#narcos masterlist

The doors to the ER burst open with a violent slam, the humid Colombian air momentarily rushing in before the sterile chill of the hospital smothered it. You didn't waste a moment running up to the gurney as it rushed through the hall.

"We got a GSW! Man, forty years old," the paramedic shouted at you, his English heavily accented and thick with urgency. "Penetrating trauma... down here, below the vest line!" He finished as he pointed at the area.

Right beside them, practically throwing his weight into the metal frame to keep up, was a blonde man who looked ready to break down in tears. His hands were covered in the patient's blood, and his face covered in a panicked sweat.

"Javi, look at me! Stay with me, goddamnit!" He yelled, his voice cracking.

"He lose a lot of blood at the scene," the paramedic added, breathlessly. "BP was..." He paused to find the words, then looked at you as he said, "Sixty over forty in the ambulance. It very hit and miss, doctor."

"Get him to Trauma Room 1! Now!" You glanced at Javier’s grey face, then down at the packing that was soaked through with dark blood. "Start two large IV lines. Hang the O-negative blood and use the pressure bags to push it in fast! Call the blood bank and tell them we need more blood ready right now!" The other medical professionals nodded and got to work, giving you a moment to question the man out of place in your ER, "Who are you?"

"Steve... Steve Murphy." The man panted. "I'm his partner... we're DEA." He finished, his face morphing to one of a man about to be sick.

His head was spinning. The words buzzed around him like a swarm of angry hornets. GSW... O-negative... pressure bags... It didn't mean anything to him. All he could see was Javier’s limp hand laying beside him on the gurney.

They wheeled Javier into the trauma bay, and you immediately cut away the rest of his stiff shirt. "His blood pressure bottoming out," a nurse called out, her fingers pressed hard against Javier's neck. "His pulse is weak and fast."

"He's going into shock," you muttered, pressing your hands hard over the packing on the wound. You looked up and finally noticed Steve hovering over the bed, looking like a ghost. "You can't be in here. Step outside."

"I'm not leaving him," Steve said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. He grabbed the edge of the metal guardrail.

"Agent, please, you need to let doctor work. Wait in the hall." Said a nurse as she tried to gently steer him out of the room, but Steve was having none of it.

"I said, I'm not fucking leaving him!" Steve barked, shaking her off, his eyes locked on Javier.

You didn't have time to argue with a stubborn DEA agent. "Fine. Stay in the corner. Don't touch anything, don't get in the way." You turned back to Javier. "Get the sedative and the paralytic ready." You ordered, and then the cardiac monitor beside the bed began to beep in a frantic, erratic rhythm and blaring out a symphony that made Steve's stomach turn. "He’s stopped breathing."

Javier began to choke, blood spilling from his mouth, and Steve felt his knees go weak. This was a living nightmare.

"He's choking..." you yelled. " He's crashing!! Start pumping air into him manually. I need a breathing tube now!" You instructed the nurse, and she placed a mask over the agent's face as you fetched the equipment you'd need next.

Steve watched in utter horror. He had seen men die in the streets, had seen the brutal aftermath of car bombs and cartel executions, but this - this clinical, desperate scramble to save his partner's life - was a different kind of hell.

You grabbed the cold metal laryngoscope to pull back his jaw, stepping to the head of the bed. "Suction! I can't see his throat, there’s too much blood." The suction line gurgled, clearing his throat just enough. Then... With practised ease, you slid the plastic breathing tube down Javier's throat. "Listen for breath sounds."

The nurse pressed her stethoscope to Javier’s chest. "We're in. Hook him up to respirator."

The frantic beeping on the monitor slowly began to level out into a steady, albeit fast, rhythm.

You wiped a streak of sweat from your forehead with your sleeve, your eyes scanning the monitors. "The blood pressure is holding for a second, but he’s bleeding out internally. The bullet likely hit a major artery." You looked up at the team. "We don't have time for X-rays. Prep him for emergency surgery right now. Call upstairs and tell them we are coming up hot!"

The room erupted into a new kind of motion... coordinated, fast, and military-like in its precision.

"Agent Murphy," you said, your voice firm but carrying a sliver of heavy empathy as you looked at Steve. "We are taking him to the operating theatre. I’m going to do everything I can to patch him up, but you need to wait outside those double doors."

Before Steve could even process a response, the brakes on the heavy metal bed were unlocked. You and the nurses surged forward, pushing the gurney out of the trauma bay and down the long, bright hallway toward the surgical suite.

The heavy double doors swung shut behind you, and Steve was left standing completely alone in the trauma room. Staring at the blood smeared all over the floor.

The relentless buzz of the hospital’s fluorescent lights had long since tunnelled into Steve’s skull.

Three hours.

Three hours of staring at the same scuffed blue linoleum, the same beige walls, and the ticking hands of the yellowed clock on the wall that seemed to move through molasses.

He hadn't washed his hands. Javier’s blood had dried into the creases of his knuckles, dark and flaking and a brutal reminder that while the world kept spinning, his partner was lying cut open on a table upstairs.

The silence of the waiting room was suffocating. Unable to take it anymore, Steve stood up, his boots heavy as lead, and walked over to the payphone mounted on the wall. His fingers shook violently as he dropped a coin into the slot and dialled the familiar number.

The line clicked. A couple of rings, and then a soft voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Connie..." Steve choked out. The moment he heard her voice, the dam broke. The stoic, tough DEA agent vanished, and his chest heaved as a ragged sob ripped right out of him. He gripped the plastic receiver so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Steve? Steve, oh my god, what's wrong?" Connie’s voice sharpened instantly. In the background, the faint, soft whimper of the baby stirring drifted through the line. "Steve, talk to me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"It’s Javi," Steve wept, his voice cracking completely, "Connie, it’s Javi. He got shot... Right below the vest. It’s bad, Connie. It’s really bad."

"Oh Jesus..." she breathed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Where are you? Is he... is he alive?"

"We're at the hospital.. He's in surgery. They've been in there for hours," Steve choked out, his shoulders shaking as he tried to catch his breath. The horror of the trauma room flashed behind his eyes, vivid and terrifying. "I was in the room with him, Connie. I couldn't leave him. And then... He started choking on blood right in front of me... He stopped breathing, Con."

He swallowed hard, a fresh wave of tears hitting him. "The doctor... they had to force this plastic tube down his throat just to get air into him. They were forcing his jaw open, and there was so much blood... I’ve seen guys get shot in the streets, Connie. I’ve seen it a hundred times. But watching it happen to Javi... I thought he was gone. I thought I watched him die."

On the other end of the line, Connie was quiet for a second, absorbing the unbridled terror in her husband’s voice. She had supported him through one of his partners getting killed. Through witnessing kids getting shot in front of him, but never... Had she heard him like this...

"Steve, listen to me," she said, her voice steadying, anchoring him. "Javier is a fighter. You know how stubborn he is. He is not going to give up easily."

"I can't lose him, Connie," Steve whispered, his voice sounding incredibly small in the empty hospital hallway. "I can't lose another partner."

"You aren't going to," she promised fiercely. "Listen to me. I’m coming down there. I’m going to be right there with you."

"What about the baby?" Steve asked, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve.

"I'll figure it out," Connie said instantly, her mind already racing. "I’ll ring the neighbour, or see if one of the embassy wives can watch her for the night. I just need to find a sitter, and then I’m coming straight to the hospital. You hear me? Just hold on, Steve. I’ll be there soon."

"Okay," Steve whispered, closing his eyes. "Okay. I love you."

"I love you too. Hang in there."

The line went dead, leaving Steve alone again in the depressing waiting room. He slowly hung up the receiver and slumped back down into the hard plastic waiting room chair. Then, burying his face in his blood-stained hands, he wept again.

~

Another three hours had bled away by the time the heavy set of double doors at the end of the corridor finally swung open.

Steve didn't even realise he had fallen asleep until Connie had gently shaken his shoulder. She had arrived an hour prior and had immediately pulled him to her. Their elderly neighbour had agreed to stay overnight with Olivia, leaving Connie free to sit in the suffocating quiet of the waiting room and rub slow, soothing circles into her husband's back.

You stepped into the waiting area looking completely frazzled. Your scrubs were creased, your eyes bloodshot, and there was a deep, dark weariness in the slope of your shoulders. It had been an absolute nightmare of a surgery.

Steve snapped to attention the second he heard the doors click, bolting up and out of the hard waiting room chair. Connie stood up with him, her hand instantly gripping his elbow to keep him grounded.

"Doctor," Steve rasped, his voice raw and completely hollow. "Is he...?"

You took a deep breath, looking at the two of them. "He made it through the surgery."

Steve let out a shaky breath, his head dropping into his hands for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to look back at you.

"But I need to be completely honest with you both," you continued, your voice grave. "He is not out of the woods yet. The bullet passed right beneath his vest and did a massive amount of damage. It completely tore open a major artery in his abdomen. He was bleeding out faster than we could give him blood."

Connie’s posture shifted. Her face went pale, but her eyes locked onto yours with a sharp focus. As a nurse, she knew exactly how dangerous that was. "Were you able to patch the artery? Has the bleeding completely stopped?"

"We repaired the vessel, but he lost an incredible amount of blood before we could get it under control," you explained, looking between Connie and Steve. "His body has taken a massive hit. Because his system is in deep shock and his abdomen went through so much trauma, we have him heavily sedated, and we are keeping him on the breathing machine for now."

"For how long?" Connie asked, her voice tight.

"Potentially for the next week," you replied. "We need to let the machine do the breathing for him while his body stabilises and starts to recover from the shock. If we take him off it too soon, his system just won't be strong enough."

Steve just stood there. He didn't ask anything. He didn't move. He just stared at you numbly, his eyes glazed over. All he heard was 'machine keeping him alive'.

You stepped a little closer, looking directly at Steve to ensure he heard the next part. "Agent Murphy, listen to me. Javier is stable right now, but the next 24 to 48 hours are absolutely critical. We’re watching closely for any signs of infection, internal bleeding, or his organs struggling from the blood loss. We are taking it hour by hour."

Connie swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Can we see him?"

"In a little while," you said softly, offering a faint nod. "He’s being moved to the intensive care unit right now. He’s going to look very pale, and there are a lot of tubes, but he's alive. A nurse will fetch you as soon as he's settled in his room."

"Thank you, Doctor," Connie whispered, her grip tightening on Steve’s arm.

Steve didn't say a word. He just nodded once, a robotic, empty gesture, his gaze drifting back to the floor as he prepared himself to face the machines keeping his partner tethered to the world.

~

The intensive care room was dim and smelled heavily of antiseptic, making the hair on the back of Steve's neck stand on end. The only sounds were the mechanical, rhythmic huff-click of the respirator and the steady, artificial beep of the heart monitor.

When the nurse finally guided Steve and Connie up to Javier’s bedside, Steve froze.

Javier looked like he was dying. His skin was a harrowing, bloodless grey, his lips slightly chapped, and his face was entirely slack beneath the heavy strips of medical tape holding the thick plastic breathing tube in his mouth. Gone was the tanned complexion of his partner... Replaced with what looked like the ghost of him. Every few seconds, the machine forced a breath into him, making his chest rise and fall in a stiff, unnatural motion. He looked small, swallowed up by pea green sheets and a web of clear IV lines pumping fluids and meds into his arms.

Connie let out a small, fractured gasp, quickly burying her face against Steve’s shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing her eyes shut as she fought back her own tears, trying to stay strong for her husband.

Steve didn't cry. He didn't even blink. He just let Connie hug him, standing completely rigid, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. His eyes were locked on the breathing tube jutting out between Javier's straight teeth. A numbness had settled deep into his bones, a protective erected to keep the sheer terror of this reality from destroying him completely.

An hour later, the door to the room opened quietly. You stepped back in, now dressed in your civilian clothes - a light waterproof jacket to shield against the humid Colombian drizzle - but the exhaustion was still etched deep into your face. Your shift was finally over, but you couldn't leave the hospital without checking on your patient one last time.

You walked over to the monitors, checking the readouts, adjusting the IVs, and gently placing a hand on Javier's arm in comfort. For him or for yourself, you weren't quite sure.

Looking up, you saw Steve and Connie standing there like statues.

"His vitals are holding steady," you said softly, your voice quiet so as not to shatter the stillness of the room. You looked directly at Steve, wanting him to feel the weight of your words. "I know how terrifying this looks. But he is resting, and he isn't in any pain right now. I’m handing him over to a fantastic night team, and I’ll be back first thing in the morning. We are going to do absolutely everything we can for him. He's a fighter, Agent Murphy."

Connie offered you a tired, deeply grateful smile. "Thank you, Doctor. Get some rest."

You gave them a reassuring nod, squeezed Connie’s arm gently, and quietly slipped out of the room, leaving the couple alone with the rhythmic humming of the machines.

The silence settled back over the room for a long minute. Connie stayed tucked against Steve's side, watching the mechanical rise and fall of Javier's chest.

"You know," Connie murmured softly, her voice carrying a tiny, fond bittersweetness, "Javier would really like that doctor."

A sudden, unexpected sound broke the quiet. Steve let out a low, rough chuckle. It was a dry, hollow sound, but the ghost of a smile touched his lips as he kept his eyes on his partner’s face.

"Yeah," Steve whispered, his voice thick but lighter than it had been all night. "When he wakes up... he’ll be turning the charm up to eleven. He won't be able to help himself."

The transition from death's door to the slow grind of recovery began on a Tuesday morning, four days after Javier had been wheeled out of the theatre.

The ICU room felt different now. The initial suffocating panic that had filled the air had diminished. Steve had spent the first forty-eight hours practically glued to the wood and vinyl chair beside Javier's bed, but Connie had finally managed to drag him home to see Olivia and get a proper shower, leaving the room uncharacteristically quiet.

You stepped inside, checking the charts. Javier’s vitals had finally levelled out. His blood counts were stabilising, his heart rate was down to a comfortable range, and his lungs were doing more of the work against the mechanical respirator. So you had been easing the sedation over the last day, happy with his progress.

"Alright, Javier," you murmured softly, stepping up to the head of the bed. "Today's the day we see if you can talk back to me."

You checked his pupillary response, then gently tapped his shoulder. "Javier. Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me."

His eyelids fluttered, heavy and resistant, before cracking open. His dark eyes were glassy from the heavy sedatives, rolling around slightly before locking onto your face. He instantly gagged, his throat convulsing against the thick plastic tube and his hand twitched, instinctively trying to rise to rip it out.

"Hey, hey-no. Don't touch it," you said firmly but gently, catching his wrist before he could reach his face. "I know it feels awful, but I'm going to take it out in a moment. I just need you to look at me and breathe. Can you do that?"

Javier blinked slowly, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. He let his hand drop, choosing instead to lean into the steady, calm authority of your voice. You called for assistance and, as they entered, started to instruct them on what you were planning to do.

"Nurse, let's deflate the cuff," you ordered as you snipped the heavy tape securing the tube in place. "Okay, Javier. Take a deep breath in... and a big cough on three. One, two, three-"

With a practised, smooth motion, you pulled the long plastic tube from his throat. Javier threw his head forward, coughing violently. A raw, wet sound that made him instantly wince and clutch his tightly bandaged abdomen. You quickly stepped in with the suction line, clearing his mouth, before placing a comfortable oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

He then sank back into the pillows, his chest heaving and his face pale from the exertion. He closed his eyes for a long moment, listening to the cool hiss of the oxygen. When he finally opened them again, he looked up at you, his throat clicking as he tried to swallow.

He pulled the mask down just an inch, his voice nothing more than a dry, gravelly scrape. "¿Quién... quién eres?"

You smiled faintly, adjusting his blanket. "I'm your doctor. I'm the one who patched up your spectacular GSW."

Javier stared at you through his long lashes, his gaze tracing the tired lines around your eyes. Even completely exhausted, doped up on morphine, and entirely helpless, a faint, roguish glint flickered in his eyes. He let out a weak, raspy breath that was supposed to be a laugh.

"Lucky... lucky me," he whispered, before his eyelids grew too heavy to hold up, and he drifted back into a much more natural sleep.

~

By the next afternoon, Javier was sitting up. The grey tint to his skin was finally being replaced by a ghost of his usual colour. You walked in during your afternoon rounds to find him staring intensely at a small plastic cup of lime green jelly on his tray.

"Don't look at it like it insulted you," you joked, stepping up to check his surgical drain.

Javier looked up, a dramatic sigh rattling in his chest. "Doc. Please. Tell me you have something real in this hospital. This stuff... it looks like it belongs in a car's engine."

"It's a clear liquid diet, Agent Peña. You had a major artery repaired and your bowels handled; you’re lucky I’m letting you look at the jelly," you replied, as you gently checked his abdomen. "Any sharp pain here?"

"Only when I laugh," he grunted, though his eyes remained fixed on you, watching how carefully you worked. There was an easy, quiet comfort developing between the two of you.

"Steve told me what you did," Javier said softly, his tone shifting into something entirely genuine as you checked his IV line. "In the ER. When I crashed. He said you didn't hesitate."

You paused, looking down at him. "I was just doing my job, Javier."

"I know," he said, his dark eyes holding yours with a heavy weight. "But you also saved my life. I don't forget things like that."

~

The following day, you caught him trying to swing his legs over the edge of the bed entirely unassisted.

"What do you think you're doing?" you scolded, running across the room and catching him by the shoulder before he could rip his stitches open.

"I'm bored, doc," he complained, though he didn't argue as you guided his legs back onto the mattress. He was wearing a standard hospital gown, looking entirely stripped of his usual bravado, yet he still managed to look entirely at ease around you. "The walls are staring at me. Let me walk. Just to the door."

"Absolutely not. If you blow those sutures, I'm the one who has to go back in and fix them, and frankly, I've seen enough of your insides for one month," you shot back, a teasing smirk on your face.

Javier chuckled, a low, warm sound. "You know, you're incredibly bossy."

"It's called quality healthcare. Get used to it." You reached over to check his forehead, checking his temperature with the back of your hand. It was a standard clinical check, but Javier’s eyes softened as your cool skin met his forehead. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into the touch just a fraction of an inch.

"You have nice hands," he murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth, effortless register Steve had warned Connie about. "Cold. But nice."

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hand back with a grin, though your heart gave a tiny, unexpected jump. "Save the charm for the nurses, Agent Peña. I'm immune."

"We'll see about that," he whispered, a genuine smile spreading across his face as you noted his stats on his chart.

The progress was undeniable. He was healing well, and the easy, comfortable banter between the two of you was quickly becoming the highlight of your gruelling shifts.

The next morning...

You walked into the hospital with a fresh cup of black coffee in your hand, expecting the usual quiet hum of the morning shift change. But as you approached the central desk, you noticed a sudden flurry of movement down the corridor. A massive influx of casualties from a bombing last night had thrown the entire ward into absolute chaos. The night staff were completely overwhelmed. This had left Javier's corner of the unit unnaturally quiet.

A sudden, cold spike of intuition twisted in your gut. You set your coffee down on the desk and hurried down the hallway toward his room, and when you pushed the door open, your breath caught in your throat.

Javier was in a bad way.

He lay flat on his back, his head rolled limply to the side. His skin was back to an alarming shade of grey and coated in a thick, cold sheet of sweat. His breathing was rapid as his teeth chattered.

"Javier?" you called out, throwing your clipboard onto the bedside table and surging forward.

You pressed two fingers against his neck, finding his skin burning hot, and his pulse a faint, chaotic flutter running dangerously fast.

You ripped back the heavy blankets to check his stomach. The moment the sheets moved, the sickening scent of infection hit you. The neat white dressing from yesterday afternoon was stained with a foul, yellowish fluid, and the skin around the wound was swollen and a furious red.

"I need help in here! Now!" you screamed, slamming your hand onto the emergency button on the wall. Instantly, an alarm began to blare, and the monitor above the bed erupted into sound as his blood pressure started to crash.

Right at that exact second, the door opened again.

"Hey, doc, I brought some decent-" Steve stopped dead in his tracks. He was holding a paper bag from a local bakery, and the faint smile on his face instantly vanished, replaced by an expression of pure horror.

Before Steve could even process what he was looking at, Javier’s body suddenly went rigid.

His jaw clamped shut with a sickening click, and his head flew violently back into his pillow. His eyes rolled completely back, exposing the whites, and his arms locked tightly against his chest.

Then, his entire frame began to convulse violently, shaking so hard the heavy metal bed frame banged against the wall.

Javi's cardiac monitor went wild.

"What the hell is happening?!" Steve yelled, dropping the bakery bag onto the floor. He lunged toward the bed, his hands hovering in mid-air, terrified to touch his partner. "What's going on?! He was fine yesterday! We were joking around! What changed?!"

"He's seizing! A fever is cooking his brain!" you yelled back as a nurse finally crashed into the room with the medical cart. "Help me get him on his side before he suffocates!"

Steve didn't hesitate. He grabbed Javier’s hip while you threw your weight forward, gripping Javier's shoulders to carefully turn his convulsing body onto its side. Blood-tinged saliva began to pool at the corner of Javier's mouth.

"Get me five of diazepam into his IV right now!" you ordered the nurse, your voice raw but steady with adrenaline. "Push it fast!"

"Doc, talk to me!" Steve begged, his voice cracking as he held Javier’s trembling hip, watching his partner completely lose control of his own body. "He was okay yesterday! You said he was doing great!"

"A deep infection must've broken loose in his abdomen overnight," you explained rapidly, your hands locked onto Javier's shoulders, feeling every frantic, involuntary jerk of his muscles against your palms. "His body obviously went into shock while he was sleeping. It happens fast, Steve."

The nurse injected the sedative into his line. For a few agonising seconds, the violent tremors kept racking his body. You held onto him tightly, silently begging his heart not to give out under the strain. Then slowly, the medication took hold. The violent shaking began to taper off into smaller, shuddering tremors until finally, Javier went completely limp.

Falling back onto the mattress like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"Blood pressure still dangerously low," the nurse gasped, her hands shaking as she checked the monitor. "70 over 38."

"Get those fluids into him now... squeeze the bags if you have to!" you ordered, wiping a layer of cold sweat from your own forehead. "And flood his line with the strongest antibiotics we have, immediately!"

The nurses moved at a dead run, hanging bags and adjusting lines. Steve stepped back a single pace, his face pale, his chest heaving as he stared at the flat, unmoving form of his partner.

You leaned over the bed, your hands sliding down to wrap firmly around Javier's limp, burning hand. His fingers were completely unresponsive, slick with sweat, but you squeezed them with everything you had.

"I've got you," you whispered near his ear, dropping all clinical distance as your heart hammered against your ribs. "I'm right here, Javier. The fit is over. You stay with me. Okay?"

Steve watched you from the foot of the bed. He saw the way you held Javier's hand, the raw desperation in your voice, and the fierce protectiveness in your eyes. Even through his own panic, Steve could see it plain as day... this wasn't just a doctor treating a patient anymore.

The storm of motion finally began to settle. The nurses finished hanging the antibiotics and the fluid bags, leaving the room as quickly as they had entered it.

The cardiac monitor was still running dangerously fast, but the frantic, erratic spiking from the seizure had turned into a steady, rapid rhythm.

You let out a long, ragged breath, slowly letting go of Javier's hand to step back and check the IV lines one last time. Your heart was still hammering against your ribs, but your professional facade was firmly back in place as you turned to look at Steve.

The DEA agent was still standing near the foot of the bed, looking like a shell of the man who had arrived not half an hour earlier. His chest was heaving, and his eyes fixed entirely on Javier’s limp, pale face.

"Steve," you said softly, your voice grounded and calm as you stepped around the bed toward him. "Hey. Look at me."

Steve blinked, his head turning slowly toward you as if waking up from a trance. "Is he... is it over?"

"The seizure is over. The medication stopped the storm in his brain," you reassured him, placing a firm, comforting hand on his shoulder. "He’s unconscious right now because of the sedatives and the toll the fit took on his body, but he should start to stabilise now. The fluids are going to push his blood pressure back up, and the antibiotics are already working on the infection."

Steve let out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders finally dropping an inch as he allowed himself to relax just a little. He wiped a hand over his face, his knuckles still white. "I don't get it, doc. Yesterday... yesterday he was complaining about the coffee. He was smiling. How the hell does a man go from cracking jokes to... to that in less than twelve hours?"

"Infections inside the abdomen are a nightmare, Steve," you explained quietly, keeping your tone gentle but honest. "When bacteria get trapped deep under the muscle layers, they can pool without showing any outward signs. No fever, no redness. But the moment it leaks into the bloodstream, the body’s immune system goes into overdrive to fight it. It cooks the body from the inside out." You pause, watching as this information sinks in. "It comes on fast, and it comes out of nowhere."

Steve nodded slowly, staring at Javier’s chest as it rose and fell in shallow, shaky movements. "But you caught it. Right? You got to him in time."

"I’m hopeful that we did," you said, offering him what you hoped was a reassuring smile. "The drugs will buy us time. Once his vitals settle and his blood pressure comes back up, he is going to need another surgery to clean out the infected tissue."

You paused, your eyes drifting back to Javier's grey, sweat-slicked face, and your voice dropped a fraction. "But right now? He’s just too weak for that. His system has taken too much of a beating. If I take him upstairs and cut him open right now, he likely won't survive the surgery. So we wait. We let the medicine do the heavy lifting until he's strong enough to fight."

Steve nodded, his eyes bloodshot and glassy, but they give you a hopeful look. "Okay. We wait. He can do that. He's stubborn."

"He is," you whispered, looking down at Javier, feeling a sudden, fiercely protective ache in your chest. "We just need to give him a few hours-"

A sudden, continuous tone cuts you off.

It wasn't a beep. It was a single, piercing, unbroken wail that filled the small ICU room, instantly turning your blood to ice and your head snapped toward the monitor. The rapid, spiking green line had dissolved.

It was completely flat.

"Doc?" Steve rasped, his voice dropping into a terrified, childlike whisper as the colour entirely vanished from his face. "Doc, what is that? What’s going on?"

Javier’s chest had stopped moving.

Panic flared in your chest as you lunged toward the bed, your fingers flying to Javier's neck. Beneath your fingertips, the skin was still burning... but his pulse was gone.

"He's in cardiac arrest!" you shouted, all the reassurance vanishing from your voice as you slammed your hand back onto the blue emergency button on the wall. "CODE BLUE! I need a crash cart in here right now!" You yelled as loudly as you could, hoping someone could hear you.

You didn't wait for them to arrive. You scrambled onto the bed, straddling Javier and, locking your elbows, you placed the heel of your hand dead centre on Javier's unmoving chest and instantly started compressions.

Crack.

The sound of his breastbone yielding beneath your hands echoed in the small room, but you didn't pause, immediately throwing your weight into the first frantic compression as the alarms screamed a chorus of death into the hallway.

"Come on, Javier!" you breathed... Desperately trying to bring this man, whom you'd come to admire, back. "Don't you dare give up on me."

"JAVI." Steve yelled, and you looked over your shoulder a moment to bark your next order, "Get him out of here." You screamed over the deafening wail of the monitor, your eyes locked on Javier's empty face again as you pumped frantically at his heart. "Get him out of the room! Now!"

Three, some of your asshole colleagues decided to spill coffee all over your files meaning you were forced to work late to re-type them up for a briefing the following morning. Even though you had got it done, you knew you had likely missed some details, the ink far too smudge to even begin to try and understand what had previously been written. 

However, that day had only been the start of it. The start of the downwards spiral you found yourself tumbling into. 

Sure, the others had noticed there was a change about you. Yet, it wasn’t as if they knew what was causing it or how to fix it. 

Javi especially knew what you were like - you were like him after all. Spilling your guts wasn’t your natural reaction to handling things. You kept your emotions bottled up inside of you, cramming more and more in, forcing that lid to remain firmly screwed in place even as the pressure began to build. 

And if the lid did threaten to pop off? Well then, you lost yourself in him. In the love that existed between you, and the intimate knowledge you shared of one another. After all, Javi had said it himself, “who needed therapy when you had sex and good whiskey?” 

A night of passionate fucking was all it took to take the edge off… to let a little pressure escape, delaying your inevitable eruption… But that was just it; you would erupt. It was inevitable. There was no way on earth you could sustain the relentless routine of long hours spent at work, with coffee doing its best to act as a replacement for your bed. 

Hell, you could feel the toll it was taking on you both mentally and physically, from the way your hands shook slightly, to the way your chest felt too tight to breathe sometimes. Then there was the fact your clothes were starting to get baggy, whereas they’d once clung to your frame like they’d been tailored for you. 

“Here,” Javi had smiled one afternoon. You could smell the sandwich in his hand before he even set it down on the desk in front of you, accompanied by a packet of chips and a can of your favourite soda. “Grabbed that for you on our way back. Figured you’d forget lunch - again.” 

A weak smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the kind gesture. “Thanks, Javi.” 

“Anytime, hermosa.” He said it so calmly and easily that you felt your heart skip a beat as you realised how lucky you were to have someone who cared about you so deeply. It was why you made sure to tear a corner off of the sandwich and pop it in your mouth. 

The relieved nod Javi granted you told you it was the reaction he’d been waiting for, as he took a step back to let you finish eating and working in peace. 

You knew he’d be back to check you’d finished it in a matter of minutes. So, you were quick to chuck the rest of his lunch in the waste paper bin behind you, burying it further under a pile of discarded documents you’d already finished looking through. 

It was fine. You’d eat later. Maybe you’d even try and cook dinner for you and Javi… an apology for being so distant lately… 

Somehow, despite lacking the gift of prophecy, you knew deep down that that was unlikely to happen. Just as you knew it was unlikely Javi would even make it home tonight. For the last week straight, both he and Steve had been called out on some last minute, late night errands by Carillo - not that you minded all that much. 

Not having Javi’s arms to fall into meant you felt less guilty about working late yourself. About only making it back to your empty apartment long enough for a quick shower and a power nap each night. 

It was ironic to think of Carillo, though, given that your brief conversations with the Colonel in question had been the closest you’d come to finally releasing some of the hurt and the pain inside of you. 

You didn't know what it was about him, but somehow, the Colonel had an ability to draw you out. To make you open up and share things you would never otherwise dream of. 

Maybe it was his candour? You’d noticed that about him since you'd started working together; he had a blunt demeanour, saying what he thought regardless of the affect it could have on another person. 

Now, it wasn't done with malice, per say, but rather as the result of a man who had the weight of an entire army on his shoulders and an impossible task. He just didn't have the time to bullshit anyone - especially when you both lived in a city full of people all too willing to lie and cheat. 

It also came from a weird sense of respect, of seeing people as equals, deserving of the truth just as he expected the same in return. No matter how painful it may be.

Needless to say, it was one of the reasons you'd grown to respect the man - and dare you even say, like. 

Still, when he decided to loiter on the other side of your desk, late one night, you felt yourself stiffen, as if suddenly all too aware of every little gesture your body made and what it gave away.

The Colonel missed nothing.  

“You look like shit.”

Wow. Don’t beat around the bush. 

“Jeez, your wife married a charmer, Colonel,” you scoffed, dragging on your cigarette, sparing him a fleeting glance. “Speaking of, doesn’t she want you back home? Or do you prefer my company that much that you’d rather stand at my desk at 11 o’clock at night?” 

“She’s out of the city, visiting her parents,” he rebuffed, clearly not taking the bait as he dropped into the empty seat opposite. In fact, he decided to reach across and steal one of the cigarettes from the packet on your desk, lighting it for himself in a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere for now.  

“Good for her.”

“Yes, it is. I think time away from this place is good for everyone.” 

You could feel the accusation lacing his words, as well as the heat from his continuous stare. “Then why didn’t you go with her? Not enough vacation days?” 

He scoffed, a bitter smirk twisting his lips upwards. “You’re funny; I can see why Peña likes you so much. Like calls to like, as they say, even if you try and hide it behind that smile of yours.” 

You bit back a laugh. “What can I say? I lucked out in that department and got my Mom’s smile. My sister was not so fortunate. She always had my dad’s features - meaning she looked more often than not like she was sucking on a lemon.” 

“This is the sister that died from an overdose, correct?”

“Yes.” 

“The anniversary is this week, is it not?” 

He asked it so calmly and casually that anyone would have thought he’d asked you what the weather was like outside, or what your favourite record to listen to was. 

At least his concern now made sense. It was the kind of detail he would remember, and you were honestly more surprised by the fact it had taken until now for him to bring it up. 

He’d probably been itching to ask you about it all day, aware of the date even if your two partners were not. Well, they might have been, but neither had said anything which was your preference if you were being honest. Hence your rapidly cooling demeanour towards your colleague. 

“I’m fine, if that’s what you're trying to fish about for, Colonel,” you sighed, staring back down at your desk again in an attempt to dismiss him. “You don't have to worry about me. I’m good. Thanks. So can I get back to work in peace? Or did you have some other question for me?” 

Carillo sighed, simply choosing to smoke his cigarette, letting the tension linger along with the steadily growing haze around you both. 

He didn't need to say the words aloud; his actions did all the talking for him as he reached over and helped himself to a file off of you desk. 

He didn't buy this ‘calm, cool, and collected’ act you were pedalling. Not for a second - something his stare alone gave away, even if he refused to say it. Instead, he chose to read, and work, and smoke along side you so that you would not be alone. 

He had his eyes on you... watching and waiting for the moment that your carefully constructed walls came crashing down... the only question was would they crush you in the process?

It was about a month later that the inevitable happened; that you finally hit rock bottom. 

It had just been a causal remark that did it, of all things. A casual remark that sent you tipping over the edge. 

You had just returned from lunch and hadn’t even sat back down at your desk yet when you noticed that someone was missing.  

“Yo, Steve?” you queried, quickly glancing up at the empty seat next to you. “Where did Javi go?” 

Now, you couldn't be a hundred percent certain what Steve said next but you knew he’d said something about Carillo, a lead, and a raid ... 

“What?”

“I said, Javier went with him,” Steve repeated, staring at you with growing concern. You realised he must have already repeated himself. “What? Why? What is it?” 

“Javi went too? He… he’s there? On that raid?” 

“Yes, y/n, that’s what I just said - hey! Where you going?” 

You didn’t even realise your feet had started moving, not until you heard Steve’s confusion as he yelled after you. 

But you didn't stop.

You couldn’t stop, not until you were outside - not until you were far enough from that place that you could actually stop and fucking breathe. 

When did it become so hard to breathe? 

When had the room become so small? 

Why did your mind suddenly feel the need to go to the darkest place possible? 

It was just a raid... one of hundreds Javi had gone on since arriving here in the country, just as you had also gone on your fair share. So why was your head suddenly picturing him... lying there... injured, or worse... dead. 

The number of bodies you’d stared at, lying in the streets in a macabre tableau that had become all too familiar by now - all part of this fucking job. A job you signed up for, hoping to vanquish the bastards who had taken so much from you and those you loved… yet, every day, it seemed you had failed as more and more innocent people suffered… and to think, that Javi - the man you loved more than anything - who you had neglected terribly to the point you couldn't actually remember the last time you’d woken up next to each other - could be amongst them… 

It brought you to your knees. 

“Whoah, y/n. Easy. What’s wrong?” 

Steve’s voice sounded distant, as if you have been submerged beneath water. Yet, you could tell he was beside you, dropping down onto the kerb before hauling you close. The warmth of his touch was enough to tether you to him, to reality, as everything around you seemed to spin in dizzying circles.

You could feel it as his hands rose, cupping your cheeks, turning your head and trying to get you to look at him. 

When you finally did, he could see immediately that your eyes were glassy, like you weren’t really seeing or hearing him. 

He knew that look. 

“Y/N,” Steve murmured in a soothing voice. “Y/N, look at me. Look at me.” 

He paused, waiting until your eyes trained themselves on his face, some of the cloudiness starting to dissipate. 

“Good, that’s good. Now breathe. Just breathe,” he instructed, taking a few deep breaths himself to show you how.

It took you a moment or two, but you eventually became fully aware of your surroundings and what your friend was telling you to do. 

Following his lead, you took a few shuddering breaths, then a few more. You kept breathing until you could feel the racing of your heart slow and the fear that had felt crippling just moments before begin to ease.

You were exhausted.

Wiping at your face, you tried to banish the tears that had left a salty trail burning down your cheek.

Steve doesn't say anything for a long minute, instead choosing to pull you into his side and light up a cigarette, which he was quick to offer you.

“T... thank you.”

You sat like that for a while... just watching people and cars passing by, smoking like two people on a perfectly ordinary break.

No one bothered to stop and ask you two questions. Hell, no one even shot a glance in your direction, everyone too busy with their own business to stop and give a shit about yours.

So you sat. 

And smoked. 

And said nothing... not until the cigarette was nothing more than a stub.

Steve was quick to take it from you, before it could burn your fingers. Tossing it aside, it had clearly served its purpose. 

He stood and offered you a hand. 

His face left no room for debate as he stated calmly, “Come on, I’m taking you home. Now.” 

“Come on. A couple more steps, Y/N,” Steve urged, guiding you up the stairs to your apartment. 

His hand was warm, firm even, as it pressed against your lower back. 

He’d been like this since the moment you’d left the embassy, steering you and hovering over you like he expected you to simply topple over at the slightest breeze. 

It was touching, yet irritating all at once - a sentiment you were too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other to even attempt to unpack. You were also just too goddamn tired. 

“Here we are.” Steve’s words startled you. “Home sweet home.” 

You didn’t remember giving him the keys, but you must have as he opened the door a second later and herded you inside. 

There was emotion in your throat - threatening to spill from you. You were holding on by a thread and he knew it. Just as Carillo knew it, and possibly Connie too - 

Wait, Connie?

You blinked as you realised that at some point the woman had also entered your home, most likely having been summoned by Steve on the drive home. 

You wanted to feel guilty at the thought of her being dragged into your mess, but you were honestly too tired to feel anything other than grateful as she hurried over to you, offering you a cup of what you assumed was tea, as well as two pills. 

To help take the edge off, she explained, urging you to take them. Doctor’s orders. 

It was impossible to miss the way that they were both staring at each other - sharing anxious glances as you swallowed the tablets and dutifully sipped the tea. 

They were worried about you. Hell, you were worried about you, and Javi, and Steve, and everyone else you loved and cared about - that was what had got you in this mess in the first place. 

Damn it.

You heard them say as much as you marched yourself to your bedroom, claiming you were going to try and get some rest whilst you waited for news. 

If they bought it, you couldn’t tell, but neither protested as you left them. 

They simply let you go, allowing you the space and privacy to crawl into your bedroom, bury yourself in the unmade sheets, and lie down for a while. The medication had clearly started to work as you felt heavy... tired... 

Lying there, you could hear their voices... faint murmurs drifting down the hall. 

You caught only snippets as they tried and failed to keep their voices down, just as your parents had once done when you were just a kid. Still, despite their efforts, you caught enough to know that there was still no word from Javi, or about the raid he went on. 

“-called Javi- no reply.”

“Carillo - try again -”

“-worried about her - stressed.” 

Eventually, the words began to fade away, replaced instead by your body's sudden need to sleep. It was pointless to fight the drugs now in your system, or the comfort of being wrapped in the bed sheets that still smelled of Javi... not even you were strong enough to fight it as you felt yourself drifting off into sweet oblivion.

"Sweetheart?"

You must have still been dreaming - that was the thought that crossed your mind as you swore you heard Javi's voice.

"Javi?" you moaned, fighting against the grogginess that greeted you as you tried to open your eyes.

Despite the fact it was clearly now dark out, you could easily make out the face in front of you, illuminated from behind by the bedside lamp. The sight was almost angelic - as if some divine being had deigned to answer your prayers and return the love of your life back in to your arms.

“It's ok, I'm here, sweetheart,” Javi purred again, brushing your hair back behind your ear and pulling you close. “I’m right here, ok? In one piece - promise. The raid went off without a hitch. Even snagged ourselves a new asset for you to take a crack at.”

Your eyes shimmered with tears as you quickly burrowed into his chest. You didn't really hear what he was saying, too busy focusing on the fact that he was here to say it at all - here - alive - in your arms. 

The reality hit you as you began to let it pour out of you: how relieved you were, how much you loved him. You also grumbled something about fucking telling you when he next decided to run off on a raid without so much as 'goodbye' - else you’d shoot him yourself. 

“I’m sorry, carino. I am.”

And you believed him. 

"I love you, Javi. So much."

"I love you too," he purred, "and I'm so sorry, I knew you were struggling, but when Steve told me-"

He didn't get to finish whatever the hell he'd been about to say. You didn't let him.

Instead, your lips surged hungrily towards his and as only Javi could, he kissed you back, soft and slow... as if desperate to reassure you through actions alone.

You felt him chuckle into your mouth as you grew impatient, grinding your hips against him in a silent plea for him to fill you. To join you. To bury himself, and the day you'd both had, in a moment of bliss.  

It was a special kind of neediness, reserved for just him, and one that was only sated once he had fully joined with you, as one being. Safe. Whole.

Yes, in an ideal world he would have waited until after talking to you to lose himself in such a way. After all, Steve and Connie had filled him in on the troubling turn of events that his absence today had triggered - and he'd be lying if he said the idea didn't scare him shitless, that you had broken down so completely...

He could only thank God that Steve had been there for you - especially when he couldn't be himself.

But he was here now... and you had time to start trying to make sense of this mess. Together. Carillo had assured him of that, informing him in no uncertain terms that you both had the next few days off from work. He didn't want to see either one of you back in the office until you'd begun to sort through the mountain of shit you were buried under.

So, yes. If you wanted to lose yourself for tonight, to use him to forget the world outside for a perfect moment, then he was only too happy to oblige.

He’d wait until the morning to have a proper conversation. 

He’d go down and whip you up some breakfast before trying to get you to open up to him about everything that had happened today… about the worries and concerns you’d been keeping locked away inside of you. 

(key)

♡- fluff/general

▵- angst

⚘- emotional

◦- smut