Victoria

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | EPILOGUE
MASTER POST
EPILOGUE

Six months later

Jim Beaver hasn’t stopped smiling for a month, Jensen thinks. He’s standing by the lectern at the front of the room looking like his beard is going to crack off from smiling too much. Over his head, the banner says “Food Porn: True Confessions from the Restaurant Kitchen by Chef Guy (aka Jared Padalecki)” in big huge green letters.

Jared’s standing next to him, one seriously huge green margarita in one hand, laughing uproariously at whatever his agent is saying, telling stories of his own, and gesturing wildly. There are about ten reporters clustered around them, pretty much eating out of the palm of Jared’s hand.

“Jensen, tell this dumb shit that I’m right!” Sandy says, interrupting his perusal of his boyfriend.

Jensen turns back to the little group he’s standing with and nods immediately. “Sorry, Chad,” he says absently.

Sandy pumps her fist triumphantly and Chad sputters. “You don’t even know what’s going on!” he protests. “You were too busy making eyes at Jared to know what the fuck she even said!”

“But you’re Chad,” Jensen points out.

Sophia grimaces and rubs her back. She’s not due for another couple of weeks, and she’s already been to the hospital with Braxton-Hicks once. “You think we could move this to a setting that involves chairs?” she asks. Chad’s immediately at her side looking anxious, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and guiding her toward a nearby table.

Jensen catches Jared’s eye across the room and gestures him over with a jerk of his chin. Jared notices the distress on Chad’s and Sophia’s faces and gets a concerned look on his own face. He breaks away from Jim and the reporters and hurries over.

“What’s up?” he asks as soon as he’s close enough.

Jensen steals his drink and takes a long, limey swallow. “Holy shit, tequila boy,” he comments, wincing. Jared shrugs. “With Sophia? She’s fine, I think. Just sore. I’m just tired of the A Baby Story spectacle our friends have going.”

“Just because you’re all been-there, done-that about the baby-having,” Sandy says, rolling her eyes. “It’s, like, a miracle of life and stuff.”

They drift over to the table. Jared pulls Jensen against him and kisses him. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Jensen replies, smiling.

“Hey, Chad,” Sandy says rather loudly. Jensen can see how evil her grin is, even though she’s barely a shadow in his peripheral vision, and it still weirds him out a little how quickly she went from oh-my-god-you-homewrecker to oh-my-god-that’s-hot-please-make-out-in-front-of-me-always.

Chad looks up from whatever he’s whispering in Sophia’s ear. “I’m listening.”

“Remember that night when I was in undergrad, when that girl from Delta Zeta gave you PCP and you did that striptease while pouring ranch dressing over yourself?”

“That was a low point,” Chad interrupts, shrugging.

Sandy points at Jared and Jensen and sighs dreamily. “This is so much better than that.”

“Easy DZ, get on your knees and please me,” Chad sing-songs. He looks up at Sandy and smiles nostalgically. “God, I miss your undergrad days. Build a time machine so we can go back.” He glances up at the other two and makes a face. “Dude, can you two, like, not suck face in front of me, though? I mean, I’m happy you’re happy and all, but ew. It’s slimy. I can see your tongues. And—there’s a baby present! Think of the baby!”

“It’s not a baby yet, Chad. It’s a fetus,” Sandy says tiredly.

“Oh, hey, fuck you, doctor girl,” he retorts. “I think I’m going to call it a baby if I damn well please.”

Sandy shrugs. “And you’ll be wrong,” she says.

Chad sort of abortively hops to his feet, except how he gets his foot stuck under the table and stumbles instead. “I’m always wrong!” he says when he straightens up, looking around to check if anyone else saw and generally pretending like nothing happened. Jensen loses it and buries his face against Jared’s shoulder.

“Amen to that,” Jared drawls. “Now I’m going to take my boyfriend over… not here, and do dirty things to him. Y’all are not invited.”

Jensen takes a step back so he can straighten his clothes a little and catches sight of Kristen slinking back into the banquet room looking rather disheveled. She gives him a sheepish smile and a small wave.

Jensen raises an eyebrow at her. “The fuck?”

“Yes, I just had sex,” she says. “Shut up.”

“What?” Jensen chokes.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the mostly empty margarita glass from him. One day, he thinks, she will stop stealing his drinks and start buying her own. That day is very far in the future.

“What, like you have the fucking-in-bathrooms market cornered?” she asks sweetly. “By the way, this is like ninety-percent tequila and ten-percent sugar. Just so you know.”

“It’s Jared’s,” Jensen says, shrugging.

“Of course it is,” she says. “Jared, you really gotta stop monopolizing this fine specimen of man we’ve got here. The world deserves to see him shine!”

Jared looks at her with affection. “Hey, don’t look at me, chickadee,” he says. She checks him under the chin but he deflects and feints to the left. “It ain’t my fault you suck the great cock of failure.”

“Aw, now why’s it got to be the great cock of failure?” Sandy pipes up, making a big show of looking peeved. “Can’t it be, like, the great clitoris of failure?”

“Anatomical impossibility,” Sophia points out, leaning back in her chair and smoothing her maternity top over her bump. She has literally zero lap at this point, she’s so full of fetus. Jensen doesn’t remember Jessica getting quite so big, even when she was full term.

“Not to mention fucking scary,” Chad mutters, shuddering.

“Yeah, well at least you’d be able to find it that way,” Sophia snaps back, smiling. Everyone laughs, and he kisses her sloppily on the side of her face.

Sandy launches into a story about her gross anatomy lab that Jensen is completely sure he doesn’t want to hear, but Jared sees the look on his face and pulls him away across the room to the alcove where everyone hung their coats.

“So, this launch party everything you hoped it’d be?” he asks, voice all low and sexy.

Jensen grins. “I feel like I should be making Bridget Jones’s Diary jokes, man.”

“Fuck you,” Jared says, laughing. “I’m debuting top-ten on the New York Times bestseller list. Did motherfucking Anthony Bourdain even debut that high? I think not.”

Jensen shoves him away. “I’m sorry, I can’t get any closer, what with your ego being the size of the Vatican and all.”

Jared narrows his eyes. “You ever been to Rome?” he asks, sounding interested.

“Once, my freshman year at CIA,” Jensen replies. “We had a weeklong workshop in Italy over winter break. Pretty much the best week of my life, except for maybe Thanksgiving 2008. That one was pretty fucking awesome, too.” He grins at Jared, whose eyes immediately go dark.

Eric closed the restaurant for the week because he and Jeff were both going on vacation, so Jensen had an entire week to learn every inch of Jared’s skin with his tongue. They put the time to good use.

“Okay,” Jared says all gravelly. “You know all the blood that usually powers my enormous ego? All of it is now in my cock.” He grabs Jensen by the wrist and hauls him closer. “I think we need to rectify that.”

“Think about something gross,” Jensen says. "I don’t have a public sex kink.”

“I bet that’s something that can be learned,” Jared says. He licks a long line up the side of Jensen’s neck.

Jensen bats him away. “I’ll make it up to you later, okay? Just… not here.”

“Lookin’ forward to it,” Jared leers. “Let’s just say that I’m prepared to perforate your every orifice with my tongue.”

“What? Who says that?” Jensen makes a face. “Did you steal Chad’s play book again? Why should I let your tongue anywhere near me if you’re using a line like that?”

Jared huffs and steps back. “Fine, pricknuts. Let’s go drink free alcohol and talk about how awesome I am, okay?”

--

The season finale of Top Chef is on a week later. They all know that Jeff’s in the Final Three, of course—he flew to Tokyo to film the finale back in December—but he’s contractually obligated not to say anything about his winner or loser status until after the finale airs.

Jensen spends the day getting the house ready for the inevitable party, working way harder than he would have if he’d worked. Bravo’s doing some live taping with all of this season’s cast so Jeff’s back in Seattle, and Jared’s filling in at Supernatural for the day so Jensen can have the house to himself.

He’s just turning down the oven temperature so his tartlets don’t burn when his phone rings. He freezes and watches it vibrate all over the counter for a moment, Mom flashing on the screen.

“Um, hi,” he says.

His mother laughs on the other end. “Are you busy?”

“Jeff’s finale’s on in three hours, Mama,” he points out, propping the phone up to his ear with his shoulder and opening the fridge to hunt for the package of smoked salmon. “I’m busy.”

“Well, honestly, I just expected you to ignore the call, but since you deigned to answer the phone I guess I’ll tell you now,” she says.

Jensen frowns and steels himself for the worst. “Oh, god, tell me Mac’s not pregnant.” He knocks one of Sophia’s gum paste dogs off the top shelf and Sadie’s on that shit in an instant. “Sadie, no!” he says softly, grabbing her collar with his free hand and tugging her away from the fridge.

“What? No!” she says, sounding a little distracted. “Honestly, Jensen, it’s nothing bad. Why are you so negative? You’re so much like your father sometimes. Anyway, I just wanted to call and tell you what a wonderful young man you’ve found yourself.”

He blinks. “Jared?”

“Yes, dear. Jared. I very much appreciated the flowers he sent me for my birthday, and the phone call.” She doesn’t say anything for a long time after that.

He took Jared with him to Dallas for Christmas. It was love at first sight for his mother. And apparently Jared is a saint who sends flowers to pervy old ladies on their birthdays, so Jensen has a feeling that if they break up Jared will be the one who gets continued invites to Ackles holiday dinners while Jensen gets to spend time with the free-spirit aunt his mother never talks about.

Jensen keeps cutting the salmon into strips, not sure what to say. Finally, he sighs. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, baby,” she says, her voice soft. “I’m just happy.”

They’ve had this conversation before. The first time was eleven years ago now. Jess had just fallen asleep with her head in his lap after chucking a positive home pregnancy test at his head, and he just reached over and grabbed the phone on his desk to call his mother.

“Remember what you said my junior year when you caught me with Ryan Niollo?” he’d said after the usual greetings.

“Be careful?” his mother had said, sounding confused.

“Yeah, well… I wasn’t as careful as I shoulda been, apparently.”

“Oh, God, tell me you’re not HIV-positive,” she’d breathed out, desperate and frightened enough that he had to let out a bark of surprised laughter. Jess had stirred and given him a sleepy, unhappy look.

He ran his fingers through her hair and smiled until she closed her eyes again. “Oh, Jesus, Mama. No,” he’d said, horrified.

“Well, what else is bad enough that you’d call me? Herpes? Because honestly, Jensen, if you have herpes, I’d really prefer not to know.”

He’d pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, wishing his mother wasn’t the most impossible woman in Texas.

“No, it’s not an STD,” he’d said finally. “So you remember Jessica, right?”

“The pretty Mexican girl? Sure. What about…” she’d trailed off. He could hear her intake of breath as she did the math. “Huh. Well, that’s certainly unexpected. Do I have to have your daddy talk to her daddy to work something out?”

Jensen could just see how awkward that exchange would be. “No, Mama,” he’d said. “I just thought I’d let you know.”

“And I greatly appreciate the tip in regards to my brand new grandbaby,” she’d said after a second. “I’m a little confused, I’ll admit. I remember how uncomfortable you always seemed with those girls you brought ‘round after the thing with the Niollo boy, so I just assumed you were… oh, what’s a nice way to put it? Fluffy?”

He’d made a face. “Fluffy?”

“Oh, don’t act so offended, Jensen. It’s not the most ridiculous thing in the world for me to say.” Jensen got the feeling that she was completely missing his point. “Baby, I’m thrilled, point of fact.”

“I’m nineteen. I will be twenty in two months. You should not be thrilled, Mama. You should be horrified.”

“Sweetheart, I was seventeen when I had your older brother. It’d take you being about fourteen before I’d get upset,” she’d said, voice throaty with laughter. “Oh, hang on, your daddy just walked in the front door. You’re gonna have to break this news to him yourself.”

“What’s wrong?” he’d asked, noticing the funny tone her voice had taken.

“Nothing’s wrong, Jensen,” she’d scolded. “I’m just happy, you know?”

The second time, Jensen called to let her know that his marriage was ending. She hadn’t been happy exactly, but she also hadn’t been too upset. And then there was her complete lack of surprise, which was incredibly annoying.

“I understand, baby,” she’d said. “But be honest with yourself. You haven’t been properly happy in a long time, not with Jess, and I think this is the first step you gotta take to get back to being happy again.”

His mother clears her throat, bringing him back to the present. “I’m gonna let you get back to prepping for that party I know you’re gonna have. Josh and his family are coming over to watch with me. You know how your sister-in-law feels about Jeff.”

If Jensen never has to sit through a holiday dinner listening to his brother’s very drunk wife telling him how hot she thinks his boss is, he will be the happiest person alive. Jared had just sat next to him on the couch and laughed and laughed.

“Good-bye, Mama,” he says. He sets his phone back on the windowsill and trips over Sadie on his way to the fridge. “What? I know you aren’t hungry again. You just ate Harley.”

She gives him this look, the beseeching, Can’t we make an exception this once? look.

“No.”

By nine-thirty, the living room is packed way beyond capacity. Jensen stands in the kitchen doorway, taking inventory of his turnout. Kristen’s sitting on Mike Rosenbaum’s lap in Jensen’s easy chair, giggling about something, while the produce guy just gazes at her adoringly. Jensen’s not even gonna go there. Danneel’s standing next to Sophia’s chair, gesturing with her drink and talking, while Sophia mostly just looks like she’s in a lot of pain and Chad rubs her back. Aldis, Chris, and both Jasons are sitting on the floor between the TV and the coffee table, arguing over the motley collection of X-Box games Jensen and Jared have on the shelves nearby. Ross, Jess, and Sandy are all crammed on one of the other chairs, which are oversized because Jared is oversized (but it’s still a little weird and unsettling to see the two women joining evil forces). Ross is fiercely mashing the buttons on his PSP between them, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth.

The front door opens and Jared and Tom, the meat supplier, come in, arguing about the Cubs sale. After Mark Cuban dropped out of the running, Jensen stopped paying attention, but Jared’s kept up with it rather obsessively since the World Series ended.

“I don’t know,” Tom’s saying, not looking terribly convinced. “I mean, nine hundred million dollars? It just seems ridiculously steep to me.”

“But they’re the Cubs,” Jared says. He stops and surveys the crowd in the living room and gives them a huge smile.

“What are you doing home so early, motherfucker?” Chad asks.

“Eric closed early so he can go watch, too,” Jared says. He comes over and brushes his lips over Jensen’s. “How’s shit going so far? And where the fuck are my dogs?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Well, Sadie ate Harley.”

“What?”

“The gum paste model Sophia made is no more.”

Jared groans. “You sheep-fucker,” he says, socking Jensen in the arm. “I was actually like, ‘What? Dog-on-dog crime? What the fuck?’ My dogs are not cannibals, Jensen. I’m offended that you’d—I don’t even know what to say.”

“Good,” Jensen says, grinning. “Go sit down and entertain our guests. The dogs are up in our room.”

Jared’s whole face lights up. “You finally said it!” he says.

“What?”

“You called it our room. Not just my room. Come on, come tongue kiss me in the kitchen. It makes me nervous when Sandy watches.”

“I’m not sorry!” Sandy yells after them.

“Neither am I!” Jess adds. Half the room cracks up. Jared gives an awkward sort of half bow and drags Jensen into the kitchen and around the corner so they’re out of sight.

“Get back in here! It’s on!” Danneel yells before Jared can do more than press Jensen against the wall and step up real close. “You can make out during the first commercial break.”

Katie, the tall blonde with the amazing rack, cries all through her confessionals. In fact, she’s cried all through the whole season even though she keeps winning challenges. Jensen doesn’t get it. Jeff told him he thinks she has a chemical imbalance.

Jeff looks confident and scruffy. He and Patrick, the other finalist, keep joking with each other while Katie stands there and sniffles.

Patrick’s final dish is positively godly, and Tom Colicchio practically creams his pants over it. Even Padma has positive things to say. Katie’s is pretty but the judges decide it’s way too salty. Jeff’s looks and sounds awesome, maybe more edible than Patrick’s but not as interesting.

During the second commercial break, the whole cast gets to comment on the first challenge. Dane says it looks pretty cut-and-dry who’s going to win, while Sandra insists that there will be a surprise.

“There’s always a surprise,” she says. “I mean, come on. Hung.”

“Stephanie,” Ellen counters, referring to last season’s obvious winner.

During the final judging, Katie predictably bursts into tears, wishes she had a cigarette, and walks out while the judges stare at her. They don’t look the least bit surprised, although both Patrick and Jeff are visibly stunned.

She hugs them both on the way out. “Good luck,” she whispers to both of them, but she gives Jeff and extra tight squeeze and says, “I’m totally rooting for you.”

Jensen grabs Jared’s hand during the big reveal, needing somewhere to channel all his nervous energy. Jared squeezes back. It helps.

--

Food Porn: True Confessions from the Restaurant Kitchen by Chef Guy (aka Jared Padalecki)


For Abigail Cassandra, my brand-new goddaughter

and

Jensen, the Norm to my Chef Guy



 
THE. END.

Oh, my god. This is the longest thing I've ever written. Allow me to go drown in postpartum depression now, or something.

MASTER POST
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EDIT: Wait! Want more? Read Hors d'oeuvres, a timestamp featuring more Ross, more snark, and the answer to that question left unanswered...