Nonblack leftists and activists of colour should do better than to co-opt the terminology created from Black social justice movements. We shouldn't be moving "Rest in Power" away from its original intent. Is it impossible to highlight injustices happening in our communities (and countries) without disrespecting Black people?
Same with “Say her name” that was for Sandra Bland and all the other black women who were murdered by cops and never got the proper attention they deserved and I’ve gotten into arguments with people on this site because they think “Say her name” is for domestic violence or women killed by men when it’s not. Got into a fight with someone because the used Say Her Name for that woman who was killed by her welder co worker because they’re under the false impression that it was for “all women”
They’re currently doing it with that “Because I love you” art piece to highlight abuse in the black community, mainly children who were beaten with belts, switches, whatever you shouldn’t hit a child with, and they’re under the reblogs going “Actually this works for all abuse” and just undermined the meaning
And then wonder why we’re hesitant to let them in our communities and share with them.
Summary: When you and your boss get stuck working late at the Embassy, a heated accident makes the two of you realize that maybe some things are worth the risk. Written for @zepskies 5K follower celebration!
Tropes: Little tiny bit of grumpy sunshine, Tiny bit of shy/awkward reader, Boss and Secretary Dynamic, Soft! Javier. Mutual Pining.
Word Count: 4.6K
Warnings: I'm labelling this one as 18+ (just in case)! Sexual situationish? Cursing, Super awkward situation, Make out session, References to sex (there's quite a bit), References to Javi being a tiny bit of a slut *said affectionately* (because we all love him for it), Loverboy! Javi, Accidental Handjob (I don't know what to call it)? Reader is kinda awkward, Reader has anxiety, Reader being a little bit self-deprecating? Reader has a bit of a developed backstory for the fic, Javier being a little bit self-deprecating? Javier might be a little bit OOC.
Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I have never written for Javier before, so please, PLEASE be gentle.
Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.
Main Masterlist
A/N: Alright Alex, happy 5k! This one rolled out of me due to the very, VERY inspirational gif that you sent me (still can't look at it for too long without stroking out 🤣). I'll have to return the favor someday 😈 But to everyone else, this one is really just something silly that was living rent free in my head so enjoy!
There is something magical about rain.
The gentle patter against a rooftop like a soothing melody, the racing droplets down a window that you can trace with your fingertips, the distant rumble of thunder over the mountains shaking through the lush green forests, the heady smell of rain that comes moments before a downpour, the flash of lightning that captures the world in shades of black and white- it makes the rest of the world melt away, isolates you to one single place to bask in the enchanting sounds and beauty of it all.
Anything can happen in a thunderstorm.
Of course there are some things that are not magical about rain.
The feeling of the cold droplets slipping below your collar and trickling down your spine, the squish of your soaked socks and shoes when you step into a puddle that was a little deeper than you thought it was, the flash of lightning above your head that is a little too close for comfort followed the deep crack of thunder…
Or when you’re fighting for your life with a stubborn umbrella in a heavy downpour that won’t do the one job it was literally made for and you end up looking like a drowned rat by the time you get to where you were going, and you’re too embarrassed to go in so you just turn to take the walk of shame home, and end up running into your “so sexy it should be a crime” boss.
Not speaking from personal experience or anything…
The raging thunderstorm that pummeled and shook the American Embassy was trying it's best to rival the storm that Noah survived, and was also unfortunately keeping you from your warm bed past midnight on a Tuesday.
An umbrella would have been worthless at this point given that the rain seemed to be coming up from the ground and because your ancient Nova had refused to start this morning and you'd walked to work, you were stuck.
But you didn't mind staying late for one reason:
Javier Peña
The level of crush you had on your boss was shameful, but you hadn't meant for this to happen, honest! He was just, so, so…
Javier sighs where he sits at his desk, leaning back to prop his feet up on the strong metal table top while the muscles of his right arm strain against the sleeve of his orange button up, making your throat constrict.
Sexy.
Which yes, maybe it was a bit of a cliché, a secretary falling in love with her boss that was way out of her league in every single way, but you were.
Sure Javier had a reputation with women. Goodness knows you had heard every single scandalous whisper about his numerous escapades and seen every sultry look from the women who passed by the office hoping to catch a glimpse of your boss hard at work. The same women who told you how lucky you were to work with Javier and how jealous they were of you.
They didn't need to be. You knew for a fact that Javier didn't see you as more than just his secretary.
How you ask? Because of the way he treated you.
You'd seen Javier charming someone back to his apartment- the moves, the smirk, the mischievous glint in his whiskey colored eyes when he knew he had someone on the hook, and the low rumble of his chuckle that made you lose all feeling in your legs. You'd seen the same song and dance at every Christmas, New Years, and whatever other holiday that you were celebrating at the Embassy party.
But around you, Javier was a different man.
Yes he still had the same charm, but he was softer. He genuinely would ask you how your day was going whenever he walked by, listened to you whisper whatever gossip you picked up at the water cooler on the fifth floor or in the break room and laughed with you, suggested places to order lunch from where he knew you would find something too, walked with you to your car when it was late, and whenever he went out with Steve he always brought something back for you, whether it be a nice cup of well-needed coffee or a Cocada from your favorite bakery down the street.
He was a good boss. Anyone would be lucky to work with him.
Plus you'd seen the kind of women he was interested in and you weren't one of them. You weren't confident or outgoing. Sure you'd speak to your boss, Steve, and a few people around the office when you had to, but you were not okay with just striking up a conversation or joining a group mid-sentence because that was like a suicide mission. Plus being as clumsy as you were, you'd probably take a few steps towards the group then eat it on the musty carpets.
And you certainly didn't dress like any of them- well, some of them dressed for their profession and that was okay, but you definitely couldn't imagine wearing anything like that around the office.
Your wardrobe consisted of oversized sweaters, long flowy skirts, and soft dresses that draped rather than squeezed your boobs into submission and didn't prop them up to say "hello." But you wanted to be comfy at work because you were there so many hours during the day and you didn't think that you'd be able to breathe if you wore anything tight when you sat down.
That wasn't to say that you didn't "try" when you were at work, just that your sense of style was more… reserved than the women you saw Javier gravitate towards.
So basically you were trying to not be attracted to your boss, and after three years all your crush had done was triple in size and follow you around like a smelly water buffalo.
Javier sighs again, drawing your gaze up from the stack of notes you were organizing into chronological order for him. His eyes skate over to you, a weary smile twitching at the end of his lips before his attention drops back to the folder perched in his lap.
Everyone else had gone home for the night, and usually by now Javier would have gone too, but he had a meeting with Ambassador Noonan in the morning and was trying to prepare.
Maybe he needs some coffee.
You think to yourself as you rise from your cluttered desk making your way to the small break room two rooms down the corridor, not noticing the way Javier's eyes follow you.
He had told you to go home earlier, told you that he had this handled, but you refused. Javier didn’t understand why you wouldn't go, but he was happy you didn't, because it meant that he got to be with you for just a few more hours than normal. Got to hear your soft sigh as your shuffled through papers, got to see the way your face got that cute scrunch when you were concentrating, and got to smell the bright mist of your citrus perfume whenever you walked by. The same perfume that he had to stop himself from trying to gulp down from the air like a man dying of thirst in the dessert, because the way you smelled was like a drug to him. It made him feel like an addict of the worst kind.
And then also made him feel like the scummiest guy on the planet because he was your boss and shouldn't be having any of those thoughts about you, but he couldn't help it. Not when since the first day he met you, Javier felt his dead heart start to beat again. Not when being in the same room with you was like standing too close to the sun, blinded and filled with so much heat he thought it would all come pouring out of him like molten lava.
Javier Peña had it bad. Steve often teased him about it and Javi shrugged him off, but Javier knew in his heart that there wasn't much he could do to change it.
Because he wanted more, but he knew that he shouldn't.
You busy yourself with the steps of making coffee. Measuring out the grounds, filling the pot with water, etc. And when you have two mugs filled to the brim with the elixir of life, you turn to go back to the office.
Unfortunately what you didn't know is that Javier came to see what you were doing, and at the exact moment you turn around with much more enthusiasm than someone should have at 12:39 on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, Javier enters the room.
You crash into him, pouring the entire contents of both mugs onto the front of his shirt and down his pants.
Javier makes a sound like a wounded animal.
Coming from someone who had been shot in the past, you now knew that taking scalding hot coffee seemed to be the same level of pain as a bullet wound.
"Shit!" You scream, placing the empty mugs on the counter before turning back to note the prominent stain all over Javier's lower stomach and the front of his blue jeans.
Before Javier can reach for the paper towels to clean himself, your hand comes down hard on the center of his chest, stress fueled anxiety giving you almost superhuman strength as you shove him backwards into one of the plastic chairs that sit idle around the pathetic table.
A startled yelp comes through Javier's lips as he stumbles back in surprise, landing unceremoniously in a chair, stunned. You don’t give him time to process the events that happened in the last three seconds, before you're dropping to your knees in front of him, paper towel roll in hand, scrubbing furiously at his lap.
"Oh fuck, Mr. Peña I am so SO sorry!" You babble, working your hands back and forth on the front of his pants, leaning over him. "I didn’t know that you were coming in here and I wanted to make us some coffee because I know that you've been working so hard tonight and-"
Javier groans low under his breath. "It's okay I-" He tries to push you away, but you continue to dab and wipe at the coffee that has soaked through his jeans.
"It's not okay! You could have second or third degree burns." You stare up at him wide eyed.
One of his hands is fisted on his knee, the other gripping the plastic edge of the table like a lifeline, his jaw clenched tight as you work your hands over him.
"I'm fine-" He says through gritted teeth, brown eyes flashing with something that looks a lot like pain.
Maybe we should go to the hospital!
"No, you're not here-" You prop yourself up, placing your hands on Javier's muscular thighs, your face level with his crotch, and blow.
Javier's body constricts, his knuckles turning white from grabbing the table.
"Is that better?" You look up at him again, eyes wide and hopeful, anxiety and embarrassment flooding the synapses in your brain. You were so worried of Javier being in pain, of him being hurt, that you weren't considering the opposite.
Because Javier Peña is trying not to come in his pants like a damn teenager.
He lets out a strangled sound, but doesn't answer, so you try again, blowing over his crotch and hoping that it soothes the scalded flesh.
“You have to stop-“ Javier says in a breathy whisper, face contorting in something that looks like pain. His dark hair is scrunched and wild, sweat beading along his forehead, and his eyes squeezed shut as if he can’t look at you.
Can you sue someone for spilling coffee on you?
“Don’t worry I think I can get it all off!” You say, beginning to frantically dab at his pants again.
Javier was in hell… but fuck it felt a lot like heaven.
He was trying his best not to focus on what you were doing. His mind flitting from photos of M-19 personnel massacred by Pablo Escobar, photos of plane crash victims, memories of drug busts, to other images of whatever else could take his mind off of what was happening in his lap, but nothing was working.
Not when you were kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear and worry for him, wearing one of those handmade oversized sweaters that Javier thought made you look unbelievably cute, soft hands rubbing, dabbing, and squeezing him, your cool breath rushing through his coffee soaked pants, and with you apologizing over and over in that sweet voice of yours.
The same one that Javi tried not to think about in the dead of night when all was quiet and he was alone, when another voice inside his head (that sounded remarkably like Steve) told him not to start something with his secretary-
But Javi couldn't help it.
You were unlike anyone he'd met in his entire life. You were soft, kind, generous, with a smile that always made something deep inside Javi break whenever you looked at him. The same smile that he sought after a day without end, because it was the only thing that made him feel like what he was doing meant something after years of him sinking deeper into the mire.
The moment that you started working for him, Javier found himself excited to come to work and that was something that warranted a whole fleet of flying pigs.
You shouldn't be working here, let alone living here. Whenever you didn't show up to work or were a few minutes late Javier's mind went right to the worst, that something had happened to you. That someone had done something and he was too late, because Colombia chewed up and spat out the kind of person you were.
It was why he couldn't bear the thought of you walking alone to your car after work, and why he seemed to be in the same neighborhood on the weekends when you made your way to the market down the street from your apartment to go grocery shopping. It was also why he was trying his best to keep his distance from you, because someone like you had no business being with someone like him.
"Fuck." Javi half moans, because he can’t keep it in.
You look up at him, still frantically wiping the front of his pants with a coffee stained paper towel. Javier isn't looking at you, his head is tilted upwards at the ceiling and his eyes are squeezed shut, sweat beading along his hairline, breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Shit, Javi I'm so, so sorry. I know it hurts. I'm going to go get some ice." You try to rise from the ground, but Javier's hand comes down on your shoulder to stop you.
"Please don't." His teeth are gritted together.
"But you're hurt. You could have a burn or-"
"I don't."
"How do you know?"
"Cariño-" Javier chuckles, his eyes blink open, turning a honeyed whiskey in the light. "I stopped thinking about that the second you dropped to your knees and started cleaning me up. It doesn’t hurt. And if you keep doing what you’re doing we’re going to have a bigger problem.”
“What do you mea-“
It still doesn't dawn on you what he's talking about or why he would stop thinking about hot coffee burning him until your gaze lowers again to his lap.
Anything you’re about to say evaporates from the tip of your tongue.
In your eagerness and embarrassment, you'd forgotten exactly what it would have felt like for him when you scrubbed, dabbed, and blew on the front of his pants for the past two minutes.
Oh. My. Damn.
You think to yourself as you see the outline of Javier's large erection straining against the zipper of his coffee stained jeans.
How does he- nope nope not thinking about that right now.
By now your face is so warm with embarrassment you're sure that if someone were to crack an egg it would be fried to perfection in seconds. The heat rivals the eruption of mount Vesuvius, rivals the surface of the sun if someone ran a train full of gasoline into it. There is no coming back from this, no rock big enough to hide under, no cave dark and deep enough to cover your shame.
You lean back on your heels, dropping your face into your hands. "I am so sorry-" The word had lost all meaning given how many times you'd said it within the last five minutes, but given the situation, you had no idea what to say.
To say you were mortified was an understatement. You were so embarrassed that you wanted the faded musty maroon carpet to come up and swallow you whole, so embarrassed that you wanted to go outside, open your mouth, and see if you could drown in the heavy downpour.
I'm never going to be able to show my face here again. I'm going to have to quit my job and change my name. And without a job I'll never have enough money to pay my rent or feed my cat, and if I can't feed my cat he's going to eat my face while I'm sleeping and-
Javier coughs out a laugh, the same one that usually made you feel like you'd swallowed sunshine, but not now. Especially not now not when you could call your own time of death.
You could imagine the gravestone:
Here lies so and so died, when she accidentally gave her boss a handjob.
You could also imagine the ridiculous rumors that would stem from this moment. The things that everyone would say about you the second they found out about this.
You can’t move, can’t even breathe.
The longer you sit there the worse you feel. Embarrassment, shame, and anxiety prickles along your skin, jumping and crackling through every nerve ending, making tears burn in your eyes. You wanted to curl up into a little ball under your desk and rot.
It was the single most embarrassing moment of your life and you knew that there would be no other event that would ever top it.
Javier slides out of his chair to kneel in front of you, whispering your name, but you can't look at him, can't do anything.
The thought of running outside into the thunderstorm crosses your mind, but you’d worn heels today and you didn’t think you’d get far running. And it would have been even more embarrassing if you slipped and busted your nose open on the marble floor in the lobby, because you knew that Javier would insist on driving you to the hospital and you didn’t want to sit through that car ride if your life depended on it.
He says your name again, this time gently pulling your hands from your face. “Why are you crying?” Worry flickers behind his golden gaze, thumbs brushing over the soft skin of your wrists.
“Because I’m embarrassed. I mean I touched you- touched it- I-“
My great grandchildren will still feel my shame. It will haunt them from beyond my grave. They won’t know a moment of peace!
“If anyone should be embarrassed it’s me.” Javier chuckles.
“I don’t think you still have enough of a sense of shame for that Mr. Peña.” You sniffle out a laugh.
It was true. You knew his reputation, had heard the rumor mill a hundred times over, not to mention you had fielded a number of angry phone calls directed at your boss all of whom you’d told them that Javier wasn’t there, while he stood there and made frantic gestures with his hands.
“Oh back to Mr. Peña I see.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Javier's touch trails sparks against your skin, making your throat tight.
“Huh?" You blink in confusion.
“A minute ago you called me Javi.”
"I did?”
It was hard to think when he was still holding one of your wrists in his warm calloused hands. The same hands worn rough from years of holding a gun, and the ones that had only ever treated you with kindness in the three years that you'd worked for him.
"I don't think I've ever heard you call me anything other than 'Mr. Peña' since you got hired." He raises an eyebrow, signature smirk in place.
"Oh well- that's because I- um. You're my boss and I- I ."
I don’t want to get used to calling you anything else because then I won’t be able to stop.
"I like it when you call me Javi." His fingers trace across your chin, making your cheeks heat.
Any semblance of shame or embarrassment that you felt was quickly fading away with his touch. It was the most that he'd ever touched you, except for the few accidental brushes of your fingertips whenever you handed him things, or whenever he somehow was grocery shopping at the same market and he would gently place his hand on the small of your back to lead you through the crowded stalls.
You never understood why he shopped there too. It was thirty minutes in the opposite direction of where he lived.
This isn't happening. This is just a daydream I'm having and-
“But I don’t like it when you cry.” Javier’s mouth pulls down into a frown. “I promise it’s okay-“
“I’m sorry-” You wipe at your eyes with the back of your free hand.
You couldn't seem to stop saying it. But again you honestly didn't know what else to say. Sorry seemed to cover a multitude of sins. Not to mention the way that Javier was touching you and looking at you right now, and the energy that seemed to pulse and thrum through the air was making your head a little fuzzy.
Before you can say or do anything more, Javier leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You were just trying to help.”
Your hand falls automatically to the front of Javier's orange button up, gasping softly in surprise. He freezes, eyes wide as if he can’t believe that he did it either.
And he can't. Javier didn't meant to, but he can't stand to see you cry. Not when each time you did, it was like the sun was hidden behind the clouds and not when it was like a piece of himself was dying. And he didn't think that you should be embarrassed about this, because you were honestly just trying to help him.
The odd energy pulses again, threading through the air between the two of you, as neither one pulls away. His dark gaze is on you, hesitant, as if he's waiting for something you can't see. Some subtle que or tick that only he knows.
The spicy smell of Javier's aftershave floods into your nose, familiar in the best way, and the feeling of the warmth of his body only inches away makes your brain short circuit.
For the first time in the three years that you'd worked for Javier, you don't feel like his awkward secretary, because the way that he's looking at you… it makes you feel like more.
Javier leans forward just a hair, your hand still resting on his shirt, and brushes his lips against yours, eyes open, gauging your reaction. A sigh works it's way through your parted lips as you sink into the kiss, the hand you have resting on his shirt curling enough to feel the subtle shift of his muscles move and it's exactly what Javier needed.
His lips fall against yours with fervor, hands skating down the fabric of your sweater and finding your hips with ease, before he pulls you into his lap, not breaking the kiss.
It's unlike anything you could have imagined, more than any fantasy you could have made up in your head. The feeling of his supple lips, the tickle of his mustache, the warmth that surges up, up, up in a fluid wave through your body, the taste of the peppermint and stale coffee-
It’s addictive, maddening, hypnotic.
He groans into your mouth, the sound not unlike what he made moments ago, his hands subtly pushing up the edge of your sweater to find the heated skin of your waist fueling the spark that burns through your body. Goosebumps trace along your flesh with a heavy hand, the white hot fire that comes with the feeling of his skin on yours traveling from the base of your throat to the pit of your stomach.
“Javi-“ You breathe his name on a gasp, earning a groan from the man beneath you as he pulls you harder against him, moving his lips down the column of your throat into the shadow of your jaw whispering things in Spanish that you can’t understand. Your hands move up the expanse of his chest and find refuge in his hair, the dark locks falling beneath your fingertips, soft and curled slightly on the ends. Your name comes out of his mouth in a throaty whisper, rumbling up through where your chest is pressed against his.
You'd never heard anyone say it like that before, almost reverent, cherished, like you're his. As if after all this time you've always been his and it's always led to this moment. And it makes something inside break open and flood into the cavity of your chest.
Then all at once he stops, pulling back from you, pupils dilated slightly, looking at you in a daze, his chest rising and falling in rapid gasps.
“We shouldn’t- I shouldn’t.” His voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.
The embarrassment is back tenfold, because now that you’d felt him under you, felt the urgency of his touch against your body, his lips soft against your mouth you don’t know how the hell you’re going to do anything else whenever you see him.
“I'm sorry-“ You mutter before you can stop it, and try to move back off of him, misunderstanding what he means.
Javier kisses you again, holding you firmly on his lap, eyes darker than you'd ever seen them.
“Please stop apologizing.” He murmurs against your lips. “I meant that I don’t want it to happen like this. I at least want to take you out to dinner first. You're-" Javier swallows. "You deserve that."
You blink in surprise. It wasn't that you thought Javier wasn't a gentleman, it was that you weren't expecting him to say something like that. Not when there was no one left in the entire embassy and he didn't have to stop...
But with this pause, reality came roaring back in.
He's my boss. What would other people say?
“Are you sure that’s not a bad idea?” Your fingers gently move through the strands of hair at the back of his head, which makes Javier sigh and lean into your touch.
“It’s the worst idea. Been trying to not ask you out for three years.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Javier chuckles
“It is a bad idea.” You bite the inside of your cheek.
It was. Beyond bad. Practically forbidden. Not to mention you knew for a fact that Javier would probably think you were just too weird and awkward to care about a follow up date and then it would ruin the relationship the two of you had.
But you wanted to say yes. That's an understatement, you wanted to scream yes from the mountaintops and perform a rendition of "The Hills Are Alive" with Julie Andrews.
"Terrible, cariño." Javier smirks a little wider, the grip he has on your waist tightening with a promise that flashes in his dark eyes.
“Maybe not coffee.” You say hesitantly.
"Yeah, that'd probably be safer.” Javier admits. “Though I think if I took you out for a drink there’s always the possibility you could spill your martini and stab me with an olive skewer.”
Your cheeks heat in embarrassment.
"But it's worth the risk." He murmurs leaning his forehead against yours.
"Some things always are." You echo with a soft smile, listening to the rumble of thunder shaking the brick, mortar, and glass of the embassy. The rest of the world melting away and leaving you just with Javi for a few precious moments when all hell rages outside the white washed walls and musty carpets.
Anything can happen in a thunderstorm, you just never imagined something like this.
A/N: Again Alex congratulations on the 5k and giving me such an inspirational gif for your challenge! It was fun for him, and of course to watch some Narcos again 🥰
Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going!
Oh my goodness thank you so much!!! 🥰 I'm so happy that you liked it! And thank you so much for taking the time to reach out and tell me what you thought and for reblogging!💗💗💗
summary: You never meant to end up alone with the patroller, but two nights, snowed in between silence and shared space, leave you both with a bond too fragile to name and very dangerous to keep.
tags: age gap (30-56), grief, death, mention of suicide, alcohol.
w/c: 3.1k
notes: you'll hate me for this, i know
edit: part 2!
“So, by protocol, we’re gonna start sending a nurse on every patrol” María says from behind her desk, her momma-warm voice filling the silent office… smelling like incense and baby powder for some reason.
“I don’t carry guns.”
Silence. María moves some stuff through the desk, rummage through some papers with names.
“Ain’t necessary you use one” she assures you. “Might wanna keep a knife on you, just in case, but if you don’t wanna use firearms, we won’t force you. You can when you’re ready, but for now it ain’t needed.” She writes your name on the patrol roster, stamps it, and hands you a slip of paper.
“This here’s your assigned partner for tomorrow morning. You’ll find him at the stable” she says as you read: Joel Miller. Rancher St. “Here’s his address if you wanna stop by and meet him beforehand.”
You slip the paper into your scrub pocket and look at her.
“What if someone tries to hurt me out there?” you ask.
“That ain’t gonna happen. Joel’s…” María trails off for a second, thinking through her words. “He’s alert. Real alert. Before anything touches you, it’s gotta get through him first. But you know, if you wanna feel safer you can—”
“I’m not carrying a gun” you cut in.
“Good.” She nods. Not tired, you can feel the understanding in her voice. “Pack yourself a bag with food, warm clothes, a lighter, first-aid kit, water, etc.” She stands and opens the door.
“Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.”
Walking out of City Hall, you head straight home. Doesn’t strike you to go meet your new partner. Why bother? Just to stare at each other?
The thought of stepping outside again after so long makes every inch of you tremble. Freezes your marrow. Once, you were a wild creature and the outdoors was your playground… but those instincts got lost. Now, you feel like the world outside will eat you alive.
And maybe it will.
The new patrol policy is kinda rough, but it means more supplies and maybe a few privileges.
“Hey, I’m the one keeping your ass safe! Give me that last bag of coffee!” Sounds good.
Your bag’s a bit heavy. Maybe because you rolled around in bed more than you slept. Still, you reach the stable and see him. Joel’s brushing his horse like it’s showtime, whispering to it as he strokes its neck—tender.
“Hey” you say, no frills, standing on the other side of the fence. “You Joel?”
He turns, looks at you for a second, then glances away.
“Roll out in fifteen. Grab a horse and sign in” he says, returning to the horse and stuffing a few things into his bag and adjusting the girth.
His demeanor irks you at first: no hello, no eye contact. You shrug and head to the end of the stable, find the sign-in sheet with a pencil dangling on a string. You jot your name beneath his.
“Which one’re you taking?” Joel asks, leading the horse out by its reins.
“This one’s available…” you read off the board: “Shimmer.”
“No, leave that one in.”
“But I need—”
“You ride mine. Easier that way. If I gotta wait on you, we ain’t gettin’ back.”
A silence settles. You watch him settle the last few things on his horse. The jab stings. He turns his head and meets your eyes.
“Get on the horse.” He gestures you to the animal. You glance at it and then back at him. Joel closes his eyes, massages the bridge of his nose and sighs heavy. “Come ‘ere”
He makes you stand fancing the side of the horse and suddenly you're in the air. A small sound blurt past your lips but you keep it in by clamping your lips shut. Your hands go to the horn of the saddle, his strong and large hand grasp you by the hips over your jeans, when you set your foot inside the stirrup, his hands go unannounced straight to your ass, pushing you up.
Once you're sat, your eyes go briefly to his. Not staring much. You're probably beet red.
The ride’s quiet. Like you’ve both silently agreed you don’t wanna know much about each other. Your arms around his waist over his coat, it’s alright. The landscape stuns you, the sun reflecting off the snow like in a dream. Jackson’s mountains look even more intimidating close-up.
“Ain’t we going too far?” you ask over the wind.
He glances back. Doesn’t answer right away.
“You never been assigned a long route before? You think they’d send a nurse on a thirty-minute patrol? They only send someone if it’s risky.” He speaks as he guides the horse across a little stone bridge over a frozen river.
“I’ve never done a route.”
Silence.
“Well. This will be your first.”
The blizzard bites your skin, snow flicking your cheeks. You close your eyes, lean into his back, taking refuge from the wind’s assault.
A grunt rumbles in his chest.
“We gotta stop. Storm’s comin’ in,” Joel says, voice louder to fight the storm’s howl.
Soon you’re standing in front of a worn sign: “Jackson Hole Golf & Tennis Club.” Following a trail, you find a small cabin. He helps you down with a tug so abrupt it nearly throws you off balance. You give him a sharp look he doesn’t notice as he hands you the bags and gestures toward the door. After a moment, he steps inside after you.
“Where’d you leave it?” you ask as he sets his rifle on a desk and pulls a flashlight from his bag.
“What?” He’s matter-of-fact, not looking your way.
“The horse.”
“He’s got a back room. I’ve spent nights here before in the same kinda mess” he says, handing you the flashlight. Through the windows, nothing but white, daylight storm in full force.
“How long we stay here?” you ask, stammering as you turn toward the window.
“Could be two hours. Could be a day.” He draws the curtains and closes them. “Unpredictable.”
You nod, sinking into one of the chairs in the small living area.
“I brought water, some cans of food, extra matches…” You plop your backpack on your knees and start unpacking.
“Yeah, what everyone should carry when they patrol,” he mutters, pulling a small single-burner stove from his bag and lighting it on the floor. “Next time, bring a lighter, not matches. Snow melts and ruins ‘em.”
You nod again. Accept wisdom from someone who’s been around.
Afternoon rolls in silence. The cabin creaks as wind tosses around it. Joel fiddles with the radio, scanning through static. No signal, storm’s blocked it.
“I’m gonna check the horse” he whispers, getting up with a tired groan. He tries the cabin door. It won’t budge. He peers through the peephole. Only darkness. “Dammit, the snow… Shit.” He clicks his radio on his belt.
“Jackson, do you copy? Amy, do you copy?” he repeats, voice tense all afternoon.
“It’s almost six PM. They can answer, but we ain’t goin’ no place tonight. Rescue teams roll out at six AM.” Joel sets the radio on the desk and sinks into a chair, rubbing his forehead.
“We could cook something” you say, knees brushing the floor as you grab a can of chickpeas in tomato sauce and set it on the burner. “Something hot in the belly, the night’ll pass easy.” He’s staring at the cans now.
“How we divide the night watch?” you ask.
“I got it. You ain’t got a gun, and I’m sure you don’t know how to handle one” he says, lifting the rifle from the wall, then grabs a cloth from his pocket and wipes the barrel.
“Aren’t you gonna sleep?” you ask, arching your brow. “The door’s buried in snow, ain’t nothing getting in.”
He stares for a long beat, raises both eyebrows.
“All right. Fine.” You turn away and focus on the cans. “Just saying, if infected came calling, you ain’t doin’ much.”
“Infected? There’s things out there way worse than a bite. Worse for folk like you.” He studies you, wondering if you’re naive, or stupid. Maybe both. Or maybe you just prefer ignoring danger.
“How long since you haven't been out there?” he asks after a long look. Your hands, your sweater, your tired braid.
“Couple years” you murmur. “Been in Jackson for three years. Since I walked through Jackson’s gate, I never went back outside. I told María I ain’t goin’. I got good at everything inside, became indispensable.”
“You saying patrollers are disposable?” he frowns.
You meet his gaze, steeled a bit.
“No. I mean everyone’s indispensable for somethin’. You’re indispensable on patrols. I’m indispensable at the clinic.”
“Apparently not that indispensable, ‘cause they still sent you out here without a gun.”
Silence.
Your eyes go back to the open cans.
He swallows hard. He knows he stepped on a nerve.
“But they sent you with me. Means they knew you’re safe with me.” he remarks, setting the rifle aside.
You take a can with a rag around it, careful not to burn yourself, and hand it to him. He takes it. Doesn’t say thanks. Just nods.
You eat in silence.
Night comes, and you start nodding off, arms crossed, knees to your chest, coat over your legs. He watches you from his spot, stares at your form that expects nothing. Never does, never asks for anything.
There's a poor drop of sweat falling down your temple. Gladly you got to make some warmth in that little corner, Joel's wonders if you have layers and layers of other clothes beneath the one's he can see. Why is he so cold? Why aren't you?
The idea is erased by the memory of what he did this morning. He meant to push you up by thighs, not by your fucking ass but he slipped. He still has the feeling impregnated in his hands. He swears he felt the warmth of your skin seep through the denim that he squeezed.
Joel closes his eyes taking a slow deep breath.
He saw you before. At the clinic, strolling around, staying beside the ill. Going home, sometimes crying because you've lost somebody, sometimes with a neutral expression.
You're another townfolk. Another someone. Everyone has been for years to him. No one more than his family lights that protective side in his chest.
But you're slowly moving something in him. And he can't let it happen.
Joel rises and gently touches your shoulder.
“Help me move that cot from the bedroom. You’ll be more comfortable” he says softly, not wanting to interrupt your drifting rest by alarming you.
You follow him down the narrow hallway and into a cold, dark room. He takes one end of the cot and you the other, carrying it back into the living room. Then he fetches the mattress.
“I got some blankets. You got more, right?” he grabs two rolled-up blankets from his bag.
“I’m here with mine. Keep yours, you’ll freeze on that chair otherwise.”
Joel watches you crawl into the cot, curling around yourself under both blankets. After a few minutes, he hears your soft breathing, you’re asleep.
Static crackles from the radio and wakes you in the morning. You turn and see him, collapsed on the sofa, forehead against the radio, thumb gripping the volume as he naps. Rifle resting on his lap. He snores softly, almost hidden.
You notice two blankets draped over you. You sigh and rise quietly. That's why you're sweating then, you think. You move over and cover his back and legs with them. After a couple hours, Joel wakes.
“What’re you doin’?” Joel asks, confused, squinting at the clear morning light as you warm a chickpea can on the stove.
“Warming up food” you mumble, tilting your head, unable to hide the soft rhythm in your voice.
“No. Why the hell didn’t you wake me?” he grumbles, pulling the blankets off and suddenly looking at you. “You wanna get us killed?”
“...They didn’t kill us” you chirp, narrowing your eyes a bit, regretting that response.
“I’m aware. But anything could’ve gone down in a millisecond and you wouldn’t’ve woken me. Got that little survival instinct? Did nobody teach you? How’d you survive before Jackson?” he snaps.
Silence.
“I just wanted you to sleep. You looked worn out.”
Joel breathes heavily. Rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.
“I don’t need sleep. I need us to stay alive.”
“Sorry” you murmur.
Joel blinks, surprised at your words. “Don’t apologize. Just say you get it.”
“Got it. I’ll wake you next time.” You meet his gaze and sound steady, and he notices. A flicker of fear. It makes his stomach turn water.
Afternoon finds the storm raging still. Door won’t budge, radio’s out again. You’re rationing water and gas like it’s the last on Earth. Joel’s in the spare bedroom where you moved the cot, breaking up old furniture into firewood for the chimney you both sort of cleaned in the living room.
While you’re sniffing through drawers in the cabin, you find an old photo album, pictures of a family. You settle at the desk and flip through, imagining the story behind each.
“When Tommy and I found this spot, there was some guy dead in here—gunshot to the head. Lost everything, gave up,” Joel says from behind your chair. “This shit can drive you nuts.”
He tosses the sticks into the chimney.
“I don’t think it drives you nuts” your eyes stay on the photos: a baby on a woman’s lap, a man smiling wide. “One day you got it all, and then... boom, the universe yanks it away. Not everyone can live with that memory flash in their head. Some follow those eyes anywhere they go.”
He’s quiet. Takes a seat across from you, arms crossed, watching the chimney. Reaches for a sip of whisky from his flask, splashes wood with it, lights the fire, closes the cap from the flask.
“I tried following those eyes,” he whispers. “But I couldn’t. She was fourteen that night… she died in my arms.”
Silence.
No “I’m sorry”, you know he’s sick of hearing it.
“It’s a pain that never quits.” You close the album, set it on the desk. “It’s… cruel, right? Something so familiar just disappears.”
Joel watches you.
“You don’t know where to look. You get mad at everything… The sun, the wind, anything. And then you feel a burst of happiness you think means you’ve accepted it. Then you wake up and remember. They’re gone.” You shrug, and meet him. His eyes hold that same familiar, recognized grief.
“It comes in waves” he says.
“Yeah. Never really goes away.”
Silence.
“Who?” he asks. It is understood.
“A lot of people.”
He gets it, even if it’s vague. Feels resentful for asking. Doesn’t want to show his own bottomed-out softness.
The radio clicks.
“Miller, do you copy?” Amy’s voice crackles.
“Miller here. We’re stuck in the cabin at Cottonwood St., the Golf Club” he replies.
“Copy that. Security station north. Rescue crew’ll be sent first thing tomorrow. Hold tight."
With luck, this’ll be the last night.
As the sun sets, the temperature drops lower than the night before. Both of you sit by the fire, on the cot, warming your hands.
“It’s funny,” you murmur, chin resting on your knees, eyes fixed on the fire “how quick a person can get used to comfort after livin’ so long like this, huh?” You glance over at him. His profile, that hawkish nose, his graying hair, eyes reflecting the flames.
“Never got used to it, to be honest. Feels like if I start takin’ it for granted, it’s all gonna fall to shit” he says low, arms crossed, shoulders hunched.
You look at him for another moment, then turn back to the fire.
“I think I spent so long just runnin’ that the only goal I had was makin’ it here. A safe place. The... sort of silence.” You shrug. “I think if somethin’ happened to me after this, I wouldn’t mind much."
He finally looks at you.
“It’d just mean I got somethin’ good to tell those eyes when I see ’em again” you whisper. When you turn your head again, you see it… a flicker in those tired eyes, the shimmer of tears he won’t let fall.
Joel stands and heads into the other room, the same one you both got the cot from. You don’t hear him for a couple of hours. You stop feeding the fire because the wood’s gone.
You crawl under the blankets, arms wrapped around yourself, backpack tucked under your head like a pillow. After a while, you hear him come back.
“Mind if I lie down? I’m real tired. Don’t think I got it in me tonight,” he says and it doesn’t sound like he’s just talking about sleep. Feels like he’s saying he wants to stop everything. The world. Life.
You nod, lift the blanket, and he climbs in beside you. Face to face. He exhales, the cold seeping into him, his hands clenched tight to his chest.
Your hands reach for his, guide them around your body. He doesn’t pull away. His eyes search yours in the low light, barely lit by the dying embers.
“Could we actually freeze to death in here?” you ask softly, like a secret.
“Probably... if we hadn’t gone through the wood like it was endless.”
You let out a quiet laugh, tucking yourself into the crook of his shoulder. A few minutes pass. Then you feel it, the damp of a tear soaking the neck of your shirt, your skin. Then a quiet sniff. His body trembles. His arms tighten around you. He clings to you. Your hands run over his nape, scratching gently, running your fingers through his hair, holding him close.
In the morning, they finally manage to clear the door. Jesse smiles at Joel once he pushes the door open, shovel in hand. Tommy gives Joel that usual brother-hug, then Jesse walks over to you and kindly takes your backpack.
Outside, two more patrollers are tending to the horse they pulled from the garage.
“Shall we? I’ll take you back. Tommy’s stayin’ with the rest, they gotta deal with the horse and a few other things.” Jesse looks at you as he ties your bag to the saddle. Your eyes drift past his shoulder. Joel, talkin’ to Tommy, arms crossed, face unreadable.
“You alright?” Jesse asks, frowning a little at how far away your gaze has gone. You snap back to him.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Jesse climbs on his horse, then reaches out to help you up. Once you’re settled, you glance back as Jesse starts the ride toward Jackson.
And Joel doesn’t look back.
hey! so this was inspired in a tweet i saw a while ago:
it's kind of short and i made it my way. it hurt me a bit to write this, idk why, I'm kind of sensitive today. anyway. I have a smut version in drafts soooo if you'd like me to also post that one, leave a comment!
thanks again for every repost, like and comment. it makes a writer really really happy on this side of the screen.
kisses!
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