#narcoctober

3 - Book of Stuff That Goes in the Junk Drawer

Fanwork inspired by a song and include why the song sparked the idea (was it the lyrics, genre? something you thought a character would like? etc) 

“It’s never too late to make history.”

Juice

4 — Book of the Uno-Card-Reverse

Fanwork based on your fav reverse/inverse trope**

“Evil isn’t always forever.” 

Mirrors 

5 — Book of Negative Spaces

Fanwork using a line from a diff show/movie as a prompt (e.g. line from Mad Men, “I don’t think of you at all” in a Narcos fic, line from Band of Brothers, “The only hope you have is to accept the fact that you’re already dead,” in a Hannibal fic, etc etc) 

“We gain more from our mistakes than our success, you know that?”

Pitch

6 — Book of (un)Consciousness

Fanwork inspired by a dream you’ve had (include 1-2 sentence summary of the dream at the beginning of the post) 

“Just dream with me.”

Technicolor 

7 — Book of Time-travel

Fanwork inspired by ancient mythology (Greek, Norse, aztec, celtic, etc. Bible counts as mythology, fuck it) 

“It’s only a matter of time.”

Constellation

8 — Book of These Damn Restraints

Fanwork that ends with 2(+) characters trapped in a phone booth with no way out 

“Now you know why I never say anything.”

Yikes

9 — Book of Fateful Conversations

Fanwork where the plot takes place entirely in the back of a cab OR where one character is the cab driver and the other is the passenger 

“You'd be surprised what you can live with.” 

Cursed

10 — Book of Nepo-baby Levels of Incompetence

Fanwork where character is in a profession they have no business being in with no prior training, so they fake knowing what they’re doing – like imposter syndrome except they’re just actually a fraud (e.g. Rust Cohle is a grief counselor, Richie Jerimovich is a hedge fund manager, Roman Roy is a beat cop) 

“And who hasn’t believed a flattering lie?” 

Evergreen 

11 — Book of Pit Stops

Fanwork that starts with a character hitchhiking and getting picked up by another character(s) 

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” 

Rush

12 — Book of Balancing In Between

Fanwork whose setting is a liminal space (e.g. empty swimming pool, bar or arcade after hours, airport terminal, church confessional, empty elevator, Twin Peaks black lodge, John Wick continental bar, etc) 

“Good things come in threes.” 

Wire

13 — Book of in Urgent Need of Assistance

Fanwork where a character wakes up on an empty submarine, 300ft underwater, thinking they’re the only person aboard until they run into another character(s) 

“One day I’ll wake up and it won’t hurt so much.” 

Desperate

14 - Book of Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Crossover for 2(+) fandoms you have used before but 2(+) characters you’ve never used or vice versa 

“All we have are our choices.” 

Crossroads 

15 — Book of How tf Did We Get Here

Fanwork that starts off with 2(+) characters waiting in line at the DMV and ends in a completely different, totally unpredictable, why-and-how-tf-did-we-get-here place 

“There’s a moon a mile from here and nobody home.” 

Ambition

16 — Book of Locally Sourced

Fanwork that mimics a bottle episode, so the entirety of it takes place in a relatively mundane setting (e.g. the stockroom of a store, interrogation room, a hotel lobby, waiting room of a doctor’s office, etc etc) 

“Make yourself comfortable while you can."

Notebook

17 — Book of Inception

Fanwork that provides an origin story for a character that doesn’t have one in canon 

“It (he/she/they) made me who I am.”

Improvement

18 — Book of Mysteries

Fanwork where 2(+) characters have to escape a panic room. Depending on fandom, this can be like the innocent party version that you take your friends to for someone’s bday, or can be an actual doomsday shelter 

“I thought they were with you!?"

Endurance

19 — Book of Near Misses

Fanwork with 2(+) characters from the same movie/show/book who’ve never met 

“Looks like we missed our window.” 

Rattled

20 — Book of Sleight of Hand

Fanwork of partners (romantic, profesh, or both) running into each other unexpectedly while both are doing something criminal/something they know they aren’t supposed to do (e.g. burying a body, carrying out a heist, meeting someone they shouldn’t)

“You can't ask the truth from someone who trades in lies.” 

Brace

21— Book of Nerves of Steel

Fanwork where 2(+) characters do a B&E, but get stuck when the owner unexpectedly comes home, and they whisper-yell argue over how to get out

“You won't believe the day I just had.”

Cortisol

22 — Book of Identity Theft

Fanwork where 2(+) characters meet accidentally bc one has accidentally dialed the wrong number (e.g. Syd [The Bear] tries to call Carm to yell at him for Something Dumb He Did but ends up calling Cousin Greg [Succession] instead) 

“I'm not the one.”

Brand

23 — Book of Just Chaos™️™️™️

Cracked crossover/ship with 2(+) characters from very diff genres (e.g. Dwight Schrute [The Office] & Tommy Shelby [Peaky Blinders], Frenchie [The Boys] x Penelope [Bridgerton], etc) 

“You’re my idiot, forever.” 

Untouchable

24 — Book of Revelation

Fanwork where 2(+) characters are stranded in the desert and in a sick twist, must decide which one of them to leave behind in order for the other(s) to be saved

“I like that I don't have to worry about you.”

Rapture

25 — Book of Reciprocity

Fanwork where 2(+) characters play poker (or any card game that has betting) but the chips are magic and the winner gets extra years of life instead of money (e.g. say, in poker, green chips = $500, blue chips = $1k, red chips = $2k, black chips = $5k. In this scenario, green chips = 6mos, blue chips = 1yr, red chips = 2yrs, black chips = 5yrs, etc) 

“Fine, I'll do it myself.”

Quid-Pro-Quo

26 — Book of Abduction

Fanwork where 2(+) characters get kidnapped by a kooky cult, are thrown into the trunk of a car together and have to figure out how to escape

“Somebody has to be paying attention.” 

Spiral

27 — Book of Caretaking

Fanwork where a character accidentally shoots/stabs/otherwise maims another character and has to perform first responder, triage levels of first aid to save them (dealer’s choice as to whether it's successful bc yolo) 

“Don't make me take care of you.” 

 Ritual

28 — Book of Weaponized Passive Aggression

Fanwork where 2(+) characters attend a dinner party and witness that moment when a couple starts passive-aggressively arguing but not outright fighting in front of the whole table and it’s even more painfully awkward than if they just straight up fought OR the 2(+) characters are the ones arguing making everyone else uncomfortable asf

“I wish you the best and I hope you find it far from me.”

Attitude

29 — Book of the (un)Dead

Fanwork where a character dies and another character shepherds them to the afterlife like their own personal grim reaper

“We bury our dead alive.” 

Siesta

30 — Book of There's No Place Like ...

Back from the dead: a character came back wrong or right, but either way, no one else knows how to handle it

“Even if you make it, you’ll never really go home.” 

Homesick

Once he didn’t answer the phone at his apartment, you knew that you’d catch him at his desk. Despite knowing that, you still covered your bases and dialed Javi’s apartment next. When he asked why you were calling him, you gave the easy, mostly honest response of, “Tried to get ahold of Steve and didn’t get an answer—figured he might be with you.”

Javi chuckled, that easy way he always did. “I got better things to do this late than hanging out with your husband—no offense.”

You laughed. “None taken. I’ll try his phone at the base. Thanks, Javi. Have fun doing whatever it is that’s better than hanging out with Steve.”

Steve answered his desk phone on the second ring. The annoyance and exhaustion in his voice was impossible to miss. “Yeah, Murphy.”

You laughed, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. “Thought you’d be a little happier to hear from me.”

He huffed out a tired laugh, tension melting out of his muscles instantly at the sound of your voice. “Hey, baby. You alright? It’s,” he checked the time on his watch, “it’s late where you are.”

You hummed in amusement. “It’s late where you are too, and yet you’re still at work even when everyone else went home, so…”

He leaned back in his chair, running his hand through his hair. “And how do you know I’m the only one here?”

“Well,” you melted back into the couch, your head resting against the arm of it, “I called your partner and he was at home.”

“What are you callin’ Javi for?”

“You!” you replied with a laugh. When you both stopped laughing, you said, “I miss you.”

“Yeah,” he conceded, “I miss you too. How much longer you back home for?”

“One more week.”

“And you’re sure you gotta stay the whole week?” he laid it on thick, drawl cranked up to ten as he laughed.

You rolled your eyes, wishing he could see it. “Pretty sure.”

“Damn.” He paused. “You need somethin’?”

“Hmm,” you hummed in thought, dragging it out a little longer than necessary. “Kind of.”

Leaning forward again, Steve propped his elbows on the edge of his desk. One hand was holding the phone to his ear, the other was serving as a resting perch for his chin. “What’s going on?”

Your heart started to speed up a little in your inside your chest as you asked, “You really alone?”

His face contorted in confusion. “Am I really—” he stopped himself short, recognition washing over him. He couldn’t help but to laugh. “I’m not doin’ this here.”

“You said you’re alone. Why can’t you do this there?”

“Because I—I mean what if—” he stammered out the starts of a few sentences, “What if they’re list—”

“Like they don’t listen when you do this from your phone at home?”

He laughed, moving his hand from his chin so that the heel of his palm was pressed to his forehead instead. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” you casually reminded him.

“I do.” He paused, long enough for you to say something but you didn’t, wanting him to give in instead of offering him an out. And then he did, because he always did. “If I get fired for doin’ this on my goddamn work phone…”

You smiled, face warming before it even started. “I’ll upgrade your one-way ticket home to first-class.”

He was a little hesitant at first, you could hear it in his voice. It was a little amusing to you, hearing him like that when he usually wasn’t like that at all. It added to the fun of the game for you, your quickened heartrate skipping a beat or two as he spoke, voice hushed like he was afraid someone was going to walk in and hear the things that he was saying to you. After a couple minutes, his typical cocky, self-assured demeanor came back.

You would have much rather it been Steve’s hand slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. Of course you would rather that. But given the circumstances, having his voice in your ear, prompting you along, telling you how good you were doing for him, was a good substitute. It was still enough to make your breathing hitch and your legs start to tremble.

A soft moan slipped out past your lips. Despite the fact that it was impossible, Steve could’ve sworn it trailed its way through the phoneline and straight down his spine. He took a deep breath, like that was going to do any good at helping him keep a shred of self-control.

“You sound so fuckin’ pretty,” he said, voice low, hand opening and closing on the top of his desk as he sat there wishing he could touch you and not just listen to you.

“Steve,” his name fell from your lips in the form of a choked whine, like you wanted to say something more but your mind was too preoccupied to come up with the rest of the sentence.

“Yeah, baby?” he asked, fighting the urge to follow your lead. There were plenty of things he was willing to do at work, or so he’d learned a handful of minutes prior, but there was still one line he had no intention on crossed. Especially not if it was going to be over the fucking phone. If he was going to do that he’d just as soon wait for you to—

You cut his thoughts short as you let out a needy, “I fuckin’ miss you.”

The laugh he let out was weighted down with just how much he wanted you. “How much?” he teased.

The noise you let out was somewhere between a laugh and a moan. Pulling your fingers away from your clit, you slid them down a little farther. The action pushed your panties a little farther down your hips. You dragged the tips of your fingers along your folds, collecting your wetness so that you could slide your fingers into you. They slid in with no resistance, and you arched into the contact.

“If you were here,” you rasped out as you started to find your rhythm, “you could feel it for yourself.”

“Fuck,” Steve muttered out, one hand gripping his thigh just above his knee so hard that he was sure he was going to leave indents even through the fabric of his slacks.

He still egged you on, willing to endure the insanity it inflicted on him as long as he knew he wasn’t the only one. He listened to you, each shift in your breathing, every sound you made and word you managed to say, each time you repeated his name over and over again. Even with the hundreds and hundreds of miles between the two of you, you still managed to drive each other just as wild as if you were sitting in the same room together.

“Steve,” you said desperately, “I’m, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” the words came out before Steve even clocked what he was saying.

You whined, a pathetic little sound. “Steve please.”

“Not until you’re here,” he said, voice firm now that you were both on this playing field. “Not until you’re here and I can really,” he chuckled, the sound a little more cruel and smug than it should’ve been, “really make you cum.”

You spent a long couple seconds weighing the pros and cons of telling him that he could, quite literally, go fuck himself because you didn’t ring him up this late at night to not get yours. But in the end, you gave in, the way you did with him almost as much as he did with you.

Letting out a shaky breath, you reluctantly pulled your hand back out of your panties. “Fuck. You, you owe me.”

“Just one week and I’ll gladly pay the debt,” he said with a chuckle.

“I hope your boss walks in,” you said, no malice in your breathless voice as you tried not to laugh. “’Cause lord knows you can’t possibly be looking very professional right now.”

“That’s just mean.”

“Yeah? Is it? Know what else is mean? Not letting your wife, who called you this late at night because she missed you very much, cum.”

He laughed, raking his hand back through his hair. “I love you.”

“You say that, but,” you pinned the phone with your shoulder so you could adjust your underwear and shorts with both hands, “it certainly doesn’t feel like it.”

“You know I love you,” he repeated, a little more warmth in his voice rather than the smugness he’d had before.

You let out a sigh. “Yeah, I know.” You paused long enough to make him squirm even though he didn’t have to. “I love you too.”

He chuckled. “That’s right.” He checked the time on his watch again. “Would you look at that? It’s after midnight. Only six more days.”

You couldn’t help but to laugh. “Go home, Steve. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“During business hours?”

“Hmm,” your hum turned into a laugh, “we’ll see. I love you.”

Your plane landed in the early morning hours, it was still dark out as you exited. Luckily there was no waiting on baggage or making your way through the crowd. When the DEA sent you out, they pulled out all the stops. It helped that you were top of your game at work, putting in the extra hours, sacrificing your social life. It basically meant you were eating, sleeping, and dreaming of work 24/7 but it brought you up as the highest agent in your division and because of that, it earned you the Escobar case. That and well, you had pretty well knowledge of Colombia since you spent your college years abroad there. 

This was the last of the luxury you’d experience from the DEA office in the states, however, and you knew that so you soaked up every ounce of it before you were now exiting the private plane, making your way down to the Ford that was waiting to take you to your accommodations. 

“Hola, senorita.” Someone in a suit greeted you and held the backdoor open for you. 

You smiled and placed your bags in the back, you knew that wasn’t what they were holding the door for, but you weren’t going to continue the special treatment. Quickly after dropping your bags, you moved to the passenger seat and waited for the driver to join you. After a few beats of silence they mentioned they would be taking you to your apartment so you could get settled but you disagreed and made them take you to the embassy. 

There it was, the habit that got you in this position, all work, no play. 

As you rolled into the embassy, you flashed your badge and quickly made your way in, stepping out as the car was still moving. 

“Muchas gracias.” You nodded to your driver who was panicking to brake. 

Two men in tan suits waited for you as you approached with your bags. 

“Peña and Murphy?” You stood staring at the two of them as they sized you up. 

“Yep.” Javier extended his hand out to shake yours. “Javier–Javi.” 

That was followed by the same gesture from Steve. 

“They were supposed to bring you to drop your bags off first.” Javi started to complain as he began walking inside the building.

“I told them to bring me here, I can drop my bags off whenever I go home. Wanted to meet the team and get briefed as soon as possible.” You spoke up, quick to keep up with both of the men who were holding the door open for you. 

As you entered the building you took in everything, making mental notes of every detail you thought would be important. The sign that listed each floor, where the bathrooms were, where each emergency exit was located. It almost made you miss the look Steve and Javi gave each other after you explained your eagerness to work. 

“I got myself familiar with all the notes on the plane but, I figured first hand accounts would be better. I know better than to believe everything that’s in the paperwork.” You spoke as you entered the elevator. 

“Yea well, things are–” Javier paused his sentence to think about what to say, how to describe what you were getting into. 

“A shitshow.” Steve interrupted him to finish the thought. 

Mentally you noted that Steve was the more honest one, not one to get flustered by the presence of a woman. He was likely married, or in some serious commitment, and whether that was with a woman or his job you respected it. You nodded with a smile, answering him briefly with a some response about how it isn't always with the DEA or something of that nature before your eyes moved back over to Javier to get a read on him. 

Before you could nail down a thought, the elevator doors were opening and the group of you were moving fast. 

“Weaver and Wisnicki, meet our new DEA special agent.” Javier introduced you by name. 

You were quick to let go of your bags and reach over to shake hands and correct the title he gave you. “Supervising Special Agent.” 

Steve let out a chuckle before continuing the greeting. “Javi what is it you called these guys? R.I.P? Retired in place?” 

You let out a chuckle, you weren’t going to shit on what these two did, you weren’t here for that and with the amount of time you spent at work, you needed to make friends where possible. 

“Hey, we all earn it.” You lifted your hands up in an act of innocence. “It was nice meeting you two.” 

As the group of you moved through the different sections of the floor you got introduced to other agents, the Mil group, and the ambassador. Each group introduction went well. By the end of your journey, Javier was suggesting you leave your bags at his desk before they drove you in to meet the Search Bloc, seeing as you were about to go on an intel mission with them in the next 5 hours. 

“Now we should give you a heads up.” Steve spoke up as the car you were in pulled into Carlos Holguin School. “Colonel Carrillo can be–”

“Walking up right now.” Javier interrupted as he put the car in park and exited the vehicle. 

Steve was quick to look up and see that the Colonel wasn’t walking up, it was just his men approaching to escort the lot of you in. 

“No he’s not!” Murphy yelled before turning to you in the back seat. “He can be a bit of dick. Apparently a common trait around here.” His eyes went back to Peña before he was exiting the passenger door himself. 

You smiled to yourself at that. It was enjoyable to you to see the back and forth between the two men. 

The silence overcame the group of you as you were brought to an office door, the plaque on the outside reading Colonel Carrillo was a little outdated in style, meant he had a few years on his belt. 

As the door was opened by one of the search bloc soldiers, Javi began speaking. 

“Buenos días, Colonel.” 

The minute a voice responded, you felt your gut flinch, if that was even possible, before it sunk. Your head was whipping up to look at the major, taking in his green uniform, the badge on his chest, and finally, his face. 

Javier and him were mumbling to each other as they shook hands, leaving you to take in who it was in front of you right now. 

It wasn’t so much nerves you were feeling, you would have described it more as shock. Which, shock felt a lot similar to a panic attack. The noise in your ears got fuzzy, there was a slight buzzing in the background and your face went blank. 

“You alright?” Steve cut through the fuzziness in your ears, luckily and brought you back to reality. 

“Yea sorry, just fucked up from the time difference and the flight.” You shook your head and masked the shock you were feeling. 

“I want you to meet our new DEA supervising special agent.” Javi spoke up, calling the attention to you now. 

His eyes met yours, and the smile that slightly curved on his face tipped you off that he recognized you immediately. You saw his mouth move slightly open and before Javi or him could say your name you were quick to cut them both off by speaking it outloud and move towards them, extending your arm to greet the man. 

If that wasn’t enough to get the point across to the Colonel, your next words would have been. 

“Mucho gusto.” You smiled and prayed he didn’t say or do anything that would give away your connection. 

“Mucho gusto.” He spoke back to you with a frown. 

“We’re gonna move out and get intel in about an hour.” Steve spoke up from the back. 

“Murphy.” Carrillo spoke up, his face hardening as he stared at the man. 

With the context you had just gotten from Steve, you now realized that what Murphy meant in the car was, Carrillo was a dick to him. If you weren’t in the middle of this clusterfuck of a situation, you would have smiled, maybe even chuckled a bit but your mind was still trying to wrap itself around what was happening. 

“We’ll get out of your hair, just wanted to introduce you to the fresh meat.” Javi smiled at you. 

“Wait.” Carrillo spoke up and your gut did that flinching thing again. “I’d love to know more about what this means for your team, Peña.” 

You heard Javi start to make a noise, it was something adjacent to stuttering. His way of not wanting to devalue himself or shit on you while you were in the room. 

“My title doesn’t really pull weight, it’s just for the paperwork. I’m basically going to be working closely with Peña and Murphy on intel and raids. Only difference is my signature gets added to the documents.” You spoke up, looking back at the men behind you as you spoke. 

“Have you gotten a tour of Medellin yet, special agent?” 

He was teasing you. When you met him in Colombia all those years ago, that was exactly what he did. Give you a tour. He showed you the plaza, the museums, the best restaurants you never would have found otherwise. And again, in any other circumstance you would have been amused, but mortified was more the right word to describe your emotions at the moment. The comment was more obvious to you than anyone else in the room. It helped that Steve and Javi were oblivious to everything that wasn’t Escobar related so they weren’t exactly picking up on what was happening. 

“She flew in this morning, her bags are back at the embassy at my desk, she didn’t even get settled before jumping on the case.” Javi spoke up. 

“I’ll have it arranged that your bags are picked up and brought here.” Carrillo wasn’t even looking at any of you anymore. He was rummaging through paperwork at his desk. 

When no one responded he looked up to be met with confused looks. His eyes jumped from Steve to Javi to you. “Paperwork, after the intel trip. Going to need your signatures.” 

“Right.” You said it was obvious the entire time. 

“Alright, I’ll make the arrangements and meet you all at 1300.” He went back to looking at his paperwork, ignoring all 3 of you. 

It took you a couple seconds to make your feet move but eventually you were able to and out of his office. Steve was now leading the way to where you would meet a few more of the Search Bloc crew and gather up gear for the trip you were about to take. 

Luckily, the intel mission wasn’t awkward at all. Carrillo put his professional foot forward, as did you and as you all waited in the room for all the Narcos to show up there was no more tense or nervousness in the air. He clearly picked up on you not wanting to out any of your past personal life to Steve and Javier and quite honestly, he understood that. Having more time to think on it and not being thrown for a loop in the moment, he felt relieved about it too. These were not exactly the typical running into your ex conditions, this was work, this was catching a drug cartel and their leaders, this needed to be as far away from personal as possible. 

That was what both of you told yourselves. It was what you told yourself on the way back, while you sat next to each other in the car, when Javi leaned forward to tell you that the restaurant coming up had the best arepas de choclo. You knew that, because that was where you and Horacio would go when you were craving late night foods. And it was what you told yourself now, as you all pulled back up to the Carlos Holguin School and the awkwardness came back over you. 

“I had one of my men take your bags to where you’re staying.” Carrillo said as the group of you gathered together on the dirt lot. 

“We would have taken them back, her place is on the first level where me and Steve stay.” Javi spoke up, his hands resting on his hips. 

“One last thing we gotta lug back home from the embassy.” Steve shrugged as he leaned over to shake Carrillo’s hand in an effort to say goodbye.

“Wasn’t a big deal, I have a few men working at the embassy, keeps communication smooth.” Carrillo wasn’t in the mood to argue with Javi on this so he was quick to turn to you. “You ready to get started on this paperwork?”

“Yea, I’ll meet you in your office, let me just debrief with my guys.” You spoke confidently, anything to throw both of them off.

 All Carrillo did was nod and make his way back to his office. You turned to Steve and Javi, your face solid and serious. 

“We’ll take care of following up on the intel.” Javi spoke up now, like he was in charge. 

“I’ll give you a call on what the next move is.” Steve was cutting Javi off, staring at him with a frown before moving his eyes on to you. 

You nodded once, then turned to Javi. “Call me fresh meat one more time and I’ll be sure you’re riding desk for the rest of this case and you’ll be the one staying late to run through paperwork.” 

It was harsh, but true. You were new, but you weren’t stupid. Regardless of anything, you pulled rank over these two, whether it truly mattered or not. There was no room for disrespect. 

“See you two in the morning.” You offered them a goodbye and made your way over to the main entrance. Steve’s laugh could have been heard from even inside the building, it was obvious he was making fun of Javi, of what you just said. It was good, set the tone amongst them. 

The walk down the hallway was long, your head was filling with tons of thoughts, of memories, your heart was beating so fast it was a surprise it wasn’t coming out of your chest. As your hand rested on the doorknob of Carrillo’s office, you took a beat, a moment to take a deep breath and exhale it out as the door opened. 

Carrillo was sitting at his desk, his green button up shirt that houses his name patch and badge was hung on a coat rack in the corner, he was at his desk with just his tan t shirt on, the only light illuminating the room was the outdoor lights from the windows behind him and the desk lamp that was showing the frown on his face as he shuffled through things on his desk. 

“Thanks for going along with it.” You spoke up, alerting him of your presence. The immediate thought you had was why you were starting the conversation with that. There were a million other things you could have said. 

His head shot up, he clearly had not heard you open the door or your heart practically thumping out of your chest. 

“It’s no problem.” He answered you. “I hope you set Peña straight.” He was standing up now, moving his hand to the chair across his desk offering for you to sit. 

“Set straight?” You were confused, as you made your way to sit down. 

“Fresh meat.” He said as he sat back down himself. 

“Oh, yea. That won’t be happening again.” You let out a chuckle, still fidgeting around in the seat trying to get comfortable. 

“It’s probably good you thought quick, what happened with us… it’s just more fuel to the fire for him.” Carrillo was leaning on his desk, elbows resting on the stacks of documents. 

“What did happen with us?” The question came out so blunt it even shocked you. 

“You went back.” It was said like it was so obvious. Like those 3 words were the answer to it all. 

“I sent you letters.” The vibe had definitely changed from just mere minutes ago. 

Carrillo didn’t say anything, he sat there silent, his face neutral like that would be enough of an answer for you. 

“It’s crazy how you can know someone for just short of a year, spend pretty much everyday with them, learn the most intimate things about them, and truly know absolutely nothing about them.” 

“What are you talking about?” He was annoyed, and because of the time you spent with him, you knew it was deflection, a way to get out of the conversation, but you weren’t going to let it go that easily. 

“You never told me you were an aspiring police officer.” You pointed to the badged shirt on the rack. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you told me you wanted to come to the states, study, learn about architecture, the details of the buildings that people are so quick to dismiss.” It was a pretty direct quote from a young Horacio’s mouth.

“I joined 4 months after you left. Things got bad here. After that incident where– where you got hurt. I couldn’t shake it.” He explained thinking back to one of the last memories of you here with him. It wasn’t one either of you liked to remember, you had a permanent scar on you to remind you of it more frequently, but in Carrillo’s case it looked like he had a career profession to keep the memory alive. 

“Why did you ignore my letters?” Your voice softened now as you came to the realization that maybe you could actually come to some closure tonight. 

“We should probably start on this paperwork, make everything ready for your team to move forward tomorrow.” He was taking a stack of blank documents and handing it over to you. 

“Why did you ignore my letters, Horacio.” You spoke his name with such pleading, not just because you knew it’d get him to answer but because you truly missed saying his name in that way. 

“It was too much.” He couldn’t bear to look at you as he spoke. “Loving you and giving my all to training, to the big picture, to Colombia.” 

There it was. The most truthful thing he might have ever said to you. You knew he loved you but deep down, you always knew he loved his country. The two of you fell in love as he showed you the sights, it was written in your story for it to come down to this.

“If I had to lose you to someone I’m glad it was to her.” You managed to make a joke, just being happy that he had been honest with you. 

He smiled at that too. Now that things were a little more settled, a little less awkward, you began rummaging through the papers, filling out reports and findings, signing pre-typed notes for approvals and compliance. About 20 minutes went by when Carrillo was clearing his throat to get your attention. 

“I’m glad you’re here to fight this fight with me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The firmness in your voice came back over you, your eyes glaring at him.

He got flustered a bit, neither of you having been in a situation where flirting, romance and charm weren’t the leading tones of your conversations. 

“I just came here for the best arepas de choclo in Colombia.” A smile grew on your face and his was soon to follow. 

He was quick to stand up and grab his jacket, which was hanging next to his badged work shirt and place it on. 

“Well I guess I better not disappoint.” He was nodding towards the door. “For old times sake? I believe that’s what they say back where you’re from.” 

You stood up and grabbed your own jacket from the back of the chair and made your way to stand in front of him, dangerously close to him, you could feel the slight breeze of his breath on you as he waited for some verbal response from you. For old time’s sake, if that was the excuse he needed to justify going to get food with you, you’d take it. To be honest if that was the excuse he needed to do anything with you, you’d allow it. Little to your knowledge, but those 4 words would end up being all the invitation either of you needed to revisit old times in the next five months, whether it was your favorite restaurant, your apartment, his house, even a couple times in his office. 

So you stared up at him, at the eyes of the man you had fallen in love with all those years ago, and despite them looking a little more dark and unruly now, you smiled and opened your mouth to speak. 

[at Horacio's funeral] Javi: places his hand on the headstone and sobs Javi: How could you do this to me? We are so understaffed. Javi: On a scale from “damn Daniel” to “fre sha vaca do” how are you guys feeling? Trujillo: I’m in between “it’s an avocado, thanks” and “how did you defeat captain america” but as a solid answer I would say “I don’t need a degree to be a clothing hanger.” Murphy: Probably “road work ahead.” Carrillo: I speak multiple languages and this is none of them. Felix: You know, guys are kind of scared to talk to y– Maria: Good. Connie: Thanks to Steve, Olivia has taken up swearing. Connie: Yesterday, she referred to bedtime as a ‘fucking crisis.’ Pacho: I’m not interested in being polite or heterosexual Javier: I think you made them anxious. Steve: Oh yeah? Well that’s because they’re all a bunch of bitch ass white boys. Javier: I hate to break it to you, but you’re also a bitch ass white boy.

Maria: The term girlfriend implies the existence of of a girlfoe. This is a service I am willing to provide.

Rafa: People say “forgive but dont forget”, but I forget but dont forgive Rafa: I’ll be walking around town like I don't know your name but I know a BITCH when I see one

[gunshot] Amado: So sorry, new ringtone.

You pause where you are and look at him. He’s leaning against the table, which stands against the cabinet by the bed, because you’re yet to buy any dining chairs, and he’s yet to find a way to be comfortable here, as often as he comes, which makes you both look like strangers, really. Neither of you have settled. It’s more of an introduction on neutral ground than anything else.

He’s got his arms crossed. Bare forearms, rolled sleeves. He looks from you, to the floor, to the half-drawn curtain over your window. Nobody’s bothered to turn the overhead light on, so he’s orange, and you’re blue. 

‘Bad day?’ you ask.

‘No worse than the rest.’

You try a smile, pull that card from your deck. ‘Something a whiskey might solve?’

‘Look.’ He sighs and draws his gaze back to you. ‘We should talk.’

The lamp on the bedside flickers. He waits until the amber glow is steady again, and then he nods, like you’ve asked something, and his brows pull together like he’s apologising for it. 

‘Can I take my shoes off first?’

‘It won’t—’

‘Please.’

You get another nod, and a raised hand to wave you on, before it’s tucked back under his forearm again. Crossed and waiting. 

The lace of your boot has become knotted, so it takes a pregnant minute for you to get it off, leather fighting the curve of your heel, then it drops to the ground with a thud. 

The second comes off easy and quiet. 

‘You want a drink?’ you ask, sock-footed and able to move again. You cross the room before the offer’s been answered, hand on the fridge before drink has even tilted up into a question. 

‘It won’t take,’ he tries again, ‘I shouldn’t stay.’

‘That’s what you say every time.’

‘This is different.’

You take two beers from the case on the shelf. White light there and gone again. 

‘You’re different?’ you guess.

He lets the quiet have its turn before answering. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yeah, I noticed last time.’ You could tell he wanted to talk then, too, but he’d been too scared, or too happy, or too greedy, to want to tell you so. ‘You don’t fuck the same when you’re thinking about something.’

There’s a laugh that you reward with one of the beers, handing it to him as you reach his side of the studio. 

‘And you’re just telling me this now?’ he says. 

‘I could hardly tell you then.’

He snorts and you match it, smiling, before dropping onto the side of the bed. From here his cheek is gold, his hair is gold, and the rest of him is grey, muted by the moonlight through what’s left of the window. 

‘Please sit,’ you say, and when he doesn’t move you add, ‘it won’t hurt less from the table.’

‘I was trying to give you space,’ he admits, standing as he does. Arms slack, knees straight. He walks two steps then dips the bed as he goes down beside you, shoulder to shoulder.

You switch the lamp off. No more orange, just blue.

He starts before you’ve even tasted the beer, which sits damp between your palms. 

‘I don’t think,’ he says, ‘we can keep doing-’

‘Wait.’

‘-this.’ His eyebrows trick his eyes into looking soft. Or tired. 'Baby,’ he reasons.

‘You’ll have to give that up,’ you reply. ‘Baby.’

You imagine his palm on your thigh and his thumb running the outer seam. Replace it directly with the sight of his fingers now, threaded together, and balanced in the gap between his knees.

‘In the morning,’ you offer him. ‘Let’s save it for then, okay?’

He exhales and looks away before the last of it can hit your face. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘To who?’ You’re smiling somehow. ‘I’m the one suggesting it.’

‘We can’t just keep on—’

‘Don’t say it,’ you interrupt again, because you know already. ‘Don’t tell me until the morning, Javi.’

‘How is that any better?’ he asks. ‘For either of us?’

‘How is it any worse?’

You’re both orange, and you’re both blue, and you’ve known the colour of him since the beginning, really. Since you first told him how to get the lock just right. There’s nothing here that you hadn’t seen coming, and nothing left to say, either. 

‘One more night?’ you ask, for a final hopeless time. ‘Don’t tell me now.’

You watch his throat as he swallows the request, his lips as he nods in reply. ‘Alright,’ he says, ‘until the morning.’ 

And then there’s his hand. There’s your thigh. 

______

Kami helped another patron, giving out two beers before the man finally looked up.

“Hi.” Javier sat up, pulling his tie off completely. The heavy shadow over his face lifted a little.

“You were too busy using your drink like a magic 8 ball to see me,” she went over to him, “one of those days?”

Javier answered with a slight eyebrow raise and tilt of his head. Kami flashed that warm smile of hers then turned to make him a drink.

Javier watched her, that calming effect she has on him already working.

He finished the drink before him, making room for hers.

“It’s better when you make them.” He said as he picked it up and raised it in the air.

“Such a flirt,” she made herself a shot, then raised the glass to his, “to a better night.”

Javier made a face, like he was sure that wasn’t going to happen. It was a shitty day on top of a shitty week. All he had to look forward to was a hot sleepless night, then do it all again in the morning.

But he chose this.

He could have been on his father's ranch right now. Trying that normal life thing. But he was so damn restless, and he had unfinished business here. Javier still wasn’t sure if coming back was a stupid fucking idea or not.

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The ornate, gilded door knocker felt heavy between his fingertips as he rapped a few times and waited, stubbing out his cigarette in the open mouth of one of the lion statues placed on either side of the stairway. He chuckled to himself. If it wasn’t an ashtray before, it was one now. To him it looked like one anyway. The mansion’s pretentious decor always screamed “New Money” to him, no matter how hard the Arellanos tried to bury Sinaloa in their past.

By his count, Mayo had only ever been to Arellano house three times. Once by invitation, another by accident, and a third - the last - by mistake. A mistake he couldn’t muster the good sense to regret no matter how hard he tried.

It never pays to fall for a family man, isn’t that what the girls say? Certainly the ones he’d shared a few fleeting nights with between the sheets, a wad of folded bills on the nightstand, couple packs of cigarettes, and some pillow talk that always told some tale of woe about falling for a family man. But is that what happened? Had he fallen? Or was he just at sea like always? Either way, it made for no less than an interesting ride.

The relief-distorted disappointment when it was Pancho who answered the door should’ve told him something, even if he didn’t care to pay it much mind just now. A matter for tomorrow. Except that’s what he’d told himself the whole time. Shit, that’s how he got into this mess. Surely there’d come a point when tomorrow was today, no?

Pancho smiled, “Qué húbole, compa?” and pulled Mayo in, clapping his back twice in a way that was warm and sincere as much as it was overwhelming. But Pancho was good people. He always liked Pancho. Shit, who didn’t like Pancho.

“Nada mucho, nada más,” Mayo winked, tipping his hat as he crossed the threshold into the foyer of the Arellano mansion.

He smirked to himself at the same private joke he had every time he’d set foot in this house: the place’s grandiosity might be as intimidating as it was meant to be if it weren’t so fucking cartoonish. But he supposed that’s what happened when you let an overgrown manchild, dressed head-to-toe in Versace, stick his gold-dipped cuerno de chiva against the decorator’s temple and threaten to blow them away into semi-automatic oblivion, just for a discount on silk drapes from Rome or wherever-the-fuck.

Mayo's eyes stung a bit, hit with the phantom smell of the cigar smoke that came tumbling out of Benjamín’s mouth when he’d laughed himself nearly to tears telling Mayo that story. It'd been just the two of them seated at the wrought iron table in the backyard, up 'til dawn, smoking and talking. It felt quite the honor just to see the man laugh. He got the feeling Mín didn’t laugh much. That was the second time Mayo had been here.

He shook his head, the image etch-A-sketched away like nothing and followed Pancho through the foyer to the dining room and then the living room. Or rather, one of the living rooms. The house smelled so strongly of floral-scented candles and potpourri, he worried he might get a headache sitting in here for too long. They must’ve just had the place cleaned. It bothered him that he even noticed and it especially bothered him why. That it was because there was no hint of that familiar, faint musk that should’ve been there, expensive without trying too hard, that seemed to trail Mín along with a perpetual cloud of neurotic discontent, everywhere he went.

Even from the beginning Mayo liked that about him. The discontent he wore right on his sleeve. He’d noted it when they’d first met at some meat market in Mazátlan, right around the time he first linked up with the Sinaloa crew, just before they arrested Miguel and the whole Federation got dissolved. Just in Mín's discontent, his raw, kinetic ambition, Mayo saw something of himself, even if the two fo them strove for very different things. He used to think, what a strange little something you are, Benjamín Arellano Félix, the way one would think fondly of a pet they had growing up. He found himself wishing now that Mín felt just a pet to him.

But they belonged to each other in a new way now. Darker, tenuous, and confounding in just exactly how straightforward it was. No implications, no questions to be asked. It said nothing about either of them except that they belonged, if only for and evening. Or the amount of time it takes to smoke a full Montecristo and down a stiff drink of scotch.

He turned to the fish tank and stared at his warped reflection, saying to no one in particular, “Things are changing real fast, huh? The army in Tijuana fucking shit up. Coming after your family, no less. Now Benjamín’s gone. Fucking mess, huh?”

He felt it coming. This meeting. Depending on the outcome, it might signify a breaking point and he’d have to choose between what is and what should never be. The Arellanos got caught flying far too close to the sun and they knew it now. (And everyone wondered why he preferred boats.) It’s what set Mín on the lam, no telling how long he would be out there. Floating around wherever he was. Away.

Shaking his head, “Just hoping it all blows over and Benjamín can come back home,” Pancho spilled a glass of some brown liquor, as he set it down on the beverage cart in front of Mayo.

Amused, Mayo tried mopping it with only his fingers until he gave up, taking a sip. There was still plenty to drink, since Pancho had filled it nearly to the brim, almost as high as his own. Suddenly, it made sense why Pancho wasn’t in charge of the family business despite being the oldest. Hombre couldn’t bluff for shit.

Mayo took the seat by the beverage cart, as Pancho practically melted back onto the giant couch across from him. Doing his best to affect it, almost like an afterthought, Mayo leaned back in the chair and said, “Send him my best, yeah?” He took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pockets, giving them a little jiggle and raising his eyebrows.

Pancho got what he was asking but Dina startled him with an answer before Pancho got the chance. She spoke from behind them, standing at a large window, “Of course, please. Make yourself at home.” She waved her own lit cigarette as if to hammer the point home. “I do it in here all the time. Drives mamá mad. The smell gets in the drapes, she says.”

How long had she been standing there? Her beige suit blended so well with the drapes she spoke about with such indifference. Mayo half wondered if it was some kind of business tactic, camouflaging with the furniture. Better to hear all chisme whispered in these halls by house staff or other scheming subordinates a quien no le gustaba tener una jefa. In truth, he didn’t much like it either. But he hadn’t figured out if it was just because she was a woman or because of the kind of woman she was. He never had much patience for anyone with a chip on their shoulder.

Though he’d certainly made an exception for Mín who’d carted around a chip so heavy, it was a wonder he never tipped over. So, maybe it was the woman thing. Did it much matter? Not really cuando sabía que ella había planeado quitarle sus huevos. All these months later, and that cool twenty mil still burned a hole in their coffers and there was no making eyes at Dina to make it all go away, least of all when they were hurting for the cash. Not that he wouldn’t try. That is after all how he and Benjamín started off doing ... Well, whatever the fuck they did.

He thought of Dina’s wedding, how light and alive, self-assured Benjamín was. In his element. A new look he wore so well that, in Mayo’s estimation, he didn’t get to enjoy for long enough. Now look where they all were.

“So look, Pancho,” he brushed Dina off because if her goal was to blend in with it, well, he was happy to treat her like the furniture. “Amado’s expanded operations. Taken over the port in Peñasco, made it hard for my boats to unload. I was hoping to redirect them through San Ysidro, and not pass them through Tijuana.”

“That would put all your business in our plaza, wouldn’t it?”

The smirk of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar broke across Mayo's face and he dragged on his cigarette, nodding in the affirmative.

“And yet, you refuse to join our organization?”

He offered the answer that seemed to satisfy anyone who challenged his go-it-alone approach. It satisfied Mín well enough when he'd approached Mayo at the wedding. “Es qué, a mí me gusta ser mi propio patrón.”

Nothing less than the truth. In an industry of professional con artists, backstabbers, hustlers, and murderers, maybe like her brother, she’d appreciate it.

“Yes, so you’ve said.” She didn’t.

And she still hadn’t turned around to face them. For people so concerned with blending into high society, the Arellanos weren’t the most well-mannered. Mayo’s working-class manner of dress might, to the untrained eye, indicate that manners weren’t something he cared about. But he did. Even in his blackest moments, twisting his knife in someone’s gut or getting ready to light them on fire, he couldn’t much find a reason not to be at least cordial.

Fighting for a lifeline, he glanced at Pancho who almost looked like he was trying to become one with the couch, drink limp in his hand, as he stared at the All-Knowing Queen in white.

She finally turned to grace them with her full attention, gliding over and resting her hands on the back of the empty couch next to him. “You owe us twenty million dollars. What’s your plan to repay us?”

Back in the days when Miguel held court and favored the Sinaloa faction at the expense of his own family, dicking the Arellanos around as though the petulant kids he’d watched grow up would remain petulant kids forever, Mayo remembered thinking that Mín’s attempts at diplomacy weren’t well-earned by their uncle. And he’d told Mín as much. Even Dina agreed at the time.

But all these years later, with Dina the sharp tip of the lethal spear that was now the Arellano Félix Organization, Mayo wondered if they couldn’t do with some of Benjamín’s trademark diplomacy. Mín liked people. He knew how to talk to them. Dina was trickier to deal with. Though savvy like her brother, she was nothing but prickly, sharp edges. Good for dealing what needed to be dealt to their enemies. Not much for making friends.

Mayo tried his hand at diplomacy, “Money in shrimping, eh … moves slower than I’d like,” but ire crept in anyway when the absence of his— his— of Benjamín was screaming at him. “Benjamín understands that. I pay as it comes.”

Understands, yes. Present tense. He was gone, not dead and even with Dina in charge, he still must’ve been keeping tabs from somewhere. She couldn’t have the final word here. Not really.

Unwilling to follow his lead in diplomacy, she shot back. “How much have you got?”

“Here with me?” Now he was annoyed.

And that was met with a haughty huff from her, along with a scorn-filled smirk, so acrid and bitter he nearly tasted it in the air between them. She had him where she wanted him and it twisted his gut, knowing where this was about to go.

“You aren’t moving anything through this plaza until the tax is paid.”

It was over already and he knew it. That didn’t stop him from trying one final time, “Qué dice, Pancho? Esa es la última palabra de la familia?” like it might speak Benjamín into their living room.

Of course, when it didn’t work, the thought of Mín, knowing what he’d have to resort to next, only served to make his stomach churn more. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. What’s that thing they say about purple elephants? Because before the first don’t, the image of Benjamín’s gentle brown eyes in the moonlit backyard, full of that kinetic ambition, not for success but for something else —belonging— flooded Mayo. The third time he’d been here.

᪣

It had only been a few months since the wedding. A celebration at Roxanne’s gone awry and he’d had to bring Ramón home before he tore the club apart, going after Chapo for some snide comment about what they all knew happened to Rayo. The bad blood between the Arellanos and the Sinaloa crew was so long standing without erupting into an all-out war, it seemed to make sense at the time to at least attempt to avoid tipping it over the edge. In hindsight, the whole shitshow was gripped with such inevitability, it seemed more like going against the will of the gods, now that he thought about it. But you only know what you know when you know it. So, he done the sensible thing, intervened before things got ugly, agreeing against his better judgment to remove Ramón from the equation, by driving the rowdy motherfucker home while he sat in the passenger's seat of his pickup, three sheets to the wind, sprawled out, passed out, and snoring. Despite the fact he’d had no love para el pinshe huevón, there was love in his heart somewhere. And so it was easy to say, “yes” after shucking Ramón off his shoulder onto one of their house staff's, when Mín offered him a cigar and a drink. An opportunity for another of their little chats that they’d come to enjoy whenever they crossed paths. Though Mayo had noticed, in the distinct lack of one, every one of those times happened to be under the unconscious supervision of a crowd. So that when Benjamín complimented him on his business savvy, and said things like, “Fuck, man. You’re better than that,” the grin that spread across his face never got as wide as it wanted to be. They never stood as close as they’d wanted to. They never talked for as long as they wanted to. It was for the best. Because without the safety net of nosy onlookers, talking about life, growing up in Sinaloa, the incessant hustle, the never ending grind to the top, commiserating over the absurdity of this business they’d both come up in, ambition, what all of it even meant? Could they do something else? Should they do something else? Was it really worth it?— they both folded like a pair of cheap suits. And so he didn’t remove it, when Mín’s hand found itself on top of his. The contrast of how smooth, almost manicured it was compared his own, weather-worn, brought to light disparities that extended far beyond the physical and yet didn’t make a bit of difference. The words tumbled from Mín’s lips suddenly. “You know ... I do love my wife.” And that trademark cloud of anxiety that made him think too much came swept over them with a fury. Not long for this world, Mayo waved it away. “I know you do.” “You do?” It was almost funny. Despite the evident affinity they shared in these little chats, Mín’s shock reminded him just how little they really knew each other. How much of a gamble he’d just taken. “You know that I know that this,” Mayo lifted their hands, fingers interlaced together, and placed his lips against one of Mín’s knuckles, “and that,” then bobbed his head toward the house, “can be different but true, at the same time.”

᪣

He sighed and swallowed the memory hard.

“‘Ta bueno, ‘ta bueno,” nodding vigorously because he saw the whole fucking thing coming before he’d set foot in the house. Standing up and putting his hat back on, he muttered cooly, “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Striding toward the fish tank, he thought of Mín again and turned back around. He met Dina’s eyes in a challenge, you did this but simply tipped his hat, “Patrona,” a gesture of faux respect she was undoubtedly smart enough and petty enough to see for what it was.

On his way out of the house, he was already hard at work, scouring his brain. What was the last number that he had for Amado? Fuck, that shit was months ago. He'd probably have a new one. Oh, well. It'd be worth it. Or ... would it? Well frankly, if he was really honest with himself, he'd probably stopped giving a shit the second the words, "make yourself at home" came out of her mouth.

Stepping out into the midday sun at the top of the steps leading down to the driveway, he caught the carcass of his cigarette laying in the lion's mouth out of the corner of his eye.

Dina would regret this and probably never even know why.

But Benjamín would.

En ese mundo de complicidades y traiciones, un día tu mejor enemigo es tu cómplice y al otro se convierte en tu peor enemigo.

═

“Uh, no. I said I wanted to get arepas at the street stall Trujillo recommended, you said it was too far to walk.” Feistl chuckled, finished his beer, gestured at the bartender for another. 

“This fuckin’ guy,” he added fondly to nobody in particular. “Can’t hold his aguardiente for shit.”

Van Ness heard himself saying, “You remind me of my ex-wife.”

Feistl leaned back an inch, eyebrows shooting up comically, mouth sketching a willingness to smile just in case this turned out to be a joke. “The fuck, Dan?”

“I meant Colombia,” Van Ness said. “You’re the one who dragged me here.”

Feistl slumped his weight a little to the side, onto the elbow he had rested on the bar. Van Ness didn’t think for one minute that meant his partner was relaxing; he knew better.

“You’re the one who followed me here,” said Feistl, and they’d never had this argument before, not exactly, but it felt familiar in the way it felt dangerous. He felt his mouth go dry.

Then, magically, he got saved; Feistl’s eyes flicked over to catch something happening behind Van Ness’s back, and a mischievous smile touched his lips. “Oh shit. Pay up.”

Van Ness turned. In the back corner, Peña had just gotten up, followed by a tall brunette.

What do we do now? Van Ness had asked Peña only ten minutes ago, or maybe it had been Feistl, he couldn’t remember, it was funny how he couldn’t even remember, but anyways, Peña had said nothing. Just downed his drink, stood, and made his way to the back corner where a couple beautiful women were sitting at a table all to themselves.

Van Ness had bet that he’d go for the blonde, Feistl the brunette.

As they watched, Peña started making his way through the crowd, followed by the brunette, followed by—“You pay up,” Van Ness said—the blonde too.

At the door, Peña opened the door for the two women like a gentleman, returned Van Ness and Feistl’s little waves with a cool kid’s nod, and disappeared back into legend. 

Van Ness looked at Feistl, shrugged, and swapped five-dollar bills with him. 

“Guess that’s what you do now, huh,” said Feistl.

“Guess so.”

The two of them eyed each other, Feistl taking a swig of his new beer, Van Ness having nothing to do with himself at all but sit there, feeling unaccountably cheated. He had wanted things to go back to normal, and they had, and now he didn’t want normalcy anymore.

“You want another drink?” Feistl said. 

“No,” said Van Ness. It wasn’t at all what he said, but the way he said it, that made his partner’s expression get a little tireder, a little warmer. His brown eyes were wise; Van Ness missed the early days, when he thought the new rookie was stupid. 

He almost missed that Feistl was speaking, only maybe by now it wasn’t Feistl, it was Chris. He couldn’t be sure, and he thought another aguardiente would’ve helped. It was probably Feistl.

“Dan,” Feistl said. “Don’t.”

“It’s what we do now,” Van Ness said. He felt a little lightheaded.

“What’s what we do now?”

“What we want to do.”

Chris—it had to be Chris, by now—looked at him like he’d just pieced together a fresh, cartel-sized new lead, only a really fucking weird one, ‘cause whatever it was, it seemed to entrance him and amuse him and hurt him and piss him off all at once, and also, somehow, he was smiling. A small, forgotten kind of smile, but still noticeable. To Dan, at least, who noticed all his smiles.

Slowly, after a second, Chris said,“You do know that you don’t have to work a hundred hours of unpaid overtime and catch a cadre of internationally wanted drug lords just to have the thing you want, right? Please tell me you know that.”

“Sure, I know that. Everyone knows that,” said Van Ness “But I worked a hundred hours of unpaid overtime and I caught a cadre of internationally wanted drug lords, so I damn well better get what I want.”

He had aimed for sweeping and gruff and masculine on that last part, but ended up petulant; the difference was doubt. As always. It didn’t help that Chris had stopped smiling.

Chris said, “I wouldn’t want to drag you anywhere.”

He didn’t say it mean, but Dan flushed anyway. Dark bar, hard liquor, he could’ve gotten away with it, too—could’ve figured his way out of the conversation and fled on back to his shitty little apartment for the night. But it wasn’t his shitty little apartment he wanted to fall asleep in.

“I’ll follow you,” Dan said.

And he did.

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[ my narcos fic masterlist ]

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blame it on the alcohol? no, blame it on the @axreliono.