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The lonely Creature hides in a family's barn, expecting only fear should they ever discover him. Until the eldest daughter offers him compassion and affection. A chance to learn what it is to be human.
⭒ The Heart Beneath the Ashes | @multific
You had loved him since the days when he was kept in chains, hidden from the world in the cold dark of the basement. Now, years later, you live together in peace.
⭒ The Bride of the Woods | @/multific
A ruined wedding, a stranger in the night, and a love that defies the world.
⭒ Unchained | @lavendertales
the Creature (Adam) gets curious about his physical feelings towards you, so you teach him.
⭒ what wolves fear. | @bucksfucks
a monster keeps your cottage safe from wolves, believing you neither see nor want him—until spring comes, and you finally turn to the creature in the trees and let him know you’ve been leaving the bread, the clothes… and that you were never afraid.
⭒ what wolves fear. Masterlist | @/bucksfucks
A lonely cottage, a girl the villagers whisper about, and the creature who guards her door each night.
⭒ 𝑷𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑶𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝑺𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔 | @brunchable
You'd heard the villagers whisper about the creature in the woods. You just didn't expect him to be the only one who ever kept the flowers in your garden alive.
⭒ 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. | @/brunchable
Hidden beyond the your father's manicured gardens lies a secret only you know: a towering, gentle creature who saved your life and asked for nothing but friendship in return.
Duke's Daughter!reader
⭒ silence falls | @not-neverland06
Your marriage to Victor had been unwilling for both parties. All these long years, you've kept quiet, been docile. But when you discover the secret hidden beneath your home, you can no longer remain as submissive as you'd once been. The consequences of your rebellion are more bloody than you'd been prepared for.
⭒ Unlovable | @superbunnyrabbit
after victor's passing, adam finally forgives himself, but continues to be ostracized by society. once again, he ventures out, this time taking on the role of a watchful shadow near a lonely girl's shed, praying to a god he doesn't believe in he can at least keep her safe.
⭒ YOU ARE MY ONE AND ONLY | @burbatch
Having a place to reside, learning about the world, getting love from you, the Creature thought this life was beautiful, and he enjoyed every simple day more than anyone you knew. One day, when thunder struck and the nightmare tormented, the Creature woke up and cried. He ran to your manor, climbing up to your balcony. You, already awake and worried about him, saw him. You needed to comfort this frightened creature in both gentle and heated ways he asked for.
⭒ ONE MORE LEAF FOR ONE MORE KISS | @/burbatch
Last year, your father sponsored a science project you didn't agree with the concept of. Yet, you must visit that place with him because you were sympathetic to the Creature. One day, the project was over, and the Creator intended to burn his own work to cover mistakes. It was the Creature's luck that he could survive and find your manor. And it was your luck to meet someone whom you could be yourself with. Today, after months of residing in your place and learning how to be human, the Creature asked you for kisses and love.
⭒ Friend? | @secretlyshyfics
Locked away in the cellar of your fiancé's tower sits a chained up lonely creature who just wants a friend.
⭒ his lover. Pt.2 | @m6cabre
⭒ Quiet Mercy | @rainandsentences
tenderness always may come from the most unexpected beings.
⭒ Longing | @altrodent
A treacherous journey leads a certain creature to his future. But it wasn’t a somewhere or something- rather a someone.
⭒ The Absence of Light | @yesimwriting
The only person distant enough from the conventions of polite society offers you a temporary refuge after your failed engagement as a favor to your cousin Elizabeth. Though intense and at times overly focused on his academic pursuits, Victor Frankenstein is a gracious host, only introducing one rule for your stay--that you never leave the main floor.
݈݇— pairings: The Creature(2025) x Duke's Daughter!reader
݈݇— themes: Forbidden Love, Longing, Yearning, Historical Setting, No use of y/n. SMUT: first time, foreplay, unprotected p i v, passionate sex, oral (m receiving), finish inside, outdoor sex (forest), size kink, non-human sex, your boy gets rough at the end.
݈݇— summary: Under your father's iron grip, you're confined to your own home with no means of contact the one who awaits you.
A/N: Y'all asked for a number two. I present you, number two. I don't know how many times I've proofread this but if I keep stalling I might keep finding more faults lol. I did my best not to have any reader descriptors but if i did let me know, I'll fix it. I hope I tagged everyone who asked lol.
Part 1
The weeks without him are an ache you wear beneath your bodice, a hidden bruise that startles at every sound.
Your father’s decree fell swift as a guillotine: no more midnight wanderings, no more garden keys, no more foolishness. Windows latched. Servants doubled. Your world narrowed to embroidery hoops and dutiful smiles—until the night his business called him away and the house folded at last into honest sleep.
A cloak over your shoulders, slippers soft, the little brass key pressed to your racing pulse.
You slip past the nursery corridor, past the ancestor portraits whose painted eyes judge nothing at all, and into the garden where the hedges keep the old path like a held breath.
Your lantern is a small sun cupped in your hand. The air has the bite of late autumn; the yews hold their shadows close.
The forest receives you as if it has missed you. You know the way by heart—down the wet slope, across the crooked root, through the break in the thorn where your gown once tore and he mended it clumsily, proud as any knight with a banner.
“Adam?” you call, not yet daring the words. “Adam…”
You reach the ring of trees that circles your clearing—a chapel of bark and branches, fireflies scattered in the air like constellations. Your voice is a steady thread you cast into the dark.
“Come into the light, Please.” you begged—your code, your vow, the first thing you ever asked of him.
Nothing answers but wind.
You swallow.
“Adam,” louder now, throat tightening, “come into the light.”
Still, nothing.
“Adam!” You yelled into the void.
Silence stretches so thin it hurts. You turn on the spot, searching, ready to beg the dark to give him back or else break and weep like a child—
“I am here.”
The words are quiet but they shake the world.
Your breath hitches as you turn around; the lantern slips from your fingers and thuds into the leaf-mould, its flame flaring, then steadying.
You run—no court’s daughter now, no patience left in you—and collide into him with all the graceless joy you possess.
He takes the blow with open arms. Great arms, careful as ropes around your body, close about you. He smells of cold earth and pine resin, of river water and a little smoke, as if he has been sitting out of sight for hours convincing himself to hope.
Your cheek finds the rough seam of his coat; beneath it his chest is a hammer striking true.
“I thought,” he says, voice low as a winter-thawed stream, “that I had… frightened you. Or that you were taken from me.”
“Never.” The word is fierce.
You lean back only far enough to see him—the planes and stitches of that solemn face, the gentleness that makes all the rest seem like a misunderstanding. “I was shut away. I had no means to tell you. I tried—Forgive me.”
His brows draw, baffled.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he murmurs, “Why do you ask pardon where there is no fault?”
Your throat tightens; tears sting. He lifts a hand, hesitant, to your cheek, and the contact unravels you.
“My chest—” he says, placing his other hand upon his heart as though uncertain it belongs to him. “It has a manner of aching in your absence, as though the bones are a gate too narrow for the heart within. The hours grow long and splintered. The trees keep your shape in their shadows, and I am made restless, pacing the dark like a hound that has lost the path. I feared the ache would be my portion until the end of days.”
Your face contorts of hurt at the image of him waiting for you. “You feel it too.”
“I do not know its name,” he answers softly, “only that it is you.”
Tears slip, soundless. He frowns, thumb brushing them as though bewildered by their existence.
“Don't shed a tear for me,” he murmurs. “You have already given me the world.”
And when he bends—slow, unsure, as though afraid the air might break between you—the forest itself seems to lean nearer.
The lantern lies on the ground, its small flame licking the glass. Above, the branches knit close, a chapel of pine and stars. The world is thin with hush.
You reach, sliding your palms over the breadth of his shoulders—warm, solid, beloved—and he bows further, as if some gravity in you commands him.
“Kiss me.”
For a heartbeat he is very still. Then instinct wakes.
His palm, wide and uncertain, finds the slope of your waist; the other lifts, trembling, to your cheek. He comes as you once bade him—into the light—only now the light is your mouth, your breath, your willing nearness.
His lips meet yours—gentle first, then bolder when your answering sigh parts you. Heat rushes your skin; you catch your fingers in the worn edge of his coat and draw him nearer still, and he learns you: the tilt, the press, the patient, seeking slide.
A sound breaks in his chest, helpless and low. He swallows it against your mouth and it shivers through you.
He braces you to him as though the forest might try to steal you back, his thigh firm between yours to steady what his kiss unsteadies.
When your teeth graze his lower lip, he answers with a startled groan and returns the slightest bite, clumsy and perfect, and the world tips—stars wheeling, sap sweet on the air, your name somewhere in the roughness of his breath.
“More,” he begs, surprised at himself; the word falls against your tongue.
“More,” you grant—and your hands go to work.
Buttons and ribbons become battlements you take together. Your fingers find the rough edge of his coat and push; he shrugs free, eyes never leaving yours as the garment slides to the needle-strewn earth. His shirt is a simpler war: you worry at the mismatched buttons until they part one by one, the lantern’s flame catching on damp, stitched skin, on broad planes that tense under your touch. He stills, searching your face for any flinch.
“May I?” Your hands hover, asking before they claim.
His answer is a small, solemn dip of his head.
Your fingertips trace the cartography of him—ridge and seam, the rise of muscle beneath pale skin, the history written where needle once traveled.
Gratitude stings your eyes—fierce, unashamed—that some maker’s sin has yielded this man.
At your touch he shivers, breath catching like a harp-string plucked.
“You are not… repulsed?” he asks, hoarse, as though bracing for the blow he has always known.
You answer with your mouth first, a tender press to the scar your fingers just mapped, and feel him tremble.
“No,” you say, soft but steadfast. “There is nothing in you that offends my sight. You could not, even if you tried.”
Something unknots in him. His hands—huge, careful—return to you. He skims your cloak from your shoulders; it falls with a whisper. Your laces are next. He hesitates at your stays, fingers fumbling at satin that glints like moonlit water.
“Here,” you murmur, guiding him through the labyrinth—this ribbon then that, the tug that loosens, the sigh that follows. He learns fast. The last knot gives and your breath expands; he looks almost awed by the simple miracle of it, by the way your ribs lift under his palms.
“May I?” he asks, voice roughened to something low.
“Yes.” You place his hand at the line where bodice yields to chemise. “Please.”
He draws the linen up—slow, as if it were silk—until cool air kisses your skin. The night is cold; his palm is not. He lowers his head, lovely without using the word, and breathes you in like you’re the first summer after a long winter. When his mouth finds the slope beneath your collarbone, your knees soften and he steadies you with a rumble that vibrates against your sternum.
“Speak if I am too much,” he says into your skin. “Speak if I must stop.”
“You will not be,” you answer, soft and true. “I will tell you.”
The forest seems to hold its breath while he learns the rest of you. He finds a rhythm between caution and need—a thumb circling, a kiss that deepens, a palm that maps your waist as if to memorize it. When you arch, he learns that too; when your sigh turns to a small, ruined sound, he repeats exactly what drew it out until your fingers curl in the open edges of his shirt.
“Teach me,” he murmurs, forehead to yours. “I will learn all your language.”
You take his hand and lead it lower. He presses—gentle, testing—then firmer when your hips answer. He is patient as tide and just as relentless; he draws you to the edge and holds you there by will and kindness alone, eyes on your face like it contains the only stars that matter.
“Lie with me,” you breathe, because the earth is tilting and you want to fall on purpose.
He lowers you to the cloak he abandoned, shoulders making a shelter against the bark, one arm cushioning your head, the other spanning your waist as if promising no wind will touch you uninvited. Need shakes him; tenderness steadies him. He kisses your mouth, then the hinge of your jaw, then the place just beneath your ear that makes your pulse beg.
You map him in turn, a ghosting path down the hard line of his torso—over the scars you have counted, the ridges you have blessed with mouth and hand—until your palm finds the unmistakable proof of his desire.
He jolts, a low sound torn from him, head tipping to your shoulder as though the weight of it is suddenly too much to bear.
“I—” The word frays on his tongue. “I cannot think.”
“You need not think,” you whisper, stroking slow, coaxing, delighted by the way his strength unspools beneath so little a touch. “Only feel.”
Moonlight lays him open in pale bands; the great chest heaves, ribs lifting that patchwork skin, and those impossible eyes never leave your face.
He was heavy, heated and alive in your hand. He shudders, jaw locked, as your fingers circle him and glide from root to crown, smearing the wet that beads there.
“Don’t—” he begins, then breaks on a groan. “Do not stop.”
You don’t.
You watch his face as you work him—thumb drawing a firm, gliding halo beneath the broad head; fist tightening as you descend; wrist turning at the base so every stroke ends as promise and begins again as mercy.
The tendons in his throat stand out. His hands fist in the moss. The night hums, and he is the loudest, sweetest note in it.
“Look at me,” you say softly. He does, as if the command has been sewn beneath his skin, “Don’t hold your breath.”
When his breath grows ragged and pleading, you bend to him.
Your lips brush the pulse at the head, tasting salt-warm and wild. He groans—low, rough—and your mouth parts in answer. You kiss him there again, slower, then draw the breadth of your tongue around him in a languid circle before taking him into your mouth.
“Ah—” It is a sound pulled from somewhere old as thunder. His hips tame themselves by will alone, halting inches from the thrust his body begs to give.
You sink deeper—hollowing your cheeks, smoothing your palm along the thick base to meet your mouth as you descend. He fills you, warm and weighty, and your lashes flutter at the stretch.
You set a pace fit for worship: slow descents, slower retreats; a soft seal at the tip; a swirl of your tongue beneath the ridge before you draw him down again.
Each time you rise, your hand keeps him from being abandoned; each time you fall, you let him feel how you welcome the length of him, how you shape yourself around what he gives.
“Milady,” he rasps, voice breaking, “you—”
You hush him with pleasure. One hand slides to the heavy sac between his thighs, stroking gently; the other steadies his hip when his great body trembles.
He is trying—dear God, he is trying—not to move, not to take, only to receive.
Your reassurance leave with a look: a brief lift of your eyes that says, it’s okay.
He exhales like a man reprieved and rocks once into your mouth—careful, measured.
You change the rhythm. You draw him deep and hold, swallowing around him until his spine arches and a broken, helpless sound escapes.
You ease back to his crown, tongue flicking the slit, stroking in tight, shameless laps that make his thighs jump. Then you work him in steady, silken pulls—hand and mouth in perfect accord—until his head tips toward the stars and his hands, those ruinous hands, dig into the earth instead of you.
“I am—” he warns, voice torn raw, “I am near—”
You hum around him, the sound a velvet command, Let it go.
He breaks. The great body bows; the cords in his neck stand; heat floods your tongue in thick, pulsing ropes as his climax wrings him from throat to heel.
You take him through it—never flinching, never looking away—your mouth softening to coax the last trembling spill while your hand soothes him, slowing, easing, praising with every stroke.
He cries your name and your heart swells, fierce and aching, at the wonder shattering his face.
When he falls back to earth, you release him with a final, tender kiss and crawl up the breadth of him, palms braced at either side of his head. You taste of him and the cold night air; he tastes of surrender when he draws you down into a shaking kiss.
“Will you—” he stammers, voice ruined with wonder, “will you be mine?”
You smile against his mouth. “I am yours for the taking.”
Adam rises to his knees before you, vast and strong, his larger frame bracketing yours beneath the cathedral of trees. Moonlight threads his scars with silver.
You swallow—half awe, half hunger—because you do not know how you will take all of him. He sees the flicker in your eyes and makes himself small in the only way a great man can: by asking.
“Are you sure?”
You nod. “Yes.” Your hand finds him, thick and hot in your palm. “Come to me.”
You guide him. The broad crown strokes through your slick, nudging at your entrance—once, twice—each pass stealing a breath. He groans, head bowing to your shoulder, as though the first kiss of your heat undoes the last stitch holding him together.
You angle your hips and hold him poised.
“Now,” you whisper.
He pushes. Only a little—an inch that burns sweet and bright—then stops at the first tremor of your breath and your hand digging in his skin.
“Speak,” he begs against your cheek. “I will not hurt you.”
“I tell you again, my love, you could never hurt me,” you answer, fingers threading the hair at his nape. “Slowly… let my body learn you.”
He obeys. He slides deeper by patience and care, one measured inch at a time, pausing to let you breathe him in, to let your body open and make a place for him.
You take it, quietly—willing the burn to ease, willing your body to stop trying to push the sheer size of him out.
He stays very still until the ache turns to a sweeter pressure, until your palm—curled at the nape of his neck—guides him to move.
The stretch melts heat into you, ache into hunger; your thighs tighten around his hips, your nails bite his shoulders, and the soft sound you make is not pain.
He groans—a deep rumble in his chest—and sinks the rest of the way, seating himself fully with a shiver that rakes his spine.
For a heartbeat there is only the shock of being filled: the deep, impossibly right weight of him, the way your breath leaves you in a broken laugh because the world has just clicked into place.
“Let me feel you,” you ask, lips to his jaw. “Please, let me feel you.”
He finds a cadence that is not clever but true: a slow withdrawal that makes you chase, a deeper return that knocks both breath and sense from you.
He learns where you break and how to mend you after. He learns the small sound you make when he grinds rather than thrusts, and he gives you that again until your mouth falls open, until the stars blur.
“Tell me,” he pants, voice frayed, “tell me what you need.”
“More,” you gasp, half-laughing at yourself. “please—more.”
He gives it—all he has, and all of it gentle. He braces one hand beside your head and takes your wrist with the other, lacing your fingers, pinning your joined hands to the cloak as if to anchor you to the soft ground while the rest of you drifts.
“Like this?” he asks, voice rough.
“Yes,” you gasp, your body answering before words can.
You wrap your legs around his back and change the angle; he groans, buries his face at your throat, and gives you that exact stroke again—deep, unhurried, unerring—until your lashes flutter and your mouth falls open on a shocked sound.
He answers you with his body: longer pulls, a firmer drive, that subtle shift of hips that presses him against the place that makes you tremble.
You cling to him—arms around his shoulders, ankles locking him to you—riding every careful thrust with a greedy lift of your hips. Wet sounds thread the night; the earth is cool beneath your spine; his heat is everywhere else.
He feels it in the shiver of your thighs, in the desperate clutch of your hands on the expanse of his back.
“Let go,” he asks, the words a request, not a command. “Let go for me.”
You do. It breaks like thaw—sharp, then warm, a rush that takes your hands and your heart both. You hear yourself call his name in the old way and some new one too; you feel him hold you through the shiver with a rough groan that is almost relief. He follows on the echo, burying deep, trembling, breath torn from him like cloth, your name catching on it as if he has just learned how to say it and intends to spend the rest of his days practicing.
He is shaking when the wave takes you, eyes wide as if he has witnessed a miracle and fears to breathe lest it vanish.
“What… what am I to do?” he asks, voice raw with wonder and panic both, like a man standing on a cliff at sunrise and unsure if he is meant to climb or fall.
“Do not leave,” you whisper, palms cradling his face, your thumb sweeping the seam of his mouth. “Stay inside.”
Something gives in him at the word.
He nods once—obedient, undone—and tries to hold steady, but the need that has hunted him all night surges up and breaks its leash.
His grip tightens on your hip; his breath turns harsh. He draws back and drives in again, deeper, rougher, a fretless urgency stealing the careful edges from his restraint.
The rhythm gathers: low, helpless sounds torn from him as he finds the angle that makes your body clutch and flutter around his girth, the pine’s resin-sweet air spinning with your breath, your name a litany on his tongue.
“Is this—” He cannot finish; he can only show you, hips snapping harder, the muscles of his shoulders bunching under your hands.
His face contorts with the goodness of it, with the shock of being allowed this—your heat, the way you open and take him deeper still. He watches your mouth as you gasp; he bows his head to yours as if to beg forgiveness for every rough stroke even as he gives it, losing what little composure he had left.
“Don’t stop,” you breathe, and the words finish him.
He thrusts once, deep, and breaks—spilling inside you with a guttural, helpless sound, hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt and holds there, every muscle trembling.
His forehead knocks gently to yours; your name tears from him again, and he stays—exactly where you asked him to—while the shudder runs its course.
He hovers above you, braced on his forearms as if fearful to lay his full weight upon you, breath unsteady, mouth kiss-bruised and wondering. For a heartbeat he only looks—like a man who has found a star close enough to touch and must make certain it is real.
He takes your hand in his great, careful palm and brings it to his chest. He sets your fingers over the seam and the living thrum beneath—astonished still, as though the proof of it surprises him every time.
“It beats,” he whispers, voice roughened soft, “for you.”
You press your palm more firmly to that steadfast drum, feeling it climb beneath your touch, and tilt up to meet his eyes.
it's been a long time since I read something so utterly poetic and both heartwarming and EROTIC. not hot, but EROTIC. the way this was written is fucking spectacular. IN LOVE WITH THIS.
This is kind of random but... cockwarming and size kink just make sense with Adam. Something about being held by a mountain of stitched-up tenderness really gets to me.
His lips are parted, eyes closed in bliss.
You're sitting on top of him, his huge cock buried deep inside you—but you don’t move. His strong arms are wrapped around you like tight wires.
The size difference between you is staggering.
You feel like a tiny flake melting into a massive iceberg. The thought only heightens your instinct to cling to his broad shoulders, to hear him gasp when the tip of his cock brushes your deepest spot.
God—he’s so malleable. So touch-starved it hurts.
“Look at me,” you murmur, kissing his heavy eyelids.
Adam gasps, and timidly lifts his eyes to meet yours. His hands tremble where they hold you. His skin isn’t cold anymore—it practically blazes, alive only because of you.
You kiss his stitched cheek. It’s wet with tears. Salty.
You don’t flinch when his grip tightens suddenly—possessive, almost overwhelming. His massive hands dig into your flesh, and all you can do is let out a quiet gasp full of love and awe.
“I-I’m sorry,” he chokes, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “I shouldn’t... shouldn’t have taken you away from them.”
You pull him tighter. Grind your hips just a little.
The stretch is unreal, but you swallow the moan—it’s not about that right now. This moment is sacred. It’s not about lust. It’s about surrender.
“You saved me—” you whisper, voice muffled against his skin as you bury your face in his neck. “You... saved me.”
He freezes. Trembles. Chokes on a sound like a sob.
And then he holds you like a prayer—like you're the only thing in the world he believes in. His lips find your shoulder. Your throat. Your mouth again, soft and wet and desperate.
“Do you... love me?” he breathes.
Does he even understand the meaning of those words, or is he just mimicking something he once heard—something he hopes is real?
You burst into tears. “Yes! Yes, I do.”
He kisses you like the world is ending.
And if it is—if this truly is the end—then you wouldn’t want to die in anyone else’s arms.
Summary: An invitation takes Horacio and Javier back to Medellín, a city that has changed as much as they have since they were last in it. Amongst the celebrations, can they find a way to reconcile the old with the new?
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Emotional smut, religious themes, discussions of canon-typical violence and past trauma, grief, healing, allusions to period-typical prejudices, smoking, drinking, swearing.
Notes: So, this chapter took on a life of its own and ended up a lot bigger than it was originally supposed to be, oops lol. The initial idea was for this and chapter 21 to be chapter 20, but, as you can see, it didn't quite work out like that 😂
The majority of chapter 21 is done, I just need to finish it off but life (and covid...again) have been getting in the way lately.
After that, I just have chapter 22 and a short epilogue to do, then fin. So, I promise we are very nearly there now! Ideally, I'd like it all done by the end of autumn, but that might not be possible...let's see how it goes.
Thank you once again to anyone still reading and waiting for updates, your patience is greatly appreciated (as always, please feel free to drop me a line if you’d like to, I love hearing from you!)❤️
I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested (and there's quite a few new points for this one, as I ended up doing a lot of research lol).
Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.
Chapter 20: Something Old, Something New
Dappled light filtered through the Venetian blinds, splintering across the polished wooden furnishings and along the plush carpeted floor, bathing the hotel room in tints of gold. No traces remained of yesterday’s rain after a warm start to the morning, and the forecast miraculously looked promising for the hours ahead.
Horacio stood facing a floor-length mirror, his fingers wrestling with his jacket and a Cattleya orchid buttonhole until he tutted and gave up. It was the final addition to his outfit: a three-piece mid-grey suit, a pale olive green dress shirt, a bottle green tie and dark brown shoes.
“Come here.” Javier abandoned fastening his burgundy tie, letting it hang untied and loose around his neck. Instead, he took the buttonhole from Horacio and delicately pinned the flower on his left lapel. It matched the one already placed on his navy blue three-piece, which he had teamed with a rose-pink dress shirt and black shoes.
“Thanks. It’s been a long time since I’ve worn one of these. I’m out of practice.” The last wedding Horacio attended had been a friend of Juliana’s, and for some reason, attaching a flower to his jacket was trickier than his CNP lapel pins.
“At least the last time wasn’t your own wedding…which you never actually made it to.”
“Fair point.”
Javier smoothed down Horacio’s lapels, slow caresses on either side, chestnut lost in charcoal as he took all of him in. “Beautiful.”
“Likewise.” Horacio’s fingers slid up to Javier’s tie and worked their magic, managing a knot neater than Javier could ever make. He positioned and repositioned it at the collar until it was symmetrical.
“Satisfied?”
“Hmm, not quite.” He took hold of the length of the tie, pulling Javier down a couple of inches to his height, fresh mint and aftershave hitting their senses as they settled into it, careful not to squash the flowers at their breast.
Javier breathed hard against Horacio’s mouth. “I take it we haven’t got time for -”
“Absolutely not.” Although Horacio was panting as he re-straightened Javier’s tie, the sight of each other in formal wear a distracting novelty. “We’re meeting Steve downstairs in 5 minutes.”
“Shame. I miss Madrid already.”
“Our bed will still be there when we get back.”
“Who said anything about a bed?”
“Come on, we can’t be late,” Horacio reiterated with great reluctance, avoiding the look he knew Javier was giving him. “You ready?”
Javier took a deep breath and picked up the invitation from the nearby nightstand, his eyes scanning over the details one last time.
Juana Marisol Vargas Restrepo
Y
Felipe Gabriel Trujillo Rojas
Con la bendición de sus familias, te invitan a celebrar su boda
(With the blessing of their families, they invite you to celebrate their wedding)
El sábado, 21 de enero de 1995
(Saturday 21st January, 1995)
A las tres de la tarde
(At 3 in the afternoon)
Iglesia del Señor de las Misericordias, Manrique
(Church of the Lord of the Mercies, Manrique)
Recepción a seguir en el Jardín Botánico de Medellín
(Reception to follow at the Botanical Garden of Medellín)
“I think so. Of all the churches in Medellín, though.”
Horacio let out a wry huff to match Javier’s. “I know. The bride’s choice, apparently. Plus, it’s close by for the reception.”
Javier hummed, his eyes still glued to the invitation as if the antidote to the discomfort simmering in the pit of his stomach was hidden between the lines.
“You okay?”
“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine. It was always gonna be like this. Wasn’t it? Being back here.”
“I don’t think there’s a way around it. But at least it’s a celebration this time.” Horacio placed a gentle kiss on Javier’s forehead. “And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
After locating Steve, they shared a taxi to the church, where they met Connie and Olivia on account of Olivia being in a particularly fussy mood.
“I think it’s the travelling and being out of routine. She was up early this morning. So, of course, she’s tired now.” Connie gestured towards Olivia, fast asleep in her dad’s arms, before hugging Javier and Horacio.
“You look stunning, love the dress,” Javier said, noticing he owned a shirt in the same shade of turquoise.
“Aw thank you, you all look so handsome!” Connie stood back to admire them then leaned in to kiss Steve. “And not hungover?” she added with a raised brow, rubbing away the smudge of lipstick left behind on his cheek. “I take it I need to thank Horacio again for keeping you in one piece?”
It took Horacio a second to get what Connie was referring to. But then he remembered a paralytic pair of DEA agents slumped in the back of his car, alongside practically carrying Javier to his bedroom, removing his outer layers and plying him with water, then lying him on his side with a pillow behind his back.
Horacio had been heading for the door when a slurred noise over his shoulder stopped him. One that sounded suspiciously like “Stay.” He couldn’t prove it or ask for clarification. But nor could he leave. So, he stayed until he was reassured Javier was safe and sleeping soundly. Then he tiptoed home, relieved the next day to find Javier had no recollection of any of it.
“I don’t know about that,” Horacio said in the here and now. “We were all on our best behaviour for today.”
“Yeah, Murphy needs his beauty sleep these days. Isn’t that right?” Javier threw a wink in Steve’s direction and wondered if Connie’s choice of words meant what he thought they did.
“Well, some of us actually have to go to work, Peña,” Steve shot back with a self-satisfied curl of the lips.
Connie playfully slapped Steve on the shoulder. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous.”
Guests began to file up the stone steps into the church, the Murphys following once they had roused Olivia awake, with Javier and Horacio hanging back at the top of the stairs.
Their arms rested over the balcony wall as they surveyed the road beneath. There was no CNP vehicle parked up this time, but instead, a hive of activity with guests being dropped off and a space reserved for the bride’s imminent arrival.
“It feels like a fucking lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”
“It was.”
“I, er, never saw her again. Helena, I mean. I secured her a visa – figured it was the least I could do after everything. But she took her kid and ran before I could give it to her. Her neighbour said she was staying with her sister in Peru, but…who knows?”
Javier wasn’t sure if she even had a sister, but he always hoped it was the truth. He always hoped she and her family were safe and that she found the strength to put what happened behind her. But of course, he had no fucking clue if these were comforting lies he’d told himself over the years. It wasn’t love, whatever they had. Far from it. He knew that back then let alone now. But for a short while, they cared in their own way, and as much as their circumstances and jobs allowed them to.
“Probably for the best. It wouldn’t have been safe here.”
“No, I made sure of that.” Javier’s hand dug harshly into the jagged stone, leaving dents in his skin until the subtle and discreet touch of a finger made contact with his own, pulling him out of his spiralling self-flagellation. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t plan on bringing all this up. Especially not today.”
“It’s okay. And it’s not like we ever really talked about it at the time.”
It had been a sore point for Horacio, not that he understood why back then. Of course, he knew Helena wasn’t the first or the last, but he could see whatever they had, however short-lived, went beyond the mere transactional. He’d never seen Javier so worried for an informant, and as it turned out, he had every reason to be. Then, she stopped being a threat and became yet another victim.
“Funnily enough, no. You just took it out on Steve instead.”
A knowing look eased the tension in an instant.
“Could you blame me?”
“Absolutely not. Especially when he was encroaching on your territory.”
Javier couldn’t resist a wink, which caused a muttered “Fuck you” followed by their shoulders shaking in unison.
Once calm was restored, Horacio turned to face the church, the wall bearing the brunt of his weight. “Looking back now, though, I don’t think I should’ve been so surprised by what you did for me in Cartagena and Tolú.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I did the same for you that night here in Medellín.”
Javier joined Horacio; both now stood side by side, their gaze meeting in an acknowledgement of the rich history that existed between them that no words could ever fully convey.
And with the scattered remnants of their past now confined to distant memories they could at last put behind them, they made their way into the church.
A waterfall of roses, carnations and orchids tied together with matching ribbons cascaded a rainbow of purple, yellow and white down the rows of pews. The flowers were supplied by the mother of the groom, who conveniently was a florist by profession. Every August, Medellín burst into bloom for Feria de las Flores, so if anyone was going to be in charge of the arrangements, it was her.
Candles lit a path from the aisle to the altar, reminding Horacio not only of Día de las Velitas but of his and Javier’s recreation of the festival during their first Christmas in Laredo. He was about to take a seat when he caught a flash of green dress uniform in the wings of the church and a pair of dark eyes picking him out of the congregation.
He excused himself to the sacristy at the side of the altar.
Trujillo peered out to the pews as his hands alternated between fidgeting with the knot of his tie and his cufflinks. “Is she here yet?”
“Not yet.” Horacio straightened Trujillo’s tie knot. “But it’s still early.”
“Yeah.” Trujillo nodded and took a deep breath.
“She’ll be here before you know it. So relax. I think we’ve been through worse.” Horacio’s lips stayed neutral for an impressively long spell until he caved.
“My hand was steady as a rock on that rooftop. But today?” Trujillo held out his hand to show the hint of a tremor.
“You ended something once and for all on that rooftop. Something that needed ending…for your father, Alfredo and Sebastián. For you. For Colombia. But today is the start of your future.”
“I always thought they would have been here for this one day. So, thank you. For being here instead. For coming back...after everything. For all those early morning drills and target practice. And for the free drinks.”
They laughed at the fact Horacio was a man of his word and hadn’t let Trujillo buy a single drink since arriving here.
“It’s the least I could do. And if you ever need anything, Felipe, don’t be afraid to ask.”
“Likewise…Horacio. That goes for Javier, too.”
Their silence was an acknowledgement that they had just shared an ending and a beginning of their own, no longer comrades in arms or superior and subordinate, but something different again, something equal.
“I thought my ears were burning,” came a voice from the doorway.
“Great way to kill the moment, Peñita.”
“Sorry. I wanted to wish you luck. And offer you some Dutch Courage, if you're interested?” Javier produced a hip flask from behind his back. “A present from Search Bloc,” was his answer to the quizzical looks he was met with.
“Just a taste, then. I don’t want Juana thinking I’m drunk.” Trujillo took a restrained swig. “Any last-minute advice?” he asked Javier, passing him the flask.
“You want marriage advice from me? Er, don’t do a runner before she gets here?”
“Good one, brother.”
“He did warn you,” Horacio added, shooting Javier a pointed look.
“True. Although,” Trujillo lowered his voice and glanced at the doorway, “neither of you might be married, but…you’ve been through a lot together. And I think it’s made you stronger. So, you must be doing something right.”
A wordless nod and one last swig for good measure were exchanged.
Javier and Horacio were unsure if it was the alcohol or something else causing the heat to rise in their cheeks. But either way, they were in quiet agreement with Trujillo’s assessment.
It wasn’t long before the words “She’s here!” were whispered with barely contained glee from beyond the door, and it was time to take their places.
The ceremony, even the drier elements, passed quicker than most weddings Javier and Horacio had been to. It was the first one Javier had attended since…well, not even his own now he thought about it because he never made it to the church. He never saw Lorraine’s dress either, as, unsurprisingly, she had changed out of it by the time he was forced to explain himself. Not that Javier really could explain at the time. But then, it was much easier to understand something was wrong once he knew what was right.
Between Felipe’s pristine uniform and Juana’s mantilla veil, memories of Horacio's Mamá wearing a strikingly similar black veil to his Papá’s funeral came to mind. But once upon a time, they had also stood at an altar like this with their shared life ahead of them, and even though the injustice of it being cut short would always linger, on this occasion, Horacio chose to cherish the fact it existed in the first place.
Furtive glances travelled between him and Javier as they bowed their heads to pray during the candle ceremony and for the exchange of rings and arras coins. It was a silent confirmation that whilst these rituals weren’t an option for them in the eyes of the law or church, their unofficial versions were no less significant.
They moved on to the reception at Jardín Botánico de Medellín in the evening, a place Horacio hadn’t been to since his youth. The wedding meal was to be served under a spectacular orchid-shaped wooden canopy in the centre of the gardens. Tables dressed in white linen were decorated with flower arrangements to match those at the church, and favours included coffee beans and orchid seeds.
The newlyweds sat at the top table surrounded by close family and their padrinos and madrinas, the echoes of war still loud and everlasting given the notable absences. Javier, Horacio, Steve, Connie and Olivia sat on the next one, along with some familiar Search Bloc faces and Carlos Holguín staff.
At the adjacent table were Martínez Senior and Junior. Horacio and Martínez Senior had only crossed paths at occasional ceremonies and dinners, even though their fathers worked more closely in the past. As the war on drugs kicked in, it became apparent the two men had polar opposite approaches to their jobs. And whilst Horacio made Escobar his mission, Martínez took a different path, specialising in FARC operations in the jungle instead. Until their paths converged, that was.
“Do you think he knows?” Javier muttered over the rim of his champagne flute after Martínez Senior’s eyes briefly fell on them.
“About us? Why would he?” Horacio replied into the palm of his hand as he scratched his upper lip.
“I dunno. He knew about everything else. And he must have questions.”
“I’m sure he does. But do you think he’ll even want to speak to us? I already know he hates my guts.”
“He might be pleasantly surprised you’re not dead. You never know.”
Their hushed conversation was thankfully drowned out by Olivia interrogating Connie about everything from the guests’ outfits to the flower arrangements and when the food was coming, whilst Steve caught up with Jacoby.
The tables were soon full of plates and dishes bearing carne asada, lechona, patacones, arepas, tamales, milhojas, concadas, cuajada con melao, fruit salads and the centre piece Torta Negra Colombiana, decorated with flowers to match the colour scheme.
The cutting of the Torta Negra followed before the space was re-arranged, guests spilling out into the surrounding gardens, refreshing their drinks at the various pop-up bars or walking amongst the flowers and trees.
By dark, a dancefloor was unveiled in the centre of the canopy with a band playing cumbia, vallenato, merengue, bambuco, salsa and beyond.
Once the bride had thrown her bouquet, the single male guests gathered to place a shoe beneath her dress. Javier managed to escape the ritual in favour of sitting back and watching from the sidelines. But at the risk of inviting prying questions from his former colleagues if he did the same, Horacio reluctantly added his shoe to the pile. Typically, his was chosen by Juana, which, as per tradition, meant he would be next to marry.
From several feet away, Horacio could see Javier’s suggestive eyebrow and overt smirk, and they were even more brazen close up when Horacio re-joined him.
“Should we pick out rings, or…?”
An eyeroll was the only answer Javier was ever going to get to that question, and it came right on cue.
“Because, er,” Javier continued regardless, clearing his throat and casually glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, “seeing you in your shirt stays this morning got me thinking how fucking good you’d look in a wedding garter.”
As Horacio was hit with a barrage of mental images and a dry mouth, a large cheer erupted as the next tradition got underway. This time, all male guests – not just the single ones – were rounded up to remove their belts, the idea being that the man with the longest belt was the winner. Of what exactly, Horacio was never sure when this had played out at past Colombian weddings he’d been to.
He stood opposite Javier as they fumbled with buckles, unhooking the leather straps from their belt loops and pulling them off in one swift motion. Their eyes remained fixed on each other from start to finish, an act fuelled by Javier’s last words.
The sound of cheering pulled them back with reluctance to the proceedings, and even though their belts were probably slightly longer than they used to be, they weren’t declared the winners.
As the drinks flowed, so did the dancing, regardless of whether the paired-up guests knew each other or whether they could actually dance.
Javier’s next partner was a familiar face, though, who had at least taken a few dance classes to get to know some locals when first arriving in Colombia.
“Is Steve with Olivia?” he asked, grateful for a slower number so he could catch his breath and talk.
“Oh, no, she’s with the Jacobys. She’s made friends with their daughter, Chloe - they’re around the same age.” Connie twirled underneath Javier’s outstretched arm and back around again. “Steve is conveniently helping Horacio with the next round of drinks. He always did have hips as stiff as a board. I had to practically drag him up for our first dance.”
“That…doesn’t surprise me.”
“And what about Horacio?” Connie whispered into Javier’s shoulder as their feet slid across the floor in time with the music. “Does he need to loosen his hips, or is he a dark horse?”
“You should know a man never dances and tells. But…” Javier spun Connie on her heel again, pulling her close so his head was near her ear this time. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with his hips.”
“That doesn’t surprise me either. When did you say you were heading to Manizales?”
“In a couple of days.” Javier swallowed hard now the subject had been raised.
“How’s he holding up?”
“Okay. We’ve not really talked about it since Madrid. Figured we’d deal with it after the wedding, but -” Javier scoffed, cutting himself off mid-sentence.
“Now it’s nearly here,” Connie finished for him.
“Exactly. But I guess we couldn’t hide in Spain forever.” As tempting as it was some days.
They somehow made it to the other side of the dancefloor, narrowly avoiding multiple couples before escaping back to their table once the song was over.
“How’re you finding being back again?” Connie asked.
“Weird.”
“Yeah. Definitely weird at first.”
Their shared laughter came like a sigh of relief, a release of tension now they had spoken the truth out loud.
“But different.”
“It’s not like last time, right?” There was uncertainty in her unblinking eyes, a plea not only for reassurance but for honesty as well.
“Trujillo said anyone left from the cartel with half a brain cell skipped town or went underground before Pablo’s body was cold. They’ve been tracking down anyone dumb enough to have stuck around. So, no. It’s not like last time. I promise.”
His tone was soft but he looked Connie in the eye until she nodded, needing the conviction as much as she did.
“I know I never visited Madrid like I said I would – blame your ex-employer for that, by the way – but for what it’s worth, I don’t think Medellín’s the only one who’s different now. So, whatever happens, Javi…”
“I know.”
His hand found its way to hers on the table and gently squeezed. An acceptance that there was no denying traces of the past, as they had already discovered, but a translucent overlay had been placed on top of it now. Whether the two could co-exist in the long run, nobody yet knew, but at least it was finally the chance of a future for them and Medellín.
Horacio picked one of the quieter bars, reeling off a list of drinks to the bartender and perching on a stool while he waited for his order.
“Thought you might need a hand.”
Before Horacio could respond, Steve had already sat on the adjacent stool, his back to the bar to accommodate his long legs.
“You sure you’re not just avoiding the dancefloor, Agent Murphy?” There was a hint of a mock interrogative tone to his voice as he turned sideways to face Steve.
Steve held his hands up in surrender. “You got me there. Although…” He dipped into the inside pocket of his black suit jacket and pulled out a couple of cigars. “Courtesy of the groom, if you’re interested?”
Horacio broke into a laugh. “He paid up, then.”
“Damn right.” Steve held one of the cigars closer to Horacio, tempting him despite the conflicted look Horacio was giving it. “I won’t tell Javi if you don’t tell Con.”
Horacio sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He put the cigar between his lips and took the lighter from Steve, hovering the flame near the foot until it took.
Steve did the same, a woody haze soon encircling them.
The bartender appeared with a trayful of drinks and once he was gone again, Horacio lifted a beer bottle and slid it across to Steve. “I never got a chance to say thank you.”
“For what?”
“Stechner.”
A scowl stormed across Steve’s pupils, and he took a quick hard swig from his beer bottle, placing it back on the table with a little more force than intended. “It was my fuckin’ pleasure. You should’ve seen his face. Covered in blood and tears in his eyes when my hand squeezed his throat.”
He swapped his beer for his cigar, relishing in that sweet memory as a ring of smoke hovered above his head like a misplaced halo.
Every now and then, Steve still surprised Horacio. Because occasionally, Horacio caught glimpses of the turbulence that raged beneath the surface. It was a clumsier, more unrefined version than he was accustomed to, but he recognised and understood it nonetheless.
“Not sure I’d have been able to stop squeezing,” Horacio confessed.
“It was touch and go for a minute. But rumour has it, the new Country Attaché, Alana Cortés, and Messina were roommates all the way through their Academy days. And for a few years after…before Cortés took an assignment in Mexico out of the blue. But now she’s back.” Steve toasted the air with his beer bottle. “So good luck to our old friend, Bill, trying to pull her strings.”
Horacio raised his glass to meet Steve’s bottle, although there was an ulterior motive to leaning forward a fraction. “I take it you’ve heard nothing else about the photos?” His words were delivered towards the floor in case of the minutest likelihood anyone around them was the world’s best lip reader.
“Not a thing. But I’d handle it if something did happen; you have my word. Cali’s beyond my remit, but I’d put good money on Stechner’s attention being there now he can’t use us anymore.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Oh, and you were right, too.”
“About what?”
“Javi tryin' to shut me out.”
“Well, thanks for not letting him.”
They bowed their heads and returned to their cigars, a surprisingly comfortable silence sitting between them.
“How was he in Madrid?” Steve asked in the end.
“Good, mostly. There were bad days, obviously. But he sleeps better now.”
“He’s not the only one.”
“No. I think there’s a lot of that going around.”
“It’s weird though, right?”
“What’s that?”
“Being back. Like it was all just some fuckin’ dream. Like it wasn’t really me on that rooftop. Like everyone knew it should’ve been you in that photo instead.”
Horacio might not have been there for the final showdown, but he'd seen enough newspapers and bulletins to know that photo well. The one where Escobar’s limp body was held up to the camera like a trophy, now the hunt was over.
“Yeah, well, I made sure it wasn’t me, didn’t I?” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve had to make my peace with it. And so should you.”
“I played out that moment so many times. Thought about all the ways we’d catch him. Over and over, I let it run through my head. But I wasn’t expecting him to look so…pathetic. Like any other son of a bitch criminal runnin’ scared when his time’s up.”
“Because that’s all he was. But it was real. And he’s gone. No matter what happens, they can’t take that away from us.”
“But now what?”
“Now, we live our lives. We don’t forget, but we move on.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
Just as they toasted their drinks, they were rumbled.
“Might’ve known this is where you’d be hiding. Found them!” Javier called over his shoulder.
Trujillo followed behind Javier; his police uniform now exchanged for a lightweight guayabera. “Anything to avoid a dancefloor. Blondie, are those my cigars?”
“I think you’ll find they’re mine now, Major. I might have a couple of spares lying around, though.” Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out more like he was performing a magic trick.
Trujillo rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking.”
Once Steve had braved the canopy to pass Connie her drink, the four men retreated to a deserted part of the gardens where pine tables and chairs with canvas covering them were dotted amongst the trees. White lights hung across the branches like fireflies and lanterns lined the decked walkways, the party and dancing reduced to a murmur in the distance.
The quartet sat around one of the pine tables, the first time they had been together like this since the old days back at Carlos Holguín.
“Can you believe we’re finally here?” Trujillo asked, savouring the spicy scent of his cigar as it combined with the fresh floral notes of the forest.
“At your wedding? Barely.”
Trujillo rolled his eyes at Javier’s teasing and shook his head. “You can tick comedian off your list of career options.”
Steve sucked in air through his teeth at their war of words. “See what I had to put up with.”
“Says the white boy who needed me to be his fucking translator 24/7.”
A collective braying sound travelled around the table this time before it morphed into laughter and Steve making use of any Spanish swear word he could think of.
“But in all seriousness...no, not really,” Javier replied in earnest after they returned to their cigars.
“Sometimes when I wake up, it takes me a minute to remember he’s not still lurking out there somewhere.”
“But he’s not.” Horacio’s eyes glowed with steely determination, needing to put a line under this once and for all. “You made sure of that. You gave Medellín a future. And now it’s time to start yours.” He raised his glass to the centre of the table. “To Juana and Felipe.”
“To Juana and Felipe!” Javier and Steve echoed as their drinks clinked with Horacio’s.
Once the cigars were stubbed out, Trujillo and Horacio were pulled away for a Search Bloc reunion, leaving Javier and Steve to their drinks.
“I was telling Carrillo about Cortés earlier.”
“How did you find out about her, by the way? You never said on the phone.”
“Just some good old fashioned slightly off-the-record detective work, that’s all.”
“You covered your tracks, though, right? Because they’ll know it was you who gave her my intel. Even if they can’t prove it.”
“’Course. Although it wouldn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure that out. Same with Stechner’s busted face. Don’t think anyone bought it was your handiwork.”
“To be fair, there’s a critical shortage of geniuses in the DEA. Present company included, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Steve retaliated by raising his middle finger in response to Javier’s trademark wink. “But most people hate Stechner as much as we do, so no one came asking. Never saw him around the school again after that, although I’m sure he must’ve been prowlin' about somewhere.”
“More than likely. So, er…no one’s mentioned the photos either?”
“No. And like I told Carrillo, even if they did, I’d handle it, Javi. I promise. There’s more shit on Stechner out there, I fuckin’ know it. Messina was getting too close, remember. I don’t think I’ll have to dig deeper, but look at it as an insurance policy.”
“Makes sense. And thanks, Steve. For Stechner. For the intel. For reassuring Horacio, apparently.”
Javier laughed at the thought of them engaged in something resembling a heart-to-heart. But if truth be told, it brought warmth to his chest to realise the two men could be considered friends-of-sorts these days. Not that he dared tell them that.
Steve gave a lazy salute with one hand whilst the other took a swig of his drink. “Don’t expect that to become a habit, by the way.”
And there it was, right on cue, just as Javier anticipated. “Oh, no, of course not.”
“It was a one-time-only Wedding Special kinda deal.”
“Right. Exactly.”
Javier took a long sip of his drink to hide the smirk threatening to explode into an undiplomatic laugh if he wasn’t careful.
“Any idea when you’re moving back to the States?” Steve asked, seemingly oblivious to Javier’s impressive restraint.
“Not really. It depends on Horacio’s visa. We haven’t decided on the best route yet. I’d forgotten how much fucking paperwork’s involved.”
It was no wonder Javier held such disdain for bureaucracy when the wrong piece of paper was the difference between crossing a border and not. When someone’s life was reduced down to a list of rigid criteria without much consideration for the sacrifice and hardship it often took to get to that point in the first place. It was why he had done his best to help informants get an American visa wherever possible, even if it meant bending rules until they snapped.
He knew Horacio had more options than most – more than his grandparents’ generation did - and they had been lucky with their past visas. But he tried not to think about the fact their future would be in the hands of an officious government administrator. One most likely not prepared to bend any rules in the slightest.
“You got that right. Don’t s’pose he’s thought about law enforcement?”
Javier shot Steve a sharp look. “Hilarious.”
“I thought so. And what about you? Any ideas what’s next?”
“Me? Fuck, I dunno, man. Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“You’ll both figure it out, y’know.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. You always do. You’re like me and Con. We’ve had our rough patches, several of ‘em while we were here - and a few more since we left, come to think of it - but somehow, we get through it. Same as you and Horacio.”
“You drunk, Murphy?”
Steve contemplated that as though he hadn’t considered the possibility until now despite the array of empty glasses covering the table. “Fuck, I think I am.” He let out a loud snigger before hushing himself. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“My lips are sealed.” For all of Javier’s stoicism, he stood no chance, and it wasn’t long before they were giggling like schoolboys.
“About the rough patches, though…” Steve said once they had calmed down. “Any tips?”
“Someone once told me it’s okay to not always be in the same boat even if you’re in the same storm. Sometimes, you just need your own boat. But as long as you’re trying to sail in the same direction...and want to be in the same boat as much as possible, you can get through it.”
“Huh. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but that actually makes sense. Who do I need to thank?”
Javier smiled, almost able to smell fresh churros if he closed his eyes hard enough. “Someone a lot older and wiser than us.”
“Figures. And my point still stands, by the way.”
“What point’s that exactly?”
“You might not have worked out the finer details yet, but…” Steve gestured for Javier to move forward as though he was about to share highly classified intel. “The worst’s over now. We don’t forget, but we move on.” He nodded sagely before dropping his voice to little more than an alcohol-infused rumble. “This is your happy ending, Javi. Go live it.”
As they returned to the party, Steve alternating between leaning against Javier and patting him enthusiastically on the back whilst attempting something vaguely resembling Spanish, there was no doubt in Javier’s mind that Steve was wasted and probably had been for most of their conversation.
But when it came to the sentiment behind Steve’s garbled words, something told Javier that didn’t matter.
Maybe it was Horacio’s age or the quiet life he had become accustomed to, but he couldn’t keep up with Search Bloc’s drinking. The aguardiente shots were in full flow when he left them to it, doubling back towards where he had left Javier and Steve.
He made it past the bustle of the bar and round the corner towards a small rock garden with a walkway to the trees lying beyond.
“So, the rumours were true, then.”
Force of habit made Horacio momentarily reach for where his gun holster used to be as he spun around to face the voice from the shadows of a wooden bench.
“Depends which ones you’re talking about,” he replied in a measured tone now he knew the source of the voice. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”
“Well, let’s put it this way...you certainly look well for a dead man, Colonel Carrillo.”
“You almost sound disappointed.”
“Not at all. Vengeance isn’t my style.”
“Nor mine these days.”
“So I’ve heard. Congratulations on your retirement. I’d say that beats jail, wouldn’t you?”
Horacio scoffed as he sat on the opposite end of the bench, his brow flexing at such an expertly delivered blow. “I guess I deserved that.”
“I think we both know what a man deserves and what a man gets are rarely the same thing.”
“True. But you’ll always be Colonel Martínez: the man who stopped Escobar.”
“Perhaps so. But was death not the easier way out?”
“Easier than what? Vengeance?”
“Justice.” Martínez gave Horacio a long look from his end of the bench. “Gaviria was the one who wanted him dead. It’s no wonder you two got along so well.”
“I did my duty. As Gaviria did his and you did yours. We played the hands we were dealt.”
“Yes, and he dealt mine well when he signed my son up to Search Bloc before offering me your job.”
Realisation slowly spread across Horacio’s face, and without meaning to, he gave Martínez a look tinged with pity. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I kept him alive. He was transferred to a new intel unit instead…where he intercepted radio transmissions from Pablo the day we caught him.”
A curve of a smile formed on Horacio’s lips. “Funny how it works out sometimes.”
Horacio was reminded of his own double-edged sword of a path to becoming leader of Search Bloc. The journey began with Javier and a briefcase full of cash being deposited in the lap of General Jaramillo, forcing the General’s greedy hand to appoint Horacio as head of the anti-drug squad and make him a Colonel. A job that was already a poisoned chalice on account of his predecessor winding up dead at the hands of the cartel.
Javier using gringo money to buy Horacio a promotion had been a bone of contention between them back then. Too many heated discussions under the influence led to an argument where “Everybody works for somebody" and “Don’t ever mistake me for one of your whores again” were the last words to hang between them in a heavy fog of smoke, whiskey and undefinable tension for several weeks. During which time, Horacio was even more ruthless than usual. And as if to prove a point, Javier practically became a temporary resident at his favourite brothel.
The hypocrisy of the situation had sat uneasily under Horacio’s skin when he had always taken such a hard line on bribery from the narcos. Was this really any different?
But conversely, if he hadn’t been allowed to build his own force of incorruptible men, he would never have led the operation on Gacha. He would never have ended up in those quarters in Tolú with Javier. On his cot with Javier underneath him.
“Yes, it is. I did tell Gaviria I would bring Escobar into custody unless he resisted. But of course, he resisted.”
“Then maybe Escobar didn’t care about justice as much as you think he did. And there’s nothing you could have done about that.”
“Aren’t we supposed to care about justice, though? And I don’t mean the vigilante kind you and Los Pepes were so fond of administering.”
“You sound like the gringos I used to work with.” A surge of nostalgia rose in Horacio’s chest, and he’d have been surprised if it wasn’t showing on his face. Although, of course, it was one gringo in particular he had in mind.
“If you think I wanted Escobar to be extradited to an American jail, you’re mistaken. He was our problem to deal with, not theirs.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck about a corrupt form of justice. How would that have been better than what I did? So many judges, politicians and journalists were bought or killed alongside our men. He wanted Colombia to bleed, and he’d have done whatever it took to make sure he didn’t remain in a cell. You, Trujillo, Search Bloc…you cauterised the wound that no one else could.”
“For now. I think we both know this was something of a Pyrrhic victory. And not the end.”
“Two things we can agree on.”
Reluctant smiles crossed their faces despite everything.
“I think our fathers managed a few more.”
“So I was told at Papá’s wake. How is your father doing these days?”
“He’s fine. Retired now but relieved the hunt is over. I think he hated watching from the sidelines.”
“I know the feeling.”
The distant drumbeat of the live band carried on the gentle breeze through the garden, whispering like ghosts through the plants and trees surrounding them.
“I may not have agreed with your methods, but I was very sorry about your father.”
“Me too. And for what it’s worth, I think my father would’ve been sorry about my methods as well.”
“I cannot imagine how losing a parent so young would have changed my path. And to be clear, this isn't to be taken as an excuse, but by your own ethos, you played the cards you were dealt, did you not?”
Horacio laughed. “Something like that.”
“I must admit, you were a tough act to follow.”
“Was I?”
“Yes. The level of respect you commanded from your men wasn’t easy to replicate.”
“You still got invited here, though.”
“True. And I accepted the invite despite my suspicions the groom was assisting Agent Peña before his departure.”
Horacio’s jaw ticked in anticipation of the treacherous tightrope he would need to tread here. He and Javier were out, done, without their badges or weapons. But Trujillo wasn’t.
“Suspicions or evidence?” he settled on in the end.
“Suspicions based on what I witnessed. But I think there’s irrefutable evidence his and Peña’s unfaltering loyalty rested with you rather than with me.”
“Trujillo also fired a bullet through Escobar’s skull.”
“Yes. An act I don’t judge him for in the circumstances. And rest assured, I have no intention of reporting my suspicions to anyone. Major Trujillo’s motives aren’t the ones still eluding me.”
Horacio swallowed down the dread burning the back of his throat like bile that was in danger of choking him if he didn’t get rid of it quickly. “What are you talking about?”
“You never struck me as a man afraid of death. And whilst I can understand the ambush might have made some reconsider their career choice, I wouldn’t have put you down as one of them.”
“Do you really think there was anything left for me in Search Bloc? My superiors already had your name on their lips to replace me long before I was shot.”
“In Search Bloc, perhaps not. But I’m sure the CNP would have allowed you back once the dust settled. They forgave you for far worse than being shot.”
Horacio huffed sarcastically despite how unwise it was to get sucked into the conversation. “I can assure you my decision was never about them. And it’s nothing you didn’t do for your son.”
That seemed to be the winning blow as Martínez nodded in concession. “True. We can’t afford to be afraid of death in our profession. But when it comes to the people we love, I must confess…I can’t apply the same rule.”
Horacio gripped the edge of the bench and focused intently on his feet, fearing even glancing in Martínez’s direction would fill in the few remaining blanks. He managed a minimal grunting noise in his throat that he hoped sounded like agreement.
“However, many times, I’ve asked myself why a man such as Peña would have destroyed his career so recklessly, and so close to the finish line. But I’ve been unable to settle on an answer.”
It wasn’t quite the change of subject Horacio hoped for. “Well, for starters,” he began, raising his gaze from his shoes at last, not out of a newly acquired sense of bravery but because he knew he needed to be convincing. “I wouldn’t read too much into Judy Moncada’s Get Out Of Jail Free Card.”
“Oh, I didn’t. I know Peña’s role was only a small part of something a lot bigger than he, you or I could control. But I have to wonder what leverage they had over him to make a deal with the devil impossible to refuse.”
Horacio had no intention of engaging further, but it wasn’t the first time he had wondered about the gap he left that was hastily – and bloodily - filled by Los Pepes. Would they even have been necessary if he'd never left? Or would they have tried their luck in approaching him with the offer of an allegiance? It caused his stomach to swoop if he focused too much on the people involved in that hypothetical scenario. But then he thought of Javier, and he knew with every fibre of his being if their roles had been reversed, he would have done the same.
“I’m sure every man has his reasons if the price is high enough.”
Martínez cocked his head in Horacio’s direction with a creased brow, holding eye contact for a fraction longer than Horacio was comfortable with. “Quite.”
Drunken laughter followed by a sniggered hush abruptly cut through the loud silence. The two Colonels – past and present – turned around to be met with the sight of Javier trying to control the swaying bulk of limbs belonging to his former partner.
Javier spotted them first and halted in his tracks, hoping the dim lighting hid the flash of horror on his face at the sight of two parallel universes colliding in front of him on a garden bench.
Steve apparently was oblivious to what they had stumbled across as he carried on along the path back to the party with just about enough of his faculties remaining to reunite with Connie.
“Everything alright?” Javier asked, fingers twitching on his right hand as he looked from one side of the bench to the other, then back again.
“Yeah, fine.” But Horacio’s eyes found Javier’s in the flecks of light from the lanterns hanging amongst the tree branches and told a more complicated story. “We were just comparing notes.”
“Oh yeah? Any interesting findings?” Javier’s eyes stayed fixed on Horacio’s or the floor for the most part, only risking a brief glance or two at Martínez.
“A few,” Martínez chipped in as he studied them more carefully than they were likely aware of. “Some that I will never be able to excuse or forgive, but I think I understand one thing more clearly now.”
“What’s that?” Horacio asked.
“I always believed there were two types of people in this world: those who rely on hope and those who rely on faith. But now, I see some rely on both.”
Before Javier or Horacio could formulate a response, Martínez announced it was time to locate his son as they had early shifts in the morning.
Their farewell involved little more than a handshake, a stern nod and an exchange of “Good luck.” But it was a necessary formality for all parties. A mark of mutual respect that wasn’t quite an offered or accepted olive branch but at least a truce. And that was enough.
“You okay?” Javier asked once Martínez had disappeared from view.
“Yeah. Well, I guess it was inevitable at some point.”
“Didn’t expect it to go like that, though. What the fuck did he mean? Just before he left. Does he know?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t think he’s telling anyone anything either way.”
“Agreed. We don’t have to stay if you’d rather -”
“No.” Horacio was quiet for a second, craning his ear towards the sound of the band behind the large cluster of trees they had sat amongst earlier. “I’ve got a better idea.”
He looked around them in all directions, twice, to be on the safe side, then took Javier by the hand and escorted him along one of the walkways. However, they branched off in a different direction than before, Horacio surprising himself with childhood memories of the layout of this place that he assumed were lost to the sands of time.
“What are -?”
“You’ll see.”
The path spiralled in circles, leaving them surrounded by greenery until they arrived at a softly lit water fountain in the centre. They were somehow closer to the sound of the music, even though they had moved further away from the party.
As they stilled, Javier looked expectantly at Horacio, who was already removing his jacket, placing it carefully on the ground and rolling up his shirt sleeves.
Javier did the same, still not understanding what this was all about, but the look in Horacio’s eye made him want to find out.
Horacio stepped closer, moonlight casting reflections from the fountain, illuminating the spark of hunger glinting in his pupils. “I’ve spent all night watching you dance with half the wedding party.” One hand dropped to Javier’s waist and tugged him forward into his hold. “It’s my turn now.”
Javier’s breath hitched as Horacio pressed them together, his hands automatically falling to Horacio’s hips to steady himself. “You only had to ask,” he said, the smoky timbre of his voice vibrating against Horacio’s ear.
“I thought line-dancing was more your thing.”
Javier nipped at Horacio’s earlobe in revenge. “That was when I was a kid. And you weren’t complaining about my dancing skills on our anniversary.”
Horacio let out an agreeable sigh as he chased the scrape of Javier’s teeth. “No, I wasn’t. But as nice as that was, we were hardly moving.”
“True. And if you must know, the Texas Two-Step got me several phone numbers back in the day. Lorraine’s being one of them. She was more into it than me, but it was actually kinda fun…for a while anyway.”
Memories of Saturday nights spent at old Texan dance halls and barn dances suddenly filled Javier’s mind. The faded aroma of leather and iron rust lingered alongside stale Lone Star beer, cigarette smoke and overpowering perfume as he led his partner across the worn wooden floor in time to the likes of Laura Canales and Hank Locklin.
His gaze would travel around the room – which was easier during a do-si-do - sometimes to make sure they didn’t collide with other dancers, sometimes to give anyone who caught his eye a discreet once-over. If he happened to hone in on a male dancer's tight-fitted jeans and fluid hip movements, it could easily be disguised as admiration for his female partner.
Not that it ever led to any encounters. Not there anyway; it wasn’t anonymous enough. But it was still a temptation. And yet another instance of feeling caught between two worlds: to have the tangible heat and beauty of a woman in his arms whilst fantasising about a mysterious, alluring man from afar, knowing he could never do the same with him in front of an audience.
“Juliana taught me to dance too. Or tried to, at least. She competed a lot when she was younger.”
Horacio smiled at the unexpected memory of them practising in her parents' kitchen, her father watching them like a hawk, glaring every time Horacio put a foot wrong or his hands fell lower than her waist despite the fact she was a grown woman. And his hands had already done much more than that whenever they had the place to themselves. His relationship with her father was the polar opposite of his relationship with Chucho, now he thought about it.
It wasn’t Juliana’s fault, though. And when they were alone on a crowded dancefloor, before his job and life came between them, before he understood the strange, borderline resentment twisting in his chest if he clocked male dancers with a particular look or build, they were content.
One of their favourite clubs ran a cumbia contest on the first Saturday of each month. The prize was tokenistic, free drinks on their next visit, but that didn’t matter on the occasions they came first when Juliana would tell her parents the good news at church the following day. The look on her father’s face as Horacio tried and failed to stifle a smug expression at her side would always be priceless.
“You ever danced any cumbia?” he asked Javier now.
“Some. At parties, weddings, quinceañeras…but that’s going back before I came to Colombia.” There might have been a few hazy nights in clubs and bars over here as well, but dancing hadn’t been his modus operandi in those days.
“So, you’ve never done it with a Colombian?”
Javier’s brow quirked of its own accord, and his tongue swept deliberately across his top lip. “No, er, you’d be my first.”
Horacio kept an impassive expression with his mouth, but his darkening pupils gave him away. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
“You know that won’t be necessary.”
Somewhere in the middle of their flirtation, they loosened their embrace, one hand linked in the space between them as their feet stepped back and forth, then side to side, their movements mirroring one another. Quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow.
Without warning, Horacio pulled Javier across his body and under their arms, spinning him around with force, then bringing them face-to-face again.
“Lucho Bermúdez was one of the great musical legends here in Colombia. Still is after his death last year. Mamá and my Abuelas listened to him all the time whenever the whole family got together. Do you know the name of this song?”
Horacio waited until their noses were almost touching to ask as their feet subconsciously glided over the paving stones beneath them.
Javier merely shook his head, their legs intermittently brushing together as their hips popped to the beat before he was spun once, twice, thrice until he was dizzy and out of breath.
“Tolú,” Horacio whispered as they reconverged, his lips skimming Javier’s and his eyes flickering shut as flashes of them on his cot in their shadowed quarters flooded into view.
Javier teased his bottom lip over Horacio’s, moustache swiping back and forth until they shuddered, a different first time as fresh as if it happened yesterday.
But they never stopped dancing. Horacio looped through their arms until he had his back to Javier, one hand each gripped at Horacio’s waist. They shimmied sideways, their free hands entwined by their shoulders to guide them back and forth, switching their hold each time they travelled across the floor. Another spin, another brush of legs, or an electric look making it clear which memories of Tolú they were thinking of.
The song ended, leaving only their charged breaths and the evening breeze rustling through the maze of trees protecting them from prying eyes.
Then, the band struck up again, so they kept dancing. Their bodies and minds synchronised as they paid homage to the country that had brought them together in the unlikeliest circumstances, Horacio interjecting with memories from childhood whenever old classics were played. He was even forced to swear on the cross between their chests that he had nothing to do with the band playing Noches de Cartagena of all songs.
By the time Javier prised his eyes open, unwelcome rays were already bursting through any gap in the blinds they could find. He craned his neck above Horacio’s still form, his watch on the nightstand reading 8:45am; ouch.
He’d survived on minimal sleep plenty of times, but he couldn’t remember getting home from a wedding past 5:00am before. If he was honest, they were tempted to call it a night once their private party for two ended. But it would have been rude to miss out on the dancers – professional this time - costumes and confetti of La Hora Loca. When in Colombia and all that.
They still had a few hours before they were to reconvene with the wedding party for the ultimate hangover cure of bandeja paisa, so Javier’s nose and moustache brushed over the nape of Horacio’s neck, arms slotting around him from behind.
A serene purr soon followed as Horacio stirred and leaned into Javier’s touch.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
Javier’s lips now worked their way to the side of Horacio’s neck, concentrating on a sweet spot below his ear.
“Liar.” Although Horacio’s whole body arched and his head tilted to give Javier what he wanted.
“Surprised I was awake before you, to be honest.”
“It took me a while to get to sleep…all of two and a bit hours ago.” Horacio winced into the pillow at how little rest he’d actually had.
“Everything okay?”
“Hmm, yeah.” He raised his head and shifted so he was lying face-to-face with Javier. “I was just thinking about my family.”
“Makes sense.”
“When we arrived, we were so focused on the wedding. I didn’t let myself think about what comes next. But now…”
“I said the same to Connie last night. But…maybe we’re ready to rip off the band-aid.”
“Maybe. Part of me just wanted to get it out of the way when I was lying awake. But you nodded off in record time.”
“I think you wore me out.”
“But you enjoyed it, though?”
“It was perfect.” Javier closed the space between them, seeking out Horacio’s lips until he was met with a hum of agreement.
Javier pushed his luck, ducking below Horacio’s ear and descending over the column of his throat. Testing the waters to see if Horacio wanted the distraction Javier was more than willing to provide. “And how’s this?”
“Pretty fucking perfect too.”
Their kisses started languorous due to their lack of sleep, building to something fervid as Horacio nipped at Javier’s pout, catching it between his teeth until it was plump and swollen.
Javier retaliated, coaxing Horacio’s tongue towards his with expert flicks, tasting faint traces of last night’s cigars, until he captured it and sucked, long and thorough.
Limbs tangled between bedsheets soon became Javier whimpering facedown into a pillow whilst Horacio dipped and devoured, creating a slick glide between Javier’s thighs, the relief visceral when lining up and pushing forwards.
Horacio experimented with bracing yet measured rotations as he mouthed along the expanse of Javier’s trapezius, lost in a sea of broad muscle. He’d always loved watching the fabric of Javier’s shirts stretch and strain at his upper back, an eye-catching contrast to the narrow hips his jeans hugged oh so tightly. And now, the shirt wasn’t required, and he was the one setting Javier’s skin alight, triggering a visible response to every touch or movement like putty in Horacio’s hands.
Javier loved being vindicated that there was nothing wrong with Horacio’s hips whatsoever. Of being denied any forewarning of what came next from biting down on a pillow with his eyes screwed shut, the only way he could avoid prematurely spilling all over the sheets beneath him. It was a close call several times, calming breaths required to refocus, a request for Horacio to stop or slow down needed before it was game over.
Knowing he reduced Javier to begging because it was too much put Horacio on thin ice, and any more pleas like that would have finished him off. But the throbbing of his cock was in sync with his pulse, loud and insistent, and keeping still wasn’t having the same effect anymore. The salty taste on his tongue as it swiped over the nape of Javier’s neck where the silver chain still remained was an aphrodisiac he couldn’t ignore.
“Fuck me,” he rasped against Javier’s ear.
Without hesitation, Javier flipped onto his back, the loss of contact causing an ache of frustration. But it was replaced by straddling, groping and grinding, propelling Horacio up the mattress until his thighs were encased around Javier’s head.
Now it was Javier’s turn to feast, spreading Horacio with vigour, darting, licking, kissing, leaving trails of saliva, moaning as wet heat engulfed his cock and fingers danced over his balls.
The scratch of nails scored Horacio’s ass as he worked Javier over, lapping with greed, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing his head and switching up the strength of suction, putting everything they had learnt in Madrid into practice.
They pulled off before it was too late, grabbing the bottle of lube and lying supine across the mattress with Javier underneath Horacio.
Javier’s feet were planted flat on the bed, giving him enough purchase to buck upwards with force, one hand holding on at the waist whilst the other roamed freely across the plains of Horacio’s chest, kneading fistfuls of pectoral muscles and skimming over his rib cage down to his thighs.
Javier caressed each thigh in turn, circling and massaging with his thumb, marvelling at how the span of his hand only reached a fraction of the way around them. “I meant what I said last night. About how good a garter would look on you.” His glutes clenched as he propelled upwards for extra emphasis.
The seed was sewn in Javier’s head as he watched Horacio dress for the wedding. It wasn’t the first time Horacio had worn what was a standard part of his dress uniform. A trick of the trade amongst police and military to avoid sanctions for a creased shirt. But it was the first time Javier had seen the shirt stays sitting snugly around Horacio’s muscular thighs. It was the first time he wanted to slip his fingers underneath the neat straps, maybe twang them or pull them tighter with his teeth whilst on his knees. Or as Horacio rode him with his back to Javier, one side of his shirt unclipped, underwear and a single garter tantalisingly removed, the other kept secured in place.
A guttural groan rumbled through Horacio’s chest like he had read Javier’s mind. “What kind?” he breathed out, surprised by his eagerness to indulge Javier and how fast his hand shot to his cock.
Javier choked back expletives at Horacio’s question and the sight above him. “I was thinking something leather…with a buckle…to match your belt and boots.” Each punishing thrust broke up his speech with strained grunts as he spread Horacio’s thighs wider, manoeuvring him up and down at the same pace. “Maybe one on your arm too….and a harness…to go with your hat…cowboy.”
“Fuck,” Horacio panted into Javier’s mouth at an awkward angle on the pillow, stroking himself roughly. Sparks of arousal multiplied with each wrist jerk as he pictured the look Javier gave him during the belt contest. Imagined him buckling the firm yet supple material until it bound tightly against Horacio’s sensitive skin like armour only they were allowed to put on or take off.
Javier’s hand replaced Horacio’s as he let his cock be held in stasis, basking in the heat and comfort of their joined form. His fingers journeyed back to Horacio’s mouth, tracing over it until Horacio parted his lips for Javier to feed two, then three digits inside.
Horacio sucked down, tasting himself as well as Javier as he swirled and licked, swallowing past the knuckles; faster and greedier. But it wasn’t enough.
Maybe it was the false pretences kept up the previous day and night combined with what lay ahead, but Javier seemed too far away. He always did when they were in public, but even more so when wearing a three-piece suit at a romantic wedding that wasn’t and couldn’t be theirs. It was why they still relished the time they could spend alone. And why they had needed Madrid. Because all those hidden looks and blink-and-miss, ‘accidental’ unseen brushes of hands could only be suppressed for so long. Last night, it had spilt out as inadvertent foreplay. But now, they needed more.
“Turn around,” Horacio said after releasing Javier’s glistening fingers.
They lay heart-to-heart, Horacio on his back, legs wrapped around Javier. Javier’s tongue skimmed across the breadth of Horacio’s chest, taking his sweet time working over each nipple, the scrape of teeth causing Horacio to lift upwards until Javier plunged him back down again.
And Horacio didn’t resist, his mind and body in free flight as the weight of Javier anchored him, allowed him to feel each and every nerve vibrate, his arms sliding above his head in complete surrender, offering them for Javier to claim.
Javier plotted a course across any patch of bare skin he could reach, licking up and down Horacio’s underarms, inhaling the musky scent of sweat before switching to his triceps, then biceps. On the left, he mouthed his way along the muscles; any marks left intentional reassurances and promises for their present and future, their bodies mapped stories of their lives.
Along the right, he eased up when he came to the faded scar at the mid-point of Horacio’s shoulder, placing tender butterfly kisses over the blemished skin, blinking away visions of a bullet tearing it open and taking care not to let his teeth make unwanted contact with their past.
He gradually dragged his mouth away until their gaze met, the rise and fall of Horacio’s chest compelling Javier to lay his head on it, soothed by the steady beat and the massage at his scalp.
Satisfied, Javier lifted Horacio’s arms back above them, sweeping over the peaks and troughs of fortified shoulders, forearms and wrists until they slotted through fingers that clamped around his like a vice.
Javier rocked in a pounding rhythm, Horacio’s legs rising higher, pushing Javier deeper as compensation for being unable to reach out and touch. Horacio honed in on the lifeline at his fingertips, the stimulation against his prostate and the safety of Javier’s forehead, all thoughts about the upcoming days put on hold.
But Javier could sense Horacio needed more again. It was written all over the beautiful agony of his face and the silent request in his eyes.
So, hands unlocked to let fingernails brand skin, tug at damp strands of hair and graze over stubble, the metallic ice of the cross contrasting with the fire burning in the core of their chests as they danced more synchronised steps only they knew.
A change in angle caused a slow build of release to skirt the edges of Horacio’s limbs, toes curling as jolts of pleasure transformed into overflowing currents. The fuse was lit, a chain reaction of heat stoking a fire in the pit of his abdomen on the cusp of burning him from the inside out.
Another snap of hips, his own hand jerking his cock in a frenzy, a rush of white noise, shuddering, shaking breaths and a release of molten bliss across their stomachs.
The ripples kept coming as every sound, quiver or fluttering around Javier’s cock pushed him closer to the edge. With one final thrust, he finished inside Horacio, a desperate growl tearing from his throat, the brunt absorbed by Horacio’s left shoulder.
They didn’t move, preferring spent velvet kisses, the world now in slow motion.
Javier concentrated on Horacio’s nose and forehead, pouring everything into each gesture of affection until he whispered, “I love you. And it’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
They dozed a little too long after wearing each other out for the second time in 24 hours, so Horacio went ahead first, leaving Javier to shower and join him afterwards. But it made little difference to the proceedings as plenty of other guests were slow off the mark, too.
Tables were laid out around the nearby restaurant owned by Juana’s parents, leftover flower arrangements used as decorations because it would have been a shame to waste them. It was a much smaller space than the botanical gardens, but not all guests from the night before were expected to attend. A fact that brought immense relief to Horacio because he wouldn’t have to make conversation with a certain Colonel again.
Whilst waiting for Javier, he worked his way through his belated first coffee of the day and took a bite out of an arepa.
“Is there room for two more?”
Horacio raised his head to find Connie with Olivia in tow. “Of course.”
Connie did her best to encourage Olivia out of her hiding place behind her legs. “Come on, sweetie. Do you want something to eat?”
Olivia peeped out from behind Connie, eyeing Horacio with suspicion.
“Don’t mind her; she’s just a little shy and overtired this morning.”
“Some arepas are going spare if that helps?” Horacio kept his voice low and gentle, peering around Connie until he drew a curious expression out of Olivia.
Olivia looked up at her mother, who nodded for reassurance.
“Go ahead.”
Olivia left her hiding place and took the chair between Horacio and Connie, mumbling a thank you as she ate.
“Help yourself, too.”
“Oh, no, thanks. I’ll wait for Steve, whose painkillers should hopefully be kicking in about now. I don’t feel too bad, but I left him groaning into his pillow. Were you and Javi in the same state this morning?”
Horacio fought down a smirk with every strength of his being. “Something like that.”
“I knew it was a smart move to travel to Cartagena tomorrow instead.”
“Where are you staying?”
“A resort just off La Boquilla beach. Steve and I would’ve preferred something quieter, but there’s more to keep kids busy where we’re at.”
“I don’t know the area well, but it is a nice coast up there. With plenty more arepas.” Horacio directed his last sentence at Olivia, who had already made a start on her second.
She slowed her chewing before smiling at Horacio, who had remembered a trick or two from the younger days of dealing with his nieces and nephews. If all else failed, food usually won them round.
“I’ve only seen Medellín and Bogotá, so it’ll be nice to get out of the big cities for a change.”
Horacio cleared his throat and took a long sip of his drink. “Yeah, it will.”
Connie leaned across the table to retrieve a freshly replenished pot of coffee and poured into her cup. “It’s a shame we won’t get a chance to see Manizales this time. But we’ll be thinking about it anyway.”
Horacio was startled out of his own coffee and met Connie’s eye, unsure how to respond before settling on a silent nod of thanks. “Maybe next time if all goes well.”
“I think we’d like that. Breaks like this are few and far between now we’re both back working.”
“How’s Miami these days?”
“Busy now we’re juggling our schedules with Liv’s. And we still have bad days sometimes, of course.” Connie gave Horacio a pointed look when talking of bad days, choosing her words carefully with Olivia in earshot. “But things are better now we’ve got more routine again…more stability.”
“Sounds familiar. I find being in the same country helps, too,” Horacio added with a wry smile.
“Exactly. Now we’re out the other side.”
“Yeah.”
They shared a knowing look, not wanting to say too much in front of Olivia about everything they had been through. It was hard to believe how much had happened and changed in the last few years, and it was clear everyone was still processing it all.
“How’s your arm doing now?” Connie asked in a hurry, keeping the mood light for the sake of her daughter.
“It’s as good as new. Well, almost. The ranch kept me moving. I think I built back more muscle than I had before. And I kept up strengthening exercises in Madrid.”
“Wow, you’re doing better than most of my patients. I never had to tell you off once.”
“I don’t follow many orders, but it wasn’t worth my arm – or life - to ignore yours. So, thank you.”
“Try telling that to Steve...or this one here. But seriously, I’m just glad I could help. Especially when I hear you might be making ranch life more permanent?” There was a conspiratorial tone to her question. A question she clearly knew the answer to already but was having fun asking regardless.
“That’s the plan, hopefully. Madrid was always supposed to be temporary.”
“But it helped?”
“Yeah. It was exactly what we needed. And maybe you’ll find Cartagena is what you need.”
“I think we will.”
There was that look again, one that spoke volumes about their shared understanding, even if their experiences were different.
Horacio’s gaze drifted up to Javier, who still wore his aviators until he flopped down at their table, already reaching for a cup and the coffee pot.
“Morning.”
“Afternoon, Javi,” Connie greeted with a wink.
“Very funny. But looks like I still beat your husband.”
“Don’t suppose you saw him on your way over?”
“Nope. I’m sure he’ll appear once the food does.”
Javier was right, of course. A worse-for-wear Steve arrived as the bandeja paisa was brought to the tables before they tucked into huge hot trays of beans, rice, chicharrón, chorizo, carne en polvo, plantain, avocado, fried egg and more arepas.
They ate in comfortable silence, letting the food work its magic and fill them up for the rest of the day, highlights from the reception still fresh in everyone’s minds despite their current weariness.
Before long, it was time to wave the newlyweds off on their honeymoon to Bequia. Their goodbyes were short and sweet, knowing they would be keeping in touch long after the celebrations were over, especially when Trujillo’s parting words were, “I’ll be waiting for my ranch invitation in the post.”
And even through the loud crowd of well-wishers, he managed to hear the mumbled “Cheeky fucker” echoed back at him in unison.
Javier and Horacio stayed to finish their coffees once the beeps of the wedding car disappeared into the distance, the majority of the party now dispersed and leaving them sat alone.
“Pops rang just before I left the hotel. Think he wanted to check in before…well, y’know.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, fine. The only bit of news he asked me to pass on was about him being offered first refusal on Ciro’s and Malena’s place.”
The fact the Ortegas were selling up wasn’t a surprise. Javier and Horacio had spent last Christmas in Laredo again, where Ciro and Malena had brought around a fresh batch of sopaipillas over the festive period. In the preceding months, they had gone back and forth on moving, but by December, they were set on putting the farm on the market in the New Year.
Horacio nodded slowly, his brow drawn tight across his forehead as he considered this new development carefully. “Makes sense.”
“Do you think he’ll seriously consider it at his age?”
“I think he has to. We buy the majority of our feed grain from them. Selling to an outsider could risk price hikes and shortages, or the new owners might want to supply to someone else. It’d be a big gamble. But if your father bought them out, then kept their staff on, used their expertise, maybe even increased the livestock with some of the extra land…I think it could be workable.”
Horacio was aware he was being watched and glanced up to face his audience. “What?”
“Nothing.” Although Javier knew his face told another story. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak such fluent cowboy before.”
“I’m not a –”
“Not yet,” Javier finished for him. “And I never said it was a bad thing.”
After every funeral, an additional service was held exclusively for CNP officers to attend. Whilst gravestones were located across Colombia in countless cemeteries, a modest wooden cross bearing a name was planted for each loss in the consecrated soil around the corner from Carlos Holguín.
Horacio had paid his respects here more times than he wished to remember, but he still wasn’t prepared for how vast the sea of the dead had become since his last visit. It was a silent expanse covering the grass for as far as the eye could see, the sole sign of life the weeds and wildflowers shooting up between the rows he walked between.
He recognised some names and could clearly picture their ashen-faced relatives as though it was yesterday when he stood on their doorsteps, hat in hand and solemn expression fixed in place. Others were indistinguishable from the rest. An indicator of the extent of the collateral damage and how long he had been away now.
As he stood in his civilian clothes, he felt strangely underdressed. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to wear his usual ranch attire since being back in Colombia and had returned to the beige khakis and polo shirts that felt like an unofficial uniform of their own. One that allowed him to get away with wholly unofficial business in the past, but today wasn’t about him. Today was about them. All of them. No matter who they were.
Perhaps against his better judgement, with the help of Trujillo, he had located the graves of Diana Turbay and Carolina García Velásquez. He didn't allow himself to remember Carolina’s name at the time, even though she had been plastered all over the papers alongside mysterious references to an “unidentified officer of the National Police” leading the raid on La Dispensaria. A story eerily repeated with Diana’s death.
He didn’t linger at their gravesides. But on those occasions, just like this one, Horacio bowed his head, recited a silent prayer and made the sign of the cross.
“Lo siento,” were the only words spoken before he retreated from the churchyard.
He had done all he could here for now, and it was time to…not forget but to move on. It was time to face his fears and look to the future. It was time to let old ghosts rest once and for all.
yesss here we go again!! I've said it before and I'll say it again, I just love how you detail everything going on, from the scene to their feelings and the surroundings; you make it so realistic like I'm there in the room with them (and feeling like a third wheel sometimes too 😂👀)
I love how comfortable and playful those two are with each other, how they've grown over the course of the story and how they've become a bit more at ease - well, as at ease as they can be given the environment they work in.
It was a silent confirmation that whilst these rituals weren’t an option for them in the eyes of the law or church, their unofficial versions were no less significant.
this part had me so emotional!! it's so unfair and heartbreaking but you are absolutely right, the unofficial love stories aren't less significant or important. what a chapter!!!
Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all.
Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.
Word Count: 3k
Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, smut (p in v, oral f receiving and fingering), language, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors are used. Reader’s age range is mentioned once in this chapter (previously established that is a similar age to Javi but slightly younger)
Notes: Okay, so we’re here guys. The slow burn is burning! I am not a natural smut writer in the slightest but I have tried! Please be kind.
The kiss is bitterness, desperation, and relief all at once. It tastes like fire and feels like a summer breeze. It’s contradiction after contradiction.
He traces kisses down your neck, entwines his fingers with yours, pushes your back against the window and when he meets your lips again, when your kiss deepens you hear him groan.
“I don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want this to be about them.” He breaks away from you, panting slightly. “Don’t want you to regret me,” he adds in a low voice that tells you everything about what he’s really thinking.
“It’s not. And I couldn’t.”
This is Javi after all. You have wanted him for so long.
That’s all it takes, he takes your hands in his and kisses you as he gently guides you to his sofa, roams his hands down your waist, traces kisses down your jaw.
There’s safety in his arms and all the noise and anxiety in your head is fading away with each touch, each caress, each kiss.
You hastily unbutton your blouse, allowing Javi to remove the rest of it, his hands then drawing a line up your waist to meet the edge of your bra. You mentally thank whatever divine force inspired you to wear your good bra today as his fingers tantalising hover over the edge of the lace.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispers in your ear. “Wanted you like this for ages.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought you hated me when you arrived.”
Javier groans against your neck, a gesture that shouldn’t make the heat pool between your legs like it does.
”How many times have I got to say that I never hated you? I hated that they put you in this position., Cariño, do you really want talk about this right now?”
His hand is edging up your leg, below your skirt and tracing up, up, up to skim the outer edges of your underwear. You’re sure he can feel the effect he’s having on you already despite the cotton layer between you. The layer you’re suddenly desperate to be rid of.
“No.” You pause and then quietly add, “I want you to take me to your bedroom.”
Javier smiles: a full glowing smile you haven’t seen before those brushes past the. “I can work with that.”
You’re touching or kissing the whole time he guides you to his bed. In the moment, you’re finally able to unbutton his shirt, discard it on the floor in your journey, and to feel the heat and solid skin on his torso. His heart is thumping when your fingers skim over his chest before sliding your hands lower.
His hand between your legs, fingers deftly moving up your folds, between your slick to find just that spot.
His fingers touching, touching you, reaching inside you. One then two - opening you up and finding that pace, that rhythm that has your breath ragged and eyes closed, tantalising close but then he -
He tastes you on his fingers, sucking each digit before salaciously smirking and moving down, down, down to place his mouth on you.
He’s meticulous; one hand on your hip as he carefully takes you apart with each kiss, lick, the way his nose feels against your clit.
The heat in you builds and builds again and this time you let go. Let the white heat take you away and leave you boneless.
He’s with you again, kisses your
“Do you have protection?” you ask as your heart still races and ears buzz.
Javi nods. “Bedside cabinet.” He reaches over and pulls the box from the drawer and you unbutton his trousers.
Hands everywhere. You can’t not touch, every movement tracing heat down your body.
There’s that moment as the two of you finally connect, as he eases himself into you.
For a second, the two of you pause and you mentally adjust to the weight and feel of him, your gaze is focused on each other. Javi leans down to kiss you once again. This time it’s surprisingly gentle.
You loop your arms around his broad shoulders as he finally moves.
It takes a moment to get just the right pace but then it’s there and it’s magic and the two of you move together, connect in a way you would never have expected a year ago but now realise was always the ending.
Fate has bought you together and this, maybe this is why.
The crescendo builds.
Then you both finally let go of it all.
You wake up in an unfamiliar bed. It’s been a while since that happened. There’s a pleasant ache, flashes of the night before coming to you as you flutter open your eyes.
Javi’s there next to you, all heat and warmth, one arm sprawled over your side, the other curved above his head. You turn carefully so you’re facing him but you don’t wake him either.
His eyes are shut, a peaceful expression on his face. One you haven’t seen before but you want to see again and again and again.
The two of you have really crossed the point of no return now.
A brief stab of anxiety hits you. Where do the two of you go from here?
Can you truly stay in Colombia much longer? Since Javi arrived, it’s been clear your role has an eventual expiry date. You could go to another embassy, carry on advising, but you’d be away from Javi.
How would that work?
You’re not sure you can take the politics or messiness much longer anymore. It wears at you, corrodes you over time. You’re exhausted and you’re not making the difference you hoped.
You went to law school with naive aspirations and none of them have been realised.
Javi’s eyes gradually open in front of you.
“Morning,” he grumbles, moving to rub his eyes in a gesture that feels so young, so vulnerable.
“Hi.”
You feel awkward for a moment. Conscious of the vulnerability of this moment, of the fact you have no idea if you’re welcome to stay or expected to leave.
“Coffee?” he asks sleepily, tracing idle shoes down your side.
“Yeah, if you’re making some.“
“Course. If you want to stay, that is.”
“I do.”
“Good,” Javi stretches, moving his arm away from you. You pout at the loss of contact, the sudden coolness from his hand not being on you.
“Mind if I have a shower while you make coffee?” you ask drowsily, hoping the hot water will wake you up properly, shake off the gnawing anxiety of what comes next.
He shakes his head, mumbles where he keeps fresh towels before leaning over you to kiss you, his hands once more roaming down your side and
“Could join you,” he murmurs.
Well, that should definitely wake you up and shift the anxieties away, you think as you smile back at him.
You can smell the coffee on the stove as you walk into Javi’s kitchen, zipping your skirt up as you go. In hindsight, turning up at his apartment in your work clothes had not been the best, or most comfortable, idea.
You’re also not sure how you’ll hide the fact they’re from yesterday in the office; your blouse is crumpled and creased. Maybe Javi can drop you off at your apartment before work so you can quickly change, or you can borrow a shirt.
Maybe you’re just the right level of invisible that no one would notice.
“You hungry?” he asks, looking over at you.
“Depends on how bad a cook you are.“
“I’ve survived this long,” he says with a smirk.
“Yeah, but so’s Rafa and he would probably burn water.”
“He’s a doctor.”
“And you’ll be glad if he is if he ever cooks for you. It’s balance,” you say sagely.
“I can scramble eggs, or we can pick something up on the way in? I can drop you off, but I have to go somewhere before the office this morning,” Javi says lightly.
“ Go where?” There’s something in the air, something he’s not telling you.
“An appointment.” He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your eyes.
“Javi - what’s going on?”
“I - I can’t let it go,” he says finally.
“Let what go?” you ask, a growing sense of concern at his words.
“I have a meeting with Carolina Alvarez.” You recognise the name; she’s the journalist Javi was working with earlier in the year. You piece together his plan quickly, realise Javier Peña has one last move left.
It shouldn’t surprise you at all.
“Tell me, are you going to do what I think you are?”
“If I say yes, are you going to yell at me again?” he asks gently.
You say his name like a warning.
“I arranged it yesterday, before you - before we -“ Javi breaks off and then sighs. “ I - I can’t let this go, Blue. Please don’t ask me to.”
You walk over to him. His shirt is partly buttoned, tie loose around his neck. You touch his cheek, let him lean into it before shifting your hands to his broad shoulders.
“Professionally speaking, I am not your lawyer so I cannot advise you on this, or be party to it.” You pause, smoothing his shirt and then looking at him with what you hope is a focused gaze, “Personally speaking though, Javi, if you don’t do this interview, then I will.”
“Blue - ” Javi looks at you dumbfounded.
“Now, I agree it will sound better if it comes from you rather than me,” you continue. “It’ll be more convincing; it will contain first-hand evidence as opposed to my second-hand knowledge. You know more about this than I probably ever will. I just want you to know though that I get it, Javi, that I’m with you.”
There’s a heavy silence between the two of you. You know Javi understands why you feel this way; why any perceived corruption would set you alight like this, bring up your ghosts and demons back. You don’t need to say it, neither of you do.
The two of you are haunted by different spectres of your pasts, and now you even share some of the same pains from your year together in Colombia. The two of you may be the only people who can truly understand this decision right now.
Javi has to do this - there is no way he can just walk away without doing this, without one last attempt for the truth to be known, for the right thing to be done. You know him. This is the only way this chapter in your lives can end.
“They’ll fire you. They’ll fire both of us when it comes out,” Javi says flatly.
“I know.” You sigh heavily. “You’ll need to resign just before publication. Promise me you will?”
“And you?” He loops his hands around your waist, pulls you closer to him. “I don’t want to jeopardise your future with this, Blue. My career with the DEA - it’s done. Your career doesn’t have to be though.”
“I’ll get something in motion. I don’t know if I can - if I can resign before you without raising an alarm so - I’m not sure how I’ll do this if I’m honest. It’s - if they know it’s you, then I’ve probably definitely failed at what they wanted me to do with you so they would -” you trail off.
“No, no, absolutely not. You are not getting fired over this. I am not getting you fired, cariño. You can’t ask me to be okay with that.”
“I agree, Javi. I won’t be. Look, I - I have some ideas. I told you before, I’m really good at what I do. You just worry about what you want to say.”
You go to kiss his cheek lightly but he tilts his head at the last moment with a knowing smirk so you’re meeting his lips instead.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he presses you against his kitchen counter, moves his hands from your waist to your hips.
You open your mouth to deepen the kiss.
You could spend hours like this.
“You have an appointment, Javi,” you say as he moves his kisses down your neck.
“I can be a little late,” he mumbles, resting his head in the crook of your neck.
“No, you can’t. Wear the red tie, it looks good on you.”
“She’s not filming me, Blue.”
“It’ll help, trust me.”
The stares follow Javi as he walks into the embassy, shoving his car keys into his jacket pocket.
The article is live - everybody is talking about it.
As he rounds the corner past the ambassador’s office, he notices Linda’s watchful eyes on him.
“He wants to see you today,” she says calmly, by way of warning. “I think after this call - expect to be summoned in the hour.”
“I hear you,” Javi says casually.
“It’s not looking good for you, Agent Peña.”
“I expect not.” He’s already resigned, took your advice, and had called the office in DC before he even left his apartment.
The two of you had spent the night before together again; distracting yourself from the knowledge the article was imminent by taking distraction in each other bodies.
He’s learning all the ways to take you apart; the expressions on your face as you grow close, the sounds you make, the way you taste.
You both wasted so much time, he thinks. We could have been doing this all along.
“He fired her, y’know.”
“What?”
She mumbles your name and it sends dread throughout his body. It’s a wave of anxiety, nausea, anger, and fear. His heart races and his palms are sticky.
“They fired her?”
“First thing this morning. She’s already left the building, Javier.”
You’d gone into work earlier than him after saying that you had some paperwork you needed to file.
You lied to him.
You told him this wouldn’t happen, that you had a plan, but he realises that you knew what would happen all along.
You let him do it anyway.
Javi’s hit with the sinking sense that he’s really fucked up. He’s ruined your career. He’s infected your life like poison, creeping and suffocating your ambitions. He took you down with him and he never meant to.
He quickly schools his expression, doesn’t say a word to Linda and carries on down to the DEA office.
Feistl and Van Ness are there, reading the article and both look at over him with unreadable expressions.
Stoddard stands from his desk and no one says a word to him.
It’s powerful really. He’s rendered them speechless, but he can feel it, the confusion, the sense of betrayal, the sense that he’s right and the relief it’s not them in his shoes today.
Before Stoddard can speak, Javi says, “When the Ambassador’s ready for me, let me know. I’ll be in my office.”
He shuts the door behind him and sits at his desk and waits.
“You said you had a plan, you said you would make sure this wouldn’t happen.” Javi looks angry, rests his head back against your bedroom wall as he watches you place folded clothes into your suitcase.
“I know.” You smile at Javi affectionately. “I lied to you.”
“It’s not okay. This is not okay.”
“Our visas are pulled, you’ve resigned and they’re firing me. We’re being flown back to DC, Javi. This is the situation we’re in and we need to work with this. Now you have to finish your handover and I - I have some meetings to get through too in DC -”
“You told me you wouldn’t get fired,” he says desperately, “You let me go into that interview, knowing they’d fire you for it.”
“Yes. I’d do it again.”
“What are you going to tell your family, cariño? What do I tell Rafa, huh? God, he asked me to look out for you.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah, shit, I didn’t tell you that.”
“No, you didn’t. Okay, I’m in my thirties, does no one in my family think I can look after myself?”
”You are technically getting fired right now,” Javi says, raising his arms in mock surrender at your thunderous expression.
“Thin ice, baby.”
He whispers your name in a low voice. “I didn’t want to get you fired, that wasn’t what we agreed. I wouldn’t have -”
“I told you where I stood on this, Javi. Look, have you considered that I have a plan?”
“Well, seeing as you said that before when you assured me you wouldn’t get fired because of me, then I have little confidence in any plan you have.“
“And I did have a plan then, and now I have another plan.”
“Blue. I’m not worth -”
“This was the right thing to do. It wasn’t about you, it was the right thing. Do you trust me?”
It’s an echo to your early conversations when you needed him to do something that you couldn’t do either. It’s a callback to when neither of you had placed faith in each other, but now, now you think the answer might be different.
“Of course,” Javi says firmly. “Of course I do.”
“Good, so trust me.” You kiss his cheek before going back to zip your suitcase. “I’ve got this.”
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“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispers in your ear. “Wanted you like this for ages.”
stuff like this gets me each and every single time without fail. I am a mess. this whole chapter has been sooo delicious and such a great payoff after all the buildup, amazing!
but the second half though!!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN THOSE BASTARDS FIRED HER?? I'M SO MAD. but uh.. plan, you said? 👀 okay okay, you got my undivided attention now 👀
Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all.
Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.
Word Count: 3.5k
Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, mentions of alcohol, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors are used, un beta’d.
Notes - Thanks, as always, for all your lovely comments and reblogs to this fic so far. It means the world to me.
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It feels like the case is falling apart. Jurado won’t testify without Christina and no one knows where she is at the moment. There are whispers rumbling and none of them are good.
Javi’s become accustomed to racing heartbeats, to surges of adrenaline as he tries to make sense of the cards in front of him. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him, the weight of expectation after he arrested Gilberto.
He needs something else, another option to bring this cartel down.
They go ahead with the plan arrest Miguel, to act decisively, to bring it down once and for all. Feistl has his informant, Natalia, and there’s a plan.
Javi and his team do everything right. They don’t say who the target is; they even bring the damn prosecutor with them to sign the warrant there and then to help keep this quiet, assure the mission’s integrity. They keep the target secret; they have the intelligence that he is in that house. Everything is prepared.
He follows the rules, follows the guidance and your careful considerations. In the moments before it starts, he is sure Blue would be pleased he stops Feistl barging in against the local laws. The prosecutor is reluctant to help but he finally signs the paperwork.
It’s a good plan. Until the local police turn up, until they point out the unblocked exit, until, until, until …
They still fail. They fuck up; they’re moments from getting Miguel and are told the raid isn’t legal, that it’s over.
Javi knows that Miguel was behind that wall, is probably laughing at them all right now, at their failed attempt, at their incompetence, at Javi’s mistakes.
He thinks back to that night, to the work and preparation that went into it. He felt like himself for a second; in a shirt and tac vest instead of a claustrophobic suit, being at the scene with the intelligence rather than reading it in a report.
Every minuscule step forward he makes is thwarted with gigantic stumbles backwards. Javi set this path in the motion the day he arrested Gilberto so he needs to see this through. He needs to make this work.
Javi neatens the tie around his neck and looks at you. You look serious; he’s watched you smooth out imaginary creases on your suit jacket at least twice in the last ten minutes.
“We’ve got this,” you say softly, looking at him and Feistl and then at the Ambassador approaching in the distance.
He knows you’re lying.
You take a long gulp of coffee and rest your head against the sofa. The past few weeks have been draining. You thought it was bad enough telling Javi everything that had happened in DC, but quickly after that work had escalated and when the arrest of Miguel failed and they threatened to pull everyone on the raid’s visas? You’ve been juggling a lot. The two of you have barely been able to talk about what you said on the plane weeks ago. You’re glad of that.
You don’t want to dwell on the past, you don’t want to go backwards. Somehow talking to Javi about DC changed something within you; it hurt at first. It bought up all your ghosts and agonies. Then it subsided though and in the wake of those memories, you felt different. It’s as though you have forged the broken pieces of yourself together with something stronger, something that makes you more resilient.
It doesn’t hurt so much to think about it now. It’s there; the dull ache that hasn’t subsided, but it’s different.
You were scared after you told Javi that things would change between the two of you; that Javi would think you weak, or even worse, he would change how he was around you. Things have been normal though, or as normal as they can be.
“Are you sure you can trust him?” you ask quietly, after considering what Javi has just told you he plans to do to get Christina back.
“No, but I - I don’t see another option right now. The cartel paid for Christina to be -” Javi breaks off and looks out of the glass windows of his office. “I need to go and get her.”
You don’t need Javi to elaborate on what he’s thinking. You don’t want to think about what Christina may be going through, how terrified she may be right now. It is so like Javi thought to decide he’ll be the one to get to her, to not delegate the role but to see it through.
“And then Jurado will talk, I’ll get the deal back, Javi. We can get him to translate the ledger you found?”
“That’s the plan, cariño. There are two people who can translate that ledger - him and the accountant and we only have Jurado right now.” Javi moves off the desk he was perched against.
You’ve noticed his habits over the many months you’ve worked together now; how he leans against furniture, how he prefers a shirt and jeans to suits, how he naturally wants to loosen the top buttons of any shirt he wears, to always show a tantalising amount of neck. He has freckles there; sometimes you’ve wanted to count them, to place a delicate kiss on each one.
You can’t though. There’s the case, there’s your history, there’s too much.
“So, you’re off into the jungle again?” you ask, a mischievous smirk on your face.
“I promise won’t wear my best shoes this time,” he says lightly, squeezing your arm briefly as you move to stand next to him.
“Well, that’s some progress I suppose.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know, I know you are. Look, Javi, we’ll get through this. You’ll get Christina and then we have the money, we have Jurado’s testimony. We’re getting there - you’re getting there.”
“Thanks, Blue.”
“Just be safe, Javi. I don’t like the sound of this guy.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” Javi pauses then adds, “I’ll be safe, don’t worry,” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours with an unspoken promise.
Things fall apart quickly and the confirmation from Salcedo there’s a link brings all the puzzle pieces together at last.
Javi watches your face carefully as he tells you everything he knows; that the leak may be in the government, that Jurado is dead, murdered in prison and that he was this close to arresting Miguel before he was stopped. He confesses that they seem to know all of his moves, that the stacks of cards he’s carefully constructed is being systematically destroyed and he’s not sure he can stop this.
He has a matter of hours to make this right and he can’t even get to Cali. He’s stuck here in Bogota and it’s not enough.
“Javi, they’ve asked for all my files too,” you say softly, “I - I don’t know how we can fix this one. I spent hours talking to the local office today and - I don’t think I can fix this.” You’re not looking at him and Javi wonders if you think he’s disappointed in you. He’s not, he can’t be anything more than amazed that you’ve fought with him as hard as you have, that you’re still here with him.
He looks at you, exhales the smoke from his cigarette and confesses the next part of his plan. “We’re going to arrest Miguel today.”
“What?”
”If I still have until the end of today, we can still get him before then. You and I both know that it won’t happen after today. So, it happens now, or it doesn’t happen at all.”
“Javi, I - okay. Okay. What do you need from me?”
“I’ve got a plan with Feistl and Van Ness. I’ve - I’ve spoken to General Serrano just now and it’s going ahead, we - we have a plan. We make him move, make him leave his safehouse or wherever he’s hiding and then we get him.”
You tilt your head as you take in the plan and then nod. “That sounds sensible. Right, you have a plan, you still have some time to do this but what’s wrong, Javi? I can see it all over your face.”
“I’m stuck here, Blue - I should be in Cali with my team but I’m not and -”
If anything goes wrong and he’s not there, if Javi’s the one who insisted on setting this in motion …
He swallows.
Christina’s right, he is a piece of shit. How can he tell you about what he’s done? He lied to Feistl and Van Ness, lied about Salcedo and getting him out just so he has the chance for them to arrest Miguel? He thinks of the numerous CIs he’s had over the years, the way he’s detested higher-ups for making calls just like this, the consequences of that which he’s seen.
If this goes wrong today, he’ll never wash the blood off his hands.
He can’t tell you any of this though.
Instead, he resigns himself to the fact that while Christina is right about him, if he can get Miguel, if he can expose this corruption, then maybe he won’t be so bad. Maybe he will bear some goodness at last and it will be worth it.
Javi feels your hand on his arm, a gentle squeeze. It reassures him, having you so near to him, the solid grounding presence of your hand on his shirt.
It’s nearly over, he tells himself, it’s almost over. They’ll arrest Miguel, they’ll get Salcedo and his family somewhere safe, it will all be worth it. It’s the right thing.
The DEA arrest Miguel, they safely put Salcedo and his family into a hotel. That’s when your work can start at last; the next step in acquiring justice. You
There’s no celebration in Javi’s office after Miguel’s arrest, no true sense of a win. There’s the slow, haunting realisation that the odds were always stacked around you, that the cartel had all the winning cards.
In the movies, justice moves quickly. The scene transitions seamlessly from the arrest to a courtroom to a jail cell as though it all happens immediately, within a week or two at the most. You never see the months of work in between that. Real life is so different to the screen. There’s a lot more paperwork to complete than for a start.
You spend so much of your time in these between scenes, slowly trying to find a way forward. The entire pursuit of justice is a painstaking wade though molasses, each step infinitely harder than the last.
One night, shortly after the arrest, you find Javi standing outside your apartment, tie loosened, eyes wild. You’re holding grocery bags in your arm, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt as opposed to your usual workwear.
“Tell me you didn’t know,” he says, “Please, please, cariño, tell me you didn’t know.”
You open your door, leaving it open for him to walk in as you place your grocery bags on the dining table. “What are you talking about, Javi?”
“I was just with the Ambassador.”
“Okay?”
“He played me a tape. Tell me you haven’t heard it.” You forget about unpacking your shopping, forget about which items need to go in the fridge. What tape? What is he saying?
You walk from the kitchen to the sofa.
“Heard what, Javi?” you ask in your best prosecutor voice.
“That they’re all in on it. That they donated to Samper’s campaign, that all of this, all of this means nothing right now, because they’re not going to stay in jail, are they, Blue?”
“Javi I-”
You sit down on the sofa and put your head in your hands.
“It makes sense,” you say after a moment. “Fuck!”
The system has been against you both from the start. You feel the bile rising in your stomach, the frustration at the futility of everything you have fought for.
“We never stood a chance, Blue.”
“We – Javi -” you falter, unsure of what you can even say.
If what Javi says is true, and of course it is, then everything you’ve done and everything you’ve been planning could be futile. You have so much work left to do in this case and it’s quickly apparent this isn’t going to be smooth. This work is just going to be pushing a boulder uphill, watching it fall and being grateful if it ends just up two inches above where you started. Your work hasn’t even started yet and already you feel like you’re walked into a losing case.
Javi’s face pierces through your reverie; a mix of desperation and despondence.
You know that feeling, you know it too well.
“What if we expose this too? What if I draft an indictment? Can you prove this?” you ask. There’s nothing to lose anymore; your career aspirations with the DOJ were killed back in Washington, this job isn’t for you. So, what do you even have to lose?
“I’d need the accountant.”
“Then get him, Javi. This isn’t over yet.”
Javier’s priority becomes getting Guillermo on side, ensuring there’s evidence to keep the godfathers in jail and achieve some form of justice still. You do whatever you can to help. In between this, you’re drafting and deleting and throwing wads of paper into the bin as you try and figure out how to write this indictment.
Justice isn’t so sweet, but it keeps moving. Arrests are made, deals agreed, the sticky wheels continue to turn.
In the aftermath of all of this, your life becomes flights and hotels and helping the US federal prosecutors state to state make their case and make sense of the evidence and testimonies.
You perfect packing at short notice, learn all of the frequent traveller tips that have evaded you before. After a couple of misadventures, you discover which airport food to definitely avoid, how to pack the least possible luggage so you only have to take a small case with you and don’t waste time at airport carousels after late night flights.
It may be punishment for realising you missed the courtroom - you wonder if this is some sort of divine intervention to show you a tour of as many federal courtrooms across the country as you can imagine.
The coffee is terrible in all of them.
Life slowly moves on.
And throughout it all, there’s Javi.
Right now, you’re in Javi’s office. It’s the first time in days you’ve been here and it feels a little strange. You only landed a few hours ago from your latest meeting and flight. Your clothes are crumpled and yet here he is, a cup of coffee waiting for you in his office as you trudge your way to him and update him on something he probably already knows about.
You’re both so far from Laredo now.
“So, I can tell you that the office in Delaware had the worst coffee by far,” you say lightly, taking the steaming cup with a smile.
“Oh yeah?”
“Uh huh, how’s the last couple of days been? I saw some of the news footage, I bet that got people talking. Didn’t you have a meeting with the Ambassador today?” Your boss is not so happy with the recent revelations from testimony and press interviews, but you’re not sure you want to tell Javi that. He’s doing the right thing, he’s trying to at least.
Javi’s expression worries you though; it’s the same he wore when he turned up at your apartment to discuss the Ambassador’s revelations.
“What’s wrong?” you ask as you watch him light a cigarette.
“They won’t go further with the indictment you wrote.”
“Oh.”
You sigh heavily and lean against his door. You’re not sure where to start with your response, that once you started drafting it, you knew it would never be filed - that they were never going to let you do anything with it, you knew that. It was just with every word you typed, you felt like you were exorcising some demons. You had to try, didn’t you?
“I’m sorry,” you say.
“’S not your fault.”
“I just - the Ambassador said I won, but I don’t feel like we did.”
“When you arrived, there was a deal on the table that would have delivered the accountabilities, the revelations that have come out because of your work, because of your team. Javi, it might be exactly what we want but - we achieved something, right?”
“I don’t feel like we won. Do you feel like we won, Blue?”
You don’t answer him. You don’t need to.
For a moment you’re not in Bogotá, you’re in a stuffy office in DC listening to a characterisation of yourself you do not recognise, drowning in a betrayal you never expected.
Javi was right all that time ago; you never stood a chance.
Do you feel like we won, Blue?
Javi’s words haunt you throughout your day. You ruminate on them incessantly, conducting a full court trial in your mind of the last of year of your life.
To an extent, Javi’s right. There’s a gnawing in your gut that you’ve failed, that this has just been a waste of a year. This isn’t a win, it’s not the result you fought for or have endured numerous flights and forced niceties for.
Is it truly a loss though?
Would you have ever connected with Javi beyond forced niceties in your fleeting visits to Laredo if it wasn’t for this year? You’ve learned a lot, you know more about the type of lawyer, type of person, you want to be.
It’s not a waste. It’s not the victory you hoped for, but it’s not a waste. It can’t be when it bought you Javi.
For months, you have ignored your feelings for Javi because of a fear of the past, because of your concerns of propriety, of protecting the case that meant so much to the two of you. Only, the whole case was compromised from the start. The moment hits you like icy water.
You’re here.
You’re at Javi’s door and before you can change your mind, you knock the front door of his apartment.
“What are you doing here?” he asks gruffly, opening the door ajar. You notice that he’s taken off his suit jacket and tie, the top two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned and his hair is more dishevelled.
“Commiserations, I guess,” you say lightly, as he opens the door to allow you entry to his apartment. “I don’t think I told you this before, but you definitely got an upgrade on the apartment front when you got the attaché role- you can virtually see the whole city from here, Javi.”
“Why are you here, Blue?”
“Like I said … commiserations.” You close the door behind you and cautiously drop your handbag on his sofa. “I was thinking about what you said earlier, about did I feel like we won? All I can say is that people know more than they did, questions are being asked, the godfathers will stay in jail. We got … we got something. it might not be enough, or everything we wanted and hoped for, but it’s something.”
”Well, as long as we’ve not wasted an entire year of our lives,” Javi says dryly, walking to his living room window.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You wouldn’t?”
You look at the man standing next to you and shake your head as you think about the reason you’re here, that you’ve driven to his apartment block. “No, it’s definitely not an entire waste.”
Over the past year you’ve gone from being completely confused by Javi, by the man he became from the boy you once knew, to becoming friends - real genuine friends.
You’ve had moments where you’ve infuriated each other; where you thought you’d burn every single bridge you built with him out of sheer, incandescent rage and frustration. You’ve spurned his kiss and simultaneously lived for each brushed elbow, each tentative glance. You’ve sympathised with him, got to know the real him, you’ve broken bread together. He’s become more than a colleague, more than your brother’s best friend.
He’s Javi.
It’s Javi.
You’ve fallen for him.
And there’s no reason to deny that anymore, it’s futile to even try.
Besides, there’s no case, no reason to have to ignore it anymore. The case never stood a chance, neither of your efforts really did. You both tried anyway though.
That’s the point.
This year has shown you that you’re stronger, more resilient, and more determined than you ever realised. You will be damned before you let the past dictate your future. You will not let anxieties about people who don’t care about in another state, another country, haunt you for the rest of your life.
You think back to that night at your apartment with Javi months ago. You wondered if it was fate, the two of you being here together and perhaps, back them you were still finding your way back to yourself from DC, but here you are.
So, you stand a little closer to him, so close your hands are brushing. You can smell his cologne, the faint smell of cigarette smoke and when you look over at him, you’re struck by how deep brown his eyes are and how, beyond his frustration at this job he can’t fix, there’s such clear kindness in them. He looks over at you with a slightly puzzled expression on his face before he mirrors your own small smile.
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YOU DID NOT END THE CHAPTER LIKE THAT OH MY GOOOOOD I AM LOSING MY MIND
but then again, after all that's happened, after a whole year of efforts and finding out you were played.... what else could you do, you know? 🤷🏽♀️😂 I can't wait to read the next one, I am glued to my screen omg
Secret Smile: A Tale of Two Reunions (Chapter Seven)
Secret Smile | Javier Peña x female reader
Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all
Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.
Word Count: 5.9 k
Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, mentions of alcohol, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors are used, depression, past sexual harassment and sexism, past toxic workplace with pretty terrible HR management, un beta’d.
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, for all your lovely comments and reblogs to this fic so far. It means the world to me. I've been very nervous about this chapter but I hope it works?
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Javi’s never spent much time in Florida before. Besides growing up in Texas, most of his working career has been spent in Colombia, or briefly Mexico at the start. He’s had a couple of meetings in DC, most notably the time he thought he would be fired and instead was offered this promotion.
Perks of the job, he supposes. Join the DEA and you’ll get to explore new places while stopping the bad guys; that was how it had been sold to him back in the day.
It’s draining though. Today he’s been in three different countries, taken two flights, plus he chased Jurado across a town like he still thought he was in his twenties. At least there’s only an hour time difference here. At least they get tonight to reset. You and Javi can’t fly back to Colombia until the morning so Javi and you have been booked into a nearby hotel.
You’re still with the lawyers from Justice. In fact, you were the one who had suggested he go back to the hotel, that why didn’t he check in with Steve while he was here, make the most of the unexpected delay? There isn’t anything else he can do right now.
So now he’s at the hotel bar, having just finished a decidedly average burger and fries that was the only meal that met the new expenses policy limits, making sure to pocket his receipt while he remembers, and you’re probably still working.
Since he came back to Colombia, since you came back into his life, he’s only really seen you working in the embassy. He’s watched you make calls, plans, smooth paths and write paperwork. He’s never seen you like he has today though; in full lawyer mode.
You’re impressive.
There were other lawyers there and waiting but it was you Javi was watching, you who took control of the situation and pushed for solutions. You who spoke to them to prepare the testimony from Jurado, who had written the deal out already.
Then when Javi walked back in the room some time later and saw Jurado’s lawyer, he knew. He saw your face, the frustration clear, but you still tried.
He watched you dodge and weave through Starkman’s arguments, to try and make the deal still happen. You were calm, methodical, collected. Every now and then you’d meet Javi’s gaze, looking desperately like you wanted to roll your eyes at him over some unwelcome road bump and then turning your attention back to the moment as thought you had never looked at him.
You’ve both changed so much since Laredo; he remembers you there as shy, nervous, passionate about the things you loved, yes, but never like this.
It’s not enough though.
All that effort, running around Curacao in the sweltering heat and damn near falling of a roof like an idiot, all of it is for nothing. Javi has a feeling it doesn’t matter how skilled you are as a lawyer; it’s all going nowhere without Christina. Jurado won’t talk until she’s safe. Javi doesn’t even blame him.
Javi wonders what that’s like, loving someone that much. Though he wonders how much love there is to expose your wife to that situation, to use her passport to further your work. She was clearly unhappy when Javi spoke to her, he could see the loneliness in her eyes. The Jurados are truly in a sorry mess now.
Javi’s time in Colombia is one step forward and five steps back. Franklin’s wife still hasn’t arrived at the embassy. Javi swears Christina was on board, she was ready when he spoke to her on the runway - she was meant to be on her way so he can’t see her going to Jurado’s employers instead. No, there’s a rising sense of dread and worry coating his skin like sweat. Things are only going to get worse. Stoddard and the team are trying to find where she might be in the city, to see if they can get her and bring her to the US.
There’s nothing he can do from here right now though. He’s a passenger right now, until tomorrow, until they land back in Bogotá. He’s powerless and he hates it.
He notices Steve instantly as he walks over to Javi’s table in the smoking section. Javi moves his empty plate to one side before standing up to greet his old partner.
Steve looks well - being away from Colombia suits him. The last time they’d spoken, Steve had said that things were a lot better with him and Connie, that Olivia was in preschool and happy, that being home was working for him. He’s a DEA consultant now; he trains new agents, provides case studies or advice on how to approach a case.
He’s not in the field though.
Steve fought his battle. He was there when they took down Escobar.
They order drinks and make the initial small talk before Steve proudly shows Javi the latest photo of Olivia in his wallet. If anything is a stark reminder of the years that have passed, the sizeable amount of Javi’s life dedicated to this war, it’s seeing that Olivia isn’t a baby anymore. She’s a child with her hair in bunches and a wide toothy grin on her face. Javi wonders if she even remembers Colombia now, if she would remember him or any of her time there.
A few minutes later, Steve takes a gulp from his beer and looks at Javi carefully. His expression is one Javi recognises; this is the moment when Steve is getting to the crux of whatever he wanted to raise.
“I can’t believe they wanted you back,” he says lightly.
“Me either. Thought I was being fired when I went to DC after it all went down.”
“You’re a good agent, Javier. You know we couldn’t have - we couldn’t have done what we did without you. I just still can’t get over that you actually went back there,” Steve continues and Javi gets the sense that Steve means a lot more than just that the DEA had invited him back. “That you’ve spent months back there again and what - you’re in for a few more, another year of this?”
He’s not sure how to respond that, what he’s supposed to say about the albatross of obligation and redemption that’s bound so tightly around his neck that it’s become a noose.
“Job wasn’t done, Steve. The Cali godfathers, all of that - I want to get it right. Besides, I’m not sure now I’m back that they actually did want me back.”
“What do you mean?”
Javi stubs out his cigarette. “They wanted a poster boy.”
Steve laughs at that, shakes his head. “And they thought of you?”
“Hey, of the two of us, I am obviously the better looking one.”
“In my first week in Bogotá, you asked me to sneak papers down my trousers out of a secure lock up.”
“And I stand by that, Steve.”
“How the fuck would they ever have thought you’d just sit there and take that?”
Javi lights a cigarette and shrugs, offering the packet to Steve who shakes his head.
“I quit.”
“I did try the gum,” Javi admits before taking a long drag of his cigarette.
“That seems to be working out well for you,” Steve says dryly.
“Fucking brilliantly,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
“So, they wanted a figurehead, not - not you. How’s that going? You didn’t answer me. I know you, Javi, I know you wouldn’t do that.”
“They have tried to make it harder - fucking Stechner’s been - himself. Um, there’s a lawyer who works in tandem with Justice and the Ambassador and is my - unofficial liaison? I don’t know. Unofficially, they wanted her to keep an eye on me.” It feels like a terrible way to describe Blue, to introduce who she is to Steve.
Steve puts his glass down and meets Javi’s gaze straight on.
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah. It’s fine though. It turns out I knew her so -”
“Oh god, Javi. She’s not someone you slept with before, is she?”
“Wow, do you really think so little of me?”
Steve raises his eyebrows at Javi and yeah, maybe he knows where Steve is coming from. The thing is, despite his reputation, he doesn’t feel like he was as much as a rogue as people wanted to paint him.
“No, she’s from Laredo,” he says. “Actually, I was good friends with her brother growing up so I’ve known her a long time. Still am friends with her brother. She’s a good person, Steve. She wants the same thing as me. Blue wants us to get the godfathers, shut it down. We need to get real justice for the people, so that’s what we’re going for.”
“Blue?”
“Oh, fuck, it’s just her nickname from when we were kids.”
“So, you’re just working with her, Javi? This woman from your hometown, you’ve known for years you’re telling me? Who you call by her childhood nickname? Who is your friend’s sister? And you’re just … working together on this?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You forget I know you Javi and I’m hearing how you’re talking about her.”
“Fuck off.”
“Too close to home? Tread carefully, Javi, please.”
He doesn’t know the half of it, Javi thinks, immediately thinking of the moment he almost kissed you. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette and doesn’t answer letting silence be his answer.
“How’s it down there now anyway?“ Steve asks after a moment. His voice manages to convey both a desire to be distanced from Bogotá and a sense of wistfulness at once. Javi gets it.
“It’s the same but different, Steve. The godfathers aren’t like Escobar. It’s a whole different type of battle down there right now.” Javi can’t tell Steve about the surrender deal he’s blown up, about the way everything is working out, or rather how it isn’t, about how fragile and terrifying the odds feel right now.
“So, what are you going to do when it’s done?”
“No fucking idea. You’re the one who said I was a lifer.”
Steve pauses and takes a sip of his own drink. “Yeah, I did say that didn’t I?”
Javi shrugs, raises his beer to his friend in a mock salute.
He’s not sure how to truly answer Steve. He’s not sure what’s next for him; he can’t see himself in Laredo but the job is weighing on him, the job is changing. In all honesty, he has no clue what will come next. Home? His dad’s ranch? The life he originally wanted to escape? It’d be kind of poetic, he supposes. He’s not sure what else there is for him except DEA station after station for the rest of his life, watching his agents take part in missions while he sits in a suit and argues with other people about it.
“Anyway, tell me what’s new with you,” Javi asks instead.
The paperwork and handoff with your Justice colleagues takes hours. A part of you almost enjoyed the discussions with Starkman, the back and forth and chess moves to try and get what you needed.
You’re still not there though and that’s frustrating, draining even. You’re used to getting through a problem, but this one worries you.
Still, Jurado is in custody, the team have a solid case against him and that prosecution will proceed. Javi just needs him to talk and maybe he can get Christina back at the table too.
You’ve done as much as possible right now.
All you can think about right now is how desperately you’re looking forward to getting to your hotel room and changing out of these sticky, creased clothes, having a shower and then sleeping until you need to get up for Tomorrow’s flight to Bogotá. You’re past the point of wanting food, of wanting anything other than this day to be over and for you to crawl into bed.
You’re finally on your way out of the building when you bump into him.
He looks just like he did all those months ago, back when you were last in DC. An expensive suit, intricately coiffured honeyed hair, wafting overpriced cologne that follows him with every step.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, a mix of surprise and horror in your voice when you watch his eyes take you in. Your palms are becoming sweaty already and you’re desperate to get out of this building, to get as far away from here as quickly as possible.
This can’t be happening. He can’t be here.
“Oh, just a Justice case I’ve been working on. I can’t really -“ he says after a pause.
“Right, of course.” You’re wondering if you can get away with stamping your heel through his overpriced Italian shoes before you run out of the building.
“Why are you here? The last I heard you were working in Mexico?”
You feel a pang of annoyance; frustration that he knows enough about you to know you were working abroad, that he assumed it would be in Mexico. You’re outraged that his tone is as relaxed as it is, almost lazy. How dare he? How fucking dare he?
“Colombia,” you correct. “That’s why I’m here - it’s for the case we’re working on.”
“Damn, that’s intense.”
“It’s fine,” you say, your voice unfamiliar and sharp. It’s the same tone you used to employ in the courtroom against particularly difficult attorneys. It’s your ice queen voice, the one that other lawyers used to dread, that earned you your steely reputation for excellence.
The memories flood you; good, bad, somewhere in between. It’s like an avalanche, as though everything you’ve been avoiding has just hit you all at once and your chest is tight and you’re not entirely sure if you’re even breathing correctly right now.
You left DC to avoid having to go through this. You fucking moved country to avoid this.
How can he be here? What forces have you upset to bring such an awful, obscure coincidence into your day? And if he’s here, what if …
Their names freeze on your tongue. You swallow, even though your mouth feels bone dry. You can do this, you think. You can.
“You took the job I was going for, after everything,” you say, folding your arms around yourself. The hate, rage, and devastation tastes sour like bile in your mouth. “Even after what happened?”
You remember everything.
“It was a promotion. Did you honestly expect me to say no? You wanted that job too, remember? You can’t honestly tell me you have said no if our positions were reversed.”
“Of course I would have.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re kidding yourself if you think that. I know you; I remember what you were like in court. You’re ambitious.”
It’s not a point worth arguing. You know the truth and you know you’ll never know what could have been. You’re sure you wouldn’t have though, you’re sure your moral code would have prevailed.
In another world though, maybe the positions are reversed and you’re standing in Simon’s shoes. If that had happened then you’d never have bumped into Javi again, you’d be in DC going about your old life with your old friends. It’s unimaginable.
You feel like that version of yourself is dead.
“So, what? Now you work with them?” you probe, because now the wound is open you can’t stop the outpouring, “What, do you all sit in the office together? Have a good laugh and joke about it - about me? Do you join in?”
He whispers your name, gaze fixated on the floor. All you can think is that this man used to be your friend and now he can hardly meet your eyes. You can barely even think of him without your blood pressure rising.
“Nothing actually happened,” Simon says after a moment, “he didn’t actually do anything to you, didn’t even touch you. That’s what you said to me, remember? Look, everything got out of hand, it didn’t need to go down like that.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence as you take in his admonishment. It’s on you then, you’re the one who rocked the boat, who blew the whistle. No, that’s not right.
“Fuck you. I never want to speak to you again, Simon.”
You spin on your heels, eager to get away, get out of here. Your heart is racing, your body feels numb and the voices of the ghosts that haunt you whisper in your ear the whole way to the hotel.
“Hey Shelley, it’s Jamie …I don’t think she’s doing so well. I think you should try and get a flight out … I know … I know … Shelley? I don’t know if she’s coming back from this. I think we’re losing her.”
You sink your head deeper into the bath water as though the water has the answers. Maybe Jamie’s right.
You’re not sure who you are anymore, who you can trust.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s all you. Maybe you’ve misinterpreted and twisted it all. You’ve been through it a thousand times and each time the details get hazier, less clear. You doubt yourself more by the day. Some days you’re not even sure what’s real anymore.
You have so much more empathy for any witness you’ve ever put on the stand now.
Maybe Jamie’s right too. You’re not sure how you come back from this? How do you ever go back to the office and just pretend it hasn’t happened?
You’ve prided yourself on being a strong lawyer, on being one of the best in your office. You never give up. Not usually.
This is different though.
You’re so tired. So drained. You feel like there’s nothing inside you anymore, like the process of the last few months has shucked the life out of you leaving only a shell behind.
Your promotion is over. You’ll have to continue to sit opposite them day in and day out and just - pretend? Every day, hour after hour, you’ll just sit there and know they’ll be talking about you the second you leave the room. You’ll be given all of the lousy cases, never progress further. You’ll be the cautionary tale to any other woman in the office who would dare speak up. You’ll be judged, you’re already being judged.
It’s only been two weeks and you can’t do it a day longer.
You’re done.
Your ex-boyfriend is sleeping on your sofa because he’s the only person you have left in this city. Because every other friend you have in this city you have either just realised is not your friend, or you have quietly just shut out until they stopped calling.
Except for Jamie, and that’s only because of Shelley and Carlos. Only because they called him out of worry, out of fear. Only because Shelley wouldn’t let you cut her off and leave you to your loneliness.
In her last call, she had gently suggested changing jobs, seeking a change of scenery - was that how she phrased it? It wasn’t running away, she said, it would be prioritising yourself. She mentioned that Laredo needed a new ADA. It felt too close though. You can’t go home broken like this, you’re not ready.
You heard from an old law school friend there was good legal work available in some of the embassies a while ago, that he’d got to travel to amazing countries for his job before he’d settled down in California last summer. Maybe something like that would be far enough away. He’d offered to recommend you for a post if you were looking for something new. You were going for the promotion then though so you put him off. But now?
You rise up from the bathtub, rest your arms either side of the bath and think for a moment.
Maybe Shelley’s right. It’s time for a change.
He sees you in the lobby just as he’s leaving the bar with Steve. Javi feels a little lighter; catching up with Steve has helped. For an hour or so, he’s been able to forget about Christina, to forget about Jurado, to remember when the job was more active, when he had a partner with him on this and he didn’t have to wear a suit and sit in stressful meetings.
Before Steve turned up in Colombia, Javi had felt like he was treading through molasses, every step infinitely harder than it should be. No one cared enough, he was fighting and it felt futile.
Javi scoffs at the memory. Yeah, why is that familiar again?
He waves you over with a casual smile as your paths are about to cross.
“Hey, Blue, this is -” Javi begins.
“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” you say, brushing past him.
Javi looks at your retreating form in surprise. “That was weird.” He’d thought you want to meet Steve, after all you’d encouraged him to meet Steve in the first place.
“She’s upset,” Steve says quietly.
“What? No, she isn’t, Steve.” You’re clearly not upset; Javi knows you, knows how tough you are. No, Steve has to be wrong.
“Well, she looked upset,” Steve persists.
“How do you - you don’t even know her, Steve.”
“I have a wife, Javi, and she looks like Connie when she’s upset. ”
He thinks back to your face as you walked back - everything in your body seemed tightly coiled like a spring and were those tears in your eyes? Your voice was so distant too. Maybe things had been more stressful with the Justice guys than he thought.
He’s not sure where you are in the hotel though; whether he should even try and talk to you right now.
Steve’s right though, something’s wrong and Javi needs to know why.
You make your way to the plane quietly, noticing Javi standing by the gangway, coffees balanced precariously in your hands. He’s wearing his DEA jacket and yellow aviators that he’s clearly had for a while.
He nods in acknowledgement when he sees you.
You wordlessly hand him a coffee before you both walk onto the plane.
The coffee served at breakfast was terrible; maybe the worst hotel coffee you’ve ever had. You’d taken full advantage of a five-minute window to get coffee at the airport; it was a need not a want. You’d bought one for Javi without a thought.
He smiles when he takes the coffee and your fingers brush very slightly in the handover.
“You saw the breakfast coffee then?” He asks lightly, giving you the out. In this moment you think he might be the best person you know.
“That wasn’t coffee. No idea what it was, but it wasn’t coffee.”
The two of you sit opposite each other, your coffees on the table in front of you.
“How was Steve?” you ask politely as the plane begins to move down the runway, “I’m sorry I had to uh, go straight to the room. Think I ate something off.” You hate that such an embarrassing lie is your excuse, that you prefer the idea of Javi thinking that than knowing you were upset, than running the risk of him asking why.
“Are you okay now?” Javi asks before sitting opposite you on the plane.
“I’m fine.”
“Steve thought - I thought … ”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
No, you think, no I have hardly slept and I feel ridiculous that last night took me back like it did.
“I’m fine,” you repeat.
Javi nods at you but his furrowed brow tells you that he doesn’t believe you.
“Still no word from Christina?” you ask, automatically squeezing your knee as you feel the plane ascend higher in the air.
“No,” Javi says, pinching his brow. “Are we fucked without her?”
“We need to find her to secure Jurado’s testimony, yes. But if you have something else, another angle for this case then … maybe we’ll be okay.”
“What is really going on with you?”
Perhaps it’s because he’s persistent, perhaps it’s because he is meticulously trained in extracting truths from people, or perhaps it’s because he’s from home and he feels safe right now. You feel the words rise up though.
“I saw someone I used to work with.”
“And that upset you?”
“Yes.”
“Did they say something to you? Was that why were you upset?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“So did the bastard break your heart back in DC or something?” Javi jokes and then pauses when he sees your face.
You could let him have this misunderstanding. Pin it all on his assumption. You can see the cogs turning, the maths in his head, your near kiss makes sense to him now and your subsequent rejection.
You should let him believe this.
“Javi,” you say softly, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“So tell me,” he says bluntly, looking at you with plaintive eyes. “Help me understand.”
“He was a friend and now he’s not. It’s simple. No big drama,” you say, looking out of the window at the cerulean sky all around you.
“Well, something clearly happened.” Javi shifts forward towards you, his elbows on the plastic table between you, hands closer to yours. “Blue, did something happen yesterday? Do we need to -” You can hear a hint of alarm in his voice and quickly realise what he’s assuming.
“No, no. He didn’t - please, it’s nothing. It’s honestly not - I’m just - it’s nothing, Javi.”
“It’s nothing? Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, we’ve got time.” He shifts, moves his hands across the desk that divides you; the distance between your bodies feeling more like a chasm with each breath.
“It’s stupid, don’t worry about it, Javi. Nothing happened,” you say, aware you’re just repeating Simon’s own words and excuses to you.
“Blue?”
There are wars in your head. Arguments screaming and competing to be the loudest. You want to tell him. You can’t tell him.
You have this overwhelming desire to bare your soul right now though, you would like him to know and to understand.
It’s pathetic though, you think, so trifling to someone like him. He’s worked for the DEA for around a decade; Javi’s heard and probably seen far, far worse things happen to people. Simon’s words repeat over and over in your mind.
“Nothing actually happened … he didn’t do anything to you.”
If nothing happened though, why did it affect you so much? You’ve prosecuted far more evil men in your career: murderers, rapists. You know how the world works. That office, those men, even without touching you they broke you down. Sometimes you hate yourself for that, that you let that happen.
“It’s okay,” Javi says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I’m sorry I asked. You don’t have to -”
“I was applying for a promotion, for the same job Simon has now. I would have been running the department I worked for and I was ready for it. I was so ready for it, Javi. I - there were always comments and I’m used to that. I’ve been the only woman in my office many times before. I know what to expect, how to ignore it and block it out. I know people say about me behind my back.”
“Blue -”
“There was this guy though, not the guy from yesterday, not Simon. It was someone else.”
You pause, unwilling to say his name and wring your hands. Just thinking about taking about this has made your throat feel dry, your palms sweaty and there’s a slow building sense of dread.
You steal a look at Javi who’s calm and solid and you realise that right now you do want to explain it to him. You do want to tell him.
You’d like him to understand.
It’s just finding the right words. The ones that don’t make it sound worse than it was, because you always worry that if you do that somehow you’re taking something away from the people who’ve really been through it. But it’s about finding the words that don’t lessen it either. You’re balancing on a tightrope of trying to convey the right tone, the right intent. You want to be dispassionate when you tell him about something you can never be dispassionate about.
“He made me feel uncomfortable,” you say after a moment.
Javi furrows his brow at this. You notice the way he fidgets with his hand on the table; a tic you’ve noticed throughout the past few months. He flutters his fingers before clenching them together, it’s a telling physical manifestation of his nerves you’ve picked up over the months.
“Don’t look like that, Javi, he didn’t do anything, not really.”
“So he did do something?” Javi asks, his eyes have become so intensely dark they’re almost obsidian and his gaze is completely focused on you. You notice how he scans you over, almost checking as though there’s some type of physical mark or scar he can find and appoint to this story.
“Hey, who’s the lawyer here?” you ask, desperate to break the moment, shaking your head. Javi raises his hands in mock defeat and you take a deep breath.
“He made comments, a lot of them and they were - nothing unusual at first, but then maybe they felt almost a little sinister and I - I started to feel really vulnerable in the office. I had to work with him on this important case, we were alone and - and I know it was only words but still. Anyway, I made a complaint.” You regard the dark varnish on your nails, notice the chip on your left index finger before you look at the floor. “That was a mistake. Big mistake.”
“Blue,” Javi says sadly.
“I know, it doesn’t sound all that relevant yet. It will. Anyway, it didn’t go well. They just - closed ranks. My promotion was cancelled. I uh - everyone in the department talked about what had happened openly in the office. Everything I’d spent years working towards for slipped away from me in a second.”
“And what happened to the guy?”
”He didn’t face any consequences and uh, that’s where Simon comes in, I guess. He got my promotion. And uh, to do that, he sided with the guy when he spoke to my old boss. They all did. Only Simon told me beforehand that he believed me. Didn’t stop him from going after a promotion though.”
“Fucking asshole.”
“That was the worst part of it all - Simon was my friend, Javi. I thought he was my friend.”
Even now you can hear the heavy pain in your voice when you say that, the way his betrayal had just been too much and had cut you open deeper than any knife could have.
“Oh, Blue. It’s okay, you don’t have to -”
“So obviously, I couldn’t stay there after that. When this opportunity came up, I figured I should just do it. Seize the day, right?”
“Seize the day,” Javi repeats flatly.
“And I ended up here.”
You don’t feel relief at your confession; you feel embarrassed. Javi’s DEA - he’s probably heard of far, far worse things happening to other women. Here you are, a mess over seeing someone who let you down once. Here you are, the woman who clearly just couldn’t take a joke.
“Stop that,” he says gently, reaching for your hand and gently squeezing it.
“Stop what?”
“I can see those thoughts going through your head. Don’t.”
“I just -”
“What a fucking shitbag,” he mumbles, “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Wasn’t you,” you say quietly. “It was a while ago, I’m over it. It just bought some stuff up.”
“If you’d told me last night -”
“What, you would have found out where he was and confronted him?”
“Maybe,” he says with a crooked smile and shrug.
“Javi.”
“Blue,” he says, teasingly matching your tone.
“How was Steve?” you ask, desperate to divert attention from yourself. Javi looks at you for a long moment and then nods.
“He was okay,” he says, “It was good to catch up. Hadn’t seen him since I was last in Colombia.”
“Well, I’m glad you got to see him.”
A comfortable silence falls that is only broken when the pilot announces you’ll be landing shortly.
You strain to look out of the window, at the lush greenery and dramatic topography of Colombia.
“It’s a nicer plane than when I first came here.”
“Yeah?”
“I was stuck next to this guy who took up far more room than he should have, so I had to virtually hang over the aisle and then he had the audacity to spend the flight loudly snoring. He also had gas.”
Javi scowls in sympathy. ”Jeez.”
“I know.”
The plane lands smoothly and before you know it, you’re both standing up, ready to get back to the embassy and world.
This flight, this whole trip, has felt like a strange interlude from reality. One filled with ghosts and memories; welcome ones for Javi and unpleasant ones for you.
You’re ready to get back into that open plan office, to hearing meaningless gossip from Linda.
Javi takes your bag from the locker without a word, balancing it precariously with his own suitcase.
“Hey, Javi?” you ask as he hands your handbag when you finally descend the gangway.
“Yeah, Blue?”
“None of my family knows. I told my parents, told Rafa, it was a change I’d been planning for some time.”
“Understood. Thanks for - thanks for sharing that with me, cariño.” Javi nods at you, an unspoken message passing between you.
You’re nervous when you head into the office next day. While you spent most of your working day with Javi yesterday and nothing else was said about what you discussed on the plane, it’s plagued you.
What if he is different with you? What if this is another mistake and he judges you - or worse, what if he pities you? You don’t think you could stand to stay in this job if he looks at you with pity.
He’s standing in his office when you arrive. Arms folded onto his hips, staring at a pile of papers on his desk.
“Hey Javi.”
“Hi.” He looks at up and smiles. It’s a rare sight and you’re glad you’re a professional because his smile could floor you. You have a feeling Javi’s not really struggled for company over the years; that between his puppy eyes and soft smile, the low dulcet tones of his voice, he knows exactly what he is doing.
“So uh, what’s the plan?” you ask, taking a long sip from the mug of coffee you dutifully took from your office kitchen to Javi’s. You’re very glad the embassy safety representative didn’t see you, no doubt they’d tell you off for wandering around with open topped hot beverages.
You needed the coffee though, needed the defensive barriers you knew it would provide.
You didn’t really sleep much last night.
Jurado is a mess, the deal’s off and no matter how hard you tried, he just won’t talk without his wife.
“We’re going after Miguel Rodríguez,” he says after a pause. “That’s the next step.”
“Have we got a plan?”
“Yeah, we do. Feistl’s got an informant, we can get him, Blue. It’s not over yet.”
“It’ll need some thought, Javi - you don’t want to tip him off. Right now, from what I hear from the local prosecutors, things are not looking great. Miguel’s a loose cannon. It’s a worry. ”
Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk
If you want to be added to (or removed from) one of the tag lists, let me know or you can get notifications for @thelightsandtheroses-fics if you prefer. If you do not have an age or age range showing you are over 18, I will not add you to this list. I block ageless and blank blogs.
I love me a great fic of working partners where things don't go as planned and this sure is one of 'em! their relationship is definitely growing and growing and I just can't wait till the moment it blows over - because let's face it, this is Javier we're talking about, it will 😂 loving this!! 💕
Summary: You meet a handsome stranger in a bar, both of you agreeing on certain terms as the evening goes on— no names, no strings attached, no commitments. What could go wrong— or right?
WC: 4020
Warnings: 18+ Blog: Smoking, Alcohol consumption, heavy flirting, smut!!, fingering, protected p in v, nipple play, consent is sexy, reader has zero descriptive features
A/N: I’m deranged and don’t know what happened with this. But I love it and I’m so excited to share more!! Big big thanks to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for continuously listening to this wildness with Javi and correcting all of my mistakes!!
Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist
The dimly lit bar wasn’t as crowded as you would have thought for a Saturday night. Its revolving variety of music and drinks paired with the ostentatious haze that accompanied the flicker of candles decorating the tables, it made the perfect backdrop to unwind and people watch.
From your seat at the bar, you had a great view of the somewhat upscale space. Cushioned high back leather chairs lined the cherry oak bar top, a few chairs provided comfort for a few guests as they faced the array of liquor bottles, watching the bartenders move about mixing elaborate cocktails when requested. Semi-circular booths covered in a rich velvety green fabric lined the opposite wall, each table reserved by a group of ecstatic friends enjoying a small celebration or couples seeking a private spot to lounge in close quarters.
Your eyes occasionally scanned the room as you sipped the lemony concoction that was recently placed in front of you, the bartender insisting it was a popular drink among regulars, observing the quiet conversations and unfamiliar faces, contemplating over how your evening had turned from a blind date with zero promise of a future, to you now sitting alone in a bar.
The night was still young when your date and you had come to the conclusion early on that there was zero compatibility between you two. Not wanting your evening or your outfit to go to waste, letting your stilettos do the thinking and guide you to the nearest place in hopes to turn your night around.
Every so often you find yourself fixated on the handsome man sitting two chairs from your seat, dark chestnut hair styled with some care, a perfectly trimmed mustache framed his upper lip— the perfect addition to his devastatingly gorgeous features.
His gaze was heavily focused on the amber liquid, whiskey if you had to guess, that he swirled around in the crystal glass.
In between his own sipping, he’d take a drag off of his lit cigarette. His plush lips wrapped around the tiny tobacco stick with such ease. You were mesmerized by the way his cheeks sucked in with each pull, accentuating his sharp cheekbones. He seems like a seasoned smoker, letting the smoke ruminate through his airways before tilting his head back and blowing the vapor through his gorgeous pursed lips, making an effort to keep it from settling around those sitting within close proximity to him.
You had clocked him pretty quickly on his arrival, the crisp Texas evening air billowing through the room as the heavy wooden door swung closed the second he stepped into the bar. Your attention was captured by the unfussiness of this mysterious man, dressed in dark blue jeans and a red button up— an attire meant for a more casual setting, but he looked like he was seeking something more than a dive bar could offer.
He had sauntered his way up to the counter in the most Texas way possible, the heels of his palms resting on the edge of the bar counter as he eased himself into the unoccupied chair two seats over. Your breath catching when his eyes lock with yours, offering a smile and a nod before taking a seat and signaling for the bartender.
Majority of your evening was spent stealing brief glances, memorizing every little detail of his beautiful face, while trying to muster up the strength to have a conversation with him. You weren’t looking for anything serious, but he definitely seemed like he could potentially liven up the rest of your evening— your brain muddled with a deep attraction and desire to be closer to this man.
A streak of adrenaline streaming through your system had you feeling bold and confident about your approach, hoping you weren’t coming on too strong in your efforts.
“Would it be okay if I bummed one of those off of you?” Pointing at the red and white packet of cigarettes, leaning forward in his direction.
He looks down at the pack, then back to you, his chair swiveling in your direction as he holds out the small box and lighter. You pluck one of the untouched sticks out, placing the butt of it between your lips— not missing the way he watches intensely at how your mouth holds the smoke, eyes constantly flicking back and forth from your lips to your eyes.
You watch as your thumb flicks vigorously at the lighter, each attempt failing to produce the little flame you so desperately needed to pull off this moment. He must have sensed your frustration, sliding his glass in your direction and his knee knocking into yours as he sits down in the chair next to yours.
“Here, let me.” He says, taking a hold of the lighter in your hand, his thumb deftly striking the spark wheel and holding the ignition tab.
The flame flickers about at the end of the cigarette, a glow washes over your face as you focus on the long drag of air through the cigarette, the end beginning to form a glowing fiery ember.
You’re not really sure of the exact process, but you try to play it off like you have definitely had this before. It burns as the smoke settles in the back of your throat, immediately expelling the smoke from your mouth in a few short coughs, waving off the lingering haze floating through the air as you try to downplay the assault on your lungs.
“First time?” His brows furrowed, concerned about your little suffocating mishap, three fingers bringing his glass up to his lips, his throat tensing as he swallowed down the rest of his drink.
You mirror his actions, washing down the residual nicotine on your tongue, wishing it was water to help with the lingering burn.
“What gave it away?” You say, twirling the stem of your glass between your fingers.
He takes another drag, deciding you hate how sexy he looks doing it, but you don’t want him to stop because it’s making you feel a sort of way each time he does it. Silently torturing yourself with all the ways you would love to see his mouth work— on you.
“The choking was a dead giveaway.” You both laugh together at how right he is.
“Guilty! You just looked so— attractive over there with yours, I figured I’d give it a shot. Lesson learned. Here, do you want the rest of it?” Holding out the smoldering cigarette to him. “Plus, they say they’re bad for you— so I guess my lack of experience isn’t such a bad thing.”
He laughs again, grabbing the cigarette from you and placing it in an ashtray, then focusing back on you as he props and elbow up on the counter.
“You get stood up?” He asks.
“Straight to the point. What makes you think I got stood up?”
“A beautiful woman, dressed like that, sitting alone in a bar— a man would be stupid to see you and leave without you on his arm. So, I’m assuming he never saw you to begin with?” He’s confident in his assessment.
He thinks I’m beautiful? Evening not wasted.
“Actually, I was on a date— set up by a friend who’s determined to find me someone to settle down with.”
“That bad then?”
“No, he was a great guy, almost too great. But we wanted different things, and decided it was best if we just ended the dinner early before we went any further.” You explained with complete transparency.
As you shift yourself in the seat, your foot brushes up against his leg as you cross your legs. You catch the way his thumb slowly skims over his bottom lip, intently watching your foot slide up and down the length of his calf, his eyes then returning to you. Even in the middle of this dimly lit room, you can see the desire sparking in his warm brown eyes.
“Different? How so?”
“He wanted a potential wife.”
“And you?”
Your teeth catch your bottom lip as you contemplate the answer you want to give him, and gauging by how enthralled he is, leaning closer into your space, it’s fair to assume the attraction is mutual.
“Nothing serious— no strings attached. Just a fun evening to let off steam and then go about our merry way.” You tell him, as you prop yourself up onto the counter, the distance between you gets smaller and smaller.
His response is a low hum, jaw ticking to the side and an eyebrow cocked upward as he contemplates your suggestion. He finds you very attractive and likes the suggestion of no strings attached— he’s not looking for anything serious either, so maybe a night of indulging is just what he needs too.
He studies the way your body responds to his touch, placing a hand on your exposed knee that is situated between his legs, thumb drawing light circles over your now pebbled skin. He doesn’t miss the small gasp you let out as hand inches over your thigh, exploring how soft you feel under his callused hands.
If you could, you’d will your body to come right now. This prequel to what you hope to be amazing foreplay, has your body buzzing with anticipation, craving more of whatever he’s willing to give.
Confidence erupting through your body, you decide that one night with this handsome man is a very good idea. Waving down the nearest bartender to close out your tab, leaving a more than generous tip, has things in motion.
Hopping down from the bar stool, downing the rest of your drink in one final gulp before grabbing your clutch and turning to the man still seated, awaiting your signal. You take a move out of his playbook, placing your hand on his denim clad thigh, slowly sliding up towards his groin— he exhales deeply when you boldly brush your fingers against the growing bugle within the confines of his jeans.
“I think we both know where this is going…” You say, your lips ghosting over his ear, hand slowly sliding off of his leg as you move around him, heels clicking against the floor as you head towards the bathroom.
Looking back over your shoulder, he’s watching your every move, giving him a sultry wink and adding a little more sway to your hips as you walk down the shadowy hallway— missing him throw a few bills on the countertop before stubbing out the rest of his cigarette and finishing his drink in a hastily manner.
*
You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you step into the bathroom. Nowhere to set your clutch, you toss it into the oversized sink, then bracing your body against the washing basin as your brain catches up to what is about to happen if that beautiful stranger walks through that bathroom door.
Not just a simple one night stand, but a one night stand with someone you had only laid eyes on 30 minutes prior.
There was a small part of you that was nervous about the thought of sleeping with someone you knew absolutely nothing about— but it was only a small part of you. The other part was completely eager, an excitement stirring within you, so turned on by the fact that you were about to have the most amazing night in a long time.
You give yourself a once over in one of the many framed mirrors, different shapes and sizes, hung above the sink— grateful in your choice of a silky shift dress, the fabric draping over your curves perfectly.
It’s an impulsive move, but a daring one as you rid yourself of your lace underwear, confidence continuing to build as the seconds tick on, carefully stepping out of them and stuffing them into your clutch.
A light knock on the door grabs your attention, one quick look at your reflection before turning to open the door. You’re met with a rush of air. Bodies colliding, gripping and pulling, strong hands providing stability in a synchronized flow of hasty movements as your back collides with the cool brick wall. Lungs exerting a passionate strain, as you look at the handsome stranger pressed against you. His eyes search for any sign of hesitancy on your face, slowly closing the distance between the two of you.
The room is quiet once the lock is set, shared breaths drowning out the world existing on the other side of the door.
“Are you sure you want this? Tell me to stop and I’ll walk right back out there, no questions asked.” His words fan across your face, hot and honeyed as he seeks your consent to continue.
“Yes! I want this— I want you.” You purr with conviction. His chest is firm beneath your touch, fingers settling into his thick rich brown hair.
You gasp into his parted lips when you feel one of his hands cup your unclothed cunt, the skirt of your dress bunched over your hips. His other arm is quick to wrap around your waist, aiding in the support of your now shaky legs.
“Were you planning on this happening?” He asks as his deft fingers begin to swipe through your wet folds.
“No— but it seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.” You say between staggered rapid breaths.
“And what if I turned you down?” His hand stills, the question hanging in the air as he observes your nearly blissed out expression.
You're not quite sure what happened to your usual demure self, and frankly you don’t mind that she is taking a backseat to this exhilarating situation unfolding.
“I would have gone home and gotten myself off thinking about how handsome you looked sitting there at the bar. If it’s too much of a challenge, my hands are more than capable of handling this when I get hom—“
There’s a mixture of fierceness and purpose behind his heady work, your words forgotten as his mouth crashes against yours in a mess of greedy lips and ardent nips.
He continues to kiss you with a fervent effort, swallowing the mewling whine that escapes your throat when his two fingers slide exquisitely into your velvety heat. His chest rumbles as your walls immediately clench around him, your body already on the precipice of an intoxicating payoff that it takes only a few swipes of his thumb over your sensitive clit to have you coming all over his hand.
“Oh fuck!”
There’s a steady buzz of desire burning through you, your head falling back against the wall, mind reeling over the way this man was able to pull you apart with measured precision on his part. You would be lying if you said you were not looking forward to what else he was able to do with the rest of his extremities.
His warm mouth latches onto your open neck. Blood rushing to the surface of your skin as he sucks and bites along your collarbone, his tongue soothing over the surface as he continues his quest for more of you.
“I didn’t get your name.” He states as he halts his movements.
His hair is a tousled mess and you can’t help but admire how gorgeous he is up close. The aurous flecks in his irises, visible even in the soft glow of this bathroom. A flush forming on the apples of his cheeks, the rosy coloring is perfect with his golden skin. His lips are a little fuller, tactile and tempting in their plushness.
“I didn’t give it.” You muse, brushing the fallen hair off of his forehead. “No names. No strings attached. No commitments. We just enjoy what’s happening and then you and I leave this bar with just a memorable time together— is that okay?”
“Yeah.”
It’s another blurred rush of motions, now pushed up against the sink facing the wall of ornate mirrors. You watch through one of them as he rips open a condom wrapper in record time, hands hurried as he works it over his hard length.
“You sure still want this?” He asks once more, his chest flush against your back, the head of his cock notching at your weeping entrance.
“Y-yes— Please!”
He slowly sinks into you, your moans mingle about in the confined space as he stills to let you adjust to him, his grip firm on your hips as you hold steady to the sides of the sink.
“I’m gonna move, okay?” His voice is rough against your ear. You manage to nod in response, your brain too dazed at the sensation of his cock inside of you.
The echoing of his hips slamming into you fills the room, the drag and thrust of his length hits that sweet spot— eliciting a high pitched sigh from somewhere deep inside of you.
“Fuck! That feels so good!” Your jaw goes slack, as he continues to punch through your aroused cunt.
His hands begin to wander around. One still firm against your hip, holding your bunched dress out of the way, while the other settles under your breast, oscillating between kneading at the weight of it and pinching at your pebbled nipple— triggering your muscles to grip him tighter as he does it.
His breath is hot on your neck, forehead resting against the side of your head.
“You’re so beautiful— the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” Words freely fall from his lips. There’s weight to them, your stomach dropping as he continues to praise you in the most endearing way.
You manage to open your eyes in your pleasured haze, his eyes already locked on you and they don’t falter. This isn’t what you expected going into this, to feel anything aside from an amazing kiss and a good orgasm, but this pure infatuation has begun to creep up into your chest. He’s looking at you with an intensity that far exceeds anything you’ve ever been on the receiving end of— your body craving more of it.
Your body begins to tense, your cunt clamping down as a lustrous arousal blooms at your core. A surge of heat licks at the base of your spine, you feel yourself beginning to tip over the edge.
“Oh god! I’m— I’m gonna come!”
“I got you— I got you. Go ahead, let go.” He nods to your reflection as draws delicate circles over your clit, coaxing the final push needed to reach euphoric heights.
“Shit! Fu— hnngh!” He moans as the pulsating grip on his dick has him finishing right behind you, his warm spend filling the condom.
He continues to hold you against him as his movements halt, pressing a trail of tender kisses from your shoulder to the sensitive spot behind your ear, then his gaze focuses back to where you’re still watching him in the mirror.
“You okay?”
“Yeah— more than okay!” Still trying to catch your breath, your skin tingling in a post carnal delight.
The room is filled with silence, the excitement at a low simmer now as he pulls out of you, ridding himself of the condom as you begin to search for your discarded underwear.
Situating his jeans back onto his narrow hips and fastening his leather belt, all ready to head back out to the now bustling bar when he catches the way you stumble trying to step into your lace underwear.
“Here, let me help you.” He says, kneeling down to help.
“It’s okay— I just need a minute for my sea legs to get back to normal.”
He chuckles softly, grabbing your undergarment allowing you to properly step into them while you steady yourself with the sink edge. He slowly slides them up your legs, fingers lightly grazing over your skin and glancing up to you as he does so, then positioning them just right, your dress falling when he removes his hands from you.
“Thank you.” You say as you turn to look at yourself in the mirror, your usual timid demeanor now taking over your senses.
A stillness hangs between you for a moment, neither of you really sure how to feel about what just happened. There was a spark building between you, a yearning for something more than you agreed on.
“I’m gonna head out then I guess. This was fun— I had a great time with you.” He said, chewing at his bottom lip, tapping his knuckles against the porcelain surface of the sink.
“Yeah— me too. Thank you for this— I really needed it.” Holding your purse tightly in front of you, nervously picking at the tiny beads that decorate it.
Taking a few short steps toward where you’re standing, the space between your bodies disappears, his hand cups your face as his lips begin to move over yours without hesitation. You hold his arms, allowing his proficient tongue to meld over yours. It’s passionate and all-encompassing— and there’s an unreasonable part of you that wants to kiss him for an eternity.
You’re not sure how long it lasts, long enough to crave more and not enough to be disappointed when he pulls away.
He rests his forehead against yours, then slowly backs away towards the door, giving you one last look before heading out and the door closing behind him.
You groan in frustration, smacking your clutch into your face as you try to compose your blurred thoughts about what had just transpired— most of them about the nameless man who you will most likely never see again.
*
The bar is now filled to its max capacity, music levels lifted to accommodate the lively atmosphere. You hang up the pay phone tucked in the corner and head in the direction of the front door. Dancing bodies make it difficult to shuffle your way through, but you manage and welcome the cool air as you step out onto the sidewalk.
A breeze blows through as you wait by the curb, wishing you had an extra layer to shield you from the wind.
“Hey!” A familiar voice says, prompting you to turn in the direction it was coming from.
The handsome stranger, his boots scuffing against the ground as he walks to where you were waiting, giving you ample time to admire him under the glow of the full moon, now noticing the dimple that pairs with the casual smile he gives you.
“Hi.” You smile brightly at him, a nervousness washing over you as he stands there with his hand on his hips.
“You need a ride home? My pickup is parked over there— I don’t mind getting you to where you need to go.” He points back in the direction of the parking lot, his nervous rambling is endearing.
You tilt your head as you let his words resonate around in your mind. You want nothing more than for him to take your hand and guide you to his truck, holding your hand and the door open as you carefully climb into the cab. To watch his profile as he focuses on the road ahead, while some sweet country song about falling in love with a stranger at a bar drifts from the speakers. For him to walk you to your front door so you can both stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say as the night comes to an end. To feel his lips once more before he tells you to have a good night and he’d love to see you again.
“That would go against the no strings attached part of our deal though.” You explain lightly, the crunching tires of your cab coming to a stop grabs your attention. “This is me. Thank you again— I really had a great night with you.” You lean in and kiss his cheek before turning and getting into the cab.
“‘Night Handsome.” You say to him as you shut the door and the driver pulls away from the curb.
He waves you off as the cab drives away, a small part of him hoping this isn’t the last time he sees you.
oooohh already loving the setup!! also the way you set the scene and described every single thing has me swooning - this is the perfect setup for a troublesome story with Javi and I am so here for it!! can't wait to see where this goes 💕💕
epilogue. she might just be my everything and beyond
javier peña x f!reader | epilogue of late night texts
summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.
chapter warnings: here's the epilogue. two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. mention of olivia (steve's and connie's child) ✨
wordcount: 2.7k.
an: at the end.
text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi
you keep flirting with me and ill drive myself over
Oh will you now?
use my key and everything
You have had very little reason to use it lately.
thats cause youre so desperate youre already at the door
Desperate or welcoming?
both
I can be less desperate next time, if you prefer.
dont you fucking dare baby
So when you coming over?
already putting my shoes on
It flies by, time.
One minute, he’s clutching your hands until your fingers slide from his. A promise in the air, one he knows you’ll keep because it's all temporary. Knowing that you’ll be right back, suitcase—and possessions following behind—as you move across the country.
Within a blink, Javi is asking you where you want things to go, in the little place you chose with so much ease. Spotting you unpack a photo frame, the photo strip from Houston front and centre, sitting on a bed of receipts.
The next, he’s sweating for reasons he’d rather not be.
His back twinging, protesting as he carries another box to the van. Your smile rises at the sight of him approaching, gesturing to pass it to you—still standing on the edge of the truck.
“Cariño. You’ve lived here six months. How have you amassed so much sh–tuff?”
Narrowing your eyes, taking the box and placing it on top of another, “Nice save.”
Sending you a sink, he smiles as you slide your hand in his to get down. Knowing he doesn’t ever need to feel them slide from his again—hopefully, no emotional goodbyes at the airport. Not ones that don’t involve you visiting someone for a long weekend here or there.
“Are you forgetting that I packed an entire suitcase the first time I saw you? Because knowing that information, I am surprised you’re confused that I’ve doubled my possessions since living here?”
Pulling you close, he focuses on how you feel warm against him—fitting against him perfectly. A feeling he’s had plenty of time to grow used to but finds he never does. How you slot with him, face turned upwards, looking at him like he moves mountains and walks across fire.
If you asked him, he would.
But you never do. You just look at him as though you know he would. Knowing he does.
He supposes it’s why you’re all set to move in with him. Into his home. His room.
This place—as lovely as it has been—will no longer be yours. The little home in the centre of town is tucked away above a video store that you’ve become a frequent customer of, whether he has plans with you or not.
From tomorrow morning, though, you’ll be waking up with him officially. The two of you have had months of it, where you’re there but not entirely with him. Even if, over time, your things have been left amongst his, some even finding themselves hanging alongside his. To the point a drawer was needed—and hangers. Still, for a while, when you said home, you had meant yours.
That was until the last few weeks. Your eyes shimmering, twinkling with the stars in the night sky, curled into his side. His green jacket, the one with the brown collar, wrapped around your shoulders, no longer smelled of old cigarette smoke and desperation but rather sweetness and hope. Your hand entwined with his:
Can we go home, baby?
Yeah, I can take you now.
No, to yours.
You poke him. Light, but purposeful. A little jab to bring him back, and the way you’re smiling at him—fuck. He can’t imagine a look that could make his heart double in size quicker. His thumb strokes alongside your cheek. His pink shirt—the one you had commandeered as your own—rolled up at the sleeves and tied at your waist.
Javi’s noticed you steal his clothes a lot. Fashion them into something that suits you better. He doesn’t moan. If anything, he makes it a purposeful thing to show you how much it means to him—how much he likes it, craves it.
“C’mon, only a few more boxes...”
Groaning, he buries his lips against yours, feeling your smile widen, grinning widely against him as you hold him close.
Your teeth pull at his bottom lip before releasing it with a pop, a twinkle to your eyes. “… think of it like this: once the van is packed, we get more time to say goodbye before I have to return the keys.”
“Hmm,” he mumbles, keeping you in place with two fingers under your chin. “And how do you plan on us saying goodbye, baby?”
Sliding your nose against his cheek. “Loudly. I plan on saying it loud, baby.”
You packed me a note in my lunch?
I did
It wasn’t very safe for work.
you said you eat your lunch at your desk
Yes but I’m not a loner, Javi. I do eat lunch with people.
lesson learned then baby
But yes.
yeah?
I don’t think the porch table will cope though, may have to think of a more stable surface.
I think I can think of something
No wood! I am not having you pick splinters out of my ass again, baby.
that was on you
I think it was on you and your speech about how beautiful I looked being a ranch-hand.
Do you fancy coming to my office Halloween party?
do I have to dress up
Yes. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll be dressed up too.
before I decide what are you dressing up as
That’s the incentive to come, if you say yes I’ll tell you.
do you want me there
Yes! Want to show you off
then ill be there baby
Because you like being showed off?
yes. but also because you want me there
While outwardly, he’d protested the trip to Miami from the moment you booked it off work up until he was sat beside you on the place, he does see the beauty in it.
Although, Javi primarily suspects that it is down to you. You with your legs out, you in a bikini on the beach, robbing his shades until he buys you your own—a matching pair, something that makes Steve chuckle and Connie aww.
The lazy mornings that remind him of Houston are nice, too. The ones where neither of you are woken by an alarm or his Pop’s awful singing. The backdrop of the airy hotel room and a warm, gentle breeze blowing the sheer curtains as his thumbs dig into the back of your thighs and make you chant, is a bonus.
Because Javi can make your skin glisten, and your body sing, whenever and wherever he gets the chance.
What he can’t have at home with you is the sight of you fitting in so easily with the two people who have become a second family. The ones who have seen him go to lengths he hadn't known was possible, him and his old partner seeing things that only appear in occasional nightmares now.
Connie and Steve welcomed you in with ease and with them, you smiled so effortlessly. Blending in like you were always there—laughter bursting out of you when you’re playing with Olivia.
It's there, ever-present on the beach, as you chase Olivia around in the sand. The castles the two of you had been making long since trodden on, as the little girl squeals and squeals until she’s caught.
“You should marry her.”
Turning his head, Steve nods towards the three of you. Connie snapping photos as you roll in the sand. The yellow tinge from his aviators adds an additional glow to the world as he eyes up his former partner-turned-friend—a friend who apparently now gives unwarranted marriage advice.
Scratching his chin, he rolls his jaw. “You giving me permission, Murp?”
“C’mon, Jav. She’s nice, good to you. Clearly makes you very fuckin’ happy.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe I’m already planning it.”
“Yeah? Fuck. Can’t wait to tell Connie. She told me I needed to convince you.”
Javi shrugs, pushing the glasses up his nose. “It so hard to believe I’d have come to that conclusion on my own?”
“Before you met her? Yeah. Since her? No. Could tell you were smitten—”
Snorting, Javi runs his hand across his chin. “I was not fucking smitten.”
“Yeah, you fucking was. No shame in that, Jav. No shame in enjoying one good woman.”
Groaning, he turns back to the laughter. The corner of his lips twitched, wishing to slide into his cheeks as he watches you throw your head back, neck exposed, as Olivia tries to do a handstand.
“I got the ring last month.”
“Shit.”
Turning his head, he narrows his eyes, watching Steve put his hands up in defence.
“You just said—“
“Yeah, well. Forgot how determined y’can be about things. Surprised me. S’not a bad thing,” Steve says. “Just, y’know. Years ago, I knew you as the man who fucked his way through—“
Elbowing him, Javi smirks as he hears Steve splutter. A sharp look added as Steve holds his hand up.
“I’m not that person anymore, Murphy.”
His friend nods, apology falling. The evidence that he means it stitching into his expression—that he was just joking, teasing. An explanation coming, that he knows how he’s changed—all words he would have once craved hearing. But since meeting you, he’d found even the teasing didn’t upset him as much.
Clapping his hand on his shoulder, Javi looks over his shades. “I know. Alright. Just, I don’t like the reminder, that's all. Feels like… feels like a lifetime ago.”
“Y’telling me.”
Snorting, Javi slides his hand off. Moving his eyes back to the sight of Olivia grinning at the two of them. Her small hand trying to cover her mouth as she whispers something to you, something which Javi suspects involves him from the way she’s running full speed towards him.
“She’s grown up so quickly.”
He’s about to reply, but Olivia interrupts—skidding to a stop in the sand, kicking it across his feet. Swiftly, her hand—all small and delicate—wraps around and tugs on his hand.
“Uncle Javi, can you come play?”
Over the top of her, he spots you. Leaning your weight on one side, hand covering your brows to watch his expression.
And fuck, how can he say no to either of you.
hows pops?
He’s good. In fact, enough to be getting your Mom’s cookbooks down from the shelf for me.
I hope you know thats him saying he loves you
He has told me how much it means to him that I wanted these. Also keeps telling me that he’s happy they’ll be staying in the family.
bet that made you cry didn’t it
Yes! Obviously.
youre so cute baby
In my defence he caught me off guard with the comment, I was busy staring and deciphering the handwritten notes.
not gonna be able to read them now if youve cried all over them
As always, you’re hilarious. I obviously didn’t cry into the book! I cried in the bathroom.
you turn the tap on to try and hide it again
Shut up, Javi.
i should be back soon, just grabbing the parts now
Don’t rush, he’s fine. Promise. He even says his back is barely giving him any problems since I told him I’d cook from the book.
what you cooking?
Come home safe and find out.
youre such a tease
Learned it from you baby.
At one stage, Javi had been good with people.
Persuasive.
Now, he’s unsure if he even knows how to ask for a favour without giving something up or flirting.
He’s still charismatic, or so you tell him. But, he's pretty sure his tact has gone, impatience bubbling as he tries to pretend to give enough of a shit to be able to ask for the favour he wants.
For you, he decides to push through. To not walk back through the door he came through. He does stuff his hands into his jacket, the man staring at him, still wearing the same confused expression he had when Javi first stepped through the door.
Because even if he’s explained three fucking times, the man still doesn’t understand why he asked him to create the crossword he’s got clutched in his hands.
The one that would never even go to print—just a single request. A favour. All personal, just for him. Not to be published in every newspaper, but just one.
The one for him, and him alone.
It didn't matter how many ways he explained it, the man remained confused. Only reluctantly accepting, he's sure, to get him to leave.
That had been days ago. Now, you're ahead of him. Your fingers brushing over the tops of long stands, occasionally looking over your shoulder at him, making him feel like he's stepped into one of the movies you've made him watch.
Even when you look ahead, he can tell you’re grinning from behind—taking the view in. It's 'one of your favourites', something you’d told him the first time he brought you here.
It’s why he brought you here, now.
Second to you, of course, baby.
You stop some distance ahead, beginning to place down a blanket, all chequered and soft, as he comes to join you. Placing the basket in his hand down on the edge of it, before your fingers are swatting at him and undoing the ties before you grasp the bottle, food and other bits.
Not that he can eat, needing more than what the wine you’d grabbed would do.
Nerves bubbling, dancing and fluttering like the flies further down the hill. You don't notice. You're focused on the newspaper, the crossword he's not let you see for the last few hours, taunting you, making you wait.
He almost wishes he hadn't when it adds to the knot in his stomach, it tightening more when you become irritated at his coyness as he's reading out the clues—
Javi, what are you up to? You always do down, across, down. Always.
You’d have made a good detective or DEA agent.
Likely given him and Murphy a run for their money—something Steve had even said to you both when the two of you were in Miami. Sand in your toes, sea air in your hair—grin brighter than the sun.
“Give it here,” you say, not sharply, but not playfully either.
His hand wipes his lower mouth, hiding his smirk, having wanted you to do that for the past fifteen minutes.
When you take the crossword, you’re chewing.
Distracted, barely able to spot him sliding the remainder of your punnet from reach. Because Javi remembers how you feel about being asked any critical questions when you are eating.
He supposes it's the one benefit of you making him watch so many romcoms. It allowed him to do market research and ask questions without raising your suspicion, such as where wouldn't you like to be asked and if you want him down on one knee.
Mainly, I don’t want to have food in my teeth when I’m being asked. Don't want to spit any leftovers at you in my shock.
“Hey,” he whispers, stealing your attention—watching you smile, glancing at your clean teeth. “Eres preciosa.”
Your lips slide, curling up into your cheek. “You’re such a flirt, Peña.”
Kissing your cheek, he keeps his arm around you. Fingers playing with the fabric on your hip—balling it up before smoothing it out. Thumb and index brushing, calming, soothing him as your eyes glance over the page.
Occasionally, asking him things, avoiding the clues he desperately wants you to solve.
Until.
Fuck, until.
“Javi.”
“Hmm,” he mumbles, pretending indifference, head tilted down, resting his chin on your shoulder—knowing from the high-pitched way you said this name that you’ve already cracked it.
Your fingers slide over the paper, smothering the white and black boxes from view. “Javi?”
“Yes, baby.”
“I think that’s my reply, isn’t it?”
Lips curling, he wraps his fingers around your chin, turning you to face him. Watching it happen in slow motion, how you smile before you grin—tears all but filling your eyes as you clearly try not to get ahead of yourself.
“You wanna make me less lonely, cariño?”
Swallowing, you drop the paper. Let it fall to the blanket, twisting your body until your knees are between his thighs as you take both sides of his cheeks.
“Sí.”
“Sí?”
Nodding, a tear falls. It's one shimmering with joy and happiness, his thumb swiping it, spreading it across your skin.
“I don’t know… I don’t know the translation,” you laugh, it spluttering, fingers stroking his skin. “But I’ll marry you. I love you. Yes, Javi.”
And he whispers it.
The translation. Pressing it, as well as I love you, to your lips as his arms snake further around your waist. Hearing you, all quiet, it almost buried in kisses, repeating the translation back.
Before he falls backwards into the grass, with you on top of him—his fiancé. His world.
you fancy coming to laredo in autumn
Any particular reason?
been told I need a best man and I only know you
an: gosh, here we are. i began writing late night texts one night after a chaotic chat with @guyfieriii because i was manic/sad/anxious all at once and it was the only logical thing i could focus on. as much as javi and reader saved one another, they saved me too.
thank you to you lovely lot. not only did you welcome this in with open arms, but you cheered me on every single week (also, btw, how cool is it we didn't miss a single week omg). i owe you so much, and i cannot believe we made it here together. to the old followers, i see you. to the new ones who just discovered me, hey, welcome.
to all of the friends I've harrassed over the last few months, i love you. to the new ones I've made, i also love you omg.
i'm already missing this pair so much, and i cannot wait until we get to hang out with them sporadically. i'm going to go cry in a corner, but just know my heart is so full and so happy and it's all down to you all 🩷
I can't believe this is it 😭😭you put together one of the most beautiful stories I have ever read, one that will stick with me for a long time and that I will definitely be re-reading because she's ✨that story✨I adore you and your writing and them and everything about this💕
xii. just say yes, just say there's nothing holding you back
javier peña x f!reader | chapter twelve of late night texts
summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.
chapter warnings: the last chapter (before the epilogue), feel that needs to be a warning. two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love ✨
wordcount: 4.2k. (i did try to cut it down but she kept growing)
an: here we are. i have been a mess since finishing the draft of this and i hope it means as much to you, as it does to me.
this marks the end of the current timeline for this pair (the epilogue will span snippets from their future, some of which i'd love to expand on later when i'm less emotional).
text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi
Javi’s day begins like so many others.
Light bleeding into his room, the wind’s whispers pulling him from sleep, gently gesturing for him to wake and be one with them.
It does so in soft yellows and splashes of orange as his curtains puffed up and danced—casting playful shadows over the furniture and the clutter that make up his room.
If he could, he’d rather roll over—abandon responsibility and return to his dreams.
He doesn’t, and never will. A silent promise he’d made to himself when he returned—having opened his eyes to see how much slower his Pop was—to do the heavy lifting.
It’s why he slides his hand across his bedside table, fingers finding the edge of his phone—pinching the bridge of his nose. The soft glow makes his eyes sting as they squint. Usually, there’s nothing new, but he likes to read back on a few of your messages—it helping to start his day right.
Today, though, he finds something already waiting for him.
Morning baby, dreamt of you last night.
He doesn’t mean to, but he closes his eyes.
Allows his hand to glide up over his face. Palm flat, the part where it meets his wrist running over the curve of his nose, before resting lower, hiding the stupid, foolish grin you somehow manage to pull from him. The one you conjure without even being here.
The effect you have on him makes him want to pinch himself. Almost does. Just a little one. A need to check he wasn’t dreaming—wasn’t lost somewhere in the most prolonged fantasy he’s ever experienced.
He knows he isn’t from the way his alarm chirps, turning it off with a slam of his hand—returning his fingers to his face, sliding through the front of his hair. Quickly urging his brain to kick into gear, enough to respond at least.
But, the only conscious thought he has is: What good have you done to even deserve her?
It’s a continuous thought. One which runs on a loop in some distant corner of his brain. It there hiding in the shadows since Houston, since he had the chance to hold you, hear you whisper his name as he made you sing.
The thought had been louder since you’d told him you wanted to come to the ranch. It stands in the forefront, prominent, bold. It’s even made a home for itself at the foot of his bed this morning, holding a sign in the same writing your note to him was in:
Do not fuck this up, Javier.
As if he has any control over it.
Fucking up follows him, gravitates and slams into him. He knows he can count the times and run out of fingers when ‘fucking up’ has messed up his plans. His life. His future. A brief population of them arising in cloudy bubbles behind his eyes—ghostly faces of people he’s failed, the scenes from things he’s done, the hand he’s been dealt by choosing wrong—
Blinking them away, he swallows. Taking a breath, loosening the tightness of his chest. Returning his fingers to the keys, he focuses his attention back to you.
morning baby what you doing awake
In truth, he already knows. Knew before he’d managed to rub the sleep from his eyes with his thumb and index—but he asks all the same.
For the confirmation; the routine of it all. Because, even if it has always been hard for him to keep, he likes that the two of you have that. That you both have fallen into this dance so easily, so normally.
When he’d been in Colombia, invited to dinners with Connie and Steve, he’d wondered how they did it. How they understood one another, moved in fluidity around one another. Spoke the same language, even without spilling any words. His mouth chewing his cheek, hand scraping across his chin—attempting to crack the puzzle in front of him.
Now he has the answer. It simple, more than he thought it could be. That it’s natural, not forced, not something you can make happen or choose.
It’s not even that early. Going over my notes, keep feeling like I’ve missed something.
He snorts because he knows you.
There’s not a thing you’d have missed. Too clever for that, too aware.
Closing his eyes for another second, Javi steals a second of the quiet, until he hears Pop moving around, sparking to life squeaky floorboards and groaning walls.
It's rare that he has the chance to text you over his morning coffee.
The hour is usually not one where he finds you awake. Today, he likes that you are. A feeling swarming through his insides, doubling at the realisation that tomorrow you’ll be here in person.
He’ll get the chance to see you smile—the one that both warms a room and makes him feel like he’s arrived in heaven, all at once. A smile that makes it hard for him not to kiss it, savour the taste of it—feel you muffle out his name against it as you both will him to stop and clutch him closer.
you excited to be reunited with your jacket
Mi chaqueta favorita y mi persona favorita.
look at you learning quickly
It’s easy when your professor promises you things if you do well.
what does he promise hermosa
Filthy things, Javi.
sounds like hes rather inappropriate
Oh he is. Asks me what underwear I'm wearing all the time. But he does have a great tongue, so it's worth i.
It’s hard to muffle his laugh.
A sound that he thinks the radio will have to compete with when you’re here, at the table—enjoying toast and coffee.
He’ll be lost in it, even if no one else is. Watching how your laugh shimmers across your face, witnessing the explosion of light that it brings. Like a firework, illuminating everything in its path.
Running his hand over his chin, he bites back a grin. One spawned from knowing he’ll have that in the next few days. You, in his home, laughing. It able to radiate and dance around his things and the things he’s always known.
Javi would have the chance to be able to touch you, pull you close by the legs of the chair, and bury his nose into your hair, smelling the sweetness of your shampoo, as he enjoys the feel of your giggle vibrating through your bones to his—the bass of it making his heart skip in his chest.
Fuck. He misses you.
It crawling up him, having softened him—scraped down and smoother over the hardened edges that the years of corruption and failure had created.
Licking his lips, he’s about to reply when he spots his Pop glancing at him over the top of the newspaper. Brow arched, half his face hidden, but Javi isn’t fucking stupid, he knows he’s grinning at him.
“What?”
“You okay, Javi? You’ve usually started by now?”
“Sí, lo sé. I’m going, Pop. Alright.”
One of the earliest things Javi learnt was that you’re a planner, an organiser.
He was able to witness it in small doses in Houston. Even if you had tried to squirrel it away, hide 85 from him.
He supposed, from the thing you’ve told him, you had to be. Plus, he imagined—like his former profession—it was almost a requirement. A need for a roadmap always there, a backup plan just in case of extremes.
So, for how much planning the two of you (you, mainly) had done the first time, the second time, in comparison, seemed to be chaos. You mumbled dates, times. There was a rough, outlined plan that made even Javi feel unorganised. If anything, it would be better to call it a loose, barely even well-organised idea, never mind a plan.
He had asked—numerous times during your phone calls.
Rather than helping him, your voice crooned down, begging for a clue instead, claiming, "We have days to talk about this, baby", but not many days to "Finish this crossword".
And fuck was he a slave to the way you whined his name when he interrupted the puzzle to ask something about dates, length of stay, and airport pick-up times.
Now, though, days is tomorrow—and Javi hasn’t got a fucking clue what he’s doing.
He’s aware he’s picking you up from somewhere, at an unknown time, with you on an unannounced flight.
But, the stress is mounting, beginning to grow, prickling and wrapping itself around his back.
He supposes the lack of a concrete plan is why it’s so easy for it to come apart. It fraying, all toyed and played with by his fingers and avoided by your own.
Because it was never much to begin with.
In your defence, you couldn’t have banked on Pop finally being able to book in his truck at the stop. The one which hadn’t sounded the same in a while, never mind acted like it—the one very much needing to be fixed if Javi was going to continue to have a good relationship with his father.
It’s why he knew it needed to be done. He just couldn’t wrap his head around why the universe would decide now was the time it would align it to be fixed.
Selfishly, he had wanted to tell his Pop no when he’d interrupted him to tell him. Wanting to say they’d sort it once you’d gone back—because he needed his vehicle.
Because Javi knows the people in this town, and knows how the universe works when it involves him. The truck wouldn’t be in the shop 'just for today'—it would be days. It would bleed out and ruin his plans of showing you all the places he loves in his hometown. His Pop needing to run ‘small errands’—ones that never remained as such when they involved Chucho Peña.
He knows this because if they actually needed something urgently, he’d be the one sent. Just like when he was a kid, and his bike wheels cut through dirt and fields.
But he bit his tongue all the same, placing the keys in his Pop’s hand so he can do what it is he needs to do. His arms crossed over, gripping his biceps' backs as he watches the tow take away the truck.
Knowing deep down, once he had you here, he wouldn’t care if the truck was even in the state, as long as he had you.
“How many errands you runnin’ anyway?”
Adjusting his hat, his Pop gives him that look. The one which tells him he hasn’t got a clue and not to stress. A look he finds he despises more now, post-Colombia, than before. “Don’t worry, mijo. I’ll fill her up for you.”
Except he won’t.
His Pop always forgets something. Usually, the thing most essential. It's why, naturally, Javi had factored it into his new plan, the one he’d been scrambling together when he mucked out the stable.
What he had yet to bank on was that someone above was laughing at each plan he made. His fresh, newly organised one came apart again, before he'd even begun to head back to the stables.
This time, in text form. Your message arriving, punching into the gentle breeze and sunny mid-morning.
Okay, I’m leaving the motel now, wish me more than luck because I need this.
His feet come to a standstill. Dust kicked up, swirling around his calves as he read your message once, twice—
Then, his stomach drops, not just to the floor, but out of his body. Exiting out of him so quickly, he’s sure the rest of his organs have whiplash from it vanishing so quickly.
Heat spreading, sweat building, his body suddenly being consumed by panic—its tendrils sliding around his ribs, pecking at his lungs and heart as he tries to steady his breath.
I thought it was tomorrow
No, today, silly.
when did you fly in
Yesterday, I told you this. The interview is today.
He’s unsure if his fingers have ever typed so fast, sweat beading on his brow—damp on his palms. Because no, you didn’t. Which meant—
“Fuck.”
It rips from his throat and flutters over the field, his eyes squinting, head turned in the direction of his truck—the one being sparked to life. Tyres sounding in the gravel. His feet not quick enough, not enough to outrun a vehicle—
“Fuckin’ fuck.”
youre gonna do amazing baby
I think I’m going to be sick. Which is normal right?
just try to breathe and remember that no one can do this job like you
I think the other people up for it would beg to differ, but I like how you support me.
tonight we’ll be celebrating
How are we planning on doing that?
i think i’ll buy you wine and then i’ll make your toes curl
Have to get the job first, Javi.
you will
And you’d need to know what time I’m arriving since you forgot it was today.
didnt forget baby
You handsome liar. I have to go, so we will resume this after I’ve gone and wowed them.
just be you. its how you wowed me
Javi is panicking.
His hand almost dropped the house phone on the last call, a cramp forming from ringing every place he suspected his Pop would visit.
And, because this was him, none of them had seen him in days—never mind today. They all sweetly asked if he was okay, like he had time to kill—had the time to catch up and hear how their son wanted to be a detective or their daughter was single.
He knew he could have been more polite, could have been nicer to some of them. Imagining your face when he tells you, that soft way you say his name, almost full of judgement and disappointment, but not quite able to embrace it fully.
When he replaces the handset, he swears. Fingers massaging the side of his temple, outwardly silent—but inwardly loudly—ticking, his feet taking him outside before he begins to pace.
Usually, listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees helps.
Today, he's not sure anything can. Thoughts of you standing at the airport, sad, abandoned, feeling forgotten hammer against his skull. His chest tightens at the thought, guilt eating away at his insides as each little sound makes his head lift and his ears turn.
But, Javi isn't able to move when he hears the noticeable sound of wheels in the gravel and dirt. Almost worried he'd made it up, dreamt it, until he hears the horn.
His horn.
Wiping his arm across his forehead, Javi takes strides out of the distance—it takes all of his willpower not to check his phone. Not repeatedly check it, anyway.
Because you’re being quiet. Again.
Have been for the last two and a bit hours.
Admittedly, he’s not sure how long these things take, but the gap between your last message and now has expanded to the point that worry has begun to set in. What if you’re waiting for him? His mind pulls at the doubts he's forced into the darkness. What if you’ve changed your mind? His thoughts attempting to run away from themselves. His fingers and muscles, tendons and bones flexing as he turns the corner of the back of the house.
The stress, panic and worry merge inside of him, all beginning to knot. Clumping. Mashing with the earlier excitement to create a concoction that makes want to vomit.
Mad at himself that he should have known something would happen. His gut instinct off, having been tricked by how lovely the morning was, future days lulling him into a false sense of security.
He should know better. Javi had become well acquainted with things going explosively wrong in Colombia. He’d just hoped he could have spared it from touching you, from tainting what the two of you have.
The dismay flickers down his legs as the soles of his boots crunch loudly against the ground, steps all heavy, weighted. Trying to focus on the usual dread he feels at whatever the fuck his Pop has brought back with him this time. Discount slabs, sacks of tomatoes, new fence pillars—Javi has even seen him come back with more wooden slats to fix something he hadn’t even known was broken. Rather than paying attention to the longing and sadness he’s secretly feeling.
When he turns the final corner of the house, he sees it—his vehicle. His eyes spot the lights cutting out and then that the bed of his vehicle is empty—a thank fuck falling from his lips in a whisper.
Relief barely has a chance to soak in when Javi spots that his Pop isn’t alone. Annoyance flares, shooting through him as his jaw tightens. Until he narrows his eyes, attempts to look closer through the dirt-stained window, seeing what looks like a woman. Their head turned—a side profile that looks—
Swallowing, he blinks.
Must be a trick of the light, he thinks, shaking his head, wiping the sweat, sun and dirt from his eyes.
It has to be a mis-sight. His brain addled from worry, it now making him lose his mind.
Purposefully blinking it away, wincing at the brightness when he hears the noise of a door opening, then another—trying to stop his heart from getting away from itself, hammering and thumping as he watches his Pop step out, hoisting the back of his jeans up as he nods at him.
“Mijo.”
There's a smirk. It scratched into his Pop’s face—yet, his voice is so normal, all forced, a pretence. It not matching the look on his face. The one all mischievous and devious. A devilish smirk outlined by white hair and a twinkle in his eye that Javi cannot remember the last time he’s seen.
It’s why his attention drifts and slides, watching the other person—you—move around the back of the truck.
He’d spot you anywhere.
His body comes to the conclusion, before his brain. His shoulders drop—all of the stress melting—taking worry and annoyance with it. Something hooks in the corner of his lips, dragging them up to his cheek as he watches you glance at his Pop with a smile. That same one he hasn’t stopped picturing, dreaming of—before you land it back on him.
You’re here.
You.
Today.
Your chin dips, but he sees how high your cheeks are on your face as you watch him through your lashes. The two of you move, crossing the ground, cutting through the path to meet somewhere in the middle. Gravel crunching, dirt swirling like smoke at both of your feet.
“Surprise, charmer.”
He snorts, not stopping until his arms wrap around you, colliding with you. It doesn’t hurt. If anything, he realises how much he’s been hurting since he let you get on the plane to begin with. Pieces of him sliding back into place—healing, fixing.
“How?” he asks, whispering it against your face.
Unwrapping his arms, he watches you stare up at him before he glances at his Pop—grin smothered by wiry white all over again, paused at the bottom of the stairs to the house, tipping his hat:
“She made me promise, mijo.”
Shrugging, you wipe your thumb across your bottom lip. “I did. Don’t be mad.”
“Mad?” he asks, cupping your cheek and tilting your head. “I’m not… not even a little bit. I’m just…”
“I know I didn’t get the Houston job.”
His heart breaks a fraction, hand rubbing your arm, hearing the door to the ranch open and close in the distance. “I know, baby. You’ll—“
“But I did get offered the one from today.” Nodding, you smile before your teeth bite down on your bottom lip. “Apparently, I am very impressive—was going to be poached, anyway. Seems my skills are transferable enough to work for imports. A job that, I'm not sure if you know, wouldn't be in Houston. Like I let you believe.”
He feels a frown beginning to appear—attempting to weave itself through the joy already etched into his face. The rest of him trying to catch up, trying to piece together the nuts and bolts, the corners and edge pieces of the puzzle from the statements you’ve drip-fed him since you first told him about it.
“The job, Javi, would be here. At the World Trade Bridge.”
He feels it, the way his face smooths as he processes it. Acknowledges it. A bubble, a flutter of wings, appears in his chest, a new one arriving with every nugget he manages to process.
“He asked me if I fancied relocating—when he offered me the interview. It wasn’t quite Houston, something he apologised for. But, here, in Laredo. I had the interview this morning. If I accept, I’d be here, Javi. in Laredo. Which I know is a lot closer than Houston, so…”
“Baby.”
You press your palm to his chest. “I rang for you—to tell you. I had wanted to keep it to myself initially, just in case. Then, when I was helping Aish pack, she said it would be a nice surprise. Then, the guilt got too much. But I was a bit too excited to see who it was on the phone… and your Dad says hello in the same way, and by the time I’d told you—him—everything, your Dad was offering to pick me up, to bring me here.”
His face softens, a smile widening. Practically engulfing every other thing his face could even show, one that hurts it's so large.
“I can completely understand if you’d rather us keep some miles between us,” you smile. “Thought, though, if you’re as serious about me as I am about you, we could make the decision together.”
His hand cups both cheeks, brushing his thumb over your skin. “I want you.”
“I want you too.”
“Take the job, move here—move in—“
“Your dad already offered that,” you laugh, tipping your head forward, forehead pressing to his chest.
And, it's likely you can hear how his heart is hammering—maybe even feel it through his shirt. All loud and heavy. It doing it all for you.
“And, as lovely as the offer is, I get a nice relocation package—and I think, don’t be upset, that I’d want my own place. Just for a bit.”
Dragging his thumbs across your cheek. He stares into your eyes, aiming to burn the words he’s about to say into them. “How could I be upset when I’d have you here, cariño?”
Your lips slide into your cheek, a shy smile forming. “We could do those dates you talked about? I know I would see you all the time anyway, but I think I’ve been reckless enough lately. I’d like to be a tiny bit sensible, and do the proper dating thing where I cook for you at mine, and you invite me to sleep over at yours. Y'know? Just for a short time.”
“So, are you…”
“I haven’t accepted, not yet. Like I said, I wanted us to make that decision. As a couple. I… I guess I also wanted to check I still wasn’t too much?”
He lets out a breath, fingers sliding further up your cheek.
Unsure how he can even find words enough to explain how not too much you are. But he doesn’t try. Instead, he closes the gap, pressing his nose to yours, hoping his lips tell you instead.
Feeling you grasp at him, pulling him close. Feeling warmth, fire and adoration erupting in his chest when your mouth moves against his, soft, all perfect. Utter fucking bliss. A kiss he's longed for and missed so much, he's sure he's floating.
Only stopping when you pull back, hand sliding round to his chest—grinning, all teeth and sparkling eyes.
“I should go accept, right?”
He kisses you again, shorter, more chaste, but with the same abundance of emotions. “Lemme show you where the phone is.”
“The infamous one?”
His hand rises to take yours, looping his fingers, finding you fall into place beside him—just as easily as the two of you had done in Houston. “The very one. Can show you where I hit my knee that time.”
“Oh, when you almost cried?”
“Ay, cariño. None of that.” His head shakes.
Fuck is it something to hear you laugh. How it leaves your lips, your other hand wrapping around his arm, head burying against him as he tilts his head to watch. Knowing he’s grinning, knowing he’s never been happier.
He’s also pretty sure the entire ranch just began smiling, too.
Since the first time he heard your voice, his dreams have all been so similar.
They are full of white sheets—soft-yellow sun rays dancing in from the outside through his blinds. They’d illuminate the bed, showcasing the outline of a person that he always knew was you.
This morning, Javi woke to find it wasn’t a dream.
You're curled up close to him, thigh over his. His off-white sheets tucked around your body—face bare, stunning and pretty, lashes resting against your cheeks.
“Why’re you watching me sleep?”
Smirking, he traces his hand over your hip, giving you a pinch. “Jus’ admiring.”
“Can you do that at a sensible hour?”
He places a kiss on your nose, feeling your sigh against his skin before your hips move under his palm as you try to get closer. The barest of gaps between the two of you—as there had been since your arrival yesterday.
“For me, this is a sensible hour.”
You groan, deep—almost playful. “Shh, baby. Someone kept me awake late.”
“Some else didn’t seem to mind. I have teeth marks on my hand to prove it.”
He feels you hum, turning your head to look up at him before pressing a soft kiss to his chin. One that makes his throat dry, forces his hand to tighten its hold on you. The usual knot inside him smoothing out, everything in his veins calming. A feeling he had in Houston, which is now humming just as prominent here.
The logistics for your move were glazed over last night, once you’d accepted, once his Pop had handed him a bottle of wine with a wink before 'heading out'. The two of you on the porch, wine in your hand and beer in his head. Tomorrow, Javi? We can plan it all tomorrow. Hand sliding over his. Just want to enjoy being with you right now, especially when we have forever.
Tracing a circle on your hip, he traces his eyes over your face. “I’m so glad you mistyped that number, cariño.”
His words make your eyes open, watching your pupils swallow the colour—seeing how you focus, how your eyes begin to shine, and your smile begins to widen.
Hand rising to his cheek, your fingers delicately strumming his skin. “So glad you were intrigued about my bad date.” Your fingers pause, stopping at the side of his lip. “And that you were bored and lonely.”
Your eyes slide from his eyes to his lips and back again. “I’m even more glad to be yours, baby.”
Groaning, he slides his hand to your thigh, hooking it over his leg. “Say that again.”
“I’m yours.”
His nose slides against yours, lips lazily capturing yours. “Again.”
“Yours,” you whisper, mouth brushing his. “All yours.”
“Fuck, you’re perfect.”
Sliding your fingers into his hair, you ghost a smile across his lips. “I am, aren’t I?”
AN: there are so many people to thank, but I'll save that for next week. for now, thank you for reading. for trusting me. for trusting that i was going to give them the ending they deserved. i know we have moments from their future next week, but for now, i love you, i love them, and i love that i had the chance to tell a story i really wanted to tell. this story made me feel like I was a part of the fandom for the first time since I really joined, and I hope you’ll all continue to be as loving and wonderful for the next thing I write.
anon inbox is now open for anyone who wants to scream love (hopefully) but I won't post anything with spoilers until Thursday 7pm BST.
ignore the fact that my depressed and dumbass forgot I read chapter 11 before reading chapter 10, hence my chaotic reblogging, but alas! so!
to see them get their happy ending is everything to me!! they're so supportive and sweet to each other, so sickeningly in love I swear I can feel their love too 😭😭 this was absolutely beautiful and such a fantastic read!!
javier peña x f!reader | chapter ten of late night texts
summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.
chapter warnings: we're back to texts and phone calls. sorrowful!javi, two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. pls don't be mad at me ✨ wordcount: 3k.
text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi
He's aware of everything.
How the porch creaks when he steps on it, the way the back door doesn’t quite meet the frame unless it’s locked. How the wind is knocking something else, far across the tall grass and fence posts.
Right now, his focus is on how his curtains don’t quite close. That they're letting the thinnest crack of moonlight cascade through his room. How the smallest luminescent slither keeps dancing in the breeze, yet it still lands perfectly on the propped-up photo strip on his dresser, highlighting the two of you, as though he hadn't committed them to memory.
He can’t remember the last time someone had managed to slide around his walls—bypass his common sense and begin weaving themselves into him. Javi also can't remember the last time he wanted something more than a win.
Then came you.
Not that he complains that you're the exception. He'll never complain when it comes to you.
Having people close has never been his issue. It’s letting himself fall that he’s forever found hard. He can be a lover who makes a night all about the other; he can be a protector, shielding and doing what is needed.
It’s the parts after when he feels he clams up. A portion of him constantly weighing up risks, calculating the damage he could cause—either by a choice he could make or others—long before the city that housed Escobar.
Javi knew his reluctance had stemmed from before he left Laredo, but it was now carved somewhere deeper in him. Something you managed to find with relative ease and cut out of him as if it was nothing.
All smiles. All radiance and fucking beauty, with a laugh that could make his lips curl even if his bones are aching and his muscles are tired.
If he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself that he’s back there, in the hotel room. Because even if you’d never been here, your room is full of him.
His bag of spilt-out clothes from your time together, slowly letting the scent of your perfume seep out across the room. Your jacket, hung on the closet handle, and the photos and sign you made on his dresser, all perfectly in sight.
you have nice handwriting
I did try my best, sometimes I get lazy and letters blur together more.
I like how you wrote baby
Does this mean I’ve got the whole set now?
Cause you like how I say it, how I write it, how I mouth it.
Even when he had known you’d needed to get some sleep, Javi had desperately wanted to beg you to stay up. Sending back a text here or there, already missing you so much more than he was sure he could handle.
He felt lovesick. Like the singer in all those songs that make people either stare at a loved one or bite back tears because they lost theirs. Suddenly relating to a sea of them he’s heard on the radio in the kitchen or hummed in the back of his pop’s throat.
Javi had been happy to see his pops, somewhat surprised he even came out of the house to greet him. But, as soon as his eyes landed on him, he became suddenly more aware of his old man’s age. Noticing the lines on his face, the ones that tell a thousand stories—not all of them he’s sure he’s heard. Curling into the hug he’d barely reciprocated before, unsure how to form the words to thank him for convincing him to go.
Naturally, he asks about you.
It’s more of an interrogation if he’s honest. He shows the photos, the ones now on his dresser, watching his pop smile as he continues to answer the array of questions, until he yawns for the tenth time in the space of five minutes.
“You should get some sleep, Pop.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, Javi. Tell me more about your lady.”
Your lady.
Those two words stand out as if they’ve been illuminated in bulbs, twinkling and shimmering.
now youre back in reality you sure about us
Never been more sure about anything, baby.
just wanted to check
You’re beginning to sound like me, worrying.
left a mark on me
Think that’s fair, you’ve left a lot on me too. Especially my chest.
“Tomorrow. Promise. The drive took it out of me.”
But Javi isn’t tired.
Somehow, he had suspected he wouldn’t be the moment he watched you leave.
For longer than he cares to number, he's struggled with it. Had developed an unhealthy live-able balance of it when he was working, something he managed to keep as a prize in his return.
Now, it’s different.
There’s an edge to it. As though he's now having to pay back the stolen sleep he enjoyed when he had been lay with you. When he slept with ease and not struggle. Leaving him feeling now like he’s in a lull, a dream. All aware, not in a daze anymore, noticing things he had never given much attention to before his trip out of town.
You had been so warm, so soft. His fingers gliding up and down your side, soothing you as much as it was him. But, you slept with ease. Falling almost instantly once you'd stopped talking, a little jolt and a soft sigh punctuating it.
Fuck, he misses you.
Thumb and index pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut. Unsure how he's supposed to manage, and cope, until the next chance he gets to see you.
Till he gets to hold you in his arms, stare at your smile as it grows across your face or feels the light tap of your hand when he’s teasing you...
Something ugly curls inside of him. At first, soaked in sadness, before it shakes itself and burns bright with annoyance. Irritation. Anger at how unfair it all is.
How is it, after all, he’s given up—he’s fallen for the one person not even in his state? A person he had to say goodbye to hours ago, for reasons out of his or their control.
He almost snorts, unsure if it’s due to the tiredness or the reality that after all he’s faced, life would continue to be cruel and deal him such a hand. Tempted to get up, kick off the sheets and pull out the crossword from before he left town.
Javi doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes, shaking his head—to no one but himself. Because he can't do them without you now. A promise, one given with ease.
He hears the whisper of the wind, the rustle of the trees. Something needling at him that if he wasn't so broken, this would be the perfect amount of quiet to fall asleep to.
Now, it's not the loud of a Colombian city he misses now. It's how your leg slides over his, how your breaths feel on his chest—how you twitch, ever so slightly, as you first fall asleep.
But, it’s the quiet as to why he hears his phone vibrate, practically darting out of bed, knowing it can only be you.
why aren’t you asleep?
Because I can't sleep without you. Apparently.
I miss you too.
I really hate this. I even miss you digging your knee into my hip.
told you that you’d miss it once it was gone
I feel like telling you that you’re right will mean your head will inflate.
youre right
One day, right?
if I could make that tomorrow I would
You really missing me that much?
not enough words in the world to describe how much, baby
Gonna make me cry.
dont cry I can’t wipe them from here
So not wise for me to tell you I cried the entire flight home.
did the person you sit next to seem to mind
They didn’t say anything until we landed. Then promptly told me that I deserved better.
so they thought you were broken up with
I think I may have led her to believe that from the amount I was crying.
fuck you like me a lot
I like you a regular, normal amount.
I don’t think I like you a normal regular amount
That’s the tiredness talking.
you know it isnt
I feel the same. I really miss you.
I miss you too but you should try to sleep you have work tomorrow
Okay, but so do you!
ill be fixing a shed or a pen baby you have to deal with people
go to sleep and then tomorrow we can call as planned
You’d told him that you suspected the first day would be the hardest.
Not the goodbye (and that had been fucking painful) but the following day when they were apart.
Javi hates that you’re right.
It twists inside of him how much he loathes it—grateful that he gets to push some of his anger into repairing the side of the shed. Hammer meeting nail, again and again. Each time with more fury than is needed, only worrying after whether he’s done more damage to the shed post than pre.
"Mijo."
He doesn't find a judgemental look, but one filled with sympathy.
His pop not quizzing him, just handing him a beer. A cold one, droplets descending down the can, sliding across his palm and down his wrist—attempting to soothe the boiling blood in his veins.
“It’ll get easier.” His pop tugs his hat down, shielding his eyes, before staring off into the distance. “When me and your mama first began, we couldn’t see each other all the time either.”
Letting out a sigh, Javi grinds his teeth. A sea of biting comments lathered on his tongue, all set to pounce, to poison.
Instead, he kicks the ground, swallowing most of them back. “She wasn’t hundreds of miles away, though.”
“No,” his Pop says, clapping his hand on his back—both for comfort and likely stability. “But we didn’t have landlines, or tha' other thing you do on y’phone. The tapping."
The tapping.
He doesn't snort, even if it sits at the back of his throat. Burying it in the liquid that slides down his throat with ease.
"Come on, ‘need to head into town, and my truck is acting up.”
Javi doesn’t question it, why he’s the one sliding into the passenger seat of his own truck.
If he’d thought about it, he’d have asked why the truck was acting up or why Pop was driving instead of him. But he doesn’t—didn’t. Just let it happen, staring off as the shades of grass pass him by, fingers playing with the cap on the can, twisting and twisting it.
To fill the silence, he rolls the edges of the can around in his hands. Crunching the sides every now and again, making him wince from the noise.
Then, he finds himself staring at the fingerprints left in the dust from you touching his dash—eyes catching sight of a hair grip on the floor near his boot.
He’s rolling it in his fingers when they’re back on the road, silence smothering them until he watches his pop turn on the radio. As soon as it springs to life, it becomes desperate to try and cut through it. The broadcaster mumbles about heavy rain and increased traffic, but he’s lost in a sorrow of sadness all cast by the spell of a good week to care. The fog around him making it hard to see the wood through the trees, never mind the hope through the misery.
“Dios mio. More trucks passing through now since the bridge opened. Y’noticed, mijo? So many.”
“Hmm.”
Eyes fixed on the grip, the one more worn on one side than the other—imagining your face, the night when he’d watched you take them out, face fresh, one of his tees on your frame.
Then, because the world isn’t cruel enough, the song changes. The radio playing a game with him now, as well as everything else, as he lifts his head, trying to focus on the road. Hearing the soft thud of his pop’s fingers on the steering wheel, his jaw tightened as the lyrics washed over him. Faintly hearing you humming along with the chorus.
Because he heard the song in the diner with you.
Heard it on the radio one afternoon, then again in the bowling alley—how it wrapped its tune around the two of you.
“Heard our song today,” he says, fingers massaging his temple.
He's thankful his pop said he had plans, the quietness settling over the rest of the ranch.
Before he met you, he dreaded the nights he was left alone. His thoughts gearing up, ready to pounce. The minor differences he could have made if he took a step back and stared at the facts, how he should have noticed how deep the corruption was—how much Colombia was taking from him, bit by bit.
Now, he tries not to grin when his pop says he’s going out.
When he’s left alone, allowed full reign to talk as loud as he wants to you—rather than being huddled near the phone, whispering like a teenager.
“Our song?”
“Yeah.”
Javi can practically hear you smirk. “And how does that go, charmer?”
He’s not a singer. Not by a long shot, but he does his best. Humming the tune at first, softly singing the words from the chorus until he trails off.
You snort, before you try to muffle it in a cough.
“You tricked me.”
“Maybe. But, just because I wanted to hear you sing.”
Smirking, he pulls the phone from his ear—shaking his head—before replacing it back to hear you add:
“You have a beautiful voice.”
“Fuck you, baby.”
Your laugh rips from you, hurtling down the phone right to his soul—making fireworks explode in his chest and warmth kiss his nerves.
Because now he can imagine what you look like. Likely head thrown back, eyes closed—nose scrunched a little as your hands grip onto something for leverage.
And it was beautiful. You’re beautiful—your laugh and your smile. Something he feels he should have said long before now. He’s about to rectify that, when he hears it merge into a sniffle—veering into tears and half-suppressed swallows before a noticeable little sob breaks through—as his throat dries instantly, closing.
Turning, he places his palm on the fall as he tries to keep his chest from tightening. The knot in his chest, the one he suspects is tied to you in some way, constricts, pulling taught around his lungs.
“I—I miss….”
You sniffle again, louder. “I've been looking forward to this all day,” you whisper, voice catching, words struggling to fall as sweetly as they usually do. “But, is it bad for me to say that phone calls aren’t the same now I’ve had the chance to be with you in person?”
Leaning his forehead against the kitchen wall, Javi wipes his chin. “Took the words outta my mouth, baby.”
He hears you chuckle, almost both heavily and heavenly, before you ask about his day.
He rambles because it’s easy too. You listen, lapping up every single thing. Hearing about his trip to town, his pop making jokes—trying, desperately, to crack through the mist that had descended.
“How was yours?”
Then you sigh, all tight. You tell him about Aish and her interview, before your voice softens as you begin whispering about the prep you’re doing for your interview. He’s about to comfort you, when you continue about the asshole you work alongside has been taken out for lunch by your boss and that you snagged your favourite pair of tights on a desk.
“But, enough about that—guess what I’m wearing?”
Smiling, he bites down on his knuckle, Javi lifting his head, groaning as he tries to think. “All of your clothes at once? Anything else might short-circuit my brain.”
“Won’t tell you then.”
“No. Please. Tell me, baby.”
He hears you move, and is almost sure he can hear you swallow. “You realise that you’re missing something, Javier?”
Fuck, the way you say his name. How it drips from your tongue. Laced in lust and swirling down the phone line to his brain.
He quickly tries to think of his washing, the piles he made—the attempted sorting. And it hits him. His eyes widened, head half-lifting, feeling his eye twitch.
“Fuck—“
“Yes. I’m sat in that. And underwear, of course.”
“Hermosa…”
His throat is dry, painfully so. Mind arranging an image of you from the days he spent with you. And fuck.
“Wasn’t sure this shade of pink was my colour, but I was wrong.”
Jutting his jaw, he closes his eyes—picturing the sight of you. The underwear he’d had the chance to peel off of you, the way it set against your skin—now, accompanied by his shirt on your arms. The buttons are likely undone, showing off more skin than he can currently process thinking about.
“It’s nice on my skin,” you whisper, all honeyed. “Be better on my floor.”
Clenching his fist, he bites his lip. “Baby…”
“Maybe I’ll show you one day.”
Snorting, he traces his teeth with his tongue. “You better. Now, tell me about the underwear.”
“Only if you can answer six across. Clue: now.”
Mouth parting, his jaw rolls to the side, eyes picking a spot on the wall. Thinking. And thinking.
“Want an extra clue?”
“An extra? You're spoiling me.”
He hears you giggle, low and in your throat. “It’s an Italian word. And, ‘I want to see you… blank—“
His eyes flick up, a smile spreading. “Pronto.”
“Correct,” you reply. “Seven words, silenced. You did this to me when you had your mouth on my—“
“Shushed,” he says quickly, fist clenching, trying to stare at the mark on the wall again, and not let the image of you populate in his head.
“You okay, baby?”
Gritting his teeth, he sighs. “You’re devious, you know that?”
“I think it’s your shirt. It’s making me… flirty.”
Grinning, he turns on the spot, back against the wall—head tilting up, eyes closing. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too….” your tone softer, frayed at the edges. “I’m kinda glad I stole your shirt.”
“Me too. Means I get to see you to steal it back from you.”
“Off me.”
It comes out quickly—purposefully chosen, spilt.
Frowning, he opens his eyes. “What?”
“Off me. You’ll have to steal it from my body.”
Grasping the phone, breathing through his nose, letting out a murmured, “Fuck, baby,” under his breath.
AN: for all those wondering if they'll be together in person again, they will. i am a happily-ever-after kind of writer unless otherwise stated. but it was so important to me that they had a magical week, and then returned to their lives.
I'm so sorry it's taken me days to catch up with this BUT OH GOD
OH GOOOD
Something ugly curls inside of him. At first, soaked in sadness, before it shakes itself and burns bright with annoyance. Irritation. Anger at how unfair it all is.
I knew I was in for it when this paragraph hit, and not just because it's so exquisitely written, but because of the FEELS. when I saw sorrowful!Javi in the warnings, I WAS DONE. you convey the whole spectrum of emotions so damn well I feel like I'm with the phone in my hand, waiting and hoping myself, it's absolutely wild.
Fuck, the way you say his name. How it drips from your tongue. Laced in lust and swirling down the phone line to his brain.
aaand we were back into having thots!! I wanna see them together in person again!!
A chance meeting in a bar and an understanding of no names, no backgrounds, no relationships, no strings attached— you and the handsome man walk away from that bar bathroom as nothing more than two strangers and a steamy night. But when you discover days later that this handsome stranger is actually the son of one of your regular customers, both of you are now forced into each other’s orbits, despite the agreement you both shared in that smoked filled bar— can you fight the temptation to not fall for him…
Warnings: This is an 18+ blog; Each chapter will be labeled appropriately
Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all. Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.
Word Count: 3.3 k
Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors used
Author Notes: As always, thank you for all your feedback, likes and reblogs so far – it means a lot and I’m having so much fun writing this fic. I’d love to know what you think of this next chapter so please feel free to comment, reblog or even send an ask!
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This is all too much. it’s not enough Blue is haunting him by working in the same embassy, in being assigned to be his glorified babysitter but to be living in the Tome apartment he used to live in?
Javi’s really pissed some karmic force off.
It was surreal, standing there in the Tome apartment he used to live in and suddenly flooded with all those memories while being aware that everything was slightly different, slightly out of place. There were different photos, different plants, different smells and personal touches. It was uncanny.
And then he’d almost kissed you.
He still can’t quite reconcile your reaction, can’t quite make sense of it all. It doesn’t matter though; it was a bad idea. A terrible idea even. There’s something in Javi - whenever he’s faced with those regrets and mistakes, whenever things seem to be going wrong, he wants to find solace in someone else. He did that with Katie, the intern, and he wanted to do that with you too.
Or was it more? He knows you, or at least knew you once. You’re part of his history, of his hometown. In Bogotá that makes you a spectre, reminding him of who he wanted to be, who he used to be. There’s something soothing yet so confusing about your presence right now.
He thinks about you, about what would have happened if you had kissed, the way your lips would have felt, how far it could have gone. Even now, every time you’re in the Tome room, he can feel the rising temptation, the desire to be closer to you, to be with you. He’s no longer immune to the smell of your perfume, to the way you look down at the ground for a microsecond before you smile, or how you fiddle with your necklace when you’re thinking about something. There’s something simultaneously fierce and vulnerable about you; that keeps you an enigma to him.
That moment in your home - at his old apartment - opened a door to something he was trying to keep locked away.
He’s glad nothing happened, glad he didn’t ruin everything with you as well. He probably would have.
That seems to be the way of things now.
Days have passed since the arrest and with them, an itching sensation has risen that things are going downhill. The pressure is slowly building, the tension mounting. Javi feels like he’s a lobster in boiling water, unable to escape and aware of what is coming and not sure whether there’s any fight left, or if he should just accept his fate.
He remembers the way the panic rose as he was called out in the meeting after the arrest; asked what his roadmap to victory was. This new role with its suits, ties and endless meetings? It’s not really him.
He can’t give up though. The names and faces of so many of the people he has let down in Colombia haunt him. Without someone like Martinez on his side too, Javi’s worried.
He needs results. He needs to find Jurado, to get more evidence. If he can’t do this, all the evidence his team has amassed, the progress he’s made, will collapse like a house of cards.
So, he asks Stoddard to play the wiretap tapes, tries to ignore how Stoddard reacts to that, pretends he didn’t hear Stoddard say you would not react well if you found out about this. Instead, he asks Stoddard about where he sees his career in five years if he asks others that question on the tapes’ legality and he feels the weight of the job add just a little more to his shoulders.
The odds are stacked against him, against bringing down this cartel.
What is he supposed to do?
“Please tell me this is a joke, your idea of humour perhaps?” you ask, voice acerbic and body taut.
Ever since you overhead Stoddard talking to one of your colleagues in thinly guided hypothetical scenarios a few hours ago, you’ve been waiting for this conversation. You had to sit through a meeting with your manager while quietly planning out everything you would calmly say to tear Javier Peña apart. It is a true skill to be able to do that while looking like you are listening to whatever the other person was saying.
In the past few hours, you have toyed with several reactions. From screaming at him in front of everyone to using that cold, deadly voice you only used at work when someone had really upset you. In some of your more extreme imagined responses, you have thrown the empty glasses in his office against the wall and roared too. However, that strikes you as a little excessive. You’ll save that for Plan C perhaps.
Monologues have been meticulously planned, edited, and rehearsed under your breath as you went about your day. You mentally experimented with the timbre of your voice as you spooned coffee into your mug, with exactly which words to use to best craft your argument, your admonishment.
Only now you’re here, facing Javi and it’s real.
“Blue, I-” Javi looks at you with those deep brown eyes, pleading somehow, but you refuse to fall for that. He’s wearing one of those infuriating well-fitting shirts, the top button undone and tie loosened.
You almost kissed him …
You look over and notice the ash tray on his desk is once again filled with cigarettes and his desk is covered in scattered papers and files.
You know he’s been under pressure. Over the months, you’ve noticed the way he fidgets; the way he automatically moves his fingers when he’s nervous or under pressure. You know what the higher ups are asking of him, you know it’s a lot for one person to bear. To do what he’s done though? Any sympathy ebbs away.
“Because,” you continue, your voice venomous and arms folded, “after everything we’ve talked about, I know you wouldn’t knowingly instruct one of your team to conduct a wiretap like that, not without going through the correct processes. I know that, right? Because you’re not a complete fucking idiot.”
“I am trying to get a fucking case so we can stop the Cali cartel. Stop being naive!” Javi snaps, finally showing his real feelings. He’s not sorry, you know he isn’t, and that makes this even worse.
“By using an illegal wiretap? Do you have any idea what that could do to the case? Yes, of course you do which is why you didn’t tell me.”
“I was protecting you.”
“That’s not your job, Javi. My job is to protect this case and right now you’re hindering me.”
”Look, I know we can’t use the tapes -”
“Or anything from them! It’s fruit of the poisoned tree, Javier. This entire avenue of investigation isn’t so much on shaky ground as it is utterly destroyed. I - I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”
Your head is throbbing and you massage your temples to no avail.
“It took a while, but I am almost there with Franklin Jurado’s wife, Blue and then -”
“Oh, I bet you are,” you bite back.
“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”
“What do you think?” you retort, completely lost to the argument at this point. Everything in you is saying to be calm, rational, to not let your emotions dictate but you are infuriated by what Javi has done.
It isn’t just about how ill-advised, how unethical it all is or how it could compromise your case. It’s because he did it anyway, knowing what your role was, knowing the position it would leave you in.
“I’m waiting on a - confirmation of something and then I’ll know where he is and we’ll get him. It’ll be solid. I have a plan.”
You sigh. “You better, Javi, you better.”
The parcel arrives the day after your confrontation with Javi. You immediately recognise the messy handwriting as one of your closest friends from back home, Shelley. Immediately it acts like a balm for your sharp edges and irritation.
To both your amusement and horror, during college she started dating one of your best friends from home, Carlos. Now the two of them are married and live in Laredo of all places. Shelley hosts a local radio show and while the people of your hometown generally seem to prefer more mainstream music to Nine Inch Nails, Shelley is persistently building a small, devoted following.
You miss them both. Shelley had made it clear that she had hoped you would come back to Texas when it was clear you needed to leave DC. She had even joked in your last phone call when you first arrived in Bogotá that she’d told you to go for a fresh start, a new job, but not to leave the damn country!
Over recent years, you’ve mostly ended up meeting outside of Laredo at concerts for bands you loved or last summer you’d all hired a house by the coast for a week. It had been you, Shelley, Carlos and Jamie, your now ex-boyfriend.
The box has arrived at a perfect time. Javi and you were even more tentative around each other today. Yesterday’s frustration was so thick in the air you could taste it, feel it constricting around your body like insulation.
Beyond that, you’ve been riddled with doubts, anxieties, and unwanted memories since the near kiss. It’s like one moment has dropped you months into the past, back to a time you don’t want to think about.
You hate the double standards and hypocrisy at play, the assumptions you’re trying to prevent. You hate the politics of it all - the way you must prove yourself and prove yourself and never ever let a single vulnerability show while you’re at work.
You don’t open the box from your friends until you’re in your apartment, perched on the edge of your couch as you tentatively cut it open.
There are numerous packets of some of your favourite types of candy, several new paperbacks, three letters and most excitingly of all, two cassette tapes.
It’s funny how just a few small touches can immediately transport you somewhere else, can make you feel a little lighter.
You take in the three envelopes, one is clearly from Shelley, it looks the longest, the next is clearly from Carlos and is short but sweet. The other you can tell by the blocky handwriting is from Jamie. You’d spoken to him before you left for Colombia, told him that Shelley would be the best way to reach you if he wanted to.
You’ve never stayed friends with an ex before, but Jamie is different. You think the real indicator of this was that several months after your break-up when everything had kicked off in DC, he had been there for you, been a steady and calming presence when you were questioning everything and Shelley and Carlos were so far away. It’s probably part of the reason he’s still tolerated enough by Shelley and Carlos that they let him send his contribution to your care package via them, that they would even have reached out to him to get this or would have known you would be okay with that.
For a second you remember the time the four of you had met in New York to go to a concert for a band you all loved. Everything seemed simpler then - life, relationships, work.
You think about the adrenaline of this job; of how much your life has changed since then. Would you ever have imagined having dinner with Javi after he arrested a cartel leader back then?
This country is changing you slowly. Perhaps it’s not all for the bad either.
You open one of the packets of candy and the letter from Shelley first.
Shelley’s letter makes you feel like she’s right there in the room talking to you. You smile warmly at the memories of your friendship with her. Shelley’s always encouraged you, always been there for you, she’s been that supportive voice in all of those moments where you’ve wondered if you can do something. She’s been a friend you haven’t been able to shut out, who hasn’t let you push her away. You hope you represent something similar to her.
One passage stands out in letter because even in this moment, you can’t escape Javi.
Your brother says that a certain Javier Peña is out in Colombia too, which I didn’t think was a big deal but Carlos tells me definitely is. I think I saw him at Danny’s wedding and if I’m right, he is a tall glass of water. Do you see him at work? Tell me everything!
Well Shelley, you think, I completely messed up and almost kissed him, then rejected him and the man just leaves me completely confused. I may also have chewed him out spectacularly yesterday so I don’t think he’d ever want to kiss me again, even I wanted to.
You miss your friends; you wish you could more readily just phone Shelley and have a long talk over a glass of wine. You need to write back to her. Carefully, of course. There is so much that cannot be put in writing at all lest it fall into the wrong hands. Words are slippery in a world like this; you can’t just say whatever you are thinking, but you can’t avoid replying either.
You can’t concentrate on the letters though. Your confrontation with Javi still rages through your veins - you’ve analysed everything you could have said differently, come up with several witty comebacks you missed and perhaps worst of all, in your mind you ended the discussion far more positively.
Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad if it wasn’t for the near kiss. That’s just as confusing in your mind too.
You were reckless with Javi. There is no way you can afford being seen that way here. It’s too close, too risky, too much. You have already left one job, fled the country once. If anyone from DC even heard whispers about what could have happened with you and Javi …
You scowl, trying to stop your spiral as quickly as possible. It’s okay, nothing has happened.
You take another piece of candy and sigh. You need to forget about what almost happened with Javi. For both of your sakes.
Willemstad is beautiful. The mix of painted buildings and blue ocean makes it look like paradise. You never expected that you would be somewhere like here on a work trip.
A couple of days ago, when Javi had told you he finally had located Jurado, you expected that you would just create the motions and legal briefs. You’d sit in your open plan office and listen out to hear whether the operation was successful. Only now you’ve been swept along with him to this amazing place and you feel a complete imposter.
You’re not an agent; you’re a lawyer. This isn’t like any courtroom or legal office you’ve encountered before.
“Stoddard’s confirmed all the logistics, right?” you ask as you start to walk towards the main police building with Javi, happy to be stretching your legs after the short flight.
“Yes. It should all be in place so you don’t need to worry about that. I wanted you here more for the Miami side - I need this guy on US soil as soon as possible and when he is -”
“We need a deal.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think he’ll cooperate? Has the wife given any indication of that when you uh, spoke to her?”
“I think he has to. Fuck, Blue, for this to work then he has to. I need his testimony.”
You look at Javi. For a moment you’re taken aback to some of your initial thoughts about him in Bogotá; that he looked like Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders. How is it possible he looks even more burdened now?
“Let’s get it then. I’ll work on the paperwork while you arrest him.”
He’s covered in sweat, a grim smile on his face. The pink shirt he was wearing this morning, the one you thought looked infuriatingly good on him, is darkened with sweat.
“He’s arrested then?” you ask cautiously. You’d heard that Javi’s original plan to arrest him within the grounds of the bank was shut down by the police; apparently that wasn’t how things were done in Curacao. From Javi’s appearance it’s clear a chase has taken place.
Javi nods, running a hand through his sweaty hair and you wonder how easy the arrest was for him and the team. “We’re getting the plane ready and we’re going straight to Miami. The Ambassador said the extradition papers were set? Have you updated Justice?”
You point at a pile of papers in front of you. While Javi’s appears to have been chasing Jurado all around Curaçao, you’ve been stuck in this room typing up briefs and motions in preparation.
“We should have everything we need. I spoke to the Ambassador earlier and then the team in Miami before you came in and we’re all set,” you say, stifling a yawn as you stretch your legs. You’ve been sitting for too long.
You hand Javi your glass of water. He looks like he needs it more than you and he gratefully accepts, gulping it down. You try not to notice the rivulets of sweat on his neck as he does that.
“Have you spoken to Stoddard about the wife? The moment the cartel knows, Javi, they will - and if I were Franklin, I wouldn’t have a deal unless she was included and safe.”
“I know, I’m calling now. We’ve got to get this all in place before they know we have him.”
It feels like you barely have time to collect your thoughts before you’re on a plane with Javi and Franklin Jurado on your way back to the United States.
You hear snippets of Javi’s conversations with Franklin as you walk back from the bathroom but you’re not paying attention to what is said. Instead you are intent on using the flight time to get ahead on the many other briefs and motions you need to complete, to test out the exact wording of the plea deal with Franklin Jurado, to complete the plans and decision trees for Justice and Jurado’s lawyers just in case.
You miss the courtroom.
You’ve realised that’s where you shine, where you feel able to most make a difference. This job, as varied, as unexpected as it is, is a step removed from that. It’s more about diplomacy, about briefings and managing interested parties and application of the law but not in a courtroom, not where you feel most at ease.
You can’t regret this job. There are so many parts where you feel you are adding value and you needed to leave DC regardless. This was the right decision.
Javi gets up from his seat, walking over and leaning over you from the aisle. You immediately put your file down and look at him.
“We’re landing in a few minutes. You ready for this, Blue? Is the deal ready?”
“Oh yes,” you say with a slight smile, “Now you’re in my wheelhouse, Javi.”
Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk
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ooohhh the tension is sizzling and the slow burn is burning!! I also love how she was regularly checking in with Javi, if he ate or if he slept etc. I'm so excited for the rest!!
Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all.
Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.
Word Count: 3.5k
Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors used
Author Notes: As always, thank you for all your feedback, likes and reblogs so far – it means a lot and I’m having so much fun writing this fic. I’d love to know what you think of this next chapter so please feel free to comment, reblog or even send an ask!
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It’s clear to you now that you spend more time in Javi’s office than your own. Once again, you’re sitting on his chesterfield couch at an unsociable hour, wondering what on Earth the job you’ve taken actually is.
As a lawyer, you’ve almost always been involved with a case after the arrest is over. When you worked as a prosecutor, you helped get warrants, but were never involved in the planning of an arrest. Your job is crafting the arguments, responding to surprises, making sure the case is solid and you can help people achieve justice. You duck and weave and argue and make the case real to a jury. That’s your job.
This is new to you.
While planning the operation remains the responsibility of the DEA, you’ve been observing, supporting where you can by working with Martinez’s office to confirm the legal arrangements, but mostly just taking it all in and trying to fight your exhaustion.
Ever since you went to his apartment, something changed for the two of you. It feels like some element of your friendship from before has started to return.
You notice him sometimes as you walk down the corridor and you can’t help but smile at him.
He’s not the same Javi you remember, but he’s getting closer.
“And you’re sure you can trust him?” you ask, folding your arms as you speak.
“Blue, Martinez is one of the only people I could trust with this.”
“Calderon worries me.”
There’s a lot more than Calderon bothering you. What Javi’s planned will be a significant blow to the cartel, one that will start to fulfil the people’s need for justice, for consequences.
However, you’re not naive.
This could destroy the negotiation. This could cause significant pressure for you and Javi at the embassy too. The ambassador and Stechner have made it clear that they endorse this negotiation, the bloodless transfer of power.
And of course, you don’t want there to be blood. Justice though, you want there to be justice.
“So, Martinez is arriving in Cali separately - and you need to go soon to make your flight, Javi. I’ve been talking with Martinez’s office; mostly him and his secretary and trying to get this warrant sorted discreetly. The chances of success are higher if less people know.”
“We won’t get a chance like this again; this needs to work.”
“I know. Javi, there will be consequences to this, even if it goes off perfectly.”
“For you?” he asks, furrowing his brow.
“No, it’s by the book. I mean, I don’t know if Stechner will be my biggest fan by the end of the week, but I can live with that.”
“I like to think that it’s a good thing if you’re on his bad side,” Javi jokes, “but honestly, just tell me you won’t -“
“I’m a big girl, Javi, I’ve got this. And if you and your team can pull this off? All bets are off.” You exhale slowly.
“We’ve got this, we’ve planned for this,” Javi looks over at you and smiles broadly, “We’re arresting Gilberto Rodriguez.”
It’s not your mission but you feel like it might as well be. Despite the mountain of paperwork, warrants and legal documents you need to complete today, you spent your morning thinking about what might be happening in Cali the whole time.
You couldn’t help thinking about Javi too.
Now, you regret that indulgence though and wish you’d got some work done.
Your phone won’t stop ringing, the paperwork is piling up. The arrest of Gilberto Rodriguez hasn’t so much caused waves as complete and utter destruction. If you thought the Duffy and Lopez situation was stressful, this is a whole other league.
In a way, you’ve missed this. You’ve missed the adrenaline rush of a case; the artful interplay between you and the other side as you bat arguments back and forth and hope to win. Small things have often stressed you out, but when you’ve had to go through bigger things; the adrenaline raising things that should be terrifying? You handle those with ease.
One of your old university tutors had said you were designed for this career path. You wonder what they’d say if they saw you now.
You take a gulp of water when you finally hang up the phone after a particularly tense conversation with the Colombian justice department.
The negotiation might be ruined. Gilberto was the one pushing for it, they say, you and the DEA might have just started another war.
It shouldn’t be this hard.
Linda looks over at you with a sympathetic expression. “Rough day?”
“Definitely not dull.”
“They’re airing the press conference from earlier now,” she says, indicating to the tv in your office.
You shrug and indicate the pile of paperwork and your phone on your desk. You simply don’t have the time. You take a gulp of cold coffee and move on to the next call.
After you finally finish the urgent calls and things start to feel slightly calmer, you make your way to Javi’s office. You haven’t seen him since before he left for Cali and that feels like a lifetime ago.
The walk to his office feels familiar now, you feel like you could make all of the right turns, know exactly where the stairs are, with your eyes shut. You pass Martinez leaving Javi’s office as you go to knock on the door.
“I think they’re going to be toasting you at the bar,” you say gently as you walk into his office. Judging by the empty glasses on the desk and Javi’s expression, he’s already got started though. For a second, you’re annoyed that you’ve been fighting fires and had to find solutions, while he’s been toasting success, but then you realise his face tells another story.
You expected Javi to look happy at the clear victory his department has just achieved, but something’s clearly wrong. You doubt he’s spent his evening being yelled at in multiple languages, but you’re not sure how the arrest went, whether everything had been accounted for, or what Martinez has just told him.
“I hear you’re man of the hour, got yourself on TV and everything. It’s a good result, Javi,” you persist.
“Great.”
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
“Martinez - they’ve set him up, he’s had to resign.”
“Because of the raid?”
“I think it was in motion before, but probably didn’t help.”
“Shit.”
“He’s a good man and -”
“Javi, should you be drinking that on an empty stomach?” you ask, looking at the glasses at his desk. There’s a difference between a drink with people toasting you and drinking alone in an office.
“I could have eaten today,” he argues half-heartedly.
You cross your arms and point at the dirty ashtray. “I may not be a doctor like Rafael, but even I know cigarettes aren’t food.”
“Fine, do you want to get something to eat then?” Javi asks, looking up at you with wide eyes.
You reply without thinking, “Okay, yeah. That would be nice.” You eye the glasses. “I’ll drive.”
You weren’t sure what to expect when Javi asked if you wanted to get some food. Would you end up at the usual bar people went to after work, or some street food stall perhaps?
Whatever you had been thinking, you hadn’t expected Javi to direct you here - you’d insisted on driving after eyeing the empty glass in his office. It’s a small restaurant a short walk from your apartment, there’s only one other group eating but it’s getting late and you think it may have been a lot busier earlier. This is the sort of place it would be easy to walk past but clearly that’s a mistake.
Your ex always used to say you could tell a lot about people by the food choices they made; the restaurants they were drawn to, or wherever they chose for an outing. You used to just think that was because Sam was a chef, but now you’re not sure.
The food here is delicious; that perfect combination between home cooking and something more elevated. The spice level is just right, the flavours and colours rich and welcoming. It’s easily one of your favourite meals since you arrived in Colombia.
How did you not know about this place? How did Javi?
You take a bite of food and sigh cheerfully. “This is so good.”
“Told you,” Javi says lightly, taking a sip of his drink. “I’ve lived here a while; I know the best spots by now. Haven’t been back here since I got back though, so thought it would be a good choice.”
“Well, considering I haven’t seen you subsist on anything but alcohol or cigarette in recent weeks, I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“Subsist? Wow, okay, you’re just showing off that fancy law school education now.”
“It has to come in useful sometimes,” you say, “Scrabble. It can be useful for scrabble.”
“You played a lot of scrabble in the evenings back in DC then?”
“There’s nothing wrong with scrabble. But I wasn’t - I wasn’t boring, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Javi says before flashing one of his winning smiles at you. It’s disarming, Javi’s disarming. You can see how he’s good at his job, how he’s good with people.
You briefly wonder what this scene looks like to people who don’t know you. Do you look like colleagues, or friends? Perhaps people would even think you were together, as laughable as the idea may seem to you in the moment. There’s a small pang of anxiety about this that rises in your stomach but you swallow it down. Not here, not now.
You’ve spent the evening getting to know Javi all over again and vice versa. Neither of you are the people who left Laredo years before, and perhaps neither of you had realised the ways you had changed.
This Javi is looser and lighter, he seemed to subtly shift the further away from the office you got and for the first time in a while, you feel like you’re with the person underneath all Javi’s masks.
You’ve talked about music, hobbies, things that aren’t work. You’ve somehow even promised to lend Javi a copy of the book you’ve just finished reading after enthusiastically describing how much you’d enjoyed it, how it had made you think and feel and do everything a good book should.
“Did you prefer Austin or DC?” he asks suddenly.
“I don’t know. I went to law school in Austin and it was my first real job as a lawyer after graduating and passing the bar. It was fun, I mean, I liked my life there - lots of music and it was so much bigger than Laredo. In DC, it was a whole other world entirely though. I was not prepared for the winters.”
“Oh no?”
“Javi, we’re Texans, do I look like I can handle snow?”
Javi laughs, full and deep. You want to tell him about the first snowfall you remember in DC, about how you stepped outside, taking in the beauty of the fresh blanket of snow and how it concealed so much and made you feel like a child again for just a moment. Wonder, that was what it was. Everything felt so full of possibilities and opportunity. DC had quickly quashed that naïveté though.
“Not really a problem here - you’d have to head up to the Andes for that.”
“I think I’ll survive without that. I’ll leave it to you, Javi, what with your adventures all around the country.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Have you been based in other places than here?” you ask in a low voice, curious about what had inspired his original question. The other group have left now and the people who own the restaurant are back in the kitchen; this is as close to a private setting as you could get, but you’re never sure how much you can trust your surroundings.
“Mexico, briefly - wasn’t long after I graduated, but then I came back to the US and they sent me out to Colombia after that. Most of my time has been here though.”
It’s hardly surprising Javi cares as much as he does about getting things right here, about bringing down the Cali cartel. He’s spent most of his career out here; it’s as much as a part of him now as Laredo is.
You think you understand him a little more now.
“Wait, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Javi says in a low voice as you unlock the main apartment building door and walk towards your front door.
Somehow after dinner, you had insisted that you should give Javi the book you’d mentioned straight away and that he could order a cab from your apartment.
“I’ll just get the book and you can call a cab,” you say breezily, becoming surprised as Javi follows you, shaking his head the whole time.
“What number do you live in?”
You reply without thinking and notice Javi’s eyes bulge. Without concentrating on it, you move to unlock your front door.
“I’ll get that book,” you say quietly, “it’s late.”
“This - this was my apartment,” Javi says softly, stopping by the phone but not lifting it.
“What? What are you talking about, Javi?” you ask, dropping your handbag by the couch as you head for the bookcase to find the book you mentioned. Javi closes the door behind him and looks around your living area with wide eyes.
“Before. This was my place the last time I was here. I’m in a different building now. Well, you know that, you turned up there.”
“Oh, right.” You scan a shelf and then add, “Really? Here? This apartment?”
You’re concentrating on finding the book, focused on your mission and his words aren’t quite connecting. What does he mean - that this was his apartment?
“Where are the dog pictures?” he asks, wandering around the open plan living area. “Did they get rid of them?”
The dog pictures? It suddenly clicks.
“You were responsible for the dog pictures?” you ask incredulously. “The dog pictures were yours, Javi?”
“No, no. They uh, came with the apartment. And even if they didn’t, what was wrong with them?”
Oh, they definitely didn’t come with the apartment when Javi moved in.
You laugh as finally find the book you were looking for and take it off the shelf.
“I don’t remember you being such a dog person back in Laredo, Javi,” you tease, turning back around to face him. “Wait, so you lived here? As in here, in this exact apartment?”
“Yes. I’ve said that already. I lived here, Steve was upstairs … fuck, this takes me back. It’s barely changed. How did you end up here?“
“It’s just the apartment the embassy assigned me when I got here, luck of the draw, I suppose.”
Javi lived here? You look around, suddenly horrified. It suddenly sinks in - Javi once lived in your apartment. You’re rapidly filled with horror at the rumours you’ve heard from Linda and Judith about Javi’s reputation with women over the years and oh - please will Javi at least tell you that the furniture is different? You cannot think that he might have slept in the same bed as you in the past.
“Please tell me they deep cleaned and changed the furniture because … no, I don’t - why are you smiling? Oh god, what did you do in this apartment, Javi? Stop laughing! What did you do? I’m going to have to burn everything, aren’t I?” Javi’s leaning on the end table, doubled over as he laughs.
You haven’t seen Javi laugh like this in years. It immediately transports you back to when you were younger, back to your childhood home in Laredo and the few times you would hang around with Rafa and Javi. He’s younger, lighter, and as disturbed as you may be by the revelation, it’s almost worth it to see him like this.
“The comforter’s new,” he says sweetly. “It looks like they changed a few things around.”
“I bought the comforter,” you exclaim, arms folded.
”Oh.“ Javi holds his hands up in mock defeat.
“I can’t believe this.”
“You’re telling me!”
“How long were you here?”
“A while. The whole time I was here before.”
“Wow, that’s - wow, I don’t know what to say. I uh - ” you trail off. “One hell of a coincidence, huh?”
“Yeah. Of all the apartments in -”
“It’s fate, right? Like my friends says.” There are too many coincidences now, too many signs from the universe that you and Javi were meant to collide at this moment in time. You’re not sure what that exactly means, only that it surely means something.
“Maybe it is.” Javi replies thoughtfully. “Can’t believe this, Blue.”
“You know, I thought you’d want to spend tonight differently,” you say suddenly, changing the subject from whatever Javi has done or not done in this apartment before.
You’re leaning against your dining table as he moves closer to you. His eyes are bright from the moment before and you can smell the slightly spicy aroma of his cologne.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, at a bar with your friends, or … I don’t know, with different company perhaps. Celebrating the win.”
“Is it a win?” Javi asks, suddenly serious. He meets your gaze with his deep, questioning brown eyes.
You lower your voice instinctively, even though it’s only the two of you in the apartment. ”You did something everyone else didn’t think could be done. This needed to happen, people need to see consequences. We talked about it.”
“I fucked over the negotiation. You weren’t here before, Blue. We can’t go back to those days.”
Suddenly he doesn’t look comfortable here, as though being in this apartment has resurrected ghosts he had long since forgotten and the laugh has entirely faded from his face.
“You arrested a criminal, a leader of a cartel. Javi, it was a win.”
“Martinez has been set up. He’s not dirty, there’s no way. And that’s on me - it was my choice to bring him in.”
“It was his choice to accept,” you say, “He strikes me as the sort of person who wants to do the right thing. Reminds me of a couple of other people I know.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, I mean my brother’s a doctor and everything.”
“I hate you,” Javi says, shaking his head and fighting a smile.
“No, you don’t.”
“Not at all.”
“You’re a good person, Javi,” you say, because suddenly it feels like that’s what he needs to hear, to know. And he is a good person, of course he is.
“I’m not the kid you remember from Laredo anymore.”
“Neither am I.”
“No, neither are you.” His voice is lower, heavy like molasses and it sends heat pooling in your stomach. “You - you’re something else, Blue.”
Somehow, he’s right in front of you now and your back is against the table, a hand stabilising you and he’s here. You can hear him breathing, feel the warmth radiating from him next to you. He’s so close, and he smells so good and you could easily kiss the freckles on his neck, you could easily meet his lips and -
You haven’t been with anyone in months; you’ve barely allowed yourself a moment to even think about intimacy, to think about missing this. You hadn’t realised how much you missed being next to a person, so close to you, and knowing what’s about to happen, the anticipation, the impending fires and soaring heat.
Maybe this is the reason why you’re both here. Maybe this is what’s been written on the cards for the two of you.
You close your eyes and part your lips slightly and it’s going to happen -
Immediately everything in you runs cold. What are you thinking? What’s wrong with you? You can’t do this.
You cannot possibly do this.
After everything that went down in DC, pursuing this would be one of the most stupid things imaginable. After everything that went down in DC, it’s reprehensibly foolhardy. After everything that went down in DC, you cannot believe you are still this stupid.
You move away rapidly, fast enough that Javi looks at you with worry.
“Are you-”
“We can’t do this. What - that - that would never happen, Javi.”
“Why not? Because I know your brother?” Javi asks, a bewildered expression on his face.
“No, because we work together. I can’t - I don’t - I won’t cross that line. I will not be that woman.”
“What woman?”
“The woman that fucks around at work. Please go, Javi, please. Let’s just forget this - our emotions are heightened, it’s been a long day, we’ve both been drinking.”
There’s a rising panic in your body, you can feel how your palms are sweaty and how your mind is getting muddled between then and now, between DC and Colombia.
It’s just the food, just the alcohol you tell yourself. It’s familiarity and all sorts of things confusing the receptors in your mind. It’s not real. That moment between you and Javi was just a blip.
“I’ll call that cab,” Javi says sombrely as he walks over the landline.
There’s a tension in the air and you feel guilty, confused and upset all at once. He’s not standing so close to you now, he seems to be keeping as much physical distance as he can from you.
“Are you-”
“I’m fine, Javi, just tired and - please let’s just forget this. Please?” The two of you had made so much progress and in just one moment, one stupid moment, you feel like everything’s ruined.
“Of course, Blue,” he says.
It is only after Javi has left, book in hand and confusion in his eyes, that you finally allow yourself to break down.
Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa@pedrosaidsheispunk
If you want to be added to (or removed from) one of the tag lists, let me know or you can get notifications for @thelightsandtheroses-fics if you prefer. If you do not have an age or age range showing you are over 18, I will not add you to this list. I block ageless and blank blogs.
Okay but her turning up at the exact apartment Javi lived in is so damn funny. this is too gooooood, like please tell me they realize this has to mean something! and their almost moment at the end, aaaahhhhh 💕
Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all.
Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.
Word Count: 2.7k
Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors used
Author Notes: As always, thank you for all your feedback, likes and reblogs so far – it means a lot and I’m having so much fun writing this fic. I’d love to know what you think of this next chapter so please feel free to comment, reblog or even send an ask!
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“Did you hear about the senators?” Javi asks you as you slide his office door shut behind you and immediately make a beeline for the black leather couch.
“I did,” you say, taking a long gulp of coffee and then trying to mask your scowl. Instant. Not your favourite. It’s better than nothing, or at least that’s what you’re trying to convince yourself. If you’re tired enough and add enough milk and sugar then it’s almost palatable. It’s better than the coffee at your last office at least, not that that is a particularly high bar. You’re not sure it could even legally be classed as coffee at your last office.
After you impulsively turned up at his apartment, Javi and you have started to work out a tentative peace. Maybe he’s realised that you want real justice too, that you also need to bring these people to account. You want to help him do this the right way.
The two of you spent part of the evening brainstorming ways to move the case forward, trying to find a route that wouldn’t directly compromise the surrender agreement in progress yet, but would allow Javi to pursue real consequences.
Money.
No matter how much you try, it eventually will leave a trail. You’d been told by a colleague about a banking glitch abroad that led to right here in Bogota. This might be the lucky break that could help Javi right now. The two of you have agreed that Javi should use this to obtain the data he needs on who is behind the money for the cartel. If he gets this, it will help him solidify the case and get some strong evidence too.
“So, the Clinton list? You’re going ahead with that option?” you ask. It’s the simplest way to get the bank to work with Javi and technically it’s by the book.
“I’ve already asked Stoddard to get onto that,” Javi says.
“Okay, so now you’re just showing off that you have a team.”
Javi tilts his head before asking with an innocent voice, “Oh, do you not?”
You finish crumpling up a piece of paper and throw it at him. He catches it, cocking an eyebrow with a mischievous expression.
“Really, resorting to violence now, are we, Blue? Assaulting an attaché?”
“Only people from home have ever called me that,” you say softly, “it’s kind of weird hearing it again.”
“Does it bother you then?”
“No … it’s nice, I think.”
“Do you miss Laredo?” he asks, a strange expression on his face.
“I don’t know. Sometimes. Maybe a little, but not as much as I think I should. I miss some of the people; my friends, Sofia, Rafa, my parents. I just don’t - I don’t know, I always wanted to get out and be in a city or a new place, to explore and not be in a small town. Do you know what I mean?”
“I’m the same.” He pauses and looks ahead with a thoughtful expression.
“It’s kind of weird though, that we’re both here at the same time” you add, ”I have a friend who is really into fate and superstitions and horoscopes -“
Javi snorts at the mention of horoscopes and you shake your head at him.
“Anyway, she talks a lot about kismet - fate and destiny and all that. Maybe that’s why we’re both here. We can stop Cali together.”
“That would be nice.”
There’s a strange tension in the air for a minute, Javi’s staring at you like he’s never seen you before and his expression is otherwise unreadable.
He exhales deeply and then says, “I’m meeting the bank as soon as I’m done with the senators and the bank already know what I’m coming with so they should have something for me when I get there.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve got a contact; they might know whoever the money person is. Tomorrow - tomorrow we get them.”
“Good. And what about your agents you authorised to go to Cali, without uh - any approval? Thanks for that by the way, loved the grilling from the ambassador. He was so incensed he didn’t even wait until 9am to summon me.”
“They’re heading out this morning. Feistl got a warrant ready, just in case,” Javi says. “I’m still not sure if we can trust - it’s worth a try though.”
“That’s good, I’m glad he got the warrant.” That makes your job easier, you think, less likely to cause another drama with the ambassador. If their visit does turn up something, they’re prepared and with a warrant ready they can quickly act. You’re learning that timing is everything for the DEA.
“I’ll be reminding them when we speak- everything by the book,” he says with a wry smile.
“Good. Do you think you can trust the local police?”
“I don’t think I can trust anybody, Blue.”
“Even me?” you ask, hurt permeating your voice. You look down at the floor in embarrassment.
Javi trusts a local journalist more than he trusts you at the moment. He’s supposed to know you. He’s known you for years.
“I want to,” he says quietly. “Do you trust me?”
You pause, exhaling heavily. “I want to as well.”
Javi’s office falls silent. You can hear the muffled hum of noise around the glass walls, people arriving for their day of work.
“Are you going to the big meeting then when they arrive?”
Javi pulls a face. “I have to. You?”
“Oh, no. That’s for the extra special boys’ club, Javi, I’m not invited to that.” You don’t mean to sound bitter; you’re not even surprised and your job is far less glamorous sounding than Javi’s anyway. Accountability and legal motions aren’t the sexiest of discussion topics.
“Count yourself lucky. Besides, it’s their loss. You’re smarter than Stechner and Crosby.”
“Why, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” you say with an overly sweet voice, watching Javi roll his eyes in response.
“Don’t get used to it,” Javi says, a lopsided smirk on his face.
The damn phone has no signal out here.
Javi had a plan. Get Jurado, make his case, do it by the book. The plane was ready, he was ready. Then Stechner came along, those stupid VIP guests came along.
Now he’s sweating through his shirt in the middle of the jungle in uncomfortable shoes and desperate for a cigarette.
Fuck the gum.
No one could have endured that helicopter flight, had to deal with damn idiots trying to talk over the headphones and helicopter noise, without needing a cigarette.
Besides quitting smoking was meant to be a signal. The new and improved Javier Peña, getting it right this time and taking down a cartel. Only the past can’t be ignored. No one will let him forget; they rarely explicitly accuse him, but too many people know what Javi did. Too many people still judge him for that, even Captain Hernandez.
Javi told Steve once that sometimes you had to do bad things to catch bad people.
Maybe he was wrong.
Maybe he’s only made things worse.
He just can’t seem to get it right.
Javi breaks from his reverie, holds his phone up one more time.
Javi has no idea what’s happening with Feistl and Van Ness, no clue whether Stoddard has been able to get anywhere with Panama. He’s not sure if you’re helping. He’s still not sure if he can trust you, as much as he wants to.
Javi can’t be here.
He can’t be part of this charade; play the role of a hero, pretend that this isn’t a giant set-up. What’s Stechner thinking with this?
Javi hears a noise, looks around and sees the army liaison who Stechner had introduced to the senators earlier.
Javi looks exhausted when you finally see him again. More than that, he’s more visibly frustrated and annoyed than you’ve ever seen him before.
Linda had told you that the senators had insisted he join them on their visit, whether he wanted to or not. You knew how much Javi had prepared for the day. The senators wanted to hear from a ‘real life hero’ though and they could control the DEA’s money for this mission. You can only imagine how delighted Javi had been with the whole sorry mess.
You hadn’t quite expected him to return like this though.
When he left the office in the morning, he had been focused, motivated, and smartly dressed. Now, you notice his shoes are covered in dirt and mud; that they look ruined. The difference isn’t just his clothes, there’s something changed in his eyes, something you can’t identify but you know that don’t want to ever see in him again.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? You really went on a day trip to the rainforest in your best shoes?” you ask sweetly. “The attaché salaries must be even better than I thought.”
“Don’t. Don’t even fucking go there, Blue.”
“I’m trying really hard to take your threat seriously, but Javi have you looked at yourself?”
Javi stands up straight. “You heard then? I was meant to go to fucking Panama, had the plane and everything ready.”
“The senators and Stechner had other ideas, I’m afraid.”
“It was a goddamn joke, Blue.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a setup. Nothing was real - just a show, like this whole damn thing is. This - this is all bullshit.”
You’re not sure how to reply to that and instead awkwardly fidget with the paper file you were organising.
“Stoddard said it didn’t go anywhere with Jurado.” Javi’s whole body sinks into the office chair next to your desk and he pinches his brow.
“Nope,” he says, each syllable clearly pronounced.
“Shit.”
“Yep.”
“So, did Feistl and Van Ness come up with anything?” you ask, hoping that things aren’t entirely lost for Javi’s investigation.
“They did. The police are keeping it all though. They think there might be another angle, but fuck.” Javi shakes his head.
You lean against his desk and look down at the floor, trying to bring to mind some comforting words, the right thing to say. You don’t know what to do. There’s no simple solution here; no sudden legal clause or clever argument you can pull out to make everything better and get what you need back in evidence or convince a jury. This is all so different to what you are used to; a side of investigations and cases you’ve never seen before.
“So, where are we left?” you ask, thinking aloud. “Jurado’s not an option until we can find out where he is. We need to - maybe your guys will come up with something in Cali, in the paperwork. I’ll call the police in the morning, see if I can do anything to help us get some of the evidence.”
“You think that’ll work?”
“I think I’m a very convincing person, Javi.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are, Blue. Thing is, I’m not sure -” he pauses, leans back against the couch, “I don’t think we can trust the police contact Feistl and Van Ness are with. Not from what they’ve told me anyway.”
You think about his words, the small details you’ve heard from Stoddard today. “I think you’re right. They’re holding back on the evidence. Truthfully. they’re not going to work together with us easily. I mean, the rumour is the Rodriguez brothers own half of Cali anyway, right? It would make sense. We - your guys need to proceed with caution. There are things we can do, ways to protect this work and keep the case robust.”
You shake your head at his expression, place the paperwork file down on his desk. “We’ll sort it tomorrow; things will be better then.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, so don’t stay too late, Javi, it’s been a long day.”
“Wait, can I ask you a question?”
“If I was being mean, I’d say you just did,” you reply, folding your arms around you.
“Really, Blue? Okay, why don’t you want people to know we knew each other before the job? Is it me or -” Javi trails off and you wonder what happened during the trip to the jungle that prompted this.
You meet Javi’s gaze to try and read his expression. He looks almost guilty, as though he thinks you’re ashamed of knowing him. That doesn’t make sense because he’s Javi; he’s the hero of the DEA according to almost everyone. Stechner’s words and insinuations echo in your mind, the hints at what Javi may have done before, how desperate he was to get Escobar. Part of you doesn’t blame him for wanting to pursue justice - you can understand that desire, even if you don’t agree with what he was rumoured to have done.
If the rumours are true, it explains a lot about Javi now.
“No, it’s not you,” you say, taking a deep breath before you continue, “It’s the situation. It’s messy. I was technically recommended for this job by a friend and it is bad enough that the ambassador knows that. If it got around that you are my brother’s best friend? I got this job on my own merits and I-”
“Woah, woah, I didn’t say anything about how you got this job. I don’t even know how you got this job. Frankly I didn’t know there even was a job until you turned up.“
“I really thought you hated me for that.”
“Not you, Blue. Don’t hate you.”
“You wouldn’t have had to say anything about me getting this job. People make assumptions all the time. I’ve dealt with it my whole career, especially as I moved up, and I just wanted here to be different.” You needed here to be different. After everything that had went down in DC, this job was supposed to be a fresh start, an escape from everything you’d run away from. Only you’re rapidly wondering if you’ve jumped from the frying pan into the fire instead.
“I can understand that,” Javi finally says softly.
“It’s that one time that it really is me and not you,” you add with a grin.
“So, Blue, am I really Rafael’s best friend?” Javi asks with a crooked smile.
“If you ever tell him I told you that, I will kill you.”
“Promises, promises.”
You shake your head and look at Javi for a moment before saying, “I really should go, Javi. See you tomorrow.”
Stoddard knocks on the glass door and you quickly move off Javi’s desk, cross your arms as he walks over to his desk and waves Stoddard in.
“Sir, we may have a problem. Feistl and Van Ness weren’t on their flight back.”
“Fuck.”
You look at Javi’s alarmed face and take a slow breath.
“Okay, have you tried to call them, Stoddard? No, then go do that!” Javi says.
”Maybe - maybe they caught a lead, Agent Peña. I can call someone at Cali, see if we can subtly make enquiries,” you say softly.
Javi nods and you hear him firmly instructing Stoddard on exactly what to do.
“Guess we’re not heading back right now then,” you say once it’s just the two of you in his office, both of you standing by his desk.
“Fucking Feistl,” Javi says, leaning his hands against the edge of the desk so you can see the hint of strained shoulder muscles beneath his shirt.
“You chose him to go to Cali,” you say lightly.
Javi sighs, stands up straight as he pinches his brow. “Technically he was just the only one who asked.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant, Javi.”
“Hey, at he least showed some initiative.”
“Wonderful. Perhaps he’s showing that initiative now.”
“Go home, it’s late. I’ll clean up here, stay and see if they call.”
“Javi -”
“This part is my job, Blue, not yours. I’ve got it covered.”
“Okay. Promise you’ll call if you need anything? You have my phone and my pager, right?”
You squeeze Javi’s shoulder as you make a move to pick up your handbag, watch him start to organise the papers strewn on his desk.
Before you can leave the office, Javi’s office phone rings. You meet his eyes as he quickly answers.
“Peña,” he says. You carefully try and read his reaction, try to notice the way his face slightly relaxes before he asks, “Where the fuck have you been?”
When he hangs up the phone, he looks up at you with a smile.
“You were right.”
“I often am,” you joke breezily, “So, what was I right about?”
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it feels as if I'm rewatching Narcos s3 and seeing this unfold before my eyes with such anticipation, I LOVE IT. the setup is perfect - I can imagine soon the whole "my brother's best friend" ordeal will turn into something else 👀
Summary: Before returning to Colombia to get things right this time, Javi’s childhood best friend asks him to keep an eye out for his sister while they’re both stationed in the embassy. Only you don’t need Javier to keep an eye you her. Your role as a new legal advisor is all about keeping an eye on him after all.
Sparks fly, lines will be drawn and broken and there’s everything to lose.
Word Count: 3.4k
Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog, language, mentions of alcohol, reader has a nickname (Blue) but no physical descriptors used.
Author Notes - Thank you for all your comments, reblogs so far - they mean a lot. As always your comments and feedback are deeply appreciated, I’d love to know what you think of the chapter and fic so far. There is a Narcos Easter Egg in this chapter and if anyone catches it, please please let me know by sending me a comment or ask - I am super curious to see if anyone notices it. The gorgeous banner is by @/wildemaven
Chapter Two| Series Masterlist | Next Chapter
If ten years ago you had told your younger self that you’d be working with Javier Peña to bring down a cartel while you were living in Colombia, you would have laughed.
You would have laughed a lot at the sheer absurdity of it all.
You might, however, have thought how great that scenario could be. While Javier was always your brother’s friend and not yours, ten years ago you liked him and would have thought that he’d make a good colleague. He was smart, he was funny and he didn’t make you feel awful every time Rafa also drove you to the mall at the weekend like most of Rafa’s friends did. His other friends acted like there was decades between you rather than just a few years.
If Javier actually wanted you here with him, was open to working with you, perhaps things would be different. It might even feel more like you could have imagined it would.
He doesn’t want you here though; it’s clear he doesn’t want anyone in this role, but also that somehow it’s worse for him that it’s you.
You ended yesterday with a tentative peace but it feels so unsteady, so easily broken.
None of this is what you anticipated when you took this job. You were supposed to be escaping a difficult work environment by leaving the country in the first place. What you had told your friends was an adventure, an experience you needed to have while you still could, is actually turning out to just be a repeat of the same old challenges in a different setting.
The coffee and food’s pretty good though. You wonder if it’s worth it just for that.
Your coffee pot hisses on the gas stove as you make your way up to the kitchen to finish making breakfast. You barely slept last night so you’ve already been up for some time and are planning on getting into the office early.
Your apartment is one of the many the embassy provides for its staff. It’s plain and the furnishings are basic, but you’re comfortable here. You’re based on the ground floor, so you don’t have to worry about the stairs. The main living area walls are a little faded now and the paint colour falls somewhere between orange and peach. The apartment is surprisingly spacious though, however after living in such a small apartment in DC it could just be your perception.
You’ve tried to make it your own by swapping the two dog related sketches hanging in the hall that you couldn’t any make sense of with photos of your loved ones instead. You have a lot of questions for the person who lived here before. Were they dog people? Was it an inside joke perhaps?
If you could stop tripping on the split level, this place would probably be perfect.
The few personal touches you’ve either bought from DC or in your first week in Colombia have helped make it feel homely though. The patterned comforter on the faded leather couch, a few photos of friends and family scattered around, several orchids you fell in love with and foolishly thought would be easy to keep alive.
You take a large gulp of your coffee and take a bite of your eggs, turning the radio on while you finish eating.
You freeze as you hear the newsreader’s words, abandoning your breakfast instantly, before picking up your handbag and walking straight out of your apartment.
This is going to be a mess.
You’re already in Javier’s office when he arrives, sitting cross legged on the black Chesterfield couch, scanning through a file.
You had arrived at the embassy an hour earlier than you usually would. Most people were still at home or on their way in and you were looking forward to the quiet. You’d made a beeline for your office to get ahead of what had happened but Robert, one of the other lawyers, was also already in and you didn’t want him hearing everything.
You went to Javi’s office instead. Thankfully one of the janitors let you in and you had started building a response plan immediately.
This situation with Duffy and Lopez could definitely become the sort of mess you needed to help manage.
You look around at the papers strewn on his desk and you are slightly impressed by the amount of chaos you’ve caused in less than an hour.
Javi looks decidedly irritated by the scene in front of him. You quickly untangle yourself off your seat and stand up, guiltily picking your cup of coffee off his desk.
“Is this a treat I can expect every morning?” he asks lightly.
“Well, the early bird does catch the worm, Javier.”
“Apparently so.” For a second, he sounds so familiar. This isn’t the Agent Peña you met in the ambassador’s office yesterday. This is Javi, Rafael’s best friend. This is the same Javi who waited outside your school with Rafael when you were being bullied and the three of you would walk back to your house together. There’s mischief in his voice and for a second, he sounds younger.
You can’t get lost in memories now though.
”Did you hear about Duffy and Lopez?” you ask, skipping straight to the reason you’re here in his office.
Javier nods, runs a hand through his hair. “It was on the radio as I drove in.”
“I’ve been on the phone already, that’s uh, why I used your office. Robert’s already in mine and I needed privacy. They’re furious, Javi. Please tell me that they notified the police in Cali this was happening. Please?”
“It was a fast-moving opportunity,” he says, wincing at the way your face darkens. “They didn’t. They wouldn’t. Historically we’ve also had issues with that sort of thing, people in other people’s pockets so - this is just how it goes. You’ll learn that along the way.”
“Shit. Okay, we can - we’ll uh, we’ll deal with it. It’s done, can’t change it now. I’ve got some ideas, it’s manageable.”
“So, what do we do here then, Blue? You gonna help me navigate this?” You raise your eyebrows at Javi’s tone. There’s annoyance in his tone but he says your nickname softly. He looks exhausted already, as though he’s been stationed here for a decade as opposed to a day. Perhaps that’s not so far from the truth though. He’s been here before, he spent years here.
“Why else would I be here?” you ask flatly. “I didn’t even get to finish my breakfast this morning. There’s a meeting - actually, you have a meeting in just over an hour with the Colombians and the ambassador. We need to be ready for it. You need to be ready for it, Javi.”
“So, we what? What’s the play? You said you had some ideas, I’ll all ears.”
“I think Duffy and Lopez’s visas are guaranteed to be pulled at this point. That’s probably non-negotiable. I think you’ll have to eat some humble pie, same with the ambassador but that should be enough. It’s the principle, they want to make it clear to both you and the ambassador that they’re running things, not us, okay?”
Javi exhales heavily. “Do you have a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke. Much. More socially than anything. Rarely.”
Javi raises an eyebrow at you.
“I mean that I don’t have any on me.” You look at Javi’s dejected face. “I’m sorry!”
“This is going to be a great day, isn’t it?”
You smile widely. “That’s more like it, Javi. Keep up that winning attitude!”
Javi walks into your office later that afternoon. After helping him prepare for the meeting with the Ambassador and Vargas, you’ve been pulled into your own meetings, handing off projects you’d started before you were allotted this special assignment.
Several of your colleagues look up at him with a range of expressions from curiosity and admiration to annoyance. Everyone else is packing up for the end of their day but you’re still at your desk. At first you weren’t sure what you were waiting for but now you know.
He looks dejected. That’s the first thing you see. It’s as though all of the air has been sucked out of him; he’s flat. Even his eyes look lifeless somehow.; they’re dull, colder even.
You’ve never seen him like this before; you remember him so differently. He was driven and ambitious, yes, but there wasn’t this visible weight pulling him down. His smile met his eyes back then.
At least, that’s how you remember him.
Javi loosens his tie a little as he leans against your desk; you look at his tie, it’s blue and gold today.
“Rough meeting?” you ask politely, picking your coffee cup up and taking a delicate sip.
“They’re not letting me replace my team in Cali,” he says in a low voice, “Did you know about this? Was this one of your ideas>”
“Oh.”
“Look, it’s bad enough Duffy and Lopez are out. I get why, I’m okay with it. They’re telling me I can’t send any other agents out there though? How do I do my job because I’ve been back less than a week and my agents are questioning me already. Are you gonna help me navigate me that? That’s what I need from you.”
“I’m sure there are reasons,” you say gently. If Javi says the word ‘navigate’ one more time, you think you might kick him, or slap him, or spill your coffee on him. No, no, you wouldn’t waste your coffee, even if it is bad quality.
“Yeah, the reason is that they don’t want any of this. You do realise what you’re here for, don’t you? This assignment, what they want from you … it’s to block me.“
You scowl. “I’m not blocking anyone, Javier. I’m just here to help and to ensure everything is by the books, watertight so that we have a strong case when we extradite them.”
“You actually believe that?” he asks, an incredulous expression on his face.
You falter slightly. You did believe that - you want to continue to believe that, but if you’re honest you’re not so sure anymore.
“I do,” you say, smiling tightly.
“By the book. You think they’re playing by the book? Do you know how all the checks and balances work down here? The Cali cartel are negotiating a surrender with no consequences. It’s a negotiation where they have all the bargaining power, that seem right to you?”
“You can’t pretend that rules don’t matter, that checks and balances are irrelevant. It’s not how it works.”
“I didn’t say that,” Javi says, shaking his head.
Rules matter to you. It might sound uptight and inflexible, but there’s a system for a reason. Your whole career has been about upholding standards, about ensuring that justice is obtained when rules are broken. You’re not quite as evangelical about it as some of the people you went to law school with, but this matters to you.
It matters because you know what it’s like when those checks and balances don’t matter; when rules are taken as loose guidance or stretched and exploited until they break. You carry those invisible scars from DC, coupled with the complete sense of failure that the rules hadn’t mattered. Not in that scenario, not when it what came to it.
Maybe Javi’s right.
“It’ll be by the book,” Javi says gently, looking at you with all of his attention. “But I can’t guarantee they’re out there doing the same thing.”
He’s standing so close to you right now. You can smell the sharp mint on his breath, either gum or those tiny solid mints you get a tin. You’re not sure which it is; which one of the two is most like Javi anymore. The mint is clearly to mask something, not alcohol, but you can just about make out lingering traces of cigarette smoke following him too.
“What do you mean?” you ask, a growing sense of dread constricting around your stomach like vines.
“What do you know about what’s happened in Yumbo?” he asks in a low voice.
There’s a small TV in the office. The local news plays in the background; the calm intonations of the newsreader fading into white noise.
You look over to see footage of Cali and walk closer so you can hear the report. This is the tragedy Javi told you about.
The cause was a gas leak?
No, because Javi told you that the journalist who approached him had indicated it was the Cali cartel. Why would the inspector say this though?
You left DC for a reason. For many reasons actually. If there is one thing that would affect you it’s a cover up, it’s deliberately concealing the truth. You can’t take watching a miscarriage of justice before you; that’s not why you got into law.
Javi’s right. The Rodriguez brothers, all of them, they need to be held to account, to justice.
You don’t want to be the blocker; you don’t want to be the person bought in to stop justice being served. You thought this role would be about ensuring a watertight case, one that would get justice.
No. No, this is not what you signed up for. This is not what you were promised.
Javi’s right about something else too - you’re naive. It surprises you. You thought the years of legal work, of life experience would have altered that, but clearly it hasn’t.
It’s time to change things.
You neatly stack the paperwork and lock it in your desk, before sweeping your Filofax and assorted pens into your handbag.
You need a plan.
You need to find a way to fix this.
You remind him of home.
Laredo hasn’t felt like home in years, but it transpires you can’t escape your hometown. Javi laughs bitterly; turns out that he can’t even escape his hometown more than two thousand miles away.
It’s not that home is Laredo. You don’t just remind him of there; you remind him of who he was before. Before the DEA, before Escobar, hell before Lorraine even.
It’s unspeakably cruel that you’re the one who has been bought in to ruin his chances of getting this one right.
Talking to Stechner in the bar made it clear; he’s here as decoration. Agent Peña; the man who helped bring down Escobar and will therefore add weight to the legitimacy of these negotiations. There’ll be no police work, no actual justice.
If there were any justice in the world, Javier, you’d be in jail.
Stechner’s words haunt him, continually replay in his mind. That whole exchange rendered Javi too much like his old self. Less than forty-eight hours in Colombia and he’d started smoking again, slept with an intern, all his plans lay in ash.
It became worse when he spoke to Martinez after the meeting about Duffy and Lopez. Martinez made it clear that he’d helped create this problem.
Javi lights a cigarette, moves from the couch to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.
This is such a fucking mess already.
He’s taken aback by the sound of someone knocking on the door. Automatically he grabs his sidearm from the coffee table, holding it low as he moves to the front door.
“Javi?” a familiar voice asks.
Javi opens the door, placing his gun down on the hallway table.
“Really?” you ask, watching the scene from the doorway with raised eyebrows.
“How’d you know where I live?” he asks, returning to the doorway and tapping his fingers on top of the door jamb as he leans against the doorframe.
“I may have access to paperwork,” you say, a slightly shifty expression on your face. “They have a few of the attachés housed in this building, I think.”
“That is kind of creepy, Blue. Just turning up like this and looking at paperwork and -”
“Shut up. Please shut up.”
“If I just turned up -”
“I’m leaving,” you say, lips pursed together with annoyance or frustration.
Javi smiles in spite of himself, reaches out to touch your arm. He can smell your perfume; crisp and bright. Citrus and sharp notes rather than the softer vanilla and gourmand perfumes he’s used to. It suits you.
“It’s fine.”
He holds the door open for you, lets you walk right into his apartment. He notices how you scan the space around you, brush imaginary dust off your clothes.
You’ve changed since the office; you’re dressed more casually. A loose t-shirt with a band logo, jeans and sandals. You look younger, more how he remembers you. He’d always been Rafa’s friend, not yours, but sometimes you’d talk to him when he was waiting for Rafa or if you bumped into him in town.
You used to be like that; friendly. Your childhood nickname of Blue was a reference to the flowers you loved as a child, and it wasn’t just bluebonnets, it was any flowers at one point. It was a misnomer though, a joke on a joke, because you’d never seemed morose when you were young. You were always cheerful, optimistic, almost unfailingly positive. Even now, Javi sees that brightness in you, a little duller, a little dampened by time. It’s still there though, shining through layers of bureaucracy.
“So, what’s going on?” he asks. He wonders if you’ve heard about him sending that agent and his partner to Cali, if you’ve come all this way to admonish him.
He braces himself for the criticism, for the scolding at breaching processes, at not telling you. He had to do something though.
“You were right.”
Javi doesn’t skip a beat, manages to hide his surprise. “Obviously. So, you came all this way to tell me that?”
“I -”
“What was I right about again, cariño?” he asks, aiming for lazy disinterest but genuinely curious.
“They want me to block you. They’re working on the surrender and the gas thing - they just covered it up, Javi. People died. Children died, and hundreds got sick and it’s just swept under the carpet? The Cali cartel face no consequences for this? I - they just surrender and no one knows?”
Javi doesn’t say anything. He’s not entirely sure what your play is, if you’re testing him or if what you are saying is genuine.
You look wrecked though; he can see the frustration and despair in your eyes, a familiar expression he’s faced in the mirror more than once since he joined the DEA.
It’s real. It’s real, or you’re the best damn actress he’s ever met.
“You must hate me.”
“Nah, not really. It’s - maybe I need someone to help keep me in the lines.” If he had had you a few years ago, maybe Cali wouldn’t be in the same place right now. Martinez’ words earlier, the way he looked at Javi, repeat again and again in his mind.
When you sell your soul to the devil, you’re not allowed to ask for it back.
Javi needs to stop the Cali cartel, to arrest the godfathers, to prove it can be done and that justice, justice will matter. He thinks it might be the only way he’ll know peace right now. He’s trying, he’s trying so fucking hard to make it right this time.
If they let him. Hell, if you let him. They even chose a ghost from home to be the person who’s there to block him, stop him. Javi swears it’s deliberate.
“What did you say earlier? Checks and balances matter. That’s right too.”
“Oh, because I’ve been thinking and it’s all fucked up. I think we need to still - people need to see them in handcuffs, through the system, that’s what’s needed.”
“Okay,” Javi says, unsure of where you’re taking this, certain he’s misunderstanding the message between your words.
“And it does matter, doing this right does matter. You and me, we make this watertight, by the book, but we have to get them, Javi. We have to get them.”
Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa
If you want to be added to (or removed from) one of the tag lists, let me know or you can get notifications for @thelightsandtheroses-fics if you prefer. If you do not have an age or age range showing you are over 18, I will not add you to this list. I block ageless and blank blogs.
She feels like home?? She reminds him of who he was before the DEA?? Oh my God I am so in love with this, the melancholy and the back and forth.. loving the buildup!!
