It's been almost six weeks since they landed in Bolivia, six weeks of pretending to be Cougar's sweet American wife, six weeks of sharing his bed and holding his hand and making space for him in her personal bubble. She's always been comfortable around him, but it's like someone reached in and dialed that up to eleven, because now she orbits him like it's second nature, his silent lurking presence at her elbow so familiar that she doesn't even look up when he looms over her.
"See," she says, pointing at the screen of one of the two laptops she's got set up on their little Formica kitchen table, fully expecting the guys who are crowded around her to be paying attention. "It's got his dirty little fingerprints all over it. This guy is like a fucking toddler, all sticky hands and trailing crumbs. This is sloppy fucking work, I tell you, I could do better than this when I was fourteen." She sounds personally offended, like sloppy hacking is worse than any other offense she can think of.
Clay motions for her to get out of the way so he can peer at her screen from far too close — he has to get bifocals at some point, she's almost tempted to start placing bets on how long he's going to hold out — so she pushes out of her chair and stretches, feeling her back pop, before she moves closer to the stove. She wants more coffee.
Cougar's standing right there before she can even articulate her desire, holding out a cup of coffee that has so much sugar you could stand a spoon up in it. "Thanks, hermoso," she murmurs, accepting the cup and taking a small sip before leaning into his space to give him a peck on the lips. "Mm, perfect. I think I'm keeping you."
He opens his mouth to reply. That's when the kiss deepens from an innocent little peck to something that's not entirely so chaste. He steps back as soon as he realizes what's happened, gaping at Jake and wondering if she even realizes what she's done.
These past six weeks have been awful and incredible. No more worrying that he'll lose Jake to some random stranger. He doesn't know what to do, but he can see Pooch and Roque gaping at him out of the corner of his eye and he feels like staring right back because he doesn't know what goes on in Jensen's head.
There's no one to convince around. So why did she just do that?
"Uh, J...?" Pooch says calmly. "That some new kind of Bolivia hello you're working on?"
It would have been perfectly chaste if Cougar hadn't opened his mouth just as she leans in to make contact. As it stands, he shifts and she moves to brace herself by lifting her hand to his waist, hanging on to his side to regain her balance. She's spent so much time pressed up against him that it feels entirely natural, which is why she doesn't notice the stares of everyone around them when she leans back and buries her nose in her coffee.
She doesn't necessarily step out of Cougar's space, though, nor does she take her hand off his waist, letting her fingers twist in the hem of his soft t-shirt and rubbing it between her fingers absently. He's wearing her favorite shirt of his, the soft one with the frayed patch at the hem, and she fiddles with the loose edges as she lets the caffeine and sugar from her coffee seep into her system.
"Huh?" It takes her a minute to respond to Pooch, busy with her coffee, and when she does, it's clear she doesn't understand what he's talking about. "Mm, no?" She turns to look at Cougar as if expecting him to back her up, and only then realizes how close she is to him and what she's just done.
Squeaking, she lets go of his shirt and claps her hand over her mouth, a rosy blush blooming in her cheeks as she stares first at him and then at the others with wide eyes.
Cougar's still trying to process what's happened. He might be quiet most times, but right now he's gone completely blank as he gapes at her, his lips still hot and burning with the touch of hers from just a moment ago, not to mention she keeps touching him. He's rebooting, his brain shocked white by the fact that she kissed him.
In all the time they've been pretending, there's been touching of course. There's been bed sharing and chaste kisses to temples, cheeks, and shoulders. They've never kissed, though.
"Great," Clay mutters from the computer. "Cougar's broken and Jensen looks like she's going to burst."
Roque and Pooch, though, look like they're digging for money. Cougar wishes he had it in him to be affronted, but his brain can only process two things right now. Jensen and kiss again and again in a loop.
Roque and Pooch are congratulating themselves and bickering about who owes whom more money, Clay is still giving her that look over his shoulder at the computer, and Cougar is just standing there, still as a statue and twice as quiet. She's used to Cougar's silences, but this is fucking unnerving. So, Jake does what she always does when she's nervous or scared, she opens her mouth and lets words fall out.
"Christ, Cougs, I'm so sorry," she whispers, not wanting the others to be party to this but knowing it's inevitable with the size of their kitchen. "It was just...reflex, y'know, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry. We can...pretend it never happened, okay? Or like, put it down to cabin fever, if you want. I know we're all going stir-crazy down here." But the thing is, she isn't. Her internet connection is kind of shitty and she doesn't have any of her high-tech toys, just a few Frankensteined laptops, but she's happy here. She feels girly and free, like a whole new woman, and she's pretty sure that's all down to the fact that she and Cougar have been playing house instead of wallowing in their misery like everyone else.
Roque has started cackling, throwing his head back and clapping his hand to his chest, and when she turns to glare at him, even Pooch is guffawing.
"You guys are such assholes, I swear to god," she mutters darkly, feeling very exposed suddenly in her backless sundress and bare feet.
"Aw, JJ, dont be like that," Pooch wheedles. She'd be more inclined to not be like that if he wasn't trying unsuccessfully to stifle a wide grin and rocking in his seat from the punch Roque landed on his shoulder.
She grimaces. "Don't call me that." Only Cougar gets to call her that.
"How come you don't go around kissing the rest of us?" Roque teases, his teeth bright and white in his face as he grins at her. Clay rolls his eyes. "That's not fair, bro."
"Oh fuck you." She flips him off, feeling her shoulders start to curl in, something hot and tight curling in her belly that's shifting from embarrassment to shame. She turns to Cougar for backup and finds him still just staring at her. Her shoulders curl in even more. "Carlos, say something."
He processes about half of the words she's rattling off at him, because his brain keeps looping those two things again. Jensen, kiss in a loop and it roll around again and again, until other things start to filter in. The warmth of her lips. How it had felt with her hands fisting the fabric of his shirt. Slowly, things are starting to clear up and he works past his shock into something softer. "Bastante," he snaps at Roque and Pooch, throwing a warning look at Clay before he decides to join in on the fun.
Cougar reaches out to take her hand in his, tugging her along towards the balcony where they can close a door. It's stifling and hot outside, but there's a little more privacy if you ignore the fact that the other three aren't making much of an attempt to hide their curiosity.
Even Clay, who's trying to look above it all, is lurking a little closer to the window than before. Cougar tries not to think about how everyone is so close when this is one of the more private moments of his life and he'd prefer to keep it that way.
"You kissed me," is his rough, quiet comment. His back is to the balcony door where they can't see his face. He adjusts the brim of his hat so she can see him under it, not entirely sure he knows what he wants to say. He knows what he feels. He knows he liked it, knows it hadn't been enough, knows that his jealousy frissoned and spiralled when Pooch called her JJ and Roque teased her about kissing the rest of them. Something bristles in his chest to think of them kissing her. It's taken six weeks to break, six weeks to get to the point he's wanted since night one, and now that is has happened, he can't even find the words. At least, not in English. "Lo que tomó tanto tiempo," he exhales.
She doesn't flinch when Cougar snaps at the others, but she does close her eyes reflexively, something about his tone and the sharpness of his voice making her want to shy away.
Yes, it's embarrassing that she kissed him without thinking about it. Yes, the rest of her team are giant dickbags who won't let this go for years. Yes, the fact that they were apparently betting on them is ridiculous and stupid and so entirely like them.
She just hadn't expected Cougar to shut down like this. He must be really angry.
Feeling miserable and small in a way she doesn't often feel, she lets him grab her hand and tow her across the tiny living room to the balcony, giving serious thought to just throwing herself off it when they get there to spare herself the humiliation of what's going to come next. The balcony is barely big enough for both of them to be out here at the same time, but they manage to fit, Cougar shutting the door behind him and blocking her exit, forcing her to try and make as much space between them as possible by pressing herself against the iron railing, the metal hot in the morning sun and burning against the small of her back.
"I know, I'm sorry," she whispers, clutching at her coffee in both hands like a lifeline and looking at the small hole in the seam of the shoulder of his shirt instead of his face. She can't bring herself to see the shock and rejection she knows is there. When he carries on in Spanish, she makes a low, miserable sound and closes her eyes. She can't translate right now. "English, Cougar, please."
It's frustrating because she can't do Spanish right now and he doesn't think he can do English without a good deal of preparation and thought. He looks up and finds himself caught off guard when he sees the misery on her face, not expecting to see that. He's so used to Jensen when she's warm and happy and pleased. It's been six weeks of that, and suddenly it's all up in smoke because, why?
Because she thinks he's upset that she kissed him.
No, this is all wrong. She has it all wrong, but Cougar's limited English is going to make it difficult for him to explain it without making a mess of it all. "Why," he starts in English, picking his words very carefully, "did you take so long?"
It had been an idea that was sparked their first night as an actual couple, when Cougar had dug his thumbs into her hips so hard that he'd wound up leaving small, grape-shaped bruises blooming under her skin. She's been thinking about it for weeks since, long enough for the bruises to fade and for Cougar to press new ones into her skin. The trick was finding an artist who'd be willing to do what she asked, and who would be able to discuss it with her with her limited Spanish.
The second trick was getting away from Cougar for long enough to have it done. Without anything to do but try and find a way home in between running short tours together, they don't spend much time apart. Luckily, a windfall had come in the guise of Clay, who needed someone to translate for him when he went and met up with someone who claimed to have information on Max. Pooch was busy at the mechanic's, and Roque's Spanish was worse than hers, which left Cougar as the only candidate.
She'd booked her appointment and snuck out as soon as he left, butterflies trembling in her stomach as she lay on her back and watched line after little line get scratched into her skin.
These aren't her first tattoos, so her limited language isn't a problem when it comes to after-care, which had left her feeling confident on her walk home. She hadn't expected Cougar to be home when she let herself in, though. Normally, she tends to wear the sundresses he's bought for her, but today, so that she didn't have to lie on the table with her skirt hiked up to her ribs, she'd settled on a pair of khaki shorts that don't hide the bandages on her hips at all.
"Oh, hey Cougs," she says, closing the door behind her and fighting against the sudden resurgence of those butterflies she vanquished earlier. "How'd it go with Clay?"
He opens his mouth to tell her about the meeting, his frustrations with Clay's terrible Spanish, and the fact that it had been yet another dead end (though he's not frustrated with having to leave Bolivia, because as much as he wants to get Jake her family back, there's something dreamy and perfect about their little life here). He leans in to press a kiss to her lips in chaste greeting, but when he's close, he grabs hold of her and keeps a hand on the small of her back to stare down at those white bandages.
"What did you do?" he growls at her. "I leave you for hours, you're bandaged." Who does he need to hurt, is what he wants to know.
There is something dreamy and perfect about their life here. Jake loves their run-down little apartment with its tiny balcony and no air conditioning, loves running trips for tourists where she can be gregarious and happy in front of vacationing Americans, loves being able to spread out naked across their bed and feel his skin pressed all along her side. It should feel wrong, to be so happy, but she can't make herself hate it.
She squeaks a little when Cougar yanks her closer and denies her the kiss she was gearing up to accept, staring instead at the white squares of gauze she has taped to her hips that peek up out of her shorts.
"Don't be mad," she starts, which she knows is a terrible opening. "I just got a tattoo, that's all."
And, because she knows he's going to want to see as soon as possible, she reaches down and unbuttons her shorts enough so that she can peel the bandages off carefully, showcasing the slightly-swollen, still-red thumbprints etched into her skin. "...What do you think?"
He's gearing up to complain about going to a tattoo shop without him, getting something done without him. He's ready to bitch about unsanitary complications, but all that falls away as she unbuttons her shorts and shows off what she's done. It takes him a minute to process just whose prints those tattoos belong to, until he remembers where he grabs her when they're in bed together. "Mine?" he gets out roughly, his voice hoarse like he hasn't used it in years.
Embarrassingly, he can already feel himself pressing up against the seam of his jeans. When did he get to be so easy?
She's pretty sure the staring is a positive reaction, it's a little hard to tell when his head is tilted down like that to stare at her hipbones. Smiling nervously, she shifts to drape her arm over his shoulders, her hand settling on the back of his neck.
His. His marks, his fingerprints. They're on her hips and they're there permanently. His whole starts to go a little bright and lightheaded as he thinks about the fact that if she ever left him, it would be one of those tattoos that told her next boyfriend about him. He slides down to his knees so he can inspect them closer, tracing outside the angry red area.
Here, staring up at her, he gives her a searching look. "Actually mine?"
She's not planning on ever leaving him, that's why she got the tattoos in the first place. So that she wouldn't need a ring on her finger or the bracelet she wears around her wrist to prove that she loves him, that he's hers and she's his.
Her hand slides over his hair when he drops to his knees, letting the strands slip through her fingers as she pets him gently while he stares at her. "Yes, dummy, actually yours." She's not going to get any old generic fingerprints tattooed on her body and then pretend they're his. Oh, no. She watched her artist with an eagle eye to make sure he didn't fuck up the placement of each tiny little line so that they'd be perfect.
"Where did you get them?" is his next suspicious question that he asks, though there are others he wants answers to. When did she decide to do this? Why hadn't he let her come?
He leans in and slides his lips tenderly over the red marks, hoping to see her shiver. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I heard from my Mom yesterday. As per usual, she's wanting money, though this time I'm not sure whether or not it's for her rent or for her deadbeat boyfriend du jour. I don't think she gets that we make shit pay as it stands, and most of mine goes to my sister for Beth's doctor visits etc. I don't have any to spare to feed her drug habit. My baby girl takes precedence. She was pretty pissed when I told her no, but the great thing about telephones is that you can hang up on people. That probably didn't help matters much, but idgaf any more.
Tell me about your mom. What's she doing these days? Your family sounds so normal, it's like I'm watching a movie or reading a book or something. How are your sisters?
I'd keep writing, but I'm being yelled at, so I'm gonna go now. It's still so fucking weird to write long-hand lol. I'm not used to this. But it's kind of nice. You're the only person I really actually write to; sometimes I send Beth notes and stuff, but she's got her own laptop already, so we mostly email.
Okay, going for real now, I just dodged a boot thrown at my head. Write back soon. —S
Edited (i swear i'll stop editing soon) 2016-08-01 15:59 (UTC)
Whenever you speak of your mother, it makes me wish that I could take you home to my family. They are very much a fan of giving affection where they feel it has been withheld. You would be brought home, bundled up, and fed until you would burst. And then, they would bring out the ice cream and gossip until you were smiling. My mother is fine, though she sends me cross-stitches that I cannot hang anywhere because we are always moving. I think she is trying to guilt me to visit, because the last one just said 'come home' in very pointed red block letters.
My sisters are all in varying states of romance. Even the married one now complains her husband does not woo her enough and sends letters to me like I can give him advice, when my own love life is disaster enough, having been pillaged and lonely for so many years. Love in the military isn't easy, especially when you feel like you don't fit. The youngest is going back to school soon and wants to study theatre. Mother and Father are throwing fits, of course, but they will relent as they love her.
I feel like I can tell you anything and that it matters. Because I have to think about what to write, it means you understand more things than anyone does about me. Back when they suggested this to me, I thought it was a stupid idea.
And then you wrote back and I knew that it was worth every effort. When I get your letters, I'm the happiest I've been outside of the time spent with some of my unit -- though, that's a subject for another letter because it is complicated and even I don't understand it.
I would love to meet your family. But c'mon, my childhood wasn't that bad. I'm not that much of a sob story. That being said, I would definitely not turn down ice cream. Or gossip. Are they pretty? The cross stitches, I mean. I've only really seen them in movies or like museums. Cross stitch wasn't a big deal when I was growing up, obviously lol. I bet they're pretty, even the ones that hold not-so-secret messages. You should go visit your mom! She loves you. Do you talk to her about me?
Sure you can give him advice. I bet you're excellent at giving romantic advice, and it's not like anyone knows your sisters better than you do. I would give great advice for whoever wants to date my sister: namely "stay the fuck away from my sister."
On second though, maybe I'm not so great at advice lol.
I'm glad you feel that way, A. Talking has never been my weak suit, but it's easier to be honest with you about how I'm really feeling. I almost don't want us to meet, ever, because people don't like me much in person and I'm not used to making someone happy. I'm glad I do! I'm so glad. You deserve to be happy. It's just crazy to think that my stupid letters are the reason for it.
The cross stitches are sitting in a pile in the mailroom because I have no place to put them. At first, they were nice little things that you might hang, but now they are very blunt messages of how I am failing as a son to not visit more and how I am not settled down. I do talk to my mother about you, and about my team. She likes to hear the stories, but I think she will start to meddle soon if I tell her too much.
I cannot visit her now. We are on a long mission and there are other places I like to go on leave, now.
Why would people not like you in person? You are kind and compassionate, you always make me smile, and you have a very unique turn of phrase. Your letters are never stupid. I promise you. They have helped me through the worst parts of my life. You have helped me through those.
You just leave them in the mailroom?? What if someone steals them??? A, that's not cool. Your mom put real effort into those, even the ones that scold you. Although she's crazy if she thinks you're failing as a son. You're awesome. Maybe you aren't home very much, but you're great. You can tell her I said so.
Where do you like to go now?
I'm annoying as hell, dude, even I can tell that. I'm surprised you can't, but then again, I have time to think about what I'm writing when I'm writing you. When I'm talking, words just spew out of my mouth and I can't do anything to stop them. It's gotten me into trouble many, many times.
You help me too, though. When I'm having a bad day I like to go through our old letters and laugh at your patient responses to my stupidity.
If someone wants to steal my mother's angry profanity-laden cross-stitches, they are welcome to them. She will only make another at some point. I keep the one I love the most, which is the one she did with my name and my favorite prayer. And I am failing because I am away so often. I understand. If I had children, if you had children, wouldn't you want them to be with you as much as they could be?
When I'm on leave, I go with some of the unit. There is someone that often needs a little support. He never asks, but I can tell that he doesn't like to be alone. I want to be there for him because he matters very much.
And no, you're not annoying. I'm a very good judge of character.
You're not stupid, either. Don't talk about yourself like that.
-A
Okay, maybe just a little annoying sometimes. Only sometimes.
I want some! They sound hilarious. If your mom has your sense of humor, they're sure to be great. And if I had kids of my own, I would want them to be happy. Not that I'll ever have kids, though. I'm too scared I'm going to turn out like my own parents, and no kid deserves that. I'm not subjecting anyone to the foster system because I'm a screw-up.
You're a good guy, A. I hope your friend realizes that. He's lucky to have someone like you in his life.
You clearly don't know me as well as you think. I am both those things. But but like me anyway, so what does that say about you??
Maybe next time, I will tell her to make a pattern for my penpal. She would be too happy to make you something, I promise. I think it is because of her and my father that I want kids. I see what the love of a family can do for someone, even as broken as myself, and I know that I want that.
I think he knows. I hope he knows. I would do anything for him, even if I'm bad at showing it sometimes.
It says that I am a good judge of character and you don't see yourself for how wonderful a man you are. No arguments.
Something's wrong with JJ. For all that Cougar tries to give her space, there's a difference between Jensen's usual wandering and enjoying herself and the ignoring that she's been doing lately. At first, it's not like Cougar takes it seriously. She has things to do, same as them, especially now that they've made it back to the US thanks to Aisha's help. Still, when your wife is not speaking to you, that's cause for alarm.
Especially when it's a wife like Jensen, who hasn't actually shut up in the years that he's known her. Much more of this and Cougar is going to have to pick up the slack and start talking for her, which isn't something he intends to do. When another day passes and still nothing, he finally abandons the perch he's made for himself in their little hangar, finding Jensen and resting his fingers at her elbow gently.
He doesn't say anything, just raises his brows to ask if they can talk. He has to hope that if he asks enough direct questions, he'll find out what's going on and why she's acting so strangely. Maybe it's something not even to do with him, but Cougar doesn't have a good feeling about that.
Better to find out what he did wrong so he can start groveling now.
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bolivia; rule 63; kisses!!
"See," she says, pointing at the screen of one of the two laptops she's got set up on their little Formica kitchen table, fully expecting the guys who are crowded around her to be paying attention. "It's got his dirty little fingerprints all over it. This guy is like a fucking toddler, all sticky hands and trailing crumbs. This is sloppy fucking work, I tell you, I could do better than this when I was fourteen." She sounds personally offended, like sloppy hacking is worse than any other offense she can think of.
Clay motions for her to get out of the way so he can peer at her screen from far too close — he has to get bifocals at some point, she's almost tempted to start placing bets on how long he's going to hold out — so she pushes out of her chair and stretches, feeling her back pop, before she moves closer to the stove. She wants more coffee.
Cougar's standing right there before she can even articulate her desire, holding out a cup of coffee that has so much sugar you could stand a spoon up in it. "Thanks, hermoso," she murmurs, accepting the cup and taking a small sip before leaning into his space to give him a peck on the lips. "Mm, perfect. I think I'm keeping you."
Re: bolivia; rule 63; kisses!!
These past six weeks have been awful and incredible. No more worrying that he'll lose Jake to some random stranger. He doesn't know what to do, but he can see Pooch and Roque gaping at him out of the corner of his eye and he feels like staring right back because he doesn't know what goes on in Jensen's head.
There's no one to convince around. So why did she just do that?
"Uh, J...?" Pooch says calmly. "That some new kind of Bolivia hello you're working on?"
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She doesn't necessarily step out of Cougar's space, though, nor does she take her hand off his waist, letting her fingers twist in the hem of his soft t-shirt and rubbing it between her fingers absently. He's wearing her favorite shirt of his, the soft one with the frayed patch at the hem, and she fiddles with the loose edges as she lets the caffeine and sugar from her coffee seep into her system.
"Huh?" It takes her a minute to respond to Pooch, busy with her coffee, and when she does, it's clear she doesn't understand what he's talking about. "Mm, no?" She turns to look at Cougar as if expecting him to back her up, and only then realizes how close she is to him and what she's just done.
Squeaking, she lets go of his shirt and claps her hand over her mouth, a rosy blush blooming in her cheeks as she stares first at him and then at the others with wide eyes.
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In all the time they've been pretending, there's been touching of course. There's been bed sharing and chaste kisses to temples, cheeks, and shoulders. They've never kissed, though.
"Great," Clay mutters from the computer. "Cougar's broken and Jensen looks like she's going to burst."
Roque and Pooch, though, look like they're digging for money. Cougar wishes he had it in him to be affronted, but his brain can only process two things right now. Jensen and kiss again and again in a loop.
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"Christ, Cougs, I'm so sorry," she whispers, not wanting the others to be party to this but knowing it's inevitable with the size of their kitchen. "It was just...reflex, y'know, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry. We can...pretend it never happened, okay? Or like, put it down to cabin fever, if you want. I know we're all going stir-crazy down here." But the thing is, she isn't. Her internet connection is kind of shitty and she doesn't have any of her high-tech toys, just a few Frankensteined laptops, but she's happy here. She feels girly and free, like a whole new woman, and she's pretty sure that's all down to the fact that she and Cougar have been playing house instead of wallowing in their misery like everyone else.
Roque has started cackling, throwing his head back and clapping his hand to his chest, and when she turns to glare at him, even Pooch is guffawing.
"You guys are such assholes, I swear to god," she mutters darkly, feeling very exposed suddenly in her backless sundress and bare feet.
"Aw, JJ, dont be like that," Pooch wheedles. She'd be more inclined to not be like that if he wasn't trying unsuccessfully to stifle a wide grin and rocking in his seat from the punch Roque landed on his shoulder.
She grimaces. "Don't call me that." Only Cougar gets to call her that.
"How come you don't go around kissing the rest of us?" Roque teases, his teeth bright and white in his face as he grins at her. Clay rolls his eyes. "That's not fair, bro."
"Oh fuck you." She flips him off, feeling her shoulders start to curl in, something hot and tight curling in her belly that's shifting from embarrassment to shame. She turns to Cougar for backup and finds him still just staring at her. Her shoulders curl in even more. "Carlos, say something."
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Cougar reaches out to take her hand in his, tugging her along towards the balcony where they can close a door. It's stifling and hot outside, but there's a little more privacy if you ignore the fact that the other three aren't making much of an attempt to hide their curiosity.
Even Clay, who's trying to look above it all, is lurking a little closer to the window than before. Cougar tries not to think about how everyone is so close when this is one of the more private moments of his life and he'd prefer to keep it that way.
"You kissed me," is his rough, quiet comment. His back is to the balcony door where they can't see his face. He adjusts the brim of his hat so she can see him under it, not entirely sure he knows what he wants to say. He knows what he feels. He knows he liked it, knows it hadn't been enough, knows that his jealousy frissoned and spiralled when Pooch called her JJ and Roque teased her about kissing the rest of them. Something bristles in his chest to think of them kissing her. It's taken six weeks to break, six weeks to get to the point he's wanted since night one, and now that is has happened, he can't even find the words. At least, not in English. "Lo que tomó tanto tiempo," he exhales.
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Yes, it's embarrassing that she kissed him without thinking about it. Yes, the rest of her team are giant dickbags who won't let this go for years. Yes, the fact that they were apparently betting on them is ridiculous and stupid and so entirely like them.
She just hadn't expected Cougar to shut down like this. He must be really angry.
Feeling miserable and small in a way she doesn't often feel, she lets him grab her hand and tow her across the tiny living room to the balcony, giving serious thought to just throwing herself off it when they get there to spare herself the humiliation of what's going to come next. The balcony is barely big enough for both of them to be out here at the same time, but they manage to fit, Cougar shutting the door behind him and blocking her exit, forcing her to try and make as much space between them as possible by pressing herself against the iron railing, the metal hot in the morning sun and burning against the small of her back.
"I know, I'm sorry," she whispers, clutching at her coffee in both hands like a lifeline and looking at the small hole in the seam of the shoulder of his shirt instead of his face. She can't bring herself to see the shock and rejection she knows is there. When he carries on in Spanish, she makes a low, miserable sound and closes her eyes. She can't translate right now. "English, Cougar, please."
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Because she thinks he's upset that she kissed him.
No, this is all wrong. She has it all wrong, but Cougar's limited English is going to make it difficult for him to explain it without making a mess of it all. "Why," he starts in English, picking his words very carefully, "did you take so long?"
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bolivia; rule 63; tatoos
The second trick was getting away from Cougar for long enough to have it done. Without anything to do but try and find a way home in between running short tours together, they don't spend much time apart. Luckily, a windfall had come in the guise of Clay, who needed someone to translate for him when he went and met up with someone who claimed to have information on Max. Pooch was busy at the mechanic's, and Roque's Spanish was worse than hers, which left Cougar as the only candidate.
She'd booked her appointment and snuck out as soon as he left, butterflies trembling in her stomach as she lay on her back and watched line after little line get scratched into her skin.
These aren't her first tattoos, so her limited language isn't a problem when it comes to after-care, which had left her feeling confident on her walk home. She hadn't expected Cougar to be home when she let herself in, though. Normally, she tends to wear the sundresses he's bought for her, but today, so that she didn't have to lie on the table with her skirt hiked up to her ribs, she'd settled on a pair of khaki shorts that don't hide the bandages on her hips at all.
"Oh, hey Cougs," she says, closing the door behind her and fighting against the sudden resurgence of those butterflies she vanquished earlier. "How'd it go with Clay?"
Re: bolivia; rule 63; tatoos
"What did you do?" he growls at her. "I leave you for hours, you're bandaged." Who does he need to hurt, is what he wants to know.
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She squeaks a little when Cougar yanks her closer and denies her the kiss she was gearing up to accept, staring instead at the white squares of gauze she has taped to her hips that peek up out of her shorts.
"Don't be mad," she starts, which she knows is a terrible opening. "I just got a tattoo, that's all."
And, because she knows he's going to want to see as soon as possible, she reaches down and unbuttons her shorts enough so that she can peel the bandages off carefully, showcasing the slightly-swollen, still-red thumbprints etched into her skin. "...What do you think?"
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Embarrassingly, he can already feel himself pressing up against the seam of his jeans. When did he get to be so easy?
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"Mhmm," she agrees, nodding as she bites her lip.
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Here, staring up at her, he gives her a searching look. "Actually mine?"
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Her hand slides over his hair when he drops to his knees, letting the strands slip through her fingers as she pets him gently while he stares at her. "Yes, dummy, actually yours." She's not going to get any old generic fingerprints tattooed on her body and then pretend they're his. Oh, no. She watched her artist with an eagle eye to make sure he didn't fuck up the placement of each tiny little line so that they'd be perfect.
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He leans in and slides his lips tenderly over the red marks, hoping to see her shiver. "Why didn't you tell me?"
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EPISTOLARY ROMANCE IS A GO
Re: EPISTOLARY ROMANCE IS A GO
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bolivia; scare
Especially when it's a wife like Jensen, who hasn't actually shut up in the years that he's known her. Much more of this and Cougar is going to have to pick up the slack and start talking for her, which isn't something he intends to do. When another day passes and still nothing, he finally abandons the perch he's made for himself in their little hangar, finding Jensen and resting his fingers at her elbow gently.
He doesn't say anything, just raises his brows to ask if they can talk. He has to hope that if he asks enough direct questions, he'll find out what's going on and why she's acting so strangely. Maybe it's something not even to do with him, but Cougar doesn't have a good feeling about that.
Better to find out what he did wrong so he can start groveling now.