#wait. *throws papers around* i swear they did missionary more than once. was it only ocean breeze???

[buckstaposition]

I cling to your lips like gloss (2)

a Javier Peña x OFC story

also on AO3

author: @youhavereachedtheendofpie (in case u wanna come say hello on main but no pressure)

rating/warnings: swearing, mentions of character death, some mentions of sexual situations but nothing explicit, spoilers for season 2 (should probably have tagged ch1 for this too oops)

words: 6607, no regrets

summary: it’s not a date if it’s for work

Author’s note: There is so much research that went into this I would just like to say thank you internet for letting me look up stuff from the comfort of my own home at unholy hours even though I did get very distracted while looking up late 80s wedding dress fashion. Also bless the s2 dvd extra which was a director’s commentary on s2 ep10 and very informative.

—

Tag list: @keeper0fthestars @opheliaelysia @dindjarindiaries @fromthedeskoftheraven @shikin83 

(message me if you want to be added to the list. or just message me in general)

and also I urge you to look at the beautiful moodboard that @huliabitch made for me! I love it so much!

Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 - The Informant

Chapter 2 - A Wedding and Four Funerals

"All the best from Mr DEA." Diana said as she threw herself down in the seat across from her best friend. Gabriela looked effortlessly glamourous as usual, even though she was just in a blouse and jeans. She just had that air about her, like one of the vintage movie stars, something Diana had never quite been able to match. She was well aware she was downright frumpy in comparison, not one to catch eyes just by walking past. For the most part, that suited her. Gabi tried to seem nonchalant about the greeting.

"Oh?" She sipped gingerly from her drink and put her menu away. "You finally met, then? He's back?"

Diana nodded and stowed away her purse and cardigan. "Yeah, this afternoon and yesterday, in the morning. He seems... nice enough? I don't know. Not a talker, is he? He seems a bit on edge, to be honest. Though I suppose that's to be expected." But despite everything, he still has kindness in his eyes.

Gabi just grinned at her for a long moment, waiting to pounce.

"Yeah, he can be a bit of a grump. ...Handsome though, no?"

Diana sighed, swatting at the other woman with her own menu. "Did it ever occur to you that the newly divorced woman might have had her fill of men for the time being?"

"It has occcurred to me that five years of unchanging, uninspired missionary for half an hour exactly, twice a week, with that wet blanket you married might have left you with the need to really be filled by a man for once."

"Gabriela!" she gasped, choking on thin air and mortification, even though their conversations would often get way more explicit than this. Just never with her being the subject. Gabriela just smiles like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, hailing a waiter to give him their order.

"Speaking of newly divorced: has the dipshit finally signed the papers then?" Diana groaned, throwing her glasses down onto the table to massage her temples.

"No, he's dragging his feet. Which is ridiculous, it's not like I want anything from him. It's not like we're fighting tooth and nail over every other thing, like that American movie, the one we watched on your mom's old VHS player, you know? With Meryl Streep? In any case, now he decides to fight? If you can call that fighting."

"Kramer vs Kramer." Gabi remarked sagely. "Yeah... At least you don't have children together. That could really have gone ugly. I still don't know what you ever saw in that man."

"Oh shut it. I used to be fond of Juan Mateo; I don't know when that changed." Diana huffed, quickly snatching up her glasses when the waiter sailed over with their drinks and appetizer.

"Well that's the problem, you never loved him! And your parents set too good an example; what could ever live up to that?" She took a generous drag from her drink, then dug into the food with hungry abandon. "At least you're finally rid of his snoring. And his mother."

"God, she really hated me. Couldn't bear it that her precious boy brought some lowly scum from the comunas into her pristine middle class home. Marrying me might have just been the only demonstration of free will that man has ever managed." Diana allowed herself to seethe a bit at the memory, taking it out on her food as she stabbed at it roughly. "And I will definitely not miss the snoring."

"Mr DEA barely snores." Gabriela remarked lightly. "Just ...very softly. It's quite cute."

"Since when do you let clients stay to actually sleep?" Diana inquired around a mouthful, brows scrunched. Gabriela hummed thoughtfully, swiping some sauce off her plate with a piece of bread.

"Ah, but he was so tired, poor thing. It wouldn't have been safe to send him back out, he would have crashed his car and died in a ditch somewhere, which would have been a real shame. I just let him nap for an hour or so that one time. Besides, I wasn't in any state to do much myself after he blew my back out." She had a way of being so nonchalant about these things that Diana supposed came from a sort of professional equanimity. Diana possessed no such poise and gawked openly, the wheels turning in her head as she recalled previous conversations and connected dots.

"Oh." She breathed as realization hit. "Oh! No! That was him? You're kidding me. How am supposed to look him in the eye now?" Gabi was already cackling, barely able to hold her laughter as Diana sputtered, recalling the very detailed recounting she'd received after the night in question. "You said you felt that for days after!"

"I did, but it was worth it." Gabi was now subtly holding her sides, having pushed her empty plate away to be collected. "You see, you're my dearest and oldest friend and I only want the best for you."

"I'm sure Mr DEA would be delighted to know of your crude attempts to pimp him out." Diana snarked, pushing her own plate to the side just in time to be whisked away by the waiter. "You're incorrigible. This is serious. Besides, I think he really liked you, actually."

"He liked the illusion of intimacy, like most of my clients. Lonely but with committment issues to the moon and back. It's not like I'm telling you to marry him. I'm just trying to get you properly laid for once." Gabriela scoffed. She could be so detached sometimes. In fact, one could call it downright cynical. But Diana had known her since they were both in pigtails and could detect the care behind even the most jaded words.

"Oh whatever. I request a change of topic. How's your book coming along? Any progress on that chapter that's been giving you so much trouble?" Diana asked sweetly, making the other woman glare at her over the plates with their main courses as they were being set down. Because yes, Gabriela does indeed write more than letters, and she's good, too. Also, two can play this game of being just slightly mean.

--- --- ---

Javier hated team meetings. And now that he was the boss here he couldn't even get out of them. Worse, he had to lead them. He looked over the assembled agents, glad that he had most of their names down by now. Gladder still that this was a DEA-only event and he wouldn't have to deal with any of Stechner's CIA asswads for now.

"Duffy, where are we on the shipments?" He turned to the other man expectantly. Duffy was one of the few agents here that weren't younger than him; he actually had some experience under his belt, unlike all these fucking greenhorns the higher-ups had sent him. He forced himself to pay attention to Agent Duffy's answer, making notes of important dates as he listened. Operation Cornerstone had, at this point, not yet come to full fruition, but if they continued to put in their due dilligence it was almost certain to turn up something useful. When they'd gone through all the points on his agenda, and after clearing up a few uncertainties, he dismissed the roomful of agents.

"Duffy, got another moment?" Javier stopped the other agent as he turned to leave the conference room.

"Sir?" Duffy sat back down and pulled his writing pad back out.

"Have you come up with any ideas for my informant in Calí?" Javier had mentioned this before, seeing as Duffy was one of the agents permanently stationed at the Calí field office. Now that Escobar was gone it would look suspicious if the head of the DEA in the country trekked up to Medellín every other week, and they needed a better way for Miss Rivas to hand over her collected intel. Duffy cleared his throat and caught the eye of one of his colleagues and waved him over.

"Lopez here has had a few ideas, sir. Tony, tell the boss your ideas for drop-offs."

The other agent was younger, handsome in that pretty way that made girls sigh dreamily, going by his own, admittedly remote, memory of high school and college. Lopez hadn't said much during the meeting, but had that eager glint in his eyes that said he wanted to prove himself. Javier had had that same look when he first came down here; it hadn't survived the first year.

"Let's hear it."

"Okay, so I was thinking the public library might be worth a shot." Agent Lopez pulled a notepad from his own case, squinting down at the scrawled chickenscratch. Javier nodded along, encouraging more than praise. He'd have to run these ideas by Miss Rivas anyway, and if she had concerns they were back at square one. But that was a river he intended to cross when the time came and not a second earlier.

--- --- ---

The satphone was also a good instinct because after their preliminary meetings in April, it gets irritatingly difficult to arrange another one for over a month.

"The what now?"

"The 4th International Poetry Festival. It's on from June 2nd to 8th." she explained patiently. "Orietta Lozano, Gloria Gervitz, Blanca Varela!"

"I assume those are poets."

"Obviously."

"You want me to go to a poetry festival with you?"

"No, I'm taking the week off and I'm going to the festival, and I am also free to meet you. I'm just suggesting that maybe your work hours don't all have to be spent in dreariness and drudgery." Something sizzled on the other end of the line where she was making herself dinner while talking to him, and it made Javier's stomach grumble. "A bit of culture is good for the soul, Agent Peña. You'll burn yourself out with how much you work. When was the last time you ever did anything for fun? Read a book? Hell, listened to music?"

Whenever you call me. She always had music on at home. It drifted through the receiver, a soothing background hum that was too soft to truly make out most times. Add to that the fact that he was still sitting in his office at almost half past seven in the evening, and he didn't have a proper counter-argument.

"Alright, fine. 2nd to 8th, I'll see what I can do."

--- --- ---

She was wearing another belted shirt dress, this one pale yellow and sleeveless, the full skirt reaching to just below the knees. It reminded Javier of the style his mother used to wear when he was little. Saturday, June 4th, had him meet up with Miss Rivas at the Teatro Metropolitano in central Medellín. Her dress contrasted against the blocky red building in a way that tugged familiar, but Javier was trying to train himself to not see blood in every instance of red.

"This is quite a way from Envigado." He announced his approach as soon as he was close enough to not have to shout. She jumped a bit, clearly startled, but her lips pulled into a polite smile when she recognized him.

"Agent Peña." She greeted. "No, cultural grandeur doesn't usually make it out to the comunas." She sat back down on the bench and pulled a flyer from her (rather big) purse, thumbing it pensively. Javier sat beside her, not quite at arms' length. Trying to appear wordlessly inviting, if only to mask how at a loss for words she made him feel. He seemed to be no longer used to normal, civil human interaction.

"Right, there is one reading here at the Metropol that starts in about half an hour that I think you might like. It has a few of the international poets; a few of them will be reading in English. Then there's another one later at the Teatro Carlos Vieco that I'm keen on. It's about half an hour on foot between locations, but there's the open air exhibits that only require a small detour." She pointed it all out on the program as she spoke, Javier silently nodding along in acknowledgement. "I've planned it so there's more than enough time for a lunch break. I hate having to rush through things that are meant to be enjoyed. I brought arepas, but there are usually enough street vendors out and about to get something else, if you prefer." She really did talk a lot. That was surprisingly fine by Javier, since it meant he didn't have to. "Though of course if you'd rather just get your intel and go I understand, but I must insist on at least this first reading, Agent Peña. But otherwise I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure you have other things to do."

His lips twitched involuntarily and he held his hand out for the program flyer, silently reading it over. None of the names rung any kind of bell. Not that he was much of a poetry aficionado. "Sounds good to me."

She blinked. "Which part?"

He handed her back the flyer, which she took automatically, still eyeing him with uncertainty.

"All of it." She blinked again, looking mildly shocked, the flyer still dangling uselessly from her fingers. "Miss Rivas, I came all the way here and you went through all this trouble planning. It would be a waste to part ways after so short a time."

Truth be told it sounded ...nice. The thought of spending a day just exploring, letting work be work for even just a day (or at least part of it). Despite being an only child, he'd never liked being on his own even when he was young, cherishing every day spent with school friends or any of his numerous cousins. And it wasn't like he'd had to do far less pleasant things for information.

Her expression morphed from uncertain gaping into a wide, pleased smile that he couldn't help but mirror. Maybe she was quite a nice lady after all.

---

"...I have to ask though: What's a ...smit- ...smee-dereen?"

"Smithereens." Javier corrected gently as they exited the venue after the reading. "It means... it's all the small pieces that are left over when something is destroyed. Like with a bomb."

"Hmm," she hummed, pensive as they strolled along with the leisurely flow of the crowd, "I'll have to think a bit more about this." She fished around in her purse, producing bottled water and offering him one. He took it gratefully, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip. "How did you like it, Agent Peña? Already regretting agreeing to this?"

"No." Javier found himself replying perhaps a smidgeon too quickly. "No, it's very uh... enriching." And not what he'd expected at all. Though the festival was now in its fourth year running, he'd never had the chance or the wish, really, to attend it before. He'd barely taken note of its existence, too preoccupied with chasing down leads.

"Hm, you don't have to mollify me, Agent Peña. You'll still get your intel, don't worry." Her expression slipped, from an almost serene smile back into that underlying heaviness that he could identify only now that it had been lifted for a short while.

"Miss Rivas," he said earnestly, "I wouldn't lie to you. I'm just not that good with words. That's why I'm a government agent and not a poet."

That at least made her chuckle a bit. And it was true, too. He felt lighter, in a way, like his mind had been craving a break from the frustrating work of trying to find an in to take down the cartel. Even his shoulders felt less tense here. And it was a beautiful day, too. Warm but not too hot, sunny with a mild breeze. People were out and about around them, festival goers and other citizens alike, mingling freely with a carelessness that would have been unthinkable only a year prior.

"Juan Mateo never wanted to come with me to this." She gestured vaguely at the city and its people around them. "My husband. Ex-husband. Technically still husband because he won't sign the divorce papers." Her features turned tense as she explained, a slight frown appearing between her brows. "Not that it matters now, of course. But goodness, that man had no sense for these things. He thought top shelf coffee was the height of culture. He'd act like going out to a bar one evening every few weeks was a chore beyond compare. Such a martyr!" She huffed and Javier laughed softly, offering to take her bag for a while as she adjusted it on her shoulder for the third time now.

"No, that's alright. It's not heavy. This way." Her hand naturally slipped into the crook of his elbow to steer him down the side of the road and Javier faltered for a moment, cursing himself for wearing a short-sleeved shirt even though it was comfortably warm. He just didn't want to get separated in the bustle of activity, he reasoned. This was a perfectly tame and non-offensive gesture and it would be rude to flinch away, he reasoned. She initiated it, after all. No harm no foul. This was still a professional alliance.

"You think very loudly, Agent Peña." She remarked, lightly squeezing his elbow. "It better not be about work."

"Technically I am at work right now." He countered, covering her hand on his arm with his much larger one and giving it an awkward pat.

"Lucky you." She teased, lightly nudging his side with her elbow.

"Beats paperwork, that's for sure."

They ambled along, weaving through the crowds where they gathered in front of street performers and makeshift stages. Javier couldn't deny that it felt good to feel the sun on his skin, un-recycled air in his lungs; most of all being far away from Stechner and his legion of CIA goons was almost rejuvenating. They fell into a languid rhythm, walking leisurely and stopping every so often to linger a bit where music was being played or more poetry recited, in front of the stalls of local artisans or to look at the sculptures that had been put up as an open air exhibit throughout the city. Every so often, Miss Rivas would tell him some little anecdote, be it about any of the previous festivals or just the city itself. He barely felt the time pass.

By the time they'd made it across the river and to the park wherein the open-air theatre was situated, it was time for a late lunch and Javier felt his stomach start to protest, all that walking serving to work up an appetite.

"...and after school Gabi and I would trek across town to the library and hide by the shelves in the back, the ones with the old classics, and we'd read all the scandalous 19th-century novels about adulteresses and other fallen women. You know, Anna Karenina, Thérèse Raquin, Madame Bovary, Tess of the d'Urbervilles..." Miss Rivas set her bag down and produced a fairly big plastic container from within, setting it on the bench between them. "Perhaps not the most appropriate fare for a couple of fifteen-year-old girls, but it wasn't like we had a whole lot of supervision, you know? It definitely wasn't appropriate to read to a five-year-old, so I guess it's good that Maritza never really paid attention much- Stop my prattling any time, Agent Peña. I know I talk too much; Juan Mateo always used to say so."

Javier paused, an abundantly filled arepa inches from his mouth. "He what now?"

She flushed, looking down and picking at the wrapping paper she'd bundled the food up in. "It's fine, it's not a big deal, really."

"It's not fine." Javier insisted. Told her to shut up, told his own wife that she talked to much! What an ass. He started tearing into the arepa with a glower. They sat in silence for a while, chewing tensely in this little corner of the park at the foot of Cerro Nutibara, in a spot that was fairly hidden among the greenery while still affording a decent view of the city streets below. Javier didn't even know why it irked him so much. There were worse things out there than insensitive husbands. Ex-husbands at that. Still, he seethed quietly in his righteous wrath.

"Wanna see something funny?" She was already digging through her purse, so he didn't see much sense in replying. She pulled a photo from some deep compartment in her wallet, looking down at it thoughtfully for a moment before passing it to him. In his defence, Javier hadn't meant to laugh. It just came out, snorty and half-aborted.

"Hey, at least I managed to evade the poofy sleeves, okay? My mother was dead set on them. She wanted me to look like the English lady… uh, Princess Diana. I think she might have taken the name as a sign."

"That's a.. that's a lot of satin."  And tulle. Javier pressed out, still suppressing his laughter and barely succeeding. He could have pointed out that the mass of ruffles negated any absence of actual puff sleeves, but thought it better to refrain. And it wasn't like she hadn't looked beautiful as a bride, it was more that in that ruffled satin-and-tulle concoction she looked like an unwilling dress-up doll, despite the tasteful off-the-shoulder cut and flattering waistline. It was just... there were a lot of ruffles. There was a lot of dress, period. Paired with an expression that was better suited to a funeral, the effect was almost morbidly comedic.

"Wait till I show you the cake; we were basically identical." It was the dryness of her tone that set him off. There was no suppressing it now, Javier was bellowing, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. It didn't help that the dress fashion hadn't really strayed very far from the 'bigger and more style' in the years since. All things considered, this was a comparatively simple gown, lacking the mass of sparkly appliqués and abundance of bows and flowers that had been popular in the latter years of the previous decade. It just wasn't a style that suited her personality in any way, at all. Her slender figure was absolutely drowned in the sheer volume of the skirt alone. Hell, it completely overshadowed the already forgettable man standing by her side in the photo. Though 'by her side' was a generous descriptor. There was definitely enough space for the Holy Spirit and then some between the couple.

"My mother spent ages on that damn dress. Her hands looked like pincushions by the time she was done; that's why she wore gloves to the wedding."

"She's a seamstress, right? Your mother?" She'd mentioned it in an offhand comment during one of their previous phone calls.

"She was." Diana confirmed, tucking the picture away again. "Didn't think you'd remember that."

"Of course. I listen to everything you tell me."

Diana chuckled, flushing lightly. "It's not even relevant to the case!"

"I listen to everything you tell me." Javier insisted and started gathering up wrapping paper and such to throw away. A quick look at his watch told him they'd have to get moving soon if they wanted to make it to the theatre on time to get decent seats.

"Right." Diana collected her things to stuff them back into her bag. "So it's a no for ruffles, but what would you have me wear, Agent Peña? What do you think suits me?"

Javier couldn't have told even the most skilled interrogation expert what exactly compelled him to answer, and so readily at that, why he had an opinion at the ready in the first place, or at least that's what he preferred to tell himself.

"I think... something soft and flowy, not a whole lot of embellishments, if any. Clear lines and a light fabric, something you can dance in and be comfortable. Definitely no more satin."

She laughed now, as well, eyes twinkling with what he thought was approval. "You are full of surprises. Should I ever get married again, I'll most certainly engage your services as designer, Agent Peña."

"I'll keep a spot open for you. First consultation is free."

---

How her hand can feel so natural there in the crook of his elbow after hardly a day, he cannot tell. All he knows is that by the time the reading at the open air theatre is done the sun has started to dip in the sky and if this was what his work was like more often he'd perhaps be happier in his workaholic ways. Though they haven't broached the topic of work in hours now, instead ambling half-aimlessly northward towards Conquistadores where he's parked his rental car at the hotel he's staying at. Because it is a long way to Envigado and he insisted on driving her home. Because even though now that Escobar is gone Medellín is much safer, but he's never been one to easily trust a good thing.

It's only when they've crossed the big main street Avenida 33 that Miss Rivas gets quieter. She's obviously  tired following their prolonged outing, but he instantly misses the pleasant hum of her voice, her clever little observations- At the same time, it's a comfortable silence, not one weighed down by expectation. She'd even let down her hair from where it had been up in a ponytail for most of the day, most likely to keep the thick curtain of it away from her neck in the heat and sun.

They're just crossing a smaller square, the edge of it lined with shops, the hole-in-the-wall kind mostly, when she suddenly pulls away with a soft instruction to wait there for just a moment, and he's left to look after her flapping skirt with what is probably not the most dignified expression. Defeated, he sat down on the broad edge of a flowerbed nearby and watched her cross to a food vendor, order, and fish around for her wallet to pay, before turning around again with a plastic cup in each hand. Fresas con crema, he can make out upon her approach, and one corner of his mouth ticks up involuntarily.

"Hungry again?" He teased when she got within earshot, handing him one cup and setting the other down beside him along with her purse.

"There's always space for this in my stomach." She retorted primly. "If you don't want any, all the better."

"Thank you for the generous offer, but no. Thanks for this." He makes a show of cupping the treat protectively, fully knowing he'll have to set it down to unwrap the plastic spoon that came with it. It makes her laugh nonetheless, which imbues him with a strange, fluttery sense of accomplishment.

She's still standing, head thrown back and grinning wide, when her gaze catches on something at the far end of the plaza, and her expression morphs from glee to astonishment to rage so quickly it gives Javier whiplash.

"Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me!" Ripping off her glasses and thrusting them into his hands, she began stalking off.

Two things are fortuitous: one, she had to pass Javier to get to whatever she saw and two, his reflexes are still sharp enough for him to jump up and into her path, even having managed to safely deposit the cup of strawberries and cream.

"Whoa, what the hell is it?"

"I- ...she-" Her voice is strained, her whole body taut like a livewire as she attempts to round him and resume her warpath. On instinct, Javier took a few steps backwards, keeping himself between her and her target. It's only his hands on her shoulders that stall her enough for him to be able to whip his head around and follow her eyeline. That side of the square is empty save for an older lady shuffling along, huffing and puffing and blissfully unaware of the wrathful freight train about to rush her. To say Javier was puzzled would be an understatement.

"What, her? The old woman?"

"That's Hermilda Escobar!" She's shaking so much he has trouble keeping a grip on her. "Look at her! The nerve of that woman to show her face here-" She winds out from under his hands, rounding him with a quick sidestep, and he can only match her speed because his legs are longer.

"Hey!" Javier whisper-shouts to be met with flashing eyes, then repeats it more softly. "Hey. What exactly are you planning to do here, huh?"

"I'm gonna give that self-righteous bitch a piece of my mind is what I'm gonna do!" She retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It's cowing, the single-minded purpose rolling off of her. She's strumming with it, her seething damn near tangible. In her rage, she is ruthless. Javier had no doubt, in that moment, that once let go she might well maul the woman with more than words.

It's instinctive, the way his arm wraps around her. Like the few times he's had to restrain Steve and yet not like that at all. For one Javier doesn't have to go for a near chokehold, though energy-wise her wrath is at least as fierce. So, he wraps one long arm around her waist, hauling her much slighter body against his with a half-turn, her forearms colliding sharply with his chest.

"Easy." He rumbles, his other arm coming up to fold across her shoulders. "Easy. Calm down. Calm down!"

Palms smack against his pectorals and it stings. "Hey!" He tightens his hold around her trembling body, her angry, anguished squirming. Softens his voice. "Hey. Calm down, okay? What're you gonna do, beat up that old woman in the street? Come on, breathe."

The sound that comes out of her is something very closely related to a snarl, and he feels the bite of her nails even through his shirt, but holds fast, continuing to ramble empty phrases with the intent to soothe, or at least distract.

"If you tell me to calm down one more time I will get violent." She promised, hands pushing into his chest in an effort to break his hold. The old woman has almost passed by completely by now, seeming blissfully unaware of the savaging she's escaping. Javier held fast, as tight as he dared, the hand still pinching the pair of glasses between two fingers awkwardly patting at her shoulder while he sways them both, rocking from foot to foot.

By the time Diana has calmed down enough that he feels comfortable loosening his hold, the old woman is long gone from view. He feels her slump in his grip, reflexively tightening his arms again to hold her up.

"Hey," he gentles, lightly nudging the side of her head and thinking, distantly, that all but burying his nose into her soft hair is far too intimate a position for any of this. "Hey, it's alright, I've got you, okay? I've got you."

They're still swaying on the spot, a gentle see-saw motion, and then he felt the hands that had been clenching and unclenching on his chest lose all tension and drop down to the side. She's still shaking, her whole ribcage jumping with the hiccup of suppressed sobs. Somehow, he maneuvers them both around and back the few steps from where their snack and her purse still wait beside the flowerbed.

"Why'd you hand me these, anyway?" It's but a cheap distraction tactic, Javier handed her the glasses back as soon as she sat nevertheless.

"I'm not blind without them." Diana responded tersely, snatching the glasses and cleaning the lenses with the hem of her dress. When she doesn't deign to elaborate, he sighs and stretches from where he'd sat back on his haunches in front of her, resuming his earlier seat and finally unwrapping the spoon. It's a tense silence for a long moment, her aggravation like a pulse around them. Certainly it gives Javier a good bit to think on.

"You wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"Don't condescend to me. You may have been closer to the action, but I've lived here all my life." She ripped open her own packet with a vengeance, digging the spoon into her own portion with such force that the sliced strawberries bleed into the white cream. Javier sighed. Took a moment to order his words before they leave his tongue.

"I just need to know if this," he gestured between her and the edge of the square, "is going to be something that has to be taken into account. I need to know that you're not just in this for revenge. I need to know where you're at mentally. I need to be sure, both for your own safety and the integrity of this operation, that you're not just going to snap one day and try to claw Miguel Rodríguez' eyes out, okay?"

She chews angrily a moment, eyes flashing at him before she stares straight ahead again. The wrath is still rolling off of her in waves, perhaps dipping a bit in its intensity, but far from dulling just yet.

"You want to know my motivations, is that it? Well, let me lay it out for you, Agent Peña: of my entire class, a third never even made it to graduation, for one reason or another. I spent my youth plotting routes around gunfights in the street, with just enough success to still be alive, somehow. My mother was caught in the crossfire of a raid and was afraid to leave the house for years afterwards. My father was on that Avianca flight. My baby cousin Maritza is dead and her baby will grow up without her mother. And throughout it all, I took the coward's way out, moved cities, for university, for work, for marriage, for myself even, and everywhere I went they were, too. The narcos have spun their spider's web across the whole damn country and beyond and sooner or later everyone gets stuck in it. I got stuck in it despite my best efforts, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of having to flee and turning up in dead ends. Somehow I have landed in this unique position, and I refuse to join them. Is that enough motivation for you, Agent Peña?"

She held his gaze, a challenge in fire, and he wondered how much longer that adrenaline surge would sustain her before she crashed. Wordlessly, he nodded his affirmation.

It's more tense silence after that, thick like stew or the humidity out in the jungle. She doesn't reach for him again as they resume the walk up to his hotel, doesn't casually link their arms like before, choosing instead to fidget with the handles of her bag. He hates it, misses the lightness the day had before. These narcos, they really do poison even the most mundane of things with their long, bloodied shadows. When they get to the hotel's underground garage, she's gone even more quiet, almost deflated. There are no more words exchanged, save for the clipped directions to her aunt's house. At one point, Javier was almost certain she'd dozed off.

---

"Do you ever think you should have been there? When they finally got him?" He'd just parked the car opposite of the house. It's almost completely dark outside by now.

"...Yes." Of course he did. He'd wanted, even needed to. The temporary suspension had not been near as effective a punishment as denying him that. The fruits of his labor, of years spent chasing after shadows and getting himself mired deeper and deeper, until he barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror. He'd wanted it, sure, but perhaps he hadn't deserved it.

"Why did they send you home?" It's not that Javier is in a particularly obstinate mood, it's just that after the incident earlier, he's reluctant to bring up his own involvement with the cartels of Calí and Medellín, much less Los Pepes, so he gives a non-committal grunt in response. He should have known that wouldn't deter her. "When I first called, Agent Murphy said you had been recalled to the States. I only found out later that that was before they finally got Escobar. Why would a top agent on a case of this magnitude be pulled off and sent back before that?"

"You mean what did I do?" She nodded. There was no getting out of it now. He didn't want to lie to her either. Javier sighed, scratching his thumbnail across his brow. "You're going to look at me differently."

"Perhaps, yes." She took a deep breath, rummaging through her purse and producing a folded up paper. "These are the names of some American banks that I'm very certain help funnel and launder Calí's money. Sorry it's nothing more specific." She placed the paper in his hand, gently closing his fingers over it. "Whatever you tell me, we're in this together, right? We both want to bring them down. I trust you, alright?"

Javier gulped, his fingers tingling under her touch. He pockets the paper to buy time, if only to swallow through his suddenly-too-dry throat. And then he tells her. The dead ends and the crippling bureaucracy, Don Berna, the Castaño brothers and Judy Moncada and Pacho Herrera. His desperate grasping at straws to find a way, any way to throw a wrench in the escalating violence and catch Escobar, how that backfired so spectacurlarly. How he tried to get out, despite knowing that these people do not allow outs. How he'd been played by the fucking CIA because he'd been an idiot falsely believing that the two agencies were operating under even remotely the same objectives. How he'd gone down, almost taking his partner with him, definitely tanking his boss' career. He hasn't spoken to anybody about this in such depth, not even his father. By the end of it, he's exhausted.

"So you're the one Carlos Castaño wanted to feed to the crocodiles."

"What?" He'd expected judgement, even disgust. Certainly not this.

"I overheard Gilberto mentioning it on the phone. I think he must have just learned that you'd be the DEA's man in charge. 'Maybe I should have let you feed that damn DEA agent to the crocodiles after all, Carlos.'  The door wasn't all the way closed, that's how I heard it. I think that was the moment I realized I couldn't wind my way out of this. That either they were going down, or they were going to find out that I was already talking to Agent Murphy and have me... vanished."

"I won't let that happen." Javier promised instinctively, hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Crocodiles though? Really?" Not how he thought he'd end, that was for certain.

"Yeah, they're very uh... charming, huh?"

Javier grimaced. "If I never see any of them again, it'll be too soon."

"Knock on wood." Diana replied and unbuckled herself, pushing open the door.

"I'll walk you. It's dark."

"It's only across the street." She protested, and was that the ghost of a smile on her lips? Javier's hands stilled on his own seatbelt.

"You sure?"

"If my aunt catches me coming home with a man I'll never hear the end of it." Diana slipped out of the car, then bent to grab her purse. "Good night, Agent Peña. Until next time."

"Good night, Miss Rivas."

He waited until she was inside, the door securely locked behind her, before starting the drive back.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3

-------------------------

Author’s note cont’d: if you wanna know what I had in mind, approximately, for the wedding gown see here

The International Poetry Festival of Medellín is a real thing, too. They have a youtube channel

#narcos (tv) #javier pena x ofc #series #I cling to your lips like gloss (series) #multipart #javier peña #narcos #narcos fanfic #javier peña fanfic #my writing #part 2 #like gloss tag