Heat

by ROGUEFURY

You don't expect to be pulled into a heated gravitation with Agent Javier Peña, and the more you both try to navigate your lives around each other, the clearer it becomes that your feelings go beyond the torrid desires you both are able to ignite in each other. Will the heat of your passions win out against the tribulations that threaten to pull you apart?

18. Chapter 18: Risk

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions of oral and unprotected sex. Mentions of cum play, risky behavior, semi-public sex, caught kink, emotional turmoil, grief, angst and possessive jealousy. Anxious!Javi, Possessive!Javi, Soft!Javi, Dom!Javi.

---

Chapter 18: Risk

After Javier had left, you had gotten ready for work, but even with how you'd both salvaged pulling back from going off the deep end with another explosive fight, your heart still feels a little heavy. After all, you do feel guilty for how you've strung Luke along and from how much it clearly upsets Javier. While your intentions had never involved getting in such a messy arrangement, you do see how it could appear to him as if you held him to a more impossible standard than you did with Luke's courtship.

You hadn't been lying though when you told him Luke wouldn't have even had a chance had Javier not kept pushing you away. Hell, even when you were with Luke, you could only think of Javier.

Getting ready quickly for the day, you can't help go on autopilot in order to continue your rumination. By the time you get to work and go through the day, you are feeling the pangs of loneliness ebb, because you're looking forward to the next time you can see Javier rather than wallow in the sadness of being parted from each other. The pining thought is a little flame you try to keep lit in the tempest of other nagging thoughts – like how long you're willing to go without Javi, when you'll be able to completely friend zone Luke, and how you'll be able to keep it all private without feeling like a loon. Your stubborn focus helps you, but you only keep your wits about you because it's a busy day of running from meeting to meeting.

When you stifle a yawn with the back of your hand and stretch in your desk chair at the end of the workday, you wonder if it would be too needy to call Javi. It is the end of the day, and he was fine with your landline theory, so it wouldn't be too disruptive—

"Hey, you need a ride to happy hour?" Ellis chirps, derailing your train of thought.

Ugh, that's right, you think to yourself, chiding yourself for having forgotten, seeing as the mention of happy hour is the reason that set off the chain reaction of your fight with Javi this morning.

"Nah, I'll drive myself. I only plan on having a 2-drink maximum tonight," you answer musingly as you collect your things while you initiate the laptops secure shutdown. "I don't know about you, but I am eager to catch up on sleep this weekend," is your sardonic sigh as you get up and go to grab your chic, lightly-lined tan trench coat from the coatrack tucked in your shared corner.

"Yeah, I don't blame yah. This week's been a bit of a gauntlet," he yawns noisily and shrugs into his own jacket before waiting for you to collect your purse and tote once the laptop is locked up in your drawer. "Although, I'm sure the fellas will cajole us to stay late," Ellis remarks as you both walk down to the hall and head to the elevators.

"Oh, that's right. The boys are back in town," you snicker, hiding your apprehension at potentially being put in an awkward spot with Luke.

Snorting, Ellis nods. You ride the elevator down to the underground parking, and he accompanies you to your car before sprinting off to his own with a, "I'll save yah a spot at the bar!"

"I'm not a slow driver – just a safe driver, gringo!" you shout jokingly back, and Ellis answers with a silly scoff before getting in his car.

A short while later, you're parked and hustling up the brick-façade entryway of the bar and taking the tiled steps until you come into the wood-panel-walled bar with the warm, lacquered bar top. The recall of Javi needing to be restrained by Steve to not clobber Danvers himself flashes in your mind's eye as you pass that section of the bar to waltz over to where Ellis was animatedly joking with Nador and Samson, all while Lou was tucked into the interior of the bar with his satellite phone at his ear, looking unpleased.

When Luke sees you, his expression is warm, hazel eyes twinkling as they crest from his bright smile. You feel the pang of guilt and train your expression into a civil regard, cool and affable as you greet the guys, then turn to Nador and ask how Benson's doing.

"—Pfft, he's bitchin' like he's on the rag—sorry," he corrects and bashfully rubs the back of his neck. "Losin' my manners being cooped up with a bunch of dudes for so long."

You chuckle and joke, "Well, I could give you a couple of tampons to pass on to the poor fella."

Nador almost does a spit-take of his beer while Ellis shakes his head at you and Luke just grins.

Seeing a couple of familiar faces from the administrative wing of the embassy at the back of the bar, you excuse yourself to go say hello – and yes, put some space between you and Luke for a bit. Once you've chitchatted enough with the ladies, you saunter back to the bar. When the bartender approaches, you ask for your signature drink, and the older man salutes you, as if to say, 'already on it,' while Luke takes the chance to stride over to you and lean into the bar top next to you with his glass of scotch in his hand.

Before he can charm you with something as flirty to go with the look in his eyes, you pivot to gesture to where Lou's at and ask, "Some trouble?"

"Nah. He's just talking to the CIA station chief. The colonel doesn't really like him," Luke answers, and when your drink is delivered, he waits until you've had a sip of it and the other men are in affable conversation to purr his whisper of, "You're a sight for sore eyes."

The recall is like ice being poured down your spine, winding you up and making it impossible not to think of Javier.

"What a line," you try to deadpan platonically, and then deflect with, "Are you going to be traveling to other field offices? I heard the Cartagena and Barranquilla ones are up and running."

He eyes you keenly, reading your unspoken demureness. "Maybe, but nothing official yet. Really, everything feels like it's in limbo until Escobar is taken down. Just gotta play the wait game," he remarks in his tenor drawl and amiably shrugs his shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm hoping once the mania over that man dissipates, things will calm down and the ambassador will let us get back to the pilot," you muse and sip your drink, debating whether you should pull him to the side and have the talk now, or just wait until that dinner he asked you out for.

"Well, if that happens, it's looking like I'll be your prime student again," he charmingly retorts and leans a little closer in order to confide, "Maybe you can tutor me again tonight. I promise to take my time—"

You flush under his debonair gaze and quirked brows, cutting in tensely, "Luke, I—"

"Hey! What're my two favorite lovebirds doing?!"

Col. Lou suddenly banters and claps a hand on your shoulder and the other on Luke's. "Catching up and canoodling, finally?" the head of Mil Group brashly states as he starts to razz Luke with a shake of the shoulder. "So glad you finally gave this boy scout a chance, missy."

The look you must be giving Luke? Murderous rancor? Seething outrage? You're not sure, because your countenance is burning with shame, feeling completely scandalized that seemingly everyone, including his boss knew about your tryst. The way Luke is staring at you like a deer in the headlights tells you all you need to know, so once Lou pats the man on the back and signals the bartender for a refill, you swiftly turn away.

Your hand is shaking with your fury as you dig into your wallet to pay for your drink, and with as much control as you can muster, you see the other fellas are looking over in that not-so-covert way, so you give Ellis the 'I'm outta here!' look and stalk out to exit the bar. You concentrate on swiveling through the Friday night crowd, eager to disappear from sight, and when the night air hits your face, you still feel the appalled heat singe your cheeks.

Irate, you feel your vision bleeding at the edges with your livid anger, deafened by your blood roaring in your ears and throbbing at your temples as you storm to your car. You dig into your purse for the keys and quickly unlock it, scowl tight on your features as you silently berate yourself.

"—W-Wait!" You turn and realize Luke's been calling out to you and has now jogged over to your car. "I'm sorry—I didn't tell him anything, I swear—!" he begins when you yank your car door open and throw your purse in.

"I asked one thing. But of course, how could I expect a guy from a venerable boy's club like Mil Group not to swap tawdry stories with his mates and talk shit about me," you snap ardently and level Luke with a withering glare as you add, "I hope you enjoyed giving them the torrid details, because that's all you're getting. I never want you to speak to me outside of professional matters ever again. You got that, Samson?"

"C'mon, firecracker, it's not like that—" Luke bewilderingly exclaims and tries to stop you, but you're in your car, and with a flick of your wrist, you start the engine and shift gears to pull out of the spot on the side street adjacent the bar and haul ass out of the sector to drive to your side of town.

You hazard a glance at your rearview, and see Luke standing in the spot on the sidewalk and watching you go. The frustrating dejection you feel fuels you to make it home, park, stalk up the steps to your apartment, and rush in, slamming the door and locking it with a furious huff. Slapping your purse and keys down onto the side table tucked against the wall, you storm into the kitchen to fix yourself a stiff drink. After all, you hadn't even gotten to finish your Cuba libre, and you needed something to mellow you the fuck down.

Once you've huddled into your couch and have swigged the beverage in a few swallows, the shame of it all sets in.

For the life of you, the idea that Luke Samson would spill to his colleagues and boss about your hookups like a damned fratboy at a kegger leaves you astounded. You slept with him twice, and he couldn't keep it private?

Javi had never told another soul about you two – not until inevitably he was forced to disclose it in order to get you out of a potentially dangerous situation at El Coyote, and after when he had to answer to Carrillo and Steve. Of the two men, just based off of first impressions, you'd been sure that the one to worry about was Javi. His reputation of course preceded him – a notorious lothario throughout the embassy ranks. But, here you are, feeling jilted by your own assumptions.

"Well…at least I don't have to worry about leading 'em on anymore," you remark flatly to the empty room as you finish your drink with a rueful shake of your head before getting up to pour yourself another even stiffer beverage.

Meanwhile, Javier is sitting at his desk in the now-quiet bullpen across from the tip line, pouring over the surveillance logs in preparation for the sweeps he and Steve were gonna ride along on the following day. After a few minutes, he tiredly rubs at his eyes and glances at the phone on the desk. His partner had given up for the night and gone up to their dorm, planning on catching some needed shuteye before the early wakeup call.

Looking at his watch, he figures you should've been back from happy hour by now, so he reaches for the phone and adjusts it so he has more slack in the cord while he dials and simultaneously digs in his bottom drawer for his stash of whiskey.

Just as he plops the bottle onto the top of the desk, the ringing of the line ceases as the phone gets picked up.

"Yeah?" your voice is spiced with an undercurrent – has an edge to it that Javi can't help arch a brow at and pause in pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

"Hello to you, too," he chuckles sardonically. "Is everything alright?"

He hears you huff in relief. "Sorry. I thought it was Ellis calling," you meekly reply. "Everything is…fine. Just a very weird night, is all."

He grunts and sits back in his chair. "Must be if you're pissed at Ellis," he muses before taking a pull of the amber liquid in his glass.

"'M'not mad at him…" you grumble, and Javi finally discerns the slight slur in your words. "Anyway, what're you doing at your desk so late?"

"Not tired yet," he answers simply before emptying the glass with a quick swallow and reclining on the desk on a bent elbow, phone cradled to his ear. With a drawn out exhale, he mutters, "Can't stop thinking about you."

Your chuckle is sultry, almost velvety as it warms his blood. "I've been having the same affliction," you purr amusedly, and he hears the subtle shift of something, as if you're stretching out into pillows. "Miss you, chulo," is your sigh, and he hears you snapping buttons, so he pictures you wearing one of your blouses with the clasp buttons he likes. Before he can get lost on the fantasy of you yanking your blouse open and revealing your bare, supple breasts to him, you chime, "Is it bad I already want to bug you about when you're coming back to town?"

He smirks, pivoting to rest his cheek against his free hand. Smugly, he mutters, "No, because I know how insatiable you are—"

"Hah! Mira quien habla. Te crees Mr. Swagger de verdad over there, eh?" you drawl, and he guesses that the rum is already cruising in your bloodstream and making you wry and flirty. He pictures you with a silly smile quirking your plush lips whilst you lay sprawled out on your bed. "Sure, fine, it might be true, but no need to act like a papisongo about it—"

"You sound so cute when you're drunk," Javi cuts in glibly, humorously trailing his thumb over his moustache before biting his lip when you scoff in sassy outrage at him. "Papisongo, huh—"

"I am not drunk!" you snootily slur – pointedly ignoring his last comment, earning a goading chuckle from Javi. "I'm just a little tipsy," is your haughty muse that gets interrupted by a stifled hiccup.

Javier can't help grin, eyes crinkling with mirth. "Whatever you say, querida," he purrs before shifting the conversation by inquiring, "What made tonight a weird night?"

There's a pause before you dramatically sigh, and now he hears you rolling into your pillows sulkily. "I can't tell you because you'll gloat and then get mad and be a macho jerk about it," you grumble and hiccup again.

Javi's mirth sobers and he adjusts the phone to his shoulder so he can cross his arms and sit back in his chair. "That seems like quite a spectrum of reactions, cariño," he laconically mutters, adding softly, "I promise I won't get mad."

You go silent, seemingly weighing the pros and cons, before sighing ambivalently. "I know you well enough to know you won't be able to keep that promise," you murmur pensively. "Besides, it's done and dusted. No point to belabor it," is your mutter, and Javi focuses on what you're not saying.

He suspects that something must've happened at happy hour, and considering your fight from this morning, he had a decent idea that it involves—

"So…what're you wearing, papisongo?"

Train of thought tipping off the track at that, Javi has to stifle his bark of laughter. "I thought you were opposed to any endearment that includes parental connotations," he jibes warmly and adjusts the phone back into his hand so he can sit up to reach his cigarettes.

"I do, but papisongo is not grounded in the same cringe-worthy energy as saying papi/papito/daddy," you rationalize before teasing, "But I ain't gonna call you that in bed, so don't get any ideas—"

Javi lights his cigarette and takes a drag before pursing his lips and cutting in with, "Only in bed?"

"Bien gracioso. You know what I mean, chavón," you snicker. When he hums acerbically, you suddenly purr in an alluring tone, "Keep it up, and I might have to punish you for your birthday."

"Yeah right—wait…" Javi's smug retort reels back when he realizes what you said. He hadn't told you when his birthday was, no matter how much you'd tried needling it out of him. "…Querida, I don't want you doing anything—"

"Pfft, you can't command me not to do anything for your birthday, Javier. But if you're gonna be that way, I just won't tell you," you tauntingly lilt.

He scowls. After all, he didn't like celebrating anything revolving around him as the 'special occasion' – hated having the attention on him, having to grit and bear it while pleasantries were showered over him. It felt unearned and vexed him so. Not to mention the literal reminder of his age – and how he feels old enough already, has him sulking at the prospect. However, he doesn't voice any of this as he instead grunts, "It get announced or something?"

"Nope. I have my ways of getting info," you chuckle glibly. "However, if you're in-town for your birthday, I'll let you do whatever you want…let you have whatever you want…"

The smoky, silky murmur has heat pooling in his apex. "Atrevida, go to bed and quit teasing me so," he husks, taking a long drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray and grousing, "Already bad enough I can't do anything about it right now. Don't need to be wound up all night."

"I'm sorry, hermoso. I'll make it up to you soon," you softly retort, earning a crooked smile from Javi. "Te amo."

Ruggedly, he drawls, "I know," and when you scoff in drunken indignation, he purrs, "Love you too, corazón. I'll call you this weekend. Sweet dreams until then."

Melting on your end of the line, you drape your forearm over your eyes and wriggle in the bed, breathily sighing, "Goodnight," to which Javi hums in return before you both hang up.

Yep, he was going to try and avoid spending his birthday with you. The way he would deflect or rebuff the topic previously had made you curious. So, when you'd had a chance to take a sweep of DEA resource's files for candidates to become "essential embassy personnel" a few weeks ago, you'd finally gotten a peek at Javier's jacket. It included a list of his skillsets, as well as his basic stats. Similarly to how Luke was designated such by Mil Group, you'd been allowed to assess potential candidates across agencies who could serve as trainees for the pilot program. In your giddy snooping, you learned he had a middle initial, but alas, it didn't disclose what the F in Javier F. Peña stood for, but the file did list his birthday, so you'd memorized it and feigned like unfortunately, the gallant DEA agent wouldn't get the clearance before handing the file back to the deputy HR manager.

It's unfortunate that the special day fell in the middle of this ongoing limbo of a manhunt for Escobar, but you hoped now that you'd let him know you knew his birthday was coming up, he'd relent and come spend it with you. You get your chance to test your theory a week later, when according to your calendar, you can count down on one hand the time between you and the date. So, after you come home from working late and call Javi, you hope he'll give you good news.

"—I am going stir-crazy, just sitting around. We all are," he's venting in a grumbly rasp, and you can hear him exhale the smoke of his cigarette before he drones, "The waiting is much worse than I could've expected…"

Pursing your lips, you attempt, "Well, would Messina be opposed to letting you guys come back for a few days?"

"Yeah fucking right. She's got us literally sending daily status memos because she wants us here in case any break comes up," he mutters, and you hear the clink of his glass as the rim of the whiskey bottle kisses it while he pours himself a refill. He pauses to take a sip before huffing, "I know what you're doing, you know."

"¿Ah, sí?"you lilt, then singsong, "And what, pray tell, am I doing, galán."

He hums knowingly before you hear him shift in his desk chair. "Listen, preciosa, I know you want to make a big deal out of it, but it's just not my thing. I…I'm not a fan of celebrating my birthday. Never have been," he muses in a gravelly tone.

"Oh, so when you were a little chulito, you didn't like celebrating it either?" you counter playfully.

"I mean, sure, but that's hardly the same as celebrating when you're a grown-ass man," he chuckles, and you grunt amusedly. "Sorry, querida. Unless something breaks or we're running down leads that require us to head back to the capital, we're stuck twiddling our thumbs here until Escobar goes down,"Javi remarks, dashing your hopes.

You sigh as you burrow under your blankets more and pout. "Of course, you have to use an international manhunt as an excuse to be a spoiled sport," you huff sardonically, and Javi snickers over the line. Stifling a yawn, you murmur, "So…what does the F. stand for?"

Confused silence greets you for a beat until he grunts an impressed sound. "You got into my file. That's how you know the date," he deduces, and you can't help grin when he grumbles, "Should've figured a clever girl like you had her ways…"

"So?" you press flirtatiously. "What's it stand for? Javier Foxy Peña?" is your impish chime.

Javier scoffs laconically. "You are incorrigible," he grouses, but you can hear the smile in his voice. "Felipe."

You smile and sit up against the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest to girlishly preen, "Javier Felipe Peña. Sounds like quite a respectable gentleman—"

"Trust me, he's an asshole most days," he jokes sarcastically, and you giggle. "Speaking of which, I gotta go. Didn't realize how late it is. The cleaning ladies are giving me weird looks…"

You snicker at the mental image and hum in agreement about it being late, seeing as you're already in your oversized t-shirt of a pajama and under the covers, with his college shirt tucked against the pillow next to you. "Alright, Felipito," you chirp, and he groans huffily at that, so you grin and purr, "Be sure to have only chaste dreams, mi amor. Goodnight."

"Pfft, fat chance of that happening, atrevida. But you go ahead and sleep tight and dream pure filth for me, will yah?" he murmurs in that canela-spiced tone of his that scintillates down into you core. "Goodnight."

Once you've hung up, you set the phone aside and just sigh like a fawning teenager, enamored and aflutter for the man that's just too damned far away right now. You're so smitten, pining over Javier and thinking of ways to gift him something for his birthday that when you're at work the following day, you're completely distracted in your machinations as you sprint up the steps to the embassy's entrance. Before you can juggle your coffee cup and tote in order to reach for your badge on your purse, someone calls your name, so you half spin and pause.

Your eyes narrow despite yourself when you see Luke approaching you. "Yes, Samson?" you curtly address him, training your features into cold marble, even though your eyes are boring into him like daggers.

The look on the hazel-eyed man's face is that of someone approaching the firing squad, rescind to his fate. You haven't seen him since the last happy hour you went to, having deliberately stopped going to the weekly ritual. And while you'd seen him at work, you'd purposely given him the cold shoulder and turned your gaze from him every time your eyes would connect.

"May I speak with you?" Luke plays along in the civil exchange and gestures with a hand towards an alcove beyond the lobby before security. "This won't take more than a minute."

Scrutinizing him sharply, you tip your head, as if to say, 'alright, fine,' and lope over to the bench-lined area bracketed by potted topiaries. Setting your tote and coffee cup down on a free bench, you glance around – making sure no one else is sitting within earshot so you can mutter, "How may I help you—"

"I'm sorry."

You stare him down, even though you're not in your heels and he's much taller than you. "That's not necessary, but if that's everything? I must excuse myself," you go to collect your things.

"Please, just…hear me out," he whispers, and you exhale, leveling him with a stultifying look. "I did respect your wishes. But…it seems Lou saw us leave the ambassador's Christmas party together, and made a lot of conclusions. However, I understand how compromising it can be, so I wanted to apologize for not being more mindful," Luke explains in a measured tenor tone, eyes never leaving yours. "I will be nothing but professional from now on."

Absorbing that, you imperiously nod, shoulder your tote and collect your coffee in order to strut by him to go through security.

You have nothing else to say – no desire to retort or rebut anything. As far as you're concerned, you want nothing more than to put all of it behind you, literally and figuratively. So, you do, and even though you end up standing at the elevator banks waiting, only to end up riding up to your floor with Luke, who respectfully keeps his eyes to himself and a decent space between you and the other riders, you are miffed that he felt the need to speak to you.

But, he was smart to approach you at work, knowing you would never rip his throat out at the embassy, so when you get to your floor, you offer him an acknowledging nod and muse, "Have a nice day."

You're none the wiser when his eyes flicker to follow your strutting gait just as the elevator doors close.

Dealing with Ellis, though? There's no batting that dog with a bone away.

"—C'mon, you're still gonna hold it against him?! I didn't even know about you two, so clearly he kept it private," he's bugging you over lunch later in the day, and you have to glare at him when he blows a raspberry in frustration. "I don't see why you had to keep it super secret, even from me," he grumbles, pouting.

"Because I don't like airing my personal business," you snippily hiss. "Now, drop it. I've made up my mind."

"…You gotta live a little, kid. If you like someone, what's it matter what people might say? You're both grownups, completely consenting adults, and as long as you're happy, no one being a busybody should affect you," Ellis tells you, giving you a big brother smile as he adds, "And if the sex is good? Even more reason to keep having fun!"

You can't help purse your lips at that, trying so hard not to crack a smile. "Thanks for the pep talk, Rose. Now eat your disgusting Twinkie and shut up," you quip acerbically, earning a squinty-eyed comical sneer from the older man.

Ironically, what Ellis tells you sticks with you, even starts inspiring you, albeit to take his advice as it involves Javier, not Luke, but with your previous machinations in mind, you end up formulating an idea you know is the peak of pushing yourself out of your comfort zone.

Steve is chewing on the end of his pen as he distractedly looks over surveillance logs when the phone rings. Unseeingly, he reaches for it and answers, "Murphy."

"Agent Murphy. How're things?"

Steve perks up at your voice, smiling. "Hey, hun. Long time no chat. I'm doing just swell," he deadpans, "Just slowly slipping into madness over here. Jav's in a meeting upstairs; just missed him."

"Actually? I was hoping I could talk to you?" you pose tentatively. "If you're not busy—"

"I'm bored silly," he snickers. "Go ahead and shoot. I'm all ears."

"So, you might not know, because he's a pain in the ass killjoy sometimes, but Javier's birthday is in a couple of days. I was hoping you could help me get a surprise gift to him? It's not the kind of thing I can put in the mail," you tell Steve, and the blond agent is intrigued, smile wily as you add, "I'll make all the arrangements, I just need your help getting it to him?"

"Sure! Just tell me the time and place."

You do, giving him specific street coordinates and asking him what he thinks the best time would be for him. Once he's thought about the schedule and detailed what would work, you agree on it. "You're a sweetheart, Steve. I'll owe you. Be sure to keep it a secret from the grump, please?" you remark on a chuckle.

"Loose lips sink ships. You can count on me," he drawls in his Southern twang, smiling when he sees Javier coming down the stairs. "Gotta go. See yah then!" He hangs up just as Javier lopes around the upper level to strut down the steps into their makeshift bullpen area.

His partner is none the wiser, and Steve manages to keep the secret for days, not batting an eye or even leading on that he knows about Peña's birthday. Said morning, though, Javier comes to his desk and finds a bottle of his favorite whiskey with a plastic red bow on it.

Shooting Steve a narrowed glance, he picks up the bottle and looks for a tag, finding none. "What's this?" he asks and holds the bottle up questioningly just as the other man drops into his chair and lets it swivel askew so he can put his feet up on the desk.

"Early Christmas present, perhaps?" Steve drawls, watching Javier self-consciously tug on the collar of his pale red button shirt while he's arching his brows innocently as he chews on the toothpick he got earlier in the commissary.

"Hmph," Javi grunts, unconvinced, and yanks his desk file drawer open to stash the bottle with the almost empty one already nestled between the folder racks. He's dubious, but decides not to push it, instead concentrating on spending most of the morning sitting in on Search Bloc status meetings before going up to talk to Ed about Centra Spike radio surveillance.

Around midday, he goes down to the clerical office to see if any faxes have come in from the embassy, and is surprised when the female CNP clerk in uniform hands him a letter. It's got all the stamps that say it's an international correspondence, and when he sees his father's handwriting on the envelope, he smiles. He strolls out as he opens it, deciding to read it while he walks back to the headquarters' main level.

Mijo – I hope this letter finds you well. If you can, try calling your ol' man every once in a while. Just to confirm you've not gone completely native over there. Happy Birthday, by the way – belated, incase this gets to you late. Your tía says hi, and hopes you can get time off to come to Danny's wedding. Can't believe that chiquillo is getting hitched. Anyway, keeping you in my thoughts. Stay focused, and stay safe. –Love, Pops.

Tucking the letter back into the envelope, Javi feels a bout of homesickness, missing his father, the ranch…the simplicity of a life he'd taken for granted when he'd been living it. Slipping it in his back pocket, he lopes up the steps into the main level before swinging around the landing to descend the steps into the bullpen.

Before he can park his kiester, though, Steve bounds around the corner and rushes down the steps, looking a bit flustered for some reason, and skids to a halt by Javier's side of the desk to mumble, "Hey, um, you better head to our dorm."

Quirking a questioning brow, Javi scratches the back of his thumb across his jaw before idly combing it across his moustache, skeptically droning, "If it's about the fucking laundry bundles—"

"Nope. Not that. 'S definitely something important, though. Can't say anything more," Steve interjects hastily before making a beeline to the tip line office, almost as if he's trying to avoid elaborating further.

Scratching his head, Javier turns and heads back up the steps, making the trek across the large headquarters building towards the barracks. He's ascending the steps to the floor they're staying on a few minutes later, and striding down the hall. Idly, he glances at his watch, making a mental note that most of the cadets were out in the field, and it was lunchtime, so anyone else would be in the commissary or off the base.

Getting to the dorm room door, he opens it, not sure what to expect.

He definitely doesn't expect to find the room occupied.

One of the female oficinistas is standing in the room, with her back to him, hands folded behind herself as she stares out the arch-shaped window. At least he thinks she's a clerical officer, considering the aguaciles wear the military service hat. Instead, this officer is sans hat, standing adjacent to the bunks and in front of the makeshift desk he uses, uniform primly pressed, block-heeled office shoes shined, and her hair pulled back in a neat, tight bun. There's a stack of folders on the table that weren't there this morning, so he idly wonders if there's some kind of clerical fuckup – that she's been sent over to get straightened out? But if so, why the hell would she come here for that?

"Uh…le puedo ayudar, señorita? ¿Está en la habitación correcta?" Javier asks, genuinely a bit befuddled as he wavers at the open doorway.

"Si, pienso que estoy en el lugar correcto, Agente Peña."

Javi's expression morphs from guarded confusion to all-out stunned awe – completely floored as you turn and bat your lashes at him, staying prim in your military pose.

Jaw dropping, he just takes you in, as if you're a mesmerizing mirage, before swiftly coming to his senses and hurriedly shutting the door and locking it behind himself, then turning back to gape at you. In two long strides, he's in front of you and staring in overawed wonder, completely disarmed and struggling to find words.

Smiling, you unfold your hands from your back to hook them around his neck so you can stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the lips. Satisfied that he's properly surprised, you smirk before giving him a smoldering look and purring, "Feliz cumpleaños, mi amor."

Javi's cheeks flush and the tops of his ears get red, and you're pleased with yourself until his brows furrow and his expression hardens as he hisses, "Are you crazy?! What are you doing here?!"

You blink up at him, and wilt before remarking glibly, "Surprising you, obviously—"

"Jesus fucking Christ – do you know how much trouble you're going to get into if you get caught?!" he growls and unlatches your hands from around his neck to soberly hold you in place as he chides, "For impersonating a cop—?!"

"Technically I'm not impersonating a cop. This is a CNP clerical office uniform. No police training, ergo, not impersonating an officer," you cut in confidently and add, "Don't get all boy scout cop on me now, chulo—"

Javier huffs at that and stares you down, eyes flashing with molten fire as he takes you in. Your uniform is perfect – completely legit, all but for the nametag pinned to your shirt, over the pocket. It's missing the first name initial, and the surname printed reads, 'RESTREP O' – the extra space before the O looking like a defect. "Please, tell me you didn't steal this," Javi mutters in a charged tone as he leans close and flicks his eyes from your blouse to your cool gaze.

"Nope," you deadpan and put your hands on your belted-skirt-clad hips. "My great-aunt works at the factory that tailors and manufactures government uniforms. My cousin finagled getting me the ensemble. I'm borrowing it for the day," is your explanation as you tilt your head coquettishly up at him, trying to wear him down. "It goes back tomorrow. No harm done—"

"And this?" he asks and emphasizes by tapping the nametag, eyeing you scrupulously.

"Got it out of the defective box. It's just gonna get melted down and re-pressed," you mutter and purse your lips at him. "Are you really gonna stay mad at me and waste the precious time we have being ornery over this?"

Glowering, Javier tries not to let his eyes wander appreciatively over you in the uniform, but for some reason, he finds it quite fetching on you, and the thought of stripping you out of it gets him riled up. With a sulky huff, he mutters, "I'd rather bend you over on my knee and spank your daring ass for this…"

You hum and shrug your shoulders back, clicking your heels together before loping a few paces away as you muse, "I'm sure you would, but, I actually have something else in mind."

Just when Javier is going to steel himself to coax you back to reality about how risky this scenario is, you turn as you simultaneously unfasten your hair and shake it loose, letting it cascade around your shoulders before you give the locks a flirty toss and smirk at him while starting to unbutton your uniform top.

The fantasy of you tearing your top open to reveal your supple breasts to him flashes in his mind, and now, with it coming to fruition? He feels heat flare across his features. Watching you pull the shirt loose from your skirt causes his mouth to go dry as he croaks, "Fuck…baby—"

"Steve said we don't have much time, hermoso, so quit being demure and c'mere," you cut in as you open the blouse and show him the blush-toned lacy front-clasp bra you have on. Slinking the blouse off and onto the back of the nearest chair so it keeps its shape, you quickly start to unfasten the belt and skirt.

Javier is so hard, that he can't think straight. It takes him a delayed second to do as he's told. Once your skirt is flung over the chair, Javi crowds you up against the bulky wooden desk with the hutch set against the wall across from the bunk beds. You nuzzle him, relishing his warm, spicy scent before nudging a playful kiss into the column of his throat. He gazes down to watch you open the front closure of your bra and slip it off, and you smile up at him through the fringes of your lashes as you sultrily take his hands and place them over your warm, bare breasts, letting him fondle them while he makes an enticed sound at your hands gliding down his sides before slipping them between you.

His breath hitches when you cup him through his jeans and murmur, "Where do you want this to go, amado: my mouth?" you pause and teasingly bring his right hand to caress down your body before you slot it between your thighs. "Or, here?"

He licks his lips and shuts his eyes while he suppresses an exhilarated shudder – hand toying with your breast covetously before he flicks his thumb over your pebbling nipple while the hand at your crotch traces your hidden seam. You mewl softly, eyes getting heavy-lidded as you spread your legs to him in silent invitation.

"I want you wrapped around me, preciosa. Wanna fuck your pretty little pussy...but first, I wanna taste you."

You shiver and nod, pulling him close so you both can devour each other in a desperate, amorous kiss. Soon, though, Javi breaks away from your hungry lips and trails his demanding mouth down your body as he lifts you to sit on the edge of the desk so he can kneel between your open legs and swipe his tongue teasingly over your clothed crotch, which is already damp with your arousal.

In a thick husk, he purrs, "Be a good girl and stay quiet for me, or else we'll definitely get caught."

Nodding vigorously, you kick off the matronly heels and bury your hand in his hair after he peels your underwear off, tossing them to join your bra. He noses up your inner thigh and just savors your heady, wet heat, breathing in your scent and starting to throb in the confines of his jeans with salacious want for you. When he buries his face between your thighs, you have to stifle your enthralled mewl of pleasure, keenly aware that anyone could be walking in the hallway outside. But when Javier growls into your pussy, you arch your hips up and hook your legs over his shoulders for purchase as you bite hard on your lower lip to keep from moaning.

"Oh-mmm, Ja-Javi," you breathlessly whimper after he draws ruinous runes with the tip of his tongue over the hood of your clit and squeezes his wide palms at your ass to tilt the cradle of your hips up to his mouth. "Nnh!" is your reedy cry that you're paranoid is going to echo through the cement walls as Javi buries his tongue inside your silken heat.

He hums in response to you writhing and tugging at his hair after a particularly obscene swipe of his tongue, glancing up at you to watch you clamp a hand over your own mouth to silence your sounds of ecstasy. It's in this moment – with his mouth worshipping your drenched cunt, nose skimming over the soft curls at your mound – that he realizes how monumental this is. For you to do something like this after you've been so steadfast in being careful about your relationship. No woman has ever been so brazen and devoted to making him feel special, so wanted and worthy.

It's all too much.

You're surprised when Javi stands and starts to hastily yank his belt loose and jeans open, but you help him along by unbuttoning his shirt and shifting on the edge of the desk to shove his jeans down his thighs after he hurriedly squirms out of his shirt. Your legs instinctually wrap around his waist when he herds you against him so he can guide his cock to press into your tingling pussy. Just as he starts to breach you, the sounds of talking echoing down the hall outside has your adrenaline spiking and heart jumping in anxiety, especially when Javi thrusts into you and smothers his groan into your shoulder.

Your walls strain around him in this angle, and you wiggle to arch more comfortably, but the hutch digs into your back. He hears you wince, so he pulls out and manhandles you in order to have you bear your stance and grab onto the desk for balance while he lines back up with your dripping heat from behind.

The strangled cry you try to keep in your throat from Javi slamming back into you echoes in your ears, and Javi swears before gripping your sloping muscle and squeezing it warningly. You nod in understanding, hair wildly swaying and obscuring your flushed features. Encouraged, Javi snaps his hips against you, plunging his cock into you on shallow thrusts before picking up a steady, forceful rhythm that has him rocking into you on piston-like strokes. The sound of your combined exerted breathing, the slap of his pelvis colliding with your plump ass, and the slick squelching of his cock railing into you fills the dorm room while you both struggle to keep silent.

In this position, you're really having a hard time keeping your mewls and needy sounds airy, and when Javi hunches so he can scrape his teeth at your neck while one hand grips your waist and the other ventures down to tease your clit? You can't help whimper, "Ahh—!" before Javi's palm covers your mouth and his fingers pause their teasing, soothingly trailing up to your womb to press you close as he huffs and rests his forehead to your nape.

"This…gotta stop this before we get caught," Javi mumbles, voice gruffly hoarse as he catches his breath. "S-Shouldn't have even started—"

You halt his deprecating grumble when you squeeze his hand to stop him from pulling completely away after he pulls out of you again. Haughtily, you nudge him backwards, eyes blazing as you give him that primal look that always sets his desire aflame with obscene want. With some well-placed shoves and little resistance, you guide Javi backwards to the nearby bottom bunk and push him down onto it before roughly helping him tug his jeans off while he kicks his boots off. As soon as he's completely naked, you straddle him and wantonly press down on his broad chest to force him onto his back while you nibble on his jaw. Some quick and commanding maneuvering has you finally on top of him while you palm his slick erection before guiding it to your slit so you can sink down on it.

"Oh, f-fuck-fuck—!" Javi hitches between clenched jaw and tosses his head back, tendons jumping from the effort of not losing control as you roll your hips to undulate over him and your walls strangle around his cock.

Mercifully, the bunk bed is solid enough not to shake or squeak in protest of your fervid coupling, so you let Javi seat himself deep before you passionately caress your hands up his torso and murmur, "Missed you so much, querido. Been dying to see you and make you feel good."

Javier bites down on a moan and clutches at your thighs, eyes glazed over with lust as he starts bucking up, chasing a rhythm with you, trying hard to keep from making sounds while you ride him with abandon. Smug, you bring one of his hands up so you can suck his thick index finger and moan around it just as you grind down over his throbbing cock.

The way he whines a frustrated sound and digs his fingertips into your thigh has your sheath clenching excitedly around him, causing you to quicken your pace so much that your breasts are bouncing with the effort. Javi takes his hand from your grip so he can grab a breast possessively and squeeze it, bucking roughly into you as he feels you just as close to climax as he is.

"Mmph, f-fuck, so close, c-can't lose control; g-get loud—" Javi is growling, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed in concentration as to not fall apart. But when you do, suddenly pushed over the edge into pleasure by his pounding thrusts and desperate tone, your contracting sheath clutches possessively around him and tears a husky moan out of his chest just as his balls pull up and tight with his searing climax. Buried so deep, Javi's orgasm surges fervently into you, causing warmth to bloom inside your hungry sheath as it clamps around him from the force of your own release. He arches under you and loses control, and even in your wild ecstasy, you bow over him and muffle his moan with your hand, clasping it over his mouth as he pounds up into you to prolong both your bliss while you latch your mouth on his neck and mewl incandescently into his skin.

You core aches and thighs burn from how ferociously you rode him, calf muscles straining as you slink off of him and sidle exhausted against him on the narrow bunk bed. His arms hold you close while you nuzzle his sweaty skin and plant doting sated kisses all over while he recovers and hums with feral pride into your mussed hair. Your thighs throb while every muscle from your sternum down protests sorely, but you've never felt more alive. Javi's seed seeps from your puffy, silken heat now and you don't even care, not with his heart beating against your palm and his hoarse sigh thrumming into your ear before he buries a hand in the back of your hair and pulls you into a sloppy, languid kiss.

After he breaks the kiss to exhaustedly drape his forearm over his face, he grumbles, "Jesus…my pulse is still racing."

You smile and kiss his sternum before pulling his forearm from his eyes so you can twist his wrist and glance at his watch. "Ah, we have fifteen minutes before the next shift change," you murmur in an exquisite purr that warms his blood like the best glass of whiskey, wryly adding, "You up for moving, babe?"

"Hmph…I'm debating it," he mutters in a smoky tone, and you smile when he pets your tousled hair. "I can't believe you did this. It's so fucking risky—"

"You're worth it, Javi," you tell him with genuine affection, caressing his cheek and giving him the softest, most loving look before leaning down and capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

Yep. Javier will love you forever. No doubt about it now. His heartbeat doesn't relax while he lumbers out of the narrow bed to collect a still-damp towel hung to dry on the armoire door. Quickly mopping the sheen of sweat and stickiness off himself, he uses the other side of it to hurriedly tend to his spend currently spilling from your aching pussy. His heartbeat only quickens when you both rush to get your clothes back on and right your appearances. The scent of your perfume and his cologne clings mildly to your skin now, the notes of sweat not as strong once you've dressed. After you playfully suggest that he open a window to air the room out of the sex funk, Javi does so while you slick your hair back and up into a neat bun as you simultaneously toe on your borrowed shoes.

"While Spartan, this ain't half bad," you muse as you glance around the room while he yanks his boots on and tucks his shirt into his jeans before zipping, buttoning and belting them. You snicker at the piling bundles of laundry shoved in the corner by his wardrobe cabinet while you adjust your nametag and then pick up the stack of folders from the table. "Needs a woman's touch—"

When you turn, Javi snuffs your goading lilt by sweeping you against him and claiming your lips with a passionate kiss. You almost drop the folders from how much he makes you swoon, and when you hum into his mouth, Javi breaks the kiss and suckles on your bottom lip before declaring, "I've had the best kind of woman's touch I needed already, atrevida."

Your insides are melty after that, and when he smirks and tilts his head towards the door, you dumbly nod and whisper, "Steve said to go the long way to avoid anyone coming back for the shift change."

Javier makes a note to buy Steve dinner after such an epic assist. "Alright. You slip out first. Wait at the landing below, and I'll come down to show you the way back to the main lobby," he instructs before stealing one last peck on the lips.

Artfully, you slip out the door and glide on long, purposeful strides down the hall to bound down the steps before reaching the landing, ignoring your tender muscles. A few minutes later, you hear Javi's boots hustling your way. The minute he makes it to the landing, he whisks you down another corridor and falls into step next to you as you both feign being just two people walking a hall side by side.

"Where'd you get the folders?" he mumbles covertly as you both lope into the large headquarters building's interior.

"Steve. You'll have to return 'em for me," you mumble and play the role of a clerical staff member to perfection, getting no second looks from others you both pass in your brisk stroll to reach the main exit.

"You're gonna have to give me every single detail of just how you pulled this off—" Javi gloatingly muses as he leads you to turn down a corner.

"Agente Peña. Un momento."

You both halt in your stride, and Javi turns towards Col. Martínez, who just emerged from a briefing in a conference room across the sprawling multi-departmental wing Javi had been leading you out of. You pause too, unsure of what to do, but not showing any unease as you wait. Seeing as the former police academy was a virtual labyrinth of wings, corridors, stairwells, and offices, you would have a difficult time traversing them without Javi's help.

"Cómo no, coronel," Javi answers, and while his stance and demeanor are totally relaxed, you can see how his back tenses.

Before you can think of what to do, the colonel glances at you with a clear-eyed stare and nods in acknowledgement before stating firmly, "¿Podría permitirnos un momento?"

"A la orden, mi coronel," you respond and bow your head in deference before turning and loping down the hall Javier and you had been turning down.

Disarmed by just how good you are at this ruse, Javi watches you go until you saunter down the steps and out of sight. The colonel clears his throat, causing Javi to remember himself and try to pretend he just couldn't help but watch a beautiful woman depart. However, Col. Martínez gives Javi a lingering glance, as if he was able to read something from the DEA agent before gesturing to take their conversation to a less public corner.

While Javier gets stuck with the colonel, you find yourself wandering down the steps until you find a landing that opens up to more office spaces. You vacillate as you try to look for some kind of building chart – anything to indicate where you need to go to get to the exit. Spotting another staircase that would be in the direction of what you believe to be the front-facing side of the police academy, you hustle towards it and descend the steps before coming out at what seems like a familiar ante-hall. However, just as you walk towards what looks like a possible way towards the exit, you see Benson from Mil Group bounding down the staircase tucked ahead of the steps you'd been heading to. Worried that he might recognize you, you pivot and stroll in a different direction, hesitating on where to go and hearing the man with the Boston accent approach while in mid-discussion with a member of the CIA team.

"Um-uhh, señorita? Por favor, uh, los folders aquí," you hear Steve shout over, and you whirl to see him down in what looks like to be a bullpen, so you nod and hustle over to saunter down the steps and away from danger of being spotted. You shoot him a cool, albeit relieved look as you strut over to the desk he's standing in front of and hand him the folders. Leaning close, as if he's asking you something about the documents, he whispers, "Holy hell, that was close! Where's Jav?"

"Colonel Martínez stopped us upstairs and asked to speak to him," you explain and see him nod to himself before dropping the folders on his desk and going to grab his jacket.

"Ok then, follow me, hun," he mumbles and passes you to head up the steps.

As you let Steve be your covert guide out of the CNP headquarters building, Javier is antsy to get done with his conversation. He knows Martínez doesn't like him and suspects him of being the Los Pepes leak, but the man can't prove it, and while Javier still can't figure out if the colonel is looking to nail him on it or not, he gets the sense that he's been discouraged in sussing out the parties involved. Once the colonel gets approached by a teniente, he excuses himself, and Javier eagerly turns on his heel and strides at a clipped pace to try and find you.

Once he's in the ante-hall leading down to the bullpen, he skids to a halt when he spots Steve covertly flagging him to come to their desks. Javi hustles down the steps, gaze questioning, 'Where is she?'

Pulling a set of keys out of his pocket, Steve slaps them in Javi's palm and drawls, "Take my car," and nods for him to hop to it.

Smirking, Javi quirks his brows and mutters, "I fucking owe you," before rushing up the stairs and out the way towards the front of the building.

"Yeah, yah fuckin' do," Steve mumbles to himself as he deflates into his chair, relieved that all crisis was averted.

Javier hustles out to the parking lot, spots Steve's jeep, and bounds over to it, opening the driver's door and hopping in.

Innocently, you smile at him from the passenger seat before musing, "So, that went well."

Javi scoffs his exhale before turning the car on and putting it in drive. "You are something else," he grouses with a rueful shake of his head. Once he's driven out the gates of the old police academy, you're able to breathe a sigh of relief and startle Javi by nimbly climbing into the back seat. "What're you doing?" he asks and glances at you in the rearview mirror.

"I'm going to change," you tell him simply and pull your hidden duffle stored on the floor to sit on the backseat with you as you rifle in it for your change of clothes. "Keep your eyes on the road, chulo," you tease when he stares for much too long.

Shaking his head in disbelief, he grunts, "All right, out with it. How the hell did you two plan this?!"

Smiling deviously, you start to explain it as you hurry to unbutton the uniform blouse. You tell him how Steve had agreed to pick up a gift at a corner a few blocks away from the police academy, and when he'd shown up, you'd hopped in with the duffle and wearing the uniform already. "—It took some convincing, but he sulkily agreed to help smuggle me in. It was actually super easy," you muse as you take off the skirt and shoes, now sitting in the backseat in just your bra and panties before you tug on an orange polo shirt.

Javi is floored, stealing another glance in the rearview as you slide into a pair of jeans and wiggle to fasten them. "You can never do that again, querida," he tells you gruffly as he drives on a route towards the sector of the city where you're grandmother lives. "That was so fucking dangerous—"

"Javier, give me a break. That was nothing," you dismiss cavalierly as you fold the uniform and store it in the duffle before packing the matronly shoes in it and slipping on leather flats. "Even if I'd gotten caught, it would've been a reprimand in my jacket. That's it," is your dismissive musing as you zip up the duffle before climbing back over the center console to settle into the passenger seat next to him again. "I've done plenty of riskier impersonations."

Javi glances intensely at you before frowning and staring ahead. "Should I be afraid to ask?" he laconically mutters.

"Only if you're going to impersonate a prude all of a sudden," you haze him acerbically and let your hair loose from the neat bun before shaking it out to cascade down your shoulders. When he grunts moodily, you roll your eyes. "Remember how I told you I spent a lot of time going to concerts? Well, I also found ways to travel cross-country for big shows. Unfortunately, my father was stingy with the stipend he'd give me for living expenses, and I used the bulk of it on bribes—"

"Bribes?" Javi repeats, mystified as he glances over at you again.

"Yeah. When I lived in the dorms at the prep school – before my father's sister let me stay with her senior year – I needed to find ways to sneak in and out afterhours, so I'd bribe the RA's," you tell him, as if it's completely reasonable, before adding, "Anyway, with lack of funds, I came up with an idea."

When he peers over at you with big, curious brown eyes, you smile and elaborate, "I would impersonate being a Pan Am flight attendant. I read a story in an old Look Magazine about a guy who'd traveled the world impersonating a pilot. So, once I was able to buy a uniform from a flight attendant who lived in Chelsea, I had it tailored to fit me, and off I went."

Just when he thought you couldn't surprise him any more, Javier is gob smacked by this reveal. The brazenness of your exploits, and how flippantly glib you are about them roils him. Sure, a small, wild part of him is impressed, but the rational, cop-minded side of him is unnerved. "How…how old were you when you did that?!" he asks tensely, gripping the steering wheel as he waits at the stoplight.

Smiling meekly, you demure, "Sixteen…"

He balks at you. "You were getting on airplanes by yourself, and no one ever flagged you?" he asks, still staring at you with befuddlement, and only breaking eye contact after the car behind him honks the horn when he doesn't start driving once the light turned green. Sheepishly, you sense he's getting worked up over this, so you hesitate on whether to answer. When he notices your glance, he grunts and winds his shoulders free of tension and stops chewing on the inside of his cheek, so you adjust in your seat and take a cleansing breath. "I'm all ears, bravita," he presses, idly trailing his thumb over his moustache and coaxing a small smirk to set you at ease.

Slightly appeased, you comb your fingers through the length of your hair, kind of pleased to smell your comingled sweat in it. "Well, no, obviously, I never got caught. You have to understand that most people don't as much as give someone in uniform a first look, let alone a second. And what's more reassuring than a man in uniform?" you ask, and when he glances and raises his brows, you answer, "A woman in uniform. As long as my hair was done, my makeup looked nice, and I could keep on my feet in those damned heels, I attracted no suspicions. No one ever questioned it."

He shakes his head in wonder – both equal parts impressed and scandalized. "You never cease to amaze me, preciosa," he muses and relents, giving you a crooked smile as he purrs, "Such a daring, wild little thing."

You smirk and lean over to plant a kiss on his cheek. "You love it."

"…Part of me definitely does. The one that isn't having a heart attack still, that is," he croons sardonically.

Chuckling, you nudge his thigh playfully. "Ay, pobrecito. I know that was scary," you taunt and purse your lips at him when he scoffs and gives you a haughty look. "Big, strapping stud of a DEA agent, almost so close to getting caught living dangerously with an insatiable woman in his dorm—"

"Burlona," he grouses, as he takes the avenue leading up the destination he seeks. "How'd you manage to get the time off of work?" is his question as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

"'Buela had some doctor's appointments this week, it just so happened. I took the time off so I could drive her," you reply, adding with a wily smile, "And yes – she's totally invited you and Steve to dinner tonight, so you have one more thing to look forward to—"

"I told you it was dangerous here," he interjects, his tone sharp with a harsh edge. "Just because things have quieted down doesn't mean we can carry on here like nothing."

Taken aback, you stare at him as he drives, brows furrowing worriedly as you reply, "But I read in the paper Los Pepes are done, that they're not operating anymore—

"Nothing is a done deal until Escobar is captured or dead. Until then, you need to stop being reckless and listen to what I tell you," Javier cuts in forcefully, and glances sharply over at you as he adds, "I explicitly told you it wasn't safe—"

"What the hell? What is this?" you snap and glare at him. "Are you mad at me?"

Javier sets his jaw as he drives up the hill and rounds the corner down an adjacent block from your grandmother's street and quickly pulls into an available spot at the curb so he can park and collect his thoughts. When he turns to you, your gaze is quizzical, and you've self-consciously folded your arms across your chest.

With a patient inhale and exhale, he levels you in his intense, brewed stare. "I am not mad. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't taken aback by how reckless you're being, even after I told you I didn't want you here and that you didn't have to do anything—"

"So the only one who gets to be reckless is you. Is that what you're saying?" you sneer and scowl at him.

That triggers Javier's anger.

"Remind me, which one of us wears a fucking badge again?" he condescends, starting to lose his temper as he watches your eyes narrow defiantly, so he leans over towards you to grouse broodingly, "You cannot be reckless. And what I do isn't for you to define or classify to me. If I tell you something, it's not a damn suggestion—"

"I don't know who you think you're talking to right now, but you better fix your tone, real quick," you hiss and challengingly meet his intense gaze with a snide stare. "If you hated being together today, then just say that—"

"For fuck's sake! Why do you immediately jump to that shit?! When the fuck did I ever say that?!" he barks at you, adding with aggravation laced in his tone, "I'm just telling you how risky it was and that shit here isn't safe—"

"What dream world do you live in, Javier?! Colombia? Safe?" you harangue now. "It's a fucking U.S. fantasy! Not because anyone over there actually gives a shit what happens here, but because it costs something – or fucks with whatever self-interested machinations they have for the state of affairs here. Don't fucking talk to me about safe. Not when you're gonna play whack-a-cartel indefinitely ad nauseam for infinity – trading Medellín for Cali, and whatever other fucking narco comes after that. Hell, even the supposed threat you got wasn't even from Escobar! You honestly think you can lecture me about what's safe here?!"

The verbal lashing was one you didn't even know you had in you, and now with Javier just staring irascibly at you? His expression as flinty and hard as you've never seen it? It hurts your heart to see, and when you vacillate, regretting your harsh words and preparing to apologize, he levels you with, "You can't have it be known that we're fucking together at the embassy, but you can prance into Search Bloc headquarters impersonating a fucking CNP clerk?! And not worry or care about the fallout if you got fucking caught? Or how I'm on my last goddamn chance here, and something like this would tank everything I've worked for—I've fucking sacrificed and am inevitably gonna hang for?"

You're shocked, torn asunder by his words, and Javi regrets them as soon as he sees you grapple with your emotions.

"Fuck…querida. I-I didn't mean it," he begins remorsefully and reaches for you, but you pull away. "I'm sorry—"

"You don't think I want to flaunt to everyone that we're together?! How can I, though, when you do nothing but either make me look like a fucking fool or push me away?!" you yell at him, eyes burning with anger rather than letting the tears well up. "Fuck me for wanting to do anything I could to see you on your birthday, for taking chances I would never even entertain doing for anyone else. I'm so fucking sorry you have to deal with such a reckless liability. Don't worry, though…you've made how you feel clear."

With that, you storm out of the car, slam your door, and open the backseat door to retrieve your duffle before slamming it for good measure as well.

After something that wrathful, you expect Javier to just drive off, but instead, he turns the ignition off and rushes out after you, grabbing you by your forearm and towing you back towards him before you can stalk away. "Please…just listen to me," he growls and literally takes the duffle away from you before chucking it back into the car via his open driver's door.

You balk at him as he pulls you back to the passenger side, opens the door, and possessively makes you sit in the seat before slamming the door shut so he can walk around and climb back into the driver's seat. Once both of you are tensely sitting there, Javi collects himself, dragging his palm down his forehead and nose before gripping his jaw, irate energy simmering to a slow burn now once you've stubbornly remained silent.

"I love you. It scares the shit out of me that you would put yourself in jeopardy in any way for me. I don't ever want you to do that again, do you understand?"

Disarmed, you sit in bemused silence.

"I know what I signed up for. You did not enlist to descend into the fucking mess with me. I will not let you," he irrevocably declares and stares at you with fervent conviction. "This is probably going to come off as me being an asshole, but I need you to understand that two things can be true: I loved spending time with you, but it scares the hell out of me how you went about it. You cannot do it again."

You rile at that. "You cannot command me to do anything," is your terse objection. "You can ask me not to do it again."

Winding up, Javi snarls patronizingly, "Fine. Pretty please, do not do that again, cariño."

The disparaging laugh you scoff is one he knows is going to lead to something he's going to regret unleashing from you. "You snide sunovabitch. Do me a favor and stop talking to me like you're my fucking father, or else you're really going to piss me off bad enough to reconsider ever putting myself out there for you and instead trade all this infuriatingly maddening bullshit in for someone less of a hassle. Someone who won't make me feel crazy all the fucking time," is your berating promise, expression cold as marble.

Javier boils over at even the allusion of Luke. "I'm done fighting with you," he rasps disdainfully. Your anger wanes at that, replaced by the hurt sinking like a slow hot dagger in your chest as he disparagingly looks away and drones harshly, "Do whatever you want. You know how I feel. I'm not going to keep trying to convince you—"

"For once...I wish you would, and actually believe it yourself," you tell him and turn away, pinching the bridge of your nose as you feel a wave of sadness threaten to brim your eyes over. "Just…please drop me off."

Javi's heart sinks as he looks back at you and sees how your shoulders have drooped – feeling hollow at how defeated you sound. "Querida…"

"Please, don't worry. Just forget it…drop me off, and I'll be sure not to bother you again."

When you feel his hand clutch your shoulder, you jolt like you're going to dissolve – like you'll fall apart into the broken, lonesome thing that you truly are, deep down. Then, his hand squeezes your sloping muscle before his fingers thread into the hair at your nape.

"I just couldn't live with myself if something happened to you because of me. It terrifies me…" Javier confides in a low baritone, as you remain still and silent. "I never want to hurt you. Would never want to make you feel bad. I—" he pauses and clears his throat to reclaim it from quaking. "I'm fucking scared of losing you."

Your heart breaks at that, shard-like hurt slicing away at your anger and stubborn outrage to let the longing burst free. Turning to face him, you can't help blink away the tears, but one falls down your cheek and you hastily brush it away, feeling so flustered and offended with yourself. "I never want to upset you, Javi. I just—just thought you were mad at me for doing this, and it threw me off. I'm sorry for being such a bitch—"

You hiccup your breath when he cups your cheek and caresses his thumb soothingly over it, and you feel like you'll fall apart for real, so you try to hide your face in your hands, but Javi can't take seeing you so upset. So, he pulls you close and encircles his arms protectively around you. "You're not a bitch," he tells you, voice soft as he adds tenderly, "I'm a fucking idiot for overreacting."

Exhaling shakily, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hide your face in his neck. "I would never want to jeopardize anything for you. I need you to know that," you mumble in a reedy voice, the knot in your throat not loosening yet.

"I know. I was a dick for saying that—" he grumbles.

"No, I didn't consider how it would impact you if I was to get caught. I'm sorry, I just thought the risk was worth it," you confide and sigh, fingers clinging to the back of his shirt when he nuzzles you and starts brushing his hand over your hair. You let it ease the tension from you, and you lean into Javi more over the center console.

A charged pause reins between you for a beat, and you nose his collar, inhaling his comforting, albeit slightly post-sex-ripe scent, and smile.

"This has to be the worst fucking birthday ever."

Javier buries his laugh into your neck before suckling an affectionate kiss there. Pulling back to brush your hair from your face dotingly, he sighs, pensive. "Nope. That honor is still held by the year my mother died…m'birthday was a week later."

You frown and pull him close, planting a kiss to his cheek before tracing your fingertips along the contour of his face. "I'm sorry, mi amor," you whisper, caressing his jaw when he leans into your touch.

"It's ok," he grunts, smile sheepish on his full lips as he drawls, "Aside from screaming at each other, this was a great birthday."

You laugh, melodious and endeared as you hug him. "I swear, what is the deal with us fighting in jeeps?!" you snicker sarcastically and arch your brows goofily when he scratches at his jaw ruggedly, chuckling as he shrugs.

Once the last of the angst is snuffed out, you both kiss your apologies away and eventually regain your gravitation, so when he parks in front of your grandmother's house to drop you off a while later, your sadness now is only about having to go back to missing him.

"You know, when all of this is over, you'll have to bring Steve here so we can cook a celebration meal. She's already going to be miffed that you're not coming tonight," is your flirty order, exacting smile earning an amused grunt from Javi.

"Steve's been dying to have your cooking, so I'm sure we can make that happen," he jokes, smirking. When your smile widens before flickering with rueful hesitance about saying goodbye, Javier leans forward and kisses you chastely on the lips. "Just…we just need to wait a little longer, preciosa," he adds thoughtfully as he caresses your cheek. "Once I'm back in the capital, we'll figure out the rest."

Nodding, you take his hand in both of yours and glance demurely down at it and whisper, "I'm willing to wait, Javi. Just promise me…promise that you'll stay safe? If things are still as tenuous as you say, the thought of you risking any more of yourself is just too much."

Javier knows he cannot make that promise. But when you flick your bright, hopeful gaze up into his, he replies, "I promise, querida. It's almost over. Once we nail Escobar, things are going to change for the better."

You are so relieved by the conviction in his baritone, and you show it by throwing your arms around his shoulders and kissing him with the passion of a thousand suns. Javi savors it, basks in your grace and wishes to never let you go, but, you both know it's time to part ways, so you hug him tight once more and kiss him before playfully brushing your thumbs over his moustache and squinting as you purr, "I hope you know to thank Steve profusely on both our behalfs?"

He quirks his brow sarcastically and huffs wryly. "Yes, controladora, I'll do that and more," he grouses before pecking you on the lips. "Love you."

"I know," you retort glibly, and he pinches your ass at your slick audacity, so you giggle, "Alright! I love you too."

"Good. Now go, before you get me into more trouble," Javier drawls laconically.

Duffle retrieved from the backseat, you exit the jeep and saunter across the sidewalk and up the walkway before turning and blowing him a silly kiss and a wave.

Javi can't help smirk as he drives off, feeling the post-adrenaline buzz and fuzzy delight that comes after a whirlwind of risky, thrilling exhilaration. When he gets back to base and remembers the letter in his back pocket, he fishes it out and smiles, deciding he could at least write his Pops a response. Give him an update on how he spent his birthday, and when he mentions you? He finds himself writing a little longer of a message than he usually would, and he feels good about it as he mails the correspondence off.

The good feeling lingers with him for a while, spanning days. Steve doesn't even razz him too bad about the stupid grin he came back to base with, or comment about the rumpled sheets he sleeps on for a few days way too long. And he definitely doesn't object to his partner treating him to probably the best meal he's had in Colombia since his wife had left. And sharing the bottle of whiskey while he tells Javi how he'd sputtered when you'd jumped into the jeep and imperiously told him he was going to help you or forever be on your shitlist was the most fun he'd had in a while.

Yep, for once, Javi understood the dopey feeling Steve would talk about when he'd fawn over Connie. It was in him now every time he'd tell him something about you, and he didn't mind feeling it at all. It isn't until the loneliness sets in again a week later that Javi has to war with letting it seep into him. But then, when it's going to be almost a month since Escobar went to ground, and the more time passed in inactivity sets in, the more he's left with his thoughts. Too much time to think was always Javi's foil. All the worries, self-recrimination, and frustration piled up, and the more it did, the more apprehensive he was about how it would affect him.

How it would affect you.

This rainy evening, though, you can hear it in his voice – the tension, so you listen to him idly banter about how he and Steve spent an hour the night before flicking paper clips into a cup across the room, out of sheer boredom. But when he asks you about your day, you can't pretend anymore.

"What's wrong?" you press in a gentle murmur.

"…Seriously. How do you always know?" his tone is self-deprecating, hushed with the weight of what he doesn't want to tell you.

Curling into the couch cushion as you stare out at the rain beyond your balcony doors, you sigh. "Your voice. When you're stressed, there's this tension to it," you reply matter-of-factly. "So? What's the matter?"

He huffs gruffly. "I fucking miss you, that's what's the matter. And we're going on over a month here with nothing – not a sighting, a call, not a goddamned thing. Search Bloc is literally playing soccer out front most of the time—"

"You and Steve should join 'em then, since paperclip football or whatever the hell that is sounds awful," you quip, smiling when he grumbles a sarcastic, 'Ok, yeah, sure thing.' "Well, since you asked…I have some news," is your meandering murmur when you glance over at your purse and stare at the badge clipped on it.

"…Bad news?" he asks, seemingly thrown by your pensive, ambivalent tone.

Well, was it bad news? You think back on the day at work, and still, feel uncertain. "So, my boss is retiring," you preface, trying to collect your thoughts. After all, it'd come out of the blue, and when you and Ellis just sat there, perplexed, your boss had smiled, assured you both it was a good thing, and dropped the bomb. "It's all still preliminary, but basically, next week, we have a big meeting with the ambassador and the Operations officials to discuss what this will mean for our department."

"Shit," Javi remarks, asking carefully, "Are you worried?"

Biting your lip, you tell him the kicker. "Well…no, because he then said he would recommend that I be assigned to head the department," you tentatively muse and absently toy with your ponytail. "Whatever it becomes, anyway—"

"That's great news!" Javi beams, and you can hear him sit up in his desk chair with excitement for you. "Congratulations, querida—"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, babe," you cut in, but the lopsided smirk his wry huff stirs softens you to muse, "Nothing is a done deal. Hell, they could end up telling us they're going to shrink the department, or worse. And just because he recommends it, doesn't mean they'll agree—"

"C'mon, quit being modest. You're a fucking shoe-in, preciosa. No one else is smarter, or more capable," he tells you without any hesitation in his canela-smooth baritone, which makes you melt. "Is Ellis cool with it?"

"Yeah, he was more than cool with it. His wife and him have actually been debating about leaving for the states," you remark, trying to hide the sadness in your tone. "He would rather be a 'Number 2 dude,' or so he declared on the carpool home…"

Javier snorts at that before his tone sobers to ask, "Did he say when they'll make the move? To the states, I mean."

You sigh. "No, but he has feelers out already," is your musing, adding glibly, "Anyway, just a nice bit of uncertainty to get the anxiety going."

He hums at that. "Well, once you're the boss, just tell him you won't write him a good reference so he'll have to stay," Javier jibes, and you huff and roll your eyes. "When it's official, we'll go out and celebrate. It's going to be a big bragging point – being with a director," is his charismatic purr.

"No jodas," you giggle and slump lower into the couch. "If that happens, there is definitely no way we can go public! A female director? Taking advantage of a heroic DEA agent and slayer of the Medellín cartel? What a scandal!" Your sarcastic singsong gets a haughty hum from Javi, so you can't help tease, "Abusing my power by keeping you afterhours in my office, just so I can have my way with you? Oh, it would surely be frowned upon."

"By who? I know I'll be smiling every day," he charms, and you laugh warmly, tickled by his silliness. "Maybe I'll be your unofficial assistant. Get your coffee every morning, type up your memos for you…" You giggle at the mental image of him in a crisp suit, handing you a coffee; at a laptop typing away with his pointer fingers, but then, he's got you biting your lower lip when he husks, "And when you're needing to unwind, I'll bend you over your desk and help you relieve some stress."

"…That is definitely going to be a huge HR violation, hermoso," you chime, even though you're very turned on now by the filthy fantasy he's planted in your mind.

His provocative chuckle tells you he's feeling the same. "It'd be worth getting written up, mi amor," Javi drawls before sighing reluctantly, "I gotta go."

It's when you get to this part of the call that you miss Javier the most; that your heart aches to be wrapped in his arms. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Looking forward to it, cariño. Goodnight," he rumbles.

"Goodnight, chulito," you lilt, adoring his surly little grunt just before you both hang up.

Javier's highlight was getting to talk to you after the end of the day, so he was looking forward to toiling along to that end when he loped down the steps into the bullpen the next day. Steve was already at his desk, talking on the phone and looking a bit hassled by whomever he was on the phone with. When he nods over at his partner in unspoken question, Steve mouths, 'Messina,' to him, so Javi makes a dismissive gesture as he mouths back, 'I'm not here.'

"Yeah, uh, he just got in," Steve mutters and holds out the phone to Javi.

He stares at the man as if he's the biggest sellout before taking the phone and greeting his boss while simultaneous flipping Steve the bird.

Of course, that dreaded article she'd been so harried about previously was published and getting tons of traction. He's quick to assure Messina that there's nothing to be concerned about. Los Pepes disbanded and everything was pretty much over. "—And they're not talking. So, we're covered," he assures as he puffs out his cigarette smoke. He thinks he hears her say, 'We better be,' before hanging up on him, but Javi can't be sure, and really – he doesn't care. It's been crickets for as long as Escobar has been MIA, so he's confident that he's going to able to put the sordid saga behind him in the near future.

So, by the afternoon, when he strolls over to pick up the ringing desk phone, the last thing he expected to hear was Don Berna.

He's on autopilot while he drives over to Judy Moncada's compound, trying to itemize every potential way he could get fucked over, but ultimately once he's parked at the sanctimonious woman's white-and-cream sofa, listening to her bitch and moan, Javier comes to a conclusion.

Escobar had stopped being a threat a long time ago. The real monsters were Cali. They'd just known to stay underneath the surface – pulling strings from the shadows and tipping dominos to fall in the patterns they saw fit.

But, he'd underestimated how impulsive Judy Moncada could be, so when she threatened to expose him and his involvement with Los Pepes, he knew he only had one more play. Don Berna was old school – he lived by the warped narco code, but Judy? She wasn't dumb enough to die with honor. So, it took little convincing to get her to agree to be a DEA informant. It was a great insurance policy for him too, because it meant he could justify any linkage between himself and the Los Pepes fiasco if it landed the great white shark that was the Cali cartel.

At least that's what Javier was telling himself as he caught a chopper ride to Bogotá in order to bring his catch straight to Messina, in person. He hadn't made it off the elevator before his satellite phone started ringing in his leather jacket's pocket.

"Peña," he answered curtly as he continued his march up to Messina's office.

"Jav! Listen – I think we have a huge score here. This bodyguard, he's guarding Escobar's family at the hotel. The fucker snuck his wife a radio telephone! He's been making periodic calls to her," Steve emphatically details, and Javi slows in his striding pace to listen. "Trujillo and I are in Bogotá. We just met with him. He's credible."

He sees Messina in her office, just through the glass of the department, so he walks in when she glances up and gives him a stern look. "Alright. Take it to the colonel," he tells Steve.

"Javi, he's given us everything. We got codes, frequencies. I think it's real—!"

"Take it to Martínez," Javier repeats, impatient now. "I'm at the embassy. I gotta call you back."

With effort, he reassures Steve that he'll call him later once he's sorted stuff out. And once he's given Messina the rundown? He knows she's fuming, but there's no point in feigning deference. This is his only chance to lock it all down before it blows up in all their faces.

"This is a tier-one narco who's ready to flip on other tier-one narcos. She's been in the business for 30 years. She knows Cali's operation. It's not intel anyone can provide—"

"She has leverage over you."

Staring at his boss, Javi knows he's got to make the case. So, he does, laying it all out to Messina, and assuring adamantly, "The moment she goes on record, her leverage is gone."

It was the right selling point. Messina is on board, and warns him to tell no one – that there are people in the building who will not like what they're doing, and that don't seem to want to take on Cali. Javier nods and is on the move before her warning really lands, but when the elevator he's riding down to the lobby stops and opens to admit Stechner? And he's goadingly drawling, "So…how's it going?" to him? Javier knows this isn't going to be a friendly chat.

And, it isn't. He just glances suspiciously at the steely-eyed man, who smugly keeps mum until the elevator doors shut before he coolly takes a hand out of his pocket to idly scratch at his graying beard before musing, "I guess you're not gonna be able to call her tonight."

Javier's gaze intensifies on the man, expression flinty as he sets his jaw and burns with rage. Everything in his veins is screaming for him to yoke him up against the wall – to snarl at him for the audacity of tapping your phones and listening to your most private conversations. But reason – and the dinging of the elevator arriving to its next destination – wins out, and the supercilious man lopes off before making one final parting shot.

"Have a safe 'copter ride."

His fury is like quicksilver in his veins as he rides the elevator down alone.

Javier is alone in this. He has made it so, and will carry it out to the end as long as possible. He hopes that'll only be until he has Judy's signed statement and can get her into DEA protective custody.

By the time he arrives at the safe house, it's after dark, and what should only be half hour's wait, turns into an hour and a half of him smoking half his pack of cigarettes and fiddling with the buttons on the tape recorder. While Javier's checking his watch for what feels like the hundredth time, you're just packing up to leave with Ellis, stifling a yawn while you both walk out of your department.

"—Think we should come up with a proposal to have ready for our meeting with the ambassador, just to show we've got plenty of ideas for how to expand the department," Ellis is affably cajoling.

"We have one of those already from the last time they promised to upgrade things. Don't see why we should leave it collecting dust," you muse, but your thoughts are elsewhere, so it isn't until you're both in the car and en route to your place that you frown and sigh, "I don't think I can do this without you."

Startled by your candid declaration, Ellis reassures congenially, "I'm not going anywhere just yet, girlie! And trust me, you can. I know you'll miss me terribly, and lord knows I'm awesome, but you'll manage—"

You swat him sardonically on the arm. "I got it, Rose. What am I going to do without your silly gringo perspectives? And your whining? Or being able to commiserate with Anita about you—?"

"Har-dee-har," he scoffs and comically glowers. "It's way too premature to worry about any of that. We still gotta see what the plan is. And really, the process for Anita and her parents to get visas is going to take a while. Just the paperwork alone was a bear to get together," Ellis gripes reassuringly.

It helps stow your sad anticipation of a drastic shift in day to day living without having your office buddy and best friend around. To potentially being in charge, without your sounding board of a mate, and his warm friendship. Once he's dropped you off, you stroll at a leisurely pace through the courtyard towards the stairs, thinking about the little silly fantasy Javi and you wove over the phone the night before.

The whimsy of it – of everyone at work knowing you're a couple and being able to thrive together has your heart beaming like a beacon – pining away for the fantasy to become reality.

As you're striding up to your apartment, Javier is just arriving back at the embassy. He's wary and weary – only able to keep his wits about himself because he knows he's about to get cursed out by Messina. Not having a lock on Judy Moncada or any idea where the wannabe-narco-queen could've fucked off to after standing him up was not going to go over well. And with the woman in the wind, the threat of exposure still hung like the sword of Damocles over his head.

Tiredly rubbing at his shoulder as he pushes the glass door into the department open, Javier fully expects to see the woman's dour expression when he turns the corner into her glass-lined office.

Bill Stechner's ugly, gloating mug is what greets him instead.

The realization of what's occurred is a stultifying shock to his system. It's like he's slowly watching his life fall apart in the blink of an eye – to bleed out, sieved between his desperate fingers.

"—Judy has an interview with The Miami Herald in, uh, oh, five hours," the CIA station chief chimes as he leans back into what used to be Messina's chair, putting his foot up on the desk in an showily irreverent lounging pose. "Now I can't be certain, but I bet she has a story to tell about the involvement of a certain DEA agent with Los Pepes. All I know for sure is, whatever Judy has to say, it won't be pointed in my direction," the callously glib man declares while Javier stares him down like a man who should've seen the play before it'd been made.

"And Cali too, right?" Javi presses flippantly. "They get a pass?" is his snarky query before jabbing, "How much do they pay you for your protection?"

For his part, Stechner disparagingly scoffs before condescending to Javi about how Cali would be got someday – just not his way. Then, when Javi is doing everything to keep his fists clenched at his sides and his vision clear from the hazy rage turning his eyes black, the smug man needles him that he should've stayed in his lane – that he was extremely naïve for thinking he would take down Cali his own way. Javi is utterly defeated, but no more so than when the smug bastard gets up and drops his parting shot.

By the time he mentions the ambassador, The Miami Herald story spreading? Javi has become rescind, only half hearing, "—I think you're going home, but…you didn't hear that from me," from Stechner before the bastard strolled out of the office.

Javi feels utterly gutted.

For his part, though, the ambassador is pragmatic and shrewd as he glares Javier down and snipes, "You really fucked yourself over, son. If you're gonna pull the grenade pin, you should know where you're throwing it first before it blows up in your fucking face."

Javi can't hold the man's gaze as he petitions, "Is there any chance I can stay and make good, sir?"

Loping around his desk to cross his arms and appraise the downtrodden agent before him, Crosby gives a huff. "You're out. This time tomorrow, you're back in D.C. Then, I'm sure you'll be going up in front of the Board of Conduct," the glacier-eyed ambassador gruffly intones before snapping his fingers and holding out his hand. "Need your satellite phone, badge, and gun."

His heart sinks into the well of his stomach, but he acquiesces, handing over the listed possessions wordlessly and watches as they're placed on the desk like mere paperweights.

"I'll have Murphy pack your things at the base tonight and arrange for them to be shipped to your home address stateside. In the meantime, you'll be escorted to your lodgings here. Pack and be ready to get on a plane in the morning," Crosby directs, not sparing any ill will or sympathy. Just matter-of-fact, and when Javier hazards a flinty stare, the ambassador nods and actually extends his hand to him. "I know this isn't what you were working towards, Peña. I don't reckon you'll fuck up this bad ever again, though," the seasoned ex-Navy man remarks while Javier shakes his hand firmly.

"Here's hoping, sir," Javier cynically muses, but it's hollow – as hollow as the feeling cresting up from his gut.

When he exits the building, two guards escort him home, confiscate his car keys, and become sentinels outside of his apartment. It's a standard precaution for embassy staff and agency members who are getting their visa pulled and shipped out. But what's truly fucked up is that they disconnect his phone line, not allowing him to make any calls in order to ensure security measures aren't compromised and he's not tracked in order to end up a target for reprisals.

By the time Steve shows up at his door early the next morning, Javier feels like he's having an out-of-body experience. This fucking guy who's stacking boxes by the door while embassy staff collect them to be mailed to his father's house in Laredo? He doesn't know that guy. But yet, it isn't until he looks in the side mirror while Steve drives him to the airport that he admits it. He knows that guy quite well.

He's the lonesome fuckup he's always been. The guy who'd gambled with his own life at the fatal detriment of others. Worst of all, he's the fucking idiot who would never see you again.

When you woke up disoriented and shifted on your bed that morning, you realized you must've fallen asleep with the phone on the pillow next to you while you'd waited up for Javier to call you. Concerned, you'd called his satellite phone, and gotten nothing; it didn't even ring. Shocked, you hurriedly dialed his office line at the base, and it just incessantly rang with no answer. Heart starting to palpitate with your anxiety, you'd hurriedly gotten ready for work and set out to rush over to the embassy. The whole time there, you couldn't shake the foreboding feeling, heart racing as you jumped to every horrible conclusion and prayed you were wrong.

As soon as you got through security, you hear the gossip, but don't believe it. Gone?! Rotated out? In a hurry, you take the elevator to the floor the DEA's department and bullpen are, heart beating at a staccato pace. The department is a ghost town thanks to everyone being pulled into an impromptu meeting with the ambassador to tell them the news of Messina's reassignment.

When you stand in the doorway of the empty office and see Javi's desk is bare, your heart shatters into writhing pieces in your chest.

Javier is pensively staring at his partner – his friend – looking at him like he's passing over all his hopes onto him for safekeeping while they share one final beer at the airport bar.

"—You do me a favor. You…You get him."

Steve nods, brooding, but standing strong, the realization of the ironic and unfair turns of events making him reticent.

When the P.A. announces his flight is boarding, Javi barely remembers saying goodbye to the other man. Carry-on bag in hand, he ambled away, feeling both disconnected to reality while intensely shackled by it in this moment. His brooding thoughts can't even break through the sound of his own pulse pounding in his ears. So, when Steve suddenly bounds over and stops him before he enters the terminal his gate is in, Javi's brows arch and his scowl becomes a bemused look while his blue-eyed friend grabs his shoulder and gives it a shake.

"Call her."

On delay, Javier shakes his head, dejected. "I'm gone, Steve. Truth is, I should've never been in her life," he grouses lowly. He'd spent the entire night alone, thinking and agonizing about it – regretting every fucking decision that led him to the sorry state he was in. "The shit I've done? I'm lucky to not be in a body bag right now," he says; gaze faraway as he thinks about you. "I should've stayed away, but I just…couldn't. Now, with all this shit, I…I don't deserve her. I…never did. I can't fucking burden her anymore," he mutters lowly and diverts his gaze. "She's better off without ever hearing from me again."

Steve yanks at his shoulder, nudging him to force his dark, sad stare back to him. "You will regret it for the rest of your life, Javi. It's going to haunt you if you don't reach out…at the very least, you owe it to her," his now former partner tells him emphatically, holding his gaze until the P.A. repeats the announcement for Javi's now-boarding, departing flight.

With a curt nod, Steve pats Javier's shoulder before walking away, exiting towards the way he came, with Javier's ambivalent gaze watching him go.

By the time you get home at the end of the day, you are filled with desolation, heartache becoming a hollow numbness after having bottled up all your despair and swallowed your feelings the entire time while the embassy was scandalized by the shakeups in the DEA. Psychologically going on autopilot, the defense mechanism managed to get you home, guarding you from falling apart in front of others. But now? You're so out of it that you don't realize you dropped all your things on the sofa and collapsed like a rickety scaffolding down into the chair, where you remain for a span of time you could not measure after you sunk forward to prop your elbows on your knees in order to bury your face in your hands.

You cry…and cry until you are exhausted. And then, you sobbed until your eyes hurt and your chest aches. Face streaked with tears, you wipe your soaked palms into your skirt and curl up into yourself, letting the empty feeling soothe you into a state of semi-awake existing.

At some point, it's become dark in your apartment – the daylight advancing into the twilight of early night as you register the shift in your tired, vacant stare. The shadows grow until you feel blanketed by them, unable to muster the effort to get up and turn on a light. All your mind can focus on is the numbing of your thoughts around yesterday, today or tomorrow. It's all just a blank slate you feel nothing towards.

A sound startles you into keener awareness, and it takes your sullen psyche time to register that it's your phone ringing. On autopilot, you get up, navigating in the darkness into your room to retrieve it from where you left it this morning in your panic. The only reason you answer it is because you can't remember whether you'd even said goodbye to Ellis before just picking up your things and leaving – or if you even locked up your laptop for the day.

Sitting heavily on the corner of the bed, you press the button and answer, in a low, guarded tone.

At first, all you hear is the hustle and bustle of a crowd, the low hum of foot traffic over an expansive interior, and the fuzzy drone of a monotone announcement over a P.A. system.

"…Querida."

Heart leaping and wringing in your chest, you feel hot tears begin to well there and bubble to the surface. "A-Are—" your voice breaks, face burning with your overwhelmed grief as you clutch at your throat to try and ease the knot that's forming in it. "Where are you?"

"I'm in D.C. Just landed. I…I don't know what to say, except—" you hear him clear his throat before hoarsely murmuring, "I'm sorry. So fucking sorry for all of the hell I've put you through. Y-You…you deserve so much better."

Shocked, you sit dimly in silence for a few seconds, just absorbing that, before you manage with much effort to hitch out, "Javi…all I care about, is whether you're ok."

You hear his charged exhale stutter out of his chest before he collects himself and raspingly confides, "I will be, as long as you stay safe, querida. Everything that went down…it showed me just how fucked up things really are there. At all levels. Promise me you'll always protect yourself."

Wounded, you whisper, "This isn't about me right now. What—What's going to happen with you?"

Javi huffs a frustrated grunt. "I don't know. Going to DEA headquarters in the morning. It's a pretty done deal though that I'm going up in front of the Board of Professional Conduct. They'll decide what to do with me," he tells you, trying to hide the tension in his voice with that flippant air of his. "Just hoping none of 'em has a subscription to The Miami Herald—"

"Your job? That isn't you. I could give a fuck about your job right now, Javier. I asked what's going to happen to you – not to your position in the DEA," you cut in harshly now, the hurt reverse engineering into anger. "Are you going to be ok?"

There's a pause, one due to Javier being completely taken aback by the resolute fire in your tone. Even after all the doom and gloom, having you verbally lash him for being facetious gives him solace, as he stands at the pay phone in the bustling airport terminal. Pensively, he muses, "I…honestly don't know. Haven't given it much thought."

That makes your soul ache. "Javi—"

He exhales, annoyed with himself. "I'm sorry. I don't want to upset you, cariño. But I don't want to lie and say I've thought that far ahead. All I've thought about is how fucking stupid I was for not seeing this coming. For missing it all and…" you hear him hesitate, and you immediately know what he was going to say but decided to censor himself to you.

So, you say it for him. "For not being here to catch Escobar."

The pause is palpable from him. You just here the background noise of the terminal for some tense seconds, and wonder if he's just going to hang up, but instead, he sighs. "It's late. Shouldn't have called you so late, but I just—I wanted to hear your voice. Just let you know…I'm ok," he pauses before murmuring, "I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye to you properly."

Your heartstrings snap under the weight of that. After all, what even is the proper way to say goodbye to the man you love? The only man you've ever truly loved…

"It doesn't have to be," you find yourself mumbling.

"…What do you mean?" he queries curiously.

"It doesn't have to be goodbye. Just…call me sometime?" you venture, feeling your heart race with anxiety at the prospect of being rejected. "Call and let me know you're alive, from time to time?" is your meek jibe as you fidget nervously and tug absently on the strands of hair you've tangled your fingers into.

Javier's awed chuckle is warm, albeit bemused. "I-shit-I honestly didn't think…you'd want to keep in touch," he haltingly muses.

"Well…I do, if you want to," you tell him with genuine feeling. "Anyway…I won't keep you. Just, take care of yourself, ok?"

You can practically hear him struggling to find the right words. So, when he grunts to himself, you think he's going to just say goodbye and hang up, but he surprises you with a soft murmur of, "I love you, querida. Stay safe."

When the line clicks and the dial tone drones in your ear, you vacantly drop the phone in your lap and stare at it before disconnecting the call. Tears begin to brim your eyes anew, a menagerie of feelings running wild inside you now as you dissolve under the weight of his words.

But then, all of the feelings are eclipsed by one, startlingly harsh question.

What the fucking hell are you ever gonna do now?!

---

Spanish-English Glossary:

Chulo/Chulito = cute guy; little cutie

Mira quien habla. Te crees Mr. Swagger de verdad = Look who's talking. You think you're a Mr. Swagger for real

Papisongo = Puerto Rican slang for a very sexy man; a stud

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

Cariño = darling/sweetheart

Bien gracioso = Real funny; real jokester

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

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

Te emo = I love you

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

"¿Ah, sí? = Oh, yeah?

Galán = handsome

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Mi amor = My love

Canela = Cinnamon

Mijo (aka mi hijo) = My son; sonny

Tía = Aunt

Chiquillo = little guy

Oficinistas = office staff; office clerk

Aguaciles = deputies; guards

le puedo ayudar, señorita? ¿Está en la habitación correcta? = Can I help you, miss? Are you in the right room?

Sí, pienso que estoy en el lugar correcto, Agente Peña = Yes, I believe I'm int he right place, Agent Peña

Feliz cumpleaños = Happy birthday

Amado = beloved (male)

Agente Peña. Un momento = Agent Peña. One moment

Cómo no, coronel = Of course, colonel

"¿Podría permitirnos un momento? = Could you give us a moment?

A la orden, mi coronel = As you order, my colonel

Teniente = Lieutenant

Bravita = Tough girl; feisty girl

Ay, pobrecito = Aww, poor baby

Burlona = Joker (female)

Controladora = controlling woman

No jodas = Don't fuck around; don't mess around

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