Mirror, Mirror, Part 2

The National Press Club Awards were in full swing. Jensen lounged in his seat, sipping his scotch and watching the parade of recipients as they feigned amazement, accepted their awards and burbled for their allotted fifteen seconds of fame before returning to the body of the theater. Leaning in towards his companion, he whispered, "Fuck, dude, I'm bored. Can we please go?"

Steve Carlson, for once dressed in a suit and tie, chuckled. "No, man, you have to stay until you've been presented with your award. Anything less would be considered churlish."

"I've got enough awards." Jensen gestured to the waiter, and was almost immediately presented with another scotch. "Don't need any more." He was about to rise from his chair when he suddenly became aware that he was being stalked.

"Oh, shit! Stand by to repel boarders," he hissed as a pair of long haired lovelies made their way over to him with squeals of joy.

"Boarders?" asked Steve, shaking his head. "Dude, you're the lucky one, aren't you?" As Jensen was swarmed by his admirers, Steve sat back with a grin on his face and watched his friend attempting to extricate himself from the unwelcome attentions of the two starlets.

"Jensen!" The pretty redhead bent to kiss Jensen extravagantly.

"Danneel, how's it hanging?" Jensen gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes and played with his shot glass.

"I got a part in a series. Jensen, I think that this is my big break. I need some photos for my portfolio. I could be the next face. Jensen, please…?" Her body was canted forward, offering her ample breasts for his examination, and Steve snickered quietly when his friend failed to respond the way she apparently wanted.

"Sorry, Danni, I'm fully booked for the next few weeks." Jensen drained his glass, and the girl pouted at him, delicious lips offered in supplication.

"You're too mean," she said. "And in front of my friend Sandy, too." She sat down on his lap as the tiny, dark haired girl gave him a huge smile and a little wave. "You know, we could have a wonderful time together at a photo-shoot, just the three of us. You could take some unique shots, I bet.' Her little hand pawed at Jensen's belt as she spoke, leaving him with no illusions as to the nature of those unique shots. He took hold of the questing hand and lifted it, then set her back on her feet.

"You know, it sounds really tempting, ladies, and I regret having to decline, but I never mix business with pleasure." Getting up, he turned to Steve. "I'm done here," he growled. "I'm going to go. Feel free to accept my award for me, dude. Just tell them that I'm in Outer Mongolia or something."

As he turned on his heel, he could hear the MC beginning to announce the next award, and rather than turning to see who would receive it, he strode briskly through to the back of the auditorium and out into the night.

He'd come to the event in Steve's car, and he considered calling a cab for a moment, but the evening was fine, and cooler than usual with a fresh breeze blowing through from the ocean. Turning his face towards West Hollywood, thinking he’d walk for a while before heading home, he set off, frowning as he pondered his current state of boredom.

He had everything any man could want. Here he was at thirty, acclaimed by the press and advertising world for his skill with a camera. He had toys, friends, and as many lovers as one man could handle, but he didn't have what he wanted, because he had no idea what that might be.

His life was a shell, an empty shell, and he didn't have a clue what he could do to change things.

He heard a soft whimpering as he passed a darkened doorway, and looked over to see a young man huddled there, half-seen in the shadowy haven. He had the beginnings of a straggly beard, and his face was covered in scabs and bruises, but he looked as if he was not long for this world, and Jensen felt a pang of sympathy for the young man who had apparently fallen so far down on his luck. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a couple of banknotes and held them out to the vagrant. "Here you go, buddy," he said, already losing interest in the youngster's plight. "Go find yourself a bed for the night."

The kid he'd given the money to was already forgotten as he flagged down a cab and gave the driver directions to his house.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

The Oscars after-party was in full swing. Jensen was feeling less than motivated, but he went through the motions, snapping the beautiful people one or two at a time and wishing that there were something else. Steve – there as his assistant – could tell that his buddy's heart wasn't in it, and he was baffled as he followed Jensen around, passing him the zoom lens, finding the particular filter he needed and feeding him alcohol.

It didn't take Jensen long to start brooding, and it was with a sinking heart that Steve realized that his friend was actually becoming depressed. He paused for a moment, his brow creased in a frown as he pondered what to do for his best friend. Finally he shouldered the bag of accessories he was toting, grabbed a couple of scotches from one of the passing trays and went to steer Jensen out of the melee and into a quiet corner, where he pressed the photographer down into a seat and sat beside him. "You've got to snap out of this, dude. You're going to blow your whole life if you don't get a grip on yourself."

Jensen shrugged his shoulders. Raising world-weary eyes to Steve's, he spread his hands. "I've got enough, dude, and this is just no fun any more. There's no challenge, no excitement, and no sincerity in the people I meet. They're all nice to me, because they want something from me. I think you're the only one that doesn't."

"Guess I should work on that," grinned Steve. "There must be something you've got that I could use."

Laughing for the first time that evening, Jensen sipped the drink Steve had brought for him. "All I want is a challenge. I'm bored, I can make anyone look good, but I really don't like any of them. I'm just breeding monsters. You saw them yesterday. 'Photograph me, and you can have me'; I don't fucking want them, any of them!" he said, vehemently.

"You want a challenge," murmured Steve, suddenly clapping his hands together. He grinned, sharp teeth glittering under the disco lights. "Okay! Here's one, if you dare to take it. I bet that you can't take the first person you meet when we leave here and transform them into 'the new face of America'. If you lose, you make that album with me, and we promote it together. What do you say?"

"What are you smoking, dude?" Jensen laughed, but there was a gleam in his eye that hadn't been there before. "Always supposing I was to go for it, what would I get if I won?"

Laughing, Steve shrugged. "What to give the guy who has everything? Other than penicillin, that is. Let me see…" He pursed his lips, pretending to consider the options. "I dunno. What do you want?"

There was a long moment, during which Steve snagged another couple of glasses from a passing waiter, handing one off to Jensen and knocking back the other with a satisfied grunt. Jensen didn't drink, he merely studied the way that the alcohol swirled in the heavy crystal glass and mused, his lips pursed in thought. Finally, he looked up at his buddy, and a slow smile crept across his face, a real one, one that reached his eyes and crinkled up the skin in the corners. "Well, hell, why not?" he said, holding up his glass in a toast before downing the drink in one. "I reckon I'll have your Les Paul, if I win – which I will, by the way."

"That guitar is precious to me, man! I'm gonna make you work for it, you know that, don't you?" Steve was grinning in relief, pointed canines showing in a rare, full smile. "Okay, shall we go find the next face of America, or do you want to go back into the midst of the merry throng?"

"Dude, anything but that." Jensen's smile still lit his eyes, and Steve felt a warm glow of satisfaction at having steered his friend away from his ennui. "Let's go. If I have to make nice to one more starlet or hanger on, I won't be responsible for my actions. If fucking Zac Efron comes whining about his PR shots to me one more time I'll stuff a goddamn lobster claw right up his cute, jailbait ass and twist."

"Oh, jeez, Jen, why hold back? Why not tell me how you really feel?" Clapping Jensen on the shoulder, Steve rose to his feet, as if to head for the door. A hand on his arm held him back.

"Hey, hold on there a minute. How long do I have to effect this miracle?" Jensen was still smirking, his confidence almost too cocky.

Steve elbowed him in the ribs. "Okay, man, let's see. You have a year. By the time they run the Oscars next year, your random face is going to be on billboards all over the city, or you lose!"

"Done." Jensen laughed as he held out his hand to bump knuckles and then shake on their challenge. "Let's go find this face then, shall we?"

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

It took twenty minutes of determined schmoozing to make their way out of the crowded party. Everyone wanted a piece of Jensen, and when they finally succeeded in reaching an exit it turned out to be the one that the wait staff were using, and it led to the kitchens. They went for it anyway, sneaking through the kitchen and snagging a vol-au-vent each along the way, feeling like naughty children. It was a simple matter to slip through the busy room and out into the alley behind the club where the revels were being held. Outside on the pavement they paused, inhaling the night air. Overwhelmingly, there was the smell of garbage, discarded and left to rot in the heat of downtown LA, and even though it was close to 1am, there was still heat coming off the pavement.

The two men began to pick their way through the alley, sidestepping cardboard boxes and plastic sacks of garbage that spilled their contents in messy profusion. There were deep shadows all around, and the stench of decay assailed their nostrils. Hurrying through the debris, Jensen almost fell over the body that was partly concealed by cardboard.

"Jesus, fuck!" The expletive was automatic as he staggered a couple of steps, arms windmilling in an effort to retain his balance. The offending body let out a groan and sat up, arms up as if to defend itself from attack.

"I think you've found your new face, dude," said Steve as Jensen turned to check on the man on the ground. It was difficult to see in the thick gloom of the alley, and all Jensen could tell was that his new model was male, dirty and scared. The man was curled in on himself, and one of his arms was raised up so that it masked his face. He froze.

"Hey, dude, it's okay," he murmured, voice soft as if he was trying to talk a scared puppy out from under a chair. "Nobody's going to hurt you; I just didn't see you, is all. I'm sorry if you thought I was attacking you."

The arm remained up over the vagrant's face for a few moments, and Jensen was starting to think that maybe he was feeble minded, but then, suddenly the young man lowered his defenses and sat up straight. "Sorry," he mumbled, voice deep and rumbling. "Didn't mean to get in your way."

"Hey, I was the one that got in the way." Jensen surveyed the youngster, who was now slowly getting to his feet. "C'mon, dude, let me buy you a coffee or something to make up for it."

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

The all night diner they ended up in was a paean of praise to the culinary art of deep frying. Jensen bought all three of them coffee and then, after looking more closely at his guest, asked for menus, ending up ordering a plate of roast chicken and fries for the youngster.

When the server brought their food, she was looking less than pleased to have the young vagrant at one of her tables, and the object of her scorn didn't really help as he fell on the food as if he hadn't seen any for days.

Jensen reflected that more than likely he hadn't. Studying his new-found companion, it was hard to tell what was under the dirt and the bruises. The kid's face was swollen, displaying old bruises in a symphony of yellow and green, and he had at least a week's growth of beard on his chin. His hair was long and greasy and hung in rat's tails around his face, but his body was lean, his shoulders were wide, and he was tall, much taller than Jensen, even though Jensen wasn't exactly a midget.

Grinning at Steve, Jensen snickered. "You must be feeling sweet and petite," he said, letting his gaze travel up and down Steve's length. "Stand between the two of us, and we'll protect you." Steve didn't deign to respond, but aimed a kick at Jensen's shins that made him yelp.

The young man's plate was empty, cleaned of any stray scrap of nourishment, before Jensen went into his pitch. Under the grime, the kid's face had taken on a little color; his posture had become a little more relaxed. When Jensen leaned forward and asked him his name, he flushed, lowered his gaze a moment before replying, and Jensen was starting to wonder all over again if he'd picked a simpleton for his new face by the time he finally cleared his throat.

"Jared, my name is Jared."

"Well, Jared," murmured Jensen, smiling a little in relief that communication appeared possible after all. "My name is Jensen, and this guy here sporting the huge amounts of bling is called Steve, and we have a proposition for you."

The young man's eyes opened wide at that, and he made a startled sound in the back of his throat. "A proposition?" he said at last.

"It's okay. It's nothing illegal." Steve chimed in, a reassuring smile on his face. "You see, it's all about a bet I made with my man Jensen here."

Jared frowned, obviously not understanding what was being discussed at all, and Jensen reached to pat his shoulder. "Ignore him; he's an idiot," he said. "You see, I'm a photographer, and he bet me that I couldn't take the first person I met and turn them into the next face of America. You were the first person I met, and so I'd like to turn you into a famous face, if you don't mind."

Rolling his eyes, Steve smacked Jensen around the back of the head. "It's so not definite that you'll be a famous face. He's really arrogant, and that's what this whole thing is all about – he thinks he can manipulate the media any way he wants. I don't believe it, and if you want to come along for the ride, at least it will get you off the street. What do you say?"

"You want to photograph me?" Jared's whiskered face split in a wide, white grin. "That's the funniest thing I ever heard. You're nuts, both of you!"

"Probably!" Jensen laughed. "So will you play?"

Again there was a pause. Jared's grin faded slowly, and he looked between the two of them as if he was expecting some kind of punch line. "What's the catch?" he asked.

"Seriously, man, no catch." Jensen fumbled in his wallet and fished out one of his cards, handing it to Jared with a smile that he hoped was reassuring. "This is me. You can see I'm for real. You wanna see some of the photos I've taken? I can show you, but you're gonna have to come to my studio for that."

Still looking a little nervous, Jared studied the card in his hand, tracing and retracing the words. "You're not a white slaver, then?" he murmured at length. "Well, you wouldn't get much for me now anyway. Maybe I should take a chance."

"I'm hoping that means that you're gonna take me up on the project?" Beaming, Jensen offered his hand for Jared to shake. The other man frowned and looked at his own grimy hand.

"I'd better take a raincheck on that." He looked a little shame-faced as he rubbed his hand on a napkin. "I'm kinda filthy."

"Yeah, you are." Steve had been sitting back, watching the interplay between the two men. Now that Jared was apparently on board with Jensen's bet, he knew that he wasn't just going to win by default. "Jensen here will help you out with that." He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, forestalling Jensen, who was reaching for his, and went to settle the bill. "Come on, guys, let's go get started."

~~~~~~~oo(O)ooo~~~~~~~

They'd dropped Steve off at his house in the valley, and then Jensen had pointed his car to home. Jensen lived out in Malibu, and, although he wasn't quite on the beach, he was close enough that the sound of the surf could be heard as they pulled into the driveway.

The sky was beginning to lighten, and it was plain that it would soon be morning. Jensen hopped out of the car and went to open the front door, then returned to the car when he noticed that Jared hadn't moved.

"Come on," he said, gesturing that the other man should follow.

"Dude, I can't! Look at this place. You don't want me in there, messing up your fancy house." Jared's expression had turned stony, and it was evident that he thought Jensen was playing some game of his own.

"Course you can. Come on, man," repeated Jensen. "How do you suppose we're gonna get you cleaned up and ready to model for me if you don't get your skinny ass indoors? You think I'm gonna hose you down in the back yard, or what? Besides, I don't know about you, but I'm kinda tired. It's way past my bedtime."

Jared studied his rescuer for a very long drawn out moment before finally relaxing a little and nodding. "I guess, if you're set on it, I can at least come get a shower or something. Once you see what's under the dirt you might change your mind."

He climbed out of the car and stood looking at Jensen. "You sure?" he asked, his broad forehead creased with anxiety. Jensen's impatient grunt seemed to reassure him, and he began to limp towards the front door.

Jensen's house was spacious, with the inevitable glass wall overlooking the bay on the front of the house. Terracotta tiles strewn with expensive rugs, white walls hung with photographs and a large TV and games console were pretty much the only things in the living room. Jared paused for a moment, visibly stunned. "Don't you sit down to watch TV?" he asked his host.

"To tell you the truth, I've never actually turned that thing on," replied Jensen, grinning. "I usually watch the one in my bedroom. Haven't got round to getting a couch or anything yet."

Jared smiled a little at that. "How long have you lived here?" he asked, and Jensen knew he was expecting to hear him say that he'd just moved in, because he’d had this conversation before with just about everyone he knew. He was already crossing the room, but he turned back and smirked.

"Couple of years now," he murmured, and as Jared grinned, he began to color up, a blush staining his freckled cheeks. "I just… didn't get round to shopping for furniture."

That provoked a laugh from Jared, and seemed to break the ice. As Jensen led him through the house to the rear he seemed somewhat more relaxed. Pushing open a door to reveal a bedroom, Jensen waved him in and then crossed to throw open the door to an en-suite bath. "You can make yourself at home if you like. I'll find you some towels if you want to take a shower."

"Could use a razor too, if you have one." Jared was already making tracks for the bathroom, shedding his filthy coat and sweat-stained shirt as he went. "Oh, man, I'm gonna think I died and went to heaven."

Nodding, Jensen gathered the discarded clothing into a heap and left the room, returning a few moments later with a stack of towels, a plastic garbage sack and an electric razor. Jared was already in the shower, and Jensen deposited the towels on top of the toilet tank beside the tub, calling out to his guest that he was taking the rest of his clothes away. Jared merely grunted as Jensen tossed the disgusting garments into the sack and tied it ready for the garbage truck, leaving his new guest to enjoy the sybaritic delight of feeling clean again at last.

~~~

Jensen was standing beside the window, gazing at the steadily lightening sky as Jared returned swathed in towels and looking pink and well scrubbed. As he heard the halting footsteps approach, he turned to survey his guinea pig, wondering just what the grime had been hiding.

He caught his breath. The man was gorgeous, that much was plain despite the bruises that marred his otherwise handsome face. High cheekbones, knowing, slanted eyes that seemed to give the impression that their owner was amused at everything, and a strong, determined chin dominated Jared's face. The long, unruly dark hair had been combed neatly back and was still wet, revealing a broad forehead, currently wearing a scowl. Somewhere along the line he'd broken a front tooth, but that, Jensen thought, was easily fixed.

"How're you feeling?" Jensen asked, pursing his lips as he studied the other man. "You tired? You want anything before you hit the hay?"

"Guess I'm gonna need some clothes, unless you're planning on keeping me tied to the bed or something," said Jared, shifting uneasily.

"That's for sure." Jensen nodded. "I figure most of my stuff will be too small for you. What do you usually like to wear to sleep? Once we wake up, I was gonna get some stuff delivered, then we can head out and hit some of the stores. Better tell me your sizes." Jared was big, and Jensen, used to glamorous men and women, was already mentally planning his first shoot with Jared. He'd take mostly black and white shots to start with, play up those bruises, maybe photograph the kid as a boxer. He knew for sure that the photos would sell. Even without seeing the total package it was evident that Jared had some serious muscle going on. He could almost taste his victory. All he would need to do was coach Jared a little, get him to walk tall and quit hunching down - maybe coat him with a little baby oil. Jared's voice jerked him out of his reverie.

"I usually… I mean, I used to just wear pajama bottoms to sleep in," he mumbled. "Whatever you can spare'll do, though, or I can go commando; it's not like it's cold or anything."

Nodding, Jensen made for his own room, returning a few minutes later with a pair of faded pajamas. "They're bound to be a little short for you," he said, smiling as Jared held out his hand gratefully. "But we'll sort you out with your own stuff as soon as we've had a little sleep."

"Awesome, thanks." Jared's hand shook as he took the offered garment. "Listen, it's been a week or two since I've even seen a bed. I can't believe you're doing this for me, when you don't even know me."

"I don't know you yet, man, but we're going to be sick of each other by the time we're done." Jensen gave him his most blinding smile. "You're gonna be famous, Jared. I'm going to make you the face of the year, because that was the bet, and I refuse to lose." He pursed his lips in that familiar expression Jared was already coming to recognize, and he walked around Jared, studying what little was visible of him from the towels in which he was draped. "If the rest of you matches what I've seen so far, we're gonna be in clover."

Blushing red, Jared clutched his towels to him, and Jensen snickered. "Okay, I'm going to bed. I'll talk to you when we wake, all right? If you're up before I am, the kitchen is through there. Help yourself to whatever you want to eat."

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~


Jared stood watching him as he turned and headed for his bedroom, and it was quite some time before he turned around and went back to the room he'd been given. Pulling the blinds to, he dressed swiftly in the pajama pants and slid between cool linen sheets, moaning softly as tired bones and exhausted muscles made themselves comfortable at last.

He'd been living on adrenaline for so long that it took only a minute or so before he was out like a light.

~~~~~~~ooo(O)ooo~~~~~~~

It was after noon by the time Jensen emerged from slumber and padded to the kitchen in search of coffee and sustenance. All was quiet, and it didn't seem as if Jared had stirred from his room. He set the coffee maker going and went to the fridge to find himself a couple of waffles. Popping them into the toaster, he leaned against the counter and frowned as he considered what they should do first. It seemed that the priority would be to get Jared some clothes so that they could go out, and then he'd get his new guinea pig signed up with skin care, stylists and model coaching.

Carrying his coffee into the office, he set it down, then went back to pour some for Jared, scowling as he tried to recall just how the kid had taken it the night before. Finally, he dumped cream and sugar into it and headed for Jared's bedroom, tapping on the door before entering to find his visitor still sleeping, flat on his back with his arms stretched wide as if to embrace the world.

"Rise and shine, big guy," he called out, setting the mug of coffee down on the nightstand. Jared came awake with a start, half sitting as he stared around himself with panicked eyes. For a moment, Jensen thought he was going to run, but then he relaxed, leaning back with a shame-faced expression.

"Damn it! I think I just lost ten years of growth right there," he murmured.

"Guess that's a good thing," said Jensen. "Seems to me that you don't need to grow much more. You want some breakfast?"

"God, yes." Jared's stomach growled then as if agreeing with him, and Jensen stifled a laugh.

"Okay. Come on into the kitchen. I can make you something to take the edge off, and then we'll discuss going out for some real food." Turning, Jensen left him to it, heading back to his office and his plans.

When Jared finally appeared, clean and dressed in a pair of Jensen's shorts and a t-shirt that clung where it touched, Jensen had waffles and eggs ready for him, and was already working his way through a list of activities he felt they needed.

"As I see it, the first thing we need to do is go shopping. You need clothes, because you can't wear mine forever. You're too big for most of them." He checked his list and nodded. "I think we need to get your knee checked out, and make sure that you're gonna be fit enough for the rest of the program, so I've set up an appointment with my doc to get you a physical, but that's later this afternoon."

Jared paused in the middle of raising a forkful of food to his mouth. "Hey, wait up a minute. All this is gonna cost a fortune. You do realize that I don't have any money, don't you? Are you gonna sell my organs to pay for it all, or what?"

"Don't sweat it, man." Jensen grinned around a bite of waffle. "Think of it as an investment. Let's not forget that you're gonna be the next face of America, or I lose my bet. That means a little speculation before we start to accumulate, but I'm telling you now, I don't do things by half measures. I intend to win." He chuckled and turned to put his empty plate into the dishwasher. "Besides, I've got enough money. It's not like I'll be hurtin' if I spend a little on grooming you."

"Well, okay." Jared finished the food on his plate, rising to his feet to put his dishes away, and promptly stumbled over his own feet, falling to the ground with a crash. "Shit!"

"You okay?" Jensen was up off his stool in a flash and around the table to help his visitor up, and Jared nodded, although he was wincing as he rose to his feet.

"I just don't see too well, and they smashed my glasses up when they mugged me." As Jared gazed up at Jensen, face flushed with embarrassment, Jensen could see that the young man's tip tilted eyes were in fact unfocused and slightly crossed. As he gazed down into the hazy eyes, Jensen felt an unfamiliar jolt somewhere deep down inside, and drew in his breath sharply, feeling flustered.

"I… I guess we need to call into an optician's first then, and get you some contacts or something," he murmured, trying to recover his train of thought. "So let's go."

Before Jared had the chance to say anything else, Jensen was towing him through the house and out to his car.

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

The afternoon was a whirlwind. They hit the nearby café for their all-day breakfast, and Jared ate his own, followed by half of Jensen’s. Then there was an ophthalmologist who tested Jared's eyesight and fitted him with contact lenses. There was a succession of clothing stores that took his measurements and kitted him out with everything from silk underwear to jeans and sportswear. He was measured up for a couple of suits and a tux, and made to promise he'd be back in three days for a fitting. Jensen supervised, occasionally putting an item of clothing into his arms and once vetoing a bright pink shirt that Jared had been eying wistfully. The platinum credit card was offered again and again, and as Jensen watched, Jared grew more and more wide-eyed.

Shoes followed; soft, hand stitched leather loafers, ergonomically designed trainers, a pair of hiking boots, and shiny dress shoes all made their way into the trunk of Jensen's SUV. Jensen had even made a brief foray into an up-market furniture store and purchased a couch, leaving strict instructions that it was to be delivered that evening. At 3pm, Jensen was leading Jared into an upscale beauty parlor to have his hair styled, and his hands manicured. Introducing him to a slender, predatory looking blonde, Jensen announced that he would be looking for a personal stylist for the duration of their project, and that just as soon as the scrapes and bruises healed Jared could look forward to facials and massages, pedicures and cleanses. Jared began to look quite terrified.

Then there was the dentist who took impressions so she could make a cap for the front tooth that had been broken during Jared's sojourn on the street. She was tiny and blonde, and very, very pretty, but she worried him immensely as she peered into his mouth and began to make comments about his stature, chuckling to herself as she did things to him. When he finally extricated himself from the chair and staggered out to find Jensen, he shook his head, bemused. "She's completely insane," he muttered as they left the surgery.

"Yeah." Jensen cast an amused look back at the dentist's office. "Alona's batshit crazy, but she's a good dentist. I've been going to her for years, and my teeth are great."

~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~

It was close to five when they pulled up at the clinic, where Jensen had arranged for a complete physical for his protégé.

The clinic was unlike any medical facility Jared had ever been in, or so he confided to Jensen. There was classic rock playing softly in the waiting room, and they didn't have to wait more than a few moments before the doctor emerged from his surgery to shake hands and introduce himself to Jared with a smiling, "Call me Tom – everyone does."

Dr. Welling – Tom as he preferred to be called, was almost as tall as Jared, and so handsome it seemed impossible that he wasn't actually in movies, although Jared had been wondering why Jensen himself had stayed behind the camera, because he’d never seen anyone better looking in his life. Clapping Jensen on the shoulder, Tom led them away into his examination room, where he directed Jared to change out of his new clothes and into one of the inevitable green gowns that fastened down the back. "I make my patients wear them at all times. It stops them from talking back to me and keeps them humble," he said with a smirk.

Changed and ready, Jared submitted himself to all the usual tests, and a few that surprised him. Tom proved to be both amusing and competent, and Jared began to find himself entertained by him. The doctor had made irritated sounds as he examined Jared's damaged knee, and sent him to the X-ray department, asking him to wait while he got back the resulting film.

Dressing himself once more in the brand new jeans and silk shirt Jensen had chosen for him, Jared limped back into the waiting area to sink down into one of the overstuffed armchairs and wait. Jensen gave him a swift but blinding grin and tossed aside the magazine he'd been paging through. "How're you bearing up? He's pretty thorough, isn't he?"

"Yeah. I think he's inspected every part of me, and some of them twice." Jared grinned, body moving restlessly as he recounted the indignities that Tom had inflicted on him. "I'm just waiting for the X-ray of my knee to come back. Guess my body fluids will take a day or so to process, but he was certainly pretty thorough about collecting those too."

The music that had been playing in the background stopped suddenly, and Tom popped his head around the door. "Jared, if you'd like to come back in, I've got your X-rays."

"Come with?" It was plain to Jensen that Jared was suddenly feeling unaccountably nervous, and he saw the young man cast a longing look at him. After a brief moment, Jensen rose to follow Jared into the examination room.

"It looks as if you've got some damage to the joint, Jared," said Tom, once the two of them were settled. He had hung the film up on the wall, and now he flicked on the light that would illuminate it for them, beginning to point out the problems with the joint. "I think you're going to need surgery to correct it, and you're likely to have problems later if you don't do something about it now."

"So how soon can you fit him in?" Jensen leaned forward to ask his question over top of Jared's astonished exclamation. "He needs to be ready as soon as possible. He'll be starting lessons next week, and I need him mobile."

"I'm afraid it's going to take him a few weeks to be out of plaster following surgery." Tom shot Jensen a meaningful glance. "But you'll be happy to know that his facial injuries are all superficial and if we book him in for surgery next Monday, we can do any facial surgery you might want at the same time. We'll have the lab results back by then, too, so if he's got the pox or swamp fever or anything like that, we'll know the worst."

"Now hold on there!" Jared rose to his feet, a protest on his lips. "Facial surgery? The pox? What the fuck…?"

Jensen smirked. "Easy, tiger! Tom's always keen to embellish nature. I'm pretty sure you won't need any kind of facial surgery. The doc here always seems to think he can improve on the raw material, but I'm inclined to suspect that in your case he's wrong." Turning back to Tom, Jensen swiftly gave him the go ahead to book Jared in for surgery on the Monday, and as they rose to go, Tom gave his new patient a thumbs up.

"See you Monday, Jared," he said, smiling, and Jared, who now seemed deeply suspicious of his new doctor, merely grunted as they made for the exit.





Part 3

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