#Chepe Santacruz x Pacho Herrera | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

purplesong1028 · 2 years

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A Forest Tale

Chapter 2: Wine and Dine

Rating: General Audience

Paring: Chepe/Pacho

Words: 3,872

Fantasy, AU, !Fox Pacho, !Shapeshifter Pacho

The next day, Chepe wakes up in the morning when sunlight shines through the thin slit between his curtains. He takes a shower, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed as usual. As he walks out of his bedroom, he almost believes yesterday was nothing but a crazy dream. There’s no monster, no magic, life still makes sense, and he’ll see the fox lounging by the couch under the sunshine as usual.

But it wasn’t a dream.

He sees the fox, no, Pacho apparently, sitting by the dining table, slowly sipping a cup of coffee as the maid stands next to him with a confused expression.

Fuck, he better didn’t do anything too weird.

“Buenos Días Carmen!” Chepe greets her cheerfully, playing it casual. “I see you’ve met our guest?”

“Sí señor.” Carmen smiles apologetically, shaking her head a little. “I must have been tired recently. I don’t even remember when Mr. Herrera came.”

“Really? Shit, are you getting old or what, darling?” He laughs it off, giving her a hug from the side. Carmen is a very nice woman and she really doesn’t deserve this. “Well, how about you take today off and have some rest? We’re going out later anyway.”

“No señor, that’s not necessary…”

“Hey, I insist, hm?” Chepe gives her a friendly wink. On the back of his mind, he realizes he’ll also have to make up some cover story for the fox’s disappearance. He’ll just pretend it’s missing and tell the guys to look for it later. He pays them enough for an occasional useless task.

Carmen nods and walks away, obeying his order, but not before bringing plates of breakfast from the kitchen for both of them. Once they’re completely alone, Chepe finally addresses the huge problem in front of him.

“So, still human, huh?”

“As long as I want to be.” Pacho shrugs a little, looking down at the cup of coffee in his hands. “This tastes terrible. Do humans really like it?”

“Well, many of us don’t drink it for the taste. It helps us to stay awake.” Chepe smiles a little, amused by the innocence. “What do you like to eat then? Or do you eat at all?”

“I don’t need to. I get my energy in other ways, but I’d like to try what you eat.”

Honestly, Chepe is quite curious about how exactly they get their energy, but right now, he has an idea for something far more interesting. “So you’ve never eaten any human food before at all, yeah?”

“No.”

“Wait wait…” He moves the plate away as Pacho is about to cut the sunny side up eggs with a fork. “No, you’re not going to have your first human meal like that.”

“Why not? It’s what you’re having.”

“It’s good, but you can have it any day, alright?” He gets up and walks into the kitchen, grabbing an apron.

“Look, Gilberto and I have been trying to settle this shit for decades. His grandma had a recipe for huevos pericos, and my grandma had hers. Since you haven’t tried any food at all, you’ve got no preference, no bias! You’re telling me today, whose recipe is better, got it?”

“I guess?” Pacho follows him into the kitchen, curiously touching the wares. “Is that important?”

“Oh trust me, it’s very important.”

“I see. I do hear people are very particular with their food.”

It’s by no means a complicated dish, probably one of the first things Chepe learnt to cook, but as Pacho leans on the counter, watching him intensely as he takes out a few eggs and tomatoes from the fridge, he’s suddenly overtaken by a great urge to show off. Damn, now he wishes he had picked something more difficult to make.

He cracks the eggs, and dices the tomatoes more quickly than needed. But what really catches Pacho’s attention seems to be the stove.

“Humans invented fire, right? After that, they could eat cooked meat, which made them get sick less often.”

Chepe pours the tomato chunks into the frying pan, mixing them with the scrambled eggs. “Yeah! But where the hell did you learn all that?”

“As I said, I’ve been listening to humans talking for over 500 years. You people talk all the time about random stuff.” Pacho shrugs, moving closer. “Smells really good, whose recipe is this?”

“Well, this part is actually the same, seasoning is what makes all the difference.”

“Seasoning?”

“Yeah, like the stuff we put in our food, to make it more flavorful?” Chepe picks up the salt. “Ever heard of this? Salt? or sugar?”

“I know sugar is the sweet one.”

“That’s right! And salt is the…salty one, guess that doesn’t really help.” Chepe snorts, sliding the salt across the counter to Pacho’s direction. “Feel free to taste it, just a little though. It doesn’t taste that good on its own”

From his side vision, he watches Pacho lightly touch the salt with his fingertips, and then licks them. Chepe can’t help but notice how pink his tongue is.

“You’re right, this doesn’t taste good at all. You put it in your food?”

“Yup! That’s one of our magics, you know?” He grabs a plate from the cabinet. “Alright, this is Gilberto’s, but don’t try it yet. You need to wait for both to be ready.”

Pacho takes the finished plate of food from him. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No! You don’t even know what salt is!” Chepe laughs out. He hasn’t felt such pure joy in a long time. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy his life, but there is something special about a completely naive person, not in a bad way, like a clean sheet of white paper, ready to be written however he wants.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons people want to have children? But then he remembers this motherfucker has lived for over 500 years, and that knowledge suddenly becomes more disturbing than ever. He quickly shakes it out of his mind, and goes back to his own recipe.

By the time Chepe pours the second huevos pericos onto the plate, Pacho’s already sitting by the dining table again, twirling a fork between his long fingers. The movements are visibly faster and more complicated than any regular human's. Maybe only a magician can compare.

“Are you always that fast with your hands?”

“I’m just faster than humans.” Pacho brings the fork to a prompt stop with his thumb and index finger. “Stronger too, I think.”

“Yeah yeah, we get it, Superman. What else? You can’t get hurt?”

“I can, just not easily. What’s Superman?”

“…Never mind,” Chepe places the second plate in front of him, really doesn’t want to get into American comics, which he doesn’t even know that much about, “just try the food.”

Pacho looks down at the two almost identical plates, and sticks his fork into one. He takes a sweet long time chewing the food before he swallows, and then does the same with the other one.

“So?” Chepe asks, actually getting a little bit nervous with all the expectation and suspense. Well, he’s not ashamed. This is about his abuela’s honor.

Pacho glaces at the plates again, and then looks back up at him with a smile. “I think yours is better.”

“I knew it!” Chepe laughs out wholeheartedly. “Fuck, I wish I could tell Gilberto right to his face, but then I’d have to tell him about you!”

“I’d prefer if you don’t? At least not for now.”

“I’m not.” Chepe waves him off. “No one’s going to believe it anyway. They’d think I’ve gone mad.”

“I saw Gilberto and Miguel, from your memories. I know you’re very close.” Pacho quickly eats up the food, clearly enjoying this new found activity, yet somehow his manners are still quite elegant. “Remember that time when you had a very nice dream on a couch?”

“Huh, so that was you.” The words came out a little harsher than he intended. But really, who can blame him? Hearing someone admitting literally going into your dreams is not a pleasant feeling at all.

“Yes, but I didn’t cause any harm, I just wanted to…”

“No, you need to get this.” Chepe interrupts him. “You didn’t cause any physical harm, but going into my brain without my permission? That’s a big no.”

“I won’t do it again if it bothers you.” Pacho shrugs, finishing up a plate. “I just wanted to know you.”

“Ok?” Chepe leans back into his chair, now feeling a little curious. “Then tell me, what did you find out? What do you think you know about me?”

“I only looked for good memories. They just seem like…” Pacho makes a vague gesture like he’s trying to find the right words, an incredibly vivid human behavior. “You are the happiest when you’re around a few people you really like.”

Chepe doesn’t know what changed on his face, but something must have betrayed him, because Pacho immediately adds more explanations.

“Or love, maybe. Whatever that means for humans.”

“Love?” Chepe snorts, “for God’s sake, your second day of being a human, and you’re talking about love.”

“I know it’s one of the most powerful human emotions.” Pacho stares into his eyes. It doesn’t have the overbearing power like yesterday, but the unmasked inquisiveness and enthusiasm almost carry magic on their own. “I wonder what it’s like.”

“Well, no one can help you with that.” Chepe takes a sip of coffee to hide the uneasiness in his chest. He feels dangerously exposed, and rightfully so, who wouldn’t in front of this brain-reading monster? But there’s also something else, something more unnerving that he can’t even identify.

“You can only find out about love on your own.”

To Chepe’s favor, that brief talk of love seems to get the new human into some deep thoughts, so they finish the rest of their breakfast more or less in silence.

“Yesterday you said you would use your magic to help me, when I need it, right?” He speaks again as Pacho finishes both huevos pericos.

“Yeah, what do you want me to do?” Pacho says that in such a casual manner, as if he would happily do anything he’s asked.

“Let’s take a little trip. You’ll see when you get there.” Chepe gets up, walking across the large dining room into the long corridor leading to the main living room, which is connected to the front entrance.

“Buenos días, patrón.” The two guards standing by the door greet him politely.

“Buenos días. I couldn’t find that fox earlier. We need to go take care of some business, can you guys look for it?”

“Sí, patrón. Claro.”

Pacho shoots him a confused glance at first, but it soon turns into a knowing smirk.

“That was clever.”

“Didn’t have a choice, did I?” Chepe unlocks one of his humble cars, a Chevrolet Blazer.

“I’ve seen those on the streets, but never been in one.” Pacho carefully runs his fingertips along the car, like appreciating an artwork. “They changed a lot over the years, right? At first you people used horses to drag it, and then it turned into a machine, and the machine became faster and faster.”

“Sure, that’s a nice way to sum it up.” Chepe chuckles, and gestures at the passenger seat. “Come, get in! I’ll show you how fast it can go.”

Pacho picks up a jacket from the seat before getting in. “Is this supposed to be here?”

“Oh, you can just throw that on the backseat.” Chepe turns the key, and then seeing his denim jacket, he suddenly realizes something that never crossed his mind before.

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you have clothes on? You didn’t have any when you were a fox, so where the fuck did the clothes come from?”

“I don’t.” Pacho settles in comfortably, now studying the dashboard. “It’s an illusion.”

“It’s a…” Chepe’s stunned speechless, which at this point isn’t rare anymore, but still, this one fucking hits differently. “Let me get this straight. You’re sitting in my car naked?!”

“Yeah, technically.”

“And if someone touches you…” Chepe slightly leans backwards, physically distancing himself from the possibility. “What would they feel?”

“They’ll feel the clothes, not my skin. Illusion isn’t just about sight.” Pacho finally turns away from the dashboard and shifts his attention back to Chepe. “Is this a problem? I created the illusion because I thought being naked was rude for humans.”

“Yeah, keep it! Please!” Chepe puts a hand up, genuinely worried that this asshole will just drop the illusion. Then he lets out a long sigh, and runs the hand down his face. “Alright, change of plan. Let’s go get you some real fucking clothes first.”

At first, Chepe wanted to go straight to his regular store, just for some casual shirts and jeans, any clothes at all would do. But as they come to a red light, he looks at his new houseguest— really takes a serious look, and he can’t deny that Pacho’s human form is incredibly good-looking. Sunlight shines through the side window, emphasizing the nice angles of his well-defined facial bone structure. Even in a fake plain red shirt and black pants, this guy could easily be a model on the cover of a magazine.

The light turns green, and Chepe takes a U turn.

“Were we going the wrong way?”

“No, just changed my mind.”

This high-end designer tailor shop is really more of Gilberto’s thing. Chepe only comes here when he needs really nice clothes for special occasions. Well, what occasion could possibly be more special than buying clothes for a 500 year old shape-shifting, mind-reading monster?

“Don Chepe!” The owner comes out with the biggest smile, welcoming them into the office. What’s his name again? Ronaldo? No, Roberto. “Come on in, please! I didn’t know you were coming. I would have cleared the store.”

“No, that’s ok.” His first intention is to dismiss it, but then he looks over at Pacho, who’s obviously never been to a clothing store, or any store before. “Actually, yes, some privacy would be nice.”

“Of course, just give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back. Melissa will be happy to serve you a drink.” Roberto gestures to his pretty secretary.

“That’s alright, thank you. We can pour our own drinks.”

“Oh, ok um…we’ll be right back then.” Roberto taps Melissa on the shoulder and leads her out of the office.

“Don’t do anything too weird, alright?” Once they’re alone, he turns to Pacho, who’s feeling the leather on the armchair. “Gilberto would not be happy if I had to kill the owner of his favorite store.”

“Kill him? Why?”

Chepe simply stares at him with a blank expression.

“Oh, you meant if he finds out? You don’t need to kill him for that. He’s just one person. I can make him forget, or make him think he’s dreaming.”

“Yeah I get it, you can fucking do anything, but let’s try to avoid that, ok? Just…” Chepe takes a deep breath out of frustration. “Just don’t do or say anything that a human can’t.”

“Sure, no problem.” Pacho answers with ease, and Chepe can just tell that he’s distracted with the decanter on the table.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” He snaps his fingers. “Seriously, don’t be weird, understand? Oh! And don’t get naked outside of fitting rooms!”

“Fitting rooms?”

Chepe covers his face with both hands. Fuck, he’s gonna have to kill Roberto later…

“Did I upset you?”

“Upset? No.” That’s not a lie. Upset really isn’t the right word, but he doesn’t know what the right word is, if there is even a right word to describe whatever he got himself into.

“When people say drink, they mean that, right?” Pacho points at the decanter. “Alcohol?”

“Not always.” Chepe answers with a flat tone, practically given up at this point. “But yeah, we meant alcohol earlier.”

“Can I try some?”

He’s not sure why Pacho’s asking him for permission, since the drink isn’t his. “I don’t know if this one’s good. If you want to try alcohol, I’ll let you have some of mine later.”

“Great! Looking forward to it.” With that, Pacho goes back to being curious about everything else in the room, and Chepe just hopes he won’t have to answer any precise questions about tailoring or fashion.

“Gentlemen, sorry for the wait.” Thank God Roberto comes back in time.

“Are we ready?”

“Yes!” Chepe gets up from the leather armchair, and walks out of the office faster than he once left the police station. “My friend here is just looking to grab a few things. We don’t need tailoring today.”

The quicker they get done, the less room for error.

“Oh, I can certainly find quite a few options for this handsome gentleman.” Roberto briefly eyes Pacho up and down, then leads him to an area of shirts. “We can start here if that’s alright with you? What are you looking for today? Formal? Casual?”

Chepe is about to cut in, but Pacho actually doesn’t seem to need any help. “I’m still deciding. Why don’t you show me what you have first?”

“Of course. So over here, these are our best dress shirts. Whichever ones you pick, we can tailor them for you, but you might not even need any adjustment.” Roberto gives Pacho’s upper body another long glance, professional yet appreciative. “Your measurements should fit right into the samples.”

“How about this one?” Pacho stops in front of a golden shirt with colorful patterns. “This feels very nice.”

“Ah yes! This is 100% silk imported straight from China, and made by our Italian designers.”

“Silk?”

“Si señor. I guarantee it’s pure, high-quality silk. It’s so smooth that it will barely feel like another layer on your skin.” Roberto gestures at the fitting room. “Here, would you like to try it on?”

“Fitting room, I see…” Pacho looks at Chepe with a subtle knowing look, and he returns it with a small nod. Great, as long as no one gets naked in public.

“Yeah, I can try it on. Do you have anything else similar?”

“Certainly! Please follow me this way.”

They walk together to another area, just like a regular business owner and a customer, not suspicious or weird at all to any random bystander. Chepe smiles and shakes his head. Well, maybe he worried a bit too much, and that’s funny, cause it’s not like him at all.

“Sir, would you like to come along?” Melissa’s gentle voice pulls him away from his thoughts.

From here, he can still vaguely hear Roberto passionately unloading all his fashion knowledge onto Pacho— probably the only client who cares enough to listen to all that.

“No, I’m good. Maybe you can bring me that drink now, hm?” He smiles at Melissa with a little wink, and enjoys her little blush as she nods and walks away.

Talking to a pretty girl over a drink is always nice, but it gets less nice when it lasts over 30 minutes. Usually something else would have happened within 30 minutes, for better or worse, but right now he can neither take her home or walk away. He’s stuck here while a magical creature is enjoying the first ever shopping spree.

Chepe is just about to go check on things when he sees Pacho walking over to him. The store has an expensive marble floor, and at this moment it looks like a runway, not that he’s ever been to a fashion show, but it can’t be better than this, at least not with male models.

Pacho’s shirt is a blatant neon pink, or hot pink, either way it’s a color that Chepe would never consider on clothes, but it goes inexplicably well with Pacho’s tanned skin, and the subtle patterns made with thin golden threads bring out his brown eyes. The blazer and pants are a lot simpler, both plain light beige, fitting perfectly on his shoulders and hip. All three pieces are silk, which would probably look silly or pretentious on anyone else, but right now, it shows nothing but elegance and charm.

“Wow, that is…” Melissa ends up speaking before he does. “Sir, you look absolutely incredible.”

Chepe looks at her, the woman who’s been flirting with him for half an hour, now staring at Pacho like a starstruck schoolgirl that just met her favorite rockstar. Normally, he would have felt somewhat frustrated, but in this case he honestly can’t even blame her.

“So? What do you think?” Pacho asks him, but not really asking, more like a way to fish for his compliments.

Chepe throws an arm into the air. “I think the lady just spoke for all of us.”

“Great! I’ll get these ones then.”

“Wait, just these?” Chepe says incredulously, almost feeling a little offended. “Man you’ve been in there forever, and this is all you’re getting?”

“What’s the problem? This is the best one.”

“If you’re planning to stay here for a long time, you’ll need more than one shirt, jacket and pants, right?”

Pacho gives him a confused look, and at this point, he knows this is when a question is coming, so he waves Roberto over, promptly ending the conversation before Pacho could say something like why would I need more than one shirt.

“We’ll just take everything he tried. Thanks.”

“Of course! We’ll get them ready for you right away.”

The employees offer to put the dozen bags in his car, but Chepe declines. Letting random people get inside his car is never a good idea, however harmless they might seem. Pacho also doesn’t want any help; in fact he seems to really enjoy carrying each bag himself.

“We’ve known each other for a long time, yeah? So you know how it is.” Chepe leaves a final comment to Roberto as he’s paying the multi thousand dollar bill. “No one else needs to know anything.”

Thinking back, that really wasn’t a smart move. But at the moment, he was too concerned about anyone finding out about what Pacho is, that he completely didn’t realize there was a whole other way to interpret the situation.

“Sí, claro.” Roberto slowly, carefully looks between him and Pacho. “tus secretos están seguros conmigo, Don Chepe.”

Pacho doesn’t stop touching his new clothes on their way back.

“This texture, silk? How is it so smooth?”

“Funny that you asked. It actually comes from an animal. We just call them silkworms.”

“Really? Humans just know all the ways to use us, right?”

He turns to look at Pacho, expecting to see some bitterness or anger, but there’s nothing besides simple curiosity.

“Just look at those.” Pacho stares at the skyscrapers in fascination, as they slowly fade into distance. “No magic would have built them. Only humans could.”

“We can come back another time if you want.” The words come out of his mouth on their own, as a strange rush of soft emotion fills his chest. “Check out the view from the top.”

Pacho looks at him like he’s worth more than all the skyscrapers combined. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

@ashlingiswriting @yourlocalspacewitxch @kesskirata @mandaloria314 @cheesybadgers @cositapreciosa @criatividad-e @cherixrosa @alreadywritten @marrianena @amane-otaku @sikkui @narcolini @tinylittleobsessions @drabbles-mc

#pacho herrera #narcos #narcos fanfic #pacho herrera fanfic #chepe santacruz #Chepe/Pacho #Chepe x Pacho

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furious-rogue-stuff · 1 year

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Heat Chapter 37: Everything

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

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

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

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 19,500+

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

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

Heat Masterlist

Previous chapter - Chapter 36: Pésame

Chapter 37: Everything

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't want to tell you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No. Why do you need him?"

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

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

"We find Pallomari or the godfathers walk."

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

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

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

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

"—I'm so sorry Javier troubled you—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you too, Javi."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're on our way down."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's done."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javi chuckles. "Goodnight, querida."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good luck with Crosby. Bye!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or so he thinks.

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

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

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

Javier would not be complicit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What this will mean for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Highest-ranking DEA official goes on the record…

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

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

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

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

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

"He's gone."

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

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

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

The world shrinks in around you.

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

Carolina Álvarez.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?!" Javi is aghast. "No—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I understand."

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

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

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

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

I'm not enough for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're going to pay a price."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That sobers Javier up.

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

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

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

But you don't pull away from it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't hear from Javier.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There's no answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never got to tell him that he was enough.

________________

Read Chapter 38: Enough

Spanish-English Glossary:

Tan celoso = [You're] so jealous

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

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Mandona = Bossy lady

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Canela = Cinnamon

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

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Pantaleta = Panties; undies; skivvies

La Virgen Santa = The Virgin Mary; The Virgin Mother

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Jodón = pain in the ass [male]

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

Mi patrón = My master/boss

Tan chingona y coqueta = Such a badass, flirty lady

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

Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled

Mi amor = My love

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

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

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

Dulzón = Sweetheart [male]

Buena suerte, agente = Good luck, agent

Batita = Nightgown

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

Reportera = Reporter [female]

Cabrón = Asshole

Guapo descarado = Handsome cad

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

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

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cositapreciosa · 2 years

Text

Masterlist

As always it's the fictional, not the real deal, enjoy xx

Mexico

Amado Carillo Fuentes

Affection - Amado Carillo Fuentes x reader

By proxy - Amado Carillo Fuentes x female!reader

Ismael 'El Mayo' Zambada

Safehouse - Ismael 'El Mayo' Zambada x reader

Como La Flor - Ismael 'El Mayo' Zambada x reader

Burning Bridges - Ismael 'El Mayo' Zambada x gn!reader

Pacho

Brown eyes - Pacho Herrera x reader

Chapo

Juro Que - Joaquin 'Chapo' x reader

Arturo 'Kitty' Paez

In training - Arturo ' Kitty ' Paez x reader

Salvaje - Arturo 'Kitty' Paez x female!reader

Head first - Arturo 'Kitty' Paez x female!reader

Rafa Quintero

Nightcall - Rafa Quintero x gn!reader

Eduardo Sandoval

Rain season - Eduardo Sandoval x reader

Mañana por la mañana - Eduardo Sandoval x gn!reader

Chepe Santacruz

Red lipstick - Chepe Santacruz x female!reader

Javier Peña

Honey - Javier Peña x gn!reader

Jhon 'El Límon' Burges

Mamita - Jhon 'El Límon' Burges x reader

Gustavo Gaviria

Bittersweet - Gustavo Gaviria x reader

WIPs

No title yet - Pacho x GN!Reader final result here

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queenielacy · 7 years

Text

Imagine:

Alvaro plans a wedding…whether Pacho likes it or not.

(This is pretty much a continuation of my last imagine where Pacho proposes to Manuel. I put it under a cut because it’s longer than my other imagines. Enjoy!)

“You have to have a wedding!” Alvaro announced after he spotted the silver band on Manuel’s ring finger and a gold band on Pacho’s. He was having dinner with the couple at their home when he saw the rings.

“We’re not having a wedding.” Pacho said in between chewing on his steak. He had explained to his brother that he had proposed to Manuel and that they were now married, in a sense. They couldn’t be legally married, but they considered each other to be spouses and that was all that mattered.

“You have to have a wedding. You’re a Godfather. Godfathers always have big, fancy weddings.” Alvaro explained. “We’ll invite all of Cali to pay respects to Pacho and our new Patron, Manuel.” He said and winked at Manuel. “Oh! We can have it at the golf course. It’s beautiful there. You two can exchange vows on the hilltop under a beautiful arch that’s decorated in flowers and fairy lights. We’ll do it at sunset so you can have the city lights in the background. It’ll make good pictures and…” Alvaro continued to rattle off ideas as the couple ate.

“He seems really into this.” Manuel whispered to Pacho and he shrugged.

“Don’t worry.” Pacho started. “Something else will come up and he’ll forget all about it.”

Pacho was wrong. He was so very wrong.

A week had passed and Alvaro hadn’t moved on to something else. He was still planning their wedding. He had even enlisted the help of Maria and all three of Gilberto’s wives. They eventually got ahold of Chepe’s wife in New York and even she would call and give them ideas. All five women were just as excited as Alvaro for the wedding.

“Pacho?” Alvaro called out. He was sitting in his chair next to them, looking at the color schemes Maria had got for him.

“Yeah.” He spoke up. Manuel was sitting on the couch and Pacho laid his head on Manuel’s lap as they watched a game show on TV.

“What do you think about sky blue and silver for the wedding colors?” He asked and Pacho rolled his eyes.

“Alvaro, we already talked about this. There’s not going to be a wedding.” Pacho explained for the thousandth time.

“Yeah, sky blue really isn’t your color.” Alvaro called out and Pacho scoffed. Every color was his color.

“I like purple.” Manuel spoke up and Pacho looked up at him.

“Don’t encourage him.” He pleaded and Manuel chuckled.

“Just having a little fun.” Manuel explained.

“Purple and gold. The color of kings.” Alvaro spoke. “I like it. Purple and gold. I’m thinking a rich purple, like the purple on the royal robes.” Alvaro wrote it down. “Now, flowers…what about lilies?”

“Alvaro!” Pacho yelled.

“Right, lilies are kind of gay.” Alvaro reasoned.

“We are kind of gay.” Manuel said and Alvaro waved his hand.

“You know what I mean.”

Manuel looked down at Pacho and smiled. “What happened to this being a phase?” He asked and Pacho sighed. He was sure this was all a phase.

Again, he was wrong.

“Good news!” Alvaro spoke as he wheeled himself into the kitchen. Manuel and Pacho were having breakfast at the table while their housekeeper, Camilla, fixed a plate for Alvaro. “I just got off the phone with the golf course and we have a date, July first.” He announced and Manuel looked over at Pacho with a smirk on his face.

“I’m so excited that Mister Pacho and Mister Manuel are getting married!” Camilla exclaimed.

“That reminds me, we have to go over the menu Camilla because you know you’re the greatest cook in Cali.” Alvaro said and Camilla blushed. “We have to have steak because they love steak but I’m also thinking of having a chicken or fish option and…”

“We have a date.” Manuel teased Pacho and Pacho rolled his eyes.

“Alvaro…” Pacho called out and his brother looked over at him. “We’re not having a wedding.”

“Yeah.” Alvaro waved his hand. “We have tuxedo and dress fittings next Saturday.” He answered and Pacho sighed while Manuel laughed.

“Don’t laugh at my pain.”

Next Saturday, Manuel and Pacho sat on the couch in the tailor shop while Gilberto and Miguel fitted for their tuxedoes and Maria and Gilberto’s wives were fitted for dresses. They received Chepe’s and his wife’s measurement and their clothes would be made to those standards.

“This is ridiculous.” Pacho said as he watched his brother roll around and carefully examine the clothing. “I have to put a stop to this.”

“No, Pacho…” Manuel said and placed his hand on Pacho’s thigh.

“No?” He questioned.

“Look at your brother. This is the happiest he’s been since he’s been in that chair.” Manuel explained and Pacho looked over at his brother. This was the most his brother had smiled since being paralyzed. The planning did seem to take his mind off of his medical situation. He was almost back to being his old self.

“He is happy…” Pacho trailed off.

“I know we didn’t want a wedding, but I also don’t want to burst your brother’s bubble. This whole thing has been good for him.” Manuel explained. “He’s not depressed anymore.”

Pacho sighed and took Manuel’s hand in his. “So, we’re having a wedding.” He said and Manuel nodded.

“We’re having a wedding.”

Just because Pacho accepted the fact that this wedding was going to happen didn’t mean that he was just going to roll over and let Alvaro do whatever he wanted. Pacho still had some control over this situation.

“No!” Pacho yelled at his brother. They were in Pacho’s office. “I draw the line at engagement photos.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t get married without engagement photos. You have to have engagement photos.” Alvaro protested.

“We weren’t really engaged…” Manuel reasoned. As soon as Pacho slid the ring on his finger, they considered themselves married. There was no engagement period for them.

“Okay well…” Alvaro trailed off. “Pre-wedding pictures. We need them for the invitations.” He explained.

“Can’t we just have normal invitations? With just our names and the da-.” Manuel questioned.

“No!” Alvaro cut him off. “Besides, I’ve already hired the photographer and told her be here tomorrow morning at ten. I also bought your outfits.” He explained. Pacho threw his hands up in he air and let out a groan. He gave up. This was Alvaro’s wedding now. He no longer had control.

The months had quickly rolled by and they finally made it to the night before the wedding. Alvaro had worked tirelessly to pull this off. Pacho and Manuel sat at the head table for the rehearsal dinner. They watched as Alvaro bossed everyone around and Chepe, being Chepe, would playfully argue back at him.

“Bridezilla!” Chepe taunted Alvaro and Alvaro threw a roll at Chepe’s head.

“I still can’t believe this is happening.” Pacho said and Manuel nodded. “I’m glad this will be over tomorrow and we can all go back to normal.” Manuel nodded.

“I don’t know. I kind of like bossy Alvaro.” Manuel spoke and Pacho let out a little chuckle before kissing Manuel.

“Thank you for putting up with my crazy brother.” Pacho said and Manuel smiled.

“He’s family. I’m happy to put up with him.” Manuel said and Pacho gave him another kiss. There kiss was interrupted by Alvaro yelling at Chepe.

“You’re not going to ruin this day Chepe!”

The day of the wedding had finally arrived and Pacho felt a nervousness in his stomach. It was stupid. Manuel had already accepted his proposal and they were already married their minds. He didn’t understand his nervousness. Maybe it was just because they were about to declare their love in front of a lot of people. Some or which Pacho knew would be rooting against them.

Pacho walked outside to get some fresh air. As people walked passed him, they would greet him and show respect. “There you are!” Alvaro called out as he made his way over to his brother. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He answered a little too quickly. “I’m ready to get th-oh no.”

“Oh no?” Alvaro questioned. “What do you mean? Oh no? Why are we oh no-ing?”

“That lady.” He said and pointed to the woman walking toward them. “That’s Manuel’s sister.” He spoke. He recognized her from the jewelry store.

“That’s good his family is here, right?” Alvaro questioned and Pacho shook his head.

“No. That bitch and the rest of his family kicked him out of the house. They disowned him because he was gay. Why the fuck is she here?” Pacho wondered and Alvaro shook his head.

“Oh hell no!” Alvaro exclaimed. “No one is going to ruin this day. I won’t allow it.” He promised as the woman approached.

“Stop.” Pacho said to her as she approached. She stopped and looked toward Pacho.

“Don Pacho.” She greeted him and nodded her head.

“Why the fuck are you here?” He asked.

“My brother invited me. He invited our whole family.” She said and pointed to the group of people behind her. They all favored Manuel. Pacho assumed they were Manuel’s mother, father, and siblings. She pulled out a paper from her purse and gave it to Pacho. Pacho snatched it from her and read over it. It was their wedding invitation and attached to it was a handwritten note. It was Manuel’s handwriting, asking all of them to come to his wedding. Pacho looked up from the note and gave it back to her. “I’d like to see my brother, Don Pacho.” She said and Pacho nodded.

“If you ruin this day for him, I’ll kill you and the rest of your family myself.” He promised and she nodded. She knew she was on thin ice. “Alvaro, take her to see Manuel.” He said and Alvaro nodded and led her away. Pacho grabbed an usher and told him to seat Manuel’s family.

“Fuck hell.” Pacho cursed. He needed to find a cigarette.

“Come in!” Manuel called. He was sitting down on the plush chair in his dressing room, wearing the purple and gold silk robe that Pacho bought him as a wedding present. He was speaking with Chepe and his wife when Alvaro opened the door.

“Your sister is here.” He said and Manuel looked up to see his sister staring back at him.

“Sister? I didn’t know you had a sister.” Chepe said.

“A sisters and two brothers.” Manuel spoke. “Can you give us a minute?” He asked and Chepe nodded. They all left the two along.

“You look well.” She said and Manuel nodded.

“I feel well.” Manuel said and gestured for her to sit in the chair across from him. “I’m glad you came. Did our parents come?”

She nodded as she sat down. “They’re here and our brothers too.” She said. “You’re really glad we’re here?” She asked and Manuel nodded.

“I’m glad you’re all here.” Manuel spoke. “I’m glad you’re here to see my life and see how happy I am, and how well I’m doing.” Manuel said. “I know you all thought God would strike me down as soon as I was kicked out of the house, not that any of you cared…especially you.”

“Manuel…”

“Don’t.” Manuel spoke. “Don’t give me a bullshit apology. You wanted me gone because you knew our parents loved me more than you and our brothers. When you caught me with that boy, you could have kept it to yourself, but you told our parents and had be kicked out of the house. How has that been working out for you?” Manuel questioned and gave her a small smile.

“It’s rough…without you.” She admitted. “You were always the hustler in the family.” She said and he nodded. He stood up and walked over to the window in the room. Manuel moved the curtain aside a little to look out and see the people starting to file in. “Manuel I-.”

“I want you to have fun tonight. You, our parents, and siblings. Eat, drink, be merry.” Manuel said and turned away from the window to look at his sisters. “I don’t need a fake apology from you or anyone else. I wanted you to come here today because I wanted to thank you. I thank you for telling mom and dad about me being with that guy because if you hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have met my husband. I guess, I owe you one sis.” Manuel said and then heard a knock at the door. The door opened and Alvaro appeared.

“Sorry to interrupt but you need to get dressed so we stay on time.” Alvaro said and Manuel’s sister stood up.

“Nice to see you again.” He said as she left the room.

“Are you okay?” Alvaro asked and Manuel nodded with a smile.

“I’m perfect.”

The wedding started soon after.

The groomsmen and bridesmaids walked down the aisle and took their places. Pacho walked down with Alvaro and then Manuel walked down the aisle with Chepe. Chepe and Alvaro gave Manuel and Pacho away because Alvaro insisted that they’ve given away. Manuel and Pacho held hands as the ceremony started. The two couldn’t stop smiling as they exchanged vows and slipped on their rings. Pacho felt a tear of happiness fall from his eye and Manuel wiped it away.

“I now pronounce you husband and…husband. You may kiss one another.”

Pacho cupped Manuel’s face and pulled him in for a kiss. Manuel wrapped his arms around Pacho’s waist and kissed his deeply. They kissed for a few moments before pulling away to roaring cheers and applause.

After the ceremony was over, Alvaro pulled them over to take a million pictures before they were led into the hall and placed at the head table. They ate and then watched everyone dance and drink the night away.

Alvaro came over to them and hugged them both. “Aren’t you glad you did this now?” He questioned and Pacho shrugged.

“It was okay.” Pacho said with a smirk.

“Well, I think the honeymoon will be more than okay.” He said and reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a white envelope and handed it to Manuel.

“What’s this?” Manuel asked.

“Tickets to your honeymoon, hotel reservations, and…” Alvaro leaned in so only Manuel and Pacho could hear him. “Elias will be waiting there for you. Have fun.” He said and patted them both on the shoulder before leaving the two at the table.

Maybe this whole wedding thing wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

#pacho herrera #pacho herrera imagine #pacho x Manuel #alvaro herrera #alvaro being a great brother #chepe #chepe santacruz #narcos imagine #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos fan fiction #should I make a honeymoon imagine?

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pascalispretty · 3 years

Text

dial ‘n’ for narcos - one

The Colombian Correspondent

Javier Peña x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Adult themes, references to death, references to violent crime, references to sex, swearing, smoking, drinking

Summary: A Narcos Film Noir AU. Javier Peña has returned to Colombia, and is determined to see justice handed down to the Godfathers of Cali. On his way, he meets a fresh-off-the-plane journalist with a tip burning her hole in her pocket that might just help him crack the Cali racket. (ao3)

¡Al Fin Cayó! The headline of El Tiempo declared, the blocky type seeping slightly into the thin paper where it had been exposed to the humidity.

Or perhaps it had gotten damp in transit. The papers could take days to arrive at best; the Argentine headlines were almost always weeks out of date by the time they reached the office.

With a sigh, you spread out the paper on your narrow desk, trying not to smudge the ink any further. Below the headline, with all the subtlety and grace of a sledgehammer, was a photo of Escobar laid out on a slab, his mother at his head.

It was nice to know that the news game was a crass one wherever you were in the world.

The reports of Pablo Escobar’s death had crackled over the airwaves well over a week ago, though stories were conflicting.

The police shot him. An American did it. He shot himself.

Either way, Escobar was dead.

To your annoyance, the article was also scanty on the details, barely more than four paragraphs long. Even the cables that Sierra had managed to get through had been sparse, especially on what would happen now that he was dead.

You rapped your knuckles on the walnut wood of the desk before yanking the drawer open. There’s a mess of paper inside, scraps of telegrams and envelopes, unsent memos, and unused stamps.

Somewhere in there was your ticket out of here.

Buried somewhere in there is a letter from Sierra, prematurely aged by how often you’ve looked it over in the last few days.

You found it underneath a receipt for a cab and pored over it once more. Sierra Nimri had been The Telegraph’s Colombian correspondent ever since Pablo Escobar had become an international news story.

Now that he was dead, Teddy James wanted to pull her out of Colombia and rotate her into Cuba, to replace Harry Johnson there. Officially, Harry was getting bumped up to the Brussels gig; unofficially, the higher-ups were getting twitched about how much time he was spending with the commies.

Either way, Teddy James, Latin American Editor and nephew of the publisher, wanted Sierra in Cuba, and so she was going to Cuba. To his mind, her gig in Colombia was over.

You disagreed.

Sierra wrote to you from time to time, handwritten letters accompanying the typed manuscript pages of her latest article. Usually, it was just trivial; notes asking for more of an allowance for bribes or passing on gossip that didn’t have a place in the paper proper.

You’d been working for the Latin American desk of The Telegraph for almost two years now, and nothing had made you sit bolt upright in your rickety chair the way the last paragraph of Sierra’s last letter had.

At the start of the missive, she’d acknowledged Teddy’s request to ship her off to Cuba, but she was adamant that she be replaced in Colombia by another reporter.

Cocaine shipments were up, she argued. The Godfathers of Cali were the new big racket in town, and the paper needed a newshawk on the ground to keep an eye on things.

There was also the sensational tip she had been given.

She had been told by Andrés Pastrana that he had listened to a series of tapes that he called ‘narco-cassettes’. She had been told that what was on them was explosive.

And then, before Pastrana could detonate whatever bombshell he had been about to drop, he’d vanished.

His left index finger had washed up in the Cauca river, where the rest of him had doubtless been tossed. Now he was having his bones bleached by the water, his secret gone into the river along with him.

Still, it was the break you had been waiting for. You had spent years, first in school and then in various news offices, working your way up the totem pole. You were tired of covering congressional campaign breakfasts and pet pageants.

Your time working the Latin American desk at The Telegraph had entailed little more than writing occasional updates on stories broken by the correspondents on the ground. From your tiny, cramped office by the stairs, you had read about assassinations and coups, about guerrillas in the jungles and juntas in the pampas.

You were determined to get the Colombian gig, no matter what Teddy thought about it being a waste of money.

With a long sigh, you ran your finger along the edge of the letter. Sierra’s writing looked like a spider had danced a jig in some ink, but you’re used to it by now. Holding the worn paper close to your heart, you pushed your chair back and stood up.

Teddy usually strolled back in from his liquid lunch with the sports editor around two; it was ten past now, and the best time you could think of to argue your case. Hoping the alcohol has done its job on your boss, you took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped out of the office.

Pastrana had been an important guy, a presidential candidate. Escobar was dead, and all of his men were either pinched or offed; it had to mean Pastrana had found out something serious about Cali. They were more or less the only narco game left in town, certainly the only ones with enough pull to murder a potential president.

There was a story in there somewhere, you could feel it. You needed to see for yourself if you could shake anything loose, and you were past positive that you could talk Teddy into letting you replace Sierra.

You just had to hope you didn’t end up dumped in the river yourself for your troubles.

* * *

Javier Peña tugged at the collar of his shirt with one hand as he drove, trying to loosen it slightly. Before starting his new job as the DEA attaché in Colombia, he had bought fresh clothes. It had seemed like a gig that required a little more formality than his usual jeans and short-sleeved shirts offered.

So, before he had left Laredo, he’d done a little shopping, feeling ridiculous as he trailed around the store and dodged men whose wives had clearly dragged them inside for fresh duds.

Still, he was glad to be back in Colombia. The idea of a few weeks at home had seemed tempting at first, especially after his brush with the DEA brass.

The wedding was what had made him come back to Colombia early. It had been a painfully awkward affair, people that Javi hadn’t seen in years rushing to shake his hand and call him a hero for helping win the War on Drugs.

They’d been wrong on both counts.

It almost felt like a relief to pull into the parking lot of the grey hunk of concrete that housed the US Embassy in Bogotá, where people were a little more in touch with the reality of what the US was doing in Colombia.

Stoddard, his new deputy, met him at the door and quickly shattered any hope Javier had that his staff was savvier than the general public. It was like being right back at the wedding; people were practically lining up to shake his hand and ask him about Escobar.

He got rid of them as quickly as he could without being openly rude, sending the kid off to find the boxes of files kept on the Cali cartel.

It was only when he was ensconced in his office, away from the whispers and stares of the new blood that had been rotated into his department, that he felt more at home. Once the door was closed, and the blinds were down, he was free to surround himself with paper, slip off his jacket, and settle down to work.

The glass of scotch he’d liberally poured for himself helped too.

From among the paper and photographs, a better image of the Cali cartel started to emerge.

They were a bunch of slick bastards, with carefully maintained fronts.

Gilberto and Miguel Rodríguez Orejuela were businessmen of renown in Cali, and Colombia more broadly. Gilberto had graduated from being chairman of the board for Banco de Trabajadores to setting up his own bank, First InterAmericas Bank.

Together, they also ran a chain of drugstores, donated handsomely to their favourite football team, owned a phone company based out of Cali, and still found the time to run the largest drug cartel in history.

They were slightly less brazen than Pablo Escobar had been; Pablo had claimed his immense wealth had originated in a firm that loaned out bicycles before he graduated up to a taxi firm. At least the brothers had more obvious sources of wealth

The brothers had two business partners; Chepe Santacruz Londoño, who handled New York operations, and Pacho Herrera, who officially helped run the drugstores, and unofficially ran security for the brothers. He also apparently owned nightclubs and bars all over, a gunsel who was drawn irrepressibly to the nightlife.

There was an op running in Cali tonight; they’d found a brother of a cartel dealer who’d been willing to cut a deal. Two agents had fitted him up for surveillance and sent him in as a waiter to some shindig the cartel was throwing.

It felt strange to Javier to not be there overseeing it personally. He was used to being on the ground, not up in some fancy, newly renovated office made almost entirely of glass.

“Stoddard!” Javi called, rubbing his eyes. The words were starting to swim on the pages, and he wasn’t entirely sure if that was down to the lateness of the hour or the amount of scotch he’d consumed.

When there was no answer, he stood and pulled the glass door of his office open, the blinds swinging violently at the motion.

“Stoddard?” He asked, but it was an empty gesture. The hallways beyond his office were dark; his staff had all left him for the night.

With a look back over his shoulder, Javi decided to call it a night as well. His new office was a mess of paperwork and boxes already, and now that he was up and shaking the stiffness from his legs, he couldn’t imagine sitting at the low, unforgiving couch in his office again. He itched for a cigarette, but he did his best to fight the urge.

Instead, he decided to indulge in his only remaining vice and headed for the nearest bar.

Not far from the embassy was La Social, its name broadcast in bright neon blue above the door. It was a frequent haunt of embassy staff; Javi could remember many hours spent in here with Murphy, talking theories over a cold beer.

Javier slipped the noose of the tie from around his throat as he walked in, and almost instantly wanted to walk back out. Clustered around a table by the window were his new team, Stoddard holding court at the head of the table.

Before Javi could make good his escape, Stoddard noticed him, and the cute brunette Javi had clocked earlier. Time was, Javi would have tried to get her into bed. But he was older now, and his run-in with Lorraine in Laredo had thrown him off his game.

Besides, too many of his mistakes in Colombia had been caused by his weakness for women. Better to avoid that temptation entirely than to risk another Helena, another Elisa, another Maritza. He didn’t need some pretty twist clouding his judgment this time around.

Instead, Javi shrugged his jacket off and took a seat at the bar. Whiskey would see him through, his most reliable partner.

“Hey, boss. Do you mind if we buy you a drink?” He offers, with an earnestness that Javi hasn’t seen in a long time. Was Murphy ever like that? Had Javi been, when he’d first stepped off the plane in Bogotá? The bartender set down the glass of whiskey Javi had ordered, and he took it gratefully.

“No, thanks.” They’re all too green; he wondered what Ivy League criminology course the DEA had recruited Stoddard from. The kid seemed a little deflated by Javi’s rejection. Perhaps he had hoped for stories of dramatic gunfights with Escobar’s men, of foiled car bombings and cocaine raids.

If Stoddard was going to survive down here, he had to get used to disappointment.

Javi finished his first whiskey and ordered another. That itch to smoke was back; he’d spent so many nights in here, with Murphy or Carrillo, smoking until his throat hurt and talking about La Catedral or how to force Escobar out of his hole.

Murphy was gone, playing happy families with Connie and Olivia in Miami.

Carrillo was dead, his widow back in Madrid with her son.

So Javier drank alone, and tried to ignore the desire for nicotine. A glance over his shoulder told him that the cute brunette from earlier was still sneaking peeks at him, and he tried to talk himself out of it. Sleeping with his staff would be a bad look for the new DEA attaché on his first day.

Just as he was about to slip off his barstool and talk to her, he found the seat beside him being pulled out and occupied.

Not by a cute brunette; by an overweight, balding man who looked fresh out of the jungle, still in khaki pants and heavy boots.

“Pretty girl. Poor taste in men though.” Stechner said, making himself comfortable in the seat beside Javier. “It’s nice to see you back, Agent Peña.” Javi very much doubted that. Ever since Stechner’s appointment as the CIA station chief down here, he’d rubbed Javi up the wrong way, and the feeling had apparently been mutual.

“Heard you signed off on me coming back.” Javi said, trying not to let his surprise show. It had taken him by surprise to hear it, especially after the CIA man had put the skids under Messina. Not that Javi had liked Messina, but there was something that rankled about the CIA being able to dispense with his former boss.

“Did indeed. You’re no sap, Peña; you know what the deal is down here. You know Escobar wasn’t a win, no matter how much the brass back home said it was. The same, please.” Stechner ordered his drink with the same casual tone as he spoke to Javi.

It was the tone of a man confident that he was always seven steps ahead of whoever he was talking to, and it made Javi grit his teeth.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Javi would get into incalculable trouble for starting a barfight with the CIA station chief, but it was an enjoyable thought nevertheless. His steady calm was in direct opposition to the rising annoyance that was trying to crawl its way up Javi’s throat.

He almost missed the days when Steve had been the loose cannon; it had forced him to be more measured.

“What was accomplished, Javier? Thousands of Colombians died, and coke’s still flooding American streets by the ton.” Stechner took his drink from the bartender and took a slow sip.

“Oh, come on. You don’t care about American streets or dead Colombians.” Point of fact, Javi doubted Stechner cared much about anything. At that, Stechner gave a mirthless little chuckle.

“Point being, Peña, we can’t afford another bloodbath. No swallowing the spider to catch the fly this time. America has plans for Colombia; blood in the water will just gum up the works.” Stechner said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world, that somehow Javier had been responsible for the bloodbath and it had now fallen to William J. Stechner to tidy up after him.

“So what’s the play?”

“Surrender. The negotiations are all silk so far, and has the seal of approval from those muckety-mucks in DC.”

“And these fucking guys just breeze?”

“After handing over the keys to the biggest coke racket in history. Hell, the biggest racked in history full stop. Far as I’m concerned, the DEA can even take the credit.” As gestures go, it’s as hollow as a log, and it’s all Javier can do to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“So what do you need me for?”

“The dashing DEA agent who took down Escobar? Helps to have a hero along for the ride. The godfathers’ will serve some time, most likely.” There was that word again, hero. Coming from Stechner, it just sounds like an insult, and Javi isn’t sure if that’s worse.

“And that’s enough for you? Sending them up the river for a spell?”

“If there were any justice in this world, Javier, you’d be in jail. That op your guys are running in Cali tonight? It’ll come up snake eyes. All you’ll get for the trouble of going after Cali are more stiffs.” With that, Stechner drained what was left of his drink and left, with a pat of Javi’s shoulder that smacked with condescension.

Javier had every intention of making tracks, the bar no longer feeling so welcoming. He truly meant to, finishing his own drink and tucking a few bills under the empty glass. But then, as he stood, he caught the eye of the cute brunette.

Fuck.

* * *

It had been a struggle for you not to press your nose up against the window of the cab as you were driven through Bogotá that first night that you arrived. On its high plateau in the Andes, Bogotá was cooler than you had anticipated, a look of rain in some of the clouds up above.

Part of you wanted to send the cab ahead with your luggage so you could roam the streets for yourself. Neon lights glittered everywhere, people spilled out of bars and night markets and onto the pavements, the whole city so vibrantly alive in front of you.

You had only read about it in Sierra’s dispatches; seeing it for yourself was another experience entirely, and you didn’t want to waste a single second of it.

The car paused in traffic, and you stared out of your window at the bar directly across from you. A neon blue sign flickering above the door revealed it as La Social. You wanted to climb out, to go to the bar and order yourself a drink and start exploring immediately.

But before you could work up the courage to jump out of the car, the traffic started moving again, carrying you closer to your destination.

The Telegraph had leased an apartment for Sierra not far from the US Embassy, a two-bedroom affair that sounded far nicer than your own tiny apartment that you barely afforded on your meagre salary. Still, the paper was footing the bills, so you were happy to take advantage while you could.

From the bag next to you, you pulled out the new leather notebook you had bought and squinted at the notes you had made in the light of the streetlamps you passed.

What was on the tapes worth killing Pastrana for?

Who has them now?

Why?

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.

Taglist: @lannister-slings-and-arrows, @zeldasayer, @coffeeandtodd, @lokiaddicted, @yespolkadotkitty, @steeeeeeeviebb, @pascalisthepunkest, @pascalesque . Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

#javier pena #javier pena fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #dial n for narcos

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purplesong1028 · 2 years

Text

A Forest Tale

Chapter 1: Mystery and Deal

Art by @amane-otaku

Rating: General Public

Paring: Chepe/Pacho

Words: 2,207

Fantasy, AU, !Fox Pacho, !Shapeshifter Pacho

Chepe takes a trip to the forest at least twice a month during the hunting season. Colombia is blessed with fertile land for a variety of plants and animals. That has been working out pretty well for him, especially the plant part, but hunting is one of his biggest hobbies ever since he was a teenager. It’s a shame that he can’t get Gilberto and Miguel into it, but he’s the coolest one anyway.

About a month ago, he took a trip that was supposedly no different from others, but he didn’t come home with a dead deer, birds or rabbits. He came home with a fox— one that was very much alive.

He was aiming at an enormous bull when some ruffling noise came from behind, and when he immediately turned to pursue the disturber, he found nothing but a beautiful creature with flawless dark red fur and warm brown eyes. He lowered the rifle, laughing at his own paranoia. Chepe didn’t try to shoot the fox because there was no reason to. He couldn’t eat the meat, and he hated those hideous fur coats, so he simply turned away, hoping he could still find that magnificent bull he almost killed.

However, the fox apparently had something different in mind, relentlessly trailing after him despite his aggressive attempts to stop it. At one point, Chepe literally fired a shot at its direction, which would have scared off any animal, but this fucking fox either had no survival instinct, or was secretly a fox ninja, because it didn’t move an inch! In fact, Chepe was pretty sure the animal gave him a confusing stare, as if it was wondering what the weapon was.

He didn’t believe in shit like destiny or fate, but he did know a stubborn asshole when he saw one, and there were only two ways to deal with them: killing them, or giving in.

When Chepe brought it home— brought him home, the maids absolutely had a field day, taking turns to hold the new pet in their arms, not shutting up about how pretty he was. Honestly, Chepe had to agree with them on that. He hadn’t seen that many foxes in real life, but this one didn’t even look like an animal living in the wild, more like some bored rich person’s exotic pet.

But it wasn’t just his appearance that stood out; it was the entire demeanor. Chepe knew this sounded completely insane, but sometimes he didn’t even feel the fox was an animal at all. He always stayed nearby when Gilberto and Miguel came over, and Chepe could swear that the fox was actually listening to their conversations. Also, the spoiled brat insisted on sleeping in a bed, a human’s bed. The first night he actually jumped up to Chepe’s bed and settled in right under the blanket. They fought for about 20 minutes, until the fox finally gave up and walked out of the bedroom, only to be found in one of the guest rooms the next morning. Most importantly, Chepe had never seen him eat anything! The maids and chef tried everything possible; they talked to three different vets, and all they could come up with was maybe it would go out to find food on its own. Yeah, fuck those expensive experts.

Sometimes though, Chepe felt nice to have the fox near him, more than nice, happy. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even describe it other than it being a pure, transcendent blissful emotion. Once he fell asleep on the couch and had the most heavenly dream. It was like a movie with all his best life memories, when his parents bought him a new toy on his birthday, playing silly games with Gilberto and Miguel when they were kids, the first time they had money, how they built their business from the ground as partners and friends…

When he woke up, the fox was lying peacefully on his chest.

“What are you…?” He whispered.

The fox didn’t answer, but Chepe just knew he understood.

“What the fuck are you?!”

As Chepe shouts that, he can’t help but remember saying the exact same thing a few days earlier. But fuck, this sure feels different now! He forces himself to take deep breaths, grabbing the big cross on his necklace out of sheer instinct—— definitely not his proudest moment.

But what the hell is he supposed to do, when a fox literally turns into a grown ass human being, in a puff of smoke, right in front of his eyes?!

“The cross doesn’t work, Chepe. I’m not a vampire.” The fox, no, the man, the monster speaks perfect Spanish, like a human living in Colombia his whole life. “Plus, I’m not trying to hurt you. You want to know what I am, right? I’m just letting you see the truth.”

Never in his life has anyone said to him, “I’m not trying to hurt you.” But he’s too astonished to feel offended at the moment. “Ok. So this is the real you? Or is the fox…how do you…”

The man laughs, fucking laughs. “I can explain everything, alright? But both this and the fox are the real me, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Yeah, like that explains anything. He has a million questions, but he decides to go with the first one that comes to mind. “How did you learn to talk?”

“It takes a long time for us to become strong enough to transform into a human, so I’ve been listening to you people talking this whole time, for more than 500 years.”

“What?! You…” It's 11 in the morning, and he’s not nearly drunk enough for this conversation. “You’re telling me that you’ve lived over 500 years?”

“As a fox, yes, but only a few months as a human.”

Chepe honestly doesn’t know which one is worse.

“Chepe? Are you in there?”

As if this isn’t already bad enough, he hears Gilberto’s joyous voice coming through the hallway leading to this living room.

“I’m busy, Gilberto! Come back later.”

“Busy with what? It’s not even noon yet!” Of course Gilberto doesn’t care. The bastard is probably even hoping to walk in on something embarrassing for him.

“Oh, hello! I didn’t know you had another guest.” Gilberto looks at the stranger, and then back at Chepe. “What, you’re not gonna introduce us?”

“You’re Gilberto, right?” The fox man walks over to Gilberto before Chepe can stop him. “Pacho Herrera. Nice to finally meet you in person.”

They shake hands, and from now on, Chepe can never look at the word “in person” the same way again. Also, how the hell does he have a full name? Is there an ancient fox family, like vampires or something?

“Nice to meet you too! Please excuse me for a moment.” Gilberto smoothly leads Chepe a few steps away from Pacho, and lowers his voice. “Who is this guy? Is he in the business?”

“No. I met him during a hunting trip.” Technically that’s not a lie.

“Ok, but he knows me, and he knows where you live? What did you…” Gilberto pauses mid sentence, looking like he just realized something. “Wait, have you been smoking stuff?”

“What? No.” As soon as he denies it, Chepe knows why Gilberto’s asking. There’s an interesting lingering smell in the air, an earthy, natural scent. But he wasn’t smoking anything, not even cigarettes. Then he remembers the puff of smoke earlier when the fox turned into man. That must be it.

“Ah, actually yeah.” He decides to just go with the lie. “We were just having a smoke or two, nothing serious. I’ve known him for a while. He’s not in the business though. He only buys, never sells.”

Well, better to have Gilberto believe he knows a rich junkie friend than a fox monster.

“Hijo de puta.” Gilberto rolls his eyes, but visibly more relaxed. “Why didn’t you just tell me that, hermano? Got me worried there for a second.”

“Well, it’s before noon.”

“Like you ever cared. I’ll leave you guys to it then, but take it easy, alright? We have that meeting tomorrow.”

“Yeah yeah, of course.” Chepe agrees perfunctorily, urging Gilberto out of the room.

“I think I should tell you I heard all that.” Pacho speaks again as Gilberto leaves the house. “My hearing is more sensitive than humans’.”

Chepe silently walks over to the bar to pour a drink, and when he turns around, he has a loaded pistol pointing at the mysterious creature. “Alright Mr. Fox, or whatever the fuck you are. Sit down, and let’s have a talk, hm?”

“I thought we were already talking!” Pacho isn’t wincing at all, just like how he was in the woods a month ago. “You don’t need to do that, and I doubt you can kill me with that gun.”

“Well, I’m willing to try,” Chepe unlocks the safe, making a crisp sound, “and I have bigger guns.”

Pacho glares at him, a very real human expression. Then he sits down on the couch, seemingly more out of frustration than fear. “Fine, what do you want to know?”

“Everything. Start from your name.”

“I obviously didn’t have one. Why would I? I just made it up.”

That effectively makes Chepe forget the next question in mind. At this point, he should just be expecting every sentence coming out of this creature’s mouth to be a bigger surprise. He does find some humor in it though, because honestly, Pacho Herrera isn’t even close to the worst name someone can come up with on the spot.

“Why did you follow me?”

“I’ve seen countless hunters in the woods, and most of them were awful, so I’ve killed quite a few.” Pacho says that emotionlessly, like confessing to murders isn’t a big deal at all. “But you were different. I followed you multiple times, and you always had the cleanest shots; you never killed what you didn’t want to take.”

“You respect us. You seem like a pretty good human to be around.”

Chepe can’t believe his ears. All this, because he is an ethical hunter? And if he weren’t, this motherfucker would have killed him off in the woods?!

“Look, it’s really not as complicated as you might think.” Pacho looks into his eyes, and right there and then, he feels absorbed from the inside of his head, as if those brown eyes carry gravity on their own. This is raw power beyond humanity’s understanding, and all of a sudden, he feels like an idiot standing there with a gun.

But the pressure only lasted for a split second before Pacho’s eyes went back to regular warm brown. “Feel that? In your words, I guess you could say I can manipulate minds. Very few of us were born with a gift of special powers, but we need to work for it. It takes a couple hundreds of years to absorb enough energy from nature to fuel our own powers.”

“Ok…? Then what’s the deal with changing into humans? Is that just how you manipulate our minds to see?”

“No, of course not. This is how I look as a human. Foxes are not the only gifted kind, you know?” Pacho’s lips curve up into a tiny smirk, like he’s just sharing a little gossip, instead of changing Chepe’s entire world view. “I’ve also met two snakes; I’ve heard of birds but never seen one myself. None of them can manipulate minds, but I suppose they have other powers. Anyway, the point is: all of us can turn into humans once we are strong enough to do so, and that has nothing to do with mind control.”

“And?” Chepe lowers his gun and takes a sip of the whiskey, “That still doesn’t explain why. What’s the point of looking like a human?”

“Are you serious? All of us want to see what it’s like. You people…” Pacho gestures around the house, looking at him like he just asked the stupidest question. “We all live on the same land, but you humans built a whole different world on top of it. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of that, and know how it feels?”

That leaves a strange feeling in Chepe’s chest, like a tight soreness, not painful, but a very uncomfortable tension.

“So for your kind, all this power, all those years, all you want is to live like a human?”

“Is that unreasonable?”

Yeah! That makes no sense!

“Isn’t that a waste of your powers, your gifts?”

“Why? They can be very useful in human’s world.”

Well, that’s the truth. But that’s also the fucking problem.

“So what do you want from me?”

“Well, I was thinking now that you know I can look like a human, you can show me how to do these human things.” Pacho shrugs, “In exchange, I can use my power to help you, if you need it.”

“Alright, I see.” Chepe drinks a large gulp and puts his glass down. Now he kind of gets it, why these special gifted beings haven’t taken over the world yet.

“So the first thing about being a human: you need way better negotiation skills.”

@sikkui @ashlingnarcos @yourlocalspacewitxch @kesskirata @mandaloria314 @marrianena @alreadywritten @cherixrosa @cheesybadgers @cositapreciosa @criatividad-e @narcolini @drabbles-mc @passionatewrites

#pacho herrera #chepe santacruz #narcos #narcos fic #Chepe x Pacho #fanfic

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purplesong1028 · 1 year

Text

A Forest Tale

Chapter 3: Body and Soul

Fantasy, AU, !Fox Pacho, !Shapeshifter Pacho

Rating: General Audience

Paring: Chepe/Pacho

Words: 2,919

They drive out of downtown Cali and back into the mountains, with a dozen bags of new human clothes on the backseat. Pacho peeks at them from the rear mirror. Do humans need so many clothes because they can get dirty, or because they want to look good? If someone already looks great, do they need fewer pieces of clothing, or will they want more?

Chepe takes another turn deep into an area of thick forest. It’s unbelievable how fast the car can go. If he were to come to this area as a fox, it’d take him days, but it takes less than 30 minutes with a car.

“Remember the thing I told you earlier?”

“Sure, which one? I remember everything.” He knows humans can forget a lot of things, but he doesn’t. In fact, his powers make him unable to forget.

“We were supposed to go somewhere else, before the whole clothes issue came up.”

“Right, you need me to do something with my magic?”

“Yeah, and here we are!”

They pull over next to a dirty, old building, and the guards give him a slightly suspicious glance as they open the heavy metal door for Chepe. This building feels very different from Chepe’s house: dark, chilly, with an unpleasant smell of blood and mold. Pacho carefully keeps his distance from the wall, so his new human clothes don’t get tainted.

“Come, this way!” Chepe leads him downstairs. “So this mind thing that you do, how does it work exactly? Can you just read someone’s brain?”

“Not exactly.” Pacho tries to find the correct terms. Sometimes there’s simply no human words to explain what he can or cannot do. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking right now, every second, as it happens. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah that’s fine, I don’t need you to do that. What about someone’s past? Can you tell?” They make a few more turns, stopping in front of a rusted door by the end of a narrow corridor.

“The entire past? I can, but it would take days for me to tell you someone’s life.”

“No, not the entire past!” Chepe laughs frustratedly. “You see, I need to ask this guy some questions, yeah? I just need to know if he’s telling the truth.”

“Oh! Then yes, that’s very easy to do.”

“Excelente!” Chepe opens the large lock and pushes the door open.

Inside the dark cell is a man tied up to a chair. His clothes are ripped, stained with dirt and dry blood. His face is all bruised up and swollen; the right eye barely opens as he looks at them.

“Come on then! Show me your magic.”

“Did you do this to him because he didn’t tell you the truth?” Pacho turns to look at Chepe in genuine surprise— the same person who made him breakfast and took him shopping just a few hours ago.

Chepe holds his stare in a candid yet slightly amused expression. “Is that a problem?”

“I mean, is this usually what humans do to other humans when they aren’t honest? That’s…a bit strange.”

“Oh, no! We lie all the time, but this situation is a bit more complicated.” Chepe locks the rusty door again behind them. “Look, you said you wanted to try alcohol later, right? We have all the time for questions then. How about we just finish up here, so we can skip to the good part, hm?”

Pacho doesn’t really like that tone. He can’t say exactly why, but he’s seen how humans speak to their young children, and weirdly, Chepe reminds him of that right now.

“Ok, you just want him to answer your questions truthfully. That’s it?”

“Yup.”

“Do you need him alive after that?”

That seems to take Chepe by surprise for a brief moment. “Why? Whatever you do, does it kill him?”

“No, but if you don’t need him alive, can I eat his soul afterwards?”

“What?! Wait you…what?” The way Chepe shouts his words is almost identical to yesterday, when Pacho first turned into a human.

“Right. You know I don’t need to eat food, and I get my energy in other ways, sí?” Pacho can’t help but smile as he explains. It’s very interesting, because every single person they have interacted with today seems to hold some respect, and even fear for Chepe, but he doesn’t see why. He doesn’t find him that scary at all.

“Basically, human’s soul is a great source of energy, if I can have it.”

“Um…sure, help yourself, I guess.” Chepe shrugs, still looking a bit shocked at the new discovery. “Only after he speaks.”

“Of course.”

Pacho walks over to the man, who’s silently staring up at him, more confused than terrified. Right, he and Chepe just had the soul eating conversation right in front of him.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. He locks their eyes. “Relax, this doesn’t hurt.”

He loves eyes. Doesn’t matter what they look like: blue or dark, tiny or large. They’re beautiful little round doors leading directly to the minds behind them, and minds… Minds are the most fascinating thing about humans.

Pacho doesn’t know how exactly he does it, and he can’t explain or teach it even if he wanted to. It’s like he’s simultaneously at two places: standing right in front of the man in this room, but also inside of his brain, surrounded by all his memories, thoughts and emotions.

“I’m in. Ask whatever you want.”

“The fire at our warehouse three days ago, you started it, right?”

“Yes.”

There’s silence. The man isn’t saying anything more because that was a yes or no question, and he already answered. Pacho looks over at Chepe, who’s staring right back at him, and that’s when he realizes Chepe’s actually waiting for him to confirm before asking more questions.

“It’s the truth.” He says. He knows it’s the truth, but he’s not really digging into this person’s past memories to find the answer himself. All he does is to put the mind to a state of complete relaxation and vulnerability, so the person is incapable of lying.

“Who gave you the order?”

“La Quica.” Out of curiosity, Pacho takes a look at La Quica as the thought passes him. Nothing interesting, just a young man with curly hair.

“Did La Quica tell you why?”

“You fucking know why.” The man sneers, also unable to hide any true emotions. “We had a deal! LA is Medellín’s territory, and you assholes didn’t keep your hands out of it. That’s fucking disrespect.”

”Disrespect, hmm?” Chepe also snorts. “So what was that fire, a warning?”

“A lesson.”

“A lesson, I see.” Chepe slowly walks towards the prisoner, and Pacho spares a glance just to make sure he’s still securely tied to the chair —— pure hatred and rage are consuming this man, and sometimes a human’s body has incredible potential when their mind is overtaken by emotions. Pacho’s capable of physically overpowering any human, but only when he’s also grounded in reality. When he’s inside people’s minds, there’s very little his body can do.

“Are there any more lessons planned?”

“That depends on you guys. Patrón said Gilberto should know the right thing to do.”

Who’s this patrón? Pacho searches through his mind, and it seems like this person hasn’t really met the patrón face to face that many times, but it sure came up a lot in conversations he had with other people. From what he could gather, it looks like a middle aged overweight man. He’s about to search for the name, when Chepe calls out to him.

“That’s all I need to know. He’s all yours.”

“Thank you!” Pacho says, both with his physical body and inside the person’s mind, which freaks the prisoner out, but it doesn’t matter, once he takes the soul, it will be all over.

He takes a deep breath, can’t help but feel a bit overexcited. This is going to be his first human soul. He’s heard so much about it, how it’s supposed to be the most wonderful feeling in the world when the pure energy is extracted and consumed, melting into their own magic… He considered just trying it on some random human, when he first gained full power a few months ago, but there was never a good opportunity. It’d be super weird if he just possessed someone on the street, and let that person drop dead a minute later.

But this, a prisoner already weakened and injured, likely not going to live anyway, is the perfect opportunity.

Pacho reaches out with his own energy, wide into the realm of consciousness, and starts consuming. Wow…it feels like everything he’s imagined, but better, more powerful. He can perceive everything about this man’s life at the same time, yet each detail is crystal clear. He is absorbing someone, and every essence of this person’s existence now belongs to him, until the mind is left with nothing but absolute blankness.

He stays inside the empty mind for a while to calm himself down, and then slowly exits the dead place, opening his eyes again inside his own body.

“That was fucking unbelievable!” He turns to Chepe, unable to hide his immense exhilaration. “I wish I could show you how it feels!”

But Chepe’s reaction doesn’t match his excitement at all, and he’s just silently staring with a complicated expression. It looks like a mix of many emotions, but mainly just shock and some caution. He could have gone into Chepe’s mind as well to figure out the other emotions, but Chepe did tell him not to do that earlier.

“What? What is it?” He looks down and sees his own hands and arms, now covered in a layer of soft golden glow, like sunlight is attached to his skin. “Oh, interesting! How long has it been like that?”

“Not long, a few seconds.” Chepe glances at the lifeless body. “What exactly did you do in there?”

“It’s hard to explain.” He answers honestly. “I took his soul. I can just do that, like you can’t really explain how humans swallow food, right?”

“Right, and does that make you stronger or?”

“It does, but one soul won’t really make a difference.” He feels his own power inside, just to confirm the conclusion. “But say if I take 50, I’ll definitely become a lot stronger.”

“50,” Chepe repeats, like he’s convincing himself of this reality, “and you can do that to anyone.”

“Anyone.”

“Yeah, I need some fucking fresh air.”

“But quality also matters.” Pacho catches up, “A soul is a soul, but this one wasn’t that good.”

“No surprise there!” Chepe says sarcastically. “God would certainly agree with you on that.”

Pacho has heard humans talking about a God, and from the contexts, it seems like they are referring to some sort of higher power, but that doesn’t exist, right? He hasn’t met one creature that’s more powerful than his kind.

“It’s not because he wasn’t a good person, if that’s what you mean.” They make the same turns as they came in earlier, until the heavy metal door appears at the end of a narrow corridor, and he stops talking when he sees the guards. He can get into the details later.

The guards open the door for them, and sunlight shines through, blindingly bright, inviting them to step outside, back into the warm, lively world.

“Well, if you haven’t figured it out, none of us are good people here.” Chepe continues, once they’re far enough from the guards.

“I think that’s quite clear.” Pacho thinks about the man they just killed as they walk back to the car. “But it’s alright! Your good and bad are human standards, and they don’t matter to me.”

Chepe closes the car door, harder than necessary. “They should, if you’re pretending to be one!”

“I’ll try to pretend better?”

“No, that’s not…” Chepe runs a hand down his face. “Look, I know you think you can do anything because of your powers and whatever, but it’s really more complicated than that, alright?”

“I know that. That’s why we’re fascinated by humans in the first place, remember?”

Chepe rolls his eyes in pure frustration, but doesn’t say anything more. Pacho watches him turning the key, and the car starts moving again.

“I don’t get it.” He turns to the human, who’s now focused on the road. “I only did what you asked.”

The road is empty and they’re the only car here, but Chepe only spares him a brief glance, and it gives him a strange new human feeling, like sourness spreading in his chest.

“It’s not your fault, ok? You didn’t do anything wrong, as long as you don’t start eating the souls of random people.”

“No! Of course not.” He’s not sure if that’s a joke, but it puts a smile back on his face. “But if you are killing anyone else, I’ll take them.”

Chepe laughs at that, loud and genuine.

“So? Are we good?” He asks, just to make sure, because he’s still having trouble understanding the whole thing. Do human emotions always change this fast, for no apparent reason? He wishes he could just get into Chepe’s brain, and it’d be so much easier.

“Let me ask you this.” Chepe doesn’t answer his question, and instead gives him a new one. “What if I tell you to do something without letting you get anything in return? Say if I ask you to burn someone to death, so you won’t be able to get their soul.”

“I don’t see why you can’t do that yourself, but yeah, I don’t mind doing it.”

“Without getting anything for yourself?”

“You’re still introducing the human world to me, right?” He turns to Chepe. The afternoon sunlight is on their left side at the moment, directly shining through the window on the driver's side, making him squint a little. “The food, the clothes, and many other things I hope. That’s what I’m getting in return, for myself.”

Chepe looks genuinely amused, but it’s mixed with disbelief. “For that, you will do whatever I tell you?”

Pacho’s first instinct is to say yes. It was his own offer, and whatever Chepe might want him to do, it should be effortless for him, so what’s the problem? But still, he stops himself from answering immediately, and takes a bit more time to consider possibilities. Maybe he’s missing something crucial, because Chepe’s tone makes the question sound more like a challenge or bait, like he’s expecting Pacho to say no.

“I will do what I’m able to, as long as it doesn’t hurt me.” He ends up saying. “But I don’t think you can, or want to hurt me.”

“What makes you think I don’t want to? Didn’t I just tell you none of us are good people here?”

“I think…you’re not good to some other humans.” Pacho tries to put his thoughts into words. The language isn’t the challenge, but explaining what’s happening in his own mind can be such a sticky thing, so much more difficult than reading someone else’s. “But you’ve been good to me. That’s what matters.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Chepe shakes his head, laughing in an almost defeated manner. “Alright, guess we can leave it at that.”

They are quiet for the rest of the drive. It’s clear that Chepe doesn’t want to continue the conversation, at least not on the same topic, so Pacho turns his attention to outside, observing the fast moving scenery.

They get back to the house, and a guard greets Chepe with a wary expression. “I’m very sorry, patrón. We couldn’t find your fox.”

“What?” It takes Chepe a brief moment to remember his own order this morning. “Oh right, that’s fine. It probably ran back to the woods, just leave it be.”

The guard nods, eyes widening in surprise, and hurries to leave the room.

“Can I ask you something?” Pacho calls out before the human can walk away.

Chepe turns back around, leaning on a large wooden shell full of human artworks and crafts. “Usually you just ask.”

That’s right, but this question feels different, more personal. “You don’t torture animals when you hunt, so how comes that you torture your own kind?”

“That’s a fucking good question.” Chepe chuckles, looking truly impressed. “I’m not sure you’ll understand the answer though, even if I tell you.”

“I’ll try.”

“You will, but not today.” Chepe reaches up and claps a hand on his shoulder. “I need to go prepare for a meeting later. Why don’t you go look around the house, try on your new clothes or something, I’ll be back before dinner.”

He only registers half of the words. All his attention immediately goes to the left shoulder where Chepe’s palm is. The contact makes him instinctively tense up.

“What’s wrong now?” Chepe quickly drops his hand. “You can’t be touched?”

“No, I can.” He shakes himself out of it. “That was just the first time I physically touched a human.”

“Wait, really?! Didn’t you live 500 years?”

“When I’m also in my human form, I mean. It feels different for some reason.” He covers his shoulder, still feeling the residual sensation from the brief contact. “Don’t worry, I’ll get used to the human body.”

Many different emotions flash across Chepe’s face: awkwardness, confusion, and something new, something he really can’t decipher.

“Right, ok. I’ll see you later then.”

Guess they’ll leave it at that.

@ashlingiswriting @yourlocalspacewitxch @mandaloria314 @drabbles-mc @cherixrosa @cheesybadgers @cositapreciosa @criatividad-e @alreadywritten @narcolini @mon-capuccino @amane-otaku @sikkui

#pacho herrera #Pacho fanfic #narcos #chepe x pacho #chepe santacruz #narcos fanfic

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purplesong1028 · 1 year

Text

A Forest Tale

Chapter 4: Control and Trust

!Fox Pacho !Shapeshifter Pacho

Rating: General Audience

Pairing: Chepe/Pacho

Words: 4,715

Chepe almost has a heart attack when he walks into the living room and sees Pacho and Navegante together, each holding a gun.

“Hey! What are you doing?” He shouts at them. It’s too fucking early in the day to deal with this shit.

“Buenos días, patrón.” Navegante smiles, “I’m just teaching your friend how to use a gun.”

“I see you carry one around all the time. I’m curious.” Pacho joins in naturally, still holding a pistol in his right hand.

“He said he never touched a gun, so I thought why not?” Navegante shrugs, as if the most normal reaction to someone who’s never touched a gun is to immediately teach them, in the living room.

“Alright, give me that.” Chepe walks over to Pacho and extends his hand, palm up. Thank God Pacho just gives him the gun without any hesitation or resistance.

He then turns to Navegante. “What are you doing here?”

Navegante spares a short glance at Pacho, silently asking if they can talk business in front of the stranger. Chepe nods, cause what’s there to worry? The guy is literally on his third day of being a person, and doesn’t even understand what coke is.

“Gilberto wanted to meet for lunch at his place, 1 pm, to talk about that recent incident.”

“You mean the warehouse fire?” Pacho cuts in out of nowhere, taking both of them by surprise.

“You know what,” Chepe rolls his eyes, and gives Pacho a gesture to the corridor, “why don’t you let us have this conversation privately?”

“Sure, I’ll just go hang out by the pool.”

Navegante watches Pacho leave like he’s trying to find some answers by just looking. “Does he work for us?”

“Not really, don’t worry about it,” He dismisses the question, “did Gilberto say anything else?”

“Yeah, he asked if that guy said anything else before he died, anything at all that could be useful.”

Chepe thinks back about the interrogation. He asked all the questions he needed to ask, and the guy certainly didn’t share anything else voluntarily. But maybe…

“Not that I can think of right now.” He says, better not to promise anything before he’s certain. “If I have something else I’ll bring it up later at lunch.”

“Yes, patrón.” Navegante then takes a step closer like he’s offering a secret. “Do you want us to keep an eye on your new friend?”

What? What the fuck does he mean by that? There’s something super weird with the way he said your new friend, not like Navegante isn’t always fucking weird, but it just feels even more unsettling than usual.

“Why?”

“No reason.” Navegante shrugs, “No one has seen him around before, so I thought it was better to be careful.”

Yeah, absolutely not. He can’t imagine what fiasco it will lead to if they get multiple people to actively observe Pacho every day!

“No, that’s not necessary. I know him, it’s all good.”

“Ok then.” With that, Navegante simply nods and walks away without saying anything else, or saying goodbye.

Chepe sighs deeply and pours himself a large cup of coffee, and then makes his way to the pool.

“Is that an illusion again?” He sits down next to the pool chair Pacho’s lying on. “I don’t remember buying you swimsuits yesterday.”

“It is.” Pacho takes a sip from a coconut, and Chepe wonders if he got it himself or asked a maid to bring him one.

“What do you think? Is it realistic?”

“What?”

“The swimsuit illusion! I haven’t seen a lot of these, so I can only come up with the most basic design.” Pacho traces the edge of his simple white super tight fake speedo, likely with very innocent intentions, but still, the action itself is so daring and straightforward that it just looks wrong, even to him.

“Yeah it’s fine.” He quickly moves his eyes somewhere else. “We can go get you more clothes later this week, but now I need to ask you something.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“About the guy we dealt with yesterday, did you see anything else when you were in his brain?”

“I took his soul, didn’t I?” Pacho grins proudly. “I know everything about him now.”

He didn’t know that was how it worked. Why would he? But nevertheless that’s great news, and at this point he’s starting to get used to not understanding whatever Pacho does. “Great, so? Do you know anything else relevant?”

“Relevant to the fire?”

“Yes, or anything about what they’re doing, like if they mentioned us in any way?” Chepe tries to find the right words, but it’s not easy to explain all that to someone who knows nothing about their business, or Cali, or Escobar. “Alright, how about this? Did he have any other recent interactions with La Quica?”

“Yeah, they’ve talked quite a few times.” Pacho closes his eyes, and he looks so serene like that, almost harmless, which is unfairly deceptive. “Do you want me to tell you about all their conversations? That would take a while.”

“Not all of them. How about when they mention us? Me, Gilberto or Miguel.” Now that he thinks about it, it’s probably not common for Escobar’s sicarios to refer to them individually. They’ve always been a team. “Or Cali, when they mention Cali.”

“Cali?” Pacho repeats it with a little smile, like he finds the word funny somehow. “Is that what you call yourselves?”

Technically yes, but not like that. They’re not some fucking boy band!

“It’s what our organization is called.” He answers patiently. “It’s also the name of this city, if you don’t already know.”

“Oh I know. That’s why I think it’s funny.” Pacho opens his eyes again, the beautiful hazel color is covered by a shade of gold under the sun. “Wait, do you guys represent the city or something?”

Chepe bursts out laughing. That couldn’t be further from the truth, well, at least not officially, but maybe the fox man is onto something here. They’re pretty much the first thought that comes to mind when someone mentions Cali to the cops or gringo DEAs, but that’s certainly not the kind of representation this city wants.

“No, we don’t represent this city at all!” He says, in the middle of laughing. “Hey, we’re the bad guys, remember?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, a callback to what they talked about yesterday, but Pacho seems to take it very seriously. “And the people who do represent the city, are they the good guys?”

“Wow, shit.” Chepe actually has to take a while to think, not about the answer, but how to answer it. “Your questions are getting more annoying everyday. You know that?”

“Really? Why?”

That is even more difficult to answer than the previous question, so Chepe skips back to that.

“They aren’t the good guys either.” He knows that for sure. How many people from the government have not taken their money? “Or maybe a few are, more or less, but overall? Not really.”

“So who are the good guys?”

“You know what? It’s just more complicated than that.” Chepe takes a sip of his forgotten coffee, which is starting to get cold now. “Remember what you said yesterday? I’m good to you, but that doesn’t make me good. Sometimes it all depends on who you ask.”

Pacho makes a low hum and looks away, tapping absent-mindedly on the coconut, seemingly very much occupied with the thoughts on morality. He wonders if the interest comes from simple curiosity or something deeper, something more intellectual or practical. Maybe understanding humans better would make it easier for Pacho to manipulate minds, or even take more souls?

He shakes that thought out of his head. This isn’t the right time. For now, he needs to get them back on track and find out more about Escobar’s plans before meeting with Gilberto.

“Ok, enough with this boring stuff for today.” Chepe puts down his coffee, and also takes the coconut away from Pacho’s hands. “I still need you to tell me more about what that guy knew, remember?”

“Of course,” Pacho rolls to the side, now completely facing him, and Chepe can’t help but notice how extremely noticeable his human parts are under that fake tight speedo. “So I’m thinking, since I don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, I can just share what I know with your mind, directly.”

“You can do that? Like, transferring data between two computers?!”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Right. Of course.

“That’s fine. So how does it work exactly?”

“You give me access to your mind, and I let you see what I know.”

So basically he’ll need to let Pacho go into his brain again, and that’s not a pleasant idea at all. He saw what happened to that guy yesterday! Who in their right mind would willingly put themselves in that situation?

“I know you don’t like it, but it’s the easiest way, and it’ll only take a few minutes.” Pacho explains, trying to persuade him, but then his face changes, like he suddenly realized something he didn’t know before. “Are you…are you worried that I might hurt you?”

The question doesn’t sound like an accusation, far from it. It sounds confused, offended and even a little painful, like the possibility of him believing Pacho might hurt him already hurts Pacho in turn.

His first instinct is to deny it, to brush it over like he usually does when things get too personal. He already did it multiple times in the past two days, but part of him wonders how much longer that’s going to work. After all, what’s in front of him is more powerful than anyone he’s ever met, and it can literally read minds for fuck’s sake, so as much as he doesn’t want to admit, he can’t possibly avoid talking about emotions forever.

Chepe sighs deeply and looks into Pacho’s eyes, the same way Pacho does when he’s about to do the magic things.

“Alright, look, you need to really think about this. I’ve known you for what, three days? You with your illusions, your mind control and your soul sucking thing, all of that is pinche loco, ok? If I tell anyone else about any of that, they’d think I’ve gone insane!”

Pacho’s lips curve up into a subtle smirk, and Chepe just knows that he takes that as a compliment.

“Don’t you think it’s normal for me to not trust you yet, hmm? If I trusted people that easily, I’d have been dead a long time ago.”

“So what you’re saying is my powers make me a natural threat.” Pacho shifts on the pool chair to sit up, looking a lot more serious, like he’s really thinking hard about this, which is good. “What do I need to do to make you trust me then? Because I will always have my powers.”

“It’s hard to say, but trust often comes with time. People show their true colors eventually.” That’s true for everyone else, but Pacho can literally hide his true colors if he wants to. However, he knows it’s not smart to bring that up now, since it seems to close all doors for potential future trust, so he decides to test it out with a joke. “Unless one day you just decide to erase all my memories or something.”

Pacho laughs out, his posture instantly relaxed from the seriousness earlier. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t do that. I would like you to remember me.”

“And I don’t mind the time. I have plenty of that.” Pacho picks the coconut back up and sucks on the straw. “So are we on the same page?”

Chepe can feel himself smiling as he speaks. “I believe so.”

“Then let’s try that! Let me get in your mind. How would you ever know you can trust me without trying?” Pacho suddenly moves a lot closer, almost climbing to his chair.

“Hey, stop that! What are you doing?” Chepe holds him firmly on the shoulders, stopping him from leaning in more. No, they are not getting this close when Pacho’s nearly naked, fully naked actually! Fuck no! “Why do you need to do that? Can’t you just look at my eyes or something?”

“Well yeah, it’s just easier to hold the gaze from this angle, never mind.” Pacho blinks innocently, but retrieves back to his own chair anyway. “Ok, now you can look at me.”

At times like this, Chepe wonders if those eyes are mesmerizing because of the magic they carry, or simply because they’re that beautiful. Honestly, maybe both.

“Do I need to do something?”

“No, just relax. This is all me.”

Then something happens. The best way he can describe it is that the reality folds in on itself, and he’s suddenly standing in his own brain. That doesn’t make sense at all, but to his pleasant surprise, it’s not a bad feeling at all. He doesn’t feel like he’s being controlled or invaded. He can still feel himself; in fact, he’s never been more aware, more conscious of himself.

“See? Told you it’s not bad!”

He hears Pacho’s voice again, but not in front of him, more like surrounding him, coming from all directions at once.

“Yeah…this is fucking cool.” Did he speak in his mind only? Or did his body also speak? He doesn’t know.

Pacho laughs, pure and joyous like a happy kid. Was this what he did to their prisoner yesterday too? Did that guy also feel so blissful and relaxed before his soul got sucked out of him? If so, honestly that’s not a bad way to go at all.

“Alright, so here are his interactions with La Quica, I’m going to show you slowly, one by one.”

The scenery around him changes, like he’s suddenly transported to the streets in Medellín. He sees everything: the old buildings, the cars, people walking around, yet they’re all blurry like random backgrounds in movies that people don’t pay attention to. Maybe that’s exactly why. He’s seeing this piece of memory the exact way it was being remembered.

“Ay lobo!” La Quica shows up, putting his arm around the guy. “You made it! Come, I’ll show you my favorite one here!”

Lobo? The Wolf? This guy was the wolf, seriously? Judgment aside, Chepe keeps following the memory as they walk into a worn down house in a back alley, and the door opens into…a bunch of women with heavy makeup?

Wait…

“Quica!” A girl with pink hair puts her arm around La Quica’s arm, rubbing her boobs on him. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you!”

“What the fuck?” Chepe snaps, “No! Get that out of here!”

The space surrounding him becomes empty again momentarily, and then follows Pacho’s calm voice. “This isn’t what you’re looking for?”

“No! I told you to only include ones where they mention us!”

“They did mention Cali later.”

Part of him doesn’t even want to know how that plays out, but guess he has to, but again, it doesn’t mean he wants to look at it. “Fine, then just tell me what they said.”

“A lot. They were basically talking about the plan to burn down your warehouse.”

So these guys talked business right after fucking their whores? Great, why was he even surprised?

Chepe sighs heavily. “Ok, then can we just skip to that part?”

“Of course.” Pacho agrees so easily that he has no idea why they couldn’t have just done that in the first place.

The scenery slowly comes back again. He’s still in the same area, but a different house. It seems like one of their safe houses, or secret meeting spot. They’re sitting in a gloomy basement, with beer bottles and ashtrays on the wooden table.

“Ready for tonight?” La Quica asks, while lighting a cigarette.

“Yeah, we have more men than them. We burn these motherfuckers down.”

“Have you done that before, brother? Burn down a building?” La Quica laughs, completely relaxed, even a little excited. “If you shoot a motherfucker, he dies and that’s it, but fire?”

The sicario inhales deeply, and then slowly blows out the smoke. “Fire is the shit, man.”

Strangely, Chepe understands exactly what he means. The magnificence of it, slow yet massive, a tiny spark gradually building up to complete destruction.

The Medellín aren’t the only people who love fire.

“Here, we go through the woods, making a shortcut,” La Quica points at a large map on the table, “there might be people patrolling, so we either go around them or kill them.”

These motherfuckers did end up killing three of their men there, and by the time they found out, the warehouse was already caught on fire. They should definitely increase security in that part of the woods, which seems like a weak spot.

The conversation is still going on as they discuss details of the attack, but there’s nothing new at this point, since he already knows what happened that night.

However, just when Chepe’s about to tell Pacho to get him out, he notices something interesting on the map. It’s a faint mark in another area of the forest, not the same direction as the warehouse.

Does Cali have anything in that area? No, he knows everything they’ve built, from warehouses and labs to safe houses, and nothing is located around there. So why was it marked out? Is it a simple mistake? Just something irrelevant?

“Can you make the map bigger?” He asks Pacho.

“I don’t think so, sorry. This was how he remembered it.”

“Ok, then let me out. I need to do something.”

The scenario starts to fade out, and soon enough, the real world is once again in front of him. Chepe blinks a few times, squinting a little under the bright sunlight. He feels entirely normal, like nothing happened at all, which is actually weird considering the situation. He looks at his watch, and only less than five minutes has passed.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m good!” Chepe take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air. “It doesn’t feel like anything at all.”

“You shouldn’t. Unless I intentionally make you tired or miserable, you won’t feel anything.” Pacho stretches in his chair like a content large cat. “Not that bad, right?”

He would like to know more, like how exactly Pacho can make someone miserable or happy, whether it’s by invoking their own memories or creating raw emotions, but right now he needs to solve the issue on his hands first.

“It was very helpful, thank you, but now I need to figure out what that mark on the map means.”

He gets up to leave the pool area, but Pacho also gets up to follow him. “I know where it is. I know the forest around here pretty well.”

Actually that’s a good point. Who would know the forest better than someone who had literally lived there for hundreds of years?

“Alright, then come!” He nods at the door with a smile. “But put your clothes back on first.”

Chepe lays a map flat on the desk, but Pacho seems a lot more interested in the antiques in his office, from the pair of porcelain vases to small art crafts on the shelf.

“You didn’t make those, right?”

He snorts, “What do you think?”

“Probably not,” Pacho walks over to the desk, “doesn’t feel like you.”

He’s not sure if he hears a subtle teasing tone in these words. He doesn’t care if there is, but he’d be impressed with how fast this magical creature is picking up the more complex human mannerisms.

“So here is our warehouse, and they came this way, but here,” he makes a big circle with the red marker, “why did they mark it here?”

“Let’s see, give me a minute, I’m just trying to understand this.” Pacho carefully traces the map with fingertips, and it occurs to him that this might be the first time Pacho ever sees a map.

“We are here.” He points at where they are currently, and then at the marked location of their warehouse, “and this is where the fire was.”

“Oh, so basically it’s a smaller version of what everything looks like from above?”

“Sure, that’s one way to put it.”

“Alright, in that case,” Pacho slowly moves his hand to the unknown marked location, “if someone wants to get to the warehouse, I think they can go from here. It’s like a shortcut.”

“Wait what? From there?” That can’t be right. They’ve carefully surveyed the area before building anything in the forest, just so they can always find the most secure location. Besides that, he goes into the woods himself all the time, and he has never found a direct way between these two points. “I don’t think so. There’s like a fucking cliff in between.”

“Right, the small cliff is around here.” Pacho takes the marker from his hand and draws a line. “But there’s a specific part of that cliff that’s accessible. A lot of animals walk up and down there all the time. It’s still dangerous for humans I think, but it’s doable.”

“So you’re saying they can literally climb down a fucking cliff to get to the warehouse?”

“Maybe? But they might also fall down and die.”

Honestly, that would make sense. Maybe they discussed the possibility but decided not to take the risk. But still, that cliff? Seriously? He has to go there again himself just to see what the hell Pacho’s talking about.

Pacho puts down the marker and looks up at him expectantly. “So? Is this helpful?”

“Yeah, very much so!” He laughs and pats Pacho on the shoulder, which makes the other man immediately tense up, and then he remembers Pacho’s whole deal about not being used to touching humans.

“Right, sorry,” He drops his hand a bit awkwardly, “still not used to that?”

“Yeah, but it’s just a reaction. I don’t really mind you doing it.”

“What exactly do you feel?” Now he’s actually curious. What makes a simple touch have so much impact? “Does it hurt you or something?”

“No, I guess I don’t feel it much differently than how you feel it.” Pacho touches him on the shoulder in return, like that’s supposed to make a point somehow. “But just more intensely, since all my senses are better than humans’.”

“Oh.” His vocal cord kind of makes a sound on its own, and he doesn’t know how to respond. Better senses, isn’t that just…more sensitive?

“Is that bad?”

He snorts, “Not necessarily, I guess.” But there’s no way he’s getting into details about that now, or ever. “It might become a good thing, when you learn how to use it someday, to enjoy it even.”

“Yeah, maybe I will someday.” Pacho smiles unsuspectingly, but then meets his eyes with a slightly hesitant look. “But can you do me a favor? For now?”

He almost wants to say no immediately, because there’s no way this is heading in a good direction. But if he refuses, it will only raise more questions, so eventually he decides to give Pacho the benefit of the doubt. “What favor?”

“Can you just touch me on my shoulder again? And arm too?” Pacho puts his own palm on his left shoulder, massaging it a little. “I see people do that to each other a lot, especially guys, so I want to get used to it sooner than later. I don’t want to look weird that way.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” He relaxes immediately. Alright, that’s actually nothing. What the hell was he thinking?

“Ready?” He raises his hand.

“Yeah.” Pacho nods, and even leans his arm closer to him.

Chepe gently placed his palm on Pacho’s left shoulder, feeling the strong, tense muscles underneath. Everything is so authentically human, and he doesn’t know why he was expecting something else, something more novel, something better in a way.

“Is that alright?” He moves down along the upper arm slowly, and everywhere his hand travels to, he feels the muscles tense up and then relax after a few seconds.

“Yeah, it’s ok.” Pacho exhales, and then laughs out like he suddenly finds the scenario ridiculous. “It’s actually nothing. I don’t know why I was nervous about it.”

“Well, you did just get this body three days ago, didn’t you?” Chepe gives his triceps a few solid pats, and then moves away. “Don’t worry. I’d be uncomfortable with it too.”

“Wait.” Pacho suddenly reaches over to grab him again, taking him by surprise. “There’s one more thing I want to try.”

Before he could react, Pacho leans in and pulls him into a hug.

It wasn’t tight at all, and actually feels quite tentative, but it’s so warm with Pacho’s slightly higher body temperature, and he doesn’t know if that’s how it is, or if it’s because the other man is nervous.

“I see humans do this too, when they are close to each other.” The smooth voice is right next to his left ear, hot breath blowing on his earlobe, brushing his neck. Chepe freezes, like he’s controlled by another form of magic carried by physical touch. He opens his own arms to hug back and tries not to overthink, and not to notice the elevated heartbeat against his chest.

He doesn’t know whose heart is beating fast.

Does Pacho even have a human heart? Does it even beat?

“I’m sorry.” Pacho pulls away a little, probably notices his stiffness. “Was I not supposed to do that?”

“No! No, it’s fine.” Chepe pulls him back in and gives him a nice, right hug like a friend, a brother, although deep down, he’s not sure what he’s trying to convince himself of.

Chepe pats him on the back, using slightly more force than usual. Nothing he does can hurt this creature anyway, so there’s no need to be careful. “If you want a hug, at least do it properly.”

“And this is a proper one?” Pacho pats him on the back in return, with the exact same force which almost makes him cough, but he swallows it down.

“…Yup, there you go!”

They stay like that for a short while, no more than a minute, but it feels significant, and it is significant, at least to Pacho. It is the guy’s first hug after all. But it’s still interesting to think about it from that perspective, because that’s not even something meaningful to humans, is it?

He doesn’t remember his first hug, and he’s pretty sure no one else does. Hug isn’t seen as a big deal like kiss or sex, so it’s refreshing to see it meaning so much to someone. In a way, it’s even moving.

“Thank you, Chepe.” Pacho finally pulls away, and his eyes have never seemed more vivid, more human. “I’m glad I did that with you first.”

That definitely sounds fucking weird, but the worse part is he doesn’t even know how to explain to Pacho why it’s weird. “It’s not a big deal, but don’t put it like that.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“…You’ll learn later.”

“Alright,” thankfully Pacho doesn’t get fixated on this one, “it was nice though, I mean it.”

“And I mean don’t worry about it.” He looks at his watch, and it’s already 12:40. Navegante should be here to drive him to Gilberto’s place in a few minutes.

“You need to go somewhere?”

“Yeah, meeting with Gilberto and Miguel.” He doesn’t need to share that, but he thinks he should, or at least he doesn’t mind after Pacho helped him to make a major discovery. “You’ve helped a lot, so thank you.”

“Well, don’t worry about it.” Pacho mimics his tone with a teasing smile. “That’s the deal, right? You help me, I help you.”

“Sounds fair.”

There are a few knocks on the door, and Chepe opens the door to one of his guards standing outside with Navegante. He nods at Pacho and walks out. He doesn’t feel the need to leave specific instructions anymore. The house’s probably not going to burn down if he’s gone for a few hours.

He doesn’t see Pacho’s smirk after he’s gone.

Tag list: @ashlingiswriting @narcolini @drabbles-mc @mandaloria314 @yourlocalspacewitxch @cherixrosa @cositapreciosa @criatividad-e @alreadywritten @sikkui @dashavau @mon-capuccino @amane-otaku (let me know if you want to be added or taken off the tag list of this story)

#narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfic #pacho herrera #pacho herrera fanfic #chepe x pacho #chepe santacruz

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