HAPPY STAR WARS DAY !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! in honour of my two biggest and most beloved obsessions i have been writing a sakuatsu star wars au fic and tHE FIRST CHAPTER IS OUT NOW PLS GO READ IT !!!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
it is . set vaguely in the star wars universe so u don't need to be a huge fan to understand it ! we have: enemies to friends to lovers, imperial defector!omi, thief and bastard!atsumu, slow burn and basically every single side character u could ever think of it is my baby and i love it
there's even a fic playlist !!! link: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3NEDrWKDOfKCMgpBZa7ui8?si=094854ab56204f48&nd=1
OKAYSS thanks 4 putting up w my shameless self promo n hav a swag ass may 4th :DD
I hope I'm not just a mutual to you, but someone you want to bring up in irl conversation so you have to awkwardly and cryptically say "my friend..." and refuse to elaborate on my origins or the origins of our friendships
the “bad guys” in hallmark movies end up always being the most respectful men ever.
because they will find out their girlfriend of 3 years (that they were about to propose to) went off to a random farm in minnesota, hours away from were the two of them built a life together, and she decided to just… stay there without even consulting him.
and then he decides to take a trip to make sure she’s okay, because this is generally alarming behavior, and then sees that she literally fell in love with her ex within one (1) week- and he wasn’t there, but you can TELL that they’ve made out a couple times.
and then she just strings him along for a few days, until fucking christmas eve, when she just breaks up with him and is like “i know we used to have the same values, but i’ve never loved you. mark makes me happier than you ever did. and you ONLY care about work, whereas i like christmas and fun, like a Good Person.”
and then, after finding out his entire relationship was a lie and he had his life turned upside down in a week and he got dumped on christmas, this guy’s just like “ok yeah that makes sense. i only wish you the best of happiness with mark. i hope you guys build a great life together in christmastreefarmville. thank you for everything.”
An AU where two Hallmark Christmas Bad Guys are both getting flights back to New York after being dumped by their respective Smalltown Blonde Girlfriends, and they bond over their shared experiences and fall in love in the departures lounge
Probably he is still in shock. Right? He looks out of his taxi window (it's not technically a taxi, just some guy named Corey who offered him a ride to the airport, because Uber doesn't operate in fucking Tinyville, Bumfuck Middle-Of-Nowhere, Utah) and tracks water droplets racing each other down the glass, because of course it's raining, and his bad knee is killing him.
Levi sniffs and rubs at his eyes and then pulls out his phone and books a ticket back to New York, wincing as four hundred and twenty-six dollars are deducted from his bank account.
And, like, he should definitely be more upset.
He just got broken up with. He was engaged, for God's sake. A four-year relationship… over. Just like that.
Corey says, "Ten minutes to the station."
Probably he'll be more upset once he's home. When he starts packing up Anika's stuff into boxes so she can come collect them after New Year's. He'll have to do all that processing and he'll put away all the pictures that are up and probably he'll remember all the good times they had together and flashes of their relationship will play out in slow motion in his mind. Like a movie montage.
Levi catches his reflection in the passenger side window and starts, pulling his thumb out of his mouth. He hadn't even noticed he'd started biting the nail.
Corey drops him off at the train station and he books a ticket to Salt Lake City and Levi wants to tip him for the ride but when he turns back the car's gone, and it's started snowing again.
He re-wraps his scarf so it covers his ears and turns back. He has to jog—ow ow ow—to catch his train.
Once arrived at the airport, Levi's gotten over being baffled and has started being mildly pissed.
You're obsessed with work, Anika told him. You barely make time for us anymore. Yeah, he'd had to pull some long hours for the last few months, but for good reason—he'd been working towards a huge promotion and a raise and he thought she'd be happy for him.
He'd gotten the promotion, by the way. Editor in chief. He'd tried calling her first, a whole bunch of times, and then she hadn't picked up, so he'd decided Well, fuck it, and flew out to Doodootown, Utah to break the news himself.
He thought it would be nice. Spend the few remaining days before Christmas with Anika and her family in their hometown, then flying back home for Christmas and New Year's and starting 2023 off with renewed vigour and excitement.
Then, of course, Anika told him that she wouldn't be flying back with him for Christmas. Or at all.
Which, well. Okay.
She didn't even congratulate him.
He checks in, and the lady at the desk asks him whether he wants to drop off his carry-on luggage for free, since the plane is very full, and Levi shrugs and says okay and watches his suitcase disappear behind black rubber flaps.
His flight leaves in four hours.
Levi decides to pay the extra fee so he can stay in the fancy lounge, because he thinks he probably deserves that at this point. It's quiet here, though, so he orders a tea and claims a table over by the window, stretching out his right leg with a contented sigh.
There's an empty table in front of him, but at the next one sits a man who looks so miserable it's impressive.
The man is slouched in his chair, dark hair mussed and suit a little ruffled. The cuffs of his slacks are damp, and so are his knees. He's leaning his head against the window, eyes closed, holding a bloody tissue to his nose. A purple bruise is starting to form on his cheekbone.
Levi stares.
Damn. And he thought he was having a rough day.
Should he say something? Probably not, right. Like, that would be weird, right?
Then he notices the small, black velvet ring box the man is fiddling with and it's like all the air's punched right out of his lungs.
Damn.
Levi looks down and takes a sip of his tea, then hisses and curses under his breath because it's still way too hot and he's an idiot.
When he looks up again, the man is eyeing him with mild amusement.
And there are a hundred thousand ways that Levi could have handled the situation, but before he can think about ways to not embarrass himself further he hears himself say, "Ouch. Haha."
Somebody please shoot him.
The man raises an eyebrow. Levi gives an awkward cough, then takes another sip of tea and somehow feels betrayed when it burns his tongue again.
"Maybe you should give it a second," the man says.
"Maybe," Levi says, "I should." His ears are burning.
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas plays over the speakers.
Levi desperately wants to ask about the ring box. And the bloody nose. And whether there's a correlation. But then again it is so definitely not his business, so he just stares down at his tea and watches steam rise.
There's a sharp sigh from across the table. "She said no."
Levi's head snaps up, ready to defend himself, because it's not like he actually asked, but then the guy looks so tired and bitter that he immediately deflates and feels both like an asshole and an idiot.
"I'm sorry," he offers, which still feels lame but better than whatever he had going on before.
The guy gives a wry smile. "Gonna, you know. Return this. She, uh, said no to the whole relationship. So."
Ah.
"I'm sorry," he says, running a hand over his face, "I don't mean to dump all this on you."
"Oh, no, it's okay," Levi says quickly, and then before he can think about it too much, he adds, "I get it."
The other guy looks immediately doubtful.
Levi bites the inside of his cheek. "Four years," he says with a shrug. "Engaged and everything." He gives a thumbs down and blows a raspberry.
"Aw, shit, dude," he says, sitting up straight. He removes the tissue from his face, and seeing as he's no longer bleeding, stuffs it in his pocket. "That sucks."
Levi shrugs again, suddenly weirdly self-conscious. He traces the rim of his teacup with a finger. "Yeah, well. I didn't get beat up about it." There's a moment of silence, then he sneaks another glance. "Levi, by the way."
A corner of the guy's mouth twitches. "Xavier Ortega."
Levi gives a half-hearted salute. "Fuckin', enchanté. Or whatever."
Again, Xavier almost smiles. Levi thinks—Levi thinks he'd like to see Xavier smile. Properly.
And then he thinks, What.
No, he's just—Xavier just looks like he could do with a cheer-up. That's it. And, well, so could he, really. They're both in similar boats. Although it looks like Xavier got the shorter end of the straw here, Levi thinks, considering his ruined suit and, you know, face. Still a nice face, though. Symmetrical. Strong cheekbones. Dark eyebrows over dark eyes and a straight nose and—whatever.
Whatever.
He just got broken up with.
God, why's he trying to justify this to himself? Why is he feeling weird about this? He's not even gay. And even if he—even if he was, it's not gay to acknowledge that a guy is good-looking.
But, like, it's fine. He's not—whatever.
Xavier has a split lip, he notices now that the tissue's not hiding half his face. "Got you good, huh?"
Xavier rolls his eyes. He looks away for a moment, hesitating, then stands up and pulls the chair from the table between them, spinning it around and flopping back down at Levi's table.
Levi thinks he must look quite surprised, because Xavier says, "I mean, this is easier for conversation purposes. Unless you're fine with the yelling across tables situation—"
"No, no," Levi protests. "No, you're right, this is—easier." He clears his throat and says, "So, what was her name?" before mentally kicking himself, but Xavier just looks at him weird.
"Well, her name is Chloe. We just broke up, she didn't die."
Levi nods, puckering his lips. Right, yeah. Yes. "Is she… nice?"
"Well, she cheated on me."
"Ha," Levi says with no humour. "Samesies."
Xavier lets out a dry chuckle at this, then rubs at his eyes. "Wow. Happy Christmas to us, right?"
Levi raises his teacup and gives a ghost toast. "Merry Christmas to us." He downs his tea, which is at a palatable temperature now, then says, "Do you want a drink?"
-
So Chloe and Xavier had been together for almost five years. The whole story is… disturbingly similar to Levi's whole deal, actually. Chloe decides, two weeks before Christmas, to take a trip back to her hometown, gets pissed when Xavier can't just take ten days off work to come with her, goes anyway on her sister's advice, meets up with her childhood nemesis who turns out not to be so bad after all and also cleaned up unfair nice, and then when Xavier went after her because hey, she hadn't been answering his texts and he was planning to pop the question over the holidays, she decided to dump him.
"She looked me in the face," Xavier says, head in hands, "and told me she was happier there than she'd ever been with me." He looks up and runs his fingers through his hair. "And I mean, sure, we'd had our rough patches, but, you know. We were gonna work it out."
Levi hums. "Yeah, no. I get it."
"So I said, Are you fucking serious right now, and I guess I raised my voice a bit, and then Mr Goddamn Farm Guy comes storming out and squares up to me and I don't even know who this dude is, and I tell him to get out of my face, and he fucking decks me. Like, completely unprompted."
"Rough," Levi says solemnly.
"Yeah," Xavier says, exasperated. "And he didn't even apologise."
Levi whistles low. It's quiet for a moment while they both nurse their drinks, then Xavier vaguely gestures at him and says, "So what's your Christmas Tragedy?"
Levi gives a lopsided grin. "Well. Anika goes home to Middle Of Nowhere, Utah, 'cause she said she wasn't feeling great. Wants me to go with her, I can't 'cause I'm pulling long hours for an upcoming promotion, she's pissed. When she gets back there she rekindles things with her ex—"
"Augh," Xavier says. "Brutal."
"—and last I heard the plan was for them to start a combination bakery and tearoom together. So." Levi grits his teeth. "Hope that works out for them."
Xavier looks at him over his glass, then, after a moment of careful silence, says, "You're allowed to be mad at her, you know."
"Fuck her," Levi says immediately. "Like, seriously. Why even get engaged to me if she was so miserable? Just break up with me instead of, fuckin', cheating, and then acting like I'm insane for going to check on her after she just ignores all my calls and texts and goddamn emails. We were going to get married in February, for fuck's sake. Fuck her." He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes til he sees stars.
There it is. The upset. Figures that it's the saying it out loud that really drives home how betrayed Levi feels. Especially when he's talking to someone whom he doesn't have to explain it to, because Xavier gets it. Xavier gets it better than anyone ever will, probably.
It's not quite the movie montage Levi had been preparing for. Rather, what Levi remembers now are all the moments that Anika said things that cut, or did things that bruised. How she'd roll her eyes when Levi got so excited he got the wiggles. How she refused to entertain the idea of getting a dog, even after he begged. How she'd get annoyed with him when his knee acted up and told him to suck it up and stop being such a crybaby. How she'd give him the cold shoulder when she was upset with him and he couldn't read her mind about it and let it build until she exploded out of nowhere.
Little things that didn't seem like such a big deal in the time, but that added up to something like a balm for the sharp sting of betrayal.
Because that's what it is, at its core. That's why Levi is angry.
More betrayal than heartbreak.
And even though it will hurt for a while still, there's something that tastes oddly like relief at the centre of his chest, cool and welcome like a breeze on a suffocating July afternoon.
Xavier stays silent. After a moment Levi blinks hard and opens his eyes and finds Xavier looking at him strangely.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "Fuck 'em."
Levi's stomach squeezes.
He glances wildly around, trying to find anything to look at that isn't Xavier's face, and settles for the screen hanging from the ceiling that displays flight information.
"Oh, look at that," he says. "I should get to my gate."
"Right," Xavier agrees quickly. "Yeah, of course, so should I." He picks up his leather briefcase. "Where are you going, by the way?"
Levi laughs. "How wild would it be if we were on the same flight, huh?" He stands up and winces, ignoring Xavier's questioning look. "New York City. The 9:15. You?"
They make their way over to gate B9 mostly in silence, a general air of What the fuck is happening hanging between them. Not quite uncomfortable, but definitely baffled.
"So this is weird, right," Levi says, dropping into a boarding zone chair. "Like, really weird."
"Right," Xavier says softly. Then, eyes trained on the huge Christmas tree and determinedly not looking at Levi, he adds, "Cool, though."
Levi is—Levi is a little speechless. "Yeah." He feels kind of floaty. He can't stop looking at Xavier's ears, because the tips have gone red. "Yeah. Pretty cool."
God. Fuck.
-
Their seats aren't next to each other, because that would have been crossing the line from freaky coincidence into absolutely fucking insane, but Levi pulls some strings and switches seats with the nice lady who’s next to Xavier, because it’s an exit row seat with more leg room and he has a bad knee. He tries not to look too pleased with himself as he sits down.
Xavier gives him a look. “So do you actually have a bad knee, or…”
Levi slaps a scandalised hand to his chest. “I can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing. You think I’d lie about being disabled?”
“I don’t know you that well.”
“And here I thought we had something.” Levi sighs. “I broke my kneecap when I was a teenager. Never healed right.”
“Ah. Sports? Don’t tell me you were a football kid.”
Levi doesn’t know why he feels suddenly bashful. He always feels kind of stupid telling people how he got his injury; the reactions usually range somewhere between mild disapproval and straight up judgment. “Uh, no. Parkour. Actually.”
Xavier’s eyebrows vanish into his hairline.
After a moment of questioning silence, Levi shrugs. “I misjudged the distance between ledges. Fractured my kneecap. But I was stupid and an idiot, also, so I didn’t wait for it to fully heal before going back out, and now I am a human weather antennae.”
“Huh.” Levi would say Xavier looks almost impressed. Mostly sort of exasperated, though. “You know what, now that you say it, I feel like that checks out.”
Levi narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know, maybe you look like the type who would break his kneecap doing parkour.”
“And what kind of type is that?” Levi is halfway to miffed and sort of offended, but then Xavier grins wide and he forgets to be annoyed.
“You tell me.”
It sounds too much like an invitation to be a coincidence.
Levi can’t remember the last time he spent so many hours talking uninterrupted. Or, well, talking to someone who was actually listening to him and actively engaging in conversation. Someone who was interested in him.
Levi can’t remember the last time he enjoyed talking to someone this much.
He cracks a joke that makes Xavier laugh softly, and the noise goes straight through his spinal cord like an electric shock, and then it becomes a game, a challenge, trying to make Xavier laugh like that again.
Xavier shows him pictures of his dog, a wonderfully fluffy brown-and-grey mutt named Captain, and Levi thinks he might actually pass away over how cute he is.
“I always wanted a dog,” he says after cooing over a picture of Captain showing his belly for ten minutes. “Like, really bad. I want a dog so bad. But Anika doesn’t, so it never happened.”
“Well,” Xavier says loftily, “Nothing’s stopping you now, is there?”
That is an excellent point. Levi tells him so.
Then he starts thinking about how nice it will be to have the apartment to himself for a while, and then he feels guilty for being relieved about it, about Anika not being there, and then he ponders how weird it’ll be to be alone for Christmas.
Levi's never been alone for Christmas before.
His family lives in Alberta, and he can't really afford another short notice round flight, and anyway the plan this year had been just him and Anika, and they'd had a reservation for brunch on Christmas day, and Levi thinks he should probably cancel that, and that's just a fucking bummer.
After a moment of thinky silence, Levi quietly asks, "What are you gonna do for Christmas?"
Xavier blows out a long breath. "I don't know. I think I'll try to see my sisters. They live a state over, though, and it's all very last minute, I—we—were supposed to spend it at Chloe's, and I'm not big on Christmas celebrations myself, you know, my family's culturally Jewish, so… I'm not sure."
Most of the rest of the flight is quiet, and a little sad, but also nice, and when the seatbelt light flicks on and the crew announces the imminent descent Levi can't help but feel a pang of disappointment.
The plane lands. Impatience in the cabin spikes; everyone wants to get home, it's the holidays, it's cold. Levi gets up and winces, catches Xavier's eye as he reaches for his bag and hands it to him.
Xavier is gonna call a cab. Levi is as well.
They're standing outside.
Levi shoves his hands in his pockets.
"Well," Xavier says.
"Right."
"It was nice meeting you, Levi. The circumstances were… less than ideal, maybe, but…"
Levi looks at him. A purple bruise is blossoming on his cheekbone, crawling up around his eye. The tip of his nose is red from the cold. His eyes are dark but if he pays very close attention he can tell where the iris ends and the pupil begins.
And okay. Okay.
He might be a little gay.
"But nice," he whispers.
Xavier smiles, looks down. Is it—would it be totally weird to ask for his number?
But then Xavier's cab is there, and he tips an imaginary hat at Levi before turning away. He hands the driver his luggage.
The sharp stab of panic between his ribs takes Levi totally by surprise. As does the fact that when he blinks he's closed the distance between him and the cab and is holding onto the door.
Xavier looks at him, eyebrows raised.
Levi didn't plan this far ahead, or at all. He blinks, feeling rather sheepish, then when Xavier's eyebrows start disappearing into his hairline he blusters, all at once, "So I have a brunch reservation. On Christmas Day. I was, you know, supposed to go with Anika, but, you know. And it would suck to have to cancel. And it doesn't have to be weird, or anything, we're just two guys being dudes, getting brunch." He snaps his mouth shut, absolutely horrified. What the fuck was that?
Xavier's mouth parts a little.
God. Shitballs. Fuck. Abort. "But that would be weird, right? You know what, never mind, it's fine, forget I said anything, it's—"
"Levi," Xavier says, exasperated. He covers his face with his hands. Then he says, muffled, "Yeah, okay. That sounds nice. I'd like that."
Oh.
"Are you—are you sure?"
He must sound really incredulous, because Xavier snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Slowly, Levi grins. "Okay."
"Okay." They stand there for a moment, and then Xavier's eyes go wide and he says, "Wait, I should—hold on." He digs in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, hesitates, then pulls out a small rectangular object and holds it out.
Levi's grin goes lopsided. "Xavier Ortega. Are you handing me your business card right now?"
To his credit, Xavier looks away sheepishly. "My phone number's on there."
Levi accepts the card, hoping passionately that Xavier doesn't notice his hand is shaking. "Okay. I'll text you, then."
"Okay," Xavier says. Then, tentatively, "See you soon, then?"
Levi takes a deep breath and steps back, cheeks burning, and probably not just because of the bite of winter chill. Something in his stomach twinges, and he says, "Yeah. See you soon."
HELLO TUMBLR IT IS HERE!!!!! the silly summary ppt i made for my sakuatsu star wars au fic !!! read for an outline of the plot, characters tropes and more and get excited bc chapter 1 might b coming soon.... <3
Ship dynamics are always like Sunshine and Sunshine protector~ Cinnamon roll and their grumpy one 🤗 Well what about 2 cunts. They're both cunts and that's the dynamic. cunt4cunt.
For the @narcosfandomdiscord's monthlong event, ft prompt #9 from Book of Fateful Conversations:
“You'd be surprised what you can live with.”
Warnings: Moral dilemma/mental breakdown discussing the ethics of various murders/violent events in canon, language, general angst no comfort
Word count: 3.1k
A/N: I wanted Peña to suffer. So he does.
AO3 link:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
- fic under the cut -
The air weighed more heavily in Colombia.
They all knew it; it was undeniable once you’d been here long enough. Something about this place seemed to chip away at everyone who got rotated down here; slowly, like a repeating, nagging thought that wormed its way way into your brain. After long enough, it became background noise in amongst the chaos, almost quiet enough to ignore. Almost. But it was something Javier couldn’t ever truly hope to escape, especially tonight, especially after what he’d seen today.
Carrillo being back felt odd enough as it was. It felt like so much had happened since he’d been posted to Spain, and yet it had only been a year. Time seemed to move differently in this job. Days dragged on, and months blurred into one. And then, out of the blue, he was back, in all his sharp-jawed, sharp-tongued glory, a figure of hope.
But the man sitting before him now, still at his desk despite the imposing darkness outside, accompanied only by a dim lamp and a stack of files, was not the same man he’d watched leave a year ago. The last of his warmth had been worn away somewhere in the times between, leaving the concept of Carrillo behind rather than the man himself, a specter who seemed to haunt the base. An unstoppable, unfazable husk of himself, who only knew revenge, who didn’t seem to have an interest in finding another purpose outside of that. Or maybe he’d always been like this, and Javier had let himself forget, had filled in the gaps when he was alone with something more than what he actually was.
“You’re awake late,” He commented, snapping Javier out of his own thoughts. He hadn’t looked up from his file, eyes still scanning it meticulously. His Spanish sounded a little different; not enough for most to notice, but enough to set Javier on edge.
“Is it any wonder?” Javier wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing, coming here. But he’d been restless and sleepless for too many hours, and his aimless wandering through the halls of the Carlos Holguin military base had led him here. Maybe not so aimless, after all.
Carrillo finally looked up, holding Javier’s gaze. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft while I’ve been gone.”
Javier hadn’t thought so; everything here seemed to harden his skin more and more, to the point he often wondered if he would ever able to go back to what he was before. But what he’d seen today was different even to all of that. It scared him, and very little scared him nowadays.
“The kid,” He said, switching back to English, as if that would put any distance between him and the night’s events. “Was there any need to pull that shit?”
Carrillo stood up, slowly making his way around the desk. He wasn’t tall, but his presence seemed looming in the half-light. “And when he kills our children, our neighbors, our brothers and our lovers? Tonight was a small price to pay to get to him.”
“He was just a kid.”
“So are his victims,” Carrillo said simply, as if any of this was ever simple. “He was old enough to know better. If Pablo loses his spotter network, we have an advantage. If he’s rattled, he’ll make mistakes. We have to show him we have the upper hand this time around, or we end up in the shit like we did last time with La Catedral.”
Javier couldn’t bring himself to understand that reasoning, no matter how he tried. He wanted to take down Escobar more than anything, but something about this felt wrong. Like they were no better than he was.
“And you can live with the cost of that?” He asked plainly.
Carrillo paused for a second. A single beam of moonlight was streaming in through the window, hitting his cheekbone and trailing down his cheek and neck. The light didn’t reach his eyes.
“You’d be surprised what you can live with.”
“Another bomb in Medellín; this morning, at 10:40am, a car packed with explosives detonated, killing 10 and injuring dozens. The paramilitary group, Los Pepes, have claimed responsibility for this, reportedly targeting one of Pablo Escobar’s businesses in the area. This will be their third attack this month. More to follow at 9.”
Time really was a funny, fickle thing, more and more so with each day that passed Javier by. He’d lived lifetimes in the last few months, and it was starting to show in the way the bags under his eyes had become a feature, and how the crinkles in his forehead never seemed to leave anymore, even when he relaxed his face. It was all starting to wear on him.
Footsteps echoed against the concrete behind him, a long, lanky shadow stretching out across the step as the person approached. Javier kept smoking, not bothering to look up and see who it was.
“Can I join you?” Steve asked pointlessly, already lowering himself down to sit down.
Javier waved him over noncommittally, still staring out across the sports field. He could see Steve’s lighter burst to life beside him, the orange light reflecting off both their faces before dying and plunging them into the darkness of the twilight again. A cloud of smoke drifted past Javier’s face.
“So…” Steve started, coughing a little as he leaned back.
“So.”
“How’s it going?”
Javier could’ve laughed. They both knew full well how it was going. “We both eat, shit, sleep and breathe in the same goddamn building, Murphy.”
Steve sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette. He seemed to really think about it, brows furrowed even after he exhaled, watching the smoke catch the dim lights from the building behind them as it twisted and flailed through the air. “They’re starting to ask more questions, Javi.”
Javier didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. He mostly wished Steve hadn’t asked it in the first place.
“Well, good luck to them.”
Steve shot him this look, somewhere between concern and disapproval. Javier wished he could unsee it, wished he could go back to smoking in the dwindling light by himself, uninterrupted.
“Why did you get involved?” Steve was still watching Javier. He wasn’t sure he would stand up long under the scrutiny.
“You want to win as much as I do,” Javier said simply, flicking his cigarette as if the issue didn’t bother him in the slightest. As if neither of them knew the toll this place was having on them both. “And I was left with no other choice. Someone had to take the fall. At least this way, I can try and keep it under control.”
Steve laughed, a bitter, twisted sound. “You call this control?”
“Don’t act like you’re doing any better.”
“I’m fighting for justice,” Steve insisted.
Javier curled up his lip into a half-sneer, finally making eye contact with Steve. “You and I both know we’re past that point now.”
As much as it hurt to say it out loud, it was true. He’d watched the humanity slowly drain from his partner with each year they chased down Escobar, with each dead sicario and police officer alike, with every step that only left them further away from an end to the madness. The once-naïve newbie was long gone, and a brazen murderer had taken his place. It was nothing more than the nature of the game they were in now. It didn’t matter whether it was with a badge and gun or an envelope under a table. They’d both signed away their souls long ago. Both of them were running out of room on their mental list of loved ones lost in the crossfire. And with Carrillo gone, the only one who’d seemed able to handle any of this, there was nothing left to do but push forward to fill that hole. They both knew that.
Steve finally slumped back down into a hunched-over position, giving up. “When it’s over, it’s over. Just don’t get yourself into too much shit in the meantime.”
“When it’s over, we have to go back,” Javier reminded him, having to force the words out. It was a truth better left unacknowledged most of the time. “And we have to live with what we’ve seen and what we’ve done down here.”
“You’d be surprised what you can live with once the victory’s under your belt,” Steve said, exhaling slowly. “I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing he’s dead.”
Javier just stared at him, breath catching in his throat. All at once, he was back in Carrillo’s office, staring down a man he didn’t recognize anymore, sick to his stomach and homesick for a place he wasn’t sure was real. He’d since become the very same husk he’d condemned that night; hunting a win at all costs, reasoning his way out of a black hole of his own making. And to compound the problem, he’d managed to drag Steve down here with him, too. Steve, who’d come into the country with a wife, a lopsided, optimistic grin and a dream, and would leave it bloody, scarred and haunted. Steve, who had fallen apart once already and had put himself back together wrong.
Javier couldn’t bear to see him like that. He’d helped pull him out of his alcohol-fuelled spiral, only to help him wade deeper into the bloodbath Javier now called home. Now, neither of them could return.
“I think it’s too late for that,” Javier said slowly. “I’m not sure any of this is living.”
“What else would you call it?” Steve stubbed his cigarette into the step, getting up. “There’s only so much I can do. I’m sorry. You got yourself into this mess.”
It was like he couldn’t hear Javier, like nothing he said could ever translate properly across the gap between them. Javier didn’t bother to keep trying to make himself understood. He just nodded. He knew their paths had diverged beyond repair. Whatever had been before, when Steve had felt like the only person he trusted, the only one who could’ve ever hoped to understand, was no more. Something like this was bound to change them. He never should’ve expected anything else.
Steve patted him on the back, the contact brief and jolting before he disappeared down the pathway and back into the building somewhere. Javier kept his eyes fixed on the horizon, on the view that had become more familiar than his own two hands recently, and wondered absently if he really could find a way to live when it was all over, not moving from his spot until his hands had started to go numb from the cold and his cigarette had all but dissolved in his grip.
Washington DC had never felt as gray as it did tonight, as Javier sat in some nameless, soulless bar alone, sipping on his whiskey as everyone around him watched the football match, cheering and shouting with more energy than was necessary for such a small space. The board meeting tomorrow was hanging over his head like an axe ready to fall. At best, he’d be assigned to some windowless filing cabinet for the rest of his years. At worst, he’d fucked up beyond repair. Not knowing only made it all worse.
“Hey, can you put on the news?” Some guy shouted across the bar, leaning far too far over into the bartender’s personal space. “Just until halftime is over.”
The bartender grabbed the remote, the little screen in the corner of the room flickering as it jumped to the weatherman in front of his map, discussing cold fronts and rain levels. Javier turned back to his drink, the chatter once again fading back to background noise. He’d probably have to go back to Texas. He wondered what his family would have to say about all this; nothing good, he imagined.
“…And this just in, the infamous Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar was fatally shot in a gunfight with the Colombian National Police mere minutes ago-”
Javier choked, coughing uncontrollably and missing most of the rest of what was being said, the whiskey burning at the back of his throat and nose. Through the blurry haze of tears, he could see videos and pictures of his body being carried away. Pablo Escobar, right there on the tiny screen in this bar, beard scraggly and grown out, gut hanging out of his shirt, covered in blood and unmoving. He was pretty sure the other people around him were cheering, but he couldn’t be sure, feeling just a little like he was spinning away from his own body. A single glimpse of him propped up on a rooftop, surrounded by smiling policemen with guns slung over their shoulders, flashed past before the images continued coming. Javier froze. He could’ve sworn he recognized the red polo stood on his right.
Abandoning the final few sips of his whiskey, he was throwing on his jacket and running out of the bar before he could even think properly, the image of Escobar’s dead body held aloft by his colleagues burned into the back of his eyes, flashing across his vision with every step he took as he ran through the street, past flickering neon signs and lit-up shopfronts to the payphone down a dark alley nearby. He fumbled to insert as many quarters as he could scrounge from his jacket pocket, and was dialing the number before he could really consider it, before he could doubt himself and change his mind.
“Hello?”
Just hearing that voice was enough to overwhelm him. It hadn’t exactly been long since he’d left, but the longer he was here, the worse the ever-present ache in his side seemed to get, tugging away at him like a loose thread ready to unravel him entirely.
“Hey, it’s me,” Javier said, keeping his tone as even and cool as possible. The sound seemed almost alien to him.
“Javi!” Steve said, with all the affection of someone Javier had thought was long lost to him. It broke his heart to hear it.
“I saw the news.”
“Yeah,” Steve said simply. The tinny echo of cheering was just about audible across the line, maybe from around him. “I’m still on the roof.”
Fuck. Javier could barely believe it was real; he was half-expecting for him to wake up any minute in his hard, cold hotel bed, and for all of this to have been a dream. The floor seemed to list and sway underfoot.
“Congrats, Murphy.” He couldn’t find anything else to say.
It felt bizarre to even consider a victory. They’d been fighting for years, every day a slow trudge towards a goal that never seemed within reach, a permanent stasis, a never-ending loop of fighting and losing. And just like that, it was over on a random Thursday, with a single bang, and then silence. Everything they’d built, everything they’d sacrificed, leading to just one moment that was over and done already.
“You should’ve been here, man,” Steve said quietly.
Javier could feel his throat closing up. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really left, mentally. Home didn’t feel like home anymore. He ached for what had been, but could barely breathe when he had been there. It all felt turned on its head.
“They better give you a medal,” is what he said instead, voice heavy and choked. If Steve noticed, he was gracious enough to not mention it.
“Fucking right, they better.” He laughed.
“What now?” Javier asked. He wasn’t sure it was the right question to ask. He just needed to know what this meant for them, when their entire purposes had become nothing more than defeating Escobar and living to see another day. He didn’t have his own answers.
“I’m going home. Gonna try and patch things up with Connie, see Olivia again.” Steve sighed. “It went too far. I went too far. I just want things to go back to the way they were before now.”
Javier could barely remember a before. He’d seen too much, done too much, dragged his way through a drug war by sheer force alone and barely come out the other side intact. There was no way back through something like that. And yet Steve was moving forward while he was stuck, tethered to a phone box in the dark, the world racing past him at a terrifying speed whether he liked it or not.
“I hope it goes well.”
And he meant it. Even if it cut deep into him to say it.
“Thanks. Hey, look, I better go. Trujillo is calling me back. Look after yourself, yeah?”
Javier nodded, as if Steve could see through the phone and the distance between them, and the line went dead. Just like that, that was it. He hung up the phone slowly, feeling like his body was thousands of miles away, head foggy as he tucked his hands into his pockets and started the slow walk back to his empty hotel room like nothing had ever even happened.
He got ready for bed in silence, hands moving on autopilot as he washed his face and brushed his teeth, brain still stuck on the image of a man and an empire felled all at once, bloody and battered and mortal at the end of it all. It stayed with him even as he lay awake, wondering how the fuck he’d got here, how he’d lost those years of his life in the blink of an eye. How they all seemed so squandered now it was over. Because, at the end of the day, when Escobar’s coffin would be carried through the city to the spot where it would lie forever, surrounded by flowers and security personnel alike, it would be broadcast to the whole world what a fucked up job they’d done. The deep scars they’d left behind, marring both the country and their own lives, would only serve as a reminder of the great sacrifice this victory had cost for years to come.
But, regardless of the choices made and never-ending list of things lost along the way, everyone who’d got tangled up in this mess would keep going. What other choice did they have, did he have? The only way past this was to keep moving through life, hiding the devil he’d become during his time there in the walls, sweeping his past mistakes and the lives they had cost under the rug. He’d live with the weight of it all, with having to look into those two tortured eyes that stared back at him in the mirror in the dark, haunted with the knowledge that there was more to the story than what he would end up carefully piecing together to tell at parties. That was all there was left to do.
He did not dream. When he woke up again, it was still dark.
