|| strngedsire ||

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you sit in the waiting room, the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall delivering another blow with each beat, with each grating click. You fidget, watching the clock, the nail in the coffin hammering deeper and deeper.

You know the receptionist isn’t judging you. Her eyes are kind, but underneath, you know it’s pity she feels for you. 

Because he’s late again. Always delayed. Always prioritizing his career. Always sacrificing your marriage for another opportunity. Always keeping you firmly planted to the side where his job remains front and center.

He always attends your sessions. He at least makes an effort for that. But after last night’s fight, you’re not even sure your marriage is worth the trouble anymore. The thought makes you ache, your chest growing tight and the tears burning hot now. One slips out and you swipe it away before it has the chance to fall. To become real. If the receptionist notices, she doesn’t say anything, which you’ve learned is a small mercy.

A door opens and your head snaps up. It’s the wrong door. Not the entrance to the comfortable, sparsely decorated waiting room, but the door to the office housing your therapist. Your heart sinks, another fresh tear springing up and threatening to spill over.

A couple steps out. The woman grins at her husband over her shoulder, muttering something. He laughs, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her back to kiss her cheek. They whisk by you without a glance, touching, holding, cherishing each other. They’re absorbed in one another in a way that’s become a faint, distant familiarity to you.

That used to be you and Marcus. But it hasn’t been for some time. 

“You didn’t even call to tell me you couldn’t make it, Marcus,” you sigh, arms tight around yourself, leaning against the counter just out of his reach. He knew better than to touch you right now.

“I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry —“ he answers softly, eyes pleading and warm. Almost irresistible.

“Then why does it keep happening? If you’re sorry, why do you do this to me every time?” You demand, eyes stinging. You don’t want to cry right now. You never want to cry in front of him. Because a sick part of you knows he hates it and it hurts him to see you upset. And you don’t want that. You never want to hurt him. “Why can’t you just —“

“Just what?”

“Just — keep your promises! I looked like such an idiot waiting there for you. Alone at a table set for two,” you sucked in a breath when you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. “The server just looked at me like I was pathetic. Like I’d been stood up by some blind date. She even asked me if it was a first date. And I just lied to her and told her it was. Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that no, it’s my husband who stood me up. Not just some random guy I met. My husband!” 

Your chest heaves after your outburst, tears flowing freely. Marcus looks like he’s in physical pain, like every word had sliced through him, down to the bone. 

“I am so sorry, baby,” he says again and takes a step forward but you inch away. He stops, “Please, let me hold you. I’m sorry. I have no excuse. I’m an asshole. Don’t push me away.”

“I’m not the one pushing you away, Marcus. Your job is doing that for you,” you sniff, turning your back to him.

“No, no, no, honey,” he reaches for you again, a hand grazing your bare shoulder before you whip around to glare at him. 

“Don’t touch me right now.”

He clenches his hands into fists, keeping them pinned at his sides instead. You swipe at your tears before looking down at yourself. You were stupid to get so dressed up for a date night you knew would be ruined by his job. But you did it anyway. You wanted to feel beautiful. You wanted to feel like your marriage wasn’t hanging on by a frail, easily snapped thread. Like it was a normal date night and you knew without a doubt that he would show up and you’d have dinner and laugh and be in love and strip each other down when you got home.

The dress was a waste, clearly. Simple. Black. Thin straps, enticing neckline, slit in the thigh. You wanted to look good for him. And you did. You look stunning.

And he hadn’t even shown up. Hadn’t even bothered to tell her he couldn’t make it.

“Why is your job more important than me?” You ask the question you’ve been careful to avoid in your therapy sessions, always skirting around the true issue, always minimizing your pain. Your voice was so small, so feeble, one small blow would incapacitate you. Shatter you beyond recognition.

His eyebrows draw together, jaw clenching. Big brown eyes brewing with heartbreak. You can see it. The realization.

“It’s not. It’s not more important. Nothing is more important than you,” he tells you, voice low, fists still clenched so tight his knuckles are white.

“You love your job. I know you do. I would never ask you to stop doing what you love. I just wish you’d love me too. I don’t want to feel like I come second to some case or some promotion or whatever else.”

You can’t help the sob that rips out of you. The bone deep misery crashing into you. You cradle yourself, arms wrapped so tight it squeezes the breath out of you, as if keeping the last shreds of yourself intact. 

“Honey,” his voice wavers, reaching out to you, fingertips grazing your arms, “Please, baby, I’m sorry. It’s not like that. I swear, you’re — you’re everything to me. Maybe I — maybe I get preoccupied sometimes. I get a little busy. Maybe I lose track of time. But that doesn’t mean my job means more.”

“I ask for one night a week, Marcus. One night where I get you all to myself,” you sniff, “You can’t even manage that.”

“I’ll do better, I swear,” he promises, finally resting his hands on your arms and pulling you into him, but you shake your head and look up at him, eyes burning. 

“You always say that.”

“I mean it. I can’t stand seeing you like this. I don’t ever wanna be the reason you’re so hurt. I’m sorry. Please, don’t –“ he chokes on whatever thought passes through him and you frown.

“Don’t what? Leave you? Divorce you?”

His eyes are so dark and pleading, you wish you hadn’t spoken the words. Wish you hadn’t just confirmed his worst fears. Because you had considered it. He knows you must have thought about it at least once or twice. But to verbalize it is the very same thing as manifesting the outcome.

You can’t look at him anymore, and even though you don’t want to hurt him, you still say it, “Well, maybe that’s what’s best.”

”It’s not,” he says immediately. Firmly. Final.

”How do you know? You’re barely involved in our marriage as it is.” It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever said to him, and it silences him in the blink of an eye.

You regret it the moment he turns away from you. The way his shoulders shudder, his hand trembling as he drags it down his face. The anguish in his posture is evident. And before you reach out to him, you force your hands to still, reminding yourself that he hurt you long before you hurt him. 

Still. It was a shitty thing to say. But you don’t apologize. He can think on your words. Stew over them, turn them over in his mind until he’s wrung dry with the pain of loving you.

“I’m going to bed,” you say softly, sniffing. The tears have run out, but you know the moment you lie down, they’ll return. They always do. 

He only nods, doesn’t look at you, ashamed. Good, you think. 

You go upstairs, strip out of your dress, the sexy lingerie you’d worn for him, and slip into a pair of his plaid pajama pants and an old FBI t-shirt. You wash your face. Press a cold washcloth to your eyes, and try to push him out of your mind. You can’t, though. Part of you doesn’t want to. The part that’s so hopelessly in love with him, you feel like your chest will cave in with the intensity of it.

The other part, the part that wants to forget, remembers the pain. The humiliation. The loneliness. The neglect. And you want to purge it all from your mind. Everything tainted by him.

You finish getting ready for bed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks before you’re even nestled under the covers. The exhaustion drags you under. And just as you’re slipping away, you swear you can hear the front door closing. And you think it means something. But you’re too tired to understand.

You waited with your therapist for fifteen minutes before leaving. Even though you cancelled the rest of the session, you still paid for a full sixty minutes. You didn’t care. You only wanted to go home, curl up in bed, and succumb to your misery. Drown in the despair of your failed marriage. But you keep telling yourself – it wasn’t you who failed. It was Marcus.

You’re buried under your comforter, consumed by soft down and fluffy pillows, hiding from the weight of your turmoil, when you hear the front door open and close. It’s nearly nine o’clock at night. On a typical evening, that would be considered an early arrival for Marcus, but on your therapy nights, he’s not only missed the appointment, but he’s over three hours late. 

He doesn’t come upstairs right away. You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, and you’re dreading the moment he decides to confront you, because you know he will. He didn’t come to bed last night, and you’re almost positive he went back to work after your argument. Good. At least he’ll always have his career to keep him company.

When your bedroom door opens to reveal him, his tie is loose, jacket missing, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows, you almost flinch with the intensity of his presence. Like he’s the physical embodiment of the culmination of your pain. Right in front of you.

He doesn’t say anything when his eyes land on you, concealing yourself among the bedding, so you speak first.

“You didn’t come to therapy.”

Shaking his head, you can see his jaw clench, his eyes drop to his shoes, and his shoulders slump. “I had some things to take care of.”

You nod, eyes burning, anger pooling in your chest, hot and bright, “Of course you did.”

He sighs your name, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It couldn’t wait.”

“I never can.”

He looks at you then, his eyes sharpening, pained.

“They offered me the promotion.”

You expected as much. It’s the reason his life has been centered around his job for the past couple of years. At first, he’d only been held up a handful of times. It was nothing you didn’t understand and he always made it up to you. You were supportive, enthusiastic even, encouraging him to work as hard as he needed to to get the position. 

Then, he missed one date night, then two. Then several in a row. He’d get home later and later each night until the two of you were simply strangers living under the same roof. You'd never felt lonelier. 

And now, the job that kept him away for so many nights, was within his reach. You were proud of him for working so hard for it. But the bitterness that crept in was unmistakable. An odious, noxious feeling you wanted to smother. You didn’t want to be this person. This kind of wife. But his absence was worse. It carved a hole in you you didn’t think you could ever fill. Not without him. Not if it meant his job would rip him away from you permanently.

“I said no.”

Your eyes snap to his, unsure if you actually heard him correctly or if it was wistful thinking. If your mind was playing tricks on you. Your heart hammers away at your chest, blood rushing through your ears. You’re sure he can hear it.

“Told them I wanted to transfer.”

That makes your heart sink. Transfer. Transfer where? A different city? Is he trying to tell you he wants a divorce after all?

You swallow thickly, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. His eyes are so dark, so unreadable, you don’t know the path his thoughts are taking. When he doesn’t say anything else, you only nod, willing, pleading for your voice to be steady when you said, “So you’re leaving.” 

You prepare for the worst.

With his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, he scoffs, and it stills your beating heart for just a moment.

“You drive me crazy.”

That makes you scowl, makes you want to jump out of bed and storm over to him so you can slap him. But you remain rooted in place, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he begins, his voice low and solid in a way you’ve never heard before. He’s never stern – not with you. He’s always been soft and gentle. Now, the grave look he gives you silences you. “No job, no promotion, no opportunity, no pay raise, or anything else will ever be as important to me as you are.”

Your eyes well with tears, hands clasping in your lap, heart racing. Your skin buzzes with awareness, with the shock of his declaration.

“Do you hear me?” He says, loud and crisp, “Tell me that you understand.”

“Yes,” you answer, voice so frail and searching. You’re not sure if this is real or not. You don’t dare to hope.

“I’m taking over Analytics. It’s still a promotion. But less field work. More delegating. More in house investigating.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, looking down at your hands, twisting your fingers together, gripping the comforter. 

“It means less late nights. Less absences. Less making you feel like you come second to absolutely anything. Because you don’t.”

You’re crying now, your face twisted, hands flying up to hide yourself from him. Ashamed. You never expected him to make such a drastic decision, not when he’s worked so hard for this. You never expected him to abandon it all just to make you happy. The guilt builds in your chest, bursting like a dam. You’d been prepared to divorce him, primed and braced for divorce.

And he’d surprised you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his weight sinking the bed, warm hands on your wrists to pull them away. When he does, he lowers his head to find your gaze and what you see there is warmth and understanding and remorse and it only makes you cry harder. “I can never take back the time that I missed with you. And I’m sorry I let myself get lost in my work like that. I know I can’t repair the damage I’ve done just by saying all of this. It’s going to take time for you to trust me again. But I want —“

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, centering himself.

“I’m sorry I missed our appointment today. I couldn’t get away, but I want to keep going. I need us to keep going. I never meant to make you feel like my job was more important than you. You’re —“ he swallows thickly, eyes pleading, fingers trembling against your wrists, “You’re my entire world. I would quit my job entirely before I let you go. I need you to know that.”

He lifts your hands to his lips, kissing each of your palms, then your fingers, holding them close, eyes squeezed shut like he’s fighting his own tears. You press your hands to his cheeks, making his eyes flutter open to look at you.

“Did you really reject the promotion?”

He nods, kissing your hand again, lowering his eyes, "I did what I should’ve done the second I made you feel neglected.”

“Marcus —“ your throat feels tight when you speak, but you have to tell him, “I never wanted you to choose between me and your job. I’m sorry —“

“Don’t,” he hushes you gently, “It was never a choice, baby. You are the only thing that matters.”

“But you worked so hard,” your eyes burn with more tears, the terrible, aching sensation of dread clouding you, this moment, “You’re going to resent me.”

His eyes soften and he shakes his head, resolute and firm, “Listen to me.”

“I gave you an ultimatum —“ he shakes his head again, cutting you off, letting the words die on your tongue.

You stifle the next sob that threatens to escape, looking at him — genuinely looking at him — for perhaps the first time in months. His eyes are so dark. So warm. Gentle in a way that makes you regret ever looking away. 

“I made this choice. Not you. You didn’t give me an ultimatum. You didn’t tell me to choose between work and you. You were very clear about what you needed, and I refused to see it. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“I did this to us. And I had to fix it, okay?”

You nod again.

“I can’t have you thinking I’m not completely and totally in love with you.”

You can’t help it. You let out a laugh. Partially a sob, and a huff of air. A breath you’d been holding in since the first missed date night. The tension in your body melts when he wraps you in his arms, still seated on the bed next to you, your legs buried under the comforter. He holds you so tightly, so securely. You never want him to let go.

You burrow a hand in his hair, turn your head to kiss the side of his neck. He pulls away, giving you a beseeching look.

“Can I kiss you?”

You don’t hesitate, nodding, diving into him before the sentence is even fully formed on his lips. He meets you there, and it’s the best kiss you’ve ever shared. It takes shape quickly, dripping with desperation and longing and sorrow. You taste the remorse on him as he licks past your lips, threads his fingers in your hair, tips your head back. It’s hungry and deep and searching for salvation.

You’re the first to begin undressing him, pulling his tie loose and working on the buttons of his shirt as he continues to pour his entire soul into the kiss. He shrugs out of the shirt and breaks away when you start yanking his undershirt up his body. He does the same to you, both of you shedding everything in a matter of seconds.

When you’re both bare from head to toe, and he’s settling between the valley of your welcoming thighs, hand braced next to your head, he just looks at you. Takes you in. Scrutinizing the details of your face like he hadn’t done for some time. 

“I love you so much,” he whispers like it’s a secret he’s been keeping to himself. More tears spring to your eyes and you pull him down for another kiss, his stiff cock brushing your slick folds.

You whimper as he breaches you. It’s been so long since he’s touched you this delicately, this tenderly, or at all for that matter. His job has consumed every moment of his life, leaving little to no room for you. The lack of intimacy between you and Marcus an unwelcome side effect of his burgeoning career.

The sting of him pressing into you makes you gasp, your walls clenching tight. You break away with a whine, clutching at him, arching your body into him. He moans into your neck and flexes his hips.

“Never gonna let you go,” he mutters, sinking into you further. Your eyes flutter shut, and then you feel the brush of his thumb against your cheek. “Open for me, baby.”

You look at him then, and the adoration and truth behind his words strikes you, makes you shudder underneath him. It breaks you open in a visceral, raw way that has you pulling him impossibly close. He drops to his forearms, the weight of him covering you, grounding you. 

When he starts to move, his lips are on you. Your neck, your breasts, your cheeks, anywhere he can reach. In turn, your hands roam his body, feeling the muscles of his back tense with each thrust, nails digging and hips meeting. 

He’s slow and deliberate at first, making you feel every thick inch of him the way you were always meant to. But when your pleasure builds, his desperation eclipses anything tender and slow in favor of power and depth. You come on his cock with a cry of his name, chanting how much you love him, how you never want him to stop.

He’s right behind you, careening over the edge so fast, you’re unprepared for the intensity of it and the aftershocks it delivers. Marcus remains seated inside you as your breaths even out, pressing delicate, intentional kisses across your shoulders, up your neck, until he reaches your lips. You clutch him to you as though he could slip away at any moment, reveling in the attention he willingly gives.

Neither of you speak as he slides out of you and collects you in his arms. You can’t even remember the last time he held you like this, and it makes your chest ache at the lost moments his career stole from you both. You nestle against him, he tightens his arms around you, likely dwelling on the same misgivings.

His thoughts are loud, the tension in his body not quite eased. You look up at him and he’s already staring down at you. Forlorn, somber eyes greet you, and you kiss his jaw.

“I’m not perfect,” he says quietly, “But I want to be. I’m trying to be  – for you.”

The twinge of his admission is sharp and prominent. You press a hand to his cheek, “Marcus, I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted you.”

He frowns, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Exactly how his insecurities are burrowing under his skin, darkening his thoughts.

“Tell me,” you say, kissing his jaw again.

“I almost lost you. I hurt you. And I didn’t even see it. I’m a fucking idiot.”

You don’t want to lie to him. But you also don’t want to tell him how his neglect had plagued you. How it wrung your self-worth completely dry. How lonely you were. How unloved. But you also know that neither of you can heal unless he knows. Unless you’re honest with him too.

So you tell him. You watch his face fall, his eyes shimmer with unshed tears, then close because hearing how deeply he’d wounded you is unbearable. His grip on you tightens, fingers threading in your hair.

And though your marriage is far from perfect, and you two have a lot of ground to cover before it’s  as strong as it once was, you’re hopeful.

Because for the first time in months, maybe even years, you fall asleep with your husband at your side.

:)

tags: @milla-frenchy @isabellaboo2025

In, and out.

Repeat.

In, out.

You count them.

One, two, three…

Eyes falling to your lap where your fingers anxiously pick at the other, you find you’d picked completely through the skin by the side of your thumbnail. Blood builds and smears along your nail fold where the skin had given in to the small assault, but you can’t stop. Your other thumb still picks at it, its blunt nail scratching through the sticky warmth and spreading the blood further. 

Breathe.

In, out.

It’ll be okay.

It’ll—

You grind your teeth as tears begin to sting behind your eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this shaken, this terrified, in your entire life. Not when you’d been a part of this world all that time ago—you were on a different side back then. Not when you’d been arrested—you’d been scared, sure, but at least they were the so-called ‘good guys’.

They wouldn’t kill you just because you were an inconvenience to business.

You’re going to die.

It sinks into you, heavy and relentless. You wonder if what they say about a warm bright light is true, if you do get a few moments of reliving memories before falling into the inevitable abyss. Would it hurt? Be quick? The fear of death is nothing compared to the fear of not knowing all that could happen before the end. Maybe they’ll drag it out, make it a punishment for getting in their way before showing some mercy with a bullet. 

No. No crying, you tell yourself. 

This is it, and whatever happens… well, there’s no changing it.

A voice echoes in your ears—warm, familiar, stubborn. 

I won’t let anything happen to you.

You can’t be mad at him for breaking his promise. It was your own stupid self that got you into this position. If you had just waited at his apartment, endured the safe walls of his home and the waft of his cologne after he left… if you had just listened, you wouldn’t be here. 

It was heartache that had you all but running out of that door. You needed air, needed something to clear the sudden onslaught of memories and the way his voice swirled in your mind. It was always real to me.

It had been real.

The soft spoken words, the gentle touches, the way he had looked at you, the way he had made you feel, the way he said those three little words that had been your ultimate undoing…

It wasn’t all a lie.

At least if you die, when you die, you’ll know that. You’ll have that to reflect on. You’ll go knowing the love you had felt had been accepted, and returned. It still hurts, the scarring left from how everything had changed permanent and lasting deep in the very core of you, but at least, while it was happening back then, it had been real. 

The car rolls to a stop, and your heart briefly along with it. You don’t know where you are, where you’re being taken to next. You don’t move until they gesture you to. The hand that curls around your arm when you awkwardly make your way out of the backseat is tight, an unspoken promise that there was no easy way out of this.

There was no running.

In, out.

Maybe he’d find you in time. Maybe he was already close.

You comfort yourself with that as you’re moved into a new vehicle, the sound of liquid being thrown about and splashing behind you. You look back out the open door in time to watch one of the men throw a small lit match into the now vacant backseat, eyeing the flames that engulf the interior of the car you had been in, thankful they didn’t decide to just leave you in it.

For now, there was still a bit of time. 

—

His heart still beats thickly in his throat. Sweat had gathered on his palms as soon as he saw you exit the elevator, and had slowly built along the back of his neck with every moment in your presence. He's surprised he's been able to keep control over his voice so far, a barely there tremble threatening to break free in his words and cause him to stutter under your attention.

You were hard, and completely closed off. You listened throughout his little debriefing, and understandably been pissed when he told you just exactly what they were asking of you. It was hypocritical, even he had to admit.

Even with your evident and spoken anger and borderline disgust, a part of him still warms at the sight of you. He doubts that will ever fade. 

“Are we done here?”

He sees how you struggle to look at him, feels the hollow echo of what once was before getting hit with harsh reality.

“Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

He feels weak as you move to leave the room, you couldn’t move quick enough.

It all hits him like a punch to the stomach and he folds from it, bracing his hands on the cool top of the conference room table and letting his head hang low. He drags in a breath, catching the smell of your perfume as you pass. It’s new, so different from your old one.

A reminder of how everything had changed, of what he did to you.

He exhales quietly, eyes slipping shut and seeing the hatred that had swam in your eyes behind his lids. The door slams shut behind him.

—

He gets it over a call.

The car was found, torched and completely destroyed, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that any potential evidence has been destroyed, doesn’t care they weren’t quick enough to intercept before whoever took you fled again. He doesn’t care because he’s relieved at the following information provided to him.

No body was found within the vehicle.

The immediate thoughts that had assaulted him of seeing your body, twisted, unmoving and burnt beyond recognition, vacate to the depths of his mind, and he finds he can breathe a little easier. His tie sits a little more comfortably around his throat, and he’s able to focus a little better on the road as he drives to the office.

You’re okay. For now, you’re okay.

They still want you alive, and that’s good. That means he has time.

“There’s a security camera around the corner from the lot,” Wilson’s voice continues to fill the car.

Marcus didn’t comment on it at the time, too busy swimming in his own thoughts and the sheer relief flooding his system, but he had heard the edge in the young agent's tone when he had answered the call. He’s thankful Wilson wouldn’t be forever haunted by the sick images his mind had conjured. 

“It's old, but we’ve been able to get a rough image of the vehicle. Black SUV, tinted windows so we weren’t able to get a look at the occupants. Also got a slight partial plate, but it’s barely readable. I’ve sent it through to forensics to see if they can do anything with it.”

“Good. I’m sending a team your way, make your way back to the office once they arrive. I want you with me.”

If anyone on his team would understand the depth to this, it’s Wilson.

“Yes, sir.”

Marcus knows the agent has some experience at this kind of shit, having previously read over his history within his file before confirming his success at getting the position he was so eager for, but this time it was a little more personal.

You two had spent quite a bit of time together during the start of this case, would go as far as to call you two somewhat friends, and so the softer, less Special Agent Pike, more Marcus side of him feels the need to ask, to focus on something other than his own emotions.

“How’re you doing?”

The line falls silent, before the younger agent clears his throat quietly. “Can I speak freely, sir?”

“Always.”

It comes out in a quiet rush. “I’m so fucking relieved she’s not in that car.”

Marcus makes a low noise of agreement. “You and me both.”

—

“0800, on the dot. Not a second after, understood?”

The young agent before him nods, his enthusiasm evident. Marcus remembers that enthusiasm, the excitement at finally being where he wanted to be, where he worked so hard to get to.

This new guy… Marcus liked him. He knew watching over his interview that he’d be a good fit within his team. The kid was eager for an opportunity, had gall, and Marcus knew you’d be safe in his agent’s hands.

“Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“I don’t expect trouble along the way, but I’ll note it now that her safety is paramount. She’s—” he stops, looking down at an older photograph of you sitting amongst the various bits of paper pulled from the file and feeling the familiar ache creep around his heart. 

She’s important to me.

The words had almost slipped free, danced so easily, so naturally, on the tip of his tongue it had taken his mind a moment to catch up and stop them from leaving his mouth. He clears his throat softly, tucking the image back into the manilla folder so he doesn’t have you smiling up at him.

He didn’t want to use your mugshot for the file made for Wilson. He didn’t want the agent to go into this with a preconceived idea of who and what he would assume you are. After everything, the least he could do was give you a chance to be known as you are, not what they made you to be.

“She’s integral to the case. Should anything arise, her safety is your highest priority.”

Agent Wilson straightens in his seat, a cool wash of determination settling into his features. Yeah, Marcus thinks to himself, he’s a good fit.

“Understood, sir. She’ll be in good hands.”

Marcus nods.

He thinks you’ll like him the most out of his team. His other agents are great, but you’ll be on your guard. The others will be quiet, and will keep to themselves more often than not. That wouldn’t help you. Wilson’s a talker, though. Sometimes, relentlessly so. It might help you find some comfort in this shitshow, might make things a little easier for you, a little less lonely. 

—

He studies your photo where it’s pinned on the board, only a little ways away from one of the murder victims' post mortem images. The images are a stark contrast from each other, one warm in hues, brightness swimming throughout the image and bursting from the wide spread of your smile. The other is cold, clinical. Void of life.

The more he looks, the more his mind twists and runs, swapping the features of the two women until it’s painted a version of your own post-mortem photograph. Skin sunken beneath your open eyes, pupils fixed, unseeing. A cold measuring tape held next to the gaping hole in your skull.

He blinks, and the images are as they were.

Jane is damn near adamant they want you alive, but without definitive proof that you’ll be okay, it does little to settle his mind.

Marcus turns away from the board with a new wash of nausea he swallows down, flicking through the notes provided to him by Lisbon’s team from the interrogation and marking the noted locations of addresses on the map spread out before him. 

He can hear the work beyond the conference room, a part of him comforted by the sheer amount of effort put in by both his own and Teresa's agents.

They’re close.

That familiar feeling swirls in the pit of his stomach, knowing that with every new bit of information that comes through by the hour, they’re closing that gap between them and you. It overrides the worry, pushes his anxiety to the side until all he feels is brute determination, the urge to get the job done and retrieve you swiftly and safely.

You’ll be okay.

He’ll make sure of it.

Marcus feels the presence of someone hovering just inside the door of the conference room, and fights the sigh of annoyance threatening to break free from his lungs. He doesn’t want to entertain niceties, doesn’t have time for idle chit chat and useless empty conversation, so he cuts straight to the chase with a sharp edge in his tone that says just that.

He’d feel ashamed by the bluntness of it if his mind wasn’t working so damn hard to absorb every possible bit of information given to him in an effort to get any closer to you.

“Can I help you with something, Agent Van Pelt?”

He sees her move in his peripheral as he shuffles through more notes, more paper, more satellite images of warehouses and shop fronts and galleries. She shifts slightly, almost unsure as her eyes glance back to the open door to the conference room before they roll back to settle on him.

“I just wanted to say that it’ll be okay,” she says finally. “We’ll find her.”

It’s spoken so surely, so warmly sincere, it completely cuts through the icyness that had settled in his chest and worked its way through his nervous system. He feels his shoulders slacken slightly when he eventually meets her eyes, the tightness of his features softening when she gives a small reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, giving his head a little shake to settle the mess of emotions swirling through him. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be—”

“It’s okay,” Grace’s smile widens . Her eyes fix on the board behind him in open interest, but it doesn’t hit him like it did with Jane and Lisbon. It doesn’t get his hackles up in defence with a need to shield you from potential judgement.

“Seems like she’s really something.”

He looks over his shoulder, gaze swiping one more time over your image. “She is.”

—

It’s a warehouse, empty save for the leftover pallets, a few odd pieces of old machinery from previous companies and the van you had been driven in.

You’d lost track of the route they had taken you, not wanting to risk anything by making it obvious you were trying to decipher your location by looking out of the windows. There was no point. You doubt you’d make it very far if you chose to run.

Playing along, doing what these people ask when they ask it, it’d hopefully buy you some time. Hopefully the time Marcus and his team needs if they were looking. No, you know he is. You can feel it.

Before all the recent developments, you probably would’ve resigned yourself to your uncertain fate, and accepted that you were just another pawn for the FBI. A nobody, just mere collateral damage in the wider grand scheme of things.

You lost track of how long you’d been standing in the one spot, almost scared to move. The small group of men had shown you out of the van and onto the main floor of the warehouse, and then moved to the sides. They stayed quiet, sometimes talking quietly amongst themselves, but otherwise leaving you alone.

A welcome relief.

“You’ve certainly been working away, haven’t you? Piece after piece. Surely you’re tired.”

The men take their cue and start their exit, leaving you alone with the newcomer. The one pulling the strings and keeping them in line, if their quick and quiet departure was anything to go by. They clearly deem you no threat whatsoever.

You turn to the voice, eyes sweeping over the familiar face of Edward Thomas. You recoil a little in surprise, almost expecting someone else to be with him because of how out of character something like this was for the older man, but he remains alone, and you are left standing corrected.

“Didn’t really have much of a choice,” you murmur.

You don’t think openly admitting you had readily agreed to helping the FBI wouldn’t work well in your favour.

“How’d you know it was my work?”

“I didn’t,” he admits quietly, “in the beginning. We actually thought you were still in prison.”

“We?”

Edward smiles, though it lacks any warmth or sincerity. He looks tired, older. “Asking for yourself, or your FBI boyfriend?”

You ignore the goad, glancing carefully around the vacant space with a barely concealed shiver down your spine. Now what?

“What am I doing here?”

He sighs, rubbing a tired hand across his weathered features.

“This whole thing, it’s—it’s turned ugly, and quite frankly I’m tired of it. I had no intention of being this involved. I needed something to offer in return for my… retirement, let’s call it. After all, after a few of your pieces had been discovered by myself, interest has grown in your particular… area of expertise. You have a few curious in what you can offer.”

A sick feeling turns your stomach, but you keep a hold of your expression.  “So you’re not auctioning off my pieces anymore, you’re just auctioning off me.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Throwing me to the highest bidder so you can, what, run away to a sunny beach somewhere? That’s not like you, Edward.”

“Yes well, as I said, it’s turned ugly.”

“By ugly, you mean the people that have been killed.”

“You’re quite naive if you didn’t think that was happening before your arrest. People died then, and people will die now. It’s simply a part of the world you so readily jumped into.”

“Can’t really blame the girl.”

A calm and collected voice takes you off guard, and you quickly school your stunned expression into something a little less obvious as the one and only Patrick fucking Jane all but waltzes into the room, looking completely at ease as he slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“She wasn’t exactly given a brochure on the workings of an underground art ring upon her application.”

If he’s here, then his team isn’t too far behind.

And if his team isn’t too far behind, surely that means Marcus would be with them, too? A slight twinge of hopes grows to life in your chest, your heart picking up with the possibility you’d be walking free from this.

Edward frowns at him in confusion, eyes darting to the direction of the van and where the three men that had bought you in had disappeared to.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“The door,” Jane comments as if it were obvious, and you can’t help the eye roll, pinning him with such a look of disdain it makes his lips twitch.

“And what are you doing here?”

He has the nerve to look bored, eyes observing the empty warehouse in false interest. The sheer ease he remains in has Edward’s frown deepening with every step he takes further into the room.

“Checking out industrial real estate. What’s the going rate for one of these?” His hand leaves his pockets to gesture vaguely about the open room. 

“Mr Jane, I must admit I do tire of your little games.”

You startle, eyes widening as you glance between them.

“You two know each other?”

“We met at the museum,” Jane shrugs. “When I said I was following my own leads, I was. It just wasn’t you. I did have to get you out of the way, though. Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest. You stare at him, at a complete and utter loss, your mind struggling to piece together all of the events that had led you here. Did he intentionally upset you at the museum? To get you to leave?

It’s all a big fucking game to this man.

“You knew,” you realise slowly, your brows coming together, “you knew I’d leave the investigation.”

“I expected. Just like I expected Mr Thomas here to make a move as soon as he knew you weren’t being monitored anymore,” Jane explains easily, unbothered by the way your face twists with his little reveal.

You had been a pawn.

Just not the FBI’s pawn.

You were Patrick fucking Jane’s pawn.

“What I didn’t expect, was you running off, and.. you know, all that happened after,” he trails off with a slight wince. “That was inconvenient, I’ll admit.”

He, at the very least, has the grace to look apologetic at that. So he didn’t mean for it to work out like this. He knew Marcus would flip and put you into protective custody. He counted on Marcus getting you out of town and finding you somewhere safe to lay low while they worked out the rest of the case.

What he didn’t count on, however, was the mountain of emotional baggage he was undoing and letting loose during his little playtime pretending to be an FBI agent.

“Inconventient?” You grind out, anger simmering beneath your skin. “I got fucking kidnapped, Jane!”

“Like I said—inconvenient.”

“Enough.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you. Marcus was right, you really are a fucking dick.”

“Things could’ve gone smoother, yes—”

You jump at the sudden firing of a gun, wide eyes immediately flying to Edward where he stands unimpressed, holding the weapon towards the ceiling. He then levels it between you, your undeniable anger at the consultant melting steadily into fear.

Jane takes a step towards you automatically, his arm outstretched as if he could reach you despite the distance between you, but he stills when the gun is aimed for him.

“I said enough.” 

—

“North entrance is covered,” Rigsby reports as Marcus arrives on scene mere moments after them. “South’s free—they’re not expecting company.”

“Good,” Marcus nods, eyes scouting the area around the warehouse and the flashy expensive car Thomas had left parked along the side. Might as well be a flashing neon sign in an area like this. “How many on the north?”

“Three,” Cho replies plainly, checking over his weapon.

“You certainly work quick. We’ll send a small team to cover both exits for now, when—”

“We need to wait for back up, we don’t know how many are inside yet.”

He fights the frown threatening to dig between his brows as he looks at Lisbon, her expectant gaze already fixed tightly on him. He knows that. He doesn’t need to be told that like he’s some freshly graduated baby agent, let alone by someone who’s not even on his team. He bites back the sarcastic words building on his tongue.

“When SWAT arrives,” Marcus continues as if she didn’t interrupt him, “we make the call to move in. How far out are they?”

“Four minutes,” Cho provides again, looking between the two superior agents with a look he couldn’t quite decipher, but otherwise keeping quiet.

Anything could happen in four minutes.

Marcus presses his lips together, eyes raking over the structure they suspect you’ve been taken to and its wider surroundings. His hands find his hips as he studies the high windows, wondering if Wilson would be able to find anything to climb up on to find a point to look in to until backup arrives.

“Uh, where’s Jane?”

Rigsby’s carefully posed question pulls Marcus's attention from the building, his teeth quickly mashing together as he attempts to reign in the hot flood of irritation that sweeps over him. Sure enough, the consultant is nowhere to be found when the team looks, and the irritation morphs into something a little stronger, something with a bit more of a kick.

He can’t help it.

Marcus smiles at Lisbon, stiff and sarcastic. “I see that tight leash is working well.”

She sighs, barely sparing him a glance. “Don’t.”

“If he does anything to—”

A single shot echoes from the warehouse and he jolts as if it had come straight for him and pierced right through his chest. Seconds of silence pass, and with each slowed tick of time in his mind, there you are. On the autopsy table, a bullet through the head. Cold. Lifeless.

Someone speaks, reporting to the incoming team that shots have been fired and he doesn’t care to look at who calls it in. His eyes dart over the building, waiting for movement, a yell, a scream, anything—

He doesn’t, he can’t, wait any longer. Logic, strategy, training—it all blends and settles at the sound of nothing. It’s instinct, it's pure adrenaline. Marcus takes off towards the building while reaching for his weapon, the thought of you bleeding out on the filthy floor, losing precious time with every moment he wastes standing around, pushing his legs harder as he comes up upon the back entrance.

“Marcus!” Teresa shouts after him, already following. “Cho, on me. Rigsby, Van Pelt, you’re on the north entrance. Wilson, wait for SWAT and direct on their arrival!”

—

Your ears ring from the gunshot. The piercing echo of it threatens to stop your heart then and there, the tremble in your hands obvious as you quickly and carefully raise your hands in an effort to show you’re of no threat. Jane mirrors you, studying the way the gun ever so slight shake in Edward’s hand as the barrel of it bounces between the both of you.

“FBI, put your weapon down.”

You almost choke on a sob at the familiar voice.

He’s here. 

You feel Marcus move step up and next to you, his own weapon held steady and pointed directly at Edward . You watch the recognition, the panic, the indecision, the urge to flee play out on the older man’s face, the shake in his hand increasing under the presence of Marcus. 

“You’re surrounded. Don’t go doing anything stupid. This is your one and only chance to walk out of here, so put it down, and we’ll talk. We can figure something out.”

“I just want this to be over,” Edward mutters with a distinct tone of irritation, flustered by the sudden presence of an actual FBI agent and having their weapon pointed at him, “it wasn’t meant to go this far… I didn’t want any part of this.”

“I know,” Marcus soothes carefully, his voice smooth and calm. “Put the gun down, and we’ll talk about it.”

“You know, it’s your fault,” Edward continues, completely absorbed in the stress of his thoughts, and the gun changes direction to land directly on you, “if you had just stayed aw—”

“Hey,” Marcus snaps immediately, “if you’re going to point that at anyone, you point it at me. She got dragged into this because of me. All of this? It’s on me, do you hear me?”

You jump in fright at the echo of two gunshots towards the front of the warehouse, and in a split second, you watch Edward jump in surprise too, and give way to the panic that overrides the logic of a negotiation.

It all happens so quickly. You feel a shove from the right, the direct force of a body moving and colliding with you just as more shots ring out throughout the warehouse and you stumble back and away from where you had just been standing.

Edward falls back from the shots Teresa and another agent direct at him, the pair suddenly appearing from behind you and quickly advancing towards him, while Jane jumps forward to kick the gun away from the hand that weakly reaches for it.

The body that had collided with you is sprawled on the ground and your heart drops to the pit of your stomach at the familiar hand swept dark hair of Marcus. He doesn't get up. He doesn't move.

Bile builds in your throat as you drop to your knees, uncaring as the rough floor scuffs the skin of your knees through the thin material of your dress. You tug desperately at his jacket, rolling him over and clawing at his body until he sprawls over your lap, heavy and unmoving.

“Marcus? Marcus, look at me,” you beg softly, a strangled sob falling from your throat when his eyes eventually flutter open languidly and focus tiredly on yours. “What did you do? God, what did you do?”

His lips part, words building on his tongue, but before they can fall from his mouth he jolts in your arms, heaving and coughing and sputtering. It sounds fucking horrible.

You watch the blood ooze from his lips, creating a stark trail of bright red that melts into his faded stubble and slides down along his jaw. You push at his jacket and feel your heart plummet to the floor at the deep maroon patches outwardly soaking the crisp white shift from the holes in his torso.

“It’s okay,” you soothe shakily, wiping the blood away from his lips with your thumb and feeling your stomach jolt with the wet sticky feel of it. “It’s okay. Keep looking at me, okay? I’m here. Somebody help me! Marcus, please—hold on, please—”

“Pike!”

Someone takes him from your arms, lays him on the ground and covers the bullet wounds with their hands. Teresa is yelling out orders, something about getting medics in and SWAT and soon more people swarm the warehouse. You sit on your knees, hands warm, and when you look numbly down at them, you see the glisten of his blood coating your skin.

There's so much blood.

“Marcus?” You whimper quietly, his name sticking to the inside of your throat.

“Hey, come on,” a female voice speaks from the side of you, her hands winding around your arms and pulling you from the ground. Your widened eyes find hers as you stumble to stand on two feet, her red hair previously pulled into a ponytail slightly ruffled and out of place as strands fall across her face.

“Let’s give them some space, let them help him. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t—I don’t know,” you reply hoarsely, eyes falling back to where Marcus lay on the ground as even more people surround him.

“Look at me,” the redhead speaks, a gentle smile pulling at her lips as you do as she says. “Good. Do you feel any pain?”

“Uh, I don’t… I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” she says softly, winding an arm around your back and gently leading you from the warehouse. “We have people out here that are going to help you—”

Why are you shaking so much? So damn hard?

Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and your hand moves to cover the length of it in confusion, hoping the press of your fingers would help the oxygen move more freely into your lungs.

Instead of helping you find your breath, you feel the smear of blood along your skin and the heady metallic ring of it sinks into your senses, the urge to vomit suddenly curdling your stomach.

The shaking increases as you jerk your hand away from your neck as if it had cut you. You make a noise, something small and choked, and your knees weaken from the spin of your head. 

“Hey, I need you to take a deep breath for me, can you do that? I’m here, I’ve got you.”

“I-I’m trying,” you choke out, suddenly aware of the hot tears spilling down your cheeks as the wind hits with a sharp bite as soon as you step out of the building. “Is—is he going to be okay?”

The redhead briefly glances back at the warehouse, and you think you find a small edge of uncertainty shine in her eyes, but it’s gone within a blink. She gives you another small, reassuring smile though it does little to steady the tremble sitting within your limbs.

“The medics are onsite, he’s in good hands.”

—

The plastic chair is uncomfortable beneath you, the thin scratchy blanket wrapped around your body doing very little to cushion the solid surface of it, yet you don’t move. You don’t think you could if you tried. You hate hospitals. You hate the sterile smell, the cold white walls, the rush of staff and the endless ring of alarms and codes.

This room isn’t too bad, though.

It’s a smaller waiting room, away from the hustle and bustle of the main hospital corridors, and away from the half dozen pairs of eyes that seemed focused on studying your every move. It’s nicer in here, both in style and temperature. The walls are a softer, more welcoming cream colour and a little wall mounted heater keeps the space filled with a nice warmth, but it does very little to calm you.

Your tea had long gone cold next to you, delivered by a startlingly quiet member of Lisbon’s team, Rigsby was it?, before he left you to your thoughts again. You didn’t reach for it once.

Instead, you stare blankly ahead, mind turning over with worry as Marcus is off somewhere in the hospital, somewhere bleeding and hurt and possibly dying. No one comes to talk to you. No one had come to comfort you since Grace had found this room and put you in here, and you think you prefer it that way.

You think she knows you would prefer it that way.

He’s hurt. Severely so.

He’s hurt because he pushed you out of the way, because he took the bullets that had been meant for you, whether they were accidental or not. He had moved with very little regard for himself, instinctively putting himself between you and potential death.

You should be the one in theatre. You should be the one broken and bleeding on an operating table. And yet, you’re not. Here you are, with nothing but bruised, scraped knees and a shot to shit nervous system on the brink of collapsing in on itself.

“Hey Picasso,” Jacob murmurs softly, his face appearing in your view as he crouches down before you, “I think we should get you home—”

Your head is already shaking before he can even finish. Leave? No. No, you can’t do that. What if something happens during surgery? What if he deteriorates and he has no one here to beg them to keep trying? What if—what if he dies on the table and you’re not here for it? 

His face creases in sympathy, his hand warm as it comes to rest over your knee. 

“Listen to me, alright? You with me?”

His head tilts, waiting until he’s sure you’re fully locked in and focused on him.

“He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s got a collapsed lung, and quite extensive internal bleeding. They said he’s gonna be in there for a while—hey, look at me.”

He ducks his head to help your eyes meet his, and you do your best to swallow down the lump quickly building thickly in the base of your throat.

“While he’s in there, getting the help he needs, I’d like to get you home so you can shower, and get into something more comfortable. Lisbon’s under strict instructions to call me if anything changes, and we’ll come right back once you’re done, alright? How does that sound?”

“Sounds like he could die,” you mutter, voice rough and hollow. “Is he going to die?”

His thumb softly swipes at the stray tear on your cheek.

“I have been assured they are doing everything in their power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“It should’ve been me. It should be me.”

He gives a small, sad smile. “I may not have been a part of this team for very long and know him very well, but I think we both know that was never an option for him.”

“Is it my fault?”

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly, shaking his head, “and you know damn well he wouldn’t want you thinking like that. Now come on, the quicker we go and do this, the quicker we can get back.”

“You promise we’ll come straight back if… if he—”

“If I happen to get a call to say he…” he trails off, eyes dropping to where his hand rests on your knee before he gathers the strength to meet your eyes again. “If I get that call, we’ll come straight back, alright? Even if you’re all shampooed up and half naked. I swear.”

Your eyes dart between his, searching the soft forest green depths for any trace of a lie. You find nothing but sincerity. Your fingers wrap around his hand, briefly comforted by the steady warmth of it as he turns it in your hold and interlocks your fingers carefully.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He helps you stand, releasing your hand in an effort to keep the blanket wrapped around your frame. He tucks it back under your chin, giving you a little grin.

“Hell, you being here half naked would probably bring him back before any crash cart could—”

“Jacob,” you half sob in surprise, unsure whether to be horrified or angry. Your face must display it all openly.

He flinches, face creasing from shame. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I get weird with this kind of shit, let’s just go.”

You sighed slowing down a bit matching stride with your longtime friend, “I’m sorry Tess. I was going to play nice. The Joel had to go and open his mouth…”

“I was just suggesting another route!” He defended himself getting annoyed by you now. He was getting tired of you biting his head off every time he suggested something.

“You always question me! You never questions Tess’s decisions.” You challenged him raising your voice now. Joel always had a knack for getting under your skin. You lost your composure all too often around the stubborn man.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, both of you shut up. I’ll make the decisions. Yeah?” Tess’s eyes were wide as if she was punishing her own children.

Grumbling, you answered her, “Yeah fine, whatever.” You walked behind her keeping your eyes on her back and not on Joel’s who found his stride beside her. Figures, he got exactly what he wanted. He trusted Tess, never questioning her decisions. Tess was a natural leader and Joel fell right in line. He clearly didn’t feel the same about you. It felt like he picked a fight any time you were allowed to have a say. Sure, you were a few years younger, but you were here just like he was. You were a fighter and survivor just like he was.

Truthfully, you didn’t even hate the guy. You looked up to him just as much as you looked up to Tess. It always seemed like he had the problem with you though. Whatever the hell it was you would love to fix it. You even talked with Tess about it. She said she’d talk with Joel about it but had yet to get back to you just yet.

The walk continued in silence as both you and Joel were protesting. It wasn’t often the three of you all went out on a run. It was usually just either you and Tess or Tess and Joel. This was a big order though; she needed all hands-on deck for this one resulting in you and Joel joining together. You wished he could just see you as an equal, but you were afraid you’d never get there.

You were so in your own head you hardly heard Tess stop and sigh. Nearly running into Joel, you decided it’d be better to walk into the wall of the hallway building instead. He gave you a confused look when you saw you walk right into the wall. You tried to shrug it off, “What’s up Tess?” Whispering again you ignored Joel and his glare instead turning your attention back to her.

“Door’s blocked.” Her husky voice sounded tired, “Wasn’t last week. Dammit.”

Taking a look around you pointed up, “Can climb up and over. Looks like the building collapsed.”

Joel’s eyes snapped up surveying the scene of crumbling building before him, “No, that’s too dangerous.” Joel didn’t know a ton, but he knew buildings from his days before the outbreak. Being a contractor did sort of help with stuff like this.

“Come on.” You sighed dropping the rifle strap from your shoulder. You handed it to Tess who gave you a funny look. She surely wasn’t going to stop you, but it sounded like Joel was about to try, “It’s fine Joel. Somebody’s got to go.”

“What if it collapsed yesterday? It could still be unstable.” He looked around for a better option sighing when he came up short.

You shook your head offloading your backpack from your shoulders, “It’s fine. It’s had plenty of time to settle. It’s too late to turn around now anyway. It’ll take us another four hours to double back. We don’t have that kind of time.”

Joel frowned acknowledging what you had to say. He knew that you were right. It still didn’t make him happy though, “I’ll go then.” He offered up.

But your insecurities got the better of you, “Do you not trust me?” You let your frustrations out with a louder than necessary at that snap back.

Joel threw his head back biting his tongue. He trusted you. He just didn’t want to see you get hurt. He’d seen you almost get hurt too many times to count. It wasn’t always like you put yourself into precarious situations, but he’s had to save you one too many times. So, he made it his duty to protect you. You never seemed to take well to it. Always fighting back whenever he suggested something. Sure, he could’ve communicated with you, but he wasn’t the best with words. He knew he’d fuck it up more if he tried to explain himself, so he let you think the worst instead.

Shaking his head he answered, “I trust you.” He finally spoke after a long moment.

“Then I’m going.” Huffing you hoisted yourself up over the broken wall.

“You’re going to get hurt.” His frown deepened seeing you climb.

Standing you looked down at the two of them, “I’ll be fine. Plus, the opening over there is pretty narrow, I don’t think you’d fit Joel.”

He sighed, “Fine.” Leaning against the wall he gave Tess a look.

“Be careful Y/N.” Tess spoke out seeing the concern on his eyes. She knew there was something there. At least on his end. He’d never ever admit anything to her though. There was always something unspoken Tess noticed between the two of you. Two people couldn’t bicker like you did without feeling something.

“Yeah, yeah.” You shot her a smile before beginning your climb over to the hallway. Walking slowly, you took note of Joel’s concerns. You’d had the same ones. Fresh crumbles were always pretty dangerous, but you wanted to put on brave face. You had to be useful. Had to prove yourself to them.

It took you a lot longer than it normally would as you paced slowly trying to find an opening. There was always a way. Smiling when you saw light coming from a little further you made your way over to the narrow hole. You wouldn’t fit. Pulling a few rocks out of the way you knew you had to go slow, or it could collapse in on itself.

You heard it before you felt it. The rocks gave out below you sending you down to the hallway with rocks falling all around. Damn this was the absolute worst-case scenario. Covering your head, you waited for the sound to settle before releasing the grip you were holding over yourself.

It could’ve been worse. Much, much worse you decided as you threw the rock off your side surveying your surroundings. You could’ve been completely pinned by a rock, that would’ve sucked. You would’ve had to wait until one of them rescued you. That would have been so terribly embarrassing.

Feeling the adrenaline kick in you brushed your clothes back over your side. Standing up you looked down seeing the deep gash on your side and the blood that flowed down your side. It didn’t look great, but it wasn’t show stopping. Deciding to just let your clothes stop the bleeding you pressed your shirt back down to your side. Keeping pressure on your side you made your way to the door that was blocked by some rubble. Thankfully, nothing major.

“You, okay?” You heard Tess through the door, “We heard some noise on the other side of the door.”

“Yeah, rocks fell when I tried to find a way in. I’m all good though.” You partially lied. You were fine. That wasn’t a lie. Finally, you moved the rocks enough to open the door enough for them to slip through.

She surveyed you quickly before turning back to Joel, “Let’s go then. Can’t waste any more time.”

You nodded letting Joel go in front. You didn’t really want him to see you limping just yet. You were hoping the ore you walked the less you’d limp. Loosen the muscles as your mom had always told you. In the pre-outbreak world, she was a nurse at the local hospital. You always tried to remember her handy tricks. Thankfully Joel didn’t think much of your insistence for him to go first. He nodded his head and followed Tess down the long hallway.

You thought you were fine until you made it to the stairs. The adrenaline was wearing off and the up and down movement was killing your hip. You frowned looking down at your side seeing the blood seeping right through your shirt. Maybe the gash was a bit deeper than you initially thought it was. You didn’t really have an option other than to keep going so you placed your shirt back down onto your side covering the wound back up with the already bloody shirt. You thanked your lucky stars that Tess had antibiotic ointment at her place. Fedra was still good for something.

Joel noticed something was up when you weren’t on his tail. That was usually how you proved you were good enough. By always being right there. Trying your best to one up him. But when he turned and didn’t see you right behind him it concerned him a bit. He looked up the spiral staircase from which he had just walked down with Tess and saw you making your way down, slowly. It was too dark to make out your facial features so he couldn’t see if you were in pain, but he knew something was up.

Joel waved Tess on letting her know he was waiting on you. She gave Joel a brief nod of her head and a small smirk before vanishing off down the hallway. He positioned himself at the bottom of the staircase looking up, waiting for you.

You mildly panicked when you saw him at the bottom as you made the final turn. You fucking hated spiral staircases and this reminded you why. They sucked when you weren’t hurt but man, they gave you no mercy when you were injured. Trying your best to normally walk you descended down the final steps. You knew you failed to hide the twinge of pain that crossed your face though. You were never good at hiding facial expressions.

“What’s wrong?” Joel grumbled pulling you along with him. Casually taking your hand in his he made you keep his pace which was a little too fast for you at the moment.

“Nothing’s wrong. Why are you asking?” You were far too out of breath from climbing down the steps and Joel noticed it as you sucked a big breath in trying to stabilize yourself back out.

Joel dropped your hand as he stopped walking down the long dark hallway, “Cut the shit. What’s wrong?”

“I really don’t…”

“Y/N.” He hardly used your first name, and it took you by surprise every time he did. This time was no different. He was giving you a look he’d only reserved for Tess usually. One that made him seem so much softer than the Joel you were used to.

You sighed knowing he caught you. Lifting your hand from your side his eyes went wide seeing the blood nearly coat half the side of your shirt and pants. How had he not seen it?

“It looks worse than it is...”

He cut you off, “What happened? Was it the rocks? I told you to be careful!” He let out an exasperated groan studying your side. He didn’t ask for permission as he carefully peeled back the t-shirt that clung to your side sticky with blood. Dropping down to a knee he frowned noting that you’d probably need quite a few stithes. The cut ran deep along the side of your hip. It must’ve been incredibly painful to put any weight on it. He admired your ability to try and hide the pain from him.

“Well, actually Tess said to be careful.”

He didn’t stop the very quiet laugh that escaped his lips, “Yeah, well whatever. She told you to be careful. This is the opposite of careful.” He quickly shrugged off his backpack. Taking his flannel off he wrapped it around your side tying it tight making sure the wound would stop bleeding. He didn’t like how much blood he saw on your clothes. It was too much already. Anymore lost and you’d be fainting on them.

“Sorry.” You weren’t sure why you were apologizing. You had never apologized to the man before. Yet here you were at his mercy. All he had to do was a simple kind gesture and you were practically weak at the knees, “Thank you.” You brushed your hand over his flannel. You watched as he stood, placing his backpack straps back on his shoulders.

“Don’t mention it. Can you walk?” He asked, not taking his eyes from yours. Letting you take the lead this time.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You winced as you began back down the hallway.

Joel easily kept pace as you limped along. Sure, enough the longer you walked the less the limp was evident. Long pauses were just your enemy as this point. Finally, you made it out on the other side of the building. Tess was standing on the outside scouting for any infected. You could never be too sure. One day a route may be completely fine, the next it could be full of them. You’d seen it far too many times.

She spun back around once she heard the two of you exit from the building. She spotted Joel’s flannel around your waist before she saw the slight limp you were walking with. Raising an eyebrow, she waited until you made it next to her before speaking, “Care to explain?”

Shaking your head you answered her, “Not really.”

She snorted, “You never stop do you?”

“Want me to?” You smiled putting your weight on your good side. You knew this break was going to cause for a painful walk. Maybe you could just sit here while they went on the run. Who were you kidding? Joel would never let you. As annoyed as he always seemed to be with you, he was nothing short of protective. Always, he put your and Tess’s safety in front of his. For that you tried to be extra cautious. You were going at a turtle’s pace on the roof, it was quite unfortunate you’d managed to hurt yourself anyway. You hadn’t thought yourself as clumsy but maybe you were. You’d thought back on all the times Joel had saved you in the past fifteen years, as long as you’d known him. Maybe he had a point to make sure you were thinking things through, you’d had a knack for getting yourself into some rather precarious situations.

“Please don’t. Need some humor around here. He’s as dry as fucking hay.” Tess smiled at you, “Now tell me, what happened.”

It was easier to show than tell but Joel had tied you up tight and you didn’t care to have him redo it in front of Tess. You’d never hear the end of it from her. She’d already slowly started saying that Joel had feelings for you, but you shut her down every time. Truthfully, you’d love if Joel would have feelings for you, but you knew that’d never happen. The man was as cold as a stone wall. He’d shut himself down a long time ago.

“I lied a little earlier. I’m still good. But I hit a rock on my way down. Cut my side up pretty good.” You sighed not sure what else to say.

“She’ll need stitches.” Joel added in after you paused.

Tess frowned, “Can you still go on? I mean we can do this another day…”

“We’re almost there. I can carry stuff on my back still. I might not be as fast but let’s go.” You took off as fast as you can. Limp evident.

Joel hesitated but nodded to Tess as she waited for his thoughts. The two worked as a team to assess you every so often. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust you it’s just that you pushed yourself past your limits a little too often. They took it upon themselves to look out for you even if you didn’t notice.

“She’ll be fine. It looked like it was slowing down. I tied it up pretty good anyway. I can stitch it up when we’re back. No need to go to the hospital. No questions asked.” He whispered in Tess’s ear as he followed behind you.

She nodded following along. It didn’t take long for her to overpass you. Joel stayed behind making sure you were okay. Before you knew it you were at the rendezvous point in the middle of the decaying city. You took a seat on a broken stone as both Joel and Tess went inside for the trade.

Placing your elbows on your knees and your chin in your palms you took long deep breaths. The loss of blood was starting to get to your vision as you started to see black dots dancing in your line of sight. Shit. You knew it wasn’t good. Hopefully you could catch your breath before the two of the emerged with the traded goods.

You felt a hand on your shoulder sending you straight into a defensive stance, “Don’t do that!” Placing a hand over your chest you were almost thankful for the rush of adrenaline as it took your mind off the pain of your side.

“I’m sorry.” Joel’s eyes softened seeing your panicked expression, “Tess called your name a few times. Are you alright?” He took a step forward testing the waters.

You put your hands down, “Yeah sorry. Was just thinking.” You lied. Shooting them both a lazy smile you tossed him your empty bookbag, “Load it up then let’s go home.” The second smaller burst of adrenaline was wearing off as you stood there. This walk home was going to be a painful one. Especially thinking about how you had to walk up and over the courthouse safely.

He handed you back the heavy sack. It was a lot heavier than you were expecting and it almost slipped from your grip. You winced as you tossed the bag over your shoulders.

Joel noticed. He wasn’t planning on taking his eyes off of you. You were acting weird. He knew it was from the blood loss. He eyed your side and was satisfied to see that it wasn’t soaking through the flannel at the very least. It must have all just been catching up with your brain.  As long as you stayed functional the group would be okay.

“Are you sure?” Joel asked so only you would hear, not Tess.

You nodded, “Yeah, for now at least.” You admitted as you saw those damn black dots start dancing in your vision again.

“Say something if you need to slow down, okay?” He stated more than asked. He wouldn’t even mind if he needed to carry you for a bit. He’d take cruel joy in doing so. Upset that you were hurt but thrilled he would have you so close. A catch 22.

“Okay.” You began your walk back. Slowly you moved. It became easier as you imagined relaxing on Tess’s couch instead of taking a three-mile trek back to the dingy apartments. Her couch was comfier than your bed. You’d spent far too many nights on her couch by ‘accident’ or so you’d say. Beds hadn’t been manufactured in what? Twenty years… they were less than stellar these days. Couches seemed to stay far more intact through the outbreak.

Seeing Joel so kind to you was throwing you off. You weren’t sure if it was genuine or not. All the two of you could seem to do for the last fifteen years is argue. You’d met Tess in the QZ working the graveyard shift moving trash around all those years ago. She was twenty-five-year-old woman trying to find her footing and you were… a mess. You were only fifteen on outbreak day. Being one of the lucky ones you escaped the madness with your older brother and dad. By the time you were eighteen your father had passed. Your brother didn’t make it much longer, killed in a gun fight the next year. Feeling hopeless and alone you jumped from job to job trying to find a purpose or a meaning in the hopeless world.

You ran into Tess not long after. Becoming partners with Tess made it so you were automatically linked to Joel fucking Miller. The man who was so freaking handsome but made your life a living hell. Joel Miller had mastered the art of getting under your skin. Questioning your every decision. Making you feel so utterly useless. You’d tried your best to ignore the man but being around Tess meant Joel was always following closely behind. Tess was too much of an advantage to cut out of your life. You just learned to live with Joel. Had it crossed your mind to actually talk to the man? Sure. But you were far too chicken to do so. You truly felt emotionally stunted as a fifteen your old. Your brain was stuck on the day the outbreak happened.

Joel noticed you started to slow down substantially after about a mile or so into the walk. At first, he slowed to keep pace with you. It got too much when he saw you starting to trip and stagger over your own feet. The two of you were eerily similar. Stubborn beyond belief. He knew you wouldn’t ask for help until your feet literally wouldn’t move forward anymore. So, he sped up a bit walking by your side, “Doing okay?” He asked raising his eyebrow and keeping his arm raised ready to catch you.

“Uh, yeah. A little tired.” You answered without looking up to him. A dirty filthy lie. Not really believing you had it in you to make it back you stared straight ahead. Your eyes were feeling far too heavy for how long you had left on the walk back.

“Here.” Joel ran his arm along your back lifting you slightly using his arm and shoulder to take some weight off your feet. This was easily the closest you’ve even been to him and if you weren’t currently feeling like you were about to pass out you were sure the closeness would have made you feel the same way.

“Thanks.” You mumbled feeling, quite literally, light on your feet as Joel took most of your weight from you. He must’ve noticed how bad you were really starting to feel when he pulled you into him completely. You weren’t even sure how the two of you were walking at this point or how he was holding onto you so assuredly at such an awkward angle.

Tess looked back slowing down seeing your state of near unconsciousness, “Is she going to make it?” She asked quietly hoping you wouldn’t hear.

Joel shook his head, “Don’t think so. Let’s keep moving.” He held you even tighter. You wanted to protest but he was right.

“Joel, I don’t…” Your breathing was becoming heavy. You knew what this meant. Those stupid black dots started dancing once more as you literally tripped over your feet.

“Y/N?” He asked stopping.

“I don’t feel so good.” You uttered out before the black dots consumed your vision entirely. Darkness took over before you knew it.

“Oh, good you’re awake.” Tess clapped her hands after seeing your eyes open bringing your attention right to her. Turns out either she or Joel were taking shifts watching you. Making sure you were still breathing, deciding it was far too risky to take you to the Fedra hospital. Too many incriminating questions would be asked.

“Hmm, yeah.” Finding your voice, you tried sitting up before Tess pushed you right back down into the couch. Pushing your shoulders down gently she shook her head back and forth.

“No moving. I just put 30 stitches in your side. You’re not ripping them out first thing.” She pointed her finger at you before turning her head and yelling towards the bedroom where Joel was probably napping.

“Joel, she’s awake!” She bellowed earning a grimace from you still trying to reorient yourself with your surroundings. It’s a bit startling to collapse in the restricted zone and wake but up in the QZ.

Tess smirked before turning her attention back to you, “You scared the shit out of him. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned away so she wouldn’t see the heat that rose to your cheeks, “How long was I out? Just a little blood loss.” Attempting to steer the conversation in your direction you should’ve known Tess wasn’t dropping it. What Tess wanted Tess got, you learned that early.

“A night. You’re actually up way sooner than I would’ve thought. Joel finally went to bed an hour ago. Stayed up alllllll night watching you.”

You sighed wanted to smother yourself with the pillow, “Okay great.”

She laughed, a hearty one, finding too much enjoyment out of this. In another world she could’ve seen herself with Joel. But that wasn’t her reality. Her reality was the two of you being idiots not admitting their actual feelings. Something that she had tried time and time and time again to get either of you to admit. But you were too similar. Too fucking stubborn. She was tired of it. The constant bickering and almost fights. How two people could be so similar and refuse to see eye to eye was baffling to her.

“Is that really all you’ve got to say?” She sat at your feet eyeing the door to the bedroom. He must’ve truly passed out because she was sure he was going to come barreling through the door the second you woke up.

Groaning you turned your back towards her, “What do you want me to say Tess?”

She shrugged, “Anything.”

“I did! I said, and I quote, ‘Okay, great.’” You smiled to yourself knowing just how much that probably pissed her off. Just as Joel had a knack for getting under your skin you’d mastered the art of pissing Tess off.

This time she sighed, “Look, I really haven’t seen him like that before. He was stressed. You may not ever want to admit it, but he has feelings for you. And I have the sneaking suspicion that you feel the same.”

“Doesn’t matter what either of us feel Tess.” It stung but you needed to get it out, “You don’t get to have feelings in this world. I can have all the fucking feelings in the world, and it doesn’t change a thing, Tess. You know it. I know it. And he certainly knows it!” You bit your lip to stop the word vomit that was about to come spewing out of your mouth.

Squeezing your calf, she waited until she got your attention again. Flicking your eyes up to her you listened to her every word. As much as you hated to admit it Tess was way more often right than she was wrong. That’s why you and Joel let her lead so often, it was her. She was built for this. You were too, just in a different role.

 “You’re not going to want to hear me and that’s fine. It is what it is. I think you’re just deflecting. Just like he is. It’s fine. I get it. I do it too. He lost Sarah. You lost your mom, dad, and brother within a few years. I lost my fiancée. It’s hard to trust. It’s hard not to worry. But God dammit you’re only going to be here for so long. You could get bit tomorrow Y/N. Enjoy the time you have together.” She paused letting you take it in. She’s tried to get through to you in the past, but this was a different method she had yet to try, leveling it even.

It took you a moment to respond. Your back was facing the bedroom door, Tess facing the same direction. The both of you just looking at each other waiting for you to respond. Neither of you noticing Joel opened the door quietly listening in on the conversation. He knew it was wrong, but he wasn’t exactly making himself hidden either.

He might’ve heard the beginning of your conversation too. Tess had tried time and time again to convince him of your feelings, but he brushed it off. It didn’t make sense to him. Why would somebody so young and free want to be tied down with somebody old and ragged like him? He couldn’t do that to you. But in the process of pushing you away he hurt you in the worst way. He made you second guess yourself. And in this world that could’ve been a death sentence in itself. He had to make it right. One way or another.

“I don’t think it’s me Tess.” You sighed closing your eyes, “I promise I won’t start an argument but I’m certainly not ending one if it’s started. And Joel certainly starts a lot of them.” Joel frowned while crossing his arms over his chest. Was he really that combative with you? You sounded so defeated talking to her.

She let out another small laugh, “Fair, I’ll whip that old man into shape.”

“You’ll do what now?” He spoke up from behind the couch sending you both into a minor panic.

“Christ Joel!” She stood from her spot, “Glad you’re up. So, is Y/N.” Tess smiled sweetly as she walked over to you pushing you down at your shoulders once more, “What did I say? 30 stitches. Rest. Don’t move just yet. I’ll get you up later.” She scolded you before stepping away giving room for Joel.

“Fine, mom.” You rolled your eyes feeling utterly useless laying there.

“How are you feeling?” Joel asked stepping in front of Tess. Tess was right, he had been worried. Really worried. In all the years you’ve worked together none of you got seriously injured. Not enough to pass out on the job like that.

After you passed out Joel tossed you, and the backpack, over his shoulder for the walk home. The already heavy load got quite a bit heavier. He was exhausted when they made it back. But he could think about sleeping. Not when your side was bleeding like that. Not when he could lose you in the next few hours. He watched, and helped, as Tess stitched you up as best as she could. She decided she was going to do the stitching since she had steadier hands than Joels.

He'd protested over and over again about going to bed until the next afternoon when his eyes literally wouldn’t stay up. Tess let him sleep in her bed and promised she’d be watching over you. He knew the worst was over. If you weren’t going to make it, you’d be gone by now. So, he went to sleep. What felt like moments later he was awoken to Tess’s yell. It took him longer than it should’ve to reorient himself being thrown off by Tess’s bedroom. But when he did, he caught the conversation going on between the two of you, about him.

“Surprisingly okay.” You didn’t lie. Your side was aching, but it didn’t hurt, not yet anyway. It might hurt later when Tess put you on your feet.

“Yeah?” He took a step forward kneeling down, so he was more level with you knowing you didn’t have much mobility at the moment. Especially with your nurse being Tess the drill sergeant.

Your eyes really took in in his face. Fuck. Had you really looked at Joel before? He was so handsome. Even being nearly fifteen years older than you it didn’t seem to stop your brain from ogling him. You were going to have a word with Tess after this. Her stupid words got into your head. They let you go soft for the man.

“Yeah. I’d get up but Tess won’t let me.”

“Tess knows best.” Joel flashed you a rare smile.

“That’s right.” She chirped from the small kitchen. Walking out shortly after she put her shoes on while talking to the both of you, “I’m getting dinner for tonight. Anybody need anything?”

“I’m okay.” You spoke. Joel simply nodded letting her know he was good as well.

“Good. Wasn’t going to make a special stop anyway. See you two later.” She shot you a not-so-subtle wink before vanishing through the front door leaving you very alone with Joel fucking Miller. The man you had yet, in your fifteen years of knowing him, had a truly proper conversation with.

Joel still on a knee took a seat, leaning back on the couch as he sat on the floor, “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” You asked wanting to sit up, but you knew Joel wouldn’t let you either. The wrath of Tess was far worse than any nasty words you’d throw his way.

“Are you actually feeling, okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Really. I feel fine.” You looked up at the ceiling counting the water spots instead of looking at him. He was so damn close. Your heads could’ve been touching if you rolled onto your side to give him a proper once over.

“I’m sorry.” He too looked forward. It wasn’t easy for him admitting when he was wrong. When he heard how hurt you sounded earlier talking about him with Tess. He was learning that it was his way of deflecting.

Shaking your head, you were more confused than ever, “For what?”

“Always questioning you.”

It was so simple. Such a simple apology that made your heart soar, “You hear that conversation?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged trying to play whatever was happening off as coolly as he could.

“What do you say then?” You decided to be a little bolder than you would ever have dreamed of. Because why not? Maybe Tess had a point.

He took a moment considering his words this time, “I think you should enjoy the time you have left here.”

It felt like your heart literally stopped. Was he being serious? Was this him making his move? Could something actually be happening?

“You think?” You answered. You would’ve come up with some better response, but it felt like your brain was short circuiting.

He nodded his head, “I know Tess is right. She always is. I also know that I’m tired. I’m tired of always fighting with you. I’m tired of you hating me for it. I wish we could just start over and wash away the last fifteen years.” The man of few words spoke more honestly than he had in a long time. A lifetime.

You thought for a moment before coming up with a simple solution, “We don’t have to start over, but we can start fresh. How does that sound?” You said so quietly you didn’t know if he heard you or not.

He turned his entire body to you. Giving you his full attention “Are you being serious?”

You hummed in response mimicking him, turning your body completely towards him, “Sure, why not? It’s our world, we make the rules now.”

Another rare smile crossed his features as you listened to him laugh. God, you loved the sound of him laughing. You loved most of the things he did. He was a simple man with a very simple plan. Do what it takes to survive. His philosophy is why you’d made it so long.

“You’re right. It’s our world. I’m Joel. It’s going to be nice to get to know you.” You were beginning to think those smiles weren’t so rare. You just had to learn how to tap into him to get him to give you them.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to officially meet you Joel.” You couldn’t help the quiet giggle that left your mouth, “Here’s to figuring out whatever the hell this is.”

"Hello?" Your voice cracks, broken and thick with sleep.

"Morning, Sunshine. Did I wake you?"

You grunt softly as you pull yourself up and flick your bedside lamp on. The soft glow burns your eyes and you wince.

"Harry... it's so early—" you begin to say.

"I know, sorry."

"And it's Saturday," you add.

"Something came up last minute, are you free for a few hours?"

You sigh and rub your eyes. With every second that passes, your body wakes up more and you can feel sleep slipping away.

"Seriously?" But you're already flinging the covers off.

"I'll make it worth your while. I'll send Lou to pick you up," he teases over the phone, voice low and gravelly. He's trying to entice you into putting in more overtime, but it's having an entirely different effect.

It wasn't the first time he asked you to adjust your work schedule and it wouldn't be the last because every single time, you agree. In the six years you've worked as his personal assistant, Harry always made sure to pay you appropriately for any overtime he asked you to do, which was generous, to say the least. You liked to blame the odd hours whenever your family or friends bugged you about your lack of a boyfriend or much of a social life in general, but you knew the real reason: you were hopelessly and painfully in love with your boss.

You realized it about a year into your job. He had asked you to work late one night without realizing it was the Fourth of July until fireworks began to explode in the night sky.

"C'mon," he had said excitedly after he rushed out of his office. You were slumped over your desk right next to his door, staring at your computer with tired eyes as you scrolled, oblivious to the noise outside his windows. You had hurried after him to the stairwell, where he led you up to the roof of his building. You had spent the next hour tucked under his arm, watching fireworks burst all around you, and even though you were in the center of the busiest city in the world, it really did feel like it was just the two of you. It was intimate and cozy and when he smiled at you — like, really smiled — your chest ached and your pulse raced. And when you tilted your head to look up at him, with fireworks reflecting in his gorgeous, deep brown eyes, it hit you.

For a few months you tried to talk yourself out of it, but every day you fell harder and harder. When he called, your heart fluttered. When he took you to lunch, those rare times it was just the two of you, you pretended it was a date.

Your infatuation went far beyond his looks or money. It was the little things that you found yourself thinking and smiling about when you thought no one was looking, like the way he always has to make a comment to you every time he bites into an apple — this is a good one; oh, this is tart; where did you buy this? It tastes mealy. Or how he's shit at playing piano because he had the biggest crush on his tutor growing up and he could never focus. Or the way he prefers to watch movies on Tuesday nights because it reminds him of his childhood when the theater near his best friend's house would run classic movies for half admission. Or how every time he sees a corvette, he tells you growing up it was his dream car, and even though he's never gotten around to buying one now, he still wants to one day so he can drive it with the top down on warm summer nights.

You wrote it off as a harmless crush, but the first time you had to watch Harry flirt with another woman at a charity auction, it made your heart sink. When he told you Lou would drive you home alone while the gorgeous model behind him in a short, tight dress waited with a tipsy smile, you thought you were going to be sick.

"And what if I have plans today?" you fire back as you yank on a pair of black pants, hopping on one foot to the next while you hold your cell phone between your ear and shoulder.

"Do you?" he asks. His voice sounds echoey now and you realize he probably walked into his bathroom.

"Maybe," you mumble under your breath. Then you hear his shower turn on and you freeze as the image of him partially—or even entirely—naked flits across your mind.

"C'mon Sunshine, I need you," he pleads. You practically melt into the floor.

No matter how hard you've tried to deny it, your feelings for him have only grown stronger, which is why the word pathetic is rolling around your head at six in the morning as you make you way up to his penthouse, because it seems like no matter what, if Harry asks you to jump, you'll just ask how high?

The elevator doors open to his sprawling apartment. The lights are mostly dim, as you expected. He's probably still in his bathroom or the kitchen. But when you step out of the elevator, big tote bag slung over one shoulder and phone clutched in your hand, you spot the pair of black high heels kicked off next to his couch and you stop short.

"Come on," you mutter angrily under your breath. You already know what's facing you — some girl way too young to be messing around with a man Harry's age is somewhere in his apartment, overstaying her welcome. You've dealt with it a hundred times before and while five years ago, it hurt to have to come face to face with Harry's latest conquest, by now you've grown numb to it. Once you realized these girls don't mean anything to him, it became a lot easier.

Still, you hated that you had to cross paths with these girls because envy always managed to swirl in your stomach every time.

Right on schedule, a leggy blonde wearing last night's wrinkled dress stumbles down the hallway barefoot. When you lock eyes, she freezes with a look of fear stricken across her face.

"Oh my god, are you his wife?"

You give her your most professional, tight lipped smile and shake your head.

"No," you say, relief flooding her features, "I'm Mr. Castillo's assistant. I'm here to pick him up for work."

She looks around, kohl smudged eyes taking in his impressive kitchen before she finds the time.

"It's Saturday," she says slowly. You shrug and clasp your hands together.

Yeah, no shit, is what you really want to say. But instead—

"I guess you don't get all this without working a few weekends."

She looks at you again, bites her full lower lip, and awkwardly shifts her weight.

"Your shoes are in the sitting room," you add, pointing behind you with another forced smile.

"Right," she replies softly, tiptoeing past you to pick them up. Her blue eyes dart around again while she slides her heels back on. "Can I leave my number? Will you give it to him?"

"Of course."

You pull your leather padfolio out of your tote bag and flip to a clean page before plucking out the pen and looking up at her expectantly. She rattles off her number and you write it down before asking, "And your name?"

"He knows it," she tells you, heading for the elevator. Then she pauses and thinks better of her answer. "It's Kali."

You scribble her name and make a show of clicking your pen before putting everything back in your bag. "I'll be sure he gets it."

Kali nods, taps the button for the elevator, and the doors slide open. She steps inside and looks at you once more.

"He's not gonna call, is he?"

You actually feel pity for a second and regretfully shake your head. "Probably not."

Her face falls and she taps the button for the lobby before giving you one more brave smile and little wave, then she's gone.

"Mr. Castillo? So formal."

You spin around as Harry is strolling down his hallway, clad in only a towel tied loosely around his waist. You swallow and force yourself to look away from his smooth, tan chest dotted with specks of water.

Your faux professionalism instantly slips. "Stop calling me over here to kick these girls out, Harry," you scold before sliding onto a barstool at his kitchen counter.

"I'd be hopeless without you, Sunshine," he coos as he waltzes by with a wink. You ignore the flutter in your chest and instead, set down your tote next to you while he opens his fridge and pulls out a glass pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Want some?" he asks, holding it up. You shake your head and he turns to grab a glass from his cupboard.

"I didn't ask you to come just for that. I really do have a meeting at eight."

"On a Saturday?" you ask, parroting Kali from ten minutes prior.

He puts the pitcher back into the fridge and nods. "Family meeting. Last minute."

"That doesn't sound good," you mutter. Now that his back is to you, you allow yourself to dreamily admire the strong muscles framing his shoulders all the way down to the dip of his spine.

"It's about Peter's wedding."

Oh. You should have figured. It was coming up soon.

"If you're looking for a date, I have Kali's number." You pull your padfolio back out and rip out the page, sliding it across the smooth wood counter. Harry takes a sip from his glass and stares at the paper before his gaze slips back up to you.

"You don't wanna go with me?"

You roll your eyes as heat slowly burns your cheeks. He does this all the time and it's part of the reason you can't seem to let your fixation go. He flirts with you, knowing it's just a joke, but you can't stop replaying those moments when you're all alone with a goofy smile on your face.

"I promised her I would pass it along," you tell him softly. He nods once, tosses back the rest of the juice, and puts his glass in the sink.

"I'll be ready in twenty."

You sigh and watch him leave, knowing full well that paper will get discarded when his housekeeper comes on Monday. If logic had any say in matters of the heart, you never would have allowed yourself to fall for Harry because despite how you constantly yearn for him, your brain knows better: Harry Castillo will never, ever settle down with one woman.

---

"Harry, I don't know what's worse: my eldest son arriving to his brother's wedding with a hussy, or single."

You smile to yourself and drop your chin to your chest so nobody sees. Harry's mom, Eleanor, is a trip. Smart as whip and just as sharp as day one, despite her age. You figure she had to be, coming from a family of all men.

"I assume a hussy would be worse but I suppose we could find out," Harry smirks from his side of the table. The office is quiet except for the four family members, Peter's fiancée Charlotte, and yourself. Typically Peter's assistant, Clara, would be in attendance, but he actually allows her to have the weekends off, so it's up to you this time to make everyone coffee and tea.

"That is not funny," Eleanor says firmly from the head of the table.

"Your mother is concerned about you," Harry's father says from the next chair. "We don't want to go to our graves worried our son hasn't found his path at fifty years old."

"Jesus," he balks, then looks at Peter. "Help me out, here."

Peter sighs and lets go of Charlotte's hand. "They're being dramatic but they have a point."

Harry's gaze darts between three sets of eyes, searching for some type of sign this was all a big joke.

"Are you being serious? I thought this meeting was about the wedding — why does it feel like an intervention?"

"It's not an intervention. More like a wake-up call," their father says. "We want you to find someone who can make you whole. Who can be by your side when you're weakest. Laugh with you when you're happiest. Care for you when you're sick and make you a better man. Like your mother does for me and how Charlotte does for Peter."

Harry exchanges looks with Peter, who drops his gaze to the table, then Harry sits back in his chair in disbelief.

"I have a path," he begins to say defensively. Eleanor shakes her head.

"Professionally? Yes, you do. Privately? You're a mess."

"That's harsh," Harry mumbles while fidgeting with a pen left on the table.

"What's harsh about your family wanting you to be happy?" Eleanor picks up her teacup and takes a sip.

"I am happy."

Their father scoffs and Harry shoots him a look.

"I am much happier than I would be dating some socialite. I've tried and trust me, the girls you're expecting me to marry are boring and either are functioning alcoholics or suffering from undiagnosed depression."

"We never said date socialites. Just stop dating floozies. Settle down with a nice girl. We don't care who she is or what she does for a living, so long as it's respectable. Maybe contact the matchmaking service Peter used," his father says.

"They're miracle workers," Charlotte gushes. "In fact, I'll introduce you to Lucy at the wedding."

Peter's gaze is still fixed firmly on the cup of coffee in front of him, avoiding Harry entirely.

Harry groans and drags his palms roughly down his face.

"Fine. I will... consider it."

Later, after Harry ushers you into his car where his driver was waiting at the curb, he turns to you in shock.

"That was an ambush."

You shrug. "Yeah. Probably."

Something sits heavy in your gut. It's fine seeing Harry with other women because you know they don't mean anything. It took you a while to accept it, but you finally got there because you convinced yourself he would never settle down. What if he takes his family's advice and actually finds love, gets married, and starts a family? Your heart wouldn't be able to take it. You would have to quit and move out of the city. Maybe get a lobotomy so you can forget he ever existed.

"It's bullshit," he mutters, propping his elbow up onto the armrest. He stares out the window, lost in thought. You glance sideways at him, a question rolling around in your head you don't know if you can handle the answer to. And yet—

"Why don't you want to get married?"

He tilts his head back in your direction. The way his soft brown eyes pierce through you has your mind going blank for a second.

"Do you really want to know why?"

You find yourself nodding and holding your breath. You hate how effortlessly good he looks in just a black sweater and dark grey slacks. He even still smells good from his shower and it's not the first time you find yourself fantasizing about what he looks like, all soapy and wet, and you wonder if he's the type that wouldn't mind if you slipped into the shower with him, or if he preferred to just take care of business, undisturbed.

"I don't think I'm capable of it."

His words feel like a hammer to your head. It knocks you back to reality.

"Capable of... marriage?"

He shakes his head. "Capable of love."

You frown and try to come up with something supportive to say while he stares at you, waiting.

"Harry—"

"You want some coffee?" He leans forward in his seat without waiting for your answer. "Lou? Can we stop at Starbucks?"

"Sure thing, boss."

"Harry, you are capable of love," you say, bringing his focus back onto you. "Look at your family. Your friends. You love them and they love you."

"That's a different type of love and you know it," he chides, clicking his tongue against his teeth like he caught you in a lie.

You swallow the lump in your throat and your gaze flickers nervously to the review mirror before lowering your voice.

"Is it because of..."

You trail off and point wordlessly at his legs, referring to the surgery he had eight years ago to make himself taller. Something he rarely talks about and you suspect he keeps hidden from most of the women he brings home. He follows your finger and his shoulders stiffen briefly before he sniffs and waves you off.

"Without that, no woman would look my way twice, so my chances at finding love without it would be damn near impossible."

"That's not true."

Harry laughs dryly and turns to look out the window again.

"Yeah, right. You're telling me you'd date a guy who was five six?"

"Yes," you say quickly. Too quickly. He swings his head back around to you. "When you love someone, you don't care about things like that," you add.

You didn't know Harry before his surgery, but you knew him before he gained his confidence from it, and you loved him anyway. And somehow you still managed to love him, regardless of all the women he's since fucked to boost his ego.

Harry smiles and pats your knee. "Not every woman is as perfect as you, Sunshine."

"Perfect is a stretch," you say, eyes stuck on his hand, which still casually cups your knee as he stares out the window. The car falls silent, with Harry lost in thought and you trying not to move a muscle for fear he will remember his hand on your knee and remove it.

"Maybe I'm overthinking it."

You frown and murmur, "Huh?"

He turns back to you with a shrug. "Peter says it's not love at first sight, like the movies," he begins, fingers still curled around your knee. It's hard to stay focused on his voice when his touch feels like it's burning an imprint into your skin.

"What's it like, then?"

What you've been looking for has been right in front of your face all along, maybe? you think to yourself.

"He says it's like a business deal," Harry tells you, deflating what little hope you have. "It's like finding someone who has the same understanding as you. Someone who wants the same things. Someone you can tolerate enough to spend every day together."

"That sounds kind of depressing." The words fly out of your mouth before you can stop them. He gives you a little smirk, one that always sends your pulse skipping.

"Why? Are you looking to be swept off your feet?" You roll your eyes at his teasing tone and he gives your knee a little squeeze. Naturally, you give the gesture some meaning. So he didn't forget it was still there.

"Bare minimum? I'm looking for someone to love me. I don't want someone to just tolerate me."

Harry laughs and his hand slips back into his lap. "I'm not explaining it correctly."

"It sounds like you're saying Peter doesn't really love Charlotte," you say with an arched brow. For a second, you think you sound crazy, but then Harry surprises you.

"He cares for her deeply and believes that they share the same values and goals. I don't think it's a bad deal for either of them."

He cares for her, you repeat in your head, noticing how Harry didn't mention the word love, and suddenly those looks the brothers were exchanging in the conference room make sense. You take a deep breath and shift away from him to look out your own window. It isn't a shock to hear his take on love. You've known him a long time and he's never been in a serious relationship. But some foolish part of you still holds out hope that maybe one day, his feelings will change. You just pray you don't get yourself hurt in the process.

"Are you mad at me?" Harry asks after a few minutes of quiet. You scoff and glance at him.

"Why would I be mad at you?"

He has a playful grin on his face when he scoots an inch closer and raises his arm to rest on the top of your seat.

"You're quiet. You don't agree with my thoughts on marriage and it's bothering you." It sounds like he's teasing you again and it gets under your skin.

"You're partially right," you say, unbuckling your seatbelt as Lou pulls up to the curb. "I don't agree with you, but it's not bothering me. What do you want to drink?"

His gaze drifts up and down, studying your face, trying to see through your lie while you wait patiently for an answer.

"That americano I like, please," he finally says, sitting back to watch you slide out of the car. His eyes track you through the tinted windows as he mulls over what you said. Something isn't right, but he can't pinpoint what it is. Yet.

---

Why the fuck did you have to fall madly in love with the most difficult man on earth? If kicking his one night stands out of his apartment weren't enough of a hint that this man was never going to be an option, he practically spelled it out for you in the car: marriage is a transaction, love isn't on the table.

Getting some space inside the Starbucks helps. The rich aroma of espresso beans mixed with the low hum of a blender and soft indie music instantly relaxes you. Or maybe it's just breathing room from your incredibly infuriating yet devastatingly handsome boss.

Glancing around, you realize you arrived at the perfect time. You must have missed the late morning rush because there are only two tables filled and nobody in line. Then again, most people probably have better things to do on a beautiful Saturday in New York City than sit inside a Starbucks.

"I can help you whenever you're ready."

Your gaze locks onto a very cute guy behind the counter — Brian, according to his name tag. He has a dazzling smile that has one of your own pulling at the corners of your mouth.

"Sorry, I'm ready," you say. You reach inside your tote for Harry's credit card, using the moment to mentally commit the way his light brown stubble dusts along the sharp cut of his jaw.

"Oh — I'm reading that, too. How do you like it so far?" he asks, and it's only then you realize as you were digging for Harry's card, you pulled out your copy of Station Eleven. You glance at the book before shyly grinning at him across the counter.

"I haven't started it yet, but I heard it's incredible," you say sheepishly before shoving the book back in your bag. You bought it months ago and you carry it around like one of these days you may actually have the time to crack it open.

"It is. It's got me hooked," Brian says with a laugh. His eyes scan your face, pausing a moment before clearing his throat and looking down at his register.

The silence feels heavy as you scramble for something else to say, but unfortunately you barely even remember the premise of the damn novel, so your mind is blank. That is, until you remember why you're there.

"Oh, uh — can I get a venti americano with an extra shot and two pumps of vanilla?" The tips of his ears look hot as he punches your order into the computer. You smile to yourself as you swipe Harry's card through the reader and the heat begins to rise to your own face — it's not every day you make a cute guy blush.

"What's your name?" he asks, glancing up at you with a boyish grin.

You tell him with a giggle and ask him in return, "Do you live around here?" It's not until you see the marker in his hand that you realize he's asking your name for the order and it's not an attempt to get to know you. The smile slips from your face. Oh, you fucking idiot.

"Lower East Side," he says easily, putting you out of your misery. "How about you? You probably live in one of these fancy high rises, don't you?"

It makes you laugh and leaves you a little flustered. "N-No. Brooklyn. But, like, just over the bridge, so I'm not far. You can hear the expressway from my bedroom."

"Very cool. Yeah, I have a buddy who lives not too far from Pebble Beach." He scribbles Harry's order onto the paper cup and shifts to the espresso machine. You drift to the left like a magnet, following him on the other side of the counter as he works. "I was actually looking to move in with him about two years back but then he had to go and get a girlfriend," he tells you with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. You giggle again and he looks up at you through his lashes while the espresso pours. "You have a pretty laugh."

Your face burns but you can't stop smiling. "T-Thank you. So, uh..." You glance around, noticing an older couple walking in. Luckily they stay back to read the menu, giving you a few more minutes with your handsome barista.

You swallow nervously and turn back to Brian just as he's filling the rest of the cup with steaming hot water. "So, where did you end up finding a place? With your girlfriend or maybe another friend...?"

It's unlike you to be so bold. In fact, you haven't been on a date in ages, but the timing this morning seems to work: after your conversation with Harry, you just feel like flirting a little. See who else is out there.

He grins at your less-than-subtle attempt at asking if he was taken.

"Nope. No girlfriend. Just my little brother."

He passes you the tall cup and you take it with a quiet thanks.

"Hey, if you ever get around to reading that book, come back and let me know what you think." Brian points to your bag and you look down in surprise, like you forgot you were holding it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I will."

"Excuse me?" The older man waves Brian down from the register and Brian gives him a friendly nod.

"Be right with you," he calls, then looks at you once more. His eyes sparkle and you're pretty sure he hasn't stopped smiling since you walked in. "Enjoy the coffee. It was great talking to you."

And just like that, he disappears to help the next customers. Oh, well. It would be stupid to try and date when you know where your heart really lies — right outside in his sleek black car, waiting for you at the curb.

Your feet feel heavy as you leave. You wish you could let this stupid fantasy go, but you just can't. Some days it feels like your soul is tied to Harry's and there's nothing you can do about it.

When you open the car door, he's on the phone. You slide in beside him, passing over his coffee as he mouths the word thanks and gives you a smile that has your chest pulling tight. As cute as Brian was, as nice as Brian was, nothing beats that spark you feel when you're with Harry.

It's infuriating and you love it.

While Harry finishes his conversation, you pull out your copy of Station Eleven and open it to the first page. He's talking about some art gallery opening in Chelsea — it sounds like the artist may be his buddy's daughter. You tune it out and begin to read while Lou merges back into traffic, carrying you both through the congested city. The tourists visiting for the weekend have woken up and it's slow going.

A few minutes later, Harry says his goodbyes and hangs up, and for a moment, the car is silent. Your eyes are still glued to your book, trying to ignore the way his thighs spread open next to you as he sips his coffee.

"You didn't want anything?" he asks after a several minutes of quiet. You shake your head, eyes already losing focus on the words.

"I was kind of hoping we were done for today and I might be able to take a nap," you say, "caffeine wouldn't exactly help."

He pauses next to you. You feel his heavy gaze on the side of your face and the words on the page are now a blur.

"Yeah. We're all set for today. Lou? Let's head towards Brooklyn." Lou nods but you're lost in the way Harry speaks. His voice sounds different. Tight. You soon find out why.

"Who's Brian?"

The book is a lost cause. Your eyes dart up to his dark ones in surprise, lips parted like you were about to ask the question he was already answering — he's holding up his cup, where Brian had scribbled his number on the side with his name and a smiley face. Heat starts to rise to your cheeks.

"O-oh," you stammer before clearing your throat. "He was the barista."

"I gathered," Harry says dryly, then takes a long sip from the cup. You fixate on the way his plush bottom lip curves around the lid, the way the tip of his angular nose bumps against the plastic, and you find your mind drifting, wondering if that's how he looks when he kisses.

"He makes a good coffee. You gonna call him?"

You blink slowly. Why did you feel guilty? And why did he sound a little jealous?

No, he isn't jealous. You're just wishing he is.

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe," you lie as you put the book back in your tote, looking for any excuse to avert your gaze from the way Harry is staring at you. Studying you.

A long silence stretches after that. It's not the usual quiet that settles. It feels tense, like something between you had pulled tight. It has your mind racing, wondering and hoping you were wrong, that maybe he does feel jealous. Or possessive. Or, hell, feels fucking anything at the idea of you going on a date with someone.

After enough time passed with your head turned towards the window, you decide he must have picked up his phone to busy himself, that he wasn't sitting next to you stewing in his thoughts like you can't seem to stop doing.

Then—

"I didn't realize you were looking to date."

The statement sucks the air from your lungs. You swivel your head to look at him, eyebrows raised, but he's staring down at the cup in his hands, at the numbers scrawled in thick, black ink.

"Yeah. Maybe," you finally breathe. He nods, just once, then it's quiet again. What did that mean?

You can't help yourself. You have to ask.

"Why does it matter?"

He shrugs. The corners of his mouth turn down with the movement before locking eyes with you again.

"It doesn't." Then a beat passes. "You've never talked about dating anyone before."

You shift in your seat and his knee knocks against yours, making your pulse stutter when he doesn't make a move to pull it away. Just like his hand from earlier. Just like all the touches before that tethered you to him.

Maybe it's one sided, maybe it's not, but the moment feels too heavy. So you opt for a joke.

"Well, my job is very demanding, Mr. Castillo. I don't have a lot of free time to date."

You grin at him, hoping to lighten the mood or end the conversation — anything to stop your heart from beating out of your chest like it is right now.

His eyes flicker from your knee to your face, then back again once more. Your breath stalls when he twists to face you, one arm reaching to rest behind your seat. His knee still presses against yours and it feels like he's slowly enveloping you in the backseat of his car. His other hand lifts and you swear it looks like he's about to place it on your thigh, but at the last second it lands innocently across his lap.

"Are you saying it's my fault you don't date?"

You swallow tightly. The air feels thin. The way he's looking at you, his proximity, the low timber of his voice inches away from your ear has a slow tingle moving down your spine. And somehow, you manage to answer.

"You could say that."

You don't smile and neither does he. Does he see right through you? Is it all in your head?

Stop it. He flirts, that's what he does. It doesn't mean anything.

And yet, you feel something, and you're pretty sure he can feel it, too. Something shifts, like a rock was lifted and sunlight streaked across the earth for the first time underneath it. Light is shone onto something you have tried very hard to keep buried and it has your hands trembling under his heavy gaze. He scans your face silently, searching, waiting for you to say more, but you don't.

Mercifully, his phone rings and breaks the spell. His arm behind your head retreats and he looks down at his phone before answering. You turn to stare blankly out the window, at the water as you cruise over the bridge, and you exhale shakily through your nose.

When Lou reaches your apartment, Harry is still on the phone. With Peter, it sounds like. He covers the mouthpiece and tilts the phone away so he can address you.

"Thanks for coming in last minute. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I promise I won't bother you."

He's back to giving you a teasing smirk and things feel normal again. You grin as you step out of the car, then bend down to look at him.

"I'll believe that when I see it."

He laughs, shakes his head, and leans back in his seat. You shut the door and head up to your apartment, where your roommate is sprawled out on the couch, watching television, still in her pajamas and looking hungover.

"I didn't even know you were gone."

You laugh and kick your shoes off.

"Good to know if I'm ever kidnapped, you'll be the first to my rescue."

You manage to take a short nap, grocery shop, and do some laundry with the rest of your day. And just like usual, your thoughts are mostly consumed with Harry: overanalyzing every word and look until the sun dipped and the moon shines brightly in the sky.

It's around eleven when your phone chirps with a new text. And just like any other time when his name appears on your phone, your heart leaps excitedly in your chest.

Harry: I forgot to take a picture of that guy's number for you and I tossed the cup somewhere on Hudson. Sorry, Sunshine.

You had forgotten all about it. Brian didn't cross your mind since you left Harry's car that morning.

You: it's okay. don't worry about it.

Three little dots appear and disappear repeatedly. You watch and chew anxiously on your nail as you wait almost five minutes for him to say whatever it was he had to say. The amount of time it takes has you thinking he's either sending you a novel or he is very, very distracted.

Or maybe he can't decide on what to say.

Finally, his text comes through and it's simple. Two words.

Harry: good night

You exhale slowly, trying to calm your racing heart, then type out the same reply before plugging in your phone.

“Was he real?”

You slowly tore your attention away from the case file in front of you. “What?”

“Your husband.”

For a moment you forgot all about how you’d first come to interact with Peña. He had asked you out. Well, flirted heavily then asked you out. 

“What husband?”

Javi stood as he talked, walking towards your desk and sitting down on the edge of it closest to you. “One day you’re wearing a wedding ring telling me you’re married, the next it’s gone.”

You looked at your hand. “Oh. Yeah.” You decided to admit the truth. “I made him up.”

Despite his constant theories, he was still shocked. “What?”

“I made him up.”

You said it as if you were asking him how his day was. Like it was nothing new. 

“You made him up?”

“You try and be a single woman in this office who doesn’t like getting hit on by every guy who thinks with his dick,” you told him. “See how quickly you make up a fake family.”

He had to laugh. “But I hit on you.”

You looked at him, suppressing an already knowing smirk on your face. “My point exactly.”

“Think I got something.” From the door, Steve came sweeping inside and threw a couple of files down on Javi’s desk. The previous topic was dropped for now but you took a moment to revel in the shock graced on Peña’s face. 

However, a few hours later, it was brought back up again. 

You’d been standing in the evidence locker, looking for yet another misplaced case file. Could people not read in this office? Had they lost all sense of the alphabet? You sighed heavily. 

“How long have you been doing it?”

You jumped and found Peña standing behind you. “Jesus, Peña. Make a noise or something. Fuck.” You turned back to the messy shelf in front of you. 

“So?”

You sighed. “Doing what? This? Feels like hours.”

He shook his head and rounded you before leaning against the side of the shelves. “Not the files. You being married.”

“Oh, uh…” You pulled a few hefty files and handed them over to him before reaching down onto the lower shelf and pulling those files up. “Couple years, I guess. Since before the Academy.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear me earlier, or do I need to repeat myself, Peña?”

He shook his head again and put the files down. “No, I heard you. But that’s here. Why did it start?”

You sighed and stopped what you were doing to look at him. “Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”

He let out a small chuckle. “What? Come on, you’re one of the first Agents here to reject me not once, but three different times.”

You raised a subtle eyebrow. “I was married when you did that.”

“The first time, yes.” Javi corrected. “But that was an honest mistake. The second and third time, there was no ring on your finger. And, after this morning, you technically weren’t married at all. Look, just answer my questions and then I’ll drop it forever.”

“You promise?”

He held up his hand. “Scouts honour.”

You gave a questioned hum. “It’s difficult to imagine you as a Scout.”

“Y/l/n.”

You groaned. “Fine. It started because I got asked out a couple of times by this guy. He seemed nice and all but I wasn’t interested. So, when he asked why I kept saying no, I told him I was married. Swapped my rings over under the bar top before showing it to him. He took it well, apologised and said my husband was a lucky fella.”

Peña continued to listen. 

“Then I moved away. The second time I was with someone but this guy just kept hitting on my friend. She went to the bathroom and then he started on me. Told him I was with someone. He didn’t believe me. So, I showed him my wedding band. Said my friend was married, too. He,” you sighed. “Eventually backed-off. After that it just kinda became my go-to. People I interviewed preferred to see a married woman than a single woman being a cop. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t start out my job as married. But the minute the compliments, and the touching and the dates being pre-arranged because they expected me to say yes…once they all started, I started wearing my wedding ring.”

“So why take it off?”

You shrugged. “Guess I must have forgotten. Besides, nobody has tried anything in the last couple of years. We’ve all been too busy.”

For a moment, Peña’s demeanour seemed to shift. “But I’ve flirted with you.”

You smiled a tired smile and stepped back from the files for a moment. “I work with you, Peña. I like you but I think I’m immune.”

“That hurts.” He deadpanned before placing a hand over his heart. “That…wow.”

You laughed. “I think you’ll bounce back.”

And he did. That night he walked out telling Murphy he had a date with the stall girl he’d met a few days ago. 

The following weeks were hectic as different cases made their way across your desk, all with connections to Peña and Murphy’s biggest case; Pablo Escobar. 

From interviewing victim’s families, to interrogations, to the crappy coffee in the break room. Your days and nights were spent looking over files and dealing with your case loads. Until one afternoon in the breakroom led to something you never had expected. 

There was another Agent working at the Embassy. You’d seen him around a few times, shared a conversation or two. But most importantly, he had seen your wedding ring. You hadn’t missed his behaviour over the last couple of days. It started with smiles in the hallway – innocent enough. Then you found him in your breakroom more. Apparently the coffee was better. Then he was sitting at your table during lunch – apparently his partner was out for the day and he felt like some company. You didn’t miss his eyes clocking your hand. 

“Your wedding band. It’s gone.”

You didn’t know why at the time, but the lie fell from your lips. “Oh, yeah, It’s in for a cleaning. It had a couple dark patches and scuffs on it.”

More things started creeping up. Like how he always stood just that little bit closer and not in a comforting way, when you were both talking. Or how his eyes looked you up and down before you got to speaking distance from each other. 

Then in the breakroom, the ‘compliments’ started. How your hair looked – how it always looked. How you always made ‘women’s clothes look so much better’. How he enjoyed spending time with you because you actually talked to him. 

“You know,” he trailed a finger up your arm and you were three seconds away from breaking it and running to take a scalding hot shower. “I was thinking we could get away for a while. After all, we both deserve a break. Maybe take these lunches outside of the office.”

You stepped back. “I’m married.”

“Oh, come on, we both know that’s a sham.” He told you, taking a step closer as you took another one back. “You never bring him to office parties, there’s no pictures on your desk-”

“I don’t need to prove to you or to anyone else that I’m married.”

He laughed. He actually laughed. “You’re not about to tell me he lives in Canada are you?”

“No. He-”

“He’s right here.”

It was safe to say you were shocked, but the agent didn’t seem to notice as he turned round and found Javi standing in the hallway. 

“Peña. I was just-”

“Scaring my wife?”

The guy was turning paler by the second and yet somehow his ego carried him through. “You mean work-wife, because I have to say Javi, that doesn’t really count.”

“How about a marriage certificate? Does that count for you?” Peña finally found you by his side before he whispered to you.

“You okay, cariño?” All you could do was nod, the shock of him pretending to be your husband still settling over you. 

He looked back to the agent who had been hitting on you. “I’m gonna tell you this once and only once. Hit on my wife or scare her again, and I’ll kill you.”

“Javi-”

“I don’t think Messina would be happy to learn one of her best Agents was being sexually harassed.”

He nodded, backing away. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Javi shook his head. “Not to me. To her.”

Awkwardly, the guy looked from Javi, around the room, back to Javi and then to you. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. Peña’s your husband?

“You can go.” 

Taking Javi’s instructions, he left. Peña then waited a minute before turning towards you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I’m fine. Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“But you shouldn’t have done that.”

“What?” He asked, holding the coffee pot in one hand and your mug in the other. 

“Javi…” You looked around the room before looking back at him. “This is gonna spread around the office. You and I -- married.”

He shrugged. “What’s the big deal? Now you’ve got a physical person to pretend to be your husband.”

“Javi.” He handed you your cup of coffee before pouring his own. “Please tell me you are aware of your own reputation? And the fact that we are colleagues? And the fact that I have been making a husband up for god knows how long? People are going to know this is fake and then I’ll be judged – heavily – for it.”

“Why would you be judged?”

You rested a hand on your hip. “This is gonna look like I’ve used you to be my pretend husband and everyone will just feel sorry for me and make a big joke about it with you.”

“Except I’m the one that told him.” Peña pointed out. “If anything, that’s what’s going to spread around the office.”

“Ah yes, I can see the headlines now; ‘Agent Javier ‘slut’ Peña finally ties himself down with a female colleague.’.”

He shrugged. “We don’t have to be tied down if you don’t want to.”

You hit him on the arm. “Be serious.”

“Look,” he set his coffee cup down and took you by the shoulders. “If it becomes anything then we just fake it. We already spend most of our time together anyway, and who hasn’t had an office romance once in their life?”

“I haven’t.”

Peña paused for a second before nodding. “Congratulations. You’ve just lost your office romance virginity.”

“Peña.”

He shook it off. “All I’m saying is, if it becomes a thing, we just…roll with it.”

“Roll with it?”

He nodded. “Roll with it.”

“There’s a chance our careers hang in the balance because I’m pretty sure this breaks at least three rules in HR. And your grand solution is to…’roll…with it.’.”

Javi nodded once more. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

It was not fine. Neither of you were fine. Especially considering two days later you were both forced into Messina’s office where, before you could spit out the truth, Messina interrupted and said she didn’t want to know. Just that you both had to remain completely professional and that if someone ever caught either of you, you’d both be suspended. 

So, things remained somewhat neutral. You both received a couple of looks from other co-workers. Murphy teased both of you relentlessly, despite being the only one to know the truth since you stopped the elevator when all three of you were inside to tell him as much. 

But then the loud rumours started and people didn’t even try to hide them. 

Whilst pouring you and Peña a cup of coffee each – something you had done almost everyday for three years, you could hear people gossiping. 

“Maybe he knocked her up. Shotgun wedding, you know?”

“I don’t think they’re even a couple. I mean, they never show any kind of affection to each other.”

One disagreed with that statement. “No, I’ve seen him with her a few times. Little touches here and there. Must be their love language. Small touches and simple gestures.”

“That’s cute, I guess. But I kinda expected more from Javi. He was always so…you know.”

The woman beside her sighed, “Yeah.”

You walked away more confused about life than you had been since before you started highschool. 

It was clear the rest of the office ‘knew’ about ‘you and Javi’. And that they each had a different opinion on the matter. And some of them you didn’t even know about, but Javi did. 

He’d heard everything from your marriage to him being a sham because he got you pregnant, to both male and female staff asking him “why y/n?”. Except, it was never in a friendly manner. To the men, it was either because they thought “Javi could have any choice he wanted, and he went for her?”, or because he’d gone for one of the women they had wanted “a shot at” themselves. And to the women it was…much of the same thing, with an added jealous streak wondering why he went for “the one woman who didn’t want” him, when most of the other women who’d worked with him “actually wanted” him. 

Javi’s eyes trailed your every move from the coffee station, back to your desk and then towards him. “You okay?”

You zoned back into reality and handed him his coffee. “Yeah. Fine. What have you got?”

Turning the case file around, he told you. 

Around a month or so later, not much had changed. People were still gossiping about your marriage to Peña, the case was gathering little evidence so the constant reviewing of previous case loads was underway. Between keeping up the lie of your marriage to Javi – despite neither of you having to do much out of your normal routine – and the case work and the constant heart attack you got when Messina would stop walking when stood directly between your desk and Peña’s before humming and moving along, you were running out of energy. 

“Come to mine after work.”

You looked around. People were looking but they were too far out of earshot to hear. 

You took the paper from Javi. 

“Why?”

“You’re tired, and I’m tired watching you eat that shitty stuff from the cafeteria. I’m cooking dinner.”

You looked up at him, shocked. “You can cook?”

He smiled. “Yeah, yeah. After work. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

Javi tapped your desk twice before walking away and looking around the office. Everyone who had been looking quickly looked away before looking back at you. Once they found you looking, they turned back to their work. 

For a moment, you looked at the half stale coffee on your desk. It would be nice to have a decent meal considering you’d been eating left-overs for about a week and half. 

And he kept his promise. 

Javi had left work an hour before you were supposed to. He’d grabbed his jacked off the hook behind your desk, bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, your body too tired to fight off leaning into him when he did so. You had meant to clock out of work an hour later but staring at words, losing concentration and trying to focus back in meant when you finally looked at the clock, you were getting close to being forty minutes late. 

“Shit.”

Not bothering to drop your stuff off in your apartment two floors up, you found Javi’s door unlocked like he’d said and you walked inside. 

It smelt like heaven. Good, hot food. And Javi. 

It was quiet as you walked down his hallway and eventually found him relaxing on the sofa, his legs thrown across the rest of it. He was watching reruns. 

“Relax,” you could hear the smile in his voice despite not being able to see his face. “Figured you’d be late. Food’ll be ready soon.”

With a relieved sigh, you dropped your bag by the steps and walked around. He moved his legs for you to sit down and he watched you for a moment as you pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes and leaned back. 

“Tired?”

“Exhausted,” you admitted. 

“Come ‘ere.” His voice was soft and quiet as he reached out for you by the shoulder. Looking at him for a moment before silently agreeing, you let him pull you down until eventually you were laying beside him, your head on his chest, his legs tangled with yours. 

It took him a moment, but Javi removed your hair-tie letting your hair loose before running his fingers through it. You relaxed almost immediately, feeling the once growing headache slowly melt away with each touch of his hand. 

You could have fallen asleep but he didn’t let you. “You’ve gotta eat. I didn’t slave over a hot stove for nothing.”

You groaned a little and buried yourself deeper into his side. “How are you this calming?”

“It’s my natural touch.” Javi told you before kissing the top of your head and sitting up. “Come on. Dinner’s ready. Then I promise, you can fall asleep.”

“Hallelujah.” 

It took you a moment but your head eventually stopped spinning long enough for you to sit up and walk over to the table where Javi had set down both of your meals. And it was one of the best you’d ever had; either because he was a great cook, or you were starving enough that any food that wasn’t cafeteria left-overs would taste like heaven at that moment. Though, you had a feeling it was the first one. 

In silence, you both washed and dried. Until you spoke out the pressing question on your mind. 

“What happens if we meet ‘the one’?”

“What ‘one’?” Javi handed you another freshly washed plate. 

“I mean,” you spun it through the dish towel. “To everyone else, we’re married. But what if we end up meeting the person we actually want to date and marry? What do we do then?”

Javi shrugged. “Guess we get divorced.”

“But we’re not actually married.”

“Then we play it by ear. They say when you know you know…maybe when we know, we just…tell them the truth. But I doubt that’s gonna happen.” Javi nearly crapped himself. “For me, not you. I doubt that’ll happen for me.”

You looked at him. “Why?”

For a moment, he was quiet. Thinking. Deliberating. “Back in Texas, I was gonna get married. Lorraine. She was a wonderful woman but…I don't know. I was driving to the church and I just stopped.”

“You left her at the altar?”

“I never made it to the church,” he admitted. “I don’t know. I suppose at some point I’d settle down but…” Javi shrugged. “I can see it happening for you though, so, whenever you do meet him, I can be there to help explain this whole…situation we’ve got going on.”

You laughed a little at that. “Thanks.”

Twenty minutes later, you were half asleep before Javi pulled you over to him once more. The last thing you could remember was you taking a deep breath in, the scent of him, his home and his cooking fill your senses. 

When you woke up, you found yourself still on the sofa, the news playing on the TV and Javi cooking in the kitchen. It took you a while before your brain registered you weren’t still dreaming and you’d fallen asleep not only at Peña’s, but also on him. 

“Hey,” Peña shook you back awake. “Breakfast is ready.”

You placed your hand over his and nodded. “Okay.”

Neither of you said anything when you ate, just listened to the news that passed over the speakers of the TV. 

“Who taught you to cook?” You asked, turning to look at him as he drove you both to work. 

“My dad. My mom helped, but dad was the one who burnt less stuff.”

After eating, you’d run to your apartment to get a fresh change of clothes and run a brush through your hair, only to be greeted by your husband at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll drive us to work.”

So, now you were driving to work with Javi before hopping out of his car and being led with a warm hand at the bottom of your back through the hallways of work before you both finally reached your desks. 

And for the first time in weeks, you finally had the energy to get through your work day. And so did Javi. 

Although things started to change when you got a surprise visit from your mother.

You’d been working for weeks on the same case and in between all of the case work, the fake marriage and the few months that followed, you’d forgotten to write to your mother. 

It was her one agreement with you moving to Columbia. She knew there was nothing she could do to stop you – it was your job and you were good at it, plus, despite all of the gear grinding you had to do every now and again, you loved it. But knowing she didn’t accept your decision to work as DEA in Columbia would have slowly killed you – and her, too. 

Any time she called, you’d either been dead asleep – either at yours or Javi’s – or at work. So, she took the notion to come and see you. 

So when you walked down the hall towards your office and heard your mother’s voice ask you a question, you felt your entire body crash to a screaming halt before realising what and why she was asking. 

“You’re married?” 

“Mom.”

Your mom called your full name and walked towards you. “What this lovely woman just told me better not be true, or else that means I’ve missed my daughter’s wedding.”

You tried your best to remain calm and relaxed. Two emotions you were desperately clinging onto for dear life. “She tells me his name is Javier Pen…”

For a moment, she looked back to the secretary who nodded and whispered his name again for your mother to repeat with full confidence to you. “Javier Peña.”

“Mom, maybe it’s best we-”

Then the secretary spoke up in excitement. “Oh, there he is. Javi!”

Looking up from his own case file, about to turn down the hallway, he found who was calling him before seeing who was standing in front of them. You and, from what he could guess, your mother. 

Shit. Your mother? No. She was back in the States. Maybe he’d remembered her face wrong from the picture behind your desk. 

Walking over, Javi’s hand came to your lower back before he quickly brushed a kiss against your cheek. “Cariño, you okay?”

You tried to remain calm as you said the next sentence. “Javi, this is my mother. Mom, this is my..husband..Javi.”

Then something you hadn’t expected to happen, happened. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs Y/l/n. Y/n’s told me a lot about you.”

“I wish I could say the same.” But she still shook his hand and allowed him to press a light kiss to the back of it. 

Carefully, Javi stepped back and pulled you closer towards him, your mother’s eyes never once stopping to not examine the couple that stood in front of her. 

Javi nodded. “We are sorry about that. But, maybe we can make it up to you.”

You looked at Javi a little panicked. But your mother was already interested. “Oh?”

“I’m guessing you’re staying here for a few days? Come and stay with us. I can make us dinner and we can all get to know each other.”

Then your mom smiled. Apparently Javi already had her approval. “Well…I think that would be lovely. But don’t think either of you are getting off lightly. I missed my daughter’s wedding that I didn’t even know about.”

“Honey, give your mother our address, I’ll ask-”

She shook her head. “No, no. You all seem busy. I can take myself there. And I’d like to see what’s around the market stalls. Is there anything I can bring for dinner?”

Javi shook his head. “No, not at all.”

You smiled. “He’s got it covered, mom. Just bring yourself.”

“Alright then. Well, I look forward to seeing you both for dinner.”

In the space of five minutes you’d all said your goodbye’s and you had ever so sweetly pulled your husband towards your office before closing the door and blinds and turning back to your partner. 

“What the hell are you thinking?”

Javi shrugged. “She’s come down here to see you. We might as well make the effort.”

“We? Javi. We don’t live together. She’s gonna take one look around my apartment and realise I still live there. She’s gonna take one more look at my face and realise everything that’s happened is a complete sham and then she’s gonna parade it around town that I’m still single. She won’t mean it harshly, but she will.”

“So, we don’t tell her and just say we haven’t had a chance to move things since getting married. We’ll be okay.”

You let out a panicked laugh before you started pacing. “I knew this was a bad idea. It’s bad enough we’re lying to people here.”

“You’re the one that started it before I got roped in.”

“Hey! You roped yourself into this. You were the one that said you were my husband.”

“Would you have preferred for Agent Dickbag to keep pushing?!”

You took a breath. “Javi…I don’t know if I can lie to her. What…what do I tell my family when they find out? This was just meant to keep people like Agent Dickbag away…”

Reading the panic all over your body, Javi stood and walked towards you until you were wrapped in his arms. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll keep the secret up long enough to make sure nobody else finds out the truth, and then you can just say we rushed into things. We got a quick divorce and moved on, civilly.”

“I think you missed your calling in Acting.” You told him. “I think my mom already has your seal of approval.”

“Really?” He pulled back a little and smiled. “That’s a first.”

“We’ll be okay?”

He nodded. “We’ll be okay.”

And you believed him. 

Because it was true. 

In the space of about fifteen minutes, you and Javi managed to move some things from your apartment, into his to make it seem more…homely. Like two people actually lived there. Especially since your mom would be living in your apartment for the next couple of days until she flew back home to the rest of your family. 

“Will she really check the bedroom?” Javi called from the kitchen. 

You’d moved some things to the second bedside table. One or two books, a couple of hair-ties, plasters, “stray” pens. You tried your best to make it look believable as possible. 

“You don’t know her like I do. This woman is Jessica Fletcher. Unsuspecting to the world, but in fact sees everything. Trust me, you do not want to end up in interrogation with my mother. Happened to a perp once. She came in to visit my dad but he was wrangling a couple of the officers so she walked around, found the perp sitting in holding and she actually got a confession out of him. Cops had been trying all day and nothing. A five minute conversation with my mother and they got a full written confession out of him.”

Javi gave a low whistle. “Wow.”

“Yeah. So, trust me, what I’m doing? It’s gonna, hopefully, save us some grief.”

Javi was still cooking by the time your mom knocked on his door and you brought her inside. Immediately her eyes scanned the place picking up on the pictures, books and music. 

“It smells delicious.”

“He’s a good cook.”

And for the first couple of minutes everything ran smoothly. Your mother did everything you’d expected her to do. She even passed Javi in the kitchen to look into your bedroom. 

“She really did it.” Javi mouthed. 

“Told you so,” you mouthed back. 

“Mom, do you wanna come and sit down? I can get you a drink.”

“I’ll have a soda if you have it, please.”

You got your mom a soda and poured it into a glass with ice, handing it to her as she stood still examining your home. 

“So, how is he in bed?” She whispered a little too loud to you. 

You felt yourself go bright red. Redder still when you heard Javi chuckle from the kitchen. “Mom!”

“What? I’m allowed to ask my daughter these questions. I need to know you’re being satisfied in every aspect of your marriage.”

You groaned and covered your eyes. “Mom.”

“You’re being careful? Using condoms? You know pulling out doesn’t work as birth control.”

You could have died. “Mom, please. Stop.”

Javi let out a small laugh as he walked from the kitchen and handed you a drink. “Mrs Y/l/n, if you really want to know-”

“Oh no. No, Javi, please. Please don’t encourage her.”

“We’re being safe. Having a family right now probably wouldn’t be the best move for either of us.”

Your mother just graced him with a soft smile. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m not,” you groaned a little. “Can we please change the conversation?”

“You know, she’s always been like this.” Your mom told Javi who only seemed to revel in your terror. 

“Really? This isn’t a new thing?”

“No,” you mom told him. “She went just as red when I gave her the birds and the bees talk.”

“That’s because you decided to tell me in the middle of my middle school hallway during a Parent’s Evening.”

“And when I took her to the doctors to get her on the pill.”

You covered your face. “I’m in hell.”

Javi’s hand reached for your shoulder and shook you lightly as he sat on the arm of the chair beside you. You leaned into him. 

“I’d finally got it out of her that she’d had sex and next-”

“And next thing I’m being wrangled into an office chair with the doctor having my mother shout from the rooftops her daughter was no longer a virgin.”

Your mom gasped. “It wasn’t like that,”

You leaned into your husband who’d just let out a small laugh. “Please make it stop.”

“Okay, I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

“But I’m glad to know you’re being satisfied. Your face tells me more than you think.”

“Okay!” You stood up quickly and tried to run away, only to feel Javi’s hand reach out and pull you back, spinning you to stand by him. From the light red in his cheeks, he felt a little embarrassed, too, but he seemed to handle it a lot better than you. 

He was chuckling. “Don’t think you’re able to run from this. I wanna know more about you from your mom.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to be here for it.” You tried to make a break for it again, but Javi caught you and for a moment, the rest of the room seemed to slowly disappear from sight as you found yourself trapped in his hands and arms, and his gaze on you, just as yours was on his. And for a moment, you wondered what it would be like if you kissed him. 

Little did you know, he’d been thinking the exact same thing. 

Then a timer went off. 

“That’ll be the food.” Javi kissed a quick peck to your temple before standing and walking towards the kitchen, leaving your gaze to trail after him. 

“You really do love each other,” your mom pointed out from her spot on the sofa. “I can see why you got married. You both need to tell me what your wedding was like!”

And so you did over dinner. With the added linger of whatever had happened when he’d pulled you closer to him. 

You caught Javi looking at you a few times, and subsequently, he’d caught you, too. And, without rehearsal, you’d both managed to bullshit your way through explaining why you’d both decided to get married so quickly. 

From you and Javi, your mother had learned you’d both met when you started in Columbia and you were both ‘friends’ for a while. Not much had to be lied about in that department. Javi’s reputation. Your “ability” to make every man that asked you out believe you were taken. How you’d worked together for a long time before becoming actual friends. Then the lies started…right?

About how you and Javi made a true friendship of sorts over the late nights working, swapping smaller stories until something changed. 

“It was like…my heart had stopped and rebooted itself. Suddenly, everything felt like it had shifted and changed somehow.” Peña explained to your mom. “Nothing had ever been more…clearer and more daunting than ever.”

Then Javi looked at you, and you found a mirrored expression. Sadness? Confusion? Desperation? Fear? Realisation? You didn’t know what to call it, but whatever it was, you felt it. For some unknown reason, everything he’d just said rang true in your ears, your head and even your heart. 

Nothing had ever been more clearer and more daunting than ever.

By the time your mom decided she was ready for bed, you were already fast asleep against Javi. At some point in the evening when he’d sat beside you, he’d slung his arm behind you and between the warmth and familiarity of him, you’d let yourself truly relax. 

“I’ll walk you up.”

Your mom shook her head as Javi led her towards the door. “I know my way and you’re both tired. I’ll be okay. Get her to bed.”

Javi looked back at you for a moment and smiled.

“You really do love her.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Your mom smiled at her supposed son-in-law. “I understand why she fell for you, but I hope you know, just because you’re the first one of her boyfriends, well, husband now. But just because you’re the first I approve of, doesn’t mean I won’t be judging you. You look after her, and you look after her well. Love her everyday. It’s not every day someone gets to spend the rest of their lives with my daughter. I hope you see that as a privilege.”

Javi nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

Javi was telling the truth and your mom nodded. “Good. And thank you for dinner. Sleep well.”

“You, too, Mrs Y/l/n.”

Javi waited until he heard your apartment door lock before he shut his own, locked it and kicked off his shoes.

His socks padding his footsteps as he walked back to you, he was careful to pick you up before carrying you to bed and covering you up. You were still fast asleep by the time he climbed into bed beside you, but either way, you naturally rolled towards the slight dip in the bed before reaching out for him like you did almost every time he’d carried you to his bed because you’d fallen asleep in his apartment. 

The only times he didn’t was when he fell asleep with you and woke up as the sun peeked through his blinds in his living room. 

With a contented sigh, you slipped into a dreamless sleep beside him and for a few minutes, he laid awake, listening to your breathing. Then he let his mind slip back through the evening. If the funny feeling in his stomach and chest wasn’t what he hoped it was, but rather was what he suspected it to be, then he would have to soak up your actions as a married couple over the next couple of days before everything went back to semi-normal. 

Because if he was right, and he was growing feelings for you, then these days would have to be enough. Your marriage with him and his marriage to you was meant to be for appearances, only. Nothing real was meant to come out of it, was it? 

Because the feeling in his chest as he looked down at you, asleep by his side and in his arms…that feeling sure felt real. 

Waking up in the morning, you felt more comfortable than usual. No creaky mattress spring giving you a sneak attack from beneath your sofa and into your back, no blinding light coming through curtains you’d forgotten to shut, no cold side to your bed as you turned over. 

Instead, you felt warm. You found warmth. 

Asleep on his front but his arm still across you, you found Javi. Fast asleep, seeming as though not even a gunshot would wake him. 

And rather than jump out of bed or rollaway like you usually would when you found yourself in this position with any man, or even him going off the last couple of months. 

You’d found yourself falling asleep countless times at Javi’s and the majority of the time, you woke up in his bed. 

But waking that morning, especially after the night before, had something feeling different. So you took your time. 

For the first time you…studied him. 

You’d found yourself doing it more and more in recent months. How he sat in a chair, the look on his face when he was annoyed, amused, sometimes even scared. 

And for the first time, maybe ever. He looked…

Peaceful. 

As if it was a Sunday morning and neither of you had to get up for work. Like when he’d wake, you’d both spend the morning in bed before relaxing in your home. 

And for a moment, you let yourself dream about that life. A life where there was no fear of maybe never coming home. A life where you could both…be peaceful. Happy. 

Together, maybe?

After a few moments, you felt a gentle touch against your cheek, and slowly opening your eyes, you found Javi’s hand cupping your cheek, his fingers brushing soft patterns into your skin. 

“Cariño…”

You smiled, finding comfort in the common nickname. “Hey.”

“You been awake long?”

You shook your head, softly. “Not long.”

“Good.” Javi then leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here.”

Granting yourself permission to do as he said, Javi rolled over onto his back and pulled you into his side before he decided to ultimately face you. 

Down your back, he traced a singular line back and forth as you both synced calming breaths and listened to the comfortable silence of the room. 

“We could call in sick.” Javi said after ten minutes. “We’ve built up enough time to take the day off. You could show your mom ‘round.”

“We can’t,” you pointed out. “What about the case?”

“The case will still be there tomorrow. And besides, if something changes, they’ll call us in-”

Then you both heard the front door lock open. 

“Javi-”

Pressing a finger to his lips, he sat up and so did you. Quietly, he moved over towards his bedside table and pulled out his gun before checking the bullets. 

You both heard the door open and just as Javi was about to leap out of bed, you both heard your mother’s voice. 

“Y/n? Javier? You two sleepy heads awake yet?!”

You let out a huge sigh of relief and sat back against Javi’s headboard. “Jesus Christ.”

“Your mom has a key?” Javi put his gun back and closed the draw as he looked back at you. 

“I told you. Jessica Fletcher.” Then you called out to her. “Mom! We’re in here.”

Letting out a breath, Javi sat himself back beside you just as your mom walked into your bedroom. “Mom, you can’t just break in,” you told her, tiredly. 

“I didn’t break in. I had a key.”

“Both of us could have shot you.”

Your mom looked over both of you and gave a coy smile. “Then it’s a good thing I called out then. You both look…well rested.”

It was too early to even pretend what she thought had happened, had happened. So, tearing your eyes from Javi, you looked to your mom. “Why are you here?”

“Because I have made breakfast for both of you since Javi cooked us such a wonderful dinner last night.”

“Mrs Y/l/n, you really didn’t-”

“Hush now. I was happy to do it. Now, chop chop.” Your mom clapped her hands. “There’s plenty of time for this,” she gestured to you, Javi and the bed, “later. Come on. Before the day is gone.”

And as she walked out, you felt yourself collapse into Javi’s sheets, already feeling your face go hot. 

“She really doesn’t hold back, does she?”

“No.” Your voice was muffled through the sheets. 

Ultimately, Javi convinced you to take the day off with him and after a homemade breakfast, yet another awkward conversation surrounding love-making in the shower – to which Javi nearly choked on his toast. Both you and Javi had showered (separately) before getting changed and deciding to show your mom around the different places in town. 

And despite the stories shared by your mother; thankfully not all of them made you want a hole in the ground to open up the floor. 

You also found spending the day with Javi, outside of work talk, to be more than pleasurable. With his hand in yours, or his arm around you, holding your own across your stomach, you’d both walked side by side for most of the day. He told your mom some things about Columbia even you didn’t know before, easily sharing some stories of his own childhood when your mom asked. 

And you felt…glad, maybe? Like for the first time since moving to Columbia you were home. And it wasn’t just because your mom was there, but rather because of the person who stuck by your side all day, letting you see behind the personal walls he had up at work. The ones that, if you didn’t look closely, you wouldn’t know were even there. 

Yet, despite the entire day feeling like one giant butterfly in your stomach at every touch, look  and graze you felt from Javi, nothing made it feel like the tornado it was when your mom asked if she could film your ‘first dance’. 

Dinner had been long over and the TV had shut down. In the background, a few different records played until one came on and your mother gasped. 

“Oh, please. Please let me see your first dance. I love this song, and I’ve always imagined seeing you dance to it the way me and your dad do.”

From your side, Javi lifted his hand. It was up to you. 

Looking at your mom’s face, you couldn’t say no. So, you nodded and both stood. Javi started the song from the beginning and turned back to face you. In a matter of moments, you were in his arms, your hand in his whilst your other lay on his arm. You could feel his firm hand at the bottom of your back, holding you up steadily. 

Finally, leaning into each other, you could feel his moustache at the shell of your ear. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

That was when you found out Javi could dance. At the very least, much better than you could. He led you around the small section of the floor, your temple’s still touching and for a small moment, you closed your eyes. 

You’d also both forgotten anybody else was in the room other than you two. Breathing, heartbeats, pulse, chemistry. It all became one. 

And just as the song slowed, Javi lifted his head to look at you. It was like there was a new light to you in the fading sunlight. New features he’d never noticed before. The small freckles dotted across your face, probably having surfaced after a day in the sun. The soft streaks of baby hairs framing your face. The arch and bow of your cupid’s bow and lips. The light flush in your cheeks as for a moment, he caught your eyes doing the same thing he was. 

Looking. Gazing. Studying. All to commit it to memory. 

Javier Peña, for as best as he’d known, he’d never been so scared in all of his life. But there was one final thing he wanted to commit to memory, whether it be good or bad. And if he didn’t do it then, he was afraid he never would. So, for the first time with you, he did what he wanted to do because, and he hoped, by the look on your face, you wanted it, too. 

With the final few notes of the song, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was firm, steady, strong and then softer. The kind of kiss that you feel long after it’s over. Silence washed over the room as the record came to an end and you and Javi found yourselves looking at each other, only realising you weren’t alone when your mom gasped. 

“Oh, that was just beautiful.” She stopped the recording. “Thank you so much for doing that for me.”

You and Javi seemed to step away from each other despite it being the last thing either of you wanted to do in that moment. It wasn’t long after that your mom decided to go upstairs to bed. And once Javi heard the door lock upstairs, he locked his own and took a moment before turning back around to find you. 

But you were already trying to avoid the conversation that came next. 

Javi took his time. You both needed a moment to find clarity. After the faucet had been running for a few minutes, only to be switched off by you as you washed the plates in the bowl of soapy water, Javi stood at the kitchen door. 

He watched you for a moment, wondering what to say. What just happened? I’m sorry? He didn’t mean for it to…be that way? Did you feel it, too? Did you want it, too? Did he cross a line?

Then he realised he didn’t have to say anything at all. 

You felt him before you heard him walk slowly across the kitchen floor and stand by your side. With a gentle hand guiding your arm, he spun you to face him and in the silence, your faces shared a thousand words between each other. 

Javi brushed your hair from your face before gently cupping your face. It took enough time between each of his movements to let you object if you wanted to. You stepped closer into him. 

Then he kissed you. 

Having dropped the sponge into the sink, you felt yourself tumble against him as your own hands came to pull him closer towards you. Things seemed to move slightly quicker than before. His hands moving down your body to eventually lift you up and move you onto the counter top, his fingers pushing their way through your hair as your own pulled him in by his collar to kiss you once more. 

With your legs wrapping around his waist, securing him against you, you let out a small sigh behind your kiss. Javi only chased those small noises more after you made your first one. 

“J-Javi.” You managed to find your voice in between his kisses. “Wait.”

He stopped, forcing himself to pull his lips from yours. And for a moment, all you could hear was his breathing and your heartbeat. Both rapid. Both unsteady. 

“We…we shouldn’t…”

His hands still tangled in your hair and his forehead against yours, he shook his head in agreement. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

All either of you could do was breathe. Slowly. Trying to catch some form of air that was at least a close equivalent to the others. 

Kissing you was like a lifeline, and without you he was dying. 

His eyes finally gazing into yours, he found your own tracing his face, already reminiscing on the kiss, wanting more. 

Kissing him was like life was finally being pushed back into your lungs, letting you breathe clearly for the first time and without him, nothing was in focus. 

“Fuck it.”

His lips on yours again, he began to devour you and your taste. He could feel your hands pulling him closer to you, like if you’d let go of him, you’d drown. 

He needed you more than he wanted to admit. 

But you didn’t want him to hold back. So leaning away from his kiss for a moment, you made sure he focused on you. 

“Bedroom.”

He was still drunk on your kiss. “Javi, I’m not fucking you on the kitchen counter. Bedroom.”

His lips curved onto a smirk as he pulled you towards the edge and lifted you up. 

“Didn’t anyone tell you we’re married? Cariño, it’s called making love.”

You laughed and so did he before it was muffled out by another kiss. 

By the time morning rolled around, you found yourself wrapped in Javi’s arms, his scent swirling around your senses, locking it into a memory you’d never forget. Even if you wanted to move, you couldn’t. From the arms wrapped around you, to the soreness in your legs, your body was too happily exhausted to move. 

For the next few moments, you watched as he slept peacefully. His mouth parted slightly, simply looking at his mustache made you blush at the memories from barely a few hours previous. Tracing the curves of his face, you leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. 

His arms twitched around you. “Javi, I need to use the bathroom.”

Still half asleep, he returned the next kiss you pressed to his lips before mumbling; “Come back.”

“I will,” you kissed him once more before climbing out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. 

Whilst in the bathroom, you picked up the long forgotten towels on the floor and picked up the tossed body washes and shampoo bottles from Javi and your haphazard entry into the bathroom after the first two orgasms before the third. 

However, you must have taken too long because as you stood at the bathroom skin, a newly familiar pair of arms made their way from holding your hips, to cradling around your waist. 

You could feel the hair from his moustache as he kissed your bare shoulder, making his way towards your neck where you leaned back against his chest and placed a hand behind his own neck to hold you steady. 

“Javi.”

One of his hands slowly made its way under your top before running his fingers from the top of your chest, across your breast and down below the waistband of your shorts. 

“I missed you.” His tongue dampened the graze of his teeth against your neck. 

“Javi.”

“Is this okay, baby?”

You bit your lip, your hips bucking against his fingers, chasing the pressure he was beginning to swirl around your clit. You hummed a response. 

“I need your words, baby. Is this okay? Do you want this? Because I can stop.”

You shook your head quickly and wrapped your hand around his wrist before he pulled away any further. “No. Don’t stop.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

With his fingers circling your clit and his mouth having free range of your neck, you felt your knees grow weak. “Want me to stop?”

Again, you shook your head. “I need…I need more, Javi.”

“How many, baby?”

“Two, ohh…” Your mouth opened and you threw your head back against his shoulder, reveling in his fingers slipping inside your cunt and his thumb applied pressure to your clit. Then you heard him chuckle. 

“Asshole.”

“You fucking love it, baby.”

You did. You really did. It wasn’t long before Javi could feel your walls pulsing against his fingers, growing tighter for him. And his dick hadn’t even left his pants yet. 

“You’re so fucking wet, cariño. This for me?”

You found the strength to nod. “Just for you, Javi baby.”

But whatever strength or control you had left disappeared as the wave began to crash over you and you chased Javi’s fingers as they pumped deeper and faster inside of you. “Ride ‘em, baby. Take what you want.”

You moaned his name, almost chanting it as you came over his fingers. “Fuck,” Javi growled. “You’re so fucking hot when you come.”

Letting out a breathy laugh, you felt the ache in your legs, still leaning against Javi. 

“Then maybe you should do it again.”

Sharing a look with Javi, he smirked before biting down on your bottom lip, then kissing it better. Pulling his fingers from inside of you, he slowly spun you around by your hips until you faced him. Once he’d tasted everything he could from your mouth, he teasingly made his way across your jaw, down the length of your neck, under your clothing before pulling your soaked shorts down your legs, leaving your glistening and sensitive cunt for him to see. 

Then he tasted the rest of you. 

Pushing you onto the edge of the sink counter, you white-knuckled the edges in fear of gripping his hair too tight to pull him closer to where you needed him. 

You could feel the burn of his moustache against your inner thighs, panty-line before finally his tongue circled your already sensitive clit. 

“Fuck, Javi.”

“You like that, baby?”

You nodded, “Fuck. Yeah.”

“Want more?”

“Y…yes. Javi, please.” Your hips bucked as you chased the feeling of his tongue licking your pussy. “Fuck, Javi.” You let out a gasp as his tongue dipped inside of you for a moment. “Fuck, right…right there.” With one of your hands tangled in his hair, you pushed him closer in order to taste all of you. 

And just as you leaned back to grant him more access, he pulled back. You whimpered, wanting him back. “Touch yourself.” 

“Javi-”

“I want to see how long you can hold it before I fuck you. Touch yourself.”

So you did. All the while watching him take his sweet time watching you as he pulled down his own underwear and pulled a condom on, pumping himself a couple of times before finally settling closer to you. 

“I want to watch you cum again.” And so he did. 

Filling you with his dick, inch by inch, he felt you stretch around him, swearing as you took him in. And then he took his time with you. Reveling in every needy buck of your hips, chasing his dick before he couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed you just as much as you were begging for him. 

Moaning his name over and over as your orgasm hit you, Javi watched as you came over his dick, him finishing not long after you did. 

Sweaty and covered in sex, Javi pushed the fallen hair from your face and kissed your lips after the silence had settled away from heavy breathing and racing hearts. “We should get cleaned up.”

Pulling his cock from inside of you, he disposed of the condom before walking towards the shower and turning it on. And over the next forty minutes, Javi’s hands were all over your naked body before his fingers tugged at your hair as the tiles of the floor made indents in your knees. By the time you’d both finished, gotten washed and finally dressed, Javi was changing the sheets as you placed the ones from the night before inside his washer. 

For the rest of the day, Javi rarely left your side.

Going back out to the markets with your mom, his hands were constantly finding ways to touch you. His hand pinching onto the skirt of your summer dress, his fingers grazing against your hip and lower back as he changed from standing on one side of you to the other. Holding your hand around you, his arm across your shoulders, his lips in your hair, on the shell of your ear as he talked to you. And when you’d stopped inside a cafe, he sat next to you, his arm across the back of your chair which practically was sitting in between his legs as his body was constantly turned towards you. 

And when you’d both finally gotten home, your mom saying she was going for a nap, the moment Javi’s door shut, the bags were dropped and your back was against the wall of his hallway, his lips on yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

“So have I.”

Then a question fell from your lips. “How are we going to keep this up? At work, I mean.”

“They already think we’re married.” He kissed your neck. 

“I’m being serious, Javi.”

“So am I.”

“Javi, Messina already warned us what would happen if she ever caught us. And that was before we were even…”  A couple? Fucking? Dating? Married?

Javi smiled. “So we keep it a secret.”

“Says the guy who can’t keep his hands off me for more than two seconds. You’ll never be able to keep it a secret.”

“Says the woman whose been eye-fucking me all day. Are you sure you can keep a secret?”

“I can keep a secret.” Then Javi noticed your coy smile. “In fact, I’ve been keeping one all day.”

Taking his hand in yours, you pressed his hand to the dip of your hips. He couldn’t feel anything but fabric. Then it hit him. With his chest flaring and his dick hardening, he stepped closer towards you. 

“Mrs Peña…have you been naked under that dress all day?”

You bit your lip. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

His eyes flicking to the hem of your dress, he looked back up at you before slowly dragging the fabric of its skirt up and bunching it in his hand until he could slip his hand under it. And when he was met with bare skin, he swore. 

“Fuck.”

“I’ve been hoping you’d fuck me all day,” you admitted. “I wanted to be ready.”

“Since you walked out of that fucking bedroom in this dress…I’ve wanted to fuck you in it.”

Pulling him closer to you, your voice turned into a low whisper. “Then you better get on with it, Agent Peña. Before I do it myself.”

He didn’t have to be told twice. Capturing your lips on his, his finger coaxed at your pussy, already feeling your wetness build for him. As his fingers began to curl inside of you, you let out a moan before your fingers deftly unbuckled his belt and jeans. Javi let out a small whimper as your fingers stroked down his cock, wiping the pre-cum away with your thumb before finally pumping him a few times. 

“Take it easy, baby. Otherwise I’m not gonna- fuck.”

With one hand, Javi picked you up where you stood, his fingers digging into your ass before he guided his tip in. Letting out a moan by his ear, you told him to start moving. 

“Fill me up, baby.” 

And he did. 

Fucking you against the wall in his hallway, Javi pulled the top of your summer dress down and began leaving his mark across your collarbone and down the bow of your breast, all the while his cock pumped in and out of you before filling you up with him cum. 

“That’s it baby,” Javi told you as you screamed his name as you rode his dick. Then he watched you come. He’d never get sick of that sight. It seemed to get hotter each time. You begging him for more, your moans, his name falling from your lips as he makes you unravel completely. 

But he wasn’t done with you yet. Pulling out from you, he moved you both down the hallway and towards the sofa where he made you come again before moving into the kitchen where he finally fucked you senseless on the kitchen counter. 

Both of you wished it could have continued like that forever, but sadly after your shower, both you and Javi were interrupted by the jingle of keys in the door as your mom let herself in before you and Javi could continue your heavy make-out session on the sofa. 

But that was something you both had to get used to. 

Interruptions. 

From people banging on the copier room door thinking it was jammed, to people walking back into the office after their lunch breaks. But despite the ever growing need to constantly be touching him, or him touching you, you’d both found subtler ways to show how much you not only wanted each other, but also needed each other. 

From the smaller touches when he always found an excuse to stand beside you, to the ever longing looks you both gave to each other as the other one walked away from the desks. There were crappy cups of coffee always being poured, lunches being made and shared, blankets being used to cover up the one that fell asleep first, the knowing looks when a case load became too much, the soft moments spent after a long day of work just laying together on the sofa watching crappy TV and falling asleep, dancing to slower records on down-days, quick kisses goodbye during lunch or during a stakeout for cases, jealous and warning glares being given to those who tried to flirt with the other, and finally slow Sunday mornings that were spent inside the apartment, neither of you leaving unless for a dire emergency. 

And somewhere between all of that, you and Javi had taken a flight to your home where your family and his watched as you both swore actual wedding vows to each other; your wedding party not realising it was the first time for both of you. 

When the door slams shut later that night, you wonder if you should bother talking to him at all. If you mean so little to him, he isn’t worth it. But it might also be the last conversation you have with him, and you deserve to say your piece. 

So you tread down the stairs, features a mask of steely indifference when inside you feel anything but. You ache when you find Joel in the hallway, pulling off his coat, face craggy and full of harsh lines. Nothing new. He wears no regret, no sadness, no guilt. He looks… fine. 

Everything you thought the two of you had shared… had you imagined all of it? Is he really so okay with abandoning you?

You hadn’t wanted to believe Ellie, but now you see it for yourself. You see Joel for what he is: unreachable, untouchable, uncaring. 

As the floorboards creak beneath your feet, he looks up at you. “Hey. Where’s Ellie?” 

“Asleep,” you answer emotionlessly. 

“Right. Okay.” He looks around as though he’s never stood in a house before, as though he woke up not knowing where he is. You wait patiently for him to tell you. He bites his lip, clears his throat. “I guess we’ll talk in the morning about what happens next.”

“No need.” You cross your arms, holding back a scoff. That’s it? That’s all you get from him? “Ellie heard your conversation with Tommy. I hear you’re staying. Good for you. Nice place to retire, huh?”

His fingers flex at his sides, the only hint that he heard your words at all. “Tommy is younger and stronger than I am. He’ll get you and Ellie to the Fireflies no problem.”

You shake your head. “No. Tommy isn’t coming. Ellie and I… we’ll get along just fine on our own. Sure as hell don’t need you handing us over to your brother like we’re cargo.” Your voice drips with the anger you feel. 

He closes his eyes for a moment. “Sweetheart—”

“Don’t.” He’d only called you that a handful of times. The morning you watched Henry kill Sam and then himself. The night you’d woken from a nightmare sick and shaking. The day you’d walked through inches of snow while running a fever, ready to keel over. You didn’t want to hear it anymore. You thought that name meant he cares, but he doesn’t. It’s so clear now that he doesn’t. “Don’t call me that. Just don’t.”

His forehead creases with wrinkles of concern, and he rubs at them as though it might chase them away. “Please. Please just understand…”

“No,” you bite out. “No, I won’t understand. Don’t you pretend for a moment that this is about anything other than saving yourself from whatever guilt you keep locked up in there.” You jab a finger into his chest roughly, and he sways backwards. “You don’t wanna watch us die, so you’re sending Tommy to do it for you.”

“You’re not gonna die,” he snaps, voice firm as he grabs your hand and peels it from his chest. “This isn’t about me. I’m trying to keep you safe. You and her. Jesus Christ, you think I want to involve Tommy in all this? You think I wanna watch you leave? But I can’t… I can’t be what you need me to be.” 

Your lips curl into a sneer as you yank out of his grasp. “I never needed you to be a damn thing. I never needed you at all.”

He says your name, soft as a prayer, but you cut him off. His rationality only stirs more venom in you. “Don’t worry, Joel. We’ll be out of your hair by dawn and you can have the place to yourself.” You make to leave, turning back only to shake your head as tears spill across your cheeks. You wish they wouldn’t, but a part of you needs him to know how he’s hurting you. “I don’t wanna see your face there, and Ellie won’t either. So just stay the fuck away from us. You made your choice. Now you live with it.”

His sigh gusts down the hallway, a protest leaving his lips, but you’re already heading back up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door behind you. 

Only then do you collapse, muffling a sob with your hands. You should have known better than to trust him. 

He might as well have pointed that shotgun of his to your heart and pulled the damn trigger. 

***

He isn’t there at dawn. Ellie’s disappointment writes itself all over her face, but you do your best to pretend it’s okay. Like you don’t need him, even if you might not have gotten this far without him. You refuse to let Tommy come, insisting he go home to his wife. At least someone deserves to be safe with a loved one. 

You thought perhaps you might have that one day too. 

You thought a lot of things before last night. 

The journey to the university is long, but you have the horse and Ellie fills the cold, snowy air with her chatter, asking you about your life pre-outbreak and what you wanted to be when you were just a teen certain that the world would never change. 

For hours, you avoid the elephant in the room. And then, Ellie says quietly, “I know he hurt you too. I heard you arguing last night.”

You clutch the horse’s reins and ignore that sinking in your chest. You just want to protect her, but the kid is too damn smart to miss a thing. Even now, you want to defend him if only for Ellie’s benefit. “He thinks he’s keeping us safe. That’s all.”

“He’s a dick.”

You scoff at the curse, and then nod. “Yeah, he is. But don’t ever think it’s about you, okay? He wants what’s best for you. He wouldn’t have gotten us this far if he didn’t.”

“Funny way of showing it,” she murmurs. “Y’know, I thought for a moment…” 

When she trails off, you ask, “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothin’.”

“Ellie,” you prod. “What?”

She sighs. Takes her time in saying, “I thought you and him… I thought I’d gotten a second chance at a family. Lame, I know, but…” She shrugs. 

You purse your lips, hoping she doesn’t notice the way you’ve tensed to hold back tears. “You got me, kid. You always got me. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ellie puts her arms around you and leans her head between your shoulder blades. You smile despite the pain in your heart, allowing yourself to wonder for the first time where Joel is, what he’s doing, whether he’s already regretting his choices. 

But you shake the image of him away, vowing to let him go now. 

He doesn’t want to fight for you, so you’ll fight to be free of him just as well. 

***

Joel sets off on horseback not thirty minutes after you leave. He spent the night warring with himself about what would be best for you and Ellie, convincing himself again and again that he’s too old, too slow, to protect you the way you need. 

But, like you, he knows it isn’t the real reason why he decided to end his journey with you here. 

He got scared. Scared of history repeating itself, scared of losing another daughter. 

And most of all, scared of the way he feels for you. The way he’s come to imagine your voice in his head even when you’re not around. The way his heart seems to swell to twice its size when you laugh. 

The way that he is not the man you deserve. You’re barely thirty, a whole life ahead of you. You don’t need some useless old man weighing you down. He can still do some of the heavy lifting now, but in five years? Ten? 

He’ll be wrinkled, grey, and decrepit and you’ll still be young, strong, beautiful. And god, he doesn’t want you to be the one looking out for him. He wants to maintain some of his dignity past middle age. So he gave you up for your own sake. Pushed you away so that you might find a person who deserves you, who can protect you, even if you’re adamant you don’t need protecting. 

It’s better for both of you. 

Except it’s not, and he can’t breathe without you by his side. He can’t let you wander on your own, have the responsibility of Ellie’s safety solely on your shoulders. It isn’t right, and he’s a bastard for doing this to you. He sees that now. 

He sees that there isn’t a thing he can do but love you and hope it won’t end in tragedy. 

And fine, maybe it took some convincing from Tommy, too, but he’s on his way to you, following your trails through the snow and praying he catches up to you before nightfall. 

He thinks he’s in luck when he sees your horse tied up on the university campus not hours later. Grins when you and Ellie barrel out of one of the buildings. He’s so glad to see you that he doesn’t see the silhouette creep up behind you. Not until the raider plunges something into your gut. 

He yells your name, drawing the raider's attention, and then takes them out with his gun trembling in his hands. The gunfire ricochets, but he doesn’t hear it. He can’t hear anything but Ellie screaming as you sink to the floor, clutching your stomach with a pained expression. 

“No,” he whispers. “No, no, no.”

He runs to you quickly, stepping over the dead raider and falling to his knees. Shock contorts your features as you see him for the first time. You try to whisper his name, but it’s barely audible. 

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he’s saying through gritted teeth, trying to staunch the heavy flow of blood. A shard of wood protrudes from your belly, and his hands hover over it, unsure. If he takes it out, you could die of blood loss. If he doesn’t, you’re risking infection more and more by the minute. “Shit,” he whispers.

“What do we do?” Ellie cries. “What are we going to do, Joel?”

“There anything left in those buildings?” He lifts his gaze to the nearest one, breathless and aching and afraid. So fucking afraid. He hasn’t been this afraid since Sarah, since the night everything changed, since… 

“Joel!” 

Ellie had been talking, and he wasn’t fucking listening. He can barely move, barely breathe. You’re so pale, face scrunched in pain, and he is certain that he is cursed. No matter what he does, whether he tries to protect near or from afar, he ruins everything. Fails again and again. 

But he can’t let this happen. He can’t watch you die. 

“I came back for you,” he’s saying, grabbing your hands to replace them with his own so he can carry you. “I came back for you, dammit! You stay with me. You stay with me, baby.” He wants to beg, would get on his hands and knees and pray if he thought it would get him anywhere. 

“Joel,” you whisper, lower lip trembling. A tear rolls across your face. “Joel.” 

“You’re gonna be okay. I promise you’re gonna be okay.” He squeezes his hands around your own, fingers slippery with blood. “Keep your hands there, you hear? Just until we get you inside.”

You say nothing, blinking up at the sky. 

Panic wrenches through him, and he cups your jaw, dragging your attention back to him. “Look at me, sweetheart. I need you to listen to me. Please, keep putting pressure where it hurts.”

Faintly, you nod and hold your wound. “You need to… you need to find the Fireflies. They’re gone. They’re… they’re…”

“We’re both going to find them, just as soon as we get you patched up. I’m gonna get you up now, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for permission, hooking one arm under your knee and the other around your back before hoisting you up. His muscles strain against your weight, but he sets his sight on the building, the science labs, letting Ellie lead him through. He whispers thanks under his breath when she finds a first aid kit behind a sheet of glass, laying you down on the desk nearest before ordering Ellie to stand back. 

“Go see what else you can find,” he says. “Needle, thread, alcohol. We’re gonna need to clean her wound, stitch it up.” 

Ellie nods, white as a ghost as she dashes away. 

And then it’s just the two of you, him and you, and his knees are weak, hands shaking, as he uses the blunt butt of his shotgun to break the glass. He pulls out the kit, opening it and tugging out bandages and gauze with trembling fingers. He replaces your hands with the supplies, knowing that he needs to get that wood out of you before it gets any worse. Knowing that it will hurt. But if he can at least pack it, he can stop the bleeding. 

“Baby, I need to take this out. It’s gonna hurt.” 

Your breathing is heavy. “I need you to promise you’ll take care of her if I—”

“Stop it!” he cuts off vehemently. “You’re not going anywhere!”

Your fingers curl around his own again, your eyes glossy and searching. “Why did you come for us? After… after everything, why’d you change your mind?”

“You know why,” he mumbles. 

“Tell me,” you plead. “Please. Please tell me.”

He lets out a shaky sigh, pressure building in his chest. But he has to say it. You have to know, whether this is the end or not. He can’t hurt you again. Can’t pretend he feels nothing for you when you’re withering in his arms. 

“Because I’m a selfish bastard and I’m… I’m in love with you, all right? So don’t go dying on me now, because I can’t… I don’t want to do this without you. Any of it. Please.”

The confession is enough for you to offer him mercy, relaxing on the desk as you absorb his words. “Sure changed your tune quick,” you murmur, eyelids drooping. 

He has to do it now, he knows. Can’t leave you like this. He curls his fingers around the wood lodged into your gut. “You ready to get this thing out?”

You squeeze your eyes closed, chest rising but not falling. 

“Baby, you need to keep breathing,” he says. “Don’t hold it. It’ll hurt more if you hold it.”

“Just fucking do it, Joel!” you grunt, and he shakes his head at your stubbornness. 

“On the count of three. One—” He yanks it out, and you let out a keening sound steeped in agony. “I’m sorry,” he’s saying as he sets down the weapon and packs more gauze into your wound. “I’m sorry. I know it hurts. I know.”

“Bastard,” you snap. 

He offers a crooked smirk despite himself. “That’s my girl.” 

But the blood is still blossoming around the gauze, staining his world red. It covers his knuckles, his wrists, your shirt, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He’s nauseous, dizzy, so fucking close to collapsing on you, on everything. Don’t do this to me, he wants to beg. Images of Sarah dying in his arms flutter through his mind: all that blood, all that death. He couldn’t save her. He isn’t sure he can save you. He wishes it was him. It should have been him. If he would have just come with you from the start…

“Got everything you asked for.” Ellie barrelling back in tears him from the memories, and he snatches the supplies from her hands. “She okay?”

“More than okay, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks you, putting more pressure on the wound. He can’t stitch you up with the bleeding this bad. 

You hum in agreement, but your lips are pale, eyes unfocused. He’s losing you. He’s losing everything. 

“It’s your fucking fault!” Ellie is shouting over the ringing in his own ears. “You were too fucking late, Joel! You left us! What are you even doing here?”

“Ellie,” you whisper weakly. 

“I’m here,” he says steadily, “because I never should’a given up. On either of you. I’m sorry, okay? I’m so damn sorry.” 

She’s right, though. He was too late. Spent too long hiding from everything he felt. He doesn’t even want to think about what would have happened if he wasn’t here now. He should have been here. 

Ellie shakes her head, vitriol colouring her face. “Not good enough.”

“It’s okay,” you rasp, searching for Ellie’s gaze desperately. “It’s okay, honey. I’m gonna be okay.”

Ellie bites down on her wobbling bottom lip as she throws up her hands and begins to pace. Meanwhile, Joel slowly releases pressure on your abdomen, relieved when he finds the blood has begun to clot. This he can deal with. 

He pulls out some fresh gauze, soaking it in alcohol to clean the wound. You hiss, body jerking. 

“I know. I know,” he breathes. “You’re doing so good, baby girl. Ellie, hold her hand.”

She glares at him for only a moment before sidling up beside you, interlocking her fingers with yours. You try to give her a smile of encouragement, but it's so faint Joel almost misses it as he stabs the thread through the eye of the needle. It’s a miracle he can with his clumsy fingers and he thanks whatever deity is watching down on him a second time that day. After sterilising the needle with a lit match, he looks at you. 

“You ready?”

A grimacing nod. Your knuckles turn white around Ellie’s hand, lids fluttering closed. 

He prods the needle through your skin. 

***

You see only white as the new wave of pain draws in, swallowing you up.

“Joel,” you whimper, and hate yourself for it. You want to be strong. You don’t want to need him, but you can’t stop saying his name, can’t stop being glad he’s here and that Ellie doesn’t have to cope with this all alone.

“I know. Doing so good,” he soothes as another sharp pang lances through you. Your skin burns and feels too tight, and god you want it to stop. You want all of it to stop. 

Eventually, it does. Your grasp on Ellie goes limp as the world stops spinning. 

“All done, sweetheart. It’s all done,” Joel says, and then he’s in front of your face, brushing sweat-matted hair from your eyes and looking at you with so much tenderness that for a moment you don’t recognise him at all. 

“You… sure as hell pick your timing,” you grit out, but the darkness is already tugging you down. 

His chuckle sounds distant, underwater. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry I got here too late. I’m sorry I realised how I feel about you too late. I’m sorry I tried to do better too fuckin’ late, but never again, okay? I’m here now, and I ain’t going anywhere. Not ever.”

You want to believe him, but you know him. You know how he hurts, how he grieves, how he needs some semblance of control, of cool indifference, to make it through the day. 

You also know something has changed. He’s looking at you with openness and sincerity for the first time. 

“You’re on a trial run,” you whisper. “What d’you think, Ellie?”

“I think he’s a fucking idiot who doesn’t deserve you.”

“I think she’s right,” he mutters. “‘S why I did what I did. I didn’t think I could be the man you deserve. Not by a long shot. But it’s your choice, and if you want me around, I wanna be around.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead before resting his own there, smelling like snow and pine and blood and sweat. 

“I’m scared to death of what I could lose, but I ain’t running away again. You hear?”

You nod, slowly succumbing to the shadows on the edge of your vision. There’s more to say, but you don’t have the strength now. Not when he’s looking at you like you’re the last good thing on this earth. 

“You get some sleep, now. Gonna be here when you wake up,” he promises. 

So yes, as soon as he’d finished his day on the ranch, he’d gotten into his truck, still dressed in his work clothes, and took off for the nearest bar. Not like they’re few and far between in Laredo; he could have walked if he was feeling athletic, or even ridden a horse — most bars within reasonable distance of the ranch have a stable out back.

But he didn’t have the patience to fight one of the mares into a saddle, so into his truck he went, dust kicking up in the rearview as the ranch disappeared behind him.

Javier has been home a few weeks now. The ranch has been officially his for exactly seven days, and he is bone tired. There is dirt in places there shouldn’t be, he’s half-convinced he pulled a muscle in his back, and his head throbs something fierce with every step. The state of him doesn’t stop him from plunking himself on a barstool, ordering three fingers of whiskey and shoving his head in his hands.

He’s not sure he’s cut out for this.

Sure, he was raised for it. Chucho was always adamant that Javi pull his weight, and he did. Or, tried. There were certain things his father knew never to trust him with, turning him towards easier tasks, things Chucho could do with his eyes closed. Javi can remember being offended, at first, his teenage brain filled with hormones that whispered rage quickly — why wouldn’t his dad just trust him? — but then as time wore on, as his attentions were diverted, pulled in the direction of pretty girls and far-off countries, the idea of a badge in his hand and a gun on his hip, he cared less and less. 

Eventually, Chucho stopped asking him to do anything, and then Javier was off to college, to becoming an agent, running headlong into Colombia before he really realized what he was getting himself into.

And then somehow, here he was, back in Laredo, right where he started.

Not enough whiskey in the world. His whole body aches for a cigarette, but he swore to his folks he’d quit.

He’s halfway through his second drink when the door opens, the tinkling of bells above it signalling a new customer. Out of habit, he’d perched himself within sight of the exit, and his gaze lifts as you step through the door. High boots, short dress, hair piled high on your head. You’re beautiful, a grin on your lips that has him inhaling deeply, inflating his chest as you bee-line for the bar, a gaggle of other girls staggering into the bar behind you. Judging from the Bride-To-Be sash on one of your companions, Javi assumes it to be a bachelorette party, and he chuckles into his glass as you approach the bar, much more sure-footed than the rest of your friends.

Javier stays quiet as you rattle off an order to the bartender, an odd mix of cocktails and beers, finished with a tonic water with lemon. When the bartender turns away, you lean heavily onto the bar top, and Javier doesn’t miss the way you seem to deflate a little as you wait for your drinks. You start to glance around the bar, eyes flicking this way and that, until they land on Javi, who realizes he’s just been caught staring at you.

“Hi,” you say, a grin lifting the corner of your mouth.

“Hi,” he mumbles back, lifting his glass for a sip. “Bachelorette?”

“Is it that obvious?” you laugh, tossing your head back. “Would you believe this is our fourth bar of the night?”

“Looking at you,” Javi drawls, letting his eyes drop quickly before they flick back to your face. Your own narrow at him, “no. Looking at your friends over there,” he juts his chin towards the women in question, “definitely.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re upright, for starters.”

You scoff out another little laugh, mouthing your thanks to the bartender when he delivers the tonic and lemon first. You take a big gulp, breathing out a sigh as you wait for the rest of the drinks. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta make sure they all get home to their husbands and boyfriends and fiancés.” Something in your tone makes him curious, and he can’t help his question.

“And who are you going home to?”

“My cat,” you say, laughing again, “and the attic bedroom of my aunt’s house.”

“Sounds cozy.”

You eye him sidelong, hand curled around your glass. “Are you from around here?”

“Born and bred,” he replies, noting the lift to your lips. “You?”

“Not exactly,” you return, taking another sip. Your face has fallen, brows pinched together as you stare down into the glass. “It’s a long story.”

“One requiring a much stronger drink than that?” Javier asks, and instantly regrets it at the way your lips turn down into a frown, the line in your forehead growing deeper. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, expression going artificially bright, “it’s all right. It’s just…been a long day.” You glance over your shoulder as your giggling group of friends. “A really long day.”

Javi lifts his glass towards yours. “I’ll drink to that.”

Your smile has returned as you tap your glass to his, and Javi sips slow, savouring the burn down his throat. “I’m Javier, by the way,” he says, and sticks his hand out. “Javier Peña.”

You give your own name in return, taking his hand. Soft, is his first thought, the warmth of your palm against his making him jolt. You’re still shaking when the bartender turns back with a tray full of your ordered drinks. Behind you, Javier can hear your cohorts screeching your name.

“I better take these over there,” you say, your voice turning sheepish, reluctantly letting go of his hand. He doesn’t miss the hesitation, and it makes his chest puff out a little. He just nods as you slide your own drink onto the tray, thanking the bartender and sliding another few bills across the bar as you try and lift the tray as carefully as possible. “Maybe I’ll see you later?” you say, and Javi just nods some more.

He watches you walk away, and wonders if the swing in your hips is deliberate. His mouth goes dry, and he sucks back more of his whiskey.

Another few hours pass, and Javier is decidedly sober, too worn out to order another drink and suddenly desperate for his bed. He thanks the bartender and closes his tab, waves goodnight, and heads for the door. He has to pass your table as he goes — he’s surprised you’re all still here; the bar is relatively dead — and with a stutter in his chest he realizes you are nowhere to be found. There are a few harmless catcalls thrown his way by your friends as he pushes open the door and heads for his truck.

“You leaving without saying goodbye?” your voice calls, and he spins on his heel to see you leaned against the bricks, cigarette dangling between your fingers. “I think this is the only bar in Laredo that doesn’t let you smoke inside.”

He walks towards you, heart thumping with every step. “Possibly the only bar in the whole state.”

You give him one of those smiles again as he leans against the wall beside you. “Possibly.” You fish your pack from your purse, extend it towards him. “You want one?”

Javi eyes the pack, one filtered end poking out of the wrapper. “I shouldn’t,” he says after a beat, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Tryna quit.”

You laugh, taking a drag, tapping the ash and blowing the smoke in the opposite direction of you two. “Aren’t we all.”

“Promised my folks,” he tells you, staring down at his boots. “I’m taking over the family ranch for my dad and well…it’s a…”

“Long story?” you finish, dropping the cigarette to the pavement, stubbing it out with your heel. “One requiring a strong drink?”

Despite himself, Javier smiles, broadly, the kind that tugs at his cheeks until they almost hurt. “Exactly.”

“Wow,” you murmur, and there’s something in your tone that makes his head lift, cheeks heating when he sees the way you’re almost scrutinizing him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say with a shake of your head, pinching your lower lip between you fingers. “You just…you look adorable when you smile. You should do it more often.”

Before you can get another word out, your group bursts front the bar, your name slurred by multiple women, all of them beckoning you to follow. You sigh, pushing off the wall, and go to take a step before you pause, fishing a pen from your purse and grabbing his wrist.

“Use this,” you say, scribbling on his palm, a string of numbers that make Javi’s heart crawl up his throat, “if the spirit moves you. Or if you feel like telling long stories over strong drinks.” You smile, and for a moment, Javi wonders if the ground is about to open up and swallow him whole. Or if he’s about to wake up in a cold sweat in his bed, that this is all just a dream. That you are just a dream. “Goodnight, Javier.”

“Goodnight.”

Nope, not a dream.

+

He doesn’t call.

As soon as he gets home from the bar, he’s scribbling your phone number onto a scrap of paper, taping it to the cabinet beside the phone with your name, underlining the word CALL three times, so hard the ink bleeds through the paper. His head is spinning, admittedly tipsy from the whiskey, but more on you. He’s intrigued, he’s curious, he’s pulled in like a magnet facing north.

He wants to see you again.

It sparks something in his chest akin to forest fire, and damn it all, if that doesn’t scare him to death. Yes, there have been women since he came back from Colombia; he’s lonely, not celibate. But you…he can’t put his finger on it. Something about the way you laughed, the smile on your face, the way he wanted to spill his guts to you right there at the bar before you got pulled away, how he wanted to do it again outside when you were whisked away once more.

Monday morning, he taps the piece of paper bearing your number on his way out to start his day, making a mental note to call you once he’s done. He’d managed to talk himself in and out of it at least ten times over the weekend, but Monday felt right. A new week, fresh start.

Except, he’d been lazy Saturday and lazier Sunday, skipping more than half the daily chores, which leaves him playing catchup most of the morning, well into the afternoon, only starting Monday’s tasks as the sun starts to dip in the sky. By the time he hauls his ass through the door, it is late, the sky black and the clock on the stove reading quarter to twelve. 

He talks himself out of calling you then easily; it’s late, you are probably asleep. He doesn’t want to wake you.

By Wednesday, he’s caught up on his daily chores, and is through the door by six. A reasonable time to call. But a tiny voice in his head says NO, and he takes a long shower instead.

Thursday seems promising, but when he picks up the receiver, the damn thing starts ringing before he’s even had a chance to dial, and suddenly Steve Murphy’s voice is on the other end, barking at him. “Javi! We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

He fucking forgot.

“Uh, yeah!” Javi chirps, trying not to sound as caught off guard as he feels. “Yeah, yeah, what time you think you guys’ll be here?”

“Six okay?”

“Yeah,” he says again, the word already feeling stiff on his tongue. “Yeah, six is great.”

“Good,” Steve replies. “Livvy’s excited to see her Uncle Javi.”

He forces a chuckle. “I’m sure she is.”

Steve pauses, and then, “You fuckin’ forgot, didn’t you?”

“Oh, shut up, Murphy,” he throws back. “See you tomorrow.”

Steve starts cackling. “Goodnight, Peña.”

The next day, he cuts his day short, in honour of his guests. He’s gotta cook a damn meal, for chrissakes, which means a trip into town for groceries other than whiskey and that instant mac and cheese garbage he’s been living off of. It’s easy, and tastes surprisingly good with a glass of Jack Daniels.

He’s not quite sure what leads him to wander into the bakery. It’s on the main drag, a few blocks down from the grocery store, and he managed to park his truck a few shops down. Something about the bright red awning draws him closer, his curiosity getting the better of him, and when he sees the array of sugary goodness in the window, his stomach rumbles something fierce, and before he can think twice, he’s pulling the door open, bells tickling above.

Javier goes absolutely stock-still when he sees you behind the counter.

The inside is just as bright as the out, candy stripes on the walls, illuminated display cases filled with all sorts of treats. One of those old-fashioned cash registers, brassy and imposing. You’re busy with another customer, handing the older woman a box tied with a bright red bow. You’re laughing as she says something, thanking her as she hands you money, grinning when you hand her back the change.

“Have a good night, Mary,” you say as the woman takes her box and turns. “Tell Paul I said he has to share that cake!”

The bell above the door rings again as the woman leaves, and then you and Javi are the only two standing there. There’s no way you haven’t realized that he—

“You never called.” Your voice is clear, unwavering, and you spread your hands wide on the countertop before leaning down and pushing your chin into your hand, nailing him to the spot with your stare. Javi stares at his boots.

“I know,” he starts, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I was gonna, I just…” He pauses, inhales deeply and lifts his head. “I don’t have an excuse, I’m sorry.”

You balk slightly, brows raising as you straighten, stepping a little closer until there’s only the counter separating the two of you. “Wow, how honest of you.” The corner of your mouth quirks, but it’s not remotely close to the smiles you’d offered at the bar that night. Your shoulder lifts. “It’s okay, you know, if you didn’t want to call. I won’t get upset or something.”

“No,” he says far too quickly. “No, cariño, believe me, I wanted to. I really wanted to, and I have been meaning to. This is just…” He pulls at his collar, shoving his hand through his hair. Fuck, it’s hot in here. Or is it just him? “Would you have dinner with me?” he breathes out the question, the words a rush. “Saturday?”

You almost flinch, your eyes widening. Javi tenses, waits for the rejection he believes is coming. Why would you agree? He never called, even after meeting you in that bar had felt like the first good thing in a long time, and then he just shows up here, clearly where you work, out of the blue, bewildered as all hell, and asks—

“Yes.”

Javi can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face, and you give him one to match. His heart is racing. He steps closer to the counter. “I should have called.”

You nod, agreeing. “You really should have.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It’s my aunt’s place,” you explain, toying with the string of your apron. “My cousin moved to Florida for school, and she really needed the help, so here I am.” You lift a finger, pointing it in the air. “And no, that’s not the long story requiring alcohol.”

Javier chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then I look forward to hearing the actual story.”

“As you should,” you say, your expression turning almost triumphant. “You should bring a notebook; I might just quiz you after.”

He laughs again. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

You lean forward on the counter, the space between you growing even smaller. “Play your cards right on Saturday, and I might just forgive you.” You glance around, eyes darting towards the door before your voice drops. “Though, there’s one thing I think we need to do before then.”

“What’s that?”

Without another word, you reach out, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt and dragging him down to your level. You kiss him soft, lips meeting so gently Javi can feel himself melting into you already. Your mouth tastes like powdered sugar.

His cheeks are on fire when he pulls back, immediately licking the taste of you off his lips, half a mind to kiss you again. You’re beaming, thumb tucked between your teeth, and Javi almost stumbles back a step. “I should…” He rubs the back of his neck, gesturing towards the door. “I’m gonna—”

“Okay,” you say, the word tinged with laugher. “So, Saturday?”

“Saturday,” he agrees. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Seven is good.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, another little grin on your face. “Goodbye, Javier.”

“Bye.”

He’s halfway to his truck when he realizes he didn’t get a fucking dessert, or your address. He abandons the idea of the former as he clambers back into his truck and starts the engine; he’s sure Connie will bring something, perfect guest she is.