DorkFish 3- Alls Fair in True Love and War

Yer Bum's Out the Windea, Lad!

Wednesday, February 17

3:45 P.M.

Inverness

Alan Ackles took one look at the handsome young pregnant man standing on his stoop and laughed heartily.

"Oh lad, it wasna me who done this to ye," he said with a roguish grin. "Memory may escape me now and again, but I'm fair certain I woulda remembered the pleasure of an evening spent with yer company."

Jared sucked in his breath. The man who answered the door wasn't his husband but would be in about thirty-five years. His arresting brand of handsome ran more rugged than refined, without the urbane elegance that his son pulled off, but he commanded that same room-dominating presence, radiating charisma that attracted him to Jensen with a magnet's power. His hair was a storm-tossed sea of white-capped grey waves, his chiseled face dominated by strong grey eyebrows over emerald green eyes that froze Jared in place on his threshold. Time, sun, and wind had written lines on his skin, telling the story of a man who'd spent the prime of his life in devoted care of an island vineyard and the small family he'd nurtured right along with it. Tall and broad, just like his son, with capable hands that promised to protect, but that mischievous grin, so much like Jensen's... it made Jared's heart ache with longing for those precious, carefree hours on St. John's.

As If he'd read Jared's mind, his impish expression softened into a warm, paternal smile.

"Are ye all right, lad?" he asked. "Ye've gone pale as a ghost."

'They even sound alike.' Jared thought he'd imagined it at first, but when he spoke it was Jensen's voice, deep and sonorous, only the familiar blanket that wrapped around him now bore a different pattern, colored with a soft brogue nothing like his husband's unaccented speech.

Jared realized then what he must look like standing agog and dumbstruck on his doorstep with a giant tube under his arm, and he forced himself to put his own vocal chords to use again.

"Mr. Ackles," he said as his unused voice came out sultry and gravelly after hours of silence. "My name is Jared Padalecki."

'American,' Alan noted. "And to what do I owe the honor of yer lovely presence, my dear Mr. Padalecki?"

His grip on the tube tightened involuntarily. "I'm your son's husband."

Alan's warmth evaporated. The air between them hardened, Jared watched in dismay as his welcoming face transformed into the cold, stony mask he knew so very well.

"He alright?"

It wasn't the question he'd expected. "Yes! Yes, of course!" he stammered. "He's fine! He's not dead or sick or in trouble or anything like that, he's fine. Just fine. Better than even. He's... actually done very well for himself."

'In more ways than one,' Alan thought bitterly, looking at the beauty of his son's husband, so obviously with child. It reminded him of Donna, when she was carrying Jensen. Long, dark hair, glowing olive skin, a body to keep you up all night for the wanting for it (if that was your thing, not his though), and his voice, that sensual, captivating voice...

Not a memory he wanted. "Why are ye here?"

"He's not with me," Jared blurted out, floundering under the juggernaut of his unwavering, penetrating gaze. "He doesn't even know I'm here."

"I didn't ask about him," he snapped. "I asked about you."

Despite the February wind's arctic assault on his face, Jared felt his cheeks flush hot. If the mere mention of his son had generated this kind of reaction, he dreaded the one that might follow any reference whatsoever to his late ex-wife.