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lu_ficsTitle: Common Knowledge
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elucreh
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Summary: Jared, your fangirls. Fangirls, I believe you already know Jared. Better than he knows himself.
Notes: Obviously, they belong to each other. Extended notes following epilogue.
:: 1—The Con-going Fangirl :: 2—Filk :: 3—Fanreports :: 4—The Everyday Fangirl :: 5—Fic :: 6—The Fangirl Online :: 7—Rose-Colored Interviews :: 8—The Fangirl On-Set ::Epilogue: The Kripked Fangirl::
CHAPTER FOUR: The Everyday Fangirl
Visiting Sandy after weeks of phone calls and e-mails always fills a little hole in Jared's soul, although even she would say that's corny. (Once, when he was drunk, he told Jensen his theory about soul-holes. Jensen, even drunker, apologized for the one he keeps ripping in Jared's. It's one of those things they don't talk about. Like the switched underwears incident. Fine. Incidents.)
He and Sandy have been playing phone tag for the past couple of weeks, and for now he's content to just stretch into the comfort of her presence. She came out and met him at the airport, bless her, and now she's filling the cab with chatter about her new apartment and roommates. He's glad she's happy...it took a lot of work to find a good situation after one old roommate moved for her job and the rest were scattered to the winds.
"Oh! I forgot, I didn't get to tell you--"
"Hmmm?"
"I went to tour the apartment, do the interviews and stuff, and Rachel—she's the criminology major—opened the door and the first thing she says is, 'Holy shit, you're Sandy.' And I said yeah, I had an appointment—and she said, 'No, sorry, it's just...I'm kind of a fan. Well, I mean, I'm a huge fan of your boyfriend and I really think you're awesome, too.'
"And I didn't know what to say, you know? But she just smiled and said, 'Don't let it put you off us. It's a good apartment and I swear I'm not crazy enough to try to steal him away from you.'"
Jared doesn't really know what to say to this, either, so he goes for the obvious. "Is she hot?"
Sandy backhands him with a grin. "Watch yourself, mister."
He's a little apprehensive when they get into the apartment, but Rachel really seems to be perfectly normal, tall with light brown hair and a pleasant face. She shakes his hand and tells him she loves the show and she's really impressed by what a great actor he's become, which makes him duck his head and blush a little as he thanks her. Then Sandy introduces him to Dara and Candace, who are sharing the third bedroom; they move on to new conversations, and by the end of the weekend she's just Rachel, just one of Sandy's friends.
Over the next few months she gets to be one of his favorites—the show pretty much consumes his life, after all, and it's fun to be able to talk about it with somebody in depth. She withheld his portion of dessert the first and only time he "spoiled" her, so he has to be careful about which episodes have aired, but she notices the tiny details that the people he knows are most proud of, and it's great to be able to tell Marcy in wardrobe that apparently Dean's boots were both sexy and "very Dean." She has great insights into Sam, too, and sometimes when he's frustrated he makes Sandy put her on the phone to listen to his lines and tell him what the writers were thinking. She doesn't gush or scream, she just knows and likes the show, enjoying and analyzing it the same way she does historic crimes.
It's nearing the end of their midterm hiatus—which he's mostly spent in Sandy's apartment, dusting cobwebs out of ceiling corners, changing lightbulbs, and "providing eyecandy," as Dara put it—when he knocks lightly on Rachel's half-open door.
"Come in," she calls absently, still typing steadily.
"We wanted to know if you wanted to come out to dinner with us. My flight's at nine and I won't be back down until summer, probably. Anybody'd think I'd made a deal with the devil."
Rachel flashes him a grin. "Sure. Just let me finish this?"
"Yeah, you've got time...Sandy's dressing up for me, I guess, so she'll be awhile. Whatcha doin'?"
"Just replying to a friend's blog...she's having guy problems."
"Well, I'm a guy...maybe I can help," he offers, grinning.
"I doubt you're as batshit insane as this guy, but you might do better getting in his head than we are." She pushes her chair away from the desk and gestures him forward.
The problem seems pretty straightforward to him. "I've done this. He's trying to convince her he's not freaking out. If she tells him she doesn't expect to get serious for a while yet, he'll cut it out."
Rachel raises her eyebrows. "She's supposed to get "not freaking out" from jumping away from her every time she touches him?"
"No, she's supposed to get it from the excessive compliments and regular floral deliveries. The jumping thing he's probably hoping she hasn't noticed."
She gives him a long, narrow look. "You're all idiots."
"I know."
"And you assume we're idiots, which is worse."
"Sorry about that."
Rachel sighs and nudges him away from the computer, beginning to type. "My roommate's bf..." He grins and ruffles her hair, wandering away to examine her family photos on the walls and pluck at the guitar on a stand in the corner.
In a few minutes, she gives a soft grunt of satisfaction and hits two keys emphatically, and the page reloads. Across the top illustration, above where she'd scrolled to before, is scrawled "Bitchface (TM)." Jared frowns, and Rachel looks up at him questioningly. "Something wrong?"
"Nooo...I just...there's something familiar about that--" he waves at the screen.
"BitchfaceTM? It's her screenname...but it's also how the fen refer to Sam's pouty look, you know," she says, grinning. "You've probably seen it somewhere, or I might have talked about it."
"I guess so." Another moment, and he shrugs it off.
Dinner that night is riotous, a lot of wine, an appetizer sampler big enough to choke a beluga, and a lot of silly food-exchanging. They don't have time for dessert, though, and people mostly take off pretty quickly, giving Jared a hug or a backslap and disappearing into a cab. Tomorrow's Friday, after all, and most of them still have to go to work in the morning. The girls going back to the apartment are the last to leave, and Rachel hugs him hard. "Thanks for helping with Laura, hon. I'll let you know when she updates her elljay, see if you were right."
She ducks into the cab and slams the door as Jared's brain translates "elljay=LJ=livejournal" and then "Laura=BitchfaceTM=Laptop Girl" and then, having done its part, promptly shuts down.
"Honey?" Sandy shakes his arm. "Jared? You okay?"
"Yeah," he says, hoarsely. "Yeah, I'm fine." Jared gives her a weak smile. "Just thinking I'm gonna miss them...not nearly as much as I will you, though."
She scrunches her nose at him, and then stands on her tiptoes to kiss the tip of his. "I'll come up when I can, baby, you know that. And soon you'll be back up there, playing with Jensen, all wound up in work, and you'll hardly know I'm gone."
*~*~*
Jared gets home at midnight, having spent the past five hours trying not to go into a frenzy. From the way the Vancouver airport's security had been trailing him, huge man with a crazed expression on his face, he's guessing there's no point trying to fool himself. He came back early to give himself time to unpack and get Harley and Sadie settled in, adjust his sleeping schedule so shooting doesn't kill him. He should go to bed now, get some sleep, but instead he plugs in his laptop and paces around the room as it sets up. Sadie whines a question, but he can't muster the kind of peace it would need to sit down and soothe her.
Rachel wouldn't—Rachel isn't—just because she's friends with Laptop Girl doesn't mean they think the same way. They both like Supernatural, that's all. She's never given him any indication she has any interest in his rel--friendship with Jensen.
He's just going to check. He can't spend the rest of his life being paranoid about this. He'll just find her screenname on the entry, and go to her profile, and it won't say anything at all about his being in love with Jensen, and everything will be fine.
He gets to bitchfacetm.livejournal.com faster than he'd realized he could type, and comes smack up against a shot of his own menacing face, Sam aiming a gun at him. "(Partially) Friends Only," the banner says, and below it is an explanation. "Due to RL difficulties, this journal has a new policy in place. Fic, meta, episode reactions, etc. are open to all and sundry. Personal matters are locked to personal friends. If you think you have been left off this list by mistake, please let me know."
Fuck.
He scrolls down, anyway, but yeah, the entry he remembers reading isn't there. But hey—personal friends. Rachel's a "personal friend." No reason to think she--
Gah.
He shuts the laptop with a little more force than is strictly necessary and shucks his shirt and pants, flopping on to the bed and pulling the chain on the light.
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Author:
elucrehPairing: Jared/Jensen
Summary: Jared, your fangirls. Fangirls, I believe you already know Jared. Better than he knows himself.
Notes: Obviously, they belong to each other. Extended notes following epilogue.
:: 1—The Con-going Fangirl :: 2—Filk :: 3—Fanreports :: 4—The Everyday Fangirl :: 5—Fic :: 6—The Fangirl Online :: 7—Rose-Colored Interviews :: 8—The Fangirl On-Set ::Epilogue: The Kripked Fangirl::
CHAPTER FOUR: The Everyday Fangirl
Visiting Sandy after weeks of phone calls and e-mails always fills a little hole in Jared's soul, although even she would say that's corny. (Once, when he was drunk, he told Jensen his theory about soul-holes. Jensen, even drunker, apologized for the one he keeps ripping in Jared's. It's one of those things they don't talk about. Like the switched underwears incident. Fine. Incidents.)
He and Sandy have been playing phone tag for the past couple of weeks, and for now he's content to just stretch into the comfort of her presence. She came out and met him at the airport, bless her, and now she's filling the cab with chatter about her new apartment and roommates. He's glad she's happy...it took a lot of work to find a good situation after one old roommate moved for her job and the rest were scattered to the winds.
"Oh! I forgot, I didn't get to tell you--"
"Hmmm?"
"I went to tour the apartment, do the interviews and stuff, and Rachel—she's the criminology major—opened the door and the first thing she says is, 'Holy shit, you're Sandy.' And I said yeah, I had an appointment—and she said, 'No, sorry, it's just...I'm kind of a fan. Well, I mean, I'm a huge fan of your boyfriend and I really think you're awesome, too.'
"And I didn't know what to say, you know? But she just smiled and said, 'Don't let it put you off us. It's a good apartment and I swear I'm not crazy enough to try to steal him away from you.'"
Jared doesn't really know what to say to this, either, so he goes for the obvious. "Is she hot?"
Sandy backhands him with a grin. "Watch yourself, mister."
He's a little apprehensive when they get into the apartment, but Rachel really seems to be perfectly normal, tall with light brown hair and a pleasant face. She shakes his hand and tells him she loves the show and she's really impressed by what a great actor he's become, which makes him duck his head and blush a little as he thanks her. Then Sandy introduces him to Dara and Candace, who are sharing the third bedroom; they move on to new conversations, and by the end of the weekend she's just Rachel, just one of Sandy's friends.
Over the next few months she gets to be one of his favorites—the show pretty much consumes his life, after all, and it's fun to be able to talk about it with somebody in depth. She withheld his portion of dessert the first and only time he "spoiled" her, so he has to be careful about which episodes have aired, but she notices the tiny details that the people he knows are most proud of, and it's great to be able to tell Marcy in wardrobe that apparently Dean's boots were both sexy and "very Dean." She has great insights into Sam, too, and sometimes when he's frustrated he makes Sandy put her on the phone to listen to his lines and tell him what the writers were thinking. She doesn't gush or scream, she just knows and likes the show, enjoying and analyzing it the same way she does historic crimes.
It's nearing the end of their midterm hiatus—which he's mostly spent in Sandy's apartment, dusting cobwebs out of ceiling corners, changing lightbulbs, and "providing eyecandy," as Dara put it—when he knocks lightly on Rachel's half-open door.
"Come in," she calls absently, still typing steadily.
"We wanted to know if you wanted to come out to dinner with us. My flight's at nine and I won't be back down until summer, probably. Anybody'd think I'd made a deal with the devil."
Rachel flashes him a grin. "Sure. Just let me finish this?"
"Yeah, you've got time...Sandy's dressing up for me, I guess, so she'll be awhile. Whatcha doin'?"
"Just replying to a friend's blog...she's having guy problems."
"Well, I'm a guy...maybe I can help," he offers, grinning.
"I doubt you're as batshit insane as this guy, but you might do better getting in his head than we are." She pushes her chair away from the desk and gestures him forward.
The problem seems pretty straightforward to him. "I've done this. He's trying to convince her he's not freaking out. If she tells him she doesn't expect to get serious for a while yet, he'll cut it out."
Rachel raises her eyebrows. "She's supposed to get "not freaking out" from jumping away from her every time she touches him?"
"No, she's supposed to get it from the excessive compliments and regular floral deliveries. The jumping thing he's probably hoping she hasn't noticed."
She gives him a long, narrow look. "You're all idiots."
"I know."
"And you assume we're idiots, which is worse."
"Sorry about that."
Rachel sighs and nudges him away from the computer, beginning to type. "My roommate's bf..." He grins and ruffles her hair, wandering away to examine her family photos on the walls and pluck at the guitar on a stand in the corner.
In a few minutes, she gives a soft grunt of satisfaction and hits two keys emphatically, and the page reloads. Across the top illustration, above where she'd scrolled to before, is scrawled "Bitchface (TM)." Jared frowns, and Rachel looks up at him questioningly. "Something wrong?"
"Nooo...I just...there's something familiar about that--" he waves at the screen.
"BitchfaceTM? It's her screenname...but it's also how the fen refer to Sam's pouty look, you know," she says, grinning. "You've probably seen it somewhere, or I might have talked about it."
"I guess so." Another moment, and he shrugs it off.
Dinner that night is riotous, a lot of wine, an appetizer sampler big enough to choke a beluga, and a lot of silly food-exchanging. They don't have time for dessert, though, and people mostly take off pretty quickly, giving Jared a hug or a backslap and disappearing into a cab. Tomorrow's Friday, after all, and most of them still have to go to work in the morning. The girls going back to the apartment are the last to leave, and Rachel hugs him hard. "Thanks for helping with Laura, hon. I'll let you know when she updates her elljay, see if you were right."
She ducks into the cab and slams the door as Jared's brain translates "elljay=LJ=livejournal" and then "Laura=BitchfaceTM=Laptop Girl" and then, having done its part, promptly shuts down.
"Honey?" Sandy shakes his arm. "Jared? You okay?"
"Yeah," he says, hoarsely. "Yeah, I'm fine." Jared gives her a weak smile. "Just thinking I'm gonna miss them...not nearly as much as I will you, though."
She scrunches her nose at him, and then stands on her tiptoes to kiss the tip of his. "I'll come up when I can, baby, you know that. And soon you'll be back up there, playing with Jensen, all wound up in work, and you'll hardly know I'm gone."
*~*~*
Jared gets home at midnight, having spent the past five hours trying not to go into a frenzy. From the way the Vancouver airport's security had been trailing him, huge man with a crazed expression on his face, he's guessing there's no point trying to fool himself. He came back early to give himself time to unpack and get Harley and Sadie settled in, adjust his sleeping schedule so shooting doesn't kill him. He should go to bed now, get some sleep, but instead he plugs in his laptop and paces around the room as it sets up. Sadie whines a question, but he can't muster the kind of peace it would need to sit down and soothe her.
Rachel wouldn't—Rachel isn't—just because she's friends with Laptop Girl doesn't mean they think the same way. They both like Supernatural, that's all. She's never given him any indication she has any interest in his rel--friendship with Jensen.
He's just going to check. He can't spend the rest of his life being paranoid about this. He'll just find her screenname on the entry, and go to her profile, and it won't say anything at all about his being in love with Jensen, and everything will be fine.
He gets to bitchfacetm.livejournal.com faster than he'd realized he could type, and comes smack up against a shot of his own menacing face, Sam aiming a gun at him. "(Partially) Friends Only," the banner says, and below it is an explanation. "Due to RL difficulties, this journal has a new policy in place. Fic, meta, episode reactions, etc. are open to all and sundry. Personal matters are locked to personal friends. If you think you have been left off this list by mistake, please let me know."
Fuck.
He scrolls down, anyway, but yeah, the entry he remembers reading isn't there. But hey—personal friends. Rachel's a "personal friend." No reason to think she--
Gah.
He shuts the laptop with a little more force than is strictly necessary and shucks his shirt and pants, flopping on to the bed and pulling the chain on the light.
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