thecatinahat | (no subject)

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."

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?"

Hey A—

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)

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.

bolivia; rule 63; kisses!!

bolivia; rule 63; tatoos