Chapter Four

A.N. I'm so sorry I fucking lied. I promise I'll finish the other fic soon I'm just hung up on this one right now.

His fingers dug into her hips as he increased his rhythm, but this wasn't working, he was chasing a release that he didn't feel coming.

"Oh yes, yes, that's so good baby." The woman under him mewled, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, and wiggling her ass closer to his hips.

What the fuck was his problem? If there was one thing Javier Peña was good at-- besides killing and arresting people-- it was fucking. The number of women he'd slept with in Columbia might be considered alarming... though many of them ended up in his bed through a means of payment or as a way to gather information about the narcos who also paid them for sex. Still, Javier didn't need to pay women to sleep with him, and regardless of him doing so in the beginning, most of the girls returned of their own volition.

He made sure they enjoyed themselves just as much, if not more, than he did. So why wasn't he enjoying himself now? Away from the bloodshed, safe in his little apartment in California, a nice, pretty barista moaning away underneath him...

Javier knew why but tried to push the thought of her away. She was his friend.

He hated how the term friend didn't seem weighted enough.

He grunted, continuing to drill into her even as he felt his cock growing soft. This was no use... he knew the only way he was going to cum was through a grotesque bit of imagination, in which the woman beneath him transformed into that stubborn, little bartender.

His chiquita.

No, no fuck. He couldn't think about her, definitely couldn't think about her in any possessive regard. She wasn't his, could never be his.

He grimaced, exhaling sharply as he unceremoniously yanked out of her, peeling the unsoiled condom off his increasingly soft length, and tossing it into the waste bin before she could notice that he hadn't cum.

He tugged his discarded jeans back on as she collapsed onto the bed, rolling onto her back, and flashing him a lazy smile.

"That was incredible, Javier." She cooed.

Definitely need to raise your standards then, sweetheart.

He grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the bedside table, lighting one up and leaning against the wall near the cracked window. He wanted her to leave. He was already late getting to the bar, and he knew if he delayed his arrival any longer, his barstool would be occupied by Nick or one of the other annoying patrons.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" She asked, rolling onto her side so she could stare up at him.

He shook his head once, "I have plans, maybe next time." He said through an exhale of smoke.

She sighed, slowly peeling herself from the bed and getting dressed as he stood by the window, staring out at the blank, white state of the foggy, San Francisco horizon. How quickly would he have cum if it had been Emma in his bed? No, goddammit he couldn't think like that.

The woman finished getting dressed, sauntering toward him, getting on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"See you later, Javier." She hummed, glancing over her shoulder to see if he was watching her as she left.

He wasn't.

As soon as he heard the front door click closed, he stubbed his cigarette out, finished getting dressed, grabbing his wallet and keys on his way out into the fog.

It was a three-block walk to the bar; Javier kept his hands fisted in the pockets of his leather jacket as he cleared the distance without much cognition. The tension swirling away at the base of his neck melted away when he pushed his way into the humid bar, Emma immediately flashing him a smile as he took his usual seat in front of her.

"Late again, old man." She tsked as she grabbed a glass and began filling it with bourbon. "That's two times in the last week."

"Sorry, chiquita." He hummed, grabbing the glass the minute she placed it in front of him. "Had some business to attend to."

Her eyebrows flickered up, "Mysterious secret agent business, got it."

More like unsuccessfully fucking a barista from down the street.

"How's your finger?" Javier asked after swallowing a mouthful of that amber liquid.

Emma held up her finger, flexing the knuckle. "On the mend." She said as Javier took note of the little scab that had stitched itself up the length of her knuckle. "Thanks to Doctor Javier."

She realized as she spoke, that she still didn't know his last name. The man had sat in front of her almost every day for the past month and he still hadn't shared much in terms of details about himself. She knew he was from Texas, knew that his dad owned a ranch, knew that he had worked in Columbia for the past several years doing something vaguely important. But she didn't know his last name, didn't know where he went when he stared off blankly across the bar, didn't know why he was so fucking secretive about his job.

Working as a bartender meant that she also had a part time job as a therapist. She knew that Ethan's daughter was going through a divorce, had heard Nick gripe about how his diabetes medication made him dizzy. Eliza, who was on her second year at SF State, was changing her major to Political Science. But Javier, the person she most looked forward to seeing every day, kept silent when it came to anything personal, anything that might give her any kind of insight into that pretty head of his.

She realized it was slightly hypocritical though, to expect details about him when she rarely offered up ones about herself. That was the nature of the job, though. She knew the inner workings of most every regular at the bar, in return, they knew her name.

And like the universe had decided to laugh theatrically in her face, at that very moment, as she thought about how little the two of them knew about each other, Robert pushed his way through the door of the bar, his piercing eyes flickering around the room.

"Goddammit." She muttered, letting her head drop down despite the fact that she was the only bartender working... so she was going to be forced to take his order.

"Hmm?" Javier inquired, his eyebrows pinching together as he took in the way her slight shoulders sunk down.

"My piece of shit ex is here." Emma grumbled under her breath just as Robert's eyes locked on hers, and he flashed a grin, walking up and planting himself next to Javier at the bar.

"Emmie, how've you been?" Robert asked as he sat down on the barstool, leaning over and crossing his arms on the top of the counter.

Emmie? Javier took in the figure to his left with a wandering side-eye. He was taller than Javier, only by a couple inches, but that didn't matter, because the dude was lanky enough that it looked as though a strong gust of wind could knock him over.

"I'm fine, Robert. What can I get you?" Emma asked, feeling her patience wearing thin as he continued smiling at her. She wanted to yell at him or smack him. What the fuck was there to smile about?

"Just a Heineken, please." He said, sliding a couple fives across the counter.

Javier watched Emma as she turned around and grabbed a cold glass from the fridge, her body tense, those worry lines etched between her eyebrows as she pulled down the Heineken tap.

What had he done to her? What had that pipe cleaner looking fuck done to make her so visibly agitated?

"Macie wanted me to say hi." Robert said through a sip of his beer.

Emma was turned around when he spoke, working to get the ancient cash register to pop its stubborn drawer open. Her body froze at the mention of Macie, she hadn't spoken her name allowed, or heard it spoken, in almost two years.

She cursed herself, and him, as she felt her throat constricting, her eyes burning and threatening to further humiliate her as she finally got the stupid drawer to open. She deposited his cash inside, collecting his change and tossing it onto the counter without so much as looking at him.

Javier was already spinning around on his barstool when Emma stalked around the counter and tugged at the sleeve of his jacket.

"Cigarette, please." She murmured into his ear, but he was already standing up, fishing the pack out of his pocket as he followed her outside.

The cold air nipped at her arms as they pushed their way outside, but it was welcome, because she was fuming.

Javier handed her a cigarette, carefully lighting it for her before lighting one for himself.

"Want to talk about it, bonita?" He asked, urging his voice not to sound too curious as he leaned back against the brick building and watched her pace back and forth, her eyebrows pinched together, her shoulders tense, cigarette already nearing the filter as she manically puffed on it between spurts of muttering to herself.

"The nerve of that cunt, I swear to god." Emma grumbled as she theatrically gestured back to the bar with her rapidly diminishing cigarette.

Javier's mouth popped open, about to ask her why he was such a cunt, when she just started spitting words out, talking so rapidly he had to lean forward and actively listen in order to catch everything she was saying.

"Why does he even come here anymore? What, does he feel fucking guilty?" Emma spat the word out like it was erroneous. "I mean, he should, but I don't think he has an empathetic bone in his scrawny little body, that fucking asshole. Cheats on me with my best fucking friend, my best friend, then has the nerve to bring her up. Has the nerve to show up here at all!" Emma was losing the air in her lungs, her chest heaving as she manically sucked on the cigarette, which she didn't realize was already down to the filter until she paused to glance down at it, her face scrunching up in disappointment before her eyes flickered to Javier's outstretched hand, holding another one out for her.

She went to grab it, but he brought it back into his chest before she could. "Take a deep breath first, come here and actually talk to me."

Emma stood there for a minute, staring up at him before she listened, her shoulders finally easing a bit as she sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly as she leaned back against the wall next to Javier.

"There ya go, chiquita." He hummed in approval as he lit her another cigarette, carefully placing it between her fingers. "Now talk, slowly." He urged.

She took another deep breath, letting the warmth of his presence, and his arm which was lightly pressed against hers, calm her down enough to speak clearly.

"We dated a few years back." Emma said, taking a long pull of her cigarette as she felt Javier's gaze lock on her. "Not sure why, but I really liked him. We were together for a couple years. Then one day he started acting weird... I don't know, people always say that a tell-tale sign of your partner cheating on you is when they start to withdraw. Robert didn't do that," she shook her head slowly, staring out across the street. Javier kept his eyes locked on her, a debilitating urge to wrap his arm around her shoulder coursing its way through his body.

"He started getting really clingy, like he would call me fifteen times a day to check up on me. He started buying me flowers... which was fucking weird, dude went two years without ever picking up a bouquet, then suddenly I had fresh flowers in my kitchen once or twice a week. It was a bunch of little shit like that."

Emma was quiet for a moment, but Javier didn't speak, just waited for her to continue as they both silently puffed on their cigarettes, the smoke curling out and morphing with the fog that billowed down the avenue.

"I-- I fucking talked to... to Macie about it." Emma said, nearly choking on the name. Javier felt his back tense in response, his chest tightening at the vision of her eyes growing slightly glossy. "I talked to her about it, and she acted like she had no fucking clue. Then one day I found one of her bras in our bedroom." She tossed her cigarette onto the ground, stomping it out with her sneaker. "They had-- had the audacity to tell me we could all still be friends." She shook her head, swallowing hard, desperately trying to rid the lump in her throat. "I had to move out of our apartment, fucking slept in the back of the bar in that stupid office chair for a couple weeks before I found somewhere else to live."

Javier felt the muscles in his back and arms tense and shudder. He wanted to walk back into the bar and beat some sense into Robert's skull... but he couldn't do that, he'd promised Emma he wouldn't get kicked out.

Instead, he turned toward her, pinching her chin between his thumb and his first finger, using the grip to tilt her head up so she was facing him. He watched a tear slip past her guard, trailing its way down her cheek, leaving a glistening line on her porcelain skin. Agony.

"He's an idiot, bonita." Javier said, his voice low and stern. "They're both idiots."

Emma shrugged, turning her face, and making Javier drop his grip from her chin as she roughly wiped her cheeks with the heels of her palms. "Maybe I'm the idiot." She whispered, sniffling a bit as she tried to blink the remaining tears away.

No, no, no, no. That word just replayed itself over and over in Javier's mind until he finally abandoned restraint, reaching out and wrapping his hand around her bicep, tugging her to his chest and enveloping his arms around her small frame.

She choked, her heart stammering wildly before it calmed along with the rest of her body, a crashing wave of placidity surging through her core, her shoulders, her neck. Oh god, he was so warm, smelled so fucking good, felt like a protective barrier shielding her from any and all outside forces as he kept his vast arms locked around her waist, crushing her to his wide chest.

I want to stay here, I want to stay here, please don't fucking let go.

He did let go. Slowly moving her back a bit, his hands still lightly resting on her waist. It wasn't without force, though. He wanted to hold her little body against him for the rest of the evening, keep her safe, shield her from Robert, and Nick, and the rest of the deplorable men in the bar... but that was the thing, he was included in that list of deplorable men, and so he forced himself to let go.

"Bonita." He hummed, reaching up and quickly, a flash of his hand, a small brush of calloused skin against her cheek, wiped the remaining tears from her face.

She stared up at him, with those big, dark blue eyes and fucking Christ he wanted to kiss her. But he couldn't, no, he couldn't taint her, couldn't stand to think about using the same hands that had murdered people in Columbia on her... like that.

Still, when the door pushed open behind them, and Emma stepped closer to Javier, he did tug her back to his chest without a second thought, letting her hide her face inside his jacket as Robert slowly sauntered by, his eyes flickering from Emma to Javier, then quickly redirecting them down the street when he took note of the murderous expression Javier was glaring at him with.

He waited until Robert was around the block before he gently rubbed her back, "He's gone, chiquita." He assured her, his chest aching when he noticed the tight grip she'd taken of his jacket.

"Good riddance." She grumbled against his chest before slowly detaching herself from him. She brushed her hair out of her face, her cheeks slightly flushed as she let out a shaky exhale.

She's so fucking cute, why? This isn't fucking fair.

"Thanks." She muttered; eyes glued to her feet.

Fucking hell. He wanted to tug her back to his chest and refuse to let go.

"You don't have to thank me, Em." He said, his voice so soft she felt her stomach flutter madly.

Em. Could she ask him to call her that a thousand more times?

Javier ended up staying until the bar closed, which had started to become a more regular occurrence. As long as Martin wasn't there, Emma would let him stay inside while she cleaned up, though much to his chagrin, she wouldn't let him help her.

Stubborn, stubborn girl. Javier mused, watching her wrap and refrigerate the leftover garnishes, lug the kegs into the backroom-- mostly accomplished by dragging them across the floor, frantically clean off the counters and tabletops... all while he just sat there, continuously offering support, only to get shot down with a 'just chill old man.'

Emma was getting far too accustomed to having him around, her pepper spray forgotten and abandoned at the bottom of her bag. She didn't need it when she had him to walk her home, his wide frame intimidating enough to scare off any possible assailants.

Javier had told her-- the first time he'd walked her home, over three weeks prior-- that her apartment was on the way to his. That was a lie. She lived in the entirely opposite direction. But he knew she wouldn't let him walk her home under any other circumstance. And he didn't like the idea of her venturing out into the streets by herself, after 2am, a measly bottle of pepper spray as her only form of defense.

"Ready?" Javier asked as he stood up from the barstool, watching Emma as she yanked her bag further up her shoulder.

"Yeah." She huffed, following him through the bar before she paused, glancing over her shoulder at the back door. "Fuck." She muttered to herself as she realized that she hadn't brought a jacket, a rookie move considering the dramatic temperature drop that occurred after the meager San Francisco sun dipped below the horizon.

"Hmm?" Javier inquired; his eyebrows pinched together as he glanced back at her.

"Nothing." She shook her head, clearing the space between them, stepping in front of him to set the alarm and lock the door on their way out.

The wind nipped at her arms as soon as they were outside, burrowing into her core and stealing every ounce of warmth she'd attained while running around the bar all evening.

She stifled a shiver and tightly crossed her arms over her chest as they began walking down the street.

"Cigarette?" Javier held out the pack between them, noting the grimace occupying her face as he did.

She shook her head, desperately wanting one, but being unable to move her arms from where they were locked frozen across her chest.

"Oh chiquita..." He tutted at her gently, shoving the cigarettes in his back pocket and beginning to peel his jacket off.

She shook her head adamantly, "No, Javier, I-I'm fine." She stammered, her teeth beginning to audibly chatter as she spoke.

"Bullshit." He hummed, stepping closer to her and draping his jacket over her slight shoulders.

It was heavy, and warm, and it smelled like him. She wanted to live in it.

"Thanks." She muttered, coyly slipping her arms inside, burrowing her neck down into the collar.

A pang of... something hit his chest as he looked down at her, dwarfed by the size of his jacket, trying to inconspicuously inhale against the material. It was his favorite jacket, had been with him through college and Columbia, but fucking hell, in that moment, he never wanted to take it back from her.

"Smell good, bonita?" He teased, smirking down at her as she buried her face in the material.

She felt her cheeks burn at the realization that she'd been caught, but quickly pulled a look of disgust to try to cover it up. "Smells like cigarettes and BO, actually." She snapped.

He chuckled, lightly shaking his head. "Sure." He leered.

They walked in comfortable silence for a bit, their visible breath etching a trail in front of them.

Emma was the first to speak again, her voice low and cautious, "Do you like it here?" She asked, peering up at him from where her face was mostly hidden by the collar of his jacket.

Javier studied her, trying to decipher why she might ask. Was it because she wanted to know more about his past... or because she wanted to be a stable pillar in his future? Neither were possibilities... his brain reminded him. She'll hate you if she learns about what you did, and you can't ruin her by being anything more than a customer at her bar.

He let out a slow sigh, raking his fingers through the front of his hair, "Yeah, yeah, it's nice. Good food, decent weather, no--" He cut himself off before he could utter the word narcos.

"No... what?" She asked softly, her big blue eyes gazing up at him, peering into his skull like she had the ability to see straight through him.

"Nothing chiquita." He flashed her a soft smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, I like it here."

She sunk down a bit deeper in the jacket. He was never going to tell her what happened to him in Columbia, or what his last name was, or why he constantly reached for a gun that wasn't there. But it's better that way, she reminded herself dubiously, you can't afford to get any closer to him than you already are. Look at you, all dumb and giddy smelling his jacket like a lovestruck teenager.

They reached the steps of her building, and like every single time prior, she fought with herself not to invite him upstairs... and he wrestled with the idea that he wanted her to.

"Thanks for walking with me, old man." Emma said, forcing herself to begin taking off his jacket, abandoning the warmth before ascending into her desolate apartment.

"Keep it, bonita." Javier said, causing her to pause, her big, dark eyes staring up at him. "I'll get it from you tomorrow." He clarified, though a part of him wanted her to keep it eternally, some little memento to remember him by when he inevitably had to leave.

She didn't say anything, just slipped back into the jacket, shuffling back a few steps toward the stairs.

Invite him inside.

Don't.

Invite him inside.

Don't you fucking dare.

"Goodnight Javier." She said instead of the words ringing away in her skull.

"Goodnight chiquita."

She came that night still wearing his jacket, the warm scent of him carrying her over the edge and throwing her off.