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Jensen's watching the alligator feeding at the zoo with his nephew when Mike calls. It's not the best timing. Then again, he's pretty sure there's no such thing as a good time for this.
He tells Jared two hours later. It's not that he's eager so much as he doesn't want Jared to hear it from the media and that could hit any minute.
"Fuck," is Jared's initial response. "When?"
"They want me there for the first set of OTAs so... couple weeks."
Jared doesn't say anything more for a long moment and Jensen doesn't try filling the silence. It's not like he has any idea what to say either.
He tucks the phone between his ear and shoulder and grabs a water bottle from his fridge, opens it with a twist and takes a large gulp. It feels good going down, cooling his warm stomach.
Jared clears his throat. "Well, it's not like we'll never see each other, right? It's just another team."
"Yeah," Jensen says, wiping a stray drop of water from the corner of his mouth. He thinks of how many times he's seen Chris over the past few years and comes up with the number six. Six times in three years. Five were games and one was a week-long trip to Cancun in 2008. That's it. In three years.
"I think we play the Niners this year, don't we?" Jared says, his tone one Jensen can't quite place. "Hang on, I've got the schedule around here somewhere..."
"October," Jensen says, quiet. He's already checked.
"Home or away?" Jared asks and Jensen falters. There's no easy way to answer that. Because, as of two hours ago, they're no longer on the same team. Jensen's home game is Jared's away. It feels absurdly complicated.
"It's, uhm. In San Francisco," he finally manages.
"Okay," Jared says, still sounding somewhat subdued before Jensen hears him take in a quick breath. "Okay, San Francisco. That's cool. We'll fly out there, kick your asses and then you can buy me a round."
Jensen wants to smile, can feel his lips give a hopeful tug. But it never really comes. "Winner buys the first round," he says and takes another sip of his water.
"Yeah, I know," Jared replies. "But I like messin' with the rules."
:::
He hears about the breakup two weeks before the game and thinks of calling, but doesn't. Wrong time. Jared's doubtlessly busy with practice and meetings and the hounding media chomping after his every move. They'll have time later, even if it's only a few hours to kill after the game.
The 49ers win, 31-17 and, as expected, they head out for drinks after with a few other guys, current and ex-teammates both.
They don't stay long enough to get even mildly drunk.
The cab ride to Jensen's place takes less than twenty minutes, the elevator ride up to his floor less than twenty seconds. Jared has him naked and wrestled to the floor within two minutes of stepping through the door.
The first time is quick and rough, all hands and mouths, sharp teeth and bruising thrusts. Jensen comes against Jared's stomach, carpet burn on his elbows and teeth marks on his neck. Jared jerks off onto him seconds later, panting and groaning, muscles gleaming in the dim light as Jensen murmurs quiet encouragement.
After, they find their way to the bed, stretch out on cool sheets and doze for a while.
Jensen wakes some time later, glances at the clock on his nightstand to see he's only been out for about half an hour.
Jared's stretched out next to him on his stomach, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed. Grinning, Jensen rolls over and climbs onto him, straddling thick thighs as he runs his hands up miles of smooth skin.
"Bus leaves at 8:00 tomorrow morning," Jared groans, words muffled against the pillow.
"Hmm," Jensen says in reply, his thumbs slipping in the groove of Jared's spine, tripping down each knob to the gentle slope at the bottom, fingers spread wide.
"I should go soon."
"Yeah." He hooks his hands around the spur of Jared's hips and bends forward, presses his lips to warm skin. "Probably."
There's a wedding invitation in Jensen's living room, white with a simple red rose on the front, Jared and Sandy's names etched in gold lettering. He's had it for a month now, tucked away between an issue of Sports Illustrated and a book on bass fishing.
Jared hasn't mentioned Sandy once all evening. And Jensen hasn't asked.
He kisses lower, lightly brushing his lips over the rise of Jared's ass, hands greedy, taking fistfuls of perfect flesh as he moves lower still. Jared sighs beneath him and shifts to look back over his shoulder, watching.
Jensen catches his eyes and then ducks down again, drags his tongue along the crease, feels Jared's thighs tense underneath him. He takes his time licking Jared open, tongue teasing with flicks and jabs. He spits at the tiny pucker of muscle, spreads it with the press of his thumb and then licks again, shoves his tongue in deep and relishes the way Jared's voice cracks around the second syllable of Jensen's name.
When he slides in minutes later, Jared's writhing and moaning beneath him, legs drawn up and skin coated with sweat. Jensen rocks into tight heat, breath hot against the back of Jared's neck and Jared cries out, clutching at the sheets, his muscles bunched and straining with every thrust.
Leaning down, Jensen drapes himself over Jared's back and curls his hand over Jared's. Holds on.
He comes to the sound of Jared begging for more, comes with his hips stuttering and his chest cracked open, nothing but white behind his eyelids and Jared's name on his lips. Same as he's done every other time.
He thought he'd forgotten.
Jared peels himself from the bed shortly after 4:00 and Jensen turns over to watch him disappear into the bathroom, hears the shower start up moments later.
Jensen sits up, swings his legs to the edge of the bed and grimaces at the feel of drying come in his pubic hair. There's a used condom on the floor and he picks it up gingerly, tosses it in the trash before standing on weary legs. He pulls on a pair of old sweat pants and then collects Jared's clothes from the floor of the other room, setting them all on the edge of the bed before heading to the kitchen.
He's busy setting the plunger of the French press when Jared comes out clean and dressed and smelling like Jensen's shampoo.
"Called you a cab," Jensen says, leaning back against the counter. "Should be here in about ten minutes."
Jared nods.
Neither of them says anything more for a long moment, just stand there watching each other. Jared's hair is wet and curled at the ends and he needs to shave. Jensen's skin feels crusty and he still smells like sweat and come and Jared. Finally, he turns away and busies himself with pulling two mugs from the cupboard even though he knows Jared won't have time to drink a cup.
"So," Jared says then, clearing his throat. "I guess this is... well, we might see you in the playoffs yet."
"Yeah," Jensen agrees, trying not to let the doubt show. "If you guys don't suck it up again in December anyway."
Jared laughs, quiet and perfunctory. "Fuck you."
"There's next year, too. Depending on how things finish."
Jared's smile falters, but he manages a nod. Jensen watches the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallows. "Yeah," he says. "Next year."
Jensen doesn't like how it sounds either, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's had awhile to get used to this, has hammered and twisted his mind around to the idea that whatever he and Jared had is over. That it has to be.
He's having difficulty convincing other areas. That will take some time, but at least he has plenty of it and for now, he can fake it.
"So I, uhm. I heard about Sandy."
Jared winces and then pulls in a breath. Shakes his head as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Yeah, I... it kinda hit the news pretty fast. I would've told you myself, but... you know."
"Yeah," Jensen replies. "Did she--" he starts and then quickly aborts that line of though. Says instead, "You wanna talk about it?"
"Not really," Jared admits. "We just. It's been a long time coming, I think. She's moving to New York."
"Wow. That anxious to get away from you, huh?"
Jared picks up on the teasing tone, shoots Jensen a mock glare. "Job offer. Working for the police to help out kids in the city who've had to deal with violent traumatic experiences."
"Sounds like just her thing."
"Yeah, it's pretty perfect," Jared agrees. "I'm happy for her."
"Was this, uh... did she take this job before or after..."
"Before," Jared says, lifts a hand to scratch at his chin. "Like I said, it's been a long time coming."
Jensen nods. There's a part of him itching for more details, aching to know why Jared proposed in the first place if he was so sure it'd end like this. Wants to know what happened and why. Wants to know if Sandy knew if that's why, if Jared just doesn't want him to tell him. They'd always been discreet and, of course, there hasn't been anything at all between them since April. But Jensen can't help wondering.
Jared gives him no clue either way and Jensen decides he really doesn't want to know, focuses instead on finishing up his coffee, steadily pushing in the plunger and counting the seconds.
The cab driver calls just as Jensen's pouring himself a cup. Jared collects his jacket, checking the pockets for his wallet and keys as Jensen walks him to do the door.
"So I guess this is really it for awhile."
"Guess so," Jensen says. The doorknob feels cool under his palm.
Jared leans in a little, gaze dropping to Jensen's lips, but Jensen glances away and turns his wrist, pulls and holds the door open between them. Jensen's chest feels too tight and he doesn't miss the way Jared's eyes dim.
"Well, uh..." Jared finally manages as he steps out into the hall. "Good luck with the rest of the year."
"Yeah, you, too," Jensen says.
Jared hesitates for a second, leans forward with one hand lifted before dropping it to his side and stepping back, lips twisting into a strained smile before he turns and walks away.
He gets a few steps down the hall before Jensen closes the door and sets the locks with two soft clicks.
:::
In January, Jensen watches Jared win his first playoff game and, a week later, watches Jared lose his first playoff game.
He sends text messages congratulating Jared on the first and commiserating with him on the second because, though it's been awhile, he honestly knows how both feel. Jared calls him back on a Thursday and they spend an hour catching up on each other's lives and discussing their plans for the offseason. It's easy. Easier than Jensen had anticipated. Like it hasn't been three months since they last spoke.
Jared talks about the trip he's taking with his sister over her Spring Break and Jensen mentions the one he's planning with Danneel. He asks after Sadie and Jared assures him she's doing well before excitedly telling him all about his new dog, Harley.
"He's, like, twice as big as Sadie, dude. Freakin' huge. But sweet as anything, I swear. You'd love him."
And Jensen grins, picturing the tiny family. "What's Sadie think of him?"
"Well, you know," Jared says fondly, proud smile clear through the phone line. "Think he's growin' on her."
Jensen's lips twitch into a grin and he nods to himself, identifying more with Sadie than he's willing to let on.
Somehow, it's another three months before they talk again and then it's only via text.
Sept 18 - San Fran @ Dal. See you there.
Jensen already knows, of course; the schedule's been out for a week. He knows, but he's trying not to think about it too much.
:::
"I've met someone," Jared tells him after their third beer.
There's a faint buzzing under Jensen's skin, a mixture of alcohol and left over adrenaline and something else. Something a little like anticipation, though Jensen doesn't think that's quite right. It's been there all evening, since the end of the game and through dinner and the ride back to Jared's place. He doesn't quite know what to do with it.
Swallowing his sip, he arches an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"You know her, actually."
"Hmm," Jensen says, cocking his head to one side, curious and considering.
"Genevieve Cortese."
He blinks, searches Jared's face for any sign that he might be joking. He doesn't appear to be, but Jensen laughs anyway. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Genevieve Cortese with NBC."
"Yep."
Jensen snorts another laugh and shakes his head, tips his bottle back for another long pull.
"What?" Jared says, tone shifted. Assessing.
Shrugging, Jensen wipes the back of his hand across this mouth. "Nothing, just... don't you think that's gonna be a little controversial when it gets out?"
"Why? It's not like a reporter and athlete have never hooked up before."
Jensen doesn't argue, but he can't help shaking his head again.
He wonders if he should be upset. Angry or maybe jealous. He's not. If anything, there's only a dull throb of disappointment, familiar, but not in any way overwhelming. He's seen Jared twice in the past year and a half and, though they've talked over the phone more than that, it's still not the same. Nothing is. They both knew this would happen.
Or at least that's what he keeps trying to tell himself.
"Then why bother being discreet?" he says finally, sitting back in his chair, gaze leveled with Jared's. "If no one's gonna care, why keep it a secret?"
Jared frowns, watches him with that same look. Expectant and disappointed and maybe even a little hurt. Jensen refuses to think too much on any of it.
He notably doesn't answer, though. Just throws his head back to finish his beer and then pushes himself to his feet.
"You want another?" he asks, barely waiting for Jensen's, "Sure," before disappearing into the kitchen.
That's the last they talk about it.
:::
Jensen wakes up six hours later, sore and twisted up in Jared's sheets.
Head pounding and muscles aching, he squints at the clock on Jared's nightstand and swears under his breath before carefully working himself free. He finds his underwear next to the dresser and his shirt near the closet. His pants are in the living room, along with one shoe. The other he finds in Harley's possession though luckily it's still largely intact.
Jared wanders out just as Jensen's collecting his coat, hair disheveled and still completely naked.
"Goin'?"
"Yeah," Jensen says, swallowing roughly. "Bus leaves in a few hours."
Jared nods, clearly still groggy as he lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck and heads for the door.
Sliding his arms into his jacket, Jensen follows, almost running right into Jared when the guy stops abruptly.
"Dude," he says, lips twitching into a near-smile, but then Jared's hands are on his shoulders and his back is hitting the wall and he has six-foot-plus of solid muscle pressed up against every inch of him.
It's not a fight, Jensen can tell that right away and Jared almost looks as stunned as Jensen feels, eyes wide and suddenly lucid.
"What the hell?" Jensen breathes, but Jared just shakes his head and presses in, steals Jensen's mouth like it belongs to him, all teeth and tongue and sharp breath.
Jensen lets himself surrender to it, though every muscle in his body stays drawn tight. Jared has one hand on his hip and one on his neck and Jensen reaches forward, feels warm, bare skin under his fingertips as Jared deepens the kiss, drawing it out with soft, heated groans.
"Okay," Jensen finally manages moments later, lips tingling as he reluctantly pulls away. "Okay, Jay, I gotta--"
Jared ducks his head into Jensen's neck, teeth scraping lightly as he growls, "What if I marry her?"
Jensen's breath gets stuck and he clenches his eyes shut, tries to ignore the sharp twist beneath his ribcage as he tries to swallow and asks, "That what you want?"
Jared makes another sound and pulls back, eyes wild as he smooths a hand against Jensen's cheek. His lips are slick and bruised red, cheeks ruddy. He looks raw and undone.
Jensen knows the feeling.
Neither of them move, the air charged and suffocating and Jared's silence is all the answer Jensen needs.
He offers a smile. Small and strained, but as genuine as he can make it. Says, "Hey, we do what we have to, right?"
Jared doesn't put up a fight when Jensen twists free. Doesn't say a word as Jensen reaches the door and slips through it. Doesn't so much as say goodbye before Jensen closes it behind him.
:::
In December, Jensen tears the ACL in his left leg in a game against the Seahawks. It's bad enough to require surgery and, of course, knock him out for the remainder of the season. Most of the offseason is spent in rehabilitation, working tirelessly to regain his strength and flexibility. But by the time minicamp starts up, Jensen largely knows it's a lost cause.
By the end of training camp in August, he's been relegated to second string, and in the entirety of the regular season spends a grand total of ten minutes and twenty seconds on the playing field.
In January, a week before the Cowboys lose the NFC Championship to the Saints, he receives a wedding invitation in the mail. He checks the date, checks his calendar and thinks he should probably call. He doesn't, though. He's not sure what he could say anymore.
A month later, on February 12th, 2013, Jensen announces his retirement.
There's no press conference. No big meeting between him, Mike and the front office; the whole thing attracts very little media attention at all.
Jensen's thirty years old. He's been in the league for nine years, through three different teams and two major injuries, constantly straddling the line between a has-been and a never-was. More winning seasons than losing, one playoff win, a couple losses and not a single Pro Bowl bid under his belt.
It's a quiet end to an entirely mediocre career.
But Jensen doesn't care about any of that. In at least one sense of the word, he's finally out.
end.