Chapter Text
The morning gray light barely illuminates the city street in front of Jared’s bicycle tires. Streetlights are still lit and blare down at him as he weaves between taxicabs and buses to finally turn into the side street that leads to the building where he works. He is ahead of the main crush of commuters, so the traffic is thin, and the city is relatively quiet. The Winchester Technologies building looms ahead, a tall silvery edifice with a marble facade entrance like so many buildings in New York city.
His long legs pump the pedals on the last leg uphill to the front doors. Coasting into the pedestrian entrance he dismounts, trotting next to his bike briefly before lifting the lightweight frame onto a slender shoulder and slipping through a side door where a small bank of lock frames stands in a corner of the building’s entrance hall. He’s one of the first employees to arrive. Jared likes to be early.
He unfastens his helmet and pulls off his fingerless gloves, stowing them into his backpack and blowing warm air onto his freezing fingers. November in New York is hard on cyclists, but it's cheaper than the subway and even with its dangers Jared loves the freedom of riding.
By the time he reaches his cubicle the sun has started to slant through the windows, bathing the many desks and lab tables and computer screens in golden light. He’s pleased to see his supervisor’s door closed and the windows dark. He sighs deeply and claims some time for himself, heading for the break room to start some coffee.
His creativity peaks in the early morning. With a steaming cup of coffee made with the very last bit of half and half left in the carton that he had bought himself, he dives into the design on his computer screen. A design that is entirely his own.
A design he isn’t exactly authorized to work on.
Thirty blissfully peaceful minutes go by. Jared gets lost in the lines and curves and calculations. He makes notes in a spiral notebook as he works, thinking of the aerodynamics and maneuverability of the sleek three wheeled vehicle he’d been envisioning since he was 15, and trying not to think about anything else.
His entry level position at Winchester Technologies Inc. is a dream job, in New York city, a place where he’d always wanted to live, doing what he’d always wanted to do.
So why did it seem to be turning into a nightmare?
—------------------------------------------------
When Jared rides home, it's hardly lighter outside than it was when he rode in. The city’s narrow corridors of steel intensify the winds from the ocean and he is hit square in the chest with a barrier of air. In the warmer months he’d found it invigorating, loving the salty smell, spreading his arms to play with the currents. Now he shivers in his thin coat, the only one he brought from Palo Alto, California, the only one he can currently afford.
Jared’s life history is hardly unique. Gay teenager born of homophobic parents, discovered too young and kicked out of his home at 15. He’d been fortunate. His best friend Osric had plead his case to his own conservative but kindly Chinese parents and Jared had lived with them until both he and Osric had been accepted into the Stanford University engineering program on full scholarships.
Fortunate indeed. The University hadn’t been willing to believe that Jared really was as destitute as his adoptive brother Osric since the Padelecki family that had ousted him and refused to acknowledge him was hardly destitute. Gerald Padelicki was descended from the Texas oil barons, and his value tipped nine figures. There had been visits by University admissions officials to the Osric family home and small general store in Midland, Texas. There had been interviews and investigations. There had been phone calls to the Padelecki business and home numbers where the line had gone dead the moment Jared’s name was mentioned.
Jared had been mortified for Mr. and Mrs. Chau, but in the end the scholarships had been awarded and Jared had been relieved his friend’s family wouldn’t be further burdened by him.
The last few years had seemed charmed. He and Osric had flourished at school, earning excellent grades, making important connections, and winning high caliber engineering competitions. Their scholarships had served them well, even though they had both had to make use of student loans and credit cards to pay for all the things the scholarship allowances did not cover. They lived as frugally as they could, looking forward to the days when high paying engineering jobs would allow them to make it all back, pay it all off, and make their parents proud. or In Jared’s case, make his little sister Megan proud. His parents could care less, and his older brother Jeff was a dick. But Megan was there. Megan would always be there.
When he’d landed the job with Winchester industries, and Osric had gotten his position at Adobe, they had decided to buy a place together rather than rent. They both wanted to live and work in New York, neither of them having any wishes to return to Texas, at least not anytime soon. They’d fallen in love with a two bedroom place in the West End. It even had an extra tiny room for an office, and a view of a park. The price was high, and the mortgage payments were going to stretch their monthly income so long as they were still paying back credit cards and student loans, but they’d done the math, and as long as nothing disastrous happened they should be sitting pretty after a year.
And the place would be theirs. It would belong to them. Well, after thirty years of payments, but then, yeah.
In the meantime, the paychecks come in, and the money goes right back out. They eat a lot of ramen noodles, and rice and peas. They bring peanut butter sandwiches to work. They ride their bicycles rather than pay the expensive subway fares. They opt for an Iphone and wifi plan that doesn’t include cable, and learn to enjoy PBS. They watch and rewatch DVD’s they already own on their ancient TV and DVD player that they have both become very adept at repairing. They buy their professional clothes at the Salvation Army.
Jared was fine with all of that. He just wished his work environment wasn’t so difficult. It feels ungrateful to complain, so he doesn’t. He never speaks a word to Osric about what it’s like working at a place where he is constantly criticized and undervalued, where he is given the most menial tasks that underutilize his training and take hours of time, where other members of his team who are clearly less competent than Jared are given the substantial projects while he is assigned the most mind numbing work.
He never tells Osric what it's like to work for Jensen Ackles.
He can’t bear to burden his friend with his minor woes when Osric seems so thrilled and happy working for Adobe. He’s a bit jealous of the Adobe perks, especially the free meals and snacks Osric gets that Winchester Tech doesn’t offer, but at least there’s an onsite Gym Jared can use. Things will get better, he just needs to be patient. So Jared just smiles and nods at osric’s work stories, they click their Coors light beer cans together and talk about how cool it will be when they can afford some Yuengling.
—------------------------------------------------------------------
Jared wheels his bicycle onto the walkway in front of his building, waving hello to Sargent Pilegi, who is making his final rounds on his horse before returning to the NYPD West End stables.
“Hiya Rusty,” says Jared, petting the horse’ velvety nose before reaching up to shake hands with Rusty’s rider.
“Working late again Jared?”
“Yes sir. How’s the West side?”
“Not too bad. Hey where are those reflectors I got you ?”
Jared starts and reaches for his ankles where the velcroed reflectors that should be, and feels only the fabric of pants.
“Oh! Sorry sir, they're in my pocket. I forgot to attach them tonight.”
“Don’t be sorry, son. But don’t forget those, OK? I don’t wantcha to get hurt. These taxicabs get crazy at night.”
“Yes sir, thanks!”
The sargent touches his white gloved hand to his cap and crinkles form at the edges of the older man’s eyes. Jared feels his own dimples popping as he returns the salute, a warmth flooding his stomach in spite of the cold. Mounted Sargent Mitch Pilegi is one of the few people he’s met in New York who elicits this response.
Maybe things are looking up.