Title: Snapshots
Word Count: 7,255
Pairing: Jensen/Jared and Chris/Steve, mainly; Sophia/Sandy, mentions of Sophia/Alexis, Sophia/Alona and Jensen/Tom.
Full cast list with photos
Warnings: AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort. Quite a dark fic - mentions abuse, rape, violence, self-harm, all happened in the past but that affect the present. I promise everything will be treated with the maximum tact and respect. I in no way support rape or abuse, or show it in any sort of positive light. This is merely the journey of a broken soul towards health and regeneration, showing how those terrible events affect a life and how you can deal with it.
Rating: from PG-13 to NC-17
Beta: the brilliant thehighwaywoman! Thank you so much honey! ♥ You're a doll!
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and this is all the product of my overactive (and slightly twisted) imagination! Please don’t sue!
Summary: “Lie awake in bed at night, and think about your life, do you want to be different? It's time to forget about the past, to wash away what happened last” - 30 Seconds to Mars, A beautiful lie


Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 21

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Chapter 22


When Sandy wakes up it’s five-fifteen a.m. She finds herself alert and tense as suddenly as if someone had yelled into her ear. She swallows, staring up at the ceiling.

It’s the second of November, and she has her meeting with Sophia in less than three hours.

Sandy's stomach clenches and rumbles at the same time. She grasps at her sheets and pulls them up to her chin, chancing a glance to her alarm clock (five-eighteen) and then goes back to staring at the ceiling.

She's done everything she could think of. Had no less than four face-cleaning masks applied by an over-enthusiastic Adrienne, who had also volunteered to wax her legs (something Sandy will never allow to happen again, sadistic bitch), and eyebrows. Now Sandy stares up at the ceiling, occasional questions among the lines of “what the hell was I thinking” flitting through her otherwise blank mind.

I’m an idiot, Sandy thinks, her palms beginning to sweat. It’s her first professional gig, by the photographer that had made it all happen, and for said photographer’s first breakthrough exposition. The wave of nausea hits even before Sandy acknowledges it. She isn’t cut out for this. What must Sophia have thought when she asked her – Sandy has no idea, except for the fact that she is going to let Sophia down. It’s now a certainty. She's never put herself in front of a camera for anything like this before – and nothing at the modeling school has prepared her for the anxiety that gnaws away at her stomach.

Though, if she has to be honest with herself, that anxiety has little to do with the shooting itself, and more with whom is going to shoot. Sandy knows, but she refuses to admit it. Adrienne thinks it’s funny, but Sandy begs to differ. She’s spent weeks trying to chalk everything up to the rush things had taken, to the upcoming show, to the novelty of it all, but really – in some dark corner of her mind Sandy realizes she’s only managing to fool herself. If that.

So, okay, Sophia Bush is a bit of a big name around the L.A. modeling arena. After their first meeting, Sandy googled her up, and she’s seen part of Sophia's portfolio hosted at Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s website, along with her resume. Magna cum laude at the UCLA, a major in visual arts, a thesis on gay influences in classic arts and still photography advertising with Morgan himself as her advisor; twenty four – or so the websites say . Any other sort of personal details are non-existent online, and that only serves to spike up Sandy’s totally reasonable curiosity even more.

Sophia merely fascinates her. Every girl would be fascinated by her. She just can’t explain to herself where, along the line, her fascination with Sophia changed into something else. Jared tells her she’s got a girlcrush, but Sandy isn't so sure anymore. She doesn’t really want to be like Sophia – she wants to get to know her, hang out with her. Become friends, maybe, even if Sophia is older, and influential, and would probably laugh if she’d know just how far gone Sandy is.

When Jared had introduced Sandy to Jensen, and Jensen had told her that Sophia wished her good luck – that, right then, had shot her concentration straight to hell. Sandy knows it’s silly. Sophia hadn’t even been in the theater, but the notion that she might have thought about her, even for a minute, had sent her into a flutter of nerves and she had almost missed her cue. Adrienne hasn’t stopped giggling about it ever since.

Fuck. Sandy tosses and turns until her alarm clock chips in at six, then she gives up any residual pretence of sleep. Two hours to shower and get to Santa Monica are just about enough. She rolls out of bed and wanders off to the bathroom, hoping she won’t wake Adrienne up – she doesn’t think she’d take teasing very well, and the last thing she wants now is to snap at her roommate.

Sandy grimaces as soon as she’s met with her reflection in the mirror. God, what was she thinking? She’ll fuck Sophia’s shoot up, and the woman is probably too damn nice to tell her she sucks. Shuddering, Sandy turns away from the vanity and climbs into the shower, her mind playing the worse possible scenarios on a loop – from Sophia having found someone else to Sophia looking disappointed at the shoot’s results and telling her she’s not good enough for her – until the water turns cold and jars her out of her morbid reverie.

It’s too late to be a chicken about it, Sandy thinks as she blow-dries her hair. She’s just got to grit her teeth and do it, and if Sophia Bush thinks Sandy is not enough … she’ll lick her wounds in private, won’t let Sophia know just how much her approval means.

The drive to Santa Monica is largely uneventful. Sandy gets to the revolving glass doors of 746th Fourth Street, Santa Monica with barely a hitch, and the doorman actually winks at her as he lets her through. It doesn’t do anything for her nerves, but she isn’t about to turn down a good omen.

The elevators and the flurry of people that move about the place is as intimidating as ever, and when Sandy reaches the gleaming wooden floors of Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s studio, she’s about to bolt at the first sign of hostility. And by the looks of it, Sophia must have foreseen that, because she’s there, waiting for her before the door and – wow.

Sophia’s hair is pulled up by a pencil, curls dancing loose on her neck and shoulders with a sort of natural grace no hairdresser could’ve ever have faked, a simple black sweater hugging her chest and falling mid-thigh above worn out jeans and Converse. She’s so effortlessly beautiful and enchanting Sandy can’t think of one single reason why this woman couldn’t shoot pictures of herself and be done with it. What is exactly that Sandy can offer her?

“You made it.”

“Hey. Yeah.” Sandy sucks in a breath, trying her best to smile naturally and act like she hasn’t just been hit over the head with a heavy club, ‘cause dear god, Sophia looks –

“You look gorgeous,” Sophia smiles at her and offers her hand for Sandy to shake. “How do you feel?”

Sandy swallows. Sophia’s hand is warm against her palm, Indian-style bracelets and charms clinking. “Queasy,” Sandy offers weakly, though she doesn’t add that it’s because her stomach has knotted the moment Sophia smiled.

Sophia chuckles and shakes her head, more curls falling out of the knot. “Everyone is on their first gig. C’mon, follow me.”

Sandy swallows, again, the sound of it reverberating in her head just as the tic-tic-tic of her heels moving behind Sophia’s sure strides. She feels a little like Alice in Wonderland. Everything is bigger than it should be, louder, more colorful. Sophia’s eyes are halfway between green and hazel-blueish when she turns to check in with her, and yes. Yes, Sandy is right there where she has to be.

Wouldn’t really want to be anywhere else.


+++


Christ, life isn’t fucking fair. Or that’s what Sophia thinks. It’s just – god, this is the stuff nightmares are made of. Sandy’s looking at her with those huge chocolatey doe eyes, so – so cute and eager and intimidated, trying to shrink behind Sophia’s shoulders at every flurry of movement going from one cubicle hall to the other of the open space, and Jesus Christ. Sophia pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath.

Okay. She can be a professional about it and stop freaking out. Sandy is probably tense enough without having to deal with Sophia’s own nerves. Sophia turns to look at her and offers an encouraging smile and a wink. Sandy grins back and takes two nervous, quick steps, plastering herself right into Sophia’s personal space.

Fuck. This is definitely not going to be easy.

François is waiting for them in the make up rooms, and has already bitched far and wide because Sophia hasn’t been able to tell him what kind of set she’s going to do. Originally it had to be a nude shoot with both Sandy and Chris. Even though she could shoot Chris’ pictures once he’s better, and juxtapose the images in the dark room – it’d be a totally different thing from the one she’s had in mind, but it could work. Sophia knows it could.

Being on her own with a naked Sandy? Now that’s something Sophia’s not so sure she can cope with. She’s not made of fucking iron, for cryin’ out loud, and a girl’s got needs.

Still, Sophia is a professional. She’s not about to screw the biggest opportunity of her life because her hormones won’t cooperate, dammit. She can’t.

And she won’t.

“Okay,” Sophia says once Sandy and François have re-introduced themselves. “I’m one model short, so right now it’s gonna be all about you.” She could’ve shot herself as soon as the words left her mouth. Way to go not to pressure the girl, Bush. Idiot..

“All right,” Sandy says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s still looking as nervous as ever, but there’s a gleam of determination in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

Sophia can’t help her smile. “Good, okay. Now, I know it’s going to be really awkward at first, but we’re all ladies here.” She winks at François, who nods and giggles, brushing imaginary locks of long hair off his shoulders. “So hopefully you’ll be able to relax and enjoy this as much as you should.”

“I’m sure I will,” Sandy says, her eyes twinkling. “I won’t let you down, girl scout’s honor.” She draws a cross over her heart and grins, and Sophia has to bite the inside of her cheek really hard to keep herself from doing or saying something remarkably stupid.

“I know you won’t.” Sophia says instead, grasping her shoulder in what she hopes is a reassuring way. “Okay, I’ll leave you in François’ expert hands and I’ll get the set ready.”

“So, artistic nude, is it?” François asks her, twirling one of his brushes around his fingers.

Sophia refuses to look at Sandy when she nods. “Yes. I’ll take the silk, too.”

She doesn’t know what makes her say it. It just flows from her lips, like it’s a stranger speaking through her mouth, but suddenly Sophia’s mind is crystal-clear. Something has snapped into place, and she feels the familiar burn spreading from her palms through her fingers, the twitch that makes her ache to get her camera.

She rushes from the makeup rooms before any of them has the chance to hold her back, and dashes through the props room. Silk. They do have silk, too. Sophia never uses it, she doesn’t like to have too many props when she’s doing portraits, but this time. This one time, she has to.

Sophia picks the long ropes, stroking the scarves and the shawls until she finds the right shade of black and gray. It flows like cool water through her hands, see-through, dark and soft.

Slavery. We’re all slaves to this world. Each of us. Slaves, caged inside our own heads.

The feeling of fire in her hands intensifies. That is it, she knows. Now she knows. She must be a glutton for punishment or something, but it’ll be worth it. Hopefully.

When Sandy walks onto the set with nothing but a white terry robe thrown on her lithe frame, skin glowing pure as snow in stark contrast with her mane of black hair, Sophia knows she’s got to be a masochist on some unconscious level. Still. It’s her job, and she knows she owes it to the both of them to make the most out of this. Even if there’s an ache in her belly that hasn’t been there in over a year.

“You’re perfect.” She’s surely allowed to pay the girl a compliment, right? It’s not stepping over the line. It so isn’t.

Sandy blushes faintly and offers her a shaky smile. “I don’t think so,” she mutters, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Sophia rolls her eyes at her, “Sugar, I’m the photographer. I’m always right. If I say you’re perfect, you are.” Perfect to me.

Sandy falls into nervous giggles, but she recomposes herself in a matter of seconds. She’s looking expectantly at Sophia, and fuck, yes, she should be, since her photographer is staring creepily at her without saying a single thing. Bush, for Hell’s sake!

Sophia clears her throat and picks up the longer black scarf she’s chosen. “You trust me, right?” she asks, because she has to.

It’s got nothing to do with sexuality. She’s asking her model to bare her body and soul for her camera lenses, for Sophia to take, to own. It’s a bigger deal than most people think or imagine, but Sophia knows. And no matter how much she’s invested in this shoot, she won’t go through with it if Sandy doesn’t feel one hundredth percent sure about it.

“I do,” Sandy says, the same gleam of determination Sophia had caught earlier glimmering in her eyes.

Sophia nods and Sandy takes off her robe, leaving it on one of the chairs crowding the space out of the circle of lights.

God hates me.

Sophia guides Sandy over to the set she’s thrown together while François prepared Sandy for the shoot. She apologizes for the coldness of the floor, and promises she’ll have hot cocoa brought in soon. Sandy laughs, and Sophia’s heart beats faster.

Sophia starts playing with the scarf, twisting it around Sandy’s chest, just above her breasts, then around her arms, the silk smooth and delicate as a whisper. She pushes her hair over one shoulder, the curled strands falling like a curtain to the side of her face. Sandy’s back criss-crossed by black silk, her arms tied and her wrist knotted together by the ends of the scarf.

“Perfect,” Sophia says again, and she’s quite proud of how steady her voice sounds. She stands, goes to retrieve her camera and turns on one of the directional lights, choosing a full blue gel and applying it over the bars-shaped mask.

Sandy turns to look at her, her eyes barely visible through her loose fall of hair. Sophia raises her camera, shutter going off unreasonably loudly in the silence that has draped over them.

Perfect.


+++

Jensen lays his forehead against the cool material of his desk, barely stifling a groan. Just one more patient, and he’s done. Thank God. Jensen loves his job, he does, but doing it for ten hours a day is just about as much as he can take without snapping.

Plus, he can’t wait to get home. He knows Sophia’s nerves will be a wreck when she gets back from her shooting with Sandy, and Jensen kinda wants to be able to be there for her for once. He’s not yet heard from her, which could either mean things have either gone very good or very bad. He’s hoping for the first, but he hasn’t yet heard from Jared either and even if he had, he wouldn’t want to outright ask about Sandy. It’s none of Jensen’s business, after all.

He puts his cell phone away, takes another swig from his water bottle, and lets in his last patient.

Christina Longoria is eight years old and wants to marry him. And that makes him smile and feel stupidly proud, as if he really means something to the little girl whose leg he’s treating.

Her mother, though. God, her mother is something different entirely. Jensen’s not sure how he should behave around her. She’s not gross, not really, she’s just – she’s eyeing him in a way that makes him feel uncomfortably twitchy, and he doesn’t like it. After that one time when Jared had walked in with his perfect timing, he has managed to never find himself alone with Mrs. Longoria again, but it doesn’t stop bothering him.

“Thank you, Jensen!” Christina squeals happily when he helps her off the colorful stair-steps he uses for kids’ treatments. “You’re the best husband in the world.”

Jensen’s heart swells, and he smiles at the little girl. “Thank you, miss. You’re the best wife in the world, as well.”

“Am I?” Christina asks, glowing, and Jensen nods seriously.

“Couldn’t have been luckier.”

Christina throws herself at him and hugs him tight enough to take his breath away. Jensen laughs a bit and pats her on the top of her head before opening the door and letting her go pick up her things in the changing room, leaning his forehead against the doorframe for an instant, his glasses askew.

He seriously needs a shower. Bath’s out, thanks to Chris’ stomach bug infesting Sophia’s bathroom. Still doesn’t mean he can’t relax, maybe even try out what Samantha had suggested – Jensen blushes just by thinking about it. Samantha surely is a no-bullshit kind of person, but still it weirds him out to hear a forty-something woman talk so unabashedly about masturbating issues.

Okay. Not the right train of thought he needs to be having right then. Jensen pushes himself away from the doorframe, only to startle back a few steps with a yelp when she’s met with Mrs. Longoria’s hungry stare not inches from his face.

“Wha-” he tries to make a grab for the door handle, but Mrs. Longoria is already walking in and closing the door behind her back.

“Jensen, dear,” she chips, her red nails gleaming as they curl around the handle. “We never get the chance to chat a little.”

Chat? Is she insane? “I’m just about to go home,” Jensen tries, remembering the whole talk about ethic and politeness when he joined the gym’s staff. “I’m really sorry –”

“Christina is very taken with you,” Mrs. Longoria goes on, “you’re everything she talks about. Obviously she’s got great taste.”

Jensen’s stomach lurches and he steps backwards until he bumps into his desk. “I’m – glad – she’s happy with the way therapy’s going –”

“She obviously took it after her mother,” Mrs. Longoria goes on, as if Jensen hadn’t even uttered a word. Jensen blanches. It can’t be happening. Not right now, not again.

“Mrs. Longoria,” he rasps. His voice has dried out on him, and he has to swallow, the movement razor-sharp against his throat. “I –”

“Don’t worry pet,” she croons, her hand bunching up his t-shirt. Jensen shudders and wrenches away, breath coming fast through his nose.

“Mrs. Longoria, I – can’t –”

“That’s what everyone says –”

“I’m gay,” Jensen blurts out, color rising in his cheeks as he fiddles with his shirt, tucking it back in from where she’d tried to pull it free of his sweatpants. “I – I’m – ” he exhales, trying to steady his shaking hands. “I can’t, Mrs. Longoria. I don’t want to.”

She’s looking at him like she cannot quite process what he’s said, head tilted a little to the side, her eyes cat-slanted. “You what?”

Jensen shudders again, tucking his hands under his armpits and moving back until he’s pressed against the far off wall. “I’m gay,” Jensen whispers, suddenly feeling very small and cold.

“You’re – you’re a fag!”

The word is like a slap to the face and it leaves him dizzy. It hurts like it’s physical, like it’s a real hand branding yet another bruise on his skin.

“I’ve entrusted my daughter for all this time to a filthy, dirty pervert?”

Jensen’s mind’s swimming. She’s wrenched the door of the studio open, her voice raising to a shriek. People are looking in, some curious, some scared, some intrigued. Jensen’s vision starts to blur, his legs shaking as he locks his knees in defense, her words cutting through like blunt knives.

Fag … pervert … scum…

The manager’s voice raised above Mrs. Longoria screech. “What’s going on here?”

“I demand to know who dared to hire a fag to work with children! To touch them – ”

The room tilts on its axis, Jensen’s fingernails digging in the flesh at his sides as he tries to keep himself grounded. “I didn’t do anything,” he whispers, his voice desperate thin. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I’m removing my child from his lurid hands right now – god only knows what he's been doing with them –”

Everyone’s looking at him, he can feel their eyes on him even if his glasses are fogging up, and there’s pain – there’s always pain. Jensen’s heartbeat speeds up, quick and drumming like a horse charge, the kind of loud that extinguishes everything else.

I didn’t do anything. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it.

Mrs. Longoria turns on her heels and yanks a crying Christina away, the gym’s manager going after them. People are still staring, muttering under their breaths and giggling, elbowing each other in the ribs as they point out the fag.

“Clear out, people,” someone barks. “Show’s over.”

Jensen’s stomach gives a turn, tears coming to fuzz his vision as he tries to shrink against the wall, away from the looks and smirks and the comments they don’t bother to keep quiet. He can feel his breath getting wheezy, his world darkening at the edges as he’s jarred back to a different time, a different place, with people looking and knowing and laughing. Like he’d asked for it. Like he wanted it to happen.

Go away. Just go away.

“Jensen?” it’s Michelle, the receptionist. She’s the one who shoved everyone out. She walks up to him with a troubled frown, puts one hand on his shoulder. “Jensen, you okay?”

He feels a bubble of hysterical laughter swell up in his throat and from his lips, his tears starting to slide down even if he tries so hard to fight them back.

Okay. He hasn’t been ‘okay’ in years.

“Jen?”

Jensen snaps his head up, blinking against the haze clouding his eyes at the sound of his name. Jared is walking up to him, or better, he’s doing this quick-step where he’s really trying not to run but not quite succeeding. Jensen sniffles and wipes his face with his sleeve, acutely aware of the loud beat of his heart and the shivers racking his body.

“Hey –” Jensen croaks, wincing at the sound of his voice. He wants to ask what is Jared doing here, but he’s too ashamed to even look up in Jared’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Jared’s hands hover for an instant over Jensen’s shoulder before clasping on them, prying Jensen away from the wall. “Jen?”

Jensen doesn’t see Michelle exiting the room quietly. All he can see are huge pools of hazel, level with his own eyes, Jared’s palms warm over the damp cotton of his sweaty t-shirt. “You look awful – what happened?”

Jensen shakes his head, but the movement hurts, right behind his eyelids. “It’s – nothing – ”

“The hell it's nothing.” Jared is too close, much too close. He raises one hand to stroke Jensen's cheek and Jensen can’t, won’t deal with it right now. “I saw that woman leaving,” Jared goes on, a frown creasing his brow. “She nearly ran over me – what happened?”

The nausea hits again. Pervert. Filth. He feels his stomach give the final lurch and he’s just quick enough to pull back from Jared and make for the wastepaper basket, his meager lunch forcing its way up and out of his throat.

Jensen hears a muttered ‘fuck’ behind him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, heaving again.

“God only knows what’s been doing with those hands …”

“It’s not like he’s not used to it, right? Don’t they like it up the ass?”

“Did your new daddy pop your little cherry?”


“Here, here, wait,” a warm hand sneaks around and pushes against his forehead, pulling him slightly up, thumb rubbing against his temple. “It’s all right, better out than in.”

Jensen coughs and shivers, back drenched in cold sweat as he curls his fingers around the edge of the basket. Jared wraps one arm around his waist, strong and gentle, and helps him up, Jensen’s back resting over Jared’s chest as Jared sits back on his haunches, supporting their weight.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. Jared’s hand strokes his hair once before settling on his stomach, rubbing in a soothing circle. “You want some water?”

Silently, Jensen nods. He’s glad he’s got his back to Jared. He doesn’t think he could bear looking at him right now.

Jared picks up the water bottle that Jensen had left on the desk and helps him to take a careful sip, Jensen rinsing his mouth a couple of times and spitting in the wastepaper basket before actually drinking some. Jared is whispering non-stop, and even if Jensen can’t really make out the words, it feels strangely soothing.

“Why are you here?” Jensen murmurs, once he’s sure his voice will hold up.

He feels Jared shrug awkwardly behind him. “I – happened to be around here and – thought I could … stop by, see how you were doing.”

Jensen shuffles around until he can catch Jared’s eye. “You sneaked out on Chad,” he says, the corners of his mouth tipping up.

“Busted.” Jared chuckles. He sits down on the pavement a bit more comfortably, his cheeks flushing now that he and Jensen are face to face, his arms fumbling around Jensen’s waist, clumsy, but he doesn’t pull back.

Neither does Jensen. “Do you need to get back soon?”

“Probably,” Jared murmurs. He hesitates, chewing the corner of his lip. Jensen knows that’s Jared’s thinking gesture. He always worries the side of his mouth with his teeth when he's thinking hard about something, or not finding the right words for what he wants to say. “Did she do something to you? That woman’s the one that was coming onto you last time, wasn’t she?”

Jensen freezes. He instinctively tries to push himself off Jared, but Jared wouldn’t budge, so he ends up grasping at Jared’s shirt instead.

“Jen?” Jared says after a heartbeat. Jensen looks away. “You want me to take you home?”

“Please.” Jensen whispers, nodding against Jared’s chest.

He can leave the car. It means he’ll have to tell Sophia about it, and she’ll freak, and possibly go full metal jacket on Mrs. Longoria, but he’s so tired. And he doesn’t want to leave the comfort of Jared’s arms. Not yet.

“Okay.”

Jared’s hands are huge. Jensen had already noticed it during their date, the way they seemed to just envelop his own, covering the whole span of his bicep or his back. They pull gently at him now, helping him to his feet before closing around the side of his waist. “You good?”

Jensen gives him a shaky smile. “Been better.”

“I bet.” Jared squeezes his waist and picks up Jensen’s gym’s bag.

There’s no more than a scattered handful of people hanging around the gym. Michelle had seen that everyone minded their own shit, and when Jensen meets her eyes across the room, he hopes she understands how much it means to him.

The battered Volvo is waiting for them not a block away. Jared is trying to talk twice as much to cover Jensen’s silence, about his sister’s cheerleading team breaking and entering at the Lin’D’Berg and Chad’s escapades with a couple of them, who thankfully were older than his sister, or else, and Jensen lets himself smile and nod as Jared navigates them through the 8 p.m. traffic jam.

He falls asleep not five minutes later to Jared singing an horribly off-key version of “What goes around”, the car’s speakers creaking softly and dulling out every other noise.


+++


“I think that’s a wrap for today,” Sophia says, putting down her Nikon.

“Okay.” Sandy smiles, throwing her hair back awkwardly, her arms and legs linked together by the flow of black and grey silk, her knees pulled up until they're tucked under her chin.

Sophia takes a deep breath and smiles back. What did I do to deserve this? Sandy has been nothing but incredible through the whole ten hour shoot. Not a complaint, not a word if it wasn’t a smile and a reassurance that she wasn’t cold, everything was fine, and she was having the time of her life.

She hadn’t asked for a break, even, but Sophia knew she at least needed one, and called a one hour pause around three in the afternoon. They had eaten something brought in from the cafeteria with François, then Sophia had excused herself while make-up was being reapplied to go chain smoke in the ladies’ up the hall before rolling in again.

Now she just has to untie Sandy for the last fucking time without making an ass of herself. She can do it.

“You were really awesome,” Sophia says, looking up into Sandy’s face. She massages Sandy's calves where the silk has reddened the skin slightly, cursing herself for not being able to stick to one hundred percent professional behavior.

“You were, too,” Sandy replies, her voice filled with excitement. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Really, she has to be. She can’t be so oblivious about herself. “The model is everything. Especially in such a situation.” She picks up her robe, helping Sandy to her feet and into it.

Sandy fastens the belt and smiles, a suffused flush making her skin glow pink under the now full lights of the studio. “I just hope I was good enough.”

“You’re being silly.” Sophia reaches out and squeezes her shoulder, as innocent a gesture as she can muster. “You were great. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. And you knocked it out of the park for me, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

The praise makes Sandy’s eyes shine and dance, and she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to stifle a nervous giggle. “All right. But seriously – you were great. I never thought I could ever do something like this. And it’s all thanks to you so – I mean, thank you. I sound so lame,” she says with a laugh, and it warms Sophia in a way she can’t describe.

“You don’t. Not to me, at least.” Quit the flirting, dammit. Sophia steps back, redoing the knot of her hair just to have something to do with her hands that doesn’t involve Sandy’s body. “I’ll let you go and get dressed now.”

“Aw, too bad, I was enjoying the naked part.”

Fuck. Sophia watches Sandy go back to the makeup room, her hair loose about her shoulders and waving with every step. She needs another cigarette. Or twenty. And she has to call Jensen. It’s not really late, but he’d made Sophia swear over a stack of biology books (in lieu of the Bible they don’t own) that she’d let him know how the shoot went.

Sophia goes to rummage through her purse and turns on her phone. It doesn’t take more than a couple of rings before Jensen’s worn out voice answers.

“’lo?”

“Aw, fuck. Were you sleeping?”

“Hey girl – uh - sorta,” he yawns, trying to pull the phone away from his mouth, “I dozed off. How was your shoot?”

“We’re just done now.” Sophia frowns. “You sound off. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine now,” Jensen mumbles.

Sophia’s heart skips several beats. “What do you mean, now? What happened?”

She can hear Jensen hesitating at the other end of the line, but then he gives in, “Nothing. Just some – stuff at the gym. I’m home now.”

“What stuff?” She doesn’t add who the fuck do I have to kill. Jensen knows her well enough to hear it in her voice even when she doesn’t say anything.

“Can we – later?” he whispers with some difficulty.

“Yeah, okay,” Sophia runs one hand through her hair. “Just – are you okay now? For real?”

“Jared’s here,” Jensen says as if providing an answer. Cheesy as it might be, his voice changes color when he says it, as if Sophia had just pulled it through full blown-out CYMK chemicals. Warm and bright.

“He is, huh?” Her anger abates. She has no idea how and when and why Jared is there, but he’s standing by Jensen. That’s enough. Sophia smiles. “Looks like you’re stuck with him.”

“Shut up,” Jensen mumbles, his breath making the phone line crackle. If she were there with him, she’s sure he’d be blushing. “Everything good over there?”

“Yeah, we’re dismantling.” Sophia scrubs at her face. “I’ll be here as soon as I can. Chris’ still alive?”

“Yes, and so is the bug.”

“Fucking priceless.”

“Tell me about it.”

Sophia groans, “Okay. I’ll see you in half hour and – hey, Jen – ”

“What?”

“Is Jared staying for dinner?”

“MOM!”

“What now? It’s a legitimate question!”

“I hate you.”

Sophia chuckles, “Liar. I’ll see you soon.” She hangs up, a smile spreading on her lips. Even if there’s the gnawing worry at the pit of her stomach regarding whatever stuff that had happened at the gym, for now she’s content to know that Jared chased it away. She’ll deal with whatever it was later.

Sandy walks back out, her hair in a ponytail and her face makeup-less, still as stunning and glowing as she’d been on set the whole day. Just as Murphy’s Law said. All the best ones are either straight or taken.

“You ready to go?” Technically, there's no need for Sophia to wait for Sandy or for the other way around, since they have both separate cars, but Sophia asks her anyway.

“Yeah, I’m all settled.”

Sophia nods and leads the way, picking up her bag and jacket as they go. They talk about everything and nothing in the short way from the studio down to the main hall, and even though Sophia knew it was going to happen, she feels sort of sad when she’s got to say goodbye.

“I’ll call you for your next sitting,” Sophia tells her as they walk out of the building and into the chilly night air.

“I kinda can’t wait for that,” Sandy says, beaming. “And to see the photos.”

At least this time around it’s a decent person. Sophia thinks as she waves her goodbye and climbs into her car. Who cares if she’s straight. Sophia is not really relationship material anyway, and she knows it. It’s best this way. At least Sandy is a good girl, with a good heart and a great potential as a model.

She drives back from Santa Monica paying little mind to speeding laws, and she’s back home sooner than she’s expected. Jensen is lying on the couch, asleep, and Jared is sitting down on the carpet, knees pulled up and head resting against the back of the couch, reading what Sophia knows must be one of Jensen’s papers.

“Stay,” Sophia whispers, because as soon as he heard the door open, Jared’s crouched himself to spring to his feet. “It’s fine, don’t wake him.”

Jared gives her his best smile, even if his shoulders are still rigid with tension. “Hey – hi.”

Sophia looks at Jensen’s pale face, his fists curled under his chin like a child, the lines around his eyes thrown into sharp contrast by the light of the lamp. She sits next to Jared, lip twitching as she tries to keep back a smile in the face of Jared tension. “I’m not going to yell at you,” she says, bumping his shoulder with her own. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Jared relaxes, and lets out a bout of throaty, relieved laughter. “Sorry.” He chews on his thumbnail. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“I’ve not killed anyone yet.”

Jared grins, shaking his head. “Didn’t mean that. Though it does put me at ease.”

“I’m glad,” she turns her head a fraction to glace back at Jensen. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I got to the gym to - 'cause um, I was – I – ” Jared stutters and breaks off, then sighs and looks down at his hands, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like ‘happened to be around’. Sophia fights off her grin again. “I got in and there was a flock of people crowding in at Jensen’s studio door. The girl at the front desk was sending everyone on their way, and –” Jared trails off and looks back at Jensen. “He was… pretty shaken up.”

“Why?”

Jared shakes his head, “I have no clue. He hasn’t told me, but – this woman. She almost ran me over with her car before I could get into the gym.”

Sophia cocks her head to the side, “Is it relevant? Beside the fact that she's a bitch.”

“She’s made a pass at Jensen a few weeks back, when I went to pick him up that first time.”

Sophia’s eyes narrow, her hands curling into fists above her knees. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know. I swear. And Jensen hasn't told me anything. I didn’t wanna pressure him.”

Sophia nods. “You did good,” she tells him, patting his leg before standing up. She looks at Jensen again, leans in to caress his hair.

Stupid idiot, not wanting to worry her. They’ll have to talk about it, possibly soon, but not right now. One thing she’s learned in over five years is timing. “You want to stay for dinner?”

Jared smiles, “I think that if I don’t get back to work soon, Chad’s gonna shoot me for real.”

“I can call the crazy fucker and tell him not to bother you.”

He laughs, “That would probably help. But –” he rubs at the back of his neck, standing as well. “I had a run-in with Steve earlier and … I sort of feel bad about it,” he admits, not looking at her.

“A run-in?”

“I kinda told him he should talk to Christian,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have, it wasn’t my place, but – yeah. And I think I should go and apologize. Try to, at least.”

Sophia tilts her head back, looking up in Jared’s face. She’s on the verge of saying something, but Jensen stirs and blinks his eyes open, groaning, and they both turn in sync to crowd back to the couch, their knees bumping together. Jared blushes. If she’d been less worried, she’d probably laugh.

“Hey there,” Sophia says when Jensen turns to look at her in confusion. “You back with us?”

“Yeah,” He pushes himself up, rubbing at the back of his neck. He looks from the couch to where Jared had made himself home on the carpet and facepalms himself. “Woah, I’m a worse host than Chris.”

“It’s all right.” Jared shows him the stack of papers he’s been reading with a bright grin. “I kept myself entertained.”

Jensen groans and hides his face in the pillow. “Those are drafts,” he mutters. “You can’t read those – they’re not finished –”

“Oh, quit that modesty crap, I think they’re great.” There’s no fake adoration there, just genuine appreciation, and Sophia has to look away because she’s afraid her smile is a little too telltale for the situation.

She stands up, shrugging her jacket off her shoulder and throwing it over the other armchair. “I’m going to check on Chris,” she looks straight at Jensen when she says it, letting him know she’s there when he’s ready. “I’ll call Chad on your behalf,” she adds, winking at Jared for good measure.

Jensen smiles at her, ducking his head, and Jared’s thankful laughter and goodbye are still ringing in her ears when she knocks to her room’s door once before letting herself in.

Chris is writing something, his back propped up on his pillows. He glances up at her when she walks in, giving her a wan smile. “We’ve got guests.”

Sophia closes the door behind her, “I saw.” She glances at the meds on the nightstand with distaste. Fuckin’ corporation crap. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve had better days, but all in all I’m fine,” Chris hauls himself up a little and puts down his notebook. “Have you seen my iPod?”

“No? Why?”

Chris shakes his head, “Nothing, must’ve misplaced it, that’s all.” Sophia sits on the bed, cross legged, even though it makes her knee twinge. “He happened to be in the vicinity, apparently,” Chris goes on, as if they’re picking up an uninterrupted conversation, his mouth curled in half a smile.

It’s the best that he’s been able to muster in days, and Sophia smiles back. “More likely he gave Chad the puppy dog eyes and sneaked out the backdoor when he wasn’t looking.”

“That sounds more likely.”

“I should call Chad,” she puts her bag down on the desk, looking for her phone. Chad doesn’t seem surprised to hear where Jared’s ended up at, and Sophia makes him promise that he won’t take the piss once the kid’s back. After Chad grudgingly agrees, she puts her phone away and goes back to sit on the edge of the bed.

“You think he’s in love with Jensen?”

Sophia shrugs, opening her arms, “Maybe. He cares enough to risk losing the only job he has, so I’m thinking that’s a good place to start.”

Chris sighs, “You never say the L word, do you?”

“Nope. And neither do you.” Sophia pokes his knee. “You didn’t sneak out on me again, did you?”

“Have they invented pocket-toilets and I wasn’t notified?”

“Fair enough.”

Chris slouches down on the bed, grabbing his Gatorade and taking a small gulp. “What about you? I tried to call.”

“It was great. She’s totally amazing and straight as an arrow. But she’s a good girl,” she says, her eyes growing soft. “That’s a change.”

Chris straightens himself up, locking eyes with her. “Maybe other things will change, as well.”

“Don’t start,” she admonishes him. Sophia doesn’t want to talk about that right now. It’s dark, and ugly, and gone.

“Don’t start what?”

“Hey,” Sophia turns and leans back on one elbow, smiling crookedly at him. Jensen blushes to the roots of his hair and shuts the door behind his back, leaning against it for a moment before walking to the bed and flopping down on it.

“You’re screwed,” Chris chuckles, patting the top of Jensen’s head.

“I hate you. I hate all of you.”

“Liar,” Chris and Sophia say in unison, sniggering. Jensen glares at them.

“C’mon,” Sophia nudges at his shoulder with her foot. “It was nice of him to stay.”

“He’s nice,” Jensen mumbles, burying his face in the warm blankets.

Sophia and Chris exchange a look. That’s huge, coming from Jensen. Neither of them says anything, hoping Jensen will allow himself to really believe it. Sophia ruffles his hair and stands, groaning silently when her knee snaps back into position. “I’m gonna make something to eat.”

“No more rice,” Chris moans, sliding further down on the bed.

“You eat what mommy gives you, or else,” she says sternly.

“Ohh, are you going to spank me? Kinky.”

Jensen giggles, and Sophia throws a pillow at them. “Brats,” she mutters, even though she’s still smiling from ear to ear when she snaps the door closed behind her shoulders.

She wouldn’t never admit it to Chris, but deep down, Sophia knows she’s got to give it to him. Maybe other things will change, as well.


TBC....