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urgonnaneedabiggership · 1 year

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NAMOR (MCU) X MEXICAN!OC

MASTERLIST

A/N: Remember you can find this fanfic on AO3 right here. Any feedback and/or comments are greatly appreciated <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, just say so!

Also, I think this is the first time I mention Mercedes' faceclaim. I originally envisioned her as Oaxacan model Karen Vega but it became too hard having to constantly picture an older version of her (she's 21) until @evita-shelby introduced me to Sofia Engberg and she's SUCH A GREAT FIT TOO especially after I came across this gif! So, special thanks to her! Now, without further ado, here's chapter XVIII

Warnings: Violence, weapons, death and un-aliving people. Language. Mentions of sexism.

Word count: 4,538

They hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since they left Moni’s house undetected. The only sound around them was the relentless singing of cicadas. Mercedes usually found it to be soothing, but not then. Discretely observant, Namor noticed the way her fingers gripped the edges of the map she was using to find her way to the coordinates in the paper. He observed her locked jaw and how her eyebrows barely met in the middle of her forehead when she narrowed her eyes whenever the slightest noise reached her ears.

Mercedes was in her element. Still, something was new. He could see it in the way her knees were slightly bent to make as little noise as possible the closer they got to their destination, and in the way she never lowered her arms below her waist in case she needed to protect her chest. Talokanil knowledge taught by one of his best men and closest friends. Even after such a short time, he knew she would always remember to gather all her strength in her knees and elbows because that’s what Attuma always taught to shorter soldiers.

Too late he realized she had said something to him and was expecting an answer.

“Sorry, I thought I heard something behind us,” He excused himself.

“I said I’m worried because now they seem to know where the village is,” Mercedes repeated, swatting a low-hanging branch away, “Maybe you should have stayed behind to look after Moni and Antonia,”

“If they knew of their closeness to you, they would have targeted them too,” Namor reassured her, “They would have taken them as well,”

“Are you sure?” She asked, taking another look at the map.

“It’s what I would have done.”

“And do you think she’s still…?” Mercedes asked, unwilling to finish the grim sentence.

“She is. We’ll get her back.” He sounded so determined that a hidden, primigenial crook of her brain tingled in a pleasantly alleviated way knowing she wasn’t alone. He would help her. He would protect her.

“Still, there’s something else you should be worried about,” Namor gravely warned her, “Whoever did this knew there was going to be a celebration that day and the exact time at which the noise would be loud enough to camouflage the shooting. Either that or somebody else told them,”

“An outsider wouldn’t be able to randomly show up in town, much less ask about the celebrations without raising suspicion.”

Namor stopped walking and firmly placed a hand in front of Mercedes, halting her steps.

“Stop. There are more people ahead of us. I think we found them,”

“The coordinates are still a few kilometers ahead of us,” She whispered, taking another peek at the map.

“No, that’s probably where they want to make the exchange. We must’ve stumbled upon their campsite.”

Only a few meters ahead of them, settled at the bottom of a steep slope that led into a hollow, stood three large tents. Most of the activity seemed to be taking place inside them since outside, only about eight men circled the area brandishing long weapons.

“Me lleva la chingada. Three tents, of course,” Mercedes muttered, staring intently at them as if she could see through the thick canvas to determine where they were keeping her grandmother, “I guess we’re going to have to take them by surprise,”

“I’m faster. It will make more sense if I check all the tents and you take care of the ones that try to escape,”

“No,” Mercedes immediately objected, the mere thought of going their separate ways bringing up memories that manifested physically as an ice-cold grip on her heart, “No, we’re not splitting up,”

“Xmeech,” Namor placed his hand under her chin, softly turning her head towards him, “Their bullets cannot hurt me the way they would hurt you. But I can’t protect your grandmother and make sure none of them escape. I need you.”

Despite the situation, Mercedes managed to remain calm. She knew that, despite her chiich’s involvement, freaking out wouldn’t help anybody. By now, focusing on tracing and following a plan under crippling stress wasn’t foreign to her. She chose to focus on that Yet, her throat felt dry and raspy, like it was about to close up. Every time his soft exhalations caressed her cheeks, the pressure on her chest increased until breathing became a nearly impossible task.

“Which tent will you go to first?” She asked after releasing herself from his touch with a swift nod before rummaging through her bag.

“The left one,” Namor replied, his voice promptly reverting to his usual tone, back to his Talokanil warrior self that would be much more useful in this situation rather than this stupid infatuated youngster he seemed to occasionally, and inconveniently, turn into, “There is a blind spot in the shifts of those two men, and a ten-second window I can use to sneak in. That will give us the advantage if she’s there, and if she’s not the commotion will draw all the guards…”

“To the tent that needs the most protection, so I’ll know where they have her,” Mercedes chimed in with a complicit smile, which was proudly reciprocated by her partner. Before he left, she took a glass bottle filled with some sort of fuel and a piece of cloth for a wick, “If she’s not inside, light those fuckers up,”

“Táan wáaj a wéetel?” He asked, firmly pressing her hands together and encompassing them in his own.

“Ta wéetel.” She adamantly replied, removing her hands to shift them so they were holding Namor’s, giving them a tight squeeze. The minute she let go, he turned away and began stealthily making his way down the slope.

If somebody had told Namor just a few months ago that he would ever put himself at risk of being discovered just to keep an inhabitant of the surface safe, he would have laughed at their mere thought. However, as kind as the elderly woman appeared to be, deep inside he knew the true reason that drove him to do something as insane as raiding a camp with no preparation whatsoever and no backup was sitting on top of a hill doing her best to contribute to the mission. If only he had Namora and Attuma by his side, they would be done in less than thirty minutes. He hadn’t even been able to inform them of the reason for their delay. Hell, he wasn’t even sure of what would happen or whether she’d actually choose to return after they got out of there, but he decided to focus on the matter at hand. He was right. Two of the guards crossed paths and continued until they got lost around the corner. Right before he could rush into the tent, an unexpected guard popped outside. With a surprised curse, the man aimed his rifle at the warrior, who unwaveringly ignored his orders to stop as he kept approaching him.

Inside, a dozen men pried their eyes off the map splayed on the table before them almost simultaneously when several shots were fired outside followed by cries they did not expect to hear from any of their security personnel. Exchanging nervous glances, some of them even reached to their side to grab their weapons. Before they could begin to wonder what was going on, the man that had just left the tent crossed the entrance again, though not by his own foot. Instead, he flew several meters across the tent and fell on the wooden table so harshly that it broke in two before everybody’s eyes. However, they all turned to look at the only access to the tent when they realized much to their horror and confusion that the only sound coming from the outside besides the distant warning calls of the other guards, was absolute silence. And alarmingly slow footsteps unfalteringly moving towards them.

The minute the first tent went up in flames, Mercedes saw how the remaining guards either rushed to the burning tent or ran to the one on the far right. Not one of them tried to escape, and the urge to come closer was too powerful. Taking one last look at the treeline to make sure it was empty, she rushed down the hill and combed the edge of the remaining tent. Not even a minute later, Mercedes came across one of the guards, the element of surprise enabling her to shoot him down before he could place his finger on the trigger. Hastily picking up his weapon to replace her gun with it, she ran inside the middle tent expecting to find her grandmother inside. Instead, she was met with at least another six men from which at least three raised their guns at her while the rest hid behind a wooden table set in the middle. Swiftly dropping to the floor just in time to avoid getting hit by a rain of bullets, Mercedes practically rolled to seek refuge behind a metallic cabinet. The lack of hiding places made it easy for her to realize her grandmother wasn’t there, but the hollow sound the bullets made against the steel that guarded her prevented her from just throwing a Molotov cocktail and getting the hell out of there. The cabinet was bulletproofed, which could only mean that whatever was inside was extremely valuable. Mercedes took a deep breath and a quick peek at her assailants. There were in fact five armed men and three more taking cover underneath the tables. She firmly gripped the rifle and took a deep breath before leaving her shelter momentarily, opening fire against them and taking cover before they could respond. Three armed men and two under the table. “A ver pinche escuincla, ¿vamos a tener que deshacernos de tu abuelita o podemos hablar como gente adulta?” Alright, fucking brat, are we going to have to get rid of your granny or can we talk like adults? “¿Crees que por decir ‘pinche escuincla’ voy a creer que eres mexa, cabrón?” Mercedes yelled back from behind the cabinet, knowing damn well they were just trying to provoke her to lure her out. The man, despite attempting to use the lingo to cover it up, was definitely not a native speaker. This time, he replied in English. Do you think that because you said "pinche escuincla" I'll believe you're Mexican, asshole? “If any of us makes the call, the next time you see your grandma will be washed off on the riverbed. So you better come out here so we can talk it over.” After giving it some thought, Mercedes stood up and aimed in the direction of the voice with the rifle, despite knowing she was being aimed at. “This isn’t going to work unless you drop your weapon, sweetheart,” The sentence was issued in a warning tone. Mercedes’ blood boiled in her veins at the use of the nickname, but she clenched her jaw despondently and started to lower the rifle, willing to talk for long enough to buy herself some time to better assess the situation. That calm, logical disposition would only last for about five more seconds, right until she heard the mocking voice of one of the unarmed men under the table.

“Thank you. God forbid we should make a woman angry.”

Namor heard the shootout right beside him. Annoyed at the woman’s apparent inability to just do what she was told, he made use of his wings to survey their surroundings, hoping nobody had gotten away while Mercedes unsurprisingly jumped in harm’s way. At least he had made sure nobody in the first tent would be able to say what they’d seen there, and from the air, it looked as if everybody had taken cover and run inside either of the two shelters. He then rushed to the final tent, certain that the kidnapped woman would be inside. Instead, he found it to be nearly empty save for a table filled with scattered papers and old walkie-talkies. He reasoned that since the campsite wasn’t large enough to need a radio communication system, they probably were intended for those waiting at the coordinates that were given to Mercedes. Namor quickly went through the papers on the table, searching for something that could have information worthy to be spared from the fire. Instead, he felt relieved that it was he who found those documents and not Mercedes. There were pictures of her. Some were as recent as the first day they arrived in her hometown, and others appeared to have been taken months ago. She was doing mundane things such as walking the streets of an unknown city or talking on the phone. In one of them, taken through a window, she was sitting in a living room with a small coffee table full of printed photographs. Sometimes he forgot she had not been a soldier for a long time and had chosen to pursue other interests.

Some of the material, however, was confusing. She didn’t look much younger but still was dressed in camouflage apparel, depicted with some other people with the lower half of their faces covered with a bandana or a scarf. But those were undoubtedly her eyes. She was sitting on a rock, supporting her weight on a rifle as she stared at the camera. In another photo, she was standing in line with two other women that stared at the photographer with equally tired looks, a table before them filled with brown packages and three long weapons. The last one was a mugshot, and what baffled him most was the name on the plaque she held. It wasn’t hers.

Another round of gunshots in the tent next to him made him look up. Before he could worry, he could hear Mercedes’ voice above all the rounds shouting something along the lines of “a ver si con ese hoyo en la jeta se te quita lo machito, cabrón," Let's see if that hole in your mug takes away your macho attitude, motherfucker

It was then that he wondered whether she’d ever been truly mad at him. Probably not.

K'uk'ulkan then noticed the flames of the neighboring tent were starting to lick the edges of the one he was in, and he knew it was time to leave before his skin started to resent it. Right before exiting the tent, a sound made him turn around, his observant glance falling upon one of the walkie-talkies, from which some static emerged before a voice was distinguishable.

Mercedes sat down on the pierced remnants of the wooden table, trying to catch her breath. She thanked whatever deity that the men inside that were unarmed weren’t fast enough to grab the weapons of their fallen comrades to defend themselves. Taking down three men was exhausting enough in itself. However, she was far from relieved. She had seen the flames slowly take over the only remaining shelter, which indicated that her grandmother wasn’t there either. With no unchecked tents left, chiich still missing and Namor nowhere to be seen, Mercedes’ heart was beating faster than ever, so much so that she felt as if she was going to throw up. In fact, she was surprised that something like that had worn her out so much. She understood she wasn’t in her twenties anymore, but still… The woman sighed and continued to scan what was left of the papers she’d found inside the cabinet, which now rested on the table, hoping to find a hint of her grandmother’s whereabouts. Enthralled trying to piece together the fragments of information, Mercedes was oblivious to the agonizing man behind her desperately trying to reach the handle of one of the discarded guns. With one last colossal effort, he curled his fingers around the still-warm metal and aimed at her, confident of his chances of hitting his target since she was less than three feet away from him.

A loud bang startled Mercedes as she quickly spun around just in time to see a man dropping a gun and falling to the floor with a heavy thud, a large smoking wound covering the higher half of his back. Slowly making her way towards him, the woman intended to inspect the strange laceration as she knelt next to the body. While her eyes were focused on the edges of the injury, a voice spoke from the other side of the closest wall, calling her name. The interlocutor was hidden by the dark, thick canvas of the tent. Mercedes jumped to her feet, aiming at the spot.

“Stop,” The voice firmly instructed before she could take a single step, “Don’t t come any further. I’m not with them and I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Why would I trust somebody I can’t even properly look at?” Mercedes urged the person, never lowering her weapon or her guard. Silence followed. Unbeknownst to her, the stranger was amused.

“We have that in common. But I think that what I just did is enough proof for now.” They calmly replied. This person had a strict, yet velvety voice. Perhaps slightly condescending, too.

“Thanks. What do you want?” Mercedes asked through gritted teeth, begrudgingly granting the stranger that one point.

“I know who you are.”

“Big news. So did they.”

“No, Mercedes. I know who you are.” The voice insisted, slowly emphasizing the words so that they sounded more like a warning or a vague threat. Inside the tent, Mercedes felt a sharp pressure on her chest and realized she was holding the rifle so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.

“What do you want?” Just like it happened with the previous sentence, a subtle change in her enunciation of the question the impatient inquiry now bordered on pleading.

“You have some powerful friends, don’t you?”

She didn’t like the course this conversation was taking. Not one bit. Speaking of powerful friends, where the hell was hers?

“If you’re wondering where he is, he should be getting to your grandmother any moment now at the coordinates these people sent you. She’s as alright as it was possible. Consider this a favor in exchange for another.”

“A favor?” She spoke again, the stranger’s ambiguous statements not doing much for her puzzled state.

“Did you really think they would have let either of you just walk away after you gave them what they wanted? After what they did to you some time ago in the caves one would think you learned something,”

“I wasn’t going to give them anything,” Mercedes argued defensively, “I never intended to negotiate.”

“I see,” The voice replied, mostly devoid of emotion but with a trace of surprise in it, “As I said earlier, your grandmother isn’t in harm’s way anymore, I made sure of it. But we both know there is no way to ensure her safety going forward, right?”

“You’re making it sound like there is. I’m guessing this is where you call in that favor?” Mercedes pressed her lips together, furrowing her eyes in concentration as she anxiously tapped her index against the side of the weapon, “What are your terms?”

“I have some powerful friends too, Mercedes. I can ensure your grandmother’s safety from any further attacks on her or the rest of your family. What I need from you in return is what these men asked from you. I want the laptop that contains all the information you have on Wexler and the research on the toxic spores,”

“Of course,” She replied, her grip on the rifle tightening again, “Who do you work for? Another government that’s going to do exactly what these people intended?”

“I can’t say much more, but I can assure you that we won’t use that information to make any weapons, or harm anybody. I give you my word.”

Despite her inability to see the owner of the voice, the emotion in it was real enough for Mercedes to ponder whether she should trust them. The contents of the laptop did not only include records on her and others or information regarding the toxic fungus, but also photographic evidence of the infested grotto right above an entrance to Talokan. And given the fact that whoever this was seemed to be aware of Namor’s existence, chances were they knew of the submarine city.

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” She huffed in a slightly less defensive tone, “I don’t have the laptop with me. I told you, I wasn’t here to negotiate.”

“I suppose it’s…back there, isn’t it?”

Just like she suspected. They knew. Mercedes looked behind and around her despite being convinced she was alone. Or, more accurately, to make sure she was. Forgetting she was also hidden from the stranger’s sight, she nodded. After receiving no answer, Mercedes remembered and answered affirmatively in a barely audible whisper. She was met with a long, thoughtful sigh.

“Listen carefully. This is what we’re going to do. I’ll make sure your family is safe so you can go back and retrieve the hard drive of the laptop. I think I can get you four months. You come back to the surface, hand it over and that’s all.”

“And if I’m not back by then?” Mercedes asked after a lengthy silence.

“I don’t think my friends would wait for longer than that, and I won’t be able to guarantee your family’s safety anymore.”

Another silence followed. Fortunately, the mysterious person was proving to be rather patient.

“Can you promise me that none of that information will be used against my friends?”

This time it was the other part that seemed to hesitate and took longer to answer.

“Not if they don’t force us to.”

It wasn’t the most reassuring answer. Deep inside, Mercedes knew that even if they rescued chiich that day, she had no idea of what they’d do after. She didn’t even know in what state the whole ordeal had left her and didn’t even want to think about it. The best they could do was taking her back to her comfort zone, but Mercedes didn’t know whether the town was safe anymore. For her, and also for Moni and Antonia. If there were any more members of whatever organization this was, they would respond to what Namor and her had done that day. Harshly. No matter how much she trusted her abilities to protect herself, Mercedes knew she could do little or nothing to fight off a larger number of assailants without Namor’s help if they decided to attack again, and he had to go back to Talokan…yesterday, technically. She looked back up, her lips still forming a fine line and a cold shiver running down her spine. She needed to give an answer.

Namor was visibly confused when he emerged from the thick jungle. First of all, he expected the prisoner to be surrounded by more guards, but there were none in sight. It was as if they’d just left her there in the middle of a clear, despite him having heard through the walkie-talkie that she’d been moved to the “arranged coordinates”. Second of all, it wasn’t just the old lady sitting there with an absent look. Right next to her, fighting to free herself, was none other than Antonia. While there was a piece of cloth lodged in her mouth, the woman glared at Namor angrily and yelled a muffled demand. He slowly approached them to make sure this wasn’t some sort of trap, never ceasing to look at their surroundings even while untying the knots that bound the elderly woman’s wrists together. Then, Namor removed the makeshift gag from Antonia’s mouth before starting to untie her as well.

“It’s her fault,” She cried with a quiet hiccup, “Every time something like this happens, it’s got something to do with her,”

Namor didn’t reply. If only she knew it had been them and nothing else that prompted Mercedes to jump into a ship full of armed men. Still, Antonia seemed to have understood his silence as permission to keep talking.

“And still you’re with her, huh? You must think she’s so brave. What did she tell you? That sob story of a little girl born into a world of violence who only ever did what was necessary to protect and avenge her loved ones? Pobrecita Santa Mercedes Mártir.”

His interest somewhat piqued, Namor slowed down for just one second before continuing to work on the knots.

“I don’t even know who you are but you seem nice, so I’ll give you some advice,” Antonia continued, her voice trembling both from anger and her earlier weeping, “Run. She might’ve fooled everybody with her fucking feigned regrets, but I know that woman. She’s not running from violence and never has. She craves it so much she just keeps finding new ways to get us into trouble and justify herself by claiming she’s doing something to repay all the damage she’s caused and keeps causing. Mercedes was the death of my father, she nearly was ours today and will be yours if you don’t watch your back around her.”

“Kän-än!”

The yell that came from the trees made Antonia stop talking and Namor drop the now loose rope and turn his head towards the sound. Mercedes emerged from the trees and couldn’t help but let a breathless smile tug at the edge of her lips when she spotted Namor standing there. Sadly, the happy moment didn’t last for long since the smile vanished from her lips the moment she laid eyes on her grandmother and Antonia sitting there. Of course, Mercedes first went to chiich.

“Chiich? Can you hear me?” The woman turned to look at her grandchild and nodded absently in complete silence. At least she could react to that.

“Na’, this is not home,” Chiich spoke with a raspy voice, “Am I being carried with my ancestors?”

Mercedes threw her arms around her grandmother and buried her head in the crook of her neck, a few tears already spilling down her cheeks as she shook her head negatively.

“Not yet, in chan nikté. Not yet. We’ll take you back home,”

Caressing her grandmother’s hair, Mercedes turned to look at Antonia, whose eyes were fixated on the dirt on her fingernails.

“Are you okay?” She asked. Antonia nodded and dryly asserted she was fine.

Feeling a wave of much-needed relief wash over herself, Mercedes tackled a surprised Namor in a hug, silently thanking him for his help. He knew it would take her a little to admit she wouldn’t have done it without his help, but for now, feeling her breath against his neck and as she held him tightly against her would do. Namor let himself melt into the embrace, sliding his arms around her slowly to test her reaction. When he finally pulled away, he did it just enough to keep their noses touching to once again see if she tried something, anything, that might indicate that whatever had elicited her reaction earlier on top of that tree was still there.

Mercedes’ mouth hesitantly hovered over his, a shaky breath left her lips and reached his ears, coursing through his body like a violent shiver in stark contrast with her warm breath against his face. Leaning in, she pressed a chaste kiss to the corners of his mouth on each side before thanking him again.

Too preoccupied with the ambivalent, hard-to-predict displays of affection from the woman before him, K’uk’ulkan was unable to perceive the figure that watched from the trees.

The Translations

Táan wáaj a wéetel?: Are you with me?

Ta wéetel: I'm with you

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