igotacrossbow | open post

Jake has always prided herself on her ability to deal with her shit. She's never had to rely on others to do what needs to be done, not when she was a scared teenager living in foster care, not when she was a slightly-older scared teenager in Basic, not when she joined Special Forces and got herself assigned to the Losers.

Watching the chopper with twenty-five little kids disintegrate into twisted pieces of burned metal and charred bone has completely fucked up her ability to deal.

Luckily, she has Cougar around to be strong for her when she can't; when his hand slides into hers, she clings tightly to his palm, his rings cutting into her fingers in a way that grounds her to the moment in a way that little else does. For a change, she's silent as they decide what to do, staring down at the ground and holding onto Cougar's hand like she'll float away if she lets go.

When he tugs on her hand gently and asks her — tells her, but for Cougar, that's asking — to come with him, she nods and follows him down the alley, not looking over her shoulder to see the others.

He doesn't like when she's the quiet one. He can barely process what's happened and doesn't feel like saying anything, so to have her also go quiet is unnerving him. He keeps a hold of her hand and leads them down winding back alleys until he finds a main street and something that looks like a decent hotel. He's got enough spare cash on him to get them through at least a few weeks, so he gives her a gentle nudge towards the door and checks them in.

He knows they need to establish a story after they talk, but best to start now. He tries to go relaxed and easy as he leans an elbow on the front counter, chattering away in dialected Spanish as he talks about how beautiful his wife is, isn't she? And how she'd wanted to come see where his family lived for their honeymoon, but they think they'll be here two, maybe three months before the family house can be built. The front desk clerk slides keys his way and he takes them gratefully, shutting down the minute he looks away.

Handing one to her, he nods to the hall. "Go."

She's never been able to learn Spanish (okay, she's never tried very hard), but even Jake can understand what mi esposa means, and it's only long practice of hanging out with Cougar and taking the few words he says in stride that keeps her from shooting him an incredulous look.

Usually she can follow what Cougar is saying. He doesn't say much, and what he does say he says slowly, but listening him talk to the check-in clerk is like listening to a wall of sound wash over her, forcing herself to give the clerk a small smile and rub at her temple like she has a headache before stifling a theatrical yawn. Hopefully she'll just look the part of a jetlagged gringa and nobody will ask too many questions.

"Cougs," she breathes quietly, reaching out to catch his hand for a moment, but whatever else she was going to say dies on her tongue and she winds up just nodding, squeezing his fingers lightly before dropping them and obediently heading down the hall to the room number that's stamped on the key fob.

He knows they will need to get out of the clothes. It had been easy to spin a story about getting off their last team building exercise to pass off the uniform, but they can't keep wearing them -- even stripped down to just the black tank top portion and the pants. He's grateful for the room, but he still gives her a nod as he checks for anything hidden.

Weapons, bugs, tech, pretty much anything that he might need to disable in order to make sure their stay here is safe. When he's done a clean sweep of both the bathroom and the bedroom, he sinks down onto the edge of the bed and lets his head collapse into his hands. He's exhausted and broken and when he closes his eyes, all he sees is fire.

"No one will suspect us, if we are on our honeymoon," he explains, digging through the bag to find the rings they had used before, the right ones. "I told him it could be months, we are here to see my family. The house is being built."

Too many words. Too much talking. He's tired of talking.

"It's good cover."

It's strange for her to feel torn between two actions when Cougar is concerned. He's her best friend, and she's never been shy about touching him, but the ghostly specter of what happened is still floating between them, making her second-guess herself.

So she winds up standing in the middle of the room, watching as Cougar prowls around, checking for bugs or cameras or whatever, her hands loose at her sides.

Her palms itch to touch him when he finally sinks onto the edge of the bed, and she takes a halting step forward, hesitant in a way she normally isn't. "It is a good cover," she agrees quietly, watching him reach into his bag to find the rings they wore all those weeks ago, the rings she had all but forgotten about. The fact that he carried them with him all this time is strange, but not strange enough to ask about.

She takes the diamond and slides it onto her finger, distracted by the dirt under her nails.

"I'm going to shower."

He nods at her comment, knowing that it's best to become these roles sooner rather than later. There will be strategy to discuss and what they have to do in order to convince the locals that they aren't Americans here to ruin anything. They're just here on their honeymoon and he's a good local boy. He can affect the accent, if he tries hard enough, and he knows it's not a choice.

While she showers, he goes to the little one-stop shop and buys her a few sundresses and flip-flops, a couple pair of linen trousers and shirts for himself, and a spare hat. They'll need income at some point, but that's for later.

For now, he quietly lets himself back into the room and works on sliding his rifle case (now in a guitar case, switched before they even got here) under the bed, rifling through his bag to get the remainder of his things put away.

She hadn't decided to shower with the intention of having a quiet break-down, but it happens. Despite her efforts to the contrary, Jake finds herself crying under the spray, sliding down to sit on the floor of the little tub and muffling her sobs with her palms, weeping until all she feels is hollow.

By the time he comes back, she's changed into one of Cougar's t-shirts and a pair of underwear, sitting on the bed with her legs crossed as she flips a dead phone between her hands, her hair dripping across her shoulders.

He's silent as he puts his things away and so is she, just watching him as he moves around their small room.

Eventually, she clears her throat. "Carlos," she tries, the name clumsy and strange on her tongue. "It's late." It's not that late, maybe four pm. Late enough for her, though, as she feels like she hasn't slept in years. "Come to bed."

"We need new names," is what he says, all of a sudden when it occurs to him. He stares at the bed, the single bed because of course they would only need it, and steps forward. He says nothing else as he reaches out to cup her cheek, letting his fingers slide over warm, still wet skin, tangling in with her hair. "Do you want a different story?" he asks, even if she had taken the ring with her.

He kneels on the bed and collapses, like his body can't take the weight of existing anymore. "Is the phone dead?"

"You can call me Jackie," she offers, tilting up her chin as he reaches in and touches her face, his callused fingers gentle on her cheek. She shakes her head in answer to his question; no, she doesn't want a different story. It's a good cover, and she'd rather pretend to be married to Cougar than anyone else on the team.

He collapses on the bed and she shifts to make room for him, moving to fuss over him since he seems ready to sleep fully-dressed.

"No. Battery out and SIM broken, but I can fix it," she assures him, crawling down the bed a little so she can start to take off his boots. She's not going to sleep in the same bed as him if he can kick her with steel-toed boots as they sleep.

"Carlito," he says quietly, groaning as he shifts to his back and lifts his head just enough to be able to watch Jake take off his boots in a way that's so tender and cautious and loving. He knows how dangerous this all is, but he still wants it. He's in love with this woman standing at his feet, but while they serve on the same team, nothing can happen. "Where did we meet?"

Jake speaks enough Spanish to understand the -ito ending is a diminutive, which means she'll probably want to refer to him as my Carlito to make it seem genuine. The thought of calling him her anything sends something in her stomach swooping, but she pushes it down for now and just nods at him.

She pauses with her hand on his ankle, thumb brushing over the scar just beside the hard knot of bone that pushes against his skin.

"Vacation," she decides, lining his boots up at the edge of the bed and then crawling back over him so she can settle down again. "You gave me that look from under the brim of your hat from across the bar and I was putty in your hands." She's seen him do it enough times to other unsuspecting tourists that she knows just how to play it, even though normally the sight makes her feel a little sour. "How long have we been together?"

"Five years," is his distracted reply, shifting so he can wrap an arm around Jake's waist and bring her in. He needs to shut out the world and breathing in the flowery soapy scent of the hotel's shampoo in her hair is what he needs. Five years is roughly the time they've known each other. "I teach Spanish to students," he says, inventing themselves a cover story. "But am on sabbatical, while we visit our family here."

Cougar's arm is warm and solid as he wraps it around her and pulls her close up against him. It's far more comforting than she feels it should be, and she eagerly curls up against him, wrapping her arm around his and hugging it to her chest as he tucks his knees behind hers.

"I'm a receptionist," she decides, picking a suitably boring and low-paying job that nobody is going to look at her twice. "From North Carolina." She's spent enough time stationed at Fort Bragg to feel comfortable discussing the area should anyone question her.

She threads their fingers together and sighs, relaxing against him. "We met in Miami."

Cougar gives a soft exhalation. "I like Miami." Playing pretend like this and avoiding thinking about the real world is more than he deserves right now, but it's helping him to keep from going over the edge. He buries his face in her back and rubs his nose back and forth, feeling a strange dissonance between wanting to joke and feeling empty inside.

"You were the prettiest woman at the pool," he informs her. "In your bikini."

Cougar's breath is warm and damp against her neck. It's distracting in the best possible way, and she's grateful for it.

She laughs, squirming a little to adjust her body against his. "I do look good in a bikini," she agrees. Just because she's tall and gangly sometimes doesn't mean she's a troll. She knows she's got a good body, and when she wears swimsuits she gets a lot of stares. Part of that is because of her scars and tattoos, but most of it is because of her hip-waist ratio.

He doesn't know what to do.

It would be so easy to block out the whole world and only let the two of them exist as they are in this very moment. He's in love with Jensen and has been for longer than their undercover gig the last time, but now that he's hiding under the guise again, he feels like he's taking advantage. And yet, at the same time, when he closes his eyes it's just burning bodies and tiny angels and he needs some good.

"No se que hacer," he admits, feeling the pain of it pushing out his breath. What if this isn't a week or a month? What if he's adorned this persona for the rest of their lives to avoid whoever is trying to kill them?

He's silent behind her for long enough that she assumes he's done talking and it's time for their nap, long enough that she lets her eyes close and focuses on the warmth of his hand in hers to distract her from the path her thoughts want to take.

But then he speaks up again, murmuring Spanish into the knobs of her spine, and she opens her eyes. It takes her a second to translate, and she's not sure she's done so correctly, but she gets the gist of his meaning.

"It's okay, Cougs," she whispers, twisting in his arms so that she can face him, her hand lifting to push some of his hair out of his face so he can't hide under it and she can see those pretty brown eyes of his. "Carlito. We'll get through it together. Whatever happens, I'm with you."

There's so much more to discuss. Clothes and plans and stories and everything they need to cover in order to make sure that they won't be found out. They should also be finding a way to get home, but every time he tries to think he gets derailed by the thought of all those angelitos and the fire.

Then he gets distracted with his arms around the women beside him, the one he'd been working his way around to asking out, properly. That's what the charm bracelet had been for. Little cats, hearts, and computers, a message to decode that he loves her.

"Sleep," he agrees quietly. "Time for sleep."

Jake's mind is already whirring quietly in the background like a laptop on standby, sifting through ideas for what they could do for a living, where they could find a house, inside jokes and stories that will make their relationship look real.

Luckily, they already have lots of inside jokes and stories between them, so that shouldn't be too difficult.

Lying on her right side with her left hand cupping the side of his neck, Jake can see the ring glinting at her in the dim light of the room. It's distracting, and for a brief moment, she almost manages to believe it's real.

"Okay." She sighs and wiggles against him again, curling her leg around his and lifting her chin slightly so he can tuck himself against her. Sleep sounds like a great plan right now.

He should be more worried about how comfortable this is, but right now, he can't think of anywhere else he'd to be. He dreams of nothing at all and when he wakes, it's screaming. He doesn't know where he is, the children are dead, and he's not able to do anything about it.

Sweating, he bolts from the bed and reaches desperately for his gun, but it's out of reach. "JJ," he breathes out, panicky. "JJ."

"I'm here, Cougs," she promises, scrambling to her knees on the edge of the bed as he flings himself off it. She's definitely not asleep any more, Cougar's scream and the elbow to her face more than enough to wake her, but her voice is still scratchy with it, and luckily it's dark enough that she can hold her hand to her aching eye socket without it being too obvious. "It's okay, it was just a dream. You're safe."

He calms down, but the wildness is still there lingering around his edges. It's what means he doesn't see that she's holding her eye until a second later and a rush of ice goes down his back. "I hurt you," he says instantly, keeping his distance because he knows that their story might hit a rough spot or two, because the last thing he needs is for the cops to come show up because someone thinks he's been abusing his wife.

"Lo siento," he apologizes, breathing out the words. He kneels onto the bed and pries off her hand so he can get a better look, having to turn on the lamp so he can see what he's done. "I'll take the floor, from now on," he says darkly.

She rushes to reassure him. "It's fine," she insists, stubbornly refusing to let him pull her hand away from her face, at least for a while.

There's nothing to be done for it now, and she shrugs philosophically. "Seriously, Cougs, it's fine. I've had way worse before, you know that." She reaches for his hands and doesn't let go, pressing her thumb into the pulse at his wrist and holding on. "Don't be fucking stupid, you're sleeping in the bed with me. I'm not made of glass just because we're technically dead."

He doesn't want to sleep on the floor and even the thought aggravates him by being too far away. Except...

"If we're married, you can't walk downstairs with a black eye after we introduced ourselves as a couple." It's the most he's said in a long time, but the problem is that he can't see how they're going to get concealer. More than that, they shouldn't have to. "I hurt you," he says, gutted and miserable. After today, that's the last thing he's wanted to do and he's hurt her, the woman he loves.

"Well then, tomorrow, you're going to go get me a big pair of bug-eye sunglasses when you go get breakfast, and then I'm going to go shopping for concealer," she decides, pulling on his hands and crab-walking back on the bed so that he has to follow her and they can lie the fuck back down, already.

"And if it'll make you feel better, I'll clock you in the face too, and then we'll match."

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