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Mike Driver
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Love Begins
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if i look back, i am lost
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Cosimo Galluzzi
@theartofmadeline
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@notthatgirlfrcmculiacan
She doesn't want to just survive anymore. She wants to live. So that girl from Culiacán, she's gone.
Kelly Anne van Awken
Teresa Mendoza from USA Network’s Queen of the South
PENNED BY CAMI. INDEPENDENT. LITERATE. CANON DIVERGENT. CROSSOVER FRIENDLY. OC FRIENDLY.
“They’re never going to find us!”
“No one can hear you scream.”
“Kinda scary knowing we’re alone out here.”
“Did you hear that?”
“Please, please don’t.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“How long have you been out here?”
“I’ve found them!”
“This place looks abandoned.”
“There’s blood.”
“Did you hear that?”
“What’s it matter, they’re never going to find us.”
“We’ve been walking for days.”
“Why would someone else be this far out?”
“We’re in trouble.”
“I’ll get you before they do.”
“It’s so peaceful out here.”
“This is giving me serious Blair Witch vibes.”
“You know I hate horror movies!”
“They could have followed us?”
“That’s not from this world!”
“The silence is terrifying.”
“Is that an animal?”
“It’s so nice not having someone constantly in your ear.”
“Stop breathing down my neck.”
“We’re fine.”
“If we’re not back by Monday, they’ll send someone for us.”
“Scared yet?”
“Now how do we get back?”
“You’re never leaving here.”
“You’re never leaving me.”
“They’ll never find you.”
[Freezing] My muse is suffering from extreme cold, on the verge of hypothermia, and needs warmth. for @taleofmuses
She didn't know what had happened, just that James's text of 'Leave. Now.' meant to do just that. They'd prepared for any such scenario that would end in that message. He had been insistent that she was to get herself out, not go back for him. He could get himself out. She'd almost gone in search of him, but the chaos that had erupted made that impossible and when she saw the car they'd come in was gone, she'd left too. She knew where the run down cabin was that'd be their safe house for the night if it were needed. It was several miles off, deep in the woods and down an overgrown gravel pathway. No one knew it existed outside of Camila's circle.
That'd been hours ago though. Teresa's phone had died so she had no way of communicating. Night had fallen, and with the darkness came frigid temperatures at the lack of sun to even attempt to stay warm. She was freezing. She'd arrived with a coat, but it'd been left in the escape. When one of her heels had broken, she she'd taken them both off. Snow had begun to fall at some point, first soft and slow, but quickly becoming closer to blizzard like conditions.
She'd nearly given up ten or twenty minutes before, her whole body numb, her will to keep going dwindling each time she fell to her knees and she had fight back to feet she could no longer feel. She might not have grown up in a place with snow and cold, but she knew enough to know her clumsiness and the fact she no longer seemed to be shivering were not good signs. But that mirror image of herself in white had shown up with her riddles and her urges to fight, and Teresa had found herself back on her feet once more.
It had to be well past midnight when she'd finally stumbled through the trees and into a clearing and across the clearing, the cabin. She leaned against the tree, watching for any sign of life, trying to drag in breaths of air into lungs that protested. Just a little further. She pushed off of the tree and stumbled across the underbrush and overgrowth towards the cabin only to find the door locked. She leaned against the door, forehead resting against the rough wood of the door.
Teresa raised her hand with the intent of knocking against the rough surface, but it was more of a smack as her fingers refused to ball into a fist. "James..." But it came out more of a whisper and she wasn't even sure he was there, wasn't sure that he'd made it away from the fray safely. She inhaled deeply before trying again, "James, let m'in." Her words were louder this time in the silence and stillness of the night and she hit her hand against the door again and again. She was fucked if he hadn't arrived yet. She wouldn't even be able to wrap her fingers around the weapon in its holster at her thigh even if she wanted to defend herself.
𝖒𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖛𝖚𝖑𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞
Send one of these to find my muse in different moments of vulnerability and really needing help... + reverse for my muse to find yours
[Sick] My muse is ill and bedridden.
[Wounded] My muse is severely injured and has just collapsed.
[Stuck] My muse is stuck, unable to free themselves without your muse's help. (e.g. under rubble, in a burning house etc.)
[Alone] My muse is isolated, feeling utterly alone and abandoned, needing comfort.
[Exhausted] My muse is physically and mentally exhausted, barely able to stay awake, and needs care.
[Lost] My muse is lost, either physically or emotionally, and is struggling to find their way back.
[Freezing] My muse is suffering from extreme cold, on the verge of hypothermia, and needs warmth.
[Drowning] My muse is literally or metaphorically drowning, struggling to stay afloat, and needs a lifeline.
[Lost Hope] My muse has lost all hope and is in need of someone to remind them what they're fighting for.
[Collapsing] My muse is physically collapsing from exhaustion, illness, or injury, unable to continue on their own.
[Nightmare] My muse is waking up from a terrifying nightmare and needs to be calmed down.
[Captured] My muse has been captured by enemies and is in dire need of rescue.
James watched her and the child, their child until the kid was in his swing, legs kicking as he seemed to very much enjoy the change in setting. He was so easily pleased, the world open and wide and new to him. Meanwhile he was hopefully oblivious to his parents issues, to the pain and suffering they both carried.
"They do," he said with conviction. Every time he entered their hide out it pointed to be russian. But there were multiple russian organisations. Except that would be a massive coincidence. He gathered enough by now to now they were dealing with a russian group. There was no way this wasn't connected. And even if it was not directly the group, it was one that dealt with the other in one way. Dealing with the russians or maybe keeping them at arms length led to the kill team one way or another.
"I could take care of them. I'm an unknown player to them," he pointed out. "And even if they gather intel on me, my immediate trace leads to the CIA, not you." It would protect herand their child and unless he didn't get them all, he could come back to her after he took care of the kill team. Or it gave her another chance to easily reject him working with them, while still keeping him under her wings: A man working in the shadows for her, unable to be connected to her ever again, unable to come home, but dependent enough to not go against her. He'd do that for them.
His confirmation brought only the smallest of nods. She had known getting in with the Russians could be a problem. Russia was large and she was naive to think that there was only Oksana and her ever elusive cousin. She also knew Kostya was dangerous, no matter how elusive he was. The Russians were and always had been a risky alliance. But she had burned most of Europe with her bleeding heart and need to help where the help was not always welcome by those in charge. Russia was key to her being so big she couldn't be hurt, but also could be the brick to shatter the glass castle that was her queendom. It was an impossible situation even as the wheels spun behind dark hues.
Then he was offering to take care of them for her and the gears in Teresa's mind halted, switching gears and neural pathways to remind her of the fact once more that she'd nearly lost him dealing with them before. But she stopped those thoughts in their tracks because she knew what he said was true. It'd been a year since he'd been connected to her, a year since he'd left her in Phoenix. All evidence would point to him being a turncoat, abandoning her in favor of the CIA.
"You're right," she spoke softly, eyes flickering momentarily to Pote as he seemed to mind his own business while he cooked. "That makes the most sense. You'd have to go in alone though." If she sent anyone connected to her with him then it'd blow the whole part of no one being able to trace him back to her. Those she would trust to send with him; Pote, George, Javi, they were all seen with Teresa far too much to keep the illusion that he was working on behalf of the CIA and not her.
After-Action Patch-Up starters
"Hold still, [name], this might sting a bit." "You're lucky it's just a few scratches. You need to be more careful!" "Don't be such a baby. It's just a flesh wound." "I can't believe you jumped into that fray without thinking! What were you trying to prove?" "Here, let me help. I've had my fair share of battle wounds." "Ouch! Warn me before you start cleaning those cuts." "You're a mess. How did you even get into this situation?" "I never thought I'd see you so vulnerable. It's strange." "Let's patch you up before anyone else sees you like this." "You really need to work on your combat skills. I can't keep playing nursemaid." "I've got the first aid kit. Sit down, and let me take care of those injuries." "You did well out there, but you're not invincible. Let me help." "I told you not to charge in without a plan. Now look at you." "It's nothing serious, just a few cuts and bruises. You'll be fine." "I can't believe you're complaining about a little pain. You should see what I've been through." "Hold on, I'll get the antiseptic. This might sting a bit." "You're surprisingly fragile for someone who fights so fiercely." "You really know how to ruin a perfectly good day, don't you?" "I never expected to see you in need of my care. Life is full of surprises." "I suppose I should thank you for saving me, even if it means playing nurse now."
[CLEANS] The sender takes a cotton swab and gently cleans the dirt and blood from the receiver's wounds. [BANDAGES] The sender carefully wraps a bandage around the receiver's forearm, securing it to protect the cuts. [SCOLDS] The sender scolds the receiver, shaking their head as they tend to the injuries. [REACTS] The receiver winces as the sender applies antiseptic to a particularly nasty cut on their cheek. [COMFORTS] The sender reassures the receiver, offering comfort while tending to the injuries. [DISINFECTS] The sender pours antiseptic on a wound, causing the receiver to inhale sharply at the stinging sensation. [INSPECTS] The sender inspects the wounds, noting any deeper cuts that might need more attention. [LECTURES] The sender lectures the receiver, advising them to think before acting to avoid future injuries. [SMILES] Despite scolding, the sender smiles reassuringly, trying to ease the tension in the room. [COMPLAINS] The receiver complains about the pain, prompting the sender to roll their eyes and continue their work. [WORRIES] The sender expresses worry, sharing their concern for the receiver's well-being. [TREATS] The sender skillfully treats each injury, showcasing their competence in basic first aid. [ADMONISHES] The sender admonishes the receiver, emphasizing the potential severity of the situation. [ASSESSES] The sender assesses the overall damage, silently noting the toll the fight took on the receiver. [DISAPPROVES] The sender expresses disapproval, stating that putting oneself in danger is not acceptable. [ASSURES] The sender assures the receiver, claiming that despite appearances, the injuries will heal quickly. [HESITATES] The receiver hesitates as the sender reaches for a needle and thread to stitch up a deeper cut. [SYMPATHIZES] The sender sympathizes with the receiver, acknowledging the pain while praising their efforts. [SCANS] The sender scans the receiver's body for any hidden injuries, ensuring nothing was overlooked. [GRATEFUL] The receiver expresses gratitude to the sender for taking care of them amid the discomfort.
"Agreed," he said. As little as he knew about her day to day operations at the moment, he knew anychange from schedule would draw attention, would make her rivals look closer and while she could easily hid parts of her absence as her being concerned for him or wary of him, a closer look would still endanger Santiago and he could easily bet that neither of them wanted to do that. He'd rather have her go on as usual, portray herself as not caring wether he lived or died and through that protect her son from prying eyes.
"Once I am healed enogh, I'll join in the search for the kill team that's after you." Whoever sent them. it had been his primary motivation to come back and continued to be his primary motivation to find to keep her safe. And now with her Santiago, too.
Teresa sat the blanket down against her shoulder again and let her gaze return to James. She'd almost lost him, in a way much more permanent than him leaving because she didn't trust him or to protect her. Yet, he was alive, sitting right across from her, had come back because he'd been able to gather the intel that a kill team had been sent after her. Still, he'd almost died.
She shook the thought from her mind, literally, before getting up. James was right. She needed to get back into the swing of things and before that kill team tracked her out to the bayou. Teresa couldn't let herself linger on the what-ifs and the could-have-beens. No, she had to focus on the present and the future. And in the present she was in danger with a target on her back.
"Do you think," she started as she ventured towards the living room off of the open concept dining room, "they have any connection to the Russians?" She adjusted her top and then laid Santiago in his swing, laid his blanket over him and turned the swing on. She returned to the table and resumed her seat. Her mind was on her seeming new allies, but if there was one thing she'd learned in this business it was that there were few that could be trusted.
"You heard Pote, Peas are bland. Chef knows best." And he was right, peas were blan an they were also entirely too much after being robbed of almost all sensation and half starving. Whatever Pote deduced, it was correct and one thing remained with the man: He wasn't cruel. He may not trust him, but he wouldn't actively subject James to whatever it was that triggered him. and clearly he had picked up on there being a trigger.
"You know, you shouldn't hold back with...work on my account," James said after a while. "I get that I require a babysitter until I proved myself again, but I can promise you this time I'll stay put and not let anyone drag me out of bed and get me shot more."
Teresa situated herself in the chair. "Fine, fine. You're both right." She conceded with a small smile. Peas were far from a favorite of hers. But for a baby they were perfect for a first food. She couldn't argue the point though, there were plenty of other things she could start with for Santiago.
She looked over to James at his comment. "I know." It was murmured as her gaze shifted to the blanket over her shoulder which she lifted to peak under it to their son. There was a part of her that was enjoying these couple of days of peace though, away from the city and the danger she was constantly looking over her shoulder for. She didn't need to fear for her life or for the life of her son when they were this far removed from the city and this far out in the middle of nowhere.
She wanted out. So desperately, but the further into the game she fell the harder it felt to escape. She would though, and alive. She would keep telling herself that. "I will need to go back into the city soon." She still needed to vet out Oksana and Kostia, but she also needed to know who the target on her back was from.
Being in a room alone with Pote had the potential for disaster in so many ways. It all depended on what he thought of James in that very moment. The only comfort and security James had at that moment was that Teresa would be back with Santiago soon and he would not outright attack him with her just there.
Pote reached into the cupboard and quietly ouled out the cans of peas they had stored.
Great, James thought, so peas were on the menu from now on because he expressed vulnerability and Pote overheard them But to his surprise, once Pote had four cans out, he tossed all four into the trash wordlessly.
"Gracias," James said. Pote simply nodded and moved back to the food he was making. Interesting how much this guy could say without saying a single word.
Teresa had tried to return to the main floor quickly, knowing that Pote wasn't James' biggest fan. She wanted to be there if Pote decided to be less than friendly towards James. However, getting a baby up and going for the day was never the quickest of easiest. She'd changed his diaper and clothes, putting him in a fresh jumper with a matching bib. She had let Kelly Anne do a bulk of the clothing shopping for the little boy, something the blonde had taken great pleasure in.
It'd been over ten minutes when she'd finally managed to come back down the stairs. Santiago was in her right arm, but covered with a light blanket draped from her shoulder as he nursed. She was glad to see both men seemed relaxed enough and Pote was still cooking.
It was as she went to retrieve her glass of water and turn the monitor off that she noticed the peas in the trash. "Santi was just telling me he couldn't wait to try the peas and now they're in the trash," she teased, a slight smirk turning up her lips. Pote muttered something under his breath about peas being bland causing Teresa to chuckle and then grumbling that she should go sit down, that breakfast was almost done. Teresa nodded with a fond smile and took her glass of water to settle into a chair across from James at the table.
"So, no peas in the whole house?" She couldn't help the soft tease as her gaze found James' from across the table.
"Thank you," he said, nodding to the water. He wrapped a hand around the glass and slowly turned it, making the ice inside it clink a little.
He smiled a little at the answer to his question, but that smile fell fast, replaced by an empty stare into the glass. He was taken back into the cell, felt the chains around his wrists and ankles, felt the pain of going hungry for almost too long, the pain of his lungs as they recovered from repeated abuse. A tremor went through him.
"Pl...please make sure I am far, far away from him when he gets peas," he said. He shook his head and lifted the glass to his lips, downing water quickly so he wouldn't have to look at her or anyone else around. It helped to center him in today. He was here, not in that cell. His lungs weren't on fire. He hadn't gone hungry for days. There was no steel around his ankles and wrists.
When he dared to look into the room again, it was with a deflection on his lips. "Now Pote's pozole sounds worthwhile to me."
Teresa studied James quietly, not missing the way his smile fell or the vacant look that passed over his face even if it was fleeting. She'd always been good at watching people and she'd always been good at reading James. She didn't point out the look or question him however, not with Pote around. She could only guess where his mind had gone, had dealt with her own times of being lost to the past and places that were not there any longer.
Instead, she chuckled softly at James's response to her comments on food for their son. "Maybe some sweet potatoes." She said softly and took a sip from her own glass of water.
Santiago chose that moment to announce he was awake, his fussing ringing through the baby monitor. Teresa sat her glass on the counter and retrieved the monitor. She turned it off and sat it back down. "I'll be right back."
She gave James's shoulder a soft squeeze as she moved past and headed towards the stairs.
Teresa gave the smallest of nods. Her eyes flickered to the door, mentally mapping out the safehouse in her head. How many steps to the door. Then how many to the stairs. How many stairs and then how many more steps before they'd reach something he could sit on if the need arose.
She wasn't going to tell him no though. He was stubborn enough he'd just go with or without her help, so she stepped away just long enough to grab Santiago's baby monitor before moving back towards him. "Si, let's go," it was murmured as a petite hand slid around his waist.
"Maybe we'll get you something to eat downstairs too." There were leftovers from the night before and she was sure Pote would be making breakfast if he hadn't already done so. Slowly she lead the way towards the door, opening it once they reached it and then leading James down the hallway towards the stairs. She knew he didn't know this safehouse and that he'd been unconcious for most of the time in which he'd been moved between rooms.
The smells coming from the kitchen spoke volumes. Pote was cooking after all. He wouldn't even be remotely surprised if part of it was out of emotion he couldn't place after falsely accusing of harming Teresa and Santiago. As protective as they were of her, they had internal issues to deal with, all of them. The truth he carried with him, while excusing him, would make that struggle that much worse. James honestly didn't know if it was a good idea to distract them further.
Their job remained protecting Teresa and Santiago, they needed a bit of sanity for that. So he'd suck it up and let them do what they did.
"Smells good, Pote," he commented as they walked in. It earned him a gruff and a nod to a chair. James pulled it closer and carefully sat down.
"What does Santi eat by the way?"
It became apparent as they made their way down the stairs that Pote was cooking. She knew that beneath the gruff exterior of the sicario was a heart who cared deeply for those he held dear. His loyalty to her had fallen away from obligation due to what he let transgress in Culiacan, to loyalty based on her need to change things, but now it was due to his deep seated care he had for Teresa. She wished she could take the distrust of James away, knowing the truth about the last year, but she would respect his decision not to tell the rest of her inner circle.
She ensured James got settled into the chair before moving away and into the kitchen. She paused by Pote, glancing at what was cooking before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "James is right. Thank you." It was murmured softly with a gentle smile given to the sicario.
She retrieved a couple glasses from the cupboard nearest the sink and sat the baby monitor on the counter. Santiago would be awake soon enough. She filled both glasses with ice and water from the fridge and brought a glass to James.
"Right now," she was leaning against the counter in the kitchen but within view of anyone in the main part of the open concept of the main living area, "just milk. Mine or formula. Soon he'll get to try purées, but he's still too little. Pote thinks puréed pozole," she teased looking up to the older man to see the hint of a smile turn up his cheek though he didn't comment otherwise, "the doctor says something simple like peas or green beans."
"I'm good." Well there was pain, obviously, but he was stable enough to stand and walk. He wouldn't be able to stand much or walk much, but there were chairs, he could rest somewhere other than the bed. He had been long enough in it for his own sanity.
"I could use help getting to the kitchen or living room." He didn't feel stable enough to do so alone just yet. Or well, not without someone spotting him, just in case.
Teresa gave the smallest of nods. Her eyes flickered to the door, mentally mapping out the safehouse in her head. How many steps to the door. Then how many to the stairs. How many stairs and then how many more steps before they'd reach something he could sit on if the need arose.
She wasn't going to tell him no though. He was stubborn enough he'd just go with or without her help, so she stepped away just long enough to grab Santiago's baby monitor before moving back towards him. "Si, let's go," it was murmured as a petite hand slid around his waist.
"Maybe we'll get you something to eat downstairs too." There were leftovers from the night before and she was sure Pote would be making breakfast if he hadn't already done so. Slowly she lead the way towards the door, opening it once they reached it and then leading James down the hallway towards the stairs. She knew he didn't know this safehouse and that he'd been unconcious for most of the time in which he'd been moved between rooms.
"And I am not trusting him with it. Not yet at least." Trust in their world was a high value. Which was why his story of the lack of trust was so believable. No trust could kill you. One way or the other. It was not something anyone could take lightly. Not being able to trust someone could prove to be someones last mistake. In that sense not trusting him was wise and yet after bending over backward to earn it, it had stung and provided him with he perfect excuse.
In turn, though, Pote's lack of trust had a consequence: It being a mutual thing. While he knew he'd protect Teresa, James now knew for sure that he couldn't trust Pote with himself. It might be his own end.
James sighed and slowly pushed himself up to standing. There was a bit of uncertainty in it, but he stood and that counted. The pain wasn't so bad.
"Well, if I walk slowly and rest a lot, I think I might be able to not be stuck in bed all day, maybe be a bit useful."
Teresa didn't blame James for not wanting Pote or the others to know what he'd been through. That was a piece of himself that he didn't trust the others to know. She knew trust wasn't something easily given, especially in their world. Hell, she hadn't trusted him in the beginning. She hadn't trusted anyone, but he had been the first she had trusted. And the first who'd lost her trust, something she still kicked herself for.
She was quick to move off of the bed when she realized James was trying to stand up. She didn't want him falling and hurting himself and so she was by his side, ready to help if need be, but also not immediately reaching out to him.
"And if you are stuck in bed still, it's what your body needs." Though she knew he didn't like being bedridden. She wouldn't either.
"That, too," James agreed as he held onto her hand as much as she let him. Healing would be another plus side of staying out of the business. "And I could get to know our son a little and help as much as I am able to." Which might be limited to a nappy change or some entertainment with the injuries, but he was very much willing to try, willing to show her he was ready to pull a bit of the weight in that department even though he was technically a stranger to Santiago and would have to prove to her and the baby that he was someone to keep around.
"Pote would probably be a little more...docile if he knew what I went through,"he said. "But I'm also glad he doesn't."
Teresa smiled softly and gave a small nod. "I'd like that. And I think he would too. He seemed to really like you last night." She smiled softly. There weren't many new people Santiago got to meet, James really being one of the first. But the baby had been all smiles and babbles the night before which to Teresa was a good sign. She wanted James to know his son and Santiago to know his father. If James was willing to help and be there, she would gladly let him be. Within reason of his healing and needing to know she could trust him with Santiago. Even if she trusted James with her own life, her son's life was far more sacred to her.
"He might. I won't tell anyone though, that's not my story to tell." She spoke softly. Knowing what all James had gone through might earn him some sympathy from the others, but if he didn't want them to know then they wouldn't.
"And Pote," James pointed out. It would have hurt Pote, too. Not just because he cared about Kelly Anne, but also because he had struggled with what that order meant, what carrying it out meant. James had seen it too. It would have been a shift Teresa couldn't have come back from, so he chose not to do it. For such a multitude of reasons, one at the back of his mind that only reinforced being under Finch again. If he already struggled so much under him, he didn't want to know how bad Kelly Anne was broken to become his mole.
As Pote left the room, James sat up properly, wincing as the movement pulled on his abdominal stitches a little. But he moved slowly, adjusted to the pain to avoid pulling them and managed to sit up properly to look at her.
"I'll stay away from the business until they calmed down," James said. Not that he could help with that right now. Anyway. He'd focus on being there for her, being non-threatening to the people around them and Santiago. James still reached for her hand.
Teresa sighed softly, dragging a hand through her sleep ruffled curls as Pote left. She turned back to James as he spoke, moving to sit on the bed. She was careful of jostling him too much as she reached to take his offered hand between her own. She had meant every word she'd just spoke, having come to many realizations over the last couple of days that she wished she had come to earlier.
"I'm sorry." She said softly, brown eyed gaze focusing on their joined hands before flickering up to find his gaze. If she'd been up sooner, or forwarned someone, this whole fiasco could've been avoided. It was the self-blame rearing its ugly head, a near constant companion in recent months. "You didn't deserve that."
Her thumb smoothed over the back of his hand, his skin rougher than her own. "That's probably for the best, and not just because of them. You need to focus on your healing too." It was said softly, caringly. She didn't want him getting hurt all over again defending her or for any other reason, not when he could be resting and healing.
