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?

30. Chapter 30: Ballad - Part 1

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions of unprotected sex. Mentions of past sexual encounters. Descriptions of semi dom/sub play, cum play, size kink, sex toys, and dirty talk. Allusions to series-typical violence, past emotional trauma, discussions of drug-use and addiction, toxic relationships, and patriarchal familial angst. Some Protective!Javi, Needy!Javi, Dom!Reader.

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Chapter 30: Ballad – Part 1

You spend most of the morning worrying about Javi. It's only natural, you deduce, seeing as the last time he'd gone off on the hunt to take down the cartel, he'd come back to you shell-shocked and furious.

He'd been foiled – left to contend with a failure that had made him a furious, doubt-filled tempest. His anger had been a straightjacket, one he only shed with the help of your unrelenting and fierce love. Your patience to coax him back from the wrathful place he'd found himself stuck in had been unrelenting. And the blazing ferocity of your grace had acted as his beacon – a tether he used to find his way free of the anger to be anchored in your serene embrace.

You can't help remember how haunted and full of despair he'd been when he'd showed up at your door late one night after chasing the sicario across rooftops. How he'd broken down and been so distraught by the close encounter with the pistol-wielding kid. How he'd trembled while telling you about the poor little baby girl who'd sat in the middle of a bloodbath, looking up at him and Steve with her innocent, doe-eyes and reaching for them.

Both occasions had been the rawest, most devastated you'd ever seen Javier. It hurt your heart to think of them for too long, and the knot tightened hot and prickling in the back of your throat the more you fretted. So, you shove the emotionally charged recollections away and try to concentrate on the spreadsheet on your monitor. Annoyed to see you'd vacantly repeated the same data entry a few times in a row, you clear your head and regain your concentration.

Your day is mostly like that – weighed by distraction, but luckily your staff is amazing and proactive, needing little guidance or 'boss lady' oversight. Everywhere you go, you carry your phone in your blazer's pocket, hoping that when it rings, it'll be Javi telling you, 'It's done.' You know you shouldn't get your hopes up, or try and make this about you and your plans, but no longer can you deny the fact that his work trumps all. That the biggest barrier to your relationship evolving to the next level now hinges on his operation against Cali concluding in their capture and dismantlement. Without it, you can't find any way to justify taking the next step: Going public at the embassy. After all, how would that look – the DEA country attaché being in a relationship with another head of department while in the middle of taking down the Cali cartel? When there have been so many setbacks? Not to mention the constant pressure of political turmoil involving the DEA and embassy relations with the Colombian government. It would reflect poorly on Javier – and on you, for that matter.

No, you certainly can't truly entertain all the plans that have been unfurling like a tapestry of reveries within your thoughts. Comprised of things yet to come that you envision for you and Javi. Not with the situation still influx with Cali.

Moving in together? Sharing your lives as a couple? Belonging to one another? These are pipedreams still. You can't truly do any of that without disclosing your relationship to your superior. After all, HR would definitely make waves once the housing division notified them that you and Agent Peña submitted change of addresses to the same address. That wouldn't go unnoticed, right?

While you continue to ruminate, Javi is finding himself in the last place he ever expected to be.

He can't remember the last time he'd been in a chapel. Was it in Laredo? Yeah…the wedding rehearsal. Javi internally grimaces.

Shelving that idle thought, he focuses on the present.

His meeting with the ambassador and Botero had been tense, to say the least. And at the very least, the Minister of Defense was courteous enough to acquiesce to their request, albeit with a cutting warning that if he failed, Javi would be shit out of luck with him. "…Another setback and I won't be able to help you, nor will I want to…"

General Serrano was proving himself to be a man intent on his convictions as he was devout in his faith. The fact he hated corruption with a passion of a thousand suns also helped, especially when Javi told him some out-of-the-box tactics he intended to implement for the raid. So, when he tells the man that he needs him to stay in Bogotá, the general tensely agrees, but caveats that he will be the one to perp-walk Miguel Rodríguez into custody in front of the press, adding, "…There's no doubt, that it's your reputation now on the line."

"Don't I fucking know it," Javi mumbles to himself while he smokes his cigarette, watching as Serrano's tactical force boards the aircraft that'll take them direct to the military base in Cali. His nerves are charged with an undercurrent of anxiety, one so potent that he deliberates whether he can get away with calling you before he boards, but then the captain is waving at him, signaling they're ready to depart. So, he drops his cigarette, stubs it with the tip of his boot, and on he goes, climbing the gangway and taking a seat in the hull with the men. He's shed his leather jacket in preparation for when he lands and can get his green tactical vest on – the one that he can strap his side arm into on his torso. All he has now is to put on his cop-face to mask the tension that's coiling up in his chest, so he does and tries to concentrate his tumultuous thoughts.

As he's on his way to link up with Feistl and Van Ness onsite, the chatter is already funneling back into a certain office at the top floor of the embassy.

Deciding to call it a night and get the juicy details post-raid in the morning, Bill Stechner grabs his leather satchel and flings it onto a shoulder, exiting his office and walking by the janitor mopping the floor of the outer hall, and a cleaning woman who's dusting the glass cabinet in the foyer. Strolling to the elevator, he presses the button and idly checks his watch as he waits for the cab to arrive. With a ding, the light flashes above the door before it slides open.

"Good evening, station chief."

Stechner looks up from his wrist and stares at you. His surprise is only readable in his eyes for a nanosecond before he schools his features into that smarmy, aloof regard of his. "Were you, uh, coming up to see me?" he asks as you step aside to make room for him in the elevator.

"I was going to leave these on your desk, actually," you remark evenly, civil veneer cool and unbothered as you hand him the folder once the elevator slides shut and begins its descent. "Guess since you're here, I can quickly brief you: Two of the resources you listed for the pilot will begin onboarding next week. Unfortunately, the others are not suitable candidates. You'll see I've noted our rationale for each," you're reciting professionally while he flicks through the folder and skims each file. "If you'd like, I can have my staff write up status reports for them on a weekly basis and leave them on your desk, to review at your leisure."

The supercilious man eyes you, seemingly miffed, but etching his features into a flippant regard as he remarks, "Director, I'm…disappointed that only these two are eligible for the pilot. I would've hoped you could accommodate all of my people, seeing as I vetted them personally—"

"You did say that you trust me to know the right resources that should be brought on to the pilot, Agent Stechner," you intercede seamlessly with a placid smile. "The pilot has parameters that I felt would be exceeded if the rest of your resources were included. They are much too technologically savvy already to require this kind of training."

His icy blue eyes are boring into you while he feigns an aloof, relaxed stance. Before he can counter with a pointed response, the elevator dings and stops at your floor.

"You have a good night, Agent Stechner," you lob coolly as you strut off the elevator and stroll down to your department without sparing a glance backwards at the silently fuming man. The doors slide shut and you hear the elevator continue it's descent down to the ground floor that you'd covertly pressed for him before he'd gotten on with you. The fact he hadn't noticed or feigned pressing a button himself confirmed that you'd successfully gotten one over the bastard and left him reeling for the last word.

Feeling triumphant, you grab your things from your office before locking the door and exiting. You decide to take the stairs instead, in case the man is stewing in the lobby and looking to confront you for that last word he always gets after all, but when you breeze out of the stairwell and cross the foyer towards the security desk, you find the space empty, save for the custodial staff and the security guards. You wave at each and wish them a good night before striding out the building towards your car.

The drive home is uneventful as you listen to the radio, hoping to hear the news bulletin you long for: "Miguel Rodríguez has been captured and the remaining capos are on the run—"

Your cell phone is ringing in your purse, which snaps you back, so you turn the radio down and blindly reach into it while keeping your eyes on the road and one hand on the steering wheel. Pressing the button and bringing the phone to be propped to your shoulder as you drive, you answer with a quick greeting.

"Mon chéri! Am I calling too late? I don't want to intrude," Sasha's crooning remark puts you at ease. It isn't Javi, but you are glad for the distraction, and luckily you're only a few blocks from home, so you decide you can gab with your dear friend.

"Not at all. I'm actually on my way home. Had to work late," you tell him, navigating down to your street as you ask, "Are you ready for your trip back?"

"I am, although, I'm not looking forward to doing anymore schmoozing," he grumbles flippantly before changing the subject. "Are you going home to a waiting Javi and a cooked meal?"

You spot a space to park across the street from your complex, so you take it, parking seamlessly and cutting the engine as you answer, "Alas, not tonight. He's working. Just me, a hot bath, and probably a nice stiff drink."

"That is a shame. The drink shouldn't be the only stiff thing you enjoy tonight," he can't help crassly purr, which has you snickering and rolling your eyes as you grab your purse and tote before exiting the car. "…Would you be up for company?" Sasha murmurs, and you know that tone, so your pace across the sidewalk into the courtyard slows as he clears his throat and adds, "Never mind. I shouldn't impose on you—"

"Come over, you dork. I can't say that I'd make for much company anyway, but I'd love to have one last dose of my velvel before you go," you cut into his ambivalent remark as you march across the path to sprint up the steps. Your muscles hate you for it, but you're eager to get into the apartment and start tidying up. "Are you hungry? I can order food—"

"You'll do no such thing. I'll take care of food. I'll be there in a bit, ketsele," he rumbles in that relaxed rasp of his.

Smiling, you say goodbye and enter your apartment, toss your purse and tote onto the chair, and rush to clean up. By the time Sasha is at your door with takeout containers stored in a large paper bag at his side, you've got the balcony doors open, two drinks on the coffee table, and everything in your apartment refreshed and appointed. You greet him at the door warmly, wearing a flirty flower-patterned tunic. He's wearing a chic burgundy sweater and black slacks, matching leather belt and loafers. You smile, feeling a comforting sense of déjà vu. His hair isn't swept back all suave as he's been styling it recently, instead brushed and left to curl at the ends that fan down his nape and along his temples. It makes him look precocious and young, reminding you of countless times you've both done this very thing – dropped by the other's place with food to just vent or have much-needed company.

Hugging him, you tell him in a hushed retort, "You're going to make me miss you so much. I've been spoiled, having you around."

Sasha snickers and kisses your temple. "Don't be silly and get me all verklempt now!" he huffs and gives your loose-cotton-tunic-clad waist a cheeky squeeze.

You invite him in and take the bag from him in order to effortlessly arrange and plate the meals. "I'm not trying to, promise," is you silly retort as you bring the plates to the coffee table and gesture for him to have a seat. "I just…I never realized how much I missed having someone who, well, who just really knows me. It's always so easy between us," you find yourself confiding as you sit next to him with the aromatic meal and smile, pensive. "But now, you need to spill. What's bothering you, bub?"

He frowns, dramatically sitting back in the couch and grumbling, "Can't I just want to spend time with you?"

"You're so full of shit, Sasha. I know you. C'mon," you cajole and shift to sit casually so you can balance the plate and eat.

Grunting, he eats a few bites from his serving, brows knitting together moodily. After a testy silence, he licks his lips and sets the plate aside with a sigh, unable to meet your gaze.

"My father…he's dying."

You jolt, having not expected that at all, so you hastily set your plate aside and reach for him, wrapping your arms protectively around his shoulders. "Jesus Christ, Sasha…why didn't you tell me sooner?!" you hiss, wounded and empathically feeling his dismay. He huffs and clenches his blue eyes shut, heavily wilting into your embrace. "All this time, dealing with my stupid trifles – my man troubles, and you wait until before you're leaving to say something?"

"…I wasn't going to say anything," he tersely exhales and sets his jaw, inhaling a cleansing breath through his nose before opening his eyes and staring sullenly at you. "But then, I kept thinking about it. I feel like an asshole about it, but…I just don't want to see him, even knowing how sick he is. I feel like a fucking bastard—"

It starts falling into place. His bouts of pensiveness, the unspoken tension still between him and Irina when they'd made up on the phone. Now, you understand why she'd relented to go see her father after so long.

"You're not a bastard. He's been nothing but cruel and neglectful," you bark defensively, hugging him tighter. "But…you are allowed to feel conflicted…" is your weary murmur, and Sasha rests his head to yours, exhaling a shaky huff. "Talk to me, bub."

"…He reached out, months ago, and I…I told him I didn't care to speak to him. He—he didn't argue, he just hung up," Sasha's murmuring flatly. "Irina told me he was sick and she was going to see him. That she wanted me to go with her, and I said no." He goes silent for a beat, and you can't help coddle him, kiss his temple and stroke his hair. "I told her I didn't fucking care, and that the next time I'd see him was in his coffin – told her, 'Luckily, that sounds like something I can soon look forward to,' which really upset her…" he confides gruffly, tone glib and cutting as he adds, "I hate him so much…only to end up being just like him. A cruel, spiteful asshole."

There's a knot in your throat, and you find yourself grasping for what to say, but then his cerulean eyes brim over with tears when he directs them to stare woefully into yours. Your heart completely aches, and the answer is blazing on your tongue.

"We are our fathers, no matter how much we wish not to be…"

Beside himself, Sasha brushes his palm over his hair impulsively before he toys with his earlobe absently, gaze becoming unfocused for a second as his eyes well over and dampen his long lashes when he haughtily scoffs and sneers, "Fucking blessed hell. Way to cheer me up!"

You hiccup a startled laugh, and before you can explain or comprehend it, you're crying. "I-I'm sorry, Sasha—" you stammer, and that shocks him back. "I only meant…"

Exhaling a disparaging scoff at himself, Sasha lets out a self-deprecating laugh before pulling you into a desperate hug. "Shh, I know what you meant. It's ok," he coos, petting the back of your hair. When you hug him back and rest your head in the crook of his neck, he mumbles, "I'm…I'm considering going to see him."

You exhale and lean back to stare teary-eyed into his conflicted expression. The flood of reveries from days past flash in your mind like a kaleidoscope. All of them involving times you or Sasha consoled each other in the other's lowest moment – commiserating and being the safe place either of you needed. The last time you'd done this was when he'd hit rock bottom in his drug use and you'd confronted him, refusing to leave him alone or be driven away by his callous, spiteful haranguing. At the end of that dark night, Sasha had dissolved into tears and sobbed beseechingly for you to forgive him – to not leave him. You'd wrapped your arms around him and held him while he cried until he couldn't breathe and you had to talk him through the panic attack. By the end of it, you'd gotten him through it, and the following day, you drove him to the rehab facility in Westport. He spent three months there, and you visited him whenever he was allowed to have guests.

That feels like a lifetime ago, and now, with his healthy smile and watery eyes, you can't help rest your forehead to his. "If it's something you think will be good for you, then you should do it," you whisper, eyes softening when he shuts his and the tears roll down his cheeks to seep into his beard before you can dutifully wiped them away for him. "You don't need my permission, you dork—"

"It's not like that. I just…our pact," he rambles before sitting back and scrubbing his palm over his face. "I'd be breaking our pact—"

You frown and shake his shoulder chidingly. "Stop it. We were stupid, emotionally immature dummies when we came up with that—"

"Oh, c'mon! So you're saying the pact we made about marrying each other if we both were still single at 40 doesn't count either?!" Sasha derides, and you pinch his side. "Ack! Alright, fine, you mean little kitten—"

"If it's something you want to do that's for you – not for him, I think you should do it," you cut in, bringing him back to the true topic at hand. "Forgiveness is for you, not the other person…or so I've read it said," is your aloof aside as you grab the napkin and busy your hands by folding it neatly so you can dab at your eyes.

He sighs and leans heavily into the sofa. "…I'm still considering it. I don't know if I can get there…to forgiveness."

Taking a long sip of your drink, you nod and lean sidelong into the back cushion to gaze unguardedly at your friend. "No matter what you decide, I'll always be there for you. I need you to know that, Sasha," you tell him earnestly and cup his bearded cheek, caressing your thumb affectionately along it as you add, "I love you, wolfie."

He snorts and grins toothily. "You're so annoying."

"I know," you chuckle and peck him on the lips. "But you're stuck with me, regardless."

Sasha visibly relaxes before shuffling closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. "…Thanks. And I love you too."

With a soft smile, you kiss his forehead before cajoling him to finish dinner, and turn the conversation to saucier topics of conversation.

"So...last night? I want you to spill every single thought you had about Javi."

"Every single thought?"

"Yes. Do not censor a thing. I must know."

"Well, for starters? I'd fuck him. Hell, I'd even let him fuck me. He's fantastic, darling."

You gasp a thrilled laugh at the ridiculously brash sentiment, smiling beamingly as Sasha dishes his approval of Javi.

"—I can't believe you told him about that time," he's remarking huffily now, scrunching his nose in faux-disdain when you hum in confusion. "When you strapped it on?"

"Oh-pfft!" you dissolve into giggles. "It came up as a joke the other night, and then I just blurted it out before I thought about it," is your irreverent musing as he pouts. "Oh, c'mon. I told you plenty about him, so it's only fair—"

"Yeah, yeah. So since he professed his undying love and all, I guess I have to get used to Javi sticking around and knowing tawdry details about me…just make sure you're getting even juicier details out of him in return," he chimes derisively and downs his drink.

"Oh…well, if you want, you should take a look at the latest entries in the photo album," you purr and bounce your brows suggestively. "I might be partial to do some dishing…"

Surprised, Sasha moves his plate and glass aside on the coffee table so he can reach for the leather-bound album and place it on his knees. Flipping it open and finding the latest filled-in sleeve, he gapes at the photo of Javi and you looking quite ravished before glancing at the candid of him hugging the pillow in his sleep, and the one of him front-lit by the gorgeous Caribbean sunset.

"…You took this one after you fucked like rabbits, didn't you?" Sasha rumbles as he dramatically taps the photo where Javi is gazing at you while you're smiling serenely at the camera.

"Yep," you chirp and trace the edge of it. "Oh! At the hotel? There was this vendor showcase, and I entered a raffle and won a swag bag full of stuff, including a ton of kinky sex stuff," you're explaining as you excitedly bound up and sprint to your bedroom to retrieve said swag bag. "That photo was taken after using some of the more choice items on each other," is your saucy callout as you skip back to the couch with the bag and a brilliantly impish smile. "Some of these, though, we're not going to use, so I'm graciously donating them to you, bub."

You hand him the bag, and Sasha sets the album aside so he can unzip and dig into the tote. "Holy shit…this thing is huge!" he exclaims as he pulls out and marvels at the butt-plug, flipping the box over to read the warning.

"You should've seen Javi's reaction," you giggle and drop into the seat next to him, smiling as he rifles through and pulls out the pink nipple clamps. Teasingly, you drawl, "I think those will be perfect for you—"

"You know how sensitive my nipples are," he admonishes goofily and tosses them and the butt-plug in the bag with the warming oils, ribbed condoms, ball-gag, and safe-wax candle. "…Javi doesn't want to keep the ball-gag?" Sasha jokes and shoots you a goading glance, clearly implying he should consider keeping it.

You swat him on the arm. "He's only allowed to gag me with one thing, and it's not some icky rubber ball, thank you very much," is your scathing quip, snickering when Sasha hums intriguingly and purses his lips. "And yes, he has, and it was hot."

"I'll take these goodies off your hands, then," he purrs and sets the bag aside so he can pick up the album and gaze at how Javi stares with enamored desire at you in the photo. "Do you think you'd stay put if he ever got down on one knee?"

The question disarms you, derailing the mirth and thrusting you into a ravine of unknown considerations you've yet to think about as far as your relationship with Javi was concerned.

"He's not the marrying kind, so it isn't something I ever have to wonder about."

Sasha glances dubiously over at you. "Well…have you two talked about the future?"

"Yes. He's said he wants to progress to the next level. Eventually move in to our own place – share our lives together. But none of that can happen until we go public with our relationship at work – until we disclose it to our superior, which in this case would be the ambassador," you parcel out objectively as you sip your drink until you hit ice. Setting the glass down, you sit to recline on the armrest so you can fold your legs over his lap after he closes and sets the album back onto the table. "But, so much needs to happen before that. His work right now is too precarious to put an even bigger spotlight on him for sleeping with another head of department at the embassy," is your acerbic remark, sighing when Sasha idly kneads your calves in his hands. Ever the sculptor, you snicker to yourself.

"Hm, well, you'd really be content to shack up together and not have more of a commitment?" he asks, massaging his hands down your shapely legs as he stares at you. "After all, a pact is a pact. If you're not married by 40, I'm going to steal you away from him—"

You scoff and wiggle your legs contrarily in his grip before dismissing, "If I'm with Javi, you can't steal me away, you dork—"

"Being with Javi isn't the same as being married to Javi—" he begins to tut, so you shift your legs away so you can sit with them tucked under you and scoff as you shove him lightly. "I mean it!"

"You're so patriarchal and old-fashioned. We can belong to each other without needing a ring or a piece of paper to deem it so," you lobby, absently brushing your hair over a shoulder as you prop your elbow on the back of the couch and furrow your brow at Sasha's eye-roll and grunt. "You and I have talked about this loads—"

"Yeah, and I still disagree with you. The commitment is important and defines that you truly belong to one another, ketsele. Outside of that, you're just perpetually dating," Sasha counters and shifts to sit sidelong so he can gaze assuredly into your imperious expression. "I don't want you to spend ages with this man and not have security—"

"I have security. I don't need Javier to take care of me. I want to be with him. As long as he wants the same, and we make each other happy, I don't see the need for something contrived. Marriage didn't work for your parents. It sure as hell didn't work for mine…so why ruin something good."

Sasha absorbs that, huffing and pressing his lips together after relenting when he sees you're not wavering to even consider his point of view. But then, he hits you with the question. "…Babies?"

You shake your head dramatically. "What about them?"

Sasha grumbles wordlessly at your evasive retort before drawling gruffly, "Fine. I'm just curious how you both will deal with a surprise baby, seeing as you're fucking like rabbits and not using protection—"

"I'm on the pill!" you defensively snipe and shake him by the shoulders.

"You are so stubborn," he laughs. "Tell me at the very least whether you'd be happy or terrified if he were to knock you up—"

"Terrified, of course! And if you must know, I had a bit of a scare a while back when my period was late, but it turned out to be nothing," you tell him and flop next to him in a huff. "You're just still trying to stake your claim on my ovaries—"

"Well, if you're not going to use them with Javi, why couldn't you and I have a baby?" he quips shamelessly, eyes twinkling when you giggle and shake your head. "You could tell Javi, and see what he says?"

"Hah! I just finished getting him settled and accepting of our relationship, and now you want me to float by him the idea of having a baby with you?!" you cackle, and Sasha shrugs and chuckles himself at the quirky prospect.

"At the very least, it'd be good for him to know you have other prospects if he was ever to fuck up," he teases before kissing your cheek. "He's not the only man that loves you, after all."

Snickering, you entertain more goofy conversation about you and Javi, enjoying Sasha's brazenly amusing point of view.

You can always trust Sasha to be forthright. He's never appeased you – told you just what you wanted to hear, or been brash enough to try and convince you if something wasn't to his liking. He was not shy about telling you if he didn't like one of your suitors, or thought you could do better. So after bantering back and forth some more, when Sasha tells you, "You two are good for each other. I hope he doesn't fuck it up, nor that you sabotage it, kitten," you feel settled and validated.

You revel in the moment of levity and spend the next couple of hours talking more about his plans once he's back in the states and delve a little more into the topic of reconciling with his father, all the while being completely unaware of the tumultuous night Javi is heading into.

From the moment he landed, deplaned, and walked over to Feistl and Van Ness, Javier couldn't shake the bad feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. Everything was set, though, and the two agents seemed confident that the transpo route would be secure and they'd get to speed through without a warning going out to the safehouse. He was worried about the fiscal with the warrant, but ultimately knew there wasn't much they could do but apply the pressure on him when the time came for it. Really, he had a nagging feeling. It was the kind of feeling he'd get when he felt an operation was the equivalent of traversing a tightrope with no tether to snap him back to safety if he fell.

It was gnawing at him when he and Feistl boarded the helicopter. Every time this feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, he'd been sharper – on his toes and adaptable, so once the helicopter approached the luxury high-rise, Javi used the anxiety to center his determination. He needed to be on edge to skim across to the other side of this raid and net out in a win.

He didn't expect it to end in such a colossal failure.

Van Ness couldn't get the fucking fiscal to cooperate, which caused him and Feistl to be delayed from gaining legal access to the condo, and cost them the element of surprise. So now, as Serrano's men scour the place looking for a caleta Miguel Rodríguez was crammed into – literally knocking their way through the sprawling space, Javi is becoming irascible. His guys did not have things as buttoned up as they'd assured and their time was running out. With the local CNP captain, Arias, breathing down his neck now, Javier knew it was only a matter of pull now for some bought-off official to show up and shut them down.

Figuring out to use the apartment beneath them to measure out where Rodríguez could be hidden was secondary to him thinking the fucker probably changed floors altogether, but when that didn't prove to be possible, the discrepancy in measurements from both master baths led them to get a drill and sledgehammer. Finding the airspace behind the wall had Javi's hopes lodged in his throat, and with every swing of the sledgehammer, he felt his bones rattle with desperation. He was wrought with the bitter conflict of anticipation and doom – becoming anxious from the slow-moving terror of the unknown outcome fill the room.

And then the head of the local Attorney General's office bursts in and pulls the plug on everything.

It's like a pound of liquefied lead settling in his stomach.

Worst of all, he has to admonish his agents for speaking out of turn in arrogant defiance. Sure, they're dealing with a bunch of bought-off crooked weasels, but there's no point in arguing like a petulant tourist about it.

When it's all said and done, Javi spent five hours in that condo, and all he has to show for it is a furious scowl, an ache in his gut, and two brooding agents who at least have the good sense to keep their fucking mouths shut on the way back to the airfield.

He also had the ledger.

It was filled with coded entries, but it was a huge find. All he needed now was someone who could decipher it, testify under oath that it represented all of Cali's dirty dealings, and he would at least keep the pressure on the government to not follow through with the surrender deal and keep Gilberto Rodríguez in jail.

While Javi and his guys sit on the plane with the raid forces en route back to Bogotá, scanning through the ledger, you've been on pins and needles all morning.

After entertaining Sasha late over drinks and silliness – including the enigmatic visit of the little black cat who scaled up to your balcony to meow and preen for your friend's attentions, you made him promise to call you once he was settled, gave him a big hug and kiss on the cheek, and saw him off to his waiting ride before locking up and heading to bed. The cat was happy to keep you company at the foot of your bed, and even pleasantly lounged while watching you get ready for work. You'd just finished getting dressed and were brushing your hair when your cell phone rang.

Hurriedly, you dove for it where it sat on the charger by your nightstand and answered, hoping it was Javi.

"—You better turn on the TV, kid," Ellis is exclaiming. "Anita had the news on and told me something went down in Cali before dawn, and it doesn't look good."

Sprinting into the living room, you switch the TV set on and get sucked into a whirlpool of worry. You're so wound up that you barely enunciate your goodbye before hanging up and staring at the screen as you read the chyron and listen to the reporter detail how the operation had been happening for hours and there was yet to be any indication of a capture. The cat slinked around your legs and yowled for your attention, but you were too busy listening to the pundits talk about what their 'sources were reporting' to them about the interference of Cali officials, questions about the warrant, and other speculation. By the time they declared officially that the raid had been suspended and no arrest was made, you're strung out with dejection. You put the cat and her food out on the balcony before shutting the door, then grab your things, and head out to work. The radio news report elaborates on leaks from local sources that detail the raid was meant to capture Miguel Rodríguez, but the new head of the Cali cartel remains at large after hours of the DEA busting furniture and drilling into walls.

You feel like a ball of anxiety by the time you get to the embassy. Once in your office, you can't help fretting about Javi. Things are only going to get worse for him now. Is he going to try and absorb the fallout? Did their source purposely screw them? The news said the raid wasn't supervised by any commanding officers and implied it wasn't a sanctioned operation—

Ellis knocking on your office's sidelight snaps you back. "Got a second?" You nod, so he comes in and shuts the door after himself. Sitting in a chair across from you, he leans forward and asks in a hushed tone, "Have you heard from him?"

"No…I knew about the raid," you hitch out tensely before crossing your arms in order not to fidget nervously. "I don't want to call—"

"Nador said he heard that he and his guys got ordered back to the capital. He's likely on the plane heading back right now," he tells you in a measured tone, expression sincerely empathetic as he adds, "Word is they might all get rotated out, but it'll depend on how much pull the ambassador still has with the Minister of Defense."

You let out a hollow sigh and bring your guard up. "I don't think it'll come to that…at least not yet. Especially with all the aid the government's getting from stateside. Recalling the DEA team who's already captured one Cali godfather because of bureaucratic corruption they had to navigate that caused them to lose out on catching the other is all that the Americans are going to see," you remark analytically and rub your chin thoughtfully as you add, "If they were serious about rotating them out, they'd have just done it, and it'd be gossip all over the building, so…" Ellis grunts, as if to confirm he would've gotten the scoop on that. "Is it bad I could already use a drink?" you dryly quip as you fold your arms over your desk and rest your head on them.

"Nope, because in other news? We have to talk through the remote system linkup for Cali, which could be an all-day thing tomorrow," Ellis is remarking as he deflates into the chair and continues on in detailing the rest of the updates and status reports before moving onto your itinerary for the day.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Javi is miserable.

His head is pounding, back and joints protesting from hopping out of the helicopter onto the roof of the high-rise, and his shoulders ache from having them squared up from anxious tension for the last twelve hours. He's desperate to just lie on his stomach and take a fistful of painkillers and muscle relaxers, but he doesn't have that luxury. Not when he has a proverbial flogging waiting for him back at the embassy. With a couple of hours to kill before their meeting with the ambassador, Javier orders Dan and Chris to go take some personal time.

He uses the break to go to his place, shower, put on a fresh suit, and wolf down a sandwich over the sink like a degenerate bachelor. The headache subsides enough for him to steel himself and head right back out, deciding to go to his office and hash out some things he had Stoddard pull together in regards to leads on who could possibly decode the ledger currently in his possession. As soon as he's off the elevator, Stoddard is waiting to judiciously fill him in while they stride into the department and pass desks where most keep their heads down for fear of getting a withering look from the boss. Javi realizes he's the scary boss in this scenario, so he huffs to himself and idly pumps the tension out of his right hand as they traverse the space, heading for his office.

All the gloom and frustration that have been applying anxious pressure in the seat of his solar plexus get blasted apart when he walks into his office and sees the innocuous cup of coffee sitting on his desk.

Javi smiles for the first time all day, and gestures for Stoddard to give him a minute. Once his deputy goes to busy himself with something, Javi sits at his desk and picks up the cup, holding it in both hands like he's about to take communion. Lifting it to his lips, he sips and finds it's still hot, tasting freshly brewed and flavorful. It settles a fluttering feeling of warmth behind his sternum.

You're just walking down the corridor en route to your office when your cell phone starts ringing in your pocket. Picking up your stride, you reach in and answer it.

"Thanks for the coffee," Javi's honeyed rasp purrs into your ear. "I really fucking needed it."

You smile as you hustle through your department's workspace and enter your office, shutting the door for privacy as you answer, "I can imagine. Although, I'm sure you could use something even stronger right now."

"Fuck yeah, I could," he laconically remarks, but there's a sardonic air to it. "I gotta go. I just wanted to check in."

"No worries. I'll see you at home tonight," you remark easily as you sit at your desk and idly run your fingers through the length of your hair.

"Home?"

Fondly smiling at his confused rumble, you chime, "Yeah, at your place. See you tonight—"

"Wait. And just how did you know to leave the coffee on my desk, and that I was back?" he questions curiously.

"I have my ways, agente," you breezily muse as you lean back in your chair. "Good luck with Crosby."

Snorting, Javi's shaking his head wryly, imagining all the ways you could be in-the-know at the embassy better than he is. "I'll see you tonight, querida."

"Looking forward to it," is your purr, then, "Love you."

"Love you too," he murmurs into the phone before hanging up and setting his cell phone aside and waving Stoddard into his office. "Alright, let's see how fucked we are…"

To his chagrin, his prospects for Cali-affiliated assets who would have the access and knowledge to decode the ledger they'd gotten in the raid were slim. Only two men, according to all they'd gathered: Guillermo Pallomari – the Cali accountant – who was currently unaccounted for, and Franklin Jurado, who was in U.S. custody, but uncooperative after Christina, his wife, got snatched up by the cartel. Javier knows he's got no major bargaining chip other than the ledger, so when he heads up to the ambassador's office with Feistl and Van Ness at the end of the day, he's steeled himself for the verbal lashing Crosby's going to give them.

He's surprised when the glacial-eyed man just stares them down for a beat before crossing his leg and sitting back in the wood-trimmed chair with a cavalier lean of his shoulders.

"So, how do you plan to sell this colossal fuck-up with Botero in the morning, fellas?" the ambassador drawls, tilting his head to regard Javi sharply as he adds, "He told you quite clearly he'd stonewall you and your continued operation plans if you blew this capture."

"Not like we could help fighting to get the fiscal to sign the warrant when he's intent on remaining on the take—" Feistl begins to snidely grumble.

Javi shoots him a withering look and hisses, "Chris—"

"I'm just saying, boss, that it was hardly our fuckup when we have to juggle—"

"We knew that going in, so no point bitching about it," Van Ness curtly huffs at his partner.

"And no point lobbing that insult tomorrow, so be sure to keep it to yourself," Crosby barks. "Fact of the matter is, ya'll just made a spectacle out of this and gave more credence to the surrender deal. Best be prepared for Botero to not only bar the DEA from continuing to be involved in the case, but also possibly pulling both your visas," he lambasts and warns the two agents before glancing at Javier again. "And if that's how the chips fall, you're going to have a shitstorm to deal with from Washington."

Setting his expression into that chiseled regard, Javier shoots his guys an intense glare before addressing the ambassador. "I'll be prepared to lobby the Minister of Defense to reconsider if those are his propositions, sir. I only ask that you back me when I do."

Exhaling, Crosby neutrally remarks, "Just tread carefully, Peña. You're hanging on by a thread here."

After the meeting with Crosby, he pointedly told Feistl and Van Ness off once they were back in his office, and made it clear that if either of them talked out of line like they'd done earlier in the day to the Colombian officials - let alone Crosby, again, he'd personally ship their asses back to the states. Sullenly, they'd apologized before trudging out, and once Javier had made sure Stoddard had his following day blocked out, he grabbed his things and got the hell out. By the time Javier exits the embassy compound, he feels like he's been wrung out.

The short drive to his apartment consists of him replaying every single way they'd fucked up the operation. Some things were more glaring than others. He stewed on the fact that their informant was too precariously compromised – that his identity being leaked could result in a catastrophic mess. It's unsettling, drudging up all sorts of bad memories of informants who'd gotten in too deep and got chewed up for it. And the sinking guilt he felt every single time jabs at him.

When he drives down the parking ramp, puts in the code, and cruises down to his spot, Javi is idly wondering about possible tactics to rebuff Botero's play, when he sees your car in the visitor spot. He'd completely forgotten you were going to come over, so the reminder puts a relieved smile on his face.

With second-wind of pep in his step, Javier hustles up to his apartment. As he approaches the door, he hears the muffled sound of music coming from within. Letting himself in, he realizes the radio in the entertainment system is on, playing what sounds like a classic, low-tempo ballad. The source of the delicious aroma wafting over to him is the arroz con pollo you're dutifully tending to while you sing softly along to the warm-voiced crooner.

"Lo que espero, De ti con tanto anhelo, En el cielo de tu amor y para siempre, Es que me quieras como yo te quiero, Y olvidarnos jamás ni con la muerte."

Javi quietly shuts the door and lives in the moment – of coming home to you and how it makes all the pressure lift from his shoulders. He watches you fondly, letting the feeling of something blazing and vast settle in his chest as the song's words mellow him out to not so soundlessly drop his keys and phone to the credenza.

You jump and whirl around, eyes wide before they settle on him. The relief is enchanting as it softens your features, making Javi feel worthy after a demoralizing day. Abandoning the stove and song, you round the kitchen counter and rush over to wrap your arms around him, before coquettishly kissing his neck and purring, "I was hoping you'd come home in that cute tactical vest."

The laugh that rumbles from his chest is endearingly honeyed with affection for you. "It's tossed in the back of my car. I can go get it," he chuckles as he caresses his hands down your hourglass curves, admiring the way the casual house dress clings to you – how the soft green cotton molds to your breasts and flares at your waist.

"Nah," you snicker and brush your lips teasingly over his. "Maybe next time, galán," is your affectionate musing as you pull him over to the couch while the radio station plays the next romantic ballad. "Food's almost ready," you're remarking as you guide him to sit with you so you can assess how stressed out or weary he is.

"It smells fucking great," he says after taking a deep inhale and sitting back into the sofa.

"Arroz con pollo, with a garden salad and cilantro-based vinaigrette," you tell him and smile when he hitches you closer to him with his warm hand resting on your hip. He seems at ease, albeit stiff in his rumpled khaki-colored suit and crooked herringbone-patterned tie. Untying the knot and undoing the tie for him, you query, "So how bad is it?"

"Bad," he retorts in an aloof baritone before resting his head back. "Botero is coming to the embassy tomorrow for a meeting with us, which will likely net out with him stonewalling the DEA and requiring us to hand over our intel, if not just bouncing my guys back to the states," Javi elaborates and exhales noisily when you sit up and look at him worriedly. "I have an idea for countering that, so I'm not really worried," he tells you and pulls you closer so you can rest your head on his shoulder. "Feeling like a Latin ballad night?" he quips before kissing the top of your hairline.

"I suppose so," you giggle and encircle your arms around him to give him a cheeky squeeze, expecting him to grunt in amusement, but he instead suppresses a wince. Sitting up and looking at him intensely, you frown. "¿Que te duele?"

"Nothing. I'm just sore," he tells you, and when you scowl, unconvinced, he assures, "It's nothing—"

Imperiously standing to glower at him, you order, "Take that blazer off and do it without grunting, and if you can, I'll drop it."

Nostrils flaring crossly at that, Javi sits up and stubbornly shrugs the jacket, but when he tries to maneuver it off, the tension in his shoulders is too much, and he grits his jaw to not wince, but the strain in his muscles is beseeching, so he huffs and pouts when you scoff and help pull the blazer off of his arms gently.

"Que terco," you tut chidingly, but smile when he glowers haughtily at you after you toss his blazer aside and gesture for him to sit back. Leaning down to peck his lips, you murmur, "You're going to do as I say, boss man. And I'm not going to abide any of your macho, flippant crap, got it?"

Arousal flares up in him, tingling in his loins as your long lashes bat sultrily and plush lips pull into that alluring smile of yours that just makes him weak. "I don't think I can survive another flogging today, cariño," Javi rumbles and reaches to pull you down onto his lap, but you slap his hands off and teasingly shy away. "C'mon—"

"No flogging. I'm going to go get ibuprofen that you will be a good boy and take. Then you're going to eat dinner while I rub your shoulders. And once you're done, it's a hot shower and full-body rubdown for you, tough guy," you dictate with a sensual tease in your tone as you kneel to take his shoes off for him. "We don't have to talk about work. You can just relax, ok?"

His breath catches in his chest at how you look at him with a flirty gleam in your eyes before standing slowly from being at his feet. With effort, he clears what's likely the longing, needy look from his dark brewed gaze to sigh, "Alright, fine. Whatever you say, querida."

Smiling, you go check the stove, set the caldero onto a cool burner to rest while you get some ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and bring it to him with a glass of water. Javi obediently takes the pills and gulps down the water before exhaling a sated sigh. Pretty soon, you're serving him a plate of arroz con pollo with the salad on the side before setting your own plate aside so you can shift him to semi-recline, with you sitting behind him in order to rub his shoulders. Javi hisses and groans as you work the tension out for him. You both enjoy the tranquility of being together like this, as the ballad plays from the radio.

Traigo en el alma pena y llanto
Que no puedo contener
Y es que la quiero tanto y tanto
Pero me tocó perder

You pause to rest your forehead to the back of his head before nuzzling his hair while you listen to the song and snicker. Javi's listening to it too now that he's snapped out of the daze your shoulder-rub put him in. He shovels a few forkfuls in his mouth, eating with gusto, before pausing to drawl, "The other song fit us better."

Smiling, you hum and sit back to comb your fingers through the back of his hair. "You think?" is your amused lilt. You hadn't realized he'd been paying attention to it, but now conclude he must've snuck in and listened way before you'd ever noticed him.

"Well, I'll speak for myself, and say it fits how I feel much better than this one," Javi charismatically remarks and carefully turns to gaze into your eyes. He sets his dish aside and turns completely to face you, brushing his nose against yours before grazing a kiss to your cheek. "How'd it go? 'Soy tan feliz, Teniéndote a mi lado, Porque tengo en tu amor una esperanza, De vivir unidos para siempre, Como el cielo y la mar en Lontananza,' " he recites in his honeyed, bass-lulled baritone before cupping his fingers to the nape of your neck and guiding you to meet his covetous kiss.

You sigh and lean into him, caressing his cheek when you break the kiss before it can get too passionate. "Such a Casanova," you tease before shifting so he has to lean into the back of the couch with you. "You recite song lyrics to all your girls?" is your sassy quip as you reach for your plate and hand him his before you start eating.

"Nope," he drawls before going back to eating with gusto. Once he's scarfed the rest of his food, leaving the plate empty for him to set aside, he rests his head on your shoulder and remarks aloofly, "Suffice to say, plenty have serenaded you, then?"

"Aww, your serenata was sweet and romantic, suavón," you razz and turn your head to kiss his forehead. "But yes, once or twice. Although, the last time was completely unsolicited, and when I wouldn't give the guy the time of day, he got pushy. Luckily, Sasha intervened for me," you reminisce in a humored tone.

"How'd he do that?" Javi asks as he steals a piece of chicken from your plate and pops it into his mouth.

"He hauled him back and slugged him," you retort simply and chew on a piece of tomato from your salad. When Javi sits up and grunts in approval, brows quirking for you to elaborate, you snicker, "It was at a New Year's party, and the guy had tried hitting on me before, but I wasn't interested. I guess he'd gotten drunk and decided he wasn't going to take no for an answer – started singing along to the David Bowie song playing and trying to force me to dance with him. Sasha stormed over when he put his hand on my shoulder to stop me from walking away."

"Good," Javier declares approvingly. "How is he?"

Finishing with your dinner, you place the plate on the coffee table and pivot to curl into Javi's side. "He's fine. I actually had him over last night," you pause when Javi grunts a little musingly, so you add, "Turns out he was keeping the fact that his dad is dying from me—"

"Jesus," he exclaims and shifts to encircle your waist and gaze empathetically at you. "Why was he doing that?"

With a sigh, you rub at your brow, feeling the tension of possible tears starting to well up behind your eyes. "It's a long story…but basically, we made a silly pact once that we'd cut our fathers out of our lives, seeing as they only made us miserable and feel terrible about ourselves," you begin, then sigh. "He hasn't spoken to his father for even longer than I've been estranged from mine. But then he reached out to him and Irina once he was diagnosed…pancreatic cancer, so he doesn't have long, and wants to reconcile with them. Sasha wasn't going to mention it at all, but then I think he felt guilty and needed to vent, so he came over to keep me company and unburdened himself."

Even though you hadn't intended to, you end up telling Javi the history of your friends' bitter feud with their father, and before long, you find yourself volunteering, "After what happened with Roman, when I came back to the states, Sasha had dealt with a terribly hurtful turn of events with his father, and one night, we drunkenly drowned our sorrows together, and made the silly pact to just keep them at arm's length…he was always better about keeping true to it, but the last few years? We'd both managed to keep to it, until now."

Javier absorbs all of that, and can feel how weary the topic has made you, so he noses into your hair and mumbles, "Wanna escort me to the shower now, patrona?"

You scoff a silly sound and nod before getting up and yanking him by his wrists to stand.

Once you're both in the bedroom together, you turn down the bed and have Javier lie down on his stomach for you. He's nude – skin still warm from the shower while you slip on a nighty and climb onto the bed in order to straddle him. With the help of some pumps of lotion into your palms, you go to work massaging his back, smiling when he groans in relief and lets out pleased little grunts with every knot or ache you work out of his sore muscles. The radio is still playing in the living room, and you can make out the cadence of a really mushy love song while you roll your thumbs into a stubborn spot between his shoulder blades.

Unbidden – thanks in part to Javier being exceedingly relaxed now, he ends up telling you everything that happened with the raid, and the conversation with Crosby. You listen with judicious attention, but don't press him for details, until he remarks, "Gotta get someone to decode the ledger."

Pressing your lips together until they're flat, you hum thoughtfully as you knead his lower back. When he winces, you ask, "Where's it hurt?"

"Little lower," he hisses, and when you find the spot, he grits, "Y-Yeah, right there. Fucking killing me all day."

You use the palms of your hands to warm that spot to make it more pliant to your ministrations. While you wait, you ask, "Jurado wasn't the accountant, though, so why not look for that guy?"

"We can't find him. It's more than likely that they had him killed, or the guy got wise and skipped out of town," he answers as he's shifting his arms to be folded under the pillow he's resting his cheek to. "Jurado was their finance guy, so he knows. We just can't get him to cooperate after that fucking mess with his wife…"

"Does the informant know?" you ask, and when Javi grunts questioningly, you clarify, "Does he know if the accountant is dead or not?"

Javier's exhausted, bone-tired, so he has to wrack his brain to try and remember. "M'not sure," he finally answers when he can't recall. You can hear the drowsy slur of fatigue starting to creep into his baritone, so you decide not to ask anything else. But, just as you start to massage that problem spot in his lower back, he mumbles, "Worried about him."

You frown, continuing to rub the tension out of the base of his spine. "That the informant can't be trusted?" you ask in a soft-spoken murmur.

"No…that they're in too deep," he drones, eyes completely shut now. "In danger of being found out."

You feel him completely relax, so you work your hands back up to soothingly caress the broad planes of his back, and once you get to his shoulders, you realize he's completely asleep, so you kiss his cheek before gingerly maneuvering off of him. After you pull the covers over him, you tiptoe out to pack the leftovers and leave the dishes to soak before locking up and turning everything off.

You can't help linger in the kitchen when pensive worry starts rolling round and round in your head. The thought of being in this perpetual state of flux is starting to take a toll, and you can't help wonder how much more pushing Javier's going to do to take this syndicate down. You can't bear the thought of him being in turmoil like this all the time – under threat of harm from a raid-gone-bad, or subject to professional fallout that could result in him being relieved of his post and forced back to the states.

Feeling unsettled, you force yourself to go brush your teeth and do some skincare in hopes the routine will clear your mind. By the time you sneak back into the bedroom, Javier is snoring away, and you can't help crack a smile as you slide under the covers with him.

Javier sleeps like a rock, body and mind having been starving for rest after going so long without sleep. So, when he awakes next, he's disoriented. He can't figure out if it's day or night, or where he is after he rolls over and finds the bed empty. Shifting lethargically to get up, he startles when you come into the bedroom with a tray of food and in your fluffy robe, looking freshly showered. "Jesus Christ, what time is it?" he exclaims as he scrubs his face and tries to get his eyes to focus so he can look at the alarm clock.

"It's super early. I have to go into work early to start the remote linkup thing with Cali, so I made breakfast," you tell him as you set the tray of pancakes and bacon down on the bed and hand him one of the mugs of coffee before carefully scurrying to sit next to him. "You sleep ok?"

"Fuck, I slept too good," he grunts wryly as he rolls his shoulders and hums in satisfaction once he's taken a sip of the hot brew. "You got magic hands, baby," he purrs before leaning over to peck you on the lips. "Thanks."

You hum pleasantly and smile as you hand him his plate before offering him the ramekin with warmed syrup. "So, can you tell me what your plan is for the meeting with Botero?" is your tentative query.

Javier dribbles syrup onto his serving of pancakes once he's rubbed some butter over them from the little dish you have on the tray. "I have a feeling he's going to demand we hand over everything we have on Cali and try to pull us from being involved moving forward, but I'm going to tell him we have the ledger and an informant in U.S. custody. That we're not handing Jurado over, so there's no movement he or anyone can do here without our involvement," Javier explains before cutting a morsel of pancake, popping it into his mouth, then quickly chasing it with a bite of bacon.

You sip your coffee and weigh the idea. It's a good bluff, at least. "That'll only buy you time for so long, though. You'll need to find a way to decode the ledger before the government caves on the surrender deal, or worse…the cartel decides they don't need to surrender and figure they can escalate pressure to push the U.S. out completely," you tell him, and Javier pauses in mid-bite. "I only mean that they've bought off plenty of officials so far. It's only a matter of time before they pocket the rest of them – the ones that really matter."

He tucks his chin in and pouts. "Why can't the analysts we have be as smart as you?"

You laugh and shove his shoulder playfully. "Because if they were, you wouldn't have a job down here, chavón. If I had any say-so, I would've never advised half of the shit your agency's done," is your faux-scathing quip.

"Fuck me. Is that a fact, boss lady?" he taunts before towing you closer so he can kiss a path along your jaw. "Then what, pray tell, would you have sanctioned?"

"Complete financial embargo on any and all entities that do business down here and who have holdings affiliated with shell corporations that can be linked back to cartel members and associates. Political sanctions for any exports that leave legal ports here bound for drug trafficking routes stateside. Basically, no aid, or trading relations with the U.S.," you recite as if it's a no-brainer before stealing a piece of bacon from his plate and munching on it.

"Cold as ice," he whistles before stealing a syrupy kiss from your lips.

After you both finish eating, you delight in watching Javi strut in the buff to shower before you take the dirty dishes to the sink. When he emerges from the bathroom freshly showered and shaved, he finds you in the bedroom, getting dressed. You have on a pencil skirt with a chaste slit up both thighs, and a pastel pink lace bra while the matching camisole and sheer blouse set is laid out on the foot of the bed. You're brushing your hair up into a chic ponytail when he comes in still wearing the towel around his trim waist. Covertly, you watch him in the dresser mirror as he stands in front of the closet and shuffles items aside in an unmotivated way.

Javier could care less about picking out his suit, shirt and tie for the day when the broody disdain starts to settle in his gut. Sure, he has a plan for rebuffing Botero, but he's unsure how long he can skirt things without having a prospect for nailing the cartel. He's so moodily in thought that he doesn't sense you strut up behind him until you're towing him backwards towards the bed by the towel cinched around his hips.

"What—?"

You yank the towel from him and nimbly shift so you can shove him down to flop on his back onto the bed. He grunts as he settles across the disheveled surface, big brown eyes staring wide up at you as you put your hands on your hips and rake your gaze imperiously over his form before narrowing it at his startled gaze. "Didn't I tell you, explicitly, that you were going to do what I say?" you question seductively, and when Javi just blinks in wonder up at you and his lips fall open with no response, you surprise him by hiking up your skirt and climbing to straddle his thighs. "So, did I tell you that you could get all moody?"

Javi's brows arch up towards his hairline with how overawed he is. Huskily, he stammers, "N-No, but I'm not moody, I'm just—"

His ramble careens to a halt when you glare at him and hiss, "Are you going to contradict me right now?"

The deviant thrill that zings into Javi's cock and blooms wanton desire to flood his now flexing muscles would be depraved if you didn't reward him for it by pulling the front of your skirt to bunch up so you can ruck the crotch of your lace panties aside and show him how dewy and flushed your pussy is. His breath catches in his chest as a broken growl, but then you adjust to rub your crotch over his now rock-hard cock.

He's just about to clutch your thighs when you order, "Hands behind your head."

The way his skin flushes with the heated thrill of your dominance has his cheeks turning pink while his strong throat defines from how he inclines his head against his hands when he interlaces them to be pinned behind him. You enjoy watching his corded tendons go taut when his Adam's apple bobs and his breathing gets shallow with arousal.

"Now…you're going to relax and focus on one thing: Your cock inside me," you tell him in a smoky purr as you undulate your core and notch the head of his cock at your entrance before rolling your hips to plunge yourself onto the thick length.

Javier groans and writhes, tightening his palms behind his head as you fuck yourself down onto his base with a delicious little whimper. "Holy fucking shit, querida—p-please," he rambles hoarsely before biting his lip when you plant your palms onto his chest and clamp your floor muscles around him. "Virgen Santa," he hitches and bucks up into you.

"What's on your mind right now, hermoso?" you coo as you just grind onto him and alternate squeezing the clutch of your cunt around his now throbbing shaft.

"I-I, fuck," he stammers before staring at you from under heavy lidded, lusted out brown eyes. "Thinking of my cock inside you," he husks roughly, arms flexing from the strain of keeping control on his base impulses. "Being inside your fucking tight pussy—"

You lift off of him before slamming back down onto him and moaning, "What're you g-gonna do to this pussy, mi amor?"

"Mmm, f-fuck, baby," Javier is practically whining, but he growls throatily, "Gonna make it come all over me 'fore I fill it with cum."

You start riding him, pleased by his response, so you susurrate, "Want you to fill me deep. Wanna walk around with your cum inside me all day—" Javi exhales a gruff, stuttered sound of delight, so you add, "Want you to be mine, for everyone to know you're mine, to cover you in my scent and make it so you only smell me on you."

The exquisite way Javi cranes his neck and goes taut under you has you bowing to suckle a kiss into his throat before grazing your teeth over his Adam's apple.

It's a fiercely erotic combination of sensations that propel Javi to beg, "P-Por favor déjame tocarte. Please-please, baby. Need to touch you!"

Acquiescing without letting up on how hard you're riding his cock, you lean up and yank on his forearms to unpin them from their current position. Javier needs no other direction as he sits up and runs his feverishly warm hands over your torso before cupping your tits and rolling your nipples with the pads of his thumbs over your lace bra. You moan and thread your hands into the back of his hair so you can tug him to meet your starving kiss, twirling your tongue to tangle with his as he fondles his touch to your ass before gripping you and setting a rough pace to you riding him while he fucks up into you.

When he slams his cock deep and hits the cluster of pleasure inside you and grinds against it, you light up and arch into him. Javi repeats his sharp thrust over and over again and mouths the spot just under your jaw, growling when he feels your walls start to flutter. So, he slots his hand between your bodies and presses his thumb over the hood of your clit and rolls your hips to rock greedily over him at the same time.

"Ahh, Javi!" you cry out and dissolve into a breathless gasp from how your pussy clamps around him as you climax. He groans in lurid triumph before prolonging your rippling ecstasy with his cock pounding through your flooding cunt. You're so overawed that Javi ends up keeping you riding him after your thighs quiver and your lower half locks up. He prolongs your bliss until he exclaims a gravelly husk when his cock swells inside you before convulsively shooting spurts of cum in you with a harsh groan of completion he buries into your neck.

You both wilt into each other, breathing raggedly and fast as you try and come down from the enthralling high of such a fierce quickie. Javi collapses onto his back with you in his arms. He feels lightheaded in the best way, and smiles when you hum in sated, sensual accomplishment.

"Gloria de Dios, woman," he exalts croakily when you sexily sit up and stare down at him with flushed cheeks and glittery eyes. You smile dreamily and cup his face, softening when he closes his eyes and rubs his cheek greedily into your palm. "Feel so fucking good right now," he rumbles in a velvety whisper.

"Good boy," you tell him in a silky murmur and caress your fingertips along his brow before tracing his handsome features when he opens his eyes to stare soulfully up at you. "Only want you to feel good, babe," you sigh as you glance down and tenderly lift off of him.

Javier watches in primal fascination the squelching mess of his cock receding from you as your pussy weeps a thin seam of his cum before you whimper and clench your muscles to keep the rest inside so you can pivot to flop onto your back next to him. You skirt is bunched far up your waist and miraculously unsullied, but your panties are soaked as you press your thighs together and pull your knees up towards your chest so his seed doesn't leak out while you regain your bearings.

He realizes dimly then that you were serious about walking around with his cum inside of you all day, and the dizzying wave of pride that crests up his sternum and buzzes up to his temples has him becoming melted clay. The exhilaration of feeling grounded and anchored by your grace has a tumult of desires bubbling up in him, vying for dominance. None more potent than wanting to belong to you forever – to give you everything in his power to give.

"Hey," you chime, pulling him from his silent fawning, and when Javi turns his head to stare with those molten chocolate eyes at you, you give him a dazzling smile and kiss his shoulder. "I love you."

With a stretch and roll onto his side, Javi frames you with his arms and rests his forehead against yours. "And I love you, my wicked little boss lady," he husks and smiles when you snicker and nuzzle his cheek.

Needless to say, Javi enjoys lounging on the bed while you stand in front of the mirror and finish getting ready for work once you've regained your bearings, buzzing with savage satisfaction knowing your pussy will be dripping him into your panties while everyone else is none the wiser. Frankly, you're used to going to work after being ravished by him, but usually it's before or during the shower, where he takes pleasure and care in helping you flush most of his spend out with his deft fingers working your cunt over into another needy orgasm. Today, though, you'll be fidgeting from the post-coital seep of him, which is weirdly turning you on now as you turn and purse your lips at how unbothered he is sprawled out in bed like this.

He looks quite pleased with himself, lounging on his back, seemingly in no hurry to get dressed. "You'll call me after to let me know how it went?" you're asking as you sit on the edge of the bed and playfully walk your fingers along his ribcage up to his sternum, where you pantomime as if your digits are doing high kicks.

He chuckles and captures your hand in order to kiss the tips of your fingers. "I will, corazón."

Smiling, you lean over and kiss his lips, before nuzzling his sideburn in order to whisper in his ear, "Good. Be sure to remember to not cover up my scent, querido. I want anyone that's near you to know you belong to someone."

The smoldering look in Javi's eyes has you shivering with delight as you stand and slink nimbly away before he can sweep you up and pin you under him like he most definitely wants to.

"Can I tell 'em it's your juicy pussy I'm covered in?" he goadingly taunts as he swings his legs to the side of the bed and audaciously grins at you. "If they ask, of course."

Scoffing, you go to his closet, pull out a dress shirt, and chuck it at him before comically repeating the act with a suit jacket and pant you sail over to land on the bed next to him before picking a tie and brazenly looping it around his neck so you can tug him forward to meet your sassy sneer. "Fresco. If you're going to risk both our careers by declaring I fucked you silly, the least you can do is find a better adjective to describe my pussy," is your daring quip, smiling when he loops his arms around your waist and tugs you close.

"Luscious? Succulent?" he proposes impishly, smirking when you roll your eyes goofily. "How about scrumptious?"

"Such a freaking beyako," you giggle and let him shower you with silly retaliatory kisses before you sigh and kiss him with longing.

He can sense your worry start to bubble up, so he caresses your cheek and pulls back to stare reassuringly into your eyes. "It'll all work out, mi amor. I'll make sure of it," he promises before brushing a soft kiss to your lips and husking, "Now go, before I just pull you back into bed."

Chuckling, you peck his cheek and strut off, shooting him a flirty smile over your shoulder as you lilt, "Buena suerte, agente."

Javier feels ridiculously calm and settled as he gets ready for work, able to focus on possible solutions to his problem with the ledger rather than hyper-fixate on all the doom and gloom of what failure could cause him to lose. He's able to levelheadedly parcel out things, and by the time he arrives at the embassy, he has an idea. Sure, it's a long shot, but Jurado is all he has in his reserves, so he figures it's something he can explore.

Even his guys seem to sense a cooler and more focused Javier after they met up with him at his office. Both agents rode up in the elevator with their boss and couldn't help exchange silent looks of intrigue. The confined space made it unavoidable for them not to notice the heady musk coming off of Javier. Chris bounced his brows at Dan, who rolled his eyes before quirking a brow in unspoken musing of, 'Yep, he got laid.' Javier is none the wiser as he stares at the floor numbers ticking by, using the quiet moment to center himself.

Waiting in the reception area of the ambassador's office, he's ruminating about his plan when the door opens, and Crosby's voice carries through the threshold as he walks his previous appointment out. Javier doesn't expect to hear the ambassador jovially remark, "—Fantastic work, as always, darlin'," so when he glances up and sees you nodding your thanks, Javi has to train his expression into complete stoic calm. "Good luck completing that linkup, and thanks again for the coffee."

"You're welcome, sir. Have a nice day," you declare pleasantly and strut out the door. "Have a good weekend, Dotty," you're remarking congenially as you pass her desk and get an enthusiastic wave while the older woman multitasks on the phone. When you turn towards the reception space, you lock eyes with Javier and smile warmly at him and at the other agents in kind before nodding in acknowledgement. "Gentlemen."

"Mornin', director," Javi rumbles neutrally while his rich coffee-brown eyes crinkle cordially as you professionally make your exit.

Van Ness nods in greeting and Feistl does so as well, albeit clumsily thanks to how he catches the elegant sway of your gait as you strut away. The wily-eyed agent is staring appreciatively at your retreating form, watching you go with a vacant, pining look in his eyes that has Javier internally seething as he clears his throat and narrows his eyes at the man.

Fidgeting his weight onto his opposite foot, Chris ends up shrugging lamely before muttering, "I was admiring how puffy her blouse's sleeves were, is all."

"Sure, Chris," Dan deadpans as he nudges his elbow into his partner's arm while Javier wishes he could wring the agent by the scruff. Instead, he lopes ahead to enter the ambassador's office when Crosby waves them in.

"C'mon, man. She's a knockout," Feistl whispers to Van Ness, who just discreetly grunts in agreement. "You think she's single?"

"No way. She's drop-dead gorgeous," Van Ness mumbles.

Javier shoots them both a death glare – clearly communicating the locker room fawning is over.

Once they've greeted the ambassador, they each take a seat around the lacquered coffee table once Crosby has settled into his preferred chair. When Botero is ushered into the office a few minutes later by Dotty, the men shake his hand and settle in for a contentious meeting.

Javi's glad to have disarmed the Minister of Defense with his stern declaration on keeping Jurado on ice in U.S. custody – that he wouldn't be handing him over to a 'special prosecutor,' and took personal satisfaction with how the man begrudgingly told him, "Then, Agent Peña, I suppose you'll have to see this out," before shaking the ambassador's hand and civilly exiting the meeting.

Crosby is surly, and makes it very clear how aggravated he is by snapping, "You make my job a lot fucking harder, you know that?"

The corner of Javi's mouth twitches with how hard he has to suppress his smirk. His soulful eyes give him a way though, especially when he tucks his chin in and glances musingly at the former Navy man. With a sharp stare, Crosby pointedly asks Javier if he has any idea where Jurado's wife would be, and after Javi remarks that he knows someone who might, he glances over at Feistl and Van Ness before gesturing with a curt nod of his head for them to give him and the ambassador the room. The agents exchange a quick glance before following the unspoken command, making sure to gesture in farewell to Crosby before they head out the door.

Leaning forward and planting his elbows to the tops of his knees, Javi steeples his fingers together as he remarks in a level tone, "My contact is in Medellín, sir. I'd have to personally go meet them—"

"If this is the contact I think it is, I don't want to hear it. But you go ahead and do what you think is a must to get that woman secured and her ass back on a plane to the states," Crosby cuts in scathingly and crosses his arms. "For your sake, I hope she's worth the hassle, because without decoding that ledger, your investigation dies on the vine, Peña."

He shoots Javier a look that communicates, 'We're done,' so he nods dutifully and strides out of the office. Feistl and Van Ness are waiting out in the hall for him when he lopes out. "What now, boss?" the wily-eyed agent queries as they fall into step with him as he heads for the elevator.

"You two try and get ahold of your informant—" he begins to grumble.

"We've been trying. Sending messages on the SkyPager, but no response," Van Ness cuts in.

"Keep trying. You gotta make sure nothing is falling apart on that end. We'll still need 'em to cooperate," Javier grouses as he punches the elevator button and glares between both men. "Shit could be hitting the fan. Better to know how bad sooner rather than later…especially if there's still something that can be done about it."

The elevator ride down to their department is tense, and it doesn't get any better for any of them once they go their separate ways. Javi doesn't have time to coddle them, though, so he grabs his things and tells Stoddard to only contact him if absolutely necessary before he calls in a favor to hitch a CNP chopper ride. He's hoofing it out of the building and into his car to head to the airbase, and while en route, he pulls out his cell phone and calls you.

When your cell phone starts ringing, you excuse yourself from the team and sprint out of the server room into a secluded corner of the hallway. "Hey! I've been thinking about you. How was it?"

"It went about as good as it could've, all things considered," he laconically quips, and you exhale ruefully, leaning into the wall at your back. "I'm on my way to catch a ride to Medellín—"

"What?!" your eyebrows knit together and you scrunch your nose in confusion. "What're you going there for?"

"I have a contact I'm going to see that might know where Christina Jurado is. If I can retrieve her, then I can get Franklin to cooperate – to decode the ledger and hopefully nail these motherfuckers once and for all," he's telling you in an ambitious baritone. Even though he sounds confident, the anxious pang still settles in your chest. "I gotta go, preciosa—"

"Can you trust this contact?" you blurt, hand idly twisting your ponytail around nervously.

"As much as I can trust any former C.I.," he deadpans, which earns a frown from you. "I promise I'll let you know what's going on as soon as I can."

"Ok. Be careful," you tensely murmur, unable to shake off your worry, but not wanting to burden him with it. So, with a cleansing sigh, you whisper, "Love you."

"I love you too, corazón. Talk soon."

Once you end the call, you take a pause to collect your thoughts before returning to the server room.

"Everything good?" Ellis asks you after the team working on the linkup goes on break to let the diagnostic report at the field office in Cali run its course.

Sighing, you sit back in the conference room chair and rub the spot between your brows. "Yeah. Same shit, different day," you grumble, despite yourself. "This is taking so long though. Definitely need to onboard Medellín like we did the other field offices. Remotely is just a huge drain," you complain and glance up at him when he grunts coyly. "What?"

"I don't think they'll lift the travel ban in time to meet the deadline, though," Ellis remarks before leaning over to muse in a hushed tone, "And you seem cranky about something else—"

"Sea la madre," you scoff and cross your arms snootily, annoyed he would needle you now when he should know better than that. "I'm not cranky."

"Uh-huh," he flatly drones before interlacing his fingers together and resting his hands over his sternum and he lounges dramatically back into the chair. "Still wanna do happy hour for the team tonight?"

"Of course! They deserve to blow off some steam after toiling away down here in this stuffy room," you deride and fuss with your blouse's neckline. "How's Anita? Bet school is hectic with summer break just right around the corner," you query, and miss the way Ellis diverts his gaze nervously.

"Yep! She's super busy with finals and the like," he retorts a little edgily, and you finally narrow your gaze and intently focus on him while be rambles, "Tons of grading, progress reports, planning for the upcoming school year—"

"Ok, weirdo. What's wrong?" you cut in, seeing how he's being a bit cagey, finally.

Ellis seems to weigh the pros and cons of telling you something when Francesca comes in with several cold cans of soda from the vending machine near the elevator. "It's so hot down here!" she declares as she places them down for you and Ellis to grab. "Do you think it's just poor ventilation?"

Deciding to shelve your questioning of Ellis for later, you pop the tab of the can you selected as you answer, "Yeah. This was basically an old storage room before we converted it to the server room," then change the subject, "Oh, hey – did you decide if you're going to spend the fall semester here?"

"Yep! I submitted everything I needed to. Right now I'm working on final papers. I turned in the special project and should be getting that grade back soon," Francesca gushes as she sits across from you two and explains the rest of her summer plans, and amiably engages in chit chat until work can resume on the linkup.

As you and your team toil away into the day trying to stand the system up remotely, Javier is stalking into the cafeteria Don Berna still uses as his hangout and not-so-covert place of business.

He'd called the current godfather of Medellín ahead and made it plain what he needed, so Javier hopes the man will dispense with the information and not keep him long. To his chagrin, his hopes are dashed when the corpulent man insists that he have a seat as the waitress takes his order.

"Sentate, Peña," he greeted smugly and gestured to the empty seat next to him. "I recommend the picada."

Javier declines to order and takes a seat, gruff and earnest as he grumbles, "I don't really have an appetite. Can you spare me the pleasantries and just tell me what I want to know?"

"After I eat something," the man declares aloofly and takes a drink of his beer. "It's not good to talk on an empty stomach. Especially of such matters."

Internally seething, Javier crosses his arms and waits until the waitress returns with the meal, and Don Berna's taken several bites. Once the man takes another long sip from his beer bottle, Javi checks his watch impatiently before deadpanning his query. "Did you find her?"

"You sure you're not going to eat anything? This picada's really good—"

It takes everything in Javier's self-control not to roll his eyes. He checks his watch once more in order not to glare at the man as he snaps, "You have what I asked for or not?"

Seeing the photo of Christina Jurado holding up an El Espectador newspaper, flanked by members of FARC was the last thing Javier needed to see. The monumental stress that settles between his brows has him feeling like he'd just fallen into a pit with no way out.

He didn't expect for Don Berna to not only offer his assistance, but to do so with hat in hand, asking for a favor in exchange for helping link Javier up with the Castaños so they could raid FARC and extricate Christina Jurado. A chilling sense of déjà vu strikes him as he accompanies Don Berna to the airbase. While the man radios ahead to the Castaño brothers, Javi gets changed at the barracks and decides to call you before storing his cell phone and things in the locker.

You're just pacing your office and stretching your tired muscles from being cooped up downstairs most of the day when your phone rings in your purse. Dashing over to retrieve it, you answer and hurriedly shut your door before pacing over to the couch.

"Hey, cariño. I can't talk long, but I wanted to let you know I won't be home tonight. I have a lead on Christina Jurado, and we're conducting a raid to get her out of captivity," Javier is telling you succinctly as you plop down on your sofa and glower. "If all goes well, I'll be back in Bogotá in the morning with her."

"I see…she's in captivity in Medellín?" you ask in a hushed tone.

"No. She's being held by FARC in one of their hideouts out in the jungle. I'll be riding along while the paramilitary outfit that's tracking them. They're conducting the raid tonight—"

"You're alone? No Search Bloc?" you inquire, feeling trepidation well in your stomach.

"…I can't get into the details right now. I'll be fine. We're heading over to the rendezvous now. I don't want you to worry, querida," Javier is husking reassuringly, and it helps settle your nerves a bit. "I promise I'll call as soon as I can. In the meantime," he pauses in order to lower his voice to a deep, canela-honeyed baritone as he purrs, "Be sure to keep me inside you until I get back and make you mine again."

The way heat flares up your body and radiates in your cheeks while lust zings down into your core honestly steals your breath. You can't help gasp in scandalized delight, "¡Dios mío, que fresco!" before smiling broadly and murmuring, "I will, mi patrón."

Javier groans approvingly before grousing, "Be good, hermosa."

You snicker and say goodbye, then sit on the sofa to swoon a bit. My god, this man is going to melt me down and turn me to dust one of these days…

If you knew Javi was on his way to taking a helicopter ride into the jungle with a former member of Los Pepes and the current head of Medellín drug trafficking, you wouldn't be contentedly finishing up work in order to head to happy hour with your staff at the end of the workday.

He's not deluded enough to think you would've been understanding of his temporary alliance with Don Berna and the Castaño brothers, let alone have kept your cool if he'd told you what he'd agreed to do in order for their help. But Javier knows he's got limited options, and plans to ask for forgiveness rather than permission for things he has to do to nail Cali at this point.

While the Castaños were just as gleefully murderous as he remembered, they were even more organized now. As the heads of AUC – the Autodefenses United of Colombia – they ran the largest private militia group in the country, and they were whom you'd go to if you needed to hunt down FARC in the jungles. It was unavoidable, and Javi made peace with the fact he had to buy them off with the latest military tech, and swallow his acrimony about it. His moral compass was officially left behind for this operation, and he shelved what that would mean for him in the long run in order to focus on the endeavor.

However, it's still hard for him not to feel conflicted once the brothers start telling him their plans for the raid, and Carlos merrily detailing how they're going to have a wonderful massacre unsettles him. Pulling Don Berna to the side and insisting he isn't in it to slaughter a bunch of guerilla fighters, Javier's confronted with the chance to call the whole thing off; to deal with the fact that he's in a war zone, and a body count is going to be required in order for him to get the Castaños on board.

Javier insists he needs to secure Christina into his custody, so Don Berna uses the moment as an opportunity to cement that no matter what happens, Javier needs to keep his promise. It's the last thing he wants to deal with, so he stalks off, not in the mood to haggle. He's got three hours to kill until nightfall, so he goes to find some tactical gear and to tend to his side arm.

You, on the other hand, are settling into happy hour with your staff, entertaining amiable conversation with Jackie over her summer plans. Ellis is playing pool with some of the fellas, so you musingly decide to pick his brain some other time about why he was so edgy earlier. Inevitably, though, the conversation at the table in the corner of the quaint pub shifts to embassy gossip, and you stay entertained while Devon regales some of the others on the latest exploits of the DEA. Hearing it from a casual source amuses you, so you sip your drink and hear how the head guy, Peña, told the Minister of Defense he wasn't handing shit over to a special prosecutor.

While you listen coolly to your team trade stories they'd heard about Peña and his former partner, Murphy, Javier is suiting up for the raid. The tactical vest is a little small for him, so he has to adjust it quite a bit in order to have it cinch properly to his torso. All the while he's toiling with the task, Don Berna is shooting the shit while picking at his nails with the tip of the combat knife he's fiddling with. For the most part, Javi doesn't discourage it, until he goadingly asks him if he's heard from Judy Moncada.

"Not since you sold her out," Javi drawls aloofly, finally getting the vest fastened to his liking.

As he pockets his spare ammo clips for his pistol, Don Berna waxes poetic, "Who'd of thought it, Javier? Both of us, bosses. They give you a nice apartment in Bogotá?"

"It's good," Javi remarks, sparing him a glance. He can't help his mind flash to you in the kitchen, singing to yourself as you cooked last night, but he suppresses the fond smile, especially when Don Berna goes on to brag about how he should see his house – that he can shit in a different bathroom every day; how much his wife loves it. Flippantly, Javi snickers, "Your wife?" with a snarky shake of his head.

"I'm a family man. And you? Still with the same girlfriend: the suitcase," the corpulent man derides, cool and unruffled as he drones, "I think catching guys like me is what makes your life worth living, yes or no."

Javier has no retort to that. After all, he's not going to tell the man a shred about you. No, he's content to let him believe what he wants as he loads his pistol and tucks it into the back of his fatigue's waistband before striding past the man and en route for the helicopter. Once he's loaded in, he spends the ride into the jungle, under the cover of darkness, trying to center his thoughts. All the while the Castaños sit across from him, practically buzzing with anticipation.

He's trained for this, and that part of him takes over, sharpening his senses and focusing him as he repels down from the helicopter and takes formation with the others. Following Carlos, he takes position and waits for confirmation once he's given the order to the helicopter to flush the forces out to the north.

The rest is a hyper-focused blur.

From Fidel confirming that Christina Jurado was being held southeast of the camp, to the mad dash down through the precarious terrain in hot pursuit of her and her captor. The moment he has her in his sights, Javi doesn't even flinch when he shoots her captor, dispensing with the guerrillero with seamless aim.

He's protective with her, herding her out of the jungle camp while the Castaños and their forces do their sadistic errand. He makes the call to Feistl to get Franklin ready, and has to coddle Christina as the sounds of execution gunfire blares all around them. Javier is able to calm her and get her onto the chopper, making sure to reassure her that it's over and everything is all right before sitting next to her as they ascend.

To be continued…

---

Spanish-English Glossary:

Sicario = Hitman

Agente = Agent

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

Lo que espero, De ti con tanto anhelo, En el cielo de tu amor y para siempre, Es que me quieras como yo te quiero, Y olvidarnos jamás ni con la muerte = What I hope, From you with so much longing, In the heaven of your love and forever, Is that you love me as I love you, And forget us never even with death

Galán = handsome (man)

¿Que te duele? = What hurts?

Que terco = So stubborn

Cariño = darling/sweetheart

Caldero = Cauldron (for cooking rice)

Arroz con pollo = Chicken and rice

Traigo en el alma pena y llanto, Que no puedo contener, Y es que la quiero tanto y tanto, Pero me tocó perder = I bring in my soul sorrow and crying, That I can not contain, And it is that I love her so much and so much, But I had to lose

Soy tan feliz, Teniéndote a mi lado, Porque tengo en tu amor una esperanza, De vivir unidos para siempre, Como el cielo y la mar en Lontananza = I am so happy, Having you by my side, Because I have in your love a hope, To live together forever, Like the sky and the sea in the distance

Serenata = Serenade

Suavón = Smooth talker; Smooth guy

Patrona = Madam; boss lady; mistress

Chavón = a man that's pestering you

Virgen Santa = Mother of God; Blessed Mother

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

Mi amor = My love

P-Por favor déjame tocarte = P-Please, let me touch you

Gloria de Dios = Glory of God

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

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy

Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"

Buena suerte, agente = Good luck, agent

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Sea la madre = A colloquial swear, similar to "Oh c'mon..."

Sentate, Peña = Sit, Peña

Canela = Cinnamon

¡Dios mío, que fresco! = My god, such a fresh perv!

Mi patrón = My master/boss

Guerrillero = a guerrilla fighter

The songs referenced and translated above are "Amor Profundo" by Julio Jarramillo, and "Que No Quede Huella" by Rodolfo Aicardi. They're featured in Season 3 of Narcos, and I suggest checking them out: album/3yeyu5R49M1ZYq8Vc7GdEc?si=J1S9WxkGTdacnBLw4RQhFQ

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