

*

“And he knew my name ,” Jared says again, emphatic. 

They’re in one of the conference rooms, everything done in peach paint and white oak floors.

“I’m sorry, Jared,” Stephen says. “We should have cancelled the nineteen-seventy-eight mission after what happened in nineteen-eighty-three.”

“Don’t be sorry. Tell me what the fuck is going on .”

“Jared,” Stephen says, soothing, ”we made a mistake, but it’s okay. Just calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down,” Jared snaps. “This guy knew me. He knew where I was going to be. How the fuck am I supposed to be calm?”

“You made it out, you’re okay,” Stephen says, putting a hand on Jared’s shoulder.

Jared shakes off the touch. “Who is he, Stephen? Do you know?”

Stephen looks down at the floor, and then he rises from his chair, moving toward the screens at the far end of the room.

“Based on the person you described… yes. We know,” Stephen says, picking up his tablet and making quick motions across the surface. The tv screen at the center of the far wall lights up with his movements.

“His name is Jensen Ackles, better known as the Jackal,” Stephen says, pulling up a picture on the screen. It’s black and white, obviously taken somewhere around a decade ago. Face in the middle of a dramatic turn, three-quarter view that throws his incredible good looks into stark relief, eyes a little wider, face a little fuller, but still just as beautiful as when Jared had encountered him. Hell, he’s more beautiful now, if Jared’s honest. Age hasn’t just been kind to the man, it’s been an improvement on what was already perfect to begin with.

“He used to be one of ours until about eleven years ago when Checkmate recruited him.”

“He was CIA?” Jared asks, feeling blindsided by the revelation.

“According to his files, he was the CIA’s best agent.”

This, too, feels like startling information. “The CIA’s best agent? In what? Twenty-eighteen? The guy has to be like thirty-five.”

“Thirty-eight,” Stephen corrects, seeming unimpressed by Jared’s objection. ”And he was the CIA’s best agent, period, as far as the files read. They’d never seen anything like him. He was a prodigy. Picked out of MIT when he was twenty.”

“Twenty? He’d only have been there two years.”

“He graduated high school at sixteen, went to MIT later that same year. One of only a handful students to ever be admitted that young.”

“He was a tech geek?”

“A physics engineering geek,” Stephen says, meaningfully. “A time travel geek. SR0 recruited him for his knowledge, but he was so brilliant they trained him in espionage and with the military as an assassin. He learned that as easily as he learned everything else. He was beyond superhuman.” Stephen pauses and then says, “We made our own worst enemy.”

“You knew about him?” Jared asks.

“Everyone with clearance knows about the Jackal. He’s the leader of Checkmate now. He developed Checkmate’s portable time travel technology.” Stephen sets down his tablet and looks at Jared dead on. “And he’s the reason Checkmate is so dangerous. Before that they weren’t much of a threat. Their technology wasn’t far beyond ours.”

“So he’s a genius,” Jared allows, nodding. That part he believes. “But he’s thirty-eight now. He can’t be that dangerous, physically. 

“He’s thirty-eight, Jared, not forty-eight. And his reflexes were off the chart even when he was twenty-seven.’

Jared thinks about the blur of the man’s motion when he’d thrown the knife, the way Jared had only survived by pure instinct. The man had been fast—faster than anyone had a right to be, much less someone thirty-eight years old.

He thinks about the way the man had flirted with him, pulled him in without him even realizing, the way he’d wanted to go to him even after the mission was finished. The way that knife had hit the door.

“He almost killed me,” Jared admits. “He probably would have killed me, if I hadn’t reacted so fast. And still, he had a chance, inside the bathroom…”

Stephen sets the tablet aside on the table, and sits back down.

“He’s brilliant, Jared. He’s what the CIA calls a mastermind. You can’t let him get inside your head.”

“He had a gun, Stephen. I saw it, in the split second he reached inside his jacket. I was defenseless. He could have killed me.” Jared lifts his eyes to meet Stephen’s. “ Why didn’t he kill me?”

Stephen shakes his head, eyes holding Jared’s as he reaches out and puts a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “He didn’t know for sure you didn’t have a gun. Maybe he didn’t want to risk engaging with you. I don’t know. I don’t think it matters. The important thing is not to let him get to you.”

He’s still angry with Stephen for not telling him about Checkmate, even though he knows better. But he’s less angry as Stephen squeezes his shoulder.

Jensen Ackles , he thinks, looking at the face on the screen. No, the Jackal , he corrects himself. Don’t even think of him by his last name. Get some distance on this.

“How did the Jackal know I’d be there?”

“We’re still looking into that,” Stephen says, letting go of Jared’s shoulder. “D.J. thinks there might be a slow security leak in the network somewhere. Something that’s drawing out information very slowly so it doesn’t register on our end unless we specifically go looking for it. He found some anomalies he’s checking into further right now.”

“So we don’t have a mole?” 

“Right now, we don’t think so.”

“Good.” Jared feels a measure of relief knowing that. Imagining that someone in SR0 could be an informant, or even a double agent seems unthinkable.

Jared stares at the face on the screen, feeling low anger mixed with something else, deep in his belly. “I want to read his file. All the information we have on him.”

“Of course,” Stephen says, and nods. “We’ll schedule a briefing, and then I’ll give you all the information on the Jackal and Checkmate appropriate to your security level.”

“I want it now,” Jared demands. Stephen gives him a look and Jared doubles down on his insistence. “This guy has screwed us—screwed me specifically—on two of our missions. I want to know everything.”

Stephen studies his face for a long moment, as if weighing what he sees there, and then he nods. “All right.”

Stephen sets his tablet aside, meeting Jared’s gaze directly as he begins to speak.

“In nineteen-seventy-nine, the CIA employed four scientists from Everon Technologies to help develop the process of time travel. They had already been working on the project for two decades before they joined with the government.”

Jared knows this part.

“In two-thousand-eight,” Stephen goes on, “those four scientists abandoned SR0. They wanted to use the technology for personal gain, so they formed an organization then known as Thin Line.”

Stephen clearly knows this by heart, confident in his words, and it surprises Jared all over again, sets him several steps backward, re-realizing Stephen has known this for years, at least.

Stephen seems to notice none of this, continuing on. “Thin Line was initially regarded by the government as a mercenary operation, out to make as much money as they could, using time travel technology and the political leverage time travel afforded them towards that goal.”

Jared sort of knows this part now, and despite how new and shocking it is, he tries hard to focus, ask the questions he should be asking. “They weren’t terrorists initially?”

“No. Just low level thugs when they started out,” Stephen says. 

“So when did they become terrorists?”

“In twenty-seventeen,” Stephen says, “Jensen Ackles, aka the Jackal, abandoned SR0 for reasons unknown and vanished. He resurfaced in twenty-eighteen as an agent of Thin Line, which he took over and renamed Checkmate.”

“So the Jackal had the plan to focus them against the US.” Jared shakes his head, disgusted. 

Stephen nods. “Over the course of the next several years, he developed the portable time travel technology Checkmate now uses to their advantage. Their aims became more exact after that, focusing on alliances with countries against the United States.”

“What have they done?” Jared asks.

“Sold American secrets, recovered documentation and objects for money and in return for favors from foreign countries, including Russia, China and North Korea. Eliminated political targets for those same countries. Fought and killed several SR0 agents on missions to those countries. Thwarted dozens of other SR0 missions.”

“To build an empire?” Jared asks, echoing Sheppard’s words.

“We believe so.” Stephen nods. “Money. Power. Carving out a place for themselves in the new order if they can help bring the United States down.”

“He has to have more than four old scientists on his team.”

“Yes,” Stephen says. “We know he does. But gathering information on Checkmate’s operations is difficult since they can move easily through time. We’ve tracked them down to locations in present day and found the remains of temporary bases. They move their bases of operation around constantly, although we suspect they have one main, stationary base located somewhere in time, if not present day.”

Jared nods, filing away that information for later. “What do we know about his team?”

“Current members of the Jackal’s team are believed to number at twelve, consisting of three jumpers, the four Everon Technologies scientists plus two other engineers, a computer hacker, a wardrobe specialist, and an event probability coordinator.”

“They care about having an event probability coordinator?” Jared asks, surprised.

“They’re terrorists,” Stephen says, “but not the kind that want to risk destroying themselves in the name of their aims. Not damaging the timeline is important to their goals.”

“Twelve people against the entirety of SR0 and the American government?” Jared asks. “I don’t understand how they can be considered a real threat.”

“Remember we’re only talking about the Checkmate team--not all the countries and political contacts they’re aligned with.”

Sheppard had seemed convinced they were a threat, and sitting in his office, Jared had been, too. But here, in this much more peaceful room, under warm light, with more information, it seems less likely.

“It doesn’t seem like much,” Jared says, doubtful. 

“It wouldn’t be,” Stephen agrees. “If they didn’t have the Jackal on their side.”

“He really makes that much difference?”

“Yes,” Stephen says, unequivocal.

Jared’s eyes stray from Stephen to the TV screen, the Jackal’s picture still displayed there in all its glory, gaze locking on those gorgeous black and white features. 

“But Jared,” Stephen says, “don’t obsess over him. He’s got a whole team. He’s just the only face you’ve seen so far.”

That face. That beautiful, maddening face.

“Okay,” Jared agrees, eyes still fixed on the screen showing the Jackal's picture.

*

Jared spends hours in his room, going over all the files in great detail. But there’s one he keeps coming back to, again and again.

The Jackal is everything Stephen had said, and then some. 

He’d finished his doctorate in physics, against the advice of the CIA, who had wanted him fully focused on SR0. He’d done most of his coursework online, and somehow managed to do the job and earn his degree. He’d done his dissertation on causal loops with regard to time travel and computation, and there are a few excerpts from it in his file, a lot of it math Jared doesn’t begin to understand, and the rest discussing aspects of time travel Jared only understands on a basic level.

His physical abilities, as documented, are beyond anything Jared’s seen—or at least they were. Stephen hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the guy was superhuman. His distance on throwing projectiles accurately was incredible, his shooting range scores perfect, and his ability with a sniper rifle was almost unbelievable. He’d had one confirmed kill at 2,522 yards—four yards under the world record at the time.

Stephen says Jared is one of SR0’s best agents, but everyone knows Jared is the best. His abilities and scores are extremely impressive, and he’s closer to the Jackal’s level than anyone else. But even on his best day he might only come within spitting distance of the Jackal—or at least, when the Jackal had been 27, which was the last time SR0 had gotten documented statistics on him. Eleven years later, the Jackal has surely slowed down a bit. They might be on more equal ground now.

Jared thinks about the speed at which the man had thrown that knife, and wonders.

There are other things in his file. Lots of awards and honors. Some personal details. High school basketball team that won the state championship twice. No significant relationships, although there are a few mentions of people he’d dated, all of them female. No siblings, just an estranged mother and a father he barely knew, both of them still alive in 2017. Apparently his grandmother and grandfather had raised him for most of his life, and they’d both died within a year of each other in 2008 and 2009, while he was still at MIT. They’d left him with a great deal of money, but the file doesn’t note whether he’d done anything with it or not.

Interestingly, the Jackal’s record with SR0 had been exemplary. There’s no indication of him committing any crimes, or doing anything even slightly suspect. He’d simply gone on a mission in April of 2017 and hadn’t come back. SR0 had searched for him but hadn’t found anything until he’d shown up on the opposite side of one of their missions over a year later. After that, there are dozens of reports about SR0 missions he’d sabotaged, SR0 contacts and agents he’d killed, documents and objects he’d stolen out from under SR0 operatives.

An internet search doesn’t turn up anything regarding Jensen Ackles. Nothing at all. The man’s as much a ghost as any CIA agent. Jared tabs back to the man’s file, looking through the pictures there again. Even in his youngest pictures he seems guarded, a glint in his eyes like steel even when he smiles, but he doesn’t look like the sort of man who’d go on to become a terrorist one day. 

Jared guesses most people don’t.

He sighs, dissatisfied, and closes the file. He has a post-mission psych eval with Dr. Berry in twenty minutes, and he needs to get ready.

*

The thing about psych evals is that technically they’re therapy sessions, but everyone knows they’re really meant to determine your ability to continue working in the field. So when you’re in one, you have to walk a careful line between being honest about everything that happened on a mission and not getting into it too deeply, or else you might send up a red flag and get sidelined pending further evals. 

He likes Dr. Berry. She’s a knock-out at forty-four with her dark skin and dark eyes and red lips, intelligent and warm, mostly kind, but not afraid to point out difficult truths. He usually doesn’t mind talking to her at all. 

He’s not looking forward to it today.

Her office is a nice size, spacious, but with cozy sitting areas, everything rich, warm brown and golds, smooth leather and soft fabrics. There are false windows installed here, the same as everywhere else in the facility, covered by mini-blinds and framed by brown curtains. Artificial sunlight set on a timer slants in through the closed blinds in thin lines, golden hue on the verge of sunset, the darkest areas of the office lit by low lamp light. It’s nearly perfect in its illusion of being above ground, welcoming with its comfort.

Jared isn’t much in the mood for comfort today, but he takes a seat in a chair across from her in one of the cozy sitting areas, easing into it without relaxing.

She’s resting in a deeply cushioned chair whose color reminds Jared of the burnt sienna crayon he’d rarely used as a child, notepad on her lap, expensive fountain pen in her right hand, a slight smile on her red lips.

“Hello, Jared.”

“Doctor Berry,” he replies, trying for the touch of playfulness he usually puts into greeting her. He falls short by a few miles.

“I decided to try jasmine, today,” she says, gesturing to the antique table beside and between them. On it sits the usual ceramic teapot and two cups set upon matching saucers. She leans forward, pouring them both a cup, and then settles back into her chair.

Jared eyes his cup for a moment and then returns his attention to her.

“Don’t be rude,” she chides him, gentle.

Jared sighs and picks up his cup. He takes a small sip and then looks at her pointedly. “Happy?”

“You seem agitated,” she notes.

“I am,” he agrees, nodding wholeheartedly. 

“I heard you had a run in with Jensen,” she notes, and the informal use of his name—not even a last name attached—hits Jared low in the belly in a way he doesn’t understand. 

“Yesterday I didn’t know this guy existed, but you’ve all known about him for what? Years?” Jared asks. “So long you refer to him on a first name basis.”

“That makes you angry,” she notes.

“It really does.”

He knows she’s going to want to dig into that. That she’s going to want to unearth the truth that’s been poking at him for the last twenty-four hours, trying to get him to look at it. Here he is, Jared Padalecki, the golden boy, the Agency’s best agent, the one hand picked for the most important missions, sought after by most of the non-straight men and non-lesbian women in the facility—and it turns out he’s not nearly as important or informed as he’d thought.

His pride is hurt, that’s all. His world got a bit rocked. But these things happen when you’re a spy and an assassin, and a big part of the job is being able to compartmentalize and adapt. He’ll be fine. But she’s definitely going to want to talk about it.

“Tell me about the mission,” she prompts, instead.

Jared does, keeping the descriptions of everything brief and to the point, occasionally sipping from his tea cup.

“He met with you before you engaged with the target.” She seems thoughtful as she twirls her pen between her thumb and forefinger, gold tip of the cap catching the light as it moves slowly back and forth. “When you had no reason to suspect him.”

Despite himself, the tea and the welcoming comfort of the room are starting to work into him, relaxing him and taking the edge off his anger. “He acted like any other guy. He flirted with me. I was attracted to him.”

“You connected with him?”

He takes another sip of tea. “I guess I did.”

“Did you feel something for him?”

He shifts in his chair, vaguely uncomfortable. “I… when I thought he was just some random guy, yeah.” He toys with the ceramic cup between his hands. “I thought… wow, here’s the perfect guy, in nineteen-seventy-eight, where I can never have him. It was just a moment of…” he trails off, uncertain.

“Vulnerability?”

‘Wishing’ was the word that came to mind, but when she says ‘vulnerability’, Jared feels the accuracy of it. He opens his mouth, closes it. Runs a hand along his jaw and wants to say ‘no’. “Yeah. I guess you could call it that,” he hedges, unhappy with the admission.

“You felt vulnerable with him. And then he betrayed you.”

Jared wants to protest, again, but he nods. 

“Anger is a completely normal reaction in that circumstance,” she tells him. “Betrayal invokes very strong emotion.”

Jared looks upward, tilting his head back and forth a few times as he considers, and then he nods. “Okay. Yes. What I don’t understand is why. Why did he toy with me like that? Why did he try to make me… like him?”

Her eyes narrow on him slightly. “His motivations interest you.”

“What?”

“Jared, I’ve been your psychologist since you joined SR0. You like to ask ‘why’ about a great deal of things, but the motivations of your enemies has never been one of them.”

“He wasn’t my enemy at the time.” Jared heaves out a sigh. “I guess I just don’t understand why he did that. Why he felt like he needed to dupe me. He could have just jumped in earlier or later to kill Tommy. He didn’t even have to talk to me. All I can think is he wanted to fuck with my head. He wanted me to know what he was doing.”

She looks at him for what seems like a long time before she says anything. “You seem fascinated by him.”

The word strikes Jared as strange, eliciting surprise in him. “Fascinated?” he scoffs. 

“It’s perfectly understandable.”

“I’m not fascinated,” he tells her in no uncertain terms.

Dr. Berry gives him a small smile and sets her pen down against the notepad. “What would you say if I told you I knew Jensen. That once upon a time, he sat across from me and talked to me, just like you are right now.”

Jared stares at her, stunned. “You knew him? Personally?”

Dr. Berry nods. 

Jared leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. “What was he like?”

“You’ve read his file, you’ve met him. You know. Brilliant, skilled, beautiful, charming with a razor sharp edge,” she tells him. “But there. You see? The moment I told you I knew him, you asked what he was like.”

Jared feels as if he’d reached out to take her hand and she’d slapped him instead. The comfort of the tea, the room, falls away like a blanket from his shoulders, anger coming back to the fore as he meets her gaze. “It’s hard not to wonder. He used to be CIA. He used to work to protect the United States and then he just turned one day, out of the blue, and went to the dark side.” Jared searches her eyes for a moment. “You were his psychologist. You really never saw a hint of any of that?”

She leans forward and gives him a shrewd look, the likes of which he’s never seen on her face before. “I understand you’re upset, so we’re just gonna blow right past the fact that you called my entire job into question.” The words are less formal, one human being to another instead of therapist to patient, and they’re a clear warning, threatening undertone like storm clouds at the edge of a blue sky. 

She sits back in her chair and picks up her pen again, gold cap glinting in the light as she turns it back and forth. “We’re here to discuss you, Jared.”

Jared takes a slow, deep breath to calm himself, and exhales with the sensation of guilt creeping up from inside him. She’d simply been doing her job and he’d insulted her for the trouble. “You’re right,” he admits after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she reassures him. “I imagine you feel a bit at sea at the moment.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

She nods. “You’ve never lost before. Not like this. You’ve gotten into trouble on missions, you’ve gotten hurt, sometimes you didn’t achieve the objective of the mission. But you’ve never had it stolen out from under you before. And never by someone you’d had a moment of vulnerability with.” She pauses, considering. “And just yesterday you found out a very large truth about something the Agency had been keeping from you because of security clearance reasons. I imagine you feel somewhat betrayed by that as well.”

She’s not wrong, but that’s not something he wants to admit. “It’s part of the job. I’ll be fine.”

She looks at him intently. “Jared. Betrayal is the absolute destruction of your house while you’re still standing inside it.” She stops, shaking her head slightly. “Sometimes we rebuild. Sometimes we pick up some pieces and take them with us, build something new. And sometimes,” she says, slowly, “we get buried in the rubble.”

He looks at her, feeling her words sink into him, settling against bone.

“It’s happened to you twice in the last twenty-four hours,” she says with gentle emphasis.

He swallows, nodding acknowledgment.

Her voice is very quiet as she asks, “Do you feel buried right now?”

It’s a long time before Jared answers her question.

*

Jared steps out of Dr. Berry’s office, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it, hand still holding the knob. He tilts his head back and up, eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep breath.

He pushes from the door, standing straight and beginning to walk down the hall as he pulls out his phone, already on his way to Chad’s room as he texts him.

In Chad’s office, which is a weird mesh of total geek deco and cutting edge technology, Chad uses multiple hanging glass screens to throw around his images as he explains probability outcomes. He looks incredibly professional using his touch screen technology to basically paint timelines in the air, but Jared has been inside Chad’s private room, and that room has a hidden back room even bigger than his living area, filled with strings of yarn held up by colored tacks, representing timelines, with newspaper articles and pictures and pieces of maps at the end of each color coordinated branch. 

Chad calls it ‘The OTT’--the One True Timeline--and for a guy who’s as deeply entrenched in tech as Chad is, it says a lot that he trusts his crazy room filled with yarn strings and yellowing pieces of paper more than any computer.

It’s Chad’s deeply personal, deep, dark secret of a timeline. Jared’s sure SR0 knows about it, but they don’t seem to mind as long as he keeps it out of his professional predictions. Jared’s only seen it in passing and he’s never wanted to look at it too closely. Just the little bit he’s seen of it gives him a headache. Not that Chad’s ever really tried to show it to him in detail. Jared suspects that’s because there are things on the timeline he couldn’t talk to Jared about, before. But tonight, Chad can, and Jared wonders, wants to know what’s on it.

Chad answers the door to his room, holding a drink out to Jared, which Jared takes, grateful.

“So your texts were fucking ominous, dude. I only had to wait five minutes for you to get here and I feel like waiting that long is bullshit. What is it?” Chad asks, sipping from his own drink as they sit down.

Jared unloads, telling Chad everything that’s happened in the last two days, hedging only on the parts about the Jackal and their encounter at the bar. Jared still feels like an idiot for being taken in by him; doesn’t want Chad to know how deep the guy got under his skin.

“Bro.” Chad is shaking his head, forlorn. “You know I couldn’t tell you.”

“I know.” Jared nods. He does know.

Chad nods solemnly for a moment, and then he sits forward, eyes lighting up. “He came for you. The Jackal. Fucking Jackles. He’s like…” Chad’s eyes grow wide, free hand making a circular motion through the air. “He’s your fucking nemesis , dude.”

“That’s taking it a little far,” Jared remarks, unimpressed.

“No, he’s totally your nemesis.” Chad seems to consider for a moment. “But that’s like, the only thing that's even marginally cool about him. Because fuck that guy,” Chad adds, and dry spits. 

“Yeah, fuck that guy,” Jared agrees, thinking at least they can agree on that much.

“Fucking Jackles,” Chad says again and exhales with disbelieving resignation.

“What do you have on him?” Jared asks.

Chad solidly stares him down. “Jared, the man’s a ghost.”

Jared waits a moment before asking, “So you’re saying you don’t have intel on him?”

Chad leans forward with a wide grin. “Of course I have intel on him. Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

Jared leans forward, too, eager as he returns Chad’s grin. “Show me.”

Chad gets up from the chair, rubbing his hands together with an anticipatory smile of glee.

That’s when Jared’s phone rings.

“Dammit,” Jared sighs. “It’s Stephen.”

It turns out Stephen needs to see him right away.

*

“You’re going topside for some R and R,” Stephen says, like he’s Bob Barker on a The Price is Right rerun, offering Jared a chance at a new car.

Jared falls into one of the chairs in front of Stephen’s desk. He’s beginning to realize how tired he is after the day he’s had, and this is… well, if not expected, then not entirely un expected.

“I don’t need a break, Stephen.” Jared’s had a little time to think about how to handle something like this. “In fact, I think we should keep our current mission schedule. If the Jackal shows up on the next mission, that gives me another chance to take him down. And this time, I’ll be looking for him.”

Stephen’s been shaking his head almost since Jared began speaking. “And he’ll know you’re looking for him. No, Jared. You need a break. Doctor Berry agrees with me on this one.”

Doctor Berry had a hand in this? Jared shakes his head. And the blows to my pride just keep coming , he thinks, and then, or maybe it’s the betrayals .

“Alex needs a tour upstairs, anyway,” Stephen is saying. “This is a perfect opportunity for you to take some well-deserved time off and help out a new team member.”

“You want me to give the new kid a tour?” Jared asks, insulted.

“It’s an important job. I was going to have Katie do it, but it’ll be better if you do it. The CIA’s best agent, taking the new guy under his wing. It’ll be great for him.” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“Given the shocks you’ve been through in the last day or so, it would be smart if we—”

“Stephen,” Jared prompts, cutting Stephen off, edge of warning in his voice.

Stephen half-lifts one shoulder in apology. “Not really.” 

Jared stares at him for a long moment, wrestling with the varying feelings inside him—betrayal, anger, incredulousness—and then forces himself to push all those feelings aside. Everyone is watching him closely right now to see how he’s handling all of this, and he needs to pick his battles carefully. If he resists too much, they might pull his mission schedule entirely instead of only postponing it by a few days.

“Fine,” he relents, and then sets his jaw. “But I’m not going with him alone.”

Stephen’s expression alters slightly. “Are you going to ask Adrianne to go with you?”

Jared had been going to ask Chad, but now he’s intrigued. “Adrianne?”

“You like her, don’t you?” Stephen asks.

He hasn’t thought much about Adrianne since the other night, but there’s something in Stephen’s tone that catches at him. “What if I do?”

“I just don’t think it’s a great idea for you to be getting romantically involved right now.”

“You’re going to force me to go topside, babysit the new kid, and you’re going to tell me who I can take with me?”

Stephen heaves a sigh. “Fine. But you’re buying the drinks tomorrow night.” 

“Oh no.” Jared shakes his head. “If you’re gonna force me to go topside when I think we should stick to the schedule then you one hundred percent owe me all the drinks tomorrow night. Maybe forever.”

Stephen puts a hand over his mouth, fingertips rubbing at the hollow beneath his jaw. “Okay,” he relents, yanking his hand away. “But Jared, I think this is a great idea. Take some time. Relax. If you come back and still want to proceed on schedule, we’ll talk about it.”

Jared nods. “Okay. But know, we will be having this conversation.”

“Oh, I’m prepared,” Stephen says with a rueful grin. 

“It’s like you know me.”

The sentence hangs on the edge of the rift between them, and Jared can feel it, knows it could tip either way. This is where they could fall into their usual routine, take a step forward to bridge the gap between them, or they could change the subject, let it widen a little further.

Stephen opens his mouth--

The door to Stephen’s office flies open, rattling as it hits the wall.

“Why did you take me off the topside tour for Alex?” Katie demands, storming in.

Stephen’s mouth, still open, snaps closed.

Katie puts a hand on one slim hip and points at Jared with the other, swinging her long blonde hair back over one shoulder as she straightens her spine. “My first chance to get out of this place in two months? No way. You are not ruining this. I’m going.”

Jared looks at Stephen and Stephen lifts his shoulders almost imperceptibly.

“Okay,” Jared says, spreading his hands wide. 

*

Jared is dead tired when he leaves Stephen’s office, body loose and shoulders slumping. He wants, more than anything, to go back to Chad’s and have a look at Chad’s Jackal timeline, but there’s no way he could stay awake for the amount of time it’s likely to take. He’s probably lucky Stephen called him and forced them to put it on hold.

He’s so tired he doesn’t even bother undressing when he gets inside his room. But physical exhaustion is different from mental exhaustion. Despite everything, he doesn’t feel like he’s going to sleep well when he falls into bed, his head still spinning with thoughts of everything that’s happened today.

He’s out almost as soon as his head touches the pillow.

*

In the morning, bright and early, the five of them—Jared, Alex, Katie, Chad and Adrianne—make the trip to the surface, which entails a series of confusing tunnels, several facial and retinal scans, a really long elevator ride, lots more scans and a few more confusing sets of tunnels. Finally, they exit into what appears to be a perfectly ordinary utility room and step through an equally normal looking door into the daylight.

The alleyway outside the door leads them to a thoroughfare thronged with people walking in both directions, a high wooden railing beyond them, vast body of water a clear, deep aqua in the distance.

They fall into step with the crowd easily enough, no one giving them so much as a passing glance—and after all, why would they? Even if they weren’t focused on other things, Jared’s group just looks like they’d taken a shortcut between buildings.

Alex is shading his eyes against the bright morning sunshine, apparently forgetting the sunglasses perched atop his head. He’s looking at the crowd around them with disbelief and Jared elbows him lightly in the ribs.

They walk with the crowd a bit, finally stopping at an ice cream cart. A young girl in pink shorts orders cones for her and her little brother, who looks to be about four, dressed in a yellow t-shirt that’s seen cleaner days, three of his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he stares at the vendor with wide blue eyes. A woman who’s probably their mother touches them both on the shoulders and steers them away from the cart with their heaping cones, and then it’s just the five of them standing in front of the cart.

The brown man behind the cart is in his mid to late forties, gray shot through his close shaven beard. He stares at Jared with darker brown eyes for a moment and then he breaks into a smile. “You got stuck with new kid duty?”

“Hey, Roger,” Jared greets, returning the smile.

“Wait,” Alex says, seeming to try and keep up. “He’s… he…”

“Roger is one of ours,” Jared confirms. “SR0 has people near every entrance and exit.”

They place their orders and Roger moves to get them cones. The five of them are fanned out in front of the cart, keeping anyone else from lingering too close--not that anyone seems interested. Situated where it is along a main walkway, most people don’t stop here, already on their way to somewhere else. 

Alex glances at the crowd of people constantly streaming past them. “I still can’t believe the facility is located under Disney World.”

Jared finds it ironic that he’s Alex’s tour guide when until two days ago he hadn’t known nearly as much about SR0 as he’d thought he had. But he does know this part.

“Walt had a plan back in the day,” Jared says. “He wanted to do an underground theme park eventually, but he died before the above ground park even opened. His brother wanted to honor Walt’s wishes by building it, and they broke ground on it. They wanted it to be accessible from all areas of the park. They laid it out almost exactly like it is now, a whole little town, hotel area, pool, shops, restaurants, bars, entertainment.” 

Jared takes his cone of vanilla soft serve from Roger, adjusting his grip on it before he continues. “But it didn’t test well. Tourists didn’t want to stay underground. They were going to fill it in and seal it up, but in 1979 the CIA swooped in and cut a deal.”

“Of course, it’s a secret that we’re located underneath the park, so all the building and digging plans were destroyed and only a select few people know we’re there at all. All the people who worked on it still think it was sealed up and filled in.”

“I mean, I guess it makes sense.” Alex is standing there, a chocolate ice cream cone in his hand, looking around like a man who thinks he might be dreaming. “But still,” he says, his tone disbelieving. “It’s Disney World.”

“Technically, this is Disney Springs,” Katie jumps in to correct him. “This is the adult section of the park. Shops, restaurants, bars. The fun part,” she adds with a grin.

“Right.” Jared nods, and goes on, “It was inspired by nineteen-hundreds waterfront towns. There are entrances and exits to the facility all through Disney Springs, and in the park, too, a few in other areas. You’ll get to know them after a while. They’re always marked staff only, or labeled as utility rooms. People like Roger here keep an eye on things near those entrances and exits.”

“I have no idea what this guy is talking about,” Roger says, looking at Alex as he motions in Jared’s direction. “I just serve ice cream.”

Alex smiles at Roger, a little uncertain, and Roger bursts into laughter, handing Jared his change. “Enjoy your day, you guys.”

“Thanks, Roger,” Jared says. 

There’s a viewing deck of the massive lake not far past the ice cream cart, a little jut of a thing, not more than ten feet wide and six feet deep. Jared leads everyone over to it, wanting to stop and eat before they move on. Today is one-third actually teaching Alex about the park and two-thirds about enjoying the park, and he wants to finish the first part so they can indulge wholeheartedly in the second part. Whether or not he wanted to be here, he’s here; he might as well enjoy it.

The sun is warm on Jared’s shoulders, a light breeze blowing in off the water and ruffling his hair. He has to push it back, tucking the strands behind one ear as he lifts his ice cream cone and takes a bite.

Alex is still standing with his ice cream cone in his hand like he isn’t sure how he ended up here. “This is all just so…” he trails off in wonder. And then, abruptly, “I still can’t believe no one goes back in time and tries to stop Oswald.”

Chad stops with his mouth halfway to his ice cream cone, the natural squint of his blue eyes narrowing even further, gaze sharpening on Alex. 

“I have one question for you,” Chad declares, taking a step closer to Alex, his ice cream cone forgotten, now. 

Alex tilts his head slightly to the side, eyeing Chad in all seriousness.

“Chad,” Jared says, reaching out, already knowing it’s too late.

“Cht,” Chad hisses, pointing at Jared without looking at him. 

“One question, Alex,” Chad goes on, hand falling back to his side. “Did... Oswald… act... alone?”

Alex blinks, seeming confused. “I mean, all the evidence points to Oswald acting alone.”

Chad throws his ice cream cone into the trash can dramatically and then holds up both hands toward Alex. “Just stop right there. I hope you brought a chair. And lunch and dinner and a midnight snack, too.”

Alex eyes Chad like he’s not sure if Chad is fucking with him or not.

Chad doesn’t even blink. “Bathroom breaks are gonna be timed and there’ll be a quiz at the end.”

“You’re not serious?” Alex asks with a tiny laugh that borders on nervous.

“Oh, I am so serious. I am completely, one-hundred percent, grade A certified, FDA approved, absolutely fucking serious.” 

Jared, who already knows how serious Chad is and has endured this same conversation more times than he can count, turns away with a shake of his head. He’ll only let Alex suffer for the length of time it takes them to finish their cones—and Alex has no idea how easy he’s going to be getting off. Jared once witnessed Chad go on this tirade with some wasted drunk guy in a pub in New York. After three hours, Jared had had to stop the guy from trying to throw himself into the Hudson River.

He walks over to where Adrianne is leaning against the railing, looking out at the lake so vast and seemingly endless that it resembles an ocean. Beyond her, near where the viewing deck corners, Katie is rifling through her bag, brows drawn together in a light frown.

Jared turns and lets his lower back rest against the railing, one elbow slung back across the top of it, other holding his ice cream as he regards Adrianne. 

“See anything interesting?” he asks.

“Just admiring the pretty,” she says, smiling at him. “Nothing like direct sunlight and open air.” She turns toward him, one hip against the rail. She’s lovely, standing in the sunlight in her white strappy sundress, shoulders bare and hair blowing free.

“Thanks for asking me to come,” she says, and then lips a bite from her vanilla ice cream cone, its swirling top massive and nearly falling off one side.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, smooth and slightly flirty, and she rewards him with a flash of her blue eyes.

“So how were the seventies?” she asks, brushing a strand of errant hair back from her face.

Jared feels a tightening in his chest at the mention, but he doesn’t let anything show on his face. 

“Bad people in poor lighting making terrible choices in worse outfits.” He raises his shoulders and lets them drop. “Pretty much as expected.”

“Oh,” she says. “I figured something exciting must have happened.”

“Exciting?” Jared asks, the twist in his chest winding tighter.

“I mean, Sheppard showed up.” Her voice drops a notch over the man’s name. “I only met him for like five seconds when I started here.”

“Oh, right,” Jared says, as if he’d almost forgotten. “Just a weird mix up in communication. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Oh well that’s good.” Adrianne smiles, looking vaguely relieved. “It’s just…” her eyes look left, then right before focusing on her cone, “it’s Sheppard. He’s scary.”

“I’m still not sure he’s human,” Jared agrees.

“I’d probably pee myself if he showed up and dragged me off to his office,” she adds, and shudders. “I was kinda surprised though,” she says after a moment.

“By what?” His cone is beginning to drip and he takes a swipe around the top edge of the cone with his tongue.

“I figured you answered to the Director himself.”

To the best of Jared’s knowledge, most people at SR0 have never seen the Director in person. Stephen has, and does regularly, and probably Sheppard, too, but Jared doesn’t know who else has. Maybe some of the other high level handlers. 

“Only the top operatives work with the Director,” he says, without a trace of bitterness.

Adrianne’s eyes flick up to meet his; bright, clear blue.

“Aren’t you, though?” she asks, the light breeze blowing strands of blonde hair across her forehead.

He knows exactly what security level she is—had known before he’d taken her back to his room days ago. She knows what they do, and she’s just high enough security level for Jared to give her broad specifics—like what part of a decade he’s traveling to. Not much more than that. She probably thinks he’s much higher level than he is. Most people seem to.

But despite being the Agency's best agent, he’s only just hit level twelve security clearance. Sixteen is the magic level where you know everything.

“I don’t like to brag,” he says, flashing her a wink.

“Well, everyone knows you’re the best,” she says, as if it were forgone. She looks down again and takes another lick from the dripping circumference of the top of her cone.

She really is beautiful, in a more interesting way than simply traditional. He glances away from her, down at the thin strip of beach below them, about to say something appropriately funny and charming—

There’s a man walking along the shore, feet bare, sandals held in one hand, wearing an old, threadbare t-shirt that might have been blue once, its color faded with sun and time. His darker blue swim trunks hang to his knees, and he’s wearing dark sunglasses, but the angle of his jaw, the shape of his cheekbones…

Jared’s breath freezes in his lungs, heart beginning to pick up speed. The man is too far away for Jared to be sure but he’d swear—

“Jared?” Adrianne asks. “You okay?”

It can’t be. It can’t be. There’s no way. Their tour had only been scheduled last night. It hadn’t even been entered into the SR0 database.

The man lifts his head as he walks past below them, and his eyes are covered by sunglasses, but Jared feels it when their eyes meet, a sudden jolting shock that runs ragged down his spine.

It’s him. It’s the Jackal.

Chapter Text

His first impulse is to jump the railing, risk the long fall to the sand, and chase the man down. On the heels of that is logic that firmly informs him that he can’t do anything of the sort. Dammit, he can’t make a scene. There are too many people with him who don’t have the slightest idea Checkmate exists, not to mention all the tourists passing by. 

And what if it isn’t him?

His heart is hammering in his chest, sun beating down on his shoulders, sweat beginning to rise on his brow. 

And what if it is the Jackal? Then what?

“Jared?” Adrianne prompts again.

The man is approaching their vantage point in what seems like slow motion, breeze ruffling his short, spiky hair, thin shirt alternately clinging and gently billowing across the impressive musculature of his chest and shoulders. In a moment, Jared will have to turn around to keep watching him.

He wills himself to calm, breathing in and out, slow and even. His heart slows down a notch and he forces himself to think through the emotions threatening to flood his brain. He can either chase the man down and be wrong, or he can chase the man down, be right, and engage in a battle to the death in front of hundreds of tourists. Either way, he’s going to have to explain himself to the people he’s with, and there’s no way he can do that. So even if it is the Jackal, there’s nothing Jared can do right now. And that means, difficult as it will be, he has to let it go.

“Guy’s hot,” he says in a level voice, nodding in the man’s direction. 

Adrianne’s eyes follow the motion of Jared’s head, sizing up the man who’s almost behind Jared now, and Jared turns, body language relaxed and easy as he rests his forearms on the railing of the deck. It might not be the Jackal, but there’s no way he’s taking his eyes off the man until he’s out of sight.

“Mmm,” she hums in what seems like agreement, leaning in beside him.

The man keeps walking at a leisurely pace, and Jared relaxes a little. There are so many reasons this guy can’t be the Jackal. There’s no way he could know they’re here, much less that they’re right here , on this viewing deck along the shoreline. Even if the Jackal had found out about this excursion somehow, there’s no reason for him to be strolling by; there’s no mission. 

This is stupid. Jared is jumping at shadows. He’s letting this guy get inside his head.

Jared glances over at Adrianne, notes her eyes lingering on the man with appreciation, and has to smile a little despite himself. She really is cool.

They finish their ice cream, watching the man walk up the beach until he disappears around the curve of the island edge.

*

A few minutes later, everyone is done with their ice cream and Jared moves to get them underway on the tour. It takes him a minute or two to derail Chad’s JFK tirade, but he’s been doing this a while now.

“Fine. Let’s get it over with,” Chad says.

“I know you’re so excited,” Jared replies, smirking.

“You know I hate this place,” Chad grumbles. “It gives me the creeps.”

“Oh boy, here we go,” Katie mutters beneath her breath near Jared’s side.

“Disney World… gives you the creeps?” Alex asks, like he’s sure that can’t possibly be what Chad means.

Chad’s expression is grave. “Have you ever looked into Mickey Mouse’s eyes? I have. They’re haunted. He’s screaming behind that smile.”

Alex frowns, shifting his shoulders. “Do you mean the cartoon or—”

Jared touches Alex’s arm, meeting the young man’s eyes and shaking his head.

“And who can blame him?” Chad asks, with a self-aggrandizing air. “Everything all bright and cheery and completely stripped of any personality. It’s a thin, fake, cheerful veneer over corruption.” Chad spreads his arms wide. “Come on in, enjoy our entertainment at extremely over inflated prices while we slowly eat America one corporation at a time—but hey, don’t worry about that! Here, have another ten-dollar corn dog, it’ll all be fine .”

Alex seems at a loss for words at this. Jared can sympathize. Chad doesn’t even notice.

”Disney World,” Chad says, “is sanitized capitalism under extremely tacky paint with umbrella drinks and a Starbucks on top.” 

Chad pauses, putting his hands in the pockets of his shorts as he considers. “Some of the park rides are fun though.”

Alex meets Jared’s eyes, baffled and mildly alarmed, and Jared pats him on the shoulder. 

“Sooner or later, you learn to just let Chad happen.” 

Chad’s not wrong, though. Everything in Disney World is fake and brightly colored, like an over decorated birthday cake hiding a rotten center of power and greed. Jared’s not a fan of Disney, but once again, he has to be here, and he intends to enjoy it.

Jared wraps an arm around Alex, steering him into the crowd walking by, the others following suit. 

“I know Chad seems a little… crazy sometimes,” Jared confides. “But I promise he’s brilliant, and really amazing at his job.”

“He hates Disney World. And does he even like the government?” Alex asks in a worried undertone. “He’s got all these conspiracy theories—”

“ Really amazing at his job,” Jared repeats, clapping Alex on the shoulder.

*

They spend the day touring entrances and exits, Jared introducing Alex to various agents along the way, and they also do some shopping, ride some rides and break for lunch and dinner. By the time the sun is hanging low in the sky, they’ve had a full, fun day, and Jared isn’t annoyed anymore by the forced R and R.

They stop in for a drink at a bar on their way back, and everyone seems in good spirits, even Chad. It’s nearing sunset when they step back outside, sky brilliant gold and orange at the edge, deepening upward into blue. Chad tells a filthy joke as they depart; Adrianne laughing, Alex trying not to, and Katie cutting him a reluctant smirk before tossing something into the trash can outside the bar.

They’re moving along the walkway, everyone chatting, when something kicks deep in Jared’s gut, making him stop. Frown. Crane his neck and look back over his shoulder.

Katie is trailing just behind him, and Jared steps to one side to let her pass him. He can feel more than see the odd look she gives him as she passes, his eyes roving over the sea of faces. There’s a man in the crowd behind them, several people back. The light isn’t nearly as bright as it was this morning, but he recognizes the same dark sunglasses, short, spiky brown hair, and drop dead gorgeous looks.

Jared feels a chill run through him, from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine.

The guy is closer this time, and Jared is sure .

“I forgot something,” he tells everyone, the sound of his voice seeming faint and far away. “Be right back.”

Electricity runs through every nerve, alive with awareness as he turns, pushing his way through the crowd. He’s lost sight of the man behind several people, but Jared’s sure he must be right around there somewhere. He couldn’t have gotten far.

He shoulders his way through the people a little more roughly than he normally would, making his way to the spot where he’d first seen the man. There’s no one there, but he’d expected that. He turns, heart picking up speed as he tries to look in every direction at once. He’s standing in front of a trash can outside the bar, and...

There’s nothing. Not a sign, not a trace. 

And then it hits him—he’d left his group alone, unprotected.

Dammit.

He pushes into the crowd again, eyes nearly frantic as he searches with sight for what his heart is already certain he’s going to see. There—up ahead, a depth of eight people separating them—is the back of the man’s head. The man—the Jackal—is drawing up on Jared’s group rapidly. Jared will never make it to catch him in time, heartbeat ramping up, pounding in his ears, and if anything happens to them…

The Jackal advances on them, cutting through the crowd like a shark. Jared shoves a man out of his way, eliciting a bark of anger that he scarcely hears, the Jackal just behind Alex’s blond head.

Jared’s too late. He’s too far away.

The Jackal shifts his trajectory at the last instant, cutting off to one side of Jared’s group and disappearing into the crowd.

Jared arrives seconds later, putting his hand on Alex’s shoulder, reaching out for Adrianne with the other. They turn their heads in surprise, and then they both smile, recognizing him.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Adrianne asks.

Jared turns his head, eyes straining in the direction the Jackal disappeared, but he doesn’t see anything.

“No.” He shakes his head, heart still hammering inside his chest. He looks around at his group, still making their way through the crowd, making doubly sure they’re okay.

“Let’s get back,” he tells them.

He doesn’t stop looking around for the Jackal until they’re well on their way underground.

*

Stephen’s face is dark with disapproval as Jared finishes his story.

“It’s starting, isn’t it? You’re obsessing over him.”

“I am not obsessing over him. I saw him, Stephen.”

Stephen’s expression is impassive. “You couldn’t make a one-hundred percent ID.”

“No. But I know it in my gut. Call it ninety-nine point nine percent.”

“What would he even be doing there if he didn’t engage with you?” Stephen asks, exasperated.

“That’s a really great question. Maybe if I can catch him on my next jump I can choke it out of him before I kill him.”

Stephen shifts in his chair, running a hand along his stubble-dotted jawline. “Jared. I think you should take a break from—”

“No. Absolutely not. That’s what I really came here to talk to you about, anyway. We stick to the mission schedule. This guy is a boogeyman. Are we going to let him scare us into not doing our jobs? That defeats our entire purpose. We can’t let him get away with it.”

“Jared, you’re still angry with me for not telling you the truth about something levels above your security clearance at the time. Do you really think you’re in any condition to—”

“I’m not,” Jared interjects. “I’m not angry at you. Not anymore.” That’s not entirely true, but he’s less angry than he had been.

Stephen tilts his head at Jared like he doesn’t believe him.

Chad is Jared’s best friend in all the traditional ways, but Stephen is like his big brother. Which is probably why Jared’s been so angry with him about not telling him the truth—which is completely unfair. 

Jared takes a second, takes a breath, and decides to let it go.

“I’m serious. I was angry, but I’ve had some time to think. I get that you couldn’t tell me. It’s just… you’re my handler, you’re my confidante, you’re my friend.” Stephen’s expression is starting to waver a bit, and Jared saves the best for last. “You’re like my big brother, man.”

Stephen winces lightly at the words, and Jared hurries on, saying, “And that made it more personal. But I do get it. I promise.”

The clouds in Stephen’s expression clear and he huffs out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” He looks touched, despite the fact that he’s on to Jared.

“Is it working?” Jared asks, grinning.

Stephen heaves a sigh from deep in his chest. “I still think it would be better to wait, or at least change the schedule up a bit. For your safety. The Jackal only seems to be targeting you right now, and we still don’t know why.”

“We’re never going to find out if I’m grounded,” Jared points out.

Stephen heaves another sigh and raises his hands. “All right. We’ll proceed with the schedule. But, you need to be very careful, Jared. Like exceptionally careful. If he does show up, don’t engage with him physically unless he pushes it.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Jared asks, mystified. “Isn’t it our job to stop him?”

“It would be good if we can figure out what he wants.”

Jared sits back in his seat, eyeing Stephen with growing appreciation. “Are you saying I should make this guy part of my mission?”

“You’re very good at your job. He hasn’t tried very hard to kill you yet. And he clearly wants something .” Stephen shrugs. “So if the opportunity presents itself, if he tries to engage verbally with you again, yes, make him part of your mission.”

Jared taps his fingers against the table, thoughtful. His interest is piqued. “You’re talking me into not fighting him, aren’t you?”

Stephen grins. “Is it working?”

Jared sighs like Stephen had a few moments before. “Are you just trying to keep me safe? Or do we really want to know what he’s doing?”

“A little of both, honestly.”

It would be interesting to find out why the Jackal is targeting him. Not that Jared thinks for a second the man will tell him—but it might be fun to see what he can find out. Plus, if Jared doesn’t agree, Stephen will likely do everything in his power to delay and change up the schedule. 

Jared thinks about it for a moment longer, and then he nods. “Okay then. We’re agreed.”

“Good,” Stephen says, and Jared thinks he can detect a note of mild relief in Stephen’s tone.

“So other than possibly sighting the Jackal today, did you have fun?”

“You know,” Jared says, surprised and pleased, “I really did.”

“Adrianne?” Stephen asks.

“Great. Really great. Not ready to propose yet, though, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Stephen looks as though he’d like to ask something more, but he doesn’t.

“That’s great,” he says after a moment, and then he moves on.

*

The Jackal doesn’t show in 1996, or 1967. In 1944, Jared sits in a bar so filled with cigarette smoke he wonders how everyone didn’t die of lung cancer back then. He has to fake it, himself, to blend in. He’s adjusting his fedora in the mirror behind the bar when someone behind him catches his eye; chiseled features and perfectly tailored suit.

He spins in his seat, reaching out to grab the man by the shoulder, met by blue eyes instead of green, a more aqualine cut to the man’s nose, sharper, thinner jaw and lower cheek bones. Beautiful in his own right, but not the man he’s looking for.

Or hoping to see? A tiny voice in the back of his mind suggests.

He shoves the voice to the back of his mind as he apologizes to the man, patting him on the shoulder. 

He needs to get his head fully in the game. The person he’s on this mission to meet with will be here soon.

That person shows up; the Jackal does not.

*

His missions are spaced with a single day between them, giving him enough time to get home, make his reports, sleep, go through processing and then study up on the next mission.

They keep him busy enough that he doesn’t have time to visit with Chad, and honestly he doesn’t mind. As curious as he is about what Chad might know about the Jackal that the CIA doesn’t, he’d rather meet the man himself in person.

*

September 2005

It’s September 13, 2005, and several streets over at the Waldorf Astoria, in room 35H, President George W. Bush will be meeting with Chinese President Hu Jintao at 5:32PM. Getting anywhere near that hotel in a post 9/11 world would be difficult at best. Fortunately, the Waldorf Astoria isn’t the building Jared needs tonight. 

The 2005 World Summit was billed as the largest gathering of world leaders in history, and many of them are arriving tonight in anticipation of the events beginning tomorrow. Jared is several hotels over from the Astoria itself, dressed like American security—which in this instance means black tie dress code. Bow tie rather than traditional tie, which keeps general security one accessory away from looking like secret service.

Chinese diplomat Li Yongxion is scheduled for a formal dinner with several other people of importance in the luxurious hotel dining room. Jared is standing off to one side of the archway leading into the dining room, the scent of freshly laundered linens reaching his nose from the dining laundry room tucked away to his left. Once Li Yongxion has settled in for this dinner—an affair which should take at least two and a half hours, if not three—Jared will head upstairs to the man’s room.

Li Yongxion is halfway to the table set out for his dinner meeting when he stops, speaking with one of his security guards. Jared can’t tell what’s happening at this distance and feels a moment of concern. There isn’t much written about this dinner; it’s low in importance when compared with the rest of the event. But he’d had no reason to think Li Yongxion had missed it.

Jared is distracted, trying to get a read on the situation, and it’s already too late when he senses someone behind him.

He tries to spin around anyway, attempting to duck low and get off a punch to the person’s kneecap, but he’s a second too late and the move seems to have been anticipated anyway, the other person doing a quick jump so that Jared’s fist passes beneath their feet. At the same time, the person’s hands close around the shoulders of Jared’s jacket, lifting and twisting him around, pulling him through the service door to the laundry room.

Again he tries to dislodge himself from the man’s grip, reaching for his gun, but he’d been yanked off balance from the start, and the man is intent on keeping him that way, right up until the moment Jared’s shoulders hit the back of the door. The man pushes a forearm across the top of Jared’s chest, his body’s weight behind it, other hand fastened on the grip of the gun holstered inside his jacket.

“So listen,” the Jackal says, his voice low and calm with an edge of danger like a razor sharp knife. “This is how I see it.” Those glass-green eyes are inches from Jared’s own, mesmerizing and dangerous as a cobra’s.

Jared’s hand creeps around the handle of his own gun as he holds that steely gaze, sweat beginning to rise on the back of his neck. It’s a charged moment, danger crackling on the air between them, both of them an instant from drawing on the other.

“We’re here for the same reason,” the Jackal goes on.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Jared returns, huffing a dark laugh. 

“The Chinese diplomat Li Yongxion. You want information from his laptop, including the names of his political ties and his connections to the Chinese mafia. So do I.”

“Why?” Jared asks, suspicious.

“Why do you?” the Jackal challenges.

“I didn’t ask.” 

“Well, I think that’s a great policy,” the Jackal remarks with offhand sarcasm so thick it almost feels sincere. “Just great.”

Jared knows why the CIA wants the intel, but be damned if he’s going to tell the Jackal, even to save face. “I work for the government; you’re a terrorist. Pretty sure our goals are different.”

The Jackal’s face darkens momentarily, a flash of emotion, there and gone almost before Jared recognizes it, the Jackal’s calm, confident demeanor never faltering. “Not this time. I’ve got my own mission with the Triad.”

Jared briefly wonders what issue this man could have with the Chinese mafia. 

“We could go our separate ways and kill each other later,” the Jackal says, and then shifts his head to one side. “More likely, I’d kill you. But either way we’d have some kind of grand showdown that would probably sabotage the mission. If you lived, you might still go home empty handed, or you might end up captured since you can’t just pop out whenever you want.”

He stops there, but Jared hears the rest anyway.

“You want us to work together?” Jared asks, stunned despite himself.

The Jackal nods once, eyes still focused on Jared's.

“So you can stab me in the back the first chance you get?” Jared huffs. “I’ll pass.”

The Jackal takes a step closer, putting his full body against Jared’s to strengthen his hold.

“Do you think,” the Jackal whispers, his body pressed tight against Jared’s, “if I wanted you dead,” heat and muscle touching him everywhere, holding him in place, “you’d still be alive right now?”

Chemistry so thick Jared feels like he’s choking on it, buzzing through the air like electricity before a storm, thunder rolling deep in Jared’s bones. The Jackal’s lips are within an inch of his own, those deep green eyes staring into his.

Jared should throw his weight, pivot off his left foot to the right, where the Jackal’s hold is weakest, and break free, spin and grab the man’s shoulder, turn him in place and reverse their positions. He can see it in his head, a beautifully orchestrated bit of maneuvering. But he does none of these things, letting the Jackal pin him against the wall, so close Jared can smell the scent of him, cologne and gun oil and the faintest trace of ozone.

“What do you want?” Jared asks in a heated whisper.

“I want,” the Jackal says, tilting his head to the left, “to accomplish this mission.” He tilts his head to the right and the effect is mesmerizing, like a snake, their eyes locked on each other. The slightest move could be a hair trigger, both of them with their hands still on their guns. 

Nerves alive with the fire of adrenaline and something like bloodlust. Jared should make his move, take his chance, but dammit, he’s intrigued . 

“Why not fight to the death right now?” Jared counters, and there’s something inside him that strains, wanting to fight, to see if he can win.

“Because two people on this mission are better than one, and you know it,” the Jackal replies, expression steady.

Jared’s pretty sure Stephen’s instructions to find out more about what the Jackal wants doesn’t extend to working with the man. Then again… what better way to find out what he wants? To find out more about the way he works? Jared can always sabotage the mission before the Jackal gets whatever he wants. 

He works in a field where he has to make decisions quickly on minimal information, and he makes this one as quickly as any other.

“All right.” With an effort, Jared removes his hand from the handle of his gun, forcing himself to relax. “All right,” he says again, taking a deep breath. “We work together.” 

He pauses, then asks, “What’s your mission name?”

The Jackal looks at him, body pressed against Jared’s a moment longer, and then he releases his hold on Jared, stepping back a pace. Parts of Jared are disappointed by this development, but he’s practiced at ignoring those. Still, he has a moment of regret completely at odds with everything else happening in this scenario.

“I’m Jack,” the Jackal says, pulling back another step and extending a hand.

“That’s a stretch.” Jared looks at the outstretched hand for a moment, and then looks up at the Jackal pointedly as he doesn’t take it. “I’m Charles.”

“Noted.” The Jackal takes his hand back, seeming unoffended. And then, “Ready?”

Jared nods, feeling the surreality of it all. His missions have taken some wild turns before, but this is on a different level of crazy. This guy is a terrorist, evil and rotten to the core… and yet he doesn’t look it, doesn’t seem it. How did someone so talented and so on the right side of things fall so far?

He doesn’t have time to consider it deeply—has considered it enough times before to know he won’t find an answer.

He does have one other question left though, as they begin to move.

“Your technology is portable,” Jared says, broaching the subject.

“It’s called an Atta,” the Jackal replies, keeping his eyes on their surroundings.

“Atta?”

“Attachable time travel apparatus. Atta.”

“Right.” Jared nods. “It’s better tech than ours, it’s portable. Why didn’t you just jump into his room? Like you did with Tommy in the bathroom in Miami?”

“It is better,” the Jackal agrees. “But it still requires specific coordinates. The architecture of that bathroom was set in stone, no furniture that can be moved around, nothing random added to it.”

It’s the same concern SR0 faces when they send agents out; the danger of them materializing halfway inside a wall or a piece of furniture is a real threat. That’s why they pick bathrooms, bus stations and other places where the architecture doesn’t often change, and if it does, it can be traced through blueprints and records. Materializing inside people has never been a problem, scientists theorizing that two people can’t occupy the same space at the same time. But in the early days of SR0, more than a few agents lost their lives to a wall or table cutting them in half.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’d tell me if I asked how you knew I’d be here?” Jared ventures.

The Jackal shoots him a smirk and turns toward the door.

They creep from the laundry room, Jared still on high guard for any sudden moves on the Jackal’s part. Li Yongxion is sitting at the dining table, looking comfortable as the first round of drinks is delivered.

“All right, we’re good to go up,” Jared says, and the Jackal nods on his right.

They turn out into the hallway together, walking side by side away from the dining room.

“So what’s your plan?” the Jackal asks in a low voice as they walk.

“Make sure he’s busy, get up to the roof, scale down the side of the building, cut a hole in the glass and get inside his suite.”

The Jackal gives him a sidelong glance with eyes that might be dryly amused. “A little acid on the safe?”

“I can crack it myself,” Jared replies, offended.

“What are you? Catwoman? We’re not here to steal his jewelry , Charles,” the Jackal admonishes as an aside to Jared, and then presents a brilliant smile to the Asian woman before them, holding a door open for her to let her pass through first.

“That’s really your way in?” the Jackal asks in another aside, his voice low as they follow the Asian woman through the door.

“Yes,” Jared answers, voice low and taut with anger. “You have a better plan?”

The Jackal nods his head slightly, keeping his smile bright for the people passing them by. “I thought I might try the front door,” he replies, voice laced with sarcasm.

“The guards? The key card? The security code?” Jared demands.

“It’s covered. We go in the door,” the Jackal says, completely certain, his tone brooking no argument.

“We need to talk,” Jared grates through a smile, linking his arm through the Jackal’s and pulling him down a side hall. 

It’s a small, narrow hall, a doorway that says “Ice” on it off to one side, a door that exits to the stairwell at the end. It’s quiet and close, and for a moment, Jared is very aware of how alone they are, how very close together they are, his arm still linked through the Jackal’s. The way the Jackal’s ribcage contracts and expands with a quick breath before he grabs Jared’s hand and throws it back at him, closing the short distance between them.

There are scant inches between their faces, the Jackal’s brows drawn together over brilliant green eyes flashing with anger.

“What the hell are you doing?” the Jackal demands.

Jared’s eyes narrow, brow furrowing in return as he meets that forbidding gaze. “I asked three legitimate questions; you gave me zero answers. I don’t work with anyone unless I know the whole plan.”

Jared can see a muscle in the other man’s jaw flex as he grits his teeth. “I stole a key card off one of his off-duty guards, got the security code off watching the security cameras in the hall. I plan to pose as security, there to check out a report of a problem with the camera, fray the wire to incapacitate it, and wait for the hotel repair team to show up. While the guards are focused on them, we sneak inside, no one ever knows we were in his room. Satisfied?” he asks, brow rising in punctuation to the words.

Not in the slightest , Jared thinks.

“Slightly more discreet than leaving a big ass hole in his window,” the Jackal adds with a smirk.

“Why are you really here?” Jared demands, anger he’s kept tucked away finally bubbling to the surface. “If we’re both here for the same reason, why didn’t you just let me do the job?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d hand the info over to me.”

Jared narrows his eyes on him. “Or because there’s less scarring to the timeline when we’re both here at the same time.”

“Sure,” the Jackal agrees, offhand, like it doesn’t matter what Jared thinks. “Let’s go with that.”

“Which means you can do anything else while I’m here.” Jared slows, looking at the man in front of him more fully.

“We’ll be together the whole time. And like I said, this mission will be easier with two people.”

“So why not bring one of your own?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because jumping two people into the same point in time is risky. It scars the timeline less than visiting it too many times, but there’s twice as many chances of changing things and pulling the timeline out of alignment. But you already know that.”

The Jackal lifts one shoulder in acknowledgement. “You were going to be here anyway,” he says. “Why bring someone else into it?”

Jared regards the other man with dark amusement, unable to resist a dig. “It must burn your ass that you have to slum it and actually work this mission. That you can’t just jump inside the room and take what you want.”

“I actually prefer to be more hands on,” the Jackal says, and Jared could swear there’s something suggestive in his smile, his tone of voice. Not that Jared’s mind wouldn’t have made the leap on its own, anyway.

A beat, and then the Jackal asks, “Can we go now?”

It’s an intricate plan, complicated, but even though the Jackal could probably eliminate both guards within seconds, someone would be likely to notice the fight, the resulting blood, or the decided lack of guards posted outside the door. The ruse makes sense. But Jared’s still angry, and frustrated because he can’t get a read on this guy at all. Part of him wants to be stubborn, and that part of him wants very much to resist this partnership. Still, if he can find out why the Jackal’s really here...

Plus, he’s still intrigued, god dammit.

“What’s our plan for getting out?” Jared asks.

“For me? The quick way. For you, the air intake duct.”

“There’s a way through the duct?” Jared frowns, doubtful; he’d gone over and over the building plans.

“It’s a one-way trip, steep vertical drop you’d never want to try climbing up. You’d break the vent ceiling trying to get a grappling hook to hold long term with all your weight on it. But it would hold long enough for you to get down. Slow your fall.”

He doesn’t trust the Jackal as far as he could throw him, but he does remember that vent; he’d come to the same conclusion about climbing up it.

“Fine,” Jared relents, straightening his jacket and pushing past the other man, walking back to the main hall.

The Jackal grabs him by the elbow, pulling him along, same bright smile pasted on his face as he whispers words out one side of his mouth, “Come on, Catwoman.”

*

They take the elevator to the floor just below where Li Yongxion’s suite is, taking the stairs the rest of the way up. The diplomats corner suite is situated at the end of the hall nearest the stairwell, and they begin to talk on their way up the stairs, the Jackal telling a tale of one of their “fellow security guards” and the mishap he’d gotten into with one of the female diplomats from Italy. Jared laughs in response, and they’re still talking as the Jackal pushes the door to the hallway open.

There are two Chinese guards stationed in front of the door a little ways down the hall, and they look over immediately as Jared and the Jackal enter.

The Jackal greets them in questioning Chinese, smiling when the guards respond in the same tongue. Jared can speak Chinese extremely well, but the Jackal speaks it like he’d been born to it, fluid and perfect. The guards visibly relax as ‘Jack’ speaks to them in their native tongue, explaining he’s hotel security and they’d had a problem with the camera in this hall, spreading his arms wide and making a joke about technology.

The guards chuckle as they come closer, seeming to welcome the distraction, chuckling even harder when ‘Jack’ asks Charles for a hand up so he can take a look at the camera. Jared stares daggers at ‘Jack’ as he cups his hands and the other man steps up.

A moment later ‘Jack’ gets down, making a disgusted sound. “Who knows?” he asks the guards in Chinese. “The repair crew will be here soon. We’ll wait for them to get here.” He motions to Jared then, saying in English, “Go keep an eye out for maintenance.” 

Jared walks to the corner of where the hall from the elevator meets the one they’re standing in, positioning himself to keep watch for anyone approaching.

He’s not so far away that he can’t hear what they’re saying, though, and ‘Jack’ asks them if they’ve seen anything suspicious in the last fifteen minutes or so. Both shake their heads, and then ‘Jack’ proceeds to tell them about his time in the Chinese embassy as security detail for an American diplomat Jared’s never heard of. 

Shortly after that, ‘Jack’ goes on a rant about hotel security, and how they need to replace the entire camera system with updated equipment, eventually telling the guards they should give the maintenance crew a hard time when they get here. It won’t mean anything coming from him, he’s been telling them for years, but when guests complain—especially the guards of esteemed guests—they’re sure to listen.

Jared stands watch, pretending he can’t understand every word they’re saying, glancing over and smiling uncertainly when they laugh every now and then. ‘Jack’ has them completely charmed by five minutes in and Jared’s a little in awe of how easily he wraps them around his finger. Jared’s no slouch at being charming, but this guy is something else.

Jared doubts the maintenance crew in the hotel usually gets anywhere in under ten minutes, but this event is a big deal, and true to the Jackal’s estimate, they’re there in nine. No one else approaches, and everything seems to be going according to plan.

The guards start in immediately on the crew with complaints in pretty good English, and Jared and the Jackal make hasty goodbye waves. One of the guards actually gives Jensen a broad wink before he turns back to the maintenance men, throwing one arm in the air as he raises his voice.

Jared keeps an eye on them, but they never turn from where they’re haraunging maintenance. One maintenance man is setting up a step ladder for the other, both of them facing the wall, and Jared and the Jackal move down the hall away from them, Jared never looking away until he hears the beep of the lock and the click of the door opening.

They’re inside mere seconds later, Jared closing the door carefully and quietly behind them.

“I told you it would work,” the Jackal says.

“If any part of that had gone wrong…”

“That’s why I wanted a lookout. Still safer than climbing down the side of a high rise in New York city on a windy night.”

Jared can’t really argue with that. When he turns around, the Jackal is already removing the painting on the wall that conceals the room safe.

The room is lovely and lush, thick, deep carpet and a king sized bed on a raised platform, rich material draped from the center carefully up to each corner and then descending. A seating area lies further on between some open french doors, and there’s a dark wood, old fashioned desk rubbed to a high polish that matches the end tables and long tables in the room. Vases with fresh flowers seem to fairly spill over from the tables and every corner, resting on high pedestals, and the room is fragrant with orchids.

It’s at once calming and romantic, a whole different world compared to the bright lights of the halls of the hotel. 

The Jackal glances over his shoulder at Jared, fingers nimbly turning the combination lock on the safe. “You should get the vent cover ready so you can pull it back on easily when you leave. You’ll have enough time to put one bolt on the back before you have to let go.”

It’s sound advice, but Jared bristles at the sound of the Jackal issuing Jared orders so casually while he’s taking over the job.

Jared goes to the vent, though, reaching into his inner jacket pocket for his slender toolkit, slipping a small flathead into the plastic grip, eyes flashing back and forth between his work and what the Jackal is doing.

He has everything ready before the Jackal has cracked the safe, moving to the desk and the laptop sitting on it. He opens it, considering the login screen for a moment. They’d gone to a lot of trouble to get the passcode for this particular laptop, and Jared can only hope their intel had been correct, or else he’s going to be stealing the flash drive he’s here to duplicate without being able to confirm it has the info he needs.

It accepts the password easily enough and he breathes a slow sigh of relief. He glances up in time to hear the safe click and see the Jackal open the door.

He’s on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to where the other man stands. The Jackal makes a bored show of pulling the door open wide and presenting the interior to Jared. It only takes Jared a moment to locate the flash drive, pulling it out by the string.

Jared moves to the laptop and plugs the drive in. He takes only a moment to ascertain that the files he wants are on it, and then he begins copying them to the laptop in preparation to copy them back to his own. 

“I hope you brought your own flash drive,” Jared says.

Without turning, the Jackal produces something from his inner jacket pocket, letting the string unfurl and fall from between his fingertips, flash drive bouncing at the end. 

Damn. Jared will have to erase the original files from the laptop and leave the Jackal something else to copy.

The files are going to take a while to finish copying; it’s 2005. Jared takes his attention from the screen, eyes fastening on the other man in the room. The Jackal is still lingering at the opening of the safe, poking around at various things, rustling through some documents. He’s backlit and limned in warm yellow light from inside the safe, his suit clinging to him almost sinfully through the shoulders, waist, hips and ass. 

It occurs to him that he’s in a romantic suite with a huge bed with the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen, with nothing but time to kill. His circumstances certainly bring to mind some ways they could spend the time they have—if the man weren’t a terrorist and his sworn enemy. Jared should be thinking of ways to kill him, not imagining what those hands would feel like on his skin—wondering if they’d feel as smooth as they look, if they’d touch gently or grab at him, turning him where they wanted. 

Jared rolls his eyes at himself and glances back at the laptop. He’s obviously attracted to the guy, even though he knows better. It’s not like he can control chemistry, though, and this is something he’s just going to have to deal with.

Jared takes a slow, deep breath, pressing his hand against his mouth, forcing himself to focus on the screen in front of him and the abysmally slow transfer of information. When he glances over again, the Jackal is standing there with a pendant dangling from his hands, a carved dragon made of what looks like jade swinging from the bottom.

“I thought we weren’t here to steal his jewelry?” Jared remarks, sarcasm dripping like acid from his voice. “And also? I knew it. You’re here to steal something valuable.” He shakes his head, angry all over again; at himself for letting his guard slip even a little, at the Jackal for… well, for existing.

“Relax, Charles . I’m just admiring it,” the Jackal says, turning the dragon this way and that with the fingertips of one hand. “This carving is over a thousand years old. He’s going to make this a gift to one of the heads of the Triad,” the Jackal says, almost absently, thumb caressing the curve of one of the dragon’s coils.

“I bet it’ll get you a pretty price on the black market,” Jared returns. 

The Jackal swivels his head in Jared’s direction, his eyes filled with derision. “You couldn’t sell this on any black market for even a fraction of what it’s worth. Any fencer who’d know it for what it is wouldn’t dare buy it. The others would offer trinket prices. Try and sell it back to anyone Chinese and you’d end up dead.”

“You know an awful lot about this,” Jared remarks.

“I know a lot about everything.” The Jackal shrugs.

It’s possible, Jared thinks, that the Jackal is truly here to get the same information Jared’s after. It strikes him as unlikely, but if it’s true, it gives Jared and SR0 a starting point in their research on him. He definitely has a problem with the Triad, and it could be very useful to find out why.

“What did they do to you?” Jared asks. It’s an attempt to draw the Jackal out, to get inside his head—but Jared’s also honestly curious.

The Jackal huffs out a low rumble of a sardonic laugh. “That’s a much longer story you’ll have to work much harder to get out of me.”

Jared hadn’t expected a real answer anyway. He takes the moment to remind himself he’s basically in the room with a wild, dangerous animal that could turn on him at any moment. Still, he can’t quite help himself as he asks, “How hard?”

Jared can just make out the smirk that quirks the Jackal’s mouth before he turns around, carefully winding up the chain and replacing the pendant gently inside the safe.

The files have finally finished copying, and Jared removes the flash drive, inserting his own. He starts the process of copying the files to his drive and bites back a sigh at how long it’s going to take. Long minutes pass in waiting, and Jared glances up from time to time, trying to keep an eye on what the Jackal is doing, which doesn’t seem to be much.

The Jackal finally leaves the safe, walking over to where Jared is, and Jared can’t hide what he’s doing.

“You know what this is about, right?” the Jackal asks in a low voice, his tone somehow open, maybe for the first time since they’ve spoken; no sarcasm, no humor, a genuine question.

Jared would dodge, would try to deny, but the Jackal can clearly see the labels on the files. 

“It’s about crippling the Chinese automobile market takeover. Making it so the Ford plants don’t close,” Jared replies. “About not losing thirty-thousand American jobs in two-thousand-six. About not losing thousands more as time goes on.”

The Jackal leans in, one hand braced on the desk, the scent of him filling Jared as he moves in close. “It’s about changing the distribution of power.”

Jared turns his head to look at the Jackal’s profile. “It’s about jobs. It’s about the US economy.”

“You really are a soldier, aren’t you?” the Jackal asks with a dark chuckle.

The anger Jared’s been barely repressing all night suddenly boils to the surface.

“What the fuck do you care?” Jared demands. “You’re the goddamned Jackal. You’re the head of a terrorist organization that steals from America and sells to the highest bidder.” He stops, then, sudden intuition striking like lightning.

“It’s more than that, isn’t it?” Jared asks. “You’re out to stop SR0 because you don’t want America to succeed.”

The Jackal looks at him with narrowed, glass-green eyes across the laptop light.

“That’s it,” Jared says, certain. “That’s what you want. You’re not just here to sow chaos and steal. You don’t just care about being rich and powerful. You want to undo everything we do—all of it.”

A muscle flexes in the Jackal’s jaw and he shakes his head just a fraction. “You don’t understand a goddamned thing,” he growls.

“Oh, I think I understand just fine, Jackal .”

A hand closes around the back of his head like a vise, fingers clutching in his hair.

“My name,” the Jackal whispers, pulling him in close, “is Jensen.”

Their faces are within centimeters of each other, Jared feeling the heat of the other man’s mouth, so close, so goddamned fucking close, and despite everything he knows, he wants to lean in, wants to meet that mouth, let his own fall open, tongue pushing past the barrier—

“Knock knock, Neo,” the Jackal whispers, heat of the words ghosting across Jared’s lips.

He’s gone, pulling back and vanishing in an instant, and there are people at the door—goddammit, there are people at the door. Li Yongxion is back early from his dinner and Jared has moments to get out of the room.

Mercifully, the documents are done transferring, deleted upon finishing, and Jared yanks his flash drive from the laptop, slamming the lid shut, returning the original to the safe, closing it and spinning the dial.

Seconds later he’s tearing off the air intake vent cover, someone fumbling the keycard at the door, and he’s grateful for whatever alcohol Li Yongxion drank at dinner. Grappling hook punched through the metal, one bolt spun into place to hold the grate before he’s gone, descending rapidly through the building.

*

Jared hits the bottom of the duct a little hot, a little too hard, feet skidding, knees slamming into metal with a resounding boom. He takes a moment, curling his toes, flexing his legs, determining he’s not seriously hurt, and then he makes himself small, squeezes himself into the flat duct and wriggling his way forward. He moves by inches, beginning to sweat as he makes his way toward the dimly lit grate that leads to the outside. It takes him long minutes to make it there, only two to unscrew the grate, pushing himself through like being birthed into the world.

He exits into a wide, back alley area between two hotels, dumpsters and loading docks nearby. Moonlight slants down into the area between the two buildings, asphalt glittering. It’s quiet right here, but the sound of traffic is close all around him. He gets quickly to his feet and leans back against the wall, just breathing for a minute, and then he turns, bends, begins the work of putting the vent cover back in place.

There’s an orchid on the ground next to the vent, perfect violet and pale white under the night sky. He picks it up, its stem still crisp, petals soft, scent filling his nose. A tiny notecard is affixed to its stem, and Jared pulls it free, rich, cream colored card drawn close to his eyes.

“If you made it this far, congratulations.”

It’s handwritten and it isn’t signed, but Jared knows who it's from. 

This is an orchid from inside Li Yongxion’s room. The Jackal had jumped out, left him on his own, and then taken the time to come back and leave him this. He could have helped Jared escape through the duct, but instead, he’d left Jared this note.

Jared is furious. He also doesn’t know what the fuck else he expected.

At least he didn’t have time to get what he wanted , Jared thinks, and crumples the card, letting it drop to the ground.

Present Day. Elsewhere…

Jensen materializes in the warehouse currently serving as his temporary computer base. It’s dark in this area save the light that glows from the main console, two chairs set in front of it; one empty, one occupied.

Jensen moves to the console as the occupied chair turns to follow his progress. 

“Welcome back,” Sterling greets as Jensen walks up alongside him.

Jensen settles into the chair, putting his fingers against the keyboard and beginning to type.

“I take it the mission was a success?” Sterling asks.

“A complete success.” A moment later, Jensen motions to the screen; it’s all there in black and white.

Sterling looks at the screen, and then turns to look at Jensen.

In the darkness, they share a smile.

Chapter Text

“You worked the job with him?” Stephen asks, voice flat and blank.

The lack of emotion in Stephen’s voice is far worse than the explosion of anger Jared had been expecting. 

“He didn’t get anywhere near the files. We were interrupted before he could get to them. He didn’t get what he was after.”

Stephen folds his arms over his chest, tightly composed as he regards Jared. “There have been very few missions in history where that man didn’t get exactly what he wanted.”

“I had eyes on him almost the entire time. My memory isn’t eidetic but it’s pretty damned close. The safe looked exactly the same as when he opened it—he didn’t take anything else.”

“We can’t be sure of that.” Stephen turns his head and sighs. “Dammit, Jared.”

Jared’s annoyed for other reasons, but Stephen’s reaction isn’t improving his mood. “You’re the one who told me not to engage. To see if I could find out what he wanted.”

Stephen is silent for a long moment, and then he heaves a longer sigh, his shoulders slumping from their stiff position. “It’s more alarming that he wanted to work with you.” Stephen looks at Jared with concern Jared doesn’t fully understand.

“You did the smartest thing you could have,” Stephen goes on. “He was right; you would have ended up fighting and then you might have been injured or killed. And you succeeded in completing the mission.” Stephen shakes his head exhaling slowly. “But Jared, I don’t like this. A man like the Jackal doesn’t do anything that isn’t completely calculated. Why would he want to work with you?”

“He said he could use help.” Jared stops, thinks about that. Having a lookout wasn’t completely necessary to the job, although it was a nice bonus to make sure no one else interrupted them. Still…

“I’m not sure. Maybe because of exactly what he said. But still… there’s something…”

Jared turns it over in his mind, considering, playing back images from the mission in his mind. The Jackal charming the guards in the hallway, the way he’d handled the pendant, the way he’d gotten close to Jared by the laptop, the burning green of his angry eyes as he’d hissed his name at Jared, and then gone.

“He wasn’t there for the files,” Jared says, the thought suddenly striking him. “He was right next to the laptop when he jumped. It would have been easy for him to reach out and grab the flash drive first.” Jared snorts, shaking his head. “It would have been just like him.”

Jared’s angry all over again. The Jackal had played everything just right; made Jared think he had some kind of control over the situation, and then he’d… well, Jared isn’t sure what he’d done yet, but whatever it was it was right under his nose and he hadn’t seen it.

“So if he wasn’t there for the files, then what?” 

“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out,” Jared promises.

*

Jared heads back to his room, still pissed.

And that note. That fucking note . It’s in his head, it’s under his skin, gnawing at him with tiny teeth. The Jackal had been toying with Jared, casting doubt on his abilities. And why not? He’d gotten Jared to work with him, had performed some kind of other mission right in front of Jared. Jared’s sure of that, now. Because Stephen’s right; a guy like the Jackal doesn’t do anything without calculation, and he rarely loses.

Jared runs a hand through his hair and sighs, pausing in front of his door. He should take a shower and try to relax for a while before writing his formal report. But he’s too damned irritated, the Jackal like a burr buried inside the folds of his brain.

He takes a quick shower, glad to wash away the dirt from crawling through the air intake vent, drying off and getting dressed in a hurry. He’s got a report to write, but he’s also got research to do.

It doesn’t take him too long to find a place to begin. The only thing the Jackal had shown interest in was the pendant in the safe. It could have been sleight of hand, misdirection, but Jared doesn’t think so. However much of a liar the man might be, however great an actor, his anger towards the Triad had come through as sincere, and he’d remarked on how Li Yongxion meant to make the jewelry a gift to one of the heads of the organization.

Tracing the jade dragon pendant is next to impossible since there are millions of them in existence. One Google search convinces him there’s no way to pin down just one, even if it is over a thousand years old. So maybe tracking down the heads of the Triad would give him more information.

Of course, figuring out who any of the heads of the Triad might have been in 2005 or 2006 presents a difficult process at best; it’s not as if they make their identities known. Google wouldn’t be much help with that, but SR0’s records are meticulous in their detail. He finds the names he needs, does an internet search, and within half an hour, he finds something.

“Suspected Triad Leader Found Dead”

The article is dated three days after the 2005 summit had finished. The man had been found dead in his bed, from a heart attack. 

A heart attack isn’t exactly what Jared had been looking for. That seems natural, if coincidental.

He rubs his fingers together, looking at the photograph of the man who'd died. It was the last known photograph of him, taken the day before he’d died. It’s black and white and a bit grainy, and completely unremarkable. It would be easy to think it’s a dead end, but if there’s anything he’s learned in this field, it’s that coincidence is rarely coincidental.

He stares harder at the picture, focusing on the man’s throat, squinting to make out the detail. He downloads the image, bringing it up in another program, and zooms in.

He can see it there, half of the dragon’s coils exposed to one side of his open shirt collar. It’s the same jade dragon pendant the Jackal had been handling.

He can think of a couple poisons, heated by the skin, that could be absorbed and induce a heart attack. Rare poison, hard to come by, but if he had managed to procure some… How hard would it have been for the Jackal to cover the pendant in a chemical that would react upon being placed against the warmth of human skin?

Not hard at all, he decides, fingers curling up from the keyboard of his laptop, closing into fists. The Jackal had done it right in front of Jared. Saved himself the trouble of trying to kill the man directly. 

Jared is furious, blood boiling at the knowledge that he’d been so taken in, that he’d been so tricked. Secure in believing he’d won—that he’d gotten away with what the Jackal really wanted when the man himself hadn’t.

Jared hadn’t even been a blip on the man’s radar; the information Jared had been there to steal had been less than important to him. Jared himself insignificant except for how he’d been a useful tool for the Jackal to use to get where he needed to be.

He doesn’t give a damn for the death of a Triad member, but he does give a damn for being used. He gives a damn for inadvertently furthering the Jackal’s plans.

Somewhere, he’s sure, the Jackal is laughing at him.

*

He has to go for a run and take another shower before he calms down, rage becoming cold, pure focus. He’s still angry but he’s buried it deep again, cool and professional by the time he sits down to write his report. 

When he’s done he re-reads it, noting the precision of every detail, including an official addendum of what he’d discovered about the pendant. Then he puts it through the encryption process, messaging Stephen to notify him that it’s been uploaded.

After that, he spends his time going through the Jackal’s old SR0 mission files. There are a few that concern the Chinese mafia, but the details are vague. That makes him wonder, and he spends some more time backtracking through the Jackal’s other mission files, noting the absence of any first hand reports written by the Jackal himself. They’re surely on file somewhere, but they’re probably above Jared’s security level clearance.

Too bad. Some direct insight into the man would have been useful.

He briefly debates going to see Chad now, but decides he can wait. It’s late, and it won’t make any difference tonight, anyway.

He turns off his tablet and sets it aside, asleep minutes later.

*

The next day, he passes his physical with flying colors, but his meeting with Dr. Berry is more difficult. She wants to discuss his working with the Jackal and how he feels about that, and Jared has to navigate the conversation like a minefield to avoid lying. When they get into his discovery of the fate of the pendant, he keeps things on a surface level, explaining that he’d expected something like that to happen. What else could he expect from a man like the Jackal? He’d only worked with him in the first place to gain insight into the Jackal’s motivations.

“The trust he engendered in your first meeting was strong,” she remarks.

“I wouldn’t call it trust. I liked him. I was attracted to him.”

“Liking someone requires a foundation. We don’t generally like people without an implicit sense of trust. We don’t always consciously understand we’re feeling it, but it’s there. And once we feel that with someone, it’s difficult to move past it.” She’s quiet for a moment, turning her pen back and forth between her fingers. “He was smart. Very smart to meet with you one on one as a potential friend, or even love interest.”

“What are you saying?” Jared asks, his irritation finally beginning to show.

“I’m saying…” She sits back in her chair, thinking for a moment. “I’m saying, I think he engendered that feeling of trust in you, and despite the fact that he’s your enemy, despite that he keeps betraying it, it’s still affecting your interactions. And I think it’s affecting you more adversely than you’re letting on. You seem very detached from everything that happened.”

“Isn’t that what a good agent is supposed to do?”

“Yes. And you’re a very good agent. But given your emotional reaction to what happened the first time, your complete detachment this time around doesn’t make sense.”

“So now it’s weird that I’m not angry?” he asks, trying not to let his exasperation show. “I’m just trying to do my job, Doctor Berry.”

“I know.” She nods, solemn. “But you should be careful, Jared. Make sure this detachment isn’t just a defense mechanism you’re invoking to keep him at a distance. Because if it is, that means you might care even more than you know. We don’t protect ourselves from someone unless they can do us harm.”

Jared bites back a sigh. Sometimes he wonders if she plants the seeds of things that were never there in the first place—or if maybe, just maybe, she’s really good at her job. He hates that he even wonders.

Jared rubs a hand across his mouth, biting down against his thumb for a moment. “Okay,” he says, pulling his hand away. “I see what you’re saying. But even if it is a defense mechanism, I’m trying to kill that feeling of trust, right? I’m trying to get back on track. I’m doing what I should be doing.”

She seems to debate for a long moment before she nods agreement. “The real question is, do you think that you’re employing a defense mechanism? Is that implicit trust between you and Je—the Jackal still there?”

Jensen. She’d been going to call him Jensen. She’s been careful to avoid his real name this time, but she’d almost slipped.

My name is Jensen.

Those eyes. Those fiery green eyes. Jared can still see them.

“No,” Jared answers, and wishes it felt more honest.

*

He checks in with Stephen after leaving Dr. Berry’s office. Stephen doesn’t seem to be in the best of moods when Jared finds him in his office, the wooden cane leaning against Stephen’s desk a pretty big clue into why. Most of the time Stephen’s limp is barely noticeable, but apparently today it’s so bad he’d needed help getting around.

Still, Stephen greets him with a decent approximation of a smile. “That was a good piece of work, finding out about the pendant.”

“Thanks.” Jared falls into the leather seat in front of the desk. “So what’s his deal with the Triad?”

“He worked a few missions back in the day concerning the Chinese mafia, but those files are classified.” 

“I figured as much,” Jared replies, wry, and then decides to move on from the subject; there’s nothing more Stephen can tell him. “We any closer to figuring out how he knew I’d be there?”

“D.J. thinks he closed the potential leak. They’re working on redoing the entire facility’s computer security, now, to be sure. But your schedule for missions was set well in advance of the potential leak being closed.”

“Which is what we wanted.”

“What you wanted,” Stephen corrects, shooting him a look.

Jared blatantly ignores it. “So I guess we won’t know for sure if that’s how he’s been finding out until my schedule changes.” Jared shakes his head slightly. “Even if it was a data leak, that still doesn’t explain how he knew I’d be topside in the park last week.”

“It wasn’t in our mission logs,” Stephen says, “but people do keep appointment calendars and other logs. He could have gotten the information that way.”

“Or we have a mole,” Jared says, grim. He still doesn’t want to believe it.

Stephen nods, his expression grim as Jared’s. “There is one other way he could know. If he went into the future, and got the information from there… well, we’d never know until the present caught up to that point.”

“The future?” Jared echoes, surprised and doubtful. “Going to the future is practically suicide.”

Stephen lifts his shoulders. “Sheppard doesn’t think that’s what happened, either. But it is a possibility. The Jackal developed portable time travel; who knows what else he may have improved on?”

“If that’s the case, then there’s nothing we can do,” Jared says with finality. “We can’t stop something that hasn’t happened yet.”

“The likelihood is small, and we’re not seriously considering it,” Stephen adds, and then after a moment, he goes on. “We’re a dark branch of the CIA, one they mostly deny the existence of. But if changing and upping our security doesn’t work, we’ll have no choice but to get the Inspector General involved to conduct an investigation to find out if we have a mole.”

Best to deal with that if and when they get there. Jared nods, thoughtful, not having anything to add. 

Stephen grimaces, leaning down and running his hands presumably down his calf. “Sorry. Leg’s acting up today. Even had to get out the cane.”

Jared knows how much he hates having to use it.

“Been a while since you needed that,” Jared remarks, not quite asking, letting Stephen talk about it if he wants.

“It’s been so long I was starting to think it wouldn’t get this bad again,” Stephen replies, and Jared can hear the pain in his voice.

Jared doesn’t know all the details of the mission Stephen was on when he was injured—those are classified, too—and generally he doesn’t wonder. It’s part of being a field agent; they all run the risk of being severely injured or killed in their line of work. It’s something they simply have to accept. Stephen’s never complained beyond the occasional pain, but today, the sight of his pain stirs something inside Jared, makes him wonder.

“You ever regret what happened?” Jared asks.

Stephen startles visibly, nearly flinching, eyes flying to meet Jared’s. Then Stephen moves his hands against his leg again, glancing down. “Sorry, it was… I just got a shooting pain.” He pauses, and then, he goes on, more quietly, “I used to be glad I did it. For a while, I was even happy.”

“And now?” Jared asks, his own voice lowered.

“Time…” Stephen pauses for so long Jared wonders if he’s going to say more, and then he sighs. “It has a way of going on, you know? Things change, people change. And the things you thought you used to know, the things you used to be so sure of, change, too.”

Jared definitely understands that. “So you do regret it?”

Stephen lets go of his leg and sits up straighter, looking at Jared with a strange light in his eyes. “Sometimes more than I can express. Sometimes I’d do anything to change it, take it back.” 

His eyes pull from Jared’s then, hands lifting in a small gesture. “And sometimes I’m just incredibly grateful that I’m still here.”

Jared supposes nearly dying would give you an appreciation for life, if anything would.

“But that’s enough about me,” Stephen says, wincing a little as he settles back in his chair. “How did things go with Doctor Berry?”

Jared wants to ask more, would ask more, but he doesn’t want to pry—not about this. It’s personal and obviously something that affects Stephen more deeply than he’d realized. He feels a little like an idiot for not knowing—Stephen really is like his brother—but when it comes to this, the ball is in Stephen’s court for whether he wants to talk about it or not.

He takes a breath and nods. “Things went fine.”

They talk about a few other things before they finish up, Stephen seeming to feel a little better as Jared rises from his seat.

“You’ve got the day off tomorrow. Drinks tonight at the bar?” Stephen asks.

Jared flinches inwardly, feeling guilty. “Sorry, I’ve got plans with Chad tonight.”

Stephen just nods. “I should probably stay in tonight anyway,” he says. “Give my leg some good rest.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jared says.

Stephen manages a smile that looks almost natural and nods. “Tell Chad he’s an asshole for me.”

*

Chad meets Jared at the door with two drinks in hand, ice clinking inside the glass as he shoves one at Jared.

Jared takes it, grateful, and follows Chad inside, sinking into one of the reclining chairs in Chad’s living room area.

“So,” Chad says, and sets his drink on a small, glossy table covered in interlaced rings of dried condensation left behind by many drinks before it. He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he steeples his fingers together and regards Jared over the tips. 

“Stephen sends his love,” Jared tells him.

Chad snorts. “Yeah, tell him I said he’s an asshole, too.”

Jared grins, shaking his head.

They drain their first drinks, talking about Checkmate, Jared filling Chad in on his mission to 2005.

Chad swirls the ice inside his glass, tipping it back for a last sip before he slams it back down on the table. “Yeah,” he says, nodding, before he shakes his head. “Stephen’s up there in the asshole kingdom, he’s like, a prince, or a page, or one of those useless minstrel fuckers, but Jackles still holds the crown. King of the assholes.”

“I just…” Jared shakes his head, watching as Chad moves to refill their glasses. “I don’t get this whole thing with Checkmate. Like, why haven’t we destroyed them yet? Or…”

“Or what?” Chad asks, shooting him a sharp look over one shoulder.

“It just seems like…They’re evil. They don’t follow the same rules as we do...” Jared trails off, struggling with how to say it as Chad sits back down across from him, sliding a fresh drink across the ring-stained table.

“Spit it out, dude,” Chad tells him.

“What I don’t get is why they haven't just… nuked us or something.”

“You can’t nuke Disney World,” Chad says, matter of fact, and shrugs.

Jared stares at Chad. “What?”

“What, what? It’s fucking Disney World, dude. Even in the off season there’s probably upwards of a couple thousand people upstairs. It’s a family place, a place where people take their kids. A couple thousand innocents running around above ground. You kill that many innocents, the whole country is gonna find you and return the favor.”

Jared is silent, considering that.

“You think the CIA chose this location by chance?” Chad asks. “You think they thought it would be fun? This was some strategic shit, right here, locating it under Disney World.”

“Okay.” Jared nods. “I can accept that. But why doesn’t Checkmate just jump inside the facility? They can’t blow us up, but they could tear us apart from the inside.”

“Dude, do you think I’d be fucking working here if they could do that?” Chad demands, wide eyed.

“You’re saying they can’t?” Jared asks, confused.

“Time travel is only possible with the acceleration of tachyon particles—but here that only works inside the machine chambers. This whole place has a low level electromagnetic field that decelerates tachyon particles. So if someone tries to jump through time into the facility, they can’t form back together and—poof.” Chad pulls his hands apart. “Complete discorporation.”

Jared frowns. “I thought the electromagnetic field was what allowed everyone in the facility to retain their memories of the original timeline. So that when events are changed in the past, their memories don’t change.”

“It does that, too,” Chad says with an incline of his head. “But that’s a different type of particle in the field.”

Jared takes a moment to let that sink in. “But then, couldn’t Checkmate jump through time into the machine chambers?”

“Only when they’re actively being used by someone. And you can see the problem with that. The chambers are deliberately built to the size of one person.”

And two people can’t occupy the same space at one time.

“Okay.” Jared nods, feeling reassured. He takes a sip from his drink, eyeing Chad. “So what do you have on the Jackal?”

“Dude, I thought you’d never ask,” Chad says, fairly bouncing up from his seat.

*

Most of the data Chad has that isn’t in SR0’s files isn’t anything remarkable, nothing that would make a real difference in their knowledge base. Still, it’s interesting, catching glimpses of the Jackal in photographs, reading newspaper articles that align with times he was in certain places.

“The big one,” Chad says, “is the mystery of ‘what happened to make a good soldier go bad?’. And that one, I’ve got some theories about.”

Chad’s superpower, if one were to call it that, is probability, which requires a large amount of intuition. Jared’s seen him make nearly impossible leaps in logic that have turned out to be dead on. Jared’s also seen him make some pretty outrageous claims that fell flat on their face.

“Okay,” Jared says, trying to brace himself. “Lay it on me.”

The Jackal’s timeline consists of a few different colors, and Chad points near the end of the dark blue thread that marks the Jackal’s time at SR0. “His official records start getting light on details in late twenty-sixteen through early twenty-seventeen. So either he wasn’t going on a lot of missions or some shit’s been omitted from the records we see.”

“Aren’t you level sixteen security clearance?” Jared asks.

“Even if I was, are you seriously telling me you don’t think SR0 omits stuff from the records we’re allowed to see? They’re the fucking CIA. There’s level sixteen security clearance because you have to have a cap somewhere that makes people feel like they’ve got something to work towards, and like they know everything when they finally get there. It makes people feel comfy and cozy. But guaran-fucking-teed there’s a level above that, and only the top people are in it, like the Director and a few others, maybe the President.”

“ Maybe the President?” Jared asks, raising his brows high.

Chad just rolls his eyes and looks at Jared like he can’t believe how naive he is. 

“So,” Chad says, continuing on. “Details start getting lighter around the time period before he vanished. Then,” Chad points to the next area of the thread, which is a pale gray and shorter than the rest, “he vanishes, like poof fucking gone, and no one can find him.”

Chad points to where the thread changes again, from gray to red. “Fourteen months go by, and he shows up working for the opposite side. A model SR0 agent, the best there’s ever been, awards and decorations and accolades out the ass. Guy could probably shit gold medals, and he vanishes for fourteen months before becoming SR0’s worst enemy.” Chad pauses, meeting Jared’s eyes. “I think it’s obvious what happened.”

“What?” Jared asks, mystified.

“Checkmate captured him somehow, and spent a year brainwashing him over to their side.”

Jared blinks, surprised for a split second, then amused. “You think he was brainwashed? A brilliant mind like his?”

“I’m not saying it happened overnight. That’s why it was so long before he turned up again.”

Jared tries, for a moment, to take the idea seriously. “Supposing they could brainwash someone like him… doesn’t that make him a victim in all this?”

Chad shrugs. “Doesn’t make him any less evil. There’s just not much else that makes sense. What else could make him turn like that?”

Jared contemplates the question for what feels like a long time. He’s still contemplating it when Chad goes on.

“There’s more, too. During the time period his mission details get sketchy, SR0 aggressively ramped up their missions with other agents. More missions on a rapidly increasing schedule, almost like they realized the stakes were going up. That’s when they upped the amount of active field agents from seven to ten—but get this; prior to upping that number, there were only six active agents on record.”

“Meaning what?” Jared asks.

Chad points to a corresponding group of pictures, which includes the Jackal as well as five others Jared doesn’t recognize. “For four years leading up to January twenty-seventeen, there are only six active agents on record. There’s no way SR0 left an agent slot open for that long. That means someone is missing. Someone was wiped out of existence.”

Jared turns that over in his mind.

“It’s sloppy,” Chad adds. “No trail is a trail, but it’s internal, so they probably figure no one’s gonna go looking.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Jared shakes his head and brushes his hair back from his brow. “They didn’t wipe out the Jackal… why wipe out someone else? Maybe they did just have an open slot for that long.”

The gleam in Chad’s eyes sharpens to a brilliant light. “Nah, see, I think Jackles isn’t the mastermind they make him out to be. I mean, he’s a badass, whatever—but I think the real Checkmate mastermind was someone else who worked here. I think that’s how the Jackal got caught by them.”

“You’re saying you think it was an inside job?”

“Exactly,” Chad says, tapping his nose and pointing at Jared. “A double agent who set him up.”

“But why keep that from us?”

“Because they offed them. The plan to capture the Jackal went off, but whoever set it up didn’t make it out. There aren’t any records of them because there don’t need to be. Also, if you were SR0, would you want everyone with clearance to know one of your own was a double agent all along and that you murdered them? That’s just bad press. And completely unnecessary to the tale of the big, bad, Jackal. Which,” Chad says, holding up a finger, “they do keep under wraps from the lower ranks. They can’t keep it from everyone though, because he’s alive, and sooner or later someone runs into him, like you did.”

“This all seems… kind of farfetched,” Jared remarks, unconvinced.

“Maybe.” Chad shrugs. “But farfetched isn’t the same as impossible. And in the business we’re in? Jay, you fucking travel through time .”

Jared clasps his hands around his empty drink glass. “Who do you think it was? The double agent, I mean?”

“That’s the thing. It had to be someone he trusted, right? Guy’s here from two-thousand-ten to twenty-seventeen—seven years—and not a single girlfriend?”

“He dated, that was in his files.”

“In the beginning, yeah. But not for the last two years before he vanished.”

“So you think… this person was a woman? Who seduced him, had a relationship with him, got him to trust her, and then got him captured?”

Chad spreads his hands apart. “It makes sense. Jackles is a motherfucker, but he’s smart. Only time a guy that smart gets dumb is when his heart is involved.”

Jared finds it difficult to believe the Jackal even has a heart. It’s impossible to imagine him loving someone—loving anything —enough to let his judgment be clouded.

”You really think a guy like that is capable of love?”

“Not anymore,” Chad contradicts. “But before he got brainwashed? Probably.”

“Huh.” Jared’s pretty sure he doesn’t believe any of this, but there’s something to it, something that tickles at the back of his mind.

“You want another drink?” Chad asks, rising to go refill his own glass.

“Sure.” Jared hands over his glass and Chad disappears to the outer room.

He spends a long time looking at the picture of the Jackal, eyes occasionally wandering the length of his timeline.

*

Chad doesn’t have much beyond his theory of “what happened to make good soldiers go bad”, just a few half formed ideas based on the Jackal’s moves since then. None of it really adds up to anything and that’s probably for the best because Jared’s got enough to think about with what Chad presented him already.

He’s pretty drunk by the time he leaves, throwing a hand out against the hallway wall to steady himself occasionally. It’s late and he only passes a few people on his way back. He’s two hallways over from his room when he sees someone familiar making their own unsteady way down the hall.

“Hey,” he calls out, and Katie looks up.

Katie grimaces, pausing and leaning against her side of the hallway. “What?”

He crosses the space between them, facing her as he joins her in her heavy lean against the wall.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To my room?” she responds with full on sarcasm. And then she rolls her eyes. “You did not see me like this. This never happened.”

“Okay.”

“No, really.”

“I don’t know if you know this, but I’m pretty good at keeping secrets,” Jared tells her, amused with himself.

“Where are you coming from?” she asks suddenly, her face scrunching with the question. 

“Chad’s.”

“Of course,” she snorts, and then,  “What were you guys doing?”

“Talking.”

“Oh. Talking . Must have been really important.”

“Top secret,” Jared confirms, and grins, winking.

“Well,” she says, nodding. “When you know something I don’t know? Then come talk to me.” She pokes him in the stomach, harder than seems absolutely necessary.

It occurs to him then, that in all the people’s security clearances he’d looked up, he’d never checked hers. She’s only been here a couple of years, but that doesn’t mean much depending on what her level had been when she’d transferred in.

“Well that depends on what you know,” he tells her.

“I know you’d better get out of my way,” she says, poking him in the stomach again.

He lifts his hands in the air in surrender. “You win,” he says, moving aside.

“I always do,” she says and grins, giving him a wink of her own before she moves past him.

Jared turns to watch her go, laughing when she flips him off over her shoulder. He takes that as his cue and makes the rest of the trip back to his room.

He hits his bed and falls asleep almost immediately.

*

He spends his day off doing more research than he should, digging into the files SR0 has on the Triad, tracking down everything relevant he can find out about them on the internet. None of what he learns tells him anything about what the Jackal’s motives might be. They’re organized crime; they’re bad people doing bad things. But the Jackal isn’t in this to take out bad people—not anymore, anyway. He is bad people.

Jared chews at the pad of his thumb, looking down at the laptop balanced across his thighs. He finally sighs and sets it aside, pulling out his tablet instead. He goes through SR0’s files on the Jackal for the seven hundredth time, and then finally puts that down, too.

He needs to do something else.

He pushes up from the bed and goes to the gym. Later that night he has drinks at the bar with Stephen, Chad and Adrianne, Alex and Katie joining them later in the night. They have a good time and Jared almost asks Adrianne back to his room, the words on the tip of his tongue. But something stops him. Felicia would say it was fear of a repeat performance, but that isn’t it.

It’s Checkmate. It’s the Jackal. He has a mission to start prepping for tomorrow, and this is war. It’s a quiet war, but it’s a war.

He needs to focus.

*

April 2006

The weather in Beijing is mild and lovely, spring in bloom, full moon rising above the flowering trees, their petals pale, branches blacker than the night sky outside the window, stars dotting the midnight blue above them like bright diamonds. 

Jared can see it all clearly through the huge glass windows of the office building he’s infiltrated.

He looks down at the Patek Phillipe on his wrist, marking the time—the real time—and then glances back up at the computer screen. He has a few more minutes before the files finish copying, and then he’ll upload a virus into the mainframe, destroying the records and the backup for all time.

He hears movement behind him and spins up out of the chair, turning on his feet in an instant.

“So,” the Jackal says. “China. You’re still on that?”

The other man is standing about five feet away, one hand on his left hip, suit jacket drawn back over it to reveal his gun. Jared feels the cool professionalism that has carried him through the last three days begin to slip at the mere sight of the man, the reminder of how badly the Jackal had fooled him last time like a bright, sharp sting.

“Aw, you don’t wanna be friends this time?” Jared asks, mocking.

“I don’t know. Are you going to stop what you’re doing...” the Jackal tilts his head in the direction of the laptop, “or am I going to have to make you?”

The words are spoken with a cocky, almost jaunty delivery over thinly veiled condescension, and Jared feels his control snap like a dry twig.

“Make me.” Jared is ready for a fight—has been dying for this fight, in particular, for weeks now. It feels good to finally let it out and embrace it. His fingers flex, then curl into fists, muscles taut and ready to move. “No guns. Just me and you.”

The Jackal considers him, eyes traveling down to Jared’s clenched fists. “No guns,” he agrees.

The Jackal moves, slowly, and Jared follows suit, adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins as they both take their time removing their sidearms, depositing them on separate desks. 

“We could still settle this peacefully,” the Jackal suggests, pushing his hands into his pockets.  “Come on, Catwoman,” he says with a sudden, disarming grin. “For old time’s sake?”

“Would be a hell of a lot easier for you if I just played along with you again, wouldn’t it? Not this time. Not a chance.”

The Jackal nods once, slowly, grin fading. “I’m going to destroy that laptop. You sure you want to try and stop me?”

“I will stop you.”

“ Will you?” the Jackal asks, stepping forward, hands still in his pockets, jaw tilting upward. His eyes are brilliant green as they meet Jared’s, flinty amusement in their depths.

Jared says nothing, ducking low and charging.

He should hit the Jackal in the belly with his shoulder, but suddenly the other man isn’t there, dodging out of the way, hands grabbing Jared by the shoulders and turning him, spinning him into the wall.

He’s headed for the wall headfirst and turns at the last moment, shoulder slamming into the wall instead of his head. He pushes off it, spinning around, folded arm jabbing out, elbow catching the Jackal in the ribs as he ducks again beneath the other man’s arm. He reaches up, hand fastening around the joint beneath the bicep, shoving the Jackal away from him with his momentum.

The Jackal staggers back a few steps and then they’re both steady on their feet, facing off against each other.

They lunge at the same time, crashing into each other, shoulders catching beneath each other’s throats, arms tangling together, hands grappling, and Jared hooks his foot behind the Jackal’s leg, pushing forward. Jared’s momentum carries them to the ground, the Jackal hitting the floor with a grunt, Jared feeling the weight of the other man beneath him for a moment—and then the Jackal goes with the roll, pulling Jared over him and throwing Jared flat on his back.

Jared flips over onto his stomach and pushes to his knees, halfway to his feet when the Jackal’s knee hits his chin. Head thrown backward, reeling, his back hits the floor, and he tries to roll over on his side, out of the way of whatever attack is coming next.

The Jackal doesn’t hit him; grabs him by the hair and yanks him back over, sending him splaying out back flat against the floor, weight of the Jackal’s body landing on him, straddling across his belly. Jared arches like a fish against the sun, rolling his body, hips throwing the Jackal upward and off him a few inches, upper body snapping with a sharp strike, forehead crashing into the Jackal’s, hands gripping the other man’s shoulders and pushing him, legs shoving upward, body twisting, turning to take position on top and pin him.

The Jackal gets a hand up between their bodies, knuckles driving into the soft space beneath Jared’s chin. Stars explode behind Jared’s eyes, the world wavering, vision graying out, and he’s in trouble, so much trouble—fist lashing out, striking blindly for the other man’s face.

Glancing blow across the Jackal’s cheek, and then there are strong hands on Jared’s shoulders, forcing him to the ground again, back hitting the floor with a resounding thud. He manages one punch against the Jackal’s unprotected ribs, the grunt that issues from the other man extremely satisfying, and then the Jackal’s knees come down on his biceps, pinning his upper body in place.

“Not bad,” the Jackal remarks, like he’s grading Jared’s performance.

Jared bucks his hips, getting his legs off the floor, feet closing around either side of the Jackal’s neck, pulling with his legs and straining with his upper body. He catches the Jackal off guard with the move, flipping the other man over, Jared untangling himself from the other man’s limbs and scrambling to get on top.

The Jackal is too quick, rolling out of the way and catching Jared with a sharp jab to the jaw before he glides out of reach. Jared sweeps out with one leg, catching the Jackal at the ankle, gratified as the Jackal begins to fall—until the Jackal pushes his momentum into the fall, catching himself on both hands and flipping over onto his feet in one smooth motion.

He spins, cat-quick, facing Jared before Jared can get the drop on him. Jared ducks a lightning fast punch on pure instinct, rising as it passes over and jabbing out a fist. He’s rewarded with the feel of his knuckles meeting flesh over solid teeth, the Jackal’s head turning with the force to alleviate the worst of the punch.

He grabs Jared’s arm before Jared can draw it back, holding him for an instant before he lifts one leg, kicking Jared solidly in the chest as he lets go. Breath driven from his lungs, Jared staggers backward with the force of the kick, his back slamming into a wall. The Jackal’s on him before he can draw breath, forearm against his windpipe cutting off his air.

Jared’s chest is a riot of pain, lungs already beginning to burn with the lack of oxygen, and he reaches up, tries to pry the Jackal’s arm from his throat. The Jackal’s muscles might be made of steel for all he moves. Jared tries to knee him in the gut, anything to get free, but the Jackal catches the move with his other hand, shoving Jared’s leg back down and closing the distance between them.

The full length of his body presses Jared against the wall, muscles molded together, weight holding him in place, pinning him. The arm across his throat gives a little and he gasps in a wheezing breath. His heart is hammering in his chest, and he can feel the Jackal’s pounding at an elevated but lower rate than Jared’s. The man really can’t be human, thirteen years Jared’s senior and less winded than Jared.

Brilliant green eyes filled with fire and amusement gaze into Jared’s, mouth curved in a hard smile. The Jackal reaches up, wiping blood from the corner of his smile, glancing appreciatively at the red staining his fingertips.

“Better,” the Jackal says, like he’s still grading Jared’s performance. “But you’re done now,” the Jackal informs him, snapping his hand outward. Light glances off the end of a knife in the instant before the sharp tip is pressed to Jared’s jugular.

This is it then. Jared knows he should feel the moment more deeply, but he can’t, the world hazy with limited oxygen, the only things clear the Jackal’s burning eyes, the heat and weight and breath of the man shoved up against him. 

He should already be dead, at a loss for why the Jackal hasn’t finished the job yet.

The Jackal’s eyes search his for a moment, wicked mirth glimmering in their depths. “Oh come on, you’re not giving up this easy, are you?”

Jared pulls in a long, deep breath, bringing his arm up and over, fingers closing around the Jackal’s wrist and yanking the knife aside, forehead slamming into the Jackal’s as he pushes off the wall.

The Jackal staggers back a few steps, knife still in his hand, something like pleasure in his voice as he says, “That’s the spirit.”

Jared lunges for him, hands outstretched, growling low in his throat. He’s still weak from lack of oxygen, but if he’s going to go out, he’s going to go out fighting.

The Jackal catches him and spins him around, pulling him in close as if they might be two dancers whirling across a ballroom floor. The Jackal throws him and Jared’s back meets the surface of a desk with enough force to drive the breath from his lungs again. He rolls off the desk as the Jackal leaps to straddle him, the other man sliding the length of the desk on his knees, and then Jared’s up, just in time to see the Jackal catch his feet effortlessly at the end of the slide.

Jared’s there a split second later, the two of them exchanging a flurry of attempted blows, each of them blocking the other before they can connect, blade of the knife passing so close to Jared’s cheek he can feel the displaced air rush by.

The Jackal finally slips past one of Jared’s blocks, heel of his palm striking Jared hard in his already aching chest, and he staggers backward grimacing in pain.

The Jackal raises his right arm and spins the knife in his hand, handle gleaming as it points toward the ceiling.

“Try it,” Jared grates, seething.

“It was never for you, anyway,” the Jackal says, arm moving in a blur of motion to extend from his side.

The knife is embedded in the body of the laptop, the screen buzzing with lines of color divided by wedges of pure white.

Jared tears his eyes from the laptop, focusing on the Jackal again. He’s furious about the laptop, about his mission being sabotaged again , and yet there’s one thing that stands out above all else; a single, livid, inexplicable need to know.

“Why?” Jared demands. “Why don’t you kill me? What do you want?”

The Jackal lets his hand fall to his side, head tilting to the right as he regards Jared, seeming contemplative. 

Jared rushes at him, the Jackal seeming to catch him easily, spinning him around against the wall, one hand around Jared’s throat. The Jackal’s face is dangerously close to his. He can feel the other man’s breath across his lips. 

“Do you want me to kill you... Jared?” His voice is low and sinuous, dropping intimately across the syllables of Jared’s name.

The hand at Jared’s throat isn’t cutting off his air, but he feels breathless all the same, pinned in place by those eyes, that voice. 

The Jackal angles his face, green eyes filled with consideration and something deeper, darker. “Do you even know what you want?” he asks.

He lunges, closing the distance between them, mouth crashing into Jared’s, opening to bite at Jared’s lower lip, hot flash of breath against him and Jared is stunned. Jared doesn’t think— can’t think—pure, raw animal instinct taking over as he opens to him like a ravenous flower, tongues meeting and clashing, twisting and spiraling, almost violent, kissing like they’re still fighting. The hand against his throat releases, riding roughly up his neck to twist fingers in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss, Jared goes with it, kissing him harder, every nerve in his body thrumming with adrenaline and the unexpected rush of heat.

Jared brings his hands up, grasping for the angle of the other man’s jaw, blood on fire with the need to touch him, tilt his face up and kiss deeper down into him—

The Jackal yanks from him, ending the kiss suddenly, full, pink mouth glistening, green eyes heavy lidded as they stare at Jared. 

“That’s what I thought,” the Jackal says, and smirks.

Before Jared can form a thought, say a word, the Jackal vanishes into thin air.

*

Jared stands there for long moments afterward, chest heaving with labored breath, his brain a mire of confusion; stunned disbelief and nearly incoherent rage rivaled by the desperation of desire. He wants the Jackal to not be gone. To pull him close and kiss him, crush him, make him ache and burn the way Jared does. To hurt him, break him, fuck him like he’s trying to fuck him out of existence.

Pull it together.

Jared drags a hand across his lips, still wet from the Jackal’s kiss, and then he takes a deep breath.

The laptop is a total loss. He tugs the knife free of it and has to restrain himself from hurling it into a wall. He only has a couple of hours before extraction—not enough time to start the process over again. It’s 2006 and computers are hopelessly slow.

He packs everything up and cleans the office, putting everything back into place, his hand shaking with anger as he picks up the gun the Jackal had left behind. Lastly, he erases the security tapes, certain no one is going to check them, but covering his tracks all the same.

He’s still furious, burning with heat as he steps out into the mild Beijing night, slipping away into the darkness.

Present Day. Elsewhere…

Jensen materializes inside the warehouse base, hesitating only an instant before he moves to the console. Both chairs are empty tonight, most everyone else sleeping. He taps a few keys, squinting into the bright, blue-white light of the monitor, one corner of his mouth curving in a grim smile as he finds the information he wants.

His lips are still warm from when he’d kissed Jared, just moments ago. It hadn’t been exactly what he’d intended, but—

The signature scent of time burn from his return is strong on the air, ozone and almonds, but he doesn’t need to be able to smell the other man’s arrival to know he’s there. 

Jensen turns wordlessly, cocking and leveling his gun at the shadows in one corner.

“How is it you always know?” the man asks, detaching himself from the shadows.

Jensen doesn’t answer, returning his gun to his holster.

“Everything went as planned?” the man asks.

“It did,” Jensen replies, and moves to one side of the screen so the other man can read what’s on it.

The man moves forward and leans down, hands braced against the desk, laptop light illuminating the angles of his face. He reads for a moment and then nods, seeming satisfied.

“And Jared?” the man asks, straightening as he looks at Jensen.

“Everything is on track,” Jensen tells him. 

“No details?”

Jensen shrugs with his brows. “You’ll hear everything in detail soon enough.”

“All this time, you still play everything so close to the chest,” the man remarks with a playful air that doesn’t quite mask his resigned disappointment.

“I do.” Jensen nods. “But he tells you everything, doesn’t he, Stephen?”

“Well… I am his handler, after all,” Stephen agrees, and smiles.

Chapter Text

Jared’s anger has spun out into confusion by the time the payphone rings to call him home.

He wants the anger back; it had been cold fury, nearly vicious in its purity and clarity. He’d felt sure of himself, self-possessed, completely in control. His actions, his direction had been a sharp arrow pointed straight at a target. 

But he’d been left too long without action, only his own thoughts to keep him company, the voice at the back of his mind asking ‘why?’ again and again.

Part of him is sure everything the Jackal does is meant to throw him off balance, keep him disoriented. Kissing Jared was just yet one more thing meant to fuck with his head. The Jackal is, as far as he knows, completely heterosexual, which makes kissing Jared an even bigger ‘ fuck you ’. It’s all a game to the Jackal; and so far he’s winning.

But none of these very logical thoughts seem to be enough to shut up the voice inside him. 

Most of him still doesn’t completely understand what happened, but he knows one thing for sure. He can’t tell anyone about this. The certainty of that thought burns like a bright ember inside him. The Jackal’s presence, the ensuing fight, the demise of the laptop; all of those things he can and will tell. But that kiss—that crazy, inexplicable kiss—is a secret Jared needs to carry to his grave.

For one thing, if Stephen found out he’d probably ground Jared in the name of Jared’s own safety and peace of mind. For another, Dr. Berry would never let it go until she’d dragged out every last feeling Jared might have even considered having before she’d let him return to work— if she let him return to work. And then—which is actually top of the list, beating out the other two things by miles—there is Jared’s guilt and shame at how deeply that kiss had affected him; how passionately and completely he’d responded. How all thought had ceased and pure animal instinct had taken over.

It could have been tactical, calculated, but it wasn’t. He’d lost himself, betrayed himself, and to a lesser degree he’d betrayed SR0 and his country, even if only for a moment. He can barely deal with the reality of it, himself; he’s not interested in letting anyone else in on it.

He’s an agent, a professional. He’s been in the field for three years, and in all that time, no one has ever bested him. He’s had a few close physical calls, but mentally? No one has ever gotten under his skin like this. Never gotten inside his head. Turned the world upside down, made night into day. The Jackal has done all of these things, simply by existing, and Jared wants to hate him for it. Part of him does hate him.

But damn him for a fool, he’s still so goddamned fascinated .

He hates that, too.

His hand wrapped around the receiver, the phone rings for the fourth time.

He grits his teeth and answers the call.

*

There are theories that time is linear, or that time is like a string where it loops back upon itself, touching at different points, or that time has no form and actually everything is happening all at once but our brains simply can’t perceive it in any way except linear. The truth is, even after all of the CIA and SR0’s research, their scientists still don’t know exactly what form time takes, or if it takes any form at all.

What they do know is how to move around inside it. That only jumping into the past is safe, because the future is too difficult to pinpoint from where the present exists, maybe because it isn’t fully formed yet, or because it simply hasn’t happened yet from normal human perception. Future jumps were attempted, resulting in so many fatalities that SR0 banned the process in the 90s. They also discovered that there’s only so far a person can go back in time safely; up to 73 years is completely safe, from there to 98 years is reasonably safe, anything after 112 is considered an unacceptable risk, and anything after 129 years is considered impossible, those events so far removed that they’ve scarred, fusing into a full fledged reality that can’t be entered into or changed. 

Returning to the present from the past should be instantaneous; Jared should be able to make his jump, be gone into the past for hours or days, and still return to the present seconds after he’d originally left. But the ‘present’ is an ever moving target, and despite all the various theories—or maybe because of one or more of them—time passes in the present just as it does in the past. If Jared spends 8 hours in the past, he returns to the present 8 hours later. 

If SR0 had been founded with the objective of understanding how time works, they would have failed spectacularly. What they have succeeded in is discovering and following some of time’s rules. Enough to let them move it around and play with it a little.

That’s Jared’s understanding of time travel, anyway, some of it explained directly, and some of it extrapolated.

It’s still disorienting as hell sometimes, to return to the present after the same amount of hours spent in the past. It’s as if Jared had bookmarked the page of a book he’d been reading, gone off to do something else, and returned to find his bookmark moved ahead by several pages. 

A lot can happen in several pages. 

Like Keegan Allen showing up to greet him instead of Stephen.

“Where’s Stephen?”

“He’s fine. He just had to go see an offsite doctor,” Keegan tells him. 

He likes Keegan, but he doesn’t know him very well. Also, he’s concerned that Stephen isn’t here.

“You’re sure he’s all right?”

“Yes. It wasn’t scheduled, but it wasn’t an emergency.”

Probably had to go to the doctor for his leg , Jared guesses. He doesn’t ask Keegan, though. He’ll text Stephen as soon as he gets free of Keegan and then he’ll know details.

“He’ll be back soon?”

“Later tonight.” Keegan frowns lightly, eyes traveling over Jared’s frame. “You don’t look well. Did you get in a fight?”

Keegan is good looking, and nice, and a lower ranking handler than Stephen. They’ve been friendly in the past. But there’s no way in hell Jared’s telling him anything beyond what he has to. Stephen’s his handler, he’s been in charge of this whole Jackal debacle, and he’ll be back soon enough.

“I’ll be fine.” Jared’s chest hurts like hell, his throat is burning, and he’s exhausted, but he just needs to rest.

“I’ll let Doctor Ferris know you’ll be on your way to see her as soon as we’re done here,” Keegan tells him in a tone that makes it clear Jared doesn’t have a choice. “Can’t hurt to get checked out,” he offers after a moment, conciliatory. 

Jared nods.

Keegan inclines his head, inquisitive. “Did the mission succeed?”

Jared swallows hard and shakes his head. “No.”

Keegan nods in return. “I’ll let the Deputy Director know. Do you need anything else besides a visit to Doctor Ferris?”

“No.”

Keegan nods one last time, holding Jared’s gaze for a moment. “I’m sorry the mission didn’t work out. I’m glad you’re okay, though.”

“Thanks.” Jared manages a small smile.

*

His chest is bruised, but nothing is broken, his throat likewise bruised and irritated, but the swelling is minimal and he can breathe fine, so Doctor Ferris sends him off with some heavy duty Ibuprofen and orders him to lay off working out his upper body for at least the next few days. He’s supposed to see her for a follow up after that before she can approve him to start working out again.

His head is still swimming with thoughts of the Jackal as he leaves her office, his mind flashing back again and again to that kiss. He needs rest after a fight like that, and sleep is sure to put him in a better frame of mind; logically, he knows this.

But his first instinct is to run for Chad. Chad’s the one person he can talk to about this, his best friend and a person who isn’t in charge of anything regarding his fitness for missions. He isn’t sure Chad will have anything meaningful to contribute, but at least Jared could talk about it.

He’s already turned, feet carrying him in the direction of Chad’s room, when he stops dead.

What the hell is he doing? Running to his best friend to talk about some guy kissing him? Like he’s fourteen and just got kissed for the first time? This is stupid. Clearly he’s letting this get to him more than he should, and why? There’s no rhyme or reason to it. It’s all a game, and none of it means a goddamned thing. Not to mention Chad would probably be just as upset with him as anyone else at SR0 for kissing the Jackal.

He shakes his head and then turns, beginning to walk in the direction of his own room. He just needs sleep and then he’ll be fine. He already is fine, actually, his head is just muddled right now.

He’s fine.

*

He texts Stephen when he gets to his room, lying down as he waits for an answer. He’s out like a light moments later and sleeps the night through, waking at 8am to a light knock on his door.

“Hey,” Stephen says, voice gentle when Jared opens the door. “I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay. I didn’t want to wake you last night when I got in.”

“I’m okay,” Jared assures him, running a hand through his hair. He’s dehydrated and still a little bleary-eyed, and he needs a couple of Ibuprofen stat, but he’s all right. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Stephen assures him. He glances down at the cane in his right hand and then gives Jared a rueful smile. “I’m probably going to need this for a couple more days, though.”

Jared’s mouth curves downward in sympathy. 

“Do you think you’ll feel well enough to meet at nine for the mission debrief?” Stephen asks, not dwelling on the subject.

“Sure.”

“If you need more time to rest it’s all right.”

“No, I’m good.”

“Okay, see you in an hour, then.”

*

He downs two of the Ibuprofen with several glasses of water and then hits the shower. He’s feeling much better by the time he stops by the coffee shop on his way to see Stephen, ordering a coffee and a breakfast sandwich to eat on his way there.

He’s not looking forward to telling Stephen that the Jackal had thwarted his mission yet again, but he’ll be glad to get it over with, at least.

A little while later, Stephen is sitting on the table, his left leg stretched out long, right supporting his balance against the floor. “He could have killed you.”

“Probably about a half dozen different times,” Jared agrees, still bitter about how easily he’d been bested.

“I told you not to engage with him unless you had to.”

“Fuck that, Stephen,” Jared says, voice calmer and steadier than he feels. “He had this fight coming to him. What I don’t get is why he didn’t finish the job and kill me.”

Stephen shifts on the table, regarding Jared silently for a moment. “You don’t have any idea what he might want?”

“You’d know better than I would,” Jared returns.

Stephen blinks. “What? Why would I…?”

“Because you know things about him. Things SR0 knows that I’m not allowed to know. You’ve got more insight into his mind, his potential motivations.”

Stephen seems to take a moment to collect himself before he replies, “There are some things above your security level. But even those records are incomplete. He’s an agent of SR0 who went rogue and became a terrorist; his personal records were classified to Director level and above a long time ago.”

Jared takes a moment to absorb that.

Stephen tilts his head, observing Jared. “ You’ve had direct interaction with him. Are you sure you don’t have any idea what he’s after?”

Jared lifts his shoulders in a brief shrug. “It’s probably got something to do with China. Those are the only missions he’s shown up on since Miami. But you already knew that.”

“You seem… out of sorts,” Stephen remarks, eyes watching him closely.

“I’m just…” Jared lifts a hand to touch the hollow of his throat, not quite touching the bruised skin just a few centimeters higher. “I’m frustrated,” he admits. “Hell, aren’t you? This guy is running circles around all of us.”

Stephen lifts a hand, fingers rubbing along his chin as he seems to think. “You’re off mission for at least the next four days until you see Dr. Ferris again. I think I should talk to the Director about putting the missions to China on hold for a while, put you on something else.”

“No,” Jared replies immediately. “No way. He doesn’t get to win.”

“Jared… you said yourself that you couldn’t take him, and you’re the best we’ve got.”

Jared grits his teeth, jaw flexing. It’s the truth, and he’s never hated the sound of the truth so much.

Stephen’s hands come together across his half-formed lap, fingers curling around each other, restless. He glances down at them, the light lines at the corners of his eyes tightening, and he seems to think for a long moment before he speaks again. “There’s another reason I’m concerned. The fact that he hasn’t killed you, again , especially after fighting him, leads me to think he’s got another goal in mind.”

Jared looks up to meet Stephen’s gaze. “Like what?” 

“Like maybe he doesn’t want to eliminate you.” Stephen’s eyes lock on his. “Like maybe he’s trying to recruit you.”

Jared recoils backward in his chair. “What? He can’t possibly think I’d—”

“Why not?” Stephen interrupts, shrugging. “He left SR0 for Checkmate. You’re the best agent we’ve had since the Jackal betrayed us. If he could recruit you that would be a major blow to us and an amazing coup for him.”

Jared shakes his head, stunned as he tries to work it through. “No. No, I don’t think so. He hasn’t been anything like friendly in any interaction we’ve ever had.”

“There was the first time you met.”

Jared inwardly flinches at the memory of ‘Cliff’. “That was him toying with me,” Jared responds, dismissive. Just like last night , he thinks.

Except… what if it wasn’t? What if the Jackal had approached him like that, had gotten Jared to like him like that, trust him like that, with the intent of trying to win Jared over to his side? The Jackal hadn’t meant for Jared to walk in on him killing Tommy. Jared had spoiled whatever the Jackal had been trying to set up between them when he’d walked into that bathroom. Even Dr. Berry had commented on how brilliant it had been for the Jackal to meet him that way, to establish an emotional connection first.

And he hasn’t killed Jared yet. There is that. Try as he might, Jared can’t come up with a single other reason why the Jackal wouldn’t want him dead.

Jared sits forward in his seat, elbows to his knees, fingers lacing together in a single fist, chin resting against it. “If you’re right,” he says slowly, thinking it through, “then that gives me a perfect opportunity.”

Stephen raises his brows, face turning so that he’s nearly side-eyeing Jared. “I’m sorry. What ?”

“I’m saying… maybe I should work with him, then. Maybe I get him to trust me enough to tell me something.”

“Jared, that’s insane,” Stephen admonishes him.

“Is it?” Jared asks, meeting his eyes.

“You’re talking about sabotaging our own missions deliberately.”

“It’s either that or let him sabotage them, right? If we’re going to lose either way, we might as well see what we can get out of it.”

Stephen is shaking his head slowly back and forth. “Jared. No.”

The idea has taken fully hold of Jared now, beginning to grow. “If I can get him to trust me, I might get a chance to kill him.”

“You’re talking about walking a very fine line, Jared. Working with the enemy?”

“ Pretending to work with the enemy.”

“And pretending to be a double agent . The psychology involved in something like that is extremely tricky.”

“I’ve pretended to work for other people before just fine when the mission required it.” 

Stephen goes on as if he hadn’t heard Jared at all. “Not to mention the whole thing is risky. If you slip up at all, if he starts to trust you and then realizes you’re playing him, he will kill you.” 

“It’s worth the risk if we can take him down.”

“No,” Stephen says, looking at Jared pointedly. “It isn’t.”

They share a long look before Jared speaks, low and respectfully.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Stephen. But this is the job I signed up for; to protect my government, protect my country, even at the cost of my own life.” Jared shakes his head. “Fighting him doesn’t work, but this might . If I could take down the Jackal, we’d cut the head off of Checkmate.”

Stephen sits in silence, one hand covering his mouth, his gaze cast somewhere about his knees.

“Wouldn’t we?” Jared prompts.

Stephen closes his eyes for an instant, inhales and exhales with something that’s not quite a sigh and opens them again. He rubs his hand across his mouth and then lets it drop to his lap. “Yes. But that doesn’t mean it’s feasible.” 

“It’s a good idea. It might be the best idea we have right now.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Stephen contradicts. “And crazy, to boot.” Stephen rubs his thumb and forefingers together, thoughtful. “And I think there’s another high risk factor you haven’t considered yet.”

“What?”

“That maybe you’ll actually start to like him. It happens, Jared. When you’re working with someone closely, especially someone as charismatic as the Jackal, even the best trained agent can form an attachment, especially if you’re working together long term.”

“That’s what my sessions with Dr. Berry are for, aren’t they?” Jared throws the words back like a challenge. “To make sure things like that get stopped before they happen?”

Stephen shakes his head, eyeing Jared with bleak admiration. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”

“No.”

Stephen sighs and folds his arms across his chest. “Two days ago, if I’d suggested this, you would have thought I was crazy. There’s no way you would have suggested it.” Stephen’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing him. “Did something else happen on the mission?”

Jared holds Stephen’s gaze with years of training and doesn’t blink. “No. I’m just tired of us losing.” He pauses, glancing away for a moment before he asks, “Do you think the Director would approve this?”

Stephen is silent for a few, long seconds, and then he says, “I think so. Personally, I think it’s a terrible idea, but practically, I think you’re right; it’s our best chance at this point. He’ll probably think so, too.”

“Good.”

“You’ll need extra coaching and monitoring for this, Jared. The Jackal will sense anything less than perfect.”

“Well,” Jared says, and motions to his chest, then the ring of bruises around his throat. “We have some time.”

*

Well, that was one hell of a turn , Jared thinks, as he exits the room.

He’d gone in there feeling defeated, resigned, but ready to own up to it. Ready to set his teeth grimly and try again. 

But this, this is a whole different animal. This is something that might actually work against the Jackal if he can play it right. Something that might end Checkmate forever.

He’s heading back to his room, nearly there when someone tall and very blonde detaches from the crowd and falls in step alongside him.

“Hey,” she says, looking up at him with pretty blue eyes. “Are you okay? I heard you got hurt.”

“Hey Adrianne,” he responds, summoning a smile. “I’m okay, really. Just on rest for a few days.”

“Oh,” she says, and then her eyes fall to his throat, widening slightly as she sights the bruises. “Damn, that looks like it hurts.”

“Only when I laugh,” he says, and gives her a crooked smile.

“Well I guess I’d better not say anything funny, then,” she says, meeting his eyes and smiling back.

“Probably for the best,” he agrees.

They’ve arrived at his door, Jared stopping just one side of it, shoulder leaning against the frame. Adrianne mimics his posture, facing him, long blonde hair spilling over one shoulder as she tilts her face, looking up at him.

“I was coming by to see if you were all right,” she says.

“I’m fine,” Jared tells her with a smile. And he is fine. He’s back home safe and sound, no worse for the wear in the long term. He’s got his head on straight and a plan to take down the Jackal and Checkmate. He’d had a bad night last night, but today things are looking a lot brighter.

“I’m glad.” She smiles and she’s beautiful, her hair falling in loose ringlets around her shoulders, so naturally gorgeous and warm and kind.

The world is right again, there’s a beautiful woman in front of him, and he’s been putting this off for a while now.

“Well, if you want to talk about it…” she lets the offer trail off with a light smile. 

Jared bites at his lower lip, giving her a long, lingering look up and down. “I’m not really in the mood for talking.”

Her voice drops a notch, growing husky. “What are you in the mood for?”

Their eyes are locked on each other, and Jared can feel the heat building between them. His voice drops to match hers, “Why don’t you come inside and find out?” 

A moment later, his door opens and then he kicks it shut behind them, his arms already filled with her.

*

“I have to say,” Adrianne pants, still breathing heavily as her head falls against his shoulder. “You seem like you’re in good shape to me.”

“Well, I did let you do all the work,” Jared purrs, hand wrapping in the long, golden strands of her hair. He tugs her up for a quick kiss and her whole body follows suit, wriggling up along his side until she’s face to face with him.

“Not all of it,” she says and grins.

And well, he had held her by the hips over his face and eaten her out until she’d come before he’d let her mount him.

“That was pretty amazing,” she sighs, snuggling up tight against him, head tucked under his chin.

“Mmm,” he agrees, nodding against her hair before he smoothes it down.

“I didn’t hurt you at all, did I?” she asks. One slender hand reaches toward his injured chest, not quite touching the skin.

“Not even a little bit,” he assures her. “I’m tougher than I look,” he adds, playful lilt to his voice.

She breathes out a light laugh, and they lie there in silence for a few moments, each of them slowly catching their breath.

When she speaks again, what she asks isn’t what he expects at all.

“How… how did it happen?” she asks, drawing back, blue eyes fluttering up to look at him.

He doesn’t really want to talk about it, so he keeps it brief. “Got in a fight.”

“Did you…” she hesitates, then says, “You know... “ She makes the symbol of a gun with her thumb and forefinger, thumb falling like a trigger.

“No,” he answers, short and to the point.

“But isn’t that what you do?”

“Not always.” Telling her that he didn’t have a prayer of killing the other guy probably wouldn’t do much for his street cred. It isn’t doing much for his mood, just thinking about it.

“Was it...” she says, her voice pitched low, like someone might overhear her, even here, in his room. “Was it the Triad?”

He pulls back, looking at her sharply. “What do you know about the Triad?” he demands.

She seems taken aback by his response for a second, and then she looks away from him, seeming mildly ashamed. “Sometimes, I overhear things.” She shrugs, self-conscious. “When you’re a scientist, and you’re in the background, people tend to forget you’re there.”

“Who mentioned it?” he asks. He relaxes a little, because that makes sense, but he’s still on guard. Still, he brings his voice down a notch, losing the edge to it. He doesn’t want to spook her. 

She shakes her head, golden curls brushing against one shoulder. “I don’t want to get them in trouble. I wouldn’t have said anything except…” She hesitates and shakes her head again. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have expected her to snitch—and it does happen, occasionally people overhear minor things that they shouldn’t. It had to have been Stephen who was talking about it. But why was he talking about the Triad where a scientist could overhear?

“What were they saying?” he asks.

“Something about a poison. I didn’t hear all the details. I was pretty far away.”

The jade pendant. Stephen had probably been having one of the scientists figure out where the Jackal might have gotten such a rare poison. But Stephen wouldn’t have told them who the victim was. So why mention the Triad? 

Unless it was the scientist who mentioned the Triad. Because that’s where the Jackal had gotten the poison to begin with.

It tracks. The Chinese are an ancient culture with access to centuries of poison knowledge. And the irony of using one of the Triad’s poisons against one of their own is something that would certainly appeal to the Jackal.

“What is it?” Adrianne asks, looking at him intently.

“Nothing,” he says. It’s a tiny insight, maybe useful to future research, but it’s not earth-shattering. He files it away for future reference, focusing on the moment as he leans to kiss her.

When he draws back, she’s looking up at him with thoughtful eyes.

“I know there’s a lot I’m not supposed to know about. But I am curious… if you’re allowed to tell me… why didn’t you kill him? The guy you got in a fight with?”

“Who says it was a guy?” he asks, evasive, teasing tone to his voice.

“I just assumed. But you know what I mean,” she says, giving him a small smile. “You could have killed them. But you let them get away.”

He had not, in point of fact, let the Jackal get away, and he’s getting really tired of being reminded of it. “I didn’t get the chance to kill them.”

“But if you had… would you have?”

He isn’t used to being asked questions like this, to being pressed like this by anyone who isn’t Dr. Berry. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask her why she’s so curious about this whole thing—and then it hits him.

She is, by all accounts, a normal human being who doesn’t kill people, who also happens to be having sex with someone who does kill people on a regular basis as part of his job. She wants to see him as something besides a killer, as someone who can have compassion. 

Would he have killed the Jackal if he’d had the chance? Of course.

Of course he would have.

In a heartbeat.

But to Adrianne, all he says is, “Only if it were necessary to protect the country.”

She nods, seeming to understand. Her lips part, eyes thoughtful, as if about to ask something else—

The sound of loud, frantic knocking erupts from the door to Jared’s room, startling both of them.

Adrianne wraps herself deeper into the sheets as Jared slides from the bed, slipping on a pair of boxer briefs. Whoever is on the other side of the door is about to get one hell of a view, but based on the insistence of their non-stop knocking, he’s pretty sure they’re going to have more important things on their mind.

Jared opens the door a crack, peering out—

Chad shoves into the room, pushing past Jared, Jared so surprised he doesn’t even move to stop him.

“Jay, holy shit dude,” Chad breathes out, running his hands through his hair.

Chad stops, then, pulling up short as he sees Adrianne in Jared's bed.

Chad goes completely still at the sight of her, and then his hands leave his hair and slide into his pockets. He eyes her for a moment longer and then gives her an extremely calm nod. “S’up Adrianne?”

Adrianne lifts an awkward hand from beneath the cover of the sheets. “Hey, Chad.”

*

Ten minutes later, Jared is dressed again as he says his apologetic goodbyes to a fully dressed Adrianne who shrugs them off and gives him a million kilowatt smile before she departs.

He closes the door behind her and heaves a sigh as he spins around, letting his back rest against the door.

“Dude, you slept with her again ?” Chad demands. “For you, that’s like buying a ring.” Chad stops, eyes widening as he stalks up to Jared. “Did you? Are you fucking engaged, you fucker?”

“I’m not engaged,” Jared protests.

“Does she know that? Like, is she fully aware there was no exchange of rings or vows? No promises were made, right? Because once people find out—”

“Chad,” Jared interrupts. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Right.” Chad nods, taking a breath. “Okay.” He nods. “So this thing happened.”

“What thing ?” Jared asks. “Are you okay?”

Chad walks over to Jared’s bed, looking at the disarray of the sheets before he changes his mind and his direction, sinking into a chair instead. 

“So I went to the bar last night. And I got really drunk. And I woke up this morning and…” he lifts his hands, seeming to search for words. 

“And what?” Jared prompts, walking over to where Chad is sitting.

“And I woke up with Katie,” Chad finishes, letting his hands fall to his lap, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Katie who ?” Jared asks, exasperated.

“Cassidy,” Chad replies, looking up to meet Jared’s eyes.

Wait. “What?” Jared shakes his head, certain he must have misunderstood.

“I went to the bar, and she was the only one there, and we did a bunch of shots. We were doing shots like college chicks with major daddy issues on spring break. And then, after the bar shut down, it seemed like a good idea to go back to my place and drink some more, and then we…” Chad makes a few motions with his hands that are pretty unmistakable in their meaning. He adds a couple more that are so graphic that Jared's never going to be able to unsee them, and he’s about to scar Jared for life when Jared grabs him by the wrists to make him stop.

“I get it,” Jared assures him, making eye contact with Chad before he releases him.

“I thought she was gonna kill me when we woke up together,” Chad goes on, his hands safely returned to fidget in his lap. “I was terrified . I mean, it’s Katie. She doesn’t…” Chad starts to make motions again and Jared pushes his hands down.

“ Ever ,” Chad finishes. “With anyone.”

“She’s way out of both of our leagues,” Jared agrees, still trying to wrap his brain around it. Jared’s not used to thinking anyone is out of his league, but Katie’s always been in another class. She’s never looked at him once that way, he’d lay money on it. For her to look at Chad like that…

“How much did you drink ?” Jared asks.

“A fuck ton,” Chad proclaims, looking at him, solemn. “A metric fuck ton.”

Jared nods, trying to take it all in. “Okay. So it happened. And she obviously didn’t kill you. So what are you upset about?”

“Usually I feel pretty good about bagging a chick. It’s not a big deal. I’m hot, I mean, just look at me,” Chad says, motioning to himself. “And I’m smart as fuck. But here’s the thing, Jared, Here’s the fucking thing.”

Chad leans forward and looks at him intently. “I’m a probability coordinator, yeah, that’s respectable. But I’m also fucking Charlie from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia uncovering the Pepe Silvia conspiracy, full fucking stop. I’m that guy with the wide eyes and the wild hair, the yarn and the pictures and the notecards, jacked up on caffeine and smoking too many cigarettes. That’s how people see me, Jay. I know this. I’m okay with this. People don’t have to believe me for the timeline to be true.”

The visual of paranoid Charlie from It’s Always Sunny is too strong for Jared to be able to form words, too struck by the rightness of it.

Luckily, Chad doesn’t need him to be able to speak.

“I’m smart enough to be that self-aware,” Chad goes on, tapping a forefinger against his temple. “Which means I’m smart enough to know chicks don’t stick around for that guy.”

Jared thinks for a moment, swallows, and then says, “I think I understand what you’re saying. What I don’t understand is why .”

“Because she didn’t regret it! Okay, she did at first, but then she was all like, ‘actually this makes perfect sense, because I’m so controlled and you’re so crazy, I think this could actually work’.”

Jared stares at him for a long moment. “She said this to you?”

“Dude, yes. She wants to fucking date. For some reason she seems to think it’s a great idea. And I don’t know how to date . I don’t know how to have a girlfriend. Hell, I don’t have time for a girlfriend; I’m married to my work.” Chad pushes his hands together and twists them into an uncomfortable looking fist. “I’m a one and done guy, Jared. How the fuck am I supposed to handle this?”

“Maybe if we knew why she wanted to date you…”

Chad goes still, as if he’s actually considering the question. He shakes his head, and then slowly falls into a nod, brows rising. “Maybe I’m just that good in bed.”

Jared decides not to comment on that, though from Chad’s earlier hand motions he has a better idea of what Chad’s like in bed than he wishes he did.

“You could tell her no,” Jared suggests, uncertain.

Chad looks up at him, eyes wide and hopeful. “You think that’s an option?”

Jared thinks about Katie for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Yeah. Probably not.”

“Fuck,” Chad says, and sighs.

*

Jared goes back to resting after Chad leaves. Sleeping with Adrianne probably hadn’t been the best idea; he’s pretty worn out all over again, even if he hadn’t strained himself. He spends the rest of the day resting, only leaving his room for his meeting with Dr. Berry. She doesn’t seem to have many questions about the mission itself—she’s far more concerned about his decision to pretend to be a double agent, which is worse.

It’s a very long, draining session, but Jared manages to get her approval by the end, and then he’s back to his room for a nap. Adrianne shows up again before he sleeps, bringing him some dinner and checking in on him. She doesn’t stay, and she doesn’t seem to expect any kind of physical affection, giving him a smile and a tiny wave when she leaves. Jared had been unsure whether or not he was expected to kiss her, but thankfully she’d saved him from making that decision. He honestly isn’t sure how to proceed on that front. He’s a lot like Chad in that respect; he’s married to his work and dating is not in his skill set.

Still, he feels vaguely weird about leaving things like that. He shrugs it off and eats half the Chinese food she’d brought him before he downs a bottle of water and another Ibuprofen and lies down.

He’s only half awake, drowsing, his thoughts drifting somewhere between dreaming and reality. Without control to guide them, his thoughts gravitate backward toward his earlier conversation with Stephen, then further back to his conversations with Dr. Berry.

“He hasn’t been anything like friendly in any interaction we’ve ever had.”

“There was the first time you met.”

“Liking someone requires a foundation. We don’t generally like people without an implicit sense of trust.”

“He was smart. Very smart to meet with you one on one as a potential friend, or even love interest.”

He suddenly sits bolt upright in bed, an idea striking him fully formed, like lightning from the clear blue sky.

He knows exactly what he needs to do.

Beijing, October 2006

Jensen stands on a foot bridge in Beijing. It’s autumn, and the mountains that surround the city are vast and breathtaking even without the color of fall leaves. But covered in thousands of acres of trees in magnificent shades of brilliant yellow, burnt orange and brilliant red as far as the eye can see, they’re stunning, truly one of the most spectacular sights on earth. 

Above, the sky is the rich shade of blue that only seems to occur in autumn, clear and perfect and lacking even a single cloud. The air is clean, crisp and cool, the sun warm on his face, and standing on the small, leaf-strewn foot bridge, staring out at the view before and above him, he could almost forget, for a moment, what he’s doing here.

Almost. 

Jared will be crossing this bridge in the next several minutes; he would have to take this path to his destination, unless he wanted to try coming down the steep hills on either side. 

Jensen stops, recalculating. There’s actually a 98% chance Jared is coming this way, and the other two percent only exists because of Jared’s tendency to want to rappel down the side of high-rise buildings in New York on windy nights. 

Right now, everything is quiet except for the breeze rustling through the trees along the path, golden leaves shaking from their moorings and falling around him like rain. No footsteps sound along the path leading up on either side, and not even Jared, quiet as he is, could avoid the fallen leaves on the ground.

Jensen takes another moment to look up at the glorious foliage covering the mountains, palms resting against the handrail of the bridge, fingers curled around the edge. It’s the calm before the storm, and he wonders what shape the storm will take this time. 

Jared has been a lot of things, and not a single one of them has been anything like Jensen expected. He’s been anything but boring, and Jensen has to admit to the sense of building anticipation inside him at the thought of seeing Jared again.

A minute passes, then another, and he doesn’t need to look at his multi-faced antique watch to know exactly what time it is.

Jared should be here any moment. Any second.

And yet…

Jensen turns, resting his back against the railing, and there’s still no sound except the wind.

Five more minutes pass, leaves fluttering down, and Jared’s late now. If he expected to accomplish his mission, he’d have been here by now.

Missing the first mission, Jensen understands. SR0 had probably sidelined Jared for a few days to recover. But Jared should be well enough by now to make it to this mission. Jensen hadn’t hurt him badly. He knows every move he can make, how much pressure to apply, how hard to hit. He knows what he’s doing, and he knows he didn’t hurt Jared badly enough to not be here.

Jensen hadn’t hurt him that badly… but he had kissed him.

Jensen hadn’t planned on that. He knows people who know of his existence think he doesn’t do anything without a plan—and they’re generally right—but that kiss had been instinctual in the moment. He’d been curious how it would feel, how Jared would respond, if it would confirm what he already believed to be true. He’d certainly gotten his confirmation, along with some new information he isn’t sure he wants to examine too closely right now.

But had Jensen gone too far? Made Jared so angry that he’s choosing to miss his missions?

No, Jared wouldn’t let that stop him. Jared is nothing if not devoted to his work. He believes in what he’s doing. If he could have been here, he would have. There’s a chance he could have shifted his schedule slightly if something had come up. Or if he thought pushing it later would make Jensen leave before Jared’s arrival.

Jensen folds his arms across his chest, waiting.

He waits like that for ten minutes, then turns, gazing on the miles of colorful foliage, fingers resting upon the railing again. 

He looks up at the gorgeous, tree covered mountains and waits a while longer.

Finally, footsteps along the path call his attention, and he turns, waiting, ready for anything.

A wizened and bent elderly Chinese man is loping along the path to the bridge, carrying what looks like an envelope in one hand.

He calls out to Jensen, greeting him in Chinese.

“You’re Jensen?” the man asks in Chinese, and Jensen is startled to hear his real name, bristling, reflexes on edge.

He nods, cautious, wondering how the man could possibly know, and then the man approaches, holding out the envelope.

“A young man gave me this for you. He said you’d be somewhere further down the path.”

Jared. It had to be Jared. But why had Jared sent this man instead of coming himself? Sending a civilian seems incredibly risky, unless there’s nothing incriminating inside the envelope.

Jensen takes the envelope and leans forward in a slight bow, thanking the old man politely.

The man gives Jensen a nodding bow in return and then takes up walking again, crossing the bridge and continuing on his way. Jensen watches him until he rounds the curve of the path, falling out of sight, and then he opens the envelope.

It’s a note.

It’s only two sentences, two simple sentences and not even signed, but Jensen stares at the words for a long time.

I’m changing my schedule. We won’t see each other again.

Jared has managed to surprise him again.

And is he the tiniest bit disappointed? He thinks maybe he is.

He stands there for a while, leaves falling around him like gentle snow.

Damn. Maybe it was the kiss , he thinks and sighs.

Chapter Text

Jared sits on the deck with its deliberate slightly off kilter railing supports, face upturned toward the sun. The breeze off the water feels cool against his skin, and he’s starting to get a tan on his face and arms.

He’d taken the opportunity of downtime to recuperate in the lap of luxury above ground in the park. It hadn’t taken much to get a reservation; even when the park hotels are booked, all they have to do is present their CIA credentials and a room magically becomes available. Jared had picked this place deliberately, loving the look and feel of it immediately.

Disney’s Polynesian Bora Bora Bungalow is built out over the water, giving a gorgeous view of the water through the rear and side windows. Jared’s been here for three days and he still can’t get over the lavish beauty of the accommodations. It’s a one story house that he can’t even call small, walls painted light tan where they aren’t inlaid with dark stained wooden boards, floors gorgeous hardwood and dark wooden furniture with cushions in colors of ochre yellow and light orange. There’s a dining table big enough to seat eight, a full kitchen done in dark wood and stunning aqua blue tile, living, dining and kitchen areas all in one open space.

Through the double glass doors is a plunge pool, large enough for someone to walk down inside it and float or dunk themselves to cool off, and through another set of double glass doors set close by the first, is an open deck with patio furniture and a stunning view of the water. The master bedroom is large, done in the same dark wood and tan paint, the bed huge, linens white with throw pillows in ochre yellow, pale orange and patterned aqua, a runner with the same colors patterned on it running across the lower half of the bed. Three wooden carved surfboards serve as the headboard, and the far wall is set with three huge, glass paneled windows with a perfect view of the water.

The best part is the bathroom; done entirely in long, skinny blue tiles, a huge mirror running the length of two sinks. The rectangular sunken tub has jets in it, and the shower is gigantic, with a built-in seating area and in open view through the huge glass doors. 

There are bits of Polynesian décor worked into every room, including some elaborate carvings hung on the walls. It’s lush, beautiful and luxurious, and just a touch romantic. More than a touch, really, after the sun goes down, the low lighting in the house reminiscent of candlelight unless he deliberately turns it up, which he doesn’t.

He has no love for Disney, but he does love this place. 

His only real complaint is that he can’t have a grill on the deck. He’d love to grill up some bratwurst and burgers. In the absence of a grill, Chad—despite a hangover headache from the night before—is doing the next best thing, cooking up bratwurst and burgers in the kitchen, the scent wafting out through the open patio doors to where Jared and Katie are sitting on the deck.

On the first day, Chad had gone on a tirade about the excess of the accommodations and the exorbitant price attached to them, railing against Disney and their corporate imperium, and then he’d promptly taken advantage of every bit of said luxury, taking a long bath in the jet tub.

This is day three in the bungalow, and Jared is surprised by how much he’s enjoying it.

“What made you decide to recover on the surface?” Katie asks.

“Doctor Berry thought it might be better for my mental state to recover somewhere in the park.” Jared shrugs. It’s partly true; Dr. Berry had definitely pushed for him to recover on the surface, even if her reasons weren’t exactly the ones Jared had stated.

“I don’t blame you,” Katie says, smiling as she tosses her hair back. “Any excuse to get out of that tomb is a good one.” 

She’s holding a watermelon-tequila cocktail that she and Chad had brought the ingredients to make, which basically consists of pureed seedless watermelon chunks with the juice strained through a sieve, mixed with silver tequila, sugar syrup, blueberries, mint and fresh lime juice. They’d made enough for a pitcher, but it’s a bit sweet for Jared’s taste, and he’s been nursing his, while Katie’s on her third glass.

“So where’s Adrianne?” Katie asks, and takes a sip from her glass.

“Working, I guess,” Jared replies.

“You don’t know?” she asks, seeming mildly surprised.

“Any reason I should?”

“I thought you two were dating or something.” Katie shrugs, as if to say ‘whatever’. “I knew you had a thing for someone. I figured it was her, but I guess not, because if it was, she’d be here. Or you’d know where she is, at least.”

Jared takes a drink from his glass, blanching a little at the sweet taste. “What do you mean you knew I ‘had a thing for someone’?

“Because you get that look.” She says the words like they’re explanation enough.

“Look?” Jared asks, confused.

“Yeah, that faraway look, like you’re a million miles away thinking of someone else, with that funny little half-smile on your face. I’m very observant. And I know that look.”

“I do?” Jared’s fairly sure he’s never looked like that a day in his life. 

“Yeah. Every now and then.” She gives him a playful, scrutinizing look across the rim of her glass. “So who is it?”

“No one,” Jared says with a bemused chuckle.

Katie makes a face and looks put out. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

“What about you and Chad?” Jared asks, to change the subject. “I never would have called you two dating.”

“I don’t know.” Katie shifts in her chair, stirring her drink with a faint frown and a vague smile. “It’s weird. But he’s so the opposite of me. It’s kind of exciting.”

That makes a kind of sense to Jared. Still, he doesn’t fully understand. “What about Stephen?”

A muscle in Katie’s jaw clenches, then unclenches, her mouth setting in a straight line. “It’s like the song says,” she stirs her drink, slightly harder than necessary. “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.”

Jared would normally nod and agree, because her decisions are hers, and if she were involved with anyone else, that’s exactly what he would do. But she isn’t, and he can’t.

“He’s my best friend, Katie. Don’t fuck with him if you’re not all the way in.”

She cuts him a sharp glance. “Or what? You’ll off me?”

“I just don’t want to see him get hurt,” Jared replies, gentle. ”And I know you’re still in love with Stephen.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs with a nonchalance Jared doesn’t buy for a second. “But I can’t wait around my whole life for something that’s obviously never gonna happen.” Her eyes narrow on Jared, looking at him meaningfully. “You know all about that, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Whoever it is you’re mooning over. You’re obviously not with them, and you would be, if you could, right?”

“There isn’t anyone,” he protests.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Jared still honestly has no idea what she’s talking about, and is just about to say so when Chad emerges from the house, carrying a steaming tray of cooked meat. 

“All right, you fuckers. Get ready for a meat party in your mouth,” Chad says, grinning wide as he sets down the tray.

* * * * *

A few hours later, long after Chad and Katie have gone, Jared is lying in the jet tub, water steaming and bubbling around him. It’s not quite big enough for him to fully lie down in, but he can stretch out a lot more than he normally can in a tub. His chest is above the water level, wet frozen towel inside a plastic bag lying against it.

There’s a window directly in front of him, above the tub, and through it, the sun is setting over the water. The sun is molten, shimmering gold, sky fading gold to orange around it, orange reflected on the underside of the heavy blue clouds, sky above the fluffy width of them fading blue to deep, dark purple.

It’s gorgeous, and try as the scientists might, there’s nothing in the facility that can compare to the real deal.

He lies there, watching until the sun sinks below the horizon, and then he finally pulls himself from the tub, the water beginning to grow tepid. He towels off, puts on his watch, then goes into the bedroom, slipping into his pajama bottoms.

He’d missed a second mission to China this morning. He doesn’t have to wonder if the Jackal had been there; he’s sure of it. He wonders what the Jackal must have thought when he received Jared’s note. Jared hadn’t delivered it himself, of course. Stephen had sent someone else, but he would have given a lot to have seen the Jackal’s face.

He shakes off the thought, walking out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He pauses halfway there, picking up his phone and casting his music to the speakers set up around the house. His list of favorite songs is over a hundred hours long, and one begins to play randomly.

Every breath you take
Every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you

He sets his phone down and turns.

There’s someone standing on his deck.

He freezes, muscles coiled and ready. Eyes locked on the silhouette of the person, he takes several steps toward the tall table where his gun is resting. He slips his fingers around it, weight settling into his palm, clicks off the safety, and takes a few more silent steps toward the glass doors.

The man is leaning with his back against the railing, black silhouette cut from the backdrop of shimmering stars, and as Jared draws nearer, he can see the faint light from the kitchen reaching the man's features, barely illuminating the slant of one cheekbone, the line of his jaw.

Jared recognizes him from those two details alone. He just can’t entirely believe it.

He lets the hand with the gun fall slowly to his side and hesitates before opening the glass door with his free hand.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, letting trepidation creep into his voice. 

“I would have been here sooner, but I had to spend the day casing the place to make sure it wasn’t a trap.”

It’s an odd answer—should Jared have expected him? Expected him sooner? It takes a second for him to realize the other man is just being a smartass. 

“Paranoid much?” Jared inquires.

“There’s a reason SR0 hasn’t caught me yet,” the Jackal returns, wry.

Jared’s at a bit of a loss. He’d been mostly joking and the Jackal hadn’t been wrong to be cautious. If anything, it’s crazy that he’s here at all. “However much you cased the area, you still took a huge risk coming here.”

There’s a question implicit in the words, but the Jackal doesn’t choose to answer, saying instead, “Do you usually stand around and talk to people in the dark?”

Jared deliberates for a moment, still struck by the surreality of it all. This is his life—not a mission, not a battle. Everything here is domestic and normal except the man standing on his deck. He’s fairly sure this isn’t how they’re supposed to be interacting, but what else would they do, now that the Jackal is here? 

Why is he here?

After a moment, Jared clicks the safety back on on the gun and flips on the deck lights, which are low and recessed under the railing, giving the whole area a candlelit effect. The Jackal is, of course, even more gorgeous in the low light, soft gold and deep shadow throwing his features into stark contrast. 

The mild breeze off the water ghosts over Jared’s bare chest, caressing his skin, and he realizes suddenly that he’s barely dressed, pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. He can see the green of those eyes as the Jackal gives him a once over, eyes traveling the length of his body back to his face.

“You look fine,” he comments.

Jared steels himself against those eyes looking over his body and takes a breath, squaring his shoulders. He can hear the implication in the Jackal’s voice. “I’m out for another week. SR0 wants to make sure the bruising in my chest is completely healed before I go back out.”

The Jackal doesn’t shift, say anything, or even seem to do more than breathe, much less show a bit of guilt.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Jared demands. “You’re the one who did it.”

“I didn’t think I went that hard on you. I wanted to see for myself.” The Jackal’s eyes fall to Jared’s bare chest again, lingering there before trailing up to his throat. “The outer bruising seems to be healing well.”

He can almost feel everywhere the Jackal’s eyes are touching him, and Jared has to suppress the urge to shiver, despite the heat of the night, despite the heat beginning to rise beneath his skin.

“No thanks to you,” Jared responds.

“And they set you up on the surface to heal,” the Jackal muses, seeming thoughtful as his eyes meet Jared’s again. “That isn’t protocol. They set you up where I could get to you.”

‘ Where I could get to you ’. There’s nothing suggestive about the words themselves, but Jared hears a suggestion anyway, unable to tell if it’s intentional or his own mind playing tricks on him.

“They figured if you wanted to kill me, you would have by now.”

“That’s true,” the Jackal agrees, matter of fact. “Still, for them to leave you so exposed seems like a deliberate choice.”

“You think anyone thought you’d show up here?” Jared scoffs.

“Don’t you have other enemies?”

“I can take care of myself.”

The Jackal arches a skeptical brow at him. “Is that why you stopped the missions to China?”

Annoyance strikes Jared, then, and he strides out onto the deck in his bare feet, gun still held in his hand as he leans back against the closed glass door, facing the Jackal.

“Look. I didn’t change my mission schedule before because you obviously knew it. Before that last fight—before you betrayed me—I was trying to work with you,” Jared says. “I was trying to figure out what you wanted.”

“For SR0,” the Jackal replies, unimpressed.

“Yeah,” Jared agrees. “But I wanted to know, too. For me.” Jared pauses, taking a breath. “But that isn’t going to happen.” He hesitates, drawing out the moment. 

“This sounds like a conversation with a lot of finality. Don’t keep me in suspense,” the Jackal says, glib. 

Jared grits his teeth against that sarcasm. “I already told you. We’re done. I’m changing my schedule. So if you want to kill me, this is your last chance.”

The Jackal huffs out a humorless laugh.

“Yeah, I know you could have done it a dozen times,” Jared says. “I still don’t know why you haven’t.”

The Jackal is quiet for a moment, seeming to think. 

“So you’re giving up on the China related missions?” the Jackal asks.

“No. Just giving up on you,” Jared says, matter of fact. “China based missions will still be a priority, but you won’t know about them anymore.”

“You know I’ll find you,” the Jackal says. “I found you here.”

“How did you find me?” Jared asks, as if suddenly struck by the thought.

“I’m very good at what I do.”

Jared thinks about that for a moment. If the Jackal had been watching the house and the area all day, then he had tracked Jared down incredibly fast after Jared had missed the mission. And if he’d watched the house all day, he’d been watching Jared, too, had seen Jared with Katie and Chad, and who knows what else. 

“If you were watching me all day, you knew I was healing all right.”

“I wanted a closer look.”

There are a hundred questions Jared could ask, but the Jackal wouldn’t answer them in any kind of direct way, if he even bothered to answer at all. It’s infuriating, really, but Jared has to play this cool, not let the Jackal get the better of him again.

They stand there in silence, water rippling softly around them as the tide begins to roll in, and there doesn’t seem to be anything left to say. 

“Well, good luck finding me on future missions.” Jared pushes off the glass, beginning to walk toward the open door.

“What really made you change your mind about your schedule?” the Jackal asks, and Jared stops, surprised by the question.

He turns, startled to find the Jackal right there , inches from him. So close Jared can feel the heat coming off of him, smell the scent of him, earthy essence and light musk, intoxicating and heady. Green eyes glittering with intensity in the low light, that lush mouth within reach of his own.

It shouldn’t be like this; Jared is a trained professional, incredibly good at his job, and yet with the Jackal this close to him he can hardly think. “I already told you.” The words come out barely above a whisper.

“It didn’t have anything to do with this ?” the Jackal asks, his voice low, husky.

It’s on the tip of Jared’s tongue to ask what, but it’s a stupid, useless question. ‘This’ is obvious in their overwhelming chemistry, the way Jared feels magnetically drawn to him, the way the air almost seems to crackle between them, sparking on the verge of catching fire.

“I’ve been kissed before,” Jared manages to say.

“Yeah, but I’m a really good kisser.” The corner of the Jackal’s mouth turns up in a tiny smirk.

Jared can’t argue with that. Damn him. 

“Why did you kiss me?” Jared asks.

The Jackal eyes him for a moment, those green eyes sparkling in the dim light with something like curious amusement. “Why do you think I did it?”

“To fuck with me.” The words come out clean, free of anger or accusation; a simple statement of fact.

The Jackal nods, amusement seeming to fade. “That must have been it.”

Jared should have known he wouldn’t get an answer to that, either. He can feel the Jackal shift, about to step back, leave, and Jared doesn’t want him to go, wants to keep the other man close, right here, in his personal space.

The Jackal starts to draw back and Jared reaches out, catches him by the jaw, pulls him back.

“Something to remember me by,” Jared breathes out in a rush, pulling him closer, lips parting—

A hand on his chest stops him short, a single fingertip resting against his lower lip, green eyes staring into his.

“You’ll see me again, Jared,” the Jackal promises.

The touch of him holding for a moment, and then gone, the smell of ozone and almonds fills the air as the Jackal disappears.

Jared stands there for a few seconds, still overcome by the slow burn of chemistry, and then he turns, taking the final steps to the open door. He can still feel the pressure and warmth where the Jackal had touched him. He stops, putting one hand on the smooth metal of the door jamb and heaving out a shaky breath. 

He still can’t get over the fact that the Jackal was here .

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised the Jackal had shown up.

It had, after all, been exactly what Jared had planned.

* * * * *

When Jared had first suggested recovering on the surface in an attempt to draw the Jackal in, Stephen had nearly gone into apoplexy. 

“Think about it, Stephen: if he really is that interested in me, if he really wants to recruit me, he’ll show up. And that will give me a perfect opportunity to start building trust with him.”

Stephen had a lot of arguments against the idea, but in the end, Jared had insisted Stephen take the idea to the Director, and the Director had approved it. At least on a trial basis. Also, neither Stephen nor Dr. Berry had been able to deny that it was a good plan for finding out just how interested the Jackal actually is in Jared. He’s also fairly sure neither of them had expected the Jackal to actually show up. Jared still can’t really believe it.

They’d laid a digital trail the Jackal or one of his crew could trace to find Jared here. They hadn’t made the trail easy to find, but they hadn’t tried to make it impossible, either; giving the illusion they didn’t expect the Jackal to be looking for anything related to Jared. And honestly, they hadn’t expected it.

The Jackal’s been gone for close to half an hour, and Jared is sitting on the couch in the living room, laptop open on the wooden coffee table. His fingers hover over the keyboard as he re-reads what he’s written in his report, reviewing his own behavior. He’d taken a gamble, trying to walk inside and force an end to their interaction. It’s the kind of thing someone fed up with Jackal would do, plus, he’d sensed somehow that the Jackal would intervene, that he hadn’t finished with what he’d come to say.

That had been well played, but it had been clumsy of him to try and kiss the Jackal at the end. Calculated, but clumsy. He’d hoped, maybe, he could draw the Jackal into some kind of physicality, something to get him to stay longer. The longer he stayed, the longer Jared would have to talk to him, to begin building a relationship. 

The first time, the Jackal had kissed him , and Jared had lost himself, forgotten himself. Forgotten everything completely for a moment. This time he would have been in control; not a betrayal of himself, but a calculated risk.

Physical intimacy is one of the quickest ways to build trust with a target. Jared knows that firsthand—all agents do. But with the Jackal in particular, it would be a terrible idea. Incredible, explosive, the kind of sex you’d still tell stories about when you were too old to remember you shouldn’t tell those kinds of stories to strangers, but you’d still remember the sex because it was that amazing. But still, a terrible idea.

Their chemistry is so volatile it's combustible. It could give him an in, but it could also fuck everything up. If the opportunity presented itself, it would be a seriously calculated risk.

He knows, deep down, there’s part of him that wants it for selfish reasons, but he’s keeping those parts of himself carefully compartmentalized. 

Jared has neatly excised all of that from the transcript, nearly ending with the part where he’d started to walk inside. After that, he’d only noted the Jackal’s parting words that he’d see Jared again.

Jared re-reads it one more time before he encrypts it and uploads it, closing the laptop after he receives confirmation. He still isn’t sure why the Jackal had shown up, or why the Jackal had asked him if kissing him is what caused him to give up on the missions to China. Maybe he’d been concerned that he’d pushed Jared too far and he’d come by to do damage control. If he does want to recruit Jared, he wouldn’t want to scare Jared off.

Still, it strikes Jared odd that he would have asked.

He sits on the couch and stares out at the deck for a long time, thoughtful.

* * * * *

In the morning, Stephen seems just as surprised as Jared had been.

Jared sips coffee from a designer mug—both courtesy of good old Walt—and tilts the screen of his laptop so he can see Stephen better. 

“I guess he really does want to recruit me,” Jared says with a shake of his head. “I mean, I know I planned this whole thing, but part of me didn’t think he’d actually show up.”

“After only missing two missions,” Stephen says, seeming thoughtful.

“Technically only one. He would have accounted for me being out of action for the first one.”

Stephen tilts his head in acknowledgement. “But he didn’t stay,” Stephen remarks, as if he finds this curious.

“You said it yourself; this is going to take time. We didn’t expect him to come inside and have drinks with me.” Jared shrugs, still pleased that it had worked at all. “It’s a start.”

The laptop blings with the sound of another incoming call, and Jared blinks, glancing at the time. “Shit, that’s Doctor Berry. I have to go.”

“You’re doing okay though?” Stephen asks, concerned and determined to get an answer.

“I’m fine, Stephen. Scout’s honor.” Jared holds up one hand, palm outward and gives the Boy Scout sign. 

“You were never a Boy Scout.” For an instant, Jared could swear he sees the ghost of a smile on Stephen’s face. 

Jared gives him a small smile in return. “I’m fine. I swear.”

Stephen still looks concerned, but he nods. “We’ll talk more later.”

Jared waves goodbye and switches over to his call with Dr. Berry.

She’s lovely with her dark eyeliner and bright red lips, looking well rested with a cup of steaming tea held in one hand. She also looks just as concerned as Stephen had, and Jared has to hold back a sigh.

They exchange their usual pleasantries, and Jared almost wishes he was there, her choice of tea today sounding especially delicious. After a couple of minutes, they get into the session, and Dr. Berry doesn’t waste any time getting to the point.

“Jared, you know I haven’t liked the idea of this mission since you brought it to me. I like it even less now that it’s actually working.”

“But we wanted it to work.” Jared frowns, confused.

“I know you wanted it to work.” She hesitates, shifting in her chair. “When we discussed this, I didn’t think there was a real possibility the Jackal would show up. But now that he has, I’m concerned.”

“About what?”

“About you. In this situation especially. If you were on a mission, in the field, it would be less intimate. Right now, you’re in a beautiful, luxurious location, alone, and you’re new to pretending to be a double agent. You’re in the kind of situation that can easily derail into something intimate, even romantic.”

She’s not wrong, and he knows it. “I’m aware of all of that,” he tells her.

“You remember how we’ve talked about trust. About how he engendered an implicit sense of trust with you when you first met. How he was only able to do that because you didn’t know who he was.”  

“I remember.”

“Then do you understand how unlikely it is that you can engender that same sense of trust with him? He knows who you are, Jared. He has reasons not to trust you—lots of them. The likelihood that you could make any real connection with him without opening yourself up first is incredibly small. And even then, it’s unlikely. A man like the Jackal doesn’t let anyone in. That’s how he survives.”

Jared nods, feeling a touch of impatience. “We talked about all of this before.”

“And now that he’s shown up, we’re talking about it all again. You’re an incredibly talented man and an extremely skilled agent. But trying to get close to someone like the Jackal is impossible unless you make yourself completely vulnerable to him. And even then, he’d likely only use it against you.”

Jared leans forward in his seat, lacing his fingers together, squeezing lightly. “But he wasn’t always like this. Was he?”

Dr. Berry takes a sip from her tea cup, swallows, and then lets out a slow breath. She seems reluctant as she replies, “No.”

Jared knows it’s probably futile; he’s been down this path with her before. But things might be different now that the Jackal has actually shown up. “You don’t think telling me about him might help in this situation?”  

“I could tell you all about him, but trying to use that information to get close to him won’t help. He knows we know these things. He’ll see it coming.”

“All right. I don’t need to know specifics,” Jared says. He’d love to know specifics, hell, he’d give a lot for some specifics, but he doesn’t need them. “I just need to know there was a real person inside there, once.”

“You think maybe you can reach the man he used to be,” Dr. Berry says, and it isn’t a question.

“I think if there’s still a real person buried inside him somewhere, then I have to try and find it, connect to it.”

She seems to think about that for what feels like a long time. “He was a real person. A superhuman agent, but also just a person at the end of the day. He had feelings. He loved his grandparents. He loved to read, especially philosophy, but he had a soft spot for poetry.” 

“A soft spot for poetry?” Jared echoes, surprised. He rubs a hand along his jaw, gliding over the light prickle of stubble he hadn’t shaved away this morning. “People don’t usually read poetry because it entertains them. They read it because it evokes something in them. That indicates a potential ability to form an emotional connection with something outside of family.”

“Yes. But Jared, that’s the man he used to be. Even if a part of that person still existed somewhere deep inside of him, it would be incredibly dangerous for you to try and touch it. It would also be disingenuous.” 

Jared looks at her askance. “Being disingenuous is sort of what I do.”

“Yes, but that’s also what he does. He’ll know that’s what you’re doing.” 

“He has to have a weakness. He can’t be invincible. No one is.” Jared’s mind races, running over the possibilities, and he comes back to the same thing he’s come back to, time and time again. 

If he can find out why the Jackal left SR0, he might be able to unravel the mystery of the man. 

Jared raises his eyes, gaze locking on hers. “Do you know what happened to him? To make him turn against SR0?”

Jared marks the slightest of hesitations in her before she responds. “All I can say is that I think it’s dangerous for you to try seeing him as the kind of person you can connect to, even if it is in the name of being a double agent.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jared promises.

She sighs in response, but their time is up, so they say their goodbyes, Jared breathing out a sigh of relief when the screen goes dark. 

* * * * *

Chad isn’t feeling well, which means he and Katie won’t be coming by, which leaves Jared with a long day to fill.

He exercises the best he can, makes lunch for himself, spends some time on the deck watching the water. He rests for a while, broken sleep that he keeps waking from with a feeling of expectation. The Jackal likely won’t visit during the day, and with Chad out of commission, there isn’t anyone else coming. Still, there’s something inside him like a held breath, waiting on the verge, and he finally rises from bed as the sun goes down, restless.

If he’s going to be awake anyway, he might as well drink some coffee, he thinks, putting the pot into place.

He has music playing through the house at fairly loud volume, but the knock against the glass door that opens to the deck is louder.

Knocking. Someone is knocking at the door to his deck, which has no other entrance besides the door itself. His head spins, body crouching low on instinct, and he’d have been dead by now if the person out there wanted him to be. Instead they’re fucking knocking .

He knows who it is before he even sets eyes on them.

He rises, walking to the glass door and sliding it open. He flips on the deck lights and leans against the frame, hands pressed against the metal.

“When you said I’d see you again, I didn’t think you meant this soon.”

“I’m full of surprises,” the Jackal agrees.

“What are you doing here?” Jared asks, letting annoyance creep into his voice.

“Don’t pretend you’re not thrilled to see me,” the Jackal responds with a wry smile.

“Any reason I should be?” Jared asks.

The Jackal doesn’t answer, stepping closer to Jared. “It’s rude not to invite visitors into your,” the Jackal gives the exterior of the bungalow a quick once-over, “exorbitantly overpriced, incredibly excessive temporary dwelling.”

Jared stands there a moment longer, blocking the doorway, and then he pushes his palms off the frame, backing up a few steps.

The Jackal steps forward, not hesitating as he crosses the threshold to the inside of the bungalow. He pauses there, looking around, and then begins a walk through the kitchen, around the kitchen island/breakfast bar. Jared turns to watch him, the Jackal circling back around the island, taking a quick tour of the living room until he returns near where Jared stands, choosing to lean his shoulders against the wall near the open door to the deck.

“No guards. No cameras. You didn’t tell them I came,” the Jackal remarks, folding his arms across his chest.

The stools for the breakfast bar are nearby, but Jared doesn’t sit down, remaining standing about eight feet away from the Jackal. “No reason to.” Jared shrugs. “You’re not trying to kill me and I don’t want to live my life under constant guard.”

“Somehow I think they’d frown on you keeping that from them,” the Jackal says with a thin smile. “And here I thought you told them everything. Like a good, obedient soldier boy.”’

The words are meant to cut; Jared feels the lash of them but he doesn’t let it go deep, doesn’t let it show. “I guess you were wrong,” he says.

The Jackal stops, drawing himself up and looking at Jared—really looking at Jared, like he’s seeing him for the first time. The smile that spreads across the Jackal’s lips whispers that he knows a secret. “I guess someone was wrong.”

Jared has no idea what that means, but he knows the Jackal isn’t just talking about Jared not telling SR0 about his visit. This is a secret that goes deeper. “What?” Jared asks, frowning.

“It’s only funny if you’re me,” the Jackal replies. “But I’m guessing you didn’t tell anyone about our kiss before, or you wouldn’t be here at all; you’d be under lock and key to save your precious soul.”

This time it’s Jared who chooses not to answer. 

“That’s what I thought,” the Jackal says, in conclusion.

“Why are you here?” Jared asks. “Do you have a point? Or did you just show up to stroll around and act superior and make jokes I don’t understand? I figured the leader of Checkmate probably has more important things to do.”

“Ooh, going for the jugular so soon,” the Jackal says, hissing in a breath and fake grimacing. “I must’ve really struck a nerve.”

“Point,” Jared reiterates. “Do you have one?”

“I do.” The Jackal nods. “Last night, when I said you were trying to figure out what I wanted for the sake of SR0, you said you wanted to know what I want. Why?”

It’s such an unexpected, almost offhand question. It’s also so directly related to what Jared really wants to know about the Jackal that it takes Jared a moment to respond. “Because I feel like there’s something more to you than the guy who turned on SR0.”

“So I’m not a terrorist anymore?” the Jackal asks, darkly amused.

Jared considers carefully before he responds. “No. You are. What I don’t understand is why.”

“Why do you care?” the Jackal responds, casually flippant.

Jared knows he needs to tread carefully now. He has to let his curiosity shine through enough to be convincing, but not get caught up in it at the same time. “I don’t care . I am curious though.”

“Really?” The Jackal’s voice is flat and unconvinced.

Jared nods. “Yes.”

“I’m the villain. The bad guy.” The Jackal taps his chest with both hands and spreads his arms as if presenting himself. “I’m the goddamned Jackal . That’s enough for a black and white guy like you, isn’t it?”

This feels like such a dangerous line to walk, but Jared can’t seem to hesitate. “Maybe I’m not as black and white as you think.”

The Jackal tosses his head back in a brief, ugly laugh.

He clearly doesn’t believe Jared, and Jared can’t blame him; Jared is pretty black and white. He’s an assassin, there isn’t a lot of room for shades of gray on the surface. If he’s going to do this, and do it successfully, he’s going to have to be more honest.

And here’s the honest heart of it, the thing Jared has never understood, no matter how much he’s thought about it, no matter how many times he’s read the files. “Man… you could have been anything, done anything. You’re crazy smart, insanely talented, your physical abilities are still off the chart. You were the best thing the CIA had ever seen, medals and honors piled on you. They gave you everything, would have given you more. And you left. You turned. Why?”

“You mean why did I give up my perfect, golden boy life? The glory of serving my country?” The Jackal asks these questions with calm and obvious sarcasm.

“There must have been a reason.” 

“There was.” It’s all the Jackal says, with such finality that Jared knows he isn’t going to say anything more. Not about that.

Jared decides to let it go. He can’t force the conversation without being obvious. “Okay. You don’t owe me an explanation. But you did ask why I wanted to know what you wanted.”

“Right.” The Jackal nods. “Because you think there’s more to me than the guy who turned on SR0.” His voice is derisive and still utterly unconvinced.

“Isn’t there?” Jared returns.

The Jackal pushes his shoulders from the wall, standing upright. He eyes Jared up and down with a long, discerning look.

“I know what you’re doing,” the Jackal says, voice a low roll that almost sounds like a purr.

“Asking you questions?” Jared counters.

“Staying above ground,” the Jackal goes on, stepping closer to Jared. He tilts his head to one side, eyes locking on Jared’s. “Leaving yourself vulnerable.” His tone is playful, mocking, a cat playing with a mouse. “You wanted me here. You thought… maybe... if you could get close to me outside of a mission, I’d open up to you. Let you in enough to do some real damage.”

He knows. Shit, he knows . And well, Jared isn’t surprised, exactly. The Jackal has been doing this for almost twenty years, he used to work for SR0; there isn’t much they could throw at him that he wouldn’t see coming. He’s way too smart. 

Jared only has a moment to try and salvage this, pull it back from the brink. He has to come at the Jackal sideways, try something he won’t see coming. What had Dr. Berry said?

Trying to get close to someone like the Jackal is impossible unless you make yourself completely vulnerable to him.

He knows she’d said more than that, that she had, in fact, warned him against doing that very thing. But he doesn’t want to lose this opportunity, and he can sense if he doesn’t say something fast, the Jackal is going to leave, and this whole effort will have been for nothing.

If he wants the Jackal to open up, he’s going to have to open up, too.

“You’re not wrong,” Jared says, and lets his mind shift. Careful undoing of several locks, doors falling open, and he lets some of what he feels come to the surface. It’s hard for a few seconds, emotions wanting to stay buried, used to being safe, protected. But there was never anything safe about any of this.

He pulls in a deep breath, and begins.

“You’re not wrong,” Jared says again, “but maybe I am.” Jared speaks softly, and the words feel like the truth, terrifying but true: “Maybe I want to be wrong about you.”

The Jackal chuckles, tilting his chin upward as he looks at Jared. “You’re good,” he says. “Very, very good. I bet a lot of people fall for those big, dewy hazel eyes, don’t they?”

Jared ignores that and takes a step forward, drawing close to the other man.

He’s operating on instinct, playing into the physical attraction between them more than a little. But he’s also being honest now, maybe too honest, voice slipping low, barely above a whisper. “It was my idea to try and get close to you. To establish a connection. But the truth is… I think we already have one.” Jared takes another step forward. “The truth is, I don’t know why you left SR0, but I think there must have been a reason. The truth is…” Jared whispers, his mouth within inches of the Jackal’s, “I want to know the truth.” 

“Why don’t we stop pretending that’s what you want?” the Jackal asks, voice low and suggestive, but still sharp, still mocking.

“Maybe I want that, too,” Jared admits, voice scarcely above a whisper. “Maybe I do want you. But I’m not lying.” He knows he’s riding a line so close to the truth that it’s perilous, but he isn’t lying. “I want to know.”

The Jackal shakes his head marginally back and forth, eyes riveted on Jared’s. “Damn. I almost believe you,” he murmurs, sounding impressed. 

There’s a slight tremor in the Jackal’s voice, so slight a normal person probably wouldn’t even notice. But Jared hears it, knows he’s caught the Jackal off guard, gotten under his skin just a fraction, even if only for a moment.

Emboldened by the other man’s reaction, Jared pushes harder.

“You knew what I was doing,” Jared goes on, considering the other man intently, “and you still came.” Jared looks him up and down deliberately, letting his eyes linger, tongue flickering out to lick his upper lip as he locks eyes with the Jackal again. “I think you feel the connection between us, too.” 

“You think so?” the Jackal inquires, rough edge to his low voice. There’s almost hostility in the Jackal’s tone now, but there’s something else, too, something raw. And if Jared pushes a little more, applies just the right amount of pressure…

“Are you scared to tell me?” It’s an honest question, but Jared’s riding that fine line of mockery the Jackal seems to love so much. “That can’t be true,” Jared says, the corner of his mouth curling in a slight smile as he shakes his head. “You’re not scared of anything. So come on,” Jared fairly whispers. “Tell me, Jensen .”

Fire in the Jackal’s eyes, gold flecks blazing against green, and Jared isn’t sure what he sees there, but he knows it’s something.

“You want to play this game, Jared?” the Jackal asks, tone low and dangerous. “Okay.” His hand snakes out, fingers gripping Jared’s wrist like a vise.

Jared realizes then that he’d pushed too hard, and he doesn’t understand what the Jackal is doing to him, but he knows it feels like tiny needles being driven into every inch of his skin.

He starts to gasp, “What—”

Jared feels like his soul is being ripped through his skin, warping inside out, flipping, sliding sideways, breath blown from his lungs, eyes shut tight, then opening, then opening again and again and again.

He gasps for air, ground solid again beneath his feet, strong hand still wrapped around his wrist.

“Pay attention,” a voice commands, and Jared blinks.

“Her timeline is almost completely scarred shut,” the Jackal says from behind him, almost directly in his ear. “Everywhere she touches time is almost entirely beyond us. But there are still a few moments. Like this.”

Jared is still dazed, unable to focus.

A strong hand grips the back of his head, shaking him, directing his vision.

Fractals of light coalesce into the shape of the sun, and the world begins to take form, people and objects becoming more than lines and curves, solidifying. They’re standing at the mouth of a service alleyway. He knows where he is. Disney World. He’s in Disney World.

Across the crowd of people passing by, set against the twin jewels of sunlit water and bright sky, is a man and a woman.

She’s gorgeous. A breathtaking redhead with dark eyes and a pointed chin, strong nose and a million dollar smile aimed at… 

The Jackal. It’s the Jackal that she’s smiling at, her arms thrown around his neck, his face younger, and he’s beaming at her, eyes brighter than sunlight. His expression is one of happiness, open, unlike any way Jared’s ever seen him before.

Jared reaches out, fingers clutching the Jackal’s shoulder. He’s there, right there next to Jared, and they’re both in the past, watching a younger Jackal in the arms of a beautiful woman.

Her arms are wrapped around his neck, sunlight glittering against the diamond on her left hand, red nails dimpling his shoulder, pulling him close, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him.

The image catches, seeming to still like a frame of film, seagull wings stuttering against the background of sky, their clothing halting and flowing. No one seems alarmed, people around them still talking and smiling for a moment; this is only happening to Jared and the Jackal, two people in the wrong time, time itself coming for them, as if to drive out the wrongness of them.

Sound like a crackling pop, and everything freezes, a brown circle forming in the sky, dull and bubbling like a cigarette burn.

Time begins to burn all around them, ozone and almonds and the bright, vibrant scent of fire. Ash and flame, scorching scent like death and Jared can feel the heat coming, crushing down around him. Time is scarring shut around this moment, sealing down on them, and if they don’t—

The Jackal yanks his arm, tugging him, and the world flips inside out, jittering and jerking. Rush of heat, ozone burning in his throat, flames caressing him, and then they’re gone. For a moment, it seems as if he ceases to exist altogether—and then he’s dragging in a desperate breath.

They’re back in the bungalow, vague, familiar shapes registering, Jared’s stomach trying to turn over inside him. Jared’s sagging, the Jackal standing in front him, half holding Jared upright.

“You wanted to know what happened, didn’t you?” the Jackal demands. 

“I…” Jared can’t form more words, too disoriented.

The hands on him shake him, calling him to attention.

“Danneel Harris,” the Jackal says, lowering his head to meet Jared’s eyes as he lets go of him.

“What?” Jared manages to gasp, brain still reeling.

The Jackal’s face is impassive as he vanishes.

Jared slides to the floor, blackness enveloping him.

Chapter Text

Jared comes to, swimming up from blackness to awareness, sitting up the moment he awakens. He’s woozy, body swaying uncertainly with his momentum, and he places his hands flat against the floor to steady himself. The scent of almonds and ozone is still strong in the air, which means he’s only been out for a few minutes at most.

A second later he bends forward, throwing up between the spread of his knees. He spits, and then groans, wiping a hand across his mouth, feels his stomach clench, cramp, and then loosen a little.

His mind is jingling and jangling inside his head, thoughts like tiny, silver, darting fish. He closes his eyes, breathes deep, centers himself and tries to grab hold of a train of thought.

He just traveled back through time and forward again in the space of maybe five minutes—that would be enough to scramble anyone’s brains for a few minutes—but he also did it using a different kind of technology. Apparently the Jackal’s portable time travel unit packs one hell of a punch. He wonders, for a moment, how the Jackal can handle it without collapsing into a puddle on the floor like Jared just did, and then realizes the Jackal must be used to it.

Not only that, but the Jackal had taken Jared back in time with him. Jared would never have suspected it was possible, and he’s sure SR0 doesn’t suspect it either. Time travel consumes so much energy Jared’s still amazed the Jackal can do it at all with machinery that small—much less take two people through time at once.

His first instinct is that he needs to inform SR0 about it asap, and on the heels of that comes the realization that he can’t. If he tells SR0 it’s possible, he’ll be taken off the mission so fast his head won’t even have time to spin. Random time travel is dangerous, to both the timeline and the traveler. Not to mention; the Jackal might not want to kill Jared, but he could have accidentally gotten Jared killed. Hell, they’d both come close to being fried by time burn.

And then there’s what he’d seen.

Jared pushes up from the floor, pulling himself slowly to his feet. He does a quick test to see if his legs will hold him, finds his footing fairly steady and makes his way to the kitchen. He fills a glass of water from the tap, draining it in one long, slow drink. His stomach cramps again and he hovers over the sink, waiting to see if it rebels. It doesn’t, settling back down again after a moment, seeming to be willing to accept the water on a trial basis, anyway. He’s beginning to feel a lot better, the effects wearing off as the smell of time burn begins to fade.

He cleans up the mess he’d made, grateful for the hard wood floors. It only takes a couple of minutes, his mind working furiously the whole time.

He’d pushed the Jackal, probably too hard, and he’d gotten what he’d asked for. Now he has more questions than ever. He probably should have guessed that would be the case. 

His mission should be blown. The Jackal knows what he’s doing, recovering on the surface, trying to get close. Jared should be giving up and reporting to SR0 that he’d failed and they’re going to have to try another tactic. And yet Jared had done exactly what he’d set out to do—had gotten far more than he’d ever expected. The Jackal had shown Jared something so personal, so private. 

Danneel Harris. Most likely his fiancee. But she was never mentioned anywhere in the Jackal’s files. Jared doesn’t understand her relevance, much less understand why the Jackal had shown her to him. What does she have to do with any of it?

And then, strangely, it’s Chad’s voice that speaks up in his mind, of all people.

“I think the real Checkmate mastermind was someone else who worked here. I think that’s how the Jackal got caught by them.”

“You’re saying you think it was an inside job?”

“Exactly. A double agent who set him up.”

Wait. 

“So you think… this person was a woman? Who seduced him, had a relationship with him, got him to trust her, and then got him captured?”

“It makes sense. Jackles is a motherfucker, but he’s smart. Only time a guy that smart gets dumb is when his heart is involved.”

Jared’s brain is rapidly putting together pieces. The Jackal had said whatever happened to him had something to do with this woman, Danneel Harris, and maybe, just maybe, Chad’s conspiracy theory about a female double agent hadn’t been as crazy as it had seemed.

“For four years leading up to January twenty-seventeen, there are only six active agents on record. There’s no way SR0 left an agent slot open for that long. That means someone is missing. Someone was wiped out of existence.”

Maybe she was erased from SR0’s records. Maybe that four year long empty slot on the agent roster had belonged to Danneel Harris.

Maybe… maybe… Chad was right? But if the Jackal remembers her, remembers that she was responsible for what happened to him, then why is he still working for Checkmate?

This is crazy. He’s starting to believe Chad’s conspiracy theories. He takes a deep breath and forces his mind to slow. The effects of time travel have worn off, but he’s tired as hell, drained from the experience. He needs rest.

He makes his way slowly and carefully to the bedroom, falling into the comfortable embrace of the bed.

His body is tired, but his brain is still racing.

Why? Why did the Jackal show him this? Did he really want to give Jared insight into what happened to him? And if so, again, why ? A man like the Jackal doesn’t do anything that isn't calculated, and yet, Jared can’t believe it was done from cold calculation—not the way it had happened. Had Jared really reached him? Pissed him off enough, gotten close enough to push him into it? Or is the Jackal just fucking with him once again?

There’s no way to know , he tells himself, forcing himself to close his eyes.

He can still see them, set against the gorgeous backdrop of the bright blue sky, her arms wrapped around the Jackal, beautiful face upturned with a brilliant smile, the two of them looking into each other’s eyes, sunlight twinkling off the diamond on her finger. Young and in love, whole lives ahead of them.

Such an intimate moment, and yet the Jackal had shared it with him. And if the Jackal was telling the truth about her timeline, it was one of the only moments the Jackal had left where he could have seen her again.

Why share it with Jared? Why waste it on Jared? And why is her timeline so scarred in the first place?

Tired as he is, it’s a long time before he sleeps.

* * * * *

In the morning, the certainty that Chad was right still hasn’t faded, hitting him full force before he’s even completely awake. Jared sits up and sighs, rubs his hands across his face, letting his chin rest in the heels of his hands for a moment while he tries to come to terms with it.

Whatever emotions he has, whatever the Jackal’s motives are, he can’t deny that Chad’s theory has merit.

He has a video call with Stephen in an hour, and he isn’t sure he can tell Stephen about any of this at all. 

He reaches over, pulling his laptop from the nightstand. His fingers hesitate over the keyboard before typing out the name ‘Danneel Harris’ into the search engine and hitting enter. He tries again, and then again with various spellings. He tries several different search engines.

He gets back zero results.

It’s more damning than anything else that’s happened so far. He can do a deeper search later, birth records and such, but the fact that a name that unique triggers nothing on the internet means something big. Either the Jackal had lied about her name, or she’s been erased from digital reality. The latter option means one of two things; Checkmate is responsible, or SR0 is.

Maybe the Jackal had lied. But why? Why show Jared that moment between them and then lie about her name? 

She existed, that much Jared knows. He could smell the water and the wind, see them in perfect detail, had felt the burn of time. Maybe the Jackal had told him a different name to get him to doubt SR0?

He searches for everyone SR0 had recorded the Jackal dating, names pulled from memory, one by one. None of them were agents. They all show up in his refined searches, all of them extremely pretty, but none of them sharing features with the woman who’d worn an engagement ring. None of them are pictured with the Jackal, but then, everything about him has been erased from the public eye. 

She doesn’t show up in an internet search, she isn’t in the Jackal’s file. 

Either way, Jared isn’t supposed to know about her. Except that the Jackal had told him.

Jared squeezes the point of his chin between the pad of his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger.

After a moment, he sets the laptop aside, pushes up from the bed and heads for the shower, mentally preparing for what he’s going to say to Stephen.

* * * * *

“He came to visit you again?” Stephen asks, concerned and surprised all at once.

“I was shocked, too,” Jared agrees.

“What happened? What did he want?”

“I have no idea why he came. But we talked for a while, and he told me something.”

He can’t tell Stephen that the Jackal knows what they’re up to with this mission, or the mission would come to an abrupt end. He can’t tell Stephen about his incredible chemistry with the Jackal, how close Jared had played things based on that connection; how that’s how Jared found out what he knows. He can’t tell Stephen that the Jackal took him back in time. 

That leaves one thing he can tell.

“He mentioned a name,” Jared says, watching Stephen’s face carefully on the laptop screen. “Danneel Harris.”

Stephen’s expression betrays nothing as he shakes his head. “That’s an odd name. Who do you think they are?”

“I got the impression it was someone who meant something to him.” Jared takes a moment, appearing to ponder. “Doctor Berry knew the Jackal; maybe she knew about Danneel Harris, too.”

“You think this Danneel Harris was part of SR0?” Stephen asks, frowning. 

Jared can’t tell him the truth about this either. That Chad has a wild conspiracy theory that it was a woman who was responsible for the Jackal leaving SR0, that Chad thinks there was an agent for four years at SR0 who had simply been erased from the records. That Jared had seen the two of them embracing in Disney World, just above the facility. That they were by all appearances engaged , and there should damned well be more than a mention of her in the Jackal’s files, even if she hadn’t been part of SR0.

“It’s just a hunch,” Jared says, trying to make the words light. “There’s nothing about her in the files I’ve read, but my files aren’t level sixteen.”

“Did you do an internet search for her?” Stephen asks.

“I did, but I didn’t find anything.”

Stephen rubs a hand across his jaw and then nods. “Okay, I’ll look into it.”

Jared’s sure if there was anything to know, Stephen would already know it. Which means talking to Stephen is a dead end. If it were above Jared’s security level, Stephen likely would have told him so. Maybe the records of Danneel Harris had been erased before Stephen joined SR0. Which would mean Stephen doesn’t even know about her. Which means Jared should probably let it go. 

But if it’s the key to understanding the Jackal, then how can he? How can SR0 expect him to work this case without all the information? Danneel Harris had clearly meant something important to the Jackal. He’s sure whoever erased her had their reasons for eradicating her from the Jackal’s history, but without context for her place in the Jackal’s life, he’s missing vital information.

He’ll just have to figure it out on his own, he decides.

“There was one weird thing,” Jared goes on. “He was surprised there weren’t any guards or cameras after his first visit. He said he thought I told SR0 everything. I told him I guessed he was wrong. And then he gave me this weird smile, like he knew a secret, and he said, ‘I guess someone was wrong’.”

Stephen rubs a hand across his mouth. It lodges against his jaw, supporting his face and then he nods once. “Huh.”

After a moment, Stephen says, “Are you sure he was referring to not telling SR0 about his visit?”

Jared is careful to keep his expression neutral as he nods. It hadn’t been all the Jackal was talking about; he’d specifically referenced their kiss as being something Jared hadn’t told anyone about, too. He’s brushing up uncomfortably close against the omission of the Jackal knowing the truth about his mission on the surface. He decides to let that one ride.

“He was probably just fucking with me,” Jared adds, and shrugs.

Stephen studies him for a long moment, concern etched into the fine lines around his eyes. “Jared. Are you being careful?”

“Of course.”

“Okay,” Stephen replies, not seeming convinced at all. “But I need details about this conversation. For instance, how did this person’s name come up?”

“I’ll put it all in my written report,” Jared promises. “I would have done it last night…” Jared touches his chest seemingly absently, “but I was so tired.” 

Stephen seems to soften a little, nodding. “I understand.” And then, “Are you feeling okay?”

Jared hadn’t lied, but he’d definitely been being deceitful. Stephen’s concern for him makes him feel even worse. “Don’t worry about it. I feel fine this morning.”

They talk for a couple more minutes before finally saying goodbye and logging off. Jared feels the lingering ghost of guilt settle heavy on his shoulders and shakes physically, trying to throw it off.

The lack of a report written the night before means he doesn’t have an appointment with Dr. Berry this morning. That will happen tomorrow, and he’s grateful for the reprieve, because he needs to consider very carefully what he’s going to say.

In the meantime, he’s going to work on finding out what he can about Danneel Harris. 

He gets up, pours himself a second cup of coffee and picks up his phone, calling the one person who can possibly help him.

* * * * *

“Okay,” Chad says, running a hand through his short, spiky blond hair when Jared opens the door. “I’m here at fuck o’clock in the morning. Happy?”

“It’s nine AM,” Jared replies, bemused. 

Chad rubs at his temples then seems to shake off his grogginess. “You got coffee or what?”

Jared steps back to let him inside the house.

A few minutes later, they both have cups of coffee, sitting across from each other in the living room chairs. 

“You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on before the suspense kills me?” Chad demands.

Jared sighs, then nods, leaning forward in his chair. He sets his coffee mug down on the little table between them and laces his fingers together, elbows on his knees. Early morning light fills the room, the water through the windows vast and brilliant blue.

He’s going to have to just dive into this. “Let’s say, on one of my missions, the Jackal mentioned someone who was part of his life. And I couldn’t find that person anywhere, internet search or SR0 files.”

“Then they’ve been erased,” Chad answers without hesitation. “What name? Who are they?”

“Danneel Harris.”

Jared had asked Chad to bring his laptop and Chad wastes no time opening it, balancing it on his knees while he logs in and does a quick search. He frowns, then does it again. Then tries one more time and shakes his head, frowning. “Yeah, no trace in SR0 files.”

Jared nods; he’d expected Chad to tell him as much. That doesn’t mean it’s the truth. “But you’re level sixteen, right? Are you saying even at your level there’s nothing?”

Chad’s eyes flick up from the laptop screen to meet Jared’s. “Jared, I can’t tell you level sixteen shit. But I can definitely not tell you shit. And I can tell you I’m definitely not telling you anything above your paygrade because there’s nothing to tell.”

He doesn’t question Chad, just loves him for answering without hesitation.

“Why did he tell you this person’s name?” Chad asks, and Jared loves him a little less.

Jared squeezes his interlaced fingers together, hedging. “I think he had a connection with them.”

‘Why do you think that?” Chad demands, eyes hard and sharp on Jared.

“Just the way he interacted with me.”

Chad sets his laptop aside, his face stony. “Save the bullshit for your meetings with Stephen. What the fuck happened here? Someone like the Jackal doesn’t just tell you a big, gigantic clue to their past unless they have a reason.”

“I’ve been working to get close to him, to get him to trust me.”

Chad actually laughs; a bitter, bewildered sound. “Like that’s ever gonna happen? You should know better, Jay. Hell, SR0   should know better.”

Jared lifts his shoulders. “Well, he told me about Danneel Harris, so I guess it kinda worked.”

Chad levels his eyes on Jared, staring him down. “What. Happened ?”

And he could lie to Chad, but it wouldn’t help their research—it might even hinder it. But more than that, Jared doesn’t want to lie to Chad.

“Okay,” Jared says, and takes a deep breath. He takes his time telling the story, telling Chad everything that’s happened between him and the Jackal from the beginning, from the Chinese missions to his secret mission here on the surface, leaving out only the kiss. Chad’s eyes grow wide as he listens, and then narrow, face slowly darkening like a storm cloud. 

When Jared finishes, Chad jumps up from the chair, exploding.

“He could have just left you there, Jay. Abandoned you in the fuck all forties or some shit, and finding you would have been like finding a hymen in a whorehouse. You could have been there forever.”

“That didn’t happen.”

“But it could have.”

Jared is shaking his head. “No. If he wanted me out of the picture he’d have killed me already.”

Chad paces in a quick, tight circle, rubbing his chin with his hand. “Okay,” he says, lifting his hands. “Fine. I’m gonna let this go for now. Let’s say he doesn’t want to kill you or lose you in the timestream. Let’s assume he’s telling you the truth and what you saw was real.”

“Okay,” Jared agrees, wondering where Chad is going with this.

Chad comes to a complete halt and looks at Jared, a wide, slow smile spreading across his face. “That means I was right.” 

“About?”

“About it being a woman that turned him,” Chad says, jerking his hands for emphasis. Chad is beyond pleased, beyond elated. He is a man who has had his convictions confirmed; years of yarn and photographs and conspiracy theories given affirmation. 

“We don’t know that yet,” Jared responds. 

“It was a woman,” Chad says. “Just like I told you. She manipulated him, she got him where she wanted him, she betrayed him. Checkmate caught him, converted him. End of story.” Chad claps his hands together for punctuation, and then winces at the sound. He rubs a hand across his forehead.

“I don’t know about brainwashing, but I think you might have been right about the empty agent slot. I think she might have been part of SR0. But there’s obviously a lot more to the story.”

Chad is already shaking his head. “She had to have set him up. No way a guy like him leaves the CIA or SR0 unless someone fucked him up in an incredible, unforgivable way.”

Jared blinks, as unable to believe it as he had been the first time Chad had presented the idea. “You really think a guy like the Jackal could be duped, set up by anyone ?”

“If they got in early enough, fuck yes. Think about your first love, Jay. Was there anything rational about it? Is there anything you wouldn’t have done for it?” Chad walks until he’s standing in front of Jared.

Jared doesn’t have an answer for any of those questions.

“More importantly,” Chad goes on, rubbing his hands together as he focuses on Jared. “Did you ever get over it?”

“You’re assuming I’ve ever been in love,” Jared responds. “Again.”

“Shit, I keep forgetting you’re actually a robot,” Chad apologizes, putting a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “You’re just so lifelike ,” Chad remarks.

Jared shrugs off Chad’s hand. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole,” Chad says, and grins to beat the devil. 

Jared grins back and then shakes his head, huffing out a laugh. 

“So,” Chad goes on. “We need to find out who this woman is. We need to find out what she did to Jackles.”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees. “But how? If SR0 deleted all her records, if she’s been erased from electronic existence, how do we track her?”

Chad makes a dismissive motion with one hand. “Leave that to me.”

Jared nods and then goes somber, feeling guilty before he says, “You can’t tell anyone. You know that, right?”

This time Chad lifts his hands in a ‘duh’ motion. “This is the shit SR0 eradicated from their files on purpose. You think I wanna end up eradicated, too?” Chad huffs out an offended laugh. “Please. I live for this shit. I know how conspiracies work.”

“You’re not worried they might find out?” Jared asks, tense.

“Mmm,” Chad responds, shrugging. “Fuck ‘em. They’re the government. What are they gonna do? Kill us?”

Jared releases a disbelieving laugh, vaguely relieved.

“No. I was kidding,” Chad says, dead serious. “They’re the government; they’d totally kill us.”

Jared blinks at him, relief dissolving in an instant.

“Probably not for this, though,” Chad adds, and shrugs, scratching at one ear. “We just have to make sure they don’t find out.”

“And you’re okay with this? With me not telling them everything? With you not telling them everything?”

“Like I could resist this level of mystery?” Chad scoffs. “Besides,” he adds with a quick shrug. “The more we know about the Jackal, the safer you’ll be.”

Jared smiles at Chad, letting the warmth and gratitude he feels show through.

Chad pushes him upside the head and smirks. “Knock off the sentimental bullshit. You can kiss me later. Right now, we need tools.”

“Tools?”

Chad nods and laces his fingers together, bending them outward as he cracks his knuckles. “Starting with my stealth laptop,” he says with a grin.

* * * * *

Jared doesn't know exactly where Chad keeps his secret laptop, just knows that Chad laughs when Jared asks if it’s in the facility, and that Chad leaves and returns 45 minutes later with a laptop quite unlike anything Jared’s seen before. It’s black and so slender it might disappear if Chad turned it sideways, if it weren’t for the slim modifications clinging to the lid and plugged into the back. 

Jared doesn’t need to ask why Chad has it, but Chad tells him anyway.

“SR0 tracks everything we do on their equipment; this baby is so far under the radar they couldn’t track it even if they knew it existed.”

Chad’s sitting at the desk in the house, Jared standing next to Chad, leaning down so he can watch the laptop screen. “Right. But how are you going to find out anything about her using a computer?”

“Everything has a trail.”

“Yeah.” Jared pauses, pondering that. “But how do you track it?”

“We start by looking for what isn’t there.”

Jared thinks about that for a few seconds. “Right. Graduating classes without the correct number of names to match graduating students, missing photos for a particular graduating class, a missing student ID number.”

“Exactly,” Chad agrees, pointing at him. “But that only takes us so far. The CIA would know the lack of a trail leaves a trackable trail. So. They’d do as much damage control as possible. They’d do what they did with the Jackal’s records. They’d replace her name with someone else’s. That’s much harder to track.”

“That’s what they did to the Jackal’s records?” Jared asks. He’d never really thought about it in detail until now.

“Yeah dude. Theodore Manning had one hell of a student record at MIT. He even has a Facebook account that still gets updated from time to time with pictures of him and his wife. They kayak, they hike, take picnics and shit. Very normal. He works for a tech company according to his posts—unnamed on his bio of course.”

Jared tilts his head slightly, looking at Chad, surprised, though he probably shouldn’t be.

Chad goes on. “‘I’m not good at Facebook’—that’s Theo’s story, whenever he remembers to post. He’s too busy being in love with his wife and programming.” Chad makes a scoffing sound. “Guaranteed they’re both deep CIA agents that don’t do missions and get paid a shit ton of money to stay out of the public eye. I could probably find them if I cared, but I haven’t put too much time into it.” Chad shrugs. “I already know they’re fakes. I don’t give a fuck who they really are.”

Jared shakes his head, taking that in. “So someone just took over the Jackal’s life? Pretended to be him?”

“Like the most mundane motherfucker that ever lived,” Chad says, and nods, sagely.

That has to be one of the saddest things Jared’s ever heard. It’s one thing for the Jackal to be erased; another for his life to be usurped. To be taken over by some guy whose name probably isn’t even Theodore Manning who’s still making fake Facebook posts in his place. Making mundane fake Facebook posts in his place. Overwriting the Jackal’s history with a false, ordinary, unremarkable narrative.

That’s worse than just being erased.

“One thing I know for sure,” Chad goes on. “Whoever the motherfucker was that rewrote the Jackal’s history had a wicked sense of humor. Theodore Manning.” Chad looks at Jared, expectant. “ The -o Man -ning,” he enunciates, waiting for a response.

Jared shakes his head, unsure.

“The Man,” Chad concludes, like Jared should have known. “Jay, you can’t make this shit up. They literally replaced their biggest enemy's name with ‘The Man’.

Jared thinks it’s unlikely that was planned. It’s ironic, but probably just a coincidence. “Why hasn’t he fought back? Why hasn’t he tried to get this Theo guy taken down off the internet?”

“He’s not a hacker. He has one on his team, but doing that might leave a trail SR0 could track. Besides, it benefits him to be a ghost.” Chad shakes his head and squints at Jared, puzzled. “He’s a fucking terrorist, Jared.”

Yeah. Okay. He’s losing the plot. Fair.

“So what’s our move?” Jared asks.

Chad looks at him for a moment longer, then returns his attention to the laptop screen, fingers falling against the keys. “So for Danneel Harris, we start with what isn’t there. Because no shit they’d still delete all the photos for a particular graduating class. They can’t get away from that; facial recognition makes her too easy to find.”

“Couldn’t they just alter the photos, put someone else’s face in place of hers?”

“That’s a lot more work than just erasing all photos in a school database associated with her.”

“Okay. But how do we find out what the fake name is?”

“I know how to find it.” Chad glances sideways at Jared and grins. “You’re really smart, dude, a better agent than I could be in a million years, but this…” Chad looks back to the computer screen, rolls his shoulders and starts typing. “This is what I do .”

Chad would have been a shoo-in to work for SR0 as a programmer/hacker. Years of school and self-taught skill all built on his desire to root out conspiracies. He’d gotten the job as Event Probability Coordinator because his intuitive instincts coupled with his ability to predict outcomes based on compiling the data he‘d collected were incredible. They still bring him in to consult on computer projects from time to time. But finding important data and figuring out how it relates to everything else is where Chad shines.

“So,” Chad goes on, taking on a narrative tone. “We know she was an SR0 agent…”

They don’t actually know that, but Jared doesn’t contradict him.

“Which means she was a super brain, probably recruited by the CIA out of some big name school while she was still pretty young. Probably right after graduation. Maybe before, but we’ll start with the theory that she graduated first.”

Jared turns his head to watch him. Chad is on fire, absorbed, fingers dancing against the keyboard, his posture perfectly poised. He is a man completely in the moment, the master of his domain, fingers hitting the keys with rapid strikes. 

Chad continues speaking, words riding the rhythm of his keystrokes. “She was probably around the Jackal’s age from what you said, so that narrows down the year range—we can always expand it later if we need to,” Chad adds, still typing. “We go through those results. And If there’s a graduating class without any pictures, that’s where we start.”

Jared nods. That makes sense.

“So,” Chad continues, “I’ll send this script out to search all the big name schools for graduating classes within a six year range around the Jackal’s graduating age. And then…” fingers typing furiously, “we’ll... just... fucking…” typing finished,” see.” He punctuates the word by hitting the enter key.

Chad swivels his head to look at Jared, smirk curving one side of his mouth.

* * * * *

Jared writes up his report for Stephen while they wait for the search results to return. It doesn’t take terribly long, Chad slapping Jared’s shoulder with one hand, mixed drink held carefully in the other.

It takes hours and a few more mixed drinks after that for them to find something.

They look through years of Yale, Harvard, Berkeley, MIT, Princeton and Stanford before they find a graduating class with almost no photos. Stanford class of 2011.

“Fucking bingo. Here we go,” Chad says, typing like a madman. “Now I know where to look.”

Chad does a quick script search. “There are no missing student ID numbers. One-thousand-sixteen-hundred-sixty-one graduating students out of one-thousand-seven-hundred-nineteen admitted. The ones who dropped out probably aren’t her, but we’ll check them too, just to be sure.” 

Jared nods, thinking for a moment. “How did you find Theodore Manning?” Jared asks, looking at Chad.

“Doing a data change that large on someone’s history leaves a footprint,” Chad says. “People who know how to do that know how to look for what was done. I’m one of maybe fifty that can do it on the level of the CIA. Except the others wouldn’t even know what they’re looking for, in this case. So I’m one of one.”

Jared doesn’t ask how he knows that, but he believes it. Chad’s time at SR0 post-dates the Jackal’s. Chad didn’t rewrite the Jackal’s history, but Jared believes that Chad knows the Jackal’s history was rewritten.

“The footprint is hard to find. Difficult, but not impossible. You have to know where to start looking. And now that I do…” Chad pauses typing and looks over at Jared with a grin. “We’re definitely gonna find her.”

* * * * *

The sun is sinking low in the western horizon, golden light glinting against the water, rippling surface like spun glass. Chad is still inside, searching through the class of Stanford, 2011. Jared is standing on the deck, mixed drink in one hand, body resting against the railing. 

They’re going to find Danneel Harris, he feels sure of that. Even if it isn't the Stanford class of 2011, they’ll find her. 

He stares out across the water, thinking about Theodore Manning. Theodore Manning, who’d taken the Jackal’s place in existence. Theodore Manning, who goes on hikes and picnics in the mountains. 

Jared’s phone is laid flat on the railing, finger of his free hand scrolling, and Theodore Manning is decidedly average looking, rounded face and downturned brown eyes, pale skin and dark hair. He’s not unattractive, but he’s nowhere near as gorgeous as the man whose life he’s assumed. 

The man who’d abandoned SR0. Who’d betrayed SR0. Jared understands why SR0 had set this man up in the Jackal’s place. But it seems somehow grotesque; a mockery of the man himself. The Jackal is anything but ordinary. Whatever his reasons were for leaving SR0, however they’re related to Danneel Harris, he’s not an average story.

Jared scrolls a bit further and then closes his browser.

He takes a deep breath and then takes a long drink from his glass.

* * * * *

A few minutes later, Jared falls into the chair alongside Chad, who’s still scrolling through strings of data.

“So how are things with Katie?”

Chad looks off into the distance for a moment before his eyes track back to meet Jared’s. “It’s weird. I still don’t get why we’re together. But we have fun. And the sex is killer. She stays over like, every night.” Chad tilts his head side to one side. “It’s good. I think we’re drinking too much, though. That or I’m getting weak. Headaches every damned morning.”

“You’re getting old,” Jared tells him, somber.

“Shut up,” Chad responds, pushing him upside the head. And then he stops, fingers flying to the keyboard as he catches sight of something on the screen. “This is it,” Chad says, voice flat. He hits a few keys, leaning closer to the screen. 

“How can you tell?” Jared asks, leaning in.

“Think of it like if you punched a hole in a piece of paper, and then you punched another hole in it. You take that second cut out circle, and try to fit inside the first hole. You might get it to fit in there perfectly, but there are always going to be tiny imperfections around the edges. Even if you have to use a magnifying glass to see them, they’re there.”

“It looks normal to me.”

“That’s because I’m the magnifying glass.” Chad squints at the screen for a moment. “All right, let me back out of the code so you can see what we’re looking at.” 

They’re back in the list of names, and Jared isn’t sure what he’s looking at.

“Son of a motherfucking—” Chad breaks off, clicking out to his internet browser.

“What?”

“They changed her name to Sheila,” Chad replies, disbelieving. “Guess who else’s name is Sheila?” 

“Sheila Manning,” Jared realizes, breathing out hard. “Theodore’s wife.”

“Damn.” Chad shakes his head, staring at the woman in question's Facebook page. “I should have started there and backtracked her. I should have realized she was a fake for someone else, too.”

She’s not by any stretch a dazzlingly gorgeous redhead; soft-faced with light green eyes and ashen brown hair. She’s every bit as average as her husband Theodore.

“It makes sense though, right?” Jared says, thoughtful. “They were a couple, their records are bound to intersect in a few places—maybe a lot of places. Doing a name change across the internet makes it easy.”

“Sheila Dunning, before she was married,” Chad notes, scrolling through the Stanford records again. “Damn. She was brilliant.”

“Maybe she still is. We don’t know she’s dead.”

Chad favors him with a surprised look. “For a guy who kills people, you’re one hell of an optimist. They replaced her, Jared. You asked the Jackal for his villain origin story and he pointed to her. You really think she’s still out there somewhere?”

“The Jackal is,” Jared replies simply, and shrugs.

Chad huffs out a disbelieving laugh and shakes his hand. Chad looks back to the computer screen, beginning to read aloud to Jared. “ Danneel Harris was a psychology major. Brilliant. Like off the charts IQ. Philosophy minor. Experimental brain studies programs, behavioral studies... ” Chad stops, looking Jared full in the face. “I mean, we can keep going, but this is open shut, dude. A chick like this could brainwash a young Jackles, no problem.”

Jared shifts his jaw, biting against the corner of his lower lip. “I don’t think so. I saw the way they looked at each other.”

“Like they were happy? Like they were in love?” Chad asks. 

“Yeah.”

“Says the guy who’s never been in love,” Chad remarks, wry. “They call that acting, Jared. You do it all the time.”

I know,” Jared concedes. “But there was something about it…”

“Okay,” Chad says and shrugs. “Let’s say they were happy and in love. Why did she vanish? Why did Jackles betray SR0?”

“That’s what we have to find out.”

Chad nods. “All right. But not tonight.” He rolls his head side to side to loosen up his neck. “We’ve done enough detective work for one day.”

“And Katie’s waiting,” Jared says, giving him a smirk.

“That too.” Chad closes his laptop and begins to pack up. “You know, you could invite Adrianne over for a visit. If you’re still interested.”

It seems utterly unlike Chad to suggest such a thing—considering how hard Chad had flipped out when Jared had slept with Adrianne a second time. But then, maybe things are different for Chad now that he’s in a relationship.

Jared has texted back and forth with Adrianne a bit since he’s been up here, but nothing too deep. Just general check ins on how he’s doing. Jared thinks about it and then lifts one shoulder. “I’m like you, man. I don’t know how to do a relationship.”

Chad nods sagely and lets out a sigh, tucking his laptop into his backpack. He lifts his hands as if presenting himself. “And yet. Here I am. Mostly freaked out, kinda happy.”

“That’s one hell of an endorsement,” Jared replies, sarcastic.

Chad laughs. “ That’s relationships, bro.”

* * * * *

After Chad is gone, Jared looks at the phone in his hand for a long time, reading and re-reading his last texts with Adrianne. Would she come over tonight, if he messaged her? He thinks maybe she would.

Everytime he tries to imagine having her here, all he can see are green eyes, a gorgeous face with angled cheekbones and a devilish smile. If he invited her over and she came, the Jackal definitely wouldn’t show tonight. Not that Jared expects him to, anyway. Not three nights in a row, and not after the way they’d parted.

He stares out through the glass doors to the deck, and sighs.

Present Day.... Elsewhere

Jensen stands at the end of a dock that while sturdy, was made more for show than for use. People come out here during the day for the view, but there are no boats moored to it, no fish of any size worth catching in this part of the water. The dock is closed at night, chain link gate locked, probably to keep drunk people from falling into the water and drowning themselves. It’s deserted now, the moon on its upward climb into the night sky, stars twinkling overhead. Water laps gently at the posts, a soothing, steady sound.

And then there’s a popping sound as air displaces, the scent of ozone and almonds filling the air.

Stephen steps up beside him, joining him in staring off into the distance.

The lighting inside the house is low, but through the sliding glass doors, Jensen can just make out Jared’s silhouette sitting in a chair. He’s been sitting that way, unmoving, for a few minutes.

“You told him about Danneel,” Stephen says.

Jensen doesn’t reply.

“But just her name,” Stephen goes on, and in his peripheral vision, Jensen can see Stephen’s face turn to look at him.

Stephen clearly doesn’t know Jensen had taken Jared back in time, so Jensen ignores that and doesn’t meet Stephen’s gaze. After a moment, Stephen looks back out at the bungalow.

“Any interesting activity?” Stephen asks.

“No. Chad was visiting when I stopped by earlier.”

Stephen chuckles, looking down at the dock. “Chad would shit himself if he knew you had any idea who he was.”

“He’s ultimately irrelevant.”

“I’m sure that wouldn’t comfort him at all.” 

They stand in silence under the moon for a moment, both of them looking at Jared’s bungalow. Stephen shifts his stance and then turns his head to look at Jensen again. “So. How did it go last night?”

“You got Jared’s report, didn’t you?” Jensen asks.

Stephen’s slight hesitation tells him that Stephen has not. 

“Not yet. He was too tired to write it last night.”

Jensen is sure Jared was tired last night. The Atta hits new users hard in the beginning. Still, Stephen and Jared had surely talked over video chat this morning. Stephen must know the gist of what happened, but Jensen isn’t going to volunteer anything. Jared had obviously given Stephen an edited version of events, and Jensen isn’t going to tell him anything that might contradict that version.

His continued silence seems to annoy Stephen. 

“I know we didn’t have a chance to talk about this before it happened. But you know what the plan here is, right?” Stephen asks. “For him to recover on the surface and try to get close to you?”

“I figured it out.” Stephen can’t always get away to meet with him, but Jensen hadn’t needed Stephen to tell him that part. As soon as he’d found the credit card trail he’d put two and two together.

“Did you tell him you knew?”

Jensen turns his face to look at Stephen for the first time. “Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?” Jensen asks with a smirk. “You guys did a video call this morning, didn’t you?”

Stephen’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression hardening. “You know... he used to tell me everything. But lately, I think there are a few things he’s not telling me.” Stephen’s gaze doesn’t falter as he meets Jensen’s eyes. “You know I was going to lead him in the direction of the idea of playing double agent, but he got there so far ahead of me that I had to work really hard at pretending to talk him out of it. And then he came up with this whole idea of staying on the surface to lure you in.”

So it had been Jared’s idea. Jared hadn’t been lying about that.

“And then , today, he told me something. He said you were surprised there weren’t any guards or cameras after your first visit. That you said you thought he told SR0 everything. Jared told you he guessed you were wrong. And then you gave him this weird smile, like you knew a secret, and said, ‘I guess someone was wrong’.”

Jensen keeps his eyes locked on Stephen’s, his expression unchanging.

“I know when someone’s throwing shade at me, Jensen. Even when it’s secondhand. What’s going on that’s such a big secret neither one of you will tell me about it?”

“I was just keeping him on his toes,” Jensen replies, dismissive.

Stephen shakes his head, his expression conveying disappointment.

“You don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, but you trust me enough to give me this?” Stephen asks, tapping the Atta on his hip. 

Jensen shifts the conversation to focus on the second half of Stephen’s question. “Even if you turned on me, SR0 could never figure out the technology.”

Stephen blinks. “That’s presumptuous.”

Jensen lifts one shoulder. “It’s also true. You think I didn’t put a built-in safety in these? You think I gave that to you just hoping you wouldn’t turn on me?” Jensen straightens, making a low scoffing sound. “Stephen. Please.”

“Safety?” Stephen asks, frowning.

“Anyone tries to open that unit and tamper with it, it goes boom and takes everything in a ten foot radius with it.” Jensen makes a tsking sound, shaking his head. “Really, Stephen. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Stephen has gone a few shades paler in the moonlight.

“Hmm,” Jensen remarks. “I guess not.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Stephen asks, his voice sounding betrayed.

“I didn’t think it mattered. If you weren’t planning on betraying me, you’d be fine. And if you were…” Jensen trails off shrugging.

Stephen stares at him a moment longer, and then he jerks his face away, yanking his gaze from Jensen. “The magnetic field around this Atta protects me inside your bases. You let me inside your secret bases, but you’d let me blow up if I tried to look at the technology inside the Atta?”

“It protects you in my temporary bases,” Jensen corrects. “The ones where I don’t keep anything worth stealing.”

Stephen’s clearly angry, his expression rigid, hand clutching the top of his cane so hard his knuckles are white. 

Jensen’s about to look away, back towards the house, when Stephen’s expression freezes for an instant. Then his mouth begins to curve in a small smile.

“I thought Jared was too obsessed with you to think about anything else. Looks like I was wrong about that, too.”

Jensen turns, eyes snapping to follow the line of Stephen’s gaze.

A blonde woman is walking up to the front door of Jared’s bungalow. Adrianne Palicki.

Stephen’s tone had held a slight note of gloating when he’d spoken—as if he’d found a small way to get back at Jensen for Jensen’s lack of trust. Almost as if he thinks Adrianne showing up should bother Jensen in some way. But Stephen ostensibly has no idea anything physical has happened between Jensen and Jared. So why would he think Jensen would be bothered?

What does he know? Or think he knows? And how does he know it?

Jensen swivels his head to survey Stephen’s expression. He’s definitely not angry anymore, although that faint smile has left his lips. 

“He didn’t wait very long to see if you were going to show up tonight,” Stephen says, almost conversationally, sounding like himself again. “I mean, I know you were planning on waiting a while, but he didn’t.”

Jensen narrows his eyes on Stephen.

“I wouldn’t stay too long,” Stephen advises. “There’s a line between spying and voyeurism.” 

Stephen disappears, leaving Jensen to consider the empty space he’d been occupying. 

After a few seconds, Jensen returns his attention to the bungalow, watching the door open. They converse for a moment, and Jensen can’t hear what they’re saying, or read their lips in the dark at this distance, but their body language tells the tale better than their mouths ever could.

A moment later, Jared sweeps her up in his arms, spinning her around inside the house, the door slamming closed an instant later.

He doesn’t need to keep watching to know what’s happening; still, his eyes are locked on the shape of their entwined bodies, just visible through the sheer curtains of the living room. Jared has her shoved up against the wall, his face moving to bite and trail kisses down her throat, her head thrown back, mouth open and panting, their hands all over each other, Jared kissing down her chest, sinking lower, falling to his knees, hands curling in the hem of her sundress and—

Jensen averts his eyes with a forceful effort.

Why is he still standing here while Jared is on his knees for someone else?

He shouldn’t be here.

Still, he stands there a little longer, until the lights in the house shut off, their glow vanishing from the water where his eyes are trained.

Seconds later, the dock is empty.

Chapter Text

Jared wakes to the warmth of a body tangled around him. Sweet, soft, sex-drenched smell of her, and she lifts her lips to meet his. He kisses her briefly and draws back. 

“Morning,” he says, putting a hand over his mouth as he smothers a yawn.

“Morning,” Adrianne replies, giving him a bright, million kilowatt smile. 

“What time is it?” he asks, turning and reaching for his phone. His hand only makes it halfway there before he sees the digital clock on the nightstand.

“Shit,” he hisses, sitting up in a hurry.

“What?”

“I have a call with Doctor Berry in twenty-two minutes.” He’s up, off the bed and pulling on his pajama bottoms. 

“Oh,” Adrianne says. “Okay. I’ll just get my stuff together and go.”

It seems an abrupt way for her to leave, and Jared thinks about it while he pulls on a t-shirt. “You don’t have to go. You can stay. Take a shower, take your time.“ He thinks for another second, realizing he’s in a different position than he usually is when someone spends the night. He’s in a house, not just a room. He has options to entertain her, and he isn’t sure if they’re the right ones to offer, but they seem like the polite ones. 

“I could make us breakfast after the meeting if you want,” he offers.

“You cook?” she asks with a rise of her brows.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Sure. Nothing fancy, but I can scramble eggs and fry sausage.”

“That’s sweet,” she says, smiling. “But I need to get back and get to work.”

“Oh,” Jared says and nods. “Okay.” 

She’s rising from the bed, her long, naked body beautiful in the morning light, lightly muscled curves and soft golden skin practically glowing. She’s beginning to search for her clothes, and Jared really needs to get ready.

“I’m gonna go,” he says pointing to the bathroom, and she nods.

A few minutes later, his teeth and hair are brushed, hands washed, face still damp from where he’d washed it. Adrianne is dressed and the bed is made, her brows drawn together as she pulls a small brush through her hair, eyeing herself in the mirror over the dresser.

“Bathroom’s free,” he tells her.

“I’m good,” she says, slipping the small brush into her bag. She turns, giving him a bright smile, and walks up to him, arms curling around his shoulders. She leans up and kisses him gently on the lips. “I’ll text you later.”

Jared’s slept with her three times now, and he feels like he owes her more than a simple nod. He isn’t sure wha t he owes her, but he feels like it’s probably something more than goodbye.

“Last night was great,” he says, drawing back to look at her.

“Amazing even,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says, huffing out a light laugh. “Listen, I’m not really sure how to… I don’t know if I’m any good at… well, anything besides what we did last night,” he admits. 

She looks at him for a long moment. “I’m not asking for anything, Jared. This is good. What we’ve been doing is good.”

He nods, unable to stop himself from trying to read her expression, her body language. She’s a scientist, not a spy, and she seems to be telling the truth. “Okay. Then I’ll talk to you later.”

She smiles and surges upward, kissing him on the lips again, hands cupping his face. She pulls back, giving him a lingering look, still smiling as she turns and walks toward the bedroom door.

Jared tilts his head and watches her go.

The relief he feels when the door to the bungalow closes is almost palpable. He doesn’t have time to analyze it right now, though. He glances at the clock and then heads for the living room and his meeting.

* * * * *

Dr. Berry doesn’t seem eager to dive into talking about Danneel Harris beyond what it means that the Jackal told Jared about her. 

“Why do you think he shared this person’s name with you?” she asks, tilting her head to one side as she surveys him.

Jared rubs at his face, pretending to think while he debates his answer. “I guess that depends on whether or not she exists.”

She narrows her eyes on him, brows drawing slightly closer together. “Why do you think that matters?”

So they’re going to play this game. He isn’t really surprised. He was fairly sure he couldn’t lure Dr. Berry into telling him anything. He had to try, though.

Jared sits back in his chair, clearing his throat. “I guess, ultimately, it doesn’t. The reason would be the same. Trying to establish trust by sharing the name of someone who’d been his friend once. I got the impression she was a friend, anyway.”

The corner of Dr. Berry's mouth tugs downward. “Yes. But it’s more than that. He's luring you, Jared. Seeming to give you these tiny pieces of himself, a little at a time. He’s almost seducing you with them.”

“Seducing?” Jared asks, rolling the word around in his mouth, like he’s skeptical and thinking it over. Dr. Berry may not know what actually happened, but it feels like she’s hitting dangerously close to the truth, and his guard—already up beneath the surface—goes up another notch. There was nothing seductive about their trip back in time; it was rough, brutal, and very nearly deadly. But it was also incredibly intimate, in a strange way. 

“I’m extremely concerned about you and your situation, Jared.”

He’s told her and Stephen almost nothing, so her concern has to be based solely on the fact that the Jackal had told Jared about Danneel Harris. That means she knows something.

“Why?” he asks, like he can’t imagine. “Even if he was telling the truth, I know what he was trying to do. I’m completely focused on the mission.”

Dr. Berry seems to debate for a moment, and Jared waits to see what her reaction will be. 

Her dark curls brush her shoulders as she shakes her head. “You know that a man like the Jackal… a man with that kind of intellect, a man who wields that kind of charm, never does anything accidentally. This is all very deliberate, Jared. You’ve expressed before that you think you can reach him.” She looks at him head on. “Know that you are not .”

“I know,” Jared says, pushing down his annoyance. “And it doesn’t matter as long as he thinks I think I am.”

“But do you?” she presses. “ Do you think you’re reaching him?”

“No,” Jared replies. “I don’t think I am. I think... “ he leans forward in his chair a bit, squaring his shoulders to meet her gaze. “I think, before, I thought I could. That if I could, that would be the key. But I think him playing me is just as good. I think letting him think he’s luring me in with these tiny pieces of information will work the same way. He’s not letting me in, but he thinks I think he is. And if I play into that long enough, over time, he’ll think he’s got me sucked in, and he’s bound to relax around me. And then, I find out everything SR0 wants to know.”

“And then what happens?” she asks, her voice quiet, grave.

Jared looks her dead in the eye. “Then I kill him.”

* * * * *

He isn’t sure if Dr. Berry believed him or not, but she’d at least accepted his answer. Jared logs off the call after a bit more talk, flipping the laptop screen closed with a long sigh of relief.

He falls back in his chair, palm pressed against forehead, fingers massaging over skin. 

He just lied his ass off to Dr. Berry. Not that he hasn’t been lying to some degree to Stephen and Dr. Berry for most of his missions including the Jackal. But this is different, and he knows it, feels it deep in his bones. Hiding his emotions about a particular instance is one thing. Lots of agents have to do that to keep their missions. Hiding a kiss is maybe a little further—he’s not prepared to think about how much further—but it’s still within reason, he thinks.

But this… He was acting, lying the entire time; no true emotion bleeding through. He knows things that Dr. Berry knows and won’t share with him, and he’s having to pretend that he doesn’t. He’s traveled back in time in an unauthorized situation that he should have reported immediately, and didn’t. Both of those things are huge. These are things that a little over a month ago he wouldn’t have even considered doing. 

But then, a little over a month ago, he hadn’t had any reason to. A little over a month ago, he hadn’t even known such a thing as Checkmate existed.

And he does think he’s reaching the Jackal. That’s the bitch of it. That’s the truth. He knows better; all the agent training in him screams back every word Dr. Berry has impressed upon him, over and over again. And yet. The Jackal had taken him back in time and shown him something extremely personal. Something so intimate. Yes, it could have been calculated. Showing Jared something that would make Jared connect to him, But Jared had seen the way they’d looked at each other, had heard the tremor in his voice as he’d told Jared to pay attention, had looked into the Jackal’s eyes as he’d said her name.

Everything about it had been anger and raw emotion beneath a barely controlled surface. Anger can be faked, raw emotion can, too, to a certain degree. Maybe the Jackal is that good of an actor; maybe Jared’s an idiot. But he’d heard truth, looked into those eyes and seen truth.

Whatever had happened with Danneel Harris had had a profound effect on the Jackal.

He needs to know. For himself as much as SR0. If he’s going to have any hope of taking the Jackal down, he has to track down this lead.

And for that, he needs Chad.

* * * * *

Chad shows up shortly after the call, stealth laptop in his backpack. He looks exhausted, like he’s about a thousand years old, shadows underneath his eyes, one hand rubbing at his temple as he demands coffee.

When they finally sit down, Jared has told Chad everything, and Chad is less than thrilled with him.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know this was coming. But still. I want to be clear.” Chad pauses, drawing a breath and looking at Jared full on. “You want me to break into the SR0 database and look for deleted data footprints? The government owned and operated place where you kill people for a living? That SR0?”

“Yes,” Jared replies. “I mean, on your stealth laptop,” he goes on. “Unless you want to do it from your SR0 laptop?” he adds, and Chad shoots him a death glare.

Chad lifts his shoulders, beginning to type grudgingly. 

“Can you do it?” Jared asks. “I mean it’s SR0, that means it’s CIA. It has to be pretty—”

Jared breaks off at the look Chad is giving him. 

“Don’t insult me, Jay. It’s SR0,” Chad says. “I know it inside out. Getting inside the database is child’s play for someone who knows how the current system works.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“What I’m going to find,” Chad mutters, and continues typing. “Look, I love conspiracy theories, I’ve tracked down miniutiae you wouldn’t believe in the name of strengthening a theory. But with SR0, I don’t have to do that. I already know they’re deep in dirty shit. It’s like having the really good coke stashed away. You know it’s there, and it’s exciting, but you never snort it because, you know, it can kill you.”

“But you already did all the research about the seventh missing agent.”

“Sure. But that’s a crazy conspiracy theory, completely unsupported by any actual data. So there was an empty slot for years. I can make up all the theories I want—even if they happen to be true, I can’t prove it. But the second I start digging through their databases for proof? That’s a different game.”

Jared can see his point. “But you’re good enough that they’ll never see you coming, right?”

Chad tilts his head to one side, rolling his eyes with the motion. “Pretty sure. But we’re talking about the CIA.”

Chad taps a few more reluctant keys, typing almost gingerly, and Jared can tell when he gets inside the database, because he actually winces.

“You okay?”

“This is deep shit, Jared,” Chad informs him.

“You don’t have to do it,” Jared responds instantly.

“Oh I’m gonna do it,” Chad tells him, blithe. “I am absolutely, one-hundred-fucking-percent going to do it if you want me to. I live for this shit. But you,” Chad says, growing serious again as he points a finger at Jared. “You need to know. If we get caught… there’s no telling what happens. We might end up at the bottom of the lagoon wearing fucking mouse ears.”

Jared stares at him, wide-eyed.

“‘What a tragedy’, they’ll say,” Chad goes on, making a motion with his hands. “‘So sad, these two fools, wandering out of the park into the water. If only they hadn’t drunk fifteen Flitty Fizzy Fuzzy Purple Navels and dropped that acid. They thought they were gonna see Ariel.’ And some people will whisper about the Mickey Mafia, and it’ll make headlines for two days, but two weeks after that, no one will remember us except our families and they’ll be very well paid not to mention our names ever again.”

Jared’s mouth has dropped open a notch.

“We might cease to exist, my friend,” Chad tells him, dead serious. “And you need to know it.”

“Chad…” Jared is shaking his head, disbelieving. “SR0 isn’t going to kill us. We’re not betraying our oath to our country, or the government.”

“Oh yes. Yes we are. Because you don’t question authority, Jay. That’s how this whole thing works. We shut up and do what we’re told. And the second we go poking around, the second we start using our brains and asking questions? That’s when they give us the mouse ears and send us off into the great big blue.”

“Why are we wearing mouse ears?” Jared asks with a confused shake of his head.

“To make it look like an accident. Jesus, Jay. You’d think you’d know this shit.”

“Look,” Jared says, and takes a deep breath. “I know it’s questionable; what we’re doing here. But it’s not treason. We’re just looking for information that existed, once upon a time.” He centers himself, looking Chad in the eye. “Besides. I thought you were against doing anything that might get us killed?”

“I really am,” Chad agrees, brows high as he nods. “The shit I research on my SR0 computer, my timeline in the back room, they ignore that because it’s small time. But this…” Chad gestures, pointing at the screen with a circling motion of his wrist. “This stinks like a two-day dead raccoon that OD’d on Disney corn dogs in the middle of summer.” 

“You’re really never letting that go, are you?”

Chad looks at him, disbelieving and full of scorn. “Is there any reason I should ?”

“What were you doing poking around in that trash can anyway?” Jared asks, frowning as he realizes Chad had never told him.

Chad shrugs, everything in his body language punctuated by a sarcastic edge. “Because that is what I do , Jay. I poke around in trash cans. This—what we’re doing right here?” Chad points down at his laptop. “ This is poking around in trash cans. We are poking around in trash cans, hoping night security is off eating a fucking donut somewhere and we don’t choke on the corn dog at the bottom of the barrel.” 

Dammit. Chad is making the kind of sense Jared really wishes he wouldn’t.

Jared’s been way above his pay grade with this whole thing. He’s been letting the Jackal turn him upside down and inside out, weaving this mystery, and maybe he is caught up in it. Maybe he is way off the mark and being completely insane. He works for the CIA, and even if he’s questioning their methods, he believes in them. He shouldn’t undercut them. He shouldn’t get himself and someone else into a situation where they might be betraying their country, for fuck’s sake.

God. What is he doing?

“All right,” Jared nods his head a few times. “Yeah. We shouldn’t do this.”

“Good,” Chad says and exhales. “Now you’re making sense. We’ll just shut the laptop,” Chad reaches out, grabbing the top of the screen, “and move on with our lives.”

Jared nods again, less emphatic. He should move on. This is above his security level; if SR0 doesn’t think he needs to know, then he doesn’t need to know. 

This is the right thing to do.

Chad starts to shut the laptop and Jared can see them again; beautiful beneath the sun, young against the endless backdrop of blue, her hair vibrant red, the Jackal’s wide smile and that diamond ring, twinkling like her eyes. It’s the key. The key the Jackal himself had handed Jared. If he can find out why the Jackal left SR0, he can figure out the man. 

It’s a huge risk, and he knows he wants to figure out the Jackal’s motivations for reasons beyond taking the man down, but he’s still doing this for his country, for his government. They don’t think he needs to know everything. They’re trying to protect him. But if Jared can get just a little further in, get just a little closer, he might be able to finish this. Might be able to take the Jackal out for good. That’s worth it .

He’s so close. Closer than anyone’s ever been. Dr. Berry can debate with him about it everyday, but he knows the Jackal wasn’t lying.

He reaches out, fingers closing lightly around Chad’s wrist.

Chad looks at him for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“I have to know.”

“Shit.” Chad sighs, letting his head drop between his shoulders for an instant. And then he straightens, nodding as he pushes the laptop screen into the viewable position. “Okay. Let’s fuck this chicken.”

* * * * *

It takes hours, Chad wincing like he’s walking on eggshells the entire time he’s typing—until he finds something. 

“Okay…” he says, typing gingerly, but with more excitement than he’d shown previously. “Okay. There’s definitely deleted data around these mission reports filed when Danneel Harris would have been part of SR0.”

“Can you un-delete it?” Jared asks.

“Of course not.” Chad favors him with a sour look. “You can’t just undelete that much data like that .” Chad snaps his fingers. “But now that I know what I’m looking for, I can dig deeper into those dates, and extract the data I need.” He takes a deep, shaky breath and then exhales. “Holy shit, Jay. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Hey. You’re okay. You got this,” Jared tells him, trying to be reassuring.

“You wanna rub my belly? Tell me I’m a good boy?” Chad asks, rolling his eyes at Jared.

“Would that help?” Jared asks, with a rise of his brows.

Chad actually laughs at that, and Jared takes it as a good sign. Even better when Chad starts typing again.

* * * * *

“Spank my ass and call me Mickey,” Chad proclaims. He runs a hand through his hair and slaps the table next to his laptop. “I’ve got it. And you are never gonna believe this shit.”

“What?” Jared asks, already walking around to pull up a chair next to Chad. “What did you find?”

“So…” Chad claps his hands together, turning his face to look at Jared. “I found her mission reports. And it turns out, Danneel Harris had a very specific set of missions going on during her time at SR0.”

“Okay.” Jared nods, waiting expectantly. Chad seems to be pausing for dramatic effect though, waiting for some sort of response from Jared before he continues. Jared sighs and lifts his hands and does his best Chad impression, “You gonna keep me in fucking suspense or what?”

“China, Jared,” Chad says, pulling his hands apart and lifting them palms upward. “She was working China. Deep inside the Triad.”

Jared stares at him, dumbfounded for an instant. “The Triad? Holy shit. That could explain the Jackal’s fascination with them. And with killing them.”

Chad blinks at him several times. “The thought had occurred to me,” he says, sardonic. “Especially…” he says, looking back at the screen and scrolling with his mouse, “since she died on a mission while infiltrating the Triad.”

“She died on a mission ?” Jared asks, at a lack for anything else to say.

“Oh yeah,” Chad informs him, spinning to look at Jared full on. “And that’s where it starts to get even weirder.”

* * * * *

Jared has made them some popcorn at Chad’s request, the two of them sitting in front of the glow of the laptop. It’s dark and it’s late, and Jared has neglected to turn on anything but the low lighting in the living room.

As it turns out, Danneel Harris had been an extremely active agent, with dozens of missions under her belt, and she’d been on a long term mission with the Triad. All the reports seem perfect, everything in order, the specifics of her missions performed to perfection, and she seemed to be in incredibly good standing with the Triad as a liaison, even esteemed by them. Until they’d killed her.

Jared is shaking his head, trying to put together the pieces. They’ve been through her mission history in its entirety in great detail, and he still doesn’t understand. “She had a lot to pull off on this particular mission. Maybe they figured out she was an agent.”

Chad shakes his head, pausing mid-shake to toss popcorn into his mouth. He chews, swallows and says, “Nah. She doesn’t die on this mission. Not a chick like this. She’d be a master infiltrator. No way anyone figures out who she really is unless she wants them to.”

“Everyone makes a mistake every now and then.”

“Well if she made one, it was pretty goddamned epic. Because she got herself killed, erased and replaced. The CIA doesn’t just delete someone because they got dead.”

“If it was a high enough level mission, wouldn’t they? They’d want to kill any possible digital trail.“

“On the internet, yeah, absolutely. But internally? There’d be no reason. For fuck’s sake, they still have a file on the Jackal. Why not have one on her?” Chad shakes his head, mouth twisting as he frowns in consternation. “It doesn’t make sense unless she was a double agent for Checkmate. That, they’d want to get rid of. Anything linked to her would be erased except for where we are right now, deep in the database, and whatever they have on paper. Too many chances for her info to create a backdoor for hackers—case in point. And it could maybe give other people ideas.”

Jared feels defeated, deflated. It seems too easy. Too neat. Weeks ago his world had been turned upside down by the idea that there was a terrorist organization out there traveling through time, much less the idea that double agents could exist inside SR0. His world has changed so much since then; is still changing. Sometimes he feels like he’s in constant freefall, like he’s never going to feel solid ground under his feet again. 

But he’s still an agent, and there are still things he knows for sure. There’s procedure, the process of elimination, and some things that can’t be taught. Like the feeling in his gut right now, telling him something’s not quite right. 

It just doesn’t make sense. This mission took place three months before the Jackal had left SR0. That means if she was a double agent, she couldn’t have been responsible for turning the Jackal. It also means her death wasn’t immediately responsible for the Jackal’s defection. 

Something is still missing.

“What if…” Jared pauses, gathering his thoughts, unsure what he’s going to say before it leaves his mouth. “What other reason could SR0 have to erase her?”

Chad frowns at Jared. “What do you mean? There’s no other reason they’d do it, I can think of. Unless they—”

Chad breaks off, his eyes widening.

“What are you thinking?” Jared asks, excited.

“Unless SR0 fucked up the mission. If someone screwed up bad enough to get her caught, they might erase her to save face.”

“And if someone screwed up the mission bad enough for her to get killed… maybe that was enough of a reason for the Jackal to turn on SR0?”

“Maybe,” Chad agrees, rubbing at his chin. “But then why wait three months to leave? And none of this explains why her timeline is scarred almost shut.”

Jared frowns, shaking his head, biting at his lower lip. “I don’t know. Dammit. Every time I think I’m getting a lead, I just end up with more questions.” He sighs, folding his arms over his chest. It’s still a little tender, but only a little. “I don’t know, man. Maybe I’m wasting our time. The Jackal’s probably just fucking with me. For all I know he just wanted me to dig into this so SR0 could catch us where we’re not supposed to be.”

Chad pales, sitting back in his chair. “You don’t really think that?”

“Maybe. If he’s really trying to recruit me, having SR0 get pissed at me would be a good, indirect way of pushing me towards him.”

“Jesus Christ, Jared,” Chad swears, reaching out with shaking hands for his keyboard. He types so fast Jared could almost swear he sees smoke coming off his fingers, and then he clicks on a few things, shutting the laptop almost before he’s finished. 

“Relax,” Jared offers. “If he thought it would get me killed, he wouldn’t do it.”

“It might not get you killed, but what about me ?” Chad demands, tapping the fingertips of one hand against his chest.

Jared hadn’t thought about that, but he’s sure SR0 isn’t going to kill either one of them, even if they did find out. He’s not a big believer in conspiracies as far as the government is concerned. It would be a shitstorm—he’s convinced of that much—but he’s just as sure death isn’t an issue. “Don’t worry. They’re not going to kill you.”

“You don’t know that,” Chad tells him. “Mouse ears, Jared.” He curls his hands into ‘C” shapes and sets them on top of his head. “Mouse. Ears.”

“You didn’t notice anything, right? Didn’t trip any alarms, see anything weird happen?”

“No,” Chad admits, still looking like a caged animal as his hands drop to his lap. “But if the Jackal decided to tip them off that someone in SR0 was digging that deep, there’s only one person working for SR0 who has that kind of know-how.”

“They could never prove it. Not with your stealth laptop, right?”

Chad appears to think that over and then nods, slow and reluctant. “Yeah. That’s probably true.”

“So you’re fine.”

Chad is silent for a long moment, seeming thoughtful.

“Well,” Chad finally says, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “This lead is dead. There were no details about her death, just the report filed by her handler that she was killed on that particular mission.”

“And her handler doesn’t even work for SR0 anymore. How am I supposed to figure this out?”

Chad lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I think you’re right. I think the Jackal is fucking with you. Because the only other option would be to talk to someone who was there when she was killed. And the only people who were probably there were members of the Triad. Good luck getting them to talk,” Chad scoffs.

“Yeah,” Jared agrees. “Not to mention, I’d have to get to them, first. And SR0 isn’t gonna approve that mission.”

“Probably a good thing,” Chad says, giving him a look.

Jared thinks about it for a moment and then concedes with a brief nod of his head. “Probably.”

“All right.” Chad runs a hand through his hair and stands up. “I need to get back.”

“What have you been telling Katie we’ve been doing, anyway?” Jared asks, suddenly curious.

“Just that I’ve been keeping you company. Luckily she’s too busy with work to come with me.”

Jared nods again, and then gets up to see Chad to the door.

“Thanks, man,” Jared tells him as he opens the door for him.

“You know it, brother,” Chad says, reaching out and locking thumbs with Jared, fingers curled around the back of Jared’s hand and squeezing tight for an instant. 

Jared pulls him in for a half hug, and then Chad lets go, turning and stepping out into the night.

Jensen stands on the dock, watching after Chad leaves the house. Everything is quiet and calm, light thrown from Jared’s bungalow rippling on the water. The night is warm, and Jensen loosens the tie at his throat, undoing the top button of his shirt. His fingers rub against light sweat collected in the hollow at the base of his throat, faint breeze ruffling his hair.

Through the window, Jared is winding down, having poured himself a drink and changed into his pajamas. He seems pensive, his large frame seeming smaller somehow as he sits on the couch, alone, his phone held in his hand. He seems uncertain, which makes him look younger than he is, and Jensen almost feels uncomfortable watching him. As if he’s intruding on a moment of vulnerability.

Jensen can guess what Jared is considering as he looks at the phone in his hand. Chad is gone, so Adrianne must be the one he’s considering inviting over now. Jared should be focused on his mission, on the information Jensen had shown him. He’d thought, after that, there would be nothing that would stop Jared from spending every waking moment trying to find out what had happened.

Does it bother him that Jared isn’t as wholly consumed by it as Jensen thinks he should be? 

Well. He’s here, isn’t he?

The flicker of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, there and gone.

Jensen knows why he’s come here, but still, he hesitates, standing at the edge of the dock.

He entertains the notion that he can still leave, that he still has free will. But if time travel has taught him anything, it’s that a lot of things seem predetermined, and once they’ve happened, they can be incredibly difficult to change. Sometimes impossible. Every action in the present has an effect on time, future and past. How much will his actions here have an effect?

He could still leave. He should leave. Let Jared have his torrid evening. Besides, he’d let Jared provoke him to anger last time; their parting had been dramatic. To stroll onto Jared's deck and knock on his door as if nothing had happened would be odd. But Jared certainly wouldn’t be expecting it, and that alone almost makes Jensen want to do it.

Ultimately though, it’s about the mission. There was never really a question of Jensen leaving. He’s going backward in time a few minutes to a nearby safe location, he’s going to put on his game face, and then he’s going to jump back into the present on Jared’s deck.

If Jared’s expression is any indication, he seems to be approaching a decision. Jensen had better hurry.

Nothing personal, Adrianne , he thinks with a small smile, and then he vanishes.

Jared sits on the living room couch, half-full liquor glass sweating condensation onto the coaster on the table as he toys with the phone in hands, indecisive. He’s debating over Adrianne’s name in his text list, slowly coming to the decision to text her, when a motion outside the glass doors catches his eye.

He pulls in a breath, setting his phone down on the table, forgetting its existence as he rises to his feet.

The Jackal is standing there, facing the glass door, form limned in moonlight, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, suit jacket open. He looks almost casual, like he’s stepping out of the pages of GQ into reality, just as poised and even better looking. As Jared approaches the door, he can see the knot of the Jackal’s tie is loose around his neck, length slightly askew, top button of his dress shirt undone, and it’s ridiculous how obscenely hot those two, tiny details render him.

Jared flips on the lights underneath the railing of the balcony and slides the door open.

The Jackal says nothing, their eyes meeting, locking across the few feet that separate them, the intensity Jared sees in the other man rendering him momentarily wordless.

But this is just a game they play, and Jared’s on a mission.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Jared says, for lack of anything else to say, and well, it’s the truth.

“No one ever is,” the Jackal replies, blithe. “That’s pretty much the job description.”

He’s very close to Jared, and Jared would be lying if he tried to pretend it wasn’t affecting him. 

“I was going to come by last night,” the Jackal goes on. “But you were... otherwise occupied.” 

Jared has no interest in hiding his feelings about this, brows rising in surprise. “You were watching me last night?”

“Like I said, I was going to come by. Don’t flatter yourself,” the Jackal adds, nonchalant. “I didn’t stick around for the show.”

He knows about Adrianne. Jared isn’t sure why that bothers him, but it does. Not to mention after the way they’d parted last time, Jared had been sure he wouldn’t see the Jackal for a while. But here he is, on Jared’s doorstep, acting the same as he always has. It throws Jared. For all that he knows about the Jackal, he doesn’t understand the man at all. There’s no tactical advantage to him being here, unless it’s just to mess with Jared, which makes about as much sense as anything else.

Whatever his reason for being here, it means he wants something, and Jared’s prepared to work that to his advantage. Playing annoyed and hard to get might be exactly the route to go to draw the Jackal out further.

“Well,” Jared says, eyeing him, “you’re not here to kill me. So why are you here?”

“You really need to work on your hospitality,” the Jackal remarks, seeming rueful. “I almost,” he says, confiding as he leans closer, resting a palm against the outside of the doorframe, “don’t feel like I’m welcome here.” He sounds like he’s sincerely, deeply disappointed in Jared, sad about being disappointed, and incredibly sarcastic all at once.

Jared sighs and then rolls his eyes as he backs up a step. “Fine. Come in. Jesus, you’re like a fucking vampire.” 

“Vampires,” the Jackal comments as he steps inside the doorway, “can come in any time after being invited once. I have manners.”

“A terrorist with manners,” Jared says, like he’s noting it. “Go figure.”

“See? That’s what I’m talking about. So rude,” the Jackal responds, seeming unaffected as he makes a circuit of the kitchen.

“Well since you’re here, you wanna have a drink with me?” Jared inquires, matching the Jackal’s sarcasm. “Maybe watch a movie? I have popcorn.”

The Jackal stops as he rounds the inside of the kitchen island. He gives Jared a sidelong glance, enigmatic as he smiles. “Actually, I’d love a drink.”

Jared stands there, completely thrown for a split second. “You wouldn’t eat or drink anything in this house,” he says.

“No,” the Jackal responds with quick, never-in-a-million-years affirmation. “Getting drugged and waking up in an SR0 prison cell isn’t my idea of a good time.” He pauses, seeming to think as he reaches out, touching the island with the tips of two fingers. “I was thinking we might get a drink somewhere else.”

Jared shakes his head, incredulous. “Are you asking me to go for a drink with you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the Jackal says with an incline of his head. “Not the way you’re thinking. Unless you were thinking about time traveling on a mission to get a drink, in which case, it’s exactly what you were thinking.”

“You want me to time travel with you, and work a mission with you?” Jared asks in disbelief. 

“Did I stutter?” the Jackal returns with cool condescension.

“You do remember who I am, right?”

“Oh, wait, I know this one, let me do it,” the Jackal says, pretending casual excitement. He clears his throat and straightens like he’s trying to imitate Jared’s height. His voice carries more of a baritone as he begins to speak. “‘This mission is unauthorized, it’s dangerous, and it presents a significant threat to the timeline. You’re a terrorist, my mortal enemy and a threat to truth, justice and the American way. An enemy of the state and probably also puppies.’” The Jackal pauses, falling out of character. “How am I doing so far?”

Jared shifts his jaw, grinding his teeth together.

“So well that you’re speechless?” the Jackal asks. “Let me finish it then.”

He straightens, seeming taller again. “‘You’re evil and reprehensible and utterly untrustable. There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere with you.’”

Jared is completely unamused.

The Jackal tilts his head to one side, giving Jared a cocky, crooked grin. “I nailed it, didn’t I?”

“I would have just gone with the last two sentences. But sure.”

The Jackal nods, swiping his two fingers across the top of the island, letting his hand fall back to his side. “You’re still going to come with me.”

“Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because I’m your mission ,” the Jackal says, his eyes alight, sparkling with derision and dark amusement all at once. “Because right now, you’re burning up with curiosity. ‘Where does he want to take me? Why? How does this fit into everything else?’” He begins to walk towards Jared slowly, deliberately, “You’re dying, ” another step, holding eye contact with him, “to know,” close now, so close Jared could reach out and touch him, “what I want to show you.”

Fuck him for being so right. 

“Even if you’re right, it doesn’t mean I’m going to time travel on a mission with you.”

The Jackal’s mouth curves in a hard smirk. “Yeah. You are,” he says, confident.

“Anything you want to accomplish is probably bad for the country. Not to mention the last time I worked with you, you double crossed me.”

The Jackal stands there for a moment, as if waiting. “I’m sorry, I thought we did the speech part already,” the Jackal comments, wry. “Are you done now?”

He has the air of a man who’s just waiting for Jared to finish his tirade so they can get down to business; so assured.

“What makes you so sure I’m going to come with you?” Jared asks, irritated, but also truly curious.

“Come with me,” the Jackal says, “and you’ll find out.” 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Not yet,” the Jackal agrees with a rise of his brows and a smug grin.

God he’s infuriating. 

The Jackal rolls his eyes slightly off Jared’s expression. “I promise we won’t do anything that would get you into trouble.”

“So it's nothing illegal?” Jared asks.

“I didn’t say that ,” the Jackal replies. The Jackal’s eyes travel down the length of Jared’s body and then back up. “We’ll have to stop and get us both a change of clothes along the way, though.”

“Oh?” Jared asks. “And if I did go with you, what would we be wearing?”

“Tuxedos,” the Jackal tells him, a playful, almost mirthful glint in his eyes.

An important event, maybe a party. A really nice one. If Jared wasn’t intrigued before, he definitely is, now. And how can he say no? How can he say no, even when it goes against SR0’s rules for time travel? Anything that gets him a fraction closer to the Jackal is for the cause of the greater good. Anything that gets him a step closer gives him an advantage, even if the Jackal clearly knows that’s what he’s angling for.

Which raises the question of why the Jackal is doing it in the first place. A question that will only be answered if he goes along with it.

Jared heaves a long, heavy sigh. 

Shit.

* * * * *

Jared goes to change out of his pajamas into more suitable clothing. The Jackal’s satisfied grin when Jared had acquiesced to the mission had been almost insufferable, and he’s still annoyed as he tugs on a pair of black slacks. He’s also hyper aware that the Jackal is in the next room while he’s getting changed, that he could round the corner of the open door at any moment, an idea which he finds far more exciting than he should.

He pushes the feeling down as he pulls a collared shirt over his head, forcing himself to focus on the night ahead of him. At least he assumes it's a nighttime affair; most black tie events are. He’ll have to use his own money for the tuxedo rental so SR0 doesn’t find out about it. He has cash stashed away in the bungalow, which he pulls from the box where it’s hidden and starts to tuck into his wallet.

He hesitates. Depending on where they’re going, his wallet may be way ahead of fashion. His money could be wrong, too. He might be able to get away with his clothing long enough to get changed into a tuxedo, but his wallet and money might present issues beyond that.

“Can you at least tell me what year we’re going to?” he asks, raising his voice so the Jackal can hear him in the other room.

“Twenty-twenty-six. Not far.” 

“USA?”

“Yes.”

His clothing and accouterments will be fine, then. He puts his wallet into his pocket and steps back, closing the closet door.

The Jackal is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, hands tucked into his pants pockets, and Jared is surprised to see him there, if not startled. He’s struck again by how incredibly gorgeous the Jackal is, tie knot hanging slightly loose, top button of his shirt undone, and the base of his throat is like porn, the contour and dip of it etched clearly in light and shadow.

“I’ve already taken care of the details,” the Jackal assures him. “The tuxedos are paid for and waiting for us.”

“Great,” Jared mutters under his breath. He bends to put on his dress shoes, and then walks to the open doorway, stopping a few feet from the Jackal.

“Ready?” the Jackal asks with a tilt of his head.

The Jackal is taking him on a mission. Why? All these weeks of cat and mouse, of toying with Jared, and now he shows up, not a word about Danneel or anything that’s happened? What game is he playing? 

It strikes Jared then, how vulnerable he’s making himself right now; putting his fate in the hands of a man who has every reason to deceive him, every reason to kill him. And while the Jackal has done plenty of the former, he’s done nothing of the latter, for reasons Jared still doesn’t fully understand.

The Jackal reaches out to take his hand, and it occurs to Jared that he’s trusting the Jackal by doing this. Trusting a man who by every right and by his own words should be Jared’s mortal enemy. He is, at the very least, trusting the Jackal not to kill him, and it feels dangerous to have even that much trust.

All of Dr. Berry’s warnings rise up in his mind with a feeling of trepidation, and he hesitates.

“Second thoughts?” the Jackal inquires with almost casual interest. Almost. Those green eyes are scrutinizing him, and Jared wonders what they see.

“Am I going to feel like I got turned inside out this time?” Jared asks, as if that were the only reason he’d hesitated.

“It’ll be a little better.” The Jackal doesn’t sound particularly reassuring.

“Then, wherever we’re going, I hope they don’t mind puke on the floor.”

“You won’t puke this time,” the Jackal says, relenting a little. He pauses and then tilts his head with a slight smile. “Come on, Catwoman. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Catwoman. That little callback to the first time they’d teamed up. The Jackal is playing on the intimacy of it, trying to play on the connection they have, and Jared’s aware of it. He’s also aware he’s not completely immune to it.

He’s aware of it, though, and that will have to be enough.

Jared looks him dead in the eye and nods. “Let’s do this.”

“That’s the spirit,” the Jackal comments.

Jared steps forward, reaching out to take the Jackal’s hand.

His skin is warm, and as Jared wraps his fingers around the other man’s, the Jackal’s thumb comes up, resting across Jared’s knuckles, closing the grip. It’s electric, the two of them standing there with clasped hands, staring into each other’s eyes. In the silence of the bungalow, it’s heady, intoxicating, and Jared can feel his blood heat up, skin tingling.

For a moment, he wants to abandon the mission, abandon traveling through time completely. Wants to pull the Jackal by his hand into the bed standing less than ten feet away. Wants to taste that mouth again, feel the heat of that skin against his own, surrender completely to the chemistry between them.

But it’s just want. It’s nothing he hasn’t felt before, and nothing he won’t feel again.

For just an instant, he thinks he sees the same want in the Jackal’s eyes. For just an instant, he lets himself believe that it’s there.

And then the Jackal’s other hand falls to his side, flipping a switch.

The world slides sideways and they’re gone.

Chapter Text

Fourteen hours later…

Jared sits on the couch in the bungalow, rubbing a hand across the stubble along his jaw.

Chad is at the small bar in the living room, tipping the bottle of whiskey to fill two glasses.

He brings them both over to the couch, sitting down across from Jared before he puts the drinks down; one in front of Jared, the other held in his hand.

They sit there in silence for a few moments, Jared eyeing the glass on the table without reaching for it.

Chad clears his throat. ”Okay, this is obviously some heavy shit we’re about to delve into here, but could you hurry up and fucking get to it, because holy shit the tension is so thick I’d need a goddamned chainsaw to make a dent in it.”

Jared sighs and leans forward, reaching for the glass. He lifts it to his lips, taking a small sip, the liquor burning on the back of his tongue, down his throat to his stomach, where it turns warm. 

“I think…” Jared pauses, fingers playing across the prickle of his stubble. “I think I changed something. Something in the past.”

“Okay.” Chad shakes his head slightly. “You do that all the time. So what?”

“Not like this. This was different.” Jared takes a breath. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“The beginning is usually where things start, Jay. Come on.”

“Okay.” Jared nods, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. 

”It started out pretty normal…”

\\\\\\\\\\\

The last time they’d traveled through time together, it had been an abrupt, almost violent affair. This time Jared is ready for it.

He still ends up falling askew at the end of the trip, the Jackal catching him, arms wrapping around Jared’s shoulders from the front and straightening him. He pushes back, looking at Jared, hands set solidly against the front of Jared’s shoulders to prevent Jared’s weight from toppling forward.

“Breathe. Deep breath,” the Jackal tells him.

Jared’s mind is still spinning with colors like a kaleidoscope, the Jackal’s face falling in and out of focus. But he catches hold of the words the Jackal is saying, drawing a deep breath into his lungs.

“Now exhale, slowly,” the Jackal goes on.

Jared does, and then repeats at the Jackal’s continued prompts, until finally the ground stops tilting wildly, colors receding from his vision, world sharpening into focus. 

“Can you stand?” the Jackal asks.

Jared tests his feet, feeling out his balance, and then nods.

The Jackal releases him carefully, stepping back. Jared sways a little, but then catches himself, centering. His stomach feels uneasy, but he doesn’t think he’s going to throw up.

They’re standing in an alley in the dark, vague light from the street lights beyond throwing long shadows all around them.

“The bridal shop is just around the corner,” the Jackal says.

///////////

“Wow. He really is trying to recruit you, isn’t he?” Chad says, interrupting the story. 

“What makes you say that?”

“He could have just killed you right then. You couldn’t have fought him off.” Chad shakes his head in seeming wonder. 

“He could have killed me before we left the house,” Jared says, matter of fact. “Okay,” Jared amends after a second. “He might have had to fight me for like, ten seconds, but the point is the same.”

Chad tilts his head, brows rising in a kind of nod. “Okay. So you went to the bridal shop. Then what?”

\\\\\\\\\\\

Jared inspects his image in the dressing room mirror, turning a bit to check the fit through his waist and hips. He’s actually amazed by how well the tuxedo fits him. An off the rack jacket this wide through the shoulders should billow like a sail around his waist, but it fits nicely when buttoned. Not as snug as it should be, but pretty close. It misses the mark of perfection, but it fits so well that it had to be specifically tailored to his frame.

How could the Jackal have gotten his proportions this—

A sharp rap on the dressing room door derails his train of thought, and he turns, walking to open the door.

The Jackal’s eyes rake Jared up and down once, and then he steps inside the dressing room, leaving the door just barely ajar behind him.

“How does it fit?” The Jackal asks, stretching out one arm and straightening his own jacket sleeve. 

“Almost perfectly,” Jared remarks, still surprised, and slightly suspicious. “How did you know?”

“Eidetic memory,” the Jackal says and shrugs. “I’ve been up close and personal with most of your proportions at this point,” he adds, dry.

That makes sense. The Jackal hasn’t been quite as up close and personal with Jared’s proportions as parts of Jared would like, but they did have a pretty long and intense physical fight on Jared’s last mission, and he supposes that might do it. “Not bad,” he remarks.

“Was that almost a compliment?” the Jackal asks with a mild rise of his brows, sarcastic. “Don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head.” 

“I hope not,” Jared says. “Because if your ego gets any bigger they’ll be able to see it from space.”

The Jackal surveys him with those green eyes for a moment, seeming vaguely amused. “There’s a difference between confidence and cockiness,” the Jackal returns. A beat, and then, “Are you ready to go?”

Jared wants to respond to the Jackal’s last remark, but it would only seem petty, and besides, they have a mission to focus on. Whatever it is.

He hasn’t fully recovered from their trip through time. His instinct is to gloss over the woozy feeling that hasn’t quite left him. Appearing weak in front of the Jackal is less than desirable. But if he lies—if anything were to happen and he couldn’t defend himself—he could be putting himself in danger. 

“I think I still need a few minutes,” he admits. It costs him a bit of pride to admit it, but better that than the alternative.

The Jackal, for his part, doesn’t seem bothered by it at all. He simply nods and takes a step further into the room, closer to the far, inside corner.

“Have you picked a mission name?” the Jackal asks. The question seems casual, disinterested, but there’s something that catches Jared’s attention, makes him glance over at the other man.

The Jackal is eyeing him with equal curiosity, and there’s nothing obviously strange about it. Just a feeling in Jared’s gut that says something seems a little off.

Jared notes it, files it away, and then dismisses it. He thinks for a few seconds, rejecting several names before one springs seemingly from nowhere. “Kyle,” he says, and the name seems to settle on him, fitting just right.

The Jackal looks at him for a moment longer, something in his eyes Jared can’t quite put a name to, and then he nods, seeming satisfied. “I’ll be Jace.”

“Don’t be,” Jared responds instantly.

The Jackal tilts his head, narrowing one eye on Jared slightly. “Why not?”

“Because I like the name Jace.”

The corner of the Jackal’s mouth tugs in a smile. “Your bow tie is uneven,” he says.

Jared turns, looking at himself in the mirror. His bow-tie is bigger on one side than the other, but it’s the best he could do after having his brains lightly scrambled by time traveling here. He reaches up, trying to adjust it again, but his motor skills still haven’t quite caught up.

“Here,” the Jackal says, moving up behind him. 

Jared can see half of him in the full length mirror, and his tux is perfectly fitted to him, sharp jawline smooth and clean-shaven, visible eye traveling slow up the length of Jared’s body.

Hands on his hips, turning him around with precision, fingers gripping him tightly for a moment before setting him into place.

He reaches up, deft fingers undoing Jared’s bow tie. His green eyes are focused on his work, so close to Jared, the faint scent of almonds and ozone clinging to them both, but beneath that Jared can still smell him , an earthy erotic scent that simply smells right . He takes full advantage of the Jackal’s attention being focused on his bow tie to observe the other man, eyes tracing out the perfect curves and angles of his features, the plush swell of his lower lip, the tiny divot beneath it.

He glances away as the Jackal straightens the edges of the bow. The Jackal’s green eyes flick up and Jared meets his gaze. The Jackal simply stands there for a moment, so close inside Jared’s space, their faces inches apart.

Jared’s so out of his depth on this mission. Last time, the Jackal had yanked him through time without his permission. This time he’d not only agreed to it, but agreed to it blindly. It’s such a huge risk, and none of this is like him at all. At least, it hadn’t been like him before he’d found out SR0 was keeping major secrets from him, before the Jackal had entered his life. Before he’d decided this was so important he had to pursue this to the detriment of his own safety, beyond the information SR0 would trust him with.

His goal is to glean every bit of information he can and then kill this man, who’s standing so close to him that Jared can almost feel his breath against his face. He has to kill him. Eventually. But not tonight.

He needs to focus.

“This all feels a little ominous,” Jared remarks with just a hint of apprehension and the tiniest touch of vulnerability.

The Jackal’s mouth curves, green eyes glittering. “Don’t pretend it doesn’t excite you.”

“What makes you think that?”

The Jackal looks at him, amused. “No one joins SR0 because they want a nice, dull, boring life.” 

It’s infuriating, how often he’s right.

The Jackal glances down, fingers tugging at the edges of Jared’s bow tie one more time. “There. Now you’re ready.”

///////////

“Hold on,” Chad says, putting up a hand. “You told me you willingly went on an unauthorized time travel mission with the Jackal.” Chad puts up his other hand for emphasis. “But you didn’t say you went on a fucking date with the Jackal.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a date for him . He’s hetero by all accounts, despite the romances he’s pulled in the name of getting a job done. Maybe—and hear me out— not coincidentally, ” Chad says with acidic sarcasm, “this whole scenario you’re painting has some heavy romantic undertones.” Chad locks eyes with him, adding, “And not just from his side.”

Damn. Jared had thought he’d edited things down to simple dialogue enough that the chemistry wouldn’t be so obvious. “It wasn’t supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to be business as usual, me getting closer to him so I can take him down.” 

“Jared,” Chad says with barely restrained impatience. “This little movie you’re spinning for me? It definitely has a romantic subplot. I can tell that from the first half of the first reel of this film.”

Jared pauses, and then he huffs out a scoffing, self-derisive laugh. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe it seemed a little romantic in the beginning.”

Chad’s mouth tightens, and Jared knows what he’s thinking. “Tell me the rest.”

\\\\\\\\\\\

A limousine arrives to take them from the bridal shop to their destination, and they slide into the backseat, the Jackal sitting across from Jared. The light inside the limo is low, but it’s bright enough for them to see each other, and the lavish surroundings of the car itself.

The Jackal reaches for the mini bar, pulling out the drawer underneath. A bottle of cognac sits on ice, and the Jackal reaches for it, fingers sliding around the neck. He places cubes of ice into  two large tumbler glasses and pours the cognac over them. He swirls both glasses and then offers one to Jared with a tiny smile.

“I did promise you a drink.”

Jared looks at the glass for a long moment, then looks deliberately back up at the Jackal without taking it.

The Jackal says nothing, simply setting Jared’s glass into a cup holder before sampling his own.

The muscles in his throat work as he swallows a small sip from his glass, flexing and convulsing, and Jared is struck by slight disappointment that the collar of his shirt is no longer unbuttoned. The Jackal is superhumanly gorgeous in his tux, and Jared wishes they were sitting next to each other rather than across, where Jared has a clear view of his entire body fitted in black material that hugs every line and curve of his body.

“Tell me what we’re doing here,” Jared says, focusing.

The Jackal nods and sets his glass aside. “I’ve been working this one for a while. The target is Cora Rothschild, only child and middle-aged daughter of a deceased textile tycoon. Born rich, raised in high society, extremely unfamiliar with the word no. People fall all over her to make her happy.”

“Money and connections will make people do that,” Jared agrees. 

“She’s throwing a private party tonight. No paparazzi or photographers. Just people from her social circle and special guests of importance. Diplomats, liaisons, low level politicians.”

“How long has she known you?”

“About two months. Her father has been dead for the better part of a decade. She sold his business for seventy-eight million, adding it to the four-hundred odd million she’d already inherited. She seemed content to live off the money. Invested in a business or two, donated to a political campaign, nothing too serious. And then a few months ago, she started receiving payments from a political candidate. One that’s of particular importance in twenty-twenty-eight.”

Jared blinks, looking at him sharply.

“Yes,” the Jackal says, meeting Jared's eyes.

“But there’s no reason to interfere.” Jared shakes his head. “The voter polls show a complete lack of support for—”

“Do you really think that matters?” the Jackal asks, interrupting. “Voter polls have been wildly inaccurate in terms of results for years.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t concern Jared nearly so much as the Jackal telling him so much information. “You’re being awfully chatty about the details.”

The Jackal picks up his glass again, meeting Jared’s eyes with a steady gaze. “You wouldn’t agree to do this mission if I wasn’t.”

Jared thinks about that for a moment, his jaw shifting. “So what do you want to do?”

The Jackal takes a small sip from his drink, regarding Jared over the rim. “Cora has enough dirt on this candidate that he’s paying her off. I need to get that dirt, and make sure he never gets elected.”

“Why do you care?” Jared asks.

“Fascism isn’t good for anyone,” the Jackal replies.

Jared agrees, but he huffs out a bitter laugh, anyway. “I guess that would put a dent in your brand of terrorism.”

A muscle clenches and unclenches in the Jackal’s jaw, but when he speaks, his tone doesn’t change. “I need you to keep Cora busy while I break in and steal the information. Make sure she doesn’t go upstairs.” The Jackal looks at Jared with coolness and a hint of derision. “Can you handle that?”

“I can handle it. The question is will I?”

“Don’t be pedantic,” the Jackal says, affecting deep disappointment.

“I’ll handle it,” Jared replies.

“Appearance is everything to a woman like this,” the Jackal warns. “Be extremely careful.”

“I’m a professional ,” Jared assures him with contempt.

“Great,” the Jackal says, tipping his glass in Jared’s direction. “You’re also my plus one.”

///////////

“So you were literally his date,” Chad says, chin held in his hands.

“No.” Jared shifts his shoulders, side to side. “I mean, technically yes. But no. Besides, I think you’re missing the bigger point.”

“You mean the one where he’s trying to fix the outcome of the upcoming election? No. I didn’t miss that at all. I was just ignoring it for the moment, because holy shit there is so much of this you did not think through.”

Jared takes a breath, tilts his head to the side. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“No. This is not a ‘maybe’. This is a so many red flags on the field, klaxxon alarms screaming whoop, whoop, DANGER, danger, Will Robinson moment.”

“I thought it through as much as I could,” Jared protests. “I intended to take the information from him if he actually obtained it.” Jared clasps his hands together, sighing. “But that wasn’t even the worst of it.”

\\\\\\\\\\\

Jared makes his way toward the ballroom of Cora Rothschild’s mansion, considering his motivations for being here. 

There are no photographers, nothing to link him to this event in the future, and all he has to do is charm someone for the evening. It seems unnecessary, given voting predispositions in 2028. But more than that, the Jackal was going to do this anyway. At least this way, Jared has a chance of stopping him.

Of course, there’s always the possibility that the Jackal is lying to him and this isn’t why they’re here at all. It isn’t as if the Jackal has been very forthcoming up to this point, and it seems strange to the point of suspicion for him to begin now. The likelihood that he’s lying is high.

His urge to follow the Jackal on the mission is strong, but he’ll have a better chance of preventing the Jackal from escaping with the information if he plays along until close to the end.

So he does his appointed job. He locates the lady of the house near the edge of the dance floor;  alabaster pale, silver-blonde hair piled high atop her head, her eyes bright blue, curvy figure resplendent in an ocean blue silk chiffon gown. She’s somewhere in her late forties and lovely, holding a matching antique, blue silk fan in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other, speaking animatedly with an attractive silver-haired man.

The house is done in warm shades of cream and gold, tasteful and luxurious without being overdone, vaulted ceilings and atmospheric lighting. He admires the architecture as he lingers at the edge of the dancing crowd, waiting until Cora’s conversation seems to be concluding. He takes note that her glass is nearly empty, snagging two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and moves up alongside her. He holds the spindles between the fingers of one hand, and inclines his head toward her. 

“Please allow me, madam.” He motions to her empty glass, and she nods.

He reaches out with his free hand and takes the empty glass from her hand, settling it on another server’s passing tray. He replaces her empty glass with one of his own, and gives her a slight bow.

“I saw your empty glass and couldn’t allow such a tragedy,” he tells her, smiling.

“Such a gentleman, to rescue a damsel in distress,” she responds, smiling in return as she looks him over.

Jared knows what he looks like, and he can tell she’s enjoying the view. He gives her another smile and moves to stand next to her, both of them observing the dancing crowd.

She’d hired a chamber orchestra to play the massive ballroom, which makes her one of two types; either she loves music and truly enjoys it, or she’s indifferent to it and only hired them for appearances. The Jackal had said appearance is everything to her, but judging by the decor in her home, she’s a genuine lover of art.

“This is a beautiful song,” Jared remarks.

“Yes,” Cora agrees, fanning herself lightly. “The orchestra is quite gifted.”

“A Daisy in December has been one of my favorites since the first time I heard it. Not a classic, very modern and Celtic. But there’s something about it, isn’t there? So fragile and wistfully sad, yet hopeful. You can almost feel the snow falling on upturned petals,” he says, turning his head to look at her.

“I’ve always thought much the same,” she says, turning to regard him fully. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, Mister…” she trails off, looking at him expectantly.

“Please, call me Kyle, Miss Rothschild.”

“Well, if I’m to call you Kyle, then you must call me Cora,” she returns with a broad smile.

“Truly, the pleasure is all mine, Cora,” he says, affecting another half bow towards her.

“Perhaps not entirely yours,” she says, arching a playful brow at him, fan touching the edge of her chin.

And then he’s on. He knows exactly how to play this, how to engage her, how to play off her responses. They flatter and flirt, talking about art and the beauty of her home, architecture and music.

They’ve been chatting for a full half hour, Jared charming his way into her good graces. He hasn’t forgotten why he’s here, and he’s fairly sure he knows exactly what kind of person Cora is, but for the moment, he’s enjoying the game.

“The historical importance of it can't be underestimated,” Jared is saying. “I think in time we’ll see…”

Jared trails off as he sights several men with distinctly Chinese features passing by behind Cora. They’re as nicely dressed as anyone in the room, but there’s a different air about them. More detached and professional, a manner that could be considered arrogant, but strikes a chord in Jared that sings danger. Their eyes travel methodically about the crowd, the flash of a tattoo peeking from beneath a cufflink studded sleeve.

Trepidation begins to coil within him, stomach tightening.

No. It can’t be.

“Who are they?” Jared asks Cora, keeping his voice slightly below normal volume.

“Oh.” Cora’s eyes widen slightly and she leans in close, bringing up her fan to half-hide her mouth from the people around them. “Emissaries from China. They’re not as… refined as our usual guests, but I find them to be… extremely exciting .”

The men pause nearby, conversing amongst themselves, eyes still roving the room, and Jared examines their faces quickly, thoroughly.

His memory isn’t eidetic, but he distinctly recognizes all three of them. He’d done enough research to be certain.

They’re Triad.

Fuck. They’re Triad .

Everything about this “mission” has been a lie. These men, or whoever they’re connected to, are the only reason they came here at all. Jared is utterly and completely certain of it. 

The Jackal had lied. 

Jared nods slowly at Cora, mental locks tumbling into place out of habit, pushing down the anger he feels surge inside him.

The Triad. The fucking Triad is here, and the Jackal had tried to convince him this was a heist.

“I’d be happy to tell you more about them. If we were to go somewhere… more private,” Cora suggests with a rise of her brows. Her meaning is unmistakable.

Shit. Jared doesn’t have time to charm her by fucking her. He doesn’t even care about the “mission” anymore. There’s only one thing he cares about; he has to find the Jackal, and they need to have a conversation, right now .

“Oh, no, thank you.” Jared aims for polite and charming, but he’s flustered, still trying to compartmentalize his anger, and he fumbles the words. “That is, I’m very flattered, but a woman of your age and experience would certainly find me dull company.”

He means for it to come out smooth, flattering, making himself out to be unworthy of her attention, but he falls flat by miles, and he knows it the moment the words leave him.

“My age?” Cora’s voice rises sharply, drawing the attention of several people around them. Her expression is a brewing storm. “Experience?” She draws herself up to the full five foot four of her height, stiff-shouldered, haughty and offended. “Why young man, what are you implying I was suggesting?”

Jared has misstepped badly. He not only turned her down, he also offended the woman in front of several of her guests in her own house. The fact that she’s the one who brought it to her guests' attention will hardly matter to her. He’s moments from causing a scene by being escorted from the premises, and he needs to recover quickly.

There’s a rustling to Jared’s left and a cluster of people part.

“Cora,” the Jackal greets, swooping in. He fairly glides up to the woman, bowing as he takes her gloved hand in his, lips pressing against the fine, white material.

Cora is nothing if not a woman who lives and dies by social appearances, and ‘Jace’s’ interruption is the perfect move, distracting from the impingement on her honor.

“Jace,” Cora greets him, fluttering her fan before her face as she smiles, coquettish. 

He’s as smooth and charming as ever as he straightens, giving her a dazzling smile, and she’s clearly happy to see him.

“You’ll have to forgive the young man,” the Jackal says and then steps forward, seeming to confide his next words. “I think perhaps I’m a bit more his type.”

She seems confused for a moment, and then understanding dawns in her blue eyes. “Oh,” she says and laughs, flipping her fan at ‘Jace’. The tension drains from the moment as she relaxes. “I see.” She looks Jared up and down once, and then looks at ‘Jace’. “Well, perhaps you should take him out for a spin.”

‘Jace’ nods once and then turns to Jared, bowing low and looking up as he extends his hand toward Jared. “May I have this dance…” he trails off, uncertain, pretending he doesn’t know Jared’s mission name.

“Kyle,” Cora supplies, helpfully.

It occurs to Jared then, apropos of nothing, that ‘Kyle’ is Catwoman’s last name. Selina Kyle. The realization that his own subconscious had landed on that name just makes him angrier.

“May I have this dance, Kyle?” ‘Jace’ asks, looking up at Jared with those beautiful green eyes. He’s suave, charming, debonaire. Perfectly polished and he looks like a goddamned Disney Prince, bowing in his tuxedo and holding out his hand to Jared.

At least if they’re dancing, no one will be able to overhear their conversation.

“Certainly,” Jared replies, smiling with gritted teeth as he takes the Jackal’s hand.

The band begins to play a rollicking tune, and the Jackal wraps an arm around Jared’s waist, pulling him in tight and taking him by the hand. They spin into the moving crowd effortlessly, their steps in perfect time with each other. There’s no particular dance coordinated with this type of song, but they fall into it without thought, the Jackal leading them through basic ballroom steps.

The chemistry is immediate and overwhelming, but somehow different. It feels wilder and more tightly contained at the same time, probably because they’re so close and they’re in public.

Angry as he is, Jared might have underestimated their chemistry, the feel of the Jackal pressed tight against him, the scent of him filling Jared, the scant space between their mouths nearly all Jared can focus on. The Jackal seems to feel it, too, or maybe he’s just noticing the effect it’s having on Jared, because he’s looking at Jared almost curiously. 

“What the hell is this?” Jared demands in a heated whisper. 

“As I recall, it’s called a dance,” the Jackal responds with light sarcasm.

Jared’s had just about enough of his smug fucking sarcasm, the anger he hadn’t quite managed to compartmentalize seeping around the edges of containment, permeating his brain. “You told me this was an easy heist, that we were going to steal whatever blackmail evidence Cora had. You didn’t tell me the fucking Triad was here.”

The slightest, almost imperceptible flicker of surprise runs through the Jackal’s body, and if Jared were anyone else, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all. 

“You thought I wouldn’t figure it out?” Jared asks, insulted. “You lied to me. Again .”

The Jackal turns them both with a quick step. “Apparently I’ve upset you,” the Jackal remarks.

His casually interested tone makes Jared bristle, drives his anger closer to fury. “Apparently? Apparently? Good job on observing the fucking obvious ,” Jared fairly spits. “You lied . You brought me into a mission without all the information and put me in danger. I don’t even know what the fuck we’re really doing here, except that it probably has something to do with Danneel.”

The Jackal stiffens noticeably this time, his eyes going hard.

“I know, you don’t wanna talk about it. You never wanna talk about it. You just give me bits and pieces to keep stringing me along and none of it means a goddamned thing as far as I can tell.”

The Jackal turns and Jared follows, as smooth and easily as if they were simply dancing, as if Jared hadn’t said a word, and it infuriates Jared to no end. Everything the Jackal has done, all the things he’s hinted at but never quite said, putting Jared in danger, lying to him, betraying him, the attraction between them—all of it builds into a sudden wave that crests, on the verge of crashing.

“We’re really not going to talk about any of it, are we? Our last trip through time? You showing me you and Danneel? Anything I’ve found out since then?”

They’re on the far edge of the dance floor, as far from Cora as they could get, and the Jackal takes full control, spinning them off the dance floor past a pillar and behind it into a recessed alcove.

The Jackal pushes him up against the back of the pillar, their bodies still molded together, the Jackal staring directly into Jared’s eyes. 

The Jackal is so close, everything about him tangling up Jared’s senses. He’s beyond furious; he’s completely losing his temper. He’s had a couple of drinks, but that shouldn’t put him here, in this moment where all his training has utterly deserted him. He knows it’s all wrong, that he shouldn’t do this, but the Jackal lied, brought Jared into a fucking dangerous mission and didn’t even warn him. Jared’s been honest with the Jackal out of the intent to further his mission, but right here, right now, this has nothing to do with the mission.

“I almost wasn’t going to do it, you know? Go digging through the deleted files with Chad. I thought I should stay true to SR0, to my country.” Jared bites off the words with bitterness. “But I just kept seeing the two of you, under the sun in Disney World, that ring on her finger, the way you held each other. And I thought, shit, he wouldn’t show me something that personal if he wasn’t trying to tell me something important. He wouldn’t have risked both of us getting killed by time burn just to fuck with me.” Jared shakes his head, disconsolate. “But this really is all just a game to you, isn’t it?”

The Jackal’s eyes are intense, locked on Jared’s, his face smooth and nearly without expression. “If it was a game, I wouldn’t have shown you that ,” he says, his voice low, dead certainty in his tone.

Jared shakes his head in frustration, fingers gripping hard against the Jackal’s body pressed against him. “Why won’t you just tell me whatever it is you want me to figure out?”

“I must have my reasons,” the Jackal comments, and there’s a touch of wryness in his tone, but there’s something else, too. Something like… fascination? Is that what Jared hears?

“Is my outburst interesting to you?” Jared demands, vehement. “Well, fuck your reasons ,” Jared hisses. “God, I hate you.”

“No.” The Jackal shakes his head back and forth, never breaking eye contact with Jared. “No. I don’t think you do.”

The Jackal leans in close, that warm, delectable mouth so close to Jared’s, but the Jackal doesn’t move any closer, and damn Jared for a fool, fuck him all the way to hell and back, he can’t stop the way he lets his face fall forward, the sound he makes as their lips meet.

“Just because,” Jared whispers, guttural, mouth smearing hot against the Jackal’s, “I want to fuck you,” he bites at the Jackal’s lower lip, tugging savagely, “doesn’t change that.”

“I think it does,” the Jackal murmurs. 

“Shut up,” Jared whispers, lunging for his mouth.

Wet, slick lips parting, electricity thrumming all through him, tongues meeting, tangling, twisting, and god, the way he feels, pressed up against him like second skin, heat and firmness and so very fucking sweet, mouths intertwined—

It’s glorious, amazing, and terrible. The barest taste of everything he can never have. Like punishment for a crime he can’t commit.

God what is he doing? He has to stop.

He yanks from the kiss, pulling back to look at the Jackal.

“Why did you bring me here?” Jared asks, desperate. “You said you wanted to show me something… I haven’t seen anything but the same shit I’ve already seen. You working for yourself and betraying me.”

The Jackal draws back, his arms loosening their hold on Jared, puzzlement in his green eyes. 

“Jace?” Cora’s voice is calling to them from the edge of the dance floor. They’re semi-hidden where they are, but obviously not well-hidden enough.

They break apart, the Jackal stepping back from Jared.

“Well,” she says, with scandalous amusement. “I see you two are getting along swimmingly .”

“Yes,” the Jackal agrees, recovering his smooth charm as he walks towards her. He catches up her gloved hand, pressing his lips against her knuckles. “Cora, my dear, I do apologize for getting so distracted.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffs. “I would be distracted, too,” she adds, giving Jared a long look.

The Jackal chuckles, looking up from her hand. “Then, if you would excuse me, I need to use the facilities.”

“Of course,” she says.

The Jackal returns her hand to her, and rising and giving a slight bow before exiting, stage left.

Jared moves to follow suit, Cora standing there with her fan held just below her chin, red lips smiling wide above the edge.

Jared gives her a quick smile. “I’m…” Jared points in the direction the Jackal had gone.

“Of course, my dear,” she replies, as if she completely understands. She drops him a wink and Jared nods, escaping gratefully into the crowd.

///////////

“Wow.” Chad says, staring at Jared. “There’s a lot to unpack here.”

“I know there are things I haven’t told you,” Jared says.

“There are apparently a lot of things you haven’t told me.” His expression is taut, his mouth so thin it's nearly invisible.

“Not a lot,” Jared hedges. “Just a few. “Mostly related to the one thing.”

“Oh,” Chad says, rubbing his hand across his chin. “Okay. You mean the ‘one thing’ where you wanna ride this guy like a mechanical bull into the sunset? The ‘one thing’ where you wanna reverse cowgirl raw dog him into oblivion?” Chad demands. “Because that’s a pretty big fucking ‘one thing’, Jared.”

Jared folds his lips together, thinking about it for longer than he really needs to. “Maybe not quite like that . But. Yeah,” he sighs out, deflated. “Look, I know . I know it’s fucked up. But I have it under control. I stopped kissing him. I got things back on track.”

“Jared, you literally said just because you wanted to fuck him didn’t mean you didn’t hate him.” Chad shakes his head, looking Jared in the eyes. “That’s fucked up on so many levels, I don’t even know where to start .”

“What? You’ve never wanted to have hate sex with someone?” Jared asks, mildly offended, without any right to be.

“I’ve had hate sex. But not with a national fucking terrorist . I’ve never had hate sex with an enemy of the fucking state . At least, not that I know of.”

“We didn’t have sex ,” Jared protests.

“Yet,” Chad finishes, tone challenging Jared to tell him he’s wrong.

“And we’re not going to,” Jared asserts. “For all the reasons you just said.” Jared takes a breath, not wanting to go on. “But in the interest of full disclosure… it wasn’t the first time we’d kissed,” Jared admits, guilty. “The last mission to China I went on, he kissed me before he left.”

“You made out with him twice ?” Chad demands, his voice loud and abrupt. “And you fucking swapped spit, twisted tongues, with a psychotic murdering terrorist , while you were on an SR0 mission ?”

“It’s just a physical attraction,” Jared objects. “And maybe a means to an end if I can—”

“Does anyone else know about this?” Chad demands, interrupting.

“No.”

“I guess fucking not,” Chad scoffs, throwing his hands up. He leans forward again, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. Elbows resting on his knees, he shakes his head. “You have to tell them.”

“It’s too late for that. Besides, they’d probably pull me off the mission—”

“No, they would definitely pull you off the mission. And they’d be right . Jesus Christ, Jay.”

“Let me finish the story.”

“Jesus Christ.” Chad shakes his head, clearly still upset. He lets out a long, slow, measured breath and seems to calm slightly. “Fine. Finish the story.”

\\\\\\\\\\\

It takes Jared a moment to orient himself, and then he makes his way through the crowd in the direction the Jackal had gone. He doesn’t see the Jackal anywhere, but he’d only been seconds behind—

There.

The door opens into a courtyard, and the immediate silence is almost startling after all the noise of music and chatter inside the house.

The lighting in the courtyard is low, probably turned down to be less inviting to guests. Tiled paths wind between the tall, swaying silhouettes of trees and the low sprawl of plants and bushes. Flowers of varying types are in bloom, petals pale in the dark, the scent of them pleasant in the air. The sound of gently falling water reaches Jared’s ears, and through the trees, Jared sees what he assumes must be a fountain.

He takes all this in in an instant, and follows the path to the center of the courtyard. The lighting is somewhat brighter here; tall trees fall away around the large fountain, the area rectangular and tiled, fenced in by stone benches. The Jackal isn’t that far ahead of him, and he must know Jared is there, but he doesn’t turn, continuing to walk the perimeter of the inner courtyard.

Jared drops into a half jog, speeding up to catch him.

“Hey. Hey. ” Jared grabs the Jackal by the shoulder.

The Jackal reaches back, grabbing Jared by the wrist and spinning around underneath Jared’s arm before he lets go of Jared, throwing Jared’s arm back at him.

The look in the Jackal’s eyes is so annoyed, so impersonal, Jared is momentarily taken aback.

“We weren’t done,” Jared tells him. 

“I think we were,” the Jackal returns, his voice cool. His eyes are cold, flinty, filled with ire.

“I don’t even care about finishing the mission at this point,” Jared says. “Apparently the entire mission was a goddamned lie anyway. But you can’t storm off and leave me.”

“Oh, but I can,” the Jackal assures him.

“No. You can’t,” Jared responds. “You’re my ride back to twenty-twenty-eight, remember?”

The Jackal opens his mouth, about to speak—

And then they both stop, turning towards the sound of movement coming from beyond the fountain.

From the darkness of the trees, three shadows detach, stepping into the light.

“We represent the Triad,” the exceptionally large man in the center proclaims. “Hello, Jackal.”

“God dammit,” Jared breathes under his breath.

“I tried to tell you to fuck off,” the Jackal mutters out the side of his mouth.

“It’s like you don’t even know me,” Jared responds. A beat, and then, “You didn’t tell me we were going to need weapons.”

The Jackal side eyes him hard. “Did I need to?”

The man in the middle raises guns in both hands, the men on either side of him doing the same.

Shit. This is going to suck.

“Here,” the Jackal whispers, pressing a Glock with a silencer into his hand.

“Thirteen rounds,” Jared says, and nods.

“Each,” the Jackal says.

“More than enough,” Jared says.

They look at each other for a moment, and then nod.

They roll apart as if on cue, assassins firing into the space between, concrete tile exploding with shrapnel. Jared rolls to the left, falling behind a bench for cover. The Jackal rolls behind the fountain, drawing their fire, concrete shattering into snowflakes and shrapnel.

The guns might be silenced, but their effect isn’t. Jared can still hear the band in between the gunshot hits, the orchestra close enough to the courtyard that the people in there probably can’t hear them.

He grabs the stone bench, flipping the seat over and putting it up in front of him. He lies flat behind the bench, setting his arms across the edge, leveling the Glock on one of the Triad.

They’ve focused their fire so hard on the Jackal they’re not even paying attention to Jared. That’s a mistake.

With thirteen bullets in the gun and the advantage of not being paid attention to, Jared needs considerably less than that.

He aims on the Triad member to the far left, pulling the trigger three times to be sure. Each shot takes the man in the body, one shoulder, then the other, before hitting him dead center. He falls backward, finger squeezing off a random bullet at the night sky.

The opposition clears then, man on the right falling to one side, big man in the center stepping backward, melting into shadow.

Jared can’t see the one on the right anymore, squeezing off four shots at the large man. He doesn’t know if he hits anything.

Return fire comes in Jared’s direction and he ducks his head, bullets flying over the length of his body against the ground. In his peripheral vision he can see the Jackal firing twice over the first tier of the fountain, and the return fire from that side ceases.

Jared lifts his head slightly to see the large man in the shadows is still firing at him, and the Jackal sends several shots in his direction before the large man turns the gun back on him. The Jackal ducks back down below the cover of the fountain, and Jared takes that as his cue.

Jared sees a shadow move in the darkness, firing four times into black on black, sure he sees it jolt and fall.

He rises from behind the stone bench, looking into the distance.

A bullet whines past his ear, so close to his cheek he can feel the concussive force as it passes his face. He falls back below his cover as chips of concrete fly from the edge of the bench.

The Jackal is up now, squeezing off five more rounds into the darkness over the second tier of the fountain, most of his body behind the center cylinder.

The Jackal ducks back down, and no return fire comes from the shadowed trees.

They have no idea how much ammo the man has, if he’s waiting for them to emerge from their cover to fire on them, or if he’s dead. Jared looks over, meets the Jackal’s eyes, and the Jackal raises his brows, indicating he isn’t sure either.

They wait in tense silence for several minutes, and finally the Jackal rises to his feet, body mostly still shielded by the fountain’s center. Nothing happens, and he moves, taking a step out from behind his cover. No gunfire comes from the trees, and the Jackal makes a motion at Jared, calling out, “Cover me.”

Jared readies his gun, keeping it trained on the spot the last round of fire had come from. He fires off the remainder of his shots as the Jackal crosses the courtyard with rapid steps, gun held out and ready to fire.

He reaches the trees, peering into the darkness, and fires a single shot toward the ground.

“Dead,” the Jackal proclaims.

Jared gets to his feet, pushing the muzzle of the empty gun inside the waistline of his pants. He hears a step on the stone behind him and turns—

There’s another member of the Triad, one Jared recognizes from photographs but hadn’t seen inside. He has a gun trained on the Jackal’s back, about to squeeze the trigger.

Jared doesn’t think, acting on instinct. He lunges, closing the distance between them and strikes the man in the arm. The gun erupts, bullet going wide, exploding the bark on a tree to the Jackal’s right.

Jared grabs the man’s arm, yanking the gun from his hand and tossing it. It skitters across the bullet pocked concrete as Jared tugs the man forward, throwing him to the ground. Jared follows behind, landing in a straddle across the man’s chest and driving the breath from his lungs. The man jolts beneath Jared, trying to buck him off, and Jared punches him in the nose, breaking it with the crunch of cartilage. The man grunts in pain and then reaches up, trying to get a grip on Jared’s throat—

The Jackal strides up beside them and fires a bullet into the man’s skull, stilling him instantly.

Jared jumps to his feet, stepping over the dead man with one leg as he turns to face the Jackal.

The Jackal looks at him in silence for a long moment. “You might have just saved my life.”

Jared stands there, stunned and disbelieving as the words wash over him. He hadn’t even thought, he’d simply acted. He probably just saved the Jackal’s life. The life of a terrorist and a man he eventually intends to kill himself. Saved him.

“Fuck,” Jared says, and utters a completely humorless laugh. “Don’t take it personally; I was operating on pure instinct.”

The Jackal squints one eye on him slightly, raising his other brow. 

“Besides,” Jared says as the truth occurs to him. “I couldn’t let you die here. You’re my ride back to twenty-twenty-eight.”

The Jackal simply looks at him for a moment.

“About that,” the Jackal says, holstering his gun. “There was something I was going to ask you earlier, before we were so rudely interrupted.”

“What?” Jared asks.

The Jackal folds his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he surveys Jared with hardened curiosity.

“Who the hell are you?” the Jackal demands.

Chapter Text

Jared is so confused, that for a moment he stands there without even the slightest idea of how to respond. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘who am I’?” he asks. His anger, which had subsided during the gunfight, begins to return in force. “I’m getting really tired of you fucking with my head.”

“I meant exactly what I said,” the Jackal returns, unruffled. “Who. Are. You?”

All of the anger has been suddenly and completely startled out of Jared. The Jackal isn’t kidding.

“What?” Jared asks, stunned. His mind failing him, he answers the question almost automatically. “It’s me. Jared. Jared Padalecki.”

His brain spins in place for a moment, a wheel with no traction, and then his training kicks in. “Don’t you remember me? What happened to you?” he asks, taking a step closer to the Jackal. “Did the time travel mess with your memory?” He takes another step. “Did someone brainwash you?”

The Jackal’s eyes narrow on Jared, and he doesn’t see a shred of recognition in them. The Jackal strides two steps closer to Jared, closing the distance between them, his cold eyes flashing sparks. “Listen, Jared—”

They both freeze as the door to the courtyard opens, carrying with it the sound of the chamber orchestra, sweet music on the night air, mixed with peals of drunken female laughter.

Someone is coming, and there are bodies all over the courtyard. Jared cranes his head, looking over his shoulder as he calculates the distance and the amount of time they have.

It isn’t much.

“You have to get us out of here,” he says, turning his face to look at the Jackal—

The Jackal is gone, metallic scent of ozone hitting Jared with the sickly sweet scent of almonds layered beneath.

Jared has dozens of questions in that instant—the largest being why the Jackal hadn’t grabbed Jared to get him out of here, too—and then he’s moving, logic dictating that there would be more than one entrance to the courtyard. For the sake of symmetry, there’s probably one directly across from the one he’d entered through, and he hurries from the inner circle to the outer path, relieved as he sees the door exactly where he’d estimated it would be.

There are confused sounds coming from the courtyard, and then a woman’s voice rises in a scream.

Jared flips one side of his jacket inside out, grasping the knob through the material, and sends up a fervent hope that the door is unlocked.

The knob turns and he lets himself into the darkened room, closing the door silently behind him. He looks left, then right, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. A split second to get his bearings, and then he heads off to the right, searching for the door that will let him out into the main yard of the house.

The Jackal had told him if anything went wrong, they’d meet under the large elm at the edge of the property, and well, this is about as wrong as things could have gone. Of course, that had been before the Jackal had apparently completely forgotten who he was and jumped through time without him.

Jared doesn’t have many options. He’ll try meeting the Jackal underneath the elm first, and then, if he really is abandoned here, he’ll have to suck it up and make his way back to the SR0 facility somehow, and get back to his right time.

The consequences of that course of action are something he really doesn’t want to think about too hard.

Fortunately, this wing of the house seems to be under construction, everything covered in layers of plaster dust and draped with cloth, and he makes his way out a side door into the yard, hurrying to the fence at the edge of the property and following it behind the cover of trees until he reaches the elm.

Relief floods through him as he sights the Jackal standing there, waiting for him.

“What the hell?” Jared demands as he approaches the Jackal.

The Jackal takes him by the hand. “We need to go now.”

Jared yanks his hand away. “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

There are noises coming from the house in the distance, panicked guests likely fleeing the scene of the murder.

“I’ll tell you when we get back,” the Jackal promises, stern but seeming honest.

Jared looks at him for a moment, more confused than he’s ever felt in his life, and then he reaches out, taking the Jackal’s hand.

An instant later, they’re gone.

///////////

Chad is staring at him, a curious light in his eyes, knowledge slowly dawning.

Jared takes a sip from his glass, wetting his throat to continue.

“Jay… you know what happened, don’t you?”

“I do. I didn’t figure it out as quickly as you are, though.”

“Holy shit.” Chad scrubs a hand across his face. “That’s so fucking dangerous, Jared. Like incredibly reckless.”

“I know,” Jared agrees.

“Why would he do that?” Chad asks. “I mean even a fucking terrorist has to have a reason to risk something like that. Did he tell you?”

“I’m getting there,” Jared assures him.

\\\\\\\\\\\

They materialize on the deck of the bungalow, Jared falling sideways and catching himself against the railing. It takes him a moment, a few long, deep breaths to steady himself, his stomach turning over once before settling again. He turns fully towards the railing, bracing his arms to hold himself upright, and continues breathing for another minute or two.

“Better?” the Jackal asks, his voice quiet. He’s standing alongside Jared at the railing, seeming to wait patiently for Jared to gather himself.

“Better,” Jared breathes, nodding. And then, “What the fuck was that about?”

The Jackal leans down, resting his elbows against the railing. “You caught me at an interesting time in my life,” the Jackal says.

“Caught?” Jared squints at him, uncertain at his use of past tense.

“I wasn’t there to steal dirt on a political candidate,” the Jackal admits. “I was there to stop the Triad from doing it. I knew if they saw me, they’d come for me. I was about to bait them when I saw you. You were about to cause a scene and create the kind of confusion that would have messed up the whole mission, so I tried to get you out of the way.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” Jared asks.

“If I’d even mentioned the Triad you wouldn’t have believed anything I said after that.”

“I barely believed you about the political scandal,” Jared admits, agreeing. The Jackal is making sense so far, but there’s still a lot he hasn’t explained. “Why did you act like you didn’t know who I was?”

“I wasn’t acting.” The Jackal turns his face to look at Jared full on. “Come on, Jared,” he admonishes. “You’re smarter than this.”

Jared looks at him, uncomprehending for a moment, and then it hits him. “Oh my god,” he mutters in soft disbelief. “That was a past version of you. One that hadn’t met me yet.”

“That,” the Jackal says, “was the first time I met you.”

Which means this was always going to happen.

“That’s why you were so confident I’d come with you,” Jared realizes, suddenly. “You already knew I’d been there.”

“I told you if you came with me you’d find out why I was so sure you were coming with me,” the Jackal says with a faint smile.

“But why did you come?” Jared asks, mystified. “You of all people know how dangerous it is to have two versions of yourself running around in the same moment.”

“That’s why I immediately turned around after you went inside. I went and waited for you under the tree so there would be no additional risk to the timeline.”

It’s starting to sink in for Jared now. The way the Jackal had been slightly off the entire time they’d danced, his puzzlement, the way he had neither confirmed nor denied anything Jared had asked him. Jared can only imagine what the Jackal must have thought; someone he’d never seen before in his life being so angry with him for things he hadn’t even done yet. Playing along for the sake of figuring it all out.

“So you mean everything I said… I was saying it to…” Jared trails off, mortified.

“A complete stranger,” the Jackal confirms.

Jared looks away from him, licks his lips, starts to speak, licks his lips again. “And you… you remember it all?”

“Of course.” There’s no judgment in his tone, just a statement of fact.

Jared lets his mortification and embarrassment run its course for a few seconds, and then he gathers it up, pushing it into a box to be dealt with later.

“If it helps, I found you intriguing,” the Jackal adds, giving him a ghost of a smile.

Jared doesn’t hear mockery in the Jackal’s tone, but he suspects it’s there, lurking under the surface like always. And none of that is the point. He still has a mission, and there’s so much he doesn’t understand. “Then all of this… you already knew?”

“Only what you told me had happened so far.”

“I don’t understand…” Jared shakes his head as he looks back to the Jackal. “Why did you take me there in the first place?”

“Because clearly I already had.” When Jared continues to simply stare at him, waiting, he says, “My future self already did it, so I thought I must have had my reasons.”

Jared regards him steadily. “You are your future self now. So why did you do it?”

The Jackal tilts his head slightly in a sort of shrug. “I could say it’s because I thought if you’d seen me then, before we knew each other, it might deepen whatever connection you feel towards me. Or that because we had to fight on the same side it might make you feel camaraderie with me. Or that I knew you might have saved my life that night, so I had to make sure you were there. Or maybe something else all together.”

Jared looks at him, waiting. After a moment he realizes the Jackal isn’t going to say anything else. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Jared asks, unsurprised.

“I think you should decide for yourself,” the Jackal says, flashing him a sidelong smirk.

“God I can’t believe I kissed you the first time you met me,” Jared mutters, frustrated with the Jackal and annoyed at himself.

The Jackal’s head swivels, sharp gaze leveling on Jared. Jared can read surprise and confusion in those eyes, in the arch of his brows, there and gone in an instant. A momentary slip, one so genuine it had to have been honestly earned; the look of a man who’s been told something he didn’t have the first clue about.

“What, you don’t remember?” Jared asks, sarcastic. And then the truth hits him. “No,” he says, slowly. “Your memory is eidetic. You remember everything.”

The Jackal looks away from Jared, out and across the water. “No,” he replies, sounding thoughtful. “I don’t remember it.” He pauses, and then, “You’re sure you kissed me?”

“Pretty fucking sure I couldn’t forget it,” Jared snaps, unnerved, though he isn’t entirely sure why. “What the fuck do you mean you don’t remember?”

“My memories wouldn’t change, because I was within proximity of the event,” the Jackal says.

Jared understands that much. Being present and close to changes in the timeline means the jumpers’ memories don’t change. “I still don’t understand what you mean.”

“I mean, when that night happened in twenty-twenty-six, you never kissed me, Jared. That never happened. And if this is the first time you’ve ever been here, then it should be exactly as I remember it.”

He’s right. Barring anyone having knowledge of the event and the desire to change it, everything should have happened exactly the same. The fact that it didn’t… “How can that be possible?”

The Jackal shakes his head in silence, as if to say he doesn’t know. But Jared thinks maybe he knows something. There’s a look in his eyes, like he’s calculating something in the back of his mind.

“What is it?” Jared asks. “What do you know?”

///////////

“Holy shit,” Chad says, sitting up straight in his seat. “You had an anomaly?”

“An anomaly?” Jared vaguely remembers the term. He’s never been much on the scientific end of time travel, though.

“Okay,” Chad says, nodding as he appears to gather his thoughts. He puts his hands together, and then begins to speak in earnest. “Have you ever had a memory that was so real, you were so sure of, that it happened just that way? Maybe you wrote it down in a journal, or a report log, and one day, you go back to look at it… and the memory isn’t how you remember it happening at all?”

Jared frowns, puzzled. “Maybe.”

“Or maybe you had a photograph, a picture on your phone, of a moment that’s important to you, and you can see it so clearly in your mind. But when you look at the picture again, it’s not quite the same as you remember it. Different nuances, maybe even an entirely different feeling to it.”

“That’s the nature of memory for most people,” Jared replies, not understanding. “Memory changes over time.”

“Sometimes,” Chad agrees. “But sometimes you’re just so sure that something happened just a certain way, you know it to your bones. And then you find out it didn’t.” Chad looks at him curiously. “Have you ever felt that?”

“Yes. But so have most people.”

“And sometimes, it’s just the human brain, being faulty. But sometimes,” Chad goes on, “it’s because the event itself changes. Not usually completely. Not so entirely that it’s shocking—although sometimes that happens too.”

“You’re saying sometimes when things in the timeline are changed, not everyone’s memory of the event changes?”

Chad shrugs. “It’s possible. The electromagnetic field we use in SR0 to prevent the memories of people inside the facility from changing? Well, the human brain runs on electricity. Maybe sometimes the brain itself runs interference and prevents memory change. So that thing you’re so sure you remember exactly… the written entry has changed, the photograph has changed, other people’s memories of it have changed, but your memory hasn’t.”

“But how could you know for sure?”

“You couldn’t,” Chad agrees. “But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen. That’s one example of what we’d call an anomaly.”

“How does that relate to the Jackal?”

“The fact that some people’s memories don’t change also means the opposite could happen. The brain runs on electricity. Eidetic memory or not, you might lose a memory or three when you’ve rewritten time enough times.”

Jared narrows his eyes on Chad, uncertain. “This is a theory? There’s never been any proof of any of this?”

“A couple of SR0 cases where it’s been purported to happen. But they’re old, hard to verify.”

And this is the thing that Jared’s been dreading, deep down inside since before he began this tale. “Say the Jackal’s memory wasn't changed,” Jared says. “Say he was right about how it happened two years ago, and I didn’t kiss him. What if I changed things and it did happen differently than it should have?”

Chad sucks in a slow breath. “That would be a serious deviation. All things being normal, your first time there, experiencing it, should have been the same as the Jackal’s first time experiencing it.”

“Okay, but what does that mean?”

Chad brings his hands together, clasping them, then pulls them apart with a sharp exhale. “It means timeline decay. It means the... Fuck. Jay. It means the timeline is unstable. Our timeline, the timeline that we all accept as real, is unstable.”

“Jesus,” Jared whispers.

Chad simply stares at him for a moment.

“That,” Chad says, “would be terrible on a level of epic fucking proportions, like catastrophic, like so fucking incredibly, horribly fucked up that they don’t even have a word for it. But,” Chad goes on, holding up a finger, “I feel like there’s something you’re not considering here.”

“What?”

“That the Jackal is so full of shit he squeaks going into a turn. That he’s lying to you to manipulate you.”

“Manipulate me into what?”

“Who fucking knows? He’s the Jackal. He’s the only one who knows, and he’s not telling. But I guarantee he has a plan, and if you keep fucking with him, he’s going to close the trap on your ass and then it’ll be too late.”

Jared shakes his head, remembering the Jackal’s face, his expression when he’d realized Jared remembered something he didn’t. “But what if he wasn’t lying?” Jared asks.

Chad actually laughs. “Do you know what it would take to destabilize our timeline? The anomaly would have to be huge, unprecedented. That kind of anomaly can’t just happen. You’d have to epically fuck up a lot, or work at it deliberately. This is not, ‘Oh shit, I stepped on a butterfly and now I’m Ashton Kutcher in a shitty sci-fi movie’.”

“Do we know that for sure?” Jared asks.

“If it didn’t take a shit ton of effort, we’d have collapsed the timeline by now. We’ve certainly fucked around in it enough. And time does seem to protect itself with time burn and scarring. I mean, we could do it, if we tried hard enough, but that’s why we’re careful.” Chad shifts in his chair. “Not to mention, people at SR0 would probably have an idea if it was happening. There would be big indications if timeline decay was happening. I mean, I’m a conspiracy theorist, but even I don’t think SR0 would hide something like that.”

Jared agrees—despite everything that’s happening, despite everything SR0 hadn’t told him, he doesn’t believe SR0 would let something like that occur—but he wants to know why Chad thinks so. “Why don’t you think they’d cover it up?”

“Because it would mean the end of everything,” Chad says simply. “We’re still a government agency. No US government entity is deranged enough to let humanity’s existence end. That would mean no power. So if timeline decay was happening, SR0’s mission statement would change to stabilizing and saving the timeline. You can’t be a fancy, time-traveling super secret government operation without a government, or a nation, or citizens, or a world.”

Jared thinks about it for a moment longer, the core of him so certain that the Jackal hadn’t been lying, and then he sighs. “So the Jackal was fucking with me.”

“It could have been an anomaly in his memory,” Chad allows. “But, Jared,” Chad goes on, grave. “Do you honestly think there’s been a time when he wasn’t fucking with you?”

Jared sighs, shaking his head as he looks at Chad. “No. I’m pretty sure he’s always fucking with me on some level. But sometimes I wonder how much he’s fucking with me.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Chad says, and settles back into his seat. “Okay. Finish the story. What happened after you asked him what he knew?”

\\\\\\\\\\\

“What is it?” Jared asks. “What do you know?”

The Jackal pushes off the railing, and Jared does the same, turning to face him. The moonlight shines down on the Jackal’s features, highlighting the perfect form of them, black of his tuxedo absorbing most of the light, the lines of his body clearly visible with the tailored cut of it. He’s beautiful, his expression inscrutable as ever.

“Tell me everything that happened,” the Jackal says.

Jared takes exactly two seconds to consider how humiliating that would be before he answers. “No.”

“If anything else was different, I need to know.”

It occurs to Jared then, that for the first time—the very first time in their entire relationship—Jared potentially knows something the Jackal doesn’t. For the first time, Jared has a position of power.

“Why?” Jared demands. “What does it mean if something different did happen? How could something different have happened anyway?”

The Jackal pushes his hands into his pants pockets, staring Jared down.

“You’re going to have to start giving me answers at some point,” Jared tells him.

“I really don’t,” the Jackal returns, wry.

“Then you can’t expect me to give you any,” Jared replies.

“Fair enough.” The Jackal looks at him a moment longer, and then begins to reach for the Atta strapped beneath his tuxedo jacket.

“No. Wait.” Jared reaches out, trying to grab hold of him.

“Don’t,” the Jackal tells him, catching Jared’s hand and twisting it back down by Jared’s side. “If I broke contact while the Atta was engaged you’d be dead before you could blink.”

Jared hears him; he just doesn’t care at the moment. “You can’t just leave,” Jared breathes, not even trying to break free of the Jackal’s grip on his wrist. “Not without telling me what this all means.”

The Jackal doesn’t release him, closing the distance between them with one quick step.

“You know what I remember most about that night?” the Jackal asks, his voice low as he leans closer to Jared.

Jared feels like the breath has been knocked from him with the Jackal’s nearness. “What?” he asks, trying to keep his voice level.

“How angry you were when we danced,” the Jackal says, his eyes locked on Jared’s. “You were so angry. I had no idea who you were, but you knew me, and you were furious with me.”

“You’re an infuriating person,” Jared tells him.

The Jackal tilts his head to one side slightly, as if to acknowledge the truth of Jared’s remark. “I can’t imagine you kissing me in the middle of all that fury. It must have been something.”

“It was,” Jared assures him.

“I’m almost…” the Jackal murmurs, leaning in, lips brushing against Jared’s ear, “sorry…” he breathes, “I don’t remember it.”

It’s cat and mouse, the Jackal playing a wicked game, but there’s a note of sincerity in the Jackal’s voice that shakes Jared to his bones. With an effort, Jared pushes past the way it makes him feel, focusing on the moment.

“You should be sorry,” Jared whispers, turning his cheek against the Jackal’s. Their mouths are dangerously close, blood roaring in Jared’s veins, and he’s nearly trembling from the strain, but Jared holds out, holds his place. “I’m not going to tell you what happened.” He mouths the words against the Jackal’s cheek. “No matter how much you try to seduce me.”

He can feel the Jackal’s mouth curve in a smirk.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” the Jackal whispers back.

///////////

Chad blinks at Jared a few times. “Wow. I retract my question about you ever thinking he wasn’t fucking with you, because holy fucking head games, Batman.”

Jared nods agreement and then takes a breath, considering. “The thing is—”

“Fuck, Jay. Come on,” Chad groans.

“I know,” Jared says. “But I can’t help wondering… maybe I should have told him. Maybe it was important.”

“It would only be important if time was imploding, and we already know it isn’t.” Chad pauses, and then holds up his hands. “We’re relatively pretty fucking certain it isn’t,” he corrects.

“Right.” Jared nods, reaching for his drink, ice cubes nearly melted as he drains the rest. He sets the glass back down, deciding to put the issue to rest.

“There is one other thing that could be happening here…” Chad adds, looking at him with squinty consternation. “Did you ever have any dreams about this trip?”

Jared frowns, thoughtful and perplexed. It seems like an odd question, but he thinks about it for a moment anyway, before shaking his head. “Not that I recall.”

Chad lifts a hand, palm upward, and lets it glide through the air. “Okay, then.”

“Are you gonna explain or what?” Jared asks.

“Okay, so.” Chad runs a hand through his hair, seeming to gather his thoughts. “So. There’s a theory that time isn’t linear at all. And that’s why sometimes you have dreams about very weird, specific things, and then months later, that very weird, specific thing happens to you, and you go, oh shit, I dreamed this!”

Jared eyes Chad with skepticism.

“Usually it’s mundane shit,” Chad goes on. “Like folding a particularly patterned piece of fabric, seeing a white-haired woman with a wide-brimmed red hat. And then months later, that exact thing happens in real life. It’s not prophetic—because prophecy is a whole different fucking ball of wax tied up in rubber bands of destiny—but it is predictive of the future. Because time isn’t linear. The theory goes that we usually perceive it as linear, because that’s all our human brains can process. But really, everything is always happening all at once. And sometimes, flashes of those other moments that are happening leak through into our perception through our dreams.”

“That sounds like bullshit.”

“Really? So you’ve never experienced something and thought, or even said out loud, ‘I dreamed this’? You’ve never heard anyone else say it?”

Jared very much has. And he doesn’t like the sound of this at all. “So you think time isn’t linear?”

“I can’t fucking speak to that, because that shit turns my brain to liquid. The idea that everything is always happening all at once around us and we just can’t quite perceive it fucking terrifies me.”

“Okay…” Jared says, lost. “Then what do you think?”

“What I think is, time probably is linear. So when you dream something before it happens, it’s because something in the past was changed to make that moment become real in the future. And in your dream, you were aware of it when it changed.”

“But how can you have a dream about something that hasn’t happened yet?”

Chad nods. “So, let’s say you dreamed the woman with white hair in a red-brimmed hat standing in the park. A really vivid moment in your dream that stays with you. And four months later, you see that exact woman standing in the park, just like you remember in your dream. That means four months ago, something changed in the past that would make that moment come to pass for certain in the future. It means in your dream, you got a glimpse of a fleeting, solid moment in the future.”

“The future isn’t fully formed, Jay. But there are bits and pieces of it that are solid. Usually they’re mundane. It’s not destiny with a capital ‘D’, but it is predetermined.” Chad throws his hands up. “And shit, for all science knows, we’re just a bunch of monkeys jerking off to the idea that we can figure out any of it. Time is a bitch. She’s the fucking Queen, and we’re all her court jesters.”

Chad claps his hands together like punctuation to the end of his speech.

“So…” Jared says slowly, following Chad’s logic, “you think maybe something could have changed in the past… that made the moment I kissed the Jackal a certainty.”

“Right. You travel through time, so the same theory could work differently. When this all happened to the Jackal in twenty-twenty-six, you didn’t kiss him. But something could have changed between then and last night. And since that thing changed, when you went back in time to that moment, it happened differently.”

“That… makes sense,” Jared agrees, somewhat surprised.

“It’s almost like I know what the fuck I’m talking about,” Chad agrees, sarcastic.

“Sometimes,” Jared agrees, smirking at him.

Chad flips him a middle finger, smirking back.

“But,” Jared says, smile slowly fading from his face, “I don’t remember any dreams about this.”

“Well it’s not a hundred percent,” Chad says, shrugging. “Maybe you didn’t dream about it at all. Maybe you forgot you dreamed it. Doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen.”

“But how can I know for sure?”

“You can’t. But it’s plausible, and it makes more sense than timeline decay.”

“The Jackal seemed pretty convinced it shouldn’t have been possible.”

“Yeah. He’s got a vested interest in making you believe that, doesn’t he?”

Jared nods.

“So,” Chad says, like he’s changing the subject. “Is that the end of the story?”

“Yeah. ‘Can’t blame me for trying’ and then he vanished.”

Now it’s Chad who eyes Jared with skepticism.

“What?” Jared demands.

Chad shrugs, seeming to let the question go. “So have you learned your lesson now, Jay?”

“About what?” Jared asks, even though he already knows.

“Don’t play stupid. About this whole fucking Jackal debacle. It’s dangerous, Jared. He’s dangerous. There’s a reason you didn’t tell anyone else about your physical attraction to him. About the fact that you fucking made out with him. Twice.”

Jared opens his mouth to protest and Chad holds up a finger, stopping him.

“You can’t be clear-headed about this, Jay, and he knows it. He’s betting on it, he’s playing with it, twisting it to his own ends. He’s heterosexual by all accounts. That means he’s fucking with you. And even if he wasn’t hetero? Even if he did swing the other way? He’s still fucking with you.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Chad. But…” Jared trails off shaking his head. “Ever since last night, everything feels weird. The Jackal met me in twenty-twenty-six. Which means all of this was supposed to happen to get me back to that moment in twenty-twenty-six. We know the future isn’t fully formed, but in a case like this, some elements are. And you just got done telling me yourself how certain things are predetermined. This clearly was.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants you to think,” Chad says, snorting.

“But it did happen.” Jared looks at Chad, askance. “That has to mean something.”

“You think the Jackal wasn’t smart enough to set this whole thing up?” Chad asks. “That from that moment he first met you in twenty-twenty-six and figured out you were an SR0 agent that he didn’t put a plan into motion to make sure he followed through on everything you told him? To make sure you would end up there right when he met you?”

“Yeah,” Jared agrees, emphatic. “I’m sure he did. But think about it for a minute. The first time he met me was in the past. He had no clue who I was. There was no reason for him to seek me out except for that meeting in twenty-twenty-six—which would never have happened if he hadn’t sought me out.”

“Yeah,” Chad agrees, nodding. “It’s a Bootstrap Paradox. It’s one of the most confounding paradoxes, because there’s no point of origin.”

“And are there any instances of a Bootstrap Paradox on record with SR0?”

“No,” Chad admits, reluctant.

“No,” Jared echoes, sitting back and turning his palms upward. “So this is fucking weird, right?” Jared sits further back, frowning at Chad. “You’re not excited about this. Why aren’t you excited about this?”

“Because I’m a conspiracy theorist paranoid motherfucker, and everything about this screams code fucking red, defcon one, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. We’re way past alarms here. There’s never been any evidence of a Bootstrap Paradox in reality before. A lot of people with worse hair and bigger brains than mine say they’re an impossibility.” Chad breaks off, nodding slow and almost bitterly satisfied. “But if ever there was a motherfucker that could figure out how to cause a Bootstrap Paradox, it would be the Jackal.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Jared says, not quite daring to make it a question.

“That would be some conspiracy theorist paranoid motherfucker shit,” Chad agrees sagely, neither confirming nor denying. “But what I do believe is,” he goes on, dead serious, “regardless of what happened, he’s working it to his advantage.”

Jared grits his teeth, frustrated. “You don’t think maybe this means something? That there's a bigger reason this happened?”

“Oh Jay. Oh Jay, oh Jay.” Chad steeples his fingers together against his lips, shaking his head as he stares at Jared. “He’s got you so fucking wrapped around his finger. You think this is destiny with a capital ‘D’, don’t you?”

Jared opens his mouth, and then snaps it shut in surprise. Wait. “What? No.”

“Please,” Chad replies. “Don’t I think maybe this means something? That there’s a bigger reason this happened? Do you even hear yourself? You’re two steps, a hop and a jump away from kismet and destiny, and I wish I was talking about my favorite pair of strippers.”

Jared stops, considering for a moment. He hadn’t meant that. He’d just meant that something weird was going on, something that might be bigger than him or the Jackal.

But now that Chad has brought it to his attention… what does that mean? Some kind of force? Barring any other people being involved, it would have to be some kind of force, wouldn’t it? What force? Time itself? Kismet?

Fuck. He hadn’t consciously been going down that path, but somewhere, deep down, buried in his subconscious, he had been, hadn’t he? Imagining himself connected to the Jackal by a series of dots he was slowly filling in the lines between. He’d been thinking about destiny on a base level long before Chad had even mentioned it.

The two of them, brought together by time, their fates somehow linked.

Not just predetermined, but Destiny.

“Yeah,” Chad says, grim as he nods in response to Jared’s dawning horror.

Jared starts to speak, then stops again, still too in shock to form words.

“This is what I’m fucking saying, Jared,” Chad tells him, emphatic. “The man is insidious. He gets under your skin and infects you like a disease and you never fucking see it coming.”

Shit.

“I could say it’s because I thought if you’d seen me then, before we knew each other, it might deepen whatever connection you feel towards me. Or that because we had to fight on the same side it might make you feel camaraderie with me. Or that I knew you might have saved my life that night, so I had to make sure you were there. Or maybe it was something else all together.”

Jared looks at him, waiting. After a moment he realizes the Jackal isn’t going to say anything else. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Jared asks, unsurprised.

“I think you should decide for yourself,” the Jackal says, flashing him a sidelong smirk.

All of those things, it had been all of the reasons he’d listed, but that last one, the one he’d left hanging for Jared to ponder—

“Or maybe it was something else all together.”

The Jackal had been leading him to that conclusion all along.

His brain feels like it snaps open, laying everything out bare and clear.

All this time, digging into Danneel Harris’ history, thinking he was so close, closer than anyone had ever been, because the Jackal had shared something so personal with him. And all the while, the Jackal has been winding him tighter, dragging him deeper, guiding Jared exactly where the Jackal wanted him to go. Carefully crafting this strangely intimate relationship between them, pretending he might be attracted to Jared despite being heterosexual, making Jared feel important, like an exception. Playing on that trust he’d established the first time they’d met. And Jared had thought he was fine because he was aware of the game being played.

That’s what this has all been about; making Jared believe fate brought them together somehow, that there’s a bigger force at play here. That this whole thing is special; an exception. Destiny, with a capital ‘D’.

Normally he’d check himself for believing Chad so readily, but he feels it, feels the sudden truth of it. It makes sense.

His mind spins back to the final moments before the Jackal had left last night—the moments Jared had omitted from telling Chad.

\\\\\\\\\\\

Their mouths are dangerously close, blood roaring in Jared’s veins, and he’s nearly trembling from the strain, but Jared holds out, holds his place. “I’m not going to tell you what happened.” He mouths the words against the Jackal’s cheek. “No matter how much you try to seduce me.”

He can feel the Jackal’s mouth curve in a smirk.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” the Jackal whispers back.

The chemistry between them is so thick, pheromones hitting Jared’s brain like cocaine, smooth like sweet, black satin sin, and the Jackal draws back, cheek gliding against his, lips brushing along the hollow of Jared’s cheek, stopping just shy of the corner of Jared's mouth.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” the Jackal whispers, only drawing back far enough to look at Jared. “That night, you knew things about me I didn’t think I’d ever share with anyone. And I thought, this man must be important, somehow, in the future.”

“And now?” Jared asks, his voice seeming far away.

The Jackal’s mouth tugs in a slow, lopsided smirk. He leans in, lips lush and hot as they meet Jared’s, sending fire sweeping through Jared, shivers rushing over his skin. It burns through him like a fever, instantaneous and all consuming, and all he wants to do is reach for the Jackal, pull him closer even though he knows better—

The Jackal pulls from the kiss, smirking again as he meets Jared’s eyes. “I said I’d tell you one thing.”

Holding himself together right now is possibly one of the most difficult things Jared has ever done in his life. He manages. Barely. “I don’t owe you anything for that.”

“Still can’t blame me for trying,” the Jackal replies, and then he gives Jared a wink.

He steps back, three quick steps before Jared realizes what he’s doing, and then he’s gone, vanishing in an instant.

///////////

“Bro?” Chad inquires, sounding concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Not… not really,” Jared manages to reply.

“That night, you knew things about me I didn’t think I’d ever share with anyone. And I thought, this man must be important, somehow, in the future.”

Saying those words, weaving between the lines the implication that Jared is special, an exception; that he’s important to the Jackal. Lacing his voice with meaning, with depth beyond what he’d said, leading Jared down the path of predestination. And then, that fucking kiss, like he’d just been trying to lure Jared into telling him something. Manipulative, but somehow charming in its transparency.

Fuck. Is that really what Jared had thought? Like the Jackal has ever been transparent about anything? It was sleight of hand, keeping Jared focused on the physical while he’d slipped in the suggestion that there was something more between them.

He’d played Jared like smooth, sweet music. Jared had wondered from the beginning why the Jackal had taken him on this trip. He understands now.

Jesus. Eyes wide open and he’s still been so fucking blind.

“I mean…” Jared goes on. “I knew he was always fucking with me to some degree… but I didn’t realize how hard. Fuck. I knew. I knew and I’ve been falling for it, anyway.”

He’s angry, and somehow betrayed, despite all his better sense. There’s no way the Jackal should be able to make him feel like this and yet here he fucking is.

“So you see now,” Chad says, eyeing him intently, “why you have to stop this insane mission.”

Yes. Yes, Jared really does. He’d become obsessed; the Jackal had encouraged him to become obsessed. He’d cut himself off from all his support; the Jackal had pushed things to be more intimate between them so Jared would either have to give up his mission—which he wouldn’t, because he was obsessed—or cut himself off from his support. Fuck, he’d cut out Stephen, Dr. Berry, even Chad, keeping all the more intimate details of what’s been going on between him and the Jackal a secret, believing he could handle it. And here, in one session of telling Chad about all the things he’s been keeping secret, Chad had seen the truth in an instant.

If Chad hadn’t been objective enough to catch on and point it out to Jared, Jared probably would have kept going right on down the path to believing in Destiny, and once that happened, once he did that—once he honestly believed on some level that he and the Jackal’s lives were linked by fate and some larger purpose—could he have come back from that? Or would the Jackal’s mission to bring Jared over to his side have been complete?

He’d like to believe he could have resisted, even then. That he couldn’t ever be taken in completely by the Jackal’s games. But he almost had been, just now, and he hadn’t even realized it.

He just barely dodged a bullet, and he’s shaken to the core.

“I have to stop,” Jared agrees, voice unsteady as he meets Chad’s eyes.

* * * * *

Five hours and seven drinks later, Chad is long gone, and Jared is resolved in what he needs to do.

All his training, all his confidence, and the Jackal had still crept in around the edges, snuck in through the back door, sowing seeds in Jared’s mind like a thief in the night before he’d stolen away with a final kiss.

He’s been a fool. A complete and total idiot. He’d really thought he might be reaching the Jackal, that they’d had some sort of connection. He’d thought that was his doing, that it was his advantage. And all he’d ever had was what the Jackal had convinced him of. All of it a construct in Jared’s mind of the Jackal’s creation.

He feels so betrayed, shaken to the core of his foundations, and he knows it’s completely at odds with the fact that he’d been planning on using his connection to the Jackal to find out everything he can and then kill the man. It doesn’t make any sense for him to be this livid. They both knew what kind of game they’d been playing. But the Jackal had almost gotten to him, the Jackal had been this close to pulling Jared in. He’s furious at himself, disappointed in himself, but he’s enraged at the Jackal.

It’s contradictory, nonsensical, and the longer he’s sat here, drinking, the more enraged he’s become. Replaying their interactions on an endless loop, wondering how much the Jackal had been laughing on the inside the entire time.

He sits in the near darkness of the living room, sipping his eighth drink, eyes fixed on the outside deck.

Close to midnight, he blinks, and the Jackal is there, appearing on the deck beneath the moonlight, clad in a dark suit.

Jared’s had more to drink than he should, and he staggers more than a little on his way to the sliding glass door, throwing it open so hard it threatens to recoil back on him. He grabs it and throws it away from him again, with less force this time, and it shudders on its track.

The Jackal simply watches him do this, brows drawn together in a light frown.

“You’re drunk,” the Jackal remarks as if he finds this interesting, perhaps even a little amusing.

“You’ve been playing me,” Jared spits.

The Jackal calmly tilts his head to one side as he regards Jared. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“I knew you were playing me, all this time. And I thought it was okay because we both knew it. But I didn’t see the scope of the game you were playing. You almost fucking got me. Al-fucking-most.”

The Jackal blinks at him several times. “More specific than that.”

Jared wants to hit him, drive that smug ass fucking smirk right off that gorgeous face. The only thing stopping him right now is knowing that it would never land, because the Jackal has to be expecting it, furious as Jared is.

“Your fucking thesis was on time loops. Did you do it?” Jared asks, voice shaking with anger. “Did you create the Bootstrap paradox?”

The Jackal’s brows rise. “You’re serious,” he remarks, seeming fascinated. And then, “I’m good Jared, but even I’m not that good.”

Jared knows he wouldn’t admit it, even if he did. This whole thing is futile, useless, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

“Have you been using the paradox to your advantage?” Jared demands.

The Jackal purses his lips, eyes steady as he meets Jared’s furious gaze. “I use everything to my advantage, Jared. Just like you do.”

Jared does lunge at him then, throwing an ungainly punch at that beautiful face.

The Jackal catches him easily, taking Jared by the arm and using Jared’s momentum to spin Jared around 360 degrees, pushing Jared back almost to the spot he’d originally been standing. The Jackal holds onto him, steadying him for a moment before he lets go.

“I’m shutting this down,” Jared declares, hands shaking. “It’s fucking over.”

“You and me are done professionally?” the Jackal inquires. His tone is casual, almost flippant, but there’s something in the way he says it—something Jared doesn’t have time to unpack right now.

“And every other way,” Jared tells him. “I made the right call from the beginning by changing my schedule. I’m going back to the facility tomorrow, and I’m never going to see you again.”

“Something I said?” the Jackal asks.

God he’s so fucking infuriating. “You know why,” Jared grates. “You’re a lying, manipulative, thieving fucking terrorist, who wants to undo everything SR0 stands for. You ruin everything you touch. You’re an evil, villainous, poisonous piece of shit, and I can’t believe I ever thought for a second there might be anything human inside you.”

A muscle in the Jackal’s jaw clenches, his eyes going cold, and then he juts out his chin, lifting his arms from his sides as if presenting himself. “I’m the goddamned Jackal.” He drops his hands to his sides again. “Is that it? That’s the speech? I expected more from you.”

“Like what? Some kind of clumsy attempt at getting you to tell me something? Maybe another attempt at a kiss you’ll probably laugh about later?”

The Jackal pushes his hands into his pockets, his expression stony, cold eyes snapping sparks. “Like maybe some goddamned context.”

“Don’t play games,” Jared yells, pointing at him. “Don’t act like you don’t fucking know what you’ve been trying to do all along.”

The Jackal seems to pretend confusion. “The question is, what do you think I’ve been trying to do all al—”

“Get the fuck off my deck,” Jared snarls. “And don’t come back.”

The Jackal stiffens, staring at him for an instant. Jared thinks he sees surprise there—surprise and… disappointment? No, that’s not quite it. Then, those cold eyes seem to grow even colder as he regards Jared beneath the moonlight.

“Fine,” the Jackal replies, shoulders stiff as he shrugs.

A moment later, Jared’s deck is empty.

It’s over.

END ACT I

Chapter Text

“Jared. Jared wake up.”

His hand had been reaching for his gun under the other pillow before the person had even spoken, but his fingers find nothing there. He isn’t alarmed though, because he recognizes that voice.

“I couldn’t take the chance you’d accidentally shoot me,” the voice says.

Jared rolls over and sits up quickly, realizing his mistake an instant later as his brain erupts in pain with the sudden motion. He scrunches his eyes shut, pressing a hand to his forehead in an attempt to stave off the pain, and beside him, the bed dips with weight as the person sits on the edge of the bed.

“Are you all right?” 

Jared isn’t sure what time it is, but he suspects it’s somewhere around 3am. He isn’t hammered anymore, but he’s definitely still angry. Jared takes a deep breath and sighs, pulling his hand from his forehead. He lets his eyes flutter open again, experimentally, and when it causes minimal pain, he relaxes a notch. 

“No, Stephen,” Jared replies. “I think I’m still drunk, and hungover.”

The warmth of Stephen’s hand falls on Jared’s bare shoulder, and Jared finally turns his head to look at him. The room is dimly lit by the moon outside, and Jared can just make out his features, parts of them lost to shadow.

“I got a text from you,” Stephen tells him. “It seemed like gibberish, like maybe an accidental text, but when I texted you back you didn’t answer. So I called you, and you didn’t pick up.”

“So you came up here in the middle of the night to check on me?” Jared asks.

“Of course I came in the middle of the night to check on you,” Stephen says, his voice low and emphatic. “I thought you might be hurt. But you’re okay? The Jackal didn’t hurt you?”

Jared huffs out a bitter laugh that makes his head throb. “No.” Not physically , he thinks. But hadn’t the Jackal harmed him in some other way? Psychologically, probably? Maybe even emotionally?

He isn’t ready to deal with that right now.

In the low light of the room, Stephen’s face registers relief at Jared’s reply. His hand slides from Jared’s shoulder. “So everything’s all right, then?” he asks.

Jared looks at him, wondering how much he can tell Stephen. Confessing everything to Chad after the fact is one thing; Chad is his equal. But Stephen is his superior. More than that, Stephen’s been like a big brother to him for years. The shame he’d feel at confessing everything to Stephen, letting Stephen know how much Jared’s been lying to him all this time, imagining how disappointed Stephen will be in him—Jared can see it all in an instant. Their friendship would be permanently affected by the lack of trust Jared has demonstrated, not to mention that Jared could lose his career for lying to his handler.

“I think…” Jared begins, tongue darting out across his dry lips. He takes a moment to make sure his anger is tightly tucked away before he goes on in a level tone of voice. “I think it’s a bad idea, me being up here where he can get to me. I thought I was getting closer to him, but it seems like he’s been pulling me in closer to him without me even realizing it.”

“That was the danger of this whole mission,” Stephen agrees.

Jared is grateful Stephen doesn’t come right out and say, I told you so .

“I think it’s time to pull the plug,” Jared says.

“What happened to make you feel this way?” Stephen asks.

“Nothing specific,” Jared replies, keeping his voice level. “Just some things he said, hit me in a certain way and I had some realizations.”

Stephen regards him in silence for a few seconds. “Nothing in particular? Jared, you’re clearly drunk. I can only imagine the two things are related, and getting this drunk doesn’t sound like a reaction you would have had to a simple conversation.”

Jared takes a breath, thinking as quickly as he can, and then begins. “I was already drinking when he showed up. We had a conversation, I realized some things, I got really angry at feeling like I’d been the one being duped. We argued, he left, I drank some more, I went to bed. I don’t think I meant to text you,” Jared adds, feeling a touch of guilt

“What did he say to you?” Stephen asks.

“I’ll put it in my report in the morning,” Jared tells him, firm. “I’m in no condition to get into it right now.” Not to mention Jared needs some time to come up with a story, because telling the truth about traveling back in time, the Bootstrap paradox, and confessing everything to Chad is out of the question.

Stephen nods in understanding. “Listen, Jared. You’ve been too focused on this mission. Cooped up in this house with nothing to think about except the Jackal. That could put anyone in a bad frame of mind.”

If Stephen had any idea how right he is he’d be as furious as Jared still feels. But thankfully, he doesn’t, so when he goes on, it’s in an empathetic tone.

“We need to get you back on a time traveling mission schedule, give you something else to focus on. We can keep the bungalow rented out, keep this option open.”

Jared frowns at him, wincing a little as his head gives a sharp pain in response. “You were against this bungalow mission from the start.”

“Yes,” Stephen agrees. “And I argued vehemently against it. But the Director approved it, because it was innovative and smart.”

“You think the Director might want me to continue on?” Jared asks, surprised.

“Not at the risk of doing you harm.” Stephen shifts his weight. “You were due back tomorrow, anyway. The Jackal already knew you were only supposed to be here for a week—and that was pushing it. If you’d stayed any longer he would have known for sure you weren’t just here to recover.”

For a moment, Jared is tempted to tell him everything; that the Jackal had known the truth, that the whole thing has been a farce to cover up Jared getting far closer to the Jackal than he ever should have, traveling recklessly through time with him, kissing him, falling right into his fucking trap. Maybe he should tell Stephen. That would put a definitive end to all of this.

And also, possibly, his entire career. 

Damn it.

“Relax. Get some sleep tonight,” Stephen goes on, his tone so compassionate that Jared starts to feel even guiltier. “Send your report in the morning, then take as much time as you need to get ready to come back. Once you get down to the facility, we’ll get you scheduled for your evaluations to approve you for your next mission.”

Jared nods slightly, trying not to jostle his brain.

“Sleep well,” Stephen says, and squeezes his shoulder lightly.

Jared hesitates a moment, and then says, sincerely, “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Stephen squeezes his shoulder again and gives him a faint smile. “I always worry about you.”

Stephen gets to his feet then, carefully, though Jared can tell from the way he moves that his leg is feeling better.

“Good night,” Jared says. 

He watches until Stephen’s gone, hearing the front door shut, and then the click of the bolt lock as Stephen turns the key. After a few seconds, he takes his gun from the night stand, returns it to its place under the other pillow, and then turns on his side, pulling the blankets back up over his shoulder. 

He can feel the anger starting to rise inside him again and he pushes it back, locks it away to be dealt with later.

Within a few minutes, he’s fast asleep again.

* * * * *

In the morning, Jared’s head feels much better, and he downs several glasses of water and some Advil before stepping into the shower.

He’s still furious, but he feels more clear headed about things, like he can be more objective now that he’s had some time, the light of day making things seem more real and focused. He runs his hands through his wet hair, tipping his head back to rinse the shampoo from it, and visualizes last night’s exchange with the Jackal in his mind.

The Jackal hadn’t seemed to know what he’d been talking about, and Jared hadn’t exactly provided the Jackal with a frame of reference. But it doesn’t change anything. Just because the Jackal had acted like he didn’t know what Jared was talking about doesn’t mean he doesn’t know. It doesn’t mean the Jackal hasn’t been running this mastermind level manipulation on Jared from day one. 

He’d known the Jackal was capable of masterful levels of manipulation, but it’s still difficult to believe he’d almost pulled off something on this scale. Jared should have known better. He did know better and he’d still almost stumbled into the Jackal’s trap. 

His fingers have tightened into fists around the strands of his hair, and it takes him a moment to relax, loosen them.

He breathes deep, calming himself. He’s aware that there’s still a part of him that’s trying to salvage this disaster in some way. A part of him that insists he’d seen some kind of reaction in the Jackal as well, last night. That he’d seen the barest revelation of some kind of emotion in the Jackal. Something buried deep, barely peeking around the edges of his cool, calm demeanor. There’d been something layered beneath his usual flippancy, Jared’s sure of it. And then, he’d almost gotten angry, hadn’t he?

“Maybe some goddamned context.”

The Jackal had cursed at him. The only times he’s done that is when he’s been frustrated or angry with Jared in some way—and hadn’t there been an edge of frustration to his voice? Jared closes his eyes, thinking hard, recalling the Jackal’s face. He’d gone very still after Jared had told him to get the fuck off his deck. He’d looked almost surprised for a moment, and then he’d doubled down on his coldness. Like a man who’d let his shields slip and suddenly realized he shouldn’t have, putting them back up twice as hard.

Maybe Jared is having an effect on him, too.

It’s hubris to think that way, and he knows it. He knows, too, what Chad would say. But even Stephen had said the Director thought the bungalow was a smart idea.

No. He shuts off the train of thought and refocuses on the moment, feeling the water running in rivulets down his body, the heat of it, the scent of shampoo. He needs to stop. He needs to get out of here, get back to the facility, get back on a mission schedule, regroup and get his head together.

After his shower, he changes into real clothes—jeans and a button up shirt instead of his usual comfy pajama pants. He sits on the couch and takes his time writing his report, careful to keep his emotions from spilling over into the words, confining things to basic sentences and concocting a story that rides as close to the line of truth as he dares to get. When that’s done and the report is filed, he sets about gathering up his things.

In the end, he decides to leave most of his things at the bungalow. There’s nothing imperative here; he already has all the supplies he needs in his quarters in the facility. He packs up a small bag filled with things he wants to take, and gives a last look around the house.

He’s filled with a strange pang of regret with the thought of leaving. He’d loved this house from the beginning, and given different circumstances, he wouldn’t mind living in it, or something like it. That’s the extent of it, though. 

Still, his eyes are drawn to the deck, sunlight sparkling on the tops of tiny ripples beyond. He looks at it for a long moment before he gathers up his bag and heads for the front door, turning to lock the deadbolt behind him.

* * * * *

The artificial sunlight falls at long angles through the fake windows of the facility. It’s still a good illusion, but Jared’s painfully aware of how much of an illusion it is after spending so much time in the real thing.

His room is as he’d left it, filled with warm tones and wooden furniture, open and airy, but cozy in spots; around the sitting area and his bed. He’d always thought of it as comfortable, homey. Now the open areas feel too spacious, the cozy ones too cramped. 

Probably just an aftereffect of living in a beautifully furnished house for a week.

He puts away the few things he’d brought back and turns in a circle, looking around the room.  All around him are the structures that have defined his life for the last three years, both physically and mentally. There’d been a sense of peace within these walls, within himself. A sense of purpose. 

Now, he just feels uneasy, within and without.

He shakes his head and then shakes out his shoulders, stretching his neck muscles.

He reaches for his phone, changing his focus, and sees Stephen has already set up meetings for him with Dr. Berry and Dr. Ferris first thing tomorrow. The mission files for his trip to China in 2005 have already been sent, and as long as he passes his psych and physical evals, he’ll be on his way to the past by mid afternoon tomorrow.

He exchanges his phone for his tablet and pulls up the files, giving them a scan before digging into the deep reading. At first glance, the mission seems simple enough, and the files don’t seem terribly lengthy. 

He lies back on his bed, propping himself up with two pillows, and begins to read.

* * * * *

After he’s read through the files several times, he gets himself together and heads out to the Underground. The lighting is dim and the music is loud, the room filled with familiar faces. He’s only been gone for seven days, but somehow it feels like so much longer. So much has happened, but nothing here has changed.

Near the far back corner is the booth he usually shares with his friends, and as he approaches, he can see Katie’s blonde hair, Stephen sitting across from her, both of them with drinks in their hands. For an instant, he’s struck by the urge to retreat to the empty solace of his room. And then he shakes it off, summons up a smile and walks to the table. 

“The prodigy returns,” Katie greets him with a hard smirk.

“Our boy is back,” Stephen says with a wide smile.

It’s a moment of warmth and welcome; a moment where Jared could fall right back into his friendships, the joys and rhythms of his life. He knows it, he feels it, but he can’t quite open up his arms and embrace it.

He draws on his charm as he slides into the booth next to Katie, favoring them with a brilliant smile. “Sorry to deprive you of my presence for so long. I know it must have been rough without me, but don’t worry, I’m here to save the day.”

Katie snorts and Stephen laughs, and for a moment, things almost feel normal. 

Alex shows up soon after, Stephen gets them shots, and they settle into their usual routine of trading jabs and jokes, but Jared doesn’t fully relax until Chad shows up. He gets out of the booth to let Chad in to sit next to Katie, and when he slides back in, Chad shoves his shoulder up against Jared’s, and Jared finally feels comfortable again.

It occurs to Jared, as he sits there, going with the flow of conversation, that he’s been very focused on his own interests lately. He hasn’t checked in with Chad about his situation at all, the last couple days. 

“Hey man,” Jared says, voice low as he leans close to Chad. “How’s your head been? Still getting headaches?”

Katie gives glances at them out of the side of her eye, as if noticing how close they are, and then she lifts her glass, focusing on whatever Alex is saying while she finishes her drink.

“Like fucking clockwork every morning,” Chad replies and shrugs. “I’ve accepted it, bro. Old age sucks.” Chad lifts a shot glass, tipping it towards Jared with a grin.

Jared lifts the shot in front of him, clinking the glass against Chad’s, and that seems to be a signal for everyone at the table to pick up their shots, leaning in and hitting rim to rim in a chiming succession.

They toss them back and slam the empty glasses down in near synchronicity, Stephen throwing a bit of liquid up from his glass with the motion. Chad proceeds to cite him for being a wuss and not finishing his shot, slinging the bit of alcohol that had hit Chad’s cheek back at him, and it’s business as usual, almost like the last week hadn’t even happened.

Almost. Except for the occasionally concerned glance Chad throws his way. Chad’s still worried about him, despite that Jared’s quit the mission and come home. It’s annoying, and he wishes he could tell Chad not to look at him that way, but he really can’t fault Chad’s logic.

He just needs to get used to being back again. 

When Adrianne walks in, dressed in a bright blue top and tight jeans, it’s Chad that nudges him, pointing her out. Jared hesitates for a second, uncertain, but maybe it’s not the worst idea.

Jared calls out her name, motioning her over. Her face lights up when she sees him, and she slides into the booth next to Alex and Stephen, almost directly across from Jared.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she tells him, leaning in and keeping her voice low enough that mostly only he can hear.

“Good to be back,” he tells her with a bright smile.

She doesn’t engage with him on any level of intimacy beyond that, all of them talking and laughing and drinking, and Jared finds his eyes drawn to her from time to time, stealing glances when she isn’t looking at him. He’d been almost relieved when she’d left the bungalow last time and he hasn’t had much time to think about that. He still isn’t ready for any kind of commitment, and he supposes that was part of it. But…

Maybe it’s because she isn’t the one you really wanted , a voice speaks up in the back of his mind.

The words hit him like a bucket of ice water, startling him from his train of thought. 

No. No, that isn’t true. 

Besides, he thinks, pushing the voice from his mind. He likes her. He really does. He always has. 

He looks at her while she’s laughing at something Stephen has said, considering her lovely face, the lilt of her laugh. Even though a lot has happened, it’s only been two nights since the last time they’d slept together. He’s back in the facility, he’s back in his normal life. Maybe what he needs is a heavy dose of some normalcy.

He catches her eye when she looks back to her drink, and this time he does it with intent.

* * * * *

Later, long after the bar has closed down, they lie together in the dark, sweating and still panting, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. It had been good—the sex with her always is—and predictably, the more they sleep together, the better they both get at pleasing each other. Still, as he lies there in the darkness, feeling her breath against his skin, something within him remains unsatisfied.

“You okay?” she asks with amused concern.

“I’m great,” he assures her, craning his neck to kiss the crown of her head.

“Something on your mind?” she asks.

Jared thinks for a moment, decides it might be a bad idea, and then asks anyway. “Do you believe in destiny?”

She stirs against him, and he can feel the stiffening of her shoulders.

“Relax,” he says, huffing out a chuckle. “I meant in the general sense. Not the ‘you and me’ sense.”

“Oh,” she responds, with a small, uncomfortable laugh. She relaxes against him again after a moment. “You mean like, larger forces at work? Something guiding you along the way? Like maybe if you hadn’t taken that unplanned shortcut down a particular street, you wouldn’t have met that particular person who became someone important in your life?”

“Yeah.” Jared nods.

“Generally speaking…?” she says. “Not really. I think I used to when I was younger, before science became my passion. Now I just see things as a chain of events unfolding, action and reaction. Like yes, you did take that shortcut, and you did meet that person. But that’s cause and effect. It’s easy to see patterns where you want to see them, and they are patterns to a degree. But I don’t think they’re magical, or mystical. The Big Bang theory was a chain of events almost completely unlikely to have happened in just that particular way, but they did, and here we are.”

“Some people call that God,” Jared offers.

She nods. “Some people do. And science doesn’t necessarily preclude God’s existence. Or fate. Or destiny. But me, personally, I think it’s all a sequence of events spawned by a random happenstance. And I think that’s beautiful in its own way.”

“So, no destiny with a capital ‘D’?” he asks, wry and amused at himself.

“No.” She shifts against him, craning her neck to look up at him in the dim light. “You know,” she says, her voice lilting in a teasing tone, “destiny is a pretty heavy subject for pillow talk.”

It’s an invitation to open up, to tell her why he’s got destiny on the brain, but there isn’t much he can really tell her—even less that he wants to tell her.

“Too much time to think while I was topside, I guess,” he responds with a light shrug.

“Did you meet someone while you were up there?” she asks, and he can hear the curiosity in her voice.

It’s closer to the truth than he likes.

“How could I have met anyone?” he asks, playing up amusement. “I didn’t leave the house.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs against him. “Usually when people start pondering questions about destiny, it means they met someone they really hit it off with. That, or they’re about to do something big and unprecedented.”

That’s further from the truth, but still closer than he wants her to be.

“It’s okay if you did,” she assures him, her voice almost gentle. “We don’t have any commitment to each other.”

And there it is; a perfect opening where he could step out into the light, offer up that kind of commitment, make something more official out of this—and the best part is, she’s being genuine so far as he can tell. She isn’t trying to dupe him, or lead him; she really doesn’t want to put any pressure on him.

“And I’m okay with that,” she adds, as if she’d just realized he might have thought she was trying to get him to offer up a commitment.

Jared looks up at the ceiling and then closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He likes her, he really does. He thinks, based purely on the way they interact, no other factors considered, they could really have something. She’s so laid back, so sweet, smart as hell and funny, too. They could really be something.

But lying here in the dark with her right now, he’s fully aware that it isn’t going to happen. Good as it could be, it isn’t what he wants. Maybe because he isn’t capable, or maybe he just doesn’t know how. Maybe she’s the right person at the wrong time. He doesn’t know how to explain the certainty he feels, but he’s suddenly quite sure.

He’s also sure of one other thing; this is never going to happen between them again. Whatever he’d been looking for, it isn’t here.

Maybe it’s because she isn’t the one you really wanted.

No. No, if that’s true, then he’s genuinely fucked. He can’t let it be true. What he can allow to be true is that he’s been too tangled up in this mission with the Jackal to be able to commit. That he has to see the China missions through before he can give himself to anything else. That even then, maybe he’s too committed to his job to be committed to anyone else. Those things can be true. Those are things he can live with.

“There isn’t anyone else,” he says, exhaling as he opens his eyes. “And even if there was, it would be impossible.”

“Why impossible?” she asks, softly.

“It’s complicated.”

“Your superior?” she ventures. 

“No,” he replies, scoffing. “That wouldn’t be impossible. There are rules, but there are ways to make it work.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. And then, “An enemy, then?”

It takes all of Jared’s training to keep from having any sort of physical reaction to her words.

“That’s a strange conclusion,” he replies, trying to make it sound lighthearted. But internally he’s gone completely on guard, suspicion rising up quick inside him.

She shrugs lightly. “Well, that would be complicated.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding. “It definitely would.”

He has no reason to suspect her of anything, but it does seem like a weird leap for her to make. The worst part is, he can’t pursue that line of questioning without giving away that she might be onto something.

“Well, whatever it is, I hope it works out for you,” she says, sounding sleepy. She stretches a little against him and then snuggles in a bit closer, resting her cheek against his chest.

A few minutes later, she’s sleeping soundly. Jared lies there, listening to her even breathing in the dark. It’s a long time before he finally falls asleep.

Elsewhere…

The bungalow is dark, quiet. No warm glow of light, no indication of life. 

The deck door is unlocked. There wouldn’t be any reason to lock it, beyond being completely paranoid; the deck isn’t connected to any other point of entry. So unless someone swam up out of the water and climbed up the railing like the creature from the Black Lagoon, no one is going to be entering the bungalow this way.

Unless it’s someone who can travel through time to an exact location.

It’s easy enough to do; travel backward in time five minutes to a safe location, then travel forward to the present to another safe location. Granted, one should always take precautions.

Jensen had traveled to the dock across the way from the bungalow, then scoped out the deck to make sure the configuration of chairs and tables left him an open path that wouldn’t cut him in half when he arrived. So he’s been back and forth in time three times now—dock present, safe location past, bungalow deck present.

Standing here, Jensen remembers how angry Jared had been with him last night, and Jensen thinks he knows why. That question about the Bootstrap paradox had been strange, but having had time to think about it, Jensen thinks he understands now. He thinks he knows, too, how to fix it. 

He already knows Jared isn’t here. Jared had been very clear on what was about to happen. No one else is here, either. He’d ascertained as much before his trip back and forth. He’s here tonight for something else; for a physical touchstone he shouldn’t need but somehow still does.

He walks to the door, peering through the glass into the darkness. He’d be worried about traps, the door being rigged to blow, but this is Disney World. You can’t just blow up a house in Disney World; not if you want to keep your secret organization secret.

He checks for wires anyway.

Inside, the house seems emptier without any human presence inside it. He doesn’t turn on the lights, letting his eyes adjust for a moment before he continues deeper into the house. 

There are still some of Jared’s things in the bedroom. The tuxedo Jensen had procured for Jared in 2026 hangs near the back of the closet. Jensen’s fingers brush lightly against one of the lapels, bringing with it the memory of that night.

“Is my outburst interesting to you?” Kyle (Jared) demands, vehement. “Well, fuck your reasons,” Jared hisses. “God, I hate you.”

“No.” Jensen shakes his head back and forth, never breaking eye contact with Jared. “No. I don’t think you do.”

He doesn’t know this man who seems to know him—he doesn’t know why he would have brought this man back in time to meet himself, and he has a million questions—but one thing he knows for sure; this man doesn’t hate him. Whatever their connection is in the future, it must be something meaningful to evoke this level of emotion.

Are they… involved? Jensen’s never truly been attracted to another man, but maybe he’d made an exception for this one. Jensen leans in, his mouth within inches of the other man’s, giving the other man an opening, testing the reaction in himself.

Jared lets his face fall forward, mouth landing on Jensen’s, a sound emitting from him as their lips meet, and Jensen feels it deep in his gut. Pure electricity, blood quickening in his veins, and he parts his lips slightly, inviting the kiss.

“Just because,” Jared whispers, guttural, mouth smearing hot against Jensen’s, “I want to fuck you,” he bites at Jensen’s lower lip, tugging savagely, “doesn’t change that.”

“I think it does,” the Jackal murmurs, tugging his lip from between Jared’s teeth. 

“Shut up,” Jared whispers, lunging for his mouth.

He’s incredibly hot, even hotter in his angry desperation, mouth burning up as it melts against Jensen’s, body like a fever dream shoved up against him, and Jensen goes with it, parts his lips and takes control as he meets Jared halfway, tongues tangling almost violently. Jared is outraged, tongue twisting like a talented live wire, and Jensen chases it with his own, following rage and the hint of something sweeter, deep beneath.

Jensen must have made an exception for him, because this is—

Jared yanks from the kiss, pulling back to look at Jensen.

“Why did you bring me here?”Jared asks, desperate.“You said you wanted to show me something… I haven’t seen anything but the same shit I’ve already seen. You working for yourself and betraying me.”

Jensen draws back, his arms loosening their hold on Jared. He doesn’t understand the first thing about this man, or about what’s happening between them. He can’t trust Jared, and he definitely can’t trust whatever this thing is between them.

This is a new memory, one Jensen hadn’t possessed six hours ago. One he shouldn’t possess at all.

The change of the kiss itself had seemed impossible to begin with. Jensen had been present and within range of the event, which means his memory of the event wouldn’t change. And it hadn’t. When he and Jared had talked after returning to 2028, his memory still hadn’t changed.

And then, six hours ago, he’d gotten the memory. Almost as if time had caught up to him. It’s impossible. Unprecedented. Especially because he still has the original memory where Jared hadn’t kissed him at all.

He lets his fingers fall from the fabric and pushes his hands into his pockets.

He’s been playing cat and mouse with Jared for some time now. It’s time for that to stop.

It’s time to take the next step.

He reaches for the Atta on his side, and an instant later he’s traveling five minutes backward in time.

“Good morning, Jared,” Dr. Berry greets him, bright red lips curving in a gentle smile.

She’s settled in her deeply cushioned burnt-sienna colored chair, notepad in her lap, ever-present fountain pen held between the fingers of her right hand. A steaming pot of tea sits to the right of her, two teacups and saucers on either side. 

“Good morning, Doctor Berry.” Jared replies, serving up a bright smile for her.

Everything is so familiar and known, the room as comforting and comfortable as it's ever been. He settles into the chair across from her. 

“It’s so good to see you in person again,” she tells him, still smiling.

“You too,” he responds. And it is good to see her again, he supposes. Or at least, it would be, if he weren’t so on guard around her these days.

“White peach today,” she tells him as she pours them both a cup of tea.

Jared accepts his, sipping from it before making a small noise of approval and nodding.

“So how was your time upstairs?” she asks, taking a sip from her steaming cup before returning it to the antique table.

“It was fine.” He shrugs. “Nice to be in such a beautiful location, but it was a working vacation.”

She nods, pausing before she goes on. “I understand you’re giving up on the Jackal mission.”

“Yes.”

“I’m curious about your change of heart. You seemed very determined to see this mission through.”

Jared has come prepared for this conversation, and he doesn’t hesitate in his response. “It wasn’t working. And I started to worry about the effect it could have on me.”

She considers him carefully for a moment before she asks, “Did you feel as if you were in danger of being emotionally compromised?”

Emotionally compromised. That’s a loaded term, and Jared needs to be extremely careful about how he replies.

“No. My goal was to get closer to him, but I don’t believe it was working. I started to worry he was drawing me closer to him rather than the other way around.”

Her brows draw together in a mild frown as she makes a note. “Were there any specific instances where you felt this way?”

Shit , Jared thinks, and swallows a sigh. “No. Just a general sense over time.”

Dr. Berry looks at him for a long moment, gold tip of her pen gleaming in the light as she twiddles it back and forth between her fingers. “Jared, don’t mistake me. I’m happy you’ve had this change of heart. But it does seem very sudden.”

Jared tilts his head, as if allowing for her observation. “I guess it does seem that way, but it’s been building for a while. First, he told me about Danneel Harris. You and Stephen didn’t seem to know who she was, but at first I thought it was a security level thing. That you couldn’t tell me because I wasn’t high enough level. And then, the next time, he told me that they’d been engaged.”

Jared knows she already knows this, because he’s been slowly revealing the major bits of information he and Chad have discovered, pretending the Jackal had revealed them in the hopes of SR0 believing he was making progress. Just another lie on top of the many he’s been telling. 

“Yes,” she agrees, “you told me about that previously.”

“Did you read my report about last night?” Jared asks.

“Yes.”

“Then you know he told me she died.” 

Her eyes narrow on him fractionally. “But he didn’t give you any details about how she died, or any of the circumstances that surrounded her death.”

“No. He could have given me a sob story about what happened, but he didn’t because—I think because he knew if he gave me too much, I wouldn’t believe him. So he was giving me just enough to make me think I was making progress with him, little by little. When he told me she died, I realized he was trying to draw me in emotionally. He wanted me to feel bad for him.”

“You think he was manipulating you?”

Jared gives a rough, brief laugh. “Absolutely. I’m pretty sure he’s never done anything else.”

“You seem a little bitter about it,” she notes.

Jared lifts his shoulders in a shrug, tamping his emotions back down. The worst thing that could happen here is that Dr. Berry sees into the truth of what had happened. She wouldn’t need to know the details, just that Jared feels… what? Betrayed? Again? Is that what he feels?

Jesus , he thinks, fighting down the anger that wants to resurface inside him.

Dr. Berry’s eyes seem to soften with compassion, voice pitched low as she says, “It wouldn’t be the strangest thing if you had sympathized with him, Jared.”

“No,” Jared says. He closes his mouth, setting his teeth tight together and swallowing against the bitterness in his throat. “I didn’t sympathize with him. I knew that even if there had been a Danneel Harris he was engaged to who had died, he was using her story for emotional leverage with me.”

“It would be a smart tactic on his part,” Dr. Berry agrees, eyeing Jared. “Playing on the trust he established with you the first time you met, making you believe he was opening up to you, sharing something important with you. That you are connected in some way.”

Connected in some way . Fuck. He’s getting angry again just listening to her recount exactly what had happened.

Jared sits forward in his chair, quietly emphatic. “It was what made me realize I needed to stop the mission. That I was never going to get anything that mattered from him.”

She nods, seeming to size him up. “That was a known risk.” She twirls her pen between her fingers, considering him for a moment, and then her shoulders seem to relax against the chair. “You were right to get out of there and give up when you did. That was smart work, Jared. If you had stayed…” she shakes her head slightly. “Someone as persuasive as the Jackal might have been able to tip you the other way.”

Jared doesn’t trust himself to respond to that, and after a few seconds, Dr. Berry keeps talking.

“You might have started keeping secrets, leaving details out of your report. Coupled with you being outside the facility, those kinds of behaviors could leave you feeling estranged from everything. Driven a wedge between you and your life as an agent. Between you and your friends. If the Jackal truly wanted to recruit you, he could have tried to create that gap, and use it to his advantage.” 

Her brown eyes are solemn as they regard him. “Because once you start lying to the people closest to you, it creates a gap. A gap that’s easy for someone smart enough and savvy enough to slip into. They start to seem like the only person you can talk to, the only person you’re connected to, and before you know it, all your other connections are gone.”

Jared’s mouth has gone dry, and it’s all he can do to hold Dr. Berry’s gaze.

The faintest of smiles touches her lips. “I’m glad that didn’t happen to you.”

Jared’s heart is hammering in his chest so hard he’s almost sure she can hear it. But he composes himself and swallows hard, managing a nod. “Yeah, me too.” He huffs out a faint, dry laugh. “I’m not sure how you could even come back from that.”

“The best way is also the hardest,” Dr. Berry replies. “You’d have to come clean—or as clean as you can. Tell them as much as you can. Bridge that gulf and endure the anger they’d feel at being lied to. From there, you can start to rebuild trust.”

“Hmm,” Jared hums, noncommittal, his heart still pounding. 

“But you’re back now,” Dr. Berry goes on, finally releasing him from her intense gaze. She reaches for her teacup, holding it between both hands, and takes a small sip.

“So, how are you settling back into life in the facility?” she asks.

All the lies he’s been telling and truths he’s been hiding, it’s no wonder he feels distant from everyone except Chad. And if he’s feeling distant from them, it’s also no wonder he doesn’t feel like he belongs here. 

Jared isn’t sure he can answer her, because he doesn’t know.

He takes a breath and prepares a smile, wondering if maybe he should just tell her the truth.

* * * * *

After longer than he would’ve liked, he finally exits Dr. Berry’s office, stepping into the hall with a long sigh. He still has his physical in thirty minutes, but his head is so cloudy and cluttered he can hardly think about the mission ahead of him.

His head hasn’t been in this mission at all. Everything feels off, distant, far away. The most real moment he’s had since he’s been back was the one where Dr. Berry had scared him. And then he’d been scared because of all the secrets he’s been keeping, all the lies he’s been telling. 

His head isn’t in this. Not in any of it. And his heart…

He grinds his teeth together and clenches his hands into fists. He can’t do this. He can’t put himself at risk, or put the mission at risk in the name of trying to keep things “normal’. Hell, he doesn’t even know what “normal” looks like anymore. He’s so twisted up inside and out that he can’t trust anyone anymore, except Chad. He’d even started believing the fucking Jackal. 

It hurts, and he hates himself for it. But he doesn’t have to carry it all on his own.

There’s no easy way back from this. But there is a way .

He presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, letting his lungs fill, and then exhales slowly. 

He has to tell Stephen everything.

Chapter Text

When Jared sits down in Stephen’s office, it’s only after they’ve reached an understanding that Stephen will be silent and let Jared tell him the entire story before he reacts.

Within the first several minutes, Stephen has gone tight-lipped and stormy-eyed, but he holds his silence. He holds it through the entire twenty minutes it takes for Jared to tell him everything, and by the time he reaches the end of his story, he’s begun to be extremely concerned about Stephen’s health and completely convinced that he’s just gotten himself fired.

To say that Stephen is furious would be to severely understate the matter. His face is red, mottled with purple, his brow furrowed and dark. His hands are gripping the edge of his desk so hard Jared’s surprised it hasn’t cracked yet.

Jared averts his eyes from Stephen’s, unable to face the scathing anger in that gaze. “I know,” Jared says, his voice low. “I know how badly I’ve fucked up, and I know I shouldn’t have hidden all of this from you. I’m sorry, Stephen. The reasons I did it seemed to make sense at the time, but I know they’re no excuse for my—”

“No,” Stephen says, and his voice is quiet thunder in the soundless office. “There is no excuse for you lying like this, Jared.”

Jared looks up and meets Stephen’s gaze again, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do. The betrayal and disappointment he sees there make him feel even worse. But at least it feels honest. 

“I know,” Jared agrees. “I deserve all your anger. I deserve whatever you decide should be done with me. But I wanted to come clean. I needed to tell you the truth.”

Stephen stares at him for what feels like an eternity.

“Leave this office,” Stephen tells him, his voice terrifyingly quiet. “Now.”

Jared looks at him for a few long seconds. He wants to apologize again, wants to tell Stephen over and over how sorry he is, and how he intends to make this up to him, whatever it takes. But Jared can see this isn’t the time for those sorts of apologies and promises. Those can come later, if Jared is still employed here.

If he ever sees Stephen again.

Jared nods and rises from his seat. He stands there for a moment, words poised on the tip of his tongue, wanting to spill out. He swallows hard against them, against the dread rising up from inside him, and then he turns, letting himself out of the office.

He shuts the door as gently as he can, but the click as it shuts still seems very loud.

He just fucked up one of his best friendships, and the best professional partnership he’s ever been part of. He’s also probably fired. He feels like shit for all of it, but at least it’s out. 

Now he just has to own it.

* * * * *

“You did what?” Chad asks him, staring at him with almost comical horror. It would be funny under other circumstances.

“Weren’t you the one who said I needed to tell them everything?” Jared demands, reaching for the drink Chad had poured for him. His hand is shaking, and it takes an effort to calm it, fingers closing around the glass.

“Not everything everything. You told him everything ? Including what you and I did?”

“Of course not,” Jared scoffs, offended that Chad would think such a thing. “I wasn’t going to take you down with me. Everything you and I learned I had to keep to myself. I could never tell them I knew she was an agent here. I didn’t want to open that can of worms.” Jared pauses. “I told him everything else though.”

Chad presses the back of one hand to his lips, and then he heaves out a relieved sigh. After a moment he drops his hand, reaching for his own glass as he nods. “Okay,” he says, voice uneven. “Jared. Do not fuck with my world like that again.” He tosses back his glass, draining it in several quick gulps before slamming it down. Chad takes a deep breath and wipes at his mouth. “You are such an asshole.”

“I know,” Jared agrees. “I’m sorry.” He hesitates, and it’s so out of place that he almost doesn’t say it, but in the end, he can’t quite help himself.

“Did you see mouse ears?” Jared asks.

“Fuck. You,” Chad enunciates.

They stare at each other for a moment, and then they both burst into laughter.

And why not? Why shouldn’t they? Chad is in the clear and Jared has nothing else left to lose. Sitting in this room, laughing with his best friend is the most natural thing he’s done in weeks.

If his world is going to come crashing down around him, he might as well enjoy whatever time he has left before it does.

That amount of time turns out to be the span of one drink and the time it takes for the ice in his glass to melt almost completely.

His phone buzzes, sounding with the tone of an incoming text. He pulls it from his pocket, staring at it for a long time—so long that Chad finally grips him by the shoulder and shakes him.

“What the fuck is it, Jared? Jesus, you look like you just saw death.”

Jared’s eyes feel very wide and dry as they rise to meet Chad’s. “It’s Stephen. He wants me to report to his office immediately.”

Chad squints at him, uncertain, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“For a meeting with the Director,” Jared tells him.

Chad just stares at him for a moment. And then his fingers slide from Jared’s shoulder as he falls back into his seat. Chad looks suddenly, incredibly pale, dark shadows beneath his wide, unblinking eyes. 

“Dude,” Chad whispers, his voice thin. “You are so fucked.”

* * * * *

Jared walks to Stephen’s office like a man walking to the gallows, his stomach a rock slowly falling to his knees. He’s incredibly grateful for the drink Chad had given him. He knows it would be a lot worse without the alcohol taking the edge off his nerves.

He stops outside the door, taking a moment to draw a breath and straighten his spine, centering his mind. These are the consequences of his actions. He hadn’t quite betrayed his country, but he’d betrayed the trust of the people who work for the country. 

He deserves whatever is coming. He’s earned it. The least he can do is bear it with grace.

He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales, and then he places his hands on the knob, squaring his shoulders and opening his eyes and the door with determination.

Stephen is inside the conference room adjacent to his office, sitting on the edge of the table. The colors of the room are still warm, tones of peach and oak, but the light that falls from the fake windows is a dull, lifeless gray, the sound of rain falling in the background.

In the center of the oak conference table sits an ancient phone with over two dozen clunky buttons, most of them in shades of black and white, but one with a notable shade of red.

There’s no one there except for Stephen.

“Sit down,” Stephen tells him, barely looking at him.

Jared moves to a chair on the same side of the table as Stephen, leaving a single chair in the space between them as he sits.

Stephen reaches over, pressing a button on the phone. “Jared is here,” he reports.

A conference call , Jared realizes. Of course it’s a conference call. He feels a measure of relief at not having to actually look the Director in the eye, but also disappointment at not meeting the Director face to face. Of course, Jared’s probably on his way out the door; why would the Director risk disclosing his identity to an agent who’s about to be dismissed? 

Shit. This is probably a bad sign. Not that any of it was ever good.

The Director’s voice emits from the speaker, low and rough, almost raspy, “Then we’re ready to begin.”

“Yes sir,” Stephen replies.

“Jared,” the Director says, “do you understand why you’ve been called here today?”

There’s a nagging quality about the Director’s voice, something that tugs at Jared, vaguely familiar. He’s definitely using a voice modulator to protect his identity, though, and for a moment, Jared considers the possibility that the Director could be anyone employed at SR0. He could walk around the facility and no one would ever know. Jared could have had drinks with him at the bar and be none the wiser. It’s an unlikely, but sobering thought.

“Yes sir, I do,” Jared responds, and says nothing more. The Director and Stephen are in control of this conversation, and he’ll let them run it how they like. 

“Stephen has brought me up to date on everything you’ve told him. He also tells me you’ve apologized several times, and that you regret your actions.”

“Yes sir.” Jared sits on the edge of his seat, muscles taut as high tension wires.

“He also tells me the Jackal has taken you through time with him, told you what seem like personal details about his life. There’s also apparently a physical attraction between the two of you as well. Is this all true?”

“Yes sir.” Jared’s eyes flick up to meet Stephen’s, but Stephen’s face might well be carved from stone, his eyes staring off into the distance of the room. Jared’s muscles wind even tighter, his stomach compressing, threatening to rebel. He steels himself, waiting for the rebuke he knows is coming, for the firing he suspects will shortly follow. None of it is any less than he deserves, but he still doesn’t feel quite prepared for it.

“Those are commendable results for a mission no one thought would amount to anything,” the Director says. “You’ve done good work, Jared.”

Jared’s eyes widen slightly as they lock on the phone with disbelief. 

“Your behavior was negligent, your methods were beyond questionable, and you will be reprimanded for those things,” the Director goes on. 

“Of course,” Jared manages to say. This is more like what he was expecting. For an instant he can almost believe he’d imagined the words that came before these.

“But I’m not here to discuss your punishment. I’m more interested in results.”

“Sir?” Jared asks, uncertain.

“I think you were on the right track,” the Director goes on, “trying to get closer to the Jackal. I think it was working.”

Classifying what Jared feels right now as ‘stunned’ would be doing a massive disservice to the meaning of the word ‘stunned’. 

“I hear you doubting me,” the Director says, his voice low and knowing. “But the Jackal has never shown this kind of interest in anyone before.”

Jared can scarcely believe what he’s hearing, a feeling of surreality washing over him. Stephen suddenly seems very far away, the phone on the table with the Director’s voice coming out of it the only point of focus.

“Even if his goal is to recruit you, I feel we have to take advantage of this opportunity.”

There’s a long silence, Jared’s mind turning end over end, thoughts clunking like shoes inside an empty dryer.

“Sir,” Jared speaks up, slowly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I want you to continue with your mission to get close to the Jackal, to learn as much as you can about him, find out what his plans are. I want you to understand; eliminating the Jackal is still a priority, but it's become secondary to finding out what he knows. We still want you to eliminate him after you find out as much as you can. But for now we need you to focus on finding out as much about this Bootstrap paradox as possible.” The Director pauses, and Jared feels himself still reeling in the silence. “ You said you had a feeling the Jackal knows something about what the paradox means?”

Jared licks his lips, his mouth too dry to wet them. “I suspect he does, yes.”

“Then do you think you’re capable of resuming this mission?”

Jared looks up at Stephen, but Stephen is still staring across the room, arms folded across his chest, and Jared feels surreality wash over him again. He hesitates, remembering how close he’d come to falling for the Jackal’s manipulation. He’d downplayed that point to Stephen, focusing more on the fact that the Jackal had been attempting to manipulate him.

He obviously can’t expect any help from Stephen, and he honestly doesn’t deserve any. He has to pull himself together and deal with this himself.

“Sir, I’m sure Stephen has explained to you that I had concerns about the Jackal’s level of manipulation. That I felt he was manipulating me rather than the other way around.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Do you feel if you continue this mission you could be in danger of becoming emotionally compromised?”

There’s that term again, and Jared knows what it means if he admits the truth. He will absolutely lose his job; the CIA wouldn’t dare keep on any agent that could be compromised. 

“No sir,” Jared answers, putting as much confidence into his voice as possible. 

“Do you have concerns for your physical safety?”

“No sir.” He doesn’t have to force his confidence this time.

“Then what I’d like you to do is return to the surface and take up residency in the bungalow again, and resume your meetings with the Jackal.”

Jared can feel his mind wanting to sink into the disbelief he’s feeling, and he pulls himself back into focus.

“Sir,” Jared says, “no offense, but he’ll see right through that.”

“Yes. You’ll tell him the cover story; that we think living on the surface makes a difference in an agent’s behavior, so we want to test it further. Which he won’t believe. Then, you’re going to tell him the truth.”

“You want me to… tell him the truth?” Jared asks, confused.

“Now that we know he’ll seek you out without needing to be deceived, yes, we want you to tell him the truth; you convinced us you were reaching him. We arranged for you to stay on the surface where he could meet with you. That we’re aware that he’s aware of what’s happening and we’re condoning your interactions. He’ll see that as us being arrogant.”

“But the fact that I don’t insult his intelligence with your cover story, that I tell him the truth…” Jared murmurs, thinking it through. “You think that will make him trust me more.”

“Yes. The hope is that he’ll see it as a genuine act on your part. A step towards solidarity between you.”

“He might suspect it isn’t genuine,” Jared says. “But it could work.”

It really could work, and Jared suddenly feels very trapped. Part of him doesn’t want to go back down this road; a road he feels lucky to have escaped from mostly unscathed. He isn’t sure if he goes down it again that he’ll escape this time. He’d come so close to buying in. So very, stupidly close.

But he wonders how much of a choice he honestly has. After everything he’s done, saying no to the Director himself might well end his career.

Jared opens his mouth, uncertain of what’s about to come out.

“Can I have some time?” he hears himself ask. “It’s just… I thought I was out. I thought this mission was done, abandoned. I need to get my head back into the space of resuming the mission.” 

The Director is quiet for a moment, and Jared feels his heart sink.

“Jared, if you resume this mission, I want you to be one-hundred percent committed to it. I want you to be all in. Take a couple of days to think it over. Go on the mission to Shanghai tomorrow. We’ll discuss this again after that.”

Jared feels relief surge through him, his muscles finally relenting and relaxing. “Thank you, sir,” he says, keeping his tone professional.

“Stephen?” the Director asks. “You’ll finish the briefing with Jared on your own from here?”

“Yes sir,” Stephen responds. Jared glances up at him, and Stephen has finally rejoined the meeting in full, his attention on the phone.

There’s a pause on the line, and then the Director says, “It was good to hear your voice, Jared.”

He says it warmly, which sounds strange with his slightly robotic, raspy voice, and then the call disconnects with an audible click.

Which leaves him alone with Stephen.

He waits, the silence between them so heavy Jared can feel it like a weight. His chest hurts, aching and empty, bereft of any words that could fix this situation. The only thing that can fix it is time. If Stephen is going to forgive him, he needs to let Stephen take it at his own pace.

Finally, Stephen looks at him, and Jared can see the distance between them reflected in Stephen’s eyes.

“You understand what the Director is asking of you?” Stephen asks.

“I do.” Jared nods.

“Very well.” His tone is cool and professional. “You’ve been cleared on your psych eval, but you still need to complete your physical tomorrow morning. We’ll reschedule the mission to Shanghai for one o’clock tomorrow afternoon. We’ll meet with the Director again via phone the following day at 3pm.” Stephen pauses, and then he asks, “Do you have any questions?”

“Not about any of that,” Jared replies. 

“ That ,” Stephen tells him, unequivocally, “is all we’re going to talk about. So if you don’t have any questions about your physical eval, the Shanghai mission, or our meeting with the Director in two days, then we’re done here.”

Jared sits there for a long moment, thinking. “I do have one question,” Jared says, hedging.

Stephen says nothing, his expression unchanging, simply waiting.

“What if I say no to the Jackal mission?”

“That’s something we’d have to discuss with the Director.”

That’s fair. Stephen owes him exactly nothing at this point, much less a big brotherly shoulder to help him work through this.

Jared bites back a sigh, and then nods, rising from his chair. “Then I’ll see you at the jump tomorrow,” he says.

Stephen nods, and Jared turns, walking towards the door. He puts his hand on the knob, opening the door, and pauses there.

“I’m really sorry, Stephen.” Jared doesn’t look over his shoulder as he says it, doesn’t ask anything of Stephen; just makes it a statement of fact.

There’s a long silence.

“I know,” Stephen replies. There’s no forgiveness in his tone, but it’s an acknowledgement, and at least it’s something.

Jared moves through the doorway, closing the door behind him.

* * * * *

After he texts Chad to reassure him he’s still alive and in one piece, Jared sits on the edge of his bed with everything he’s been told today.

Elbows to knees, hands steepled together, fingertips pressed against his lips, he considers his options. He needs to get his head back in the game—not just focusing on the mission to Shanghai, but on the game he’s been playing with the Jackal for weeks now. He got thrown from the horse, knocked for a fucking loop, and he’d thought that was the end of it. But he has to get back on the horse; he can see that now. Not just for the sake of SR0, for the sake of the country, but for the sake of his career, his confidence.

And if he can’t get his head into that space, then it’s probably best for everyone if he walks away.

He’d been so sure of himself when he’d come up with the idea to go to the bungalow, that he could lure the Jackal into trusting him more. That he could get closer, that he could get the Jackal to let his guard down, find out his plan and then find that one, single, perfect moment to slide his knife between the Jackal’s ribs. 

The Director seems to think he’d been succeeding. Maybe he has been. He doesn’t feel like that’s true, but maybe he’s too close to see it.

He sighs and lets his head fall forward, fingers running through his hair.

He doesn’t have to decide tonight. He needs to go on the Shanghai mission, see how he does, how he feels. 

What if he still can’t decide then? What then?

One step at a time , he thinks.

* * * * *

Shanghai, 2005

Shanghai is a glittering jewel jutting out into the Yangize River, breathtaking architecture made of metal and glass rising against the night sky, each building brightly lit with neon in every color, spreading across the darkness like a rainbow.

Jared could stand and stare out at it all night and never tire of it. Despite all the issues with China, they have one of the most beautiful countries Jared has ever laid eyes on.

He stands there a minute more, taking it in, and then he glances at his Patek Philippe. It’s 1:18pm in 2028, but here and now in Shanghai 2005, it’s almost 1am, and he has a mission to complete. He’s already looped the security camera reel for this area, which will keep the guards off his back, but he’s working with 2005 computer speed, and he needs to get moving if he wants to be done before dawn.

The chair creaks a little as he sits down and reaches for the inside jacket pocket, where the flash drive is.

“So. We’re back on this,” the Jackal says from some distance behind him.

Jared experiences half a dozen emotions in that instant, unable to settle on a single one as he turns in his chair.

There he is, large as life; the goddamned Jackal , perfectly proportioned in his tailored suit, one stray strand of hair brushing against his cheek, those bright bottle-glass green eyes, those golden ratio perfect features, that ever-present maddening half-smirk angling his lush lips.

He’d had so many reservations about possibly seeing the Jackal again, and now, what he feels… is he… relieved? Maybe. Maybe relieved just to finally be facing his fear. He almost got sucked in, almost got pulled under, but he didn’t. 

And this? This is the game, the same cat and mouse they’ve been playing for weeks. It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of it; Jared finds he knows his place as easily as if he’d bookmarked a page in a book to return to. He can do this. 

“I told you I never wanted to see you again,” Jared says.

“No you didn’t,” the Jackal contradicts smoothly. He pushes his hands into his pockets, walking towards Jared. “You said, and I quote, ‘Get the fuck off my deck. And don’t come back.’” He draws himself up taller and does a fair imitation of Jared’s deeper voice as he says it. 

“This,” the Jackal goes on with a quick glance around, “isn’t your deck.”

Jared shakes his head, biting at the inside of his cheek with a bitter smirk. “You’re right. I should have said, ‘Get the fuck out of my life’.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not happy to see me,” the Jackal admonishes him with a smile.

“How the hell did you know about this mission?” Jared demands.

The Jackal tilts his head, giving Jared a knowing smirk that clearly communicates that Jared should know better than to ask the Jackal to give up his secrets. 

“So this is the part where we fight, then?” Jared asks, mind already leaping ahead, plotting his physical movement.

“Probably,” the Jackal says with an incline of his head. “But I was thinking maybe we should change things up this time.”

“Oh, really?” Jared asks, tonguing at the inside of his cheek as he smirks back at the Jackal.

“Really,” the Jackal remarks, walking closer to Jared. “See, I’ve been trying to point you in the right direction, let you figure some things out for yourself. But after our last interaction, I think I might need to step things up a little.”

Jared squints at him, his smirk fading fractionally. “Are you saying you actually want to tell me something for once?”

“Why not?” the Jackal asks, glib as he shrugs. “I’ll tell you some things, you won’t believe me, we’ll probably fight, I’ll win, and you’ll go home empty handed. At least this way it’s a little more interesting.”

God he’s so fucking cocky. Not without reason, but Jared would give a lot to wipe that fucking smirk off his face.

The Jackal comes to a stop in front of Jared, looking down at him.

Jared stares up at him, suspicious. His first instinct is to rise to his feet, use his height to look down at the Jackal instead, change the balance of power—not that the Jackal has ever seemed less in power—but apparently they’re changing up the rules this time. The Jackal wants to tell him things, and given that the Director wants Jared to continue this Jackal mission, Jared should probably let him. 

Jared eyes him, still suspicious, and decides to stay where he is, settling back in his chair to give the impression of relaxing.

“Okay,” Jared says without much expectation. “Give me the pitch.”

“Oh, speaking of pitches,” the Jackal says, making a motion with one hand. “What’s the pitch SR0 loves to give?” he asks, snapping his fingers like he doesn’t remember, which both of them know is bullshit, because his memory is eidetic. “Oh right,” he says, as if he’s just remembered, meeting Jared’s eyes. “We don’t seek to upend history, here. We’re not changing major events. We’re just giving history a nudge here, and a touch there to push events into turning out somewhat better than they would have, otherwise.”

That's the pitch, even Jared knows it word for word by heart. “What’s your point?”

The Jackal gives him a wolfish grin. “Don’t you just love how they sell that whole, ‘We don’t seek to upend history, we just change things in small ways’, as if they had a choice?”

Jared narrows his eyes on the Jackal. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Jared.” The Jackal rolls his head to one side, his eyes glittering amusement, nearly taunting as he locks eyes with Jared. “You might be a good little soldier boy, but even you have to know it’s not that cut and dried. You know damned well if SR0 could change watershed moments, they’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“ This is your pitch?” Jared asks, incredulous as he gets to his feet. He can feel the flames of anger beginning to burn inside him. “I can’t believe I even gave you time to talk. We’ve never tried changing watershed moments, and you know it.”

The Jackal doesn’t move, simply looking up and meeting Jared’s eyes. “No, they tried. You’ve read the revised history. There are plenty of documented horror stories about the early days of the project, jumpers getting maimed, killed, or even lost in the timestream trying to enter a watershed moment. Time scars if you mess with the same point too many times, or if you try to make too big a change. But the thing you don’t know, the thing they haven’t told you, is that the big watershed moments that already exist are scarred over, seared into time irrevocably. “

Jared pushes his anger down, considers that for a long moment. It could be true. He knows he isn’t getting the full history of everything SR0 has done. Not at his security level. He doesn’t see how it makes a difference, though, even if it is true.

Except that they lied to you. Lied to you from the beginning.

Jared grits his teeth, shaking his head. “If that were true, then it doesn’t matter what we would do. We can’t change anything that really matters.”

“You’d think,” the Jackal remarks, with light sarcasm. “And yet…”

“And yet, what?”

The Jackal looks at him with what seems like calculated contemplation, dark amusement glimmering in his eyes. “SR0 likes to claim it changes things in small ways, but if you change enough things in enough small ways, it becomes a big way.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jared demands.

The Jackal’s expression doesn’t change. “That enough small pushes towards one big change can create a watershed moment that never existed before.”

Jared reviews that information in his mind for several seconds before deciding what he thinks. “That’s bullshit. There’s no way—we can’t do that.”

“Can’t you?” The Jackal raises a brow in challenge. “You can’t change a watershed moment, but why couldn’t you create one?”

Jared’s patience, already held by a fine thread, finally breaks. “What I know is, I’m here because China is using sweatshop workers to make labor cheap, producing so many cars for so much cheaper and so much faster than we can that the US loses hundreds of thousands of jobs and Ford, GM and Chrysler all almost go out of business.”

“Yes,” the Jackal agrees without any inflection of emotion. “China works to become the US to the extreme, to the point where America becomes almost obsolete in that respect.”

“And that’s bad, right?” Jared demands.

“It’s not good or bad,” the Jackal replies, evenly. “It’s what happened.”

“It’s horrible,” Jared objects. “It does so much damage to the United States economy that we never really recover from it.”

“The last part is true. And it can be changed. The US can come out on top, keep the economy steady on that front. If you’re successful, it’s going to change a lot of things for America.” The Jackal’s eyes almost seem to burn as they lock on Jared’s. “It will be a watershed moment. The ripple effects will be huge if you succeed.”

“Even if that’s true, how does it matter?” Jared asks. “It puts things in favor of the US.”

“You have to be smarter than this,” the Jackal says, shaking his head slightly. “SR0 creates a watershed moment in the past, where it didn’t exist naturally. They figure out that it works, so then they create another. And another. What do you think is going to happen?”

He’s lying. He has to be lying, but Jared plays along, wants to see where this is going. And he thinks maybe he has an idea. “A Bootstrap paradox?” he asks, slyly. “Timeline decay?”

The Jackal looks at him sharply, eyes narrowing on him for an instant. That gaze tells Jared the Jackal knows Jared doesn’t believe him; it also tells Jared the Jackal doesn’t care if Jared believes him or not. 

“Yes,” the Jackal replies.

“And you’re, what? The hero in all of this?” Jared asks, mocking. “Bravely putting your life on the line to stop the government from some misguided attempt to change things?”

“No,” the Jackal says with an almost offhand, sardonic laugh. “I’m not the hero in this story or any other. 

Jared genuinely doesn’t understand. “If you’re not playing the hero, then why do you care?”

“Because SR0 is getting close to creating a watershed moment with China. You’re getting close. And you can only change so many things before the entire timeline starts to become unstable. You have to know that, Jared.”

He says it so simply, like it’s elementary, without sarcasm, without judgment, and it’s that, more than anything, that gets underneath Jared’s skin. God he’s such a liar, but he’s so good at it.

“You wanted to know why I keep showing up and stopping you on these missions to China.” The Jackal lifts his shoulders slightly and lets them drop. “Now you do.”

“Just like that?” Jared asks, derogatory. “Now you’re telling me the truth about everything?”

“Of course not,” the Jackal replies, as if he’s insulted Jared might think so. “But I am telling you the truth about this one particular thing.”

Jared almost believes him. Almost. But he’s been down this road before. He can’t afford to believe anything the Jackal says. Everything is an angle; everything is just another step forward in the game of trying to pull Jared over to his side.

“Even if you were telling the truth,” Jared says, “the government wouldn’t put the entire timeline in danger. Whatever changes we’re making are for the betterment of the country. But they wouldn’t risk the entire world for that.”

The Jackal huffs out a scoffing laugh. “That’s a discussion you’re not ready to have. Seriously,” the Jackal says, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Jared, as if confiding. “You were barely ready for the beginning of this one.”

Jared lunges then, without thought, fist striking out like a punctuation to the Jackal’s sentence, so fast the Jackal doesn’t quite manage to move out of the way, Jared’s knuckles meeting his jaw with a grazing, but satisfying impact.

An instant later, his back hits the ground, breath pushed from his lungs, the Jackal’s weight holding him down, hands pinning both his arms, legs locking Jared’s in place. Green eyes filled with fire and flint burning into his, so close, and it’s been easy to forget how capable the Jackal really is—how dangerous he really is—when Jared’s been all but working beside him.

Jared had almost forgotten, and that’s another thing he needs to hold himself accountable for.

Weight of the Jackal’s body preventing Jared from drawing all but the shallowest of breaths, eyes mesmerizing and deadly as a cobra, fingers tightening around Jared’s wrists, twisting and drawing his muscles tighter against his frame. Body pressed against Jared’s and he can feel every inch, musculature and bone molded against him, soft, heavy weight between his legs. Hot skin and crisp material, burning green eyes and warm lips, so close to Jared’s. Magnetic pull like gravity, air to a drowning man, and it takes all of Jared’s will to resist, to struggle for leverage instead of simply going still.

The Jackal moves with the momentum of Jared’s pushes, slamming Jared’s hands back down against the floor.

“I remember the kiss, Jared,” the Jackal says.

Jared stops struggling, going still beneath him. He expected a lot of things, maybe, but not this. He studies the Jackal’s face for a long moment in silence. “So you were lying.”

“No. Initially, I didn’t remember. It didn’t happen for me. And I was in the area when it happened for you, so my memory didn’t change. But after the fact, moving back into the present, it caught up with me. My memories changed.”

None of that makes any sense. That simply isn’t how memories and time travel work.

“But… that isn’t possible,” Jared says. “Even if your memory did change after the fact, you wouldn’t know it had.”

The Jackal’s eyes are intense as they stare into Jared’s. “I remember you kissing me. And I remember you not kissing me.”

“No,” Jared contradicts. “You can’t have both memories.”

The corner of the Jackal’s mouth curves in a smirk, his eyes glinting dark amusement. “And you couldn’t have kissed me when it never happened for me in the first place. This is what I’m trying to tell you.”

“You’re lying.”

The Jackal shakes his head, cynical smirk lingering at the edges of his lips—and then he lets go of Jared’s hands, palms flat, pushing off the floor as he springs to his feet in one smooth motion, feet touching down on either side of Jared’s legs for a split second before he moves, turning so his feet are planted alongside Jared’s left leg.

Jared looks at him for a moment. Then he curls his arms beside his head, palms pressing against the floor as his feet leave it, pushing as he arcs his spine, throwing himself and jumping to a standing position.

The Jackal reaches out, offering his hands to Jared. “Come with me.”

Jared has a mission to complete, but there’s no use in saying so; the Jackal knows, and he’s never going to let Jared finish it. 

And the Jackal is also his mission.

“To when?” Jared asks.

The Jackal just looks at him and Jared sighs, shaking his head before he reaches out, taking the Jackal’s hands.

Chapter Text

When they materialize, it’s night time, wherever they are, strong breeze ruffling Jared’s hair. He looks around, and then his jaw drops open.

They’re on top of the Shanghai Tower, stars twinkling overhead, and below, the city is glowing in all its gold and rainbow lit glory, laid out gorgeous and glittering in a truly majestic and breathtaking view. Metal and glass gleaming, lights sparkling, and they’re so high up, there are wisps of clouds strewn across the view below them. For a moment all Jared can do is stare, walking closer to the edge of the roof.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispers, almost reverent. 

The Jackal steps up beside him, hand in his pants pockets. “One of the perks of being able to teleport around in time. You get to see all the best places.”

For a moment, Jared is almost jealous. There are so many places he would go, so many things he would love to see in the past. But SR0’s rules of time travel are there for safety reasons; no visiting the past except on business. He could travel the normal way, vacation to the places he wants to see, but some of them don’t even exist anymore. Not to mention he usually has his hands full with work.

“When are we?” Jared asks. His eyes are still glued to the view, but his brain is moving from surprise back to agent mode.

“Fifteen minutes in the past. In the same general location.” 

“Why do I feel fine?” Jared asks, suddenly realizing that he does feel fine.

“Because we only went back fifteen minutes. The further you go, the harder your body takes it.”

Jared stands there a moment longer, drinking in the awe-inspiring view of the city, and then, with an effort, he tears his eyes away, turning to look at the man who’d brought him here.

If the Jackal had brought Jared here to impress him, it’s working. Realizing that, Jared reins himself back in. He can be awestruck by the view, that’s all right, and practically inevitable, given said view. But he can’t allow himself to be affected by the Jackal bringing him here.

“Why here?” Jared asks.

“We were already in Shanghai. And I like the view,” the Jackal says with a mild shrug.

“So you brought me up here for the view?” Jared asks, confused.

“Everyone should see it at least once,” the Jackal returns, taking a moment to look down at the view, himself.

It’s vaguely romantic, which puts Jared on guard. If the Jackal only brought him here for the view, he must think it’s going to endear Jared to him in some way. Jared doesn’t intend to let it, but he can play into things as if he is.

“It’s incredible,” Jared says, and he doesn’t have to fake the wonder in his voice. “How many times have you been here?”

“More than a dozen,” the Jackal says. “But it never gets old.”

The Jackal takes a step closer to the edge of the roof, still admiring the city below. For a moment, Jared wonders if he could knock the other man from the top of the building. Then he sobers, realizing even if he did, the Jackal could just teleport out through time while he was falling. Leaving Jared stuck here. Truly stuck, unless someone came out to do something on the roof of the building. And that’s if the Jackal didn’t just toss him off the roof for trying to do the same to him.

It clicks, then, and Jared understands. “You brought me up here because it would be a stupid place to have a fight.”

“Truly stupid,” the Jackal agrees, stepping backward from the edge of the roof. “Less chance of you throwing a sucker punch at me, up here,” he adds, turning to face Jared.

“You deserved it,” Jared tells him, unrepentant.

The corner of the Jackal’s mouth tugs in a smirk, brows rising as if to say ‘maybe’. 

They stand there for a moment in silence, surveying one another, and then the Jackal takes a step closer to Jared. 

“All right,” Jared says, straightening his shoulders. “You brought me up here to talk; finish your pitch.”

The Jackal nods, head tilting slightly as he holds Jared’s gaze. “I realize what I’m telling you sounds impossible. Possessing two different memories of the same event is preposterous. If I weren’t experiencing it firsthand, I wouldn’t believe it either.”

“Yeah,” Jared responds. “Not really inclined to believe you.”

“I’ve lied to you, Jared,” the Jackal admits. “I have, at times, mislead you like it was my job . But I’m telling you the truth about this. There’s never been a recorded Bootstrap paradox in history. This is the first one we know of. And now there’s been two deviations within that paradox.”

Jared thinks that over, deciding he should probably play along as if the Jackal might be telling the truth. He’s going to play devil’s advocate, though. “That could be normal, for all we know about Bootstrap paradoxes.”

“A Bootstrap paradox existing at all means something strange is happening,” the Jackal says, overriding Jared’s observation. “I believe the fact that there have been two deviations within it centered around you, and me, means we’re tied to it somehow.”

He's edging on referencing destiny again, but this time Jared sees it coming.

“After what you said to me on the deck, I assumed you had the same thought,” the Jackal goes on, “and now you think I’ve been manipulating you into believing our lives are linked.”

Goddamn. He really is just that smart. Jared knows that, but somehow he’s still a little surprised. 

“It was a reasonable assumption,” Jared says, letting his guard show through in his tone.

The Jackal nods. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you into believing that,” the Jackal says, his tone more serious than Jared thinks he’s ever heard it. “The truth is…” 

The Jackal hesitates, which is a moment so rare and unprecedented, Jared feels compelled to let it happen.

“The truth is,” the Jackal says, his green eyes burning into Jared’s, “I think we are linked. There’s a difference between trying to manipulate you into believing something that isn’t true, and trying to share something with you that I believe to be true.”

Jared stares at him, shaking his head lightly in disbelief. And then he huffs out a scoffing laugh. “You’re really going to try and sell me on that ? Our fates are linked? Destiny with a capital ‘D’?”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” the Jackal tells him, unequivocally. 

He doesn’t believe in destiny? The admission catches Jared completely off guard. He’d expected the Jackal to lean into that one.

“I do believe in time,” the Jackal adds. “I believe time tries to protect itself. Not consciously, not as something sentient, but as a rudimentary function of its existence. And everything time is telling me, says you and I have something to play out.”

Oh. So that’s his angle. He isn’t going to call it destiny—that would probably seem too obvious. He’s going to hide the word destiny behind science.

“You can call this whatever you want,” Jared tells him, “but it sounds like you’re talking about destiny.”

“I assume a Bootstrap paradox centered around you and I means something, yes. Not destiny, but time did go out of its way to bring us together. There must be a reason.”

“And what reason would that be?” Jared asks, all sarcasm.

“I don’t know,” the Jackal says, and the sole act of him admitting that he doesn’t know something sends a chill down Jared’s spine. “But I don’t think it can be ignored.”

Is he being vulnerable now? Is that his new strategy? If so, then Jared might have a chance at making this mission work. It all depends on if the Jackal is being sincere or not.

And as much as the Jackal has lied to him, Jared thinks he’s telling the truth about this. Not the truth as it exists, but the truth as he understands it. The Jackal thinks SR0 is creating watershed moments, he thinks SR0 is causing timeline decay. He could be lying, but Jared is almost certain that he isn’t. There are tells when someone lies, the Jackal is so good at his job that Jared would almost never see those, but there are also tells when someone is telling the absolute, abject truth as they believe it. The Jackal might be good enough to fake those, too. But he seems honest.

Still, Jared is cautious. The Jackal might well believe what he’s saying, but Jared can’t allow himself to be influenced by it.

He can act like he is, though.

“You think the Bootstrap paradox happened because SR0 is trying to force a watershed moment into existence?” Jared asks, just to be clear.

“I think it’s probable, yes.”

“What if the potential watershed moment is happening as a side effect of our efforts?” Jared asks. “It doesn’t have to be intentional.”

The Jackal regards him with open disappointment, derision clear in his eyes. But all he says is, “Even if that were true, it’s still happening. Allowed to continue unchecked, it could lead to further time decay and the unraveling of the timeline itself.”

Jared pauses, pretending to think that over. “And you think time brought us together? So you could stop me from creating a watershed moment?”

“I think it’s possible,” the Jackal agrees. “Although it could be for another reason all together.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jared says, slowly, as if only just arriving at the thought.

“You’re just going to start believing me?” the Jackal asks, arching a brow at him. 

“We have to start somewhere,” Jared replies, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

The strong breeze has picked up into a low wind, sweeping Jared’s hair up in its wake, playing and pulling at the Jackal’s, strands fluttering around his face. Stars above and gorgeous earth below, a beautiful, enigmatic man before him, and Jared decides, then and there, that he’s going to complete this mission.

“I’m going back to the bungalow,” Jared tells him. “They want me to, because they think I’m reaching you. They wanted me to tell you that we’d worked out a deal, because I liked living on the surface. But the truth is, they want me to keep working on getting closer to you.”

The Jackal steps even closer to him, the wind blowing through the scant space between their faces. “Don’t pretend,” the Jackal says, corner of his mouth quirking, “that isn’t what you want, too.”

“You are interesting,” Jared says, lowering his voice, seductive.

The Jackal smirks, tonguing at the inside of his cheek. He leans in close, so very, very close, as he nearly whispers, “I know you still want to kill me.”

Jared doesn’t understand how he makes it sound so sexy.

“If that’s what you think, why are you still here?” Jared asks.

“Because time, like science, doesn’t lie,” the Jackal replies. He closes the distance between them, his hands sliding inside Jared’s jacket, moving upward for an instant before they converge around Jared’s back. 

“Hold on,” he whispers.

* * * * *

They’re back in the office space they’d left twenty minutes ago. The lights are as dim as they had been, but still bright enough for Jared to see.

“I’ll see you soon,” the Jackal tells him, arms pulling from around him as he reaches for the Atta strapped to his side. 

A second later, he vanishes, and Jared is left standing in the Shanghai office with a mission to complete. He’s still distracted by the feel of the Jackal’s arms encircling his body a moment ago. He can still feel the warmth of the other man, smell the scent of him.

Jared takes in a breath, and focuses.

The Jackal is changing his tactics. He’s at least pretending to open up slightly to Jared about what he thinks is happening. Jared is important, somehow, to him.

The Director wasn’t wrong.

He turns to the computer he’d come here to infiltrate, and it’s only been twenty minutes since they’d gone to the roof of Shanghai Tower. He can’t take the Jackal at his word, yet. He needs to check in with SR0 about what he’s been told. For now, he still has time to complete his mission. Which is… strange. It doesn’t make sense that the Jackal would have brought him back to where he could complete his mission. Dropping him a mile away so he’d have to walk back would have made more sense.

He knows before he reaches for his inside jacket pocket. There’s nothing there. His flash drive is gone.

The Jackal took his flash drive. He must have done it when he’d slid his arms around Jared.

Jared grits his teeth and huffs out a bitter laugh.

Present Day

Jensen leaves the majesty of Shanghai behind him with a faint pang of regret, feet touching down against wood as he moves into the present. It’s a balmy night, mild night breeze teasing at his hair, the moon big and bright above the water. Waves lap gently at the supports of the dock beneath him, the only sound the break the stilled hush of the late hour. 

Jared hadn’t believed him; he’s sure of that much. Despite Jared’s seeming willingness to cooperate, to proceed as if he believes Jensen, Jensen is certain that Jared doesn’t believe him, and perhaps never will. 

The Bootstrap paradox had been enough to motivate Jensen into pursuing this. But the changes in the past and in his memory, having two different memories existing at once, has left him with an inescapable sense that something must be done. And whether he likes it or not, Jared is part of that. If he wants Jared to believe him, he’s going to have to start giving Jared more of the truth.

That comes with its own set of problems. Problems he’ll have to contemplate later.

His eyes rise to find the house across the water, its drapes closed, its windows darkened. It will be hours before Jared returns to the present, and Jared won’t be returning here tonight. 

He wouldn’t be here himself, if he didn’t need to be.

Jensen glances down at the second hand on his watch, and takes two steps to the side. 

The pop of displaced air sounds nearby, and Stephen appears, right on time.

Jensen takes in the man’s expression underneath the moonlight, and knows instantly that Stephen is furious. Jensen wasn’t looking forward to this meeting with Stephen to begin with, but he quickly realizes it’s going to be even worse than he’d expected.

“You lied to me,” Stephen says, without preamble, his voice cold.

Jensen has, in fact, lied to Stephen about quite a few things—none of which Stephen should be surprised by. But he doesn’t know which thing Stephen is referring to, specifically.

“I omitted some facts,” Jensen agrees lightly, shrugging.

“You lied ,” Stephen growls, taking a quick step toward him. 

Jensen holds his ground, unperturbed, but watchful. Stephen is disabled but that doesn’t mean he should be underestimated. He’s angry enough that he might decide to take a swing, and his cane has more reach than Jensen does at the moment.

Jensen has already calculated the space between them with quick math, his next move planned if Stephen should attack, but he lets none of it show in his expression. 

“You let Jared decide what to tell me,” Stephen goes on. “You trust Jared more than you trust me?” Stephen demands, his cold facade beginning to crack. He grows more irate, accusing and incredulous. “When I’m the one who came to you ?”

“Don’t pretend you thought I trusted you,” Jensen counters, matter of fact. “We both know you’re not that naive. You knew who you were dealing with from the moment you came to me.”

“I thought I was working with a professional,” Stephen spits. “Someone who would see the advantage and opportunity I’m offering them. Someone who would work with me on the information I gave them.” Stephen’s eyes narrow on Jensen as he takes another step forward. “He’s getting to you, isn’t he?” Stephen huffs out a scoffing laugh, shaking his head in a quick, taut motion. “Is it his big, pretty hazel eyes? His warm heart? Maybe both, with those, fast, deadly hands as a bonus?”

Jensen still isn’t sure what Stephen knows.

“Did he kiss you like he meant it?” Stephen demands.

That makes Jensen reevaluate the playing field. If Jared told Stephen that, then it’s likely he told Stephen everything.

“He kisses a lot of people like he means it,” Jensen returns, casual. “He’s a spy. An assassin.”

“He is,” Stephen agrees, impassioned, still angry. “He’s a killer. But he has a soul. He kills bad guys. He hasn’t crossed a line yet that he can’t come back from.”

This is not new information.

“I thought that would make you look down on him, but it doesn’t, does it?” Stephen shakes his head, gritting his teeth. “It makes you want him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Stephen goes on as if he hadn’t spoken. ”The only thing I can’t figure out is if you want him because you want to break him, or if you want him because somewhere inside you there’s still a spark of humanity that sees the goodness in him. Sees that goodness and wants to steal it for yourself.”

“You’ve given a lot of thought to my hypothetical feelings,” Jensen remarks, his tone sarcastically impressed.

Stephen shakes his head, disgusted. “Either way, you’ll only ruin him. You know that. He isn’t you. And he can’t save you.”

Jensen narrows his eyes on Stephen.

“Shit,” Stephen says, with a sudden, surprised laugh. “Do you… do you think you love him?”

“I think ,” Jensen says, succinct, “you’re confusing me with you.”

Stephen turns his face away, breathing out a heavy laugh as he shakes his head. He takes a moment, straightening slightly, composing himself before he meets Jensen’s eyes again. 

“Stick to the mission, Jensen. And don’t ‘omit’ any more facts.” Stephen speaks the words almost earnestly, like a humble request. “Jared’s being honest now; there’s no reason for you to lie.”

Stephen presents the words like an entreaty, but Jensen hears them for the threat they are; Jared’s telling the truth, and if you lie, I’ll know.

Which would bother Jensen a lot more if Stephen and Jared were his only sources of information.

Jensen smiles, wide and bright and unperturbed. “If Jared’s being honest, then you don’t have to worry about me not telling you things, do you?”

Jensen isn’t going to challenge him further; it’s better to let Stephen think he’s holding all the cards—useful, even. For now.

Stephen simply shakes his head, not deigning to answer Jensen directly. He’s clearly still not happy with Jensen, but Jensen can live with that.

“We’re in phase two now,” Stephen says after a moment. “We need to be very careful. The slightest misstep, and it all goes to hell.”

“Are you reminding me?” Jensen asks. “Or yourself?”

“I know how to handle my part,” Stephen replies as he meets Jensen’s eyes. He leaves the rest unsaid, but Jensen can hear the unspoken concern.

Jensen doesn’t rise to the bait, letting the implication roll off. “Are you done?” Jensen asks.

“We’ll touch base soon,” Stephen says.

Jensen nods and reaches for his Atta.

Jared returns to the present hours later, Stephen waiting for him in the same suit he’d been wearing when Jared had departed. It’s a well-tailored navy blue accented by a light blue tie that brings out the color of his eyes, and he looks as handsome as ever, if a little pale. 

There’d been a time once, not that long ago, when he would return from a mission, still running high on success, happy to be back, and Stephen would greet him with a smile. That had been before the Jackal had entered their lives. Now Jared stands here, as he has too often lately, an empty handed failure once again, uncertain of everything he’s just experienced, and the look between him and Stephen is strained, at best.

“Welcome back,” Stephen greets him, and Stephen seems genuinely glad that he’s back, if nothing else.

What Jared has to tell him probably isn’t going to make him any happier.

* * * * *

After Jared gives him the mission status, they go directly to Stephen’s office for Jared’s debriefing.

“So,” Stephen says, leaning against the desk and looking at him. “I assume it was the Jackal. What happened?”

Jared swallows hard, trying to gather his thoughts. He’d had time to think about how to explain all this while he’d been waiting for his extraction, but now that he’s here, it all seems too outlandish and wild. He hesitates to tell Stephen everything because it seems too absurd. The hesitation costs him.

“Jared,” Stephen says, stern. “If we’re going to have a real chance of making this relationship work again—as handler and agent—you have to be honest with me.”

“I know,” Jared says, quietly, and nods. “I’m sorry.”

“And stop saying you’re sorry,” Stephen tells him. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I wasn’t not trying to tell you,” Jared goes on. “I swear. It’s just…”

“Hard to explain?” Stephen asks as he meets Jared’s eyes.

“Yes?” Jared replies, shaking his head slightly.  “It’s crazy ,” he says, emphatic. “So crazy, I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Try me,” Stephen says, arms folded across his broad chest, blue eyes intent on Jared’s.

And then, Jared doesn’t hesitate to tell him every single thing; the fight, the conversation, the changing of the Jackal’s memories and the existence of two different memories of the same event. The Jackal’s inclination towards destiny without saying the word, his accusation that SR0 is trying to change time, create a watershed moment. That the Jackal thinks they’re close to creating a watershed moment, and after they do, that they’ll create more. That the very attempt has sent time askew; caused the Bootstrap paradox. 

Stephen listens to it all, seeming impassive, expression unchanging. And then he rises from his perch at the edge of his desk, reflexively reaching for his cane before he straightens, crosses his arms again, hands squeezing his elbows. He takes a few, slow paces, walking the line of his desk, and then he raises one hand, rubbing at his jaw as he sighs, turning away from Jared.

“I didn’t believe him,” Jared protests.

Stephen shakes his head, fingertips still clinging to his jaw.

“Maybe you should have,” Stephen says.

Everything inside Jared turns cold, heartbeat seeming to slow, ice climbing up the notches in his spine. Surely he misunderstood. 

“What?” he says, managing to maintain a polite tone.

“I said…” Stephen sighs, lifting his chin upward as his hands fall to his sides. He turns, then, leaning against the desk again as he faces Jared, “I said: maybe you should have.”

Jared blinks several times during the space of time it takes Stephen to draw a breath and continue.

“Even if it’s not SR0’s goal to create a watershed moment,” Stephen says, looking down at the floor, “that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.” He shakes his head. “He could be right. We could be creating a watershed moment without even meaning to.”

“So all of the sudden we’re just going to start believing this guy?” Jared demands, ice inside him melting as anger rushes to fill him. “Is he getting inside your head, now? What the fuck Stephen?”

Stephen holds up a hand. “I know. And until you told me about the Bootstrap paradox I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but—”

“But what?” Jared counters, outraged. “He’s a traitor and a master manipulator. You don’t think he’s working everything about this to his advantage?”

“I’m sure he is,” Stephen agrees. “But the fact that a Bootstrap paradox is possible at all…” Stephen stops, then sighs, sitting down on the edge of the desk. His fingers are rubbing at his face again, the motion almost agitated. 

“What?” Jared urges.

Stephen drops his hand from his face, folding his arms over his chest as he gazes across the room, seeming in deep thought.

“For fuck’s sake, Stephen. What? ” 

“I was angry with you for lying to me,” Stephen goes on quietly. “But that hasn’t been the only thing on my mind.” Stephen lets his arms fall, hands twisting together against one thigh. “There are concerns,” he says, his voice so low Jared can hardly hear it. “Ever since your report about the Bootstrap paradox, SR0 has been investigating. And there are…” Stephen seems to struggle for a moment with how to go on, and then he simply repeats himself. “There are concerns.”

“Concerns?” Jared asks, voice sharp. “Like…concerns that we’re fucking up the timeline , concerns?”

Again, Stephen seems to struggle with what to say, and then finally, he replies, “I’ve already said more than I should.”

“Because of my security level?” Jared is still angry but he can feel the fear beginning to rise beneath it. 

“Lower your voice,” Stephen hisses.

With an effort, Jared does. “Jesus Christ, Stephen, if time’s really coming apart you need to tell me.”

“If that were happening we probably wouldn’t still be standing here.” A muscle flexes in Stephen’s jaw, and finally he turns his face to look at Jared. “We don’t know anything for sure, yet. It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours since you told us about the Bootstrap paradox… but the initial investigation seems to indicate there may be strain on the timeline we weren’t aware of before.”

“No,” Jared says, hollow and emphatic. “We would have known if we were changing time like that.” Jared huffs out a wry laugh. “I mean, I wouldn’t have known, even you probably wouldn’t have known. But the scientists would have known. They would have seen the signs. They would have known .”

“Jared. What we know about time could fill a shot glass. Maybe. What we don’t know… could literally kill us.”

He’d thought the Jackal had believed it was true, but Jared hadn’t believed that it was. To hear this … to hear Stephen telling him it might be true… All anger, all emotion, it seems, has fled from him, leaving him empty, hollow inside.

Jared shakes his head, feeling at a loss. “So you believe him?” Jared asks. “You believe the Jackal?”

“I don’t know,” Stephen says, shrugging once. “I don’t trust the Jackal either. But he has a vested interest in making sure time continues on. He’s a lot of things, but suicidal isn’t one of them.”

“So you don’t think he’s telling me all this just to win me over?”

“It could be an excuse for him to throw this whole destiny line on you, to try to get you on his side. But it could also be the whole reason he approached you in the first place.”

A spark seems to fire behind Jared’s eyes, two thoughts connecting abruptly. “That’s why the Director wanted me to stay on the Jackal mission, isn’t it?” It isn’t really a question. “That’s why he wants me to find out what I can about the Bootstrap paradox. SR0 is worried about the timeline.” 

“We can’t rule it out.” Stephen’s eyes are tired, but his voice is level. “And he may know more than he’s telling.”

“I already decided to continue the mission,” Jared says, slowly, and the words feel distant, the weight of everything Stephen’s just said beginning to settle in.

“You did?” Stephen asks, brows rising slightly. “What convinced you?”

Jared thinks for a moment, and then shrugs. “The Jackal seemed to believe it. He seemed like he was finally sharing things with me. I thought the Director was right about me starting to get to him.” Jared shakes his head, still in disbelief. “And now you’re telling me the Jackal might be right.”

“We don’t know anything for certain yet,” Stephen says.

Jared thinks for a moment, wondering if he should ask, knowing he’s going to anyway. “Was he telling the truth about major events in the timeline being scarred over and seared in permanently?”

Stephen huffs out a breath through his nose. “He was. Hitler’s timeline is scarred shut. JFK’s timeline is scarred shut. So are hundreds of other people who’ve had a major impact on the timeline. Sometimes, it happens around smaller, less important events, for reasons we don’t understand. But we suspect all of it is time trying to protect itself.”

It makes sense. If even messing with small moments too much can cause scarring, pivotal moments in history should be seared into time irrevocably. Those moments and people have had too much impact on the timeline; their lives and actions have shaped time at certain points. Changing their trajectories after the fact would be to change the fabric of time itself. Everything could collapse.

It makes sense, but… “Why would SR0 hide that from lower security levels?”

Stephen gives a humorless laugh. “Because everyone always asks. And it’s better to teach them from the beginning that we can’t risk changing time too much. If they think we can do it, but that we don’t , it makes more of an impact than telling them we just can’t. In theory it makes them more responsible Agents, more careful.” He pauses, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “They find out the truth eventually, if they make it to higher security levels.”

Stephen has risked a lot, just telling Jared this much. More, he’s trusting Jared, above and beyond his security level. 

“Why are you trusting me with all of this?” Jared asks.

“Because…” Stephen hesitates. “Because this is too important to keep from you. If you’re going to be working this mission, you need to know the truth. At least the broad strokes of it. And… I told you if this relationship is going to work again, you needed to be honest.” Stephen pauses, looking Jared directly in the eye. “That goes both ways. As much as it can.”

Jared feels immensely gratified, touched, even. He can feel the rift between them dissolve in that instant, and he knows if he’s not forgiven yet, he will be. He doesn’t quite have the words to express what it means to him, how much Stephen’s friendship means to him, and how glad he is to feel like they’re a team again.

“Thanks for telling me,” he says, sincere as he holds Stephen’s gaze.

“I didn’t tell you anything ,” Stephen says, with a quick, faint smile.

“Anything about what?” Jared asks, managing a slight smile in return.

Stephen regards him almost fondly for a moment, and then he sits down on the edge of the desk again, his brows drawing down, blue eyes focusing on him more seriously. “We can do a conference call with the Director first thing in the morning, and barring any change in his decision, you should be cleared to return to the bungalow.”

Jared nods. “Sounds good.” He pauses. “One other thing. The Jackal found me on this mission even though we changed my schedule.”

“This mission was on your schedule before. He knows you’d be doing them late at night to avoid detection. It’s possible he’s been checking back in on all your previous mission locations.”

“Yeah.” Jared is bitterly amused. “That sounds like something he would do.” 

* * * * *

Jared leaves Stephen’s office, closing the door behind him with a click of the doorknob, weight leaned back against it. 

He hadn’t been prepared for any of that. He’d expected a normal debriefing, probably some kind of confirmation that the Jackal was lying. But as it stands… time is maybe fucked up after all. It might be SR0’s fault, unintentionally. The Jackal might be telling the truth—at least partially. He and the Jackal… might be on the same side. That seems crazy to Jared after everything that’s happened, but it’s true that time unraveling benefits no one. 

Jared’s world feels askew. It’s been that way for so long now, he’d think it might start to feel normal. But every time, it still feels brand new; a further twisting of what he thought he knew.

He can put aside the trouble with the timeline for now. SR0 will be working on that. He needs to focus on his mission with the Jackal.

Jared goes to his room and begins packing up his belongings to take back to the beach house. He hasn’t actually unpacked the majority of his things yet, so it doesn’t take him long. 

He considers going out, but it’s late, and he’s tired after his long, fruitless mission, not to mention the series of stunning revelations he’s been through.

He readies himself for bed and then slides between the sheets, his thoughts already drifting as his head meets the pillow, trying to pull him in several different directions. But the need for sleep is stronger, and within moments, he’s falling down into a deep, dreamless darkness.

* * * * *

The phone conference with the Director is brief and to the point, the Director seeming pleased by Jared’s willingness to resume the mission. The call ends quickly, and Stephen takes over, finishing out the details.

“Doctor Berry and I will be in touch via videoconferencing. Your mission is the same as it has been; get close to the Jackal, find out what his plans are. You also need to find out if he has any further knowledge about the Bootstrap Paradox and what it means.” 

“I understand.” Jared replies.

“Just remember to be careful. Even if the Jackal ends up being right about what’s happening, he’s still the enemy.” Stephen looks at him levelly. 

“I know.” Jared nods. 

“You’re still going to have to kill him eventually,” Stephen adds, his eyes sharp, almost curious as he looks at Jared.

“I know,” Jared says again. 

Stephen looks at him for a moment longer, and then nods. 

* * * * *

Katie stops him on his way out and hands him a visitor’s list form. He fills in the same names as last time, including Stephen, Chad, Katie and Dr. Berry. He hesitates, but then adds Adrianne’s name anyway. He knows he isn’t going to message her to come over to the bungalow for sex, but there’s no reason to leave her off the list. They could hang out as friends sometimes, maybe. He also adds Alex’s name to the list, though he knows Alex is busy with training. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t come to visit more,” he remarks, half sitting with one leg on the edge of her desk as he hands her back the list.

“Mmm,” she hums as she takes the sheet from his hand. “I’ve been busy.”

He notes that she looks tired around the eyes, like maybe she didn’t sleep all that well last night. But based on how Chad looks lately, he guesses that makes sense. “I know how much you love to get out of here,” he goes on.

She nods, already beginning to type his list into her computer. “I’ve got a Park Day coming up in a couple weeks.”

SR0 employees can take leave and travel elsewhere, but everyone gets a Park Day to go topside about once every three months. With four hundred plus people in the facility, they have to rotate; they can’t all go all the time or the non-CIA staff in the park would start to recognize them and wonder. 

People coming to visit Jared while he’s staying at the bungalow has been different. Jared writes out a list of people he might want to come visit him, and they have to sign a digital log when they leave and return, but they’re allowed to come see him whenever they want. Stephen and Dr. Berry have made sure of that in an effort to keep Jared from being isolated with only the Jackal for company.

“Stephen keeping you busy?” he asks.

“More new recruits for various jobs in our section.” She lifts her shoulders and sighs. “I’m up to my eyes in paperwork. Usually that’d mean a crop of new conquests for you ,” she says, glancing up and giving him a smirk.

He chuckles and nods. “Not anymore. I’m busy now, too.”

She stops typing, giving him her full attention for a moment, blue eyes widening slightly in mild surprise. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Don’t ever think you’ve got me figured out,” he says, giving her a smile and a wink before he gets to his feet.

“Won’t happen again,” she agrees, giving him a sharp smile.

He says goodbye, leaves her to her work and a few minutes later, he’s ready to depart.

* * * * *

The sun is bright in the morning sky, scattering prisms of light across the lightly dancing waves of the lagoon. As he opens the door to the bungalow, it feels to Jared more like coming home than going back to the facility had, and he wonders at that, finds that it sparks a sense of unease in him. 

It certainly is nicer here, he thinks, as his eyes fall on the warm tones of wood washed in sunlight—real sunlight. He can’t blame himself for enjoying the aesthetic. 

He pushes the thought aside and begins to settle in, setting up his necessities in the bathroom, tucking things into drawers. He pauses when he opens the door to the closet, sees the tuxedo hanging there; one of the very few things he’d left behind. He’d left it behind because it had come from the Jackal, and when he’d emptied the bungalow, he hadn’t wanted anything attached to the man. But he stops now, fingertips brushing the lapel of the jacket, recalling the night he’d worn it, the tumultuous emotions and the incredible revelations. It hadn't been a good night, or a nice memory, and he isn’t sure why it captivates him now.

He pulls his hand away and finishes hanging his clothes in the closet, closing the doors after. There isn’t much else for him to do, breakfast having been eaten before he’d left SR0, and he doesn’t have a time travel mission until three days from now. 

Chad shows up knocking on the door at midday, just as Jared is about to start making lunch. He opens the door to full sunlight, blinking for a moment against the brightness.

Chad is dressed in a suit, which means he’s on his lunch hour. He looks rough around the edges, skin a shade too pale, and he looks a little thinner to Jared in the full light of day. Probably up too late, drinking with Katie.

“I need to talk to you,” Chad says. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his expression unreadable, and Jared isn’t sure he’s ever seen Chad so still.

Jared starts to move out of the way to let Chad in, but Chad backs up a step instead, saying, “It’s a nice day. Let’s go for a walk.”

Jared frowns at him, confused, his instincts kicking in and warning him to be cautious. Completely at odds with his instinct is the knowledge that this is Chad , and yeah it’s weird, but so is Chad.

He isn’t sure everything is fine —based on the way Chad is acting—but he is sure that it’s safe.

“Let me change and get my shoes,” Jared says.

Chapter Text

They walk a winding path along the top edge of the beach sand, wind ruffling the long strands of beach grass. It’s off season, but there are still people around—women in bikinis and sarongs and wide-brimmed hats, men in tank tops and swim trunks or some just bare chested, children in an array of colored swimwear. Families are scattered along the length of the beach on brightly patterned towels and striped blankets, beneath beach umbrellas or in full, welcoming sprawl under the sun. The beaches are exclusive here, reserved for families renting the bungalows, so the tourist numbers are sparser than other places, but it’s not really private, either.

Chad seems completely focused on putting one dress shoe in front of the other, sand flying up and falling off the shined leather, his suit entirely out of place on the beach. No one’s paying much attention to either of them though, and they seem to be the only ones walking along the path right now.

Jared's disquiet continues to grow, the longer they walk in silence.

They walk until they see the back of a restaurant plastered with several big signs announcing that it’s closed for renovations. They veer off the path in unison, without discussion, walking the distance to stand in the sandy dirt lot behind the building. They’re a fair distance from the path, not easily sighted, and there’s nothing but weeds, trees and bushes on the other side of them. Jared leans back against the gray building siding, only slightly worn despite being so close to the water.

“You’re freaking me out, Chad. What the hell?”

“You really fucking think that bungalow isn’t bugged right now?” Chad demands.

Jared shakes his head. “No. I don’t. Because if it was under surveillance the Jackal would never show up.” He pauses. “And we want him to show up.”

Chad’s looking at him like he’s an idiot. 

“Do you really think the Jackal wouldn’t check?” Jared asks.

Chad looks to the left, then the right. “No, he absolutely would. But I couldn’t risk it.”

“Why?” Jared asks. “Chad, what the hell is going on?”

Chad shakes his head, running his fingers through his wild hair, as he turns away, looking out towards the distant beach. He huffs out a scoffing laugh and then shakes his head again for good measure, expression settling into a dismayed but resigned expression.

“I couldn’t let it go,” Chad says. “All that shit we looked up about Danneel Harris—I know I should ’ve let it go, because that shit had “conspiracy theory” written all fucking over it. But that’s exactly why I couldn’t resist it. I’m a conspiracy theorist, Jared. That is what I fucking am. I dig . Sometimes I dig to the bottom of the fucking trashcan to a raccoon overdosed on corndogs. And I couldn't leave it alone.”

Everything in Chad’s expression conveys how very sorry he is that he couldn’t leave it alone.

Jared’s mouth is dry as he asks, “What did you find out?”

“I…” Chad still isn’t looking at Jared, and Jared thinks that’s probably a really bad sign. Chad sighs and stuffs his hand into his suit pants pockets, taking a step closer to the beach. “I thought maybe someone in SR0 fucked up Danneel’s mission with the Triad and accidentally got her killed, and that’s why they erased her.”

“That’s what we talked about,” Jared agrees, and honestly he’s had so much else going on, he hasn’t given a lot of thought to Danneel. But clearly Chad has.

“But Jay…” Chad swallows hard. “I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“What do you think, then?” Jared asks.

“I think…” Chad gives a scoffing laugh. “I think it was an inside job.” Chad nods, fists shoved tight into his pants pockets.

Jared stares at him, dumbfounded. “You mean you think SR0 killed her on purpose?” 

“Yeah,” Chad replies. “I think she knew something about SR0, and it got her killed.”

That can’t be right. SR0 wouldn’t kill one of their own agents on purpose. Rewrite their history as collateral damage, apparently. But assassinate them? Send them out into the lagoon with Mickey Mouse ears?

No. He doesn’t believe that.

But there is something here, and Chad clearly needs to talk. 

Jared swallows hard, and tries to nod. “Okay. What do you think she knew?”

Chad lets out a low laugh, pulling one hand from his pocket, biting down on his thumb. “I don’t know. That’s the thing, man,” he says, tugging his hand from his mouth and throwing it in the direction of the beach. “If I fucking knew, I’d know what to do right now.”

“I mean, I’m a conspiracy theorist. I’ve always thought the government would kill us if we knew more than we were supposed to know. But finding that out for real? Having every one of your theories confirmed? That’s a fucking headtrip, man. You have to think about what you’re going to do. Where you’re going to go.”

“You mean you don't have a plan?”

“Of course I have a fucking plan,” Chad snarls, like he’s offended. “But I didn’t think I’d ever have to use it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Jared says.

“What do you mean?” Chad demands, finally turning on him.

“I mean, slow down, dude. Breathe. Even if you’re right, nobody knows what you know, except me. SR0 doesn’t know what you know. And you don’t have one-hundred percent proof.” Jared pauses, considers. “Do you? What proof do you have?”

Chad takes a step towards Jared, his dress shoe scuffing the sandy dirt. He’s looking at Jared now, like he’s not entirely sure that he’s safe, but maybe willing to be convinced that he is.

“Deep breath, man,” Jared says. “ Deep breath.”

He waits while Chad takes a few deep breaths and holds them before letting them out slowly.

“Now,” Jareds says, nodding. “Tell me what you found.”

“You remember the documents I found. Some of them were her reports to SR0 and some of them were SR0’s files on her. Well there was one area of files related to her that was removed so delicately, I wasn’t even sure I was seeing it. I convinced myself I wasn’t, because seriously, I did not want to be any deeper in shit than I already was.” Chad shakes his head, huffs out a hopeless, scoffing laugh. “But let’s be real, that’s like some hot chick in a creepy van offering me free head—unlikely to turn out well for me; too irresistible to pass up the chance.”

Jared has leaned away from the wall, focusing closely on Chad. “What did you find?”

Chad runs a hand through his hair, more slowly this time, but he’s clearly still distressed. “It took me a really long time. I could only recreate a partial impression. Just some scattered pieces of data. The rest was too damaged. But…”

“But what?” Jared asks. He’s starting to have a very bad feeling about all of this.

“But… it seemed like… one of those pieces of data read like it might have been from an internal file putting out a hit on Danneel Harris.”

Jared shakes his head. “They wouldn’t do that,” he protests. Chad had to have misunderstood. “Why would they do that?”

“There’s only three reasons I know of that the government assassinates you,” Chad replies, in his element as far as this part is concerned. “One,” he says, beginning to count off fingers, “killing you gains them power of some kind. Two, you know something they don’t want you to know. Three, you’re going to betray them.”

Jared immediately follows that last line with, “If she was a double agent for Checkmate—”

“That’d fall under reason three, I know.” Chad nods. “There wasn’t anything conclusive about that… But there was a line in another piece of data…” Chad pauses, and Jared swears he can see Chad grinding his teeth. “Just one line… and it read, ‘Agent Harris has dangerous knowledge of the Spiral Protocol’.”

Jared tilts his head, squinting at Chad. “What’s the Spiral Protocol?”

“Fuck if I know , Jay,” Chad raises his voice, clearly agitated. “But it doesn’t sound good, does it?”

“Chad, it could mean anyth—”

“ Dangerous . Knowledge,” Chad enunciates, emphatic. “ Dangerous . Who the fuck do you think the knowledge was ‘ dangerous ’ to?”

Jared normally has all the patience in the world when it comes to Chad. But right now Chad is in danger of losing it, and if Jared doesn’t pull him back right now…

“It could have been dangerous to the enemy ,” Jared counters. “She could have found out something important about the Triad. Something big enough for them to want her killed. Incredible agent, ally of the Triad, whatever else she was—sometimes things just go wrong. You find out too much about the enemy or you get in over your head or you make the tiniest , slightest mistake, and it gets you killed .” Jared shakes his head, holding Chad’s eyes with his own. “That’s the reality of being a field agent.”

Chad tilts his head at Jared, seeming to size him up, or maybe just truly seeing him for the first time since they started talking. “Assuming she was pure SR0… You really fucking think the government would care if she knew information about the enemy that could get her killed? You just said it yourself, Jay. The reality of being a field agent means you could die at any time—it means you’re fucking expendable . The government does not give a shit if you’re in danger from the enemy. If they did, field Agent wouldn’t even be a job, because you are in danger, every second, every job,” Chad says, pointing at him.

“Yes,” Jared agrees. “Everyone knows you might die, but they don’t just leave you on a mission to die, Chad. They assess risks, they hold you back when it isn’t safe, they try to save you when things go wrong. Look how much they tried to hold me back with the Jackal.”

“Did they?” Chad asks, stepping back, folding his arms across his chest as he regards Jared. “Because you’re back on the mission right fucking now , Jay. Right back where you were. Right where they kept saying they didn’t want you to be.”

“Because they know the Jackal doesn’t want to kill me,” Jared argues.

“The Jackal can do way worse than that and we all know it. Jesus Christ Jared. You were halfway to—” Chad breaks off suddenly, closing his mouth before he glances away.

“Halfway to what?” Jared demands, feeling blood rise hot in his veins. “Finish the sentence.”

“Halfway to falling for his bullshit,” Chad grates. “More than halfway.”

Jared’s almost sure that wasn’t what Chad originally meant to say. But Chad isn’t wrong. 

“I…” Jared begins, and then falters. “I was. You’re… you’re right about that. Things are different now, I know better.”

Chad’s arms are still folded across his chest as he eyes Jared skeptically.

“But, Chad….” Jared spreads his arms wide, taking a step closer to his friend. “What you’re talking about? Danneel Harris’s death being an inside job? It’s crazy. You have to know SR0 would never do that to one of its own?”

Chad shakes his head, pressing his lips into a fine line. He doesn’t answer, but Jared can see his thoughts plainly on his face.

“Chad. What you found… it was only a partial fragment. We don’t know the whole story. It could have been an intercepted file.” He thinks for a moment, and then inspiration strikes. “Besides, if she wasn’t a double agent and it was an inside job, the Jackal would have figured it out. He would have killed everyone who had anything to do with it.”

“Maybe he did,” Chad says, shrugging. “How would we know? Maybe he did figure it out. Maybe that’s why he left three months later. Maybe that’s how long it took. Maybe he psychotically executed dozens of people in SR0 over the course of those three months and that’s why there’s almost no one left who remembers him.”

Jared opens his mouth, about to contradict Chad, and then closes it again. He can’t fully disprove anything Chad is saying any more than Chad can disprove what Jared is saying. Everything is guesswork right now. They have so few facts.

Jared doesn’t believe any of this, but arguing with Chad isn’t going to get either of them anywhere.

“You seem very sure about all of this,” Jared says, giving the words like an offer.

Chad stands there for a long moment beneath the midday sun. “With what I know, I can’t be a hundred percent sure. But it’s like when I make predictions about time travel. I feel a hundred percent sure.”

“Do you think you could be wrong?” Jared asks, gently.

“Fuck. I hope I’m wrong, Jay. I fucking hope to hell I’m wrong because if I’m not…” Chad trails off.

Jared nods. “If you’re not, then there are a whole lot of things we’re going to have to deal with.” Jared looks up, meeting Chad’s eyes directly. “That’s why you have to know, for sure, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that you’re right.” Jared shakes his head fractionally, never breaking eye contact. “You can’t base this on your intuition, Chad. It’s too important.”

Chad looks at Jared for a long moment, and then he sighs out a breath and turns, looking out at the beach. One hand rises to the back of his neck, rubbing at the base as he considers the tourists in the far distance. 

“Yeah,” Chad says, nodding. “Yeah.”

“So what are you going to do?” Jared asks.

“What I do,” Chad says, looking back at Jared with a thin smile. “I’m gonna keep digging.”

* * * * *

Their walk back to the bungalow is less fraught, and Jared feels the tension lessen as they move alongside each other, talking about things of lesser consequence.

“My extended lunch is over,” Chad says as they reach the bungalow door. “I have to get back."

Jared eyes him critically in the daylight, squinting against the sun. “I know it’s been a rough couple of weeks… but are you feeling all right?” Jared asks. “You look a little…”

“I’m fine,” Chad says, running a hand through his hair before waving off Jared’s concern. “Just a late night.”

Jared nods, hesitating. “Have your headaches gotten any worse?”

“Nah, I only get them in the morning,” Chad says. “Pound some water, a couple ibuprofen and I’m good for the rest of the day.”

Jared nods again. 

Chad draws himself up, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. “Listen Jared. I know you know this already, but… be careful. Be so very fucking careful.”

“I’ll do my best,” Jared says.

“That’s not the ringing endorsement you think it is,” Chad tells him.

“I’ll be fine,” Jared assures him. 

Chad shakes his head and sighs, seeming unconvinced, and then he steps forward, squeezing Jared’s shoulder.

“See you soon, man.”

* * * * *

Jared’s left with a great many thoughts after Chad departs. He hasn't given much consideration to Danneel Harris with everything that’s been happening, but she’s still part of it all. In some ways, she’s where it all began, all the way back to that very first night the Jackal had visited Jared at the bungalow.

“You were the best thing the CIA had ever seen, medals and honors piled on you. They gave you everything, would have given you more. And you left. You turned. Why?”

“You mean why did I give up my perfect, golden boy life? The glory of serving my country?” The Jackal asks these questions with calm and obvious sarcasm.

“There must have been a reason.” 

“There was.”

Jared had taunted him, and the Jackal had yanked him through time.

“Her timeline is almost completely scarred shut,” the Jackal says from behind him, almost directly in his ear. “Everywhere she touches time is almost entirely beyond us. But there are still a few moments. Like this.”

Across the crowd of people passing by, set against the twin jewels of sunlit water and bright sky, is a man and a woman.

She’s gorgeous. A breathtaking redhead with dark eyes and a pointed chin, strong nose and a million dollar smile aimed at… 

The Jackal. It’s the Jackal that she’s smiling at, her arms thrown around his neck, his face younger, and he’s beaming at her, eyes brighter than sunlight. His expression is one of happiness, open, unlike any way Jared’s ever seen him before.

Jared reaches out, fingers clutching the Jackal’s shoulder. He’s there, right there next to Jared, and they’re both in the past, watching a younger Jackal in the arms of a beautiful woman.

Her arms are wrapped around his neck, sunlight glittering against the diamond on her left hand, red nails digging into his shoulder, pulling him close, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“You wanted to know what happened, didn’t you?” the Jackal demands.

“Danneel Harris,” the Jackal says, lowering his head to meet Jared’s eyes.

He hasn’t had much time to think about it, but he also hadn’t wanted to think about it, had he? The last time he went down this path he’d almost lost his way. He would have been happy to leave this subject alone, focus on the Bootstrap paradox of it all, but then, Chad…

He sighs and heaves himself up from his seat. He needs to organize his thoughts.

* * * * *

Jared goes for a run as the sun grows large and orange, dipping toward the edge of the earth. The breeze off the water cools him a bit as he makes his way down streets he’d memorized from a map but has never traveled before. 

Reviewing everything in his mind, there are so many things about all of this he doesn’t yet understand. He still doesn’t know why the Jackal had told him about Danneel in the first place; why he had shared such an intimate moment with Jared. How it connects to why the Jackal left SR0, or if it even had at all. Why Danneel had been electronically erased and replaced. He could chalk it all up to the Jackal trying to ingratiate himself to Jared, if it weren’t for the fact that she was erased internally at SR0. That it had taken three months after her death for the Jackal to leave. 

He had let all of that go, convincing himself that the Jackal had been toying with him in an effort to win him over. But now, there’s everything Chad had told him. Chad’s probably wrong, but despite that… There is still a deeper mystery in all of this.

He circles back to the bungalow, his eyes drawn to a figure down by the beach. There are a decent amount of people around, but this person is alone, sitting in the sand, facing away from the setting sun. The haircut, the line of the shoulders inside the loose fitting white tank shirt—it’s difficult to tell from just those details at this distance, but Jared just knows, deep down in his bones.

He jogs down the road to the path that winds through knee high beach grass, slowing his pace as his shoes hit the sand. The Jackal turns his head, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, but Jared can still feel the electricity when their gazes meet.

Jared doesn’t have any weapons on him, but looking at what the Jackal is wearing, he doubts the Jackal does either.

The Jackal is sitting in the sand in his loose tank shirt and a pair of long swim shorts, the picture of a gorgeous man spending a casual evening on the beach, and it throws Jared a little, seeing him like this; a normal human being in a normal human setting.

The sky is deepening from blue to purple, a single star glinting in the richness of its colors above pale sand and the sound of gently rolling waves. It’s a beautiful evening, and it’s an incredibly romantic setting—but then, everything about this area, and the bungalow itself is pretty romantic. The fact that the Jackal is here shouldn’t make it any more or less so.

But for a man whose interactions with Jared are usually fraught with tension—for a man who is, for all intents and purposes, Jared’s enemy—this feels almost too comfortable, too casual, and Jared wonders what the Jackal is playing at.

Whatever it is, Jared has to play along if he wants this mission to be successful. Jared lets his shoulders relax a little, body loosening as he lets some of the tension go, giving just a suggestion of having his guard up on the outside.

Jared walks up next to the Jackal, and then sits down in the sand beside him. “I thought you were paranoid about SR0 trying to capture you?”

“I am,” the Jackal agrees.

“So what are you doing here?” Jared asks.

“Pushing my luck,” the Jackal replies with a smirk.

Jared huffs out a scoffing laugh, shaking his head. Jared knows enough about the Jackal to know he wouldn’t have come here without some sort of plan, and whatever kind of plan it is, it certainly has nothing to do with luck. “Right,” Jared says, nodding, “so you risked being caught just to hang out on the beach with me. Because we’re such good friends .”

“And here I thought we’d worked through all our issues,” the Jackal returns with breezy sarcasm, deftly avoiding the implied question.

“Why are you here?” Jared asks, making the question direct this time.

“It’s a nice night,” the Jackal replies, casually. 

“Nice enough to get caught by SR0?” Jared inquires.

“I already inspected the beach,” the Jackal responds.

“Not to mention you have an Atta with a pre-programmed time jump and coordinates,” Jared adds, gesturing at the small lump at the front of the Jackal’s stomach.

To anyone else looking, it would probably register as a belt bag. Jared tries not to notice the way the Jackal’s tank shirt ripples in the breeze, exposing his flank and giving glimpses of his muscular chest and belly in the rapidly dying light. He’s seen the Jackal on the beach before, but he’d been so shocked and filled with adrenaline that he hadn’t taken much note of any bare skin. Right now it’s almost impossible not to note.

They’re sitting what Jared would deem a reasonable amount apart; the illusion of two friends sharing a chat as night time draws down. But Jared can feel the hum in the air, the electrical charge, the push and pull of incredible chemistry between them as distinctly as he can feel the light pounding of his own heart. There’s a part of Jared that wants very badly to lean in, catch the Jackal’s mouth with his own. But they’re past that now, aren’t they? And even if they aren’t, this isn’t the time or the place.

Still, the whole thing is so strange. Jared hasn’t seen him in a relaxed situation like this since the first time they’d met. It’s incredibly weird, almost surreal, the memory of Miami so close. 

They’re sitting here together, if not comfortably, then at least familiarly. He doesn’t know the Jackal well at all, but he’s spent more time with him at this point than he has with some of his acquaintances. It occurs to him then that he’s shared more emotionally visceral moments with the Jackal than any of his closest friends. Even more than any of his lovers. 

The light breeze off the water toys with his hair, and he brushes it back from his face, tearing his gaze away and re-ordering his thoughts. Just because they’ve had an incredibly dramatic relationship doesn’t mean there’s anything more to it. 

They sit there in silence for a few moments, and then Jared affects slight vulnerability as he asks, “So, I guess we’re on the same side now?”

“Ostensibly,” the Jackal replies.

It’s so accurate that Jared has to laugh—a real laugh, surprised and pulled from deep within his chest.

“You’re really just here to test security, aren’t you,” Jared remarks. It isn’t a question. The Jackal did it under the guise of being casual, but it’s as calculated as anything else the man has done. 

The Jackal lifts his hands and spreads them wide. “You got me.”

“Wow,” Jared says, deadpan and sarcastic. “Did you really just tell the truth about something without me having to pry one of your teeth out?”

“Day two of being honest,” the Jackal says, with an air of mock grandiosity.

“Honest?” Jared scoffs. “Is that what we’re being?” 

“Don’t ruin it,” the Jackal chides him. “We were almost having a moment.”

Jared huffs out a rough laugh and then ignores the sarcasm. “You told me about the Bootstrap paradox. You told me your theory about watershed moments. But you still haven’t told me anything about you. You’ve given me confusing bits and pieces of your story, but not enough information to put it all together.”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” the Jackal tells him.

“Try me,” Jared says, settling into the sand.

The wind rustles through the dry beach grass behind them, and then the Jackal says, “You want to know about Danneel.”

The Jackal cranes his neck, looking at Jared from behind his dark sunglasses, and Jared simply nods.

“What do you know?” the Jackal asks.

Jared considers him for a moment, caught off guard, and then he begins to speak. “That she was an SR0 agent. That she was a master infiltrator, manipulator and spy. That she had infiltrated the Triad, and she died during that mission. That SR0 erased her for some reason, internally. That you waited three months after her death to leave SR0.” He pauses, then adds, “That her death is probably why you hate the Triad.”

He hesitates even longer before he goes on. He probably shouldn’t tell the Jackal this—he doesn’t even believe it, himself—but he can’t see the downside, and he wants to watch the other man’s reaction when he says, “Chad seems to think she was assassinated by SR0.”

The Jackal is as still as a statue, giving nothing away. Jared wishes he could see his eyes, but the Jackal looks back out at the water, its waves deep blue, foam turning purple as twilight fades. 

“You’ve found out more than I thought you would,” the Jackal says.

His voice is completely level, totally even, and except for the vaguest implication he’s impressed, Jared can’t read any sense of emotion from him.

Jared lets the sting of the backhanded compliment roll off him. “Still not enough.”

“Well, keep at it,” the Jackal says, encouraging. “When you finally figure me all out, then you can try to kill me and be done with it.” The Jackal swivels his head to meet Jared’s gaze. “Or is that not still the plan?” he asks, casual.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jared offers. “If we work together.”

The Jackal bursts out with a rough laugh and then shakes his head. “Now who isn’t being honest?” 

Jared ignores that, going straight to the heart of what the Jackal is saying—this whole interaction. “If you’re not being honest, and you think I’m not being honest, I don’t know how we’re going to work together.”

“That is the dilemma,” the Jackal agrees, mock-sagely.

It’s a mocking, wise tone, but Jared senses something in it. Something he needs to press further into.

“It’s a dilemma we need to solve,” Jared says.

The Jackal doesn’t address that, saying, “You’re interestingly calm for someone whose best friend thinks SR0 assassinated one of its own.” 

Jared’s only thrown by the change in subject for a split second.“‘ Thinks ’ being the key word,” Jared replies. “It’s not definitive.”

The Jackal reaches up, lifting the sunglasses from his face, resting them atop his head. He turns his head to look at Jared then, the green of his eyes scarcely visible beneath the darkening, moonless sky.

“You don’t believe your best friend. Not without proof. You won’t believe anything I tell you.”

If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.

“You won’t believe anything you don’t see for yourself,” the Jackal seems to conclude.

“ That’s why you won’t tell me about your past?” Jared asks, letting his skepticism show in his tone. “And here I thought it was because you don’t trust me,” he adds, wry.

“Don’t take it personally,” the Jackal says, glib, corner of his mouth tugging upward. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“That must suck,” Jared says.

“Not as much as being betrayed,” the Jackal tells him with an ironic smirk.

Betrayal is something Jared has experienced on a deep level in recent weeks. This is something Jared could relate to the Jackal about. Except that the Jackal was responsible for more than one of those instances. Still, if he can get the Jackal to open up about it…

“Is that what happened?” Jared asks, lowering his voice. “Someone betrayed you?”

The Jackal looks away, back to where dark waves are rolling against the sand, seeming to weigh the question. Pale light barely illuminates his profile, cast by the fluorescents above a distant dock.

“Why is my past so important to you?” the Jackal asks after a moment.

The answer to that is simple, truthful. “Because I want to understand what happened.”

“‘There but for the grace of god go I’?” the Jackal asks, seeming darkly amused. 

“What does that mean?” Jared asks, although he has a fair idea.

“It means you think if it could happen to me, it could happen to you. You could be me. If circumstances were different.”

Jared bristles at the very idea; the Jackal isn’t entirely wrong, which only makes him feel more defensive. But more important than that, this is an opportunity to show vulnerability, to provide an opening… but it’s also verging on the truth.

“I had a moment not that long ago where that almost was me,” Jared admits.

“And yet, somehow, you pulled through,” the Jackal responds, wry.

One of the most emotional struggles of Jared’s life; dismissed. Jared wrestles with that for an instant, and knows he needs to let it go. At least for now.

The Jackal gets to his feet then, brushing sand from himself. So casual, so coolly collected.

He can’t just let him go. Jared rises from the ground, taking a step closer to the Jackal. “I told you the truth.”

The Jackal considers him in the faint, pale light of the moon, head cocking to one side, eyes colorless in the night.

“Here’s a truth for you, Jared,” the Jackal says, voice pitched low as he steps closer. “The important people at SR0 already know all about my past. Now, they want to know my plan. They want to know what I know about the Bootstrap paradox. But my past?” the Jackal says, a gleam in his eye as he considers Jared. “You’re the only one involved in this mission who doesn’t know.”

The Jackal leans forward, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why do you think that is?” 

A moment later, he’s gone, leaving behind the smell of ozone and almonds on the gentle night breeze.

* * * * *

Jared stands there for a few minutes after the Jackal disappears, the sky above him fully dark and filled with stars. 

“But my past?” the Jackal says. “You’re the only one involved in this mission who doesn’t know.”

The Jackal is playing with half truths and Jared’s head, and Jared knows better than to let him in. There are people who know about the Jackal’s past. The Director knows. Sheppard might know. Dr. Berry definitely knows.

But Stephen? Does Stephen know? Stephen… his handler… that’s the most insidious implication; the one Jared can’t quite shake. 

He remembers, distinctly, what Stephen had said to him when Jared had accused him of knowing more about the Jackal than he was letting on.

“There are some things above your security level. But even those records are incomplete. He’s a former agent of SR0 who went rogue and became a terrorist; his personal records were classified to Director level and above a long time ago.”

Implying that he didn’t know that much more than Jared.

What had Stephen said when Jared first told him the Jackal mentioned Danneel’s name?

“That’s an odd name. Who do you think they are?”

And then…

“You think this Danneel Harris was part of SR0?”

And then he’d said he’d look into it. He hadn’t told Jared it was above Jared’s security level, which Jared had assumed meant Stephen didn’t know. But there is something odd about the fact that he’d only asked Jared questions, and only two questions at that. He hadn’t seemed to be surprised that the Jackal had shared Danneel’s name, or to reflect on it, or speculate on it at all.

Jared knows that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. In fact, he hadn’t taken it to mean anything at the time. And knowing what he knows now, Danneel had probably been erased from the SR0 database before Stephen had joined as a field agent, so Stephen likely never even saw those files.

But that doesn’t mean Stephen doesn’t know.

Does Stephen know about the Jackal’s past? Jared doesn’t think so, but he has the slightest sliver of doubt. The barest seed that the Jackal has planted.

You can’t let him get inside your head. He’s fucking with you. That’s what he does.

Jared takes a breath and resolves himself. He can’t go down this road again. He has to trust in Stephen, trust in SR0. A lot has happened since he’d mentioned Danneel to Stephen for the first time, and he’d never followed up with Stephen about it. Stephen also hadn’t come to him with any updates.

Jared should probably ask Stephen about it, but he can’t let himself get caught up in his own head over it.

Waves roll in, crashing against the beach in gentle rhythm, and Jared stands there watching the moon rise over the lagoon, pale light dancing on dark water. When the scent of burning almonds has been carried off completely by the gentle breeze, he turns and heads for the bungalow.

February 16, 1988

Ector County Coliseum roars with music, lights flashing over the stage in hues of red, purple and blue. Drums thunder and guitars ring out like they’re playing an anthem, the singer belting out the words;

“On a countdown to zero
Take a ride on the nightmare machine
There ain't gonna be heroes
Whoa, there ain't gonna be anything
No”

Jensen sees her before she sees him, her blonde wig styled in shoulder length ringlets, black leather miniskirt with white frothy frills ending mid thigh, and a black leather jacket, her white top lacy at edges and dipping low between her breasts. Ripped black pantyhose, too much jewelry and short black suede boots, and her makeup reminds him of Madonna a little, except Madonna is a brunette right now.

Her eyes are bright blue-green, colored contacts doing nothing to hide the mischievous gleam behind them as she sights him.

He's standing in an entryway to the seats of the concert, watching her walk up the stairs with a slow sway of her hips.

“You got here early—this time,” he remarks. The music is loud beyond them, but quieter here, enough that they can talk without raising their voices much.

“Gods of War was our cue to meet,” she says as she moves up in front of him. “I'm here.”

She gives him a once over, taking in his black leather jacket, black Def Leppard Hysteria t-shirt and black jeans tight to the knees, falling over his motorcycle boots.

“How do you decide which shade of black to wear when you wake up in the morning?” she asks, arching a black painted eyebrow at him.

“What do you have for me?” he asks, ignoring her sarcasm.

She steps up to him, so close he can smell the musk of her perfume, the scent of her skin beneath. She grins at him through crimson lips, hooking two of her fingers into his front jeans pocket and tugging him closer. He can feel her push something into his pocket even as she smiles up at him.

“The latest update,” she says.

“Did you find out what we wanted to know?” Jensen asks, voice hushed as he leans into the nearness of her, playing his part as a couple standing at the threshold, flirting.

She glances down, away, and then back to him.

“It's been tough,” she admits, and he wonders what it costs her. “He's distracted.”

She's been nothing but exemplary in delivering information to him. But she's in deep, and she clearly hasn't pushed hard enough to get the information he wants.

“Are you getting attached?” he asks.

“Are you ?” she counters as she draws back, black-lined blue-green eyes casting him with a withering look.

He takes her by the elbows, fingers cupping them gently as he pulls her back in. “We both have our missions,” he says. “I have to make sure you're taking care of yours.”

“I am,” she tells him, shaking off his touch, though she doesn't move away from him, doesn't destroy the illusion they're creating. “And I’m not getting attached."

She reaches up, then, fingertips sliding along his jaw, red lips moving within millimeters of his. He can feel the heat of her, scent of musky perfume filling the air. “Should we kiss to finish out this charade?” she asks with a grin.

She's baiting him; she doesn't really want to kiss him, and they both know it.

“Thanks,” Jensen responds, acerbic. “But I've got somewhere to be.”

“Of course you do,” she says, drawing back with a smirk. “Well then,” she says, tone light as her fingers smooth the lapels of his leather jacket. “I’ve got a show to finish watching.” She holds his gaze a moment more and then turns, walking back towards the stairs.

Her hips sway with a deliberate roll back and forth as she walks away, and Jensen pulls his eyes quickly from the sight, focusing on the blond curls of her wig instead. He watches until after she’s back down the stairs, waiting until she makes her way down an aisle to her seat. 

She'd turned up the sexual tension in an attempt to deflect anything else. It’s a standard tactic, one he has employed to great effect on many occasions. It doesn’t surprise him, coming from her, but this felt different.

He tears his mind from the moment; he does have somewhere to be.

On stage, lights spin in hues of green, blue and yellow, guitar more melodic now as Joe Elliot begins to sing.

“A wild ride, over stony ground
Such a lust for life, the circus comes to town
We are the hungry ones, on a lightning raid
Just like a river runs, like a fire needs flame
Oh, I burn for you”

Jensen turns and walks towards an exit from the coliseum. 

Outside, he walks to where he’d stashed his pack, changing his clothing between a stone wall and a wall of tall bushes. The distant sound of Def Leppard in concert cuts off as he jumps through time. 

* * * * *

August 22, 2016

The world solidifies around him and he’s standing inside a bathroom stall, twenty-eight years in the future, halfway around the world. He’d scoped out this location and time the last time he’d been here, and right on cue, the bathroom door shuts as his past self leaves the bathroom.

A different kind of music thumps from the club beyond the door, echoing within the hollow walls. He waits, taking deep, slow breaths as he prepares himself mentally, his senses hyper focusing on the present, pushing all other thoughts aside. The risk of time burn is negligible since he’s only overlapping his last visit here by a few minutes. Still, he waits two full minutes, watching the second hand on his watch tick until he’s sure his past self is gone, and then he opens the pale blue metal door.

The whole room is done in pale blue wall tile, the floor tiled in tiny squares of white, a row of rectangular mirrors hung above neatly spaced sinks set into one, long white countertop.

He steps up to one of the mirrors, assessing himself. He’s dressed in clothing appropriate for a club in 2016—thanks to retro concert shirts becoming a staple of fashion—his gun sheathed in a shoulder holster beneath a thin black jean jacket, Atta sheathed in a holder of its own around his waist. He does need to change his hair, though. He steps up to the sink, turning on the faucet and running his fingers beneath the stream.

He changes his part to the side and runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back from his face slightly, and then turns off the faucet. He glances down at his watch and notes that he has one minute and thirty-six seconds before he needs to take up position by the door.

A twinge of unease passes through him, unbidden, and he turns, taking a quick restock of his surroundings. The stalls are open and empty, the ceiling tiles stained in spots but firmly in place, and he pushes back against his instincts. His mission tonight is too important to let anything distract him. He has one chance at this; he can’t let the pressure throw him off.

There’s a low, rustling sound from behind him, like the crinkling of cellophane. He turns, seeing nothing, but the twinge of unease inside him becomes a ripple, spreading like dread from the pit of his stomach. 

He looks down at his watch. Forty-three seconds.

Every instinct is screaming inside him to leave, to pull the trigger on his Atta and come back another time.

But time, unfortunately, is something he doesn’t have.

He looks up at himself, eyes drawn to his reflection without knowing why, and he hears it in the second before he can see it.

A low dull roar of sound that rises like a wave, and in the mirror, his image jitters like a reel of film struggling to catch—and then it does catch, stilling for an instant like a freeze frame. His clothing rises in the air, edges fluttering, as if from wind, but it’s heat that’s rising all around him, and the dread in his stomach pops like a fetid bubble, sending sick, black despair and adrenaline coursing through him. 

The roar of sound is nearly deafening, now, and he isn’t afraid for his life—he’s never been afraid for his own life—although he should be. Despair is pushed aside with anger and he screams in rage, a sudden, searing rush of heat tearing the sound from his mouth.

Sound explodes with a crackling pop, and everything freezes, a brown circle forming in the corner of the mirror, dull and bubbling like a cigarette burn.

Time begins to burn all around him, ozone and almonds and the bright, vibrant scent of fire. 

He’s incensed, enraged, burning inside as hot as the fire around him. This shouldn’t be happening. He’d calculated everything perfectly. This isn’t right. It shouldn’t be—

Smoke and ash float on the air, flames licking up all around him, catching fire at the edges of his clothes. It crawls closer, higher, eager to consume him, like the incendiary fingers of a lover.

“Oh, I burn for you,” Joe Elliot sings in his mind.

So close. So close and this is the last—

He closes his eyes, breathes deeply of fire and ash. And then his fingers find the Atta at his side.

He pulls the trigger.

Chapter Text

Present Day

Time is coming, closing in, everything around him burning, bright fire snapping and crackling, flaming teeth reaching for him with hungry jowls that singe him as he hurtles away, trying to outrun it.

The span of a lifetime or a few breaths—it feels like both—and he’s back in the present, fire left behind. Everything is cool and calm, room serene with blue light that glows from the consoles and the monitors, the steady hum of machinery.

It feels at odds with everything inside him. Inside, he’s still on fire, heart thundering, mind a red, roiling cloud.

He flips open his Atta, fingers quickly punching in a date, time and coordinates. He flips it shut, closes his eyes, and pulls the trigger.

The Atta whirs with a low electrical hum, but nothing happens.

He grits his teeth together, opening the Atta again, and rechecks the data. Not finding any errors, he changes the date, time and coordinates and tries again.

Nothing.

“Fuck.” He bites off the word, bitter and quick, outside edge of his fist coming down against the console table. The monitors jiggle and flicker, a single computer mouse bouncing momentarily into the air, and a cup filled with pens and various small tools falls over, spilling its contents noisily across the table and all over the floor.

The overhead lights flip on a moment later, fluorescents too bright for an instant. The room is flooded with cold, harsh, white light, and that feels more right than the soothing, blue-lit darkness, but he doesn’t want to be seen right now.

“Jensen?” Sterling’s voice is laced with concern.

Jensen doesn’t answer; walks straight to the cabinet off to one side, where he knows the older man keeps his alcohol.

“Damn. That kind of trip?” Sterling asks as Jensen pulls out the bottle of Glendronach 18.

Jensen grabs two lowball glasses between his fingers and walks to the table in front of the consoles. He opens the bottle, and with a steady hand and pours it a quarter of the way full, trading the bottle for the glass itself. He tosses it back, liquor burning like the fire that had tried to consume him moments ago. He takes a moment, takes a breath, pours another quarter glass full and tosses that one back, too.

He’s about to pour a third when Sterling’s fingers curl around his wrist, stopping him.

“I figure,” Sterling says, trying to catch Jensen’s eye, “if you’re tossing back my expensive scotch like a college student taking shots on Friday night, you should at least tell me why.”

Jensen knows Sterling can see that Jensen’s clothing is burned at the edges, that there’s soot on his skin and probably ash in his hair. Sterling knows where Jensen was, and one look at Jensen tells the older man what the likely outcome of the mission was. But Sterling doesn’t know the full truth.

Jensen stands there, impassive for a moment, and then he nods once. He stares at the bottle as he explains in the briefest, most concise of sentences, no emotion behind the words. His hand wants to shake, wrist still caught in the other man’s grasp, but he forces himself not to move, to give no indication.

He can feel the weight of Sterling’s eyes on him, but he refuses to meet the other man’s gaze. Finally, Sterling lets go of him, heaving out a deep sigh.

“Well, shit,” Sterling says. He pulls out a chair and sits down, and then picks up the bottle, proceeding to pour them both a glass of scotch.

“Tell you what,” Sterling goes on. “We’re going to drink these— slowly —and then you’re going to get cleaned up, dressed up, and I’m going to take you somewhere nice and quiet, where they’ve got even better scotch.”

Sterling pushes the refilled glass towards Jensen, and he reaches for it.

Elsewhere

Jared rubs a towel over his wet hair, and then brushes it out, running his fingers through it once for good measure. He tugs a second towel from his waist and then steps into a pair of soft pajama pants, thin t-shirt pulled on afterward. He heads back to the bathroom, giving his hair a glance before he hangs up both towels to dry.

Sweat from his run and sand from the beach showered away, he dims the interior lights and pours himself a drink. A few minutes later he sits down in one of the well-cushioned chairs, turning on the tv.

Some time later, he finds himself staring through the balcony doors, out at the deck. The moon is beginning its climb, the night sky still clear enough to see the individual stars shine. On screen, the movie still rolls on, and Jared pulls his attention back to it. The movie feels like it’s nearing the end, and Jared hasn’t really been following it anyway. He sits forward, heaves out a sigh, and turns off the tv. Then he picks up his glass and stands up to go pour himself another drink before bed.

He eyes his laptop, considering it for a moment before he picks it up with his free hand, carrying his glass and the computer to the kitchen. He sits the laptop down on the kitchen island, flips it open and tells it to call Stephen, and then begins to drop ice into his glass.

Stephen answers from his phone rather than his tablet or laptop, blue eyes squinting with concern as his image appears on the screen.

“Is everything okay, Jared?” Stephen asks, looking at Jared with mild concern.

Jared quickly skims the background behind Stephen, ascertaining that Stephen’s in his quarters.

“Everything’s fine,” Jared replies. “I just wanted to check in before bed.”

“If you want to check in, that means something’s going on,” Stephen says, seeming to relax a fraction as he realizes Jared is calm and safe. “Not that I’m not glad you called,” Stephen adds, and smiles slightly.

Jared smiles back, the curve of his mouth feeling fake. “I ran into the Jackal on the beach tonight.”

“You’re okay?” Stephen asks.

“I’m fine,” Jared tells him. “But the whole thing was weird.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, really. I’ll give a full explanation in my written report. But he mentioned…” Jared trails off, thinking. And then he just asks, “Did you ever find out anything about Danneel Harris?”

“No,” Stephen responds with a brief shake of his head. “If I had, I would have told you.”

There’s the tiniest part of Jared that isn’t sure if he believes that. He does his best to squish it and shove it aside, nodding at Stephen. “I figured as much.”

“Or at least,” Stephen adds, “I would have told you it was above your security level.”

Jared nods again. He hasn’t told Stephen everything he and Chad had found out about Danneel—he can’t, for his and Chad’s sakes—and he feels guilty about it. Asking Stephen for more information when he has information of his own doesn’t sit well with him, but he had to at least ask.

“What did he mention about Danneel?” Stephen asks.

“He asked me what I’d found out about her,” Jared says. “And obviously I haven’t found out anything new,” he goes on, and it’s not quite a lie—he hasn’t found out anything definitive that’s new, anyway. “So I thought I’d ask you while I was thinking about it,” Jared finishes. He shrugs then, pretending ambivalence. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll fill you in on all the rest in my report.”

Stephen nods. “Sounds good.” And then, “Anything else?”

“No,” Jared replies. “It’s late. I’ll let you get to bed.”

“Good night,” Stephen says.

“Good night.”

* * * * *

An hour later, Jared sits, sipping his third drink, another movie rolling on the screen. He’d meant to have his second drink as a night cap before bed, but he feels restless, strangely unsatisfied in some way. Almost like he’s waiting for something.

His eyes are drawn to the balcony doors again for perhaps the millionth time tonight. If he’s honest, he knows what he’s waiting for; what he doesn’t understand is why. The Jackal isn’t likely to come back tonight, and even if he was, it doesn’t matter that much in the grand scheme of things. Tonight, tomorrow night, three nights from now, it probably won’t change much.

The credits roll on the movie and he drains his glass, setting it down on a coaster on the coffee table. He reaches for the remote and flips off the tv as he rises from the chair. A moment later, he turns off the lights with another remote, and then stretches in the moonlit filled room, back arching, arms reaching for the ceiling.

He’s about to turn the corner into the short, darkened hallway when he hears something—just the slightest of sounds. He stops, turns around, and sees the silhouette of a figure standing on the deck.

Jared pads across the floor on silent, bare feet, sliding the deck door open.

The Jackal’s back is turned to him, hands spread wide before him across the railing, gentle breeze ruffling his hair and rippling the edges of his suit jacket. The moon is bright in the cloudless sky above the water, illuminating him with cool, white light that almost seems to cling to the curves of his broad shoulders.

There’s a feeling to the night, a delicateness to the hushed silence that falls all around save the water lapping against the supports.

Jared stands there for a few long seconds, admiring the scenery, and then he draws a breath to speak. “Bang. You’re dead.”

The words are quiet, no weight to them, and the Jackal tips his head backward slightly. Jared can imagine the smirk curving the Jackal’s mouth as easily as if he can see it.

“I’m not.” The Jackal’s voice is as low as Jared’s. “But she is.”

Jared frowns lightly, confused. “Danneel?”

“Her timeline is sealed,” the Jackal says.

The finality in his words hits Jared somewhere deep; deeper than he’d thought the Jackal could touch him. His mind spins, going over everything he’s learned in the past few weeks, pieces falling together with sudden clarity—and god, it’s so fucking obvious.

“You tried to save her, didn’t you?” Jared asks, voice soft, realizing the words as he says them aloud. “All this time, you’ve been trying to save her.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” the Jackal says, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “It’s done. This is just history repeating.”

Jared doesn’t understand, feels caught off guard. There’s something different in the Jackal tonight, something raw.

“You wouldn’t kill me, Jared.” The Jackal turns in place, spreading his hands wide again as he faces Jared, palms flat against the rail. That maddening, delightful smirk is etched into his face as deeply as Jared had imagined a moment ago, and the moonlight seems to caress his features like a lover, rendering him pale and somehow almost unearthly.

“Not yet, anyway,” he adds, his voice still low. “You have to unravel the mystery, first, don’t you?”

For a moment, Jared wants to argue, but the fact that he hadn’t even thought to go for his gun doesn’t give him much credence.

The Jackal pushes from the rail with a smooth movement, walking forward with slow steps as he speaks. “You want to get in nice and close, don’t you? Get me to open up, tell you everything.”

He’s close now, his face inches from Jared’s, his voice so low it’s nearly a whisper, those green eyes burning bright in the night. “And just when I trust you,” he says, edging a fraction closer, the heat of his breath ghosting over Jared’s cheek, “just when I think...” he leans in close, his cheek brushing against Jared’s, whispering directly into Jared’s ear, “I can finally confide in you…” seductive heat, lips brushing against Jared’s earlobe, so close, so intimate, “that’s when you’ll bring the hammer down.” Heavy pause, and Jared can hear the blood roaring through his veins. “That’s when you’ll bring justice for SR0,” the Jackal whispers. “For the whole country.”

The Jackal pulls back slowly, just far enough that he can look Jared directly in the eye, mere millimeters between their mouths. “The golden boy,” he breathes, glancing down at Jared’s mouth. “The hero.” Eyes flicking up, locking on Jared’s, burning, smoldering. ”The patriot.”

The Jackal grabs him by the shirt, wrapping it around his fist with two quick turns of his wrist.

“Does it get you hard, Jared?” he demands in a breathless whisper. “The idea of killing me?”  

There’s alcohol on his breath, Jared knows. He also knows he doesn’t care, caught up in the moment, everything inside him straining, wanting to close the last few millimeters between their lips. The fact that he can use this to his advantage is something he’s only dimly aware of, the barest of justifications. And if he lied, the Jackal would know it. And the truth is… the truth is...

“No. The idea of you gets me hard,” Jared confesses. “And you know it.”

The Jackal’s eyes flicker back and forth between Jared’s and Jared seizes the moment, lunging to kiss him, teeth catching that plush lower lip between, tongue swirling behind, parting his lips and pushing inside.

The Jackal goes completely still for an instant, and then he pulls Jared close, wrapping his free arm around Jared’s shoulders, crushing the hand still wrapped in Jared's shirt between them. Mouth opening hungrily and he strikes like lightning, surging into the kiss with the force of his whole body behind it. His hand pulls free from between them, winding up high into Jared’s hair, yanking him down, tongues twisting, the two of them locked together like two birds of prey in a deathgrip, spiralling towards the ground.

Delicious desperation and anger, so rough it’s almost violent, and Jared’s hands fall to the Jackal’s hips, pulling him closer, muffled groan of pleasure at the feel of him so close. Hard length of his cock pressed against Jared’s through their clothes, so hot, taste of him bittersweet with whiskey, burning up in his arms like the blood in his veins. He bites at Jared’s lower lip, hand in Jared’s hair yanking his head backward, and he could snap Jared’s neck if he wanted, but he doesn’t, teeth closing, tongue licking down in his pulse, so close to where he’s most vulnerable, making him crazy.

All of his training, everything he should know better than, is gone, wiped out of existence.

“Fuck,” Jared breathes. “You feel so—”

The Jackal lunges with a brutal kiss that steals the breath from Jared’s chest. Jared’s back slams into the wall next to the open glass door and the Jackal slams into him just as hard, driving all the air from his lungs, hot, hard body molded against him like a glove. Mouth molten hot and savage against Jared’s, wild like the thundering of Jared’s heart. Their hands are everywhere, ripping and tearing at each other, Jared yanking the Jackal’s tuxedo shirt up his back, and fuck, he feels so good, bare hot skin under Jared’s hands, nails raking trails up his spine.

The Jackal grabs him by the shoulders and jerks him away from the wall, spinning them around and dragging Jared through the open door. They careen through the living room, nearly stumbling down the hallway, mouths locked together as they tear at each other's clothes. 

The Jackal gets both fists in Jared’s shirt, spinning him around again, back hitting the wall between the curtained windows, and then the Jackal is on him instantly, ripping Jared’s shirt upward by the hem. Jared lifts his arms, lets the Jackal strip him out of it, and then the Jackal slams into him again, pushing all the breath from him in a rush. 

The Jackal’s green eyes spark with gold fire in the darkness as he stares into Jared’s eyes for an instant, his bare chest pressed to Jared’s, heaving with quick breaths. He’s gorgeous, half colored by the moonlight, half lost to shadow, and even if Jared weren’t crushed between him and the wall, the Jackal would still take his breath away; a barely contained force of nature, hurricane straining at the seams of his skin—beautiful, wondrous, deadly.

Their eyes only meet for the span of two seconds, for barely the space of a breath, and Jared feels it to his bones—to the depths of his soul. 

And then they crash into each other again, Jared’s hands sliding up into the Jackal’s hair, gripping hard as Jared pushes from the wall, their mouths sealed together, and the Jackal pulls him in deep, tongues clashing, twisting, twining.

The Jackal’s hands climb up to grab Jared by the wrists, pulling his hands free of the Jackal’s hair, and he tugs Jared from the wall, turns them around. An instant later, Jared’s back hits the bed, weight of the Jackal falling on top of him. 

Chest to chest, bare skin to bare skin and it’s electric, firing through every nerve. Mouths a wet, hot smear and the Jackal drags away from the kiss, biting at the line of Jared’s jaw, nipping at his collarbone. Thumbs hooked into the waistline of Jared’s pajama pants and the Jackal glides down Jared’s body like a snake, skin sliding against Jared’s as he yanks them free. 

Hands slide back up his thighs, fingers hooking around, behind Jared’s knees, pushing up his legs, spreading him open, other hand reaching for the drawer of the night stand.

He pulls out the lube, cap flicked open, and then Jared is rutting, shoving himself against the Jackal’s fingers, taking two of them inside with a sharp, inward hiss of breath, exhaling with a shuddering moan. His hips jitter as the Jackal crooks his fingers, tips driving deep to brush his prostate, and Jared’s head snaps backward with a guttural groan of pleasure. And fuck, he knew it would be good, but he didn’t know it would be this good, the Jackal working his fingers inside Jared, tongue dragging against the base of his cock.

“God— fuck— that feels— amazing.” Jared bites out the words, gasping and moaning between the syllables. 

“You’ve been waiting for this so long, Jared,” the Jackal whispers, biting at the inner crease of Jared’s thigh. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

The Jackal curls his fingers inside Jared with a wicked twist and Jared chokes on his retort, eyes flying wide, fingers squeezing into fists against the bed cover.

The Jackal’s mouth, so close to where Jared’s rock hard and aching with need, fingers inside him working him into a frenzy, winding him tighter, higher. He’s so vulnerable—god he couldn’t be more vulnerable right now. The Jackal could kill him ninety-eight different ways with his bare hands and that just makes it hotter , Jared grinding and twisting his hips against the Jackal’s fingers, gasping for more. The Jackal pushes a third finger inside Jared, tongue flickering out to touch the center vein of his cock, and Jared almost comes then and there, whole body seizing and clenching down.

The Jackal stops, pulling his fingers free of Jared’s body, turning his cheek against Jared’s inner thigh, teeth sinking deep into the sensitive flesh for an instant. Another moment, a few movements, and then the Jackal is sliding up his body, completely naked. 

Jared is shaking, feels like he’s going to explode.

“God, just fuck me,” Jared breathes, hands running down to the Jackal’s waist, hips tilting upward, wanting, needing. 

The Jackal reaches for the drawer again, condom torn open, rolled down the length of his cock, fist brushing against Jared’s inner thigh as he slicks himself up, and Jared sucks in a breath at the sensation, the reality of it hitting him all at once. 

He’s about to get fucked by the motherfucking Jackal . A terrorist. An Enemy of the State. A man who’s drunk and emotionally fucked up and probably just needs to feel anything right now. Everything about this is wrong , and yet the delicious tangle in his guts telling him he’s about to get the fuck of his life feels so very motherfucking right.

Their mouths smash into each other, colliding with brutal force, and the Jackal grips him by the shoulders, nails digging deep into skin. Jared wraps his legs around the Jackal’s waist, driving up into the kiss, both of them kissing like they’re going to starve if they don’t devour each other, and then the Jackal yanks away, pulls back barely enough to look at Jared.

There’s insatiable hunger in the golden flecks of his eyes, his pupils blown wide, lips kiss-reddened. 

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” the Jackal asks.

Jared wants this. God, he wants it. Maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything. 

He looks into those burning eyes and nods.

“Don’t pretend,” Jared breathes out hard, nails digging into the skin of the Jackal’s shoulder blades, “this isn’t what you want, too.”

The Jackal lifts his hips, slick head of his cock teasing just at the edge of Jared’s hole. 

“Say my name,” the Jackal demands, eyes heavy-lidded, filled with want as he stares into Jared. “My real name.”

Breath caught in his chest, and Jared feels pinned by that scorching gaze, laid wide open by it. He feels like he’s free-falling, blood catching fire as he hurtles towards the ground, arms opening wide to embrace it.

“Jensen,” Jared breathes.

The Jackal’s eyes darken, heat in them like a supernova, consuming Jared.

The Jackal gathers Jared in his arms, crushing Jared close as he thrusts inside him. Quick, hard shove to the bottom, and Jared hisses in a breath with how good it feels. Every nerve vibrating, muscles locked tight, and fuck the way he feels … so incredibly full, the feel of the Jackal all around him, heat and skin and desperate want. Whatever had passed between them a moment ago is gone, lost in the feel of skin on skin as the Jackal begins to move inside him.

Body like a living weapon and he uses it expertly against Jared, fucking into him so hard and deep he can scarcely catch his breath. Jared cries out, spine arching, trying to take him deeper, and god, fuck, the evil twist of those hips, thrusting up to hit Jared’s prostate, eyes rolling back in his head as he momentarily whites out with overwhelming pleasure.

“So hard… and hot for me…” the Jackal breathes out between thrusts of his hips. Hot breath against Jared’s ear, his voice a dangerous, sinuous drawl. “Hard because… you know …“ hand tangling in his hair, twisting hard, “I could kill you… right now…” He punctuates the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, cock slamming so deep inside Jared that it drives all the breath from his lungs, fingers clawing at the Jackal’s skin.

It’s incredibly fucking hot, so hot that Jared can’t even form words, moaning, his hips bucking up from the bed.

“I could kill you… any … time … I wanted… Jared.” Jared can feel the wicked curve of the Jackal’s smile against his ear.

Jared turns his head, biting against the line of the Jackal’s jaw. “But you’re fucking me… instead,” he breathes. 

The Jackal bites Jared’s cheek, shoving into him with a savage thrust. “And I’m just getting started,” he promises, voice dark silk drenched in sin.

The Jackal grips him by the hip, thumb pressing into the hollow with bruising pressure, and Jared moans again, pushes back into the sensation, wants to feel it deeper. The Jackal swallows Jared’s moan with a low, predatory growl that sends sparks spiraling through Jared, and fuck, the Jackal feels incredible, devouring Jared as he plows into him, hips picking up speed, rushing to fill him, again and again.

The Jackal’s mouth drags up the line of his pulse, cock drilling into him, and Jared throws back his head, exposes his throat. The Jackal hums a sound like approval against his ear and Jared feels his dick twitch in response, eyes half-closed as he arches his spine, body jolting against the bed, and he wants to see the Jackal’s face but Jesus Christ the Jackal is fucking him so goddamned hard—

The Jackal fucks him with sharp, staccato rhythm, hips angling upward to hit Jared’s prostate with every thrust. Sweet, bright, bursts of pleasure wracking him, calves climbing higher up the Jackal’s back, hips tilting upward, trying to take him even deeper. 

“You feel… so fucking… good,” Jared gasps out between thrusts.

Every single inch of him is so perfect against Jared’s body, owning him inside and out until he can’t tell up from down, nails biting into skin, hips thrusting upward from the bed, and he’s close, fuck, he’s so close, he just needs—

“Please,” he gasps into the Jackal’s mouth. He’s asked the Jackal so many questions, but he’s never once said ‘please’; never once begged . 

“Please,” he breathes again, begging. “Please… Jensen.”

The Jackal twists his hips and thrusts deep, reaching down between them, fist closing around Jared’s dick and tugging up the length, squeezing deliciously just below the crown, thumb flicking across the slit as he pushes just a little bit deeper.

Jared’s whole body shakes, squeezes and locks down, cock spurting and slicking the space between them. The Jackal’s fist goes slippery around his dick, and oh fuck, fuck , it feels glorious, making him come even harder. The Jackal drives into him mercilessly, hand wrapped around the side of his throat, thumb pressed against his pulse, and god, the ways the Jackal could destroy him, completely fucking end him right now—

“God,” the Jackal gasps, biting off the word. “You feel…”

Jared doesn’t reply—can’t reply—body convulsing on the end of the Jackal’s cock, squeezing and fluttering, cock pulsing pearly spurts of come that slick his stomach, barely holding on as his orgasm wrecks him. Body flexing, contracting and releasing with violent waves of pleasure, and he feels the Jackal suddenly stiffen in his embrace, feels the other man’s cock swell and pulse inside him, Jared’s hips rising to meet him.

Locked together in a death grip, mouths a molten tangle, fucking into each other as they come, and Jared feels his brain go sideways and give up, riding out the rush.

The Jackal keeps going, one hand gripping Jared’s shoulder, the other still wrapped around his dick, pounding into Jared with mindless, almost vicious rhythm, demanding every last trace of pleasure from Jared, slick fist squeezing him like a vise, milking him dry. Finally he falters, hips staggering, stuttering, pushing deep and hitting hard, arching upward to hit the sweet spot inside Jared like an explosion straight to Jared’s brain, his cock pulsing uselessly, emptily, one last time.

Jared goes boneless against the bed, the Jackal falling against him with almost dead weight, hips stilled at last. 

They lie there, still tangled together, the Jackal’s head resting in the crook of Jared’s neck, both of them breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other, sweat standing out on their skin. Aftershocks rock their bodies, the Jackal still inside him, and Jared comes down slowly, still shivering and jolting with spikes of pleasure.

Jared is gloriously satisfied, completely fucked out, his brain still struggling to catch up and comprehend the reality of what just happened. 

The Jackal reaches down between them, fingers closing around the base of his own cock before he pulls out of Jared. He lifts his head, then, looking down at Jared, mouth a fraction of an inch from Jared’s. Alcohol on his breath, blending into the sweet rightness of him pressed against Jared’s skin.

“You’re going to have one hell of a report to write tomorrow,” the Jackal whispers, voice rough, lips brushing against Jared’s. 

“Don’t worry,” Jared breathes out hot, painting the words against the Jackal’s lips, “I’ll give you a good review.”

“Was it everything,” the Jackal breathes back, seizing Jared’s lower lip between his teeth before releasing, “you hoped it would be?”

To say it had exceeded every single expectation Jared had would be to massively understate what just happened. But he can’t say that. 

“What about you?” Jared pushes his hips up into the Jackal. “You were the one who came to me.”

The Jackal huffs out a low laugh. “Call it a moment of weakness…” his mouth smirks against Jared’s. “Or maybe I just want you to think it was.”

Jared slides his hands down the curve of the Jackal’s spine, nails digging into the rising curve of his ass. “Either way… I think I won.”

“Is that what you think?” The Jackal claims his mouth with a savage kiss that sends Jared’s mind into a dizzying spin, driving all sense and reason from him. 

When he finally stops, they’re both breathless, the Jackal pulling back to look at him, gold-flecked green eyes glowing in the moonlight. “I guess we’ll see,” he says.

He rolls off Jared with a smooth movement, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Jared can see the beautiful musculature of his back cut in soft moonlight and stark shadow, and it almost isn’t fair, how gorgeous he is, in every single way. 

The Jackal gets to his feet, beginning to collect his clothing from the floor at the end of the bed, and every naked inch of him Jared can glimpse is perfect. It feels strange, watching him pull on his pants, but he can’t just vanish into thin air, his Atta lying somewhere on Jared’s bedroom floor.

It occurs to Jared, then, how vulnerable the Jackal had just made himself. Caught in the throes of passion, his only means of escape cast aside. All to find distraction… comfort? God, why had he come here?

“Why did you come here?” Jared asks, filled with the sudden need to know.

The Jackal finds his Atta and straps it around his waist, then briskly pulls on his shirt and tuxedo jacket, not bothering to button either one. His fingers stray to his Atta, and just when Jared is sure he isn’t going to answer, he stills.

“That’s the question,” he agrees.

An instant later, he’s gone.

* * * * *

Jared lies in his bed for a while after the Jackal departs. He takes a few moments—before he begins to dissect, before he starts to compartmentalize—sweat glistening on his skin, still feeling the warmth where the Jackal had been pressed up against him, reveling in the completeness of the physical satisfaction rendering him boneless.

God, he can’t believe that just happened. After all the tension, the anger, the violence, the kissing, it had been everything he’d imagined and then some. There’s satisfaction within him, as well, a sense of triumph that he can’t deny. The Jackal had wanted him, too.

And now he’s gotten closer to the Jackal than anyone has in the last decade. What he doesn’t understand is why.

“Why did you come here?”

“That’s the question.”

Had the Jackal even known the answer? Had grief and alcohol and instinct simply driven him to seek out Jared? And if that’s the case…

No. The Jackal is the most calculated person Jared’s ever known. He wouldn’t have come here, wouldn’t have fucked Jared without a reason.

Would he?

He’d been so passionate, so reckless and so completely given to the moment. Jared’s had plenty of sex on missions, but it’s never been like that—such a pure, honest, raw connection. Could the Jackal fake that? Could anyone? 

He’d asked Jared to call him by his real name. What about that?

Maybe he’d said “That’s the question” because he knew it would drive Jared mad not knowing the answer.

Jared draws in a deep breath and rolls over, pulling himself to sit up on the edge of the bed, where the Jackal had sat, not long ago. 

He’s fucking with your head, Jared. You know that.

He guesses he does. But there had been something… something beyond anything else he’s ever experienced. A sense of rightness?

Don’t be stupid , he chides himself, and shakes his head back and forth, trying to shake off the feeling. It was just sex.

The best sex of your life , speaks up another voice in his mind. And maybe that’s true, but he shouldn’t be shocked by that. The Jackal is superhuman in every sense of the word, why shouldn’t he be incredible in bed, too?

And he wasn’t wrong—Jared’s got one hell of a report to write tomorrow. He wonders if Stephen’s going to be disappointed in him. He can already hear Chad’s acerbic ranting. He has no idea what Dr. Berry is going to think. He’d sworn this wasn’t going to happen, but here he is.

He’d fucked a known terrorist. An enemy of the state. 

He’d been so terrified of SR0 finding out they’d even kissed, it’s almost unbelievable that he intends to tell them everything. But they’d sent him back here with a mission to get closer to the Jackal. Sex is one of the best ways to establish a connection with a target. They all had to know this was a possibility after finding out they’d kissed more than once. They had to know, right?

Or maybe he’s just justifying things. He could get yanked off this mission and lose his job tomorrow. He doesn’t fucking know. But he’s doing what he’s supposed to do, isn’t he? After all, no one else has gotten this close to the Jackal since he left SR0.

It’s a victory. Isn’t it?

“Either way… I think I won.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

Jared guesses they will.

Chapter Text

“And that’s what happened,” Jared says, forcing himself to meet Stephen’s eyes across their call. “I’ve already written the report and sent it to you.”

Stephen is staring at him with unblinking blue eyes, and Jared braces himself.

“You already know,” Stephen says, his tone uneven, “this was a terrible decision.”

Jared feels his stomach sink down to his guts, dread filling him. He has to keep it together, not let it show. Things are different now. If this was the first time he’d confessed to Stephen, being pulled off this mission would be forgone. As it is, he has a chance to turn things around. He just needs to shine the right light on it, make Stephen see how this could be a good thing. They’ve come a long way since the days of Jared wanting to pretend at being a double agent and everyone wanting to protect him from it.

That was what? Maybe three weeks ago?

So much has happened. Everything has changed. He’s changed. And he can do this.

“On the one hand, it was a terrible decision, yes,” Jared admits, keeping his voice steady. “But on the other… I’m closer to the Jackal than anyone has been in a decade.” 

Stephen is silent for so long, Jared wonders if he’s going to say anything. Stephen shifts his jaw back and forth and then rubs a hand across his chin. “You’re right,” he finally says, sounding like he hates the words. 

Jared feels relief want to rush through him, but he pushes it down, doesn’t let it show on his face. He sits forward slightly. “Whatever his angle is, all of his behavior with me has been completely unprecedented. He’s shown me and told me things he’s never shared with SR0 agents before. He thinks our fates are intertwined. And now he’s been intimate with me.”

Stephen seems to wince at the word ‘intimate’, and then he leans closer to the screen, his brows drawing together.

“Dammit, Jared,” Stephen says. “That’s exactly why you’re in more danger than anyone else who’s tried to get close to him. There are worse things he can do than kill you. You know that. He almost had you convinced your fates were intertwined before.”

“I know,” Jared nods and laces his fingers together across his lap. He glances down at his clasped hands. “I really am aware. And I’m taking this all very seriously,” he adds. “But you know as well as I do that sex is a connection I might be able to turn to our advantage.”

“I’m sure the Jackal thinks that, too,” Stephen says, colorlessly.

“I know,” Jared says again. “But we have to try everything we can, don’t we?”

The corners of Stephen’s mouth turn downward. “Before this I would have said ‘not everything’. But I suppose it’s a little late for that now.”

Jared blinks, letting the sting of that roll through him. It’s a barb, and it hurts, but he doesn’t let it show on his face. “I made the best decision I could given the circumstances. I really do understand all the concerns, and I’m staying alert and aware of them.” He meets Stephen’s eyes across the connection. “I think I can handle this.”

Stephen’s mouth tightens into a straight line, and then he gives a long sigh, sitting back in his chair. After a few long seconds, he nods, slowly. “This isn’t strictly under my jurisdiction, anymore. The Director will probably see this as a success.” 

Stephen pauses for a long moment, and Jared wonders how much worse this would be if the Director weren’t involved, if he were still answering solely to Stephen. He guesses it would be even more awful than when he’d confessed things to Stephen the first time. Stephen seems to be holding together well right now, but Jared wonders how much effort it’s costing the other man.

“And it may be a success,” Stephen goes on, though Jared hears a tinge of reluctance in the words. “It doesn’t seem likely, but if he was drunk and grieving and he thought to come to you… that might mean you’re getting to him.”

Jared nods and takes in a breath. “I’m not convinced of that, either, but the thought had occurred to me.”

“Good.” Stephen pauses. “If he is coming to you purely out of grief, it would be strange. Not impossible, but highly unlikely. As far as we know, he’s heterosexual outside of having sex for the sake of a mission.”

This thought had also occurred to Jared. “Maybe he’s a one on the Kinsey scale.” 

Stephen doesn’t seem to find that amusing, so before Stephen can respond, Jared adds, “I know. I’m probably ‘the mission’.”

“Correct,” Stephen says, emphatic. “We still can’t be sure of his motives.”

Jared nods. “I know.”

Stephen’s mouth is still tight, blue eyes discerning as they look at him. “I’ll read your report and confer with the Director. I suspect there won’t be any changes to your mission, but if there are, I’ll let you know immediately.”

“I understand,” Jared replies.

Stephen hesitates for a moment, and then he says, “Also, you should know. We’re putting the missions to China on the back burner for now.”

Jared feels his heart thump hard once in response to the words. If they’re putting it on the back burner, that must mean they’ve confirmed the strain the missions are putting on the timeline. It’s the only reason he can think of, but it’s not like Stephen can tell him that over a video link that someone could be monitoring.

“All right. Any chance you can tell me why?” Jared asks.

“There have been complications connected to those missions that we’re currently looking into.” 

Stephen gives him a meaningful look, and Jared understands. It is a strain on the timeline. Stephen’s gotten as close to confirming it as he possibly can. Which means the Jackal was right.

“This mission is your top priority, anyway.” Stephen sighs and then leans back into his chair. 

“Understood.” Jared nods.

“Please be careful,” Stephen says, and his mouth has finally relaxed, eyes filled with concern.

“I will,” Jared agrees.

* * * * *

Relief floods through Jared as they end the call, and he cups his face in his hands, breathing out hard through his fingers. Still, as relieved as he is that the consequences for his actions hadn’t been worse, he can feel a different kind of trepidation rising inside him. There is strain on the timeline; the Jackal was right.

Well, they’re doing what they can by stopping the missions to China to look further into it. That’s all they can do. Right now, he has other concerns.

He takes a moment, breathing in, breathing out, steeling himself.

The screen lights up an instant later, Dr. Berry’s picture appearing in the upper corner.

He pulls his hands from his face and sighs, answering the call.

* * * * *

He walks a minefield with Dr. Berry, admitting nearly everything, confessing he doesn’t understand why the Jackal wanted to sleep with him.

“Do you feel that sense of trust?” Dr. Berry asks. “The one he created the first time you met?”

“No,” Jared replies. “I don’t trust him at all. This is a mission, and sex was a thing that happened. That’s all.”

“Sex can play on feelings of trust, or create them.” Dr. Berry hesitates, pursing her glossy red lips. “Sex can also be used as a weapon.”

“I’ve had sex with a lot of targets,” he says.

“I know, as an agent, you’re used to divorcing your feelings from the act,” Dr. Berry says. “But the Jackal is different. You wanted him, before you knew who he was. You had feelings for him.” Dr. Berry’s dark eyes lock on his. “Are you sure having sex with him didn’t evoke any feelings?”

No. He isn’t fucking sure. He knows he doesn’t trust the Jackal as far as he can throw him, but he can’t say that fucking him had been devoid of feeling. There had been something there, and maybe it is tied to the first time they’d met; the way he’d been pulled into the Jackal like a magnet, the way they’d connected so effortlessly. 

And yes, that had been the Jackal putting on an act, he knows that now, but no, he can’t rule out the possibility that he still feels connected. He doesn’t think he does, though. For whatever that’s worth. 

“I don’t think it did,” he tells her, truthfully.

“Do you think you should be removed from this mission?” she asks.

Jared grits his teeth together and pulls in a breath. He’s been under the gun for over an hour now, between Stephen and Dr. Berry, and he’s goddamned tired. “I’m closer to the Jackal than anyone’s ever been. ”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she says.

Stephen hadn’t immediately pulled him from the mission, had even said the Director would probably approve.

“Do you think,” Jared asks, “if I had feelings for the Jackal, SR0 would pull me from this mission?

“Of course,” Dr. Berry says, immediately. She tilts her face, regarding him with concern. “Do you think they wouldn’t?”

“Oh, I think so,” Jared says. “And I think the fact that they haven’t pulled me yet should be enough proof.”

Her expression tightens, just a bit, but she’s still seemingly concerned. “Have I made you angry, Jared?” she asks.

He is being short with her, and he’s really not in the mood for this, but he does need to bring it down a notch or two. The last thing he needs is to trigger any red flags on his psychological report. Even the Director would probably pull him if that were to happen.

“No,” Jared says and sighs. “I’m just tired.”

Dr. Berry considers him for a long moment, her dark eyes seeming to calculate his expression. “You still never answered my question.”

“No,” Jared replies. “I don’t think I should be removed from this mission. I understand the mistakes I made before and I’m actively working not to make them again. I’m not confused about what I’m doing here. I know where my allegiances are.”

“You do seem resolved,” she observes, and then makes a note, gold tip of her pen catching a glint of light from the simulated light falling in through the open blinds. When she’s done, she looks back up at him with those lovely dark eyes. “I believe you’re being careful,” she tells him, “but something about all of this seems off, doesn’t it?”

“It’s uncharted territory,” he agrees. 

She twirls her pen between her fingers and then nods. “You’ve been dealing with that a lot lately.”

He lifts his shoulders, as if to say ‘what can you do?’,  and nods. “I think I’m finally getting used to it,” he says, and smiles.

He isn’t sure if he sells it, but after a moment, she smiles back.

* * * * *

Jared is exhausted by the time he logs off, and he sighs, leaning forward to catch his face in his hands, elbows braced against his knees. He’s successfully run the gauntlet of confession and so far he hasn’t lost his job, which, all in all, is a win. He still feels vaguely uneasy in his gut though, a sense of foreboding that won’t quite leave him.

Well, you did find out about the strain on the timeline.

Yes. But there’s nothing he can do about that, and SR0 is handling it.

And you were completely vulnerable with an enemy last night.

That feels closer to the truth.

He still doesn’t fully understand what happened. The Jackal had come here, grieving, mourning, drunk, and Jared had kissed him first, but the Jackal had taken over after that, from the deck to the bedroom. In control, yes, but would he have done it if he weren’t drunk? Had he come here seeking solace and then ended up finding it in sex? Or had he come here planning to have sex? Was it all just an act; another piece in the Jackal’s master plan?

He wonders where the Jackal is now, what he’s thinking about. Does he regret what happened now that he’s sober? Is he sober? 

If Jared believes that the Jackal was sincere, then he has to conclude that the Jackal must have really loved Danneel. He must still really love her, to be so deeply affected. Eleven years and he’d never stopped trying to save her. His fiancée long dead and gone and still there was room for fresh pain when her timeline sealed.

It seems impossible that the Jackal could have loved someone—anyone—that much.

If the Jackal is really in mourning for not being able to save Danneel, that’s not an emotion that’s going to go away overnight. It’s just… difficult to imagine the Jackal being affected so emotionally. Difficult to reconcile him being so out of control last night.

He can still see the Jackal behind his closed eyes, colored by moonlight and cut by shadow at the foot of the bed.

“Why did you come here?”

“That’s the question.”

God, that answer really is going to drive him crazy.

He needs to get out of the house for a while. Take his mind off things.

On any other day, he’d call Chad and see if he’s free for lunch, but talking to Chad is at the top of the list of things he doesn’t want to do today. This morning has been nerve-wracking, stressful, and unsettling; he doesn’t need to add a verbal evisceration on top of that.

He tugs on his shoes and decides to go into the park for breakfast.

* * * * *

The restaurant he chooses is bustling with people when he gets there; not overcrowded but buzzing with the energy of caffeinated people about to get on with their days. Out of habit, he glances around, making note of everyone, the entrance, exits, the doors to the bathrooms and the kitchen, and then decides to take a seat at the bar to order his food.

There are only a few people seated there, the majority of them eating breakfast, although there is a young couple nursing two bloody mary’s, probably in an attempt to stave off last night’s hangover. He’d seen the young blonde woman from the back when he’d initially come in, but it isn’t until he gets closer that he recognizes her.

“Adrianne?” he asks, surprised.

She turns to look at him, seeming as surprised as he is, and then her face lights up in a radiant smile. “Hey, Jared.”

“What a coincidence,” Jared says, pulling out an answering smile. It’s weird, running into her here, like this, and for a moment, Jared feels oddly paranoid. But when Jared had left the bungalow, he hadn’t even known he was coming here, so there’s no way she could have known.

Unless… she’d been spying on him? He had stopped on the boardwalk to look at the menu. She could have gotten inside just ahead of him. But why would she do that?

The Jackal has him jumping at shadows, he decides. 

It’s been what? Four days since the last time he’d slept with her? Since then he’d confessed everything to Stephen, nearly lost his job, given up the Jackal mission, not gotten fired, gotten back on the Jackal mission, and had sex with the Jackal. 

God, only four days?

“Well, you might as well join me,” she says. “I was just about to order breakfast.”

He shakes off the strange feeling and slides onto a barstool next to her, careful not to scoot too close. 

“Is it your Park Day?” he asks her.

She smiles and nods. “Trying not to waste a minute of it.”

The bartender approaches them with menus, and they spend a few minutes deciding what to order.

“So how’s everything been?” she asks, once the bartender has retreated with their menus and their orders.

“Good,” he lies, and smiles. “I’m back topside between missions.”

“I heard,” she says, nodding. “It’s always nice to be out in real sunlight.” She turns slightly on the stool to look at him more directly. “So you’re enjoying it, then?”

Her full blonde hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck and she’s wearing a sky blue tank top that brings out the color in her eyes—eyes that sparkle with curiosity as they meet his.

“It’s pretty great,” he says, and it feels nice to be honest. After that, it’s easy to fall back into the chemistry they have, the natural flow of conversation between them. They talk, and laugh, and she’s gorgeous and charismatic, so easy-going and sweet, and Jared wonders again why he doesn’t feel anything more than fondness for her.

What they’d had had been simple and uncomplicated; it’s nothing like whatever he has going on with the Jackal right now. That’s a tangled up tight ball of string he can’t find the end or beginning of. Not that he and the Jackal are dating, or even friends with benefits, or whatever it was he and Adrianne had been doing. 

They fall silent only when their food arrives and they begin to eat, Adrianne humming over her crepes and Jared appreciating the stack of pancakes he’d ordered on the side of his greasy breakfast.

“So,” she pipes up, taking a sip from her water glass. “Did you ever sort out your situation?”

“What situation?” he asks, frowning.

“The one that was making you question ‘destiny with a capital D’.” She turns her head slightly, blue eyes quizzical, and he can’t read anything else in them.

He presses his lips together for a moment and then shakes his head. “It’s even more impossible now than it was to begin with.”

“Hmm.” He thinks he can see a bit of sympathy in her eyes. “That’s too bad.” She takes a breath then, chest rising before she exhales. “But life’s full of potential. Full of possibilities that aren’t so impossible.”

She’s looking back down at her plate, cutting another bite of her crepe, and Jared considers her for a moment, curious. Is she referring to herself? She’d always seemed content with whatever they’d had between them, had never once pushed for anything more. 

She glances over, catching his eye, full lips parting in a smile, and he can see the invitation in her, unspoken, knows if he asked her to come back to the bungalow she would. The last time they’d slept together seems like a long time ago, now, but he remembers what he’d felt that night; how he’d realized they weren’t going to sleep together again. He’s not even tempted, and he almost feels bad about it.

He finds it strange that it bothers him at all. There was a time not long ago he wouldn’t even do a repeat performance, much less almost feel bad about not doing it. And yet, with her, he’s done both. Some part of him must really like her. But not enough.

He’s glad he’d sorted things out in his head about her before last night had happened, or else he’d be worried about his reasons for not being interested. It doesn’t have anything to do with the Jackal. It’s just the job.

Normally he’d ignore her comment, or charm his way around having an actual conversation. Maybe he’d even suddenly remember something he had to do and leave. But he does like her. So much of his life is tangled up in secrecy, out of necessity, but he can be honest about this much. He probably should be.

He sets down his fork and reaches for her hand. She lets go of her own fork, utensil clattering against her plate as she turns slightly on the stool again. She must see something in his expression, because her brow mars with a light frown.

“I didn’t mean—” she starts to say.

Jared shakes his head once and cuts her off. “It’s okay. It’s just, my life is really complicated at the moment. Maybe if things were different…” he starts to say, and then realizes he can’t go down that road. “But they’re not,” he asserts. “I’m completely focused on my job right now, and that doesn’t leave room for anything else. Not even a physical connection.” He squeezes her hand and holds her gaze. “I just thought you should know the truth.”

“I understand,” she says softly, and smiles. It’s not the dazzling smile she gives so often, but it’s sincere. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

She squeezes his hand back, and her smile broadens. “Friends, then.”

“Friends,” he agrees, smiling back.

She slides her hand from his, still smiling as she points at him. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Padalecki.”

He chuckles. “You got it, Palicki.”

* * * * *

They finish their breakfast, chatting about other things, and after, they walk the boardwalk, meandering in various shops, and it’s kind of perfect, honestly. Jared couldn’t ask for better company right now; someone who doesn’t know a thing about what’s going on in his life, who’s happy just to hang out and spend time together.

When they part ways mid-afternoon, Jared’s almost sorry to see her go. He promises to have her over sometime to watch movies and she promises to text him later, and then he’s left standing in the sunshine, watching her walk away, her hair glinting gold. It had been a nice respite from thinking about more complicated things. For a moment, he’d almost felt like a normal adult.

Crazy how honesty works out sometimes. 

He thinks about that for a moment, feeling regret as he realizes he could use a little more of it in his life. But his career doesn’t allow for much indulgence in the truth.

He pushes the thought from his mind, turning his focus to the rest of his day. He needs to hit the residential gym in a while and get in a workout. He’s going to be doing that daily now that he’s topside and isn’t recovering from an injury.

He’d gotten his wish and gotten his mind off of things. Unfortunately, said things have just been waiting in the background all day, and now they’re hovering, on the verge of demanding attention.

He pushes them away, too, and decides to take a little more time, take a walk along the beach.

* * * * *

The sun is setting when Jared pours himself a drink, hair still vaguely damp from the shower. His muscles are going to be sore tomorrow—he’s had more than a week off from working out, and he’d pushed it hard today—but right now he feels all right.

All the thoughts he’s been pushing aside all day are returning with a vengeance, and he knows he has to give them some attention.

He walks to the doors to the deck in his pajama pants and silk robe and nothing else, gazing out through the glass as the sun hits the far edge of the water in an explosion of pink, orange and gold. He steps outside into the cool breeze, drink in his hand, and sets his elbows on the railing. 

The sky above him is darkening, purple into midnight blue, sun in the distance descending beyond the edge of the world in a crescendo of bright red and fiery orange. Night is coming, and he wonders if the Jackal will appear at some point. Wonders if things will be weird between them now, if he does show up. Or maybe the Jackal already feels weird about it and has no intention of showing up. 

He’d fucked the Jackal last night, and he’s been actively avoiding thinking about it all day. He suspects he’s been avoiding it because he isn’t sure how to process it. Normally when he fucks someone on a job, it isn’t because he wants to; it’s because it’s part of the job. But the Jackal… Dr. Berry was right; he’d wanted the Jackal from the moment he’d met him. Even now, standing here on the deck, he can still feel that want. Heat pooling low in his belly, bruise in the hollow of his hip like a fingerprint burned indelibly into his skin, into his brain.

His subconscious, which has had the Jackal simmering on a back burner all day, suddenly pushes to the forefront. The truth is, he would have fucked the Jackal even if it hadn’t helped his mission at all. And the truth is, he’s known that all along.

That would be a harder truth to swallow if he was still in fear of losing his job. He hadn’t entirely done it for the sake of the mission, but the fact is, sleeping with the Jackal is an advantage, and in this case, he can use it as a tool. Yes, there are risks, but he’s sure he can handle them. Sex is just sex. No matter how much he enjoys it, it won’t stand in the way of what he needs to do.

There’s a small, dark voice at the back of his mind that questions; is that the truth? Or is that what you want to believe?

He has to believe it’s the truth.

But there’s a darker fear in him, something worse even than that. The one thing Jared hasn’t discussed with anyone—the one thing he hasn’t even let himself think about too deeply—is that it all could have been a huge mistake. What if the Jackal made a mistake and got too close for his own comfort? What if he never comes back? What if the entire mission is ruined?

He has to hope that it isn’t.

The sun disappears below the horizon, leaving behind pink striped clouds at the edge of the world, and he glances down at his glass, finds it empty except for half-melted ice cubes, bottom sweating condensation into the wood of the railing.

He picks it up and heads inside to make another.

* * * * *

Jared’s leaning on the railing of the deck with his third drink in his hand, and the moon has long risen into the sky as he contemplates the stars. He’s waiting for the Jackal, and he’s slowly growing disappointed as the hours grow later. Disappointed and worried. The Jackal might never come back, and there are so many ramifications tied up in that possibility that he can scarcely consider them all.

One more drink, he thinks, and then he'll go to bed and put his thoughts to rest for the day. He picks up his glass from the railing, about to turn and go inside when he hears the distinctive pop of displaced air behind him.

He doesn’t turn around, setting down the glass, his mouth curving in a small smile. There’s relief coursing through him that the mission isn’t lost, but he doesn’t let it show in his tone. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Have you been waiting for me?” the Jackal asks, and there’s a playful darkness to the words, as if Jared’s been naughty somehow.

His playful tone instantly lights up Jared’s brain, excitement stirring deep in his gut. There’s also a lilt to the Jackal’s words that Jared recognizes instantly. The Jackal is drunk, again. Or maybe still. 

But then, Jared is about halfway there, himself. Which maybe was a bad idea, because he’s thinking about how much he wants to fuck the Jackal right now instead of thinking about how he can work this to his advantage.

“What if I was?” Jared asks, turning to face him, and this time it’s Jared’s back against the railing, his arms spread wide, hands turned downward against the railing. He leaves himself open, unthreatening, very nearly an invitation. Part of him just wants to see what the Jackal will do—but another part of him wants very much for the Jackal to accept.

The Jackal stands a few feet away, green of his eyes barely visible beneath the moon, but Jared can still track their every movement as they slowly rake up and down the length of his body. The breeze off the water has caught in his silk robe, blowing it open across his arms, exposing his bare chest and abs, pajama pants hanging low on his hips. He can feel those eyes as they mark every inch of his bare skin, burning as they meet Jared’s gaze.

The Jackal sways slightly on his feet, dressed in a dark suit, white shirt underneath, knot of his tie pulled loose around his neck. The night breeze ruffles his hair, blowing it back from his face, and he’s gorgeous in the moonlight, features more perfect even than in Jared’s memory; sharp cheekbones, lush mouth, angled jaw.

“Last night was a mistake,” the Jackal says.

The words catch against Jared like thorns, tearing thin trails. The Jackal isn’t wrong, but goddamn, Jared wants him to be wrong. They should be able to fuck like they did last night without consequences for the foreseeable future. 

But it’s probably better for the mission if they don’t fuck again. 

That doesn’t feel like the truth, but it feels like it should be.

“Last night was a mistake,” the Jackal goes on, “of epic fucking proportions.”

“You don’t need to rub it in,” Jared spits, full of sudden fire as he pushes from the railing. “Just call it a mistake and walk away.”

The Jackal takes three quick steps, closing the distance between them almost instantly. “I said it was a mistake. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to make it.” Green eyes boring into his, scant inches between them, heat of the Jackal’s mouth so close to his. “Again.”

Jared stares into his eyes, blood buzzing beneath his skin, every nerve alight with his nearness. “I don’t understand. Why?”

“Do you really…” the Jackal glances down at Jared’s mouth, then up into his eyes, “want to waste time…” gaze smoldering, “talking about this?”

Chemistry crackles between them like lightning, the very air like a hushed breath held all around them.

“Not really,” Jared whispers. He lunges to catch the Jackal up in his arms, pulling him in tight, mouth crashing into his, teeth sliding, lips parting, tongues twisting and diving. The Jackal’s arms close in a crush around him, pushing the breath from Jared’s lungs as he wheels Jared around, shoving him up against the wall of the bungalow.

Driving up into Jared, kissing him so deep he can hardly catch his breath, wildfire in his arms, hard heat between his legs. Every inch of their bodies pressed together with perfect, firm musculature, and Jared doesn’t care about anything else, wants him right here, right now, fucking Jared against the wall of the bungalow.

Both of them desperate, kissing like they need to be inside each other’s skin, perfectly matched and opposite sides of the same coin. It’s never been like this with anyone else, Jared’s never wanted anyone like he wants this. 

Jared’s mind clings to a single thought, just one. They need to go—

“Inside.” Jared gasps out the word. “God, come inside.”

The Jackal bites against Jared’s lower lip. “Are you afraid… SR0 will see us?” he asks, and his voice is deep, dark, velvety black sin. Sliding down, to the side, breath against Jared’s pulse. “See the perfect…” teeth grazing up the line of his throat, “golden boy… patriot… get fucked …” hips twisting into Jared’s, “by the big… bad… terrorist?” 

Jared’s breath catches in his throat and the Jackal tongues at the soft spot behind his jaw bone, then closes his teeth around Jared’s earlobe. “I think…” the Jackal drawls, “I should fuck you right here… over the railing.” Fingers tugging in Jared’s hair, yanking his head back. “I think… we should let them watch,” words whispered like pure sex into Jared’s ear, and fuck it’s so wrong, and so stupidly, incredibly hot.

Jared can barely hold onto his thoughts, can barely breathe , and he doesn’t give a damn who can see them right now—doesn’t care if the whole goddamned neighborhood is watching.

“Condoms,” Jared manages to force the word out, nearly strangling on the syllables. “Bedroom.”

The Jackal pulls back fractionally, gold flecks in his eyes like molten fire, smirking up at him. “As if…” he whispers, “I didn’t come prepared.”

Jared feels his stomach swoop and then drop out from underneath him. The Jackal came here prepared. He came here knowing he was going to fuck Jared— knowing Jared was going to let him. 

“God…” Jared gasps. “Fuck me.”

“Patience,” the Jackal breathes back, wicked smirk twisting his lips.

He yanks Jared from the wall, shoving the door open, propelling them through it, mouths locked together as he drags Jared down the hall. Gripping and clawing at each other the whole way, every bit of the Jackal pressed against him and still Jared can’t stop, skin electric, blood hammering in his veins, white-hot, incendiary need coursing through him.

The world dissolves into a fever-blur as the Jackal shoves him down against the bed, falling in behind, mouth fastened to his. Strong, sure hands ripping his pajama bottoms down his legs, and then the Jackal slides back up between them, one of Jared’s legs tossed over his shoulder, hand pushing the other leg up, leaving Jared open and exposed.

Jared huffs out a breath, spine arching before he shoves his hips upward, offering himself up like a meal.

The Jackal licks wickedly up the center of him, tongue teasing at the edge of his hole, and Jared whimpers, hips twisting. The Jackal reaches around the leg thrown over his shoulder, hand pressed flat against Jared’s belly, a bare inch from where Jared’s cock stands hotter and harder than it’s ever been, leaking pre-come from the tip.

The Jackal holds Jared still, tongue pushing through the ring of muscle, slick and curling inside him like the sweetest ecstasy he’s ever known, and Jared hisses in a deep breath, fingernails digging deep into the skin of the Jackal’s shoulders. Torturous, slow fucking of the Jackal’s tongue inside him, easy and unfurling, carrying him to the edge, finally taking him sharp and hard, until his breath stutters in his chest and his nails draw blood, stomach flexing against the Jackal’s palm as he tries to buck into the sensation.

The Jackal rims him relentlessly, until he’s begging, until he can barely shape words, tears forming at the corners of his eyes, that sinister, sinuous tongue flexing inside him, his cock so hard it almost hurts, desperately needing to be touched.

The Jackal pulls his tongue from inside Jared, holding Jared down until he draws back, away from Jared completely. Jared is nearly insensate, vision blurred by tears of need. He blinks them away, savage desire inside him as he sees the Jackal standing at the end of the bed.

The Jackal pulls the tie from his neck with two rough tugs before tossing it aside, then shrugs from inside his suit jacket. Slowly unbuttoning his collared shirt, eyes burning into Jared’s.

It’s hotter than fire, hotter than it has any right to be, Jared wanting to yank out of his skin with how much he wants him.

The Jackal lets his shirt slip from his shoulders, light material slithering to the floor, and then he reaches down, arms crossing as he grabs the hem of his undershirt, arm muscles flexing as he drags it up, pulling it over his head.

Standing shirtless at the end of the bed, his skin glowing in the moonlight, he lets his hands fall to his belt buckle and stares down at Jared, his eyes dark and filled with heat. Skin smooth and musculature perfect, broad, strong shoulders above impressive pecs, collar bones still prominent, nipples dark, hardened pebbles in the cool of the room, and he looks impossibly sculpted, impossibly beautiful, his hair tangled like a wild thicket.

His fingers begin to work at his belt buckle, and Jared feels his mouth go dry.

Flick of his thumb setting the buckle free, his pants falling along with his boxers, and he steps out of them. Fully naked and he’s beautiful, wide shoulders, perfectly cut musculature down to his slender waist, inner line of his thighs deep around the hard length of his cock. Condom rolled down the length, lube slicked along the curve before he falls forward, sliding up between Jared’s legs.

His hands grip Jared’s shoulders, slick cock teasing at the edge of him, the Jackal’s inner elbows caught beneath the backs of his knees. Those green eyes burn into his, and Jared feels them like a conflagration inside his soul.

“Please,” he breathes.

The Jackal meets his gaze with fire and thrusts inside him without ceremony, shoving all the way to the bottom, spine arching to hit Jared’s prostate, and Jared’s head snaps backward, mouth open and gasping. 

He feels split in two, taken apart by it, pure pleasure hurtling white-hot into his brain, and god, the Jackal is fucking him like he deserves every goddamned thrust he’s getting, curling his hips, hitting the sweet spot on the way down. His knees pinned on either side of his chest, he reaches up and around, fingers catching against the Jackal’s shoulders, nails sinking into the skin as he holds on tight, rocking his hips to match the Jackal’s thrusts.

The Jackal lets go of him and Jared wraps his legs around the other man’s body, the Jackal falling against him with his full weight for an instant before he catches himself. One hand pressed against the bed, the other sliding up into Jared’s hair and tugging hard, mouth crashing into Jared’s, kissing him hard and deep.

Bodies locked together, pure want, desperate desire, raw and honest as they’ve ever been. There’s no deception here, Jackal fierce in his arms, naked passion and violent need, and whatever else might be between them, this is real .

Fingers tightening in Jared’s hair, hips snapping into him, scorching clash of tongues and teeth, and Jared wants this with an honesty that nearly scares him; doesn’t understand the huge aching need he feels, wanting to rise up and consume him.

The Jackal breaks the kiss, almost as if sensing the change in Jared, drawing back to look at him with a sudden jolt of his hips.

Gold flecks clinging to his pupils, hair damp, strands stuck to the tops of his cheeks, and he looks like a Greek god, like the most gorgeous thing Jared has ever seen.

“Isn’t… this… what you want?” the Jackal demands, slamming his cock deep inside Jared.

“Shut up…” Jared gasps, lifting his hips, taking the Jackal just a little deeper. “Shut up… and fuck me like you mean it.” 

Jared sucks in a deep breath, pushing everything aside, pressing into the moment, kissing the Jackal with all the vicious animosity, with all the anger and frustration he feels, the Jackal matching his ferocity, kissing back just as savagely, fucking into him with a snarl, fingernails leaving marks against his chest.

They fuck like divine creatures, like furious angels, incensed and lost in each other.  

Jared’s cock is still rock hard and aching with need, still untouched as the Jackal fucks into Jared with long, deep strokes, grinding his dick in and out of Jared and twisting his hips with thrusts that leave Jared gasping, shuddering. Tension winds like a spiral up through his belly, molten hot pleasure and desperate ragged need twisting his muscles into knots, fingers leaving the Jackal’s body, white-knuckled in the bedsheets.

“Need it so fucking bad,” the Jackal whispers into his ear with a wicked curl of his hips, “don’t you?”

“Fuck… yes,” Jared breathes, everything inside him focused into pure want, muscles trembling and nerves taut, sweat standing out on his skin.

“Ask me,” the Jackal breathes back, his voice like smooth, black velvet against Jared’s ear.

“Please…” Jared gasps, throwing back his head, thrusting his hips up into the Jackal. 

“What do you want, Jared?” the Jackal demands, hips twisting in a figure eight as he hits every sweet spot on the way down.

“God, fucking touch me,” Jared gasps. “Make me come.”

The Jackal reaches down between their bodies, never slowing in his relentless rhythm, fingers closing around Jared’s cock, squeezing in a flexing fist as he drives deep inside Jared, and sparks fly along Jared’s nerves, rising up in a hard, fast rhapsody. 

The Jackal flicks his wrist and Jared sucks in a gasping breath, teeth snapping together as his eyes go wide. A burst of pleasure detonates through him, so intense it wracks him like an earthquake, threatening to tear him apart, his eyes squeezing shut as he jolts and writhes. He comes so hard that colors explode behind his eyes, cock spurting wet, hot slick all the way up to his chest, body convulsing and shaking against the bed.

The Jackal snaps his hips, pounding into Jared even harder, fingers around Jared’s cock squeezing him tight and wringing out every last sensation. Jared’s body convulses, locking down around the Jackal, and he’s gone, completely gone, lost in it, barely aware as the Jackal stiffens and stutters inside him, driving so deep that Jared’s eyes roll back in his head, cock pulsing out a last, weak, blast that wracks him from head to toe with pleasure.

Hot mouth fastened to his, grunting and gasping and falling into each other, hands grasping and grabbing. The Jackal’s teeth sink deep around the delicate hollows of his collarbone, fingers digging a deep bruise in the hollows of his hips, growling against his skin, and it’s too much, spine arching, breath frozen in his lungs.

They both exhale in rushing gasps, collapsing into each other, sweat slicked skin sticking, fitting together like they’d been sculpted from the same stone.

The Jackal’s chest rises and falls against him, their hearts beating out staccato rhythm through their ribs, lying together, intertwined as one. Both of them trying to get their breath back, the Jackal far less winded than Jared, and Jared feels the sudden need to be somewhere, anywhere, other than here. Too close, too intimate. Last night had been intense, too, but in such a different way.

What the fuck even was that? Jared wonders.

The Jackal just made Jared come harder than he’s ever come in his life, but he needs to get a grip. This is the Jackal. He’s a legend for a reason. It isn't fate, it isn’t destiny; it’s a mission, and Jared needs to get his head on straight.

He might need a minute though, because damn .

The Jackal bites against his neck, curling his spine as he reaches down, fingers closing around his cock, holding the condom on as he pulls out of Jared.

Slightest brush of his lips against Jared’s racing pulse, and then he rolls over, away from Jared, back hitting the mattress for instant. Breath drawn into his lungs and then he rolls again, sitting up on the side of the bed.

It’s like a repeat of last night, without any sparring, parting words.

The Jackal rises from the side of the bed and begins to pick up his clothes, and if he’s still drunk, Jared can’t see a trace of it in the way he moves, smooth and lithe as a panther, glistening skin glowing in the moonlight. Jared wants to speak, say something to convince the Jackal to stay, but words are failing him right now, his brain still recovering from the completely mind-blowing sex they’d just had.

Jared lies there, watching the Jackal prowl through his room, waiting for him to leave. But the Jackal pauses after picking up the last piece, then he turns, taking his collected clothing into the master bathroom, not quite closing the door behind him.

Jared sits up when he hears the water turn on, realizing the Jackal is cleaning up. 

Why isn’t he leaving? 

A few minutes later, the Jackal comes out of the bathroom, suit jacket and shirt hanging loose and unbuttoned, bare from the waist up. He’s only half put together and he’s completely gorgeous.

He looks at Jared for a moment, and then turns, walking towards the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” Jared asks.

“To the kitchen,” the Jackal replies, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Jared watches the Jackal exit the room, his jaw hanging slightly open. And then he hurries to go clean himself up, wondering if the Jackal will still be there when he’s done.

Chapter Text

The Jackal is still in the kitchen when Jared comes out. He’s leaning with his back against the counter, shirt and suit jacket wide open to reveal his perfectly cut chest, his hair disheveled, one hand on the counter, the other holding a lowball glass filled with whiskey and ice cubes. It’s criminal, how hot he looks.

Jared had pulled his pajama pants back on after cleaning up, and the Jackal gives him a very slow once over, eyes lingering over Jared’s bare chest. For an instant, Jared thinks he can see desire rekindle in that smoldering gaze, and then the Jackal looks deliberately down at his drink.

“I could go for another round,” Jared says, voice husky and suggestive.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” the Jackal says.

“It took me to a few places,” Jared contradicts.

The Jackal’s eyes widen slightly, corners of his mouth curling upward as he huffs out a surprised chuckle, and that's the closest Jared has ever come to making the Jackal legitimately laugh.

“If you’re not interested in another go round… why are you still here?” Jared asks, curious.

The Jackal holds up the drink in his hand as if presenting the answer to Jared’s question, then swirls his glass and takes a long drink from it.

Jared finds that unlikely. “Hold on. You’re drinking out of a glass in this house. Aren’t you worried it could be drugged?”

“I washed it first.”

“So you’re just here to drink. And hang out with me ?” Jared asks, sarcasm and doubt laced through the words.

“Maybe,” the Jackal says, meeting his doubt head on with an expression that gives away nothing, and Jared wishes he could get a read on the other man.

The Jackal turns away then, pulling out a fresh glass and filling it with ice cubes, then with whiskey before he refreshes his own glass. He turns to Jared then, both glasses in his hands, and offers Jared the new one.

Jared only hesitates for a moment before he steps forward, taking the proffered drink.

“Not that I’m complaining about the last two nights,” Jared says, “but isn’t it dangerous for you to be…” he hesitates over the words ‘out of control’ and then discards them, “time traveling while you’re drunk and grieving like this?”

“Aw, are you concerned for me, Jared?” the Jackal asks, sarcasm dripping from the words. “How sweet.”

“Aren’t your people worried about you?” Jared asks. He hasn’t given a lot of thought to the Jackal’s team, but he knows they exist. 

“You think my terrorist organization actually cares about me?” the Jackal asks, wry as he arches a brow at Jared.

It isn’t something Jared’s thought about, and he wonders for an instant if they do. If they’re similar to the team at SR0 in that respect; co-workers who’ve become friends and acquaintances, some closer than others. He supposes it’s possible, even if their goals are underhanded.

“Even if they don’t care about you,” Jared replies, “they must be concerned. You’re their leader.”

“They are,” the Jackal says. “But they also know I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse.”

Jared’s stunned for a moment that the Jackal answered him with what seems like honesty. And then he seizes on the admission. “How much worse?” he asks, keeping his voice gentle.

The Jackal cuts him a knowing smirk that Jared has come to recognize as a brick wall in their conversations. 

“I know,” Jared says and sighs. “I wouldn’t believe you if you told me.” 

“You won’t believe anything you don’t see for yourself,” the Jackal agrees.

The Jackal has said this to him before, and this time Jared pounces on it. “So why don’t you show me?”

The corner of the Jackal’s mouth tugs upward in a smirk, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s the spirit,” he says, and then drains his glass.

“What does that mean?” Jared asks.

“It means,” the Jackal says, setting his glass down on the counter, “you’re finally asking the right questions.”

Jared narrows his gaze on the Jackal. “There was a time if I had asked that, you would have laughed at me.”

“Things have changed,” the Jackal responds.

Changed enough that the Jackal has changed his tune—the change in the Bootstrap paradox, the Jackal supposedly possessing two sets of memories. Or, he’s lying and this was his plan all along.

“I’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow,” the Jackal says.

Jared manages to hide his surprise, brows drawing together in a slight frown. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you can see something for yourself,” the Jackal tells him.

* * * * *

In the morning, Jared checks in with Stephen and Dr. Berry, and he has to run the gamut of discussing the complications with the Jackal. He closes his laptop at the end with a sigh. Neither of them seemed thrilled Jared had sex with him again, but Stephen did seem intrigued about whatever time trip the Jackal has planned for them today. And then he’d told Jared about fifteen times to be careful.

Jared makes his way to the kitchen and sets about making breakfast, cooking sausage and scrambled eggs with a side of toast, music playing at low volume on the house speakers. He’s sitting at the breakfast island, thinking about going out to buy some more fruit and is almost finished eating when a knock comes at his front door. 

He pauses with his toast halfway to his mouth, then takes a last, deliberate bite, chewing and washing it down with a drink of orange juice. 

He knows who’s at the door before he even opens it; there’s no one else who would come to see him at this hour. Plus, he knows it’s Chad’s day off.

Jared opens the door to the daylight, squinting against the silhouette of the man before him.

“Hey, Jay,” Chad says, running his fingers through his hair. “You got time for a walk?”

Jared’s eyes adjust a bit, and he can see Chad more clearly in the daylight. With the sun behind him, Chad seems incredibly pale, dark circles crowding beneath his eyes.

“You okay?” Jared asks.

“Headache.” Chad looks like he’s about to shake his head and then thinks the better of it, fingertips touching against his brow. “But it should be gone soon.”

“Come in.” Jared stands aside and opens the door wide.

Chad’s eyes fix on him with consternation. “Are you fucking shitting me?”

“You’ll be fine for the two minutes it takes me to change and pull on my shoes,” Jared assures him.

Chad looks around the entirety of the doorway, thumb shoved in his pants pocket, fingertips tapping against his upper thigh before he finally nods. “Okay. Make it quick.”

Chad steps inside, cautiously, hovering at the doorway for a moment before he takes a step, then two, door swinging shut behind him.

Chad’s shoulders startle as the door slams shut.

“I’m getting dressed,” Jared asserts, turning down the hallway.

“Hurry up,” Chad urges.

Jared bites his tongue, makes his way to the bedroom and slips into a pair of shorts and a tank top, sliding on his tennis shoes before returning to the front door. There’s no one there, so Jared turns, walks forward into the living room.

Chad is in the living room, looking closely at one of the clay fired sculptures on a glass table.

“I’m ready,” Jared says.

“So…” Chad stands up straight and turns to face him. “I was looking around while you got dressed. And it seems like you had company last night. Two dirty drinking glasses.”

“Yeah,” Jared admits.

“It was the Jackal.” Chad isn’t asking.

Jared bites against his lower lip. “It was.”

“So you two were just hanging out, having drinks together? Like buddies? Like besties?”

Jared inhales deeply. “There… may be something I need to tell you.”

Chad stares at Jared for a long moment, and Jared can see Chad putting together the pieces like solving a puzzle.

“Oh my God.” Chad shoves a fist against his mouth sideways, biting down on the flesh of his first finger as he stares at Jared. He yanks his hand away, shaking his head in disbelief. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”

Jared exhales and just stares at Chad, not able to summon words for a moment. 

“Oh fuck. Oh no,” Chad groans.

“He was in an emotional state, and he came here. To me.” Jared tries to explain everything in pure, factual terms. “As an agent, it would have been stupid for me to turn down that kind of opportunity.”

“Oh Jay,” Chad intones, shaking his head harder as he turns and paces away from Jared.

“It’s part of getting closer to him,” Jared insists. “Everyone knows.”

Chad spins on him, incredulous. “They what? They do?”

Jared nods. “You could… even say it was approved, I guess.”

“Even Stephen?” Chad demands, his voice higher than normal. 

Jared nods again. And while it’s true Stephen probably doesn’t approve personally , he’s approved it for the mission. Or… the Director has, anyway.

“You’re telling me,” Chad says, approaching Jared, “Stephen ‘stick so far up my ass I’ve got twigs coming out of my mouth’ Amell, actually approved you fucking the motherfucking Jackal ?”

“He’s just going by Stephen these days,” Jared responds. “And yes. I’m telling you.”

“That man has a tree trunk shoved so far up his ass birds try to build nests in his hair ,” Chad declares.

Jared almost snorts, but he holds it back, because Chad clearly isn’t finished.

“Not to mention,” Chad goes on, “he’s absolutely, completely, hopelessly in love with you. So. What. The fuck?”

Jared takes in a breath, presses his lips together, then sighs through his nose. “I thought this was one of those things we never talked about out loud.”

“It was,” Chad agrees. “Before you fucked the Jackal and Stephen was like,” Chad thrusts two thumbs up into the air, “good job, bro.”

“He wasn’t exactly…” Jared starts and then shakes his head, focusing on the important part. “It’s the mission, Chad. Everyone’s head is fully in the game.”

“You’re not in your right mind,” Chad insists. “You’d never be doing this, if you were.”

“I swear I’m in my right mind. Things are different now. Finding out about the Bootstrap paradox changed everything.”

Chad sucks in a disbelieving breath and turns, beginning to walk towards the kitchen. He freezes halfway there in mid-step, staring through the glass door to the deck.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Jared tracks the form standing outside on the deck a split second after Chad opens his mouth to speak, and in terms of how he’d hoped this conversation would go, this is beyond abysmal.

Chad spins on him, pointing a finger at him as he hisses out in an undertone, “We will talk about this later.” And then he’s gone so fast he practically flies through the room. 

Jared heaves a heavy sigh, imagining Chad busting through the door and leaving a Chad shaped hole in it like a Looney Toons character, and then the door slams shut behind him. He shakes his head and walks to the sliding glass door.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” the Jackal remarks, his tone vaguely amused.

“Chad’s terrified of you.”

“Most people are.” The Jackal tilts his head thoughtfully, regarding Jared from behind a dark pair of sunglasses. “Not you, though.”

“Because you manipulated me into liking you before I knew who you were.”

“Maybe. But you weren’t scared even after you found out who I was.”

“I was too pissed off over being manipulated to be scared.”

“Hmm,” the Jackal hums, nodding slightly, as if considering that.

The Jackal is dressed as casually as he’d been the night Jared had encountered him on the beach, if a bit more nicely. He’s wearing khaki shorts, cuffed just below mid thigh, and a light blue, form fitted tank top that hugs his chest and waist almost sinfully tight. His arms and shoulders are bare, and it’s almost pornographic, the cut and breadth of the muscles left on display. The dark sunglasses he’s wearing are well suited to his face, long strands of light brown hair curling on either side of the arms, just brushing the tops of his cheekbones.

A brown belt bag is strapped around his waist, his Atta certainly stored inside, and he’s wearing a pair of nicely made slip-on brown leather sandals. There’s just the barest hint of blond highlights streaking his hair, and he’s fully sporting a light tan, and he has no fucking right to look this goddamned delectable after he’s spent the last 48 hours drunk and messy as hell.

Speaking of which, the Jackal doesn’t seem to be drunk today. And Jared had thought it might be weird, seeing the Jackal in what passes for normal circumstances after the last two nights they’d shared, but he feels comfortable, if a bit hyper aware of how little clothing the other man is wearing.

Jared pulls in a breath and forces himself to focus on something else. “I wasn’t expecting you this early.”

“You have other plans?” the Jackal inquires, like he knows Jared doesn’t, brows rising above his dark sunglasses.

“No.” Jared lifts one hand and motions the Jackal inside. “Come in.”

He steps back from the doorway and the Jackal brushes past him, shoulder touching Jared’s chest. Jared rolls his eyes at the physical reaction the brief touch inspires, and then he closes the door behind the Jackal.

It does feel a little weird now that it’s just the two of them inside the house.

“Are you ready?” The Jackal turns, pulling the sunglasses from his face, those gorgeous green eyes meeting Jared’s.

“I just ate.” Jared’s unsure if that makes a difference.

“You won’t get sick,” the Jackal promises, and extends his hand.

Jared reaches out and takes his hand, and although it’s got nothing on what they’ve done the last two nights, although he’s done this before, it feels strangely intimate, the way their fingers curl around each other, linking them together.

They don’t trust each other, but Jared’s trust is complicit in this act, even more so than sex. If the Jackal let go of him in transit, Jared would die. 

The Jackal pulls him in, then pulls him close, one arm wrapping around Jared’s waist, and he’s done it before, but this feels different.

“Hold on.”

Jared wraps his arm around the Jackal’s waist, fingers squeezing lightly against the Jackal’s hand.

* * * * *

The last time he’d traveled through time with the Jackal, it had been willingly, and it had still been rough. Not as bad as the first time, when the Jackal had ripped him forcibly through time, but still not great. This time, the world spins in a whirl of color, like riding a carnival carousel careening out of control before beginning to slow, shape and form beginning to solidify.

The first thing he’s aware of is a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and then piercing green eyes boring into him, assessing him.

He takes a deep breath, holds it, exhales, and then does it again, then again. His stomach turns over once and then settles. He waits a moment for the world to come fully into focus, and then he straightens, taking his weight on his own feet. 

“I think I’m okay,” he tells the Jackal. He still feels a bit weak, but way better than he had in the first few moments last time.

The Jackal keeps his hand on Jared’s shoulder for a moment longer, those green eyes giving Jared a careful once over, and then he lets go. 

”Third time’s not quite the charm,” the Jackal says.

“It’s the fourth time,” Jared corrects, remembering. “Including Shanghai.”

“Shanghai didn’t count. We barely moved through time. Remember? You were fine.”

“How many times does it usually take?” Jared thinks he’s far more coherent far sooner than he’d been last time.

“For long travels, usually five or six before you don’t feel any effects,” the Jackal replies. “If you’re doing the jumps close enough together,” he adds. “Any long breaks and you’re starting from zero.”

Jared feels steady on his own feet, if still a bit lethargic. He lets his eyes skim over their surroundings, taking in the pitted stone walls that might have been painted yellow once, peeling spots of faded paint clinging to dull tan stone. There are a few pictures hanging on the stone walls, and those, too, might have been brightly colored once upon a time, faded now and stained brown in places. 

It’s furnished in the manner of a motel room; two beds with worn wooden frames, mattresses sagging slightly in the middle, a spartan desk and a wooden chair, an alcove built into the stone with clothes hanging on a rod inside. There’s one door near what would be the entrance to the room, and another close by the closet, set into the adjoining wall.

“Where are we?” Jared asks.  

“Rio Branco. The second district,” the Jackal replies, and then, “You should sit down.”

Through the small glass windows of the room, Jared can see a corner of the night sky caught between two rooftop corners.

“When are we?” Jared mostly feels okay, but he thinks sitting down on the end of the bed might be a good idea. At least for a minute or two. He turns, putting his hand down on the end of the bed, and slowly sits.

“Twenty-seventeen. May, twenty-seventeen, to be exact.” The Jackal turns, walking toward the closet alcove.

May 2017. One month after the Jackal had left SR0. Jared’s memory isn’t eidetic, but it’s pretty fucking close to perfect as the average human being goes. One month after the Jackal had left SR0… what does he want to show Jared?

“I don’t suppose you’d tell me what we’re doing here?” Jared asks.

“I have clothes for us.” The Jackal is pulling hangers from the closet. “Nothing fancy, but more in local fashion.”

Jared isn’t surprised that the Jackal didn’t answer his question, and he pushes down the need to know. He’ll find out soon enough. He takes a moment, takes stock of himself and decides he feels better, getting to his feet from the end of the bed. 

A moment later, the Jackal stands before him, clothing held in his hands. So close, and Jared feels the magnetic pull drawing him towards the other man, feels his heart kick up a notch, his blood beginning to rush through his veins. 

“These will fit you.” The Jackal’s green eyes consider Jared for a moment, seeming to gauge him.

“I’m fine.” Jared is fine, except for his awareness of the nearness of the Jackal, which is another thing he needs to push down. He takes a second to compartmentalize, slowing his breath, feeling his heartbeat fall in line, and then takes the clothes from the Jackal hands.

“The bathroom’s through there.” The Jackal points to the closed door near the closet.

Jared nods and makes his way through the door, fingers finding the light switch and flipping it on before he closes the door.

* * * * *

Outside, the air is cooler than Jared would expect in Brazil—humid and somewhere in the low seventies—but it is May, which means what passes for winter this close to the equator is coming soon. He can hear the sounds of the docks and the river in the distance, lush, dense vegetation visible in the distance behind them, traces of it, even, growing thick and green through the cracks of the concrete alleyways the Jackal leads him through.

It’s a maze of backstreets, patches of deep shadow between bright fluorescents spaced too far apart, the Jackal rounding corners and making turns with complete confidence. They pass some men standing outside the back door of what seems to be a restaurant, based on the smells coming from inside the propped open door. Lively, instrumental music fills the alleyway, coming from a radio somewhere inside. The men speak to each other in the easy rhythm of Portuguese, smoking cigarettes and cutting Jared and the Jackal glances as they approach. 

The Jackal greets them in Portuguese as they pass by. Jared isn’t fluent in Portuguese, but he knows enough, echoing Jensen’s greeting. The men nod, returning the greeting, and a moment later, the Jackal takes another turn, the music fading away behind them.

Wherever they’re going, the Jackal has been smart enough to take them through the city this way; a way that would be nearly impossible for Jared to retrace. SR0 can’t go back to any of the moments the Jackal has taken Jared to—jumping to the same point in time again and again puts more stress on the timeline each time—but even if they’d wanted to, they wouldn’t be able to find the Jackal here. Which makes Jared wonder again why they’re here, and where the Jackal is taking him.

Finally, the Jackal stops at a corner, reaching over to take Jared by the wrist. They barely round it, the Jackal leading Jared over beside a brown metal dumpster ripe with the smell of rotting garbage.

“What are we doing here?” Jared asks, voice low.

“Shh,” the Jackal breathes, fingers gripping Jared’s wrist, pulling him in close and then downward as the Jackal kneels, seeking cover in the shadows beside the dumpster. Jared kneels down beside him and the Jackal leans out around the edge to watch the alleyway beyond. Jared leans out slightly further to see as well, both of them still mostly caught in the shadow of the dumpster.

It’s quiet for a long moment, the hum of fluorescents above a deeply pocked and pitted alleyway, water from the earlier rain still  gathered in the holes speckling the flat, dry concrete.

Fifty feet away, a green metal door connecting to the alleyway bursts open, two men slamming through it in a square of yellow light, dance music trailing behind. Fists wrapped in each other's clothes, locking them together, they fly through the air for a moment until the first man lands against the concrete on his shoulders and rolls partially backward, kicking up with his feet and throwing the other man over his body. The other man arcs through the air, face smashing into the far alley wall before he slides to the ground. He rolls over with a coughing choke of blood, his nose clearly broken.

The first man gets to his feet, swaying drunkenly as he faces the closed door.

The door flies open again, and three more men spill out, backlit by the interior light. The first man stands up straight and squares his shoulders, the drunken air falling away from him like a cloak to the ground.

Jared can see the first man’s profile painted in the fluorescent alleyway light; that perfect nose, the swell of his lips, the jut of his chin. It’s the Jackal, younger and dressed in the most ordinary clothing Jared had ever seen him in; scuffed, loose blue jeans and a stained white t-shirt, black boots on his feet.

Younger Jackal spins around, left leg lifted high, boot connecting with the unfortunate first man out the door. The man’s jaw flies sideways, his body spinning in place once before he goes down on the concrete, unconscious. The other two men hold weapons; one wielding a bat, the other holding up a short knife blade. Jared can see the Jackal’s grin from here, one of his hands reaching up to wipe a stray drop of crimson from the corner of his mouth.

The two men attack and the younger Jackal lunges, snatching the bat from the one man’s grip. He yanks it away, twirls it lightning fast and reverses its position in his hand, practically punching the man in the forehead with the round flat of the handle. The man falls to the ground, blood bursting from the flesh above his eyes, and without pausing, the Jackal twirls the bat again, gripping the handle and swinging the end against the second man’s skull, striking it with a loud crack of bone. The man goes down instantly like a pile of bricks, barely breathing as he hits the ground.

“I was at my absolute lowest,” the Jackal whispers, close to Jared’s ear. “Drunk out of my mind.”

The younger Jackal stands above the four unmoving bodies in the alleyway, swaying dangerously on his feet, his chest heaving as he drops the bat. He’s clearly fucking hammered, and he still just kicked the absolute shit out of these guys.

These guys that he probably wouldn’t even deign to fight, under normal circumstances.

Jared puts the moment together with the timeline he knows, taking into account the most current developments in the Jackal’s life. It’s May 2017 and it’s been four months at this point, but Jared feels very strongly he knows what this is about.

“You were mourning Danneel,” Jared says. “The first time,” he amends. 

Silence hangs between them, broken only by the hum of the lights above.

In the distance, the younger Jackal staggers in place, stumbling as he tries to correct his balance.

“I barely remember any of this,” is all the Jackal admits. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Jared asks.

“You asked me how much worse I had been through. I wanted you to see for yourself.”

Jared looks at the younger Jackal standing in the alley, watching as he turns from the door, taking the first, staggering step away from them, bodies laid out behind him. Jared pulls his eyes from the shredded, blood-stained fabric stretched across the younger Jackal’s shoulder blades, and looks over at the older Jackal kneeling beside him. 

“I would have believed you if you told me this.” Jared holds the other man’s gaze. “I saw you two nights ago when her timeline sealed forever.”

“Two nights ago, you wouldn’t have believed I could have an emotion at all,” the Jackal counters.

“True,” Jared agrees. He hesitates a moment, then throws the Jackal’s words from last night back at him. “Things have changed.”

The Jackal’s eyes seem to burn into his. “There’s believing ,” the Jackal says. “And then there’s knowing .”

Jared considers that, considers the man across from him. And fuck him for a fool for the millionth time, but he tells the truth.

“I felt it,” Jared replies, voice low. “I knew.” 

Jared hesitates, uncertain about saying the next part, and then he goes on. “You must have really loved her. To have been that messed up over her death four months later. You must still really love her, to keep trying to rescue her for eleven years. To be as broken up as you’ve been the last few days over not being able to save her.”

The Jackal shakes his head back and forth once. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Whatever I felt then, whatever I feel now, I failed.” The Jackal looks at him in silence for a moment, his face giving away nothing of what he’s thinking, and then he reaches out for Jared’s hand.

“It’s over.” The Jackal’s fingers close over Jared’s. “Let’s go.”

“Where did you go?” Jared asks, taking his hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” the Jackal replies as his other hand moves to the switch on his Atta.

Jared looks past the dumpster to where the younger Jackal is still struggling to walk away, wondering where he’s going, what’s coming for him. Jared knows part of it, but only the smallest part; where the Jackal ends up. But he knows almost nothing else. He still doesn’t know why. Still doesn’t know what happened, except that Danneel died.

“Wait,” Jared says, acting on pure instinct as he pulls his hand from the Jackal’s.

The Jackal freezes, fingers on the switch of his Atta, and Jared meets his eyes, narrowed on him with anger.

“You have a good reason for almost killing yourself?” The Jackal’s tone is heated, sardonic.

“Not really,” Jared admits. “I just need a minute.”

Jared doesn’t understand the feeling inside him, just knows that something at the back of his mind is clanging, clattering, yelling at him.

He looks past the dumpster again, sees the younger Jackal maybe two steps further than he’d been a moment ago.

The silence in the alley is broken as the green door flies open again, two more men stumbling into the alley. 

The younger Jackal isn’t ready, just a little too slow as he wheels, one man throwing a wild punch at the Jackal’s jaw. It connects harder than it should, the Jackal staggering backwards. Head tilting back, his eyes go wide beneath the harsh light, and he’s already moving to correct his balance, catching it almost too late to dodge the next punch.

Almost.

The younger Jackal ducks, diving under the arm pistoned out at him, past the man beside that man, and then spins, fist aimed at the back of the first man’s head, delivering a quick punch to the space above the spine. The man goes down like his feet were cut from underneath him, and the second man turns on him, a little faster than the Jackal is right now, silver blade arcing beneath the light towards his face.

The younger Jackal smacks the blade aside with the flat of his right palm, grabbing the man’s wrist with his left hand, and spins into the momentum, inside the other man’s embrace, elbow thrown into the man’s ribs, then forearm thrown upward, backward, back of his fist connecting hard with the man’s face before he pirouettes on his feet, punching the man sharply between the eyes, sending the man reeling backward, arms pinwheeling before he goes down flat on his back.

The younger Jackal raises his foot, hits the man with a grazing boot-blow across the side of his face that sends the man’s head snapping back and forth once before he passes out.

The younger Jackal staggers, heaving with strained breaths, head hanging between his shoulders. He catches his balance and takes a few unsteady steps backward. He weaves, then turns suddenly, staggering forward.

Jared can see his face, bruised and bloody, suspended so beautifully beneath the fluorescent lights—and then the Jackal’s knees buckle, hitting the concrete hard as his upper body pitches forward, hands not even trying to catch himself. He falls forward and Jared hisses in a breath, anticipating the crunch of his face smashing into the concrete. 

There’s a wet splash, instead, water flying up in a sudden spray as the Jackal’s face falls into a pothole. For an instant, Jared is relieved, and then he notes the slow, silvery bubbles rising through the black water around the Jackal’s submerged face.

The alley is silent, harsh light shining down, illuminating all the downed bodies.

“You’re not getting up,” Jared breathes out.

“I will.” The Jackal’s voice is barely above a whisper. “We shouldn’t still be here.”

The bubbles slow, and then cease, and still, the younger Jackal doesn’t move.

“You’re unconscious,” Jared says.

“I can’t be.” The Jackal shakes his head, but Jared can hear the slightest doubt in the words, a sliver that sends a shiver coursing down Jared’s spine. “If I were unconscious I would have drowned right here. And I’m obviously not dead.”

The Jackal’s younger self still hasn’t roused, and without thought, without consideration, Jared is moving.

The Jackal grabs him by the shoulder, fingers digging into his flesh. “Jared, we can’t interfere.”

“No. You can’t interfere. But I can.” Jared jerks his shoulder, throwing off the Jackal’s grip.

He rushes across the space between the dumpster and the man lying face down in the water-filled pothole that’s going to kill him. 

He falls to his knees on the rough concrete beside the prone form of the younger Jackal, fingers gripping him by the shoulders as he pulls. Jared gets an arm around the man’s chest, holding him at a forward angle above the water, and strikes him between the shoulder blades with his other hand. Once, twice, and then the Jackal coughs, expelling water from his throat.

Jared waits until he’s done gagging, breathing evening out, and then Jared turns him over—not onto his back, where he could choke again, but onto his side, facing away from the pothole.

The younger Jackal’s face is bruised and covered in small cuts, water having washed away most of the blood, and he looks too pale beneath the blue fluorescents of the alleyway. Fragile, almost broken, so close to death.

So close to death, and Jared could have left him there, left him to die. He’s saved this man’s life twice now, so counterpoint to everything he’s supposed to do. But if he didn’t, they couldn’t be where they are now. And they have to be, don’t they?

Which means this was always supposed to happen.

This was always supposed to happen, and the Jackal… the Jackal hadn’t known. If the Jackal hadn’t brought Jared to this exact moment, the Jackal would have died, and he hadn’t even known it .

He turns his head, looks back to where the Jackal is still mostly concealed by shadow, overhead light illuminating his prominent features, and Jared can’t see his eyes from this distance, but he can see the confusion written across his brow, the tension in the hunched line of his shoulders. For a moment, Jared can see him plainly, clearly, without the witty, sardonic veneer, his face older, more lined and somehow even more gorgeous—the same bruised, defenseless face he’d looked down at a moment ago.

Jared has saved the Jackal’s life. Not once. But twice .

He’d done it without a thought, without stopping to consider what any of it means, and he never… he never should have been here in the first place. Circumstances converging in a single moment and it could have easily gone the other way.

But it hadn’t. It didn’t.

Could chance be this precise? 

Could coincidence be this succinct? 

Twice?

He looks back down at the younger man lying on the concrete, and he feels something click inside his mind, like a key turning in a secret lock.

It all comes together in his head then. He doesn't understand the full scope of it, but his life is intertwined with the Jackal’s. Maybe they’re meant to keep time from unraveling, maybe they’re supposed to do something else, but whatever it is, he needs to find out.

You’re thinking about destiny with a capital ‘D’ again.

It’s Chad’s voice that speaks up inside his mind, and Chad isn’t wrong. 

He doesn’t have time to focus on that, though. Needs to coax the Jackal out of shock, bring him back into consciousness. Can’t risk hitting him, doesn’t need to give him mouth to mouth. Jared’s a spy, an assassin; he doesn’t know much about saving people’s lives unless it means taking out another assassin before they can kill someone.

It isn’t that cold, but Jared yanks out of his light jacket anyway, arranging it like a small blanket across the Jackal’s upper body. He leans in, then, running on instinct, his lips brushing against the wet shell of the other man’s ear. The name that springs to his lips isn’t the right one, and he takes a moment, takes a breath.

“Jensen,” he whispers.

The man beneath him doesn’t move, and he closes his hand around the Jackal’s shoulder, pressing the makeshift jacket-blanket tighter against him, breathing warm breath against the other man’s ear.

“Get up. You have to get up,” Jared insists. 

Jared rubs his hands along the other man’s shoulder, down his arm, back up and down his spine.

“You’re not done yet.” Still close to the Jackal’s ear, Jared pulls in a breath, closes his eyes for an instant. “You’ve still got a future,” Jared tells him. “And I’m in it.” 

Jared grips the Jackal’s shoulder and squeezes him hard. “So get up. We’ve got work to do.”

The Jackal stirs beneath Jared, sucking in a deep breath and sputtering on the exhale. There doesn’t seem to be any water left in his throat, but it’s still rough from coughing.

He still seems weaker than he should be, and Jared squeezes his shoulder even harder.

“Get. Up.” Jared bites out the words, harsh against the other man’s ear.

The Jackal throws an elbow, and if the other man weren’t so drunk, if Jared weren’t so trained, it would have hit him in the jaw before he could yank back.

“Charming as ever,” Jared mutters, and shakes his head.

“Fuck off,” the Jackal grumbles, and the words are slurred, but he seems to be waking up.

Jared relaxes his grip, then squeezes the Jackal’s shoulder again as he pulls back to see the other man’s face. The Jackal’s eyes flutter open, blinking hard, and seem to focus on the far alley wall. He’s still in the coming back to reality stage, but Jared’s sure he’s going to get there. 

Jared can’t risk the Jackal seeing his face, or even remembering that anyone was here, because the Jackal clearly doesn’t remember this moment in the future and Jared doesn’t want to change that.

Jared has a split second debate over leaving his jacket, but the Jackal is so drunk he probably isn’t going to question where it came from. Will probably figure it came off one of the men he’d beaten up. It’s time period approved fashion, it isn’t even Jared’s, and there’s no real risk in leaving it behind. 

The Jackal stirs, seeming to test the movements of his limbs.

“That’s my cue,” Jared whispers to himself, and pushes to his feet. 

He runs the distance back to the dumpster, ducking into the shadows and kneeling. He throws a glance over his shoulder and sees the younger Jackal beginning to sit up, Jared’s jacket still clinging to his shoulder.

Jared looks back to the older Jackal and reaches out to take his hand. “Let’s go.”

The Jackal stares at him for an instant with brilliant green eyes, and then he takes hold of Jared’s hand, and everything flips sideways.

Chapter Text

When the world solidifies, they’re back in the bungalow, not the motel room in Rio Branco, and for an instant Jared is confused.

He sways slightly on his feet, everything around him sharpening into focus. 

“Why are we here?” Jared asks. “Our clothes—”

“I’ll go back and get everything.” 

The Jackal touches his shoulder momentarily, steadying him. Warmth and light electricity against his skin where the Jackal touches him, and Jared’s more aware than he usually is at this point after an Atta jump, but he’s still not one-hundred percent in control, everything that had just happened jumbling in his head. He’s hyper aware of his vulnerability right now, both emotional and physical, and what had seemed to make sense moments ago suddenly seems suspect.

In the alley everything had seemed so clear to Jared, but here, now…

“Tell me the truth,” Jared demands, vehement. “Did you know? Did you fucking set this up, because I swear to—”

The Jackal moves closer into Jared’s space, his face mere inches from Jared’s. “I didn’t know.” He speaks the words like a confession, voice pitched low, those green eyes locked on Jared’s. For a split second, Jared feels like he can see all the way inside the Jackal, past the realization that he’d nearly died, through the dawning realization that Jared’s the one who saved his life, all the way down to his soul.

There and gone in an instant, but Jared saw it. He knows he did. 

“We almost left,” the Jackal goes on, and Jared swears he can hear the faintest trace of wonder in his voice. “If you hadn’t—” The Jackal breaks off, then, his gaze focusing more sharply on Jared. “Why did you stop us from leaving?"

Jared shakes his head slightly. “I’m not sure. It was just… a feeling, I guess?”

“A feeling,” the Jackal echoes with a nod. His eyes narrow on Jared. “You know, up to this point, I’ve been thinking I’ve been holding all the cards. That I knew your plan. That I knew more than you. But there was no reason for you to stay after what we saw. We both thought the fight was finished.” 

Jared blinks, trying to follow the Jackal’s logic, unable to anticipate where he’s going.

“You knew I couldn’t interfere directly with my own past without causing a paradox. So you did it instead.” The Jackal moves further into Jared’s space, his green eyes alight with an angry fire. “Did you know, Jared? Did SR0 know? Did you save me because SR0 has a plan for me?”

Jared stares at the Jackal for a moment, overcome by confusion. “ What? ”

“ Did you know this was going to happen?’ the Jackal clarifies, his anger deepening, coloring his tone.

“No. How could I have known you were going to take me to that moment?” Jared feels stunned by this sudden turn in the Jackal, at a loss.

“SR0 could have known,” the Jackal counters, not blinking as he holds Jared’s gaze.

“If they’d known where you were in May twenty-seventeen, don’t you think they would have captured you then?”

“That depends on when they found out. And, it depends on their plan.” The Jackal tilts his head slightly, and his eyes have darkened, fire in them dying out, giving way to cold, flinty steel.

Jared has never seen the Jackal quite like this. He’s always been cocky, confident. But right now, he seems to be in Jared’s shoes for once, paranoid and rethinking everything. Jared can’t help the dark laugh that bubbles up from his chest. “I guess this isn’t entertaining for you anymore now that the shoe is on the other foot.”

The Jackal’s eyes go ice cold, and he starts to step away from Jared—tenths of a second, and Jared can sense the movement almost before it happens. He reaches out, grabbing the Jackal by one shoulder.

“You took me there. Not SR0. Jesus, stop and think for a second, Jensen.” The Jackal’s real name leaves his mouth without a thought, without any intention to say it, and for an instant he’s surprised at himself.

The sound of his real name seems to give the Jackal pause for a split second. But only a split second. “If they knew somehow that this would happen—”

“I already told you SR0’s plan. They want me to find out what you know. If they had a plan beyond that, I don’t know about it.”

The Jackal stares him dead in the eye, seeming to evaluate him. “No,” the Jackal says, after a moment. “You probably don’t.”

It’s an insult; the insinuation being that of course Jared wouldn’t know. He’s a tool SR0 uses, beneath knowing whatever real plan they might have. And hell, for all Jared knows, that might be true. Not for the reasons the Jackal thinks, necessarily, but he is only security level 12. 

“I’ve told you what I know,” Jared says, evenly.

The Jackal steps closer again—so close in Jared’s space—his mouth tantalizingly close to Jared’s. “Except that you’re still planning on killing me after you find out what they want to know, aren’t you?” The Jackal’s voice is low, gritty, almost sultry, words breathed close against Jared’s lips.

He’s using sex as a weapon, in a way he hasn’t since they’ve actually had sex, and Jared can feel the insertion of the barrier shoved between them. He’s surprised by the fact that he can feel it; that there was room for a barrier to go back up at all. That they’d created even the tiniest space where there wasn’t a barrier.

The plan is still to kill the Jackal. He’s not wrong. But that’s in the future, after Jared has figured out the mystery of the Bootstrap paradox, why the two of them are linked, and whatever it is the Jackal truly wants.

And to do that, Jared has to fall into the moment, gain back whatever ground they’ve lost.

Jared pulls his thoughts together, remembering the moment in the alley where he’d felt his mind unlock, what he’d discovered. When they’d returned to the bungalow, he’d been confused for a moment, questioning, but then he’d looked into the Jackal’s eyes and seen the truth.

What was it the Jackal had said about Atta time travel? Third time’s not quite the charm? Jared’s third time does seem to be the charm. Because he’s convinced now in a way that the Jackal could never have done if he’d been trying.

“We have zero reasons to trust each other,” Jared says. “But after what happened back there… I believe we’re linked. Like you do. I was meant to save you, for whatever reason.” 

“Is that what you think?” the Jackal asks, low and borderline hostile, words spoken so close to Jared’s lips.

“It is,” Jared breathes back. It’s the truth, and it’s not separate from his assignment.

The Jackal narrows his eyes further on Jared, like he’s weighing Jared’s words. Then, the Jackal takes a step backward and turns, walking to the kitchen counter, and Jared can feel the tension between them snap, beginning to recede. He feels the slightest touch of relief, and notes that he’s also slightly disappointed at the Jackal not being so close, but that’s not what he needs to focus on right now.

For a moment, Jared wonders if the Jackal is about to make a drink, but then the Jackal turns again, settling his lower back against the edge of the counter as he regards Jared, the sharp edge of suspicion still in his eyes.

Jared’s patience for this is beginning to run thin. He isn’t sure what else he can tell the Jackal to reassure him, and damn. “Maybe you should be a little more grateful that I saved your life.”

“How grateful did you want me to be?” The Jackal asks, voice low, his tone suggestive.

“Holy shit,” Jared breathes. “Is your head so far up your own ass that you can’t even say ‘thanks’?”

“I’m still not convinced you didn’t have an ulterior motive,” the Jackal tells him. 

“Jesus Christ.” It’s all Jared can do not to completely lose his temper. “ You’re the one who told me we were linked, and now that something big enough happened that I believe it, you’re going to turn on me ?”

“You expect me to believe you didn’t stop to think about any of it?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The Jackal huffs out a humorless laugh, not looking away from Jared. “Did it ever occur to you that if I had died, it would have kept the Bootstrap paradox from ever happening? That it would have kept me from existing in your life at all?” The corner of his mouth curls in a nasty smirk. “That you could go on your merry way, carrying out your missions for SR0. Be the perfect golden boy, forever?”

All the breath seems to leave Jared’s lungs, and it takes an effort not to flinch from the words like a gunshot. No. He hadn’t thought about that. Not even for a second. He could have stopped this—stopped everything. Instead he’d decided to ensure it all unfolded exactly as it had before to get them to this point. He’d been so in the moment, so focused on preserving the timeline that he hadn’t considered at all what he might have changed.

“No. I thought… I thought preserving the timeline was more important than anything else.” Jared feels numb as he says the words.

“You could have saved everyone a lot of trouble.” The Jackal’s tone is taunting.

Jared swallows hard, his mind working. “Maybe. But I also could have screwed a lot of other things up.”

“You think SR0 will see it that way?” the Jackal inquires with light sarcasm, raising a brow at Jared.

That’s… an incredibly good question. Jesus, he really could have saved everyone a lot of trouble. None of this ever would have happened, and the Jackal would be a non-issue. But if the Jackal weren’t here, if he hadn’t come to Jared, then…

“But…” Jared begins, his mind working through the problem even as he speaks. “But if I had let you die, SR0 would still be damaging the timeline. The Bootstrap paradox might not exist, but we’d still be on this path.” Jared pauses before he adds, “And because you wouldn’t be here to tell me, maybe we wouldn’t even know.”

The Jackal draws himself up, shoulders straightening as he folds his arms across his chest. He takes a breath, green eyes glinting, head inclining to one side as he meets Jared’s eyes.

“Coming from SR0’s top agent, that sounds like blasphemy,” the Jackal remarks.

“Or like the truth,” Jared counters. “Look, you said we were linked, I thought you were lying, trying to pull me in with some destiny bullshit. But after this? I believe it. I don’t know how, I don’t why, but something is happening. Time did bring us together for a reason.” He pauses. “Unless you somehow fucking set this up, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure you didn’t know, either."

“I didn’t.” The Jackal’s admission sounds like it costs him a little bit, this time. 

And he could fake that, Jared knows, but…“At some point, we have to start trusting each other, don’t we?”

“We really don’t.” The Jackal’s tone is matter of fact, and it sends Jared’s blood pressure sky-rocketing.

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” Jared demands, voice rising. “What is the fucking point in trying to work together if we can’t believe each other?”

“We’re on opposite sides, Jared. We’re enemies. This line we’re walking is a minefield.”

He’s right. He’s right and Jared can’t refute his logic. Goddammit. Fine. “We want the same thing. We both want to stop the timeline from being damaged beyond repair. SR0 wants— I want—to survive just as much as you do. If we can’t agree on anything else, can we agree on that?”

The Jackal observes him in silence for what seems like a long time. Then, slowly, he nods. “We can agree on that.”

“And now that I believe we’re meant to do it together, it doesn’t change a goddamned thing about the objective. It just means I’m more willing to work with you. So, I guess you’re right. We don’t have to trust each other. But we do have to figure out what the hell is going on. And that means, sometimes, we have to believe each other. Can we agree on that?”

A muscle shifts in the Jackal’s jaw, and then he nods again. “Sometimes.”

“I’m calling a truce,” Jared tells him. “Killing you is off the table until we figure out what the fuck is going on. Why there’s a Bootstrap paradox, why we’re linked, how we can keep time from being damaged.”

“You really think you’re good enough to kill me?” The corner of the Jackal’s mouth curves upward, the cold, flinty steel of his eyes giving way to wry amusement.

“You almost drowned in a puddle,” Jared reminds him.

The Jackal’s lips curve, and Jared thinks for a moment he can see appreciation for Jared’s wit in the other man’s eyes. “I meant in a fair fight.”

“Probably not,” Jared admits, and he’s had some time to come to terms with this fact, even if it does still sting. “But you’re alive right now because I saved you.” 

The Jackal’s green eyes seem to study him.

Jared takes a step closer to him. “That means something, doesn’t it?”

It feels like a long time, the Jackal’s eyes fixed on him, unblinking, before he finally takes a breath, then exhales. “I think it has to.”

“So we’re on the same page?” Jared raises his brows as he watches the Jackal’s face carefully.

“We are,” the Jackal agrees, his gaze steady on Jared’s.

“And you don’t think SR0 has some kind of secret master plan with me saving you?”

“I think if SR0 has a secret master plan, you don’t know about it,” the Jackal clarifies.

Fair enough. “Good.”

The Jackal regards him with contemplation, still leaning back against the counter, his arms still folded over his chest. They’ve reached an agreement, and Jared feels a sense of accomplishment. Now that they’ve put it all to rest though, he feels at a bit of a loss as to what he should do next.

“You want a drink?” Jared asks.

“Not right now.” 

And well, Jared can think of other things they can do. Not necessarily important to his mission, but not necessarily detracting from it, either.

Three steps, then four, closing the space between them, another, and another, until he’s standing so close to the Jackal that there’s no mistaking his intention. 

“You know, you keep deflecting, but I’ve saved your life twice now.”

The Jackal juts out his chin as he looks up at Jared, playful smirk toying at the corner of his mouth. “You want a cookie?”

“Maybe,” Jared replies, his voice low and husky.

A knock sounds from the front door, and neither of them turn to look in that direction, their eyes locked on each other.

“I have to go,” the Jackal says, lips centimeters from Jared’s. “But I’ll be back later.”

He presses his hand against Jared’s chest, gently pushing him away, and reaches for the Atta hidden beneath his jacket.

An instant later, he’s gone and Jared heaves a sigh, staring at the space he’d occupied a moment ago.

He wishes everything between them didn’t have to be such a tangled up mess. For a moment, he wishes they could just trust each other completely. Why couldn’t they just be on the same side?

But you’re not. 

Another knock sounds from the front door, more insistent this time.

Jared has a lot to think about and digest, and he isn’t going to get time to do it right now. He takes a deep breath and straightens, and then goes to answer the door.

Jensen materializes atop Shanghai Tower, and the high altitude has no bearing on the sudden, deep breath of air he pulls in.

It’s colder up here than the last time he’d been here with Jared, the night sky cloudy, but the buildings below in the distance still shine brightly. Tonight, he scarcely notices their beauty at all.

He’s known for a long while now that time brought him together with Jared, that they are linked somehow. The Bootstrap paradox had been enough to prove that. The kiss and the double memories were unexpected further proof. But to find out there was more … 

When he’d taken Jared back in time to save his life during the Triad shoot out, he’d already known that was going to happen. If he had died in that shoot out, he never would have met Jared, but if he hadn’t met Jared, Jared wouldn’t have been there to save his life that night. Yes, it had been a Bootstrap paradox with no point of origin, an unprecedented, potentially damaging time event, but he had known that going into it.

But when he’d seen himself lying face down in that pot hole, not breathing, he’d felt fear for the first time in more than a decade.

It wasn’t that he was afraid to die, it was that he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known . And by some inexplicable chance, he’d just happened to take Jared to that precise moment. To the exact moment his life needed to be saved. And Jared had known it was going to happen, somehow. If Jared wasn’t lying about what he knew, then he’d pulled his hand from Jensen’s and said he needed a moment based purely on intuition.

At least, that’s what normal people would call it. A gut feeling. A hunch. Intuition. All words for somehow knowing something without using conscious process or having concrete proof.

This is a second Bootstrap paradox. If he’d died in that alley, he never would have met Jared, but if he hadn’t met Jared, Jared could never go back in time and save him in that alley. A second Bootstrap paradox, and that alone would have been enough. But the fact that Jared had known Jensen’s death was coming somehow… 

He’d lashed out at Jared, suspicious that SR0 had known. Because the implications were too huge if it had simply been a feeling on Jared’s part. Because…

Because the only place that feeling could come from, is from time itself. And that means things are far worse than he’d thought.

This is more than a second Bootstrap paradox. 

This is time beginning to come undone.

Jared opens the door to the early mid-afternoon sunlight to find Chad standing there.

To his surprise, Chad pushes past him into the house, storming in the direction of the living room.

“Where is he?” Chad demands. “Is he still here?”

Jared closes the door and turns, confused. “The Jackal? He’s gone.”

Chad pulls up short, taking a deep breath, his fingers clenched into fists at his side. “Goddammit,” he growls, and then spins on Jared. “I was ready to give that motherfucker a piece of my mind.”

“After six hours?” Jared is still confused.

“I was ready .” Chad lifts a single finger pointed at Jared.

“You came back here to yell at the Jackal?” Jared blinks at him. “You’re scared shitless of him.”

“Yeah.” Chad is aggressive in his admission. “I am .” He points at Jared again. “And if you had any goddamned sense, you would be, too. But here’s the thing, Jay.” Chad advances on him, closing the distance between them. “I’m really. Fucking. Tired. Of being scared shitless. This whole thing,” Chad says, hands rising from his sides and flapping to encompass ‘this whole thing’, “has me scared shitless. The Jackal. SR0. Time. You.”

“Chad, I get it. I really do.”

“Do you?” Chad’s brows rise with skepticism. “Because I’m pretty sure you’e too busy fucking the Jackal to get it.”

Jared’s mouth tightens and he has to push past the anger that wants to get in the way. The anger that insists Chad should know him better than this. 

“You’ve wanted to fuck him since the beginning, and now you’ve got what you want. Are you going over to his side, Jay? Is that what’s happening here?”

Jared sucks in a surprised breath. “What? No.”

“Really?” Chad’s skepticism hasn’t diminished at all. “Because from here it’s hard to—”

Jared moves the few steps it takes to close the distance between them completely, his hands reaching out to clasp Chad’s. Chad is startled into silence, looking down at their hands held together between their bodies. 

“We have to talk, Chad. And I need you to listen to me before you make up your mind about anything. Okay?”

Chad looks at him for a long moment, and then finally he nods. “Okay.”

* * * * *

A while later, they sit in the living room, ice melting in their mostly untouched liquor.

Chad is staring at him, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Jared. Do you…” Chad shakes his head harder. “No, you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“What happened to you in Rio Branco. That was a second Bootstrap paradox.”

Jared stares at him, open mouthed for an instant. He hasn’t had time to process any of what happened, and the scientific aspects of how time works aren’t his area of expertise. But he really… he really should have probably put that together. He probably would have, if he’d had some space to breathe between events.

“What does that mean?” he asks, still trying to process it.

“Fuck if I know .” Chad seems at as much of a loss as Jared feels.

“What do you think it means?” Jared asks.

“I didn’t believe the Jackal about the first Bootstrap paradox, but then—” Chad breaks off.

“But then you found out about the damage to the timeline,” Jared finishes.

Chad’s brows fly upward. “How do you know about that?” He shakes his head a split second later. “Never mind. Stephen told you.”

Jared makes a motion for Chad to continue, and Chad glances around briefly, seeming to recollect his thoughts.

“I thought the Jackal was fucking with you, because that’s what he does. But you’re telling me you were both about to leave and you yanked your hand away from him when it could have potentially killed you… because you had a feeling ?”

Jared nods.

“I need you be very fucking specific about this, Jared. Because there’s no way the Jackal could have known you’d have a feeling . And if he set this up…” Chad bites at his lower lip, seeming to debate. “No. He couldn’t have set this up. Not this one. The shoot out, maybe. He could have survived that one on his own. But drunk as shit, face down, ass up, drowning in a puddle? No way he stages that. It’s too risky. The only reason his heart didn’t stop is because you got there fast enough. And his lungs were already full of water?”

Chad’s eyes flick up to meet Jared’s, and Jared nods in confirmation.

“If there’s one thing the Jackal would be careful about, it’s his own survival. That motherfucker thinks he’s doing king shit.” Chad leans forward and slides a hand across his face, nose resting just above the crook of his thumb and forefinger, eyes cast downward, seeming lost in thought.

“Chad?”

“God dammit, Jay,” Chad breathes, sitting up straight, hand falling away from his face. “Confirming this Bootstrap paradox makes the other one seem more likely. And two Bootstrap paradoxes along with your feeling …”

“What?”

Chad closes his eyes and shakes his head, running his hands up into his hair, grabbing and tugging the strands. Before Jared can say anything else, Chad’s eyes fly open and he blows out a long, slow breath, air nearly whistling as it passes through his tense, rounded lips. He shoves up from the couch and grabs his drink, tossing back the entirety of it, and then starts to walk in the direction of the kitchen.

Jared pushes to his feet, following behind Chad, a growing sense of dread filling him. He wants to ask what the hell Chad isn’t saying, but he’s pretty sure he already knows. 

Chad puts ice into his glass, filling it with more whiskey, and Jared waits, standing a few feet behind him, mouth set in a grim line.

“It’s timeline decay, isn’t it?” Jared asks, voice low.

Chad tosses back his second drink, draining the glass and slamming it down on the counter. He spins to face Jared, throwing his hands up in the air. “Of course it’s fucking timeline decay, Jay.” Chad is clearly upset and emphatic, and Jared can’t blame him.

Chad’s jaw shifts back and forth and he looks off to one side. “Time is fucked up. Like really, really fucked up. And fuck me , because I’m starting to think…”

“Think what?”

Chad looks him dead in the eye, his expression conveying how very much he hates himself for what he’s about to say. “I’m starting to think maybe the Jackal is right. You two are connected.” Chad rubs his hands over his face and then drops them at his sides, shaking his head once before he meets Jared’s eyes again. “Two Bootstrap paradoxes around the two of you, when we’ve never had proof of a Bootstrap paradox before…”

Chad snorts in disbelief at himself and begins to stalk back towards the living room, shaking his head rapidly back and forth the whole way.

Jared follows him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. 

Chad turns to look at him, his blue eyes seeming haunted.

“What is it?” Jared asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chad sighs, looking down at the floor. “Time is wounded,” he says. “Maybe broken.” He huffs out a ragged breath that might be a laugh and then looks up to meet Jared’s gaze. “Two Bootstrap paradoxes. Two,” he says, emphatic as he holds up his first and middle fingers between them. “Centered around you and the motherfucking Jackal. I think it’s more than coincidence, more than a connection.”

“What do you think it is?”

Chad closes his eyes for a moment, head rocking back and forth.

“Chad. What do you think it is?”

Chad’s eyes snap open, fixing on Jared’s. “I think it’s destiny. With a capital “D”.”

Jared is stunned. So stunned that words fail him entirely.

“ Fuck I need a fucking cigarette,” Chad exhales, pressing the heels of his palms against his forehead.

“You…” Jared takes a moment, collects himself and tries again. “ You think me and the Jackal are connected by destiny? You’re getting on board with this theory?”

“I know how it sounds,” Chad says, letting his hands fall and sighing. “I can’t even believe I’m saying it. But there are only so many coincidences that can pile up before even I can’t deny this looks like some shit cooked up by a divine being.”

“Wait. Divine being ? You mean like God?”

Chad nods, looking miserable. “Or a godlike power.”

Jared guesses he’d never really dissected the idea of destiny before. It’s always just been a word to describe something meant to be, something meant to happen according to the will of the universe, a big, vague idea. He’d never thought about what might be behind that will. 

“Look.” Jared meets Chad’s gaze full on. “I was thinking the same thing when I was saving his life the second time. Like no way this happens twice seemingly by chance. But Chad… God?”

“I know .” Chad is extremely agitated. “I’m an athiest, Jared. You really think I wanna be standing here contemplating the fact that I may have been wrong about the source of creation my entire fucking life ?”

“Could it be time?” Jared asks, voice gentle, calming. “With a capital ‘T’?”

“Now you want to talk about time being sentient ?” Chad does not seem comforted at all. “At least if it’s God I can beg for forgiveness. Time didn’t sacrifice its only son to absolve us of our sins. Time doesn’t have a son.” Chad throws his hands up in the air. “Time isn’t going to give a shit.

“Chad.” Jared puts his hands on Chad’s shoulders and dips his head slightly, meeting Chad’s eyes with his own on the same level. “Breathe."

Chad takes a deep breath and exhales, then he fixes Jared with a shifty look. “You don’t have any cigarettes hiding around here do you?”

“You are not going to start smoking again.”

“Why the hell not?” Chad demands. “Time is so screwed it’s halfway up the apocalypse’s ass,  and if I’m gonna die soon anyway then I’m gonna goddamned well do it with sweet, delicious nicotine in my veins.”

“No.” Jared enunciates the single syllable word with two distinct syllables. “Absolutely not.”

“Ah, shit.” Chad sighs. He shakes his head, hard, and then heads back to the kitchen to pour himself another drink.

* * * * *

It takes Jared the better part of twenty minutes to calm Chad down to the point where Chad will talk about scientific theories again. But theories are all Chad has. He doesn’t have any solid explanations, much as Jared might wish he did. Chad does posit several theories, though. Two of them make Jared frown in confusion, but the third one is the same one that occurred to Jared when he was back in May 2017.

He looks across the coffee table at Chad sitting slumped back in his chair. Chad doesn’t look like he’s going to blow a gasket anymore, but he still looks pretty rough around the edges. “Do you think we can fix it? Me and the Jackal, I mean.”

Chad’s brows rise in vague disbelief. “You and ‘the Jackal’? You should probably start referring to him as Jensen. I usually make it a point to call someone by their first name if I’m going to stick my dick in them.”

Chad’s clearly still disappointed with Jared for sleeping with the Jackal, but Jared takes his remark seriously. “It just feels weird, now. Like, heat of the moment, sure. But he’s not really ‘Jensen’ to me.”

Chad huffs out a breath, looking tired. “Okay. You do you, bro.”

“You never answered my question.”

Chad lifts his shoulders and lets them drop, shaking his head back and forth. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe that’s why you’re linked. But Jay.” Chad sighs and clasps his hands together. “I don’t know how you can fix this. We’ve never seen timeline damage like this before. We think we know what caused it, but we can’t point to anything solid. And we’ve got no fucking idea how to repair it.”

Theories and guesswork is what they’ve got, and Jared wonders if the Jackal knows anything more than they do. Earlier today, Jared would have sworn the Jackal knew more about all of this than he was telling, but then the Jackal had accused Jared of trying to play him, and Jared’s pretty well convinced he wasn’t acting.

Maybe the Jackal has been honest all this time. Maybe he has no clearer idea than Jared does about what’s happening. If that’s true… that’s maybe the most terrifying thing of all. Because that means he doesn’t know how to fix it. And if the super genius who’s the closest thing to an expert in time travel doesn’t know… then it’s likely no one does.

It also means Jared’s current mission for SR0 is over. If the Jackal doesn’t know anything more about what’s happening, there’s no more need for the mission. And that means all that’s left is for Jared to get close enough to find an opening to kill him.

Except that he and the Jackal are intertwined. By time, by some cosmic force, fate, whatever it is. They were brought together to do something . There are too many weird anomalies around them to just brush off. Surely the Director and Stephen will see that.

He can convince them. He’s sure he can. He’s also sure he’d better convince them because he’d just taken killing the Jackal off the table two hours ago after giving the Jackal shit for not believing him. It’s not that he’s never gone back on his word to an enemy before; but before, he was always lying when he gave it. He’s never given his word in all honesty to anyone and then gone back on it. And earlier today, he’d been being completely honest with the Jackal.

He guesses he could take it off the table again, if he has to. But he doesn’t want to. Not to mention he isn’t even sure he can pull off killing the Jackal, even if he wanted to. 

“If there’s even the smallest chance the two of us can stop the timeline decay, we have to take it.” Jared takes a deep breath, holds it for an instant and then exhales. “Now I just have to figure out if that’s what we’re meant to do, what that means… and how to do it.”

“Yeah. Just the small stuff,” Chad replies, sardonic.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Jared tilts his head as he looks Chad over.

“No. I am not going to be ‘okay’. Like ever fucking again.” Chad leans forward and puts his elbows against his knees, one hand rubbing along the line of his jaw. “This shit is crazy, Jay. Like full fucking tilt, non-stop, careening out of control crazy. Like, I can’t even worry about what I found out about Danneel Harris’ possible inside assassination, because time falling apart just full on eclipses that.” Chad huffs out a scoffing breath. “But… I guess I’ll live. Until time collapses, anyway.” He pauses, seeming to think for a moment. “And if there is a way to fix this… you might need my help.”

Jared feels his heart lighten a fraction with Chad’s words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know I will.”

“Don’t try to sweet talk me,” Chad says and smirks. 

“Do I need to?” Jared asks.

“Nah. I’d do this for free.” Chad huffs out a rough laugh and Jared smiles in return.

For a moment, things almost feel normal between them.

“You seem like you feel better,” Jared ventures.

“I’m still terrified, but at least now I’m mostly terrified about time. Hah. Mostly .” Chad rolls his eyes. “But.” He meets Jared’s gaze again. “SR0 has stopped the missions causing the damage and the Jackal seems to…” Chad shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “The Jackal seems to be on our side. For that part of things, anyway.”

“Yeah.” Jared nods.

“The fucking Jackal. Motherfucking Jackles.” Chad sighs. “Who woulda thought, huh?”

“Not me.”

Chad nods, and then his blue eyes fix intently on Jared. “Teaming up with him, I get. Why are you fucking him, though? I mean seriously, Jay, there’s never been a worse idea.”

“The sex is amazing?” Jared offers, pretending to be joking.

“That’s worse,” Chad says, eyeing him seriously. “You get how that’s worse, right?”

Jared thinks, debating telling the absolute truth for a moment before he answers. “The chemistry is crazy. Like, drawn together by the will of the universe and united in destiny levels of crazy. And I don’t know if that’s why it’s so intense, but it is that intense.” 

Inspiration strikes him, and he leans forward, stretching out a hand, palm upward. “The way you said you couldn’t resist a hot chick in a creepy van offering you free head? How even though it was unlikely to turn out well for you, it would be too irresistible to pass up the chance? It’s the same thing. I don’t know if it’s the danger, the thrill of it all, but you’re right. I’m not just fucking him because of the mission.”

Jared takes a breath. “But, it’s still part of the mission. And the mission is still my priority. I’m telling you the truth, Chad.” Jared retracts his hand and settles it in his lap. “I’m on a wild, crazy ride—”

“On the end of his dick,” Chad mutters.

“—but I know where my loyalties are,” Jared finishes.

Chad’s face is still except for the rise of his brows. “How good is the sex?”

“It’s insane,” Jared assures him. Jared hesitates, and then he admits something he’d probably never admit to another human being except for Chad. “Like possibly ruined for sex with anybody else for the rest of my life insane.”

Chad stares at him in contemplative silence for a long moment. “And you still can’t call him Jensen?”

Jared laughs, despite himself. 

“You’re a complicated man, Jay.”

“It’s how I keep distance between us.”

Chad twirls one hand on the end of his wrist. “I guess that’s something . But damn, Jay. You really think you’re destined to ride the Jackal’s dick?”

Jared thinks about that for a moment. “I think it can’t hurt the mission.”

“Maybe. But it could hurt you . You almost lost your way before when you weren’t banging him.”

“I know. But you know I learned my lesson.”

“I sure as fuck hope so.”

“I did.”

Chad nods, then sighs, seeming resigned. “You think maybe you can fuck a miracle out of him? Maybe do some divine-touched raw dogging reverse cowgirl timeline saving shit?” Chad makes some vague motions with his hands and Jared’s grateful that they’re vague, because he really doesn’t want to get up and stop Chad from slipping into hand puppet theater graphic porno re-enactments, but he will if he has to.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Jared thinks for a moment. “Although I wouldn’t be against giving it a try.”

Chad makes a disgusted noise, flapping a hand at Jared. “I don’t get it, man. He’s not that hot.”

“You’re straight,” Jared says, fixing Chad with a look. “And also—yes he is .”

Chad shrugs, as if to say ‘whatever’. “For the record, I think this is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Dumbest of the dumb. You’re Prince Dumb of the kingdom of Dumbonia. In the history of your bad ideas, this one is the worst. If they were giving out awards for the worst idea ever—”

“I get it,” Jared says, cutting him off. 

Chad purses his lips, and then compresses them into a thin line. “I know everyone has said this to you a thousand times, but… just be careful. Please be so very fucking careful. Don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

“I was going to say don’t go falling for that asshole’s bullshit and start having feelings about him. But I shouldn’t worry about that. You’ve never been in love with anyone, so why start now?”

“You’re fine. Right?” Chad fixes him with a penetrating look.

“Absolutely,” Jared replies with complete confidence.

Chapter Text

Jared heaves a sigh of relief when Chad leaves, closing the front door behind him, forehead leaned against the cool, glossy veneer of the wood. Chad seems to believe him, seems to be on board with potentially fixing time, if that’s what Jared and the Jackal are meant to do. 

He could have lost Chad. In the moments before Jared had taken his hands, taken him to the living room and told him the truth—before those moments, Jared could have lost him. And that had scared Jared enough to tell Chad the absolute truth, even when he probably shouldn’t have. 

His incredibly smart and talented, slightly unhinged, wildly paranoid, crazy friend is the only person he fully trusts. Stephen is like his brother but Stephen is still his boss. Until recently, he hadn’t believed there was a chance of losing Stephen, but now he knows there is. 

Chad is his friend. In the face of that there are very few things that matter. Because when push comes to shove, Chad is the person he trusts to be there. Even if Chad is paranoid, even if he isn’t always right, he’s always there. And Jared needs him. Especially now. 

He can’t lose Chad.

He breathes deep, then exhales, pushing off the door. He turns, and walks to the area between the kitchen and the living room, standing by the breakfast bar. 

Through the glass doors, the sun is beginning to set over the water, clouds lit from beneath by deep glowing red like lava, golden rays still shining out from behind them, sky fading from blood orange to peach over water that reflects every color, waves glistening.

So beautiful, so serene, gorgeously perfect. 

He closes his eyes against the picture perfect Florida sunset, and he can see it; melting brown burn bubbling against the sky, waves stuttering beneath the orange light. 

Two Bootstrap paradoxes and it might not take much more before everything seals shut and comes apart.

Maybe it isn’t that bad.

Jared’s eyes flutter open, taking in the golden red-orange of the sunset. It’s still day one of knowing all this and he hasn’t even had time to report to SR0 yet. If the timeline was in danger of collapsing, he surely would have heard something from Stephen by now. So it’s probably fine. For now.

Still, he stares out through the glass doors, waiting.

Where are you? Jared wonders.

Halfway across the world from Shanghai, Jensen rematerializes inside Rook One.

It’s not very large, the size of a modest single family ranch style home. It’s decorated sparsely, but comfortably, shades of cream and brown made richer by the lamp lighting. It could be home. It could be his home. But it isn’t. Being comfortable is a vulnerability, and if SR0 ever found this place, it would be gone. There’s no sense in getting attached.

He’d chosen this location carefully, set it up with a time distortion field that doesn’t damage time so much as it tricks time into looking past it. He’d made it as safe as he could. But nothing is ever truly safe when you’re an enemy of SR0, and he can’t afford to buy into the illusion that it is. 

It’s a normal enough seeming ‘home’, except for the room filled with computers and servers, holding all the information he’s collected and backing it up to secondary, tertiary, quadruple and more locations, known only to him. That room draws a lot of power, and he’d had to come up with a generator of his own making to keep from drawing too much electricity from a power grid that might give away his location. 

Six other Rook bases comprise his back up of information, but this is the main hub. It, along with its six siblings, is made to explode from within on a five second countdown in case of an intrusion. The magnetic field would atomize anyone besides Jensen who tried to materialize inside it, but anyone entering physically would trigger the explosion. Jensen always travels in by teleporting through time. He never opens any doors or windows to the outside.

In all theory, it’s impenetrable. It’s his veritable Fortress of Solitude. But his arrival disrupts the time distortion field for fractions of a second—fractions of a second SR0 could notice. 

Right now, though, he wants to be as safely alone as he possibly can. The risk from SR0 exists, but it’s minimal. He pre-programs his Atta to make sure he can escape if anything does happen, and heads to the kitchen at the top of the house.

Everything has gone sideways. Time, and Jared, have saved his life twice. He’d thought before that he needed to start being more honest with Jared, and he had. But not completely honest. He can only be so honest, and there’s honesty that Jared wouldn’t believe anyway.

He’d known he and Jared were tied together. That time had brought them together. And after the events of today, he’s convinced they are meant to do something . 

Fix time? He wonders, as he pulls a glass from a cabinet. And on the heels of that, “How?”

He drops ice cubes into the glass, then pours it three quarters full of the whiskey bottle sitting beneath the cabinet.

He drinks it down fast, pushing away other thoughts that want to intrude. He needs to focus on Jared now. On figuring out how this is all going to work, if it even is. 

He has to be more honest. Maybe he should just tell Jared the truth.

Maybe.

He’s still considering it when the new memory hits him.

It’s long after sunset when the Jackal appears on Jared’s deck, rapping sharply on the glass. Jared had been debating watching a movie to pass the time, but he hadn’t decided on anything. He clicks the tv off and walks to the glass doors.

The Jackal had obviously gone back to get their things from Rio Branco. He’s dressed in the clothes he’d arrived in this morning; khaki shorts, cuffed just below mid thigh, and a light blue, form fitted tank top that hugs his chest and waist almost sinfully tight. His arms and shoulders are bare, on display beneath the moonlight, light and shadow clinging to the musculature. He isn’t wearing sunglasses this time though, long strands of light brown hair just brushing the tops of his cheekbones at the edges. Green eyes luminescent beneath the moonlight, nose and cheekbones highlighted, and he’s absolutely gorgeous, perfectly formed as if he were sculpted by an artist's hand.

The Jackal sways slightly on his feet, and Jared feels distant surprise. He’d thought the Jackal was doing better. They’d gone on their jump earlier today, and despite the Jackal’s suspicion, they’d come out the other side on decent terms. He’d thought the Jackal had his head back in the game. But clearly, he doesn’t.

He’s still mourning Danneel. Eleven years. Eleven years and he’d never stopped trying to save her. Jared wonders what it’s like to love someone at all; can’t imagine loving someone that much.

“You’re still mourning,” Jared remarks.

The Jackal doesn’t respond to that, saying instead, “Are you going to invite me in, or let me stand here all night while you make random observations?”

Jared shakes his head as he steps back, motioning the Jackal inside. He’d hoped they could talk about the time loops, about what the Jackal thinks they’re meant to do. But Jared would prefer to do that when the Jackal isn’t drunk and grieving.

The Jackal steps inside, making his usual quick circuit around the kitchen, checking for cameras and traps, Jared supposes.

When he stops, standing near the refrigerator, Jared regards him curiously. “What was it that you loved about her so much?”

“Probably whatever you think it was,” the Jackal responds, glib.

“I don’t know what it was,” Jared replies. “I’ve never been in love with anyone.”

“Never?” the Jackal inquires, tilting his head slightly, stepping closer.

“Never.”

The Jackal tilts his head even further, considering Jared. “Interesting.”

“Probably a good thing. Eleven years and never getting over someone doesn’t sound like a good time.”

The Jackal looks like he’s about to say something, and then he straightens, turns his back to Jared, going to the sink to wash a glass.

There’s something strange about the Jackal’s energy tonight. Something that feels off . Jared should explore it, press the Jackal a bit and see what, if anything, falls out.

Jared moves up alongside him. “Do you think being linked by destiny is better, or worse than falling in love?”

“That’s a strange question,” the Jackal replies, not looking at him as he turns on the sink water.

Jared tilts his head to one side in agreement. He’s had a lot of time to think about things today. “You said something, before the first time we slept together about how ‘this is just history repeating’. You’re not in love with me, but we are linked. Is that what you meant?”

The Jackal side eyes him as he washes the glass. “I told you I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Do you believe in God?” Jared asks.

“No.” One of the Jackal’s eyes squints as he focuses on Jared. “Do you?”

“I’m agnostic.”

“ You’re undecided about something?” The Jackal seems mildly surprised.

“I can’t tell if you’re actually surprised or if you’re being sarcastic.”

The Jackal shuts off the water and shakes off his glass. “Vaguely surprised. You’re the golden boy who’s devoted to his country. But you also don’t believe anything you haven’t seen with your own eyes unless it comes from SR0.” The Jackal pauses. “That last one makes me inclined to think you’d be an atheist. But the first one makes me think you’d believe in God. Either would make sense. But being in the middle?” He squints at Jared. “That’s not your style.”

It’s Jared’s turn to be surprised. The Jackal has rarely—if ever—simply answered a question. Much less at length. And if he’d had to guess before this moment, he wouldn’t have guessed the Jackal had thought this hard about what kind of person Jared is.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Practically, I hardly know you at all,” the Jackal agrees. “Impractically, it doesn’t always feel that way.”

Jared narrows his eyes on the Jackal, trying to figure out what his angle is. He’s right; Jared has felt the same. The weird thing is that the Jackal is admitting to it. 

The Jackal has been inside his head and such a huge part of his life that Jared can hardly remember what his life was like before. He can’t say that —it feels like too much of an admission—but he can respond along the same lines. Jared considers the reasons he should or shouldn’t respond with the truth, and then decides it can’t hurt anything.

“Sometimes,” Jared says, “I realize it’s only been a couple of months—not even—and I can’t believe it. I feel like I’ve known you way longer than that. But most of the time you seem like a complete stranger to me.” He eyes the Jackal thoughtfully. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

“Very,” the Jackal agrees with a single nod. He steps closer to Jared, then closer still, so close Jared can smell the alcohol, nearly feel the heat of his breath against his lips, those intense green eyes burning into him. 

“What is it about you?” the Jackal asks in a low, rough voice, his eyes flickering back and forth between Jared’s. “You’re SR0’s version of a trick, a trap…” he shakes his head back and forth, eyes burning into Jared’s, “but it isn’t SR0 that keeps bringing us together.”

Jared feels breathless with the Jackal’s nearness, mesmerized by his gaze. “You’re the one that keeps coming back here,” he whispers, glancing down at the Jackal’s mouth before meeting his eyes again. 

The Jackal doesn’t say anything, but Jared can see the corners of his eyes crinkle with that familiar, maddening smirk. For long, breathless seconds, the Jackal holds his gaze--and then he moves, glides to one side, shoulder rubbing Jared’s as he moves past Jared.

Jared closes his eyes briefly, willing his pulse to slow, takes a deep breath, and turns. 

The Jackal is standing not far behind him; in front of the counter next to the fridge, glass set down before him before he pulls the ice cube tray from the freezer. He makes his drink and then turns, leaning his lower back against the counter as he looks over at Jared. He holds out the hand with his drink in it, nodding at Jared.

“You haven’t been drinking tonight,” the Jackal notes, and for a moment Jared is mystified.

And then it clicks; Jared hasn’t been drinking tonight, the Jackal can’t smell the liquor on his breath, which means the possibility exists that the liquor could be drugged. Annoyed, Jared moves to stand directly in front of him, grabs the glass and downs the whole thing before handing it back to the Jackal.

The Jackal’s eyes flick down to the glass now filled only with ice cubes, seemingly amused by Jared’s actions. He reaches around behind himself and catches hold of the whiskey bottle neck, pulling it around his body before refilling the glass. He downs it in one go, just as Jared had done. 

Jared’s in no position to judge the other man—Jared and everyone he knows drinks way more alcohol than they should. It’s how they cope with the constant stress of potential death every time they go on a mission or one of their friends does. He’s in no position to judge, but he’s still surprised. Despite his behavior for the last three nights, the Jackal had always seemed beyond such things. More human than human. Sometimes even superhuman. Apparently, Jared’s still grappling with seeing the Jackal as just a man.

The Jackal sets the empty glass aside and slides his elbows back across the tiled top, draping himself against the counter. He looks delicious, like an invitation, and Jared’s inclined to accept.

Jared closes the distance between them, and the Jackal looks up at him with curious green eyes that seem to sparkle with amusement. As if he knows exactly what Jared’s doing but pretending he doesn’t. Jared leans in, making his intentions clear, mouth within inches of the Jackal’s.

The Jackal leans close, breath warm against Jared’s lips. “We’re not doing this.”

Jared bites against the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to recoil as if he’d been slapped. 

“Because you’re heterosexual?” Jared narrows his eyes on the Jackal, considering. “You know,” he says, leaning closer, cheek skimming against the Jackal’s, whispering into his ear, “you’re even hotter when you think you’re straight.”

The Jackal turns his cheek, lips brushing against Jared’s ear. “I had sex with you because I thought it might make you more willing to work with me.” He pulls in a breath, then whispers, “I don’t need to do that anymore. Do I?”

Jared feels his eyes go wide with shock, feels the blood drain from his face, so surprised, for an instant he can’t even be angry. And then anger rushes to fill the void shock had left behind. The Jackal is so full of shit. God, he’s being such an asshole. Jared grits his teeth, pushes down the fury that wants to come bursting out of him. “That wasn’t a mission, or a tactic. That kind of chemistry can’t be faked.”

“I’m an amazing actor.” The Jackal draws away, back leaning over the counter so he can focus on Jared’s eyes. 

Jared stares at him, cheeks flushing with anger, and fuck him. Fuck him to the end of the world and back again. He could be the most amazing actor to ever exist and he still couldn’t have faked what they’ve done the last two nights. Jared’s sure of it. There might not be any feelings involved, but the pure, incredible physicality between them was real.

“No one’s that good.” Jared shakes his head, eyes never leaving the Jackal’s.

“I am.” The Jackal holds his gaze. 

“I don’t believe you.” Jared is resolute.

“Do you not believe me because you want it not to be true, or do you really think I’m lying?” The Jackal lifts his chin, his gaze almost imperious. “It can be easy to mistake one for the other.”

Jared studies the Jackal’s expression in silence, searching his heart for the truth. “I really think you’re lying.”

The Jackal considers him with glittering eyes, stoic for a moment, and then the corners of his mouth curl in a faint smile. “Good. Because if you believed me about that when all evidence points to the contrary, we were going to have real trouble believing each other even sometimes .”

“You were testing me?” Jared is incredulous, and more than a little angry.

“This attraction,” the Jackal reaches out and takes Jared by the hip, pulling him in and slotting their hips together, “is the most honest we’ve ever been with each other.”

Jared’s anger fades as he’s caught up in the nearness of the Jackal, the scent of him and the feel of their bodies pressed together. It fades, but not completely, blending into the sudden rush of blood through his veins, the pounding of his heart, the electricity beneath his skin everywhere they touch, until anger and desire become one violently charged force buzzing through him, each indecipherable from the other. Until everything inside him is pure want.

So close together and all Jared can think is how much he wants to kiss him, feel his bare skin sweating against Jared’s. Deep inside him, fucking him, completely unable to focus on anything but this incredible physical connection between them.

He has to pull out of it with a force of will, trying to focus. But all he can see is that beautiful, maddening face; all he can feel is the incredible, electric chemistry thrumming through his nerves. He wonders if he has the same effect on the Jackal. 

Get it together.

“If this attraction is the most honest we’ve ever been, then tell me… is it just with me? Am I the only guy?”

The Jackal regards him silently for a moment.

“I don’t mind sleeping with men for the sake of a mission. It doesn’t repulse me. But men aren’t my preference.” The Jackal’s pupils are wide, deep black circles caught within a thin rim of green. “You, though. You’re an exception.”

For a moment, Jared is astounded that the Jackal seems to be answering him honestly, and then he mentally steps back, tries to reassess the situation. The Jackal has only ever been honest with Jared when it seems to benefit him or to benefit the situation they’re in. This sounds like something the Jackal would say to try to win Jared over.

“So, I’m special?” Jared asks, arching a brow at him.

“You don’t believe me,” the Jackal notes.

Jared stares at him for a long moment and then shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

The Jackal leans in close, lips brushing Jared’s, heat of his breath against Jared’s mouth as he murmurs, “Maybe this is one of those times when you should believe me.”

“Or maybe,” Jared bites at the Jackal’s lower lip, breathing out hard. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I guess,” the Jackal breathes back, “we’ll find out.”

They fall into each other, mouths colliding and crashing, lips parting, tongues circling. Hands grabbing at each other, pulling each other close until they’re molded together, connected by skin, by fire and electricity. Blood thrums in Jared’s veins and he digs his nails into the space between the Jackal’s shoulder blades, runs his hands up into the Jackal’s hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

One hand fisted in the material of Jared’s tank top, the other closed around the back of Jared’s neck, and the Jackal kisses him with perfect sensual brutality, rough and deep and completely plundering Jared’s mouth. Chests pressed together, hearts beating like thunder, so much bare skin and still not enough. Jared needs every bit of the Jackal naked and molded against him, filling him up inside, the two of them fucking like they’re trying to take each other apart.

The Jackal pushes Jared away and then pushes off the counter with his body, putting inches of space between them, long enough to strip them both out of their shirts and yank out of their pants. Jared steps out of his almost before they hit the ground, catching the Jackal up in his arms, naked bodies fitted together like a single skin, joined chest to stomach to hip. Velvety skin of their cocks caught between their bellies, hips rubbing and grinding together, and Jared kisses down into him with intense abandon, feeling the Jackal twist in his embrace like wildfire.

The Jackal pushes into him until his back hits the breakfast bar, heaving out a sound like satisfaction when they stop and he can gather momentum to rock his hips into Jared. Every nerve standing on end, incredibly alive as they rut, glorious friction of their cocks against each other, perfect thrusting and rolling of their hips as they shudder, groaning into their kisses, mouths melded together.

It’s rutting, it’s frottage, and Jared has done this more times than he can count, but it’s never been this fucking good. Single breath passed back and forth between them and it feels more intimate than anything else they’ve ever done, more honest. The Jackal has been inside of him and it’s never felt like this; like there’s nothing else between them but skin.

It’s too honest, too real, and just like the last time, Jared can feel the want rise up inside him like a tidal wave, threatening to catch him up and sweep him under, consume him. He doesn’t understand why he wants this so much, and it’s terrifying. Terrifying… and exhilarating.

The Jackal’s hands clutch tight around Jared’s waist, Jared’s hands squeezing his ass, precome slicking the way between their bodies, cocks gliding against each other for an instant before they catch friction again.

The Jackal hums into his mouth and then pulls away, taking a full step backward, his hands still digging into the flesh above Jared’s hips. Jared meets those green eyes and they feel like they burn him alive, filled with dark fire and ravenous hunger. He sees everything he feels mirrored in the Jackal’s eyes; all consuming want and need, fraught with darkness and riding the edge of danger, desire so feral it borders on destruction. Two elemental forces colliding on the line of predestination, a ravening storm that could consume them both if they let it.

Raw, real and honest, and they both know the truth.

“This is dangerous,” Jared whispers.

“Everything we do is dangerous.” The Jackal inclines his head and takes Jared by the hand, pulling him away from the breakfast bar, pulling him close.

Jared reaches up, hands catching at the Jackal’s jaw, that gorgeous, beautifully defined jaw, tilting him upward, kissing down into him, chemistry spinning through him like a cyclone. Jared falls back into the pull of the Jackal completely as the Jackal takes him by the hips, tugging him around the breakfast bar, kissing fervently up into him. They careen nearly out of control as they crash into the walls of the hallway, both of them almost desperate, no grace between them now, spinning and pinning each other until the Jackal turns him one last time into the bedroom.

Jared falls, back flat against the bed, Jackal falling on top of him, the weight of him pushing the breath from Jared's lungs in the instant before he gets a tight grip on the Jackal. He breathes out hard as he bites down against the Jackal’s lower lip—and then he flips them both, straddling the Jackal as they land.

He’s gorgeous, laid out beneath Jared. Musculature delineated by moonlight, perfect features pale and perfectly defined, eyes nearly colorless but still burning with want, and Jared feels it catch, strike an inferno inside him.

Jared pulls the lube from the bedside table, and then reaches around himself, fingers dripping with slick as they find his hole. The Jackal takes the bottle and then they both push a finger inside Jared, working him open, making him moan and gasp and shudder as he rolls his stomach, fucking into the combined sensation of their fingers curling and flexing inside his body. Fist squeezing around Jared’s hard, aching cock, dragging up the length, and Jared feels his pleasure spike, sudden surge rising up from his balls.

“Not yet,” the Jackal whispers, letting go.

Jared pulls his shaking hand from his body, the Jackal’s finger slipping out of him. Condom rolled on, Jared’s fist slicking the curve, and the Jackal wraps his fingers around the base as Jared moves his hips, angling against the taut, slippery crown of the Jackal’s cock.

He leans forward, pushing back with his hips, both of them hissing in a breath as the Jackal’s cock head slides inside him. He holds there for a few long seconds, relishing the sensation as he wriggles his hips. Then he arches his spine, rolling his body down the length of the Jackal’s cock, gasping all the way to the base, fingernails digging into the Jackal’s chest, the Jackal gripping his ass so hard he’s going to have an individual bruise from each fingertip tomorrow. He rocks his hips and then pulls himself up the length of the Jackal’s cock before he slams back down, head thrown back, and fuck he feels so good buried inside Jared, filling him, stretching him wide.

He sucks in a breath and moves again, opening his eyes, needing to see.

He looks down into the Jackal’s eyes and imagines he can see everything laid bare, desire like a raging storm staring back at him. Blood races beneath his skin like wind, heart pounding rhythm like thunder, lightning arcing between them in the places where they touch. Sweat drips down his body like rain, the Jackal’s skin glistening beneath him, and he twists his hips as he rides the Jackal for all he’s worth, grinding and gasping as he throws back his head.

The Jackal grabs his hips, moving counterpoint, their bodies slamming together so hard it drives all the breath from Jared’s lungs, air gasped in in the second he rides up the Jackal’s cock, pushed from him as they collide again and again.

Swept up in the storm and Jared needs to be closer, falls down against the Jackal’s chest and claims his mouth, hot, wet smear of their lips and wild circling of tongues, the Jackal’s hands digging into the thin skin along the back of Jared’s hip bones, nails leaving indentations.

The Jackal flips them over again, rolling Jared against the bed, his hands holding Jared’s hips against his. Jared’s breath catches in his chest, pinned by his weight and the depths of those green eyes, bright in the moonlight. Feral, gorgeous creature, a wild thing barely restrained, and Jared feels an answering wildness in his heart, a savage animal beneath his skin. Deep green of jungle leaves and primordial forests in the Jackal’s eyes, and yet there’s a light of faint surprise like the sun beyond—as if for all his passion he had never expected to feel anything like this.

For an instant Jared feels like he glimpses the Jackal’s soul again, held still by the implication of honesty beyond the joining of their bodies. 

And then the Jackal’s eyes darken, swirling like tempests, and his mouth falls against Jared’s, hips snapping to fill him. Jared's whole body jolts, crying out sharp pleasure into the Jackal’s mouth, and Jared feels everything change—no longer a convergence of elemental forces, but a violent, delicious collision of skin on skin.

The Jackal fucks into him, with ruthless, merciless pounding rhythm, winding pleasure higher and tighter inside him, molten pressure beginning to build low in his belly. Legs wrapped tight around the Jackal and he surrenders to it completely, letting it turn him inside out as the sweat-slick skin of the Jackal’s belly glides and then grinds down against his cock.

“Yeah, that’s right,” the Jackal whispers.

Jared feels his whole body seize in the instant before he comes, fingernails tearing thin trails down the Jackal’s back before they fall to the bed, twisting and fisting in the sheets in the instant before his cock jerks, spurting hot between their bodies. His brain shorts out, sounds stuttering from his mouth, and the Jackal rides him viciously, belly slippery, sweet friction against his dick, cock driving into him relentlessly as he curls his hips, pushes deeper, hitting Jared’s prostate on the way down and scattering stars behind his eyes.

He comes in quick, brutal bursts that wrench every last bit of breath from him, until he’s arcing against the bed, quivering and shaking, cock twitching and empty, still trying to come. The Jackal pumps his hips, driving even deeper up into Jared as he pushes up off his toes against the bed and Jared sucks in a sudden breath, eyes flying wide as a last, thunderous burst of pleasure wracks him from head to toe, leaving him senseless and shivering.

And then the Jackal stills, muscles shivering, fingers clutching Jared’s shoulders for an instant as he twists his hips and gasps out a breath. He bites off a curse as he falls forward, mouth a hot, messy smear against Jared’s before he starts to move again, cock rutting deep and slow inside Jared as he comes. 

Jared's breaths are ragged as he rides out the aftershocks shooting through him, cock still twitching, spent and softening, the Jackal rock hard and pulsing inside him, their mouths and bodies locked together.

After, the Jackal’s chest rests against Jared’s, cheek turned into the curve of Jared’s throat, and Jared can feel the Jackal’s heart pound through the cage of his ribs, rhythm still slower than the hammering inside Jared. Lying together, breathing, sweating out against each other as their skin cools in the air conditioned room, and this feels even more dangerous than fucking. Almost comfortable. Almost comfort ing ?

Either feeling is bad, but even worse than that is the strange sense of rightness Jared always seems to feel afterward. 

He’s not going to let it freak him out, though. Isn’t sure he could feel freaked out, as blissed out, completely wrecked and amazingly satisfied as he is. His mind is blown, again, and it’s going to take him a few minutes to recover. 

He lies there, just breathing, not thinking, until reality slowly begins to make itself known again. One of his hands is pressed against the Jackal’s back, palm resting against a thin sheen of sweat over surprisingly soft skin. It feels oddly intimate, to simply be touching the Jackal without any intent. They’ve both let their guard down for a few minutes, and it feels almost…

“Don’t get comfortable,” the Jackal says, voice rumbling against Jared’s throat. But he doesn’t move. Yet.

Jared wonders if the Jackal feels it, too. If he feels the same strange sense of being connected. And they are connected. Not by love, but maybe by destiny. Certainly by desire.

“You never answered my question earlier,” Jared says, voice quiet.

The Jackal huffs out a scoffing laugh against Jared’s throat. “I haven’t answered a lot of your questions.” 

“Why is this just history repeating?” Jared’s voice is strained, breathy.

The Jackal lifts his face, pushing up from the bed enough to stare into Jared’s eyes, and there’d been a time just minutes ago when Jared had met that gaze and understood everything inside it. When they’d been united in pure, devouring want. But the moment is running beyond his grasp and the Jackal is closing up again, shaking his head.

Everything feels tight, fraught with a tension Jared can’t justify or define. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” Jared asks, sincerely wanting to know. 

The Jackal’s face is hardening, his eyes going cold, and Jared had thought he would reply—say something —but he doesn’t; pulling from inside Jared and rolling to the edge of the bed, sitting up, feet planted against the floor.

The silence feels like a gulf between them, moonlight glowing along the lines of the Jackal’s shoulders, along the muscles on either side of his spine.

Jared had pushed too hard. He should have known better. Should have let it go for now.

Jared reaches out, tips of his fingers grazing the skin of the Jackal’s lower back. “You don’t have to leave.”

The house is silent, so silent, hushed as if waiting to see what happens next.

“I killed her.” The Jackal’s voice is so quiet, Jared can hardly hear him.

The words don’t make sense to Jared for a moment, and then they do. Danneel.

“Because you couldn’t save her,” Jared whispers.

The Jackal shifts his hips, moving towards the edge of the bed, just beyond Jared’s reach.

“Because I put the bullet in her chest,” the Jackal replies. 

Chapter Text

Jared freezes against the bed, eyes widening.

“What?” It’s a thin gasp of a word, his mind spinning in place.

The Jackal sits silently on the edge of the bed, unmoving.

“You killed her?” Jared pulls in a breath. “ You killed her?” He shakes his head. “You killed her ?” It’s a new question each time Jared asks it, and each time it doesn’t make any sense.

The Jackal is silent for a moment longer, sitting still as a statue. “I killed her,” he confirms.

“ Why ?” Jared couldn’t be more incredulous and baffled. Any pretense he’d been going to make is gone, his acting skills buried and forgotten, this moment too real and overwhelming for him to think beyond it.

The Jackal’s voice is grim and flat. “SR0 told me she was part of Thin Line. I was ordered to kill her. So I put a bullet in her chest.”

Jared is still reeling, trying to put together the pieces. “So you just… killed her?”

“I was the golden boy.” A hint of bitterness creeps into the Jackal’s tone. “The good soldier who believed in his country. She was a double agent working for a terrorist organization.”

Jared recoils against the words. “She was your fianceé .”

The Jackal nods once, Jared can see the moonlight shift across the strands of his hair, but he doesn’t move another muscle, still except for the rise and fall of his breath. “She was. But she was also a terrorist and traitor who had tricked me into caring about her. I was so angry. You can’t imagine how furious I was. I wanted revenge for the way she deceived me.”

The Jackal’s words hit Jared like a splash of ice cold water, shaking him from his shock. Jared can imagine, a little, anyway. He can remember wanting to murder the Jackal for tricking him a few times. Then again, he isn’t in love with the Jackal. He certainly isn’t engaged to the Jackal. He can only imagine how much worse Danneel’s betrayal had felt. 

He doesn’t really know if he understands romantic love at all since he’s never felt it, but he understands platonic love well enough. He tries, for a moment, to imagine Chad turning out to be a traitor. Could he kill Chad, if that were the case?

He doesn’t like the trepidation and sudden hesitation he feels when he tries to think about it. The idea feels complicated, fucked up, and yes he’d be furious if he found out Chad was working for the enemy, but he can’t imagine wanting to kill him. But if SR0 asked him to do it, if Chad really was a threat…

He turns from the idea, struck by realization. Chad. Jesus. Chad was right. SR0 had Danneel assassinated. He can scarcely believe that, much less believe the Jackal had been the one to kill her. Danneel was a traitor, and a terrorist who’d had access to SR0 secrets and sensitive information. SR0 probably had almost no choice but to have her assassinated. But still… to ask the Jackal to kill the woman he loved…

Jared thinks about that for all of five seconds before he realizes the Jackal would never let anyone else do it. Especially not if he wanted revenge.

“How did it happen?” Jared asks.

The Jackal finally moves, reaching up to rub a hand across his face. He sighs, and then gets to his feet.

“I need another drink,” he says.

*

A few minutes later, they’re half-dressed, standing in the kitchen. Jared is sitting on the breakfast bar in his pajama pants, chest bare, a glass of whiskey on ice already sweating out condensation against his palm. The Jackal leans against the counter next to the refrigerator, dressed in nothing besides the khaki shorts hanging low around his hips—top two buttons still undone—and his Atta slung across one hip. He holds a glass identical to Jared’s caught in his right hand, considering Jared across the rim of it, his green eyes dark and contemplative.

He looks gorgeous and completely debaucherous, his hair tangled and his brow still damp with sweat. Bare to halfway down the lines along his inner hips, his pecs perfectly molded, abs only slightly less so, light line bisecting down the center until it reaches his belly button, finely curled line of hair winding down to where those two buttons are barely holding on. It’s one of the hottest things Jared has ever had the pleasure of setting his eyes on. But Jared can’t let himself be distracted by that right now. 

Jared has taken this time to shift out of surprise and back into agent mode. He’s taken his many, many thoughts and desires and shoved them all inside a box at the back of his mind to be dealt with later. He needs clarity for this; he needs focus. He can sort out how he feels about it all later. Right now what’s important is that the Jackal is talking about this.

“Before you start,” Jared says, “I need to know why you’re telling me any of this. Why you’re telling it to me now. I know you don’t trust me. You’ve hardly shared anything with me at all, so for you to just come out with this seems…”

“Suspicious?” The Jackal arches a brow at Jared. 

Jared rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek and nods once. “Yeah.”

The Jackal looks at him for a moment, like he’s gauging the weight of what he’s about to say. “After what happened in Rio Branco, it’s obvious time is more damaged than I thought.” He pauses, giving Jared a pointed look. “I think we’ve played games long enough.”

Jared understands that, but he’s also sure they haven’t come to the end of their games. “So you’re just going to start telling me everything?”

“Of course not.” The Jackal shakes his head slightly, and smirks. “But I am going to tell you about this.”

That’s what he’d thought. Jared purses his lips, thinking, and then he nods. “Okay. What happened?” 

The Jackal seems to evaluate Jared a few seconds more, and then he begins to speak.

“SR0 told me we’d received intel from the Triad. That they had proof of who Danneel really worked for.” The words are laced with a bitterness Jared doesn’t understand. “That they had pictures of her meeting with Thin Line members, paper trails, phone tapped communications. Incontrovertible proof. That they shared the information with SR0 in exchange for some sort of favor. Probably SR0 looking the other way and leaving them alone for a little while.”

Jared isn’t as shocked by this as he should be; he’d spent too much time listening to Chad theorize about Danneel being a double agent to be shocked. It does strike him as strange that the Jackal doesn’t know what SR0 traded them for the intel. Even if the Jackal hadn’t been told by SR0, Jared would think he’d know by now, through his own means. “So the Triad knew she was an agent the whole time?”

“No. They would have killed her if they’d known from the beginning. But once they found out, they decided to use it to their advantage.”

Jared pulls in a slow breath, so many thoughts coming together inside his head. It’s one of the most fucked up things he can imagine, and he’s only just beginning to understand in this moment what the Jackal has been dealing with, but—

“Jesus… that’s why you left SR0,” Jared says, suddenly realizing. “Because you loved her, but you had to kill her anyway.”

“Had to?” The Jackal’s voice is gritty, grim. “Ten minutes ago you were judging me for killing her.”

“I was surprised,” Jared admits. “But I get it. SR0 had to protect themselves against whatever knowledge she had that she could have shared with Checkm— Thin Line. She was never their agent, she had no loyalty to them and vice versa.” 

The Jackal says nothing, and Jared feels compelled to continue.

“I know it’s fucked up, but SR0 and the CIA have to protect the safety of our country. And ten minutes ago, you were telling me how you wanted revenge on her for lying to you.”

The Jackal simply looks at him, his face impassive. “So you think I did the right thing?”

“I think you did what had to be done.”

The Jackal folds his arms across his chest, looking at Jared with an expression Jared can’t read.

“But then you still tried to save her.” Jared shakes his head. “I don’t understand. If she was a traitor and she tricked you…”

The Jackal presses his lips together and looks down at the kitchen floor. “She wasn’t.”

Jared is thunderstruck, words and thoughts failing him completely.

A muscle flexes in the Jackal’s jaw, and for a moment he doesn’t say anything, his mouth tightening. He seems to be… deeply considering what he’s about to say. “SR0 was wrong. She didn’t work for Thin Line. The Triad lied.”

Fuck. Sometimes mistakes happen, but this one seems egregious. Maybe the paranoia had been higher a decade ago, maybe it was harder to verify the validity of information. There are dozens of ways it could have gone down, but… fuck.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all Jared has and it isn’t nearly enough. 

The Jackal doesn’t seem interested in his apology. But Jared thinks he understands now why the Jackal has been so fucked up about the whole thing. Why he’d left SR0. Why he was a mess in the alley in Rio Branco. Why he’s been trying to save her for so long. Why he’s so deep in mourning over her timeline scarring shut forever.

“You killed the woman you loved, and she was innocent,” Jared says, trying to reckon with the idea. “That's why you never moved on.” Jared shakes his head. “I understand now why you’re still in love with her.”

The Jackal stares at him silently, unblinking. “I don’t love anything.”

For the third time in under an hour, Jared is surprised. “Then why—?”

“I was the perfect agent. The perfect soldier. The golden boy.” The Jackal’s mouth curves in a ugly smile. “I was you , Jared. So I killed her, because I was told to. Because I accepted the reasons I was given without question. Because I did my duty to SR0, the CIA and the country. Because I believed them, and they lied to me.”

“The Triad lied to them ,” Jared objects.

The Jackal fixes him with a steely look, and then looks away. “I’m not supposed to remember her like this. Every line of her, every curve. The individual freckles on her face. Our memories of people are partial. We think we see them clearly because our brain shades in the details, but memories of faces are fleeting, imperfect. In our memories, we see them as we imagine we saw them, not the way we saw them.”

“Memories are meant to fade, so you can let go, so you can move on. Every time I think about her, I can see her face in that moment. The widening of her eyes, the parting of her lips, the way her breastbone shattered, the exact dimensions of the bullet hole and the pattern the explosion of blood made against her shirt. She was innocent. And I killed her. Because SR0 told me to.”

Jared thinks, Guilt. It’s guilt the Jackal is carrying, not love . But it doesn’t make sense. A man like the Jackal doesn’t deal in guilt, does he? 

“Did you ever love her?” Jared asks.

“I think I did.” The Jackal gazes into his glass. “But I lost that feeling a long time ago. Whatever love I might have had was replaced by my need for vengeance.”

What might have been guilt once upon a time had soured, poisoning him until only vengeance remained. Vengeance, not guilt. That makes more sense.

But there’s a rawness to the way the Jackal speaks the words, a deep, bitter coldness that leaves Jared breathless for an instant. Part of him wonders if this is the first time he’s ever seen the real Jackal; wintry and bereft of anything except anger, bitterness and the need for revenge. But no. Jared has seen more in him than that. He’s felt more than that. Fiery passion inside him like an inferno, a wicked sense of humor, a sense of regret and loss. Even, at times, a sense that he genuinely cares. If not for Jared directly, then at least for Jared’s well-being. 

Unless this is what’s at the core of him.

No. Jared doesn’t believe that.

The kitchen is steeped in silence so thick it feels almost palpable. And then the Jackal drains his drink, ice cubes clinking against glass, breaking the spell.

Jared takes a breath. “But I saw you. You mourned the finality of her death when her timeline sealed. You’re still mourning it. You still have grief inside you for what happened.”

“Rage and grief can look the same,” the Jackal tells him. “And regret can look like a lot of things.”

Jared considers that in silence, brows drawing together. It’s not really an answer, is it? It’s more an avoidance of specifics. The Jackal doesn’t owe Jared the truth about his inner emotions, much as Jared would like to know. He might tell Jared more about it later, but he’ll be less inclined if Jared keeps pushing. 

Jared pushes down his curiosity and decides to let it go for now. “So, what happened after that?” he asks.

The Jackal lifts his shoulders as if what he’s about to say should be obvious. “I started my personal mission to try to prevent her death without directly interfering.”

In that way, Checkmate adheres to the same rules as SR0. “It has to be in small ways. You can’t touch the event itself directly.”

The Jackal nods. “I’ve spent all this time trying to change the circumstances around her death, completely unsuccessful. I did everything short of going back to the moment I shot her and stopping myself. Then, the other night, I decided to risk even that.” 

Jared’s eyes widen, unable to believe the Jackal would do something so incredibly reckless and dangerous. Even leaving aside the potential paradox, there’s the possible damage to the timeline that could have occurred as a result. Jared opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it. The Jackal already knows all of that; he must have been insanely desperate to have even attempted it.

“That’s why her timeline was so scarred,” Jared realizes aloud. “Because you kept going back to try to save her, touching the same moments in time over and over again until they burned.”

The Jackal nods his head slightly. “I should have realized the moment of her death would become seared into time the second I tried to change it. I tried so many different times, so many different ways to save her, and every time I failed. Every time, those moments burned and scarred over, little by little at first, then faster. Almost like time was trying to tell me to leave it alone.”

“Like it was meant to happen.” Jared says the words almost to himself.

The Jackal throws him a dark look and Jared can read the disapproval in it. “Time seals shut even around small moments sometimes, in theory to protect itself. Because changing those moments could have a detrimental effect on the timeline.”

Jared can read well enough between the lines to see the Jackal doesn’t think any of that equals it being ‘meant’ to happen.

He really doesn’t believe in destiny , Jared thinks. And on the heels of that, Maybe what happened with Danneel is why he doesn’t.

Out loud, all he says is, “That’s why you and the Triad hate each other so much.”

“Touching her timeline in so many key places meant confronting the Triad, too. After a while, they got to know who I was. Now we have our own private war.”

“You didn’t go after them for revenge?” Jared is astonished. 

The Jackal locks eyes with Jared, his expression flinty. “The Triad sent the bad intel. That’s what an organization like the Triad does. The people at SR0 are the ones who screwed up.”

Jared nods, unable to argue with that. 

After a moment, Jared looks down at the floor, thoughtful as he tries to put together a few more pieces of the puzzle. “You felt guilty for killing her. Back then you still cared about not killing innocent people. But after you killed her…” he lifts his eyes to meet the Jackal’s, “you swore revenge on SR0, didn’t you? That’s what sent you into the arms of the enemy.”

The Jackal stares at him for a very long time. “You’d think that would be enough, wouldn’t you?”

Jared frowns, brows drawing together. “Was there more?”

The Jackal shakes his head slowly. “I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anyone else about Danneel. But I can’t tell you everything, Jared. Not yet.”

Is that true? Jared wonders. Is any of this true? He could be making up the entirety of the story. It feels like it’s true, but the Jackal is a masterclass manipulator. It’s a lot of information given along with a lot of nuances of facial expression. Jared needs time to assess it all. But right now it feels true, and as an agent, he needs to treat it as if it is true, if he wants the Jackal to keep confiding in him. 

Jared lets out a slow breath. “All right.”

The Jackal turns his face slightly away from Jared, eyes narrowing on him. “You would never just accept that.”

“Not before,” Jared agrees. “But if time is really coming apart and you still feel like you can’t tell me everything, then obviously there’s a good reason.”

The Jackal shakes his head back and forth, a bright, sardonic gleam in his eye. “I almost believe you.”

“Look. I don’t know if I believe you . This is a lot to digest. But based on our conversation about believing each other sometimes, I’m willing to give it a shot. So I’m accepting what you’re saying here on a trial basis. For now.” Jared hesitates, and then he adds, “But it feels like the truth, if that means anything.”

He’s still trying to process everything he’s just learned—this isn’t a dangerous field situation where he should just compartmentalize and move forward the best he can with the information he has. There’s still so much Jared doesn’t understand about what happened. For all that the Jackal has given him a major piece of the story, he’s still missing other pieces of the puzzle. 

The Jackal is still eyeing him as if he’s unsure of the truth of Jared’s words. 

“Maybe this is one of those times when you should believe me,” Jared says, echoing the Jackal’s words from earlier.

The corner of the Jackal’s mouth pulls into a smirk, and Jared thinks he can see a glint of amused appreciation in the other man’s eyes. 

“Or maybe,” the Jackal returns, echoing Jared’s response from earlier, “you’re just fucking with me.”

Jared can’t help but smile a little at the Jackal’s response. “What would I gain by doing that?”

“Potentially?” the Jackal asks. “My trust.”

“I could say the same about you. This whole thing could be a bit to win my trust.”

The Jackal doesn’t contradict him. It’s the same impasse they keep running up against, and Jared can feel the disappointment and frustration twist inside his chest. If they could only trust each other…

But they can’t. The circumstances aren’t going to change, and wishing isn’t going to do anyone any good. He knows that, but still, he feels that twist of emotion inside himself.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Jared says. “About why this is history repeating.”

“Haven’t I?” The Jackal stares him dead in the eye. “ You’re the SR0 agent—the golden boy—this time. You want me, you feel drawn to me, connected somehow. But this time, I’m the terrorist. And you’re going to try to kill me. Because your country told you to.”

The twist in Jared’s chest feels edged with sudden shame—stupid, useless, inexplicable shame, because the Jackal is right. That’s the mission. 

This time it’s Jared who doesn’t contradict him . 

The Jackal studies him for a moment, expression unreadable, and then, seemingly unsurprised by Jared’s silence, turns and begins to refill his glass.

And still, there’s this; the Jackal standing half naked in his kitchen, bare back turned to Jared with no thought for self-preservation. It could be confidence, or arrogance—after all, the likelihood is low that Jared could reach for a nearby knife and take out the Jackal before the Jackal stopped him—but more than either of those things, it seems like belief that Jared won’t attempt to harm him. Which is… a form of trust, anyway.

Jared looks at the Jackal’s bare back, unable to help himself from admiring the curve of the other man’s spine, the cut of his muscles. He pushes his useless guilt to the back of his mind and tries to focus on what the Jackal had told him. 

All this time, he’d thought finding out the truth about Danneel would be the key to understanding the Jackal, but Jared isn’t sure he understands the Jackal any better at all. He knows—well, partially knows—why the Jackal had betrayed SR0, and he’s fairly certain that knowledge isn’t going to help him get any closer to the Jackal.

A sudden thought occurs to him, and he frowns. The Spiral Protocol. Agent Danneel Harris has dangerous knowledge of the Spiral Protocol. Chad had thought that knowledge might have been what had gotten her killed. If it was an SR0 project, that doesn’t align with what the Jackal just told him about the reason for Danneel’s assassination.

He considers telling the Jackal, debating the advantages and consequences. His agent instincts tell him he shouldn’t mention it. If the Jackal knows nothing about it, he will once Jared says something, and he could use the title of the project to track down further information about it. On the other hand, if the Jackal does know something about it, it could be important.

Important to you , he thinks. Not to SR0 . SR0 already knows whatever it needs to know about what happened with Danneel. 

Besides, Chad hadn’t been able to find any solid proof that her knowledge was what had gotten her killed. And the Jackal has just contradicted Chad’s theory. Of the two of them, the Jackal is more likely to know the truth. Best to leave it at that, for now. He can talk to Chad about it later.

“So, that’s everything you can tell me?” Jared asks, keeping his tone level. 

The Jackal turns to face him, leaning back against the counter again. “For now.”

Jared thinks about that for a moment. “Is there anything else you can show me?”

The Jackal sips from his glass and gives him a sly smirk. “That’s a very good question.”

Jared waits a few seconds, and then, “Are you going to answer it?”

The Jackal lifts his chin, green eyes glittering as he observes Jared with a measured consideration that seems far too sharp for a man who’s had so much to drink tonight. 

“There are a lot of things I could show you,” the Jackal says, as if he’s allowing for what Jared had asked. “But there’s something you need to see.”

Jared’s burning with curiosity, and he knows the Jackal knows it, can see it in the other man’s expression. But all he asks is, “When?”

“Tomorrow,” the Jackal replies.

“Where are we going?” Jared asks.

“What?” the Jackal asks, tone darkly teasing. “And ruin the surprise?”

Jared rolls his eyes a little, but he’s content to let it go. It’s not like the Jackal has ever told him where they’re going. He’s not sure why he even asks anymore.

“You know…” Jared says, thought striking him, “you could have told me all this back when I first asked what happened to you.”

The Jackal holds Jared’s gaze steadily as he asks, “Would you have believed me?”

Jared pauses, considering that.

“Think back to when we first met, Jared. You would have thought I was lying, trying to manipulate you with a sob story that would win you over to my side.”

Jared swallows and then nods. “That’s probably true,” he agrees. His perspective has changed a lot, because of what the Jackal has shown him, and because he’s come to believe that they are meant to do something together. 

“And even if you had believed me,” the Jackal goes on, “like I said before; there’s a difference between believing, and knowing . But there’s also a difference between knowing and understanding . You wouldn’t have understood it then like you do, now.”

“You’re right,” Jared agrees. “I do understand now. Some of it, at least. I understand why you left. I understand why you turned on SR0. It was a tragedy, a mistake of epic fucking proportions.” He shakes his head slightly. “But turning full terrorist… that, I don’t understand.” He considers for a moment. “I know I don’t know the whole story yet, but I don't think I’ll ever understand that.”

The Jackal looks at him solemnly and then nods once. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something else, but then he tilts his glass back and drains his drink. He doesn’t move to pour himself another, setting the glass aside on the counter, and Jared can tell he’s going to be leaving soon.

“You know,” Jared says, lowering his voice. “You don’t have to go. You can stay here.”

“I barely drink out of your glasses,” the Jackal counters.

That’s disappointing. But it makes total sense. The Jackal has made himself vulnerable enough coming here and having sex with Jared—Jared can hardly believe he’s been doing that . Asking him to sleep here is basically asking him to put himself at Jared’s and SR0’s mercy.

“That’s fair.”

The Jackal squints at him, his eyes lit by a strange curiosity. “You’re so agreeable tonight,” he remarks, his tone breezy and intrigued. “It’s unlike you.”

“Things have changed,” Jared responds, and shrugs.

The Jackal seems to measure Jared with his eyes, and then he moves, stepping up between Jared’s legs where Jared sits on the counter. He grabs Jared’s chin between his thumb and the crook of his forefinger, tilting Jared’s face down to look at him. 

“You know,” the Jackal whispers, green eyes flecked with fire as he stares up into Jared’s eyes. “If you'd been like this from the beginning, things might have been different between us.”

Jared can feel every nerve in his body zing with the Jackal’s sudden nearness, can feel the press of the Jackal’s fingers against his skin with a clarity that sends his blood rushing and his heart racing, pulse fluttering in his throat. “That’s a lie,” Jared whispers.

Heat rises between them as they stare into each other’s eyes, neither of them willing to look away.

“Maybe you’re starting to know me after all,” the Jackal says, smirking.

It’s dizzying, sensual, the Jackal so close Jared can feel the heat of his breath against his lips. He leans into the Jackal’s hand against his chin, letting his mouth fall against the Jackal’s. A moment of hesitation, chemistry so thick Jared can scarcely breathe, and then the Jackal drives up into him, mouth opening hot and wet, tongues swirling, their hands rising to tangle in each other's hair.

Taste of alcohol heavy between them, and Jared sucks it from the Jackal’s tongue, turning his face to find a better angle. The Jackal fits his fingers against Jared’s skull, pulling him deeper into the kiss. After a few moments, he tugs his hands lightly against Jared’s hair, leaning back as he breaks the kiss, teeth nipping at Jared’s lower lip. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” the Jackal says, meeting Jared’s gaze.

Jared wants to chase the Jackal’s mouth, kiss him harder, kiss him until they’re tangled together again, naked and ravenous for each other. He nods once, unable to find words, knowing they won’t make a difference anyway.

The Jackal steps away from him, gathering the rest of his clothes from one of the tall seats at the breakfast bar, and then he reaches for the Atta on his hip, giving Jared a last look before he flips the switch.

* * * * *

That was weird, Jared thinks, recounting the moments. No parting words, no verbal sparring, no asking mysterious, rhetorical questions that would leave Jared even more confused. The Jackal had simply leaned into the kiss Jared had initiated, given in to the unchecked chemistry between them.

Maybe instead of a question this time, it was an action to leave Jared confused. 

Sitting there on the counter of the breakfast bar, Jared can still feel the warmth of the Jackal’s lips, can still taste him, can still see the burning green of those eyes.

The trip back to 2017 had put Jared fully onboard with this partnership, and now that the Jackal is sharing at least some information with him, he’s been able to fall back into normal agent mode instead of constantly being off balance. Navigating their physical relationship has always been tricky, and is only getting trickier. Jared wants him almost beyond reason, and he can’t deny that. But as long as his heart doesn’t get involved, he’ll be fine.