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ijustwannawritesomething · 2 years ago

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The Tailor's Son - Part 3

Alejandro X Rudy - rated T - idiots to lovers - canon divergence - Alejandro isn't from Las Almas but he falls in love with the city and Rudy anyways Full story on AO3 because it's pretty long.

<<Part 1 <<Part 2

More and more people come to Rodolfo when they actually need Vargas.

First he thinks it’s because, well he is Vargas second and it’s only natural mundane questions are targeted at him, but it becomes personal real quick. Somehow the contractors call him to ask him about decisions regarding the house. Maybe they’re tired of Vargas putting them on hold, parroting their questions at Rodolfo who magically knows what kind of roof Varga’s little house needs. Suddenly it’s Vargas who is invited to parties with the reminder to bring Rodolfo.

Then, a screenshot from Elena. He has to ask three times to understand what the app it’s taken from does, but he finally gets the idea of anonymous online confessions.

“ What do you guys think, Vargas and Parra. Married or dating ?” the poll reads and a strong 80% peg them as married.

He blinks and looks up if there are any witnesses to his sudden epiphany.

No, just him, leaning on the car parked in the street, waiting for Vargas with a pastry he likes after having an espresso.

“Your father wants another shelf in the back.” Vargas announces as he drops into the passenger seat, dark sunglasses with gold rims hiding his eyes. They go well with the gold chain peeking through his open dress shirt. “Maybe we can do that next Saturday and then head over to Maria? And if we’re running late I’ll pick up the kid and bring them over while you build?”

Rodolfo nods and locks his phone, still in shock, Vargas’ plan cementing his new found knowledge.

“And what do you say, have dinner on the deck? Maybe catch the game?”

“Sure.” Rodolfo croaks out and suddenly 27 years of not-dating make him feel terribly unprepared.

…

“Do you date men?”

Rodolfo knows Garza hasn’t asked for herself but because he is a shy little baby who overthinks ever since Elena has shown him everyone thinks they’re dating.

“Yeah, sometimes. Depends on the person really, but men, women, I don’t make a difference.” Vargas voice carries over from his locker, followed by the sound of ripping velcro. “Why?”

“Oh, just rumors.” Garza deflects. She’s the only person on base to beat Vargas' pit record so she has a bit more leeway - still not as much as Rodolfo he’s been told.

“What rumors?”

“Rumors, you know?”

…

Rodolfo switches the battery pack of the drill he’s been using. It’s actually his day off, but instead he’s up at an unholy hour building Vargas’ kitchen.

Why?

He doesn’t even know himself.

His whole life he's swam with the current and suddenly it feels like he has to make a choice. Or maybe - didn’t he make his choice months ago?

When he took Vargas cliff jumping with his sister or brought him to every Friday night get together?

When he picks him up from his father’s shop or has coffee ready by the time Vargas finishes his skincare routine?

When he drives Vargas around because the man can’t control a manual to save his life?

When something on base breaks and Rodolfo is called, the Privates usually say something like: “Colonel Vargas sent me”?

Or when he took over the renovation of Vargas’ little farm, first with the help of the people he knew, then contractors and now he’s doing the finishing touches by himself?

Hell, he even has a key to the place. And so far he’s slept in the large double bed while Vargas took the camp bed.

He calls Maria.

…

Training with the Fuerza Especiales had been hell.

Rodolfo hadn’t been so keen to do it, but Vargas had insisted.

The training was rough and he missed the mountains and sparse vegetation of Las Almas. He missed his home, his mother’s cooking, the volleyball league which had established itself on base. He missed helping out in his father’s shop, listening to the gossip. But most of all, he missed Vargas.

He missed their quiet nights out on his deck, the way Vargas planned and schemed while Rodolfo drove him wherever he needed to be.

Their communication had been sparse, both of them terrible texters.

But finally, Rodolfo got a shiny new rubber patch to put on his gear and he’s on his back to Las Almas.

Back home.

…

Maria had cackled when he showed her the screenshot Elena had sent him.

“So you think the same?”

Maria laughed even harder, picking up their kid and leaving the room.

“You are a certified idiot, Rodolfo.”

…

“Farm or base?” Vargas asks as they close the SUV’s doors. They had stayed behind to help clean up the tables and chairs, Vargas now wiping at a bit of baby spit on his mauve coloured shirt.

“Alejandro.” Rodoflo breaths out.

Varga’s head snaps up at the unfamiliar address.

“Yes?”

“Are we married?” Rodolfo curses himself, he meant to say “dating”, but he also wanted to refer to the cursed screenshot Elena has sent him.

Varas blinks. “No. Not yet at least.” And then he laughs.

Rodolfo swallows hard and starts the car.

“Are you alright?”

“Peachy.” He rasps out.

“Would you like to date?”

Rodolfo slams on the breaks, Vargas catching himself on the dashboard.

He gathers his courage and looks to his passenger, Vargas fully turned towards him.

“I don’t think that’s allowed.” He finally says.

“I know the regulations, Rudy. I break them every day.” It's true, the base would still be a patch of dirt if Vargas wasn't so good at rule bending.

A shiver runs down his spine at the nickname.

“Well… I mean I built your kitchen.”

“You did, beautifully so.”

“And you spent more time with my parents than I do…”

“They are amazing.”

“So I think-”

Rodolfo does not think because his face is turned and kissed.

…

When he wakes up, he reminds himself he needs to redo the bedroom baseboards as well as they are right in his line of sight.

Then he reminds himself that he went home with his boyfriend and they spent the night together. Like a couple.

“God I hate Martha’s limoncello .” Vargas - no Alejandro - grunts behind him and right after he presses himself into Rodoflo’s bare back. “Why didn’t I stop at three?”

“Because you don’t learn.”

Rodolfo’s heart is pounding. Last night was not a dream. Just like that he went from single to dating his commanding officer. But Alejandro’s hands just feel oh so right on body. There was never a doubt after they went home together. The kisses, the touches, the moans.

“Did Elena send you the poll as well?” he asks, Alejandro still nursing his limoncello hangover, breathing through the splitting headache.

In a minute Rodolfo will get up and make him some coffee, the only appliance up and running in the kitchen.

“Poll?” Alejandro groans.

“The ‘ Are Vargas and Parra dating or married ’ one?” He reaches for his phone and shows him the picture on lowest brightness.

“Oh, that one.” Alejandro chuckles. “I made that myself.”

<<Part 1 <<Part 2

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #alejandro x rodolfo

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ijustwannawritesomething · 2 years ago

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The Tailor's Son - Part 2

Alejandro X Rudy - rated T - idiots to lovers - canon divergence - Alejandro isn't from Las Almas but he falls in love with the city and Rudy anyways Full story on AO3 because it's pretty long.

<< Part 1 >> Part 3

Life is good.

The construction site is busy, Rodolfo denies the apartment the military offers him and moves back into his childhood bedroom. It’s a delight.

Now it’s him who makes his family breakfast and after he takes Elena to school. Their little monkey is still shy and doesn’t speak much. She clings to Rodolfo and he takes her everywhere the older kids have taken him when he was little whenever he has the time.

The mountains are dangerous now, and every kid in Las Almas knows you shouldn’t go to the river alone. The school is bigger, reconstructed, and they mostly hang around the streets now, where the Cartel has easy access to them.

Sometimes Rodolfo drives Elena when he heads out to the compound, windows rolled down, horrible pop music playing from her phone. He knows she likes that he’s the only other quiet kid the Parra family has. Rodolfo never bothers her with too many questions or tries to get her to speak.

When Elena’s in school he checks on his father in his shop.

More often than not he gets roped into helping him one way or another. He has taught Rodolfo to sew as he did all of his kids, though he tells Rodolfo the military has made him too rough. Still he lets him sew button holes.

If he’s not with his family or the compound he roams the streets of Las Almas, greets old friends and makes new ones, speaks to the kids in the streets and kneels down next to elders who tell him stories he’s heard a hundred times before.

“I know this is your home.” Vargas bites out one day when he arrives a few minutes before lunch. ”But this isn’t a vacation.”

Rodolfo smiles softly at his Commander. There is a lot of hurry up and wait going on, running security for the compound slowly shreds Vargas’ nerves it seems.

“You don’t understand.” He replies with a soft smile.

“No I don’t.” Vargas replies harshly.

“You will.” Rodolfo says, not elaborating because he knows it annoys Vargas.

What Rodolfo is doing is slowly taking back his city, weaseling his way back into the nooks and cracks the cancer of the Cartel hasn’t reached yet. The outpost will need the town's support or else they might fully subscribe to the Cartel. Vargas will understand, in time.

A few days later, Vargas gets a glimpse of what it means to live in Las Almas.

They get a report of civilians at the gate, the first thing to be constructed and comically useless amid the rest of temporary homes and containers.

“I’ll handle it.” Rodolfo says, gladly leaving the stuffy tent. Vargas, in a terrible mood all morning, follows him, his steps angry and his shoulders ready for trouble.

“Rudy!” The youngest of the five men shouts as they approach.

“Narvaez!” He calls back.

“Is that the Parras boy?” Fernando Hernandez has asked the question. He’s almost ninety and he once taught Rodolfo how to fish. While his hearing is still excellent his eyesight is getting worse. Vargas diverts to the guards at the gate, weary but not alarmed. All the men in the beat up truck are older than fifty, dads looking to evaluate the construction site if anything. They don’t mean trouble.

Rodolfo is greeted by hugs and slaps on the back. All fathers - grandfathers now - from his neighborhood, curious.

“Ai, Rudy, you have grown.” Matias remarks, now looking up at him.

Rodolfo grins.

“What are you building there, boy?” Fernando asks, walking closer on his stick.

“A military base.” He says and offers his arm to the old man. With a nod of his head he beckons the men to follow him. There isn’t much there yet, nothing classified to see. The airfield has been completed first, the administrative building and barracks can be recognised if you know what you’re looking at.

As he leads them through the open gate, Vargas approaches them, sunglasses tucked in his dress shirt, and an unreadable expression on his face.

“This is Colonel Vargas,” he introduces. “Colonel, this is Fernando Hernandez. He was our carpenter.”

Vargas shakes the old man’s hand and they hold on a little too long, staring at one another. Hernandez has been a pillar of the community ever since, weary of the Cartel and outsider activity.

As quick as Vargas is to anger, the easy he is to pacify.

These men aren’t spies or Cartel.

They are Rodolfo’s people, the people of Las Almas. The people he wants to work with in the future. The people he wants to protect.

Suddenly his bright smile is back and he gladly shakes hands and gives them a better tour over the compound than he has given high brass.

That night he wordlessly slaps the working material for beginner English into Rodolfo’s chest.

...

His mother brings home gossip.

Of course she does.

Las Almas is wooed by the handsome Colonel who was seen in town just yesterday. Even Fernando Hermanz had seemed impressed. Maybe they should invite him to dinner some time? The other women want Rodolfo to ask if he’s married, as no ring has been spotted thus far.

Rodolfo grins into his cereal bowl, sitting on the living room floor in front of the TV in just a t-shirt and boxers as if he was twelve. For the first time he feels like the whole outpost idea could be a good one.

…

“Rodolfo!” Lula wails and throws herself dramatically onto the counter of his father’s shop. “Say something!”

“She looks lovely, no?” Rodolfo says with a smile and a wink at Isabella who is standing on the little stool while he pins the hem of her dress. It’s a family heirloom, taken in and hemmed many, many times over the years and despite her aunt’s protests, Isabella wishes to wear it. Her mother has worn it to Maria’s wedding, he recognises it from the pictures.

“But it makes her look-”

“Be quiet!” her sister chides and swats her with her purse.

It’s a sunday afternoon and he has found himself once more in his father’s shop, making the small adjustments on the dress while his father helps another customer in the front part of the shop. He can hear two men speak but hasn’t had a chance to glance through the curtain. The women of the Castro family usually bring gossip and drama; he’d never admit it, but he loves each of the three women who are grandmother, mother and aunt but don’t look more than five years apart, lips painted in red, dark hair prettily done, nails long and sharp. Isabella will inherit their timeless beauty no doubt, though many tears had been shed at the bleached buzz cut she now sports.

“It’s the Colonel.” Yesenia whispers with a conspiratorial grin at her youngest, Isabella’s aunt, married and divorced five times, all to men in the big city. Lula perks up from the counter that is used to cut fabrics and smoothes out her dress.

Her mother closes the curtain that separates them from the sale floor and eyes her daughter critically.

“Rudy!” Lula hisses. “Tell me about him.”

“Don’t tell her about him.” Isabella giggles.

“He’s your Colonel, right?”

“He’s not my Colonel.” Rodolfo says, his back turned towards the adult women as he stands and grins at Isabella who giggles.

“You know what I mean, Parra!” Lula hisses in the same tone she had used to make him hand over his homework or switch channels.

He sticks a pin back into the cushion onto his arm and offers his hand to Isabella, who steps down and twirls.

“It’s perfect, Rudy! Thank you!”

He smiles at her and lets her family flock around to inspect what he adjusted so far. While they fuss around her he steps towards the curtain and glances at his father who wraps up taking measurements, no doubt he will step towards the counter on the other side of the curtain to place the Colonel’s order.

Alejandro Vargas looks like he belongs in his father’s shop, dress shoes, slacks and white button down with the top one undone, his hair a bit more loose than he usually gels it for work.

He’s a handsome man and Las Almas hopes to make this bachelor stay.

Lula slams into him, nails digging in his arm, following his gaze.

“He’s mine, Parra!” She threatens.

“He’s my coworker.” He replies, offended.

“Three of my husbands were my coworkers, too.”

Rodolfo swallows a snide remark and turns back to Isabella.

“Can’t you do something about her chest?” Grandma Castro asks, her hands gesturing towards her own voluptuous bosom.

“Grandma!” Isabella whines, her own mother torn between outrage and support.

“I am just saying, with hair like a boy we need to make sure you can find a nice young man…” she trails off and smiles guilty at Rodolfo. He presses his lips together; the elders of Las Almas mean no harm, yet they don’t always understand.

Colonel Alejandro Vargas thanks his father sincerely, suit jacket thrown over his left arm as he grasps Rodolfo’s father’s hand in both of his.

The tailor’s son turns away from the curtain to help Isabella out of the dress.

...

The base comes together quite nicely.

Rodolfo’s English… not so much.

Still he powers through the lessons, not for him, not for Vargas but for Las Almas. His home.

If learning a stupid second language means he can stay where his heart lies a little longer, he’ll do it.

He studies at his mother’s kitchen table when he’s not at the base. She has to wipe away a few tears with her apron at the sight of her once small boy now all grown up. Elena teases him, her English surprisingly good.

“ I think that’s stupid .” he tells Vargas with a horrible accent the next time the Colonel makes an outrageous demand. The kids would definitely not give up the dirt field where he himself grew up playing all sorts of games. The kids of Las Almas need the space more than the base needs parking lots.

Vargas stares at him for a moment, then barks out a laugh. “Looks like you’re ready for the next conference with brass.”

...

“I think I get what you meant about Las Almas.” Vargas tells him one afternoon.

They sit in the bare brickwork which will house their offices one day. It’s remotely cooler than their tent, though they don’t have electricity yet to set up the fans they have in the tents.

Rodolfos says nothing, just raises his eyebrows and fans himself with the stack of papers he should be reading.

No matter how often Vargas goes toe to toe with their superiors, they love him enough to let him pick the base’s crew. Now they’re rifling through various files to pick and choose who would move in with them in three months.

“Las Almas has a really tight knit community. Everyone knows everyone.”

Rodolfo nods in agreement.

“It was good to let the men inspect the base. They’re much friendlier now. And if we want to fight against the Cartel, we need the town’s support. We need to show them we care.”

I care . Rodolfo thinks. There is no point arguing with an outsider, Vargas has yet to take bags of cocaine out of tiny children’s hands before he sends them back to their mothers. But the Colonel is on a good track.

Vargas opens another file, then snorts. He closes the file again and looks up at Rodolfo, grinning.

“It reminds me a bit of my family. The tailor apparently has a son, it seems like the whole town is keen to finally get him married. Very handsome from what I’ve been told.”

Rodolfo makes a noncommittal noise.

“You know him?”

“The tailor?”

“Yes.”

Vargas' eyes betray him, he gives him a critical once-over, Rodolfos worn out sweater does not speak for him owning any fancy menswear.

“I know his son better.” He adds, just because he can.

“The handsome son everyone wants to get married to?”

“Yes.”

“Heard he’s in the army as well.”

“He is.”

“Might put a request in for him?” Vargas hums. “Might be glad working closer to home.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Rodolfo says, finding his water bottle painfully empty, using the excuse. He won’t leave Vargas in the dark for too long, he’s too nice for that. Vargas lets the kids skate on the new and smooth asphalt of the base and that alone gives him enough points to be invited to one of the Friday night meals of his quarter.

Rodolfo just wants to enjoy the prank his village has pulled on the newcomer a bit longer.

…

Isabella looks marvelous.

His father is pleased Rodolfo still knows how to mark alterations on dresses. Since the dress is older than Rodolfo and Isabella together his father has done the honor of altering it, fearing for the delicate fabric in Rodolfo’s rough hands.

Rodolfo on the other hand finds using a sewing machine as natural as using a gun. He knows all the movements by heart, yet he’s glad his father has made exceptional work, the dress ready to be worn by another generation of proud Las Almas women.

Isabella’s grandmother and grandfather look around the front of the shop, Lula absent.

Isabella’s mother has tears in her eyes, as a mother should. Rodolfo smiles at them, swirling slightly on the backless chair his father keeps around for short breaks he needs more and more often now.

The bell of the shop doesn’t take away from Isabella marveling herself in the mirror, her grandmother’s pearls around her neck. It’s a bit much for a graduation, but she’s the only Castro child and Las Almas likes to go over the top for its children.

“Rodolfo, would you?” His father asks, eyes damp. Surely he thinks of Elena and if he’ll ever have the honor of tailoring a wedding dress for her.

“Sure, papa .” He says, rises and presses a kiss on his father’s temple. How his mother and father have children who tower over them by at least one head is a miracle to most people.

“Ah, Colonel!” Grandmother Castro says loudly, a sign for her daughter to text Lula to get to the shop as soon as possible if she wants to be the one to bag the latest bachelor. “What brings you here?”

“Picking up my order.” Vargas is comfortable, confident. While he is an outsider he’s open and welcoming and Las Almas reciprocates.

“Then you might be in luck, my daughter will be here shortly. You haven’t had the chance to meet yet, right?”

Vultures . Rodolfo thinks amused at the Castro’s less than subtle attempts to matchmake.

A privilege that comes with age , his mother had once told him. He can’t wait for the target to be off his back if he’s honest. Most well meaning elders haven’t stopped introducing him to daughters and granddaughters, no, they added sons and grandsons to the list, much to Rodolfo’s dismay.

José had been empathetic, his Job as doctor in the big city made him equally popular at gatherings.

“No. But I had rather hoped to run into the tailor’s son one day. Heard a lot about him already.”

The statement hangs heavily in the air, the clock ticking loudly while laughter and chatter from the streets filter through the thin glass into the shop.

The Castro grandparents catch on, catch themselves with more grace than Rodolfo has imagined. Yet they share an irritated glance.

“Oh, why, yes, Rodolfo is a very handsome young man. But haven’t you seen him-” Grandfather Castro starts, just as Vargas echoes: “Rodolfo?”

The tailor’s son takes this as his sign to resolve the situation.

He steps through the curtains that parts his father’s shop.

“Colonel.” He greets.

“Parra.” Vargas scrunches his eyebrows together, shoving the sunglasses he’s just taken off into the breast pocket of his shirt.

“You didn’t know our Rodolfo was the tailor’s son?” Grandmother Castro asks, her grip around her husband's arm white. The whole town would know by nightfall. The bachelorettes would be devastated by what the Castros had discovered.

“I did not.” Vargas admits. His eyes gleam in a way that tells Rodolfo he’s won several laps around the base.

“Would you like to try on your new suit?” He asks instead, turning towards the closet to pick out the dark blue masterpiece his father has created.

“With pleasure.”

...

Rodolfo tests the weight of the backpack, finding it adequate and heaving it onto his shoulders.

“Ready, Colonel?”

Vargas grunts. He wears his combat trousers and a worn out shirt, sunglasses in place. He has rolled up the sleeves a bit, a testimony to his fashion sense. Where Rodolfo looks like a soldier, he looks like a model wearing soldier’s clothing.

Rodolfo has promised him to show him around the mountains and Elena is waiting at the gate of the almost finished base.

People from the town have been urged to apply to become staff already, Rodolfo himself has made rounds through the different quarters, advertising the military benefits.

“My sister.” He introduces Elena who is a lanky teen, yet she shares the dark hair and solid presence of her brothers.

“My pleasure.” Vargas says and nods.

And thus the tour begins. Elena knows most of what Rodolfo tells the Colonel, always a few steps ahead but never out of sight.

„We used to smoke weed here.“ Rodolfo says and nudges the leftovers of old campfires in a nook in the stone wall. „Or cigarettes, whatever we would come by.“

Vargas snorts.

„Didn’t take you for a rule breaker.“

„It’s not rule breaking if it’s never forbidden.“

He knows the Colonel rolls his eyes.

They continue the trail, the way much shorter than child-Rodolfo remembers. His small legs used to burn from the exhaustion and heat, now he hardly breaks a sweat despite the midday sun.

They pass some more landmarks, the best spot to watch the sunset, the spot where Mateo has broken both of his arms.

Finally they arrive at a steep cliff, water gurgling underneath.

„And what is here?“ Vargas asks.

„Here.“ Rodolfo says, puts the backpack down and unties his shoes. „Here we jump.“

...

Half of the men and women who arrive at the base are former Fuerza Especiales, Vargas knows them all by name and they fit right in.

They’re far from being complete, but it’s nice to have others around.

Keeps the Colonels searching eyes off of him.

…

Rodolfo travels back to the fort he is still officially stationed at until the Las Almas base is completed. He takes his English test in a stuffy room with a pen that doesn’t write more often than it does. The Sergeant who collects the paper and determines whether or not he passes, winces at most of Rodolfo‘s answers.

„Well.“ he says and slams several stamps onto his paperwork. „Not the best work I’ve seen, but…” he shrugs and hands the certificate over. “Send the Colonel my regards.”

Rodolfo is sure he’s only passed because of Varga’s death stare, but he is content to be the second in command of his home. He’s happy because it feels like all the pieces have fallen into place.

...

“You should organize a party. Invite the village.” Rodolfo tells Vargas as they shower.

The washrooms have been completed first, at the team’s request, their voices echoing through the otherwise empty room.

Vargas hits the button of the shower again, cold water splashing down.

“Why.”

“Why not?”

Vargas groans.

“It’s important to the people.” Rodolfo elaborates. “We’re in their home.” He says we , even though he still considers Vargas an outsider.

“Parra.” Vargas sighs and joins Rodolfo at the low benches in front of the open shelves where they keep their things. “I respect your opinion but I don’t see how inviting your town is appropriate.”

“Oh,” Rodolfo grins, drying his hair with a towel his mother has sent. “I’ll show you.”

…

Rodolfo finally moves out of his childhood bedroom for the second time, Elena glad for the additional space. With four kids, privacy was usually a luxury few Las Almas families could afford.

He paints the room with her, his father watching from the kitchen door. He’s not a handy man, but he has made them lemonade and snacks and that’s enough.

…

“Your Colonel.” Maria begins. Rodolfo has long accepted that Vargas will be an extension of him. At least in the eyes of Las Almas.

“My Colonel?” Rodolfo prompts, his face nuzzled in the fine baby hair of his sleeping godchild.

“Bring him around one day, yes?”

Rodolfo hums.

…

“Now you’re just the only gay man in the regiment.” Vargas grins and slaps the paperwork for Rodolfo to sign on the table. “Fluent in spoken and written English.”

“A lie.” Rodolfo says as he clicks his pen. He hopes we won’t have to speak his new language for a while.

“My mother will want to celebrate.”

“As she should.”

“We could throw a party, celebrate the base and my promotion.”

“You’re not letting up with this party idea.”

Rodolfo shrugs and stuffs the papers back into the envelope to mail them back.

“It’s for the people.”

“The people.”

“Our people.”

Vargas hums.

…

Vargas jumps.

Rodolfo has had a 70:30 bet going on with himself whether or not he’d do it.

All the younger kids are taught to jump as a rite of passage. At least they were when the mountains and the river were still safe. Rodolfo has promised Elena to do it, keep it secret from their parents. Now, both she and Vargas will become children of the valley.

He’s done explaining to Elena to keep her legs straight and not to be afraid, throwing the waterproof backpack down first. He jumped a few days earlier after checking the depth and has deemed it safe.

“See you on the other side.” He grins at the Colonel as he steps towards the cliff with his baby sister. He jumps first, then Elena who yelps. Rodolfos swims toward her, catching her arm to keep her safe from the strong current.

Vargas hesitates a moment, then jumps as well.

“Just like in basic.” He coughs as he resurfaces.

Rodolfo pulls both of them in, knocking their foreheads together.

“Now,” he proclaims solemnly. “You’re adults.”

…

Vargas turns heads wherever he goes.

He goes to the mini market at 9am every Saturday which has more and more women line up, just to “enjoy the view” as Lula has put it, her plunging neckline telling a different story.

He’s dressed a bit nicer than everyone else, casual slacks, dress shirts or plain T-shirts which still give the impression they’re of better quality than the usual store bought clothes. Rodolfo’s father appreciates the presence of the Colonel, Vargas in his shop more often than not, not only to spend his pay check but also to drink espresso out of tiny cups and flip through men’s fashion magazines.

He’d be a good match for the tailor’s son, the town agrees, though Lula and some other women insist that he may swing both ways and there is still hope for all the unwed women.

Rodolfo doesn’t care as much, he is glad his father found a friend who makes him feel less like he doesn’t belong to Las Almas, the city of sweat and dirt. And he’s glad Vargas wants to understand his home.

…

Rodolfo’s mother cries, his father cries, José sends his regards from the big city. His other two siblings make fun of him in his dress uniform.

He had insisted that it’s enough to have the Colonel do the honors of promoting him instead of traveling back to their actual fort and so he’s becoming a Sergeant Major amidst kids playing hopscotch and several barbecue grills smoking. The soldiers they’ve requested so far clap politely, some already holding fizzy drinks and bowls of food. Varga’s official announcement of Rodolfo’s rank is interrupted by a screeching test of the speakers they’ve brought from the city.

All in all, it’s the best promotion slash opening a base Rodolfo could have wished for.

He stands still for the obligatory picture with his parents, his entire family, Maria and their spouse and then just Elena, just his godchild. He feels like a prop as the people by his side change with the click of the camera. He’s ready to break away and change out of his uniform when Vargas throws his arm around his shoulders.

It’s Rodolfo’s favorite picture of that day.

Vargas holds up the peace sign, Rodolfo’s face red from the sun (!), both laughing at the camera.

All in all, life is good.

…

“My, I envy you.” Vargas admits one night, them touring the compound one last time before the official visit from brass. “Your people love you.”

“They’ll love you too.” Rodolfo’s say, a bit too quickly and maybe there is heat on his face, but words aren’t his strength.

“You think so?” The Colonel stops.

“They will.” Rodolfo says, staring at his boots. “I’ll show you.”

…

Finally he brings Vargas around to his quarter.

They are a little late, the sun has already set and the meal has begun, but they have a base to run with new people and equipment arriving every day.

They park the SUV down the street, Rodolfo still in his work clothes but Vargas had insisted on changing. He’s in slacks and a white button down, freshly showered.

They round the corner and the assembled people of Las Alams give a relieved “aaaah” when they spot them. Rodolfo had asked his mama if it’s fine if he brought the Colonel just this once, his mama had told her friends who had told their families and soon everyone had asked Rodolfo if he was really, finally bringing his Colonel around.

Vargas tries with exactly two people to be formal, then he lets himself be dragged towards a table by Lula. Rodolfo is intercepted by his mama who quizzes him on what he had to eat this week and fills his plate to the brim.

People flock towards Vargas, the men apprehensive and their questions hidden tests. Rodolfo is quickly roped into being the keeper for a round of soccer and he lets some balls through, to keep the kid’s spirits high. When he was fourteen he was a win-condition, but they don’t need to know that.

Maria rescues him after his third dance with the grandmothers and hands him his godchild, over tired and fussy.

They find their old terra cotta pot and sit, reminiscent of old time.

“He fits right in.” Maria remarks.

The crowd has died down, the smaller kids in bed already, small groups formed at the half empty tables. Vargas stands with a group of smoking men, a toddler in his arms. The kid drools on his shoulder, out like a light.

“He does.” Rodolfo agrees.

“Your Colonel.” Maria repeats and waggles their eyebrows.

Rodolfo rolls his eyes, kisses his godchild who makes a desperate pout, eyes wet.

“Our Colonel.” He corrects.

…

“There is a farm for sale.” Rodolfo tells Vargas. “In the south.”

“Oh?” Vargas looks up from his papers, slightly less shitty coffee half empty.

“I can take you there this weekend.”

“Worried about my safety?” Vargas says with a wink.

Rodolfo does not blush, he’s sure about that.

“You’re just a terrible driver and we don’t need the transmission replaced, again.” He says it with less heat than he wants to, but he’s glad he’s shifted the topic to Vargas shitty driving instead.

Not that the Colonel might think Rodolfo has put his feelers out after the other has mentioned investing in real estate. Or that he thinks Rodolfo prefers to accompany him instead of sending him off alone.

“Then let’s drive down in the morning.”

Rodolfo nods, twisting the drawstrings of his shorts.

“ Mama will want us to come have lunch after.”

“It’s a date.”

…

Vargas gets along well with Rodolfo’s father but even better with Elena. He reads her essays for school and gives her good advice. Elena doesn’t speak much but Vargas mentions her Spanish essays might get her a stipend in the big city if she wants to.

Rodolfo is glad, he’s never cared much for school himself.

It doesn’t take long and Rodolfo’s mother calls him her fourth son.

…

Vargas is immediately in love with the small, run down farm. It’s a bit too big for a single man and a bit too small for a family which is why it has been empty for so long.

“The roof needs to be patched.” Rodolfo states, hands on his hips.

“Yeah, but it’s perfect otherwise.”

“You need to take out half the walls and replace the pipes. They burst during winter.”

“But other than that, I like it.”

“You might need to replace the windows or heating will become expensive.”

“I could buy curtains.”

Vargas follows Rodolfo through the house, the latter dutifully pointing out every mistake and flaw. Vargas loves it either way, especially the large patio where he plans to barbecue for everyone and their mother.

“Do you even know how to fix a roof?” Rodolfo asks as they close the car doors, basking in the cool of the aircon.

“No, but I can learn.” His smile is bright and winning and Rodolfo just knows the whole town will show up and help their Colonel build his dream house, before the ink of his signature has dried on the papers.

…

It’s a year into their new and fancy base when Rodolfo brings up getting the paperwork ready to become an official training facility. Even if the boys and girls don’t stay in the military they’re off the streets, out of the Cartel’s hands for another six months.

Vargas is hesitant at first, but finally agrees when he’s asked seven times in six minutes at Elena’s graduation. The kids are young and motivated and they love their village, the Colonel just has to say yes.

…

“Why do you call him that?” Ramirez asks.

“Because, he is the Colonel, no?”

“Yeah,” the Sergeant replies and hands him a tray. “But you’ve been working together for so long. Why do you only call him Vargas or Colonel?”

Rodolfo is silent at that. It has never crossed his mind to call Vargas anything besides that.

“And you spent every weekend fixing his shitty house.” Garza throws in. “I’ve spent like two hours with him at the FE and he’s offered me to call him Alejandro like thrice.”

“Good for you.” Rodolfo says, irritated.

But wait, it gets worse.

<< Part 1 >> Part 3

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #alejandro x rodolfo #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #fanfiction

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ijustwannawritesomething · 2 years ago

Text

The Tailor's Son - Part 1

Alejandro X Rudy - rated T - idiots to lovers - canon divergence - Alejandro isn't from Las Almas but he falls in love with the city and Rudy anyways Full story on AO3 because it's pretty long.

>>Part 2 >>Part 3

Rodolfo’s parents weren’t rich, but he had never felt it.

He wore his older brother’s clothes like all kids in their quarter did wear their older sibling’s.

He played with what they had, mostly a worn out soccer ball, his cousin’s dolls on occasion, and kicked empty cans over the patchy road towards their school. Most of the time they climbed the mountains and fought with sticks or played in the shallow of the river in their underwear, splashing water, laughing.

His backpack was patched up several times, but it held his few notebooks and the tin can with the pencils and it dried up quickly when the rain caught him on his way home.

Most of their money went towards José’s education in the city. They were all really proud of him and Rodolfo didn’t want the people in the big city to think his brother came from a dirty little town. He gladly wore slightly too small sweaters and too short pants if it meant they could afford a new uniform for his brother. All the kids in the village ran around in worn out and well loved clothes, why should he be ashamed? The people of Las Almas did not have much, but they loved their town and they loved each other.

I am rich . Rodolfo thought often, mostly Friday nights when the people of his quarter dragged out chairs and tables and gathered in the inner courtyard, huddled around the flickering color TV to watch telenovelas or soccer. The food was shared, the drinks were shared and the older Rodolfo and the other kids got, the more often they were snuck a sip of the adult’s drinks.

He would sit back with Maria, his best friend, against the big terracotta flower pot, basked in the glow of the chain of lights (the one José had brought back from the city), blink into the stars and feel loved .

...

When Rodolfo turned nineteen he would finally have to leave the rocky mountains and winding rivers behind. For the first time in his life he would leave Las Almas. The time where he had fallen off the truck bringing them onto the farm in the mountain to help with harvest didn’t count because he was barely conscious to realize he had traveled to the big city and its hospital. Before, he had never gone farther than the adjacent towns. He felt nervous, even though José had told him adventure awaited him.

José visited when his tight university schedule allowed it, they did not have the money or the time to all go to see him. Rodolfo smiled. José was smart and he studied hard. He would become a doctor one day and help the sick people in the village. Maybe he would even go to France to become an even better doctor his mother had told him with pride.

Rodolfo traveled through the cobblestone streets without hurry, his fingers stroking over the walls of the houses he had played inside or around. They had asked him what he wanted to become so often in the past few months, the question echoed in his mind when he tried to sleep. Rodolfo had liked his life a lot, he had not intended to change it. He loved breakfast with his mother and his baby sister, Elena, his mother’s hand gentle in his hair. He loved the last minutes of a school day, Maria’s smile bright and full of mischief, waiting for the bell to ring. He loved running through the mountains or piling into a car to help whatever neighbor was in need of help. Over the years the kids of Las Almas had graduated from pulling weeds and fetching tools to patching roofs and building fences. They had all learned hard work was rewarded with a tasty meal and the company of his friends. And they all had learned how to keep a car up and running and that family was the greatest gift on earth. They grew as they went, slipping easily into their parent’s trades.

Maybe that was the reason why they asked him so often what he wanted to do and not the others.

Rodolfo paused to estimate the arch of the soccer ball flying into his direction. He kicked it back without thinking, the ball bouncing off a street lamp into the makeshift goal, the younger kid’s a chorus of shouts of awe and a mix of “Rodolfo! Rodolfo!”. They wanted to play with him one last time, but he had a bus to catch. They knew him as the oldest boy in the quarter, the boy they would come to when they needed a good keeper or had scrapped their knees. Rodolfo was always there and they did not understand why that had to change.

He sighed, turning onto the familiar path home.

The limed house would always be his home, no matter which path life would lead him down.

At the bottom of the slight incline his sister waited on the fence post, slipping onto his back with ease.

Little monkey , they called Elena. She was limber and quick but just as shy and quiet.

“Did you say goodbye?” his mother asked, quickly rearranging the flowers on the breakfast table to hide her tears.

“I will not be gone forever, mama .” He said, but his voice was thick.

...

Rodolfo did not like commanding officers.

It wasn’t anything personal, it was just the way things were. Like the sun traveling through the sky, it was certain they would be introduced to a new commanding officer by the end of the month. And it was the twenty-third of June already.

The same way they had ruined Las Almas, the Cartel had ruined the military.

Each man in command had held a weapon for a few months tops, had never felt the heat of gun fire and had never spent more than a day outside the base.

They were all the same, Rodolfo knew as he stuffed his hands in his worn out hoodie. Part of his paycheck went home, but not so much he couldn’t afford new clothes. He was just so used to wearing what he had, what he was handed, that he never bothered to buy something new. His position was almost too high to dress so sloppily, but his superiors hardly noticed between packing and unpacking their bags.

Rodolfo nodded, dismissed and went to tell the team who would be in charge of them this week, looking away as they made their bets.

...

Las Almas was different from the rest of Mexico.

He was sure of it.

In basic training he met men and women from all over the country but none of their hearts were rooted between warm soda and aching muscles, the smell of woman’s perfume and the feeling of loving kisses pressed onto his cheeks by aunts, mothers, cousins. None of them could marvel at the night sky like he could and his team called him dreamer with an affectionate smile that reminded him of his teacher, the only one he, his brothers and friends had known through their school years.

He missed Las Almas dearly, but he knew this was the place he had to be. For now.

...

He came home from the big military base for the holidays, he always did.

So did José and his father.

His mother cried happy tears when their small car made its way up the hill and she cried as if they had died when they needed to leave. Rodolfo hated to leave and shed more than one tear into his father’s suit jacket. He hated the airport, the busy people around them, the military plane waiting for him.

His father would pinch his cheek, telling him to be good but his eyes would be equally wet.

...

Rodolfo turned twenty six and Maria got married in Las Almas’ church.

It stung because Rodolfo knew how the whole village would be celebrating, how the excitement would carry them through the looming presence of the Cartel while he would be sitting in a stuffy transport. His mother called him and relayed the whole wedding day to him. Yes the veil was handmade, yes, Maria looked very, very happy, yes, the food and drinks were good, nana had asked if he ate enough. He couldn’t attend the wedding because he shipped out hours after it but he sent a card and some cash and a couple of months later he held a tiny bundle in his arms, in the cool of the church of Las Almas and cried als his old teacher arranged them around the baptismal font. He, Maria, their partner, all the parents and grandparents and of course his godchild, so tiny he was afraid he’d squish it. He wore his formal uniform and was introduced to a string of daughters and cousins, all surprisingly single.

His mother had laughed and danced with him and kissed his cheek and Maria pulled him close and didn’t let him go for a long time.

...

Rodolfo rolled his shoulders because he knew what was to come.

His team would bug him to finally submit the form that would give the position to him, but Rodolfo knew they’d shred it in a minute. He didn’t speak English, a requirement for serving in the higher ranks. He had passable grades in school, he could do math alright and knew how to read a map, but the most English he knew were the swear words they had picked up through television. Languages had never interested him because he had lived in Las Almas his whole life, and they all spoke his tongue, so…

He studied Alejandro Vargas for a moment, long enough to notice the fine threads the man wore. Unsuitable for the field, unless a commander was paid significantly more to constantly replace the delicate clothes. The light jacked seemed store bought but the dress shirt he wore underneath, Rodolfo guessed it was tailored. Why a man would wear something like that to a place like their base, which was made out of dirt and dirt alone, was a mystery to him.

The meeting was dismissed and Rodoflo gave Vargas a week, less if the plumbing broke again and they had to use the porta potties.

...

The only reason José had been able to study in the city was because of his father’s connections. The school of Las Almas could not compare to other state schools; Rodolfo had gone to class with both his older brothers despite his young age. The lack of teachers and children had all of them work with what was given. None of them were dumb, but José was the first of Las Almas to go to the big city and study. José was the pride of Las Almas, his return celebrated as was Rodolfo’s. They loved Las Almas and Las Almas loved their children.

The surprise that his father would move back to the tiny village shocked them all. But the Cartel had been a blessing in disguise. They brought drugs and crime but they also brought money. And money attracted people and people needed houses and Las Almas grew and grew, Rodolofo’s heart still rooted in the cobblestone and the smell of his grandmother’s apron and bumpy roads he’d learned to drive on.

...

“Alright. Let’s move then.” Vargas said and knocked twice on the table.

Rodolof nodded in acknowledgement and turned to get changed. Another day like so many before. Command ordered and they did obey like they always had. The first mission with Vagas in charge would not be any different he guessed. The plumbing still worked and Vargas did well. It was day four and they bet he broke on day six. Too much dirt around for a man who looked like he showered twice a day.

He wasn’t unhappy with his rank, but unhappy with how Command treated them. Like mules they got sent to do a task, Command never listened to them about how the world really spun. Rodolfo had picked up an old MP3 Player with an English audiobook, but he understood so little it was lost in his locker. If he had stayed in Las Almas, he wouldn’t have to worry about learning English in the first place, he thought more often than not. And Las Almas needed him, he knew it. He could feel it in his bones, in his heart. The Cartel was a cancer that ate his home up, day by day, kid by kid they bribed into running drugs for them.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened again. Vargas walked into the changing room, a wide grin on his face.

“Can’t wait to finally get off my ass.” He admitted to the dumbfounded Rodolfo. He blinked and turned towards his locker to get his gear on. A commander changing to actually run a mission in this godforsaken valley was - a miracle.

“Yeah, it’s been a while.” He finally replied, ripping the velcro of his knee pads open.

A commander running a mission with them.

Don’t get your hopes up . Rodolfo told himself. It’s been two years of wannabes waiting for their promotion into a cushy office job. Vargas it’s any different .

But Varagas was different. He changed into well worn cargo pants and pulled off his tailored shirt - yes Rodolfo had glanced over to check - and took point instead of sending some poor Private in first.

Rodolfo allowed himself a tiny bit of hope at the three month mark when the mandatory period for the next pay grade was over and Vargas was still sitting in his tiny stuffy office, accepting the shitty coffee Rodolfo brought him.

...

Rodolfo’s father was a tailor.

He came from the big city because he had fallen in love with Rodolfo’s mother and for a long time, things had gone well.

But then, less and less people needed a tailor, clothing was cheap and thread was expensive.

Soon, Rodolfo’s father didn’t sew in the atelier but at their kitchen table when a zipper needed to be replaced or a button had fallen off. Sometimes he hemmed pants or a skirt, but he wasted his day away, ready for the doorbell to ring, disappointed when it was his wife’s aunt with a dish.

Their father slowly changed from the quiet, gentle man to a day drunk who’s name had to be called several times to get his attention.

Rodolfo and his siblings knew it was bad when they came home from school one day and their father wasn’t dressed in the three piece suit he insisted on wearing, but was in his underwear, in front of the TV, asleep.

Rodolfo had been seven when they had decided his father should open his shop again in the big city because - Rodoflo’s father was different. He didn’t know how to maintain a car or build a fence. He couldn’t fix the TV or slaughter chickens. Rodolfo had hugged his father tight that night and had cried without an end.

...

Vargas had made it past the twelve month mark and Rodolfo was quite sure he’d stay despite the shitty coffee and all the dirt.

“So, Parra.” Vargas placed several manila folders in front of Rodolfo. “Have you ever heard of Las Almas?”

Rodolfo spit his coffee back and cackled .

...

Before the army, Rodolfo had been lanky. The cooks and drill sergeants had made it their personal mission to bulk the boy up. He hadn’t been weak by any means, his body hardened by physical labor, but he was just a tad too scrawny for them to send him into the field with good conscience.

“What if you get lost, Parra?” Sergeant Liliana Betancourt had asked him. “You eat like a boy who sits down at his mama’s table each night and gets a good meal. But you’re in the army now! You need to survive without mama’s cooking for a week!”

Rodolfo had swallowed thickly, thinking back of his mother’s delicious cooking and nodded. He did not want to make his mama cry because he got lost and starved.

Instead when he had returned home next, his father had cried.

Papa had tailored a suit for each of them when they had finally stopped growing, now he was fussing around Rodolfo who was twice his former size and cursed the army and every politician under the sun.

“What have they done to my boy?” He had wailed, pinning and measuring.

His mama had laughed, setting another pot on the table to feed the man her boy had become.

As an apology he helped his father remodel the tiny shop he had once owned. The floors needed to be redone and the walls needed new paint and there were so many boxes in his home full of sewing supplies, the four kid’s couldn’t go anywhere without stumbling, but they were finally back together as a family.

They were all back in Las Almas.

...

Vargas could be mean.

Rodolfo thought it was karma for all the bad thoughts he had about him during his first few weeks. Now the Commander grilled him on his lack of promotion on their flight back to his home.

“I have been the only gay man in the regiment. I’ll be the only man who doesn’t speak English as well.” He finally grumbled, crossing his arms and closing his eyes to signal the interrogation was over. Vargas swatted him with the folder of Las Almas, still in the dark about the way Rodolof’s heart beat in sync with the tiny mountain city.

“You would do well in the Fuerza Especiales .”

“I would do well with a nap.”

Vargas snorted. “This isn’t over, Parra. I’ll need someone to run Las Almas with.”

“You can’t run Las Almas.” Rodolfo corrected. “Las Almas has its own spirit.”

Vargas snorted again. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You will.” Rodolfo promised, excitement tingling in his stomach.

He’d finally be home.

...

The Las Almas compound was nothing more than a few landmarks, a few sticks in the ground with red tape fluttering lazily in the wind. Rodolfo had driven them from the closest airport. Vargas had offered to navigate but had quickly quieted down when he realized Parra did not need direction to the sleepy village nestled in the mountains. He had blinked, but followed the other’s example and left his tactical vest in the car. For Vargas this might be a mission, for Parra it was coming home.

Rodolfo had parked in the shade of a lone tree where they had studied the blueprints they had placed on the still warm hood of the SUV.

Vargas had grinned at him and Rodolfo knew why he had practically flown through the ranks. Vargas was a force to be reckoned with. Vargas came here to see and conquer, his grin inciting a rare one of Rodolfo as well.

“We will make history.” He promised Rodolfo.

The other nodded.

“While I wished the Cartel wasn’t in my home, I am glad we are here now.” He let his gaze wander over the planes, imagining the landing strip and buildings. He knew Vargas was studying him.

“I meant it, Parra. We could do this together.”

Rodolfo hummed.

He’d never be one to lead, he preferred to follow and did what had to be done. He didn’t like going toe to toe with high brass and argued like he had seen Vargas do.

“I’ll think of it.” he said, a lame excuse. Vargas would hunt him down personally until his signature was on the application.

Yet Vargas clapped his shoulder and nodded. “Good man.”

>>Part 2 >>Part 3

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #alejandro x rodolfo #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #call of duty #fanfiction

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