she   was   in   her   happy   place.   never   had   she   imagined   so   much   joy   and   sheer   love   for   herself,   but   here   she   was.   her   own   little   family   happily   tucked   away   from   the   chaos.   the   warm   coastal   breeze   sweeps   through   their   cracked   window,   a   palm   trees   leaves   rustling   in   reply.   they’d   chosen   their   tropical   paradise.   cincinnati   is   sound   asleep   in   her   arms,   but   she   continues   to   rock   him   for   the   sheer   joy   of   the   gesture.   looking   down   a   sleeping   denver   pulls   a   smile   to   her   smooth   lips.   her   looked   so   peaceful,   so   beautiful,   features   relaxed   and   a   small   dribble   of   drool   hugging   the   corner   of   his   lips   to   further   his   boyish   charm.   his   brow   furrows   in   his   sleep,   a   sign   of   distress.   carefully   she   sets   cincinnati   in   his   crib,   gently   pushing   the   wheeled   baby   carrier   away   with   practiced   grace.   he   doesn’t   stir.   monica   chuckles.    

the   satin   nightgown   she   wore   shifts   as   she   turns   slightly   to   denver   now.   she   would   always   find   magic   in   watching   him   sleep.   watching   him   sleep   was   where   she   first   confirmed   her   feelings   towards   him,   afterall.   he   stirs   again   and   her   warm   hand   gently   finds   his   chest,   splaying   out   her   fingers.   ‘   denver,   ’   monica   murmurs,   voice   low   incase   he’s   still   perfectly   sound   asleep.   drawn   to   him,   like   a   magnet,   lips   find   his   forehead   to   lovingly   to   place   a   tender   kiss.   free   hand   finds   his   cheek   to   pull   herself   up   slightly,   tucking   him   gently   beneath   her   chin.   ‘   i’m   here,   ’   she   adds   in   spanish   tongue.   her   eyes   close   as   thumb   gently   circles   against   the   scruff   of   his   cheek.   ‘   if   you   need   me.   ’   monica   adds   even   quieter,   dipping   her   lips   into   his   hair   and   nuzzling   him   softly.   her   touches   feather   light   and   incredibly   fragile.   @jcyfulmess — ft. denver

there’s   a   sadness   in   her   gaze,   usual   sunshine   persona   far   from   view.   now   she’s   pacing   ....   looking   more   like   a   lioness   than   human.   her   mane   is   wild,   ringlets   frizzed   and   forehead   creased   with   worry.   she’s   anxious.   stressed.   cheeks   are   lined   with   black   soot   from   the   gold   smelting   and   she’s   doing   her   best,   having   taken   nairobis   place.

she   just   wanted   to   finish   the   heist   and   get   to   cincinnati.   her   darling   baby   boy.   images   flood   her   as   she   works   at   the   gold,   down   to   every   small   grain.   pushes   her   efforts   forward.   her   work   wasn’t   as   beautiful   as   nairobi’s....   she   knew   that.   an   indent   in   smooth   chin   as   lips   begin   to   tremble,   she   can   feel   tears   rising   and   her   throat   tightening.   it   had   been   a   rough   forty-eight   hours   or   so   since   her   and   denver   had   last   spoke,   which   had   resulted   in   a   fight.   and   much   needed   space   for   her   to   breath   and   sort   her   emotions.   so   when   he   appears   she   inhales   shakily   and   blinks   away   her   tears.   stepping   to   her   left   she   finds   a   water   bottle,   drinking   down   the   luke   warm   liquid   due   to   the   heat   of   the   melting.   her   lips   are   dry,   cracking,   she   licks   them   as   her   gaze   falls   to   him.   ‘   just   go   away,   please.   ’   she   knew   she   wasn’t   strong   enough.   she   was   wearing   thin   without   his   much   needed   support   &   love.    @jcyfulmess​ —  ft. denver

“Someone might see us.” Arturo snorted out a laugh at her statement, then put a hand on Mónica’s shoulder. “Being the director of this place has its perks.” He held up a key. “It’s to the supply closet.” He grinned, then took her hand, looking around to make sure no one was there. “Come on.”

“Hey… wanna make out?”

The perks of being able to fall asleep at any given moment, for however long, were pretty damn swell in his opinion. But, of course, there were some downfalls as well. One of which was how thirsty he was whenever he regained consciousness. Sleeping for more than seven hours did that to a person, and it never failed to put him in a surly mood. 

Head still groggy, a pitcher of water right next to the hand he had braced on the counter top. Three fourths of it was already gone - down the fucking gullet in the span of seven minutes. Rem listened to whatever the other was saying even if it didn’t seem like it. A large breath was huffed out when he finished off yet another cup. “Remind me that sleeping for twelve hours straight makes me turn into a fucking dried sea sponge.”

〘 transmission completed :: starter call :: @stovkholm· 〙

the   afternoon   was   bright   ......   hopeful.   a   new   day.   the   sunshine   streamlined   through   blinds   beyond   her,   her   tanned   fingers   clenched   around   a   cup   of   hot   tea.   as   if   dethawing   herself   from   her   sound   night   of   sleep.   she'd   been   up   for   hours   as   she   was   a   morning   bird.   rem   however,   just   waking.   a   night   of   intimacy   had   been   shared   between   the   pair,   and   monica   finds   herself   laughing   at   his   comment.   she's   sunshine   and   warmth,   and   he's   something   much   darker   and   cool.   but   she   cares   for   him,   nonetheless.   

lifting   her   mug   to   her   lips   she   takes   a   sip   before   standing   to   her   feet.   her   hands   reach   for   the   pitcher,   refilling   it   with   water   to   place   it   back   before   him   in   offering.   she   circles   around   the   small   table   to   place   steady   warmed   hands   on   his   wrist,   her   other   hand   coming   to   his   shoulder   to   squeeze   it   in   comfort.   she   hopes   to   comfort   him   then   even   if   she   doesn't   entirely   know   how.   they're   oppisites.   '   so   no   to   letting   you   sleep   in  next   time,   noted.   '   her   spanish   accent   clings   to   spoken   english.   '   are   you   okay?   '   her   temple   comes   to   rest   against   his   arm,   leaning   into   him   slightly.   '   did   you   not   sleep   well?   '   her   voice   is   quiet,   cautious.   

     HER OBVIOUS LIE, so painfully transparent, draws a chortle of laugh from him – bravery is a quality much desirable, but never amidst a bank robbery, never coming from a HOSTAGE, because bravery leads to trouble, and trouble leads to violence. But she knows it already. He’s shown her that, after her stunt with the phone, with his hand down her pants and his careless voice sentencing her to death. WOMEN SO RARELY LEARN from pain, it’s almost tragic – they’d cling to life through any means, survive anything, beaten and bruised and still crawling towards the exit. Towards freedom. A few blows and punches rendered Río howling and whining like a kicked dog, quiet for the time being. It makes a man wonder – not about the extraordinary RESILIENCE in Monica. About whether he should have, after all, shot Denver in the foot to remind him of the rules. 

      Because her brainless KNIGHT wears guilt like a collar wrapped around his neck, and it wold hardly be a wild guess on Berlín’s part to assume the means she’s chosen to ensure her survival. Sustaining a gunshot wound. Throwing her arms around the man who fired it. ❝ You tried to kill it first, ¿no? ❞ An eyebrow raised in response to her SHIELDING move, as if he’d do something, could do something. As if he cared about the precious bunch of cells she’s nurturing inside her. Already the CENTRE OF HER UNIVERSE. A proof for his theory. Denver will be so disappointed one day. 

       Eye contact established at last, but only lasting a split second – that’s how far BRAVERY gets you. He could brush his fingers over the grip of his gun, holstered, hidden, just to mess with her head, make her step back and shudder. He doesn’t. Interest piqued as she mentions CENTRE OF HER UNIVERSE, brow furrowed slightly – for a moment. Monica knows, then. It was never much of a secret, how other women despised her, in the room next to his office. How they trembled in fear and indignation alike as she stepped inside and allowed THE DEVIL to taint her with his touch. 

       ❝ Is that so? ❞ A chuckle drawn from thin lips, shoulder pressed against the wall as he stares the woman down. ❝ Your pretty friend doesn’t seem to agree with you. You see… ❞ a dramatic pause held to maintain the MENACE, but his tone suggests nonchalance and the desire to tease. ❝ Ariadna came to me on her volition. She was never forced to do anything she didn’t want to. ❞ Even a man like him could not be THAT blind to never notice the terror in her eyes every time he approached her. Every time he pushed the limits of her patience further to see how long the peace between them would last. 

       ❝ Did you girls have a little chat about men? Anything Denver should know? ❞ 

there   is   brief   success   on   monica’s   part:   the   flicker   in   emotions   across   dark   gaze   causes   his   pause   and   she   relaxes   only   slightly.   her   distraction   has   worked.   a   shallow   breath   exhaled   despite   chest   tight   with   anxiety.   maternal   instincts   swim   through   her   mindset,   she   had   to   keep   the   baby   alive   now,   by   whatever   means   necessary.   even   if   that   meant   conversing   with   her   enemy.   a   slow   step   is   drawn   backwards,   her   mind   screaming   denver   !   i   need   you   !   as   if   he   could   hear   her   internal   shouting.   at   this   point   she’d   be   thankful   for   the   entrance   of   anyone   else   entirely.   a   witness   to   her   next   execution   ....   or   olso   would   be   his   aide   ....   in   brief   horror   her   frame   locks   up,   frozen,   pushing   away   thoughts   just   as   fast   as   they   came.   she   wouldn’t   think   like   that   anymore.   she   had   to   think   stragatically.   

monica   realizes   she   could   study   him   for   years   and   probably   never   understand   the   man   before   her.   she   recognizes   such   behavior   of   conflicted   individuals   come   from   their   own   trauma,   their   own   pain,   but   she   wouldn’t   stick   around   long   enough   to   figure   him   out.      

his   comment   stings   slightly   and   she   takes   another   cautious   small   step   backward.   she’s   quiet,   per   usual,   thoughts   thrumming   behind   sharp   cautious   gaze.   she’s   backed   into   a   corner   ....   but   she   would   fight.   she’d   always   fight   from   now   on.   eyes   dart   around   the   room   for   possible   allies.   was   she   strong   enough   to   throw   the   lamp   to   her   right   at   him   and   bolt?   or   the   pens   to   her   left,   would   it   be   sharp   enough   to   penetrate   his   skin   long   enough   for   her   to   scream   help?   her   jaw   muscles   tense   and   clench.   she’s   not   violent   by   nature,   not   inclined   to   hurt,   not   like   him.   no.   she’s   nothing   like   him.....

eyes   flicker   back   up   as   he   speaks   again,   quiet   for   a   few   beats.   '   you’re   manipulating   her,   berlin.   '   she   talks   rationally,   but   monica   isn’t   quite   sure   how   much   sense   you   can   talk   to   the   senseless.   '   she’s   a   young   girl   who’s   scared.   can’t   you   see   that?   '   her   words   have   grown   in   volume,   strength   now.   she’s   a   cornered   lioness,   but   her   chin   is   held   high.   chest   swelled   with   bravery   as   she   finds   her   footing.   shaking   out   her   mane,   curls   brush   further   from   her   gaze   to   look   at   him   fully.   but   internally,   she’s   conflicted.   she   had   gone   to   denver   on   her   own   free   will.   she   had   kissed   him   first.   but   what   denver   and   her   had   was   love.   she   knew   that   now.   it   makes   her   stronger,   braver.   he   made   her   better.   shifting   her   weight   fists   clench   at   her   side.   eyes   finally   meet   his   at   the   mention   of   denver.   she’s   protective   and   she   doesn’t   even   understand   it   herself   yet.   cheeks   flush   pink   in   embarrassment   and   what   little   anger   monica   gaztambide   can   hold.   '   we’re   honest   with   each   other,   unlike   some.   '   she   knew   ariadna’s   true   feelings   towards   her   captor,   but   she’s   not   about   to   share   and   deal   with   berlins   fury.   she   won’t   push   it   further.   monica   wouldn’t   throw   ariadna   under   the   bus,   no,   she’d   protect   her   the   best   she   could.   firsts   unclench   and   she   folds   her   arms   across   her   chest.   suddenly   holding   a   look   of   annoyance   as   she   looks   back   down.   '   all   i’m   asking   you   to   do   is   leave   her   alone.   you’ve   done   enough   damage   already.   if   you   care   for   her,   you’ll   let   her   be.   '