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Germany had gone well. Great, even. Alejandro is sure of that much, even though there'd been a slight error in his performance. Not much of one, but any error at all is one too many, especially when nearly the entire world's scrutiny is present.
"Dude, seriously? What happened?"
He couldn't have fumbled worse, stuttering when Leshawna beat Heather until her face was mottled with bruises and one of her teeth missing. It wasn't as if he didn't orchestrate it, yes, but watching it unfold made a simultaneous mix of fascination, horror, and slight guilt churn unpleasantly in his gut.
And he'd gotten distracted—too caught up in the fight to even refute Sierra's undeniably powerful slap. He'd been sent tumbling into the freezing snow with no time to recover his from the mishap.
"Heather sacrificed herself to distract me, and her brilliant plan worked. I am most disappointed in myself."
Noah had looked at him, brow raised in a terrible mix of apprehension and disbelief, and leveled a hand at him. He didn't say much of anything else, but that sharpened, awful expression had told Alejandro everything he needed to know. Heather's opinion did not matter much—nasty may recognize nasty, but no one cared for her input. After all, who's a hypocrite to preach?
But Noah is unfortunately a different story. He is apathetic and unpleasant, but he isn't nasty. While he isn't particularly liked, he isn't particularly disliked, either, and he's known for his wit and perceptiveness. If he were to decide to go around and back Heather up, or even just pass around a warning or two, Alejandro's entire strategy could collapse. If he's to win this, Noah cannot be in the way.
First loss, he will go.
Until then, Alejandro will have to be plugging holes in their sinking boat. Just ease the suspicion directed at him, and then try to play to his whims. Noah's the only person left to have any lingering resentment, other than Heather, so Alejandro can mold to his liking. His teammates will likely not notice, due to their lack of intelligence and their blind trust in him.
The only trick is finding out what the nerd likes. Unfortunately, the only people that Noah is mildly fond of are Izzy and Owen, a lunatic and a juvenile, naive, disgusting slob respectively. Alejandro refuses to stoop that low.
Which is why he stands alone in the cockpit, sans a giant doll of Chef pretending to fly the plane. The chocolate bars have melded into the shape of his palms from the warmth, but he doubts that Noah would be the type to focus any attention into that. If anything, gestures too perfect seem to do nothing more than make him alert.
Alejandro refrains from fidgeting with his shirt collar, all too aware of the camera angled to have his face completely visible. Alejandro does need the audience to be aware of his plans, of course. He caters to the population viewing this as much as he does the contestants. He's not quite a villainous mastermind, and not quite that flawless charmer. Not much of anything, really, if he puts too much thought into it. But that's not anything they have to know.
He relaxes when Noah finally shows up, clad in a pair of plaid pajama pants, his white undershirt, and a bedhead that resembles what his hair usually looks like. Sometimes Alejandro has to wonder if he even brushes his hair, or if he dampens it and moves along with his day. His tired eyes don't let anything shine through other than mild annoyance.
"It's like five in the morning, if jet lag hasn't completely fucked my sense of time up," he remarks upon seeing Alejandro already having made himself presentable, then scowls. "What the hell do you need?"
"I'd like to talk… strategy with you, mi amigo," Alejandro responds immediately, rehearsing his script mentally. If this pays off, Alejandro will have the entire game in his palm. Heather's the only other hurdle he has, and she will not make merge. Not with a team that clearly wants her gone.
He ignores the pang in his chest at the idea.
"Strategy with a bribe of chocolate bars?" Noah rubs at his eyes, barely even open. He yawns and settles onto the unoccupied seat beside Alejandro, clearly exhausted. "I don't want an alliance with you, if that's what you're asking."
"I'd like for you to hear me out first," Alejandro offers. If Noah isn't receptive to even listening, then this won't have any chance of success. Alejandro can practically see that million dollars being ripped out of his hands, can see his parents' disgusted looks and hear José's mocking.
"If I wasn't here to hear you out, then I'd still be in bed. Get on with it before I fall asleep."
"Well, you may have the chocolate bars, anyway. If you'd like, of course; Courtney offered them to me when we talked earlier." A lie. He'd nabbed them when no one was looking, but Noah doesn't have to know that.
Noah arches a brow but doesn't pester him about it, letting Alejandro press the candy into his palms with a crinkle of wrapper. Their fingers brush, causing Noah to stiffen momentarily. Odd. Is he that wary of Alejandro? If so, that is not good. He may just have taken a step in the wrong direction.
"Now that the goods have been exchanged, get on with it," Noah pans. His brown eyes have finally opened up to their normal capacity, still hazy with the grogginess from someone far too tired. His fringe is stuck to his forehead with sweat, making his face gleam.
"I want to apologize to you for my failure back in Germany. Heather truly did distract me. But more than that, I'd like to applaud your perceptiveness. You are the kind of player"—he takes a tentative step forward, letting the space between them dwindle to nothing—"that I'd like to have on my side. Intelligent, resilient, and hilarious."
Noah leans back in his chair, tilting his head just so to use his hair to curtain his face. "I don't need to be intelligent to see the weird fling you and Heather have going on. Even Lindsay knows." Something taints his usual blasé tone, carefully monitored by both of them, it would seem.
He swallows a lump at the prospect of him and Heather being together. It doesn't sound bad, but he isn't stupid enough to assume that she would choose him over a million dollars. He certainly would not choose her over a million dollars, so their relationship is destined to come to an abrupt stop when they're actually forced to do more than snipe at each other and blush when they think no one is looking. But that is not the point here, not really.
"I apologize for letting that interfere with our chances of victory. I had no intentions of losing in Germany, amigo. It will not happen again, if that's what you would like." He carefully leans in, grazing Noah's chin with the tip of his finger. Look at me, he wants to say, because he is much more effective when he's seen.
The skin under his finger is soft, slightly damp. Noah immediately tenses.
Oh?
"Look at me, Noah," he whispers, maneuvering just so.
Noah does comply, although mechanically, and pries Alejandro's hand away from his chin. His cheeks are imperceptibly stained with pink, pupils enlarged slightly. Observant, not immune. "Happy?"
Jealousy. That was what crept into Noah's tone earlier, and Alejandro knows exactly how to exploit it. He is the resident charmer, after all.
Leaning forward, so close that he can pick up the musky scent of skin and lingering citrus, Alejandro gives his best smile. Noah doesn't fight off the hand settled atop his shoulder. "How could I not be? You're right here, dear."
A little thick never hurts anything, right? Wrong. Noah scrunches up his nose, rolling his eyes. Alejandro can't have messed up too terribly, though, because he doesn't shove him off. "Easy. You were almost as subtle with Leshawna, and that says a lot."
"Leshawna was a fluke. I needed her gone, mainly because she was their strongest player." With a surge of courage, he kisses the skin of Noah's cheek, just inches from his mouth. "I needed her to see something. You do understand?"
As expected, Noah only stares. His cheeks have gone a violent shade of pink. Hook, line, sinker. Of course, though, it is Alejandro. "R-Right. Obviously."
"Have faith in me—in us—and we can rule this game, Noah. I was not lying about your talents."
The other only sighs, seemingly dazed, and nods. This will be much, much easier than Alejandro had anticipated. And as a bonus, he may have an excuse to keep around intelligent conversation. He deserves a damn reprieve after being surrounded by Tyler and Owen all day.
"I'm glad we got to talk, Noah," he emphasizes, watching as Noah stumbles over himself. Not so apathetic. What happened to the boy from earlier who griped at him for giving the enemy a pep talk? Does it even matter, because this version of Noah may be easier to work with?
"I say we let bygones be bygones. Allies?"
Blinking rapidly, he seems to get ahold of himself. Shoving himself out of the chair, he mutters, "Uh. Yeah, sure. I need to go back to bed. Allies. Or whatever."
"Lovely! I hope you sleep well," Alejandro says to the practically jogging boy, who retreated so quickly he left his half-melted chocolate in the chair. Alejandro smiles to himself, pleased.
The game is paved to win.
If only he could get rid of that footage from the camera.
In the Amazon, he lets them curl together under the guise of warmth, then kisses him when their teammates fall asleep. It seems to set their alliance in stone. If a press of lips is a pact, Alejandro makes a million promises he can't keep to Noah that night.
He'll be gone soon, anyway. It's not like it really means much.
They wake up the next morning with swollen lips and suspicious look from Izzy, littered head to toe with bug bites and smeared with dirt. Alejandro pretends not to notice how giddy Noah seems, as if love has suddenly made him Owen's level of cheery. He even cracks a genuine smile at Izzy's joke about mutant insects, forgetting all about Owen.
When they finally arrive at the stairs, sans Owen, Chris shoos them away with a warning about missing teammates and legal jargon. No win for them until Owen is there, which makes him want to stomp and throw a tantrum like a small child would. Alas, he acts much more maturely and offers to be the 'savior.'
He pretends not to notice the confused glance from Noah when he does volunteer.
Observant, but affected still.
He won't remain docile forever.
He has to go, Alejandro repeats to himself the entire time. That's the entire reason he's even indulging Noah, after all.
Alejandro grows used to the aching pains in his head from lack of sleep, because they stay up all night talking until his brain grows tired and foggy. He's pushing an angle, he knows, even when his face splits into a smile so wide it hurts when Noah cracks a joke or stares at him in that lovesick way Alejandro's grown accustomed to.
He's pushing an angle when they whisper snide remarks to each other and hold hands when no one can see. Pushing an angle that requires him to fall asleep next to Noah while debating film techniques. Pushing an angle when he explores the inside of Noah's mouth and gets lost in his eyes. Pushing an angle, just until they lose.
Jamaica burns because he can't keep DJ. Jamaica burns worse when Heather properly steals his victory, and he can't even bring himself to be completely mad about it. Jamaica burns even hotter when Noah and Owen hug in front of him, tears pricking at both of their eyes.
Jamaica pulls at his skin until he wants to rake his nails down his sides and through his scalp. The hot sand beneath his feet and sea breeze are a mild ointment on a third-degree burn. Victory doesn't even seem achievable, not anymore. Not with a disadvantage from lack of players, and Noah's attention on that disgusting, grating excuse for a best friend.
Heather turns her nose up at him every time he dares glance at her, even though her cheeks flush and her eyes gleam.
He digs his nails into his palms and rips every single one of them to shreds to Noah that night, yanking apart every player with an abhorrent amount of anger. He insults and degrades until even Noah seems surprised at his intensity, not commenting on it.
It doesn't feel like he's pushing an angle when he lets a comment soaked with vitriol slip from his mouth about his brother.
It doesn't feel like he's pushing an angle when he talks about José to someone who might understand with the devastating amount of resentment that always boils at the mere mention of his brother.
It doesn't feel like an angle when they kiss so hard that their teeth clack together, when he swallows every pretty sound that the other makes. It doesn't feel like an angle when he promises they can be together openly after World Tour ends. It's no longer an angle after he promises that they'll halve the money and make a life together.
It doesn't even occur to him that Noah and his family's approval cannot co-exist.
He spends half of London watching Noah, who steps into his absence seamlessly. He orders around Owen and Tyler and deciphers their clues with little trouble, although they are very one-dimensional, thanks to Total Drama's lack of intelligent people.
Team Amazon quickly loses two, until Alejandro is surrounded by Cody and Sierra while watching the intercoms. Sierra squeezes Cody close to her chest and squishes his cheek, even while he groans in discomfort and tries to shove her away.
"Aw, Cody, it's like a date at the movies!" she squeals, pointedly ignoring Alejandro's presence.
"Right," Cody mutters back, dejected. "I love the movies."
"Eek! Me, too!" She does not catch onto the obvious sarcasm dripping from his tone. "I even know your favorite movie! And video game! We have such similar tastes in movies, mainly because I watch every one that you do. Haha!"
"Alejandro, dude," Cody whisper-shouts at him, blue eyes pleading. Sierra doesn't even notice.
He thinks about doing it, mainly so Cody could owe him one, but the thought is quickly swept away by the sound of Noah's voice crackling over the speakers. He's got a hand on the wheel, seemingly unimpressed, and is obviously addressing Owen. "Quick, tie him up before Alejandro gets here and makes me do it because I'm shorter."
What?
"Why don't you like Al? He's great," Owen replies, clearly confused.
"He's like an eel dipped in grease, swimming in motor oil."
"Dirty?"
What?
Beside him, both Cody and Sierra have gone eerily quiet. The rest of the words don't quite register. Slippery and Heather with social skills—
"You and I, Noah, we could have a proper relationship. Once this show is over, we could split the million—"
"Allies?"
"What?" slips past his lips, unbidden. It isn't even sharp or angry, which make it all the more pathetic. He just sounds confused, like a lost dog. He sounds like Tyler would.
Right. An angle.
Noah's going home. It was Alejandro's fault for ever getting distracted. He should have known better. He's here to win this.
He tells himself this until Noah arrives twenty minutes later, shaking with nerves. Fuck you, Alejandro thinks. And thinks and thinks, because they won the challenge.
Or they should've.
But they didn't.
Finally, Alejandro will be rid of Noah.
He hovers the stamp over Noah's passport.
Have faith in us, Noah.
He slams it so hard that the ink splatters.