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Your hands smooth over the striped tie, tracing the lines that run across it. When your hands reach the edge of the soft fabric, they don't stop, instead continuing a now invisible line on the white dress shirt. You've touched it up this morning, making sure to remove the little crinkles that somehow return after every wear and usually seem impossible to get rid of.
Today, the shirt sits perfectly on him, a little strained by his broad shoulder, a tight fit, like all his clothes.
Your finger reaches his side, stopping at the seam that runs down from his arms. As you stretch your hand, gently placing your palm against the white fabric, you finally register movement below it, a gentle shift as a sigh leaves the man in front of you. The vibration of it carries through his body and you can feel it in your hand.
For a moment, you just stand there, considering if it's possible to transfer the stress that the body below your fingers holds onto you, if you can take any of it away. He carries it so well but he's been carrying it for so long and you know he's tired. So are you.
You refuse to lower your palm, pressing it into his skin a little harder, his soft stomach below adjusting to accommodate your hand as it stays firmly pressed against him.
It must be possible, to take the sadness, the anger, to extract it from the form that holds it. If you'd just find an opening, the one that holds the floodgates, you're certain it would come out in waves, pouring down on you.
“Querida.”
Javier's voice is gentle as he speaks, low like he doesn't want to disturb anyone. Not that there's anyone to disturb, except maybe the cat that is stretched out on the windowsill, half asleep, half watching the two people who are standing in the middle of the room.
“Maybe I should go with the other tie,” he mutters and you shake your head, moving your hand back and forth slightly so that it caresses his stomach, “I'm not letting you wear a clip-on tie to your resignation.”
He seems to see your point because his head droops a tiny bit as he nods, looking down at his chest once more. His chocolate brown eyes watch your hand, back and forth, back and forth.
“Okay,” he almost whispers and your eyes meet as you watch him carefully, already recognizing the signs of slight panic in his form. His jaw clenched to one side, his hand hanging down next to his body and nervously twitching, the movements of his eyes a little faster than usual.
“What if we're making the wrong choice? If the money runs out-” His voice breaks and you're almost certain your heart breaks with it.
You're awfully aware of the things he's considering, the pros and cons of leaving the DEA behind for good, of returning home. With you. And a cat.
You haven't talked about it, about the after. It has always been about leaving. It has never been about arriving.
Noone could blame Javi if he didn't want children. Blame either of you, really. But you have a feeling that the worries about making a living back home has something to do with that possibility. There was always going to be another bad guy, another cartel to take down, another big player to hunt. There was always money to be made in his job. It's just that the price of making that money has become too high.
You sigh a little, bringing up your free hand to caress his cheek, “Then I'll find something. Well be okay, Javi.”
You really do believe it. You think.
“I know, it's just-” You wait patiently as Javi tries to find the right words, his gaze searching your face as if the answer is hidden somewhere in it, “It just feels so final.”
It takes all the strength in you to keep a neutral face, to not let the tears win. You just nod, fingers tracing the mustache above Javis lips.
“Because it is, hermoso,” you mumble, inching a tiny bit closer. The close touch of your other hand is replaced with that of your body as you rest your body against his, connecting as much skin as you possibly can in this moment. The other hand moves steadily over his mustache, stroking the fine, dark hairs that feel just the right amount of scratchy.
“You never have to go back there.”
You lean forward, placing the most gentle kiss on Javis lips as he lowers his gaze, just in time to see your hand fly up and cup his face, another kiss placed on his cheek.
After a moment, he brings his strong arms around you, pulling you in and you do the same, wrapping your arms around his torso, one hand stroking his back.
You pretend not to notice that he cries while you stand there.
Instead, your grip tightens a little, holding him close, silently thanking all the gods of this world that you've made it here, that he is in your arms, that he is yours, all yours. No longer a chess piece for any of his higher-ups, no longer government property. Just yours.
Both of you lose track of time, just staying in each other's arms until you nudge him a little, “I think it's time to go.” His voice is a bit hoarse as he agrees and again, you pretend not to notice.
“That fucking cat is staring at us again,” Javi mutters and a small chuckle escapes you at that as you pull back, beginning to properly bind his tie. Your hands seem to have memorized the motions of it by now, easily placing one piece of fabric over the other, “She's curious. She knows something is happening.”
“Oh, you think?” Javi asks sarcastically but there's a playful note in his tone, “Maybe the two dozen cartons that you've stacked throughout the apartment gave something away.” You gently slap his chest before finishing up the tie, making sure to not pull it too tight.
“There,” you say gently, looking Javier once over and nodding in approval. With a sideway glance at one of the mentioned stacks of cartons that hold parts of your life, you feel a small tug in your chest. And, despite putting on your best, bravest face, through all this, of course Javi instantly sees.
“What is it?” His voice is soft, his gaze back on you as he reaches out to place his hands on your waist, “Did I say something stupid?”
You're quick to shake your head. The last thing you want is for him to worry about you today or worse, to blame himself for yet another thing. Still, he doesn't let up, nudging you a little until you soften enough for the words to tumble out.
“It's weird,” you say quietly, “deciding what to pack, what to leave behind.” He nods and this time it's he who waits patiently for you to continue, “How do you decide which parts of your life are worth taking back?”
The hands on your sides tighten a bit at that and you turn your head back towards him, soft eyes watching you. He seems to consider his words for a moment before speaking.
“I've decided which part I wanna take back.”
It's too honest. So, you shrug a little, trying to make light of it, “You mean the cat, don't you?”
He doesn't go for it. It would be an easy way out, one to avoid digging up those emotions inside both of you that are becoming increasingly harder to push down. Javi's never been one for the easy way.
“You know I wasn't talking about the cat. Even though, yes, she's coming too,” he mumbles and then adds, even more softly, “You know I was talking about you. You're the only part of this godforsaken shitshow I wanna bring home.”
Javi brings his lips forward, resting them against your forehead, letting them linger there. It's like he, too, is trying to exchange something inside of you, trying to let his love seep into your body, warming you from the inside out, filling all the holes, the cracks that the last years have left gaping inside of you.
A soft, strangled noise escapes you at the thought and you're back in his arms in an instant, your face pressed into his chest.
“ Querida ,” he whispers again and you just pull him closer at that. It's practically guaranteed that you're ruining the shirt, no doubt creating another of those wrinkles that never seem to ease up. Neither of you care.
Javi doesn't pretend not to see your tears. He dries them, patiently, under the watchful eyes of the cat that doesn't seem to understand why its two humans keep crying. You're not sure you humans understand either.
You dry Javier's tears too, after the official resignation. You dry them during the last night in your apartment, when his moans turn into sobs. You dry them on the plane.
And finally, you dry them in Laredo, in the kitchen of Chuchos farm, as you prepare dinner and Javier comes up behind you, crying into your shoulder until you turn around and kiss his tears away and hold him until he stops shaking, taking the sadness and trauma and grief from his body and taking it into your own, whispering into his ear that he's here , that he's home .
Whispering into his ear that he never has to go back.