A/N: This is very short, sorry, but I am going to post another chapter today. I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far, and don't worry we are heading for Destiel. :-)

Spanner:

SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPSNPSNSPNPSNSPNSPNSPSPNSP NSPSNPSNSPN

Paul turned the key on his apartment door and pulled out his ear buds. He wiped his forehead with his tee, kicked off his Nikes, and headed to his kitchenette for a bottle of cold water. The endorphins were still pumping. Five miles in thirty two minutes, not bad, but not his personal best.

His cell was resting on his worktop between his empty coffee mug and cereal bowl. The little light on the side was flashing. He flipped it open; one voicemail and one e-mail.

He brought the voicemail up on speaker as he chugged back the cool liquid. It was Carlos reminding him that it was his turn to stop at Starbucks before their shift started.

He walked the few paces to the bathroom and turned on the shower faucet while he brought up the e-mail.

Leslie.

He sank down on the toilet and flipped the cell closed.

Why now? Nothing for weeks; not since the musical e-card for his birthday.

He stood and turned off the water and took a moment in the dispersing steam to compose himself.

He reminded himself that he had run into burning buildings and faced the might of the Iraqi army. He could read an e-mail.

He tipped the screen with his finger.

"Hi Paul, I'm back in Kansas. I am staying with my sister Leanne in Junction City. I would have come to you but I thought you would like a warning, a hello, or a chance to refuse. Do you think we could meet? Maybe Paul? I tried your cell but the number was disconnected. Are you still in the apartment? Would you open the door if I showed up? Would you like to come to Leanne and Gary's place? For Sunday dinner? Or is that too much, a crowd? We could meet in Salsa Verdi in Salina. You always loved their carbonara. My head is in a good place. Better now. I couldn't deal, well you know. I'm clean now. Seven months and three days and counting. I'm sorry, Budgie. Please allow me to say it to your face. I still love you. Leslie-bear."

Paul crammed the cell into the laundry hamper. Geez, he knew Leslie had it hard. His parents had turned their back on him and his 'homosexual lifestyle'. When they died suddenly and Leslie found he had been written out of their will, he had lost it. Gone off the rails. Paul had been there for every minute of it. His loving support had not been enough, and on the day he brought Leslie home from rehab, his partner had announced he needed time and space to find himself.

Weeks upon weeks of acting on autopilot had followed. Endless days of waiting for his life partner to walk back through the door. He hadn't allowed himself to feel anything until recently, until Dean with his bright smile, soul filled eyes and comfort with taking things slow.

He would meet Leslie. He had to meet him. He couldn't turn him away. He needed to know if it was true. Would Leslie look fit and handsome as Paul preferred to imagine him, or would he see the shaking greasy haired wreck who Paul had checked into rehab during their spiral downwards?

He retrieved his phone from between the old towels, and typed up a brief reply. "Salsa Verdi, 8pm, Thursday."

He gulped air and promised himself that if he looked out his window on Thursday evening and saw Dean's black beast of a car, he would message Leslie and rain check. In that scenario, Leslie could have a dose of his own medicine and wait for Paul.

Lord, he wished Dean was not away on a job. He could talk to Dean about this. He knew the other man would not be jealous. Dean was carrying his own torch for his special someone to come back into his life.

Swinging by Starbucks, Paul ducked into St Michael and All Angels. Frigging Gillian and her God-complex were getting under his skin. She didn't have to know that he lit some candles commending Leslie's sobriety, Dean's safety and his own heart into the Lord's care.