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cooliestghouliest · 11 months ago

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PUTTY, chapter one

(chapter one), (chapter two), (chapter three)

PAIRING: virgin!Eddie/former cheerleader!Reader

SUMMARY: Eddie has a little brother. Eddie’s little brother has a babysitter.

SERIES TAGS and C/W’s: mutual pining, experienced!Reader, inexperienced!Eddie but he’s eager to learn, mostly sub!Eddie, insecurities and self doubt, narcissistic and/or absent parents, jealousy, mean basketball players, hurt/comfort, they smoke weed, eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), uniform kink, dirty talk, foot jobs, hand jobs, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), public sex, sex toys, unprotected PiV. more to be added as this progresses!!!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. fun fact that this was one of the first Stranger Things fanfics i ever wrote. it was originally titled She Was Straight From Hell, But You Could Never Tell, and featured Eddie alongside an OC. i’ve changed it to be reader-insert, because that seems to be more in my writing wheelhouse nowadays. this fic will be multiple parts — it begins with backstory, but will eventually branch off into a universe of little smutty ficlets where Reader will corrupt virgin!Eddie as much as humanely possible.

—

Eddie hadn't known about the existence of his little brother until two months ago, when Al Munson showed up in the middle of the night with a small child in tow. Eddie didn't even know his dad was out of prison again, and yet here he was, in the flesh, a little boy with a mop of black curls resembling Eddie's own cradled in his leather jacket-clad arms.

Al was lucky Wayne was working or else this family reunion would have gone south fast.

While Wayne wasn't Al's biggest fan, Al was Eddie's dad, and Eddie would always hold onto as many moments with his father as he could get, no matter how sparse, and no matter how much of a self-serving piece of shit asshole Al Munson truly was.

But Eddie didn’t see it like that. Eddie saw it like this: His dad lived a hard life. His dad struggled with addictions. His dad lost a wife, just as Eddie had lost a mother. His dad tried his best with what he had.

Deep down, Eddie knew these were all just sorry excuses, but he kept that truth tucked away, not wanting to deal with the reality that Al truly only cared about himself.

He already had one dead parent. If he cut his dad out of his life, he’d basically have two.

"When'd you get out?" Eddie asked, stepping aside so Al could enter. His eyes followed the child, brows furrowed. The trailer was always Al's first stop on his freedom tour and the older man had always brought some sort of baggage along with him -- never a little kid, though. What the hell kind of trouble had his dad gotten into this time?

"Few days ago," Al replied, heading for the living room. He placed the sleeping child down on the worn sofa, then straightened and faced Eddie. "Listen, son, you gotta do me a favor. I'm not out long this time. I might've robbed an ATM or two last night. I'm kinda on the lam."

Al didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish at his wrongdoing.

Eddie was used to this. Even when Al was a free man, he was never a free man for long. He didn't think his dad knew how to coexist among non-inmate citizens. Eddie didn't think his dad even wanted to. Prison was a creature comfort for the elder Munson. Eddie wasn't necessarily mad at that fact. He was happy when Al was locked up, because then at least he knew where his dad was. Otherwise, Eddie worried his father would eventually get himself into a situation he wouldn't be able to get out of, and Eddie would really never see him again.

Eddie was also used to Al showing up after months and months, sometimes even years and years, such as now, always asking for favors.

"Who is that?" Eddie asked, pointing towards the couch, not being able to ignore the other human in the room any longer.

"Yeah, that's kinda what I need your help with.” Al rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, no way to do this other than to just say it. That there's your little brother, Eddie. His name's Oliver. And I need you and Wayne to look after him while I'm gone."

"My... what..." Eddie stammered, face scrunching up. He expected Al to burst out laughing and admit he was just fucking around, and that this tiny sleeping stranger was actually just the kid of a fellow convict buddy. Maybe it was said convict buddy’s turn to rob ATMs tonight, leaving Al the babysitter. Irresponsible. Unlikely. And, turns out, untrue.

With Al's silence, Eddie knew his dad’s admission wasn't a joke.

Eddie was beyond confused now.

"Dad, how... you've been in prison for six years!"

"Conjugal visits," Al answered with a bit of a smug shrug.

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "What the fuck? Wayne can't afford another kid that's not even his... and I'm in school still, I can't watch him... this isn't... I don't know how..."

But Al was already making his way to the door.

"I know you'll figure it out. I can always count on you, my boy," Al prided, tone cheery as if the favor he'd just asked of Eddie was to give him a quick ride somewhere or find an old family recipe.

Al wasn't acting like he was ditching another Munson offspring off on his older brother. He was treating this like an issue of minor importance, just a little speed bump on an otherwise flat road.

Al Munson was not an upstanding person. Never had been, never would be. Because of this, Eddie shouldn't have been surprised or appalled, but here he was, standing with his mouth agape. Surprised. Appalled.

His dad was out the door with a lighthearted, "See ya 'round, son," and Eddie was left speechless in the middle of the living room.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne got over the new addition to the Munson household fairly quickly.

While he'd been livid at first, calling up all of Al's old friends he'd still had the numbers of to try and find out where his dumb shit of a younger brother was, Wayne eventually became resigned to the idea that he now had another little boy to rear and mold.

What else could he do?

Wayne took care of his kin, especially if they were innocent bystanders and had no say in being born in the first place. He'd raised Eddie, and although he knew the boy had his struggles, he didn't think he'd done too bad of a job.

Eddie never went hungry, always had clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in, and Wayne was the one who haggled Eddie's van down to a reasonable price so the boy could pay for it with his lunch box salary.

Wayne knew about the weed and the pills, but so long as Eddie stayed smart about where he was selling and who he was selling to, he didn't much mind Eddie's unconventional line of work. It helped his nephew stay somewhat social, and Wayne knew how important that would be for Eddie's future. If the boy was nothing but a lone recluse his whole life, he'd probably end up just like Al. Nobody wanted that.

Eddie was just about grown now. Sure, he was rearing twenty and still in his senior year of high school, but Wayne had an inkling that '86 would be Eddie's year.

Wayne had always thought about selling the trailer and buying an RV with retirement money once Eddie was out on his own. He wanted to travel the country for the remainder of his life.

The idea that he'd have to raise up another wild Munson for the next fifteen or so years caused a knot to form in his stomach.

Would Wayne even be around for that much longer? He may have been relatively healthy, and he was only in his mid 60's, but Wayne wasn't an idiot. He knew anything could happen at any time.

Wayne knew he needed help this time around. He figured he could count on Eddie here and there, but Eddie needed to focus on school this year if he planned on finally walking the stage. Because of this, Wayne decided to enlist the help of someone on the outside. Someone with experience.

So, he posted an ad in the Hawkins Post, looking for a full-time nanny for a five-year-old boy to start as soon as possible, and waited for a response.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne didn't have to wait long.

Two mornings following the job post, shortly after he'd returned home from work, he heard a knock on the trailer door.

When he answered, he saw a pretty young thing standing on the front stoop.

"Hi!" you greeted, then immediately began to ramble. "Are you Mr. Munson? I hope it's okay I just showed up... there wasn't a number listed, only an address, and I didn't know if you wanted me to write a response and mail it, but the ad seemed maybe a little urgent, so I thought, hey, what's the harm in just... showing... up..."

You trailed off, feeling silly for word vomiting during your first impression. He was watching you with a small smile, eyes flickering with what looked like amusement, especially as your cheeks began to color to the soft red of embarrassment.

Listing no number on the ad was intentional. He hadn't owned a rotary phone in about ten years, after having tried to cut back on bills, and he knew not just anyone would make the trek to Forest Hills for a potential job offer. He’d figured only committed applicants that wouldn't waste his time would follow through.

"I have a lot of experience," you continued on at his silence, almost as if you couldn't help it, compelled to divulge all the information you could in the first three minutes of meeting. Wayne found it endearing. "I used to babysit for three different families when I was in high school. And I have two little sisters. My mom and dad worked a lot growing up, so I spent a lot of time with them. Didn't get paid, but... I made sure they didn't die or anything..."

From their brief interaction thus far, Wayne knew he succeeded in his method of weeding out flakes. You were obviously serious about the position. He felt he was a decent judge of character, and he'd learned in life that sometimes over-explaining was synonymous with caring.

"Sorry," you said, forcing out a little laugh. "I guess I could have just introduced myself. You didn't really need to know all that." You shot your hand out, giving your name. "I'm here about the nannying gig. Um, obviously. That is, if I didn't already scare you off."

Wayne took your hand in both of his own, shaking it. He placated you with a grin. "It's a lot harder than that to scare off a Munson, sweetheart. Let's go inside and meet Olly."

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Although Oliver Munson was only five, he had a spectacular vocabulary and a limitless imagination. Wayne knew the boy was a little charmer, quite like how Eddie was when he allowed himself to be, when the teenager wasn't drowning himself in existential teenage angst and nonsense.

You fell under Olly's spell almost instantly.

And it seemed the little boy had fallen under yours as well.

Oliver didn't stop talking to you while you were there, and didn't stop talking about you after you’d left, asking when you’d be back and if next time you could take him to the trailer park's playground and maybe you two could watch G.I. Joe or He-Man together afterward.

Wayne had taken your number down before you’d left and had told you he'd be in touch soon.

Later that evening, after Eddie had gotten back from his club meeting at school, Wayne took the trip into downtown Hawkins to use the payphone and ask you if you wouldn't mind starting as early as tomorrow.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You were far from struggling for money.

Your father was a sought-after criminal prosecutor for the entirety of Indiana. Your mother was a real estate agent for high profile clientele who came from old family money; her father was CEO of a day trading business, and his father before him had been the same.

Although you likely would have never had to work a day in your life and could live a comfortable existence off of inheritance alone, handouts and the humdrum of an All-Play-and-No-Work lifestyle was never a dream of yours. That sounded so cookie cutter, so monotonous, so boring.

You liked to feel a sense of accomplishment. You liked setting goals and reaching them. You didn't want to freeload off of money that was gained from the capitalistic professions your parents were a part of. You wanted to be in control of your own finances and be the author of your own future, not have it already be etched into stone simply by being just another rich kid from Hawkins, à la the likes of the Carver's or the Cunningham's or the Harrington's.

You were ecstatic when you got the call from Wayne, asking you if you’d be willing to start the following day. He left for work at 2PM, so you’d have to be there before then, and would need to plan on staying until Wayne's nephew got home around six.

If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you felt a bit nervous, but the job itself wasn't the reason why that writhing feeling accompanied your excitement.

You had more than ten years of babysitting experience under your belt, and you were eager to get back into a job you actually enjoyed as opposed to trying out different careers to see what stuck and what didn't. Having graduated the spring before, you’d been taking an off year to save up money by working odd jobs around Hawkins to be able to buy your own apartment.

You’d worked as a florist for a few weeks, but it turned out your thumb was pitch black instead of green.

You worked as the personal assistant for a group of lawyers from a local law firm, but it turned out they just needed office eye candy and not someone to actually get any sort of work done.

You worked as a veterinary assistant, but it turned out the job was much more than just petting cats and dogs. You couldn't handle it when a sick animal would come in and there would be nothing anyone could do. Your heart broke more at that clinic than it had your entire life.

You were in between jobs when you’d decided to peruse the classified section of the Hawkins post. There, in the shortest blurb on the page, was a listing for a needed nanny, a full-time position offering negotiable pay.

The next bit was where the excitement wavered.

The listing was published by a Wayne Munson of the Forest Hills trailer park.

That had to be Eddie Munson's uncle. There was no way there were two separate Munson families living in the only trailer park in Kerley County.

You couldn't believe that you’d stumbled across this ad, that the geeky metalhead you’d crushed on since your freshman year of high school had a little brother you could be the potential nanny of.

You were two years younger than Eddie, but that hadn't stopped you from losing periods of time to daydreams about the way the wind ruffled his wild mess of curls on breezy days or the way his band tee sleeves always clung perfectly to the soft muscles of his biceps or the way his cheeks dimpled when he teased the other boys he sat with at lunch.

You’d always wanted to introduce yourself, but you didn't run in the same crowds -- you being on the cheer team and Eddie blasting Black Sabbath in the parking lot after his Hellfire meetings. You could never muster the courage. He seemed so carefree, so full of life, so effortlessly funny. Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend, had spoken to him once or twice and had told you how different he was than what other people said about him. He wasn't scary or mean or threatening, and instead was warm and silly and genuine.

But you knew how the people you spent your time around treated people like him. You knew your group of "friends" referred to him as a freak, a Satan worshipper, and did everything in their power to try to bully him into becoming a shell of himself. Thankfully, he never did -- it was almost as if Eddie absorbed the hatefulness and spent it tenfold by mocking the hilarity of the jock hierarchy that ruled the school, as well as using it to strengthen his own ability to embrace every misfit that walked the halls of Hawkins High.

You never introduced yourself because you were afraid he’d think you had an ulterior motive, that you’d be trying to talk to him as a joke or a prank. You knew the company you kept. You were sure Jason Carver had once or twice suggested you do just that, lead Eddie on and make a fool of him in front of the whole school.

You figured it'd be best to just stay away.

But now, you thought finding this ad was possibly a sign from the universe.

Maybe you were getting a second chance.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Eddie was running late.

He was supposed to be back home half an hour ago to relieve whoever Olly's new babysitter was of her duties, but the campaign had taken a shocking turn and Hellfire couldn't disband until it had commenced.

The night finally ended with Will's character decapitating Dustin's, and Eddie had to thwart an actual attack when Dustin leapt across the game table at Will in a bout of rage. Dustin was small but mighty, and Eddie had to physically wrestle the boy off of Will's neck, threatening to banish Dustin from the next few campaigns if he didn’t chill out. Henderson had huffed and puffed but had admitted defeat and apologized to Will for the attempted murder.

By the time Eddie arrived back to the trailer park, the sun had almost set. He pulled his van into his parking spot to the right of the trailer and shut it off. Stepping out, he swung his backpack over his shoulder, but came to a halt when he heard Olly's scream sound from behind the trailer.

Dropping his bag and beginning to run toward the noise, Eddie's heart fell to his stomach. Horrible images of what could possibly be pulling that sound from his little brother pervaded Eddie's mind. He had an overactive imagination to begin with, and something like this verbal cue only egged it on. "Olly!" he shouted, panic raising his voice. "Olly, are you okay?! What’s going on, where are --"

Eddie came to a halt when he found the boy in the backyard with a huge smile spread across his small, sweaty face. Olly had a fake crown on, one made of twigs and leaves, and he was carrying one of the biggest sticks Eddie had ever seen. He had a blanket tucked into the back of his shirt, the cloth a makeshift cape. A thin piece of metal, probably from one of the cars Wayne and Eddie sometimes worked on, was wrapped around his center, acting as armor.

Olly had just been playing.

Letting out a heavy breath of relief, Eddie noticed your frame just off to the side. His eyes started from the ground up, noting the shiny red Docs donning your feet, moving up bare legs that were covered mid-thigh by a short black skater dress, one that hugged your curves in a way that had Eddie’s mouth going dry.

By the time he reached your face, your eyes were wide with amusement.

You’d been watching as he slowly drank you in. He didn't mean to ogle. He had to shake his head a few times to clear it, and when he did so, the face before him started looking more and more familiar.

"Wait," he started, head tilting. He spoke your name, tone riddled with confusion. "From high school?"

You were about to answer when Oliver cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to be ignored or to have his playtime interrupted any longer. You looked down at the boy, who pointed up to his head at his crown. You got the gist -- Olly wanted the game to continue. You could indulge him. You’d been doing it all day, and honestly you’d been having the most fun you’d had in a while.

You turned your attention back to Eddie, fixing your posture and jutting your chin out slightly. "I don't know who that is," you began, voice lilting. "I am Princess Guinevere of Kerley County and this here,” you brought your gaze back down to Oliver, “is my most loyal servant, Sir Olly of Castle Munson."

Eddie couldn't help the grin that broke out over his face at your announcement. He then took a moment to fully take in the rest of your appearance. You, too, had on a makeshift crown, this one made up of cherry blossoms and daisies. You had a flowing blanket tucked into the back of your dress, cascading down your back like a veil.

No fucking way were you, last year's cheerleading captain and prom queen, standing in his backyard playing fucking knights and princesses with his little brother. No fucking way.

Olly broke the silence by shouting out, "Hey, Eddie! Who are you gonna be?"

Eddie tore his eyes from you to focus on his brother. He pursed his lips to one side in thought, trying to come up with a character. He was usually quick on his feet when it came to creative play, but he had just spent the last three hours DM'ing a month-long DnD campaign. His brain felt shot. He was pulled from his introspective reverie by your soft, suggestive voice — no, sorry — the soft, suggestive voice of Princess Guinevere.

"Wanna be my dragon, Eddie?" you asked.

Eddie wasn't exactly sure why that made his breath catch in his throat.

He nodded dumbly, silent, then forced himself to speak because he didn't want to look totally lame in front of a Princess. "Okay. Yeah, I'll be your dragon."

You graced him with a smile before Oliver's tiny but booming voice cut through the air of the darkening night. "HEY! Dragons don't talk!" the boy stomped his foot and hit his stick against the muddy ground in annoyance.

A laugh bubbled from your throat and Eddie grinned, jumping into a wide-legged stance before outstretching his arms, tilting his head back, and roaring.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things

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furious-rogue-stuff · 2 years ago

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Heat Chapter 37: Everything

I’m back-back-back, back again~! 🥴 Pedro’s hosting SNL, dominating media, claiming 2023 as his year, and I’m over here ready for some more Heat, baby 😁

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Latina, written by a Latina. Here's my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 19,500+

Summary: You’ve been each other's safe harbor, so when the spectacular circumstances that lead to the end of the Cali cartel's influence oust everything you have Javi had been looking forward to, can your gravitation survive the fallout of events?

Warnings: Javier Peña being the our flawed AF king. Graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions of unprotected sex. Mentions of hurt/comfort, resentments, toxic coping mechanisms, heartbreak and hidden motives. Descriptions of pining, light dom/sub play, cum play, size kink, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to triggering events, vindictive behavior, foreboding threats, and emotional trauma. Some Protective!Javi, Dom! Javi, Sub!Reader, Wrathful!Javi. In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Heat Masterlist

Previous chapter - Chapter 36: Pésame

Chapter 37: Everything

After the capture of Miguel Rodríguez, things seemingly fall into place, as if they'd always been planned that way.

You go into work the next day and hear about how Chepe Santacruz surrendered to the authorities and was taken into custody to La Picota, and by the following afternoon, after a purported massacre at a Norte del Valle ranch, Pacho Herrera is arrested at a church without incident.

All four Cali godfathers were in prison. By all appearances, the Cali cartel had been subdued and their operation had been halted.

Javier doesn't tell you anything to make you think otherwise.

Instead, he spends these days seemingly finalizing work on the case, but in reality, he and his agents are gearing up resources for the tracking and capture of a missing asset:

Guillermo Pallomari. The Cali cartel accountant. The only person left alive – and on the lam, who could decode the ledger and unravel Cali's web of influence – and hopefully keep all four godfathers locked up for real.

You know about Javier's plan to locate and secure the man into DEA custody, but you don't know why he seems so intent to do so without the assistance of CNP, nor why he's so sure he has to get Pallomari to ensure the government doesn't go through with the surrender deal after all. At one point, you'd assumed he would eventually tell you everything that transpired that day – the sequence of events that had left him feeling so demoralized after what should've been a celebrated success. But then days go by and he doesn't detail a thing.

Really, there's no true opportunity for you both to sit with everything and discuss it. Not with how busy you both are. Passing like two ships in the night. Only when you're in each other's arms are you figuratively at port, and even then, you relish the time making love and wanting to get lost in each other. During the mornings, you'd give each other brief updates on where you both were at work. Javi used the time to check in on you about things back in Medellín while you both got ready for the day. He'd assure you things were going fine on his end, and you wouldn't push him.

It was your chance to share a quick, unguarded moment – not to do a deep dive.

Javi wasn't really lamenting that. Not when he wanted to bury his feelings and tend to yours as best as he could.

It'd been easy for Javi to bury the details of what happened the day they'd caught Miguel Rodríguez, and while he sensed you hoped he would eventually tell you, he had chosen to obfuscate. To let you believe he'd moved on from it and discussing it now would only drudge the self-loathing and acrimony back up.

His ability to keep that to himself was made all the much easier by the fact you were trying to cage your own feelings up as well. Things were still raw for you, but you'd had to deal with your grief the best way you knew how – by bottling it up, and compartmentalizing it into the deepest, most secluded shelf within yourself. It was a necessity for you to do so.

Combined with the swiftly approaching deadline of Ellis leaving with Anita and her family to Puerto Rico, all of the upheaval of preparing for the departure at work, fiscal bureaucratic responsibilities needing your attention, and the obligations you have to deal with regarding your grandmother's estate, you simply have no room to let the sorrow take hold of you for long. Even when the realtor calls to let you know the apartment you'd loved was no longer available, you hadn't let the pang of sadness stew in you for more than a few seconds before you thanked her for the update and said you'd be in contact once you were ready to look at more places.

You'd mentioned it to him, but Javier had nodded and changed subjects. Choosing to treat everything not part of 'the now' as something neither of you should dwell on.

He chooses to act like he hadn't crumbled before you and needed your grace to stitch him back together, and when he quickly redirects away from himself and his work to ask about you and yours? Or when he scoffs at your mentioning of his "takedown of Cali" being the talk of the embassy, you don't take umbrage, especially with the latter. You know him well, and figure he's deflecting because boastful accolades make him cringe, and he'd rather take the shine off of himself and focus on your success.

After all, you have your own milestones to celebrate these days.

The pilot program has been a success, and with the close of this first round, you are touted by the ambassador for achieving such a formidable goal – and under budget. It's such a lauded achievement, that your department gets the proposed funding to add headcount and expand operations for the next fiscal year. And when you walk into the conference room for the big bi-annual interagency head of department meeting this very morning, you are surprised by the series of claps you receive when you come through the door.

Everyone congratulates you, shakes your hand, and share varying well-wishes for more to come for your department. The Mil Group and Centra Spike fellas especially shower you with cheers, and you are smiling irreverently as they propose a big happy hour get-together to celebrate for real when Javier comes into the room – in his dark gray suit and with the blue and gold-striped tie you'd steamed the wrinkles out of for him this morning – hair already tousled from him running his fingers through it in pent-up stress.

It's times like this you wish you could go to him and kiss the frown off his handsome face. But, instead, you all sit once the ambassador enters.

You can't help notice how Javi goes out of his way to sit closest to the door, and avoids Crosby's gaze. He swivels his nonchalantly about the table before connecting with yours briefly to then force himself to look down at his watch busily.

He's so tense. You internally frown, wondering if something big is about to go down at this meeting, which would explain why he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else—

The ambassador calls your name, and when you snap your attention to the head of the long, oval conference table, he smiles. "—Fantastic work, as always. State Department is so pleased, they're already trying to poach you from here! I hope if anyone over there tries to snake their way to you with a direct offer, you'll kindly tell them to buzz off," he jovially remarks and jokes, earning a few wry chuckles from around the table. He then directs his gaze over at Javier as he drawls, "And, as you all know, congrats are in order for Agent Peña and his team. Without his tenacity in capturing the Rodríguez brothers, the rest of the Cali leadership wouldn't have folded up shop. Great work."

Everyone claps to that, including you, and Javi tries his best not to squirm under the terse praise, forcing a half smile to the people sitting closest to him that pat him on the shoulders. You know he hates this, but there's something in his dark coffee-brewed eyes that is almost pained by the acknowledgement. But as quick as it was given, so was the attention diverted away to other bureaucratical topics.

By the end of the meeting, you intend to weave over to him and suggest having a one-on-one in your office, but the ambassador comes over and thwarts you. Once he's finished regaling you with some of the positive comments he'd received from heads in DOS, you look back and see Javier is long gone from the room.

This morning, he'd mentioned spending the day meeting with his guys in order to go over tactics for the Pallomari case, so you decide to risk the impropriety of going up to see him without an appointment as an excuse. Instead, you enter the DEA department with a to-go tray carrier with four coffees and a couple of creamers, stirrers and packets of sugar nestled in the center. However, when you find the secluded meeting room they tend to use for these hush-hush sessions, only Stoddard, Feistl and Van Ness are in it.

"Hey, fellas! I come bearing caffeinated bliss," you chime congenially as you enter, smiling brightly when they look up from the mess of papers and files strewn over the table and gawk at the coffee cups as you set them down on an uncluttered corner. "Where's your fearless leader?" you jibe as you hand Stoddard his cup.

"He stepped out for a quick call," Stoddard answers and eagerly preps his coffee with the cream and sugar he likes. He sips from his cup and practically swoons before he tells the other agents, "You guys, if you haven't had the director's coffee, you've been missing out."

The two junior agents are dressed casually, wearing jeans, sneakers, and well-worn t-shirts under very busy-looking patterned button down short-sleeved shirts. You don't see how Feistl ogles your hourglass shape as you're carefully removing the cups from the carrier to hand one to his partner before handing the other to him.

"It's not my coffee, but yes – it's excellent, and I wanted to give you my congrats on your successes, and show my appreciation by bringing you guys a little pick-me-up," you sardonically lilt as you hold out the tray with the creamers and sugars after you've removed the remaining cup meant for Javi.

"Thanks!" Chris gives you his most winning smile as he plucks a creamer and two sugar packets, along with a wooden stirrer, from the tray. His features are covered in dark stubble, and the Hard Rock Café t-shirt he has on under his garish palm-leaf print button down looks rumpled, like it'd been on the floor rather than in a drawer before he'd pulled it on that morning.

Dan politely takes the tray from you so you can hold the remaining cup in both hands less awkwardly, nodding his thanks and doing everything to not look at your cleavage thanks to his tall stature that gave him a perfect view down your sage-colored crepe V-neck blouse, even from his vantage point on the opposite side of the table. And when he pivots to place the tray down on a storage cabinet, his geometric-print button down shifts to reveal more of his shirt, and you notice the logo on it.

"Oh! Is that the Red Hot Chili Peppers?" you inquire, smiling wryly when he balks before looking down at his Blood Sugar Sex Magik shirt like he's just realized what he had on.

"You know 'em?" the tall man inquires with a charmed little smirk pulling at his pouty-pink lips, eyeing you now as if impressed.

"I mean, don't let the stuffy outfit fool you, agent. I have many a band shirt in my collection as well," you jibe and wink at him. "I saw them live once. Right before I came down here. I've been meaning to get that album," is your affable remark as you put a hand on your hip and continue in light conversation – expanding on the concerts and music festivals you've both been to, not noticing the amused glower Chris is shooting his partner at being able to chat you up like he's secretly wanted to for a while.

You do notice how Stoddard glances at the door behind you, and before you can turn, Javi is drawling, "Are you trying to poach my agents into the next round of your pilot, director?"

Raising your brows innocently, you turn and scoff, "Poach them? Never. No, in good time, you'll all be unable to avoid my department, and will fall in line just like everyone else."

Stoddard chortles into his coffee cup while Chris grins behind his hand and Dan flattens out his lips comically at your audaciousness.

Javier just grunts and gives you a challenging look, so you hold out the coffee cup and smile angelically as you chime, "I bring coffee as a show of good will. I'm gonna need it to convince you to let us on-board the rest of your staff before the year ends."

He accepts the cup and has to fight the impulse to pull you close so he can plant a kiss on your goading, rouged lips. Instead, he nods his thanks before inquiring, "Actually, got a minute? I wanted to go over something mentioned during the meeting earlier."

"Of course," you remark before turning and giving each of the men a smile goodbye. "Good luck, boys!"

While the three men remain in the conference room and exchange varying degrees of amusement – including Chris elbowing Dan and bouncing his brows crassly at him while Stoddard shuts the conference door, Javier gestures for you to walk ahead of him in the hall as he directs you to a different room just off from his office. It's a small room with horizontal blinds giving privacy in a department with a lot of vestibule-styled conference spaces. It looks like it's been outfitted to be a make-shift audio equipment surveillance room, so the lights were low-lit when he flicked them on, and there were two swivel chairs tucked into place by the retrofitted work station.

As soon as he shuts the door, Javi plops the coffee cup down on the counter and pulls you into his arms before kissing you with all the bottled-up passion he'd been stowing since seeing you earlier.

Gasping a giggle, you pull back to saucily whisper, "Javier! This is much too risky—"

"I don't give a shit," he retorts gruffly and picks you up so he can whisk you to sit on the countertop, shoving a swivel chair out of the way so he can stand between your parted thighs. You swoon, feeling so aroused and titillated by his possessiveness, as well as his masculine scent and the heat of his body pressing up against you. "Been dying to kiss you," Javi husks as he paws his touch from your waist up to cup your face before burying his hands in your hair and tilting your features up so he can press salacious kisses over your cheeks, jaw, and neck while you pull him into you and stifle a breathy sound of delight. "Looking so fucking sexy, showing all of us up earlier," he husks after teasingly flicking his tongue along your bottom lip after you exhale needily. "Making my guys lust after you—"

You hiccup a scoffed sound before pulling back and giving him a sassy smile. "Oh my god, you're so ridiculous," you scathe sardonically and affectionately wipe your lipstick prints from his mouth. "Tan celoso—"

"Goddamn right, I am," Javi grouses in that gravelly pitch that makes you ache between your thighs for him. "You don't see the way they look at you," he murmurs heatedly, pursing his lips when you tenderly caress the back of his neck and hum amusedly. "I'm serious—"

"I don't care how they look at me. I only belong to you, querido," is your silky murmur, eyes sultry as you teasingly nuzzle his cheek. "Now, I don't want to keep you. I just came up to see why you were so grumpy," is your soft musing as he rests his forehead to yours and encircles your waist. "I know all the attention annoys you."

"…Just could do without the bullshit, is all," he rumbles in an even tone before shaking his terse mood off. "Thanks for the coffee and smooches, preciosa," is his purr now before he presses a doting kiss to the top of your hairline.

"Well, I didn't intend to smooch you, chulito," is your snicker as he leans back and grunts smugly at you. He has a blush-toned apricot lipstick smear on his chin, so you beckon him closer as you slink off of the countertop and smoothen out your pencil skirt. "Come here, and let me get you sorted so it doesn't look like I had my way with you in here," you drawl cheekily.

Javi chuckles and lets you swipe your thumb to remove the smear before you smoothen out his collar and straighten his tie. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he laconically quips, and you snicker irreverently before leaning up to nose his lapel, and end up huffing with a grunt. "What?" he asks when you lean back and pout.

"You got my perfume on you!" you admonish in a hushed tone and idly make sure you don't have lipstick smudged outside the line of your lower lip before scrunching your nose at him blowing a raspberry at your worrying as he brushes his fingers to comb your hair back into place behind your ears.

"I don't plan on letting anyone get close enough to sniff me, mandona," he jibes as he leans against the counter and picks up the coffee cup to take a long pull.

"I saw that room, chavón," you coolly drawl, adding with musing humor, "Not gonna be able to help smell each other once the coffee runs out."

He hums at that and showily pats his free hand down the side of his blazer to make sure he has his cigarette pack. "I'll have a smoke to camouflage your sexy scent," he rumbles in a canela-brined timbre before towing you with a hand at your hip to lean into him when you purse your lips at his plan. "I can't wait until everyone knows and we don't have to sneak around anymore," is his sincere mumble, leaning close so he can nose into the hairline at your temple.

"So do I," you murmur and lean back, eyes twinkling as you sigh, "Not much longer now."

Javier grunts, and leans his forehead into yours. "I might be late tonight, so don't wait up," he tells you in a smooth baritone.

You nod, wanting to kiss him so bad, but the risk of getting anymore telltale proof of your canoodling on him keeps your desire in check.

He lets you slip from his embrace, but gently caresses his touch to your cheek. Quickly, you turn so you can kiss the inside of his palm and give him a mischievous smile as you bat your lashes, hands teasingly skimming down to lightly graze your touch over his tensing abs as you purr, "Alright, Don Celos. Try and keep that in check so your guys don't get wise to you."

The searing look he gives you is too gratifying. "I'm outta here before I punish you for being such a sexy little atrevida," is his gruff drawl before picking up his coffee cup and exiting first to make sure no one notices you both breeze out and go your separate ways.

While you stride out and turn down the hall to make your way out of his department, Javier is already lighting up a cigarette and taking his time to make his way back to the small conference room.

By the time he's saturated enough of his person with the clinging smoky scent and is settling in for a long day of planning with his agents, you're riding down in the elevator, head full of daydreaming thoughts involving life after this last supposed hurdle.

Of course, that is quickly swept aside when your cell phone rings once you're about to settle in at your desk. The estate attorney reels you down into a heavy sadness as he updates you on the latest, and confirms with you the need to meet in person to sign documents and finalize things. With an upcoming bank holiday and other bureaucratical legalese you need to deal with, he suggests you taking a trip to Medellín and getting your family together in order to complete required steps for passing the property over to them. He offers to make himself available the next few days, so that spurs you into calling your aunt with the news, and after some more tender discussion about the house, you end up agreeing that flying down the following day and having the weekend to get these things done would be best.

Ellis is more than happy to cover things while you're away, so you book a flight and make it all the way home to Javier's at the end of the day before realizing he might take umbrage to you going out of town on such short notice. It nags you as you get out of your work outfit and put on a slinky purple housedress. And when you busy yourself with washing the dishes you've both let accumulate in the sink, it keeps needling you. It doesn't let up, even as you tend to the laundry that's piled up. The stress it conjures up has you ironing his dress shirts on autopilot while you ruminate.

You're so preoccupied with your thoughts about everything that when you're hanging up all the freshly ironed shirts into his closet, you absently bump your hand against a box tucked onto the top shelf, causing it to tumble down.

Managing to catch it with minimal fumbling, you scoff at yourself and are about to pop it back onto the shelf, but the wobbling weight of it and the rattling of the contents within grab your curiosity.

You've never really snooped through Javier's things. Well, there was that time you'd had to search for a hamper, and then hunted for those raunchy pantaleta keepsakes he'd squirreled away. But it wouldn't be too terrible to take a peek inside the box, right?

Pulling the lid of the shoebox open, you look in and find a few folded up visa documents, a laminated prayer card of the Virgin Mary, a glass paperweight with a painted-on relief of La Virgen Santa, a red-beaded rosary, a postcard-sized envelope, and three photographs. With a fawning sigh, you wander to the bed and sit, place the box onto the surface and carefully retrieve the photos so you can peer at them more closely.

Two of them are already familiar. Your smiling expression as you posed for the picture Javi took of you in Cartagena is mirrored on your face now as you look from it to the photo of you both lying side by side on the bed. That weekend floods back to you in warm memories that stir a tingle into your heart, making it skip a beat. But it's the third photo that has you fawning now.

Javi is smiling brightly in it while leaning against a green wooden barn fence. He's standing next to an older man who's wearing a white cowboy hat, standing as tall as Javi, but with a greying moustache. His features are distinguished, but exuding a warm easygoingness to him that you've seen the resemblance of in Javi's expression countless times. They're both wearing light coats and standing in what's obviously a horse pasture on the Peña ranch during a cooler season, considering the overcast sky in the background and the brown horse idling behind another barn fence within its paddock in the back.

"You wanna come to Laredo and meet my Pops sometime?"

Your heart flutters at the recall, and you smile fondly at the photo. The envelope gets your attention next after you return the pictures to the box. Retrieving it, you note the neat handwriting scribbled in bold penmanship on the front, with several stamps denoting it's come from stateside. You can't help smile that it's postmarked from Laredo, Texas, and after cataloguing the address and the name Jesus Peña, you return the envelope to the box and fawningly sigh.

Hours later, Javier drives down into the garage and parks in his spot, feeling dead tired. He lumbers out and makes his way up to his apartment, annoyed but rescind to the next phase of things he has to undertake the following day.

He's not looking forward to telling you about his plans to go to Cali.

No, he is begrudging the fact that all the planning of the day had boiled down to one conclusion: They needed Jorge Salcedo to help them locate the rogue Cali accountant. Feistl and Van Ness were reluctant to admit it, and Javi recognized their protectiveness as being the main factor for resisting recruiting the man into their last-ditch effort to keeping the Cali godfathers locked up permanently. It made sense, especially after the man and his family almost met their demise. They felt personally responsible for putting them in harm's way, so Javi had agreed to be the one to go personally to Salcedo in the morning to ask for his cooperation.

As he lopes down the hall from the elevator towards his door, Javier worries that he'll have to finally tell you what happened, in order to justify his somewhat covert operation in Cali. When he unlocks the door and enters the apartment, he finds the space dark, save for the ambient glow of the television. Once he locks up and sets his things aside on the credenza, he lets his eyes adjust to the dimness, and makes out your sleeping form, curled up on the couch. He approaches quietly so as not to startle you awake.

It looks like you'd put your head down on the armrest and simply dozed off unintentionally. Telling by the glass of water and the plate with half of a sandwich sat on the coffee table, he thinks it's safe to say that you'd decided to wait up for him after all.

"Cariño," he murmurs softly as he sits on the edge of the cushion and gently tucks wayward strands of hair behind your ear before brushing his fingertips along your jaw. You stir and hum as you unfurl from under the throw and adjust to blink up at him. "Sorry to wake you," is his rumble as he leans over to kiss your forehead. "I told you not to wait up—"

"I know," you sigh after you yawn and sit up, scooching close to him so you can curl into his side as he loops his arm around your waist. "How'd the rest of the brainstorm session go?"

"Not ideal…we have a plan, but we'll need to get Salcedo to help us. I'm going over to the hotel he and his family are being guarded at in the morning to get him on board," Javier tells you soberly, steeling himself when you pivot to look up at him worriedly. "We're going to Cali as soon as I get him to agree."

"Oh," you retort softly before pensively looking away and resting your head against his shoulder, trying not to get lost in the smoky scent clinging to his collar. "Ok…well, I guess we'll both have our hands full the next few days," is your musing remark. Javi grunts curiously, so you sigh and resist the impulse to cuddle into him protectively to instead sit up and look into his dark eyes as the glowing cast from the TV illuminates his handsome face. "The estate attorney? He called with an update; wants to take advantage before the bank holiday to finalize things, so I'm flying out to Medellín early in the morning," you pause when Javi's features tense up. "I'm sorry, I know it's short notice—"

"No, it's alright. I just wish I could go with you," Javi retorts as he rubs his palm along his cheek before pinching the bridge of his nose with a tired exhale. "I'll drive you to the airport—"

"Oh, you don't have to," you assure, but Javier shakes his head and scoops you up in both arms so he can pull you onto his lap and embrace you with a contrarian grunt.

"I'm taking you. Do you have someone picking you up once you land?" he asks and holds you close as you loop your arms around his shoulders so you can card your fingers into the back of his hair while he nuzzles your jaw.

"Since everyone will still be at work when I get there, I was going to just take a taxi—" you begin to reply.

"Not a chance," Javi mutters with finality and leans back so he can eye you, the authority of his glare so fierce that you feel a shiver skitter down into your tummy. "I'll arrange for someone to pick you up and drive you to where you have to go—" he starts to state firmly until you pout at him, so he assertively insists, "After what happened last time? Either you have an armed escort I trust, or you're gonna cancel and wait until I can travel with you. There's no way you're going without me ensuring your safety, querida."

You feel heat simmer in your chest before tickling a yearning burn down into your core, making you shiver slightly as you nod obediently and bite your bottom lip.

It shouldn't turn him on to see your breath hitch and features flush from how his intense, albeit provoking gaze gets you before he drawls almost goadingly, "Really? Not gonna argue with me?"

"Well, if you're going to be a jodón about it," you scoff and daringly nudge him as you shift to straddle his lap. He chuckles, eyes crinkling fondly at you as you loosen the knot of his tie with a sassy flare, undoing it while he caresses his hands to the small of your back. But then your gaze becomes sheepish, and you divert it to where you're working the buttons of his collar open. His hands cup the small of your back, and he thinks about how insufferable it'll be – being separated from you, when you lean close until your lips graze his, and whisper, "I wish you could come with me, too…"

He encircles your waist and kisses you, full lips capturing yours tenderly before pressing his forehead to yours. "I know, corazón," he sighs and just holds you, nosing into your hair and getting soothed by your soft perfume.

You hug him, nuzzling his neck, breathing his skin; melt into him when he starts caressing his touch along your sides. He kisses your shoulder where the housedress has slipped down to expose the round of it, and you tingle from the heat that zings down into your core.

The glow of the TV pulls the contouring shadows in around your face when you lean back to sultrily gaze at him before brushing your lips sensuously along his cheek. "I have a surprise for you," you purr and kiss the corner of his mouth, smiling when he shakes the lustful daze off in order to give you his undivided attention. "Can you guess what it is?" is your teasing lilt.

His brows arch as he leans back and stares at you before glancing around at the dark apartment. "Uh…did you clean?"

"Yes, but that's not the surprise," you chuckle and lean back to balance your seated position onto his thighs.

He grunts and eyes you curiously, until the ambient glow from the television catches on your silhouette, backlighting you. That's when he notices it, and his eyes flare up to yours.

"…Fuck me, querida. Are you bare under this little dress?" Javi husks, voracious gaze flicking back down your body to stare at the revealed swell of your breasts under the cotton fabric to see the unmistakable press of your hard nipples against it. And when his hungry stare ventures down to the hem, he realizes you've sat in a way to avoid pressing your crotch over him. His eyes flick back up to you and they're dark with lust, features carving into that smoldering look that makes want pulse into your center. "Show me," he orders in a low rumble that tickles excitement up your spine.

You nip at your bottom lip as you pull the hem of your slinky house dress up your thighs to reveal that indeed, you are completely nude underneath, and the lowlight provided by the TV illuminates the slick heat honeying your cunt.

He's enthralled by how wet and flushed you are for him already, admiring the soft curls on your mound and how inviting your glorious pussy looks, when you chime, "To your liking, mi patrón?"

Javier's eyes snap up to bore incandescently into yours as he sweeps you up against him and effortlessly stands, large hands cupping your ass and forcing you to squeal and loop your limbs around him as he rushes to take you to bed.

"After this morning?! Teasing me the way you did? And you still have the audacity to be a naughty little thing – showing me how wet with need your pussy is – asking if I like it?!" Javi is growling freshly as he bounds across the space before tossing you onto the bed. You exclaim with carefree delight as you bounce on the surface and scramble up onto your elbows to watch him hastily remove his blazer as he kicks off his shoes. "Tan chingona y coqueta, when you know how fucking wound up you get me—" is his surly snarl as he unbuckles his belt and swiftly discards it in order to hurriedly undress.

While he's not looking, you sit up to lean back on your haunches and shed your dress overhead and off before brazenly tossing it to sail in the air and land on his head. He snorts and turns when you laugh impishly and watch him flick the dress to the floor before he cocks a challenging brow at you.

"Come here," you purr and crook your finger beckoningly at him.

He does so, loping over while busily unbuttoning his dress shirt whilst eyeing you smugly as he nears. The bedroom is dark, and the only illumination is coming from the open opaque drapes. The window beyond them lets in the moonlit night that filters through the sheer curtains. You look like a sprite, sitting up on your knees, completely nude and alluringly gazing at him.

Once he's within reach, you snag the open front plackets of his shirt and tow him closer so you can dutifully tug the hem loose from his partially undone slacks, leaning in to brush soft kisses along his exposed sternum as you unbutton the shirt cuffs for him before pushing the garment off of his shoulders.

"I want you, hermoso. But I also want to take it slow so we can savor it, since I'm going to miss you so much," you murmur, staring up at him through your lashes as he shrugs the shirt off to the floor.

"You just don't wanna get punished after being a fuckin' tease," he rumbles puckishly and holds out his wrist so you can take his watch off for him while he smirks at you trying to keep your plush lips from pulling into a cunning smile.

"I love how you think being a bossy grouch in bed with me is punishment," you snicker as you remove his watch and scamper over to the foot of the bed to reach the dresser and place it on the surface. At Javier's charming chuckle, you turn back and watch him unzip his pants while he wryly shakes his head at you.

"Fine. I'll dominate the hell out of you some other time, then," Javi drawls in a gravelly tone as he sheds his slacks, then removes his socks one by one before tossing them in the empty hamper to stand in his gray skivvies with his hands on his hips. "Now, you c'mere," he orders in a grouse and smirks when you prowl like a tigress back towards him before sitting on your knees so you can hook your arms around his shoulders and lean into his warm, broad torso.

Pulling you against him more, Javi kisses you, relishing your little mewl of yearning as he claims your mouth voraciously with his own. He seamlessly hoists you up so that you can wrap your legs around him as he clambers onto the bed and balances you in his hold before easing up on the passion of his kiss to lay you on your back and hover over you. The moonlight and the glean of the city's lights illuminate your nude form now stretched out under him, and catches on his broad shoulders as he sits up to cup his hand between your thighs and touch your tingling center.

You hiccup a whimper when his fingers glide through your drenched folds before parting them. He groans lustfully, "Fuck, you're so wet," pausing to admire how the slick dampening your cunt gleams in the lowlight. He presses his thumb over the hood of your clit and grinds against it just right, just like he knows you like it, and watches you shiver with pleasure as you simper out a little noise of need. "Gonna make sure you come so hard that you soak my fingers, preciosa—"

"Mmph! Javi," you react to his declaration, clinging to him and trying to shove his underwear off with your feet so he can be totally naked and on top of you. "Oh, take this off—"

"I thought you wanted it nice and slow?" he taunts, slipping two fingers into your silken cunt. "Something about savoring it?" is his leering drawl as he curves his thick digits up to brush that spot you can't quite reach yourself, drawing out a moan from you. "Keeping 'em on is the only thing stopping me from railing the fuck out of you like I want—"

You arch and toss your hair back on a groan, blushing at how a new wave of arousal floods your sheath and makes the squelching of your cunt being finger-fucked by him even louder than your panting breaths. "You want that?" is your pitchy mewl as you tighten your grip on his biceps before undulating your hips in time with the plunging pace of his fingers. When his eyes narrow on your luscious smirk, you goad, "C-Can't control yourself any other way?"

His fingers are yanked from your eager pussy so quick that the needy whine that comes out of you has you writhing in flustered heat, but you jolt when he reels back, thinking he's going to leave you like this, but then see he's rushing to get out of his boxer-briefs. He's kicked them off and yanked you by your waist up into his lap in seconds, and before you can gather your wits, Javier is grinding you down on his throbbing, ramrod cock.

Your cry is of titillated hunger, feeling singed through by how the thick of him has stretched you so good while your yearning cunt clenches around him.

He groans, arms encircling your waist tight and keeping you flush to him as you bury your face in his neck. "Feels like you're the one who can't control yourself, malcriada," he husks against your ear, exhaling an amused chuckle when you squeeze your arms around his neck and protest with a weak hum. "Huh, that doesn't sound convincing, mi amor."

Oh, he's so damned cocky. You decide to get him back the way you know will have him caving to you instantly.

You clench your floor muscles around his cock hard and graze your teeth down the side of his neck before nipping the slope that connects to his broad shoulder, then suckle with a lascivious hum.

The world spins and your back hits the bed before you've finished blinking, and Javier has buried a hand in the back of your hair and fisted the strands possessively as he moans shamelessly before he snaps his hips back and slams his thrust full force into you. You see stars and arch as you cry out, nails digging into the backs of his shoulders as you cling to him.

His pupils are blown out when he plants his free hand next to your head so he can adjust the cant of his thrusts in order to barrel into you with abandon in this new angle that has his cock hitting the cluster of pleasure nested within you dead center, over and over until you are spun up into an incinerating orgasm.

"Fuck! Oh god-oh god—" you wail, completely lost to the throes of your climax as he prolongs it and watches you sob, "Jah-Javi!"

He bows his head into your chest with a snarl of accomplishment as you gush warm slick in your raucous release and whimper airily. His cock is pulsing with need, but he slows his pace in order to draw you down from the stratosphere of pleasure and start working you back up.

"Tan brava," he huskily growls against the valley between your breasts before he nuzzles your sweaty skin and trails his tongue down to trace the cup of your left tit, where he leaves a love bite on the swell of it. "Eres mía, tiernita," is his molasses thick purr before he nuzzles over to your right breast and suckles hard on your nipple.

Your pussy clenches around his throbbing shaft as your breath catches in your throat. "I'm yours, Javi," you drunkenly cry as you bury your hands in the back of his hair and arch into his mouth. "All yours," is your sigh when he frees your nipple and traces the tip of his tongue over the pebbled flesh.

Javi teasingly grazes his teeth over your studded nipple, earning a breathy gasp to catch in your chest. "Yeah, you are," is his velvety purr before he suckles the underside of this breast, then nips you lightly before soothing the bite with his tongue. It's a possessive show of dominance, and it makes your silken sheath clench around him.

When his gaze flicks up to you, his eyes are smoldering with desire, and you think he's going to fuck you with abandon. Instead, Javier adjusts so he can hook one of your legs over his forearm and hold you open to him as he rocks into you, then out, then back in – setting an exquisite pace, taking his time so he can feel his cock grind against every ridge inside of you. He wants to feel you pulse around him as he fucks you nice and slow – to watch you clench around him and get revved up into a titillated tizzy.

You grip the bedding and arch when his thrusts angle upwards, bringing him to rut against your thrumming clit in time with the plunge of his cock hitting your pleasure point nestled deep inside you.

Javi thinks he can hold out. That he can get you to climax again before he chases his own need, but you moan and gaze up at him in the throes of your pleasure before you reach for him and pleadingly grip his chest. The whimper you let out inarticulately beckons for him – to have him on top of you and his mouth claiming yours while he fucks you so good.

He gives into it. Leans down to capture your lips and delve into your hungry mouth as he gives into the carnal desire zinging through him. You passionately kiss him back, sucking on his bottom lip before mewling when he rapaciously drags his mouth away to suckle hard on your sloping muscle.

"Javi!" you cry out in ecstasy, overcome by the ravenous pleasure as his thrusts have you careening over the edge into another blistering orgasm.

Your pulsing cunt clamps down on him and floods over with your climax, stoking a ferocious pride in his chest at having you come apart so fiercely. But the moment you whimper rapturously under him and drag your nails down his back? Javi loses the tether of control and fucks into you with need, pace stuttering under the onslaught of his pleasure overtaking him as he comes hard inside of you, groaning your name hoarsely while in the height of his bliss washing over him.

The taut heat that flutters in you when he spills his release is amazing, and you moan a sated sound when he loses coordination and clumsily unhooks your leg from his hold as he collapses on top of you.

The sound of the air-conditioning kicking on muffles your staccato breath and his ragged panting against your neck, and the cool air soothes your scalding, heaving bodies as you both recover from the euphoric and sublime high of falling into bliss together so ardently.

Once he's able to think straight, he grunts huskily before propping himself up so he can nuzzle a path up from your neck to your lips, where he presses adoring kisses before smiling against your cheek at your satiated sigh as you languidly rub his sweaty back.

"Nice and slow is fucking hot," he husks puckishly before brushing his nose impishly against yours.

You giggle breathily and graze your teeth over his plush bottom lip before suckling the morsel with a sensuous hum. "Told you, guapito," you silkily murmur, earning a hum from him before he starts trailing kisses along your jaw. You comb your fingers through the back of his hair and let him kiss a path down your neck to the love bite on the slope towards your shoulder.

The heat of his mouth when he presses a tender kiss over it makes you tingle and swoon.

When he can move, he shifts up and off of you to lie on his back next to your nubile form, taking a deep breath and letting it out through his nose. You turn your head so you can kiss the top of his shoulder. He smiles, and you admire his moonlit profile, fawning over how handsome he looks when he's relaxed – savoring the post-coital serenity that gravitates you two closer to each other.

It remains while you both shower, basking under the warm water and your tender, soft touches.

While you dry your hair, Javier goes out to the living room to make a call. Once you're done and in your cozy robe, you find him on the couch in just the towel he'd tucked around his trim waist, finishing the other half of your sandwich.

"Oh, that's gone cold! I'll make you a fresh one, babe," you tut, but he takes your hand before you can rush off and pulls you in to sit on his lap while he shakes his head.

"Nah, this is perfect," he assures when he's done chewing his current bite. "All set for tomorrow. Trujillo will pick you up at the airport in Medellín—"

"I don't want to trouble him, Javi," you sigh, and he rolls his eyes before finishing the sandwich with two big bites. "Doesn't he have a shift to work?"

He grunts before swallowing. "Shit in Medellín is so low threat now that they've scaled back on hours, so a lot of the guys are picking up side gigs. I owe him big time, and he has the flexibility, so quit fretting," he drawls and gives you a cheeky squeeze before patting your thigh. "You get in bed. I'll shut things off."

Smiling, you relent with a musing hum and peck him on the lips before getting up and loping on tired, sore muscles to the bedroom. By the time Javier has shut the TV off, brushed his teeth, hung up the towel from around his waist onto the rack, and turned out the bathroom light in order to feel his way back into the semi-penumbra of his bedroom, he finds you sans robe and fast asleep on his side of the bed, illuminated by the dim nocturnal glow sifting through the sheer curtains. He snickers at the sight, figuring you must've been so tuckered out that you slid into bed with the intention of shimmying under the covers over to your side, and just didn't make it before dozing off.

He crawls onto the bed and eases himself under the covers next to you, and finds himself easily drifting off to sleep once you've snuggled closer to him and looped your arm around his waist.

The next morning, the rays of dawn filtering through the curtains slowly stirs you and have your eyes fluttering drowsily. Your cheek is resting on Javi's chest, and you realize he's awake when you feel his fingertips caressing lazily along the back of your shoulder. You stretch your legs and sidle against him, not in a rush to part with his warm skin.

"We never keep the drapes open. Waking up and being able to watch the sun come in, seeing the light warm you, was nice," Javi murmurs, timbre rough with disuse.

You hum, kissing his chest before tilting your face up to his while you glide your affectionate touch up from his side to his other pectoral. His eyes are warm pools of dark chocolate with flares of chestnut as the sunlight accentuates his handsome features. His tousled strands of hair that stand askew are earthy cocoa shades, dark brows relaxed while the stubble along his jaw makes a scraping sound when you cup his cheek. Your thumb sweeps over to trace his full lips after skimming over his moustache, and he grunts softly when you scratch affectionately at his cheek while you smile.

"It's not as nice as my view right now," is your smoky purr as you caress your fingertips up to trace along his brow before brushing them up his forehead to toy with the unruly whisps of hair fanning across it.

His eyes close and he sighs serenely, always soothed by your touch. You take advantage and lean up to kiss him chastely on the lips. Javi encircles his arms around you when you go to slink away, pressing you against him so he can chase your lips and deepen the kiss.

When he pulls back to comb his fingers through your hair and gaze lovingly at you, admiring how the sun catches in your hair and casts you in golden relief, you smile brighter, feeling that effervescent feeling of contentment that only Javi gazing at you so is able to stir up in you.

"I was thinking. Maybe we can take a trip – after everything here is settled – and you can take me to Laredo?" you find yourself blurting, then quickly becoming sheepish when his expression softens with surprise. "You know, take you up on your offer to meet your dad?" is your elaboration, and when his eyes crinkle in confusion, you scoff and smirk, deadpanning, "Ah, you don't remember that, huh?"

His eyes narrow in concentration and his brows scrunch together, but he still parcels, "Sure I do."

"Such a liar," you snicker before shuffling up against him to playfully bop him on the nose with your finger before gliding it down to his lips in order to trace his bottom lip when he pouts. "You said it when I brought your drunk ass home after movie night. Asked if I'd want to go to Laredo and meet you dad."

Javier wracks his brain, and can vacantly remember staring down at you in the elevator, and you smiling alluringly.

Before he can retort, you sardonically sigh and go to maneuver away. "Oh well, never mind then—"

Sparing a glance at the alarm clock and seeing there's ample time to spare, he rolls so he can be on top of you. "C'mon, drunk or not, you know that's what I want, cariño. We'll do it," Javi insists, soulful eyes lowering to your lips as he rumbles, "Let's do it."

When he leans down and tries to kiss you again, you chuckle and coquettishly turn your face, smiling when huffs. Tracing your touch down his neck to the hickey you left on him, you change the subject by chiming, "We should take advantage of being up early, stud. I'll finish packing, then make breakfast—"

"Fuck breakfast," he interrupts boldly and tosses the comforter back so he can sit up and pull you along with him. You squeal comically at being bare in the very chilly room, and cling to his warm form, which earns a smug chuckle from him and his hands to wander over you possessively. "C'mon, we have plenty of time," he drawls in a honeyed timbre that turns an octave lower when he grinds you down on his lap as he whispers, "Need to have you, querida."

Want blooms in your core and spikes arousal down into the clutch of your cunt as you feign absentmindedness. "Oh? How so, dulzón?"

His coffee-brewed eyes narrow and his mouth pulls into a cunning smirk. "I was gonna get on my back and let you ride me, but now that you wanna play, and pretend to be a silly girl?" he rasps in a dark pitch, the kind that rakes desire over you like sinful silk, and you feel yourself get shamelessly wet as he suddenly manhandles you onto your hands and knees on the bed, facing the wall.

Your breath catches excitedly in your chest as he hitches up behind you and spanks his hand down on your plump glute. "I'm gonna dominate the fuck out of you instead, malcriada," is his grouse against the back of your ear before he nips it lightly and ruts his cock against the tight cleft of your ass.

Yes, there's plenty of time for Javier to possessively fuck you on all fours while the early morning comes through the curtains, washing you in golden light as you arch before him and beg, "Oh please, please, please!" while he pounds your pussy from behind and grips his hands tight on you shoulder and hip. And he takes his time crowding over you to leave a fresh love bite to the back of your neck as he rails you so hard that you can't even hear anything over the loud squelch of your cunt being plundered jubilantly by him along with the filth he's growling gruffly into your ear.

"That's it. That's my girl. Fucking take it," he rumbles, tone assertive yet loving as he hammers his cock into you with rough abandon, getting high on the power you've allowed him to take, alight with how you moan and flood with warm slick and clamp around him.

He groans as you whimper desperately while mindlessly rocking your hips back and arching, features melting into the throes of ecstasy as you cry, "Javi!"

Your pussy ripples around his throbbing cock as you're propelled towards the precipice of orgasm, and it springs cloying savage need in him – pace becoming feral as he growls, "Yeah, j-just like that. Take it, fucking take all of it—!"

Pleasure tears you asunder into a blazing climax that has you tossing your head back and grappling to ground yourself as if you're grasping to not fall blindly into bliss for real, gripping his wrist at your waist and the pillow before you as you wail his name. The way you gush your orgasm and writhe has Javier primally triumphant. It's also his undoing, because he tries to soothe you by nuzzling your neck, but ends up wrapping his arms around you and chasing his own fervent release when you moan, "Give it to me, Javi."

His mind hazes over when he fills you with his cum and hunches over you, drunk on the high and lightheaded as you melt down onto your tummy and take him with you. You turn your head dazedly to seek out his mouth with your own, dragging your lips across his jaw and cheek before he hums into kissing you. Javi then nudges his head affectionately against yours and exhales an accomplished sound before curling you both sidelong to recover – sweaty and sticky as you both lie in post-coital repose, pressed skin-to-skin as you lounge in the afterglow.

The bliss of it – being taken apart by him and pulled back together by his doting kisses and adoring touches – is short-lived when he lifts his head enough to look at the clock again and groans. Not enough time. Never enough time…

It weighs on him, and while you both rush to shower and get ready, he finds himself reluctant to part with you, especially with the foreboding feeling pressing in on him.

Javier doesn't know where things will go today, or how securing Pallomari will turn out in the long run, but moreover, he doesn't know how he can reconcile the truth he knows – how the deck has been stacked against them from the start.

He doesn't want to tell you.

Even so, when he drives you to the airport, the truth of it sits like a weight on his tongue, but he endeavors to keep that buried down. So, when he pulls up to the departures entrance of the terminal, he gets out and chivalrously takes your bag out of the car in order to give it to you on the curb. Before he's finished placing it down, you've wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight and kissing the side of his neck before leaning up on your tippy toes in your leather flats to kiss him with unabashed love.

His hand buries in the back of your hair and deepens the kiss, pulling you into him by the small of your back.

The anxiety that springs up in your chest is lancing, and you internally admonish yourself as you pull back and caress his cheek. "I love you," you susurrate before melting a little when he leans down to press his forehead to yours, arms encircling you tight to him. When you nuzzle him and sigh, he holds on to you, not wanting to part, and you find that the worry needles up in your chest again, and it has you pleading softly, "Please, Javi. Please be careful. All of you need to watch your backs."

"Don't worry, querida. I promise, we'll be careful, and all this shit will be over soon," Javier proclaims, kissing you one last time before he forces himself to let you slip from his embrace. "I love you," he tells you, and you smile with genuine serenity, because you believe him.

You trust everything he's said, so you collect your purse and suitcase, playfully caress your touch to brush his hair back from his forehead, and lilt, "Buena suerte, agente."

He watches you stride off into the terminal, and once you're out of sight, he gets in the car and drives himself to the Hotel Centro Internacional, where Jorge Salcedo and his family are currently holed up, under DEA security protection.

While you make it through the terminal towards your gate after getting your boarding pass, Javier parks at the hotel and steels himself for a difficult conversation. He's not had much personal interaction with Salcedo direct, not since finding out during the San Jardín raid that he was the C.I. codenamed Natalia. And since, he's had his moments of trepidation about the man. Truthfully, he feels guilt for what could've happened to him had Feistl not insisted on storming the building. But the persistent part of him compartmentalizes the guilt and justifies the experience only lending itself to being a great motivator for convincing Jorge to help them locate Guillermo Pallomari.

And, once he gets the man one-on-one up on the terrace of the hotel to chat? As soon as he's confirmed that the paperwork is almost ready at the embassy and that he and his family will be on the first flight out in the morning, Javi hits Salcedo with the question.

"Guillermo Pallomari. You have any idea where we can find him?"

"No. Why do you need him?"

Javier details how the Rodríguez brothers gave 6 million dollars to the Samper presidential campaign, and makes it clear that without Pallomari testifying in the states – going on the record in order to generate new indictments, it's not likely that the Cali godfathers will remain in prison. Salcedo doesn't balk. If anything, he's exasperated, and makes it clear his top concern is about his family's safety. Javier thinks the man is going to hedge back – turn him down, but then, he looks him in the eye and tells Javier the biggest lead. That Pallomari's wife was having an affair with a man at her office. That the phones in the cartel safehouse he'd stashed Pallomari and his family had been tapped.

Then, he hits Javier with the question: "And he can keep them in prison?"

"We find Pallomari or the godfathers walk."

"You're not going to find him without me," Salcedo counters, resolute.

Javier can't help acerbically huff, before slightly smirking as he chuckles, "You're right."

Salcedo is resigned, but stressed. He tells Javier he's in, but wants to discuss it with his wife. So, once they head back down to the hotel room, Javier leaves him to it and calls the fellas with the update while he waits out in the hall. By the time he and Jorge are in the car, driving to the airport in order to meet Feistl and Van Ness at the cargo plane hangar to ride down to Cali together on a chartered flight, you're just landing in Medellín.

You exit the terminal and see Trujillo, dressed in plainclothes, with a light jacket that hides his shoulder holster and badge. He waves you down, and you hustle through the crowd to greet and thank him.

"—I'm so sorry Javier troubled you—"

"No trouble at all!" he assures and places your bag in the backseat before opening the passenger door for you.

Once you're in the vehicle and driving down to your appointment with the lawyer, you take the chance to call Javi and check in.

He's just finished securing the secondary charter to be on standby for the extraction in Cali when his cell phone rings. Signaling that he needs to take the call, Javi strides to the side of the open hangar and answers, "Peña."

"Hey! Just calling to let you know I made it in, boss man," you chime affably into his ear, and the tension in his shoulders subsides. "Everything ok on your end?"

"Yeah. Just about to board the plane. I won't be able to check in the rest of the time I'm down there," he tells you, hand on his hip as he paces. "I'll call you once we're back. It might not be until late, though—"

"That's fine. I want you to call and let me know you're all right as soon as you can," you insist, then sigh fretfully. "Please be safe, mi amor."

"I will, querida. You take care, ok?" he assertively rumbles, and when you hum in agreement, he husks, "I love you."

"I love you too, Javi."

"We love you very much, Peñita!" Trujillo shouts good-naturedly so Javi can hear, and he blows a raspberry while you giggle irreverently.

"Take care, and talk soon," you retort before you both exchange goodbyes.

He feels a little lighter after the call, and with renewed pep in his step, he rushes back into the hangar and is soon boarding the plane with the other three men.

The flight to Cali gives him a lot of time to think, and the closer they get to their destination, the more he can feel the collective tension amongst them.

So, as they begin their descent, Javier assures, "Once we step off this plane, whatever goes down is on me. We are way off the well-lit path."

Minutes later, they land in a provincial airfield with a single runway tarmac. Deboarding, they get in the waiting SUV Suburban and start prepping for the day – divvying up portable radios and handguns. Salcedo rejects Dan's offer to carry one of the pistols, and while Chris drives, Javier goes over the plan once more. As he details how they'll split up so they can try to track Pallomari's location via Salcedo's wiretap connections at the telephone company, you're just arriving to your grandmother's – well, now more officially, your cousin's soon-to-be-house, after finishing with the attorney. Your aunt is already there when you arrive, so you assure Trujillo that you'll be fine, and after you confirm some updates with him, he gives you his card with his cell phone number on the back and insists that you call him if you need anything.

You spend a while sitting in the kitchen catching up with your aunt about things regarding the house, the changes in the accounts for the utilities, and your plans for packing up things. The subject regarding sorting through decades of memories and personal effects starts to bog you down in the mire of overwhelming sadness when mercifully, your cousin arrives from work and gives you a needed reprieve. While your aunt makes an early supper, you and your cousin work around the house together, dusting and cleaning while you talk. Every so often, your mind wanders to Javier, and you have to quell the anxious worry that fizzles up within you. He's going to be safe. He said this'll all be over soon. Trust him.

What you don't know is that Javier is just linking up with his agents and Salcedo after successfully baiting Fredy Moya – who called Pallomari's wife and warned her of the DEA coming around asking questions and looking for her, and with the call he made traced to an apartment north of the city, they were on their way there. Unbeknownst to them was that the man would seek out David Rodríguez to trade information, and that with David torturing it out of him, it was now a race to get to Pallomari.

Parked on the street and remaining in the SUV as a lookout, Salcedo places his radio in close reach and takes the driver's seat as the agents head up to the apartment building in formation. Feistl takes the lead, with Van Ness covering him and Javier at their rear, making sure no one can sneak up on them. They hustle up the stairwell and locate the apartment door. With a nod of consent, Chris bangs on the door. They can hear muffled rushing and anxious chatter from within, so Javier gestures for Chris to try to enter. Finding it locked, he decides to kick it open, and once he does, Dan is at his side as they come in weapons drawn, shouting for Pallomari to put his gun down.

Javier breezes in between both agents with his DEA badge up, coaxing the harried man and wife to calm down, and assuring them he's there to help. Once the wife makes sure their sons are safe and closes the door to the bedroom, she and Pallomari warily sit in the living room to talk with the three agents. Really, it ends up being an exasperating session of haggling and semantics between Javier and Guillermo. He's barely keeping his patience – everything in him is simmering with the annoyance of controlling his temper while the man questions about what kind of house they'll get, even having the gall to say that his family are accustomed to a certain square footage. But when Javier tells him he has no option other than what he's presenting him, and that this is the only way to keep his family safe? Guillermo seems to get it, so Javier tells them to pack their things, but the wife – Patricia – begins to spiral. She rambles about needing a week to get her affairs at work in order, that they need to give them a week to get things organized, that she cannot just up and leave like this. Her voice gets harried and the more Guillermo tries to diffuse her, the more hysterical she becomes.

Before Javier's even realized it, his temper has boiled over, causing him to bellow, "Okay!" rendering the couple into stunned silence while Chris and Dan bristle where they stand at the ready. He realizes he needs to rein everything in quickly, so Javier tells Guillermo to go pack his children's things while he talks to Patricia. As soon as her husband is out of earshot in the next room, Javier hits her with, "I know about Fredy Moya. It's none of my business—"

"You're right. It's not your problem," she snaps back.

"You realize what happens if they find you?" he levels evenly. "And your kids?"

She flounders, getting frazzled, insisting she can't just leave without saying goodbye. That they're in love. Javier then tells her with finality that if she stays, she will die.

That sinks in. She nods and rushes to pack, to corral her two sons and hustle them to get ready to go while she hastily gathers belongings and shoves them into a suitcase. Javier feels that cagey tension ebb in him, but he knows there's still ways to go. Dan and Chris start pushing them to pack it up to leave, and once Guillermo snaps at his wife that they're done and there's no more stuff to grab, that it's time to head out, Javier radios in to Salcedo.

"We're on our way down."

Chris leads the way down the stairwell to the first landing overlooking the lobby and halts so Javier can sprint down ahead of him to get to the door and radio to confirm, "Salcedo, we're in the lobby now. Are we clear?" There's no immediate response. Javier attempts again. "Salcedo." Still no response, so he radios more adamantly, "Jorge, we clear or not?"

There's a pause before the radio engages. "All clear."

"Copy," Javier confirms before turning to the others and pressing, "All right, stay close."

Javier is the first out the entry door, and once the Pallomari's come out, Dan and Chris flank them to check both sides of the intersection before confirming nothing is amiss. Up ahead is the SUV. It'd been raining when they'd driven over to this part of the city, so the windshield was covered in condensation and water. The pavement smelled damp all around him, and there was no breeze. Everything seemed still – until the gunshot.

They all take shelter behind the nearest car at the opposite side of the street, huddling down at the curb. Javier ducks down and peers around it to see Jorge unload his pistol down into a man on the ground next to the open passenger door he'd seemingly fallen out of. Once the shooting stops, Javier bounds over cautiously and recognizes the now dead sicario to be Navegante.

Staring at Salcedo, he barks, "What the fuck happened?"

With his arms outstretched in a stance of compliance, Jorge gestures to Navegante. "He has the keys."

Without missing a beat, Javier looks over his agents and shouts, "Let's move!" before kneeling to scoop up the car keys Navegante dropped, tosses them to Chris, and rushes with Dan's help to drag the dead man's body away from the car to the opposite side of the street while Patricia screams at her kids not to look and Guillermo irately questions why Salcedo is there. "He saved your life! Get in the fucking car!" is Javier's barked response as he orders everyone to get in, shoving the nervous man to the back seat while Dan piles the kids to the back and Chris jumps into the driver's seat, with a stunned Jorge getting in behind him.

They're speeding off and away as the sounds of police sirens grow nearer. Javi spares a look at the side mirror and watches Navegante's lifeless body disappear with distance. The depraved, sadistic satisfaction he gets knowing the bastard who'd kidnapped you – that had been the triggerman-for-hire to every lowdown fucking cartel – had been gunned down and left on the wet pavement like he'd done to countless others? It should make him question his morals. But for once, Javi feels gratified, and is sure he'll sleep just fucking fine tonight.

The sendoff of Pallomari onto the chartered flight that would ferry him and his family stateside into DEA protective custody went seamless, all things considering, and once they were off the runway, he, Jorge, Dan and Chris boarded their waiting plane and headed back to Bogotá.

They're not even finished deboarding the plane when the unmarked SUV with the security detail ferrying Salcedo's wife and daughters arrives to board the other awaiting jet Javier had coordinated. Stoddard was in tow with their embassy documents, so with paperwork in hand, Javier ushers Jorge and his family onto the other plane.

"Chris and Dan are going to escort you. They'll see to making sure you all have everything you need," he's telling Jorge as he hands him the documents. "Take care of yourself."

Jorge shakes Javier's hand, nodding curtly. "Thank you, Agent Peña."

After huddling with Chris and Dan one last time, he shakes both their hands and pats them on the back before gesturing for them to climb aboard. "Stay in touch. My old partner, Steve Murphy, will meet you on the tarmac when you land," he tells them before joking to Dan, "Try and be more patient than I was with Pallomari."

"I can't make any promises, boss," Dan quips before hustling up the plane's stairs and ducking his tall frame in to enter the cabin.

"Thanks for backing us, boss," Chris tells Javi with a nod before he follows his partner up into the plane.

Javier rides back with Stoddard to the office and hears more great news.

"—David Rodríguez was gunned down in a drive-by, along with several of his associates."

Again, it shouldn't please him so viscerally to hear, but he feels the warm embrace of sweet retribution come over him, and by the time he gets to his apartment, only a few hours before dawn, Javi is buzzing.

Your cell phone rings loudly on the bedside table, and you groan, rolling over to face it when panic leaps up in you. Javi!

Scrambling up and reaching for it, you answer, "Hello?"

"It's done."

You feel a wave of vertigo before excitement punches it away once your anxious mind registers how teeming with exuberance Javi's tone is. "You got him?"

"Yes. He'll be in court testifying in a sealed grand jury in a couple of hours. My guys are escorting Salcedo and his family into witness protection," he tells you in a rush, breath stuttering before he rumbles, "It's done, everything I needed to do…"

Your heart soars, and the happy tears that crest your eyes dampen your lashes as you flutter them. "Oh, I'm so proud of you, Javi!" you gush, absently wiping at your cheek when a couple of tears drop. "You've worked so hard, have done everything – gone above and beyond to succeed and make a difference. You should be proud," you tell him, overcome. When he exhales tensely, you scoff derisively, "Oh my god, c'mon, chavón. Don't make the first thing I do when I see you be to wring your neck and browbeat you! You should be proud, dammit."

His husky, honeyed chuckle makes you smile. "I am, chingona! Just wish you were here. Dying to put my arms around you," he retorts with sincere, albeit crooning warmth. "I know it's late, so go back to sleep—"

"What're you wearing?" you interrupt sultrily.

Javi hums a gruff sound of protest. "Fuck, don't tease me like that, baby—"

"I want to know what you're wearing, guapito," you silkily press and lean back in bed, tingling from the heat of your arousal for him, still sore from the sexy romp that morning and now idly caressing the love bite he left on the sloping muscle connecting your shoulder. "Paint a picture for me."

His snort is rueful, but he answers in a canela-brined drawl, "I just got home. Wearing the same clothes from this morning: dark blue jeans, a button down – the one you said is nice and soft…"

"The chambray blue one?" you chime, pressing your thighs together. He grunts in confirmation, and you can hear him shuffle backwards onto a soft surface. You picture him stretching out on his bed.

"You wearing that sexy batita?" he husks ruggedly, which makes excitement flutter in your tummy.

"I wouldn't call it sexy, but yes – I'm in the batita, all alone in bed," you sigh, wishing he was there with you. That he was hiking up your nightgown and settling between your welcoming thighs. His huff becomes muffled by the heavy yawn he lets out. "Oh, I'm such a jerk. You haven't slept! Go take a shower and get some sleep, mi amor."

He grumpily hums, but you can hear the smirk in his voice when he drawls, "Alright, you wicked little tease. I'll call you tonight. I love you."

"I love you too," you murmur. "Goodnight, stud."

Javi chuckles. "Goodnight, querida."

You find out the breadth of Javier's successful raid later that afternoon when you and your cousin finish going to town hall and transferring over the utility accounts into her name. The covers of every newspaper on the newsstand tell of a violent night in Cali, of the DEA spiriting away sources who've turned evidence and testimony against the Cali cartel, of grand jury indictments and U.S. federal backlash to come against the Colombian government amidst charges of corruption.

And when you get back to the house? You are glued to the television as the evening news details how financial evidence presented to a U.S. grand jury implicated members throughout all echelons of government – public officials throughout the entire country – as being on Cali's payroll. And when they splash a bulletin that alleges possible knowledge of said corruption within the halls of the Nacional Palace and that the surrender deal was entertained for so long in bad faith? Your mind flashes to how distraught Javier had been after capturing Miguel Rodríguez. Did he know? That the corruption went all the way up to the President? Is that why he was so disillusioned—

The ringing of your cell phone makes you jump, and you rush to quickly retrieve it from the coffee table and answer it.

"Hey, corazón. How are you?" Javi's rich baritone washes over you, subduing all the questions that had been galloping wildly in your mind.

"Better, now that you've called," you tell him honestly, smile clear in your voice. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. Everything with the house go alright?"

"Yeah. I just have an appointment in the morning to transfer a few more things. I'll have to come back soon to start packing things up and seeing what we should donate, what they'll want to keep in the house, and what will go in storage…" you feel a lump start to tangle in your throat, so you clear it and sink back into the couch. "I was just watching the news."

"Hmph, yeah. I got a meeting with Crosby in the morning about it," he mutters, and you can make out the click of his lighter before he inhales and puffs out the smoke from his freshly lit cigarette. "What time is your flight?"

"Not until the afternoon, and I figured you'd be busy, so I'll take a cab," you tell him, and at his grumble, you tut, "Nope, I don't want to hear it. Trujillo was a great escort, but now that you've effectively nailed the Cali cartel for good, I think I'm free and in the clear of ever getting snatched up—"

"Not by the assholes from before, no. They're dead," Javi tells you in a tone he's never used with you before. It's a mixture of cutting and gloating, and it raises the little hairs on the back of your neck. He seems to catch it, at least by how he reproachfully huffs at himself. "I'm sorry, that wasn't right—"

"They're dead?" you ask, the macabre curiosity prickling you to know more as you sit up straight.

Javi hesitates, annoyed with himself for being so callously flippant. He sets his cigarette down on the lip of his ash tray and scrubs his fingers over his moustache before dragging them down to his chin. "Navegante? I saw it happen for myself. He got taken out…and the little fucker who'd ordered it, David Rodríguez – he got killed along with a few of his guys in a drive-by," he tells you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. In a low, bass-pitched baritone, he confesses, "I only wish I could've been the one to pull the trigger—"

"Javi," you breathe out, pitch tremulous. "It's over. We don't have to worry about them anymore. You kept your promise, and now it's done. There're just good things to look forward to, and it's up to us what we want those things to be," is your assurance, and hearing it said so concisely but with so much hope fills Javi up with your loving, protective grace. "I love you, Javi," you susurrate, and he exhales in relief, eyes closing as your words wrap around him.

He says your name with amorous feeling before telling you, "—Te amo con toda mi alma. So much so, that as soon as we can, I'm taking you home. Want you to come to Laredo with me, because, well, fuck – I'm going to need a vacation after all of this, and I can't be without you."

Your effervescent laugh is charmed and loving, and it makes him feel so deserving. That he's done what he needed to, and is now worthy of the life he wants to build with you.

"I want the same, Javi. I can't wait," you retort, the cheeky smile evident in your tone as you add, "And I can't wait to get my hands on your baby pictures, finally!"

He laughs, and it feels so good to laugh after everything, and even though he sees some heads turn towards his office, he doesn't care. "I'll see you tomorrow, hermosa."

"Good luck with Crosby. Bye!"

Javier feels like he's free of the proverbial albatross he'd hung around his neck since he'd agreed to come back to Colombia. All the acrimonious fury, the stress, the failures and disenchantment haven't gone away, but have become less potent within him. The loathing and doubt go quiet, allowing him to tie up bureaucratical matters in regards to the Cali cartel investigation, and by the time he's getting ready the next morning to head to the embassy and meet with the ambassador, the hope he feels sits prominently in his chest, pushing him forward – holding out that full justice will be served to all who deserve it.

But, of course, nothing is as it seems, or goes as it should.

Crosby comes in smug. For some reason, Javier knows immediately things are not going to go as he'd hoped.

"Y'know how many times I've gotten a call from the Department of Justice and State the same morning?" the man drawls, pausing to smirk as he adds, "Count 'em on one finger. Guess we have you to thank for that." Javier glances down at the conference table, already steeling himself for how this is going to go. "I'm headed over to the National Palace right now to make it clear to President Samper himself that the godfathers stay in jail. At least for the foreseeable future."

"But that's as far as it goes?" Javier queries, and when Crosby narrows his glacial stare on him, he forges on with, "We drew up a draft indictment outlining President Samper's ties to the Cali cartel."

"Alleged ties," Crosby counters, expression sharpening as he presses, "And I suggest you keep that draft to yourself. The DOJ's not going to topple a government, Agent Peña."

Javier's expression hardens, and when he has no retort, Crosby gestures glibly as he goads, "You can't tell me you're surprised by that."

"Some part of me was holding out hope, I guess," he rumbles, hands folded together over the table to keep them from fidgeting in his perturbation, left thumb tapping absently while he trains the muscles in his face to remain as stoic as possible. But his jaw has been ticking – corner of his lips twitching against the deep scowl that wants to take over his features.

Crosby is snarky as he lopes around the conference table, gesturing wryly at Javi as he simpers, "Well, you should tell that part to grow the fuck up." Javi is forced to keep his gaze low, for fear of giving the man the furious look that speaks volumes for how he currently feels. His lips purse as the ambassador drawls, "No, I mean it, Agent Peña. You should be happy. You played the system like a goddamn fiddle."

Javi looks up at him then, head slightly cocked to give him a sidelong glance as Crosby gives him a resigned, musing smile. "You won," he tells him, good-naturedly pattings Javi on the left shoulder as he rounds behind him, and makes his exit.

Disillusioned and debased by the conversation, Javi mutters distantly, "Yes, sir."

He's alone when he says it, the ambassador long gone and not intending to pay the DEA country attaché any more of his time.

Or so he thinks.

The entire exchange demoralizes Javier all over again. But now, it's far more denigrating, because he's being told that his complicity is expected. As if he has no choice in the matter. That everything he'd undertaken, every decision and outcome truly had not mattered, because it'd long been decided that sacrifice and injustice were the small prices to pay for corruption, greed, and political dominion – that everything was fungible as long as those with the right authority did what they were told.

He was supposed to take the win, look away, and move on.

It takes the entire smoke break out at the embassy steps, looking faraway as he stares vacantly at the street beyond, to make his decision.

Javier would not be complicit.

After making two calls, he drives over to El Tiempo, and meets with Carolina. She has a tape recorder, and after she sets it down and warns him of the consequences that will befall him once he goes on the record, she tells him concernedly, "You're going to pay a price."

With an unruffled, albeit ruminating look, Javi tells her, "Press the button."

The story is able to run by the evening news. El Tiempo drops the issue within less than a couple of hours of Javi's interview, and by the time he gets back to the embassy, all hell has broken loose in the DEA. Calmly, Javi finishes clearing out his desk, and manages to keep his stoic ease as Stoddard rushes in with a flurry of questions, updates, and a demand from the ambassador's office that he report upstairs to him immediately.

"—What's going on, sir?! Is it true?" the young man exclaims, about to unravel a litany of questions when Javi holds out his hand.

"You were a great deputy, Stoddard. Thank you for all your work."

Neutralized, the man dimly shakes Javier's hand, and watches as he places his cell phone and satellite phone on his desk before exiting his office in order to go up to the ambassador's.

Now, it's Javi's turn to be glib.

He has no illusions. Nor has he thought beyond this point about what happens next. But as he sits across from Crosby, and goes through the motions, he is so resigned to his decision that he can't allow himself any thought further on what this means for him.

What this will mean for you.

"I want you gone, Peña. So do the Colombians."

Javier's faraway as he nods and replies, "I understand, sir."

There a terse, resentful pause between them before Javi gives a curt nod and stands, beginning to exit towards the door.

"You know…any aspirations you had for your career…just got dragged behind the barn and shot," the ambassador levels, almost ruefully, at Javier.

Turning, Javi weighs that, lips slightly parted musingly, before he retorts, "I resigned from the DEA this morning."

Crosby looks taken aback, and with one final once over, Javi turns and resumes his exit, without a cursory glance backwards, as he leaves. He returns to the DEA department only long enough to grab the box filled with her personal effects, and exits out the side door to avoid the chaos he's unleashed as staffers field calls from counterparts at DOS and DOJ.

You're completely oblivious as you exit the gate with your carry-on suitcase and purse. Swinging the strap of your purse to be cross-body over your silver silk blouse, you're hurrying through the crowd in the terminal to make it out and grab a waiting cab, eager to get to the embassy, catch up on some work, and then rush home to shower Javi with celebratory kisses and hugs. As you round towards the main causeway of the terminal, where amenities like the newsstand, airport bar and lounge, and giftshops are, you've just pulled out your cell phone and turned it back on. You start when it begins to ring immediately, so you slow in your rushing pace and answer.

"—Holy shit, girlie! Where are you?! Did you just land? I've been trying to call—"

"Whoa! Yes, I just got off the plane. What's going on?" you query, feeling trepidation well in you at how harried Ellis sounds.

"You gotta get to the embassy. Shit just hit the fan and it's pandemonium here after the news broke—"

As you hurriedly resume your pace and listen, your gaze fans over the newsstand you're about to pass when you stop dead in your tracks, almost bumping into other hustling passengers as they now breeze by you. Every single newspaper's cover overrides your previous thoughts. But it's the El Tiempo headline that sucker punches you.

"—No one knows what's going on and the rumors are insane—"

"I'm on my way, Ellis. I gotta go!" you tell him quickly and hang up as you shove the phone in your purse and retrieve your pocket book to fish out enough money to pay for a copy, tell the man to keep the change, and snag the issue of El Tiempo up as you now bustle with your things towards the exit.

Once you're in a cab, you skim the intro of the story while you anxiously dial Javi's cell phone. It rings as if the call cannot be completed, so you try his satellite phone, then his office phone, and when none work, you call his apartment number. It rings and rings, but no one answers. What's happening?!

Unable to do anything but be ferried to the embassy, you vacantly stare down at the article before the analytical part of your mind takes over, skimming through.

By the time you arrive at the embassy, you feel like you're in an alternate universe.

Highest-ranking DEA official goes on the record…

U.S. government complicit in knowledge of rampant corruption withing Samper administration…

Tapes reveal how a campaign contribution of six million dollars went into the Samper presidential campaign, funneled by an art dealer acting as a liaison between the current president's staff and Gilberto Rodríguez in exchange for virtual immunity…

DEA country attaché Javier F. Peña went on the record with this reporter to disclose the U.S. government's lack of interest in holding Colombian officials accountable for flagrant corruption….

When you enter your office and ditch your belongings, Ellis gallops in. "Jesus Christ, kid. What the fuck is going on?!"

"I'm going upstairs," you tell him as you rush around him and head to do just that, calling over your shoulder, "I-I'm going up and asking him what happened—"

"He's gone."

Your leather-flat-clad-feet skid as you pause in the middle of the department's workspace and whirl around, not believing you heard him right. "What?"

"We just heard. Javier resigned from the DEA this morning. When the news about the article hit, he went up and told Crosby, and then he left," Ellis tells you haltingly, as if the information will cause you duress.

It's then that you feel the eyes on you. Devon and Jackie peer over from their stations, and the techs who are at their cubicles try to divert their gazes when you fan your stare about.

The world shrinks in around you.

Rushing back into your office, you yank out the copy of El Tiempo from your purse and look for the reporter credited with the interview.

Carolina Álvarez.

Your mind inundates you with recall after recall. The business card with her name on it that had been on Javi's coffee tables so many months ago. How cagey Javier had been when you'd pressed him on talking to a reporter for leads. It all shakes loose into jigsaw pieces that fall into place, allowing your mind to come to some troubling, horrible conclusions.

Javier never gave said conclusions thought. Didn't think about what would happen now that he'd committed career suicide, albeit with a reprieving flourish of quitting before going on the record and napalming things.

In all honesty, he'd been so brought low by the ambassador this morning, that he hadn't thought about what would happen now that he was out at the embassy, or how any of this would affect you.

All he knows is that he has to be out of the apartment in forty-eight hours, and he figures it was only a matter of time before the Colombians revoked his visa. He was wondering if they'd do it immediately and send CNP to collect him and deport him back to the states when he hears the key going into the lock of the front door.

Snapping out of his stupor and standing from where he'd been sitting on the bed while dimly sorting through his important papers he keeps in a shoe box, Javi hears the door open and the rushing footfalls over the jangle of keys as you burst in.

"Javier!" you call out as you drop your purse and keychain to the counter to sprint through the apartment.

You come to a halt in your frenzied pace as he appears in the doorway of the bedroom.

He's sans his blazer and tie – dress shirt rumpled with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The look in his eyes is haunted, and he vacillates, tense and conflicted before you.

"Javi, what happened? What the hell happened?!" you exclaim, incredulous and shaken as you stalk towards him. "They're saying you quit—t-that you quit your job this morning, and that you leaked things to the press—"

At your harried expression, Javi approaches you now in order to explain himself, hands slipping around you in attempt to ground himself. "I know, I'm sorry…everything's happened so quick. I'm sorry for not telling you first—"

"It's true?" you shy away from his embrace, staring in shock. "After everything…after all that's happened, everything we've talked about…how could you do this?" Your eyes plaintively stare at him, and when Javi diverts his gaze shamefully, you snap. "You quit before you went to that woman—that reportera, because you knew you were going to do this? Why? Why would you do this?!"

"They gave me no choice! After everything – they were going to let the government walk after they took a fucking campaign payoff from Cali for blanket immunity!" he exclaims, tempestuously smacking his palm into the wall as he shouts, "They wanted me to be complicit and ignore what they've done—what they'll continue to do unless they're stopped and held accountable!"

You are dismayed and left reeling, truly stunned into disbelief.

"You just destroyed everything we had here," you exhale, backing away from him. "Did you always know you were going to do this? Were you biding your time until now?"

"What?!" Javi is aghast. "No—"

"You've been talking to that reporter since the beginning! And now she's the one you go on the record for, and firebomb your whole life here without even thinking of letting me know?!" you accuse, hands curling into fists as you begin to shake with your fury. "You've never intended to do this—to make a life together, did you?"

"That's not true!" Javi shouts and rushes forward, but you back away and shake your head at him. "Goddammit, that's all I've cared about—"

"You didn't even tell me what happened after you caught Miguel Rodríguez, because you knew since then that you were going to do this. That if things didn't go the way you dictated that they should that you'd expose it all, at the cost of your fucking life here! You knew that no matter what, there was nothing else you could do to force the issue aside from hanging yourself out to dry—to sacrifice your fucking career and make yourself the goddamned martyr, without ever thinking about what would happen to us! What would happen to me," you pause, tears catching in your throat as you waver in your upset whilst Javier woefully flounders before you for what to say. "I trusted you, and you didn't trust me to be honest with what you were doing, with what your intentions were and what you were willing to do to get the results you wanted—"

"No, dammit, none of that is true! I never intended to do this," he tells you emphatically, and you scoff, furious now as you rush past him to the bedroom, smacking his hands away as he tries to stop you. "—Wait, wait! Please, just listen to me, querida!"

Javi whirls and follows you, quickly becoming disheartened when he sees you retrieve your duffle from the closet and start yanking items from hangers to be tossed in a pile on the bed. "I don't want this! I never meant to hurt you or not think about how this would affect you—"

"THAT'S EXACTLY IT! You didn't THINK about me or how this would affect me!" you scream, vehemently incensed as you rail, "Did you think I would drop everything for you and follow you home?! Abandon my life here and just shack up with you in Laredo until you decide that's not enough for you either?!" Irate now, you level him with, "That I would give up my entire fucking life here – throw away everything I've worked for and leave the only family I have left that matters to me – all because you don't care about your own fucking reputation or career over your immature moral principles about what should happen in a country that's not yours?! How dare you presume to tell me about complicity when you think yourself above all authority enough to discard the people around you in the fallout of your fucking decisions!? You're complicit in forcing an issue that was not yours to mandate! You did your fucking job, but you want to be judge, jury and executioner! It wasn't enough to take down the cartel and take your retribution. Doing your job successfully and coming home in one piece wasn't enough. Oh no, not without you deciding to do everyone else's job, and fuck the consequences—!"

Javier stands there, shoulders slumped, gaze wilted and expression downtrodden as you tear him asunder, and when your voice cracks, you whirl away from him to hide the tears as you squeeze your eyes shut and feel them roll down your cheeks. You resume shoving the items you'd retrieved from the closet into the duffle before fumingly going to the dresser drawer and hefting everything out of it to be unceremoniously thrown in the bag.

"I love you so much…please, I don't want to lose you."

You pause with your back to him after shoving the last of your belongings housed in the bedroom into the duffle. His proclamation was the most upset you've ever heard him, and it hurts your heart, but you find yourself shutting that part of yourself off now.

"Why did you do this. Tell me the truth," is your shaky demand, voice thick with your resoluteness.

He doesn't know the answer. Not the right answer that will keep you there. But he has to try, so he breathes out a tense exhale before blurting, "Because I couldn't live with myself if I let them get away with it."

It hurts. Somewhere within you – that you've walled off now in order to preserve yourself from the devastating fallout, something tender – withers and dies at his answer. Because it's not that simple, and it kills you that he would feel that way. But it also devastates you to know being with you wouldn't be enough for him to hold his head high and know he'd done enough.

"I understand."

The flat, hollow response creates an ache in his chest, propelling him forward. "Querida—"

You hastily shove the duffle flap shut and zip it closed before whirling on him when he's approached you from behind, desperate to pull you into his embrace. But you keep him at bay by swinging the duffle as a buffer between you, and then pivot around him to exit the room.

"Fuck's sake, please stop!" Javier thunders, and you made it to your keys and purse before you halt in your retreat. "I didn't think beyond resigning and sitting down for the interview. I didn't care anymore, because everything that's wrong here isn't just with the cartel or the administration. I've been a part of what's wrong, and I couldn't let it go on. But that doesn't mean I wanted it like this. I never wanted anything else but the life we've talked about – I still do! I just wanted to be worthy of it—"

"You're never going to be satisfied. Whether things change here or not, it was never up to you," you cut in, voice hushed but scalding with your repressed anger. When he doesn't say anything, you wipe at your face and turn to stare at him, and Javi's heart breaks at seeing how bereft you are. "It was Medellín, then Cali, and after it'll be something else – someone else you burden yourself with taking down, no matter what it costs. You still think it's all on you—I see it in your eyes. Even everything you did today, it wasn't enough. Nothing will ever be enough," you pause when your breath stutters and you swallow down what you want to say; what's booming in your head.

I'm not enough for you.

"No matter what, you will never be content, and you'll keep lying and omitting what you really feel, hide the things you believe you need to do. Because you don't want me to know or have a say—"

"I swear, on my life, that's not what I want!" Javi adamantly swears, moving to excise the distance that's suddenly eroded the gravitation between you. "I just wanted it to matter—"

"And I hope it does," you whisper as you mechanically grab your purse and keys from the counter, unable to look at him any longer. "But I can't do this anymore…I've had enough with not being enough."

Javi is decimated, relegated to standing on locked legs as his throat constricts and a devastating pang wreaks through him at your words.

You dazedly work two keys off of your keychain and leave them on the counter before turning to the door, going on autopilot as you exit with your belongings and don't look back.

At the sound of the door clicking shut, Javier's breath stammers raggedly out of him, and before he's realized it, he's sunk down to the floor and propped his back against the wall, taking his head in his hands as he tries to reconcile all the damage he's done.

"You're going to pay a price."

He doesn't know how long he sits there, but when he dejectedly looks up, his apartment is dark, the haze of twilight heavy in the space. It's an even longer time before he snaps back into himself, having gone into a bit of fugue state after his mind walls up his heart, for fear he'll fall apart under the weight of everything tangling around it.

By the time he's had a cigarette and stared out into the void of the bustling traffic of the avenue under a starless night sky from his open bedroom window, Javi hears it.

The self-loathing creeps in like an old friend, ready to tell him all the truths he's chosen to ignore about himself.

It was only a matter of time before she saw it. Everything she said was true. You just couldn't see it for yourself. You never wanted to. Because if you did, you'd know everything was pointless—

The phone in his apartment rings. Javi is so out of it, that it takes him a moment to register it and turn from the open window in his bedroom to lope out into the main room and answer it. When he does, he irrationally hopes it's you, and it weighs like a stone in his chest that quickly drops into his stomach when it's not you.

"Jav, what the hell is going on, man?"

It was Steve. Only Steve. You ruined everything with her, because you don't deserve her—

"—Just what the fuck did you go and do now, Jav?"

His partner did always have a way with words. "Sounds like you already heard."

"Leave it to you to take a big win as a failure of epic proportions…"

They talk for a while, and mercifully it's not until close to the end of the call that Steve asks him.

"What about her? How're you going to make things work?"

"Well…I'm not. It's over," Javi mumbles, hoping saying it himself would lessen the blow, but it doesn't. If anything, it makes him want to crawl inside of the whiskey bottle he's currently overpouring himself a glass of, and never come back out. He gives Steve the cliff-notes of what happened.

The first glass of whiskey goes down like nothing, and when his former partner asks what triggered him to think things between you both were totally FUBAR now, Javi tells him while he pours himself a double to try and take the edge off. The more he drinks though, the more he volunteers, telling him how things came apart at the seams between you earlier, and the loathsome part of him grinds it deep – the feeling of being adrift.

"…Like you said, there's still loose ends. Even if shit hadn't gone down the way they did today, I'd have to be gone, work stateside for a while until all the indictments and cases were in full swing—"

"Javi…listen to me. You fucked up. Royally fucked up here. But you can't just walk away—"

Hackles rising at that, Javi growls, "I didn't walk away. She did, and I can't fucking blame her, and I can't fix it—"

"You let her walk away. You didn't fight for her, didn't give her a reason to believe you wouldn't do this shit again. She's given you chances before, right?" Steve presses, and Javi reluctantly huffs. "C'mon, man. She's worth it, and you're going to hate yourself if you don't try…"

While Javier grapples with his guilt and how to move forward, you're completely drained, lying on your bed with only the lamp on your nightstand on. It's been hours since things had gone sideways without warning. That seemingly everything you'd been working towards in your personal life had dissolved – sifted through your fingers like they'd never truly existed.

Ellis had called you, but aside from telling him you were alright and would see him the next day, it was crystal clear that you didn't want to talk, so he'd let you off the phone, and you'd been thankful.

Now, once you've forced yourself to get up from wallowing to start unpacking your suitcase and duffle, you allow your mind to go blank and concentrate on the mundane task.

It's a while later when you're mechanically finishing with the ironing for all your rumpled work clothes from the duffle bag, and you've just gotten done sorting everything into the closet, that you feel a bout of profound, unsettling emptiness.

A knock at your door startles you out of your vacant daze. Tiredly, you pad on bare feet down the hall, dimly thinking it might be your downstairs neighbor checking in after you'd gone so long without staying at your apartment.

You don't expect to open the door and find Javier standing in the lowlight, eyes red-rimmed and still in his clothes from earlier. The five-o-clock shadow on his jaw and cheeks is darker now, and so are his eyes as he stares at you with plaintiveness from under his brows. Disarmed, you look up at him forlornly.

"Most of what you said? You were right. But you were fucking wrong when you said this isn't enough," Javi is blurting out to you, pressing a hand on the doorframe and the other on the door itself in case you try to slam it shut in his face. When you just stare at him with incomprehension, he insists, "I think you're scared of what this could be, and what happened today is your excuse for breaking things off—"

"…Excuse me?" you hiss, balking up at him. "Are you fucking drunk?"

"No!" Javi snaps and rails, "I don't fucking expect you to give up your life here. I never even asked you to do that! You always say my job isn't me, so why are you fucking pushing me away like this?! I love you, goddammit—"

You are floored by his audacity, and Javier notices too late how your shoulders wind back with fury and you level him with a seething stare. "You have the fucking gall to come over here and put this all on me, again?! Like you always fucking do?!" is your slashing accusation, truly irate now as you shove him back from the threshold of your door and harangue, "The one who is scared here is you, you fucking cabrón! You show up at my door after everything you've put me through? Not just today, but over and over again the entire time I've thrown in with you?!"

Javi's expression sets into a hard mask, but his tone is teeming with suppressed angst as he draws out between clenched jaw, "We can make it work. You're pushing me away before we've even tried—without even trying to give me the benefit of doubt. You automatically decided I'd been lying to you. Didn't even give me a chance to explain—"

Incensed, you excoriate, "Explain?! That you poured your guts out to another woman on the record without a single thought about what would happen or how that would demolish everything we've planned together?!" You're spiraling into a level of rage you've not been at in a very long time, and before you can lose yourself to it, you scoff, hold out your hand, and demand, "Give me back my key, and leave."

That sobers Javier up.

He digs into the left pocket of his gray slacks, retrieves his keychain, and fumbles to remove your apartment door's key from the bunch. "I'm going to keep trying. I'll keep trying, and I'll hold out until you talk to me and give me another chance," is his hushed growl as he plucks the key from the ring. "I'll tie up loose ends on Cali and then we can focus on making this work, and talk about—"

You snatch the key from his fingers and sneer, "There will always be loose ends. Always something else to justify your impulsive, destructive fucking whims, and I've had enough of it. Just pretend I'm a loose end you can skip trying to resolve."

With that, you slam your door shut and lock it.

But you don't pull away from it.

Javier leans distraughtly into the other side of the door, and rests his forehead in drunken frustration against its cool surface while he feebly props his hands on either side of the frame. "I'll prove it to you. You matter to me, querida. I love you, and I'll keep trying to win you back. I'll fix things and earn back your trust. Just don't shut me out…"

Tears are running down your face, and you discard the key to the side table hastily so you can run down the hall and bury your sobs into a pillow.

The liquor is finally hitting Javier enough that he has to force himself to resist the urge to slide down your door and sleep it off. Instead, he trudges down the steps and stalks out of the courtyard into the gusty breeze to get in his SUV and sober up. Once he musters the concentration and sobriety to drive back to his apartment, he sullenly goes upstairs and makes his way to the door before he stumbles up through the cold and dark space.

He finds his way to his room and crawls into bed, forgoing undressing, and passes out face-first on his stomach.

As unconsciousness begins to weigh him down, he sends up a silent plea.

Please don't shut me out of your life forever…

You don't hear from Javier.

In the days after the story breaks, rumors at the embassy are rampant and fierce, but with the political fallout from the exposure of the article, Javier's notoriety is quickly replaced by other headlines that impact relations with the Colombian government. However, it's during this time that you relent, sit down, and read the entire article that put everything into motion.

Seeing that Javier alleged DOS and DOJ were aware of the corruption – that the ambassador had played him a tape given to him by the CIA, documenting the deal Santiago Medina brokered with the Samper presidential campaign and Gilberto Rodríguez? It fills you with cold, sickening dread.

After all, if Crosby knew about the Colombian president being in Cali's pocket and kept playing along – as if something that nefarious didn't justify severing all ties between the U.S. and the Colombian government, what if he'd known everything Stechner had been up to. Could he know Stechner gave my name to the Cali cartel? That they'd snatched me up as an indirect favor to the CIA station chief, in order to try to knock me down a few pegs?

It made you question your convictions. Put everything you'd ever thought about the politics, wielding and dealing at the embassy into a new, discordant perspective.

And if this is how you felt, you can only imagine how torn and betrayed Javi had felt.

Just when you're feeling inundated by your guilt and resentment, Marisol approaches you at the end of the day and waves you over into a secluded corner of your department.

"I didn't want to tell you this…" she prefaces before divulging how over a week prior, on the night Javier's agents had apprehended Miguel Rodríguez, he'd been in his office's bullpen, all alone, just staring at the suspect board. One of the custodians had walked by and seen him and thought it odd. When they'd circled back around a few minutes later, Javier was no longer alone.

The CIA station chief had been talking to him. From what they saw, Javier looked none too happy, and the little the custodian heard and could understand, it sounded like Stechner had patronized Javier, because the seasoned agent had given the balding man a withering look before turning and stalking away from him.

Your heart aches, knowing just how much Javi had wanted to defend your honor and get retribution against the man for everything he'd done, and the fact he'd come to kick Javi while he was down? And that at his lowest, Javi didn't take the bait, and walked away from the bastard?

You thank Marisol for telling you, and before you can muster the composure to keep your tears at bay, she leans in for a hug, squeezes you tight, and whispers in your ear, "Go get your guapo descarado."

It was the encouragement you didn't know you were longing for.

You get your purse and rush out of the embassy, driving over to Javier's and yearning to undo everything that you allowed to untether you both apart. The traffic is heavy, so in your impatience, you opt to park on the street across from his building, dash over to it and down the parking garage ramp to head up to his apartment's floor. You sprint down the hall and feel your pulse racing as you get to the door and knock on it.

There's no answer.

You knock again, and again, trepidation growing in you, so you knock once more and call out, "Javi, it's me," then strain to hear through the door.

"Excuse me, señorita," a voice calls down from the apartment on the opposite end of the hall. You blink over and see a man dressed like he'd just come home from the office, peeking from his open apartment door at you. "The man in that apartment moved out."

Your senses dull over at hearing that, mind straining incredulity. "…When?" you find yourself asking.

"A few days ago. They've already posted it up as available for lease," he retorts, looking curiously at you.

At your vacant nod, he frowns and goes back into his apartment, leaving you alone in the chilly hallway.

Wavering, you lean back into the door and bury your face in your hands, stifling a sob as you realize what you've done.

You've pushed Javi away, and he's left.

You're all alone, and it's your fault.

You never got to tell him that he was enough.

________________

Read Chapter 38: Enough

Spanish-English Glossary:

Tan celoso = [You're] so jealous

Querida/querido = Affectionate term, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Mandona = Bossy lady

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Canela = Cinnamon

Don Celos = Mr. Jealous; a "Don" is used as a title of respect for a man with a high reputation, so she means it like a "sir", so aka "Sir Jealous"

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Pantaleta = Panties; undies; skivvies

La Virgen Santa = The Virgin Mary; The Virgin Mother

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Jodón = pain in the ass [male]

Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone

Mi patrón = My master/boss

Tan chingona y coqueta = Such a badass, flirty lady

Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)

Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled

Mi amor = My love

Tan brava = So feisty; So tough; refers to a "tough girl"

Eres mía, tiernita = You're mine, my tender little girl

Guapito = affectionate way of calling a man handsome (in the diminutive term)

Dulzón = Sweetheart [male]

Buena suerte, agente = Good luck, agent

Batita = Nightgown

Te amo con toda mi alma = I love you with all my soul

Reportera = Reporter [female]

Cabrón = Asshole

Guapo descarado = Handsome cad

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#Heat - Narcos fanfic #Javi x Querida #Javier Peña #Javi Peña #Narcos #Javi Peña x Latina OFC #Narcos fanfiction #Pedro Pascal characters #Javi Peña fan fiction

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