Chapter Text
Chapter One
Jensen was abruptly pulled from unconsciousness. Disoriented, he screwed his eyes shut against the bright sunlight filtering in through the windows. Waking up on an unfamiliar couch, it took him a moment before he remembered.
The bust had finally gone down—three teams simultaneously moving in at the docks, the warehouse, and the bar. Dimitri’s stunned and outraged face when he’d realized that Jensen was the mole. That Jensen was the one who took his operation down. And the satisfaction as Jensen raised his gun and shot the fucker before he could fire a single bullet. Self-defense.
After that, the endless debriefings, the shoulder clapping, and then finally leaving Miami behind. He’d gone back to Texas, to relax and recharge his batteries, spend some time with friends and family. He was just in time for his sister’s birthday too.
The unfamiliar surroundings in which he currently found himself were the living room of Chris’ new apartment, where he’d crashed last night after getting shitfaced with him and Steve. And the reason he was waking up far too fucking early? His ringtone, too close and too loud to his ear.
Jensen groaned and reached for his phone. “This better be good.”
There was a moment of silence before a voice carefully asked, “Special Agent Ackles?”
Well, fuck. Jensen moved himself into an upright position, cursing silently when his head started to pound.
“Speaking.”
“This is Special Agent Hartley. I’m calling from the Dallas office. We’d like you to come in for a meeting this afternoon.”
Jensen couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Does this have anything to do with Miami?” he asked.
“Um, I don’t know anything about Miami, but—”
“Then no.” He had no intention of going back to work before he absolutely had to. He was fucking tired.
“Special Agent Ackles, we really need you to meet with us. It’s—”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Yes, I know, but—”
“And I’m on vacation.”
“Yes, I’m aware—”
“Screw that. I’m actually on leave.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts,” Jensen ground out. “I’m on leave. Talk to my supervisor. I have two more weeks before I have to go back to work and I have no intention of setting foot into any government building before that. So go call someone else. And have a good day!”
Jensen ended the call and let himself fall back on the couch. Hanging up probably wasn’t such a good idea, but after months of pretending to be someone else 24/7, always doing what he had to do to keep up appearances, he was really enjoying doing what he wanted for a change. So he was a crabby bastard in the mornings. Sue him.
It was always like this after an operation. He needed time to decompress. And the one week since he’d come back from Miami certainly hadn’t been enough.
His head was still pounding and his mouth tasted like dead skunk, but he really couldn’t be bothered to get up. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
When he woke up again, the sun had traveled enough not to shine in his face anymore. The pounding in his head had receded from jackhammer to distant knocking, but his mouth still tasted like something had died in it and his shirt was covered in beer stains.
Slowly, he got to his feet, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Jensen really wasn’t a morning person and he gave in to the luxury of stumbling half asleep through the apartment, no need to give a hundred percent from the moment of opening his eyes. He shuffled to the bathroom and right into the shower. Chris’ new shower was amazing and Jensen spent at least ten minutes just letting the warm water slide over him, washing away not only the grime from last night, but also the tension in his shoulders. For the first time in months he just felt good, with no worries gnawing at the back of his mind, and he planned to take full advantage of it.
He washed his hair that he’d shorn off almost completely for the operation. It had nearly grown back to its regular length, though he’d decided to keep the sides a little shorter than usual but Jensen actually liked that. And that was something Jensen looked forward to—looking into the mirror and seeing himself.
He let his soapy hand run down his upper body and wrapped it around his dick, slowly stroking it to hardness, just enjoying the smooth glide and the tingling at the base of his spine.
It wasn’t that he had been completely celibate, but portraying a gay drug supplier was really not a good idea when trying to infiltrate the Russian mob. With the constant pressure of staying in character and never letting his guard down, jerking off had been more about stress relief than pleasure. But now he could take his time. Now he could slowly slide down, twist on the upstroke and just enjoy the ride. He would need to get laid at some point, but so far he hadn’t been in the mood to go cruising for a hookup. Maybe tonight.
When he came out of the bathroom, Steve was making pancakes and Chris was fiddling with the coffee machine. He poured a cup and held it out to Jensen. The coffee was hot and strong, just how Jensen liked it. When he sat down at the table, Steve put a plate of blueberry pancakes with a side of bacon in front of him. Jensen fucking loved his friends.
“So, you feeling better?”
Jensen knew that Steve wasn’t really asking about his hangover.
Jensen couldn’t give his friends the details. Besides the fact that he’d spent the last months somewhere sunny—which they could see from his tan—he couldn’t and didn’t want to tell them anything. The constant rehashing at the debriefings, recounting the facts over and over again, going over the pictures of the girls at least four times, trying to give every too-thin, beaten face a name... Jensen just wanted to forget. Chris and Steve knew and understood. They always had.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
And he was, now. Getting back his freedom and hanging out with Chris and Steve had that effect.
He’d been friends with them since freshman year in college. Chris had been his first roommate, and out of the confines and pressure of his family home, Jensen had finally been able to explore a side of him he’d mostly kept under wraps. Jensen wasn’t a virgin when he went to college, but his experiences had been limited and kept secret until he got his acceptance letter to UT. It wasn’t that his parents would throw him out, but they didn’t understand. Moving to Austin opened up a whole new world.
Chris’ chill disposition and Jensen’s adventure-seeking nature had balanced each other perfectly. They’d moved off campus in their second year, after Chris started a band with Steve. They’d partied and studied together—more studying for Jensen because he still had goals, more partying for Chris and Steve because they had very different goals. They’d spent breaks together, jammed together, and pulled the occasional crazy stunt when Jensen needed to blow off steam. Jensen had graduated in the top three percent of his class; Chris and Steve had managed with decent grades. After school, they’d gone their separate ways. While Chris and Steve had hit the road with their band, Jensen had joined the FBI. His parents had always assumed he’d join the police, carrying on the legacy of the Ackles men but after four liberating years at college, Jensen knew the Dallas PD wouldn’t be enough. Jensen wanted the world, or at least as big a bite of it as he could get. He’d worked in the FBI’s field office in New York for three years until Beaver recruited him for the undercover division in DC.
Even though he’d joined the FBI and moved to the east coast, Jensen had stayed in touch with Chris and Steve. It was easy. They only saw each other every few months, but they’d spent enough time together in college to manage the whole long-distance friendship. Coming back from an operation and partying with Chris and Steve was like falling back into his carefree college days. It was a good feeling.
Just as Jensen was about to cut into his second pancake, his phone, still in the living room, rang again. Shit. He had just about forgotten the call from Agent Whatshisname and he had the sinking feeling that this was the follow up.
When he got up to answer his phone, he saw Steve and Chris exchanging concerned looks. Huh. When he was in the field his acting was Oscar-worthy, but with his friends he couldn’t tell a lie to save his life, let alone hide a simple mood change.
“Ackles.”
“I hear you're not cooperating with the Dallas office.”
Fuck. They had called his supervisor. Of course they had. And now his supervisor was calling him. Great. Jensen sat down on the couch, fully prepared to get chewed out by Jim Beaver, his boss, leader of the specialized undercover division in Washington D.C., and all around grumpy old shit.
“Well, I’m on leave. And he called before ten.”
Jensen’s aversion to early mornings was a well-known fact in their small office. Some people said that he wasn’t even human before his first cup of coffee. Jensen tended to agree.
“Ah, well, sorry about that, Mister Fussypants. I forgot to tell him that you can’t adhere to normal social behavior if you’re not properly caffeinated. God only knows how you survive your assignments.” Beaver let out an exasperated sigh. “Now, get some more coffee in you, get dressed, and get your ass to Dallas. Jeff Morgan from the Chicago office just flew down there to meet you. He asked for my best and I told him that’s you. Don’t make me eat my words, Ackles. And before you say anything about leave and time off and what not, you should realize that I wouldn’t have given him your name if I thought there was another option.”
Jensen snorted. His life sucked.
“Look, son, this operation... it’s going to be difficult.” Beaver’s voice had changed from gruff to cautious.
“Aren’t they all?”
“Yeah, well, this one’s... different. And lemme tell you, I’m not happy with the way Jeff wants to run this, not at all, but he doesn’t think there’s another way.” Beaver let out a heavy sigh. “They’ve tried. Four civilian assets and three agents. All failed. Most of ‘em are dead.”
“What?” It happened, agents dying out in the field, but that was an alarming number of casualties for one case. “Great,” Jensen said, trying to cover up his unease. “Now I won’t even be able to use the new dental plan.”
Beaver snorted. “Just get your ass to Dallas.”
“Yessir.”
Jensen sighed again. He had really hoped he’d be home for his sister’s birthday this year. She’d been so excited when he showed up at home a week ago.
When Jensen arrived at the Dallas Office, he was greeted by an agent who was standard FBI office issue—from his dark dress shoes to his neatly trimmed haircut—who introduced himself as Special Agent Hartley. He was the one who had called Jensen in the early morning and he was really sorry about the early hour, but he had his orders—Jensen held up his hand.
“Whatever. Just show me where we’re meeting.”
Hartley clearly wasn’t impressed with Jensen’s attitude. After eying him up and down, he seemed to disapprove of his attire too—boots, ripped jeans, an old Zeppelin t-shirt and dark aviators—but Jensen was technically still on leave, so Hartley could just suck it.
He followed Hartley into the building, past the elevators and down a hall to a small conference room. Two people in suits were sitting at the table, neither one of which Jensen knew.
The man with the dark hair and salt and pepper beard stood up and offered Jensen his hand. He looked to be in his forties and his handshake was firm and dry.
“I’m Jeff Morgan, head of the Chicago office. You must be Special Agent Ackles.” He ran his eyes up and down Jensen’s body before settling on his face. “Well, I have to say you’re everything Jim promised you to be.”
“Excuse me?”
“And this is Special Agent Alona Tal,” Morgan introduced the young blond woman still sitting at the table, ignoring Jensen’s question. “IT genius and walking encyclopedia on the Padalecki Clan.”
Special Agent Tal eyed him up and down, just like Morgan had. “Hi. You will do very nicely.”
“What?” Jensen knew he wasn’t very articulate right now, but he had the feeling he was missing something very important, like the actual reason the head of the Chicago office had come to Dallas to talk to him.
“Didn’t Jim fill you in?” Morgan looked a little uncomfortable at the possibility.
“No. He just told me to get to Dallas, that he recommended me to you and that he didn’t like it. And wait, Padalecki Clan?” Jensen narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “That’s your urgent op? Aren’t they a bit small-time for a top priority?”
“Unfortunately not anymore,” Morgan said grimly. “But why don’t you have a seat and Agent Tal will fill you in. Hartley, close the door.”
Special Agent Tal waited for Hartley to close the door and sit down before she brought up the picture of a handsome young man on the screen. He had long, shiny brown hair coming down past his ears, strong features, and slightly slanted eyes. It was a portrait shot, cutting off just below the chest, but Jensen could see how well his broad shoulders filled out the dark suit he was wearing. Overall, he still looked more like a college kid than a dangerous criminal, but there was something about him. He was a guy who would definitely turn Jensen’s head in a bar.
“Meet Jared Padalecki, new head of the Padalecki family and the man currently running the Chicago underworld. He’s your next assignment,” Tal said.
Jensen didn’t make the college kid comment. He knew better than to judge a book by its cover.
“You said you thought the Padaleckis are small fish. What do you know about them, anyway?” Tal looked at him expectantly.
Jensen shrugged his shoulders. “Not that much. There was some talk in Miami that the two big families in Chicago finally went to war and the Padaleckis sided with the winner. The Russians didn’t talk about it much though; there isn’t really a lot of love between them and the Polish.”
“Yes, well, you’re only half right,” Tal said. “There was a war about a year ago, but the Padaleckis didn’t side with the winner, they won. Before the war they were only running a section of the arms trade in Chicago, but now they, well Padalecki, really, controls everything. We think that he actually played both families against each other. The Padaleckis seemingly sided with the Irish and after they wiped out most of the Italian elite, they blew the whole Irish clan up during celebrations. They made it look like it was the Italians, who they then gunned down in the middle of the street for ‘revenge’. After that there wasn’t much opposition when they claimed sovereignty. They still only actively run guns, but every other organization gives them some kind of cut. And if Padalecki doesn’t like how someone runs their business, they disappear. Even the gangs don’t challenge him but we think his involvement with them is minimal. Best we know is he facilitates contacts between them and suppliers and gets a cut.”
Jensen was impressed. A little bit. From a purely professional standpoint. “I didn’t think it was that easy to initiate a mob war. The old families are usually more careful.”
“Yes, but that was before Jared Padalecki came to Chicago.”
Jensen studied the picture while the room was silent. “Alright, tell me about this wunderkind, then.”
“Wunderkind is a pretty apt description actually, though they mostly call him the boy king,” Tal explained. “Jared Tristan Padalecki, twenty-seven, is the second son of Vincent Padalecki, former small-time weapons dealer in Chicago. The family has been in the city since the Prohibition, but they didn’t have any real standing until Vincent started to expand his business about seven years ago. Jared never had any run-ins with the law, as opposed to his older brother, Daniel, who was groomed early on to work with his father. Now, when Jared was finished with high school, he applied and was accepted to several universities but he went to Stanford, probably because they offered him a full ride. Organized Crime at the time thought he wanted to distance himself from his family.”
Jensen raised his eyebrows. A mobster who attended Stanford?
“He has an impeccable record, a GPA of 3.9 and he received a Bachelor’s degree in Economics,” Tal continued. “All the time he spent in Palo Alto, he was never even on the radar of the local police. But coincidently the smuggling activities during that time around the Bay Area increased significantly. As far as we know it was mostly rare high-end goods, like art, archeological artifacts, and endangered animals.”
Jensen looked at Special Agent Tal. “Animals?”
“Yes. Mostly rare birds and tigers.”
“So that’s the money he used to build his business?”
Tal shook her head. “Not as far as we can tell. He started his IT company back in Stanford as a student business with a friend, and we couldn’t find anything irregular in their early financials.”
“So where did the money go?” Jensen asked. “Extravagant lifestyle? Bribes?”
“No idea,” Tal said. “Padalecki lived relatively modestly in Stanford. Inconspicuously, you might say. And we’re not even sure how much he made but the SFPD suspects seven figures, at least.”
“Now, Padalecki was never on their list of suspects for the smuggling,” Morgan cut in, “especially since there was nothing unusual going on with the weapons trade, but they never caught anyone higher than a middleman and they either didn’t know anything or they wouldn’t talk. At all.” Morgan had leaned forward while talking. He was now staring intently at Jensen. “I don’t have to explain to you what that means.”
Jensen just nodded. If everybody refused to talk, then they were working for one scary son of a bitch. And if half the people didn’t even know who they worked for, he was very good at what he did.
“There was one witness who could have identified a person in charge, but she disappeared the next day. Washed up at the shore two days later.” Tal looked grim. “Padalecki got back from Stanford about half a year after graduating. He brought five, maybe six people back with him and the mayhem started. It’s been almost five years since then and he’s running a tight ship. He’s got his finger in every deal that goes down in the city but he’s never directly involved so we can’t fucking touch him.” Tal was glaring at the screen with a level of anger that made Jensen suspect this was personal.
“He moved his IT company to Chicago too and expanded it, and he’s been rubbing elbows with politicians and lobbyists,” Tal continued with a tight expression. “His father and brother run guns, but as far as we can tell, Jared’s the one who’s running the city. And if we want to get him, we have to get him now. There are rumors he wants to set up a second base in San Francisco and we can’t let that happen. Once the mob expands the business to San Francisco, we’ll never get them out again. A direct supply line from the Pacific to Chicago, run by the same family, is frankly a terrifying idea. With Padalecki's brains and his ruthlessness, his options are practically unlimited.”
“Alright, I see the urgency.” Jensen leaned back in his seat. “What I don’t understand is why it has to be me. The Bureau has enough qualified people, you don’t need to cut my leave short and put a tired agent on this.”
Morgan and Tal exchanged a tense glance. Neither of them seemed to want to tell him what was truly going on.
In the end it was Tal who huffed out a breath and changed the screen. It now showed the pictures of about two dozen men. They were all in their twenties, more or less blond and pretty. Very pretty.
Oh. It made sense now.
There weren’t that many openly gay agents with the FBI, despite the nonexistence of don’t-ask-don’t-tell, and even less who were fit for deep cover work. And if they wanted one who was blond (more or less) and pretty (Jensen preferred to call himself attractive, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the term directed at him before), the pickings were slim.
He studied the pictures a little longer, before turning to Morgan. “Was this your idea? Because it won’t work.”
Hartley spoke for the first time, a snide tone to his voice. “What, you don’t think you’re pretty enough?”
Jensen snorted. “I’m attractive enough, thanks, but I’m a little too old for him. He likes them young and cute. Non-threatening.” Jensen gave Hartley a hard look.
This time it was Tal who answered. “That may be true. But we don’t want you to be his flavor of the week. We want you to become his lover. His boyfriend. His confidant.”
Boyfriend. Jensen had hooked up with criminals on his assignments before but he’d never gone in with the intent to seduce someone. That was new. Something hot churned in Jensen’s stomach and he couldn’t decide if it was anticipation or revulsion. But he didn’t have time to analyse it further because Tal changed the picture of the screen again. A young, good-looking, blond guy with strong features appeared.
”Meet Chris Evans, Padalecki's only known boyfriend. They dated for almost a year in Stanford, before Evans moved to New York. He’s intelligent, strong, confident, and doesn’t mind breaking the law. That sound like anybody you know?”
“I don't break the law,” Jensen said irritatedly. He had the sinking feeling they’d already decided on a cover for him and he didn't like it. Jensen did his own research and tailored his cover to fit the assignment. Especially if he was supposed to whore himself out for the FBI. The hot ball in his stomach uncoiled slowly, threads of anticipation spreading through his body which always came with the promise of danger.
“No, but one of your old cover identities does,” Tal said.
Another picture filled the screen, this time one that Jensen recognized. It was a surveillance picture of him taken five years earlier, during his second deep cover op.
Tal turned to him with a sly grin. “You remember Jensen Campbell?”
“It’s perfect,” Morgan was chiming in again. “Every new person we introduce to him is going to raise suspicions. But if we use your old identity, he’s going to meet someone who has been in the game for years. He’s actually going to be able to check up on you and find people who knew you five years ago. And you’re a criminal, so you’ll have no moral objections to dating a mob boss. It’s an airtight setup, really.”
“But Jensen Campbell hasn’t been active in years. Not since he disappeared five years ago after the bust in Boston,” Jensen argued, because really? Boyfriend of a mobster? He pushed the anticipation down because this would be more than dangerous. This would be a high-wire act without a safety net.
“He fled the country,” Tal said so matter-of-factly as if it was common knowledge. “Laid low for a while before doing some work in Europe. We actually slipped Interpol a tip that Jensen Campbell was involved in a string of unsolved museum heists. Since your cover was never blown, he’s now an official suspect in the Interpol database.”
Tal had the satisfied expression of a cat who just ate the canary. Jensen still wasn’t convinced.
“Even if it might work, Padalecki is never going to be interested if I approach him in a club or somewhere else. He’d never buy it.”
“Why not?” Morgan asked.
“Because even if Jensen Campbell would have no ‘moral objections’ about dating a mob boss, he would never seek out the company of one,” Jensen explained, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Art thieves and the mob don’t mix. Art thieves see themselves as something better than common criminals. And they usually avoid people who have a very low threshold when it comes to killing other people.”
Morgan looked at him thoughtfully. “So how would you make the approach?”
Jensen pondered the different possibilities for a while. Theoretically, this was an interesting challenge. “Well, it would have to be coincidental, but not random. And I can’t seem interested in him; he has to be the one to do the chasing.” Padalecki looked like a guy who went after what he wanted. And he was smart, taking risks to climb the ladder that quickly. Accomplishing what he had at his age, he was most likely driven, egotistical, and power hungry. He’d value the victory more the harder he had to work for it. But he was also careful, securing his position with a legal business, so he’d be suspicious to the last.
Jensen spun options in his mind, thinking out loud. “I need to show him that I’m really a criminal and not a snitch, without making a point about it. I need to show him that I’m not scared of him, but also not looking for mob company. I need to be reluctant, but not really have a choice about giving him a chance. He needs to have the edge but I still need to be able to to hold my own.”
Morgan still looked pensive. “Sounds good, but how are you gonna do that?”
Jensen drew in a deep breath. He couldn’t believe what he was about to suggest. It was crazy. It was basically signing his own death warrant. It was high risk, but if it worked... he was almost certainly in. He couldn’t help but feel the anticipation oscillating deep in his body.
“I need to steal something from him and get caught.”
“What? Are you completely out of your mind? He’s going to kill you the minute he gets his hands on you.” Hartley was almost shouting, looking incredulous.
Morgan looked skeptical, but Tal was beaming.
“Oh, my god, that’s brilliant!” Her fingers were already flying over her keyboard. “There’s this one guy, Fredric Lehne, I don’t know why I didn’t think of him sooner. He’s a rival of Padalecki’s legitimate business, the IT company, you know. And he hates Padalecki with a passion, but he has no mob ties himself, so he loses against Padalecki every time. And last month, Padalecki outbid him at an art auction and completely humiliated him afterward in front of everybody. He’s dying to get back at him.”
She pulled up an article on screen with a black and white picture of two men facing off, one of them Padalecki, the other one an older guy in a suit. The headline read “Lehne a Sore Loser After Charity Auction."
“Lehne really wanted that painting,” Tal continued. “So we just need to get you a connection and then he can hire you, or rather Jensen Campbell, to steal the painting from Padalecki. It’s perfect! You'll be reluctant, but you have to take the job for monetary reasons and when Padalecki figures out you stole the painting, it’ll be the perfect introduction.” Tal leaned back and pursed her lips. “Of course, there’s still the risk he’ll want to kill you, but I think your skills might be enough to persuade him to work with you instead. With all the info we have, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to play to his tastes. Look, I know you’re worried about your age but physically speaking, you’re exactly his type and you’ll be a challenge. Few people challenge him in any way and if a charming thief comes along, daring to steal from him because of mysterious reasons from his past...” A small smile danced across her lips. “He’ll have no idea what hit him.”
“Whoa, hold your horses.” Jensen held up his hands. “That was just theoretical. I didn’t say I was gonna do it.”
Rationally Jensen knew he wasn’t getting out of this, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used his body to get information, but it would be by far the most dangerous and, more importantly, permanent. While this assignment would be the most challenging he’d ever done, he was not interested in pretending to be someone’s personal play thing. The thrill of it was tantalizing, but Jensen had fought his whole life for autonomy over his own body; he couldn't just give it up now.
“You want me to act like Padalecki's personal whore,” Jensen said tightly. “How is that brilliant?”
“Not his whore, Ackles, his boyfriend,” Morgan corrected.
“Tomayto, tomahto. I’ll still have to sleep with the guy.”
“And you have a problem with that? Padalecki's good-looking enough I’d think and you people are so promiscuous anyway...” Hartley trailed off when Jensen turned a murderous gaze on him.
“Excuse you?” Jensen turned towards Hartley, barely able to contain the fury inside of him. “My people? Promiscuous? Are you implying that because I’m gay I don’t mind fucking a criminal as long as he’s good-looking?” At the end Jensen was almost shouting.
“Alright, that’s enough Hartley, you—”
Jensen cut Morgan off. “Yeah, that’s quite enough, Special Agent Hartley.” Venom was lacing Jensen's voice as he spoke in a normal volume again. “Because I’m really fed up with dealing with bigoted assholes like you. And if I ever see you outside of a government building, I won’t hesitate to kick your sorry ass six ways to Sunday.”
“Enough!” Morgan’s voice boomed through the small room. “Hartley, apologize. We’ll talk consequences after the meeting. For now, you’re dismissed. Ackles, keep your temper in check.”
“Yes Sir,” Jensen and Hartley answered simultaneously, albeit with different levels of belligerence in their voices.
Hartley stood and turned to Jensen. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Special Agent Ackles. It wasn’t my intention to insult you.”
Hartley’s voice was dripping with false sincerity and Jensen had to grind his teeth together and only nodded before he said something he might regret later. Or not.
After Hartley had left the room, Morgan turned to Jensen. “Sorry about that. Can we go on?”
Jensen nodded. “What’s his problem, anyway?”
“He wanted the undercover assignment for himself,” Tal said.
Morgan shot her a look but she just shrugged her shoulders. “What? It’s true. He’s been dying for a deep cover assignment. But since he’s not gay and definitely not pretty enough and all other ins failed... Well, Ackles, that means it’s your turn.”
Morgan sighed. “Look, Ackles, I know you don’t like this.”
Understatement of the century.
“And I don’t like it either. It’s not the way the bureau usually does this. Hell, Jim yelled at me for about fifteen minutes for even suggesting it. But there doesn’t seem to be another way.”
Jensen scoffed. “There’s always another way. If you just—”
Morgan shook his head. “Trust me, there’s not. Don’t you think we fucking tried?” Morgan leaned forward on the table, eyes glinting angrily. “We tried turning people close to him. But apart from the fact that no one in his inner circle talks, those we did get to talk, disappeared. We sent in two agents, one of them an experienced undercover agent and they both died. Even just seducing him didn’t work, the agent was out on his ass in under five seconds. Now, if we keep trying and failing, he’ll become so suspicious of new people, we’ll never get anyone in. So it has to work now.” Morgan gave Jensen a grim look. “Before Padalecki becomes truly untouchable.”
Morgan seemed genuinely sorry. That wouldn’t help Jensen though, when Padalecki ripped him into tiny pieces. He felt the strong urge to get drunk again.
“You can of course say no,” Morgan said quietly.
Jensen let out a harsh laugh. “After you basically told me the world will end if I don’t?”
Morgan didn’t answer that.
Jensen rubbed a hand across his face. “How long do I have?”
“It’s going to take a couple of days to get the contact with Lehne. Why don’t you set up in Chicago on Tuesday. Maybe let someone from your old days know that you’re back and willing to work?”
Jensen was glad for Tal's no-nonsense attitude. It would be good having her on his team.
“I don’t know where anybody is. I haven’t really kept in touch, you know.”
Tal was unfazed. “No problem. I’ll go through your old files and give you all the info you need. I’ll get you the file on the heists in Europe as well and everything we have on Padalecki. Now, unfortunately it isn’t much, because he plays it pretty close to the vest, but we managed to talk to a couple of his former flings.” She made a face. “And of course, we have a whole dossier on Misha Collins—”
“Wait, Misha Collins?” Could this get any worse?
“Yeah, you know him?”
Jensen pulled a grimace. “Not personally, but I know of his reputation.”
Tal nodded. “You see why we need to wrap this up. The people working with Padalecki... Let’s just say we can’t let them run wild anymore.”
Morgan stood up. “I created a special task force on Padalecki's operation over six months ago and to date we have zilch. What we need is a new approach. And that is you. Since Padalecki almost certainly has cops on his payroll, maybe even someone in the FBI, we’re keeping this one under wraps. The only people who know are Tal, Hartley, Jim, and me. I assume there still isn't any entry of you in the database as Special Agent Ackles?”
Jensen shook his head. To make his covers more secure in a time where every hacker and their mama seemed to be able to crack the FBI’s database, the members of the Undercover Division in DC only had a hard copy file. Not that this particular division existed officially in the first place.
“Good.” Morgan cleared his throat. “Then why don’t you go home, say goodbye to your family and get your things in order.”
Nobody commented on how much that sounded like Jensen was dead already.
“We’ll give you the files and then you can prepare. You won’t be able to wear a wire in his presence, so you’ll be on your own.”
"Can I bug the place at least?"
Morgan shook his head regretfully. "No, we tried. Padalecki has permanent bug screeners all over his place. Padalecki has a few places he likes to frequent; bars and restaurants. Maybe you can plant a few when you go out with him. It would be good to get ears on him there. But don’t worry, we’ll be watching. If it gets hairy, we’ll pull you out.”
Jensen gave Morgan a hard smirk. “If things get hairy, the only thing you’ll be able to do is bring me out in a bodybag.”
Jensen spent the rest of the day in his old room in his parents’ house, going over the files Alona had given him before he left. It wasn’t much, but he had started ops with less info.
Alona had handed him the stack, patted his arm and said, “I’m going to be your go-to person, so you can call me Alona. I’ll do everything I can to get you out of this in one piece, but if you screw this up, anything Padalecki will do to you will seem like child’s play compared to what I have in store, okay?” All the while smiling sweetly at him.
Jensen had just raised an incredulous eyebrow.
“One of the agents who died was very dear to me. I want Padalecki to pay.”
Jensen had nodded. Fraternizing with other agents was discouraged, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. “I’ll do my best, trust me.”
Alona had just patted his arm again. “I know. I also included the files of the assets and agents who didn’t make it. Maybe you can figure out their mistakes and learn from them.”
Jensen wanted to ask which one had been hers, but he kept his mouth shut.
Now he had two empties and one half-full beer bottle next to him and was going over the files. The ones about the former infiltration attempts were not very encouraging. The usual criminal informants feigned ignorance or straight out admitted they were much more scared of Padalecki than jail time, and chatter on the streets was almost non-existent when it came to Padalecki’s operation. There was plenty of info on the actual gangs and criminals doing the deeds but when it came to Padalecki’s involvement and his cut, people were incredibly tight lipped.
At first, the FBI had turned one of the bed bunnies of Padalecki's right-hand man. She overdosed on heroin three days later in her apartment, although she had no history with drugs. Then they had sent in an agent. He started as a small courier, working at the bottom of the food chain. When he pushed for bigger jobs after six weeks, he died in what appeared to be a drug deal gone bad.
After that, they had recruited the bartender in Padalecki's favorite club. He he lasted for three weeks, but probably only because Padalecki was out of town for one of them. They hadn’t found his body yet.
The attempt of an agent to seduce Padalecki in the club had failed immediately. He was thrown out of the club with the order to never come back again or he’d lose important parts of his anatomy. They weren’t sure what had gone wrong; he’d seemed to be Padalecki's type.
Then they tried to turn another girl close to Padalecki's entourage and a small-time weapons dealer. Both vanished after less than two weeks. They were suspected to be dead, because if they had told Padalecki about their FBI connection, he might have used them to feed the Feds false information.
The last agent they had sent in as a drug dealer from the East Coast had lasted four months, doing more illegal things than the FBI usually stomached and had then died in a bar brawl.
After that, the task force had leaned heavily on a few small time criminals in jail but they’d all taken the punishment or refused a shorter sentence instead of giving up any info on Padalecki. As far as the task force knew, Padalecki didn’t run a prison crew but it seemed at least two of the big ones did him favors.
The whole file made for a depressing read, although it wasn’t hard to see where the Bureau had gone wrong. They had moved too fast. But that was what happened when you sent regular agents in for longer undercover assignments. If someone had to go under deep cover? They needed to be thoroughly trained for it and have the right mindset. And, of course, the patience.
Jensen skimmed the file on Collins only briefly; he knew the man’s reputation and what he was capable of. He didn’t need to see the gruesome pictures too. Collins had a background in explosives, but really, the guy was so crazy he dealt in everything that burned. He had worked mainly in L.A. before. The theory was that Jared Padalecki had brought Collins with him when he came back from California.
A pretty blond guy seemed to be Jared’s right hand man, but they had no match for his prints, no history and knew nothing about him, except that it said Chad Michael Murray on his driver’s license, a name with no match in any database. He had no social security number, no regular address and they’d never been able to charge him with anything. The only thing they knew for sure was that he liked to screw a new busty girl every night.
The other members of Padalecki’s entourage were standard criminal material, though definitely from the upper end of the scale. There were two women in the files and Jensen started with them. Emancipation had reached the criminal underworld some time ago but it was still very much a man’s game. Women who made it this far usually had to work twice as hard which made them twice as dangerous.
One of them was Genevieve Cortese. She was a Stanford graduate like Padalecki and handled the finances, from Padalecki's official company to the front businesses that laundered the dirty money. So far, all the books were squeaky clean, making her an accounting genius.
The other one was Danneel Harris, suspected to be Jared’s personal hit-woman. She was linked to over a dozen deaths, but without any proof. Jensen thought her face looked vaguely familiar, but couldn’t place it. He just hoped that wouldn’t blow up in his face later.
Aldis Hodge was Padalecki's personal hacker, actually employed in his legitimate company, but probably involved in the illegal business as well. Together with Padalecki, he’d founded their company, PadaSystems. He was very good, but not a hands-on guy. That was more Mike Rosenbaum’s forte. He had a long list of assault charges that had never made it to court and a reputation for being insane.
Jensen took a long drag of his bottle. Padalecki seemed to like the crazies. Good thing that Jensen Campbell had a reputation as an adventurous thief, who pulled off insane heists with impossibly clean exits.
He still remembered those times fondly: dangling upside down from a building while breaking into a window on the fifty-somethingth floor. The adrenaline rush was something else. Sometimes he really loved his job. Right now? Not so much.
When his mother called for dinner, Jensen was finished with the files. The reports on Padalecki's sexual conquests were the only ones left, but he had no desire to go through them before dinner. He dreaded what he could find in there. He considered himself a reasonably open guy, and he’d had his fair share of hook ups that involved no emotional attachment, but he’d never really done the whole relationship thing. There had been a few semi-regular hookups in college but no one had managed to hold his interest for long. Sex was something he could enjoy without a close connection and he didn’t mind experimenting, but whatever Padalecki liked doing in bed, he needed to believe that Jensen liked it too. While Padalecki ticked more than one of Jensen’s boxes looks-wise, Jensen wasn’t really into pain, humiliation, or any of the extreme stuff. And faking an orgasm wasn’t all that easy for a guy.
Jensen emptied his beer and made his way down to the dining room with heavy steps.
Dinner was a strained affair. Jensen’s mom wasn’t happy his vacation had been cut short and his sister Catherine was pissed that he was going to miss another one of her birthday parties after all. She was viciously hacking away at her roast beef, and it was a testament to how distraught his mother was that she didn’t scold Cat for her bad table manners.
Now seventeen, Cat had been a late surprise for Jensen’s parents. When their older brother Jonathan had left for college, she had clung to Jensen and he’d used his endless patience to play with her when both of their parents were at work. Now that Jensen visited home so infrequently, she was sulkier than ever. It didn’t help that she was an almost eighteen year-old teenager.
“So, Cathy, which poor boy does this piece of meat represent now?” Johnny asked playfully.
Johnny and his wife Tamara had also come over for dinner and they tried valiantly to keep the conversation going. Jensen had crashed two nights last week at his brother’s place and Johnny knew that Jensen didn’t have much of a choice in the matter of this assignment.
This time Johnny’s attempt to intervene didn’t work, because Cat just glared at him. “Well, his name starts with a J and ends with -ensen.”
“Cathy, that’s enough,” George said quietly. “Jensen’s job is important and the FBI can’t accommodate every family event.”
Jensen’s father understood most of all. He was a detective with the Dallas police, so he knew that when you were given an assignment, you hauled ass wherever they wanted you to go. But he couldn’t suppress a snide comment about the FBI, no matter how respectful he phrased it. George didn’t like the FBI interfering in his investigations and he didn’t like them interfering in Jensen’s personal life when it affected the rest of the family. Jensen had never really fit in with his straight-laced, conservative family and he had not wanted to follow his father’s legacy and join the police. While everyone else thought Jensen was just taking his family’s history of law enforcement to the next level, Jensen knew exactly what his father thought about The Feds and Jensen working for them.
“Hey, Cathy, have you seen that that cute second-hand store downtown is having a sale next week? We should go check it out,” Tamara said.
Cat grumbled something intelligible.
“Maybe you can pick out a birthday present?” Tamara pressed.
Cat smiled sweetly at her then. “Thanks Tamara, that sounds great. It’s really awesome when your family cares about your birthday so much.”
Jensen turned to Cat, ready to give her a piece of mind, when Johnny suddenly jumped into telling a long-winded story about one of his clients. Jensen hated what his job sometimes did to his family, and he needed to get out of the tense atmosphere of the house.
After dinner, he excused himself to head over to Chris’. He needed to imbibe large quantities of alcohol and whine about the unfairness of his life. Chris’ couch was perfect for that.
His mom was less than pleased, but he promised to spend time with her the day after, before he would get on a plane to a secret city, assume a confidential identity, and work on a covert assignment he could tell them nothing about. Hopefully, at some point, he would come home—alive and not in a coffin. Sometimes he wondered why he had wanted this job in the first place.
When he came home the next morning, he headed straight for the garden where his mom was tending to the roses.
“The lawn needs a mow,” he said.
His mom looked up and smiled at him. “Yes, it does.”
Jensen spent the rest of the day helping his mom with the garden, lunch, the groceries, and even baking. His mother kept up a steady stream of chatter, mostly gossip about neighbors, friends, and their extended family. Occasionally, she’d tell Jensen about former classmates of his she’d met at the supermarket.
“Kevin is getting married this summer, did you know?” Jensen did not.
“And oh, Laura Stevens, who always gave you a ride to school, she’s pregnant with her second baby. Did you ever see her first one?” Jensen had not.
“Most of your class have settled down now, I think.” Jensen thought so too.
“I know that Texas is not the most open-minded place but it’s gotten a lot better. I’m sure you could find a nice young man to marry, if you only try.”
Jensen’s parents hadn’t been thrilled when he came out. Jensen’s father avoided the subject as best as he could—though he had once insinuated that maybe that was why Jensen had gone to join the FBI and their cushy desk jobs, not the police where he’d have to do more hands-on work. Jensen’s mom didn’t understand either but she was pragmatic. After a few years, she’d finally accepted that this wasn’t just a phase and now she was hellbent on convincing Jensen that he could still have a nice—read traditional—life with another man. The dog, the kids, the white picket fence... according to his mom, he could still have it all. Nevermind if he wanted it.
“Mom.” Jensen was really tired of having this conversation and he didn’t try to keep his feelings out of his voice.
His mother raised her hands placatingly. “I know, I know. Your job is important, you don’t have time for a serious relationship. I just don’t want you to be lonely, okay?”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “You just want grandkids,” he said, which was a good way to deflect any more serious questions as his mom launched into a retelling of the last time she babysat the neighbor’s kids and how she hoped Johnny and Tamara wouldn’t wait much longer now.
When the muffins were in the oven, his mother sat him down and he knew he couldn’t evade the conversation anymore.
“I know you can’t tell me where you’re going or what you’re going to do, but what I don’t understand and really want to know...” she trailed off.
Jensen took her hand. “What, Mom?” he asked gently. Being the wife and mother of law enforcement officers wasn’t easy.
“Why you can’t have any time off! Everybody needs a break once in a while and I can see how tired you are, sweetie!”
Jensen sighed. “This one can’t wait, Mom.”
“Then why you?” Her eyes were pleading with him and Jensen thought he had underestimated the toll his job was taking on his family.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “It sorta has to be me. I’m, uh, uniquely qualified for the job.”
His mom nodded and took his hands back in hers. His hands looked too big in hers, making hers look smaller and more frail. “Just come back to us, okay?”
A tear was sliding down her cheek. Jensen tried to swallow around the lump in his throat that felt suspiciously like guilt. He wasn’t home as often as he should be. Despite everything, his parents loved him. “You know I will. I always do, right?”
“Right.” She gave him a watery smile when suddenly the oven timer beeped. “Oh my gosh, the muffins!”
Jensen helped his mom clean up the table after another tense meal and then joined his father in front of the television for the baseball game. They drank a beer in the companionable silence they had worked hard to establish after Jensen left for college in Austin. Jensen had stayed in Texas, like his parents wanted—they’d argued with in-state tuition, which Jensen had never really bought as the main reason—but gone to the one school in the one city Jensen’s father thought was a liberal haven. “Instead of just walking away, you stay and piss right in front of everyone,” his brother had commented. Jensen had argued that UT had the superior program. Which was true, but his brother also had a point.
After the first two innings, Jensen grabbed a new bottle and went up to Cat’s room. Her door was ajar and when he went in he found her curled up in her bed watching an old episode of ER.
“Oh, is that the one where Mark has the tumor?”
Cat looked up. “Duh!” was the only answer he got.
He walked over to the bed. “Awesome. Scoot over, Munchkin.” He plopped himself down on Cat’s bed, grabbed a pillow and got comfortable.
Cat gave him the stink eye. “I’m way too old for the Munchkin thing, Jennybean.”
“Ouch. That hurt so much. Do we have snacks?”
A yellow bag of M&M’s slapped against his chest.
“Peanut! My favorite.” God, they tasted good. He should have candy more often.
”Duh,” Cat said again. “I know.”
The last bit sounded so small and sad it pulled at Jensen’s heart.
“I’m sorry I’m not gonna be there for your party. But it will be great and lots of fun and no one will have to be scared that your bad-ass FBI brother is gonna bust them for underage drinking.”
Cat snorted. “Whatever. You know I wouldn’t care about any of that, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied.
They didn’t speak for a while, watching instead as Mark said goodbye to Elizabeth before his surgery, until Cat spoke again, eyes trained on the screen. “I get that you need to go after the bad guys and save people, but sometimes—sometimes we need you too. I need you too. I need my big brother. And you’re never home anymore.”
Jensen reached out his hand and stroked Cat’s hair. “I know you think you need me, but not really. Not like you used to. You’re growing up, Cat, and despite all the teenage drama, you’re growing into this amazing, smart, strong, beautiful woman. You don’t need a big brother anymore.”
“Yeah, well, but I want one,” she pouted.
“Oh, now you’re just being a brat on purpose, Cat,” Jensen teased.
“You know, you’re the only one who still calls me that,” Cat said.
Jensen shot her an inquiring look. She went by Cathy with their parents and their brother but her friends used to call her Cat too.
She waved him off. “When I went to high school I started going by Catie and it just stuck.”
“Do you want them to call you Cat?” Jensen asked.
“No. It’s nice to have a brother who calls me his own special nickname.”
Cat looked at him, her eyes impossibly big, so Jensen opened his arms and Cat leaned into him, resting her head in the crook of his neck.
“That’s never going to change, no matter how often I come home, okay?”
She nodded against his shoulder. It had been a while since he had held her like that. The last time she had lain in his arms, they had watched Tom and Jerry and her favorite get-up was pigtails and jean overalls. He couldn’t help but notice the differences. His little baby sister was not so little anymore.
“Make no mistake though,” Jensen said, aiming for mock-stern and not sure how well he managed the mocking part of it, “if a boy comes sniffing around you, I will know and I will scare the ever-loving shit out of him. I know you’re smart and you wouldn't start something with some asshole but as your big brother it’s my duty to scare any guy who goes after you.”
He heard the smile in Cat’s voice when she answered. “With your gun?”
“With my gun.”
She pulled back to look at him and there was a small smile on her face. “Promise?”
“I promise,” Jensen smiled back at her. “Munchkin.”
For a moment Cat squeezed him tight, then she rearranged herself so that she was leaning against his shoulder but could see the TV as well. On screen a father and his son were now being treated in the ER.
“You know, he’s kinda cute,” Cat remarked.
“Yeah, we’re not talking about cute guys.”
“Why not?”
“Cause you’re still my little Munchkin.”
Cat was quiet for a few seconds and then asked, “Can I have a sip of your beer?”
“Shut up and watch the cute guy.”
After Cat had fallen asleep, Jensen said goodnight to his parents and went up to his room and the dreaded sex files.
He studied them carefully and all in all it wasn’t too bad. He could probably do with a little less dominance and control, but at least Padalecki didn’t hurt his lovers or smack them around. He did throw them out after, or left them immediately. He never did repeat performances and outside of the actual sex, he behaved like an asshole. Well, at least he was good-looking. Jensen could admit to himself that Padalecki’s height, broad shoulders, and long hair would help with the whole mob boss sex under duress thing.
Apart from that, Padalecki appeared as a genuinely nice guy in public: he donated to charities and loved his dogs. Maybe Jensen could take advantage of that knowledge.
He emptied his beer and went to bed, but it was a long time before sleep came.