Warnings: Angsty Javi, mentions of sadness, comfort, established relationship
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Javi was in a mood. The kind he still got in sometimes, even after leaving the DEA: shut down, disconnected but never mean. Reality still often rested heavy on his shoulders, your Atlas carrying the world on his back. Although Colombia was far away now, it seemed like it had a way of creeping closer and closer like a vine crawling up a tree. Sometimes the vines would get too tight and choke the branches.
summery:Javier Peña wanted to wait three dates before fucking you—his way of trying to do things right. It’s sweet, very sweet, but you’re horny. You’re both horny. The two of you know how this third date will end, you’ve just got to get through dinner and a movie. You can wait a few more hours, right?
rating: E(18+!!! THIS IS SMUT. With a sprinkle of plot. Unprotected P in V (wrap it up), creampie, oral sex (m & f receiving), vaginal fingering, praise, edging, squirting, body worship, dirty talk, multiple orgasms (so many), spit mention, teasing, (1) light bite to Javi’s buttcheek, spanks (playful), aftercare, post-sex smoking, so much kissing, Soft Javier Peña, fluff, softness.)
pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader
word count: 11k+ (I apologize.)
A/N: The third date got out of hand and I’m going to split it into 2 chapters. (Sorry!) This first part is reader POV. I love the response to this series so much! Thank you for reading! I’ve outlined more chapters and some one shots, with a pretty good idea about where I want things to go. I always welcome asks and dm’s. This is, as always, dedicated to my bestie and inspiration @juletheghoul and shoutout to my beta @invisibleismyname who I love with all of my heart. Thank you again for reading and commenting!
When Javi had said the last three words, you’d sucked in a breath, eyes widening as your mouth made a perfect ‘O’, taken aback for a moment by the reveal. He told you it was a term of endearment similar to sweetheart or darling, but your mind was focused on those three simple words, shining bold and bright in your brain like a blinking marquee in Time’s Square. Knowing the translation made it seem much more intimate than something like honey or sweetie, and he’d bestowed it upon you on the first date, as if he’d determined right away you were special to him—that you’d be someone special to him. The words, the knowledge, it made you feel like you were going to melt into a puddle, your whole body just overcome with a warm and fuzzy feeling.
Summary: Big changes have come to the US Embassy—including a new boss for the DEA. Steve deals with the fallout from his arrest. The agents move to Medellín. Ari and Javi cannot find any time alone, and Javi begins to worry Ari doesn’t want him anymore. Ari makes a monumental decision. A failed raid costs the lives of many and results in the return of a familiar face.
Pairings: Javier Peña x OFC Ariana Morgan—DEA Agent and daughter of Pablo Escobar
Fandom: Narcos
Rating:Explicit 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 6,739
Warnings: language, misogyny, angst, SMUT, PiV sex, unprotected sex, kissing, jealousy, prostitution, violence, death, blood…let me know if I missed anything, and I’ll happily add it here!
A/N: Yay! A new chapter! This one takes us to the end of Season 2 Episode 2. I’m gonna try to speed through some of the plot in the next couple chapters. I want to get to the point I need to be in the main storyline to progress the romance. It’s hard to eliminate certain things though…need them for the story to make sense, so please be patient with me. I’m gonna make the chapters longer to help…it’s all planned out, so it’ll work out eventually. Lol
I included conversations from the episode to help anyone who hasn’t seen it or hasn’t watched it in awhile. Sorry if it feels redundant if you’ve seen the show a million times like me.
As always, feel free to let me know if I need to correct the Spanish translations!
“My title might be ‘ambassador’, but that’s some bullshit politician’s word,” Arthur Crosby, the newly appointed US Ambassador to Colombia addressed the room. He sat at the head of the table. Directly across from him at the other head of the table sat Lou Wysession. On either side of Crosby were Bill Stechner—the new CIA station chief, and Claudia Messina—the new DEA attaché…otherwise known as their new boss. Between Stechner and Wysession sat the two CIA operatives, Owens and Russell. Next to Messina was Edward Jacoby from Centra Spike. Javi was next to Jacoby, Ari sat between Javi and Wysession.
After Escobar escaped from prison, the Colombian government was scrambling to right that wrong. Gaviria went on TV and declared Escobar a narcoterrorist. He also accepted the help offered by US President George Bush. Which meant there were some shake ups at the embassy. Crosby—a tough as nail former Navy guy—had brought everyone in to make sure they were all on the same page.
“I know what it means to be on the front lines,” Crosby continued. “And everybody in this room wants the same thing: to take down Escobar. Now, as a veteran of numerous conflicts, I learned one immutable truth: the only way to succeed is by working together, by communicating, by sharing intelligence, and collaborating.” He gestured to Messina. “Uh, this is Claudia Messina. She is the new DEA attaché. She’ll be taking over all DEA operations in-country. Messina?”
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Messina replied. She turned her head to address the table. “The DEA will be opening field offices in Cali, Cartagena, and Barranquilla. As far as the Medellín team is concerned, they will be housed out of CNP headquarters until further notice.” Javi groaned inwardly. Bunking at headquarters was going to be a pain in the ass.
“But only some personnel changes have been made,” Messina added. Ari shot Javi a worried look. What the hell was she talking about? Before he could think too heavily on it, Crosby was speaking once more.
“Alright, now as far as long-term intelligence is concerned, that’s under the purview of the CIA, the station chief, Bill Stechner. Bill, you have anything you’d like to add?” The surly, balding man sniffed once.
“I’m good,” he replied in a bored tone. Javi’s eyebrows went up. This guy was clearly an asshole.
“Alright,” Crosby continued, “who’s here from Centra Spike?”
“I am, sir, Edward Jacoby,” Jacoby replied, raising his hand slightly.
“Alright,” Crosby acknowledged him, “let’s get Centra Spike back in the air immediately. I want to know every word these assholes say and all information flows through me, and I will disseminate as I see fit.”
“Yes, sir,” Jacoby agreed.
“When Escobar sticks his fucking head out, we’re gonna nail that son of a bitch,” Crosby promised. The meeting wrapped up. Javi and Ari quickly followed Messina out of the embassy. Javi was really concerned what she meant by personnel changes.
“I wanted to talk to you about Steve,” Javi called out as she exited the building. They walked down the steps.
“What about him?” She asked. “Other than the fact that he wasn’t here today.”
“Well, I suggested that he stay home,” Javi covered. “You mentioned making some changes. Just what exactly does that mean?”
“It means I’m making some changes,” she replied vaguely.
“Murphy’s a good agent,” Javi insisted. “He’s done a lot of good work down here.” Messina stopped walking and fished a file out of her bag.
“Yeah,” she said sarcastically, handing a page out of the file to Javi. “Looks like it.” Javi and Ari glanced down at the copy of Steve’s arrest report. Ari blew out a breath of frustration. After Steve had called him the night before, Javi had rushed over to Ari’s to grab her before they went down to the station to get Steve. He had been a mess. Javi handed it back and placed his hands on his hips. He rolled his lips, not sure what to say to his new boss. Steve had fucked up…but he didn’t deserve to be sent home.
“Do you have any idea the strings that were pulled to get that guy to not press charges?” Messina asked angrily.
“Sounds to me like the guy would’ve had a dog sniffing up his ass before he got on the plane,” Javi shot back with just a smidge of sass. “Maybe Steve did him a favor.”
“Watch it,” Ari warned him quietly.
“Was that a thank you?” Messina said in a low voice. She sighed. “Be straight with me, Agent Peña, and I’ll be straight with you. I don’t need a guy like that making my life more difficult. And making the DEA look bad.”
“Ma’am—” Javi began.
“—Messina,” she cut in. “Or boss.” Javi watched her for a moment. It was clear what she was doing. Asserting her dominance, letting everyone know that she was tough and capable…trying to overcompensate for being a woman in a male dominated career. His heart tugged. He knew this was the same shit Ari dealt with every day, and he hated that they had to fight so hard just to prove they were worthy. Still, Messina had no fucking clue what they had been dealing with…how fucked up Colombia was right now.
“We’ve been down here a long time,” he told her, his voice raspy with emotion. “You’ve been down here all of what, two hours?”
“Dammit, Javi,” Ari groaned quietly. Javi swallowed audibly.
“It may not make the front page, but…a lot of the intel we have is because of Steve,” Javi continued. “He’s a good man. He’s going through some shit right now. You know he was at the airport to stop his wife from leaving the country with their kid. He didn’t make it. Add that to watching Escobar build a five star prison and then walking out the back door. We both deserve to see this through…boss.” Messina stared at him a moment and then walked away.
“Wait!” Ari called out. Messina stopped and turned back to Ari. She stepped in front of Javi to address their boss. “I know what you must be thinking about these guys.”
“And what’s that, Agent Morgan?” Messina asked. Javi noticed she wasn’t as short with Ari as she was with him.
“That they’re misogynistic assholes, and you’ll never earn their respect,” Ari answered. “But that couldn’t be further from the truth. I know you feel the need to come on strong…let everyone know you’re tough shit and deserve this job. I get it. I do it too. But you don’t need to do that with us. This team…it’s something special. We all respect the hell out of each other. We have each other’s backs. No matter what. Steve and Javi are the only men I’ve ever worked with that weren’t misogynistic assholes. They don’t give a shit that I’m a woman. They trust me to do the job. Steve is a damn good agent. He fucked up…but we all have at some point, right? He’s sacrificed a lot to be here and fight this war. We all have. Just…have a little faith. And a fuckload of patience.” Messina’s lips twisted as she contemplated Ari’s words. Javi saw the glimmer in her eye and realized she was holding back a smile.
“I remember you,” Messina told Ari. “From the New York office.” Ari’s eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t think you would, boss,” Ari replied in surprise. “We didn’t have a lot of interaction.”
“You were new,” Messina said, “but I remember you. You held a lot of promise then. From what I’ve read in your file, you’ve more than lived up to that.” Messina paused. “I’ll need to speak to Murphy. Once you’re settled in Medellín. Chopper leaves at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, boss,” they replied. She nodded once and left. Javi just stared at Ari, slightly in awe.
“You good?” She asked when he didn’t move.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Thanks…for that. Appreciate you sticking up for us.” Ari rolled her eyes playfully.
“Like I would do anything else,” she said teasingly. “Let’s head back and let Steve know what’s going on.”
“Good idea,” Javi agreed. “Plus I guess we should pack.” Ari nodded and they made their way home.
Less than half an hour later they were seated on Steve’s couch. The place was a wreck, and so was Steve. Steve cracked open three beers and handed one to each Ari and Javi.
“Have you, uh…had anything to eat in the twenty four hours?” Javi asked him, his face creased in worry.
“This new boss,” Steve said, clearly ignoring Javi, “Messina…what do you know about her?”
“Only what I’ve heard,” Javi answered. “She’s out of New York. Doesn’t put up with any shit. Ari knows better than me. She worked with her a bit in New York.” Steve turned to face Ari.
“I’m not gonna lie, Steve,” Ari told him, “she’s tough. She really doesn’t tolerate anyone’s bullshit. She was a great agent, but she has something to prove, now more than ever. There were plenty of murmurs about her getting this promotion…a lot of the men in the DEA are pissed it went to her. She won’t sit idly by and prove them right.”
“Fuck!” Steve exclaimed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Am I out?”
“I don’t know,” Javi answered honestly.
“Well, I ain’t ready to go home yet, Javi. I’ll tell ya that.” Steve threw his bottle cap across the room. “Dammit!” Steve fell into his chair just as Javi and Ari stood.
“Take a shower,” Javi told him. “Sober up.” Ari shook her head at Javi. He wasn’t doing much to help lighten Steve’s mood.
“We spoke to Messina,” Ari said softly. “I don’t know how much good it did, but I feel like she was listening to us. I don’t think you’re going home, Murphy.” Steve offered her a small smile.
“Thanks,” he replied quietly.
“Remember, eight a.m.,” Ari reminded him. Steve nodded.
“Talk to you,” Javi told him as they left. They walked down the stairs to their apartments.
“Wanna grab some dinner after we pack?” Javi asked her.
“Sounds good,” she said with a smile. “Just come over when you’re done.”
Javier sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed a cigarette and his lighter off the nightstand. He put it in his mouth and cupped his hands around the tip as he ignited the lighter. They had packed up what they needed for the transfer to Medellín, eaten dinner, and come back to his place for a very vigorous round of sex. Javi knew it would be next to impossible to find time to be together once they were camped out at headquarters. He couldn’t resist one last taste.
Ari rolled to her side and sat up. She leaned down and grabbed her panties off the floor. She stood up and quickly pulled them on. She spotted her bra a couple feet away put that on as well. She was searching around for her pants when Javi noticed her movements.
“What are you doing, hermosa?” He asked, blowing out a puff of smoke.
“Looking for my damn pants,” she huffed, bent down at the foot of the bed. “Did you really have to toss my clothes all over the room?” Javier chuckled.
“I was in a bit of a hurry.” He heard her snicker quietly from her place on the floor, followed by a triumphant sound. She stood up, jeans and shirt in hand. She tossed the shirt on the foot of the bed while she stepped into her jeans.
“Why are you getting dressed?” Javier asked, taking another drag of his cigarette. She pulled her jeans over her curvy rear, pulling the zipper up and buttoning them.
“Because it would be weird if I walked out the door naked.” Javier frowned.
“You’re leaving?” He asked, surprised. What the hell was going on?
“Yeah,” she answered, grabbing her shirt off the bed and struggling to turn it right side out.
“You don’t have to go yet,” Javier said, crushing the cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand. “Lay down, relax. We can go for round two in a bit.” He smiled seductively. She shook her head, before pulling her shirt over it.
“Nah,” she muttered through the fabric. Her head popped out the opening and she quickly pushed her arms through the sleeves. “I’m gonna head home. I’m tired.” She straightened out the shirt, smoothing it down over her hips.
“C’mon, baby,” Javier said, reaching out and grabbing her hand, trying to pull her closer to him. “Stay a little longer. I haven’t gotten enough of you tonight.” She pulled her hand away gently.
“No, Javi,” she told him softly. Javier scowled.
“The one time I ask you to stay you say no?” he grunted. She scoffed.
“You’re not asking me to stay, Javier,” she fumed. “You’re asking me to wait here until your dick gets hard again so you can fuck me and then tell me to leave. We have an early morning and a long fucking day tomorrow—and if I stay, I’m going to fall asleep, and I don’t feel like having you wake me up and kick my ass out. I’m exhausted and want to sleep.” Javier felt furious…and guilty. “Don’t look at me like that, Peña. Don’t get all pissy because you’re not getting your way. We decided on a casual thing—you’re not my boyfriend. We don’t spend the night together. You live your life, and I live mine. Sometimes we fuck. End of story. You want to renegotiate the terms of that? Fine. But not tonight. I’m tired, and I’m leaving. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Javi stared in shock, long after he heard the front door close. Did that actually just happen? Ari blew him off. She got her fill and just left. Fuck, he felt a little cheap. For the first time in his life, Javier Peña felt used…fuck, was this how she felt every time he left her? Was she this crushed when she would look up at him with those gorgeous, soft eyes and ask him to stay—only for him to shoot her down? He chewed on his lower lip. He didn’t like feeling like this. And he hated even more that he may make Ari feel this way. Fuck.
Ari walked back into her apartment. She pulled off her pants and shirt and slipped on a tank top. She climbed under the covers and stared at the ceiling. This new method was eating at her. Pretending they meant nothing…it felt so wrong. She needed to tell Javi how she felt. She hated lying to him…though technically it was more like omitting rather than lying. Still, she didn’t like it. Javi deserved the truth. It didn’t matter to her if he didn’t reciprocate her feelings. She was fine with keeping things the way they were for now, but he deserved to know the whole story. Playing games wasn’t her style. She was direct and honest. It was time to be an adult and tell him she loved him. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She just hoped she wouldn’t scare him away before they even got a chance to try.
The three DEA agents made it to Holguín in one piece. Javi was still fuming over the way Ari had walked out on him the night before. They were shown to their room—their one room. The three of them were expected to bunk together.
“Wow,” Steve scoffed as they walked in. It was a decent size room, but it was a mess. There was a metal bunk bed, a single bed, a desk, a few chairs, some rolled up mattresses, and a bunch of junk they’d have to move around.
“Fucking hell,” Ari groaned. Javi glanced around. He’d been right. It would be impossible for the two of them to fuck while they were stuck here. Though, with how pissed he was, he didn’t really want to fuck her anytime soon.
“Dibs!” Ari and Steve shouted at the same time. They both ran to the single bed. They crashed into each other and erupted into laughter.
“Move your ass, Murphy,” Ari grunted through her giggles. “I was here first.”
“Nah uh,” Steve argued. “I definitely beat you!” Ari shoved him playfully.
“Maybe we should just let Javi have it,” Ari offered. Javi stared at her in fascination and barely suppressed anger. He clenched his jaw and looked away. He needed to get his shit together. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle her or hold her down on that bed and fuck her stupid.
“I’m good,” Javi told them. “I don’t mind the bunk bed.”
“Gonna be hard to fuck your girls on a bunk bed, Javi,” Steve teased. Ari made an odd, strangled sound.
“No one, I repeat no one is having sex in here,” Ari warned in a low voice. “The last thing I want is to walk in and see either of your asses plowing into some poor, unsuspecting girl.”
“I’m a married man,” Steve protested. “Give me some fucking credit, Ari.” Ari nodded, and they both turned to Javier.
“What?” He asked in a huff.
“No fucking in here, Peña,” Steve told him.
“Yeah, I heard,” he said gruffly. They both just continued to stare at him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I do have some self control.” When he saw the small smirk on Ari’s beautiful mouth that familiar anger boiled up again. He felt the need to lash out, and that self control he just boasted of vanished.
“I’ll just go to the brothel…or her place,” Javi tossed out. “At least then I know I won’t be bothered and we’ll have hours to enjoy each other.” The flash of hurt across Ari’s face sent a spark of satisfaction through Javi, but it was instantly replaced with a hot stab of remorse. She quickly schooled her features, the sign of pain gone in almost an instant.
“Works for me,” she said flippantly. “Though I don’t have the brothel option. Still have yet to find one with men.” She sighed dramatically. “Guess I’ll stick to bars and one night stands.” Javi clenched his fists and turned away from her. He wondered if this was all for Steve’s benefit, or if she really wanted to find random men now.
“So, who’s taking this bed?” Steve asked.
“You can have it,” Ari replied. “You’re way taller than me, so no need for you you try to fit in a bunk bed.” She hopped off the bed and tossed her bag on the floor next to the bunk bed. Javi stretched himself out on the lower bunk. Ari grabbed one of the rolled up mattresses and unfurled it. She hoisted it over her head and tried desperately to get it on the bunk. She jumped and pushed the bulky mattress over her head. Javi suppressed a smile. She looked adorable. Her tiny little body trying so desperately to get the bed put together. By her fourth attempt Steve took pity on her.
“Oh hell, Ari,” he sighed. He took the mattress from her and easily placed it on the bunk. He grabbed the sheets and made the bed up for her. Once he was done he glanced down at her and then back to the bed.
“Ari, can you even get up here?” He asked. This bunk bed wasn’t like a normal one that had an easy way to climb up. Ari glanced around trying to figure out her best course of action. She gripped the sides and tried to pull herself up, but she was just too short. She dropped down and huffed in frustration. Her eyes danced around the room, looking for a solution. She made a small sound of triumph and walked over to an arm chair. She dragged it to the bed and pressed it against the frame. She climbed on top of the chair and stood op the back. It gave her just enough leverage to hoist herself onto the mattress. She grunted and flipped over onto her back.
“Piece of cake,” she panted slightly. Steve shook his head.
“Christ,” he swore quietly. “Get down, you lunatic. I’m taking the top bunk. Don’t need you breaking your fucking neck getting into bed.”
“It’s fine, Steve,” she insisted.
“Nope,” he argued. He reached his hands up towards her and motioned her forward. “C’mon, don’t be stubborn.” She sat up and scooted forward until her legs were dangling over the side. Steve gripped her waist and pulled her down. Javi felt a surge of jealousy at the sight of Steve’s hands on his girl. He quickly extinguished it. Steve wasn’t interested in Ari, and Ari wasn’t hisgirl.
“I’ll just take the bottom bunk,” Ari insisted.
“Javi’s shorter than me too,” Steve sighed. “Just makes sense for me to be up here.” To prove his point he easily vaulted himself into the bed. “See? Easy peasy.”
“Fine,” Ari relented. They spent the next hour clearing up the clutter, making up their beds, and unpacking the what they had brought with them.
“I think this is as good as it’s gonna get,” Steve sighed. Javi glanced around. It wasn’t much, but it would do. They each had a bed, there was a desk, and a couple chairs for them to sit on.
“It’ll work,” Javi replied. “What do we have on for today?”
“Tip line,” Ari answered.
“Fuck,” Steve swore. “I swear, Pinzón is punishing us or something.”
“Nah,” Javi disagreed. “They just don’t want us in their way. Keeping us on the sideline.”
“It’s bullshit,” Steve spat.
“Agreed,” Ari said. “But, we gotta play by their rules if we want to stay.”
“I miss Carrillo,” Javi muttered.
“Me too,” Ari said softly.
“You heard from him at all?” Steve asked.
“Yeah,” Ari answered with a nod. “I still talk to him every week. He’s keeping busy. Juliana loves Spain. He hates it.”
“Maybe he can come back one day,” Steve said after a bit of silence.
“Maybe,” Ari said, a wisp of hopefulness in her voice. The rest of the day was uneventful. They had developed a system with the tip line. If three calls came in for the same location from separate tips, they sent men in. Most of the tips were bullshit—even Pablo’s guys called in to mess with them.
A couple days later they had received their third call for the same location. The DEA rolled out with CNP, excited to finally have something to do…only to find it was yet another dead end. They busted through the the door to find the building abandoned and a scarecrow in the middle of the room. It had George Bush’s face attached to it with a dick drawn next to his mouth. They made it back to headquarters just in time for Messina to arrive.
“Get ready to get your balls snipped,” Javi teased Steve. Ari and Javi waited nervously at their desks, trying to focus on work. Javi was worried. Messina had every reason to send Steve home. He just hoped she would take his and Ari’s words to heart and give Steve another chance. Javi watched Ari. She was shuffling papers around and chewing on her bottom lip. He wanted to tug it out from between her teeth. She always chewed on her lip when she was worried.
His anger at her had dissipated over the last few days. He knew he was being irrational. There was no reason for him to be angry with her. She was just doing exactly what he had asked her to do. Still, he didn’t like her treating their relationship so casually…even though that’s exactly what it was. These feelings and insecurities sat heavy in his gut. This was uncharted territory, and it terrified him. So, Javier did what he did best when he was terrified. He found a distraction—and her name was Gabriela. Two days ago Javi’s anger was at a boiling point. He was pissed to be stuck on the tip line, worried about Steve’s future at the DEA, and sexually frustrated. He had no way to get Ari alone. And what was worse than all that…Ari didn’t seem to be affected at all. She didn’t seem to want to sneak away with him for a few steamy minutes. It was like he was transported back in time before that fateful Christmas when this all began.
Javi found Gabby two nights ago. He had gone to a brothel to relieve some stress, but no one caught his eye. They were too tall, or too thin, or too blond…or they didn’t have beautiful violet eyes. Just when he was about to give up and go back to headquarters he bumped into Gabby. She immediately saw the conflict within him and offered to buy him a drink. They left the brothel and went to the bar next door. Three drinks later they were at Gabby’s apartment with their clothes off. It had been good…fine…adequate. He felt a little less tension, but somehow even more cheap than the night Ari left him.
No woman was the same. Ever since he slept with Ariana, no one could compare. Sleeping with the others started to feel wrong. He shook himself mentally. It wasn’t wrong. They weren’t exclusive, and they never lied about what they did. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal.
Javi caught movement in the corner of his eye. Ari’s head had jerked up towards Messina’s office. Javi glanced over and saw Steve walking towards them. He dropped down into his chair with a sigh. Javi stopped typing to look him in the eye. Steve shrugged and picked up some negatives to get to work. Trujillo walked into the room, finishing up a call on his walkie.
“Vieron a La Quica comprando un inodoro,”(They saw La Quica buying a toilet.) Trujillo told them.
“I got ‘La Quica’ and ‘toilet’,” Steve muttered, his eyes squinting to examine the negatives. Javi suppressed an eye roll at his partner. The son of a bitch still couldn’t speak Spanish after all these years.
“Y adivinen cuál compró,”(Not just any toilet) Trujillo continued. “El mismo que tenía Pablo en La Catedral. Un Kohler.”(The same one that Pablo had at La Catedral. A Kohler.)
“Alright, well, now, that I got,” Steve said, sitting back.
“We can’t take that to Pinzón,” Javi replied. “He’ll laugh us out of the office.” He turned to Trujillo. “Necesitamos más.” (We need more.)
“Pero ¿qué más, Peña?”(But what else, Peña?) Trujillo asked.
“¿Adónde lo vieron?” (Where did they see him?) Javi asked.
“Yendo hacia las lomas por la vereda San Isidro,”(Going toward the hills on San Isidro Road.) Trujillo answered.
“Maybe we can get Centra Spike to do a flyover, see what they can come up with,” Javi offered.
“Be a lot better than the fucking tip line,” Steve muttered around the cigarette he was lighting.
“I’ll run it by Jacoby,” Ari said, standing up.
“Nah, I got it,” Javi said, stubbing out his cigarette.
“It’s fine, Javi, I can handle it,” she insisted.
“I said, I got it,” he grunted. “I’ll be right back.”
“What’s his problem?” He heard Ari ask Steve as he walked away. You, he thought. You’re my problem, hermosa. I can’t get you out of my head, and you don’t seem to give a fuck about me anymore. Javi stormed into Centra Spike’s office.
“We have intel,” he told Jacoby.
“Yeah?” The eager young agent perked up.
“A toilet,” Javi said.
“A toilet?” Jacoby asked incredulously.
“It’s a long story,” Javi said vaguely.
“Give me the Cliff’s Notes,” Jacoby pried.
“Look, just do me a favor,” Javi said firmly, “and ask them to sweep over that specific area. We’re looking for any chatter from Escobar’s sicarios. Anything at all. You recognize a voice, you come get me.” Jacoby nodded and Javi left. He turned the corner and was grabbed and pulled through a door. The door clicked shut and his eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light. He was in a supply closet. He looked down into the warm eyes of Ari.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Making time,” Ari whispered before she pulled his mouth down to hers. He sunk into the kiss—allowed himself to get lost for just a few moments—before he pulled back slightly.
“Hermosa,” he whispered. “Are you crazy? This place is crawling with people. We could get caught.”
“I locked the door,” she replied, running her hands under the hem of his shirt and up his bare chest. “I’ve missed you, baby. It’s been too long since you’ve been inside me.”
“Fucking hell,” Javi groaned. He cupped her face with one of his large hands and kissed her deeply.
“We can’t do this here,” he whispered against her lips.
“Then where?” She begged.
“Fuck, I don’t know,” he sighed. He pressed his forehead against hers and squeezed his eyes shut. “I didn’t think you wanted this.”
“Wanted what?” Ari asked.
“This, us,” Javi replied quietly. “You’ve barely shown any interest since we’ve been here…I just thought…” he shrugged, trying to play off the pain he was feeling.
“Oh…Javi,” she whispered sadly. “Of course I want this.” She reached up to caress his cheek. “How could you think any different? You’re like an addiction. I crave you. There’s been something on my mind this week.” She paused and looked into his eyes, searching for something. He saw hers harden slightly in resolve before softening again.
“I need to tell you something, Javier,” she said in a soft, yet determined voice. She looked into his eyes and spoke words that both thrilled and terrified him.
“I love you.” He stared at her, completely dumbfounded. She loved him? How was that even possible? He was nothing and she was everything. He didn’t deserve her love. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted it.
“I don’t expect you to say it back,” she told him gently. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t feel the same way. We’ve always been honest with each other, and this is something I can’t keep from you anymore. But I don’t want you to worry. Nothing has to change.” She caressed his jaw and rubbed her thumb along his plush bottom lip. “I just couldn’t go another day without telling you. I love you.”
“Shit,” he rasped. He turned them around quickly and pressed her up against the door. “Keep quiet for me, querida.” He kissed her again and practically ripped her pants down her thighs. His hand cupped her roughly through her panties.
“Jesus, baby, you’re already soaked,” he groaned.
“I told you,” she rasped, “I crave you…I need you, Javi.” He spun her around, pressed her chest against the door, and pulled her panties down. He fumbled with his belt and zipper for a minute before gripping his dick and lining himself up. He slammed home in one thrust. Ari moaned softly. Javi bit into her shoulder to keep himself from shouting in ecstasy. She felt like heaven. She was the perfect woman…and she loved him. His heart swelled with pure, unfiltered joy. He didn’t deserve it, but dammit, he decided he liked how it felt to be loved by her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back closer to his chest. He nuzzled his face into the side of her neck and began to thrust. He squeezed her tighter, wanting to melt into her. He had never felt this much emotion before. He was elated…aggravated…confused…unworthy. But all he could concentrate on in the moment was how fucking good she felt in his arms. He rocked into her a few more times before pushing her up against the door and pounding into her like he hated her. He unwrapped his arms and gripped her hip and shoulder.
“Fuck,” she grunted. “Right there.” Javi angled his hips and thrust up. He wasn’t going to last long. She felt too amazing.
“Please tell me you’re almost there, hermosa,” he pleaded in a husky voice.
“Yes, so close,” she moaned.
“Shh,” he warned. “Gotta keep it down.” He moved his hand from her hip to rub her clit.
“Shit,” Ari gasped. She turned her face into her arm that was supporting her against the door. She bit down on her sleeve to keep from screaming as her orgasm crested. Her pussy clamped around him, and he buried his face in her neck as he spurted violently inside her. They practically collapsed against the door.
“Fuck,” he groaned when they finally surfaced from their haze. “That was incredible.”
“Mmm, yes it was,” Ari smiled drunkenly. They fixed their clothing and Ari turned around. She kissed him sweetly.
“Thanks, Javi,” she whispered. “I’ll go out first.” She looked at him for a long, silent moment. “I love you.” With that whispered declaration she opened the door and looked out before disappearing. Javi stood there for a moment just staring at the door. Did that actually just happen? He still couldn’t believe that she loved him. He kept expecting to wake up and everything had just been a dream. He shook himself and left the closet. He needed to be accessible in case Jacoby found anything.
A couple hours later Jacoby had something for them. He played the tape. It was a call between Velasco and a woman.
“That is definitely Velasco,” Jacoby told them. “No ID on the girl.”
“So what’s the deal with the other call?” Steve asked him. Jacoby played the next call, but it was garbled and impossible to understand.
“The quality’s too poor for voice recognition,” Jacoby replied. Javi rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. He was frustrated. He stood up and moved to the table where Messina, Trujillo, Steve, and Ari were looking at aerials.
“Alright,” Steve sighed, “these were taken about two hours ago.” He began pointing out buildings in the photos. “What’s here is fincas, fincas. Everything else is just smaller houses here, here, and here, and the outskirts.”
“You can probably eliminate the smaller ones,” Javi told them, “just not Escobar’s style.”
“He’d be in one with more than one access point,” Ari added. “Needs alternate escape routes.” Javi nodded in agreement, but didn’t say anything. Ari tried to catch his eye, but he’d been avoiding her since her confession in the supply closet. She swallowed her fear that she had ruined things.
“Which of the fincas have road access both east and west?” Messina asked.
“This one here,” Javi pointed out. “It’s rough terrain down the back of the mountain, but it’s drivable.”
“It’s gotta be the one,” Steve said excitedly. “We’d have a good chance if we came at him from both sides.” Messina pondered over the photos and information for a moment.
“This is good,” she said finally.
“Great,” Javi replied. “What about Pinzón? We’re gonna need vehicles. We’re gonna need men.” Messina tossed her pen on the desk.
“Leave Pinzón to me,” she said. She stalked off to find the colonel.
“Think he’ll go for it?” Steve asked.
“No way,” Ari snorted. They went back to their desks to keep themselves busy until Messina came back. Fifteen minutes later Messina strode passed them on the upper level.
“What did he say?” Javi called out to her.
“He said no,” she replied without breaking stride and disappeared into her office.
“Told ya,” Ari said with a shake of her head.
“Oh, she’s not gonna last,” Steve smirked. “She gives up pretty fuckin’ easy.” Javi leaned back and lit a cigarette.
“Fuck,” Javi sighed. “Are we ever gonna catch a break?”
“Yes,” Ari answered, even though he didn’t seem to direct the question towards her. He still didn’t look at her, even after she spoke. She decided not to say anything more and leave Javi to his thoughts. He’d speak to her when he was ready.
Within an hour Messina was back.
“Gear up,” she told them.
“What?” Steve asked.
“We’re moving out,” she answered. “Raiding the finca.”
“Holy shit,” Steve whispered. “How’d you manage it?”
“Just a few well placed calls, and the colonel had a change of heart,” Messina said with a smirk. Ari chuckled softly. They quickly suited up—guns, badges, cuffs, tac vests. They jumped in the trucks along with CNP.
“This isn’t exactly the way I’d do this,” Ari muttered.
“Hmm?” Messina asked.
“You need to use stealth with Escobar,” Ari told her. “Go in quiet, don’t let him know you’re coming. Pinzón is just full tilt, guns blazing. Escobar has lookouts everywhere. He’ll be gone before we hit the property.”
“Fuck,” Steve grunted. Sure enough, half an hour later, they were standing in the courtyard of the abandoned finca.
“Peña! Morgan! Messina!” Steve shouted to them. They walked over to him to see a crated toilet—the same toilet Trujillo’s contact had told them about. Javi ground his teeth and walked over to Pinzón.
“He was here,” he said with quiet anger, right in the colonel’s face. He stormed off, his annoyance clear. Steve followed him. Ari took two steps then turned to face Messina and Pinzón.
“You wanna catch Escobar, you have to think like Escobar,” she warned. “This cowboy macho bullshit won’t work.” With that she turned and followed her partners out.
Needless to say, Escobar was not happy about him and his family having to flee their safe house in the middle of the night. He was pissed, and he wanted revenge. The next day he ordered a massive attack on CNP. Cops were gunned down all over Medellín. The city was a bloodbath. The DEA agents stepped out of headquarters and into total chaos. They were bringing all the injured cops back to headquarters for medical treatment. Men were screaming, blood and broken bodies everywhere. Javi stood in shock next to Ari. He turned and saw tears in her eyes.
“Look at what he’s done,” she whispered. “My father…my blood…he took all these lives…caused all this pain…what the fuck?” Javi didn’t say anything. This wasn’t a new concept to either of them. They had seen Escobar’s cruelty firsthand before. It was really hitting Ari today for some reason, and it tore Javi to shreds to see her in pain. He squeezed her hand briefly, letting her know he was still there, still by her side, still saw who she really was, no matter who was her blood.
“Peña!” Steve shouted to their left. They looked over to see him and Messina helping to work on some of the injured. Ari and Javi shook off their emotions and got to work. These guys needed a steady hand and a focused mind.
A couple days later they sat at their desks kind of staring off into space. It had been a rough week. So many men had lost their lives. They had no idea what the future held at this point. Colonel Pinzón had resigned, disgraced and ashamed of what had occurred under his leadership.
“Morgan!” Messina called out. All three of them looked up at their boss. “Can I see you in my office?” Ari sighed and got up.
“What’s that about?” Steve asked.
“No idea,” Ari shrugged and followed after Messina. They were gone several minutes before either of them spoke.
“Should we be worried?” Steve looked at Javi.
“I don’t think so,” he said, rubbing his bottom lip.
“You’re worried,” Steve said nervously.
“Huh?” Javi asked, surprised.
“You always do that when you’re worried,” Steve nodded towards Javi’s thumb on his lip.
“Shit,” Javi swore and moved his hand.
“He also does this thing where he twitches his fist,” Ari added, making them both jump. They hadn’t realized she returned. She was smiling.
“Good news or bad?” Steve asked.
“Great,” Ari beamed. She sat down and looked at both of them. Then told them the best news they’d heard in over a year.
Summary: Ari and Javi deal with the aftermath of ‘that night’. The DEA agents go out to La Catedral and meet the new man in charge of the hunt for Escobar. Eduardo and Ari come to an agreement. Ari finally decides how to proceed with Javier.
Pairings: Javier Peña x OFC Ariana Morgan—DEA Agent and daughter of Pablo Escobar
Fandom: Narcos
Rating:Explicit 18+ ONLY
Word Count: 8,650
Warnings: language, angst, talk of sex work, smidge of slut shaming (male), jealousy, kissing, SMUT, PiV sex, unprotected sex, strained father/daughter relationship…let me know if I missed anything, and I’ll happily add it here!
A/N: Ahh! This chapter took me forever and a day! I’m sorry for the long wait, but I hope you enjoy. This takes us through the first 2 episodes of Season 2.
I included conversations from the episode to help anyone who hasn’t seen it or hasn’t watched it in awhile. Sorry if it feels redundant if you’ve seen the show a million times like me.
As always, feel free to let me know if I need to correct the Spanish translations!
The next day Steve and Javier arrived at work before Ari. They didn’t realize it at first, assuming she was off somewhere else in the embassy. When she rushed in about an hour after them, it dawned on them that she had been late to work.
Ari.
Ari had been late to work.
“Jesus, Ari,” Steve said in shock. “You alright? We’ve never beaten you here before.” She placed her gun and badge in her drawer and sat down at her desk.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she assured him. “Overslept.” She had been so exhausted she had slept through her alarm. While she normally would have hurried to get ready once she realized she was late, her actions were sluggish that morning. She had dreaded the thought of seeing Javier. She dragged out her morning, psyching herself up to face the man who was slowly, unknowingly, breaking her heart. Finally she pulled her head out of her ass and left for work. She wasn’t some weak little girl who hid from her problems.
She now sat at her desk and avoided eye contact with Javier. She just couldn’t look at him right now. She was still too raw from the night before. She willed the day to pass quickly and uneventfully. She could feel Javier watching her closely.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Ari,” Steve told her. “We’re heading to Medellín today. Gonna go through La Catedral.” She groaned.
“I was just there,” she complained.
“Sorry,” Steve said. “But maybe we can get something good.” Ari sighed.
“Alright, when do we leave?” She asked.
“Less than an hour,” Javi answered. She nodded without looking at him.
“Ok,” she responded. The drive to the airport and flight to Medellín was quieter than normal. Steve sensed something was really off with Ari. He kept asking if she was ok.
“I’m fine, Steve,” she assured him for the tenth time. “I’m just tired. Yesterday was a long fucking day.” Steve nodded, understanding completely.
“Alright, Ari,” he responded. “Sorry I’m being a pain in the ass, but I worry about you.”
“Thanks, Stevie,” she said with a smile. “But I promise, I’m fine.”
“Did anything happen last night?” He asked her, wondering if something transpired in the prison she had not shared with them.
“What do you mean?” She countered.
“Did…did any of his men hurt you?” He asked gently. Javier’s gaze snapped to them.
“No,” Ari answered quickly. “Escobar made it very clear that me and Eduardo were safe. He didn’t want to run any unnecessary risks.”
“How was—uh, how was it dealing with Escobar?” Steve asked gently.
“I don’t know,” Ari said with a shrug. “Not something I want to examine or talk about right now.” Steve nodded with understanding and quickly changed the subject.
“What about with Sandoval?” Steve pressed. “Anything happen with him?” Ari scoffed.
“He was a perfect gentleman,” she responded. “He did ask me out again though.” Javi clenched his fists. Steve laughed.
“Oh yeah?” He said with a smile. “I told you he was into you, Ari. I was right.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Even idiots get lucky sometimes, Murphy.” He laughed again.
“What’d you say?” He asked her, watching Javi from the corner of his eye. Ari considered her answer carefully.
“I told him I’d think about it,” she replied. She had no intention of telling either man that she had turned Eduardo down. Maybe it would be good for Javier to know she had other options.
“Really?” Steve asked, shocked. Javier looked absolutely murderous. “You wanna go on a date with Sandoval?”
“Maybe,” Ari shrugged. “He impressed me last night at the prison. That man has more balls than I thought a politician would when faced with Escobar.” Javi scoffed. Ari had to stop herself from smirking. She knew that comment would bother Javi. After the way that asshole had tossed her out of his place last night, she wanted to get under his skin a bit today.
They drove up to the prison to a flurry of activity. The Colombian military and police were all over the place. A man held his hand up signaling them to stop.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steve murmured as the man walked directly in front of the Jeep.
“Jesus Christ,” Javi said under his breath, taking in the scene before them.
“Agent Murphy, Agent Peña, Agent Morgan, DEA,” Steve told the man, Ibarra, once he reached the window. They all held up their badges.
“Entiendo,”(I understand) Ibarra said, “per hay que preguntar al coronel Pinzón. Esperen un momento.” (but I have to ask Colonel Pinzón. Wait one moment.) He walked over to the Colonel. Steve turned to Javi.
“Name Pinzón mean anything to you?” He asked his partner.
“No, don’t know him,” Javi answered. They saw the colonel waving his hand towards them, indicating he did not want them inside.
“You see this?” Steve scoffed.
“Well,” Javi said, “looks like we’re not invited to the dance.” Ibarra jogged back over to them.
“Les pedimos que esperen un momento,” (Wait here for a moment) he said politely, “Los dejaremos ingresar cuando el lugar sea seguro.” (We’ll let you in once the area is secured.)
“Yeah,” Steve said in a low voice as Ibarra walked away, “you mean when nothings left inside.” He slammed his hand against the dash in anger.
“What the hell,” Ari grumbled. “I should have just stayed in fucking bed today.” Steve huffed out a small laugh. They pulled over to the side and sat in the Jeep impatiently waiting to be allowed access to the prison. Steve tried to fill the uncomfortable silence. He sensed something was off with his partners, and he did not want to get in the middle of it.
“Fucking finally,” Ari sighed when they waved them in a while later. They were led into the building and told they were free to look around.
Further away Pablo was in the kitchen of his hideout discussing business with a few of his men.
“Nos va a tocar mover todo,”(We’re going to have to move everything) he told them as he approached the table.
“¿Cómo así que ‘todo’, don Pablo?”(What do you mean ‘everything’?) La Quica asked him.
“Todo,” (Everything) Pablo answered. “Los laboratorios” (The labs)—he sat down between Velasco and La Quica— “las oficinas, las caletas, los depositós. Vamos a mover todo.”(the offices, the hideouts, the deposits…we’re moving everything.)
“Patrón, ¿los laboratorios también?” (Boss, even the labs?) Velasco questioned. “Están bien vigilados. No hay ningún problema.” (They’re well guarded. There’s no problem.)
“Hermano,”(Brother)La Quica cut in, “¿ustedes no saben lo que está pasando en la Catedral? Están los policías revisando los mapas y documentos que ustedes dejaron ahí. No podemos confiarnos, malparidos.” (don’t you know what’s going on at La Catedral? The cops are going through all of the maps and documents you idiots left behind. Now we can’t trust anyone, you bastards.)
“¿A quién le estás diciendo malparido, hijo de puta?” (Who are you calling a bastard you son of a bitch) Velasco spat at him, sitting forward threateningly.
“Vamos…a mover…todo,”(We’re…moving…everything)Pablo interjected in a soft, dangerous voice. He looked towards Velasco. “¿Cierto?”(Right?)
“Sí, señor,”(Yes, sir) Velasco said sheepishly.
“Sí, Don Pablo,” Quica replied. Pablo got quiet for several minutes.
“¿Mi hija salió bien?” (My daughter made it out alright?) Pablo finally asked his men.
“Sí, patrón,”(Yes, boss) Velasco assured him. “Ella y Sandoval regresaron a Bogotá,”(Her and Sandoval made it back to Bogotá) Escobar just hummed quietly in acknowledgment. Now that he knew she was safe, he felt calmer. He hated leaving her last night. He had been terrified something would happen to her, but he knew she could handle herself. She was tough, smart, and a survivor. Sandoval’s warning rang in his head. He still couldn’t believe his daughter was sleeping with Peña.
His men told him all about the handsome young agent who loved to fuck their whores. It enraged Pablo to think of a man like that touching his precious daughter.
“Tenemos que hacer algo con su pareja,”(We need to do something about her partner) he said after a moment. “No me gusta la idea de que ese hombre toque a mi hija.” (I don’t like the idea of that man touching my daughter)
“Patrón,”(Boss) La Quica warned, “él es DEA … no podemos tocarlo.” (he’s DEA…we can’t touch him)
“Quizás,”(Maybe)Pablo said softly, clearly thinking through multiple strategies. “Veremos a dónde nos lleva el camino.” (We’ll see where the road takes us.) There was no way he would allow this to continue. He had to protect Ariana.
Javi, Ari, and Steve picked through what was leftover after the Colombian were done in La Catedral—which wasn’t much at all. Ari was digging through some papers scattered on the floor while Steve rummaged through shelves. Javi was flipping through some kind of book.
“This and Mein Kampf,” Javi called over to them. “Two classics of twentieth century literature.” Ari’s brow furrowed as she wondered what the hell he was looking at. She walked over quietly and peered over his shoulder. Her eyes widened. It looked like her father had been putting together some sort of autobiography.
“Yeah,” Steve said loudly, “what do you think the rent’s like? I’m thinking about moving in.” Javi chuckled quietly and glanced behind him. He noticed Ari.
“Hey,” he said quietly. Ari nodded once. She could feel him trying to catch her gaze, but she refused to look into his eyes.
“Hey, Javi!” Steve called out again. “You think the, uh…” he held up an open nudie magazine, “the Hague would want a couple of these?”
“How are you not wearing rubber gloves touching that shit man?” Javi said, a look of disgust on his face. Steve dropped the magazine and Javi laughed. Ari turned to Steve.
“Do not even think about coming near me until you wash your fucking hands, Murphy,” she warned him. Javi walked passed her and she quickly turned her attention to the book he had been rifling through. She could feel his eyes boring through her back, but she refused to turn to him.
“We should take this stuff to our office,” Javi said, holding up recording equipment. “It’s better than any of the shit we got.”
“Fuckin’ Pinzón’s guys have taken everything that’s useful,” Steve grumbled. “There’s nothing.” Javi sat down behind a desk and was looking around the floor.
“Look,” he said, “I think I found something that might help us.”
“Oh yeah?” Steve asked. “What’s that?” He and Ari walked over, anxious to see something useful. Javi ducked under the desk and they both leaned forward in anticipation. Javi popped up wearing an ushanka—a black fuzzy hat. Steve laughed and held up his camera to take a picture.
“Wait,” Javi said, holding up a magazine with Escobar on the cover wearing the same hat. Javi held it next to his face and tried to look stern and serious. He couldn’t hold it, and his face broke into a breathtaking smile as he laughed. Steve snapped a picture, and Ari’s heart clenched. She wanted to join their laughter, but it hurt too damn much. She loved this man with everything she had. It terrified her how much she loved him. She had never allowed herself to be this vulnerable with anyone other than her mother.
They continued to scrounge around the prison, grabbing whatever they thought would be useful—which wasn’t much. They carried their meager findings out to the car. Ari noticed Javi eyeing her.
“You took it?” He asked quietly, nodding towards Escobar’s memoir. Ari nodded.
“I…” she trailed off. “I want to look at it.” She shrugged and wouldn’t meet his eyes. She felt his warm hand squeeze her shoulder.
“I get it,” he said gently. “Nothing to be ashamed of, hermosa.” Ari just nodded again and shoved the book under her jacket in the backseat.
“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Steve grumbled as he climbed into the driver’s seat. They were flying back to Bogotá as soon as possible. There was a lot they needed to wrap up before coming back out to Medellín. Rumors about new bosses and relocating were circling the embassy. The three of them wanted to be prepared in case they had to relocate to Medellín.
Ari had some serious thinking to do.
Ari sighed and stared at the phone. They had been back in Bogotá for two days. She had been agonizing about what to do. She knew something needed to change. Now that she knew she was in love with Javi, things couldn’t just continue they way they had previously. She felt her face heat when she remembered how he had thrown her out of his place a few nights ago. She had never been more embarrassed or hurt.
“Just pick up the phone,” she murmured to herself. “Stop being a chicken shit.” She needed to make this call, but she couldn’t find the courage to do it. “Fuck it.” She picked up the phone and dialed quickly. She chewed on her lip nervously. She heard it click and sucked in a breath.
“Sandoval,” Eduardo said on the other end.
“Hi, it’s Ari,” she said softly. There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Ari,” Eduardo said, a smile in his voice. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”
“In a good way or a bad way?” She asked with a laugh.
“Good,” he assured her, “very good.”
“Whew, well that’s a relief,” she teased.
“And why am I so lucky to be getting a call from you today?” He asked.
“Well, um,” Ari said nervously, “I was wondering if…if your offer for dinner still stands?”
“Really?” He asked, in shock.
“Yes,” she said.
“Definitely,” he beamed. “Yes, I would love to take you to dinner. Are you free tonight?” Ari smiled. It felt nice to have a man so eager to see her…and not just for sex.
“Yeah, I’m free tonight,” she answered.
“Perfect,” he sighed. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Looking forward to it,” she said.
“Me too,” he replied. “See you soon.” She hung up the phone and smiled. Guilt niggled at her brain. She pushed it away angrily. She had no reason to feel bad for going to dinner with Eduardo. Javier and her were not exclusive. Hell, they weren’t even dating. She’d never gone out for a romantic dinner with him. He’d never picked her up from her apartment and taken her out to a movie. They fucked. That was it. Sure, she was in love with him, but where was that getting her? Kicked out of his apartment in the middle of the night. Fuck him. She had to do this. She needed to spend time with a man that actually wanted to be with her. She needed to see what her other options were.
She glanced at the clock. She had a couple hours until Eduardo would arrive. She wanted to shower and dry her hair. She peeled herself off the couch and made her way to her bathroom to get ready.
“You did not!” Eduardo laughed. Ari had somehow been convinced to tell Eduardo the story about her partner shooting her.
“I did,” she admitted almost sheepishly. “Look, it was what needed to be done, alright?”
“Oh, I believe you,” he said, his laughter slowly dying out. “I’m just continually amazed by your…tenacity.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment,” she said with a chuckle.
“Good.” Eduardo smiled. “Because it was meant to be one.” She returned his smile and took a sip of her wine. They were sitting at a slightly upscale restaurant. Ari was glad she had decided to wear a dress tonight. Surprisingly, she was having a really good time. Eduardo was charming and intelligent and attentive. Conversation flowed easily and he made her laugh. Her stomach twisted as Javi’s face came to mind. Shit. She wasn’t going to think about him tonight. She was out on a date with a lovely man. A man that actually wanted to date her. Javier needed to stay firmly out of her head.
“So, how do you like working in Colombia?” Eduardo asked.
“It’s been good,” Ari told him. “It’s a beautiful country. My partners are dedicated and loyal. Not much more I could ask for in this line of work.”
“Your partners,” he began, “they’re interesting men, to say the least.”
“You could say that,” Ari chuckled lightly.
“Murphy,” Eduardo said, “is he still not speaking Spanish?”
“He’s getting better,” Ari assured him. “His pronunciation is shit, but it’s an improvement from when he first started.”
“And Peña,” he continued, “that man has quite the reputation.”
“Mmm,” Ari hummed in a noncommittal tone. She looked down at the table. She didn’t want to talk about Javi.
“Ariana,” he said quietly. She dragged her eyes to his face. “It’s alright. I know…I know there’s something between the two of you. It’s ok.”
“Ed—” Ari began, her chest tight in terror.
“Please, don’t try to deny it,” Eduardo cut in. “I am not judging you. I just want you to know that I know…and it’s ok.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears of anger—at herself—pooling in her eyes.
“You have no reason to apologize,” he said, gently taking her hand in his on top of the table.
“Yes I do,” she sniffed quietly. “I feel like I’m leading you on…”
“I am the one that pursued you, Ari,” he smiled. “I have had a hunch about Peña for awhile, and I still pursued you. Please, do not feel guilty for finally accepting my invitation to dinner.”
“Eduardo,” Ari began quietly, “you are an amazing guy…handsome, smart, charming…you’re literally the entire package.”
“But?” Eduardo said with a sad smile.
“I’m in love with him,” Ari said simply.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Eduardo said softly.
“Probably,” Ari reluctantly agreed, “but it doesn’t change how I feel about him. Trying to pretend I don’t love him and move on isn’t fair to you or me.”
“Agreed,” Eduardo said. “So, let’s not stress about this. Let’s enjoy the rest of our dinner—as friends—and if you ever feel differently…and I’m still available, give me a call.”
“You really are a great fucking guy, you know that?” Ari said with a watery smile.
“Unfortunately for me, nice guys finish last, Ari,” he said sadly.
“You deserve someone way better than me, Eduardo,” Ari said solemnly. “Trust me on this.”
“I’m beginning to believe there is no one better than you, Ariana,” he replied quietly.
“Agree to disagree on that one,” Ari chuckled. They finished up their meal—with Ari insistent on paying her half. The conversation still flowed, and Ari believed they could still maintain a friendly working relationship.
“Thank you for a wonderful evening,” Ari said with a warm smile. They were standing outside the main door to her apartment building. She didn’t want him to walk her to her door just in case anyone was around. The last thing she needed to do was explain this night to Steve or Connie—or god forbid, Javi.
“It was my pleasure, Ari,” he said happily. “I always enjoy your company…even platonically.” His eyes glanced down to her mouth. She had put on dark red lipstick that really enhanced the shape and fullness of her mouth. “Can I make one last suggestion, before I let you go for good?”
“What?” Ari asked almost breathlessly. She had a feeling she knew where this was headed, and she was nervous.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked. Ari bit her lower lip as she contemplated her answer. She was curious…it had been a long time since she’d kissed anyone besides Javier. Would it feel the same with someone else? No one had ever made her feel the way Javi did…but it wouldn’t hurt to test it out, right? Just once?
“Yes,” she said with a nod after a moment. Eduardo stepped closer and cupped her face gently in his hands. He tilted his head and pressed his lips to hers. It was good. It was a solid, good kiss. Just the right amount of pressure, and when he lightly slipped his tongue between her lips—A+. The man was a good kisser…but it didn’t do anything for her. Her heart plummeted. While very pleasant, it didn’t light a fire in her.
She thought about how Javi would have handled this. Well, first off, he wouldn’t have asked to kiss her. He would have just done it. Ari appreciated Eduardo’s need for her consent, but she craved the way Javi took charge. Javi’s kisses sent her into a frenzy. She just couldn’t get enough of him. She sighed inwardly. Oh well. Eduardo pulled back and looked into her eyes as his thumb stroked her jaw.
“No spark?” He asked in disappointment.
“No,” Ari said. He sighed and pulled back, dropping his hands form her face.
“Me either,” Eduardo said with a shrug. “Odd…I would have sworn it would have been good between us. Maybe we do just make better friends.”
“It would appear that way,” Ari offered.
“Alright then,” Eduardo said with a definitive nod. “Now we know. This night has been enlightening.” He held out his hand to her.
“I think we can still hug,” Ari laughed. Eduardo chuckled and bent down slightly to give her a brief hug.
“Goodnight,” he said once they broke apart.
“Goodnight,” she replied. He saw her into the building before gettin back into his car. Ari smiled to herself as she walked to her door, digging her keys out of her purse. Javi’s door opened just as she approached hers.
“Ari,” he said, surprised to see her.
“Javi,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
“You look…” he trailed off as his eyes raked her from head to toe. His gaze was smoldering. Ari shifted slightly, heat pooling in her belly at his obvious interest. Her dress was black and molded to her body like a second skin. His eyes lingered on her round ass, barely covered by the fabric.
“Where, uh,” Javi cleared his throat, “where’d you go all dressed up?”
“I had a date,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
“A date?” The horror in Javi’s voice almost made her smile. Take that, you asshole.
“Mmm hmm,” she murmured. “Well, have a good night.” She unlocked her door and went inside. She leaned against the door after closing it and smirked to herself. She hoped Javi would agonize over her date. Suddenly, a frown furrowed her brow. He was probably on his way to a brothel…he wouldn’t give a shit what she had been up to tonight. No, he was gonna go fuck away his troubles. She shook herself and refused to give in to the agonizing pain. She was going to have a drink and look through Escobar’s memoir.
She told herself it was for investigative purposes…but she knew the truth. She wanted to know more about who he was—the man, not the kingpin. Despite everything, she was curious about the man who had sired her.
Tomorrow she could begin to sort through her feelings for Javier.
Javi sat at the bar staring off into nothing. He sipped his whiskey as his thoughts strayed once more to Ari. She had looked gorgeous tonight. That dress…oh, dear god, that dress. It hugged her every curve. Her delicious tits swelled just above the neckline, and her ass looked ripe and ready to be fucked. He shifted on the bar stool, the sudden tightness in his pants uncomfortable. She had been on a date. Fuck.
Javi gulped down the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender for another. He clenched his fists as he thought about Ari out with another man. He hoped since she had come home alone—and relatively early—that the date hadn’t led to sex. He felt bile rise in his throat. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone else touching Ari…kissing her…pushing into her tight, hot little body and making her scream in pleasure. He knew he had fucked up. Kicking her out the other night had affected her much deeper than she was letting on.
It bothered him more than he liked to admit that she still wouldn’t look at him. She had not made eye contact with him once since that awful fucking night. He wished she was angry. He could handle her being pissed…but this? This he could not take. She was obviously hurt at the way he had treated her, but it was the way she almost seemed to fear him, that’s what really tore him to shreds. He wanted to fix this, but he knew he couldn’t. He would just fuck it up again. He decided to give her some space to work through what she needed to. Part of him hoped she would come to her senses and realize she deserved better than him….but really, he just wanted to see her smile again.
The next few days passed quietly. They were summoned back to the Holguín, and reluctantly flew back out to Medellín. They needed to meet Colonel Pinzón officially. They would be spending a lot more time in Medellín, and they needed to make nice with the new man in charge. Fuck, he missed Carrillo.
The awkwardness between Ari and Javier did not bleed over into their work, but she still could barely look at him. She was polite and kind as always, but she did not tease him or laugh or show any sign of enjoying her time with him. It was killing him, but still he did not push. By the time a week had passed, Javier assumed Ari had decided she was done with their arrangement. He felt his heart constrict at the realization that he would never hold her again…but he couldn’t blame her. She deserved so much more than what he offered her.
He couldn’t help but watch her as they sat in the office of Colonel Pinzón. She was so damn beautiful. She looked tired. He felt guilt gnaw at his stomach.
“As a courtesy to your government,” Colonel Pinzón drilled on, “I’m allowing you to participate in this manhunt. But…I set the limits and all decisions rest with me.” The four of them stood up and followed Pinzón out of his office. “If this condition is unacceptable, take it up with the president.”
“Of course, Colonel,” Javi said quickly, following the colonel through the building. “I hope we didn’t get off on the wrong foot.”
“Not at all,” Pinzón assured him. “Every operation needs a well defined hierarchy.” They pushed through a door and walked up a small flight of stairs. A female CNP officer stood at attention and saluted the Colonel. Javi looked back as he passed and checked her out. He noticed Ari behind him shaking her head, a slight look of disgust on her face. She had caught him checking out another woman. He quickly looked forward and swallowed down his feelings of guilt and remorse. He felt like no matter what he did, he was a disappointment to Ari. They made their way into a large room buzzy with energy. They went down another short flight of stairs into a wide open space.
“I hope this will be an adequate space for you to do your work,” Pinzón said, gesturing the the open area.
“What, you’re talking about this?” Steve asked in disbelief. “This—”
“—This is more than adequate,” Javi cut Steve off. “Gracias, coronel.” He didn’t want to piss the Colonel off and get them kicked out.
“Welcome,” Pinzón said as he walked away. The three DEA agents stood in the center of the room almost dumbfounded. There was one desk, covered in paperwork, more towards the middle of the room. Along the back side was a bunch of stacked up furniture and mountains of paper work. Javi picked up a paper off the desk and glanced at it.
“Oh, wow, this is from 1962,” he said flippantly. He tossed it onto the pile of paperwork along the wall. Steve lit up a cigarette and Ari sighed heavily.
“Might as well get started,” she said in a voice heavy with exhaustion. They rolled up their sleeves and got to work.
Over an hour later and they had made some headway. They managed to get the desk cleared and set up. Javi was currently sitting at it typing away. Ari was clearing off the desk behind him. She turned when she heard a loud scraping sound. Steve was pushing a big metal desk into the center of the room.
“Found another one?” She called out to him.
“Yeah,” Steve groaned. “It was sitting in an empty office. One of the guys said we could take it.”
“Good,” she murmured. “I’ll have this one cleared soon.”
“You can take this one, Ari,” Steve insisted. “I’ll take care of all that.” He gestured to the mess she was sorting through.
“I got it, Steve,” she said. “You did all the hard work bringing that mammoth desk in here…you reap the rewards.” They both chuckled quietly. Steve pushed the desk right in front of Javi’s. He sighed as he finally got the piece of furniture into place.
“Seriously?” Javi grunted, a cigarette hanging from his plush lips. “Directly in front of me? I don’t spend enough time looking at your face?” Steve dropped two big file boxes on top of the desks, effectively blocking Javi’s view of him. Ari shook her head and laughed quietly. They were like children sometimes.
“That’s better,” Javi grumbled.
“Hay una muchacha en la línea tres,”(There’s a girl on line three) Trujillo called out from behind Steve. His desk was situated in the same room as them, along the wall opposite the mess Ari was cleaning up. “Quiere hablar con un americano.” (She wants to talk to an American) Steve sat down heavily at his desk, ignoring Trujillo. Ari smirked. She knew Steve understood him. His Spanish was improving—mostly thanks to her tutoring him—but he refused to let any of the Colombians know. They had decided that it worked to their advantage. The Colombians tended to talk more freely in front of him since they didn’t think he could understand them.
“Nothing?” Trujillo sighed. “You picked up on the ‘American’ part, right?” Steve continued to ignore him. “Murphy! ¿Qué pasa, compadre?”
“Chúpamela, por favor,”(Suck my dick, please) Steve called out, flicking him off. Trujillo smiled and Javi walked over to answer the call.
“La DEA, agente Peña,” Javi breathed into the phone. He listened for a moment. “¿Ah, sí? ¿A cuál?” (Oh, yeah? Which one?) His brow furrowed lightly as the girl on the other end spoke. “Sí, hay una recompensa. ¿Cuál es tu información, señorita? ¿De quién está hablando?”(Yes, there’s a reward. What’s your information, miss? Who are you talking about?) Suddenly Javi sat up straighter. He looked to Steve and Ari and snapped his fingers. Ari hated when he did that, but the next words out of his mouth chased away any irritation. “¿La Quica? ¿Usted conoce a La Quica?”(You know La Quica?) Steve and Ari rushed over to Javi’s side. “Usted trabaja ahí? ¿Hace cuánto fue eso? Bueno, lo investigamos.” (Do you work there? How long ago was this? Alright, we’ll look into it.) Javi hung up the phone.
“You think it’s legit?” Steve asked.
“Let’s find out,” Javi said excitedly.
“Where is he?” Ari asked.
“Don’t know right now,” Javi answered. “The girl said he came by a brothel earlier and left. Said he’d be back in a few hours. We need to hurry.”
“Another brothel?” Ari sighed. “Seriously, do these guys do anything other than fuck?”
“Sell cocaine and kill people,” Steve offered unhelpfully. Ari snorted quietly as the three of them rushed to Pinzón’s office.
“How credible is your source?” Pinzón asked them. Steve was sitting in front of his desk while Ari and Javi stood.
“It was an unsolicited phone call,” Javi told him. “She asked to speak to an American. We would need a couple of cars and a few men.” Javi made his way around the second chair. He glanced at Ari who nodded for him to take it. He sat down and watched the colonel.
“Well, my men are either busy here or outside in the street,” Pinzón replied. “And I’m not relocating men to chase down bullshit tips.”
“If this turns out not to be bullshit, La Quica could give us Pablo,” Steve urged.
“So go,” Pinzón said. “Go ahead. Since when do you need an excuse to go to a whorehouse?” He turned his head to look pointedly at Javi. Anger flared in Javi’s chest. He quickly bit back the nasty remark he wanted to spout off and looked down into his lap. He took a breath and shook his head slightly. His body heated with shame. He hated having his escapades constantly thrown in his face…especially in front of Ari. She knew the type of man he was, but he hated how often she was reminded. He lifted his head and met the colonel’s eyes.
“Valdría la pena investigarlo, coronel,”(It would be worth investigating, Colonel) Javi said quietly. “No estamos pidiendo mucho.” (We’re not asking for a lot.) Pinzón smirked and looked around at the three of them.
“One vehicle, three men,” he conceded.
“Gracias,” Javi said. The three of them practically bolted out of the office.
Within minutes they had Trujillo and two other men ready to go. They were looking over aerial photos, trying to figure out their plan of attack.
“Alleys run along the house here,” Javi said, marking on the photo, “here. We’ll keep the other car waiting around back.”
“¿Seguro no es una trampa?”(You sure it’s not a trap?) Trujillo asked him.
“No estoy seguro de nada,”(I’m not sure of anything) Javi responded quietly. Their sat phone started to ring and Steve grabbed it.
“Murphy,” he grunted. He listened for a moment and then whispered, “I’m just in the middle of something. Let me call you right back.” He paused and a look of worry passed over his face. “You’re where?” He held his hand up to Javi and walked to the side to take the call.
“What’s that about?” Trujillo asked.
“No idea,” Javi shrugged. They continued to plan when suddenly Steve’s voice reached them.
“Connie, please,” he pleaded. “We can talk about this. Do not get on that plane. Wait, ok?” Javi and Ari’s eyes shot to Steve. He hung up the phone and walked back over to them.
“She’s at the airport,” Steve said, slightly panicked.
“Go,” Javi urged him.
“I’m sorry,” Steve apologized. “I gotta go. Guys, sorry.”
“It’s fine, Steve,” Ari assured him. He rushed out, leaving La Quica to them.
“Alright,” Javi said. “Let’s get this fucker.”
Less than an hour after they received their approval from Pinzón, they were driving to the brothel. Trujillo was in the back with Ari and Javi, while the other two men were in the front.
“Aquí a la derecha,”(Right there, to the right.) Javi told the driver. “Es la próxima derecha.”(It’s the next right.)
“Cómo nos conocemos la zona, ¿no, Peñita?”(Know the area well, don’t you, Peña?) Trujillo teased. Javi clenched his fist in aggravation.
“Sí, sí, sí,” he said, exasperated. “Just fuckin’ drive.” He felt Ari lightly grip his clenched fist, offering a small reassurance. He stared down at her small hand and swallowed audibly. It felt like forever since she had touched him.
“Ignore them,” she whispered. He nodded once, and she removed her hand. They focused back on the road. Javi pulled his gun out from his waistband and cocked it as the car pulled up in the alley.
“Ahí está el taxi,”(There’s the taxi.) Javi told them. “Estaciona a la izquierda, ahí.”(Park on the left, there.) There were a ton of cars parked along each side of the road. They squeezed between two.
“Ari, you wait here,” Javi told her as he tucked the gun back in his belt.
“What?” She exclaimed, her brow furrowed in annoyance.
“I don’t want to take the chance that they recognize you before we get too close,” he explained.
“Oh, alright,” she sighed. She sat back against the seat in exasperation. He could see on her face how much she hated that she couldn’t go with him.
“You’ll be chasing them down soon enough,” he said with a grin. He turned to the other men. “Muy bien. Esperen aquí.” (Alright. Wait for me here.) He got out of the car and casually strode up the street. He got about halfway to the cab when the driver darted out and ran into the brothel.
“Ari! Trujillo!” Javi shouted.
“¡Dé la vuelta!” (Go around!) Trujillo shouted to the other two men. Ari and Trujillo burst from the car and took off after Javi. The other two followed orders and circled the van around the building. Ari and Trujillo followed Javi into the brothel. The door was barred, costing them precious time. They finally got in, guns drawn and swept through the brothel. The girls were all peeking out of their rooms, terrified. One woman with a blue fringed shirt caught Javi’s gaze and moved her eyes upwards, pointing out where the men had gone. Javi briefly wondered if she had been the one to call it in.
He glanced up and saw La Quica and the driver climbing onto the roof. The three of them quickly tucked their guns in their waistbands and hurried up after the two men. They followed them down and out onto the next street. The van caught up to them and one of the men jumped out to join them. Javi stopped them as the reached the entrance to an open market. He signaled for them all to split up.
They moved through the market quickly and quietly. Javi made it to the center and glanced around, eyeing the other three—all empty handed. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he turned quickly, his heart racing. It was a female vendor.
“No busque más, este es el mejor sitio para comer,”(Stop looking, this is the best place to eat.) she said with a smile. Javi was sweaty and panting, and completely frustrated. He stepped away from the woman and looked around once more. How the hell had they gotten away again?
“Fuck,” he whispered, angrily. “Fuck!” Ari and Trujillo made their way over to him.
“We were so fucking close,” Ari swore quietly.
“Next time,” Trujillo said. “Let’s get outta here.” He turned and walked out, taking the other man with him. Once they were gone, Javi turned to Ari. She was watching him closely. Javi felt self conscious all of a sudden. Having Ari’s full attention on him after more than a week of no interaction was unsettling. She seemed to be considering something. Finally she spoke up.
“Want to come over tonight?” She asked him. Javier was taken aback. He had not expected to be welcomed back to her bed.
“Uh, sure,” Javi said cautiously.
“Great,” she said with a smile. She glanced behind her to make sure the others were gone. Then she stood up on her tip toes and gently grabbed the back of Javi’s neck to bring his lips down to hers in a devastating kiss. He moaned into her mouth. Fuck, he had missed her. She broke away and smiled at him once more.
“Let’s go,” she murmured. He watched her as she walked back to the van that had just pulled up to the entrance. She slid into the back seat, waiting patiently for Javier. She glanced over and saw him still standing there in shock. She grinned and waved him over. He shook himself and quickly got into the van. He was surprised by her actions. He had assumed they were over. He didn’t know how he got this fucking lucky, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. It had been over a week since he’d been inside her, and that was a goddamn lifetime. He shifted to alleviate the growing bulge in his jeans.
He couldn’t wait to get back to Bogotá. They needed to go to the Holguín and file a report, then it was back to the embassy. From there he would grab Ari, take her back to his apartment, and fuck her until the sun came up.
A couple hours later they were finally on their way back to the apartment. Ari couldn’t stop smirking every time she looked at Javi. He was practically salivating. Good to know he craved her just as much as she craved him. This power play was going to her a head a bit. She always felt so untethered and unsure around Javi…it felt nice to be the one holding all the cards this time.
She had done a lot of thinking over the week—Especially after her date with Eduardo. She had come to the conclusion that she just couldn’t quit Javier Peña. But if she was going to make this work, she needed to do it on her terms. Well, his terms, but her way. They would fuck, yes, but she would never ask to stay at his place or for him to stay at hers ever again. And she decided, she wouldn’t limit herself to him for her sexual needs. If he was busy fucking someone else, and she had an itch to scratch, she’d find someone for the night—only if it felt right and they understood it was a one night thing. She knew it would never be as good, but she couldn’t wait around for Javier forever. Even if she never slept with anyone else, she wanted Javi to assume she was. Javier was it for her—she knew it in her heart, she would never love another man as much as she loved him. So, she would play the long game. She knew Javi had feelings for her…she just had to give him time and help showhim.
She was going to give Javier exactly what he wanted. And based off what she had witnessed previously…he would not like getting exactly what he wanted. Was it manipulative? Yes…but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. They pulled into the parking garage at the apartment, and Javi practically flew out of the Jeep in his hurry to get to her. She laughed as he grabbed her and hauled her against his chest.
“Eager, are we?” She teased.
“You’re damn right I am,” he groaned. “I haven’t had sex in over a week, baby.” Ari pushed back slightly so she could look into his eyes.
“What?” She asked, shocked.
“What?” He parroted, already dazed being so close to her intoxicating scent.
“You haven’t had sex in over a week?” She asked.
“Yeah,” he answered, chasing her mouth, trying desperately to capture her lips.
“When was the last time you had sex?” She pushed.
“The night Escobar escaped prison,” he murmured, his large hand grasping the hair and the back of her head.
“You haven’t slept with anyone this week?” The shock in her voice must have registered in his foggy brain. He stopped trying to kiss her and looked into her eyes.
“No one since you,” he clarified. Ari swallowed thickly, not sure what to think of his little revelation. She decided to push it aside for later. She couldn’t read too much into it. Her heart was already at risk of being shattered…she didn’t need to add stupid hope to the mix.
“You poor baby,” she cooed. “I guess I should take good care of you tonight, then.”
“Please,” he groaned and finally kissed her. He pressed her up against the car and devoured her mouth.
“Let’s get inside,” Ari whispered against his lips when they finally came up for air. Javi grabbed her hand and practically dragged her to his apartment. Once they were inside he pressed her up against the closed door and kissed her deeply. She moaned as she rubbed her tongue against his. He broke contact just long enough to pull her shirt over her head. His fingers fumbled with her bra hook, desperate to get to her bare skin. He groaned as his hands finally cupped her breasts, his thumbs rubbing circles over her tight nipples.
He bent down and sucked one into his mouth. He bit down lightly. Ari gasped and clutched the back of his head. He released her nipple and licked it gently, soothing the slight burn.
“Fuck, Javi,” she moaned softly. She gripped the front of his shirt and pulled, ripping the buttons off. She pushed it over his shoulders and down his arms. Javi let the ruined shirt float to the floor. Ari quickly worked the button of his jeans and pulled down the zipper. She sank down to her knees and tried to pull his pants down.
“I don’t think so, hermosa,” Javi said in a gravelly voice. He grabbed her forearms and pulled her back up to standing.
“What?” Ari asked in surprise.
“It’s been too damn long,” Javi explained. “If my cock goes anywhere near your mouth, I won’t last long. I don’t wanna come down your throat, Ari. I wanna come deep inside your perfect pussy.” Ari moaned and kissed him again. Javi grabbed her ass and hoisted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist. They continued to kiss as he walked them into his bedroom. Javi dropped her down in the center of the bed and practically collapsed on top of her. She giggled when they landed.
“Fuck, I missed that,” Javi murmured.
“What?” Ari asked with a smile.
“Your laugh,” he said quietly. Ari sobered up immediately. She caressed the side of his face.
“I just needed some time,” she whispered.
“I know, baby,” he replied softly. “I’m sorry. I don’t fucking deserve you.”
“Probably,” Ari smiled, “but this is where I want to be tonight…so let’s put this week behind us, and enjoy it, alright?”
“Anything you want, hermosa,” Javi agreed. He slid down her body—pausing to lick her nipples on the way down—and pulled her jeans and panties off. Ari sat up and pulled his pants down. Javi kicked them off and pushed her back onto the bed. He lay on top of her and kissed her deeply. When he started to move down her body, Ari pushed him up slightly and flipped him onto his back. She straddled him, her hands splayed across his chest.
“What’re you doing, baby?” He asked her with a smirk.
“I wanna ride you,” she answered.
“Let me taste you,” Javi whined.
“Later,” she murmured and grasped his hard cock in her hand. “I need you inside me.” She lined him up and pushed down, sheathing him in one go. She hissed at the stretch. The last week had felt like an eternity. It was incredible to feel him filling her once again.
“You feel so fucking good,” Javi groaned. His big hands grasped her hips tight. “Ride me, baby.” Ari pushed up and slid back down. They moaned in unison. It always felt so right, so perfect, every time they joined together like this. Ari’s small hands spread out on his broad chest. She used it as leverage to pump herself up and down on him. After a few minutes they both became frantic, desperately seeking release. His hands gripped her hips tighter—lifting her and then slamming her back down. His hips thrust up against her, causing his pelvic bone to rub against her clit. She was so close.
“Fuck, fuck,” Ari panted. Javi released one of her hips to circle her clit with his thumb. That was all it took to hurtle Ari over the edge. She threw her head back and screamed as her orgasm crashed into her. Her pussy clamped tight around Javi and he shouted out her name as he came inside her. She collapsed against his chest. They were covered in sweat and out of breath.
“That was fast,” Ari laughed.
“Huh?” Javi said, still dazed.
“That was fast,” she repeated. “I don’t think we’ve ever finished that quickly.”
“Sorry,hermosa,” he sighed. “I was too damn pent up. I’ll last longer on round two.”
“I’m not upset, Javi,” she laughed. “I came too, in case you didn’t notice.”
“Oh, I fucking noticed,” he growled. “Your pussy clamped around my dick so tight, I couldn’t stop myself from coming.” Ari laughed softly against his chest. Javi’s arms came up around her and held her tight to his body. She sighed happily.
“Fuck, I needed that,” Javi said.
“Me too,” she agreed. “This has been a long ass week.”
“Yeah,” Javi said. There was something in his voice, and she couldn’t figure out what it was. He shifted underneath her nervously. “You, uh…have you seen that guy again?”
“What guy?” Ari asked, propping her chin on her hand so she look Javi in the eye. He brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and gently cupped her face. He really needed to stop with all the sweetness. It was messing with her resolve.
“The guy you went on a date with the other night,” Javi clarified.
“Oh, him,” Ari said. She chewed her lip. Javi’s thumb plucked it out from between her teeth. “No, I haven’t seen him again.”
“Are you going to?” He asked. She could see he was trying to be casual, but there was a fire in his eyes he could not hide.
“Probably not,” Ari answered honestly.
“Why?” Javi asked. She shrugged slightly.
“Doesn’t feel right to lead him on,” she replied. “The chemistry just wasn’t there. No need to waste our time.”
“No chemistry, huh?” Javi smirked.
“None,” she said, and returned his smile.
“Well, that’s not a problem for us, now is it?” Javi said.
“No, it’s not,” Ari agreed. He rubbed his thumb along her lower lip. “What’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking when I catch my breath,” Javi told her, “I’m gonna lick my cum outta your pussy until you scream.”
“Mmm,” Ari moaned. “I like the sound of that.”
An hour later, Javi had made good on his promise, as well as fucked her hard into the mattress. He was enjoying his postcoital cigarette as Ari got dressed. He watched her silently, wondering what she was doing. Once she was fully dressed she sauntered over to his side of the bed. She leaned over and kissed him.
“Thanks for tonight,” she whispered against his lips. She stood up and turned to leave. “See you tomorrow!” She called out. He heard the front door shut. What the fuck? Did she seriously just walk out? He didn’t want her to go—not yet, at least. He was hoping they could go another round—or two—before they called it quits for the night. Ari had never been the one to initiate the leaving. He frowned and stubbed out his cigarette. This was exactly how he wanted it to be. No drama, just sex. So, why was he upset? Before he could think too deeply on it, his phone rang.
“Peña,” he answered.
“Hey, Jav,” Steve said on the other end of the line, “I, uh, I need your help.”
Pairing:Colonel Carrillo x Reader (but this is post Mariposa, after Carrillo has been killed)
Rating:PG
Summary: Trujillo tries to deal with his own grief by remembering the good times.
Author’s Note: This is kind of pseudo-epilogue for Mariposa.
Trujillo hasn’t been in your apartment in two months.
He remembers when it used to be a weekly thing, stopping in to pick up intel, a file, or just have a drink with you and Carrillo. He had been to the apartment after your attack, letting himself in to water your plants, clean out your refrigerator from the expired food from your stay in the hospital, and making sure you had fresh food for when you were released. He brought homemade dishes from his family and some other families from Search Bloc that were aware of your existence but not identity. There had been flowers and other meals sitting outside your door from parents and students that he tended to as well.
This is what the survivors do, he tells himself. This is what picking up the pieces looks like. This is what moving forward is supposed to be.
This may be what surviving looks like, but all he feels is numb.
Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.
Once you had put the pieces back together, even though you may look intact, you were never quite the same as you’d been before the fall. - Jodi Picoult
You came from a large and loud Italian family that took up residence in San Francisco back when the roads had still been dirt and there wasn’t a trolley car in sight. Your great-great grandfather and his brothers had been fishermen who worked the boats while their wives worked the fish markets. The next generation wanted to join the police force as the city was starting to grow in population and crime. The generation after that continued in the steps of police work but also found ways to pay for college tuition and soon the family had accountants, teachers, and even a couple lawyers to add to their ranks.
By the time you had come around, those options were still mostly for the men of the family. So when you said you wanted to go to college, you earned a couple scoffing laughs and suggested majors like home economics and library science. When you said you wanted to go for an engineering degree in radio transmissions and communications, you earned outright ridicule. Your parents thought you had come to your senses when you accepted Nico’s marriage proposal, that you would give up your machines and tools, and finally settle down like a good woman.
That there was still hope for you to be a good wife.
Warnings:language, alcohol, Carrillo in his fatigues, mentions of slight blood/injuries
Word Count: 5.2k
A/N: Our fave fake couple is back. This chapter truly got away from me a bit. I’m not sorry about it, and I already can’t wait to start working on chapter 7 lol. Hope you enjoy!
Summary:Continues where part 2 left off, as Reader and Carrillo finally call it a night, leading to smut with all the feelings (because apparently I can’t write one without the other) and some unexpected discoveries for them both.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Smut with feelings, vaginal fingering, frottage, vaginal sex, power dynamics (including switching), very brief (male) orgasm delay/denial and begging, brief references to canon-typical violence.
Notes: So, apparently I can only update this fic approximately once every 3 months, oops But the final part is here now at least! I also may have listened to Power and Control by Marina and the Diamonds a lot when writing this chapter. Thank you to everyone who has interacted with this fic in any capacity since January, it’s been a fun journey taking the story further than I’d originally intended ❤️
Warnings: same as usual but there is some heavy angst in this chapter. Unprotected sex, allusions to oral, p in v sex, minor drug use (do sleeping pills count as drugs?), unintentional self harm.
A/N: this chapter is…really special to me. It’s genuinely my favorite thing that I’ve ever written and all of my love and gratitude for @empress-palpat1ne pushing me to write and publish it. It’s painful and lovely and all of the things that life can be. Also there’s some Spanish towards the end (and the next chapter will be a little Spanish heavy as well. I’m Mexican American but my Spanish isn’t fluent so sorry for any mistakes). I hope you enjoy it as much I do
Storm in the Quiet
You screamed until your throat was raw, until there was no more sound within you and your mind was nothing but a foggy emptiness. Large hands grasped your shoulders and you jerked away as if you’d been burned, but the grip was too strong to shake off. You were pulled out of the doorway you had tried to run through and back against a strong chest. You howled until there was nothing left inside of you, thrashing against the man at your back. Eventually he sank to the floor, collecting you in his arms and making soft shushing sounds against your hair as he held you. You prayed he was wrong, or maybe playing a cruel joke. But Javi wasn’t lying, he wasn’t wrong.
Okay guys. So I am traveling on an educational tour in Costa Rica. (If you ever have a chance to do it, DO IT! The country and people are beautiful!) I’m down to my last two days and we are ending in the…wait for it…Carrillo Provence.
It’s a sign folks. Unfortunately, I am out of Carrillo ideas at the moment. So if anyone has a prompt or Drabble idea, anything for Mariposa or Regalos, please send them my way so I can write some Carrillo in the Carrillo Provence!
Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.
“To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life.”
―Pablo Neruda
There had been a medic that was in the jungle with Hugo’s unit.
He had taken the assignment just a couple months after Melina had died. He needed to get out of the house, get out of Bogotá, because he was going out of his mind. The grief was so much and there had been no escape. Memories had been steeped into the wood floors, the decorated walls, and the furniture. Everywhere he turned, he expected to see her step around a corner, be seated in a chair, or standing by the kitchen sink. His son had just entered the Academy so it was just him to face the lingering scent of perfume and phantom footsteps in what used to be a home. When the assignment to fight FARC in the jungles was presented, he accepted without thinking much about it.
Two years.
It took him two years in the jungle to finally be able to return to his home in Bogotá and not feel like he was entering a mausoleum. That was the start of normalcy returning. The third year of chasing FARC had been the smoothest. They had a reliable system in place, a specific grid outline of the dense underbrush that they would move through square by square. Since the rebels were able to stay hidden in pockets of dense vegetation, taking the jungle apart piece by piece made sure they would find those pockets. Sometimes they were able to see the camps half a click away. Other times, they stumbled on rebels and the raid was more of a panicked shootout between the two sides. Nevertheless, it had been overall effective.
It was one of those sudden shootouts that landed him in the med tent that night. He knew he had been clipped by a stray bullet but he expected it to stop bleeding by the time evening rolled around. Besides, there were plenty of his men who were in worse shape than he was and he wanted their injuries to take priority. But when the raid had been over for six hours and a clean shirt was beginning to stick to him from the steady oozing of blood, he finally went over to where the medical supplies were kept. His intention was to just grab a few bandages and some antiseptic when he was caught red handed, literally.
“Coronel?” (Colonel?)
He had been so focused in making sure his bloody handprints didn’t show up on the makeshift storage lockers that he didn’t hear her enter into the tent and jumped slightly at her sudden presence.
“Lo siento, Coronel. No quise asustarte.” (I’m sorry, Colonel. I didn’t mean to startle you.) Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. She gave orders in the same manner he did, quietly and with no room for questioning. She soon had him stripped out of his bloodied shirt, cleaned the wound and his hands, and was wrapping the deep gash along his ribs in a neat, and efficient fashion. She was biting her bottom lip in concentration and he had to close his eyes but the damage had been done.
Melina would do the same thing when she was fussing over his injuries. She would scold him while rewrapping healing bullet wounds or splints on broken bones. ¿Qué haría yo sin ti, Hugo? Tienes que tener más cuidado. (What would I do without you, Hugo? You have to be more careful.) And then she would smooth her hands over the skin and muscles that were unharmed. Little did she know that he would have to figure out what to do without her.
“Coronel, ¿está bien? ¿Estás desmayado?” (Colonel, are you okay? Are you faint?)
Her hands traced over the exposed skin around the bandages in almost the exact same manner that Melina’s would and the time that had passed since he had last been with a woman became painfully clear. He missed being touched, cared for. When she looked up at him, almost bashfully from under her eyelashes, he couldn’t help but kiss her. She kissed him back, with more enthusiasm than he anticipated and soon they found themselves falling into the cot in the corner of the med tent, shoving their clothes out of the way. It was a messy, brief ordeal. She came quickly, shoving her fist in her mouth to quiet her cries while he grabbed his bloodied shirt and pulled out in time to come into the ruined material. They had parted ways with shy smiles and she rotated back to wherever she came from as a new medical team came in to replace the previous one two days later. He never saw or spoke to her again.
He wonders, as he lays awake at three in the morning, who was your first lover after Nico’s death? Were they good to you? Did they care about you, or at least treat you with kindness and gentleness? Or did they leave you with even more heartbreak, more pieces of yourself scattered out there in the world? He was fortunate to have been with someone who had been kind towards him, someone who brought him solace. He hopes the same has been true for you.
When he has first woken up, he isn’t exactly certain where he is, or if the warm body in his arms is real or a dream. Your back is pressed tight against his chest, your legs tangle with each other, your hands still holding onto him even in sleep. Violets and oranges and something that is uniquely you overwhelm his senses. That’s how he knows it’s real.
He buries his nose in your hair, presses his lips against the soft skin of your shoulder. He doesn’t want to disturb you but he isn’t necessarily upset when he feels you shift and murmur in your sleep. It must take you a moment to orient yourself as well judging by your sharp intake of breath and the thought that maybe you didn’t want him in your bed anymore crosses his mind. But the fear is quickly vanquished when you stretch languidly and turn to face him, a lazy smile on your face.
“You stayed.”
He brushes some stray strands of hair off your face. “I did. Is that okay?”
Your smile grows. “More than okay.”
“Bueno.” (Good.)
He lets his hand explore the expanse of bare skin across your back. You’re so soft and he wonders absently how you’ve managed that. You curl in tighter against him with a contented sigh. He had been under the impression that this was most likely going to go the same way the nurse, and a couple others, had: one or two time encounters and then you would both part ways.
But your hands start an exploration of their own, moving over his ribs, around his waist, and then across his back with such gentleness, it threatens to bring tears to his eyes. You use the leverage to press your face closer against his chest, his heartbeat most likely thudding in your ear. You release a sigh that drains all tension from your body as it molds even closer to his own. It feels as if you don’t want to let go.
He doesn’t want to let you go either.
For the moment, he doesn’t have to but what happens in a week, a month, six months, when your time is up in Colombia and you return to the States? What happens if the separation is more permanent? He thought he only had his son’s life to fear during this war, but now there’s yours as well and his arms tighten instinctively around you.
You hum in concern. “What’s wrong?”
He loosens his grip and goes back to tracing patterns on your back. “Nada. Lo siento.” (Nothing. Sorry.)
“Hugo.”
He has to smile at the authoritative tone that you manage to emit despite not wearing a scrap of clothing and having your face pressed against his breastbone. But he doesn’t know how to properly express his thoughts and worries without overstepping any kind of relationship line. This has happened with hardly any discussion or classification of what this is between the two of you. As he’s gathering his thoughts, the tension comes back to your body in full force. No longer are your curves fitted neatly against him, rather you’re coiled tight and taught. You push yourself further away so you can establish eye contact with him, even in the dim, early morning light.
“What are you worried about? Is it your son?”
To be honest, yes, his son is one of the causes of his worries but he’s not certain of the context just yet so he deflects. “What makes you think I’m worried?”
Your eyes rove over his face. “Woman’s intuition.”
“Ah,” he shifts slightly so he can run his fingers through your hair, brushing it away from your face. “I am worried about my son the majority of the time. This is not exactly the safest place or position to be in right now in Colombia. And now,” he makes sure to hold your gaze when he says this, “I have to worry about you as well.”
The unease in your expression softens slightly as your fingertips trail down over the side of his face. “I worry about both of you as well. I can do what I can to keep Junior safe but you…”
He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. “I have plenty of protection.” He fights the urge to tell you not to worry because he knows it’s not that simple. He made the mistake of saying that to Melina shortly after they were married and when she told him that was the equivalent of telling her to not breathe, she didn’t speak to him for a week. He is, above all else, a man who learns from his mistakes.
But you start to fidget, that same type of nervousness from last night. This time, he does slip his fingers through yours, pressing your palms together until the trembling stills and your eyes meet his. “¿Qué pasa, querida?” (What is wrong, darling?)
Your forehead furrows as you try to find the words. He waits patiently and eventually you whisper the concern. “What if your son doesn’t…you know, approve of…us?”
It actually takes him a few moments to understand what you’re saying mostly because having his son’s approval on any relationship never even crossed his mind. He knows his son well enough to know even if he didn’t like the woman Hugo would choose, his son would always be polite to her. It was and would always be a nonissue. And the fact that you, someone Hugo knew is absolutely adored and respected by his son, would be troubled with this thought forces him to school his features to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the concern. But you are very much worried about this so he presses a kiss to the lines on your forehead in an effort to make them disappear.
“I would not be concerned about his approval. Remember he is the one who tricked us into that lovely dinner.”
Your smile is shaky. “True, but…”
There’s a story, a piece of history that he isn’t aware of just yet, that is at the bottom of this. He sits up slightly, keeping you tightly pressed against his side. “What happened, querida?”
You huff in defeat. “The first man I dated after Nico had a teenage daughter. She did the same thing Junior did, would set up her dad and me on these little dates and act all excited. First time I stayed over at their house, all of sudden she wasn’t so excited. He broke it off with me that week.”
His first thought is to call the man an idiot for letting you go that easily but he bites his tongue. His second thought is that you shared a piece of information that answers a previous question he was wondering about just an hour earlier. You did encounter even more heartbreak after losing Nico and the unfairness of that raises a sense of indignation in his chest. But his third thought is to pass you an equally significant piece of personal information on him.
“When Melina died, and my son and I could speak her name again without…”
You lay a hand on his chest and hum in sympathy.
“He told me that we needed a secret code of sorts. He knew I had trouble removing my ring so he suggested that when a woman of high enough caliber asked about my ring, he would tell her the truth as a sign of his approval. That night we had dinner together, he told me he had told you the real story about it. This is why I don’t believe you have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He pauses before giving a slight shrug. “And besides, if he does pull his support, I’ll demote him.”
A short laugh escapes you as you lift your head to check his facial expression and find the half smile on his lips. The sun is starting to rise, the light begins to invade through the bedroom window, and with it the reminder that there is work to be done. Hugo looks over at the clock and sees it’s now almost 4:30.
“It’s time to get up, isn’t it?”
He sighs. “For me. What time do you get up?”
“Around 5.” You turn and lay on your back, arms tossed over your head.
The desire to kiss every inch of exposed skin right now is extremely strong. He wants to feel you under him again but he knows there isn’t enough time for this distraction. He needs to go across the street, shower, change, and go determine which leads to follow today. You are heading out with the intel team to drive around Medellín, looking for Escobar’s transmissions. As a compromise, he leans down and presses his lips to yours firmly, before sitting up and searching for his clothes before you can tempt him even more than you have.
It is quite evident that both your minds were elsewhere last night when clothes were being removed as there is no order to where clothes landed. He hears you moving around the room, hears the slide of satin and catches the sight of you tying the belt of a robe around your waist in the dresser mirror. You run a hand through your messy hair and try to tame the wildness from sleep and his hands.
“Coffee?”
The temptation to stay rises again so he regretfully shakes his head. “I’ll get some at the office.”
You make a scoffing noise. “I’ll bring you some, how’s that? I’ll have to pick up the hotspots from the tips that came in overnight anyway.”
If he had any doubt about this relationship working, it’s completely gone now. You’re a compartmentalizer, like him. Last night was for your personal lives. Now, in the light of day, it is back to business. Even though you’re standing there in a black satin robe that hits your bare calves and gaps alluringly across your chest, stifling a yawn behind your hand, your mind is already focused on a game plan for the day.
He’s staring, he knows that but he can’t help himself at the moment. Not when he realizes that he’s in love with you. The feeling is new in that it’s directed at you, but it’s dusty and dull from being packed in a box for four years. The familiarity of it though is unmistakable, like a song you forgot existed until you hear it again and immediately remember all the words. And what makes it even more spectacular is this realization doesn’t elicit any type of fear or unease.
“What?”
He finishes buttoning his shirt before coming over to stand in front of you, holding your face in his palms before pulling your mouth up to his. You immediately press yourself to him, your hands holding the back of his head as you slip your clever tongue into his mouth. God, could you be any more perfect for him? It’s going to take an incredible amount of restraint to see you at Search Bloc and keep his hands and mouth to himself. Reluctantly he pulls away just enough to break the kiss.
“Would you join me for dinner this evening? Seven, my place.”
You smile up at him. “I would love to.”
“Bueno.” (Good.)
He kisses you briefly one more time before forcing his hands to release you to the world for a few hours. He has a time frame though. Seven tonight and you both can pick up where this leaves off. You walk him to the door, unlock the triple locks and open it for him.
He steps out into the hallway and waits until he hears the locks slide back into place before heading down the stairs. He reaches the bottom step and comes face to face with his son, back from a morning run from the looks of it.
“Hijo.” (Son.)
“Papa.”(Dad.)
Hugo nods to his son and steps around him. He pauses on the sidewalk and turns back to the stairs.
“Hijo, no-” (Son, don’t-)
“¿Decirle a alguien que vi a mi padre antes del trabajo?” (Tell anyone I saw my father before work?)
Hugo gives him a stern look but he just shrugs.
“Bueno.” (Okay.)
Hugo nods. “Bueno.”
***
Nine hours.
You pull the headphones off your ears and drop them on the desk in front of you. You’ve been sitting in the back of the van for nine hours, listening to static and sweating through your clothes. None of the leads brought anything remotely close to finding Escobar on the radio waves.
“We’d have an easier time finding Santa Claus out here,” you complain.
Junior huffs. “Gordo con traje rojo, destacaría.” (Fat man in a red suit, he would stand out.)
Morales radios back to them from the driver’s seat. “¿Algo de Los Pepes hoy?” (Anything from Los Pepes today?)
“Nada,” you respond. (Nothing.) That’s another thing that’s bugging you. Usually during your sweeps through Medellín, you would pick up blips of the radio communications between the group members as they too were searching for Escobar and his sicarios. The team typically catches the information just as the execution takes place and with a vigilante group that takes credit for their hit, the information is out of date by the time they radio it into Search Bloc. It’s just another frustration. Less sicarios, means less radio chatter. Less radio chatter means less tracking opportunities to find Escobar.
“¿Lo llamamos un día?” (We calling it a day?) Morales asks.
You look at Junior, who tiredly nods his head. “Yeah. Llamémoslo.” (Let’s call it.)
It’s a little after six when you grab your things and leave the Search Bloc headquarters. When you pass through the bullpen, you notice Hugo’s office is already dark and you finally allow yourself to look forward to this evening. You and Junior did ride into work together this morning so you can only think about the dinner part of the evening if you’re going to retain any type of decorum on the fifteen minute drive to the apartments. Apparently, Junior had no such compunction.
“Any dinner plans tonight?” he asks with a sly grin.
“Maybe.” You grip the steering wheel tighter, suddenly nervous about venturing into this topic. Even though Hugo had told you there is nothing to worry about, you still do. Under other circumstances, where the three of you don’t work and live in close proximity to each other, it wouldn’t matter at all. But you do all work together and keeping peace is of the utmost importance.
The thought of distancing yourself from Hugo puts a pit in your stomach and the strength of the feeling surprises you. Last night had confirmed for you any and all feelings you held for the man: you were unequivocally in love with him. To say goodbye and close the door on that particular realization would hurt more than you care to acknowledge at the moment.
“I ran into my father this morning when I was coming back from my run.”
Your knuckles go white. “Okay.”
“He looked happy. Happier than I’ve seen him in a while.”
Half of the tension leaves your body. “Really?”
“Yes.”
You have to ask. It’s for the best and it’ll take the burden off your mind. You open your mouth and start to ask him his feelings about the situation when he cuts you off.
“I’m glad you found each other. You need each other.”
“Because we both lost significant others?”
“No.” He pauses. “I think it’s more about who those people were that you lost. You’ve told me about Nico and the kind of man he was. He sounded similar to my father.”
“And I remind you of your mother.”
He nods. “Yes.”
You sigh. “But you can’t find people who are similar and replace them-”
“No, no, no,” he shakes his head. “There is no intention of replacing anyone. My mother is…irreplaceable. Neither my father nor I would want to see her replaced. You would never replace Nico?”
“No.”
“But, there are things about my father that remind you of him.”
You nod slowly. “Yes, there are.”
“It’s not replacing. It’s loving the best parts of the person who isn’t here anymore.”
You park the VW Bug in your space and turn off the car, a small smile turning the corners of your mouth. “You know, you’re pretty wise for a twenty-year old.”
He smiles back. “I graduated in the top one percent of my class.”
You’re getting ready to open the car door when a flash of headlights appears in the rearview mirror. A dark four-door Jeep pulls into the parking garage and backs into the space two rows over from your space. Something tells you to be on high alert as the headlights are turned off but no one emerges from the vehicle. You grab your purse and pull out your sat phone. The signal is barely there but hopefully it’ll be enough to get a call to Hugo. You hand the phone to Junior. “Punch in your Dad’s number and be ready to call it.”
“The Jeep that just pulled in?”
So he saw it too. “Yeah. I don’t like it.”
He peers into the rear window mirror and then lets out a shaky breath. “Son los Castaño.” (It’s the Castaños.)
“Both of them?”
“Sí.” (Yes.)
You reach down between the car door and your seat and grab the lead-filled baton Gio had given you before you left California. You open the driver’s side door. “Call your father and stay put.”
As soon as your feet hit the concrete, both Constaños are closing the doors to the Jeep. They’re intimidating looking even without you knowing their reputation and the closer you get, the taller they become. The one with thick black hair, Fidel, has to be pushing six foot five. Fuck, what did you get yourself into?
“Buenas tardes señorita,” Carlos, shorter and broader than his brother, greets with hands raised to show he’s unarmed. “Nosotros estamos aquí para hablar.” (Good evening, Miss. We’re just here to talk.)
You keep your grip tight on the handle of the baton. They don’t have guns in their hands at the moment but they are on their persons. You’ve also seen some of the handiwork their fists can do so you can’t let your guard down for a moment. You stop about eight feet away from. “Bueno. Hablar.” (Great. Talk.)
“Manténgase fuera de nuestras transmisiones de radio.” (Stay off our radio transmissions.)
“¿Por qué? Para cuando tengamos información decente, ya tienes el objetivo.” (Why? By the time we get any decent information , you’ve already got the target.)
Fidel speaks up. “Estamos pidiendo amablemente. Esta vez.” (We’re asking nicely. This time.)
Carlos adds on the statement. “Digamos que puede escuchar alguna charla que preferiría no escuchar.” (Let’s just say that you may hear some chatter that you would rather not hear.)
So that’s why Los Pepes have gone radio silent for the last few days. There’s something happening, some secret that is getting close to the surface. It would have to be something big to bring the Castaños out like this. The first person you think of is Escobar but you’re fairly certain if you were that close to finding Escobar, Los Pepes would just put a bullet in your head and then step over your body to do the same to Escobar. Maybe this has something to do with whoever is working for Los Pepes in Search Bloc. Maybe you’re getting close to discovering who they are.
“Gringa, ¿me escuchaste?” (Did you hear me?)
“Sí, te escuché. Pero vamos a seguir haciendo nuestro trabajo.” (Yeah, I heard you. But we’re going to keep doing our job.)
“Bien, pero si te interpones en nuestro camino-” (Fine, but if you get in our way-)
You take a step towards them and motion with the baton in their direction. “No, si se sale con la nuestra, tendrá un problema.” (No, if you get in our way, you will have a problem.)
Fidel laughs. “Cree que nos está amenazando. Esta cosita.” (She thinks she’s threatening us. This little thing.)
“Niña, mantente fuera de nuestro camino. Esta es la única advertencia que está recibiendo.” (Little girl, stay out of our way. This is the only warning you’re getting.)
There’s no use in arguing with them. If you did, it would only start a fight, one that you would most likely sorely lose. So, you shrug your shoulders. “Entonces supongo que ambos hemos sido advertidos.” (Then I guess we’ve both been warned.)
You turn your back to them, walking towards the car. That is when things happen in such short succession your brain barely has time to process the events. The passenger side door of your car opens and there’s a flash of a gun going off. The sound bounces off the concrete walls of the small parking garage, the sharp rapport reverberating around the space. You instinctively duck but there’s no cover. You see both brother’s are now focused on Junior who is taking cover behind a pillar.
You should find cover. You should grab a radio, pager, sat phone, scream for help. Instead, you feel the weight of the baton in your hand and with no cover close by, you charge the two Castaños. Fidel is closest and certainly doesn’t think you’re a threat since his focus is waiting for Junior to show any part of himself from behind the pillar so you blind side him. You bring the baton down with full force of his wrist. He drops his gun with a startled yell but recovers immediately.
He grabs the baton with his left hand and uses it to toss you into the car behind him. You hit your back against the grill and you hit the ground. You can hear Junior telling them to drop their weapons but Carlos is shouting obscenities back at him. You still have a deathgrip on the baton as does Fidel and he yanks it and you up off the ground, your face colliding with his fist. Thankfully it’s the one with the injury so the force behind the blow isn’t half of what it normally would be but it’s enough to blind your sight temporarily.
Thankfully the pain of hitting you with his injured hand loosens Fidel’s grip on the baton enough for you to pull it away from him. You use the momentum to swing it in a backhand motion and feel it connect with his ribs. Another gunshot rings out but from a different direction this time. New voices are added to the commands of laying down the weapons. You immediately recognize Hugo’s followed quickly by Steve Murphy’s slight Southern twang. By the time you’re standing solidly on your two feet, the Castaños are fleeing the scene, there are multiple bullet holes in your passenger side car door and one of the pillars, and drops of blood littering the floor of the garage.
You just survived your first shootout. And as Junior steps from cover, not a scratch or drop of blood on him, you breathe a sigh of relief. But when you turn to see Hugo and Murphy, Hugo’s face is thunderous. Tense, white, and jaw constricted so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding. It’s a look you’ve never seen before and it’s so different from what you studied this morning from the weak new day light while in your bed. Murphy is radioing in for the police to be on the lookout for the Castaños while Hugo comes to stand in front of you and Junior.
“¿Qué diablos estaban pensando ustedes dos?” (What the fuck were you two thinking?)
***
He sees red and practically loses his mind. Thankfully, he’s able to present a calm persona, one that is still a leader through and through, despite the absolute fury that is tearing apart his ribcage at the moment. His heart rate is through the roof, his blood pressure skyrocketing and continuing to climb with each drop of blood from your nose. He’s going to have either a stroke, heart attack, or both as he assesses the damage before him.
His son is eyeing him warily. He knows. He knows the seriousness of the situation and just how livid Hugo is at the moment. He is wise to keep his silence at the moment, standing at a parade rest, freshly fired weapon re-holstered. You, on the other hand, have no idea just how thin the ice is that you’re standing on right now.
Your nose is broken, blood running down over your lips and chin. You swipe at it with the sleeve of your shirt. Your eye is swelling, a black eye in the making. You’re standing oddly but he can’t tell if it’s your back, knee, ankle, or foot that is the culprit. A short baton is gripped tightly in your hand.
“¿Qué sucedió?” (What happened?)
You clear your throat. “I parked my car and noticed that the Jeep then parked two rows over from us. They didn’t get out of the car until I did-“
“So why did you get out of the car?”
You now recognize his anger. And instead of it humbling you, it causes you to become indignant. “I got out of the car to get them to leave. They were going to wait us out.”
His son speaks up at that moment. “Cuando nos dimos cuenta de quién era, te llamé. Pero… el concreto bloquea las señales telefónicas.” (When we realized who it was, I called you. But…the concrete blocks the phone signals.)
That explains the phone ringing but no one being on the other end.
“Wait,” you interrupt, motioning to Junior. “You never spoke to your dad?”
Junior shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”
Your eyes widen as much as they can with the swelling. “Then why did you get out of the car?”
“Because,” he swallows visibly, “because they pointed a gun at you. I wasn’t going to just sit there and watch-”
“Alright,” Hugo interrupts him. “Alright. So you get out of the car, open fire and that starts the fight.”
Both you and his son nod your heads. “Yes.”
Murphy is taking notes. “Did you talk to them? What did they want?”
You laugh dryly. “They wanted us to stay off their radio channels. They said we might hear something we don’t want to hear. I’m assuming it’s whoever is helping them from inside the Search Bloc.”
“What did you tell them?” Hugo asks.
You shrug. “I told them not a chance. We’ll do our job which includes listening to them come what may.”
Of course you told them that. Of course you faced off with two of the most dangerous men running the streets of Medellín right now and told them to fuck off. He turns to Murphy, who is closing his notebook and motions to the abandoned Jeep..
“We’ll impound the Jeep,” Murphy says, “see if there’s anything in it we can use. I’ll stay with it.”
“I’ll stay too,” Junior offers.
“Okay,” Hugo agrees and reaches out to take your hand that is still wrapped around the baton. “This needs to stay here.”
Your response is immediate. “No, no, it’s my great-grandfather’s.”
Murphy gives you a sympathetic smile. “Family heirloom, I get it. I’ll make sure you get back tomorrow, okay?”
“Promise?”
He raises his hand, his index and middle finger raised. “Scouts honor.”
You frown up at him. “That’s the wrong hand, Stephen.”
While you and Murphy are working out getting your grandfather’s baton back, Hugo steps up to his son. His anger is still relatively high but the adrenaline rush is wearing off, everyone is safe, so it’s a bit easier to breathe. He’s able to tone down the bite in his question to his son.
“Why did you get out of the car and open fire?”
His son sighs deeply. “Like I said, they were going to shoot her in the back. I couldn’t…I couldn’t watch it happen.” There’s a significant pause and he looks at Hugo with intense eyes, his mother’s eyes. “Not again.”
Hugo feels off balance, like he’s standing on the deck of a boat. The ground is shifting under him, realizations and understandings are moving like gears and locking pieces beneath his feet. He loves you. That realization hit him this morning and only solidified throughout the day as he counted down the hours until he could feel you under his hands once more.
His son loves you. He must. Those feelings were put to the test today. He couldn’t bring himself to fire a weapon when faced with the Castaño brothers before but this time? This time he put himself in open engagement, opened fire, and protected, not himself, but you. If that didn’t tell Hugo just how much his son cared about you, enough to defend you with his life, then he didn’t know what other signs to look for. And while this all bodes extremely well for a smooth sailing relationship, there is one imperative question that needs to be answered.
Summary:This is just a one shot of a few “missing scenes” from Mariposa. Since that story was so full of angst and tears (okay, I cried many tears writing it), I thought some fluff was necessary. Enjoy my friends!
Horacio hates stake outs.
He hates all the sitting and waiting. He is a man of action, used to being in constant motion. So sitting in a car for three hours waiting for a sicario to show his face outside a dive bar feels like the equivalent of torture.
The radio crackles, a blessed distraction. “Coronel?” (Colonel?)
“Sí, Trujillo.” (Yes, Trujillo.)
“Canal seis, coronel.” (Channel six, Colonel.)
Horacio smiles. Channel six. That could only mean one thing and he happily switches his radio over to the channel that is specifically dedicated to you.
“Buenos noches, Mariposita.” (Good evening, little butterfly.)
He can hear the smirk in your voice even over the crackling of the radio. “¿Qué pasa, mi amor?” (What’s up, my love?)
“Trujillo said that you’ve been sitting in that car for three hours. Thought you could use some entertainment.”
“I could.” He pauses for a moment. “Are you in the area?”
“No, I’m at home right now. Sorry. No backseat rendezvous this evening. Maybe next time, cariño. However,” you pause, “do you happen to know why when geese fly in the v formation, there’s always one side of the v that is longer than the other?”
He knows it has something to do with aerodynamics and working as a team but he’s not sure if that’s the answer you’re looking for. Sometimes you ask a riddle, sometimes it’s a legit question. This engagement often helps with the boredom, which is why you have your own dedicated channel on the radio. “I’m not sure, Posa. Why is one side of the v longer than the other?”
“Because there’s more geese on that side.”
He smiles at the response. “I will have to tell my kids that one.”
“It’ll make them the most popular kids in school. Especially if Horacio Jr. happens to tell his science teacher.”
“Gracias, Posa.”
“You’re welcome.” You pause. “How are you?”
There’s such a gentleness to the question that it makes his eyes smart slightly. It’s different coming from you than from Juliana. You don’t have to ask him how he’s doing and he doesn’t have to sugarcoat the truth with you. So he doesn’t.
“Tired and frustrated, waiting for this second rate motherfucker to show his face.”
“Is it one of the big ones? Blackie? Quica?”
“No, I wish it was though.”
“Maybe he’ll lead you to them then.”
“Maybe.”
It’s like kismet talking to you. The sicario steps out of the club and heads down the street in Horacio’s direction.
“I have to go, mi amor.”
“Go get ‘em, tiger.”
***
There is something worse than a three hour stakeout: a three hour stakeout with a cold. Horacio is miserable. His face aches, his throat is sore, and he can’t breathe through his nose. And it’s pissing him off. Even Trujillo is keeping his distance from him. He’s not sure if you’re around your radio but he tries anyway, turning to channel six.
“Posa?”
It takes a few seconds but your welcoming voice crackles back to him. “I’m here. You don’t sound good. Are you sick?” There’s a slight pause. “Do you even get sick?”
He scrubs a hand over his aching face. “I feel worse than I sound, querida.”
“Lo siento, mi amor. Give me like two minutes, okay?” (I’m sorry, my love.)
“Ok.”
He doesn’t know what to expect from you, he rarely does, so he holds the radio in his hand while he watches the door to yet another nightclub. Don’t these sicario go anywhere else? He’s so focused on the club and waiting for the radio that he doesn’t expect for someone to knock on the window of his car and he physically jolts in surprise in the driver’s seat. It’s Trujillo.
“Qué?” (What?)
“Sorpresa.” Trujillo opens the back door and you jump into the back seat. You’re carrying two thermoses but he can’t tell what’s in either one. “Me estoy haciendo cargo. Ve a casa, descansa un poco.” (Surprise. I’m taking over. Go home, get some rest.)
Since he’s in Bogota, “going home” most likely means your place. Either way, he’s not going to waste this opportunity to spend some time with you. He thanks Trujillo and pulls out of the parking spot so Trujillo can pull his car into position.
As he drives through the streets, you climb out of the backseat and settle in the front with him. This has become a well practiced maneuver since the first time you had been together. His office and your school have too many prying eyes. You both run the risk of someone recognizing the leader of Search Bloc and an American teacher being seen together so your clandestine meetings were limited to late night arrivals to your apartment or quickies in the backseat of a police Jeep.
“Your place?”
“Sure.” You open one of the thermoses. The smell of chicken hits him immediately, which alone is a miracle. “I promise, I did not make this. I went to the restaurant at the corner and told them my friend had a very bad cold so they gave me this.”
He gladly takes the container from you and tips some of the broth into his mouth, immediately feeling some relief on his sore throat. “Mucho gracias. So what’s in the other one?”
“Something I can’t give you while you’re driving. It’s a mixture of hot tea, lemon, honey, and whiskey.”
He gives you a disappointed look. “Tea?”
“Tea, mi amor,” you trail a hand down his arm. “The priest at the shelter where I lived for a year in Phoenix swore by this recipe.”
You came through with the chicken broth, so maybe the tea concoction will be helpful too. He would drink just about anything right now to feel better. He parks the car two blocks away from your place and follows you at a respectable distance despite it being almost 2 am and no one is on the streets in this residential part of town. As soon as he’s through the door of your apartment, the warmth and familiarity instantly soothe him. All he wants to do is sleep now.
“Querida,” he starts to say but you’re already tugging his jacket off and telling him to take his shoes off. You take his hand and lead him back to your bedroom, like he doesn’t know it’s exactly 43 steps from the front door to the bed. You tuck him into the bed like a child, piling on blankets and quilts, fitting them tightly against his body. You then hand him the tea and whiskey thermos and sit on the side of the bed. Your hands nervously flutter around him, finally landing on his leg.
“I’ve never seen you sick before.”
He shakes his head. “It rarely happens. I don’t want you to catch it though.”
You shrug dramatically. “I have the immune system of a mule! I never get sick.”
He knows this is not the case and wonders if he should bring up your first meeting of you head first in a dumpster puking your guts out. Instead, he touches the side of your face, cradling your cheek in his palm. “Thank you, mi amor. Perhaps when you’re done with information running, you should take up nursing.”
You smile, your cheek filling the space in his palm. “You would be my only patient.”
***
“Posa?”
“Sí?”
Horacio smiles as he leans against the police Jeep. “¿Cuál es el informe de noticias de hoy?” (What’s the news report for today?)
You sigh dramatically over the radio. “Oh, sad news today. Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer is dead at the age of 54. Reports tell us that the reindeer was flying over Barcelona when he was hit first by a flock of geese and then by a 747 passenger plane. Witnesses say that the reindeer in Spain was hit mainly by the plane.”
“My condolences to the North Pole.” He takes a moment to school his face and tone into one of seriousness. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know.” You answer with genuine curiosity. “Trujillo said he needed a second set of eyes for a stakeout so here I am. Well, driving to it. We’re out of the city so if I disappear, you know who I was last with.”
“Okay, now I need to know-” you say over the radio but there’s brief static as Trujillo takes the radio from you.
“No, hermana. Relájate.” (No, sister. Just relax.)
It is actually eight minutes when Horacio sees the flash of headlights on the dirt road leading back to the pond. Trujillo pulls in with a look on his face that warns him that you’re annoyed with the secrecy but Horacio is confident that you’ll get over it quickly when you see the finished product. He has to admit, he’s pretty impressed. And the satisfaction at seeing your face melt from being annoyed to dazzled is well worth it. Your eyes take in the string of lights draped in the tree branches to the blanket set out with a bottle of wine, Malbec, of course, and glasses waiting for you. Horacio nods to Trujillo who drives off.
“What is this, Horacio?”
He tsks as you both sit down on the blanket. “Miss Information, doesn’t forget anything, doesn’t remember what today is?”
You give him a suspicious look. “And what exactly is today?”
He pours a glass of wine and hands it to you. “It is our one year anniversary.”
A sad smile tugs on your mouth. “Do people like us really celebrate anniversaries?”
“What do you mean?” he asks as he pours himself a glass.
“You know what I mean. A married man and his mistress?”
He takes a sip of wine and looks out over the still water of the pond. “I remember asking you to be more than just a mistress. I needed a partner and you’ve been the best I could ever ask for.” He leans towards you and immediately you meet him halfway in a kiss. “Me enamoro de ti cada día más y más, cariño.” (I fall in love with you more and more each day, darling.)
You’re more relaxed now and the smile you give him is full of warmth. “Yo siento lo mismo, mi amor.” (I feel the same way, my love.)
He always has a hard time rationalizing how he managed to get you, a highly intelligent, incredibly capable CIA agent, to agree to this ill-fated relationship. He has no idea why you said yes to him, but you did and he will do whatever is necessary to keep you safe and in the constant reminder that you’re loved. He kisses you again, his tongue dragging along the seam of your lips, politely asking entrance. You grant it immediately with a small moan and it lights a fire in his veins.
You place your glass on a flat area of ground and he does the same, leaning forward until you’re laying down on your back and he’s braced over you. A year. He can’t believe it’s been 12 months since he had driven you out here, you both confessed your feelings to each other, and ended up consummating the new relationship in the backseat of the police Jeep. One year and he still has not tired of the feel of your tongue against his, the softness of your skin, how your back arches and presses your body closer to his.
He can’t imagine ever getting tired of you.
His hands go to your blouse and start unbuttoning the shirt while his mouth drops to the delicate column of your throat. When he reaches your collarbone, all the buttons have been undone and when he pushes the fabric open, his heart stutters at the sight underneath him. You, with your self-satisfied smile and familiar blush that has crept across the soft swell of your breasts that aren’t covered by your bra.
Your navy blue lace bra.
The same one you wore a year ago.
“Guess I didn’t forget what today was, mi amor,” you smile sweetly up at him.
Just when he doesn’t think he can fall anymore in love with you, he does. He calls you by your real name, tells you he loves you on a repeated loop and your eyes turn glassy with tears. You keep those tears at bay until he takes you slowly and with as much gentleness as he can manage in the moment he claims you. Afterwards, as you both catch your breath, he catches the escaped tears with the pads of his thumbs.
“¿Por qué lloras, cariño?” (Why are you crying, sweetheart?)
You shake your head. “No puedo creer que me quieras tanto. es abrumador.” (I just can’t believe you love me this much. It’s overwhelming.)
He hums thoughtfully before smiling down at you. “No puedo creer que esto sea una novedad para ti.” (I can’t believe this is news to you.)
Pairing:Colonel Carrillo x Reader (but this is post Mariposa, after Carrillo has been killed)
Rating:PG
Summary: Trujillo tries to deal with his own grief by remembering the good times.
Author’s Note: This is kind of pseudo-epilogue for Mariposa.
Trujillo hasn’t been in your apartment in two months.
He remembers when it used to be a weekly thing, stopping in to pick up intel, a file, or just have a drink with you and Carrillo. He had been to the apartment after your attack, letting himself in to water your plants, clean out your refrigerator from the expired food from your stay in the hospital, and making sure you had fresh food for when you were released. He brought homemade dishes from his family and some other families from Search Bloc that were aware of your existence but not identity. There had been flowers and other meals sitting outside your door from parents and students that he tended to as well.
This is what the survivors do, he tells himself. This is what picking up the pieces looks like. This is what moving forward is supposed to be.
This may be what surviving looks like, but all he feels is numb.
He shouldn’t have survived that night. He should have gone down with Carrillo, his friend, his brother, his Colonel. He shouldn’t have walked away that night and he’s angry that he did. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still here to continue the fight, continue the search for Escobar. He knows, from the few times he’s spoken to you in the hospital, that you are feeling the same way. The only way to get over the grief is to bring Escobar to justice. An eye for an eye; a life for a life. And true camaraderie is the understanding that it doesn’t matter who it is, just as long as it happens.
So when you’re finally home, and finally allow him to come into the apartment, the first thing he does is trip over your shoes. They’re high top canvas sneakers in dingy white that are left haphazardly strewn in the entrance way of your home. Two things hit him at once: a memory and an immense wave of anger.
“Posa!” Carrillo’s angry voice carried through the apartment causing you to jump and Trujillo to look for cover.
You looked down at your feet, bare and toenails painted a neon orange. “Oops,” you muttered in his direction with a nervous grin.
Within seconds one of your sandals was thrown into the kitchen. Two seconds later, the second one was thrown, bouncing off the cabinets and hitting your calf. Carrillo immediately follows behind and pointed at the sandals.
“Posa, zapatos!” He said it like a command to a stubborn cadet.
“I know, I know,” you replied, grabbing the shoes and slipping them on your feet.
“Aquí hay escorpiones…” (There are scorpions here…)
“I know…very dangerous scorpions,” you added. “And I need to wear my shoes so they don’t sting me.”
Carrillo’s eyes were still lit with fire. “If you know that, why don’t you wear your shoes? What do you do when I’m not here?”
“Apparently, I don’t wear my shoes and surprisingly enough, I don’t get stung by a rogue scorpion.” You gave Carrillo a self-satisfied grin despite the look of absolute fury he was still wearing. “And what do you know? Four years in Colombia and never stung”
Trujillo loved these moments, loved being witness to the absolute, pure love you two have with each other. Carrillo’s anger was no match for your sweet personality. You at once acknowledge his anger and categorize it for what it was: concern. Which was why, in the face of his anger, you slipped your sandals on your feet and gave him a kind smile.
“Are we happy now, Coronel?”
It was amazing watching the anger receding from Carrillo’s face in the light of your complete and unabashed confidence.
“I suppose,” he muttered and kissed you on the cheek.
Trujillo bends down and picks up your sneakers, holding them in his hand and reminding himself that you’re alive, you’re walking around the apartment. You’re here. If this were a normal day, he would throw one of the shoes in your general direction and shout “Zapatos, Posa!” in his best imitation of Carrillo. And you two would laugh.
But this is not a normal day. You’re limping around the apartment, trying to reorient yourself from weeks of being in the hospital. You’re trying to find your belongings that he’s moved in his efforts of being a good steward of his friend and her things. So instead of throwing shoes and shouting at you, he merely brings them to you and sets them down on the floor as you stand next to the refrigerator and look at the food offerings. He touches your arm so you know he’s there and when your attention is on him, he points to your shoes.
“Zapatos,” he said quietly. “Posa.”
And you quietly slip them on your feet and swipe at the tears in your eyes.
Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.
Once you had put the pieces back together, even though you may look intact, you were never quite the same as you’d been before the fall. - Jodi Picoult
You came from a large and loud Italian family that took up residence in San Francisco back when the roads had still been dirt and there wasn’t a trolley car in sight. Your great-great grandfather and his brothers had been fishermen who worked the boats while their wives worked the fish markets. The next generation wanted to join the police force as the city was starting to grow in population and crime. The generation after that continued in the steps of police work but also found ways to pay for college tuition and soon the family had accountants, teachers, and even a couple lawyers to add to their ranks.
By the time you had come around, those options were still mostly for the men of the family. So when you said you wanted to go to college, you earned a couple scoffing laughs and suggested majors like home economics and library science. When you said you wanted to go for an engineering degree in radio transmissions and communications, you earned outright ridicule. Your parents thought you had come to your senses when you accepted Nico’s marriage proposal, that you would give up your machines and tools, and finally settle down like a good woman.
That there was still hope for you to be a good wife.
Nico never wanted that for you though. He wanted you to continue in your job, working on radio patents and teaching community college classes because it made you happy. On Sundays, he would watch baseball games while you sat cross-legged on the floor reassembling a HAM radio and stealing kisses and sips of his beer. In the middle of the night, when neither one of you could sleep, he would whisper his dream of one day having children and how you would have to make sure you’re grabbing the diaper bag and not the radio transmitter case. You had asked him what he would have done if your daughter wanted to go into engineering, or science, or the military and had held your breath while you awaited his answer. But he merely smiled and shook his head.
“Our girl could be president or end up at NASA or do both. If she’s anything like you, why stop there, innamorato?” (Italian for sweetheart)
It was a week later that your older brother, a police officer in San Jose, had knocked on your door to tell you that Nico had been killed by a drunk driver on his way back from the Army base. And that had been the end of your dreams and started your life of duty.
Immediately following the funeral, you enlisted in the Army. With your engineering background, they took you immediately. Basic training wore you out physically while the grief took care of your emotional reserves. The Army gave you structure and distraction at a time in your life when you needed both desperately. Soon, the grief retracted to something you could contain and the days started to become easier. Your parents thought you would leave the military and return home, find another suitor, and still follow in your mother’s footsteps.
You soon needed a new challenge, different from the domestic one your parents wished for, so you started taking Spanish classes on the base. You already spoke Italian so learning Spanish was not that difficult and you wondered why you were even doing it. But then the job in Colombia presented itself. They needed someone with extensive knowledge of archaic radio equipment to go help the Colombian Army catch Escobar. You were the last Specialist to have been trained in both the technology and the language, so your name fell on the top of the list.
You accepted.
Your mother cried and begged you not to go. Your father was more stoic about it but had similar feelings. Your older brother, Giovanni, wanted to go in your stead and your three younger brothers thought it was “awesome” that you got to hang out with Colombians and chase narcos. Sometimes you wondered if you were adopted, or maybe your three younger brothers were. But they were more concerned with their college graduations and starting their careers in Silicon Valley in marketing, development, and accounting. Gio actually took time to teach you a couple self-defense moves and armed you with a lead baton that had been your grandfather’s.
So you went to Colombia with one suitcase, a bag of tools, the baton, and a sense of purpose that had been evading you since Nico’s death. You had been looking forward to seeing Bogotá but the Army had other ideas and no sooner did you disembark, then you’re put on a puddlejumper to Medellín. It’s a whirlwind of trying to find your footing and your way around the twisting roads and back alleys of Medellín, getting to know your teammates in the intel unit.
Trying to not spend too much time daydreaming about the quiet, soft-spoken Colonel in charge of the Search Bloc unit.
The more you observed him and heard from his son, the more he reminded you of Nico. His contemplative look when he would look over files, his brief check-ins on his son, and his concern on your adaptation to Colombia all spoke to his kindness. In those unguarded moments he seemed almost too kind to be in the position he held so you asked his son about it one day when Morales was driving the van and you and Hugo Jr. were in the back listening to static.
“Why did your father choose to join the National Police?”
The young man shrugged. “Same reason I did. To make our country better, safer. My father doesn’t like to see wrong being committed and then do nothing to stop it. He raised me with that philosophy, if I don’t help fight for a solution then I’m part of the problem.”
It was almost verbatim what Nico had said to you about joining the Army.
That night was when the dreams started. You tried to pass it off as it being way too long since you’ve had a man in your bed and your body was just frustrated at the drought it was experiencing. But that didn’t stop you from trying to hold on to the feeling of broad hands sweeping across your skin, of a mouth pressed against your own, of a solid weight pushing you down into the soft mattress, of a heavily accented voice whispering in your ear. It also didn’t stop you from slipping your hands between your legs to relieve the ache.
You tried to push those desires and daydreams out of your mind during the day. You were over forty and silly, little sexual obsessions were for younger women. But then you would be called to the conference room and hear only about five words that were being said because you were trying to memorize the expanse of Colonel Martinez’s palms, the way his fingers would rub against each other as he was lost in thought, and the shifting muscles in his forearms. You would wonder what it felt like to run your fingers over the line of his jaw and then follow it with your lips.
It had been a long and boring day in the van and your mind had wandered far more than it should have to Colonel Hugo Martinez. All you could think about was getting back to your apartment, taking a cold shower, and going to bed. As soon as you all called it a day, you grabbed some fruit and vegetables from the local market before heading home. That was when Hugo Jr. had called to you from the restaurant and sat you down across from the man you had been fantasizing about for the last six hours.
You had tried to avoid looking at him, worried that his keen, hazel eyes would pick up on every heated thought you’ve ever had about him. You had tried to effortlessly extricate yourself from his company but it all failed. He drew you in with conversation, his standard concern for your feelings, his descriptions of Bogotá. He listened to you with rapt attention as you spoke of the California coast and your family.
And you fell in love with him all over again.
Well, to be fair you weren’t certain it was love. It was definitely affection with a healthy dose of lust. You weren’t certain about the falling in love part until he walked you up to your apartment and kissed you. His hands felt wider than you had imaged as one spanned the entire small of your back as it pulled you against him. His mouth was just as sweet as his words. You felt like a teenager at that moment, being kissed by someone you believed barely knew you existed and here he was pulling you closer to him, holding you like something to be protected. Like maybe he thought about you too.
Your daydreams were starting to cross into reality so when his tongue slipped into your mouth, your self control snapped. Your hands, which had been resting on the bend in his elbows, flexed suddenly, driving your fingertips into the sinews of his biceps as you tried to pull him closer to you. You couldn’t stop the deep moan that caught in your throat, which must have had a similar effect on him as you found your back pressed against the unforgiving wood of your front door. You needed air, needed a moment to think, so you tipped your head back and let it fall against the door. He looked just as wrecked as you felt, cheeks flushed, out of breath, and fingers flexing, unsure of what to do now that his brain was starting to catch up to his body.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” you asked him. You wanted him to say yes so badly. You wanted him in your apartment, your space, your bed. You wanted him to cross that threshold and never leave. You wanted to create a space where cartels were imaginary threats, mere monsters hiding in closets that were used to keep children in their beds at night and give their parents peace. Someplace where danger, violence, and death aren’t tangible threats. Someplace where you can keep each other safe, tangled together in just sheets and each other.
“Not tonight, querida.”
He softened the refusal with a chaste kiss to your forehead. It wasn’t an outright no, so there was hope and you grabbed onto that lifeline. You told him about the Sunday night dinners that have become a pseudo-tradition for his son and Morales. Just as your family always made it together for a loud and raucous meal every Sunday afternoon, you now carry on that tradition with your coworkers. It’s created a sense of camaraderie and trust in the field. Morales, consistently annoyed Morales, actually apologized for not being able to make it this Sunday due to a family birthday party for a niece. So you offered the spot to Hugo, who immediately accepted. He kissed you one final time, a soft but lingering press of his lips to yours, before leaving you for the evening.
An ice bath couldn’t have cooled you down that night. Neither did the three times you found relief with your own hands. He had gotten under your skin permanently now.
The next day in the van, Hugo Jr. keeps glancing over at you as static filters through your headphones. After an hour of sideways glances, you finally pull one of the headphones off your ear.
“Go ahead and ask,” you prompt.
There was a grin that was threatening to spread at the corner of his mouth. “Did you have a nice dinner last night?”
“I did.”
He waits for a moment to see if you’re going to elaborate, the hopeful look on his face slowly fading to disappointment. You take pity on him.
“Your father is taking Morales’ place at dinner tomorrow.”
He perks up slightly at that. “He is?”
Morales’ voice comes across the radio. “Me pierdo la cena de una semana y me reemplazan.” (I miss one week’s dinner and I’m replaced.)
You laugh. “Anímate, tuvimos que ir con un coronel que también es pariente consanguíneo. Nadie puede reemplazarte, amigo.”(Take heart, we had to go with a Colonel who’s also a blood relative. No one can replace you, my friend.) You then turn to Hugo Jr. “And if you try to ditch this meal, I will move the dinner up a floor to your place.”
A small smile creeps across his face. “Family dinner on Sunday. Bacano.” (Cool.)
You certainly hope it will go smoothly. Hugo Jr. seems perfectly comfortable with the idea of his father and you together but that doesn’t always mean that he will retain that attitude. You had tried dating a man a few years ago with a teenage daughter. She had been very much like Junior, excited and supportive. That was until she saw her father kiss you goodbye. He broke it off with you within the week claiming his daughter had been in tears all week and couldn’t cope with her mother being “replaced.”
You wonder if Sunday is going to end in a similar way as everything is fine and well until the reality of a parent moving forward with their life is right in front of the child’s face, no matter their age. Will he have a similar reaction and change his mind when he sees the two of you together? What kind of impact is that going to have on your professional relationships? You slide the headphones back over your ear and try to quell the worry that is building in your stomach.
***
Hugo can tell you’re nervous when he arrives at your apartment Sunday. There’s a slight tremor to your hands when you take the bottle of wine from him and he wants to slip his hands around yours until they stop shaking. His son is already there, a half-empty beer bottle next to a partially disassembled radio and a deep furrow in his brow. Despite the frustration in his facial expression, it’s the most relaxed he’s seen the boy in a long time. You bring him a glass of wine, your hands a little steadier but your smile isn’t as easy as it’s been previously.
“Give me about ten minutes and dinner will be ready,” you say with a slight apologetic tone. You’re out of your typical jeans and blouse attire, instead wearing a simple dress and sandals. Your hair is piled up on your head, escaped tendrils curling in the humidity of Medellín. Once again he’s struck with how lovely you are. If you ask him to stay again he will have a terrible time saying no this time.
“Do you need help?” he offers.
There’s the easy smile he’s used to seeing on your face. “No, I’m good. Thanks though.”
He watches you go back into the kitchen before turning to his son, whose focus is off the radio and fully on him.
“No sabía que te gustaba tanto.” (I didn’t realize that you liked her this much.)
He tries to shrug it off as he sits down in one of the armchairs. He wants to know where he stands with you, if anywhere, before he says anything to his son. “¿En que estas trabajando?” (What are you working on?)
His son sighs, his eyes darting back forth from the kitchen to his father, clearly wanting to talk about this new realization, but he answers the question that was posed to him. “Tuvimos que usar algunas de las partes de esta radio para nuestro equipo en la camioneta. Estaba tratando de armarlo de nuevo para ella.” (We had to use some of the parts from this radio for our equipment in the van. I was trying to put it back together for her.)
“¿Sucede esto a menudo? ¿Tienes que canibalizar otros equipos para la unidad móvil?” (Does this happen often? Having to cannibalize other equipment for the mobile unit?)
“Sí. Tomamos cosas todo el tiempo y luego las reemplazamos cuando su ejército nos envía las piezas reales.” (Yes. We take things all the time and then replace them when her Army sends us the actual parts.) A smile of chagrin crosses his face. “¿La radio de tu oficina? No hay piezas de trabajo en él.” (The radio in your office? There are no working parts in it.)
Hugo tries to express a stern look. “Puedo ver quién es su prioridad en asegurarse de que tengan una radio que funcione.” (I can see who your priority is on making sure they have a working radio.)
His son gives him a full blown grin. “Estoy seguro de que estás muy molesto por mi elección.” (I’m sure you’re very upset by my choice.)
You come out of the kitchen at that time with a large bowl of steaming food and set it down on the table. “Muy bien, muchachos, la cena está servida.” (Alright boys, dinner is served.)
His son immediately goes over to the table. “¿Tú lo hiciste?” (Did you make it?)
“Hice.” (I did.)
The exchange is confusing to Hugo as the food had clearly been made by you but then he realizes that you must have made this before and his son had requested it again. “What is it?”
“It’s like cazuela de mariscos but without the coconut milk added to the broth,” you answer, setting a basket of toasted bread on the table before joining them.. “Back home we call it cioppino. It started with the fishermen in the 1800’s in San Francisco. They would just toss whatever was left from the day’s catch into a tomato based broth and soak it up with bread. My grandmother on my father’s side found the winning combination of scraps and spices so it’s been a family recipe since then.”
Murphy had said if you tie an Italian’s hands, they won’t be able to talk and it took Hugo a couple days to realize that is a true observation. You talk just as much with your hands as you do with your mouth. He finds that the same apparently goes for Italian meals. You and his son both use your hands to pull clams and mussels out of the broth to eat them straight from their shells. The same goes for the bread as chunks are just torn from the long loaf and dipped into the broth. There is such a sense of familiarity throughout the entire meal that he forgets this is his first time being in attendance.
Now, he wants to always be a part of this.
This is why he chose to take the Search Bloc position. Not to just protect his own son but other people’s children too. Cocaine is like a cancer, malignant cells spreading across the country and reaching its tendrils out into the rest of the world. And people like Pablo Escobar and Gilberto Rodriguez were the factors that speed the infestation process along. Just like Melina’s fight with the disease, they tried to stop the circumstances by getting rid of her cigarettes, trying to mitigate her stress, and incorporating more vitamins into her diet. Slow the spread and then attack the cause.
Capture Escobar and then dissemble the cocaine production and farms.
The game plan wasn’t enough to save Melina in the end but there is still hope for Colombia. There is still hope for families to remain intact. And maybe, just maybe, there is still hope for a second chance for him as well. That thought gives him the resolution he needs to continue this fight. To keep up with the searches, leads, intel.
The clattering of dishes being gathered together pulls him out of his thoughts. You reach in front of him to take his bowl and he catches the scent of violets over the shellfish. Without thinking, he takes your wrist in his hand and presses a kiss to the base of your palm.
“Thank you.”
Your breath hitches but you recover quickly. “I need to cook for you more often if that’s the thanks I get.”
He releases your wrist reluctantly, fighting the desire to tug you into his lap so he can bury his nose in your neck and breathe in nothing but your scent. But he sees your nervousness has come back so he closes his hands to make sure they stay to themselves.
For now, at least.
He joins you and his son in the small, narrow kitchen and is impressed at the efficient routine of cleaning dishes and setting the kitchen back to its tidy state. You really have ingrained yourself into the lives of the intel unit and it only makes him want you more. He watches you at the sink, washing the heavy cast iron pot that the soup was cooked in, and all he wants to do is slip his hands around your waist and pull you back against him as he presses open-mouthed kisses along the line of your neck.
His son hangs up the dish towel to dry after the last dish is put away. “Voy a salir. Algunos de mis amigos se encuentran en la calle para tomar una copa.” (I’m going to head out. Some of my friends are meeting down the street for drinks.)
You and Hugo both tell him to be careful, Hugo in Spanish and you in English.
“Guess I’ll have to be doubly careful now.” He gives you both a sheepish look before leaving.
“Now,” you say, refilling both of the wine glasses, “is he really going out or is he just going up to his apartment?”
Hugo goes to the sliding glass door that leads out to your balcony, and waits. Sure enough, his son is nowhere to be seen on the street.
“Not out there is he?”
Hugo shakes his head with a fleeting smile. “No.”
You laugh. “So not subtle.”
Hugo sits on the couch and takes a sip of wine. “I would say I would work on it with him, but I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
You sit down next to him, your knees almost touching. “He’s just fine the way he is. He’ll find himself a sweet girl who’ll think he’s endearing and they’ll live happily ever after.”
“I hope so. He is very kind and cares much more than he should.”
“Like his father.”
“More like his mother.”
You’re quiet for a moment. “He takes after her quite a bit then?”
He nods slowly. “He does. He has her temperament, her love of art and reading. Her eyes.”
“And the stubborn streak?”
“Oh, that’s completely from me.”
“Of course, it is.”
He takes your hand in his, the tremor in it is much less now, and he rubs his thumb across your knuckles. “Thank you for helping him find his place. For helping the entire intel unit, for that matter.”
You nod seriously. “I have to admit, I saw a lot of myself in him when we first met.”
“How so?”
Your eyes are drawn to your entwined fingers as yours flex nervously. “I know what it’s like to have to defend your position, defend the space that you’re taking up. Or at least the feeling of having to do so. I’m a woman in a man’s field on two fronts, engineering and the military. He’s the son of the boss and finds himself transferred to the intel unit shortly after joining Search Bloc. People tend to think that we didn’t earn our positions, they were handed to us for one reason or another. But in reality…”
“You’ve worked twice as hard to get there.” He gently squeezes your hand. “I’m very glad he met you. That you were able to help him with that particular situation. To see that he’s where he’s the most useful based on his talents.”
“Me too.” You squeeze his hand back. “I’m also very glad to have met his father.”
He sets his wineglass down and pulls you closer to him. “His father is also very glad about that as well.” He closes the space between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours. There is no hesitation in your response, your hands eagerly finding their way to his shoulders as you kiss him back. His hands slide up your sides and around your back. It still amazes him that you’re petite enough for his hands to span the majority of your back. So much is contained in such a small space: intelligence, compassion, determination…desire.
“Hugo.”
You breathe his name like it’s a prayer, a supplication for something you desperately need. It both humbles and ignites something possessive in him. He wants you closer to him but his choices are limited to laying you out on the couch or pulling you into his lap. He wants you to have control of the situation, wants to see just how far you want to take this interaction so he moves his hands down to your waist. You immediately understand his intention and your knees fall on either side of his hips as you straddle his lap. You had broken the kiss when you moved and now you’re staring down into his face. Your fingers trace over his cheekbones and jawline in a ghost like touch. His hands twitch nervously as he’s not sure what exactly you’re thinking and is afraid of scaring you away from…whatever this happens to be.
God, he’d give anything to know what is going through your beautiful mind right now.
***
You were wrong.
And your error surprises you by how much that unsettles you. All your dreams, day and night, were completely wrong. You see that now, staring down into Hugo’s face at such a close range. There is far more green to his eyes than you had thought, so much so you would have to change your mental image of them from the imagined hazel you thought them to be.
That’s when you see the worry in those eyes and it causes your heart to clench. What’s the cause? He certainly has a wide range of things to choose from: his son’s safety as well as that of his men, Escobar still being at large, the politicians demanding updates and answers. You, perhaps. Even though you don’t want to be a reason for his worry, you do wonder if he cares about you enough to invest the energy in that emotion. Well, there’s only one way to find out.
The skirt of your dress is pooled around your upper thighs, the bare skin a couple inches over your knees is visible, so when you settle on his lap, the only barrier you have is the thin cotton fabric of your panties. And you feel him very clearly, hard and thick. You both groan in unison at the contact. His head drops to the back of the couch and you waste no time pressing your lips to the exposed skin on the strong column of his neck, the clean, sharp scent of his cologne filling your nose.
His hands find their purpose again as they slide under your skirt, his thumbs stroking over your hip bones. It’s a delicious mix of being tickled and aroused at the same time. He guides your hips in that familiar, circular motion as he gently rolls his own hips, dragging your increasingly wet center over his clothed length. All of your fantasies are coming together but now the scent of his cologne, the sound of pants all overwhelm your senses. You try to focus on the details, the sting of his fingernails as they dig into your skin, the slow drag of his rock hard cock against your slick panties, the almost imperceptible moans that are escaping his mouth.
You’re going to come, very soon, if you don’t pull back and slow down. But you don’t want to stop, you don’t want to slow down. You want to go full steam ahead. You want to feel his body pressed to yours, skin sliding against skin. You want to feel his mouth on you, everywhere and anywhere he’s willing to place it. You want to wrap your hand around him, stroke him, feel him in your mouth, until he’s just as wrecked as you’re feeling at this moment. His one hand frees itself from under your skirt and grabs the back of your head, pulling your mouth back down to his in a bruising kiss. The only thing you can manage to do at the moment is grab fistfuls of his dress shirt and groan into the kiss as his tongue invades your mouth. You feel the start of your orgasm, the building of it almost at its peak. You break away from his mouth.
“Hu…Hugo, I’m…”
His broad hand wraps around your jaw and holds your head in place so he can see your face. “Está bien. Ven por mí, cariño.” (It’s okay. Come for me, darling.)
He bucks his hips a couple more times, harder than before, and you’re soon shaking in his arms, the sweet release of your climax washing over you. It’s such a different feel than by your own hand. There is more power behind it, more satisfaction. And even though you feel sated, you know it is only temporary. You want so much more from him if he’s willing to give it. The grip he had on your face softens as he pulls your mouth back down to his and swallows your sighs. He rests his forehead against yours as you catch your breath.
“Eres tan hermosa cuando vienes.” (You’re so beautiful when you come.)
Embarrassment creeps into your face at the comment as you realize what has just occurred. You certainly didn’t intend for all your fantasies to play out in a dry humping session on your couch with the Colonel leading the hunt for Escobar, a man you may or may not be in love with. You hide your face in the side of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” he sighs, his hands still gently roaming across your body.
The thrill that comment gives you is enough to spark your courage. You lift your head and try to smooth out the wrinkles you’ve caused in his shirt. “Would you like to stay?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I would.”
You kiss him briefly, sweetly on the lips before standing up from the couch. Your legs are stiff from being bent in that position for so long. As you lead him back to your bedroom, you realize that when you asked him to stay, you didn’t specify for how long. And he had said yes without there being an understood stipulation. You pause briefly at the threshold of your room and look up at him, at those green eyes, serious mouth, and sharp jawline. A wary confusion crosses his face but you quickly kiss it away as you start unbuttoning his shirt. He in turn reaches for the zipper on the back of your dress and soon you feel his hands on the skin of your back.
Summary: You’re a CIA informant that is well acquainted with the reputation of one Javier Peña but your thoughts change when you actually have a chance meeting with him. However you’re not the only one changed by the meeting. When you’ve been compromised in your current placement, Javier comes to extract you and offers you a look into the world post-cartel work.
Summary: You’re a radio transmission specialist with the US Army and assigned to provide support to Edward Jacoby in the hunt for Escobar. You spend most of your time trying to bring the mobile unit’s equipment up to date. After spending many of your days in close quarters with Lieutenant Martinez, he decides you and his father should spend more time together and sets out to make sure that it happens. After a couple awkward interactions, you think the younger Martinez might be on to something.
Second chances are not given to make things right. But are given to prove that we could be better even after we fall. -Unknown
Technology is changing rapidly and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up with the methods that the narcos are using. You had been in the communications field in the Army for ten years and were just coming out of the latest training on satellite communications and now with the internet becoming available to the public, it was going to open thousands of new doors that will allow narcos to distribute their products. It is a double-edged sword.
When Edward Jacoby requested extra support with the equipment that Centra Spike was using in Colombia, it was kismet that you were placed into that position given the completion of your latest training. Your job is to continue offering support to Jacoby while updating the dated equipment the Colombian Army was still using. So within twenty-four hours of arriving in Colombia, you’re already sitting in the conference room of the Search Bloc headquarters giving your insight. You don’t know anyone in the room and they don’t know you. You find out later that there are quite a few new faces around the Search Bloc, their leader Colonel Hugo Martinez, being one of them.
“So how seriously do you think we need to consider the internet in our searches?” Martinez asks.
“I don’t think we need to be concerned with it at all right now. There’s a lot of groundwork that will need to be run, cabling and even more satellites in order for the internet to start being a form of communication that is easily accessible here in Colombia. Besides, with Pablo Escobar’s history, I actually think he could be using something much more primitive.”
“When he was in his ‘prison,’” one of the DEA guys says, Murphy, you think his name is, “he was using pigeons to carry messages.”
“And while I don’t think he’s gone that primitive,” you continue, “I do think we should start monitoring the radio frequencies more. I heard that Search Bloc has their own mobile unit now?”
You get a couple side-eye glances between everyone. Well, that’s not reassuring.
“Lieutenant Martinez can show you the equipment at your disposal,” the Colonel says.
You don’t know what else to say other than “thank you, Colonel” and that apparently ends the meeting. You’ll be the first to admit that you’re not much of a soldier, used to your radios and radar screens. All you had to do was slip those headphones over your ears and you were in the zone, able to differentiate the various tones of static and undertones. You love to tinker with wires and antennas, finding them much easier to interact with than actual people. Working with military and government agents certainly is not your forte. So when you follow the very young Lieutenant Martinez out to the mobile unit, your tact completely disappears.
“This is a joke, right?”
The young man gives you a minute shake of his head. “No, ma’am.”
The van is about fifteen years old with an even older metal antenna strapped to the top of it. You’re afraid to look inside of it and brace yourself for the worst. It’s not as bad as it could be though. The equipment is dated, some of it patched together with paperclips and tape, but it’s workable. Another officer comes up to the van and extends his hand to you.
“Sergeant Morales.”
You introduce yourself and shake Morales’ hand. “I assume you’re the head of the intel division here?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s just me and Martinez.”
Jacoby left out that little detail as well as the condition of the mobile unit. You knew he was burned out; that’s why you’re here now, to help relieve some of the pressure. Now you know why. You feel a migraine forming in the back of your eyes. “Okay. Guess I have some paperwork to fill out then.”
“Paperwork?” Morales asks.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” you warn him. “But I’m going to try to at least get us an updated triple band fixed site DF antenna.” You see smiles on both their faces and shake your head. “Uh-huh. No smiling yet, fellas. No smiling until we’re attaching it to the van.”
You go back into the building and find your desk, situated in a dark corner a few steps from the equipment room. There are three other desks but since most of the work takes place with the physical equipment, the desks are mostly bare. It’s depressing if you’re being frank about it. But this is why you’re here, to try to make it better. You find the supply request paperwork and set to work typing up the equipment requests. The more you work, the longer the list becomes, especially when you stick your head in the equipment room. Morales and Martinez come and go while you work on the wishlist and requests. You’re almost finished when someone clears their throat to alert you of their presence. Your fingers pause over the keys of the typewriter to see Colonel Martinez standing next to your desk and you immediately stand up.
“Sir.”
He motions for you to sit down. “Please. I saw the light still on over here and thought I might catch my son.”
“Your son?”
“Lieutenant Martinez.”
You feel like an idiot for not making that connection. “Sergeant Morales and Lieutenant Martinez left,” you check the clock, “about three hours ago. I didn’t realize it’s been that long.”
“What are you working on?”
You turn the handwritten list so he can read it easier. “Equipement requests. The sooner I send them over to the Embassy, the sooner we can get…some of it, hopefully. I’m going to have Jacoby sign off on it tomorrow morning.”
“Why can’t you do that?” There is no accusation in his questions, just mere curiosity.
“The people who approve these requests, well, they don’t think women know what they’re talking about when it comes to DF antennas and radio transmitters. We’ll have a better shot at getting it if they think it’s coming from a man.”
He hums and turns the paper back around to you. “If I can do anything to help, please let me know.”
“Thank you. I will. Maybe I’ll have you sign off on it as well.”
He gives a half shrug. “I’m not sure that will help. Better stick to Jacoby’s signature.”
“You’re not that popular with the Embassy either?”
“I doubt it. I don’t think any person in this position is popular with anyone.”
“So why did you take the position?”
His eyes cut briefly to his son’s desk. “Personal reasons.”
You nod a couple times. “I can understand that. Your son is very smart and has a talent for machines. It’s not easy finding someone who can work physically on the machines and use them efficiently. He does both extremely well. Morales is no slouch either. For a two man team, you have the elite. I’m looking forward to going out with them tomorrow.”
“Good.” He glances around the office space once more. “If you’re almost done, I can walk you out.”
You think about telling him to not worry about it but you also want to make sure you start off on the right foot so you finish typing up the last three items and put the request on your desk to have Jacoby sign in the morning. You grab your bag and keys to the car the Embassy loaned you. With a brief nod, you follow him out of the dark corner of the building and back out to the brighter lit bullpen area.
He’s not a tall man but he’s solidly built and moves like a bulldog through the building. His eyes rove over the space as you both move through it, taking in who is still there and what areas are darkened for the evening. It’s almost ten o’clock and most of the people left are Colombian officers handling the nighttime skirmishes. He nods to a couple of the officers, turns lights out of the places that have been abandoned for the night, before heading towards the parking garage. His actions remind you of your father going through the house before going to bed and making sure everything is secure. It tells you just how seriously he takes his position here at Search Bloc, even if he did take the position for personal reasons.
“How familiar are you with Medellín?” he asks you when you reach the outside of the building.
You stumble on your words, wanting to assure him you can manage by yourself but the truth is, you have no idea where you are at the moment. He picks up on it immediately.
“Where are you staying?” he asks instead.
You pull out the paperwork that the embassy handed you on the plane ride to Medellín and pass it to him. “This is the address they gave me.”
He nods and returns it. “I’m going to the same place so you can follow me if you want. The area is mostly made up of police officers and Americans. There’s a restaurant on the corner that stays open late if you need something to eat.”
“Thank you.” It’s the most helpful anyone has been so far since you’ve arrived in Colombia. Part of you is slightly suspicious as you get into your car, an old VW Bug, but you suppose if there is anything nefarious about Colonel Martinez’s intentions, you wouldn’t be driving your own car. The apartment building is only a ten minute drive from the Search Bloc headquarters and it looks to be on a relatively nice street. You can see the cafe on the corner with the lights still on and a few people milling around the tables that are set up on the sidewalk. You find your assigned parking spot in the garage, grab your suitcase, and head back to the street with the intention of picking up some food before finding your apartment. You’re surprised to see Colonel Martinez walking up to the restaurant. He points to a building across the street and two doors down.
“That’s where I live, but my son lives in your building, on the third floor. Morales,” he points to the building on the other side of the restaurant, “he lives on the second floor, I think. The DEA agents, Peña and Murphy, they’re over in my building.”
“We all are close together then. Does that make it safer or more dangerous?”
“Safety in numbers, as they say. Were you issued a weapon?”
“Yes.” Not that you were very comfortable with it but you had a handgun.
“Make sure you have it on your person, even when you’re out here. Sicarios run these streets, even this one. Always be alert and ready.”
It sounds exhausting but is what you expected when you took the position. His words and eyes are very serious when he gives you this advice so you nod to assure him that you’ve heard the warning loud and clear. You find something that looks familiar to you on the menu and order it to go. Apparently the Colonel has a standing order and they bring him his food immediately, but he ends up standing with you while you wait.
“How long have you been in the Army?” you ask him.
“Twenty-seven years. I’ve spent the last three years in the jungle fighting FARC guerrillas. How about you?”
“I’ve only been in the Army for ten years. I haven’t seen any actual action. My job has always kept me on the sidelines.” You don’t tell him that you’ve been working in the engineering field for ten years before you joined the Army and became a specialist in transmissions and communications.
“Do you like being in the American military?”
“I suppose it’s like any other job. I enjoy what I actually do but could do without the red tape and politics.”
There’s the briefest, most fleeting of smiles that crosses his face. It’s the first time you’ve seen anything that could resemble a smile from him. “I can appreciate that sentiment.”
Your food is handed to you and so you pick up your suitcase and start to leave the restaurant. “Thank you for keeping me company and making sure I found the place.”
“Of course. Can’t have us lose our Army Specialist her first night in Medellín.” He opens the building door for you. “Do you need any help?”
“No, thank you. You’ve been more than helpful today.”
“Bueno, buenas noches entonces. Dormir bien.” (Well, good evening then. Sleep well.)
“Muchísimas gracias. Usted también.” (Thank you very much. You as well.)
You walk up the two flights of stairs until you find your apartment number and unlock the door. The place is already furnished with standard fare and is much more spacious than you thought the one bedroom apartment was going to be. You looked forward to seeing it in the daylight given the amount of windows that were in the place. You even had a small patio with a couple chairs sitting out on it.
As you sit down on the couch and turn on the television to a local news station, you start in on the bandeija paisa, which is the most amazing first bite of food you’ve had in almost twenty-four hours. The apartment is nice, the food is excellent, and the people in Search Bloc were all quite personable, even the very serious Colonel Martinez.
Maybe this assignment isn’t going to be half bad.
***
Colonel Hugo Martinez is used to that gnawing feeling of worry. He’s felt it ever since he agreed to take on the position to lead the Search Bloc. He feels it everyday for his son. And now, after a month of having you on the intel team, he feels the same way about you. And he can’t figure out how he feels about this development.
You’re not a soldier, you have not been combat trained, and yet you go out on the streets in a very unique mobile unit and a target on your American back, and he worries that one day, some second rate sicario is going to hit that target. He shouldn’t worry this much about you, but he does. And that compounds the worry, takes it to another level. Why? He isn’t this concerned about the other Americans that have been assigned to his unit. What makes you so special, what makes you stand out from everyone else?
Then he sees his son look at you with genuine warmth and respect. You’ve created a space for the younger Martinez to grow, become comfortable, and ultimately flourish. The intel division is expanding in repute and it’s starting to give the Search Bloc an edge that they didn’t have before. Grid searches only go so far. Tracking radio transmissions and conversations is helping narrow down the searches and providing more evidence and arrests. Even Morales has warmed up to you, an officer who didn’t like anyone working in his space and with his equipment, but the three of you have formed a solid unit of your own.
He tries to convince himself that you’ve become an asset to Search Bloc and he doesn’t like losing assets. He knows how much his son respects you and doesn’t want to console him about the loss of another maternal-type figure. And maybe that’s when the realization hits him. You remind him of his wife, of the event that made him a widower. He’s been through that level of loss once and doesn’t care to go through it again. So he tries to keep distance between you and him. When he needs to speak to the mobile intel unit, he typically speaks to his son to relay messages.
But then you show up without warning and a file with transcriptions of helpful information and he catches your scent, a blend of violet and orange, and he finds himself distracted with memories of a lost love and daydreams of a possible new one for twenty minutes. His son shows up with American dishes you’ve shared with him, like gumbo or chicken parmigiana, and he remembers what it’s like to eat a home cooked meal. The worst of the situation, however, are the dreams.
He has frequently dreamt of his wife since her passing, waking in the middle of the night and remembering that phantom feeling of having her in his arms. Now it’s your skin that he dreams of under his fingertips, your mouth against his, your body arching beneath his own. It’s your scent, floral and citrus, that he imagines he can smell on his sheets when he wakes in the middle of the night and reaches for a ghost. It’s frustrating, distracting, and quite frankly needs to come to an abrupt end.
The first real conversation that you two had still stands out in his mind. You told him you had only been in the Army for ten years. If you had joined after attending college, that would make you thirty-one, thirty-two at most. You were much too young for his fifty-two year old self. He would be better sending you in the direction of his twenty-three year old son. At least he would know you would protect and take care of the boy, who already whole heartedly adored you. So when he runs into his son at the restaurant by their apartments, he decides to broach the topic as they wait for their food.
“¿Cómo van las cosas en la unidad de inteligencia?” (How are things going in the intel unit?)
His son gives him a shrewd look, reading between the lines, and a slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Está bien, aunque hoy parecía un poco triste.” (She is doing fine. Although, she did seem a little sad today.)
“¿Triste?” (Sad?) He tries to keep the concern out of his voice and while he may have achieved that goal, he isn’t able to keep it from his facial expression. At least not under his son’s scrutiny.
“Creo que está un poco nostálgica. Ella estaba hablando de su familia hoy.” (I think she’s a bit homesick. She was talking about her family today.)
He doesn’t like the idea of you being sad and realizes these feelings are starting to become a very serious issue. He stays on his plan to direct his son’s interests towards you. “Entonces tal vez deberías hacer algo para animarla.” (Then maybe you should do something to cheer her up.)
The younger Martinez gives his father a sharp grin and deflects the suggestion right back to him. “O deberías.” (Or you should.)
“Mijo, ella es un poco demasiado joven para mí.” (Son, she’s a little too young for me.)
“¿Cuantos años crees que ella tenga?” (How old do you think she is?)
He shrugs slightly. “Dijo que ha estado en el ejército durante diez años, quizás treinta y dos, quizás treinta y tres.” (She said she’s been in the army for ten years, so maybe thirty-two, maybe thirty-three.)
His son shakes his head. “Ha estado en el ejército durante diez años, pero trabajó en el campo de la ingeniería durante diez años antes de eso. Tiene cuarenta y dos.” (She’s been in the army for ten years but she worked in the engineering field for ten years before that. She’s forty-two.)
Forty-two? You certainly didn’t look that old. Now he wonders what made you make that change in the middle of a career?
“Papa.”
He snaps out of his musings. “¿Qué” (What?)
“Ella preguntó por tu anillo de bodas la semana pasada.” (She asked about your wedding ring last week.)
His thumb immediately goes to the band and turns it around his finger. “¿Y? ¿Qué le dijiste a ella?” (And? What did you tell her?)
“La verdad. Que mi madre falleció hace cuatro años de cáncer. Que aún la extrañabas.” (The truth. That my mother passed away from cancer four years ago. That you still missed her.) He’s quiet for a moment. “No dijo mucho después de eso, pero parecía triste. Como ella estaba hoy.” (She didn’t say much after that, but she seemed sad. Like she was today.)
This changes things. Or at least it has the potential to change things. They don’t talk much about Milena, a subject that brings up that razorblade feeling of joy and grief. So when his son decides to talk about his mother, it’s worth the sting of remembrance. Apparently you were deemed worthy enough to wander into that emotional minefield and with the look his son is giving him, he thinks that his father should take a few steps in that direction as well.
And knowing this certainly doesn’t help his situation when it comes to what to do about you. It especially doesn’t help when his son abruptly looks up and calls your name from across the busy restaurant and you suddenly appear. The younger Martinez stands up and offers you his chair. Hugo realizes that his son might be more strategic and cunning than he gives him credit for.
“Buenas noches, señora. Me estaba yendo y sintiéndome culpable por dejar a mi padre solo para cenar.” (Good evening, miss. I was just leaving and feeling guilty for leaving my father alone to eat dinner.)
He tries to glare at his son, tries to communicate that they’re going to have words about this little set up but then you sit down in the offered seat, a strained smile on your face now as well. His son gives him a satisfied nod before leaving. Hugo redirects his attention back to you. You’re dressed casually since it has been a day spent in the field. You must realize what just happened as well as you keep your purse on your lap, a canvas bag filled with fruit sitting at your feet.
“I know what this is,” you say with a slight grimace. “Your son is smart but not subtle.”
“No, subtly has never been his strong suit. I apologize for him.”
You shrug and give a faint smile. “His heart is in the right place.”
He does have to give his son that. “It usually is.”
You take a look around, your gaze falling on the exit, most likely making sure that Hugo Junior had in fact left the establishment. “Well, I suppose I should be going.”
You start to stand up, leaning over to pick up a bag of groceries you put down next to the chair, and he catches the scent of your perfume. His response is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Why?”
“Oh come on,” you give him a nervous smile. “It’s not like you asked me to dinner. I’m sure you have better things-”
“I don’t.” He has no idea what he’s doing right now. He just knows he doesn’t want you to leave, almost as if his mind is begging for more sensory details to fill in the gaps in the dreams. “Besides,” he gives you half a smile, “we can put dinner on his tab.”
You seem to consider it for a moment, weigh the options of staying or going. “In that case,” you sit back down, “I’ll order lunch for tomorrow too.”
He actually feels relieved when you pick up the menu and place your order. However you only order dinner, not following through with the lunch threat. He needs to figure out what to do about you and this is as good a time as ever. Other than that first night of you being in Medellín, he hasn’t really had a full on conversation with you. He’s seen you in passing, exchanged pleasantries, but most of what he’s learned about you has come from his son.
What he knows for certain is that you’re highly intelligent, logical, and caring. You were stubborn in your own way, particularly when it came to fighting the US embassy for needed equipment. He had been present for the phone call you made to your commanding officer asking for more up to date equipment claiming they were asking you to paint the Sistine Chapel with a box of crayons. Two new RDF machines arrived three days later at the Search Bloc headquarters. He missed how you managed to get the new antenna for the van and he’s been trying to figure that out for the last two weeks.
He’s not sure if it’s your personality that makes you so attractive or if it is your physical attributes. You look so different from Melina, almost the exact opposite. You look American, with your jeans, linen blouses, and messy hair. But despite the casual air, you are altogether lovely in your appearance. He is, without any further doubt, smitten with you. But is that enough to venture beyond pleasant conversations and professional interest?
There is also the reality that your thoughts may have no place for him at all, that he doesn’t inhabit your dreams like you do his. However, if that were the case, his son wouldn’t have shoved you both into this awkward situation. So there must have been something said between you and him that led the younger Martinez to this plan. Hugo decides to take an angled course of questioning to see if he can pull any information from you to see if there is any chance that this could be more than a professional relationship.
“My son raised a mild concern,” he begins, which immediately grabs your attention. “He tells me you were not yourself today.”
You nod slightly with a sad smile. “Yes, today was the anniversary of a death. It’s the first time I’ve been out of the country and not able to visit the gravesite so there were some quiet moments in the van today. I told him not to worry about it and thought he would understand.” You look like you’re going to continue speaking but then decide better of it and snap your mouth shut.
“He gets that from his mother.”
You give him an incredulous look. “Yes, I’m sure it comes from only his mother. Speaking of which, he did tell me about her. I’m very sorry for your loss. The way he described her to me, she sounded like an incredibly kind and compassionate woman.”
“She was. We couldn’t have asked for a better wife and mother.” He clears his throat. “If I may ask about the death you suffered?”
“It was my fiancé. Eleven years ago now, he was killed in a motorcycle accident.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He’s the reason I joined the Army though. He was a specialist in communications and firmly believed in the necessity of staying on the cutting edge of technology. When he died, I wanted to do something to keep his memory going so I enlisted.” You smile. “And now I’m helping track down Pablo fucking Escobar.”
He can’t help but return your smile. “I’m sure he would be very proud of you and your work.”
“You remind me of him,” you say quickly. “He was a very good and kind man.”
“And you do remind me of my wife. She was also very good and kind. My son does take after her and that is why he most likely has come to admire you as much as he does.”
You duck your head, like you’re trying to hide your facial expression. “Thank you. That, that means a lot.”
When the food comes, he takes the opportunity to change the subject to lighter topics, such as how you’re enjoying Colombia. You brighten up considerably at the divergence. You love the people and the food, particularly the coffee (saddened by the imminent return to the States and having to drink something called “Folgers”), but you’re not exactly pleased with the heat and humidity. It occurs to him that even though he knows you’re from the US, he doesn’t know where. Your accent is different from both Peña’s and Murphy’s so he asks about your origins.
“I’m actually from Monterey, California. It’s south of San Francisco and along the coast. Beautiful, beautiful place in the States.”
“And your family is still there?”
“Mostly. My older brother is a cop in San Jose which is not far from Monterey at all. My parents still live in the suburbs of San Francisco. Both my fiancé and I went to Presidio of Monterey which was the Army base there.” You then proceed to tell him of this little town called Carmel-by-the-Sea with its fairytale-esque cottages along the rugged shoreline of the ocean. There is magic in your description and cadence that he almost forgets where he is. You then turn the tables on him. “You’re not from Medellín, are you?”
“No, I’m not. I was born in Moniquirá, a small town in the middle of nowhere. There were farms for sugar cane, coffee, and corn mostly. When I graduated from the Army I moved to Bogotá and have been there since.”
“When Escobar is caught, you think you’ll go back to Bogotá?”
“I would like to, yes.” He in turn tells you about the wonders of Bogotá, the art museums, street food, and parks found in the city. You seem just as enraptured as he had been with Carmel. “How much of Bogotá did you see?”
You grimace. “The airport. They literally shuffled me from the baggage claim back out to the tarmac for the flight down here.”
He scoffs, bold with the relaxing effects of wine. “I will show you around the wonders of Bogotá.”
“I’d like that.”
He’s surprised at your comfortable acceptance of the invitation. Maybe, just maybe, you do entertain soft thoughts about him. He tries to drag the night out as long as he can but you tell him that the intel unit is planning to go out tomorrow morning to pick up any early morning chatter. He’s not ready to release you, he wants to continue asking you questions about your life, likes, dislikes, dreams, what he could do to keep you in Colombia and by his side for the rest of his life. There is such a comfortableness that he feels in your presence that he hasn’t felt since Melina. His son adores you and he does as well. He wants to ask you to stay but swallows down the words and instead asks to walk you to your apartment.
You agree with a smile.
He pays for both your meals, taking pity on his son, and escorts you out of the restaurant. You enter the door code to open the main door to the apartment building, one that he knows himself given his son is one floor above you, and he trails after you as you climb the flight of stairs to your second floor apartment. You unlock your door but then fiddle with the keys.
“Would you like to come in?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you. I know you have to get up early tomorrow.”
You nod once, a tight lipped smile on your face. “Right. Thank you, for tonight though. It was very nice.”
He blames the wine, his son, and the entire universe for what he does next. He leans forward and presses his lips to yours. Your scent of violets and oranges fills his senses and he knows he will never be able to smell one of those particular scents without thinking of you. You’re so warm, fitting perfectly in his arms and against his chest. The palm of his hand fits perfectly in the small of your back. And then the most amazing thing happens and you kiss him back. Your fingers press into his biceps as your tongue drags along the seam of his lips and he eagerly grants you access to his mouth. The moan that you release is pure sin and he loses his mind in that moment, pressing you against the door of your apartment. When you lean your head back and break the physical connection between your mouths, some of his common sense returns.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” you ask him, your voice low and breathless.
Oh, he wants to come in; come in and stay, never leaving your side. Fuck the hunt for Escobar, fuck the stress and pressure from the politicians to bring in this one man that has been a thorn in the side of Colombia for years. He just wants you, your soft skin, intoxicating scent, and compassionate heart. He wants to feel you underneath him as he claims you as his own, marks you with his mouth and hands. He wants to wake up tomorrow morning with you, solid and warm, in his arms.
But he can’t, not now. Not yet. So he steps back, puts distance between you but presses his lips to your forehead. “Not tonight, querida.”
You hum in understanding. “I always have Morales and your son over for dinner on Sunday night but Morales can’t make it this Sunday. Would you like to join us?”
His hands are still holding you close to him, not ready to let you go. “I would.”
“Good.” You smile up at him, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. You’re so beautiful it hurts.
He kisses you once more, briefly, before forcing his hands to release you from their grasp. He knows the dreams are coming in full force this evening and for once, he’s going to welcome them.
Just an FYI guys, I have a few writing projects in the works and just updated my master list if you’re interested to see what my crazy brain is currently working on for future postings.
I appreciate you all, those who follow and those who read and those who like, reblog, comment, send me messages, or just like to hang out and enjoy whatever it is I’m doing on here! Health and blessings on you all!
Los Regalos Series (Colonel Horacio Carrillo x Reader)
Since this series has taken on a life of it’s own, I figured it deserved it’s own multi-part post.
Pairing: Colonel Horacio Carrillo x Reader
Rating: PG-Explicit (the rating will be on each part)
Summary: You’re sent to Colombia to be an extra set of ears and help organize the incoming information for Search Bloc. You don’t expect to catch the eye of Colonel Carrillo but find the stoic leader of Search Bloc to be quite the surprising romantic.
Summary: You’re new to Colombia and the Search Bloc, loaned out by the Army to help sift through the wiretaps, sat phone calls, and other communications. Everything is off to a normal start until someone starts leaving little gifts on your desk. Now you find yourself dating the stoic leader of Search Bloc, something that is new to the both of you. (Carrillo is not married in this fic because I’m the author and I say so.)
Author’s Note: I have no idea how many parts this series is going to be. I’m just going to add to it as inspiration or prompts roll into the inbox.
Malentendidos (Misunderstandings)
Peña and Murphy know something is up but you are remaining stubbornly tight lipped. You’ve stopped hypothesizing with them about who you think the gift giver happens to be but the gifts keep appearing. They know you know and aren’t telling them. At least that’s the best reason you have for the glare that Peña is currently giving you from across the bullpen. Murphy is curious but at the end of the day, really couldn’t care less, and God love him for that. Being the smart ass that you are, you pick up a couple of the roasted Brazil nuts and pop them in your mouth while returning Peña’s stare.
Keeping your secret admirer a secret isn’t all that difficult. When you’re at work, the job itself keeps you focused on the task at hand: find Escobar. Even when Horacio passes by your desk, it typically isn’t enough to pull your attention away from transcribing the taped conversations. It also helps that he’s constantly in motion, spending very little time behind his desk. Even meetings are brief before a team is moving out to track down another lead.
So when you come in early one morning, as you typically do, and find his office door closed and the blinds pulled, it is out of the ordinary. However, with this line of work, there are times when absolute secrecy is a must, so you take it as a good, albeit anxiety inducing, sign that you may be close to catching Escobar.
“No gift this morning?” Peña asks.
You look over your desk and sure enough, there isn’t anything there. It isn’t out of the ordinary that there are a few days between the little gifts and the Brazil nuts did show up yesterday. “Not today.”
“Hm. Maybe he’s losing interest.”
“Maybe like you should.” You soften the retort with a smile. To be honest, Javier Peña reminded you of your older brother who was a cop back in the States. Tough, macho, big old softy inside, not that you would let him know you were on to him.
He flashes a fake smile back at you but there is some warmth in his eyes when he does it. “Who’s up there?” he points at Carrillo’s office.
“I don’t know. Door was shut and the blinds were closed when I came in this morning.”
As soon as you say that, the door opens and a tall, statuesque woman appears in the doorway. She’s dressed nicely, not a hair out of place, and moves with grace that you can only hope for at this point in your life. She says a few parting words to Horacio before seeing herself out of the bullpen area. Horacio has gone back into his office, the blinds open, and he’s seated at his desk now.
“Wonder who that was?” Peña says.
“None of our business,” you shrug and sit down yourself. However, that’s the only question you can think about for the rest of the day.
***
The entire day is out of his control and Horacio hates days like this.
First, Juliana came to visit him to bring news of her father’s passing. She knew that despite their rocky relationship, Horacio had always held a high respect for the man. He appreciated her bringing the news in person though. It gave him the opportunity to see what being married to a high ranking officer had done to her. She has lost her fire, becoming used to being protected and sheltered from the violence of Medellín. She was not the woman he had left behind and it brought some closure to the entire ordeal.
He tried to make eye contact with you throughout the day but you remained steadfast and focused on your task of transcribing tapes and since he didn’t have any good reason to interrupt you, he let you be. Then came the news that they may have a lead on Escobar in the jungle so they move out quickly to see if they catch him only to find it’s a radio taped to a donkey in the middle of nowhere. He returns to Medellín, frustrated and ready for the day to be over. He’s actually pleased to see you still seated at your desk, the first thing to go in his favor today. However, he notices a very large bouquet of flowers behind your desk and a big grin on your face as you’re pointing to them and telling Murphy and Peña a story.
He goes to the showers to wash the humidity and dirt from the jungle off and change into clean clothes. As he’s in the shower he can’t help but wonder who sent the flowers to you. The bouquet was large, larger than anything he had ever sent you, and looked to be from one of the high end florist shops. Did you have another suitor? You have gone out a couple times to dinner, kissed briefly at your front door, but he isn’t sure what that means, if anything.
Directness is the best approach for something like this so that is how he’s going to handle it. If you wish to entertain other suitors, then you are free to do so but he wants to know where he stands. Seeing Juliana this morning reminded him of how much he did want a wife, children, a life outside of the job. Escobar will be caught one day and he wants a life to enjoy after that happens. When he’s clean and dressed, he goes back out to the bullpen and finds you packing up your things at your desk.
“Buenas noches. ¿Te gustaría ir a cenar algo?” (Good evening. Would you like to grab some dinner?)
You give him a slightly surprised look. He usually does give you a couple days notice before asking you to dinner. But you nod. “Bueno. Por supuesto.” (Okay. Sure.)
He eyes the large bouquet of flowers behind your desk. Lilies, roses, and carnations in bright colors. There’s a card but he can’t read it from where he’s standing and to move close enough would make it obvious as to what he was doing. So instead he waits by your desk as you lock up the files that were on your desk and pick up your purse. You both walk out together without saying another word.
***
You hadn’t planned on going out tonight, especially not with Horacio, but he had asked and you had said yes without thinking too much of it. Now that you’re sitting across from him at one of the little cafes on your way to your apartment, you’re thinking you should have pushed off the meal for another day. While he is not always talkative, he’s usually never this contemplative the last two times you’ve been out together.
Your mind goes back to the lovely woman you saw come out of his office this morning and immediately shift uncomfortably in your seat. He’s going to break up with you. Or at least tell you this is the last time you’ll go out together. And you really wish you had taken a raincheck. You really don’t want to hear this on your birthday.
“Cariña,” he takes a breath and you suddenly find your voice and courage.
“Who was that woman this morning? The one you were speaking to in your office?”
His eyes widen slightly at your directness. “She is an old friend.”
You nod and narrow your eyes slightly, not exactly convinced that is the entire story. Apparently it’s not as he continues.
“After I had graduated from the academy, I thought that we were going to marry. Her father had other plans and she married a higher ranking officer. They are happily married with two children. She had come to inform me that her father passed away two days ago and wanted to make me aware of the services, if I wished to attend.”
“Oh.” You wish you could come up with something a bit more eloquent than that but you’re too busy berating yourself for being so insecure. You’ve allowed your mind to be consumed with a false scenario all day, creating problems where there weren’t any. Horacio clears his throat, drawing your attention back to the conversation.
“I have a question for you.”
“Okay.”
“Who sent you the flowers today?”
You think about trying to pass it off as coming from another secret admirer but his eyes are very serious, his mouth set in a thin line. “They’re from my family. They wanted to send me something special but didn’t want anything to get caught up in customs so they just chipped in and ordered a large bouquet of flowers today.”
“What’s the occasion?”
You fiddle with the napkin on the table. “It’s, uh, it’s my birthday.”
He’s genuinely surprised. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
You shrug. “You’ve already gotten me so many lovely things and I didn’t want you to think you had to do anything special. I was going to tell you this morning but then…”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “You were jealous.”
“Oh, and you weren’t when you saw those flowers?” you counter with a grin of your own.
He takes your hand in his and raises it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Cuando tienes algo tan bonito, cualquier pequeña duda te pone nervioso.” (When you have something so lovely, any little doubt makes you nervous.)
Summary: You’re a CIA informant that is well acquainted with the reputation of one Javier Peña but your thoughts change when you actually have a chance meeting with him. However you’re not the only one changed by the meeting. When you’ve been compromised in your current placement, Javier comes to extract you and offers you a look into the world post-cartel work.
Summary:This is a four-part prequel to “Dustland Fairytale.” There is no Javier Pena x Reader in this fic; it is strictly a Carrillo x Reader fic. You’re a CIA informant that is trying to build the trust between the newly formed Search Bloc and the CIA/DEA. You just never imagined that falling in love with Colonel Horacio Carrillo was going to be part of the deal.
Warnings: Oh boy, lots of warnings. First 18+ only, DNI. If it was in Narcos, it will most likely be mentioned in here: gun violence, mentions of rape (what happened to Helena), characters dying, grief. Also, Carrillo is married so the relationship between him and the reader is an extramarital affair. This does not have a happy ending.
You wake up in the early hours of the morning. The pale, orange light of sunrise bleeds through the curtains of the bedroom. Horacio is sound asleep on his stomach, an arm thrown out carelessly and draped over your waist. You take a few of these quiet moments to enjoy the view of this man in complete repose. All the tension that lives in his face and frame is nonexistent, and he looks ten years younger. Being able to study him this closely, you notice the threads of silver that are starting to show in his black hair.
Your fingers barely skim across his skin so you don’t wake him up, tracing the lines of his muscles around his shoulder blade, down his bicep, over his elbow, across his forearm and finally down the back of his hand that is laid across your waist. As your fingers slide between his, you realize he’s not wearing his wedding ring.
Guilt immediately washes over you. You’re in his home, in his bed, most likely taking up the same space as his wife. You’re an imposter, not only in your work life but now in your personal one too. It makes your stomach roil and you scramble out of the bed, barely making it to the bathroom before vomiting into the toilet. A cold, damp washcloth finds its way to the base of your neck as you lean against the wall and try to catch your breath.
“What do you need, querida?”
You swallow the bitter bile in your mouth. “I’m okay.”
He hands you a glass of water and you take it, grabbing the washcloth and wiping the sweat from your face with it. You sip the water and are thankful when it stays down. Horacio takes the glass and washcloth from you before helping you up off the floor. You’re still shaky but feeling your strength coming back.
“I’m okay,” you say with a bit more power behind it.
“We still have a few hours, come back to bed.”
“Let me brush my teeth first, and I’ll be there.”
He kisses the top of your head before leaving you alone. You hear him straightening the blankets on the bed as you grab your toothbrush that he must have picked up from your apartment last night, and try to get rid of the acid taste in your mouth. That’s when you see his ring sitting on the side of the sink. When you finish, you pick up the ring, letting the cool weight of it settle in your palm. It represented a promise, a vow before God, to be faithful to one woman. And you are not that woman. You want to be, a realization that surprises you with the power behind it. But in order for that to happen, he would have to leave his family and that is not going to happen. You can’t allow that to happen.
“Querida?”
You walk back into the bedroom and hold the ring out to him. “Put it back on.”
He was lying on his back but sits up when you come to stand by the bed. “What?”
“Your ring,” you sit down on the side of the bed and hold out the gold band again. “Put your ring back on.”
He gives you a confused look but takes the ring, setting it on the nightstand. “Querida-”
“No,” tears are pricking at the backs of your eyes, blurring the ring as you reach for it again. “You promised me.”
He takes it from you but holds it between his thumb and index finger. “Promised what?”
“You promised me you wouldn’t leave her. That you wouldn’t leave your family.”
His confusion slowly transitions to sadness. With a defeated sigh, he slides the ring back on his finger. It doesn’t bring you any kind of peace like you had hoped. It only reminds you that this, the house, husband, and family is not yours. All it does is reinforce the knowledge that you’re on borrowed time and the relationship was doomed the minute it started. You thought you had gone into this with eyes open to the parameters of having an affair, but you didn’t expect to fall so hard for this man. Even eight months apart from each other couldn’t diminish your feelings for him. You want your lives to always be entwined together.
“Hey,” he tugs you towards him, pulling you close into his side. His hands smooth over the skin of your arms that is exposed from the short sleeves of his borrowed t-shirt. He buries his nose in your hair, his lips brushing your ear. “I know what I promised, what you made me promise. But-“
“No, no buts.”
“Shh, listen to me, querida.” He wraps his arms around your waist and lets out a deep sigh. “I don’t know if she is going to want to come back to Colombia.”
“What?”
“She…loves Madrid. She and the kids are safer there, she feels safer.”
“But that doesn’t mean-“
“My son let slip that one of the bodyguards assigned to them comes by quite often, bringing flowers, stays the night.” His tone is one of resignation with the slightest touch of sadness.
“I’m sorry.”
He’s quiet for a moment before pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. “If she has found the same happiness I have, then I can’t fault her for that. She deserves an easier life than what I have offered her. And they all are safe there. That peace of mind is priceless.”
You remember what he had said before, how his wife is not made for war. And that is a detriment and a distraction when you exist in a war zone. “Your kids-”
“I’d rather they be safe in another country than become casualties here.” He pulls you down with him, resting his head next to yours on the pillow. “So, maybe…”
“Maybe” is a dangerous word. “Maybe” means there’s hope, a possibility, that what you want, what you desire, could actually be attainable. “Maybe” means a chance to be seen in public, not having to hide from prying eyes. The judgment will be there, you’re sure, as people will blame you for the split, but as long as Horacio doesn’t, you can handle everyone else. So maybe you would no longer be a liar and imposter, you could actually regain some truth to your life and your reputation. Your fingers trace over his cheekbones.
“Okay, maybe.”
***
They have to get Escobar.
You have to be kept safe.
That is the only mantra he has right now. Get Escobar. Protect you. It is that simple. He hadn’t lied when he told you about Juliana’s quick integration into Madrid culture. The house was on a quiet street, the neighbors didn’t mind the bodyguards, and Juliana didn’t mind one of the bodyguards at all. The kids were excited about attending a school that offered music classes and a first-class futból team. They had, for the first time in a long time, a calm life.
Just as Juliana was not made for war, he was not made for peace. Madrid was filled with annoyances, meetings, social events, and boredom. He missed the strategizing, the hunting, the capture of targets, and the raids. He missed the adrenaline rush of chasing the narcos and now that he’s back, he’s more determined than ever to see a bullet in Escobar’s head. Then next, Cali.
First step, stop the spotters from preventing the police movement throughout Medellín. They mark out the blocks where the radio transmissions came from when the convoy went into Barrio Escobar, and hit the streets and houses on those particular blocks. They round up five of the boys and take them to a back alley. If they want a taste for what it is to be a sicario, he will give it to them. He does notice when Trujillo shines the light on their faces, they do end up getting Diego Juarez.
“¿Se trata de esa profesora?” (Is this about the teacher?)
Horacio stops in front of him. “¿Qué le pasó a una profesora?” (What happened to the teacher?)
Diego shakes his head. “Supongo que no fue nada.” (Guess it was nothing.)
For a sixteen year old boy, on his knees, and facing a group of cops, to show this level of indifference puts a spike in fear in Horacio. Not so much for himself, but for you. This is the kid that sits in your classroom day in and day out, looking for an opportunity to harm you. You were spared this time. Next time, you may not be so lucky. He needs to scare the kid straight. And if he can’t…well, he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.
“¿Sabes quién soy?” (Do you know who I am?) He takes a few more paces in front of the boys. “Mi nombre es Coronel Horacio Carrillo.” (My name is Colonel Horacio Corrillo.)
The other four boys are starting to look scared. The smallest, youngest one is already crying. There’s hope for that one. The other three are just wary.
“La semana pasada, 30 policías fueron asesinados.” (Last week, 30 police officers were murdered.)
“Esos cerdos probablemente se lo merecían.” (Those pigs probably deserved it.) Diego turns his head and looks directly at Horacio. Diego’s mouth moves to say something else but thinks better of it and remains silent.
“Muchos de ellos eran mis amigos.” (Many of them were my friends.) He can’t let his mind go to the thought of you absentmindedly drinking that acid. One sip and it would have been a death sentence. You wouldn’t have even had time to call for help. He’s seen it done before, the smallest amount of the acid burning all the way down the esophagus and all you can do is watch the person gasp what little air they can pull in until it’s just not enough. The death is painful, excruciating, and the thought of it happening to you scares him much deeper than he ever thought possible.
“Una persona encaramada en los tejados, guiando a los asesinos con radios, son ellos mismos asesinos. Espero que después de este encuentro, reconsideres trabajar con alguien que piensa que está por encima de la ley.” (A person perched on rooftops, guiding murderers with radios, are assassins themselves. I hope after this encounter, you’ll reconsider working with someone who thinks he’s above the law.)
Horacio stops in front of Diego again. This is what radicalization looks like, he tells himself. There is no shame or remorse in the boy’s eyes. If he had another opportunity to guide sicarios in the killing of cops, or giving a teacher acid to drink, he would do it again without hesitation. He would get better at it though. He is intelligent and determined to make his Patrón proud which makes him as dangerous as any sicario on the streets. Horacio is going to give him one last chance to redeem himself, one last chance to show an ounce of remorse, and show himself to not be a threat to his men, to you. He pulls his revolver and cocks it.
Diego scoffs. “¿Qué? ¿Se supone que debo cagarme en los pantalones de miedo? (What? Am I supposed to shit my pants in fear?)
“No.” Horacio raises the gun and eliminates the threat.
***
You’ve run home early Sunday morning to pick up a few things, get some papers graded, before having a late lunch with Horacio. He had called around three in the morning to let you know the spotter round up had been a success and after he filled out some paperwork and got some planning done for the next step, he would come by your apartment. It was six by the time you unlocked your front door and did a quick sweep of the apartment. Nothing looked out of place so you unpacked the overnight bag and the small bag of groceries you picked up on your way from his place to yours.
You put the pregnancy test box on the sink in your bathroom and stared down at it. Yesterday’s early morning throwing up session repeated itself this morning and it got you thinking. You were still on the pill so the chances of it happening are fairly slim but now that the idea is in your mind, you won’t be able to put it to rest until you take the test and it comes up negative. The first time you have to pee since being home, you do it on the testing stick and leave it on the side of the sink.
As you’re making coffee, your phone rings. No one ever calls you on the landline, especially not at 8 on a Sunday morning. You answer it with hesitant curiosity.
“Profesora, lamento mucho informarle que uno de sus alumnos, Diego Juárez, fue asesinado anoche.” (Professor, I’m very sorry to inform you that one of your students, Diego Juarez, was killed last night.)
Shock steals your voice momentarily. “¿Cómo?” (How?)
“Le dispararon. Parece una ejecución.” (He was shot. It looks like an execution.) The principal sighs. “Siento mucho daros esta noticia esta mañana.” (I am very sorry to deliver this news to you this morning.)
“No, yo entiendo. Gracias.” (No, I understand. Thank you.)
You hang up the phone and run for the bathroom to throw up for the second time that morning. You had already thrown up your breakfast the first round of vomiting so this time is just acid. Standing up from the floor, you grab a water glass from the sink counter and rinse your mouth out with some tap water. Your eyes land on the pregnancy test and see, clear as day, two lines staring up at you. Positive. You sweep the test into the trash can and determine to pick up another test later on today from another pharmacy.
Right now, you need to talk to Horacio. You can’t call the phone in the Search Bloc since they’re all wiretapped which means you’ll have to go down there yourself. Grabbing a sweater, you head downstairs and manage to snag a cab to take you over to the police station. By the time you’re climbing the stairs to go into the building, you’re breathing like you’ve run all the way there. Your hands are shaking when you tell the receptionist that you need to speak with Colonel Carrillo immediately concerning one of your students. Trujillo passes through the bullpen and sees you standing there so he waves you past the reception area.
“¿Qué pasa, hermana?” (What’s wrong, sister?)
“Alguien mató a uno de mis estudiantes.” (Someone killed one of my students.)
Trujillo’s concern changes quickly to close-lipped resignation. “Come on. He wanted to tell you himself.”
“He knew?” Your mind is reeling. You had spoken with him on the sat phone this morning. Why didn’t he tell you then? And if he knew of the death, then the horrible thought crosses your mind, was he there? Was he the one who pulled the trigger? Your stomach turns again.
Trujillo leads you to the office and knocks on the door before opening it. When Horacio sees it’s you, a brief look of concern crosses his face before motioning for you to come into the room. Trujillo closes the blinds before leaving the office. Horacio stays behind the large wooden desk as you take up position across from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks you.
“Diego Juarez.”
Horacio sighs and sits down in the large leather chair behind the desk. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me he had been killed?”
“I wanted to tell you in person.”
You swallow down your nervousness. “Why?”
He leans back in the chair. “Because I wanted to assure you that you were right. He was one of the spotters, and one of the recruiters. He is most likely the one who put the acid in your water bottle.”
“‘Most likely the one?’” You cross your arms across your chest and keep your voice quiet. “That doesn’t sound like solid evidence. Certainly not enough to shoot him.”
“He was definitely one of the spotters. And as such, he is responsible for the death of over thirty officers.”
“So were the other boys that you rounded up. Why did they get their lives spared?”
He starts to answer but stops himself. “What is this really about?”
“You executed a teenage boy in a back alley. I want to know why you felt that extreme measure was necessary.”
“I stopped a viable threat to you and everyone else in Medellín. And I only had to use one bullet to do it.” He releases a frustrated sigh. “That boy had zero remorse for what he had done. I couldn’t let him try again to get at you or my men.”
“You’re making him sound like he was a sicario.”
“He was well on his way to becoming one.”
“So you executed him for something he hadn’t done yet.”
“He did though! He made an attempt on your life!”
“You only think it was him!”
He brings his hand down on the desk with enough force to jar the tumbler of whiskey. It startles you but you stand your ground. You’ve seen him angry plenty of times before but the anger had never been directed to you. And the more you study his face, the more you realize it’s not anger.
“You’re afraid.”
“Of course I’m afraid. Aren’t you?”
Everyday. Every damn day you’re afraid that Trujillo or another one of the officers is going to come tell you that the cartel finally killed him. You understand that fear but you fight it. You trust his training and planning and strategizing. You trust his brain and his reflexes. He thought he was rescuing you, swooping in to save the day, but you see it as his lack of trust in your abilities to keep yourself safe. You trust him more than he trusts you. “Yes, I am. But I don’t let it make decisions for me.”
Your comment smarts, you can see it in his demeanor. “I forget sometimes, after all this time, you’re still a gringa.”
You know you should turn around and leave without saying anything. You’re both angry and frustrated and nothing good is going to come of this conversation if it continues. But you think of Diego’s parents getting the news that their son isn’t coming back home, his sister who is two grades below him at school and looks to him to keep the bullies away. So you do open your mouth. “And after all this time of chasing narcos, you’re starting to become like them.”
“This is war and concessions are made.”
“Well, this is one concession I can’t agree with, Horacio.”
“Querida-”
“No.” You shake your head and move towards the door. “I’ll be in touch if I hear anything.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.” You open the door and walk out of the office. “Alone.”
Two days later you’re standing in your bathroom staring down at three positive pregnancy tests when you hear Horacio’s name over the television. You leave the bathroom and go back into the living room to see Valeria Velez interviewing a ten year old boy, David. He is telling the story of how his friend was shot by Colonel Carrillo and then he was given a bullet to give to Pablo Escobar. That part Horacio had conveniently left out of his account to you.
What a fucking mess you’re in now. But honestly, how did you expect it to turn out?
***
By God, you had to be the most stubborn woman he has ever met. He’s tried calling you and you don’t pick up the phone, the landline or the sat phone. He’s gone by your apartment and you refuse to come to the door. He even goes to the school but you manage to evade him there too. This dance of distance between the two of you is infuriating.
Fuck, he misses you so much.
Horacio pours this aggression into the hunting and tracking down of sicarios in Medellín. They do countless raids, seize kilos of cocaine and stockpiles of weapons. He stands in front of the press with the prizes and hopes against all hope that you see the broadcasts. He knows you saw the interview with David, the kid he gave the bullet to because even though you are not speaking to him, you do still speak to Trujillo.
“I guess it took two bullets, not one, that night.”
That was your one and only message to him. He found addresses and names penned in your neat handwriting slid under his office door or in the mailbox at his home. Those were the addresses of the raids. Using the news media to showcase the success of the raids was his way of telling you he was still listening, still needed you.
He did understand why you were so upset with him, although he would have done the same thing over again. You were tough, better equipped for the cartel run streets than Juliana was, but there were parts of your heart that were still too soft, too compassionate. You believed in second chances with almost a religious fervor, something he hopes will work in his favor. Eventually. But then he gets a message, not from you, but from one of the wiretaps, that strikes absolute terror in his heart.
“El gato está cazando la mariposa.” (The cat is hunting the butterfly.)
Gato, one of Pablo’s top sicarios. How your code name came to be leaked out there is a mystery that he sets Trujillo on figuring out and dealing with the source. Trujillo thinks of you as a little sister, and as a man who has lost two siblings already to the fight against Escobar, he is not willing to see a third go the same way. So when Trujillo tells him “it’s done,” Horacio asks no questions.
He starts staking out your apartment. He sits in an unmarked car and watches the light come on in your apartment and sits there until it turns off. He walks a two block perimeter of the building to make sure everything is as quiet as it seems. But one night, he waits for your light to come on but it doesn’t. It’s almost nine at night and your apartment is still dark, no sign of movement. He gets out of the car and starts his two block beat.
That’s when he catches sight of you. Your form is unmistakable in the darkness. Your shoulders are hunched, your head down and all he wants to do is wrap his arms around you. He has missed feeling you against him so much his chest aches at the memories. He knows you’re attuned to your surroundings so he follows you at a distance that wouldn’t set off any alarms. But he’s so tempted to cross that boundary, get you to notice him again. He’ll apologize for the rest of his days, on his knees, if it means you would speak to him again, invade his space, his home, and his bed in the same way you’ve invaded his mind.
He hears voices coming from up ahead and sees you talking to two men who are standing at the mouth of the alley. He’s too far away to hear what is being said but he knows your body language well enough to know that you’re not comfortable with the interaction so he picks up his pace. The streetlight is out when an altercation happens between the three of you and you drop. He pulls his gun and breaks into a run. The two men are arguing when one grabs something from the other and there’s two gunshots that reverberate down the alleyway. Horacio lifts his weapon and fires two shots at them. It startles them and they sprint out to the main street. He finds you on the ground, trying to press your shaking, blood covered hands over your stomach.
Another person turns the corner and Horacio raises his gun but quickly lowers it when he sees Trujillo. His mind barely registers that Trujillo lives in this area and most likely heard the shots. He tells Trujillo where his car is parked and Trujillo runs in that direction. He takes his jacket off and kneels down next to you, pressing it into your stomach. There’s so much blood it’s difficult to tell what type of wounds they are.
“‘Racio?”
He pushes one hand firmly against your stomach and uses his other to brush the hair away from your face. “Yeah, querida. I’m here.”
Your eyes are wide and glassy. You’re in shock. He takes your hands and pushes them against the bunched up jacket. “Push down, querida. Can you do that?”
You nod once and he picks you up from the ground. When he turns around, Trujillo pulls up to the curb and opens the backdoor. Horacio slides into the backseat, keeping you on his lap as Trujillo speeds through the streets towards the nearest hospital. Your head lolls against his neck and he can feel you murmuring something but he can’t make it out. He turns his head and is able to catch it.
“Sorry…baby.”
He presses his lips against your forehead. “I’m sorry, querida. So very sorry.”
You keep repeating the same words over and over again, his name thrown in sporadically. He holds you as tight as he can, not knowing if you’re going to survive this attack, and if you do, he doesn’t know if you’ll ever want him back. He whispers apologies and “I love you”s that overlap with your mantra. Trujillo must have used the sat phone to alert the hospital that they were coming because when they arrive, there’s a stretcher waiting for them at the curb. He presses one last kiss to your cheek before handing you off to the medical team and watching you disappear behind closed doors. And suddenly, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Trujillo tugs at his arm until Horacio follows him down one of the hallways of the hospital. He turns into a room and it smells of incense, smoke, and wood. The chapel. Trujillo sits in one of the pews; Horacio sits beside him. Trujillo fishes around in his jacket pocket and pulls out his rosary but he doesn’t start his prayers, he just keeps it in his hand, his thumb moving over the raised image of Christ on the cross.
“Entré aquí mientras esperaba noticias sobre mi padre. Y mis hermanos.” (I came in here while I waited for news on my father. And my brothers.)
“¿De dónde venía ella esta noche?” (Where was she coming from tonight?)
“Cena con mi familia. Me ofrecí a acompañarla de regreso…” (Dinner with my family. I offered to walk her back…”
Horacio feels a slight tug of a smile. “Ella es terca.” (She is stubborn.)
“Como una mula.” (Like a mule.)
And may that stubbornness save you now. Trujillo starts his prayers but Horacio just sits in silence. He’s afraid if he prays, it won’t go anywhere anyway so it’s best to keep his silence. Trujillo is on his fourth round of the rosary when a nurse finds them.
Four stab wounds. Two gunshot wounds. Life flight to Bogotá. You’re already on your way. There’s nothing else for him to do. The nurse does give him a confused look.
“Ella dijo que un gato le hizo esto. ¿Eso significa algo para usted?” (She said that a cat did this to her. Does that mean anything to you?)
Yes, yes it does mean something to him. He and Trujillo leave the hospital and go straight to the Search Bloc to start looking for Gato. He places a call to Murphy, remembering that his wife works as a nurse in Bogotá. Murphy is more than helpful in recruiting his wife’s help in keeping an eye on you and reporting back on your condition. Now, they just need to find Gato.
It takes them two days and some help from Peña’s CI, to bust a coke lab in the jungle. One of the most prized captures is Gato himself. Once he’s in custody, Trujillo has a hand on him the entire time until he’s loaded in the helicopter. Horacio and Trujillo share a look. There is no way Gato is going to step foot in Bogotá and Horacio makes sure of it. He tries calling the hospital room where you’re recovering from the emergency hysterectomy that had to be done to stop the bleeding from the wounds, but Connie Murphy answers the phone and takes the message. They’re keeping you in a drug daze as you recover so he has yet to speak with you directly even though Connie said you have asked about him a couple times. There’s hope that the rift between you two can be repaired.
So when he receives word that Escobar is going to be meeting with his accountant, he jumps on the information. What a better gift to present to you than Escobar’s capture and death? What a better way to start the next phase of your lives, together as partners both at work and at home? This gives him even more hope as he gears up and heads out with his men. He passes by Trujillo on his way out to the convoy and he nods to him.
“Para ‘posa,” Trujillo says as he passes. (For ‘posa.)
Horacio smiles. “Para Mariposa.” (For the butterfly.)
He doesn’t realize that a heart full of hope also means eyes tend to close to the reality of the world around him. He doesn’t realize it’s an ambush until it’s too late.
***
You’re still in the hospital when Trujillo comes to visit. The sun is shining in full strength when he comes into your room. You’re going to be discharged tomorrow. Stechner has been in and out, posing as your Uncle Bill, and you will be released to him. You’re still on too many drugs for your liking but it does blur the edges of the grief you’re feeling over the loss of your ten week old baby and the fact that you can never carry another one. For someone who believes in second chances so strongly, it is a difficult reality to grasp.
You have a hard time interpreting the look on his face. There’s relief but something else. Something he’s hiding from you. You notice the wounds on his face next, little cuts and lacerations. Something’s happened. You look to the door of the room, wondering if Horacio is going to follow him through. You haven’t seen any news, either from the television or newspaper; Stechner’s made sure of that for some reason.
“They got him, Posa.”
Your drugged mind processes the statement for a couple seconds and you feel relief. “We got him? We got Escobar?”
Trujillo shakes his head. “No, hermana. We didn’t.”
You repeat the first thing he said to you back in your mind. They got him. If “him” isn’t Escobar, then…”No.”
He sighs and sits on the side of the hospital bed. A nurse is standing in the doorway, on call, to patch the wounds from this news. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t…I was too far…”
“No, no.” You don’t really know what you’re saying no to at this point. No, you don’t want to believe that Horacio is gone. No, you don’t want more grief on top of what you’re already trying to make sense of. No, it certainly wasn’t Trujillo’s fault. This explains why they’ve kept the news and papers out of your reach. Colonel Carrillo’s death at the hands of Pablo Escobar is sure to be all the news outlets are talking about right now. “How?”
“It was an ambush. Bad…” he pauses and struggles to finish the sentence. “Bad intel. We got her though, Peña and I. She’s going to fix this.”
She can’t bring Horacio back so how is she going to fix it? You find you don’t care. “When?”
“Two nights ago. I wanted to have good news for you, that we got the person responsible for it.”
You laugh and shake your head. “The person responsible for it is Escobar. We need to get that motherfucker.”
“We will.”
The tears start to burn the back of your eyes now that the shock is beginning to melt away and the gaping hole of loss is slowly coming into focus. Trujillo hugs you as gently as he can, an awkward embrace around stitches, bandages, and IV lines.
“Lo siento, hermana.” (I’m sorry, sister.)
“I want Escobar’s head.”
Trujillo nods. “You’ll get it, ‘Posa. I promise.”
***
It takes a year.
You’ve recovered physically from the ordeal and are back working as a teacher in Bogotá, but it is a more upscale school. The Cali cartel do like the nicer things in life, which is good for you. Stechner shifted you from the Medellín cartel to Cali, trying to put as much distance between you and your grief. You still worked closely with Search Bloc, handing intel to Trujillo mostly, but you had met Colonel Hugo Martinez a couple times. He is Carrillo’s opposite in almost every sense of the word but he’s a kind, quiet man who respects your position.
It’s December 2nd when Trujillo calls from Medellín on a sat phone.
“We got him this time, ‘Posa.”
You cried for two days.
A few days later, you come home from teaching and see an envelope has been slid under your door. You pick it up and break the seal. There’s a dark lock of hair, curled with threads of gray resting in the envelope with a note in Trujillo’s scrawled handwriting.
This is the best I could do to bring you his head. May you have some peace, sister.
Summary: You’re new to Colombia and the Search Bloc, loaned out by the Army to help sift through the wiretaps, sat phone calls, and other communications. Everything is off to a normal start until someone starts leaving little gifts on your desk and you’re determined to figure out who it is. Carrillo is not married in this fic because I’m the author and I say so.
Author’s Note: Anon who suggested this prompt, I am forever in your debt. I hope you let me know who you are because I loved writing this. And I’m leaving it open for further one-shots if you want me to continue to add to it.
Los Regalos (Gifts)
The gifts show up on your desk randomly.
At least, you think they’re gifts. The terrible thought that they could have been just left on your desk absentmindedly and were meant for someone else crashes into your thoughts. But if that were the case, it should have stopped after you claimed the small, potted orchid as your own. And the pound of Robusta coffee with a handmade ceramic mug. A box of cocadas, which you sincerely wish you knew where those came from because they were fantastic. Today, it’s a beautiful ceramic bowl with different types of fruit in it. Most of which you have no idea what they are. Or how to eat them.
“Another gift from the secret admirer?”
You look up to see the two DEA agents that have been assigned to work with the newly formed Search Bloc come into the shared office space. It was Agent Peña that had spoken.
“Yeah,” you answer. “Although I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with some of these.” You pick up a bright pinkish-red fruit. “Like, what is this?”
“That’s a pitahaya,” Peña says. “In the US we call them dragon fruit.”
So that’s what a dragon fruit is.
“Now this one,” Peña picks up a green spiky fruit, “is a guanabana. Don’t eat the skin or the seeds inside it, they’re poisonous. Just eat the meat.”
“Good to know,” you take the fruit and put it back into the bowl. You’re still relatively new to Colombia, assigned to Centra Spike under the umbrella of the Army. Your job is to listen to phone calls made over the wiretaps and satellite phones, trying to figure out what was from the narcos and what was just common chatter. Your family thought you were running through the barrios of Bogotá and Medellín, in a flak vest and gun, shooting down sicarios and arresting drug dealers. You tried to explain to them that you live at a desk with headphones over your ears but they preferred their version of events. It made social events more interesting for them.
“You figure out who it is leaving you these things?” Agent Murphy asks.
You shake your head. “Not yet. The mystery continues.”
You thought it could be one of them since you’re an American, with the Army, and trying to get adjusted to life in a foreign country. But Murphy is married and trying to get adjusted himself and Peña doesn’t strike you as the type to bestow little gifts to a secretary that he barely knows and speaks to in passing. Which leaves the Colombian police officers that surround you. And that suspect pool is quite large.
Trujillo is a common face in this area of the office, working closely with Colonel Carrillo. And even though you’ve had personable conversations with him, they’ve remained professional and distant. And he’s been the friendliest officer you’ve interacted with so your options are very broad as to who is your secret admirer. You pick up another piece of fruit, an uchuva, a small yellow berry, and smile. Whoever it is, they’re scoring some major points with their thoughtfulness.
***
Carrillo has no idea what he’s doing.
It’s been years since he’s attempted to get a woman to notice him. The last time his eyes were set on a potential companion, her father decided that she was better suited for an officer with a higher rank and so he lost his Juliana to a then lieutenant colonel. He wonders how her father feels now that he’s a colonel and head of the specialized group tasked to track down Escobar. He hadn’t thought of pursuing a romantic entanglement since he lost her.
But then you walked in, on loan from the United States Army, to help organize the information that came flooding in from the various wiretaps and sat phone calls. You sat hours on end everyday, listening to those calls, transcribing the conversations, and deciding what was helpful and what was just everyday talk. You had been here for three weeks, new to the country, new to the job, but had dug in with a determination that he rarely saw, even from his own men.
He listens to the wiretaps too. He hears his men talk about their fear for their lives and their families. He hears them doubt what is the right thing to do. He hears them cave to their fear and help the narcos. He understands why they do it but he can’t abide by it. He sifts through his officers like farmers sift through their crop: keep the good pieces and discard the rotten ones. It’s making him distant from his emotions and his desire to be around people. He’s becoming weary of sizing up everyone he encounters to see if they’re a threat or an ally.
He listens to your phone conversations too. Even though you are a US citizen, part of the deal is that any American is subject to the same transparency as the Colombian army and police force. You signed off on that waiver of privacy and so he listens to your conversations with zero guilt. That is until he realizes he has heard your voice so much that he can recognize it with as much accuracy as he can Escobar’s. That is when he realizes there is something intriguing about you.
He has your voice memorized so he moves on to studying your appearance and routine. You arrive ten minutes early every morning, dressed neatly and with care, with jeans and a nice blouse. The only thing that confuses him are the worn Converse sneakers you always wear. Jewelry is limited to simple earrings and a necklace; you don’t wear any rings on your hands or bracelets on your wrists. Your posture is straight as you sit at the dented, metal desk in the main office area.
Whenever you come across an officer that is giving information or making arrangements to receive bribes from the cartel, you would bring the file and tape to him at the end of the business day. It is the only time that you darken his door. He would take the items from you and note the sad look in your eye when they left your hand, like you were responsible for the breach of conduct. You are a lovely combination of beauty, efficiency, and empathy. And you have caught his attention. Now what?
Is there a difference between catching a criminal and catching a paramour?
He goes back to listening to the phone conversations, mostly with your sister and mother. You talk about the various things that you’ve discovered that are unique to Colombia: flowers, foods, and drinks in particular. You’ve recently started talking about books you want to read now that the newness of everything is starting to fade and you can concentrate on a hobby. You mention authors like Gabriel Garcia Marquez with his famous One Hundred Years of Solitude, but then mention how you want a more authentic social commentary and had recently bought a used copy of The Vortex by José Eustacio Rivera. If you wanted an authentic social commentary on just how greed-fueled the rubber industry was, you certainly picked a good book.
The conversation turns to family updates and he stops listening in to convince himself he’s giving you some semblance of privacy. He takes out a small notebook and makes a note to bring his copy of Las Estrellas son Negras by Arnoldo Palacios to leave on your desk tomorrow. The book isn’t uplifting in any sense of the word but it is considered to be classic, albeit an unpopular one. If you’re wanting to read something deep, and if you do end up enjoying The Vortex, then you should like Palacios’ book.
While he’s thinking about the novels, something comes to mind concerning the rubber manufacturing in the jungle. There had been some aerial shots of a possible drug lab in one of the many overgrown spaces between Medellín and Bogotá that he wanted to look over again. They weren’t on his desk any more, or any of the other desks in the room so he heads over to the file room where they’ve most likely been returned. He passes by your desk but you’re not there, maybe on your lunch break, but he notices some of the fruit is already missing.
The file room door is propped open which immediately annoys him. The room is supposed to be locked both with an old fashioned key lock and an electronic passcode, not propped open with a…shoe? He makes a disgusted noise as he kicks it out of the doorway and goes into the room. As soon the door clicks shut, someone drops a file and goes running for the door.
“No, no, no, no…”
It’s you.
And you’re missing a shoe.
“Damn it!” You hit the door with an open palm and turn towards him, ready to unleash a severe reprimand until you realize it’s him. Most of your fury dissolves into contrition as you take in a deep breath. “Buen día, coronel.” (Good day, Colonel.)
“Buen día, señorita.” (Good day, miss.) He waits to see if you’re going to say anything else but your eyes are trying to look at anywhere in the room but him. They finally settle on your feet: one still encased in the converse sneaker while the other is bare. Your toenails are painted a light pink. “Am I to understand that was your shoe holding the door open?”
“Yes, sir.”
Your formalness stings slightly until he realizes that you don’t know he’s been listening in to your conversations, gathering information, and then providing you with the little gifts on your desk. Perhaps he should stop. Perhaps you would have no interest in him whatsoever. Perhaps there is someone else, if not here in Colombia than back in the States.
Perhaps, it’s just not meant to be.
However, isn’t that what giving a gift is all about: you give with no expectation of receiving something in return?
***
You can’t believe your luck. Not only are you indefinitely locked in the file room but it is with the head of the Search Bloc, Colonel Horacio Carrillo. This also happens to be the person at the top of your suspect lists for leaving the gifts at your desk. And you’re not sure how to feel about it.
He’s not your boss, per say, that would be the US Army and you’re of a low enough rank no one pays you any mind back at the Embassy so dating a local wouldn’t cause any disturbances. Lord knows Peña gets away with it all the time. But Carrillo is in charge of the special unit that you’re assisting so that throws the line of conduct into some shade. Secondly, you hardly know him. He rarely speaks about himself, his personal life, and he’s here so often you wonder if he even has a personal life. Married to a job, especially one like this, does not check any boxes on the dating checklist.
However, he is respectful to all those around him. You wouldn’t use the word kind, even though the thoughtfulness of the gifts would give you some evidence for using that word. He treats his men well, checks on them, prays through the rosary with them before particularly dangerous raids, and shares in the workload. His treatment of the Americans in the Search Bloc is the same as that of his own men. You’ve also noted that he treats the women in the office, you included, with the same expectations as his men: do your job well, he’s pleased and will let you know; do it poorly, and you can go elsewhere.
Now you wonder if that’s his current thoughts of you, missing one shoe and having just displayed an unprofessional burst of anger. You try to recenter yourself and gain some semblance of competency. “The locks are broken on the door.”
One of his eyebrows ticks up at the comment. “Both of them?”
“Yes, sir.”
He moves closer to the door and you step away from it, having a good idea what is about to come next. Sure enough, he tries kicking the door open but it doesn’t even budge. You raise a finger hesitantly to prevent him from kicking it harder and hurting himself.
“Um, the electronic lock is actually a double deadbolt.”
The kick to the door did alert someone walking past that there is an issue as someone called out on the other side. “¿Quién está ahí?” (Who’s in there?)
Carrillo yells back both his name and yours as the officer says he’s getting help for them. Your brain has stuttered to a halt and he must notice because a quizzical look crosses his face.
“What?”
“You remember my name.”
The confused look changes into something that looks akin to shame before he turns away. “I know everyone’s name in the unit. Wouldn’t be much of a leader if I didn’t.”
You suppose that is true and the thought that he knew it because he liked you dissipates. You go back a couple rows to the file that you dropped in your mad dash to try to stop the door from closing. He follows you, at a respectful distance though, but then helps pick up the spilled contents of the file. As he looks at the pictures, he laughs slightly.
“I was actually looking for these pictures,” he tells you.
“Oh, really?” You take the rest of the file over to the small window where there’s some light. They’re aerial shots of an abandoned rubber plant in the jungle. Or at least it looks abandoned. “I wanted to look at them again to see if there’s anything we missed that might give away something about it being used.”
He stands next to you in the light and looks at the pictures in his hands. “I feel like we are missing something.”
There’s no table in the room so you put the pictures down on the floor and sit down there to look at them. He does the same and soon both your heads are down, studying the pictures. You watch his hands as he drags his fingers over the photos, looking at each grainy detail for something. He isn’t wearing a wedding band.
And speaking of examining details, your eyes can’t help but drift up from his hands to the strong, exposed forearms, the shifting of his biceps under the sleeves of his green fatigues. You probably couldn’t wrap your whole hand around his upper arm but now you kind of want to try. You had to admit, as intimidating as Carrillo is, he is also quite handsome with his sharp, coffee colored eyes and straight nose.
There is a part of you that wishes he is the one that is leaving those gifts. You can’t just outright ask him, he’ll most likely deny it if you do. So you need to get it out of him without him realizing it. He’s a skilled interrogator, at least according to Peña, but you do have a slight advantage: he’s not going to expect you to be gathering information from him. Besides, you do like a challenge.
Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a couple of the uchuvas, the small orange colored berries, and pop one in your mouth. When Carrillo’s eyes flick up to yours to see what you’re doing, you hold one out to him. He takes it with a wry smile.
“Careful, we may have to ration these.”
“I have a few more.” You wait until he’s focused again on the surveillance pictures before you speak again. “You know, I would love to know where you got those cocadas. The chocolate ones in particular were wonderful.”
He hums distractedly. “There’s a bakery two blocks from here that carries them.”
Okay, that answer doesn’t confirm or deny anything. Damn. Maybe it’s not him then and the slight disappointment that settles in your stomach is surprising. You had wanted it to be him. You go back to looking at the pictures and notice something: the electrical box on the outside of the building. You shuffle through past pictures, taken a week before, and find it: evidence. It’s small, barely noticeable, but it’s there.
“Look,” you put both pictures down in front of Carrillo. “The electrical box had vines and dirt on it two weeks ago, but a week later, the vines are cut back and it’s been cleaned.”
“There it is,” he says with a satisfied smile. “Evidence to support a raid. Well done.”
You can’t help the wide smile that erupts across your face.
A voice from the door shouts to you two. “¿Coronel?” (Colonel?)
“Sí.”(Yes.)
“Deberíamos sacarte en veinte minutos.” (We should have you out in twenty minutes.)
“Gracias, Trujillo.” (Thank you, Trujillo.)
You start gathering up the pictures and put them back into the folder, handing the collected papers and pictures to Carrillo. He takes it with a small smile.
“I wonder what other mysteries we could solve in the next twenty minutes,” he says looking around at the boxes of files surrounding you both.
You sit back against the shelf behind you. “I actually have a mystery that I would like to solve.”
He nods, his facial features schooled behind a mask of indifference. “Okay.”
The question about the cocadas didn’t reveal anything so you try another approach. “I think someone is listening in on my calls.”
“That’s expected when you work in this unit.”
“Oh, I understand that. That’s not what bothers me.” You specifically use the word “bothers” to make it sound like it’s making you uncomfortable. Knowing how much he respects those who work in the unit, the thought of his actions making anyone uncomfortable will not sit well with him. And judging from the small frown and minute shifting he’s done, you’re right.
“What is bothering you then?”
He sounds so disappointed when he asks that question, you want to hug him and tell him that you know it’s him and to please not stop because it’s the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for you. So you choose your next words even more carefully.
“I’m bothered by the fact that I can’t thank them for their thoughtfulness. Whoever is listening to my conversations is picking up on the things that I want to see, like the orchid, or try, like the fruit and the coffee. I’m particularly excited to see what book appears tomorrow.” You pause for a moment. “Do you have a favorite book, Colonel Carrillo?”
His face is still smooth of emotion. “I do.”
“What’s the title?”
“I guess you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow when I put it on your desk.”
“So it is you.”
“It is.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “If you would like me stop-”
“No,” you cut him off. “Please don’t. It’s very nice, very kind.”
“As are you.” He sits up straighter. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight?”
“I would love that. I’m going to have to ask my boss if I can leave a little early and he’s kind of a stickler for the job coming first though.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Let me chat with him. I’m sure we can work something out.”
“I don’t know, he can be quite a hard ass.”
“So I’ve heard.”
You both laugh quietly when the sound of a power drill comes from the door. Most likely they’re trying to dismantle the keypad to manually disengage the deadbolts. Carrillo stands up and reaches down to help you to your feet. Your hand slides easily into his as he tugs you upright. For the briefest moment you think he’s going to kiss you, he’s standing so close and your hands are still clasped together. But then the keypad drops heavily to the floor and startles you both back to the present. Your hands untangle, he picks up the file from the floor, and you both put your professional masks back in place.
“Would seven be a good time for you tonight?” he asks quietly.
“Yes, that would be perfect.”
“I’ll meet you outside your apartment.”
You can’t help but grin at the thought but quickly tamper down the butterflies in your stomach as the deadbolt lock pops and the door swings open. Carrillo motions for you to go first and as you do, Murphy hands you your sneaker.
“Cinderella.”
“Thank you, Agent Murphy.”
Carrillo nods to Trujillo. “See if we can get that fixed before the year is out.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Peña has a downright devious look on his face as he studies yours. “So…what happened?”
You put your shoe back on, leaning down the tie the laces. “We did what you were supposed to be doing…working.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious,” you point to Carrillo’s office. “We found evidence for a raid at an old rubber factory in the jungle. Go.”
He shrugs before moving off in the office’s direction. “I want details.”
“There are no details, asshole.” Well, no details yet at least.
Murphy shakes his head. “Come on, Javi, it’s Carrillo. Can you picture him dating anyone, let alone picking out orchids and sweets?”
“I guess you’re right.” Peña pauses before walking into the office and points at Trujillo who just passed in front of him.
You shrug your shoulders in a “maybe” response, throwing Trujillo under the speculation bus. You’ve just reached your desk when Carrillo comes to his office door to close it and calls over to you.
“Why don’t you head home a little early?”
“Are you sure?”
He gives you a slightly stern look that says “I thought we discussed this already?”
“Thank you, sir.” You pick up the bowl of fruit before heading out the door to get ready for dinner. You need to make sure there’s some cleared space for tomorrow’s offering.
