Work Text:
2009
Steve Murphy knew Javier Peña, the real Javier Peña. He turned over the postcard and smiled: Shithole hasn’t changed. JP2, he read. Steve felt happy for Javier Peña. JP. One of two JPs. The other was probably the love of Javí’s life, the one person that had got him through Colombia, that had looked after him, cared for him, and waited for him to get his shit together, the one that had stuck around after Colombia, that had followed him to the States, to Mexico, to Puerto Rico, that had become the one that Javí trusted unconditionally, and it wasn’t a woman. Steve smiled to himself at the thought of his macho partner living with another man. Javí had been a womanizer and had bedded A LOT of women, but it was Joaquin that he had chosen to fall for.
Steve Murphy knew they had been together for more than fifteen years, and although they kept their relationship under the radar, Steve knew that Javí was very much in love.
He had once asked Javí about the nature of their friendship, and Javí had shrugged, “Friends with benefits.“ He had sensed that Steve had been curious and that he had been wondering if Javí really was gay. So Javí had let him in. He felt attracted to Joaquin, but he didn’t feel the need to be all over him all the time. They did things, and Javí claimed to enjoy them, but he wouldn’t give up on women. “You’ve been together for a decade!“ Steve had been shocked. Yeah, Javí had nodded. But sleeping with women held something comforting and familiar, and the sex was good because of the experience he had. Javí didn’t think of what he did as cheating. Fucking another guy would be cheating. “I’ve never done that, Steve,“ Javí had declared solemnly. Steve had asked if Joaquin knew about the women, and Javí had nodded so guiltily that Steve hadn’t pressed on.
Javí and Joaquin had transferred back to Colombia, whatever for. Steve had no idea what it was that kept Javí going. He would probably be still going strong long after Steve had retired. He wasn’t chasing narcos anymore though. Javí gave lectures and set up missions. He would run the DEA office in Bogotá alongside Joe. Being partners would keep the true nature of their relationship under wraps. They would be able to go out and spend time together in public. Steve smiled to himself. Somehow, his emotionally dysfunctional colleague had built himself a nest. Joe was a nice guy, bright and caring, and he doted on Javí. Even in the early days, Joe had looked after Javí, had made sure he ate, had made sure he didn’t drink too much, had made sure he got some rest. He had been subtle about it, and Steve had noticed a long time before Javí had what the other man was doing. When Javí had caught up he had felt embarrassed, but then he had reciprocated, had done Joe’s shopping or had picked up his laundry. They had moved slowly, but the way they had been gravitating towards one another had not escaped Steve.
Steve Murphy knew that he would never label the JPs. Connie and he had tried, but the word gay didn’t do the two men justice, Steve found. Maybe Joe was, but Javí? Connie thought that Javí was bisexual and that Joe wasn’t interested in sex. “I think he is … neither, he just loves him, and Javí is everything at once,“ she had said. Maybe that was it. In any case, this wasn’t about sex. The JPs were two wonderful people that had found one another. It didn’t matter what they were or what they were not. When a friend of theirs had referred to the JPs as that gay couple, Steve had heard that undertone, and when Joe had been dubbed the one with the wonky eye, Frankenst-eye-n, the Purple Pirate (because of the eye cap) he had been furious and had set the guy straight. Joe had been put through enough. Steve remembered Javí’s panicked voice when he had called him that night. The event would forever be that night to all of them: the night when Joe had been attacked at a bar. They were still not sure about the assailant’s motivation and it didn’t matter now. What mattered was what the assault had done to Joe. And to Javí. He had been frantic, and he hadn’t even thought twice about the time. It had been the middle of the night, or rather the small hours of day, but Joe had been in hospital and was about to lose his eye! Javí had been lost and helpless. He had been crying and had spoken so quickly, mixing English and Spanish and tripping over his own words, it had shaken Steve to the core. He had tried to calm Javí over the phone, had spoken sweet nonsense to him, and had told him that everything would be alright. “There was so much blood,“ Javí had wailed, “Steve, it was so bad! They wouldn’t call the ambulance. He passed out in my arms, and he bled all over me. The smell-“ Steve had sighed. He knew how much Javí hated both the sight and the smell of blood. Seeing his boyfriend injured must have been torture. Hell, if it had been Connie, Steve would have gone crazy. In the end things had turned out well. Joe hadn’t lost his eyesight, and the scar wasn’t that prominent. He was still a good-looking guy, and Javí still loved him. Actually, he had grown even closer to Joaquin after the incident. Maybe it had made him realise what a precious thing his boyfriend was – and how fragile things were even in Puerto Rico.
Steve Murphy knew that Javí had had his mind made up before going there, but that night had made him reconsider. He had asked Joe to come back to Texas with him. They had settled on Chucho’s farm, and they had that quiet life Steve knew that Javí had been yearning for. It suited them. They liked the country and they enjoyed riding. They taught at the college. Javí had even reconciled Lorraine. Or maybe she had seen what damage she had done. Steve smiled. If she hadn’t pulled that bullshit on him, they would have got married. Javí would never have run to Colombia. He would never have met Joe. He would never have met him. Javí had realised that a while ago, and he had told him that, bizarrely, all the good things in his life had happened because of Lorraine. The JPs had been together for almost twenty years now (seventeen, Javí would correct him). Steve was impressed as he had never taken Javí for the settling down type. Turned out he had been wrong about that. The JPs had had their ups and downs, but they had made things work somehow. Steve smiled at the colourful postcard. The JPs loved travelling, and once they were back, Javí would pick up the phone and tell him about their adventures and discoveries. Did you know that Brasilia looks like an aeroplane from above? Have you ever smelled a real orchid? You have to go to Ecuador! Steve, have you tried Pataska? The Lago Llanquihue is beautiful, Steve. You should take Connie and the kids. Steve loved Javí’s enthusiasm. Sometimes, Javí would show him pictures. Steve remembered one of the two JPs in Peru. They were looking at the hand-held camera, Laguna 69 in the background. Javí was pressing a kiss to Joaquin’s temple, and Joaquin was grinning like mad. They looked so young and so happy. The picture had made Steve smile. “If you hadn’t kissed me back then, I wouldn’t be showing you this,“ Javí had told him, and he was right.
Steve Murphy knew that he was one of few people in the DEA that were officially in the frame about Javí and Joaquin. Javí trusted him, and he would sometimes bring Joaquin when he came to see the Murphies. The JPs weren’t into PDA, and yet, sometimes Steve had caught them holding hands or leaning into one another. He hadn’t seen them kiss or touch more intimately, but then he had never seen Javí perform in public. Steve was sure that Javí would never have considered being with a man if Steve hadn’t kissed him at that office party. He hadn’t been shocked by Steve’s actions. He had been shocked by the lack of his own. He hadn’t minded, and when Joe had come into his life, the concept hadn’t been that alien to him. Steve Murphy knew that he had been the one to shove Javí into the right direction, but Steve Murphy didn’t know that Javí had realised and that he was secretly grateful.