#Colombia ch

[doble-d-2]

[k1ng0k]

designs

[geisterland]

And here is my drawing for the final day of this really fun prompt list! A day late because of my poor planning skills, but hey I’m still satisfied with how it came out in the end :3 I did all days I had a definite idea for, and I’m glad I took my time with this one.

It’s Ecuador, Colombia and Venezuela respectively - if not actual siblings, then most definetely flag siblings!

non grainy version ^

[weirdestbooks]

El Istmo (Wattpad | Ao3 | CH HHM Oneshots)

Colombia wasn’t surprised by Panama’s independence. Her connection with him and his country has always been strenuous, especially with the Tapón del Darién between them. And there had been a Panama, years ago, who declared independence back during the original wars with Spain.

That didn’t mean it stung any less. What stung the post was that Panama’s independence didn’t stay between them, didn’t stay as a conflict between them.

Instead, fucking United States had to get involved.

That man didn’t know how to leave anything alone. He thought everyone’s business was his and got involved time and time again. 

Would Panama have gotten her independence without him? Maybe. Colombia didn’t know how things would have played out without that aggravating man getting in the way time and time again, but he didn’t really care.

United States had only gotten involved to further his own interests anyways. He only got involved to build that fucking canal. 

He didn’t care about Panama or her independence. He just cared about himself. 

Colombia hated it. Sure, Panama was her own country now, but she was still Colombia’s daughter, and he hated the idea of Panama being used by United States. He tried to convince her that she was making a mistake. 

He offered her anything to pull her away from United States’ influence. Hell, he even offered to make Panama City his new capital city, to give her a reason to rejoin him, to prove that he did care about her people and would be a good country for them. 

It didn’t work. She left, and United States and her had a child, and now he was off to work building that fucking canal.

Colombia wasn’t the only one concerned by United States’ actions. Chile, his machismo primo and close friend, was also worried about United States’ growing influence. 

“He wants to become an empire, mi primo, and he’ll manipulate whoever he can here to get that,” his cousin had said. If Chile, America’s biggest dumbass, could put that together, then it was becoming glaringly obvious, as if it wasn’t obvious before.

So Colombia walked into this meeting with his daughter with a few ulterior motives. He did want to see her again, to figure out how she was doing, and to establish diplomatic relations… but he also wanted to see how much influence United States had on her. The canal construction was done, but the Canal Zone still lived, and with it, United States’ ability to manipulate Panama.

She had been independent for twenty-one years before Colombia’s government recognized her. United States could have done a lot in that time. Panama was already his fucking protectorate, and everyone and their mother knew what Britain and France did to their protectorates.

“Hello, Panama,” Colombia said as he noticed his daughter enter the room, quickly running a hand through his hair to ensure it looked presentable.

“Hello, Father. Thank you for finally recognizing me. I look forward to finally establishing our borders,” Panama said. Her tone was slightly frosty, but she acknowledged Colombia as her father, which had to be a good thing, right?

“I do as well. But may we talk first? I have not seen you since 1903—”

“When you were begging me to rejoin you. I remember,” Panama said, her gaze so steely for one so young. Colombia felt his face flush.

“Yes, well, that is in the past. You are your own country now,” Columbia said, trying to ignore the awkward air that had developed before clearing his throat. “I know things have not been great between us, but this is supposed to be a new start. Can’t I get to know the person you have become?”

“Fine. But I have things to do after this, and Canal Zone and I have dinner planned this evening, so I would like this not to run too long,” Panama said. Colombia nodded, a small smile spreading on his face.

“I understand. Thank you. Would you like to sign the treaty now so you are not under any pressure to stay if you need to leave?” Colombia asked. Panama smiled.

“I would like that; thank you,” she said before signing the treaty, Colombia doing the same.

“So, how are things between you and my granddaughter?” Colombia asked. Panama gave him an exasperated look.

“Are you only here to talk to me about my relationship with the United States?” she asked.

Yes.

“No, of course not. I want to know you. You are my neighbor and my daughter,” Colombia insisted. Panama raised an eyebrow but answered Colombia anyway.

“Canal Zone is a good friend. She’s my daughter, but because we are so close in age, she is also my friend. She likes learning new things and traveling. When she is not with her father or me, she runs off on some ship passing through her land, off on her next adventure,” Panama said, a fond smile on her face. It was clear she cared for her child.

“Is she with United States often?” Colombia asked. 

“He has her two weeks a month, and I have her the other two unless she’s run off. It…works. United States wouldn’t let her visit during the Great War, but everything changes in times of war,” Panama said, brushing it off. Colombia scowled, mouth moving before his brain.

“What would you know about war? You never fought in it before,” he said. Panama had no idea what war was like. How did she know what changes in times of war? How did she know that United States was doing it for the right reasons and not just to gain more control of the Canal Zone?

“I declared war on los Imperios Centrales!” Panama snapped, standing up from her chair and slamming her hands down on the table. Colombia stood in response, looking down at the young nation, at his daughter.

“I know, but you never fought them. You cannot claim to understand war until you see it, truly see it,” Colombia said, shutting his eyes against the onslaught of memories.

“You can’t claim to understand me when you refused to acknowledge my existence for most of my life!” Panama said, a steely gaze in her eye before she vanished. Colombia sighed, collapsing back down into his chair.

He messed it up again. He really wasn’t good at being a father.

Part of him wanted to blame United States. Part of him wanted to blame himself.

All of him wanted to do better.

He could only hope that things would indeed turn out better in the future.

[yolivirus]

Color palette challenge :333

[dontlookatme121]

here are all of the fics i enjoyed between march 1st-11th 2025! some new, some old. mostly smut so MDNI!

characters: javier peña, joel miller, frankie morales, dave york, marcus acacius

if this works out, i may keep posting these little recaps whenever i have a some recs built up. i wanted to share my thoughts and some quotes instead of just listing the name and author, and i quickly realized a monthly list would be too long for that. i hope you can find some good reads and show the authors a little love!

note to the authors: ilyyy. you all have amazing minds, and deserve so so much appreciation. thank you for sharing your work, and enabling me to read smut instead of watch movies <3 if you were tagged in this and would like to have your work removed for any reason, please let me know!

WARNING: many of these fics contain dark themes that could be triggering. i will try to label accordingly, but PLEASE read the warnings. not all of these are for everyone!

smut- ♡ angst- ★ fluff- ✿ dark- !!

♡ wicked whims by @myownwholewildworld (wc: 1.1k - oneshot)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

summary: javi catches you playing wicked whims in the sims and decides to make your fantasies a reality.

thoughts: march started out incredibly strong with this absolute banger. this fic IS FOR ME. i feel seen, i feel understood, i feel sexually frustrated. i will be reinstalling wicked whims tonight, consider my first sims 4 phase of 2025 activated.

★ ♡ who will i say goodnight to when you're gone? by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer (wc: 3.6k - oneshot)

pairing: javier peña x reader

summary: you are javi are just coworkers who sleep together, nothing more

thoughts: AGHHH. the smutty angst is so good. i cant put it into words so i’ll just let it speak for itself:

'Maybe Javier kisses because it's the one form of intimacy that doesn't force you to look the other person in the eye. Eyes are the window to the soul, they say. Javi's eyes contain a softness that you cannot find outside of warm summer nights that exist so far in space and time that you can barely reach the memories. He holds hope in his entire body — hope isn't usually a pretty little thing that Emily Dickinson said it was - it's hardened and stubborn, it is the fucking metal bars that keep him here in Colombia despite it all.'

♡ !! nena mala by @pedrosyouknowwhat (oneshot) !! TW !!

pairing: Dark! Javier Peña x Dark! Reader

summary: After the fall of the godfathers, Peña takes his personally desired target.

thoughts: god i love it when javier peña is the worst person ever. hello my old friend, degradation kink.

★ The boyfriend act, part 7: "The one with unexpected visit” by @capuccinodoll (ch wc: 10.4k - series) (★- only angst as of now?)

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

SERIES summary: All you wanted was to get to Austin, but instead of your brother, it’s Frankie —Santi’s best friend, the one you can barely stand— who shows up in Dallas. He’s just doing your brother a favor, but the trip takes an unexpected turn when a stop puts you face to face with your ex — the guy who broke your heart three months ago and is now about to get married.

Out of pride, you blurt out a lie: Frankie is your boyfriend. Surprised but willing to play along, he agrees, with one condition — you must accompany him to his mother’s birthday. His plan? Dodge his family’s meddling and their endless matchmaking schemes.

thoughts: im absolutely obsessed with this series, you really dont want to get me started… this WILL continue to show up in future fic rec posts because it’s so so good omg (read it). if for some reason you’d like to read a more extensive version of my thoughts on this chapter, you can read this incredibly long reblog.

♡ Eight Ball Corner Pocket by @thechaoticcherub (wc: 7.7k - oneshot)

pairing: Jackson!Joel x Plus Size!Reader

summary: Reader goes on a really bad date, Joel steps in to help make her forget it.

thoughts: this was such a lovely read (and so hot omfg). i cannot recommend this enough.

'“Quit it,” He said, “Don’t you think for a single second that you’re the one reachin’ here, i’m old enough to be your daddy and you’re…look at you.” You could see barely controlled lust in his eyes as they roamed over your body and the way he did it didn’t make you feel like he was appraising you to see if you were worth it. He was appreciating you. Appreciating the way your breasts stretched the fabric of your dress and the way you could see the curve of your belly, the way your thighs pressed together. You stared at him, trying to take in the truth of his statement, trying to remember how pretty you had found yourself that morning before you had been reminded of all the insecurities of your teenage years.'

♡ !! because of you by @almostempty (wc: 7k - oneshot) !! TW !!

pairing: dave york x f!reader

summary: You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

thoughts: ill never forget you, unreliable narrator dave york. the way he obsesses over the reader, picking apart all of their conversations and interpreting everything in his special delusional way. UGH ITS SO GOOD. to keep this part brief, i will simply implore you to READ THIS (after you read the warnings), its brilliant.

'After that night, he notices you change tactics. You feed him little crumbs in every conversation. Leads you know he’ll follow. Hints about the weak spots in your relationship, your unlived dreams, your pent up desires. He knows what you’re asking for. He reads exactly what you’re saying between the lines. His walls are crumbling and it gets harder and harder to be the one solely responsible for keeping the boundaries between you. He compartmentalizes. Conceding. You can have his dreams, his showers, his mornings. Take them. Keep them. But it’s never enough. It grows stronger. To obsession.'

update: the award for the fic i thought about most after reading it goes to this beauty. i admitted in my reblog that i had never seen the equalizer movies, but this made me want to finally watch them so i could appreciate this to its fullest extent, and i did! i also sent this to my friend who doesn't read ppcu fics because its just that good. i'm not getting over this any time soon.

✿ Just Coffee by @daryltwdixon (two parts)

pairing: joel miller x reader

'"Coffee. Just coffee." You could’ve kissed him right then and there. And he was handsome enough that you wouldn’t even have to close your eyes. He must’ve caught the way your shoulders relaxed, how the sigh left your body like a weight lifted.'

♡ Just Coffee II

summary: Joel picks you up after a long day, taking you somewhere small and familiar, where conversation flows as easily as the wine. As the night winds down and Joel insists on driving you home, neither of you are ready to say goodbye quite yet.

thoughts: this healed the ex-barista/assistant manager in me. to put it simply, pt.1 is fluffy joel gold and pt.2 is smutty joel GOLD. chefs kiss.

unnecessary lore drop: i (18 at the time) got asked out by a regular (65) and he DID NOT look like joel miller. maybe gary was the hot old man for someone, but def not for me. the owner of the coffee shop (50, married) had a huge crush on him, so that was amusing i guess.

♡ One Of The Girls by @gothcsz (wc: 1.1k - oneshot)

pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x 3 F!Nameless OCs

summary: General Acacius has three women that he keeps solely for his indulgent pleasure and control, you want to become the fourth.

thoughts: GORGEOUS. the picture has been painted in my mind and it’s going to haunt me. this is just insane work, really. i need 4 more parts and a few days to recover.

‘The first time you heard whispers of his indulgences, you had thought them scandalous. A man of bloodshed, ruthless on the battlefield, bringing that same ruthless discipline into the bedroom. But when you had seen him that night, wielding pleasure like a weapon, you had known—this was the life you were meant for. Since then, obsession had taken root in you, winding tight around your ribs, pressing against your lungs with every thought of him. You spent your days languishing in fantasies, picturing what it would be like to be one of his girls—to be chosen, touched, tamed.’

♡ First Sight by @gothcsz (wc: 3.5k - oneshot)

pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

summary: Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

thoughts: great smut. great banter. HOT. i need that man so bad.

'Things escalate fast. You’re sitting on the couch, the low hum of the movie playing in the background, the two of you exchanging quiet comments between drags of the joint he so effortlessly rolled. The space between you shrinks. His fingers graze your thigh, intentional but unhurried. You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. But your bodies are pressed together, mouths hungry, hands wandering. His cap gets flicked off, curls spilling into your fingers as you tug him closer, inhaling the scent of smoke and tasting the candy he’d been snacking on. The movie is forgotten. The joint smolders in the ashtray. You straddle his lap, rolling your hips down, and he groans against your mouth, gripping your waist.'

dividers by: cherry divider- @uzmacchiato, mdni divider- @strangergraphics, red divider- @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[encasedinobsidian]

ain't shit sweeter, ch 5: Des Plaines

Father in law!Javier Peña x OFC │ Series masterlist

Series summary: In the late 1990’s, Javier Peña transfers to the DEA field office in Chicago, taking the long-awaited opportunity to spend more time with his son while he adjusts to life post-Colombia. But in the midst of it all, he falls in love with the woman who resents his very presence in her life; his daughter-in-law, Mabel.

A/N: Strap in, buckle up fucklehead etc. I'm getting back in touch with what I love, passive aggressive drama and chaos, so get ready for battle of the deadbeat fathers: holiday edition. There's a lot going on here.

Chapter length: 14.9k (genuinely sorry)

Read here on AO3!

Mabel presses her nail into Javier’s hand just enough to hurt a little when everyone holds hands to say grace, upon the grandparents’ request. The dishes are passed around and Mabel doesn’t look at him when she passes the green bean casserole.  “Dark meat, please,” he says. “Dark meat,” she imitates, under her breath.  It’s just like before, in many ways. Nobody asks questions or even bats an eye when the two of them sit next to each other over the course of the meal without exchanging a word, facing away from each other, refilling their drinks and gulping them down faster than they should.  “Hey dad,” James says, catching Javier’s attention. He can see Mabel’s eyes narrowing in his peripheral. He knows it’s jealousy, precisely because his jaw clenches and his eyelid twitches when Mabel calls out to Derek from across the table. “Dad, over here,” she says, pointing to her own plate while he dumps a ladle of sauce over his potatoes.  It’s a sick sort of jealousy.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 4

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

First - Prev - Next

CH.4

"If we’re going to get to the pit of this peach we gotta get some variables outta the way first. I need a scan of his brain and yours. While conscious.”

“Mine as well?”

“You said he’s your identical twin - he should be genetically the same as you. We can use a scan of your brain as a comparison to see if there’s physical damage on the organ itself, because brain damage is the most common cause of amnesia.”

“I do have the technology available for an in-depth scan, but… ”

 “But what?”

“It’s in the shape of a ray gun, but like a traditional MRI whoever is getting scanned has to stay completely still.”

“I don’t s’pose in the time it took me to go into town and get supplies, you managed to reconcile with him?”

“Reconcile? He’s still convinced I’m a mad scientist out to harvest his organs, 'or worse turn him over to the IRS'- don’t ask about that second part. If I point anything gun-shaped at him, he’ll freak out.”

“Can’t say I blame him…”

“Hush, Fiddleford. There’s an easy way we can get him to hold still.”

“Stanford- Stanford put the tranquilizing doohickey away. We both know that concoction of yours wasn’t formulated with humans in mind. Surely you have less caustic means of sedation.”

---

“Stanford, anyone can tell that bottle’s been tampered with.”

“I have a theory that this persona of his is so self-destructive he’ll still drink it.”

“Y’know, this bottled water tastes suspiciously like two crushed Ambien tablets.” 

*Stan keeps drinking it anyways* ��

“I am impressed, but I also hate that your theory was correct.”

*Ford undeafens the cell*

“Stanley, if you think there’s zolpidem in that, why are you still drinking it?”

“You think two Ambien is enough to take me down? Guess again, I’ve used this stuff to cut coke. You’re gonna have to try harder than that, PhD.” 

“Hmm, so we should have used Coca-Cola instead of water…”

“That ain’t what he meant by- how did you survive by yourself out here?”

---

“Hello there …Stan?”

“Sup babe.”

“Don’t call me that. I was wondering - you’re so handsome already, but it’d surely tickle my fancy a bit more if you put on this here necktie.”

“Hell no.”

“Do you not know how to tie one? I’d be happy to-.”

“I know how to tie a tie, specs. But I’ll never wear a necktie ever again. Not after Colombia… I still can’t shave that part of my jaw without nightmares.”

“I beg your pardon?”

---

“I couldn’t convince him to put the mind control tie on.”

“Fiddleford, why are you staring a thousand yards away?”

“He was explaining to me his time in Colombian prison, then he went on a tangent about necklaces and now I don’t think I can change a tire without thinking about it ever again.”

“... Interesting. We’re not resorting to the tranq gun yet?”

“This is your own brother you’re talking about.” 

“There’s only one thing we can do. The only thing that will 99.99% work on my brother. I didn’t think it would have to come to this so soon. But it’s our only unharmful option left.”

---

“Stanley.”

“Doc.”

“I will give you twenty dollars if you stay still for thirty whole seconds.”

“On one hand this is a set up… On the other hand, I’ve done worse for twenty dollars.”

“You what ?”

“Ten bucks up front.”

To be continued...

[ficjoelispunk]

materlist

Summary: Drug trafficking swallows everyone around it, and since you arrived in Colombia, you have been swallowed by the work that the cartels generate daily. Your routine as Assistant to the Ambassador does not help you to establish links within the department. And eventually, you and Agent Peña fought a silent battle with each other, in which you walk together a fine line of love and hate, where you will slowly lean more heavily towards one side than the other.

Warnings: Mature content (+18). Contains graphic accounts of violence, sexuality, strong language and/or other themes.

Author's Note: Guys, I've had several requests to translate the story into English, but I'm not good enough for that, but I'll take a chance. Therefore, forgive me and correct me where there are grammatical errors and verbal agreements. I did the best I could. Hope you like it.

A E S T H E T I C

Chapters:

Ch 01 - It’s fucking Friday!

Ch 02 - La Catedral

Ch 03 - Archive Room

Ch 04 - Attack

Ch 05 - Relief

Ch 06 - Two rabbits. One shot.

Ch 07 - Read the Fucking Papers!

Ch 08 - Home

Ch 09 - Information

Ch 10 - Do Your Job

Ch 11 - Love & Hate

Ch 12 - CIA

Ch 13 - Go Back to Sleep

Ch 14 - Television

Ch 16 - End of the Line

Final Chapter - Cali Cartel

[jeewrites]

Hold Fast - Series Master List [Ongoing]

Series Summary: Frankie gets picked up at Redfly's Bar by a powerlifting girlie.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader/powerlifting!reader Rating: Eventually Explicit (18+ ONLY, MDNI)

Hold Fast Chapter List Ch. 1 - Will Squat for Dinner Ch. 2 - SBD & Cinnamon Rolls Ch. 3 - Curdles Ch. 4 - Chicken Soup Ch. 5 - 5 Courses Ch. 6 - Knuckle Sandwich Ch. 7 - Coffee & Donuts (Updated 12/1) Ch. 8 - Ch. 9 - Ch. 10 - Epilogue

Series Tags/Warnings (will update as fic progresses!): no y/n, reader has a nickname, rom com-y, fluff, some angst, gymbff!Benny, Dad!Frankie, Sweet!Frankie, alcohol, swearing, reader is a powerlifting girlie described as short and has hair long enough to put into a ponytail, Tom is alive unfortunately (we hate Tom), Tom owns a bar called Redfly's, Pope owns a gym, alcohol, OC!Chloé, OC!Mike, body insecurity, smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it up folks), implied oral (m and f receiving), cock warming if you blink?, descriptions of a physical fight (not between Frankie and reader), prev abusive relationship mentioned (lightly described), panic attack, fictional description of custody arrangements, adulation of thighs, Triple Frontier AU where all the guys return from Colombia alive with a day pack of $ each, alternating POV, gratuitous descriptions of food, thoughts on having kids, medical terms related to pregnancy (no pregnancy), use of Daddy but not like that  

Taglist: @katareyoudrilling @christinamadsen @rebel-held @littlemisspascal

@burntheedges @darkheartgatita @enretrogue @titabel @copperhalfcent

@triplefrontier-anniversary @iamskyereads

Tag list is open!

[doble-d-2]

Kailasa el país que no es país😎👌✨

[bellofthemeadow]

The Road Ahead - ch 1 | Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

Next chapter

For most of your married life, you dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently awaited his return, longing for the moment when he would be by your side again. During those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, you yearned for him to open up to you, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain. And as his addiction spiraled out of control, you held onto the hope that he would recognize his problem and seek help. However, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Colombia, engaged in God knows what.

But this time is different. Determined, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: Applicable for the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty

Chapter Summary: Now that Frankie is finally home for good, you can start looking to the future

Notes: Welcome everyone! This is a repost from my former blog "mywordhaven" Because of some technical difficulties with my old account, I decided that it would be easier to repost my work with a brand-new blog. It's basically the same chapter as the last one, but I did make some edits (mostly syntax tbh). I will be posting the other two chapters later tomorrow and the fourth chapter should be up on sunday.

I hope that those who were following me on my old blog will join me here and I look forward to meeting newcomers!

At Long Last

You find yourself drowning in the itchiness of the comforter draped across you. Its green, worn fabric scratches your overwhelmingly sensitive skin. Surprisingly, today you welcome this sensation. The uncomfortable feeling anchors your mind to your bed, preventing it from floating away. In this moment, as you struggle to catch your breath, the scratchiness of the duvet reminds you where you are.

Your hands glide slowly across the rough fabric, savouring its familiar prickle. As you trace the worn contours, you recall when you saw that green monstrosity for the first time— It was the day you and Frankie had first moved in together all those years ago, right before his second long deployment. From the moment your eyes landed on it, you despised its discoloured hue as it clashed with your envisioned home's colour scheme. But you had kept silent. Frankie was leaving, and you didn't want your last moments together marred by a pointless argument over a green bedspread, no matter how dreadful it looked.  

Now, ten years, 2 home relocations and a marriage later, that green duvet stubbornly remains an integral part of your bedroom decor, painfully clashing with the soothing blues surrounding it. Cornflower Blue, as the Home Depot employee had labelled it. You had agonized for days on which colour to go with, tirelessly checking Pinterest boards in the hope to find the perfect shade for your bedroom— A place you hoped would be a peaceful haven for Frankie. You spent weeks deliberating between countless swatches until finally settling on the current hue. Still, the horrid green persistently clashes with the blue you lovingly chose. Perhaps sage green would have been wiser, you think. But you had refused to admit defeat to an old, worn duvet and instead, had stubbornly gone with your first idea, horrid green be damned! But now, to your frustration, the bedroom remains an enduring battleground of colours, an ongoing struggle where different shades vie for supremacy in their quest to dominate the mood of the room.

Yet Frankie had never commented on the jarring combination of green and blue or their blatant mismatch. Perhaps you were making a mountain out of Molehill as you always seem to do. After all, your tendency to dramatize insignificant matters had been a subject of teasing within your family for as long as you could remember. Your brother had a habit of remarking on how seriously you took trivial matters. For your entire lives, nicknames like "Miss Prissy" or "Your Majesty" had been some of the less painful monickers thrown your way to highlight your over-sensitiveness. And while your family saw it as innocent sibling teasing, these remarks had a way of leaving you feeling bruised, unable to brush the comments off as easily as everyone expected you to.

Your hands pause above your bare, sweat-dampened chest, shaking your head to dispel the unwelcomed and intrusive thoughts. Instead, you focus on the blissful moment you’ve just shared with your husband. The memory of that bothersome, green eyesore and all its associated baggage swiftly retreats from your mind, vanishing as fleetingly as it arrived.

Finally, you begin to feel like the easy joys of savouring life are within your reach. With Frankie by your side, you start to envision a newfound freedom to engage in playful bickering, loud laughter, and sheer enjoyment of each other. The mundane moments hold an allure like never before, beckoning you to revel in their ordinary beauty. It's a longing for a life that seems quintessentially American, relentlessly depicted on daytime television—an idyllic portrait of a family, complete with devoted parents and their brood of 2.5 children, nestled in a cozy backyard. PTA meetings, a simple 9-to-5, soccer practices after school, and piano lessons on weekends create the repetitive rhythm of this picture-perfect existence. In your vision, the pinnacle of concern revolves around selecting the ideal flowers for the summer flowerbed. While some may deem it mundane, for you, it represents an exquisite slice of paradise.

Your husband Frankie had gone through years of military service, and he deserves nothing less, you think. Your hands still from their exploration as you think on the nightmares, anxiety, and fear that would consume Frankie. Even here with you, it sometimes felt as though he was still back there, never truly able to be completely present. Like on those many nights when Frankie was on temporary leave, he would wake up screaming and trashing in the middle of the night covered in cold sweats. Or when you guys would be out and about, and his eyes would shift with practiced zeal as if he was assessing for possible threats. Never really “turning off”. No amount of sweet reassuring words were ever able to soothe him when he found himself stuck within his own mind. Every time you tried to discuss these concerns with him, your husband would respond with calm reassurances, followed by a tender kiss on your forehead, urging you not to worry about him.

You shake your head, a resolute movement meant to, again, brush away the intrusive thoughts lingering on the periphery, refusing to let them dim this precious moment. You shift your gaze, fixating on the horizon of possibilities that stretches before you. It is a horizon where love acts as a healing balm, gently tending to the myriad wounds etched upon your husband's past. Your heart, though cautiously guarded, brims with a glimmer of hope, eager to embark on this journey together.

However, despite your best efforts, thoughts of your mother insidiously infiltrate your mind. Over the years, you've clashed with her on countless occasions, yet now, as a married woman, you think back on her warning before you got married. The resonating echo of her stern voice lingers in your thoughts, admonishing you to unwaveringly stand by your husband, regardless of the circumstances, and emphasizing that his happiness must always take precedence over everything else. Strangely, she never mentioned the reverse. With Frankie's return, you resolve to be more present, leaving daydreams behind and focusing on him and solely on him.

As you think of Frankie, you can clearly see his body and how it bears the evidence of his service, a map of scars, some worn openly, while others hide beneath his weary flesh. Deep wounds that bleed and pain him more than any bullet ever could. Words alone seem insufficient in the face of everything he has sacrificed. But now, Frankie is finally home, all of this is behind you two. And isn't all this what marriage vows were meant for? In sickness and in health, through the lows and the highs, you pledged to be there. As you remind yourself, supporting your husband doesn't diminish your strength and independence. It's merely an expression of love and partnership, you firmly resolve, even though the words ring somewhat hollow, as a voice in the back of your mind whispers, "But what about you?"

You slowly redirect your attention to the persistent itchiness on your skin. Taking three deep breaths, you allow each inhale and exhale to anchor you firmly into the present. As the air fills your lungs, you feel your shoulders slowly ease from the tension you always seem to put yourself under.

Now that Frankie is here to stay, you want nothing else than to provide the emotional solace and respite he needs to rebuild and find peace within himself. After everything Frankie has endured, you decide that he deserves a life that is predictably dull yet safe and warm. You want to build that life for him.

As your imagination runs rampant with visions of the life you're now free to construct together, Frankie emerges in the doorway. Clad in nothing more than a familiar, well-worn pair of briefs, he exudes an aura that is unmistakably his own—a blend of warmth, comfort, and a sense of home. In that instant, as you gaze at each other, it feels as though every small longing you held during Frankie's absence has converged into this singular moment. Nothing else matters to you right now except being with him.

In Frankie's hands, he carefully balances a tray, on it a tall glass of ice-cold water adorned with glistening condensation. The hunger stirs within you and your gaze falls upon two perfectly crafted PB and J sandwiches, invitingly prepared. It's evident that even now, the precise conditioning instilled by the army remains ingrained in Frankie. The unwavering precision, tidiness, and discipline persist, even amidst post-coital bliss. Sloppily prepared sandwiches? Never on Frankie’s watch.

Fondness envelops your heart, causing it to flutter with an intensity that threatens to burst from your chest. At this moment, a culmination of experiences floods your mind—the countless sleepless nights spent anxiously awaiting a call, the fear that gripped you while scouring the news for any shred of information, and Frankie's inability to share the depths of what he went through all race to the forefront of your mind. Now, as you reminisce about those moments when others would claim that being with Frankie wasn't worth the pain or hardships, a profound sense of satisfaction fills your heart. You're grateful for having ignored their words, as every single challenge and difficulty encountered along the way—the long-distance separations, the emotional uncertainties, and the sacrifices made—has ultimately proven to mean something. A smile mirrors your own overwhelming happiness as Frankie starts to walk toward the bed.

"I thought you'd have an appetite after all that exercise," Frankie says, his voice laced with a playful tone. His eyes, warm like melted chocolate, cradle you in their soft gaze. They speak volumes, no words needed, telling you just how much he cares.

A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you playfully quip, "Guess it doesn't help that we skipped dinner either, huh?"

"I apologize, mi cielo. I suppose I let my excitement get the better of me," Frankie admits, a touch of boyish bashfulness colouring his tone. "After eight long months apart, how could you expect me not to pounce on you, especially when you look so breathtaking?"

With utmost care, Frankie gently places the tray on the tiny side table, taking special care to move aside the book you're currently engrossed in. With the task completed, he turns his gaze towards you, slowly making his way to your side. Your eyes lock, and in an instant, he tenderly captures your mouth with his own. The kiss is unhurried yet filled with an intense passion, a promise of all that is to come, a fulfillment of the multitude of promises you have made to each other. Now, you have all the time in the world to embrace those promises.

As the kiss deepens, Frankie's hands begin to explore your naked body, their touch igniting a fiery desire that resonates deep within you. It engulfs you in a passionate longing that intensifies with each passing second. Frankie's wandering hands halt at your hips, where he gently strokes your sides while deepening the kiss even further. Breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily, his warm breath mingling with your own. A playful glimmer dance in Frankie’s brown eyes as he firmly grabs your hips, effortlessly flipping you both into the deep plushness of the bed.

A delighted squeal escapes your throat, and you find yourself on top of Frankie, straddling his warm hips. His devilish smile meets your gaze. Like a tidal wave, a rush of excitement cascades through you, electrifying your senses and igniting newfound energy within.

"I thought we were supposed to have dinner," you playfully tease, your hands resting on the firm planes of his pectorals.

Frankie's eyes glisten mischievously as he responds, his voice filled with playful affection, "Don't worry, hermosa. Dinner can wait another minute. Right now, all I want to do is admire you." With a tender touch, he grabs a handful of the fleshy part of your hips, gently massaging your sides. His voice carries on, laced with adoration, "You know, this angle is my favourite. When I see you from above, naked, and sweaty, you look like my very own Amazon. My fierce warrior queen whom I can’t wait to worship." His grip tightens possessively, playfully swatting your behind, causing your flesh to softly jiggle.

You can't help but snort with amusement, firmly grinding down in a slow sensuous movement Frankie exhales a low moan, his eyes closing in pleasure. Yielding to the temptation, you momentarily cease your ministrations and whisper, "Well, last time I checked, librarians weren't renowned for their battle prowess.”

Frankie's smile stretches, his eyes opening and locking with yours, while his hands gently secure your hips. His soft voice echoes sweetly, "Physical prowess is just a fraction of true strength, mi cielo. It's a mindset, a spirit that radiates courage and perseverance. Believe me when I tell you, you possess that strength in a way that surpasses anyone I've ever encountered."

His words envelop you in a comforting embrace that floods your being with warmth. Reflected in his eyes is an unwavering conviction, a faith given to you unlike any you've experienced before. Such belief, one you've never even held for yourself, captivates you. The weight of his words resonates deeply, shaking the core of your being, even as you strive to maintain a facade of nonchalance. But Frankie effortlessly sees through your charade, knowing you better than he knows himself at this point. He slowly pushes his upper body upward and starts peppering your collarbones with tender kisses. You feel your cheeks heating as you shyly avert your gaze, unable to resist the sweetness of his praise and the even sweeter ministration.

A brief moment passes, during which you nibble on your lower lip, contemplating your next words. Finally, you muster the courage to meet Frankie's eyes once more, you push him back down on the mattress and ask, a mischievous glint shining in your eyes, "If I am to be your queen, does that mean you're willing to obey my every command?”

A playful smile dances on Frankie's lips as he replies, "Well, mi cielo, let's just say I'm more than willing to embark on the thrilling adventure of fulfilling your every desire, one command at a time." With those words, Frankie softly grabs your right arm, the very arm that had been holding him down, and he punctuates each word with a tender kiss upon the palm of your hand. As he does so, his eyes gently close, allowing his lips to linger in their affectionate embrace, locked in that sweet moment.

Frankie surrenders to the present, savouring every precious second that slowly passes between the two of you. The ache of longing for you these past months had been insurmountable, a void that only you could fill. Amidst his world engulfed in chaos, pain, and the remanence of a haunting trail of death that seemed eternally imprinted on his very being, your presence at his side has always been the sole beacon of meaning and coherence. The only thing that ever truly mattered to him. Screw everything else; he should have chosen to stay home long ago, before feeling trapped in the abyss he felt he had dug himself into over the years. In an attempt to dispel the encroaching darkness threatening to envelop him, Frankie inhales deeply, pushing away those grim thoughts, before swiftly flipping you over.

Everything else fades away again, and only the two of you remain. As you draw in a deep breath, the air fills your lungs with a trembling intensity, causing a burning sensation. Your chest tightens, not just from the weight of Frankie's presence, but also from the weight of everything that surrounds you, suffocating you in its bittersweet grasp. Tenderly, Frankie gently presses his nose against yours, once, twice, before planting a soft kiss upon its tip.

“My love, I assure you that nothing can ever come between us. There is nothing that could separate me from you. I belong to you for eternity, and as long as I can share my life with you, my dear, it will have been a life worth living, mi cielo.”

Your eyes well up with tears, and with a quiver in your voice, you whisper, "I love you, Frankie."

"Te amo, mi cielo, te amo para siempre," he replies, his words carrying the weight of a vow between you two.

With intertwined fingers and hearts overflowing with love, you gaze into each other's eyes. As you lie there, wrapped in the afterglow of passion, you savour the tranquillity and completeness that permeates the room. You vow to cherish each day, to embrace the ordinary moments that always become extraordinary when you are with Frankie. Together, you will face the world with open hearts, ready to create this future you’ve always yearned for with Frankie. As Frankie peppers kisses down your throat, you smile, and a shuddering breath escapes you. Food can wait you think giddily. Your hands gently glide along the broad expanse of his back, savouring him in all his glorious being. Nothing else matters now, for Frankie is home.

[not---meat]

Paradise: Chapter 9: But It's Raining

Pairing: Javier Peña x McKenzie Martel

Rating: A - Adult

Warnings: Angst

Summary: Javier struggles and comes to a decision.

Note: This is an AU set in between season 2 and season 3 of Narcos sometime in the 90's. I apologize in advance for any historical inaccuracies! -- We are moving on to season 3 of Narcos so be prepared!

MASTERLIST --- PARADISE MASTERLIST

Cali was different. Vastly different from his time in Bogota. Vastly different from his time in Medellin. Sometimes it shocked him, amazed him, just how many different climates could be seen in Colombia.

It was also annoying. Having to adapt to the weather changes when he was out on the field. His clothes would cling to him due to the sweat that gathered on his skin. Walking about the remnants of cocaine labs that were obviously set up to look more horrific than they actually were. Guns that didn't belong in the hands of the victims. Bullet wounds that didn't match up, the situation staged in order to make the investors more interested. To glorify the drug war that they fought every day. The same war that almost killed him, killed Colonel Carrillo, that set fear into hundreds of people, killed hundreds more. Government officials, police officers, innocent bystanders, all killed thanks to the drugs race.

A promotion that Javier never saw coming. He was almost certain that his career was over thanks to his involvment with Los Pepes. Apparently not. Apparently because of it resulting in the takedown of Escobar they turned a blind eye to the violence that Los Pepes brought.

Then they turned a blind eye again when Javier went to those same people once again to help with the takedown of the kingpins. The Cali Cartel. Miles above Escobar, Javier had no idea what he was really getting himself into until it was far too late for him to get out of it. Far too deep into it to realize until it was too late that his promotion stood on the grounds of him being seen as a hero. He wasn't supposed to meddle, he was just supposed to be the face of it all. When the Cali Cartel walked it was to be seen as him allowing it to happen.

That wasn't something Javier was going to let happen.

Yet amongst all of the chaos, all of the unknowns that he dealt with from day to day, there was one thing that was unfortunately all to familiar and all to steady. The pain. The memories. The rain.

It didn't help that it rained so often in Cali. If anything it only made it worse when he was there, taking down the kingpins, while simultaneously his heart was aching. There was nothing that he could do. Nothing to quell the fire that burnt within him when he stepped out into the rain. There was no preventative for the rush of emotion the moment the cold drops hit his skin.

Please don't leave me like this.

Yet she left. With no other ideas, no other solutions or words that could fix what he had broken, Javier found himself falling. He knew after two days that he needed to leave Laredo. It became glaringly obvious once the week was coming to an end. His Cradle to Grave come to an end and he had fallen deep into the hole that he had dug all by himself.

Javier couldn't blame her for how she felt. He knew McKenzie too well to know that it had been an impulsive decision to turn away. If there was anything about the McKenzie that he knew, it was that she was rational and thought everything out ages before the situation arose.

Then again, looking back at it, that girl wasn't the McKenzie that he knew. The McKenzie he knew always wore a smile even when she was breaking inside. The McKenzie he knew wouldn't experiment with drugs or fight with him about rights and wrongs. The McKenzie he knew wasn't the girl he had returned to.

And deep in his heart Javier knew that it was his fault. He should have told her. He should have told her the first time that he left and he definitely should have told her before he left for Cali.

Selfishly, though, Javier didn't say a word. He made sure that Chucho knew and told him to check in on her. Javier couldn't bear to leave her alone like that again. He couldn't bear to be left in the dark about whether she was okay or not. In his mind that wasn't an option anymore. Whether she loved him back or not, Javier wouldn't let anything hurt her again…. Anyone but him, he supposed.

Because at the end of the day, there he was hurting her again.

At least this time he left her hating him. Maybe this time she wasn't in so muich pain. Maybe this time she would move on. As much as it hurt him to think about, hurt him to entertain the idea of someone else loving her, someone else touching her. Javier knew that it wasn't his place to say anything about it. It wasn't his place to have feelings about how he picked up the broken pieces of herself that he had destroyed.

So when the call came through that she had moved on, Javier buried himself into his work. He worked harder. He pushed against the rules, he pushed against his higher ups and he defied what they told him to do. He caught the Cali Cartel. He caught them. He made bad deals, almost killing more innocent people, almost killing himself.

At the end of the day it didn't matter. It wasn't like he had anything to go back to.

But then Javier heard the news about her changing. About her hospital visits. About the stitches and the bruises and he knew. He knew he had to be more careful. Suddenly it wasn't just his life that he was worried about but hers as well.

Once the cartel was captured he was done. He resigned. He told the truth. Javier put his career on the line but vowed that he wouldn't go back. He was done with that war.

Besides, there was a new war for him to fight. One that meant more to him than anything else.

If only he knew just how much of a fight that war would be.

NEXT CHAPTER

[weirdestbooks]

La Madre Nueva (Wattpad | Ao3 | CH HHM Oneshots)

Panama was fifteen days old when it happened. When the Canal Zone was born. She knew it was going to happen eventually; that was why United States helped her get her independence in the first place, but she never fathomed or had the time to fathom how young she would actually be when her child was born.

She was fifteen days old, and she had a child. Panama’s hands were shaking, and she could hardly believe that this was happening. She was a mother. Oh, díos mios, she was a mother.

Panama had not stopped panicking since she realized that, since the tugging that would lead her to her child began, the same sort of tug that Colombia must have felt only fifteen days prior.

She was too young for this. Thankfully, at least, she hoped it was thankfully, the United States was going to be looking after and raising their child and give Panama visiting rights. It was better…it was better than having to raise a child when she barely knew who she was as a person.

United States had gone ahead to meet their child first, as Panama was too afraid to, hands shaking. She was lightheaded and felt sick. How was she meant to mother this child, even if they weren’t living with her?

Panama was broken out of her thoughts by the door opening, and United States entered the room, a child by his side—their child by his side.

“Panama. This is our daughter, Panama Canal Zone,” the United States said. Panama Canal Zone was a little girl who looked about seven—about half Panama’s physical age. Panama looked fifteen. People would better mistake her and her daughter as sisters than as mother and daughter.

Panama still felt faint and lightheaded.

“Hello, Canal Zone. I am Panama,” 

She didn’t want to say that she was this child’s mother. She was…she couldn’t. She was too young, and she didn’t want to believe it. 

“Hello, Mother,” Panama Canal Zone said, causing Panama to let out a shaky and terrified breath.

“Canal Zone, Panama is very close in age to you. She might not want to be—” United States began, and as much as Panama was grateful for what he was trying to do, her government had been clear. 

She needed to claim the Panama Canal Zone as her child so that United States government would remember that the land was just a lease, that Panama still had a claim to it. They said that it would be good for her and her people to have a claim to the child and that having a child would help her with her duty of being a countryhuman by preparing her for responsibility.

She had to do this. For her people. So she could be the best version of Panama there was for her people. 

“No. I’m…I’m still older,” Panama said, ignoring how uncomfortable she was. “I am her mother. I…I will be her mother.”

“Panama, you—”

“I am old enough. Age is weird for us anyway, and you have her more often than I will. You were the one who wanted the Panama Canal Zone created so quickly, so don’t act all concerned now. It will be fine,” Panama insisted, turning back to her child, who looked at her with confused eyes, “I am your mother, regardless of what your father thinks.”

“If you’re sure, I won’t push. Do you want to work out visitation now or later? It’s been a long day, and I need to get Canal Zone set up at my house.” United States said. 

“Later. We can do it later. I…later is good,” Panama said. United States nodded, and he and her daughter vanished. Panama’s knees then gave out, and she realized she was shaking all over.

God, she barely knew how to be a country or a person. Why did her government expect her to be a good mother? Why couldn’t United States have waited one year for her to figure out herself before forcing her to have a child?

Why couldn’t she be a child?

[grumpyeagleandfriends]

Outpace Us All - Ch. 4 - Santiago Fic

A/N: Set two years after the mission in Colombia. The boys walked away with enough money to begin new lives back home. Santiago divides his time between being an investigator and a short-term foster care provider with the state. He begins to question himself and his ability to do good after he has several run-ins with a young boy in a delicate situation. As he is trying his best to help this kid through a tragedy, he begins to rely heavily on his complicated relationship with Frankie.

Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Original child character. Frankie is a single dad who owns a diner. Santiago and Will are cops. Benny is Benny.

Rating: Adult

Word Count : 11,000

Warnings: Men loving men. Sex. Cursing. Mentions blood and violence. Mentions drug use. Some lines of Spanish dialogue, which I include as a warning only because I am a non-native speaker.

Masterlist

___________________________________

Wednesday, October 9th, 2021. 7:45 AM

They were only four days in, but the situation of Samuel and his mother still remained mysterious. Hardly any of the questions brought up that night at the police station had answers. 

All Santiago did know was that the kid was cleared to stay at his place for at least another week. Depending on how things developed over the next few days, the duration could be prolonged. For the moment, a week’s worth of visibility was the only bit of clarity they had. 

Santiago recognized that there was a high possibility of Samuel's stay in care being stretched to two or three weeks. The longest emergency foster he had ever hosted was a little over two months. There was no official timeline or exact definitions given by the state of California, but emergency stays that lasted much longer than a couple months usually started to bleed into a different category. If Sonia's situation didn’t begin to show signs of improvement, then their case would inevitably change in the eyes of the law. If that were to happen, Sam would formally enter the foster system and require a placement in a more long-term setting. Santiago's home would need to be made available once more for other emergency cases. In the best of circumstances, Sam would go live with another family. In the event that there wasn’t an available home that was a good fit for him, he could also be sent to a group facility. 

Thinking about either outcome didn't feel particularly great, so Santi decided to stay focused on what was currently in his control. For the time being, he could provide Samuel with a roof and a bit of stability. The rest was outside of his sphere of influence. 

As it currently stood, things with his mother were complicated.

Even though Santiago left his number with Sonia and encouraged her to call or text whenever, all of their communication continued to pass through Dana. 

They were set to have a phone call with her later that evening, but in the back of his mind, Santiago was wary of the possibility that it might not happen. Sam's confession to fearing his mother abruptly leaving him still rang fresh in his memory, but he felt that it was important to look at things objectively. There was still so much he didn't know, and this situation didn't quite feel like other cases he had seen. This woman didn't fit the profile of someone who abruptly abandons a child, even if her young son seemed convinced that she was going to try. 

Despite everything, there had been an update the night before that was positive. 

Dana explained to Santi in a text that Sonia was already pre-approved for public housing. They would just have to wait for her paperwork to be processed and for whenever the next unit would become available. She was also in the early interviewing process for a new job, in what field exactly Dana hadn’t specified, but things were progressing. She still wouldn’t give any answers about what happened in the weeks and months leading up to her eviction. Dana and the staff at the shelter tried their best to coax any amount of details out of her, but she held strong to giving them only vague non-answers.

They were being led to believe that everything about her situation was simply due to hard luck. Nothing more. 

Samuel was their only other potential source for information, and he was just about as tight-lipped as Sonia. 

Santiago was already beginning to see the impact of everything on the boy. He wore the markers of someone who carried an unabated stress, like something under the surface was quietly eating away at him.

Samuel was undeniably well-behaved, but not in a easy going, mild-mannered way. He displayed a level of discipline that was disconcerting for a boy his age. His bed was always made. He knew to put his things away and how to fold his clothes nicely. Every day it looked like he was making a conscious effort to leave as little a trace as possible of his existence in the house. 

He regularly picked and chewed at his fingers, to a point where his cuticles were irritated and red. Saturday evening when they went to the supermarket, Santiago turned around from looking at cereal to find dried blood caking Samuel’s fingertips. With a fair amount of difficulty, he managed to fight the urge to scold the behavior. Instead, he found the public restrooms at the back of the store and sent him to go wash his hands. They later made their way to the check-out line with a couple boxes of band-aids thrown into the cart. 

Sleep seemed to be another issue for him. The hushed sounds Santiago thought he imagined coming from across the hall the first evening were now a nightly occurrence. He would lay there in his own room, listening to Sam's bed creak from tossing and turning, only to be interrupted by noises that hovered between sobs and whispered pleas. It was impossible to be sure, but it was almost like muffled prayers being spoken into the dark. 

Over the last few days they struggled to find something close to a routine. Santi took him to school in the mornings, picked him up in the afternoons. Later that day he planned to surprise him with a stop by Frankie's on the way home.  

Sam seemed torn between absolutely hating Santiago while simultaneously needing to follow his every move around the house. He spent a lot of time glaring and trying to look angry, but couldn't hide the fact that he didn't seem okay with being left alone. He would always try to hover in or around whatever room Santi was in, pretending to ignore him. It wasn't necessarily bothersome, but Santiago did find himself growing slightly exasperated by having suddenly acquired this disgruntled and mute second shadow. 

The only times Sam really spoke at length were during the rides to and from school. For whatever reason, there in the back seat of the truck, he felt comfortable enough to voice a small part of whatever was passing through his mind. He would often ask several questions in a row - usually about his mother, but sometimes there were surprises. 

Is my mom staying at someone's house or in a hotel? 

Is she in trouble? Is it kind of like a jail?

Does she get to go outside?  

Are there animals?

Is there a pool? 

Why don't you have any animals? 

Why can't I take the bus to school? 

In the space of a single car ride, it was impressive just how many questions he could fire out. Santi figured that it was maybe his way of trying to make sense of what was happening in his world - a grasp for some semblance of control.

That Wednesday was no exception. They were slowly crawling along in the thick morning traffic. The unusually heavy rain from the weekend was gone, leaving only crisp autumn air and a starkly clean blue sky. The song "Don't Fear the Reaper" was coming to an end on the radio. During the brief lull between each track in the DJ's morning mix, Santiago could hear the sound of Sam steadily picking at his fingers. 

They were about to exit off of the freeway when a voice piped up from the back seat. 

"Santiago?" 

He glanced briefly at the rearview mirror to find the kid staring in his direction. 

"Yeah?" 

There was a stretch of silence where he sensed that Sam was working up the courage to ask whatever was on his mind, but what finally came out took him by surprise. 

"Are you a cop?" 

It was asked in a manner that wasn't at all spontaneous, it was clear that he'd been thinking carefully about the matter for some time. The boy sat back with the seatbelt crossed over his chest, looking down at his lap as he awaited the response.

"Kind of..." Santiago began to thoughtfully chew at the inside of his cheek as he came to a stop at a red light. The conversation about what he did for a living was one he was used to having around other adults. It was surprising that he felt just as defensive about his choice of work even here in the presence of a child. 

"So, I'm a detective." He started. "Which means that I help lead investigations. Do you know what the difference is between me and most of the police you see?" 

He caught sight of Sam once again in the rearview mirror. 

The boy frowned as he shook his head. "No."

"Cops usually patrol out on the street. They're the ones you see in black and white squad cars." Santi explained as he turned onto the last street before Sam's school. A quiet groan left him the moment he caught sight of the long stretch of cars and school busses sat between them and the drop off point. His fingers restlessly drummed against the steering wheel. 

He reached over and cut the radio before turning around to look directly at Sam. 

"Those cops drive around looking to stop crime from happening. Detectives like me don't really do that. We sit at a desk most of the day. We only really go out when there is something to investigate, so that means that the crime has already happened." 

Samuel seemed to think over his words for several moments. He stared out the window, watching as older children advanced up the street on foot towards the school.

"But you've got a badge like a cop." He rebutted.

"I do." Santi agreed as he craned his neck to try and see past the long line of cars. He toyed with the idea of parking on a side street and walking Sam up himself. 

"I don't like cops." 

Samuel's confession was stated plainly, with no anger or malice. His tone of voice carried the same level of indifference as if he were talking about a vegetable that he doesn't eat.

"Oh yeah?" Santiago considered him through the rearview mirror, watching the way he disinterestedly fidgeted with the nylon straps of his backpack. "Why's that?"

He thought back to the night he picked him up at the police station, to the scene he found taking place in that hallway. He began to wonder about the likelihood that maybe the encounter hadn't been Sam's first bad experience with police. 

"Cause..." He began with a shrug, only the dark curls at the crown of his head were visible while his eyes remained trained down at his hands. "They ask too many questions."

Santi never had the chance to ask for any further clarification. The carpool line had progressed rapidly, effectively bringing the conversation to a swift close. He managed to quickly exchange a one-sided goodbye before Sam jumped out from the backseat. He watched for a few seconds as his blue backpack marched off toward the steps of the school. 

___________________________________

Wednesday, October 9th, 2021. 1:00 PM.

The office had a certain level of noise going at all times. Phones ringing. Tapping keys while someone typed. Chairs rolling across the floor. It was an open concept workspace. People were constantly walking in and out. The adjacent hallway was always reverberating the loud clanking doors on either end. 

Will's concentration flourished in that sort of environment. His mind was able to soften all the individual noises to a dull roar, turning it all into soft static that played in the background while he filled out reports and progressed through his schedule.

He and Santiago worked side by side. Their desks were back to back just outside of their head of unit's office.

Santi was the exact opposite in that he hated the office noise. Often he would ask for Will's help to fill out paperwork because he couldn't string coherent sentences together with all the distractions happening around them - the chatter that would build up near the office coffee machine, the people randomly filing in and out of the meeting rooms, the phone they shared between their two desks ringing every other hour. All that time he spent following cartel activity out in the jungle had changed his threshold for sensory input. Two years later and he still struggled to recalibrate. 

There were times when it bordered on overload. In those moments, Santiago would push away from his desk in frustration, announcing that he needed air before getting up and taking aimless strolls through the hallways and stairwells to clear his mind. He often needed those breaks. From the moment he joined on with the narcotics division, he always preferred to take his lunches outside. He was far from the only one, certainly, but Will couldn't think of one time where Santi chose to bring in leftovers or a sandwich from home. He always went out to grab food, run errands, or go to a nearby park to walk. 

Sitting in the breakroom and shooting the shit with other colleagues wasn't ever going to be his thing, and that was okay. Will didn't talk him in to joining the force because he needed him to socialize.  

It was precisely 1 o'clock when he came strolling back in from his lunch break. A takeaway coffee was securely nestled in one of his hands, a large shopping bag dangled from the other. 

Will didn’t look up in his direction, but could still hear the moment he paused mid-step as he spied the cream colored envelope left sitting on his keyboard. It bore the official seal of the Sacramento police department’s bureau of professional standards.  

“Came in while you were at lunch.” Will explained over his shoulder. 

Santiago’s eyes squinted to read the label as he took the envelope into his hands. There was an official looking gold and blue seal embossed over the back, with his name and desk number clearly addressed on the front. 

"You mind sharing why the Lieutenant of Professional Standards is noticing you?”

Will's voice was calm as he presented the question, but he felt the beginnings of a familiar anger rising up within him. He had brought Santiago on with Narcotics not just because he knew that he was overqualified for the job, but also because he knew how badly he needed the distraction. They all noticed how he closed in on himself after Colombia, but Frankie had been the one to see first hand just how deep Santiago's spiral went. 

Will never wanted to know the details of what transpired between the two of them that one weekend, but he was able to deduce enough for himself. Whatever shit that had been brewing off in the distance must have come to shore, because ever since they seemed to be silently weathering that storm together- silently in front of everyone. Will didn't need to ask any questions. He just saw that Santi needed to be saved from himself, so he tried to do his part and talked him into the job as a means of protecting him, as a means of keeping him close. 

But Santiago was one of those people who couldn't be kept out of trouble. He had an innate desire to go searching for it himself, always under the premise of some self-righteous bullshit.

“Shit, this came today?” He whispered in disbelief as he looked down at the envelope. 

With a gentle thud, he settled down onto his own desk chair, attention fixed to where his name, office floor, and desk number were neatly printed across the front. His finger quickly slid underneath the flap to break the adhesive seal. A few pieces of stapled paper were neatly folded inside. 

Santiago left Will’s question to hang in the air between them as he began to read over the documents. There were several lines of formalities before he finally arrived at the essential information. 

"This letter is to inform you that a unique system tracking number has been allocated to your filed report. You will be notified by the department as soon as report #10D53335F8296 has been assigned an investigator and upon the completion of the initial preliminary review..."

Santi ripped his eyes away from the papers to find Will staring at him, one eyebrow threatening to arch in a silent demand that he be filled in. 

"On Monday I filed a complaint about an officer." He supplied, his voice kept purposefully to a murmur as he continued to scan over everything. 

Attached were several similarly worded documents informing him that over the course of three days his complaint had astonishingly progressed through the first steps outlined in the opening letter. A civilian investigator had officially been matched to his case and had already begun the preliminary review. He was given a time and date to be interviewed about the incident. 

Will dragged a hand over his mouth. He took a slow inhale before looking back at the man still intently reading over the stapled documents. 

“You filed a complaint for what?”

“Improper force." Santiago responded while promptly re-folding everything and neatly fitting it back inside the envelope. "The cop on duty the night I picked up Sam was out of line. So I notified the supervisor of his unit. She advised me to formally file a complaint so it would be on record.”

Will's eyes narrowed as he listened. 

“You filed this Monday and they responded today? That doesn't seem right." 

He sat forward in his seat, nodding over to the envelope in his hands. 

"Mind if I take a look?" 

Santi shrugged before handing over the documents. “They just want me to attend a meeting. Give my side of the story...”

Will silently read over each page, seeming unable to accept Santiago's dismissal of the situation. His expression remained neutral as he analyzed the details, convinced that there should be some sort of error. He knew well enough how these things worked. Normally it was a question of months before anything went anywhere, not days. 

"What's the officer's name?" He whispered, still intently reading. 

“Powell.” Santiago replied before draining the last of his coffee. "Some young rookie who was on patrol the night Sam was picked up."

There was a minute twitch in Will's features before he let out a low whistle.  

Santi couldn't pretend to have missed his friend's reaction. "What's that look?" He insisted while taking the letters back. 

Their eyes met. Will could only shake his head as he settled back in his chair. 

“For your sake, Pope, I hope he's not related to Deputy Chief Powell.”

"So what if he is?"

Santiago wore a mirthless smirk before he turned around to face his own desk. Powell could be related to the head of the CIA for all he cared. He would still go to that stupid formality of a meeting, give his version of what happened, maybe get Dana to corroborate if necessary, and then it would stop there. Powell would at most get a slap on the wrist, but there would at least be documentation of his conduct somewhere. Maybe it could serve the next person who might need to report him for something. 

Will didn't entertain his question. He recognized that it wasn't worth the back and forth. Santiago's bleeding heart and his need for the last word were things that he knew too fucking well.

___________________________________

Wednesday, October 9th, 2021. 3:30 PM.

Every day so far after school, Santiago had taken to picking up Samuel at the park directly across the street. While he waited for the dismissal bell to chime, he found himself reflecting on their conversation from that morning. Currently, there was a general feeling of mistrust hanging over his house, and he was fairly certain that the sentiment went both ways. 

The first few months after returning from Colombia, he lived on edge. The money they stole belonged to more people than just Lorea. The list of dangerous individuals who would be looking for answers was long. Despite how careful he had been in-country to destroy any trace pointing to him or the boys, he couldn’t shake the paranoia that followed him home. Every night he would make the rounds in his own house, checking all of the windows and locks. He installed a security system with cameras. He looked frequently in the rearview mirror while driving. Whenever he couldn’t sleep, he peered through the blinds to survey the street outside.

Even though the paranoia began to fade after the first six months, Santiago never really lost those habits. 

After the kid tried to run away on Saturday, he found himself once more making the rounds to make sure that all windows and doors leading outside were properly secured. Santi had no choice but to keep his house keys either in his pocket or locked in his nightstand. It only seemed to further cement their roles as jailor and detainee, but for the sake of Sam’s safety he couldn't risk making the same mistake twice.

Due to the abrupt nature of how most placements were brought to his home, Santi regretted how difficult it was to build a rapport with them. The past few days with Sam were proving to only be more of the same. Most of their interactions so far felt like forms of interrogation, so he couldn't exactly blame the kid for not liking him. 

He worried that staying in a foster home while his mother was in a shelter felt like something akin to punishment. 

The afternoon sun blazed down onto the concrete and the rooftops of cars. The crisp autumn air from that morning was gone, as the heat of summer desperately tried to make one of its last appearances before the cold weather officially took over everything. All of the kids walking up to their respective rides had abandoned their morning jackets for short sleeves. They were chatting happily, buzzing with energy as they shoved at each other and ran around. 

As he scanned through the crowd for signs of Samuel, Santiago couldn't keep from thinking about how different he was from these children. Their steps seemed light and easy, their sleep at night was probably unburdened and peaceful. 

Amongst the throngs of pupils walking along to find their parents, Samuel abruptly appeared alone. With his head bowed, he slipped between the small packs of kids to hurry towards the truck. His movements were quick, his sneakers pushed off hard against the sidewalk as soon as he caught sight of Santiago's truck. The moment he yanked the door open and clambered up into the backseat, he skipped right past saying hello. 

"-When are we going to call?"

A gentle scoff escaped Santiago as he turned back to the front to readjust his seatbelt. He could only shake his head while shifting the truck into reverse. 

"I told you already this morning, Sam. Not until after dinner. She's still busy during the day." 

The boy's face visibly soured at the answer. His backpack was promptly shrugged off and allowed to drop to the floorboards before he twisted around to grab his seatbelt. Since yesterday afternoon, he had been repeatedly reconfirming with Santiago the timing of the phone call. Whenever the subject crossed his mind, his body began to fidget with impatience. It had likely consumed his thoughts all day while at school, which only made Santi worry that he was potentially getting set up for another big disappointment. 

He had seen one too many times how phone calls with parents could fall through. It was a small, disruptive blow that could be so cruelly devastating for a kid in care. Having that dangling carrot ripped away unexpectedly just made their already difficult situation that much more unbearable.

Even the announcement of stopping by Frankie's didn't seem to lift Samuel's mood. That afternoon there were no unexpected questions fired from the backseat. They drove along listening to only the radio. 

The moment they pulled into the parking lot of the diner, a garish red instantly caught Santiago's eye. 

Parked in the very first spot by the front door, sat Benjamin Miller's pride and joy. Against the deep charcoal of the asphalt and the cool metal of the building's exterior, the gaudy paint job almost appeared to be glowing. 

Even Sam seemed to perk up in the back seat. As they slowly drove past, his head turned to continue peering out at the sportscar, his expression showing just how perplexed he was by the vehicle. It was easy enough to understand why. Next to all of the humble sedans and pick-up trucks, Benny's Ferrari looked like it descended from another planet.  

Maybe he likes cars, Santi quietly thought to himself as he found parking a few spaces down. 

They slid out from the truck into the balmy heat. Before he could properly close the door to the driver's seat, Sam was already scurrying past him. 

The boy balanced restlessly on the outer edges of his sneakers.

“How long are we staying here?” He squinted against the harsh late-day sun.

Santiago shot a dry look in his direction. He shook his head once more before locking the truck and joining him up on the curb. 

“Not too long. Thirty minutes, maybe.” 

Sam’s face fell at his answer. 

“Why?” Santiago demanded with a smirk. “You’ve got somewhere to be that I don’t know about? You got a part time job somewhere?” 

Even for a seven year-old, the rhetorical nature of the question didn’t go unnoticed. The boy was still a bit too young to master the art of rolling his eyes, but his stony expression conveyed the same message. He ignored the joke and turned on his heel.

Just before he could fully face away, an odd shaped hole at the collar of his t-shirt caught Santiago's eye. 

“Hey! What happened to your shirt?"

Sam didn’t turn back to him, but his head dipped forward as his hand reached up to press against the rip at his collar. It was a plain dark red t-shirt, one of the new things that he bought him recently. After a couple seconds of reflection, it dawned on Santiago that Sam had been wearing it every day to school since Monday. He hadn't been able to notice in the mornings because Sam was usually wearing his jacket. 

"Kid, have you been wearing the same shirt all week?" 

Santi felt almost guilty, wondering if the teacher at school had noticed him arriving every day in the same clothes. Instead of answering the question, Sam looked at him with the expression of a child who is trying to judge just how angry the adult confronting them might be. Santiago could once again feel their conversation hurtling towards that interrogation pattern of cop against fugitive, and he knew that he needed to back off. The last thing he wanted was to make a kid feel guilty over a seven dollar t-shirt. 

"Do you like that one a lot or something?" He asked easily. 

Sam continued to look unsure, but he nodded his head faintly.

Santiago didn't really know if he was being truthful or not, but it didn't matter. The truth surrounding why he didn't change his clothes for three days wasn't the real issue. He needed to find a way to help him stop feeling so wary around him. 

He only shook his head as he tsked in quiet disapproval. "What is that face for? C'mon, you're not in trouble." 

He lifted his baseball cap and pushed back some of the curls off his forehead before he walked over. "Look, it's fine. I ripped my jeans about every week when I was your age- drove my mom absolutely insane. I can buy you more in that color if you like it, but try to wear a different shirt every day, alright? People are going to think that I don't take care of you."

His hand dropped down onto the boy's shoulder, he gently steered him towards the diner. 

"C'mon, I'll let you meet the guy who drives that car." 

Together they began to head for the front door.

The late afternoon sun cast its glow through the windows of the bustling diner, covering the space with a warm autumn light. The air hummed with a mix of sounds. Conversations intermingled with the scraping of silverware, the clatter of dishes, all while the staff hurried back and forth from behind the bar to the tables. Unlike the last time when Santi brought Sam in the wee hours of the morning, the place was now packed. The entire neighborhood seemed to have the same idea to swing by after work and school. Patrons filled the cozy booths and the worn counter stools, the aroma of the sizzling grill, coffee, and homemade pies wafted through the air. 

Dead in the middle of the buzzing diner, Santiago's eyes honed in on the familiar figure of Benjamin Miller. He was sitting perched on a barstool at the counter, a basket of half-eaten onion rings set out in front of him. He wore a smile as he joked with someone standing on the other side of the kitchen window, probably Frankie. 

Despite himself, Santiago felt a grin crack his features the moment Benny spotted him.

He quickly stood from his barstool, loud voice booming over the dull roar surrounding them. 

“Ahh, there he is!” Benny brightly called. His tall figure was dressed in a sweat damp t-shirt and Carhartt work pants, a faded baseball cap turned backwards over his damp blond hair. He was no doubt fresh off from some project, probably flipping another house to sell.

Sam paused mid-step, unsure where to go in the busy space packed with people. Before Santiago's legs could collide into his back, his hands easily dropped down onto his shoulders. Silently, he guided the boy forward, steering them both in the direction of the counter. 

“Hola, Santiago… ”

Santi’s head spun at the familiar sound of a woman’s voice. 

Carla, Frankie’s second in command was shooting him a grin as she carried plates of food over to a table. 

“Oye, Carla, que tal? ” He brightly greeted over his shoulder. 

They reached where the younger Miller brother stood waiting for them at the counter, just across from the opening where orders were passed up from the back of the kitchen. 

“Where the hell have you been?” Benny grinned before firmly drawing Santi close. His large hand clapped hard against his back, making a hollow thumping noise that warmed his insides. 

He pulled a face of amused disbelief as he pulled away. “Ah, c’mon, we saw each other like three weeks ago.”

In his defense, it was true. Three weeks of absence was nothing at all compared to his previous track record, but now that he was stateside for good, his friends and family demanded more of him. His old excuse of working on the other side of the world didn’t fly anymore. 

Santi craned his neck to glance around at the filled tables. “Jesus, Ben, did you invite the entire block to come here with you?” 

“Yeah, told them Fish was paying.” Benny deadpanned before his eyes fell to Samuel. “Who's the kid?”

Sam’s hands held onto the straps of his backpack as he looked around to watch the bustle of the diner. 

“This is Sam. He’s staying with me for a while.”

Benny's eyebrows rose minutely before he could catch himself. He didn’t quite know what to make of the pair. He’d seen Santiago take in older boys, most of them old enough to at least have a learner’s permit. This one looked like he just learned to ride a bike without training wheels. 

"This is my friend Benny." Santi explained down to the boy planted in front of him. "He's the one who drives the red Ferrari outside." 

Samuel's gaze traveled slowly from Benny's work boots up to his face, seeming torn between being impressed and feeling some mild disbelief. 

For years Santiago had witnessed Benny have that effect on people. He didn't know him before their time together in the army, but Will always swore that he came into the world with that magnetic pull, and never for a second did Santi doubt it. Everything about Benny drew attention - his height, his loud voice, his ice blue eyes and disarming smile. The flashy car parked out front was just another cherry atop what was already a well-decorated cake. 

"Is Frankie around?" He asked, eyes already scanning for him amongst the kitchen staff. 

As a direct answer to his question, Frankie's broad back suddenly appeared through the door to the kitchen. He was busy lifting a white cook's apron over his head. Both his stride and posture read like he had been having a rough afternoon. 

It was all but confirmed when his mouth formed a tight apologetic smile the moment he caught sight of Santiago. He made his way over. 

"Two cooks called out today." He quickly offered. "Go ahead and sit down. Let me bus this table in the corner and I'll be right there."

His eyes never lifted to properly greet Santiago's, instead his hand only squeezed his bicep as he slipped past. 

"Y'alright, Fish?" Benny demanded.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Rush is almost over." He waved dismissively, speeding away to the other end of the diner. "Carla, you tell Angel that I got the dishwasher working again. No excuses for the dishes being backed up anymore!" 

"Sure thing, Frank." Carla sighed from where she stood at the cash register. "He's been like that all damn day." 

She looked up at Santiago as she muttered the last part. He craned his neck to follow Frankie, teeth gently worrying the inside of his cheek while he studied him. 

Benny didn't say anything, choosing instead to busy himself with clearing away his empty basket of onion rings. He stood and moved easily behind the counter like he was no different than any of the people actually on Frankie's payroll. He disposed of his trash and dropped the plastic basket with the others, only pausing to serve himself a glass of ice tea from the beverage fountain. 

“Hey, kid..." He called over his shoulder to Samuel. "Why's there a hole in your shirt?” 

Santiago watched as Sam slightly straightened in surprise, caught off guard to be suddenly the topic of conversation for Benny. Like before, his hand moved to defensively touch the aforementioned rip.

"Nothing." He mumbled.

“Nothing, huh?" Benny repeated before taking a mouthful of ice-tea, the familiar shine of amusement never leaving his eyes. "Sounds fake. What really happened? Did you get in a fight?” 

A short pause fell between them, where Samuel only stared at the man with a furrowed brow. Not sure that Benny's playful teasing landed, Santiago nearly opened his mouth to intervene before a faint half-smile slowly broke across the boy's face.

“No!” He quietly insisted.

“Uh-huh. Did you at least win?” Benny demanded, playfully wiggling his eyebrows as he munched on a piece of ice. 

"No!" Samuel looked down at the counter to conceal what could only be described as a bashful sort of grin. 

“Aha!" Benny quickly exclaimed. "You did win, didn’t you!”

Sam tried to make an exasperated face, but couldn't suppress his own urge to laugh. 

It was the only time Santiago could recall seeing him smile. Before he could even begin to dwell much on that realization, Frankie was making his way back over to where they were sitting.

"Cómo te va, Samuelito ?" He lightly nudged the boy's shoulder as he walked past.

He expertly slipped behind the counter, immediately beginning to search all around before brandishing a silver ice cream scoop. “How about some ice cream? I’ve got chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla.” 

Sam blinked at the new proposal. His mouth parted with initial hesitation, unsure of what he was supposed to say. There was a faint creak of the barstool as he turned to look at Santiago, his sable brown eyes asking if he had permission.  

“Yeah, it’s alright, go ahead.” Santi nodded to him. “-But just one scoop, Frank!” He quickly added, already familiar with the diner’s generous portion sizes. “I need him to eat dinner tonight.”

Frankie audibly scoffed at the proposal, mumbling "who eats just one scoop?" under his breath.

“Sociopaths.” Benny easily chimed in, never looking up from his phone.

Much to Santiago’s dismay, his protests only fell on deaf ears. He watched as two large balls of strawberry ice cream were scooped into a small bowl. They were dressed with a few jets of whipped cream and a wafer cookie before being promptly delivered to the space in front of his young charge.

His disapproval quietly dissolved into the back of his mind as he watched the way Samuel dug into his free dessert, his feet swinging in the air ever so slightly. By the time Santi looked over to issue a silent thank you to Frankie, the man had already disappeared back to the kitchen.  

“Are you coming to the cookout at Will’s this weekend?” Benny asked as he settled down on the open stool next to him.

Confused, Santi sharply twisted around to face him. “I just spent all afternoon next to your brother. Since when is he grilling?” 

“Since I just texted him to say that we’re cooking at his place this weekend.”

The explanation didn’t come as a surprise, but Santiago only gestured his head vaguely in Samuel’s direction.

“I don’t know, Ben. I'm not exactly free.”

“So what? Bring him.” Benny declared before standing on the foot rest of his stool. He abruptly craned over to peer through the open window to the kitchen. “Fish! Tell him he should bring the kid to Will’s!”

“Jesus-” Santi whispered, his hand softly hitting the counter top in exasperation. Discretion was a quality Benny seemed to abandon once in the civilian world. 

“You should bring him.” Frankie replied from the kitchen, never looking up from the order of food he was plating. “It’ll do you some good to have a break.”

It didn't take long for him to finally agree to stop by Will's place on Saturday. He didn't truthfully have a good enough reason not to go and the idea of sipping a beer on the immaculate deck in his buddy's backyard didn't sound too terrible. He didn't quite know what he would do to keep Sam entertained around a bunch of adults, but he half-suspected that Benny would take care of it for him. 

___________________________________

Wednesday, October 9th, 2021. 7:30 PM.

It took everything he had to keep Samuel occupied before they were meant to call Sonia. The boy rushed through his homework and through eating dinner. For the entire evening, his eyes never once stopped following Santi around - looking for any sign that it was finally time. The unvoiced question of "when" sat plainly between them. 

Santiago didn't know what to do with him in these moments. He didn't seem interested in TV. Multiple times he tried to sit Samuel down in front of cartoons while he went to do things around the house, but without fail he would abandon the bright colors and flashing lights to come find him. He would try sending him to go play, but that was an even bigger failure, though for reasons that admittedly weren't Samuel's fault. The only things remotely resembling toys lying around the house were several decks of playing cards and an old football that was too big for the kid's child-sized hands.

His only remedy to Samuel following him around was to give him little chores. Part of him worried that it would come across like a punishment, but to his surprise Sam was strangely eager to work alongside him. Things like sending him outside to pick up sticks in the yard while dinner cooked, getting him to help unload the dishwasher, setting the table - he was visibly content to have little jobs to perform, to be useful. 

Santiago made a note to call his own mother and ask if she had any of his old toys in storage. Even if it was a solution to make the time pass, giving the kid chores to occupy him felt a little too much like something out of a Dickens novel. He didn't know where that obedient part of his personality came from, but further exploiting it wasn't something he wanted to make a habit. 

A half-hour after dinner they finally went to the back bedroom to call Sonia. 

Samuel climbed up on to the desk chair this time, while Santiago sat down on the foot of the bed. 

His number must have been registered on a pre-approved list since the last call, because they were put directly through by the shelter. Much to Santiago's surprise, Sonia picked up on the very first ring. 

She sounded better than the last time they spoke with her. Her voice was lighter, less tired. Immediately she wanted to share good news with them. A new job had been offered to her at an insurance company. She would be able to start in a couple of weeks. They just needed to wait for the city housing office to place her and Samuel in an apartment. 

"It won't be long." She promised him repeatedly. "Just another week, sweetheart." 

After answering his many questions, she happily demanded to know everything about school and how we was doing. 

Santiago sat back and watched Sam as he began to recount the last three days in great detail. The good news had clearly lifted his spirits, but something about having his mother's undivided attention made him positively beam. Sides of himself that he never showed before began to peak their way through. He seemed to drop his serious demeanor as he talked about what they were learning at school and how he got to help feed the class pet that day. For once he began to sound like almost any other seven year-old. 

It made Santi think back to himself as a little boy. He could remember having some of the very same reactions and mannerisms- speaking animatedly with his hands while he told stories, using the occasional word in English when he couldn't quickly find what he wanted to say in Spanish. 

Sonia let Samuel rattle on for twenty-five minutes, lightly laughing as she listened and only ever stopping him to briefly ask one or two questions. 

Hearing his voice seemed to have the same effect on her as it did on him - it was both a source of comfort and sadness. 

Before long she made a quick excuse about needing to go. The way she said goodbye to her son and wished him goodnight was inexplicably rushed. 

___________________________________

Saturday, October 12th, 2021. 3:00 PM

Will’s backyard was impressive compared to the mix of patchy grass and dirt behind Santiago's house.

It was a space that was designed for a family, for entertaining lots of guests. Will didn't yet have the wife and kids element locked down, but Santiago knew he was working on it. Out of all of them, he was maybe the most cut out for that kind of life. He didn't ever talk about those sorts of things with him or Frankie, but Benny probably knew his plans for the future. They all used their shares of the Colombia money in various ways to rebuild their lives back home - each of them trying to construct something closer to what they had imagined for themselves - each with varying levels of success. Maybe for Will, using his time and money to carefully curate and care for this big house with a magazine-worthy backyard was a way of manifesting.

For now, it hosted their boys' nights and get-togethers with Will & Benny's extended family.

The grass was perfectly maintained, soft enough to comfortably walk on barefoot, with absolutely no prickly weeds or sharp little stones. There were large oak trees in the very back near the fence, the kind with low branches perfect for hanging a tire swing. There was a stainless steel double grill for large cookouts, a sand pit for playing horseshoes, even a built-in seating area on the deck that held a fire pit.

Samuel and Santiago were the last ones to arrive.

There was no bright red Ferrari in the driveway, but Santi recognized the black SUV out front as one of Benny's back-up vehicles. Frankie's truck was parked along the curb. 

Following the usual protocol, he led Samuel along the side of the house toward the back gate. Even Will’s side lawn was perfectly mowed, the tall wooden privacy fence stained an HOA-approved color. While balancing a small cooler of drinks under one arm, Santiago easily reached over the fence and unlatched the wooden door with his free hand.

Sam stayed close behind him as they entered the backyard, dutifully carrying the grocery store bag of burger buns they were tasked with bringing.

Already, he could hear the sounds of Benny’s laughter and Creedence Clearwater Revival from the outdoor speakers. The smell of grilled meat hung in the air, ambient mosquito lamps were lit around the back porch.

Will was unsurprisingly manning the grill when they walked up to the back deck. He was dressed in cargo shorts and flip-flops despite the autumn chill that was guaranteed to arrive once the sun went down.

“So this is your plus one?” He asked over his shoulder. The burgers sizzling away were left briefly unattended as he turned around to face them.

Santiago ushered Sam to stand in front of him. “Go ahead, say hi to Will.” He pressed.

Sam looked up from the plastic sack of buns he held against his belly, obediently mumbling a quick hi just loud enough to be heard.

“How’s it going, kid?” Will nodded to him before pointing to the table at the center of the deck. “Go set those over on the table for me, will you?”

The boy moved to follow his instructions. As Santiago worked at transferring his beers into the bigger communal cooler, he watched Samuel from behind, his gaze needlessly supervising while he went about the simple task. 

Will couldn’t keep himself from smirking. It was always the same with every new placement Santi took in. In the beginning he was always hypervigilant, needing to establish order so he could pass as a reliable authority figure. When most of the teenage boys he took in stood a full head taller than him, he had to play the bad cop over the first few days and make them earn his trust through curfews and chore lists. But before long he always eased up.

Seeing him with a child seemed to have completely morphed that old strategy. He stared after Samuel with the same energy as a mother hen, always looking to be a split second away from fretting over him.

Santiago caught Will watching him the moment he straightened up from filling the main cooler. His eyes narrowed as he craned his head to the side.

“What is your deal, Miller?”

Will could only shrug and shake his head before he turned back to the grill.

Frankie and Benny came out from the sliding glass door, a young black Labrador eagerly following behind them. The dog was just about at adult size, easily weighing over 60 pounds. His nails clicked across the deck as he scurried over to greet the newcomers.

His deep bark reverberated throughout the backyard before he suddenly lunged toward Samuel. Instinctively, Santiago’s hand gripped the boy’s shoulder. He abruptly stood up, ready to move himself in front to intercept, but Benny already had a firm hold on the dog’s leather collar. 

"Bo, settle down!" Will sharply called his dog's name. 

"He's fine. I've got him." Benny easily calmed the situation. “Big guy's just a little excited.”

Sam didn't back away from the overly energetic dog. He stood squarely planted in the same spot, grinning as he offered out a hand for him to smell.

“Atta boy, Sam.” Benny quietly praised, his grip still steady on the dog's collar. “Let him smell you first. When he sits down then you can pet him.”

Santiago watched as Bo finally dropped into a sitting position. Sam reached up to scratch at his ears. 

“You like dogs?” He asked him.

Sam nodded at the question. He leaned back as the dog’s pink tongue tried to lick his face, softly laughing as he attempted to dodge the overgrown puppy's affection.  

Santi thought back to conversations they held in his truck on the way to school in the mornings. Multiple times the kid had asked him why he didn't have any pets. Watching him confidently interact with Will’s dog showed that he clearly had grown up around animals.

A strange tension in his jaw slowly melted away, one that he hadn't even realized he was holding. A single corner of his mouth ticked upward in a hesitant smile. He began to wonder if maybe he overreacted a bit. In truth there had been no real danger. Will's dog was young but he was well trained. Even if that weren't the case, in this backyard surrounded by these four men, nothing bad would have ever happened to Samuel. 

He hadn't even noticed Frankie digging out a beer for him from the cooler. Cool and wet fingertips suddenly wrapped around his elbow, still dripping from the ice water. Santiago felt his chest deflate some as the frigid glass bottle was pushed against his open palm. He tried to lean into the man's touch, turning his head slightly in hopes that they would graze one another, but Frankie slipped away just as quickly as he came. 

The brief contact still caused something in Santiago's chest to buzz, like the quickest flash of static electricity. He tried to meet Frankie's eyes as he set about grabbing drinks for everyone, but his brow was obscured under the brim of his hat.

His body language was the same as in the diner a few days ago. He may have been physically present with them in the backyard, but mentally he was so clearly elsewhere. 

Santiago only swallowed and nodded to himself. With the help of a nearby lighter sitting on the table, he popped open his beer with ease. He tried not to mull over any hidden meaning in that fleeting touch as he took his first swig. 

The afternoon sun warmed the air around them. For the next few hours, Sam chose to stay close, quietly hanging off to the side and listening as the adults talked. Conversation was principally dominated by the Miller brothers. Benny had a fight in Vegas coming up. Will wanted to organize a boys hike in a couple of weeks.

Samuel sat between Frankie and Santiago, happily eating whatever was offered to him. Ever since their last telephone call to his mother, Sam seemed to be eating and sleeping much better. Santiago was relieved to see for the last few evenings that there was hardly any food left on his plate. Late at night when he would finally to bed, there was hardly any noise at all coming from Sam's bedroom across the hall. 

As the sun gradually began to set, Sam finally ventured off the deck to play in the yard with Will's dog. He happily chased after the black Lab, chucking his grimy tennis ball up in the air for him to catch. 

Happy that the kid was occupied and knowing that they would be staying a while longer, Santiago allowed himself to settle back with a second beer. The sun was beginning to fall already, and Will was starting to gather the supplies to light a fire.

Frankie sat next to him on a folding chair. He hardly spoke the entire afternoon, opting to drink water instead of beer. His shiny black eyes made a point to avoid Santiago as much as possible. He sat with his arms folded, intensely watching Will's very involved technique for placing logs in the metal base of the firepit. 

Impatient, Benny reached over to nudge his brother with his foot.

"You playing Lincoln Logs there or what?”  

"I’m trying to get the most use out of this wood.” Will retorted as he worked at securing the logs in place. “How many of my fires have kept your asses from freezing out in the field?"

“Hundreds.��� Santiago agreed. 

“Well now we're freezing our asses off in the middle of civilization. Hurry up, will ya?” Benny replied while tugging a hooded sweatshirt over his head.  “The temperature's dropped like 20 degrees.” 

The crackling flames soon danced in the firepit, casting a warm glow.

Their collective attention was redirected when Bo came trotting back up onto the deck, sans tennis ball and without Samuel.

Sanitaog scanned the backyard, struggling to locate the boy until he noticed a small dark figure high up in the big oak tree near the back fence.

Thanks to the lights Will had installed on the back of his house, Santiago could see Sam dangling from a thick outstretched limb of the magnolia tree. In one fluid try, he managed to bring his legs upward, wrapping himself entirely around the branch. His skinny arms weren’t covered with much muscle at all, but what little he possessed seemed to be well toned. He was completely at ease while he worked his way comfortably atop the thick branch, settling himself into a sitting position.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a country boy, Pope.” Benny laughed as he looked over his shoulder, one brow raised in amusement.

“That’s definitely a kid that spends time outside.” Will hummed before taking a sip from his beer. 

Santiago had to admit that Sam was surprisingly strong for his size. He doubted at age seven that he possessed the necessary core or upper body strength to pull off those maneuvers.

Still, that nagging instinct to keep the boy out of danger remained ever present at the back of his mind. Slowly, he cupped one hand around his mouth.

“Sam, buddy, that’s high enough!” He cautioned across the yard.

“I’m fine!” A small voice eventually called back. 

A soft sigh of frustration escaped Santiago when it was clear that his warning went ignored. He set his untouched bottle of beer down beside him.

“I better go make sure he doesn’t fall and break something.” 

Before he could even move, Frankie’s hand gripped his shoulder, gently nudging him back down onto his chair. “Stay. I’ll go keep an eye on him.”

They all watched Frankie's broad back traipse across the lawn, his hands in his pockets as he approached the oak tree. 

“Does he seem off to anybody else?”

The three of them didn’t look at each other. Santiago let his question hang in the air, spoken softly enough so it couldn’t be heard on the opposite side of the backyard. 

Frankie stood at the base of the tree, head tilted back while he mindfully watched Samuel climb. His words weren't entirely clear, but they could hear him speaking in Spanish. His hand moved to point to something once in a while, gesticulating while he gave some sort of direction or encouragement.

“He does.” Will quietly agreed as he lowered himself onto one of the open Adirondack chairs. “I thought maybe things weren't going great at the diner.”

Santiago knew that if things were going poorly at the diner, Frankie would just be stomping around and slamming cabinets while cursing up a storm. This went beyond the dishwasher breaking down and line cooks calling out. The empty look in his eyes for the past few days suggested something much deeper. Even more so, Santiago knew that Will was more astute than that. He had to have the same alarm bells ringing in his head. 

“No. You and I can both see that it's something more.”

Will stoked the fire some before settling back into his seat. He looked Santiago in the eyes, his face still remaining neutral. 

“Look, we only found out today.”

Santiago's brow knit together as he stared at the two brothers. His attention zeroed in on Benny, catching the moment he began looking uncomfortably down at the beer bottle in his hands. Will may have been known for putting on a stony mask, but his younger brother was never quite able to hide his emotions in the same way. 

“What do you know, Ben?” 

Benny's lips pressed together into a tight line, but he never lifted his gaze. It wasn't his information to share and he fucking hated being the messenger, but he knew that when it came to Frankie, Santiago could not be talked into backing down.

“Elena is trying for full custody.”

The silence that followed the admission was heavy, and it only set Santiago further on edge as he struggled to process the information. His mind raced to try and find some kind of meaning. 

Elena had ample reason to be pissed at Frankie, but their daughter had stood as a no-conflict zone between them. They always co-parented well, despite their differences. And even though she hated Santiago's guts, he didn't know her to be a cruel or vindictive person. Something had to have happened. 

“She's gotta be doing this to try and get his attention. Have either of you spoken to her?”

Benny cleared his throat, his eyes still trained down towards the mouth of his beer bottle.

“It's still so fresh, man. He’s only known since Monday.”

Will shook his head before pointing a warning finger at Santiago. “This isn't our fight, Pope. And frankly, of all people, you definitely need to keep your nose out of it.”

Only a year earlier, that sort of comment would have sparked rage deep within Santi. Maybe it was because it was coming from Will, and maybe the 2nd beer had him feeling more relaxed, but he simply nodded.

“Yeah, I'm aware.” He bore a bitter half-smile as he held up a placating hand. “But this isn't fucking right and we all know it.”

Santiago took a sip of his beer, only turning his head so he could verify that Samuel hadn't gone any higher in Will's tree. 

Frankie must have succeeded in convincing him to climb down, because he was now hanging upside down by his knees from the lowest branch. 

Seemingly eager for a subject change, Benny nodded to the scene taking place on the other side of the backyard. 

"What's the story with this kid?"

Santiago shrugged. "Hard to say. His mom's got issues, but she won't talk to anyone. We just know that they were evicted and about to sleep out on the street. It looks like she's running from something. Maybe an ex. Maybe she owes someone money."

Will leaned onto the armrest of his deck chair. "Does she have a record?" 

He let the question drift out between them casually. Due to their line of work, they both had access to certain connections and the privileges that went along with them. It was a practice that wasn't discouraged or encouraged, but they both knew that Santiago could have easily obtained her file if Sonia had one with the police. 

"Nope. All clear." 

"What about the kid?"

Santiago slowly blinked, his dark eyes incredulous. 

"Does he have a police record at age seven?" 

A smile appeared across Will's face as he looked out across his back lawn. He could so clearly hear the indignation in his friend's voice as he disbelievingly rephrased the question, there was no need to look over to confirm that his eyes were probably narrow slits.

"I meant have you tried asking him for more information, Pope." 

An empty laugh pushed its way from Santiago's chest. 

"I've tried, but I'm not exactly his favorite person." He sighed, his chair creaking as he leaned back into a long stretch. "We've fallen into this cops and robbers routine somehow. He goes non verbal the second I start asking any questions." 

Will's fingers scratched against the stubble growing under his chin, this time a twinge of genuine amusement flashed across his features as he tried to imagine the scene. 

"It's only been a few days, right? Don't they usually settle in after a while?" 

"Yeah, yeah..." Santi hummed as he began peeling off the foil wrapper around the mouth of his beer bottle, clearly unconvinced. "Most of them do." 

Benny leaned forward to chuck another log onto Will’s fire, his face contemplative while he looked for the right spot.

“If something’s really wrong, he’ll eventually talk.” He spoke while a few stray fireflies took off into the air.

Santiago didn't ask for clarification, but he couldn't keep from mulling over how Benny's advice applied to both individuals on the other side of the backyard. 

___________________________________

Saturday, October 12th, 2021. 10:15 PM

They left Will's house around 10 PM.

After saying their goodbyes to the Miller brothers, Santiago and Frankie stood between their trucks parked on the edge of the front lawn. Sam was already climbing up into the backseat of Santi's truck while the two men said goodbye to one another. Santiago purposefully lingered in the embrace they shared. His arms held the man against his chest, stopping him from being able to pull away too quickly. It was indulgent, surely, but he needed to feel that contact, for however brief it ultimately would be. The conversation he held with Will and Benny just a few hours earlier still rang fresh in his mind. To say that he was concerned for Frankie didn't come close enough to the worry he was now feeling. Santiago knew that if what Elena was attempting to do was for real, his own heart would break at having to watch such a callous thing be inflicted on the man he loved. 

He ghosted his mouth against his warm skin, first finding the shell of his ear, then the plush flesh of his cheek. It was risky behavior, because they’ve always made a point to be lowkey when out in public, but he was reassured when Frankie thankfully didn't tense up. 

“Tomemos un café está semana?” (Let's go for a coffee this week?)

Santiago whispered the proposition warmly to him when he pulled back and their eyes met for what felt like the first time all damn night. He was sure to subdue the smile he wore, knowing in the back of his mind that Frankie could suspect something if he played this too strong.

Maybe the two beers he drank that afternoon made him less observant, but if Frankie suspected anything, he didn't let it show. His large hands only lingered on Santiago's waist. He gave an easy nod to the question before his dark eyes flicked downward, seemingly to fixate on his throat.  

“Claro, cuando tú quieras.” (Sure, whenever you want.)

It was impossible not to think about the fact that "going for a coffee" used to be their old excuse to sneak off and see each other - when they were both in the army and even when Frankie and Elena were still together. Sometimes it would be just that, a simple coffee and a long talk, but more often than not it was more. 

This time, Santi really only wanted to talk to him. Frankie was so damn good at hiding whatever he had going on inside. Being able to speak one on one - that meant without the boys, without the diner chaos around, without one of the foster cases in tow - would probably be the only way he was going to be able to get anything out of him.

The drive back to his house was short. Just after he ushered Samuel inside and sent him back to brush his teeth and change in to pajamas, his phone began to ring in his pocket. 

With the boy heading off down the hallway, he pulled the device out and made his way into the kitchen. A frown took over his features as he caught Dana's name across the screen.  

Even though he could hear the water running in the hallway bathroom, he kept his voice hushed as he answered.

"Hey, what's up?" 

"Sonia didn't return back to the shelter after curfew last night. Her phone has been going straight to voicemail all day." 

His footsteps froze in the middle of the tiled kitchen floor. Dana sounded angry as she began to rapidly recount what few details she possessed. 

"Even if she did come back, I doubt I can convince the shelter at this point to keep her spot. Not to mention she's also-" 

"No, no, hang on." Santi abruptly cut her off. His mind was racing with the slew of information she just fired at him. He already knew what she was suggesting and he didn't want to hear her voice it out loud. "How many hours has she been gone now? Let's not jump ahead before we know what we're dealing with." 

"Her phone has been turned off all day, Santiago." Dana repeated. "You know what this looks like. I know what this looks like." 

He let out a slow exhale as he tugged off his baseball cap. The faint hum of the fluorescent light over the sink registered in his ears. He tossed his hat onto the counter before his fingers threaded deep into his tangled curls. He began to gingerly pace over the kitchen, making the same brief circuit around his island as he listened to Dana list their options. 

"Listen, it's your call." Santiago cut in once she finished. "But maybe we should just ride out the weekend and give Sonia a chance to come back and explain-"

Just as he rounded the island for the umpteenth time, he caught sight of a small figure standing in the kitchen entryway. It immediately brought his words and movement to a direct stop. 

Samuel's face was unreadable. He stood stock still as he stared at Santiago, the black darkness of the living room just behind him. 

No one moved. No one spoke. 

Fuck.

___________________________________

@velocibee @thirstworldproblemss, @ohsomightypeaches, @ellenmunn , @hopeamarsu, @astroboots, @kesskirata , @itspdameronthings , @acdeaky @waywaychuck , @unbelievable-dear , @niki-fromthevoid @songsformonkeys , @duckydanny @rebel-fanfare

[adhd-fandom-and-gay]

I found out that some Colombians pronounce China differently. Like not just accent wise but specifically with the pronunciation of the Ch and the I sound in it from this kind woman who moved from Colombia recently and is married to one of my cousins. So that's cool. *eats this linguistic knowledge like a hungry animal because im a geek*