Chapter Text
Javier Peña ran his thumb down the neck of the beer bottle, pulling the tiny beads of condensation in its wake. As if ridding the bottle of the dew would help him with his current contemplation. In Columbia, Javier had been a man of action, drive so hard it could, and did, result in a calamitous crash. Now, sitting in this little roadside bar attached to his motel, just southwest of San Antonio, he faced the most dauting challenge a man like him could face; early retirement. No direction, no purpose, stalled metaphorically, and at that current moment also physically.
On his way back from his official retirement from the DEA, for good. The rusty old farm truck he’d driven in had finally given up the ghost. Which left him marooned on the side of the 35 until the mechanic two miles up the road could take a look at it. Which was fine, not like he had anywhere he really needed to be. When he called Chucho to let him know, apologise for not being there to help on the ranch in the morning, the old man had waved it off “not like I can’t handle it myself” but the unspoken bit was ‘I did all those years you were gone’.
In the four months since Javier had returned from Columbia, he was quickly finding out the trickiest bit about starting over was figuring out exactly where to start.
“I’m headed home for the night, do you mind settling up? The night bartender will be here soon, they’ll be lookin' after yah for the rest of the night,” the bartender asked
Javi nodded and reached for his wallet.
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Helena hated working nights now, she could have said no to picking up the shift, she almost did. But when Maria had called and asked if she could cover a shift she couldn’t think of one good reason not to, Esperanza was now sixteen and old enough to leave on her own, and besides that she was staying with a friend that night. She was not only caught up, but ahead of all her work for her class at the college. It wasn't like she had a big social life to speak of, most of the friends she had made were at the roadhouse anyway, and there was a band playing later that should bring enough of a crowd for the money to be decent.
Still, she was dragging her feet out the door of her apartment, the door that was a little broken, which made her uneasy, but the landlord refused to fix it. By the time she made it to her car she was rushing, rushing headfirst into a collision with a past she had thought she’d left long ago in Bogotá.
Perhaps it was the scattered way she had crashed through the swing kitchen door, rushing still, that allowed her to land right in front of him with out noticing, or maybe it was the way he carried himself now, gone the swagger of youth, how he used to sit, leaning back legs spread wide, surveying the room, ready to fight or fuck depending on how the evening played on. Now, he leaned forward, eyes cast down to his nearly empty bottle, crouched inward to block out the rest of the world.
Regardless, Helena ended up directly in front of him on the other side of the wood bartop, asking with the pleasant cadence of a woman who had spent many nights slinging drinks to pay for rent, an almost automatic “Can I get you another one, cariño?”.
At the sound of her voice his eyes snapped up, eyes no posture or number of years would allow her to not recognize. Big, brown, sad, and sweet, she’d never not know them. Now she could only hope that they didn’t recognize her. Fifteen years had passed since he’d showed up at that hospital and eventually smuggled and her and her daughter out of Columbia, with papers that had seemed less than legitimate. And indeed, she now sported the name different than her own, Anamaria Cordona, so now the name tag on her shirt read 'Ana'.
Fifteen years since anyone had addressed her by her real name, fifteen years since that awful unspeakable night in Medellin. Fifteen years since she had looked into those big sad eyes, now etched with the lines caused by fifteen years of fighting drug lords and bureaucracy alike. As they met with hers and she saw the spark of recognition, she could have sworn time stood still.
“Helena?” he whispered.
Helena considered lying, denying it was her. Her hair was shorter, she was older, it had been along time, undoubtably there had been many informants, working girls, and just girls since their time together, maybe he wouldn’t know. But this was Javier, there was no way, tenacious, hardwired, DEA special agent Javier, wouldn’t know the lie. There was no point. She might as well see what he wanted after all these years.
“Javi.”
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Since Javier had returned to Laredo, he had seen many ghosts. Some who’s names he could recall, some he didn’t. Some who where actually dead, others who where alive but haunted him all the same. Until now they had visited him only in his sleep, where they whispered in his ear accusations, that he didn’t do enough, he did too much, he made a bad call, he let them down, he fucked up. Until eventually he would wake in a cold sweat, and if he was lucky, he’d slept long enough that he could just get up and start the day, step out and feed the animals on the ranch.
This was the first time however, that the ghost was there in his waking hours. He almost didn’t believe his eyes. Helena was wrong, in that moment if she had told him he was mistaken, called him crazy, he would have believed her. He was a tired Forty-three year old seeing ghosts, driven mad by trauma and guilt.
Then.
“Javi.”
She looked beautiful, still, nearing 40, but the years had mapped themselves kindly, barley touching her olive skin, crinkling her eyes just a little. To look at her you would not see how hard the years had been. Javier considered that he could not say the same for himself. Though women seemed just as drawn to him now as they did when he had known her, maybe even more so, the ones who saw the hurt in him and wanted to know more. He hated that bit, how they wanted to know, well, they thought they did. If most knew half of what the woman standing across from him did they’d turn tail, never to be seen again. Not that he would blame them.
“What are you doing here?” She asked warily.
“My truck broke down.” Javier couldn’t come up with anything but the simplest truth in his shock.
“What, what is that supposed to mean?” It dawned on him slowly, she thought he had found her on purpose, thought him mad enough to go hunting for ghosts. She didn’t believe fate to be so cruel as to throw her back to him after all this time. Javier knew better.
“My truck, I had it towed to the shop, about two miles down the road. I got a room overnight here, they are going to look at it in the morning.”
“So you just broke down on my doorstep?” She levelled him with a slightly sassy look. He’d forgotten when he remembered her...on those nights with her as a wronged ghost. He’d forgotten, he realized, why he had liked her so much. That she was funny and strong and smart. That she had never let him get away with his bullshit, as so many other girls had, it was their job after all, to please the men that paid them. He felt a new pang of guilt that in his nightmares she existed battered and naked in his arms, the victim, not the vibrant women he’d adored.
“Si, I…” the twang of the band set up behind him. For the first time he noticed the rest of the bar, starting to fill up with the night crowd. The band almost ready to start their set. Not the best environment for this conversation. Any conversation really, but especially whatever this one was.
“I’m staying with my father in Laredo, helping out on the ranch.” Had he ever told her where he was from? Maybe one late night during pillow talk, but he doubted it. He never liked to talk about home in Columbia. It seemed like those worlds didn’t belong together. But somehow now he felt like he owed her an explanation. Of who he was, where he was now, “I left the DEA, recently.”
“Oh good, I’ll tell the line cooks they can relax.” Helena joked.
For the first time in a while Javier smiled genuinely and leaned back a little.
She walked to the bar fridge pulled out a beer he never asked for and placed it in front of him. Then walked away to greet two new patrons at the other side of the bar. The bottle sat in front of him, a silent message. 'Stay there, I’ll speak with you later'. Javier wished, not for the first time, that he still carried cigarettes. But he'd decided yesterday, at his retirement party, that he'd bought his last pack.
When the band hit the 3rd song and the bar started to be standing room only and Javier’s nursed beer drew empty. She reappeared, face drawn a little tighter, surveying the rush. “Another?”
“No, but I’m in room four for the night, if you want to come by…” Javier started.
“I don’t do that anymore, not for a long time.” She answered tersely.
“No!” Javier corrected quickly, “No, that’s not what I meant, just... if you want talk, or yell at me... fully clothed... at a respectable distance. That’s where I’ll be”
“It might be late by the time I’m done," Helena warned.
“That’s fine, don’t sleep much, I’ll just grab my tab.”
“Its fine, that ones on me.” Helena turned her back to grab more orders.
Javier threw a $20 under the bottle all the same and slipped out. Still unsure if he’d hallucinated the whole thing.