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[personal profile] maratonista
Sometimes things look that way
Jensen/Cougar, Gen
The team attempt to relax after a tough mission. Jensen inevitably complicates matters.
Strong langauge; talk of domestic violence.

After taking as many blows to the head as Jensen had, once the concussion had cleared up, there had really been only one option:

Find the first bar they hadn’t been banned from, and get one hundred percent shitfaced.

The aim of the night was to add another fine establishment to the list of places they were personae non gratae, and forget the absolute clusterfuck that had left Jensen looking like week old roadkill.

It had been mostly Clay’s idea.

They needed some downtime.

Honduras 2005.

It was supposed to be an in-out thing.

They got in no problem. Or rather, Jensen did. They didn’t really like to acknowledge it, but when it came to good old fashioned social engineering, Jensen was in a whole league of his own.

He could, and had, talked his way into just about anything.

And usually, he could talk himself out of it again as well.

Unfortunately, even his skills were pretty fucking useless when getting smashed in the face with a led pipe.

Instead of talk, he’d been forced to do what the rest of them would have done on instinct, and shoot his way out.

Cougar had met him half way.

It worked well.

They got kicked out on their asses around oh-one hundred, followed by a stint in a nightclub that ended in a similar fashion at a little after five.

The alcohol had loosened them up, and a loose Jensen made for a fairly relaxed Cougar.

Clay gave himself a solid pat on the back for a plan well executed.

Around six, after walking in circles and laughing like old college buddies, no fucking care in the world, Jensen decided he was hungry.

The declaration was quickly supported by Pooch, and even Cougar – though Clay suspected the sniper wouldn’t eat until Jensen did.

The five of them poured into a 24 hour dive, plastic seating the same color as the peeling wallpaper.

Clay took the lead in an attempt to appease any locals who might be freaked out by the team of staggering soldiers. He dragged Pooch with him. Pooch was nice and non threatening when he wanted to be.

Normally he’d pull Jensen up front as well. Jensen somehow masked the fact that he was six feet of solid muscle so well that little old ladies wanted to adopt him and feed him cookies.

He currently hung from Roque’s shoulder like a broken doll, his battered face pulled up into a lazy, drunken smile.

Roque didn’t seem to mind hauling him around like a stray kid, though he’d undoubtedly bitch Jensen’s ear off when he was sober.

Roque was a tactile drunk. It was cute.

Cougar was the only one of them who really looked anything close to normal. His hat was pulled low, and only the slight unsteadiness in his step gave away the fact that he, like the rest of them, had downed more shots than was strictly sensible.

Clay ordered them all coffee before attempting to read the plastic menu.

The five of them crammed into one small booth. Clay, Pooch and Cougar on the one side, Roque and Jensen on the other.

Normally it would be Cougar and Jensen together, but this way Cougar could watch Jensen more closely and make sure he didn’t faceplant in the sugar bowl.

There were probably roaches in it.

Roque stuffed a boneless Jensen close to the wall, one strong arm up against the back of the booth for Jensen to lean on.

“I should not have had that shot.” He moaned, his head crashed back against Roque’s shoulder.

“Which one?” Pooch needed to clarify. There had been a shit load of shots.

Jensen flapped his arm about carelessly. He’d planned on wearing a long sleeved shirt to hide the fact that there were rings of bruises circling his arms from wrist to elbow.

It had been pretty pointless given the mess that had been made of his face.

In the end, he’d settled on a relatively tame black t-shirt that declared there was ‘No place like’.

He kept his eyes closed. “Do they do pancakes? I want pancakes.”

Clay spotted a choice between blueberry and chocolate and already knew which Jensen would choose. “Hmm. Sure, kid.”

“Awesome.” Jensen peeked open one eye to check Clay wasn’t pulling his leg, then closed them again. “Roque, you make an excellent pillow, my friend.”

Roque was clearly still mellow from the booze; he only smacked Jensen around the back of the head instead of outright punching him.

Jensen swatted him with his hand like he was an irritating fly, and continued to do so until the waitress came to take their order. Then Roque had to grab Jensen’s flailing wrist before he accidently poked her eye out.

“He’ll take the blueberry short stack.” Clay added Jensen’s beloved pancakes to the end of their order.

He had to repeat himself when it became obvious she hadn’t heard him.

She was a short, scrawny woman who had clearly left the looks of her youth far behind her. She fixed her eyes on Jensen, and then on Roque before making a sound of disgust and rounding on Clay.

“You outta be ashamed!” She hissed, thrusting her order pad under Clay’s nose and shaking it threateningly.

She was probably five three, maybe a hundred and ten pounds when wet.

Clay recoiled, the solid wall of Cougar leaving him no place to retreat to.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”

He managed a polite, if completely fucking bemused response.

What the Hell had he done wrong this time?!

Her nametag said her name was Jolene. Maybe that was why Clay was scared shitless of her. Pooch’s wife was as kind as she was beautiful, but Jesus Christ, did she scare the fuck out of him!

“And you! You feel tough, big guy?” Clay felt marginally better at the look of alarm that crossed Roque’s face when she turned on him.


“Ma’am, I-“ Pooch, ever the peacemaker, held up his open palms and smiled kindly at the furious woman. If there was ever a man who could calm a Jolene, it was Pooch.

She ignored him and continued to screech at Roque.

The few weary patrons looked up from their breakfast. From the hatch to the kitchen, Clay could see a big, beefy guy reach for a nasty looking knife.

Clay bet Roque had a bigger one stashed down the leg of his pants.

“You feel like the big, strong guy when you smack people around? You get off on beating on people weaker than you?”

Cougar choked on his coffee.

“Oh my God.” Pooch buried his face in his hands and started to laugh.

Jensen, who had been staring bleary eyed up at the ceiling, spaced and still a bit drunk, rolled his head off Roque’s shoulder and spotted the waitress.

“Pancakes?” He asked, eying the table hopefully.

Clay couldn’t help it. He dropped his head down on to the table and groaned. He was not sober enough for this shit.

Cougar was actually the one to smooth things over. Thank fuck, because once Roque got over the shock of what she was saying to actually process the words, he went apeshit.

Clay honestly didn’t think he would hurt Jensen’s erstwhile saviour, but he could yell just as loud, and proceeded to do so until Cougar stepped in to save the day.

He kicked Jensen under the table as he did. They’d need the techie to at least stay focused enough to vouch for them.

Clay did not fancy spending the night in lock-up, or the idea of having to explain to the General why his SIC had been arrested for domestic violence.

Needless to say, a hasty retreat had been made.

Jensen, as easily bemused as ever, had transferred his staggering to Cougar.

Cougar shouldered his weight easily. God help anyone who accused him of smacking Jensen around.

“Seriously, bro? Seriously?” Roque turned his ranting on to Clay, who obligingly nodded in all the right places. “If I was going to beat the little shit up-“


“-do they really think I’d let him use me for a motherfucking pillow?”

Pooch continued to snicker.

“I think it was nice than she showed concern over a complete stranger.”

Clay was an asshole, but he needed to get his kicks someplace.

Roque snarled. “Sure, another member of the Jensen Fanclub to handle. Yippefuckingdo.”

“I should send her a thank you card.” Jensen mused. His head was firmly against Cougar’s. The two could have been fucking snuggling if it weren’t for the fact that snuggling was for girls, not Cougar and Jensen.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Roque elbowed past Jensen, who winced and leaned into Cougar.

Cougar growled, as if Roque had actually hurt Jensen.

Cougar was an asshole as well.

Clay could see that smirk, motherfucker.

“Don’t you fucking start with me!” Roque howled.

“I never did get those pancakes.” Jensen looked over Cougar’s shoulder to Clay, blue eyes wide and beguiling.

Clay had to hand it to the kid – most guys would be kicking their feathers if someone assumed they were getting beat on. Jensen didn’t seem to care either way. His ego was a weird fucking beast.

Roque howed again. “I’ll give you fucking pancakes!” He roared, throwing himself at Jensen and Cougar.

Clay and Pooch walked ahead, confident that Cougar could handle any bloodshed.

Their hangovers would be epic, but Clay hoped to Hell he remembered all this when he came round.

From behind them, they could still hear the scuffle. “Now Roque, be gentle! I’ll go back and tell that nice lady you’re being mean to me!”

"Come back here, you little shit!"

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