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trashaya · 3 months

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I’m so excited about this it’s not even funny

The Palace in Flames

Pairing: Javier Peña x CIA!reader

Author's note: okay two things 1) fuck it we ball on this timeline 2) i don't love how this turned out but I need to finish it otherwise I'm gonna stare at it for god knows how long so enjoy anyways

Summary: "I'm not a violet dog. I don't know why I bite." [3.8k]

Warnings: canonical violence and language, alcohol, a little bit of backstory, discussion of PTSD like symptoms, a touch of misogyny, canon events but slightly canon divergent timing i think

There's not a lot you can do at the scene of the car bombing. You and Javi talk to local police and take witness statements from frightened neighbors and anybody else willing to come forward with information while Steve takes pictures. From what you can tell, it looks like it was a crude C4 bomb, one of the easiest to make and detonate. All it takes is the right amount of pressure, and boom. A few unfortunate souls died right beside Jorge as they walked past, unaware of the explosion to come. A hit for one quickly turned into a hit for five.

You're good enough at your job to recognize the fact that Steve and Javi went poking around for information about the person who ratted on you, and then a few hours later, he's dead, not even ten minutes outside of your neighborhood. Medellín is a big place. It could've been a coincidence, but you're almost certain it's not. You really hope you don't have to make good on your promise to return to the US if they go after you again.

You, Javi, and a handful of other police officers finish with the witnesses and join Steve by the truck. All files and statements will need to go through the proper channels tomorrow, and it's too late to do anything else. You'll start fresh in the morning: follow through on the plan to send out CENTRA SPIKE to see what they can find, monitor movement, and stay vigilant. But tonight, you deserve to get a drink with your two self-appointed bodyguards.

The great thing about working at the Embassy is that everyone touts interagency cooperation and work, but in reality, you rarely want to see each other in the same place. DEA will hang out at one specific bar while CIA will go to another. You don't even want to know where soldiers and higher-ups go once the clock hits six o'clock. Every agency thinks another agency is fucking them over or doing their job wrong. Everybody wants a medal for being in Medellín and fighting the narcos and communists but rarely wants to work together. You like to think your agencies have the upper hand with the three of you being friendly and sharing information without going through official, classified paperwork. It's not the most recommended or legal way to go about it. But, you've been able to pass on valuable information Javi let slip in between rounds and shared cigarettes under the guise of a Confidential Informant.

You were friends with Javi first. He came to Colombia around the same time you did, and you worked the same hours. You did him favors, and he returned them. You learned not to ask each other too many questions and to take what you're given and hope it leads somewhere. You've gotten little victories here and there: guerillas extradited, kidnapping victims recovered safely, witnesses given protection and visas in other countries. It was nice to have someone you could rely on and bounce theories off of when the office was empty, and you two were puffing your way through a pack of cigarettes. The lines got blurry about six months in. It happened fast and without warning, and you swore it was a one-time thing. And then it happened again. And again. And again. Then, it just made sense to keep doing what you were doing instead of going through the cycle of fighting about it and giving each other the cold shoulder, only to end up fucking in his apartment before the end of the day.

Steve, however, got stuck with you. When he became Javi's partner, he was forced to know your name and seek you out in the office when he needed something. At first, he wasn't super keen about the idea of having to rely on CIA for things— something to do with that DEA machismo of not needing anything from anyone— and then he realized how good you are at your job. Once you helped them get an especially important collar, he opened up. He told you about the killing of his last partner and a little bit about his career up until this point. He practically begged you to talk to Connie when she started getting homesick and having doubts, and you came to care for her. Now, you're an inseparable trio (quartet if you count the nights Connie makes her way from the communa clinic and into the bar).

You think Noonan knew that when she asked Steve and Javi to join the Colombian police on your recon. Something about friendly faces in an unfriendly territory. She was right. You stuck to Javi the entire ambulance ride to the hospital, and they each took turns at your bedside. Even Connie showed up to take care of you during those long few nights in the hospital. You were less willing to accept help once you were discharged, but Steve would knock on your apartment door every night and leave a covered dish on your doormat while Javi bought you groceries. You owe them a lot, though they'll never let you admit it.

Javi buys the first round to celebrate your reinstatement. He gives a brief, flattering toast to your work, and you roll your eyes but clink your glasses together anyway. You avoid talking about theories and leads in the bar, even though you probably could talk about those things in English and get away with it. Everybody already knows you work for the American Embassy. No reason to give anybody anything to report back. Instead, you talk about stupid things like Steve being unable to speak Spanish.

"I can understand a little," he tries to defend himself, and you and Javi share a knowing look. He definitely doesn't understand enough to quantify it as a little. He might pick up every tenth word and know enough commands to dole them out when he's in the field, but that southern accent anglicizes every single syllable he utters. "Alright, y'all can go fuck yourselves." He says at your silence, making you laugh.

"Don't worry about it, Murphy. Couple more years and you'll be running circles around Javi."

"I don't know about all that, but she's right. You'll get better," Javi takes a sip of his drink. "Eventually."

Over two more rounds, you talk about things back home, tell stupid stories, and whatever else you could think of. It's nice to see Steve and Javi acting like they kinda like each other outside of work. Lord knows they're at each other's throats most of the time. You enjoy hanging out with them, and even though you know you can handle yourself, you like feeling protected by them. Years of CIA training and undercover work don't mean shit when all people see is a woman alone at night.

"Alright, I've gotta get home," Steve says as he drinks the rest of his whiskey and puts his cigarette out. He probably should've been home hours ago, but that's none of your business.

"Tell Connie I said hi." You say, and he smiles, nodding and mumbling a quiet "yes, ma'am." He loves her so much, even just the mention of her makes him light up. Your thought from earlier creeps up. A good man. And yet he's here, doing the same shit you and Javi are. It's a little funny how squeamish he still is about things, but you figure that's the last sign of his humanity. God, please let that linger for as long as possible. Javi takes a drag from his cigarette and blows the smoke away from your face.

"Yeah, give her a kiss for me." He says. Before Steve can even open his mouth, you smack the back of Javi's head and groan.

"Ay, Javier," you scold. "Malo, malo, malo." Javi smiles, a rare sight reserved for moments like this, as Steve bids you goodnight again and leaves the bar. The second he's out of sight, you reach over, snatch the cigarette from Javi's hands, and bring it to your lips.

"Get your own," he grumbles, but there's no heat behind it. You roll your eyes and exhale.

"Stealing from you is so much cheaper, though," you shrug as you hand it back to him. "You think he got suspicious when we showed up at the same time?"

"We live down the road from each other and got the call around the same time. Even if he figured it out, he wouldn't say anything. Plus, I think your little attitude at work throws him off." He says, and you raise your eyebrows at him.

"My little attitude?" You ask. You know he said it just to piss you off, and you hate that it's working. He smirks and you shove his shoulder, stealing the cigarette back from him. "Pinche cabrón." You mumble, and he laughs. He gets a new cigarette from his pack and lights up. A comfortable silence falls over you as you sit there, his hand finding a home on your thigh under the table.

"So, how're you doing?" Javi asks, seemingly out of nowhere. You shrug and ash your cigarette into the half-full tray in front of you.

"'M fine." You say, and he hums. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and glances around like he's looking for something you can't see. He blows smoke away from you and leans in.

"So, waking up screaming is fine for you?" He asks. You didn't want to talk about it when you woke up, and you especially don't want to talk about it now. You poke your tongue into your cheek in annoyance.

"If you thought I wasn't okay, why'd you push for Noonan to clear me?"

"I didn't say I didn't think you're okay."

"Then, drop it."

"Look, I know you wanna go all in again, but maybe you should take it slow—at least for a little while," he says, and you scoff.

"Give me a fuckin' break, Javi. Did you take it slow when you got shot?" You ask.

"Getting shot and getting kidnapped are two completely different things."

"And yet we both survived," you say, gesturing between you as proof of your survival. "The doctors wouldn't have cleared me to come back if they didn't think I was ready."

"Yeah? How much you pay 'em off for that signature?" He asks. You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek. You're not going to dignify him with a response but you so easily could. "C'mon, just... let your feet get wet again. Everyone knows you've already got the lay of the land, but they don't know that you won't freak the fuck out once you're fully back in the field. I think some of them are waitin' for it," he says. It would explain why everyone's treating you like you're a time bomb. "If you won't do it for yourself, at least do it because I'm asking you."

"And are you asking me as a coworker or a friend?" You ask. He's staring at you in his weird Javi way: hardened brown eyes softening just enough to bring your guard down. It's not something he learned from years at the Academy or in the field. That's all him.

"Would it make a difference?" He asks quietly. Answering a question with a question. What a cop.

"Not really." You say, and he sighs. He scrubs a hand down his face and picks up his drink, a cigarette lingering between his fingers.

"I'm asking as someone who saw what they did to you." He says before taking a big gulp of whiskey. You haven't talked about it. Not about what he saw and knew before finding you or what exactly happened in that room over those few days. You spent hours upon hours repeating the story for doctors, depositions, agency paperwork, and even to the court-appointed psychiatrist who had to screen you before they could even let you back in the building. So, you weren't necessarily gunning for the opportunity to repeat it again when Javi asked you about it. There are only so many sympathetic looks and half-hearted reassurances one person can take.

Even though you relied on him to tether you back to earth during those first few days, he took the brunt of your emotions. You refused to answer his questions and pushed him away. "I'm just trying to help," he told you when he tried to take care of you. "Where was your fucking help when they grabbed me from the street, huh?" You snapped, exhausted and sore and a little out of your mind. It was mean and unfair. You know how hard everyone worked to find you. You know how he blames himself. You know how scared they were to find your body.

When he puts his empty glass down, you look at him and nod. You can't take back what you said, but you can soften it a little. You put your hand over his and trace the contours of his knuckles. They're a little bruised and cracked, but still a part of him. You take a deep breath and rub your thumb against his skin.

"Okay," you concede quietly. "I'll slow down for a little while, but the second we have good intel, I'm all in again." He lets out a relieved sigh and squeezes your thigh.

"Thank you." He mumbles. To anyone walking by, you two would look like a couple having a drink after a long day of work before going to your shared home and sleeping it off. You indulge in the thought for a second longer than you meant to before you retract your hand and reach for your drink.

"You're gettin' soft on me, Peña." You accuse, and he chuckles.

"God forbid I wanna see you make it outta here alive." He says, and you hum as you finish the rest of your drink. His eyes stick to the corner of your lips where a few drops of tequila spilled, his thumb twitching as he stops himself from wiping them away. "What're you doing for the rest of the night?" He asks. It's an opening. An invitation to finish what he started earlier. What happened with Alemán earlier in the day must've wound him up, made him tense and in need of release. Unfortunately for him, there are few things you like more than making him sweat.

"Well, I've got a dinner I need to pack away in the fridge and dishes to clean."

"I can help."

"I don't think you can," you say as you stand and grab your jacket from the back of your chair. "Besides, I'm supposed to be taking it easy. I should probably get some rest before my first actual day back, right?" He rolls his eyes as you throw a couple of bills down on the table for your share of the drinks, and you smirk. "I'll let you walk me home, though."

"You'll let me?" He asks, but he's already standing and pulling his own jacket over his shoulder. Like clockwork, you think.

"Figured it's the least I could do." You say, and he scoffs, swatting at your ass when he passes behind you.

"Vámonos princesa."

You get a warm welcome back to the office by immediately getting thrown into the chaos of the CIA. A corkboard with all known names of M-19 and other communist group members looks like a serial killer's wet dream with all the notes and grainy photos that stare you down as you talk about recent developments in the jungle. Honestly, you don't care what a group of kids are doing or planning to do, but everyone else in the CIA seems to think it's the most pressing matter.

Despite what the Agency and Reagan want you to believe, you know communists are not the most dangerous group in Colombia right now. Narcos are practically running the country and ruining countless lives with their rampant murder and exploitation. So even though Lou wants to sink a billion dollars of American taxpayer money into fighting guerillas in the jungle, you have one eye on the situation with the narcos. You're just waiting for the message to come down through the ranks that it's all hands on deck for taking down Escobar. Lou knows about your indifference and exacerbates it every chance he gets.

"Agent, I want you to work with Mil Group on tracking their movement to see if there are any patterns. I want to know where they're going and what they're planning." He says, pointing to you. You give him a look and cross your arms over your chest. You hate working with Mil Group. It's a group of guys with sticks up their asses and, somehow, never see the outside of an office. You catch Javi and Steve walking by through the windows, obviously going somewhere, and you lose whatever patience you have.

"All due respect, Colonel, but Ambassador Noonan took me off of desk duty effective immediately. I think I could be of more help in another area concerning M-19." You say, and he raises his eyebrows at you. You're also not fucking boss, you think.

"I'm sure we can find the time for you to show us how big and bad you are another time, sweetheart, but right now, this is where you're ordered to go." The nickname is abrasive in your ears, and you want to correct him, demanding your title as Agent, but Javi's words ring in your ears. They're waiting for you to freak out so they can send you home. They're waiting for you to blow up on somebody for a small thing. They want you to fail. You sigh and bite your tongue.

"Yes, sir." You say before making your way to the Jarheads.

For being off of desk duty, you still feel like you're doing mind-numbing work. All you're doing is plotting points on a map where satellite phones have pinged off of cell towers in an attempt to triangulate where they might be hiding out. Considering how there are barely any cell towers that reach that deep into the jungle, and even if they did, the calls drop after about thirty seconds, you don't have a ton of riveting information to work with. You listen to the recorded, half-legible calls and translate what you can to another agent, but nothing suggests they're planning anything. If they are, they're keeping it off your radar.

After wasting a stupid amount of time doing that, Lou draws up a bigger map and makes you replot all the points down with an estimate of where they might be. You're not CENTRA SPIKE or well-versed in how triangulation even works, and he knows this. It's a fool's errand at best, but he demands it by the end of the day. "So I can give it to the tech analysis guys." He says. You're about one more pointless task away from bashing your head into a wall, but you start on the map anyway.

You're about halfway through when you hear Murphy calling your name, and you turn to see him and Javi walking through the crowded Mil Group office.

"You're working with the Army now?" He asks, and you sigh.

"For the day. Lou is on everyone's ass about this M-19 shit and thinks I'm the best person for the job, apparently," you say. "Please tell me you have something better than this."

"We just got a sicario's son off the street. Dumbass was distributing in broad daylight in front of a cop." Javi says, and you furrow your eyebrows.

"We both know that's not a good enough reason for a cop to pick up a sicario's kid. What're you holding out on me?"

"Apparently, the cop heard him bragging about rigging a car with a bomb. He said something along the lines of, 'That's what happens to rats,' and then said something about going after La Golondrina next." Steve supplies. So this sicario's kid rigged the bomb to kill the informant who sniffed you out, said he also had a bomb for you, and now he's sitting somewhere in DEA custody? If Escobar's men weren't going after you before, they definitely are now.

"Do you think he even knows anything? He might just be daddy's errand boy."

"He asked for a deal," Steve says.

"Wheeling and dealing might not be grounds for extradition, but threatening to blow up a United States CIA agent just might be," Javi says. Something shifts in his eyes just enough for you to catch it, and you know it has to do with the conversation you had at the bar. You shake your head and break eye contact with him to look at Steve.

"Right, but you know how Wysession and Jones are. If it doesn't involve communist groups, they don't even want to look at it."

"The kid told us that some of Escobar's men have been talking with one of the leaders of M-19." Bingo. You throw down your marker, stand from the desk Wysession relegated you to, and all but march into his office with Steve and Javi close behind you.

"How's that plotting coming along, honey?" Lou asks as he looks up from his paperwork, his face falling at the sight of the two men behind you. Lou might not like you, but he dislikes Javi and Steve more.

"Agents Peña and Murphy have intel that Pablo is communicating with M-19 guerillas," you say. "That means there could be a joint attack coming, which means we can't keep separating the communist and narcos task forces."

"Has this information gone through Noonan?" He asks.

"No, sir. We wanted to relay the information to our Agent here first since the intel involves her kidnapping." Steve speaks up, using your actual title, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking.

"Is your intel good?" Lou asks Steve, ignoring you and Javi, and Steve gives him a look.

"You think we'd be wastin' your time if it wasn't?"

"Well, then, you better get a move on and go tell her." He says like he doesn't actually like the idea, but he can't think of anything else to say. You, Javi, and Steve quickly leave his office and start the trek to Noonan's office when Steve gets a call on his sat phone. He looks like he's about to ignore it before remembering it could be Connie, and even though she's supposed to be at work, he doesn't take any chances and answers it. You're close enough to him to hear her frantic chattering on the phone and saying something about M-19 and Escobar. The walk to Noonan's office turns into a run, but it doesn't matter. By the time you get there, thousands upon thousands of pages of evidence against Pablo Escobar are burning on the TV as M-19 takes over the Palace of Justice.

This isn't just a singular agency fight anymore. You doubt it ever was. You know that the Palace of Justice Siege will change everything for better or worse, and you have to be ready for it. Promises made over glasses of scotch be damned.

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#narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #girlblogging #pedro pascal

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