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forever-rogue · 5 years

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Disappear Here - What Comes After

A/N: Hi friends! So here is the very much requested sequel to Disappear Here. I had a lot of fun writing of it, and I love these idiots so much, and you guys did too, which just warmed my heart so much. I hope you enjoy, and feedback and comments are always welcome! Surprise, I guess! PS - I am also writing an alternative ending, which is coming soon!

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning: some language and violence

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

ALTERNATIVE ENDING

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Mexico was hot. Muggy. Dangerous. But it was yours. There was no one to compete with, no one to impress, no one to prove a point to.

No, rather it was much better and fresh; your current partner and yourself had arrived at the same time and set up shop under the close supervision of Walt Breslin and Jaime Kuykendall. And it had worked. For once in your life, at least at that time, everything seemed to fall into place without a hitch. It had worried you at the beginning, surely something was bound to go wrong. Things couldn’t be this easy, right?

But a year in and everything was cherries, for the most part. Everything was fine, normal; sometimes you were almost able to convince yourself that you had a typical job just everyone else. Until, of course, the occasional bloodshed and capture of a stash of narcotics.

But...no major hiccups. It was quiet, almost too quiet, and you felt like something was going to break soon. You knew all too well that there was only so much build up before the snap and all hell broke loose. But you pushed that all out of your mind. Why worry about something that may or may not happen? You’d just have to hope that things continued on their current trajectory. Good begets good, right?

“Y/N? Hello, earth to Y/N,” you blinked a few times as you pulled your attention out of your thoughts and back into reality. You were still clutching your cup of coffee, paused halfway to your mouth. Sighing, you set it back down and turned your attention to your current partner, Dan. He was looking at you with an expectant expression on his features, clearly having just asked something, “what do you think?”

“What do I think?” you repeated and he let out a long sigh, but there was an amused expression on his face nonetheless. He’d quickly become your best friend in the foreign county, which was not a surprise since the two of you knew no one else there besides yourselves and your supervisors. The other friends you had acquired had learned to trust you slowly, which didn’t not come as much of a shocker. But with Dan, it was never forced, or awkward, you easily fell into a natural rapport, similar to that of a brother and sister.

“You haven’t heard a single word I’ve said, have you?” he teased and you were determined to prove him wrong. You gave him a firm smile and he just raised an eyebrow.

“I have,” you lied, “and I think we should do it.”

He almost burst out in laughter as you realized you might provided the very incorrect response. Shit. Maybe you should have tried harder to pay attention.

“So what you’re telling me is that you agree with Walt that we should just storm the warehouse,” yup, you had definitely agreed to the wrong thing. While you and Dan were both headstrong and tended to rush into things, just going in somewhere blindly was practical suicide and not either of your styles. He was thorough and calculating, much like you were. Everything was a risk, but with careful planning, things usually went well.

“Ugh….yes?” you tried to suppress the laugh that was bubbling up, but it was hard to keep yourself together. You just didn’t want to give in and give him the satisfaction at that moment. He laughed as well, shaking his head at you.

“Alright, Agent L/N,” he put on a serious tone and gave you a firm nod, “we go in guns blazing-”

“Wait!” you almost shouted at him, eyes wide, “it appears I’ve suffered a change of heart. Perhaps a subtle infiltration after scoping the warehouse out will work…”

“Hmm,” he mused as he slid a portfolio over towards you, “that sounds more like the Y/N I know and love. So you weren’t paying attention at all…”

“I was…I was just…momentarily distracted,” you tried to shrug it off and hoped he wouldn’t pry any further. He was good at reading you, but maybe this time he’d realize it wasn’t anything you wanted to discuss.

Your hope was fruitless.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as you fiddled with the corner of the portfolio, eyes refusing to meet his. You just your head, “you’ve been distracted lately. Where do you go?”

You stilled at the words as time seemed to freeze. Those words were familiar, oh so familiar. Except last time you were on the other end of them. You looked at him and swallowed the lump in your throat, “what do you mean? I’m here, right here, all the time.”

“I think you know what I mean,” he insisted and you felt your heart drop, “your body is here but where does your head go?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“If you’re not completely focused or all in, anything we do can be comprised. This is a dangerous job, you know that. I want you to stay safe,” he leaned across the table and gave your hand a small squeeze. You knew he meant well, that he cared, but that knowledge didn’t relieve the moment. How could you politely ask him to stop without being too rude?

“Nothing is wrong,” you tried your best to reassure him, sure your smile was probably too fake and strained, “I’m just tired. But I promise nothing is wrong.”

“Tired,” he didn’t believe you for you a second. You didn’t even know what to do besides telling him the truth, which was probably going to be a long and arduous task, one you didn’t want to get into.

“Yes,” you were short and firm in your response as you pushed your chair back and stood up. Rubbing a hand over your face, you grabbed the file and clutched it tightly to your chest, “I’m going to head out for the day. I’ll go over this tonight and we can come with a plan tomorrow.”

“Y/N-”

“I…I’m sorry, I have to go,” you didn’t even let him finish as you hastily grabbed your things off of your desk and headed towards the door to your shared office. Something had snapped suddenly, just as you had anticipated something would. You just hadn’t expected it to be you.

You heard him calling after you in your rush to leave, but you ignored him, apologizing to all the unsuspecting passersby that you rammed into. Everything had blurred and you only had tunnel vision, and the door out of the embassy was the end goal.

When you burst out into the street, the fresh was a welcome relief. You bent over and tried to catch your breath, cursing yourself for forgetting that you had accepted a ride from Dan that morning. You’d either have to swallow your pride and go back inside and play off what had happened, try and get a cab in the busy traffic, or walk home. It was a few miles, but your pride was much too high to go and grovel, and you were short on cash and luck, so you decided to take your chances and walk home. If you had a singular goal, hopefully your mind wouldn’t wander too much. You didn’t dare let it stray far. Not again.

But it was no use.

Despite your best efforts, he still invaded your mind; your every thought and feeling. He’d been on your mind a lot lately. No matter how much you tried to suppress the memories, they kept bubbling up in your mind; how he tasted, how he touched you, how he kissed you, how he used to tell you that he loved you. Everything.

It had been 389 days since you’d last seen Javier Peña.

Not that you were keeping count...not in a physical place, but mentally you marked down each day that passed.

And he still managed to invade all of your senses no matter how hard you’d trying erasing him from every part of your life.

You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts, too far gone to pay attention. You were on autopilot, so deeply entangled in your thoughts that you completely the fact that someone had been following you.

Not until they were right behind you and the sound of stomping footsteps reached your ears. Turning on your heels, you tensed up at the sight of the large man looming over you and pointing a gun directly at your face. Dropping everything you in your arms from the sheer shock, your instincts took over and reached for the pistol in the back of your waistband. But he easily had the drop on you and the gun was kicked from your hand. The kick was hard and you clutched your sore hand immediately, trying to figure out what to do.

You hissed at the pain before holding your hands in surrender. You weren’t giving up, but were trying to quickly come up with a plan. If managed to somehow gain trust and he went easy on you, you could break away and fight for your freedom.

But before you could react or anything else, the loud pop of a gun reached your ears and the man that had been formerly threatening you dropped to the ground, right at your feet. Your hands flew to your face in horror as you watched flow from his skull onto the hot concrete, gun discarded and a look of terror permanently etched on his face. Your stomach twisted as you looked around to see where the shot could have some from. But you couldn’t anyone on the quiet street. No one was panicking, hell, no one was even around. Despite your best efforts, you could spy no one.

Gathering your things off the ground quietly, you shoved everything in your bag and retrieved your discard pistol off the ground. You prayed that it was a good sign that no one was nearby, hopefully that meant this couldn’t be traced back to you. Not that you had done anything wrong, but you knew how the system worked, and you wanted to avoid it all costs. Taking one last glance around, eyes wide and wild, you figured it was safe to leave. You had no clue who this man was, or what he wanted, but you figured it couldn’t be anything good. No one would be targeting you without knowing who you were; he had to know.

Almost tripping over your own feet in haste, you ran, almost sprinted, the rest of the way home. It was only a few more blocks, but by the time you reached the door to your apartment, your lungs felt like they were on fire, and the stitch in your side felt like it was tearing your body apart. Dripping in sweat, you were sure you were a sight and if any of your neighbors saw you they might have thought you had just run some kind of marathon. But at least you were home, safe, at least as safe as you could get in the middle of this mess.

Everything seemed to catch up with you at once and your vision ran blurry, and your stomach churned; before you could stop anything from happening, the entire contents of your breakfast and lunch came up, and you grabbed the nearby planter and upchucked into it. Once you were done, you slid to the floor, worn out, mentally and physically, pushing the planter as far away as possible, wiping your mouth with the the sleeve of your blouse.

Casting a small grimace at the flowers, you felt bad; they had been beautiful but were now ruined. Not that you could help it. It was a totally unexpected accident. Hopefully the kind woman who lived at the end of the hall and tended to the small garden and all the plants wouldn’t be mad, or figure out it was you. She was always kind, making sure you were taken care of, and you didn’t want to ruin all of that. You reached up and tried to unlocked your front door from the floor, doing the best thing to use the key and ending up fumbling with the lock for more than a few minutes.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you finally managed to get it open, and dragged yourself inside, kicking the door shut again and locking it immediately, making sure everything was well sealed. Your mind was racing as you tried to figure out what to do; the rational part of your brain told you to call the embassy then and there and tell Dan or Walt what had happened. They would have been all over it within seconds. But you didn’t even know what to tell them really; you barely even know what happened, it was over so fast. How would it sound if you just called and said ‘hey, a man just tried to attack me and someone else killed him and I just ran home’?

Instead, you managed to pick yourself up on shaky legs and tossed everything onto the counter, before dragging yourself to the bathroom. Perhaps a shower would be able to help calm you down; at least to scrub away the remainder of the strange occurrence. You turned the water up as high as possible before hastily discarding your clothes onto the cool tile of the floor and step in, letting the stream hit your tired body.

You stood there for a long time, not moving, not bothering to do anything but let the water run down your skin. It was scalding, probably too hot to be a good idea, but it was all you could focus on. If your mind focused on the feeling of the hot water, it couldn’t think about anything else. You definitely weren’t ready to rethink and relive the events of the afternoon.

You wanted those memories as far gone as possible. You’d been working in the field for some time now, getting used to the violence and horrors that you did witness; but you never had a man fall dead at your feet. That was a whole different sight altogether; already burned into your mind, and you would no doubt have nightmares about it.

Only once the water had run lukewarm did you even make a move to clean your body. You made quick work of washing your hair and scrubbing your skin until was raw and clean. When it turned ice cold, you finally stepped out and wrapped yourself up in a towel, traversing to your bedroom and collapsing on your bed. You didn’t even bother to grab clean clothes or pull on pajamas before slipping under the covers. The sweet pull of sleep had started when you were standing under the cascade of hot water, and you while you were worried about nightmares, you were happy to at least try sleeping. Maybe your mind would calm down.

You didn’t have much time to think about any of that because you were lost to the land of sleep before you knew it. Witnessing an unintended murder had that affect, you supposed.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next morning, you woke up in a cold sweat, unrested and just as unsettled as the evening before. It was strange, but nothing felt real in the moment. It was all a bad play and you were in the starring role. But you couldn’t let this keep you from going to work, not if you wanted to keep up a normal facade. They were likely already suspicious after your rapid departure from yesterday. So much for keeping a low profile.

“What’s up with you?” Dan was cheery and he looked well rested, like he had not a care in the world. You cursed him silently. Why hadn’t this happened to him? He probably would have handled it much better.

You remained silent as you put your things down and your desk, flopping into your squeaky desk chair and letting out a long sigh. Before you knew, Dan was at the other side of your desk and set a pipping cup of weak cafeteria coffee in front of you. You gave it a dismal look, but saw that he had prepared just how you liked; he was making an effort at least.

“Truce?” he asked quietly as you picked up the coffee and took a sip, savoring the weak flavor of the liquid in your mouth. It was better than nothing for now. You looked up at him and nodded slowly, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I just...you’re my partner and I want to make sure you’re safe. Okay?”

“Okay,” a small smile spread across your lips at his kindness. You could tell he was just being honest, which caused you to pause for a moment as you wrestled with whether or not to tell him what had happened yesterday. You should have...but just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. What if it was all for naught? You didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily, there was enough of that going around anyway, “truce. How about later we go and find some better coffee than this shitty excuse?”

“Deal.”

It was clear denial and deflection, but it was all you could muster up at the moment. it was something anyway. Maybe, once you were back in your right mindset, you’d tell him. But for now you preferred to keep everything at bay, pushed to the fair recesses of your mind.

As you had been only a few other times in life, you were once again thankful to be stuck doing mind numbing, menial paperwork for the day.

You were glad to had driven to work that day, not wanting a repeat of what had happened the previous day to occur again. Not that you just expected it would...that surely had to be a fluke. Something that was never going to happen again...or so you hoped.

As soon as you got home, you slipped inside and made sure everything was secure before grabbing a bottle of cold white wine from the near empty fridge. You’d have to make sure yourself face the world and go to the market soon and restock on groceries. But that was a problem for future you.

You eyed the cupboard and decided against it, instead quickly uncorking the bottle and taking a large swig from it. When you swallowed that down, you followed it up with a few more gulps, finishing almost half the bottle in rapid succession.

Knowing you’d need something in your stomach to avoid a headache or some form of handover, you were about to settle the bottle down on the counter when a loud knock came at your door. It startled you so much, the bottle totally missed the counter and ended up falling to the floor and shattered into a million pieces. Shit.

Cursing yourself and whoever was at the door, you hopped around the mess and scurried to your bag where you had your trusty gun stashed. Maybe it was all overreaction, but you weren’t expecting any visitors and weren’t about to take any chances. But then again, what kind of intruder would take the time to knock? Either way, you’d rather act first and apologize later, than take the risk.

You slowly made your way to the door as the knocking continued. Using the peephole proved to be unhelpful and you couldn’t see anything through it. Fuck.

Without thinking, you threw open the door and help up the gun, ready to defend yourself with whatever you were faced with.

“Jesus Christ! Were you going to shoot me!?”

You lowered your gun at the familiar voice, chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to make sense of everything. That voice, you knew that voice so well; but you just never thought you’d hear it again. Slowly looking up, you found those damned velvet honeyed eyes starting back at you.

“Javi?” your voice cracked as you looked at the man in question starting back at you. The same man that had broken you 390 days earlier. He looked the same, but different. Perhaps it was just you that was different. But everything was different.

“Y/N-”

“I told you I never wanted to see you again,” anger immediately flowed through your body. How dare he? You were ready to slam the door in his face and shut him out again. It was like he could read your mind, like he knew he had been occupying everything single one of your thoughts lately and decided to make himself known. But you couldn’t deal with him again. Not now. Probably not ever, “so leave.”

“Y/N,” there was a difficult tone to read in his voice as he put his foot in the doorway to prevent you from closing it completely, “please. I can’t leave. Not without telling you...I...the way things ended, I can’t leave things like that.”

“I have nothing left to say to you,” you insisted, rolling your eyes in a defensive manner. You couldn’t let him see you weak, vulnerable, and go back to him with open arms. He had hurt you in the worst way possible. But here you were, a part of you insanely happy to see his beautiful face again.

“I have things I need to say to you. I can’t not say them,” he was pleading with you now, and for some reason, the emotional part of your brain took over and you slowly opened the back up, sighing as you walked away and waited for him to follow.

“Speak,” you told him, removing the magazine from the gun and throwing them both back into your bag, “you’ve got ten minutes.”

“What if takes longer?”

“Then I guess you’re out of luck,” you shrugged as you leaned against the counter and waited for him to speak.

“Y/N...” he ran his hands over his tired face as he tried to figure out where to begin. He had all of this planned out, a whole big speech, but it somehow was going exactly the opposite. Everything he had thought of was going out the window and his mind was blank. He wasn’t exactly sure of how you were going to react, but for some reason, he expected a little more than this. But somehow, seeing your face and hearing your voice again, reminded him exactly of how badly he had fucked up, “I’m sorry. First and foremost, I am so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” you almost laughed with bitterness, “it took you over a year to figure out to say that? I gave up everything for you, and you had no problem tearing it all down and then you just come back and say I’m sorry?”

“I know what I did was wrong,” he leaned against the counter directly across from you and let out a long breath. He was wringing his hands nervously as he seemed to be looking anywhere but your eyes. He didn’t think he could stand if there was hate in them. But he knew you weren’t capable of that; your heart was too kind and pure to ever truly hate anyone. Even if he did deserve it, “and I never should have done it. I regretted it at the time and every single day since you left.”

“Did you regret it when you’d come into my bed after you fucked your informants? Did you think of them when you were fucking me?” all the words that had been built up for all this time were bubbling to the surface suddenly, and there was prickling at the back of your eyes despite how hard you to tried to keep it together.

“I never thought of anyone but you,” he said quietly, “and I regretted it as soon as I started...”

“Then why the fuck did you do it?” you wished you were stronger, that you could yell and be mad and tell him to curl up and die in a hole or under the hot Mexican sun, but you couldn’t. Instead, you trained your eyes on the floor, counting every single piece of broken glass from your forgotten wine as you tried not to cry. But you didn’t hate him, couldn’t hate him. Truth was, at your core, you’d never stopped loving him, “I-I asked you for one thing, Javi. And that’s the very thing you did. Why? Why? I thought you loved me...”

“I did love you, baby, I still love you,” he thought about reaching out and pulling you into his arms but he stopped himself; he wasn’t sure if he could take that kind of rejection, “I have always loved you.”

“Then why did you do it?” a few tears had run down your cheeks at his words, but you quickly wiped them away, refusing to let them linger. His heart broke at your teary voice,”why?”

“I was scared,” he admitted after a long bout of silence as your eyes finally met his. His dark eyes were glossy as he gave you a pained look, “so scared.”

“Scared?”

“Scared because I never felt the way I feel about you about anyone else before,” he confessed softly, and you couldn’t deny the butterflies that were erupting in your stomach, “I’d never felt so strongly, never loved someone so much before. It was all I could think about. And it scared me to death. So I tried to convince myself in other ways that it wasn’t true, that it wasn’t love. It was easier for me turn to what I knew, then to...just admit that I was in love with you. It was never my thing before, especially not after the first with Lorraine...I didn’t know how to deal.”

“Why would being in love with me scare you?” your question was quiet, barely above a whisper as the tension in the air grew thicker and thicker, “am that I repulsive to you?”

“No,” it was immediate and firm, “never. Do you now what’ it’s like to be loved by you? Someone who is much too good for me, someone so smart, kind, beautiful, lovely? Someone who I absolutely do not deserve? I wondered everyday why someone like you would love me. Surely, you’re much too good for me, and you could do so much better than me. But you still chose me, you loved me. And I fucked it up because I was an idiot and I was scared. And it cost me the best damn thing in my life. Nothing’s been the same since you left. Nothing.”

You remained silent for a long time, letting his words wash over you. It was hard to hear, but a part of your heart felt like it was finally healed now. Like you’d gotten the resolution and closure you deserved. Even if you didn’t agree with his logic, or how he’d handled things, at least you knew now. And he’d been honest; you could tell by the way this all seemed to tear him apart that he was being truthful with you.

“You’re an idiot, Javier Peña,” you straightened up and wiped away the drying tear tracks, “truly. But you’re wrong, you know.”

“Oh?”

“You weren’t just loved��by me then, back before I left,” you decided that you might as well lay it all out now. He was honest with you and deserved that much back at least, “you’ve always been loved by me. Even now, even after I left. I never stopped.”

“You probably should have,” he teased with a small chuckle before the two of shared a laugh. It almost felt the same like it used, warm and familiar, “a horrible decision, really.”

“I know,” you shrugged your shoulders, “but I’ve never been known to make the best decisions. Besides, you don’t chose who you love...it just happens.”

“How lucky I am, “ he mused quietly, “to be loved by you.”

“I just...yeah...Javi, how did you even find me?” you were curious...not that it was probably that hard to track down another DEA agent, but you still wondered. He’d come from Colombia all the way to Mexico...for you.

“It wasn’t hard,” he admitted with a sheepish grin, “there’s only one embassy here in Mexico. And then finding you wasn’t too hard. I’ve been around a little while.”

“What?!” your heart was doing all sorts of flips in your chest.

“I wasn’t going to come at first, at least not to talk to you,” your whole mind was running wild with questions as you looked him with a confused expression, “I just…I had to make sure you were safe…because I can’t be the one to protect you anymore. I just had to know for myself that you were okay.”

“I don’t understand…” you looked at him as he waited for you to put two and two together, “you’ve just been here…watching me…”

“Yes.”

“It was you,” it finally clicked. The reason you were safe, the reason you were alive, was because of Javi. He’d been the one who had gotten the drop on the man that had come after you the day before, “the man yesterday...you killed him.”

“Yes,” he nodded, “I saw him and I couldn’t just let him do something to you-”

“Why didn’t you just say it was you then and there?”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me,” he shrugged, “I followed you home and made sure you were okay. Safe anyway...I know it must have been hard, what happened.”

“What changed today?” your voice was shaky and every part of your body was screaming at you to just grab him and hold him.

“I had to see you.”

“After all this time?”

“Always,” he reassured, “you’ve been on my mind every single day. And even if you didn’t want to see or to talk to me, I had to come and say sorry. I know it probably doesn’t mean much, but I had to at least get it out.”

“Oh,” fuck. You hadn’t expected this in a million years. Suddenly all the old feelings bubbled up inside you, feelings you had tried so hard to repress. They’d never left, just been ignored. But now? You were sure of nothing. All the rules were out the window.

“Yeah,” he scratched the back of neck awkwardly as an air of confusion hung around you thickly. What now?

Javi moved from his place against the counter and started to head out towards the door. You didn’t move to stop him.

“Well, I guess my ten minutes is up,” his hand was on the door and he opened it slowly with a loud creak. Your stomach was in knots as you debated what to do, “thank you for listening. I know this doesn’t make anything better or change anything, but I just had to tell you. I’m sorry, amor, for everything.”

He gave you a last quick glance before walking out and closing the door quietly behind him. You let out a long sigh, listening to his retreating footsteps for a few moments before turning back to the long forgotten mess on the kitchen floor.

You picked up a few pieces, tossing them absentmindedly onto the worn tile of the counter top. Then it hit you - revelation.

Jumping to your feet, you ran to the door and flung it open, popping out of your apartment and booking it out of the building. It was getting dark now, but you could still make out Javi’s retreating back.

“Javi!” you kicked off your work heels so you could easily run. He either didn’t hear you or didn’t care, but it didn’t stop you from running after him, “Javi!”

Just before you reached him, he turned on his heel, a surprised but soft expression on his face. You stopped and almost rammed into him, trying to catch your breath, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“I…” where did you start? You still had a million things you wanted to say, a million things you still needed to hash out, but you couldn’t just let him walk away, “don’t go.”

“What?”

“I love you,” you spit out as he took a step closer and left very little distance between your bodies, “and you’re an idiot and I’m still mad, so mad, at you, but I can’t just let you go. Not again. Don’t go. Not like this.”

Only a few moments passed before Javi put his hands on the sides of your face. He trailed a few fingers over your cheek, the familiar feeling warming his soul. A grin crossed his face before he crashed his lips onto yours, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. It was suddenly like no time had passed. You were safe again; you were home.

Javi placed a hand on your waist and held you as close as possible. For a moment he wasn’t sure if this was real or a beautiful dream. But the little moan that spilled from your lips reminded him that this was real, very real.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. You still felt the same, smelled the same, tasted the same. But better. Because he finally realized just how madly in love he was with you.

“I’ve missed you too,” you sighed in content. The moment was perfect; back in your lover’s arms after all this time.

“I owe you so much,” he whispered as he pressed a few soft, featherlight kisses to your lips and cheeks, “I’m not perfect, by any means, you know this, but I want to try and make it up to you. I really do…if you’ll have me.”

“You came all this way just to apologize to me?

"Yes…”

“You’re an idiot, Javier Peña. Truly,” you kissed the tip of his nose that you adored so much, “but you have me. All of me. You always have.”

“Does that mean that you’re willing to try this again?”

“Only if you never do anything like what happened in the past again,” you cradled the side of his face, “because if you ever do that anything like again, I will chop your dick off and feed it to the wolves.”

“That’s only fair,” he agreed, “I love you, Y/N. Truly, completely, you and only you.”

“And I you,” you let him wrapped his arms around you and hold you tightly. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the heartbeat that had lulled you do many times, “come back home with me?”

He nodded as he reached down and picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, as he started to head back to your apartment. You let your head drop on his shoulder and relaxed, “so about this new partner of yours..this Dan guy-”

“Javi, are you jealous?”

“What!? Of that guy?”

“You totally are! You’re jealous of Dan!”

“Never. He seems like a little dork that follows you around like a puppy dog-”

“You’re jealous,” you giggled as kissed his neck, which was your biggest weakness of all, always had been and always would be, “you have nothing to be jealous of.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” you reassured, “I’ve missed you, Javi. Please don’t ever leave me.”

“Never,” he promised firmly. Something in your bones told you he meant it. This was it, this was everything, “never.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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cregan-starks · 3 years

Text

Leyenda | Beholden

Summary: The DEA recruits Magnussen.

Words: 2,609

Pairing: none yet, but watch out for Special Agent Breslin

Warnings: politics, mentions of drug trafficking, mentions of death, mention of SA, mention of torture, mention of kidnapping, mention of violence, mention of guns, mentions of communism, Ronald Reagan, smoking, cussing, eventual enemies to friends to lovers, eventual relationship, eventual smut. Under no circumstances can you copy, plagiarize, steal my work, or post it somewhere else!

Notes: Hi, I’m alive. First off, I’m extremely sorry for being so late with posting this. Thank you all for your support and patience! It means a lot, and I hope that my little series will live up to your expectations. Secondly, please don’t take any chapter warnings lightly, as I don’t intend to downplay and romanticize the War on Drugs and other subjects related to it. Finally, the majority of characters featured in this story is based off of their portrayals in Netflix’s Narcos shows (if you haven’t seen Narcos: Mexico, please do yourself a favor and watch it). Agents Magnussen and Bowen are both my OCs. If you wish to be added to or removed from my taglist, my DMs and ask box are open.

Credits: Huge thank you to my beta @maharani-radha-writes 💛 and to my sweet @artthurshelby for the GIF 🧡

Ao3 | Masterlist | Next

DECEMBER 6, 1985

AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND

“… bodies of U.S. drug agent Enrique Camarena and Mexican pilot Alfredo Zavala being loaded in the back of a pickup, guarded by heavily-armed Mexican Federal police for the 70-mile drive from Zamora to Guadalajara. The bodies were discovered early yesterday morning by a farm worker along a well-traveled road. They had not been there 12 hours earlier. The spot they were found was just 500 yards from a ranch house, where federal police killed five members of a family on Saturday after receiving an anonymous tip Camarena could be located on the ranch. Police said the family was involved in drug trafficking. Neighbors said it was a massacre.”

Magnussen looked up from the pictures of the 881 Lope de Vega house that she was holding – valuable evidence she now apparently had access to – her gaze settling on the woman sitting across from her. Bowen had turned her head sideways, towards the cracked window, faking distraction. She scrunched up her small nose, indicating that the smell bothered her. Magnussen rolled the culprit – a cigarette – between her fingers, defiantly, with no intention of putting it out. The smoke filled her lungs, soothing her nerves slightly. Nasty habit, Maia would have complained.

Magnussen decided to entertain herself by studying Bowen – preventing her eyes from lingering too long, lest the agent mistook it for interest. It was merely curiosity. Bowen had deposited her beige coat on the backrest of her chair, revealing bony shoulders, and had pushed her lengthy blond hair over them, straightening her spine. The wedding band that she wore glimmered in the sunlight each time her left hand moved. Although she had picked an unfortunate shade of pink for her lipstick, Magnussen couldn’t deny that Bowen had something striking about her. Must be the DEA badge attached to her belt. The one she had undoubtedly flashed in front of Magnussen’s coworkers to signal that she was an important American who meant business.

And it had worked, of course. Here she was, in Magnussen’s office, with an air of superiority that taunted, “You should be grateful that I accepted to meet with you,” as if she had had a choice. The presence of a DEA agent had naturally caused turbulence around the place; several of Magnussen’s overly nosy colleagues couldn’t help but glance at them, foolishly assuming that no one noticed. Who the fuck thought glass walls were a good idea?

Bowen had come bearing gifts; specifically, a dossier as thick as Brezhnev’s eyebrows titled “CLASSIFIED” – adding to the stack of reports already present on Magnussen’s desk – which sported the seal of the U.S. Department of Justice. Uh oh. Classified, U.S., justice. Too many bad words. Whatever it is, it’s illegal.

This time, Bowen’s hawkish stare gave away her attempts to predict Magnussen’s suppressed reactions. Evidently, subtlety wasn’t among her strong suits. This is a fucking interview. For a job Magnussen neither knew about, nor applied for, let alone wanted. And why had they sent Bowen, of all people? They barely knew each other. Magnussen wasn’t going to give in – not so easily, anyway. She wanted answers, and if they wanted her, they would have to do better than this.

Magnussen set aside the disturbing photos, attention shifting to the file titled “OPERATION LEYENDA.” She pulled out a list of names, some of which were crossed out.

MIGUEL ÁNGEL FÉLIX GALLARDO

JUAN JOSÉ ESPARRAGOZA MORENO

SERGIO ESPINO VERDIN

HUMBERTO ÁLVAREZ MACHAÍN

RUBÉN ZUNO ARCE

JUAN RAMÓN MATTA-BALLESTEROS

RENÉ VERDUGO URQUÍDEZ

RAÚL LÓPEZ ÁLVAREZ

JESÚS FÉLIX GUTIÉRREZ

JUAN JOSÉ BERNABÉ RAMIREZ

JAVIER VÁSQUEZ VELASCO

Upon closer inspection, she recognized most of them as drug traffickers or DFS agents. Or both. One question remained: what did all of this have to do with her? Magnussen took a drag from her cigarette, then tapped it against the rim of the ashtray on the desk, to drop the ashes. Alright, I’ll bite.

‘What’s Operation Leyenda?’, she queried, impartially.

Bowen cleared her throat, relieved that the silent treatment had finally ended, and rested her elbows on the wooden surface.

‘It’s a task force we set up a few months ago. They’re gathering evidence to bring indictments against those responsible for what happened to Kiki,’ recited Bowen like a diligent student, as if she had practiced the speech in front of her mirror, at home.

Magnussen’s brows furrowed while she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other.

‘Mexico City said the Camarena case is closed,’ she recalled, running her free hand over her thigh, to smooth the fabric of her navy-blue suit pants, ‘I haven’t heard anything about Operation Leyenda on the news. The American embassy hasn’t said anything, either… Now that I think about it, neither has the DOJ.’

‘My, you’re observant,’ commented Bowen, dryly.

‘The classified part kinda gave it away,’ surmised Magnussen before smoking some more, ‘The operation’s illegal, and these agents are vigilantes.’

‘Administrator Lawn sees it as a taking off the gloves type of thing. The Mexican government isn’t big on transparency and justice, so, we’re giving them a… little push.’

The faint smile that formed on Magnussen’s face didn’t reach her eyes. Bowen’s excuse reminded her of Porfirio Díaz’s lament, “Poor Mexico. So far from God, and so close to the United States.”

‘Anyway,’ continued the agent, ‘One of the agents recently got transferred to the States, and there’s a vacant spot on the team.’

‘Uh huh,’ deadpanned Magnussen, watching Bowen, suspiciously.

She’s trying to recruit me for an illegal operation and preaching about transparency in the same breath.

‘Obviously, your name came up. Multiple times. Many of my superiors are quite eager to work with you. Edward Heath and James Kuykendall even put in a good word for you.’

Oh, look at the Americans – doing charity work for free.

‘What’s with the crossed-out names?’, asked Magnussen, cutting to the chase, referring to the list of criminals.

‘They were arrested,’ replied Bowen, after hesitating for a split second.

Or killed, Magnussen read between the lines, feeling beads of sweat gather at the nape of her neck. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, rubbing her left earring, the sharp edge of the crescent moon digging into her thumb.

‘Why does the DEA want me?’, she inquired, at last.

Magnussen didn’t know how to best break it to the anti-drug Jehovah’s Witnesses that she didn’t think that narcotics were an actual problem.

Bowen glared at her, reluctant to engage.

‘Indulge me, Audrey,’ teased Magnussen, offering the sweetest false smile she could manage.

‘Well, you knew Kiki personally–’

‘That’s funny,’ interrupted Magnussen, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray, ‘Jaime Kuykendall was taken off the case for being too emotionally attached. Got transferred to El Paso.’

‘You talked with him?’, questioned Bowen, expression fatigued.

‘We keep in touch,’ disclosed Magnussen, flatly, drumming her black, manicured nails against the desk, ‘So, why does the DEA want me?’

The agent let out a long sigh, shaking her head in disbelief.

‘You graduated two universities, you speak six languages, you have some experience in Mexico and with the DEA,’ listed Bowen, ‘You’re a smart, resourceful, and ambitious kid. That enough or do you need more?’

I doubt that you have more. And I was in Mexico completing my master’s degree, not shooting guns and illegally kidnapping government officials, but whatever. Small difference. Magnussen hummed thoughtfully, visibly unimpressed, then countered:

‘I’m also a foreign woman raised in a communist regime. I turn twenty-four in a couple of weeks. You’re telling me that your superiors are willing to overlook that?’, she emphasized, doubtful, ‘As flattering as this proposal is, I don’t think that my safety was taken into consideration. What if someone finds out about what we’re doing? There’ll be consequences, and you can’t even guarantee diplomatic immunity.’

‘It won’t come to that,’ assured Bowen, almost kindly, maintaining her calm, ‘And you won’t be on your own. Your partners will have your back.’

Magnussen scoffed dismissively, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s patronizing me.

‘I guess hiring me is somewhat convenient,’ she admitted, bitterly, ‘My age, gender, nationality, and lack of experience are all reasons to pay me less. D.C. is more preoccupied with communists, anyway. Reagan probably mentions them in his sleep.’

‘Let me get this straight,’ snapped Bowen, tone acid, ‘You don’t think there’s anything wrong with what happened to Kiki? You don’t think he deserves justice?’

‘I think he deserves better than cheap propaganda and political agendas,’ corrected Magnussen, coldly, ‘You’ve all turned him into a martyr.’

‘The cartel turned him into a martyr,’ argued Bowen, tapping her index finger against the table, ‘And cheap propaganda? It’s easy for you to sit there and judge what you don’t know, but you clearly want honesty, so, here.’

The agent retrieved a file from the dossier and handed it to Magnussen, who accepted it cautiously. While she skimmed over a Forensics report, Bowen explained, occasionally pausing whenever her voice wavered:

‘The press wasn’t given every detail of the investigation… Camarena was tortured by Sergio Verdin. Ex DFS. He beat him, electrocuted him, burned him, used a power drill on him. They fractured his ribs and jaw in multiple places, cracked his skull, sodomized him with a tire iron… Doctor Machaín kept Kiki awake during the whole thing. Injected adrenaline into his heart. After 36 hours, Camarena fell into a coma. That’s when they killed him… A month later, the bodies were found near a ranch in Zamora. Owned by a former PRI member. Ugly divorce. Zavala didn’t have any signs of torture. He allegedly died from asphyxiation... The MFJP destroyed a lot of the evidence.’

Magnussen refused to tear her gaze away from the crumpled-up pieces of paper by the trash can in the corner of the office. She listened to the distant sound of traffic slipping through the window. The information hadn’t come as a surprise. Magnussen wasn’t naïve. Death was familiar; a looming presence everywhere she went. She knew that entering the room where Camarena had been tortured required leaving her soul at the door. Magnussen had heard what had happened to Kiki, even spoken to Mika about it. Yet tears stung her eyes all the same, threatening to fall. She bit the inside of her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to regain control of her breathing. She wasn’t allowed to cry in front of these people. Her tears were hers and hers alone.

Once she fought the lump in her throat, Magnussen swallowed, finally gathering the courage to look at the DEA agent.

‘Mexico City must’ve been in on it,’ she theorized, absent-mindedly tugging at the sleeve of her white shirt, ‘They’re trying to cover up the tracks that lead to them. They gave you the perfect scapegoats – Quintero and Fonseca – but that’s as far as they’ll go.’

Bowen nodded in agreement, combing her hair with her fingers.

‘The former commander of the DFS disappeared after he resigned, a few years ago. It’s a miracle our guys bagged Zuno… He owns the house at Lope de Vega,’ she clarified, regarding Magnussen’s puzzled expression, ‘President Echeverría’s brother-in-law. He’s awaiting trial in the States.’

‘No shit,’ said Magnussen, half impressed.

‘We suspect Félix Gallardo went underground,’ confessed the agent, frustrated, nails scratching the back of her hand, ‘Calderoni was sent to arrest him. You know him?’

Magnussen huffed, irked by Audrey’s cockiness. Is she gonna ask if Luke Skywalker’s a Jedi, too?

‘Everyone and their mother do,’ she sassed, arching an eyebrow, ‘The Eliot Ness of the MFJP.’

‘Well, the Thin Man got away under… suspicious circumstances. The most incorruptible cop in Mexico returned empty-handed.’

‘The one that got away,’ quipped Magnussen, instinctively glancing at the clock on the wall, ‘Gallardo’s at the top of the pyramid. He built the system. If the PRI hasn’t given him up, he’s probably still in the party’s good graces… or has leverage over them. Either way, they’re protecting themselves by protecting him.’

‘So,’ shrugged Bowen, expectant, ‘How do we catch him?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Magnussen, genuinely, ‘He was always two steps ahead of your agents in Guadalajara… What I do know is that the cartel has been blessed by the powers that be from the beginning. They wouldn’t act alone. The burning of the marijuana field in Chihuahua angered the cartel, and rightfully so – they lost a lot of money – but it also spooked the Mexican government. They thought Kiki knew something that represented a threat to them.’

‘That’s why you would be an asset to Leyenda,’ encouraged Bowen, hopeful, nearly pleading.

Magnussen rolled her eyes, internally sighing in exasperation. Jesus fucking Christ. Something about their desperation seeded doubt within her. She refused to believe that they had run out of candidates for the job. Magnussen, on the other hand, had run out of patience.

‘Why?’, she demanded, blood boiling, ‘So you can parade me around as your rehabilitated communist girl? No, thanks. You’ve done this dozens of times. Immigrants, alcohol, the mafia, the Japanese, black people, communists, and now drugs. You’ll eventually grow bored of drugs and find a new enemy to wage war against – or you’ll create one. Where does it fucking end, Audrey? I’m not gonna kill people for Uncle Sam and your fragile patriotism.’

‘Then don’t do it for Uncle Sam,’ reasoned Bowen, composed, ‘Don’t do it for Reagan or the DEA. Do it for Kiki.’

Magnussen hesitated, clenching her teeth, forcefully enough to shatter. The memory of Kiki’s tragedy was raw, further tearing into an open wound that hadn’t had the chance to heal. Kiki had been a good person, but he had died a cruel, unfair death. Some of his killers still walked free. Kiki had filled voids for her, had done what others failed to do. He had been a parental figure to her. Didn’t she owe it to him? Wasn’t bringing these criminals to justice the least that she could do? For widowing Mika and leaving three innocent boys fatherless?

Returning to Mexico implied a tremendous risk and it didn’t even guarantee a success – or survival. They were up against the system and, although it had been backed into a corner, the danger hadn’t gone away. Clawed and fanged, the system was capable of regeneration, despite the blows it had received. It was an intricate game of chess, and the stakes were immense. Every move counted.

If the DEA don’t take my life, they’ll take my soul. No matter what she did, it seemed that Magnussen would inevitably lose her soul. What difference did it make if it were to the cartel or to the DEA? The only thing she could do was grab fear by the hand and step forward. Do something. If I don’t, no one will.

‘Alright,’ conceded Magnussen, somber, ‘I’ll join the task force.’

Bowen offered her a large grin, flashing her pearly whites.

‘I’m really glad,’ she gushed, reaching for Magnussen’s hands, and squeezing them briefly. Upon releasing them, she presented Magnussen with a file, watching her, almost giddily, jesting, ‘I think it’s time for you to meet your partners.’

There were nine members in total, all of them men – three Americans, the rest Mexicans. Their résumés had a small, black-and-white photograph attached. After flicking through the pages with their work and experience, Magnussen surveyed their appearance. I’ll be the youngest one, she realized.

‘He’s cute,’ she declared, pointing at the man with a well-groomed mustache and dark, medium-length curls.

‘Special Agent Breslin,’ noted Bowen, smirking in amusement, ‘He’s in charge of the operation.’

‘Of course, he is,’ snickered Magnussen, mirroring her smirk.

‘So,’ began Audrey, grabbing a pen, ‘Let’s discuss the details of your transfer.’

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END THE WAR ON DRUGS: Equity Organization & Drug Policy Alliance

READ MORE: Camarena case, PRI, DFS, MFJP

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