After a brief but immensely satisfying tryst with Vicki, I feel much better.

I kiss her and leave her to shower in our room before padding lightly down the stairs and back to the party.

"Hey, Misha."

I glance over my shoulder to find Jared swaggering across the polished mosaic-tiles floor. "We were looking for you. Thought we'd go through the script together."

"Now?"

"Yeah, a rehearsal," Jared explains. "It's just a group of us downstairs. No blocking, just going through our lines."

I groan.

"This is supposed to be a vacation, Jared. Not work. And anyways, we don't have everyone we need."

"Oh, come on," Jared pulls me through the crowd, the strong beat of the music pulsing through the cavernous space. "Quit whining and join us."

I oblige, albeit unhappily.

Downstairs, Jensen hands me a copy of the script and Mark pulls up a chair for me as I join the small gathering in the large basement. There's an enormous flat-screen TV perched over a fireplace, and the carpeting is a soft, luxurious cream accented by wine-coloured upholstery.

"Okay, we were just on page three," Tahmoh leans over and helps me find where they've left off. "That's when you come in."

"Right." I clear my throat and prepare to drop my voice an octave as I read the brief description before my line. Basically, Castiel, still not schooled in social conventions, stares at Dean until he drops his gaze, using his long lashes to screen his eyes. Castiel is looking beautifully disheveled in his trench coat and his hair is screaming 'back of the impala.'

I look up and raise an eyebrow. Jensen is too weirded out to look at me right now, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that, like me, he's here under duress.

I skip ahead, the silence roaring in my ears.

God, they want him to leer at me like I'm 'a vision of ecstasy in beige.' How do you even act that?

"Dean," I rasp, my professionalism slipping reluctantly yet reliably into place. "We don't have much time."

"Sam won't be back for another half hour or so..." Jensen lets his voice trail off suggestively.

I see that his knuckles are white as he grips the papers.

There's supposed to be confusion on my 'chiseled features.' Right.

I tilt my head before letting out a brief, throaty laugh.

"He may not be the first to find us. Those demons have been tailing us since-"

"Those demons can lick my..." I listen to Dean's descriptive, expletive rant and blush a little, because I'm sure the implication here is that Dean and Cas have already tried much of this stuff in the backseat of the car they're currently sitting in.

Wow.

Jensen finally finishes, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

The jeers from the other cast members aren't helping.

We don't get much farther into the script before Sebastian pipes up with a wisecrack when Sam and Dean discover that a young waitress is actually a demon.

"Her cover is more blown than Dean in the Impala," he winks overtly, and the crude, taunting remarks that ensue are making Jensen positively livid. "Oh that's rich!"

A deep crimson blossoms in his cheeks and he hurls the papers to the floor.

"Fuck this shit, I'm out."

"Oh come on, Jensen," Richard cackles, leaning back in his seat and taking a sip of his beer. "Don't be such a party pooper! Look, bitch all you want but this is the final draft and we're filming the thing next week. Ah, come on; where are you going? You're no fun!"

It is a testament to my unending mercy that I don't go over there and smite Speight right now.

With a huff, I stand and follow Jensen out of the room and up the stairs.

"Wait," I pull on his plaid shirt sleeve just as we reach the door. "Stop."

He does, abruptly, and I almost slam face-first into his broad back.

"Look, Jensen, I know this is hard-"

"You don't know shit."

"Just...listen, would you?"

Jensen wheels around and nails me in place with a glare, taking me aback for a second with flashing, honey and olive heterochromatic irises. I stare at him dumbly for a full five seconds before drawing myself up to my full height and lowering my voice. "Don't you think we should talk about this?"

"There is nothing to talk about," he snaps, clearly hurt and angry and not in the mood for the conversation I know we need to have. But I stand my ground, crossing my arms over my chest.

I'm not any more delighted with our coworkers than he is. Hell, I'd like I have words with Singer myself.
But he's making this whole Destiel thing way harder than it needs to be by being a prickly, humourless ass and ignoring the awkward situation we're in rather than talking it over like adults. I'm sick and tired of him walking away from it all, throwing his little temper tantrums instead of dealing with it like a man.

"Just, stop...stop being so avoidant," I hiss.

"Avoidant?" Jensen blinks at me before shaking his head with a sneer. "I'll show you textbook avoidant; I'm outta here."

And with that, he spins on his heels and barges through the door, leaving me speechless.

***

I don't feel like going back and practicing my lines anymore, so I decide to rejoin Vicki and enjoy the party as much as I possibly can, given the circumstances.

She looks so goddamn attractive in that tight-fitting black number I can't seem to keep my hands off of her.

We dance and drink and converse with the others and dance some more.

I don't even notice the shadows lengthening steadily across the luxurious walls of the dining hall as the party drags on into the late night.

It's getting hard to breathe in here - the fumes of alcohol and sweaty bodies pushed up against each other, mingled with the cacophonous clinking of glasses and boisterous laughter, are making me feel light-headed. And it doesn't help that I'm exhausted from my swim and then my little adventure with Vicki.

I lean down to kiss my wife's ear.

"I'm gonna go upstairs, okay, sweetheart?"

She just grins at me and plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek that tells me she hasn't heard me over the crowd and the drink fogging her mind.