Archive of Our Own ^beta

The bowling alley smelled like wax and old carpet, a strange combination of lemon-scented cleaner and the faint, oily residue of decades-old french fries. The sharp clatter of pins crashing echoed off the neon-lit walls, a steady rhythm punctuated by bursts of laughter and the electronic chirp of arcade machines. The place was alive—loud and bustling—but Javier couldn’t have felt more hollow.

He had shaken his tail three blocks back, cutting through alleys and slipping into a laundromat just long enough to trade his coat for a second-hand hoodie a kid left behind in a dryer. The adrenaline from losing his pursuers still thrummed beneath his skin, a jittery hum that made his fingers tighten into fists every few minutes, but he kept his expression level, his breathing even. He couldn’t afford mistakes.

The weight in his chest was a different kind of pressure. It wasn’t the nerves of being followed, of the danger that constantly loomed over him. It was the gaping wound of missing Kevin so fiercely, so painfully, that it felt like trying to breathe with a crushed lung. Every step he took into that bowling alley twisted the knife deeper because this place was theirs.

Javier scanned the lanes, his stomach coiling into knots as his eyes landed on their lane. Lane seventeen. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? To be so attached to something so simple? But this was where they’d spent their anniversaries when the kids were younger. Where Kevin had once bet him a week of doing dishes that he could bowl a strike blindfolded—only to land straight in the gutter of the lane next to them. Where they’d kissed behind the vending machines like two lovestruck teenagers, sneaking away from a PTA fundraiser because Kevin couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and Javi had been guilty as hell too. Sam dragging them out, scolding them like they were the parents.

Now, the lane was empty. Waiting. It wasn’t this busy this time of day.

Javier forced himself forward, swallowing against the lump in his throat. His fingers twitched with the memory of how Kevin used to lace their hands together, warm and sure, pressing a kiss against his knuckles just for the hell of it before grabbing his favorite purple ball. Recounting their first official date to their kids, until Sam threatened to shove himself down the lane and hope someone would strike them clean of this earth. He shoved his hands into his pockets instead.

A ball rolled down a lane behind him, hitting the pins with a sharp crack. His nerves sparked. Too loud. Too sudden. He exhaled slowly, trying to shake it off, but his body was still keyed up, still stuck in the space between relief and devastation. Kevin was alive, but he wasn’t here. And maybe—maybe he wouldn’t be. So, he just had to stick to the plan.

Javier reached the locker, heart thudding. He pressed his palm against the cold metal, letting himself have a single second—just one—to collect himself before twisting the lock to their number.

Inside, a manila envelope sat on top of an old pack of gum and a receipt from a night four years ago when Kevin had paid for their entire lane in quarters just to piss off some rude cashier. He’d kept that receipt in his wallet as a memento. Said it was his lucky charm, and now he’d left it for his husband to find. Javier’s breath hitched. A ghost of a memory swelled up, unbidden—Kevin’s laughter, bright and unguarded, head thrown back, eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned into Javier like the world didn’t matter outside of that moment.

He blinked hard, shoving the ache back down where it belonged.

The envelope crinkled under his grip as he pulled it free, slipping it into his hoodie before shutting the locker. He turned to leave—and then he felt it.

A shift in the air.

A presence.

And then, so quiet he almost didn’t catch it over the din of the nearest alley—

“Javi.”

Everything inside him seized. His lungs forgot how to work. His knees nearly buckled.

That voice.

Javier turned slowly, like if he moved too fast, the illusion would break and Kevin would disappear. And there he was. They’d seen each nearly other every day except for that one weekend Kevin had gone to visit Jenny alone, for the last decade.

Kevin stood just a few feet away, half-shadowed by the blinking lights of the arcade. He was thinner. Paler. His face was bruised, a shadow of yellow-green blooming along his cheekbone, and his right hand was wrapped in a makeshift splint. His lips were chapped, the kind of dry that meant he wasn’t taking care of himself. His eyes—God, his eyes—were tired, hollowed out by sleepless nights and too many close calls, but they were locked on Javier like he was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

For a split second, neither of them moved.

Then Javier’s body overruled his brain.

He crossed the space between them in two steps, grabbing Kevin’s face in both hands and kissed him without a moment’s hesitation, careful not to dislodge the hood. The stubble on Kevin’s jaw scraped against his palms, and fuck, he was real. Warm. Alive. Javier’s breath was ragged, uneven, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Kevin exhaled sharply, his own hands coming up to grip Javier’s wrists, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, like he was afraid Javier would vanish. A pained sound slipping from his lips.

“Jesus Christ,” Javier whispered, his forehead pressing against Kevin’s. His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall. “You stupid, reckless, son of a—”

Kevin let out a broken laugh, breathless, shaking. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s me.” Then softer, barely audible above the noise— “God, I missed you. I planned to leave, but I just couldn’t—Just wanted to catch a glimpse, but we both know I can’t stay away from you.”

Javier’s throat clenched. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling Kevin’s scent—a mix of old motel soap, stale coffee, and fresh sweat. The familiarity of it cracked something inside him. For the first time in weeks, the crushing weight of missing him lifted, just for a second.

Kevin’s hands slid down to Javier’s chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. Digging into the place where he knew his tattoo was. His brand seared into Javier’s flesh. “I can’t stay long,” he said, voice rough. “I had to see you. Just once. Just—” He swallowed hard. His breath was shaking. “Javi, I don’t know how this ends.”

Javier pulled back just enough to look at him. Kevin’s eyes shone with something raw, something close to fear, but deeper. A knowing. A resignation.

“No.” Javier’s voice was firm, steeled by something desperate, something unbreakable. He cupped the back of Kevin’s neck, pressing their foreheads together again. “This ends with you coming home. Do you hear me?”

Kevin let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, he looked at Javier the way he always had—like he was his anchor, his safe place, his goddamn gravity. “I found a lead,” he rushed out. “I’m following up on it. What did you find out?”

Javier felt him slip something into his pocket—a flash drive, probably—but he didn’t care right now. “Couldn’t find those cops from the van. Barton’s been tight-lipped about it all. Sam and I , we called every hospital, asking for their names, describing them, but nothing so far. I got a list—” He patted down his pants, drawing out a crumpled paper. “The list of names you asked for. Anything I could pull from your old files.”

“Okay, okay,” his husband exhaled shakily. “I got pictures from the crew I’m running now with Mikey. No sign of any other Callahan’s except the dead one. D’ya think you could get Lanie’s report? I’m gonna need as much information as possible on the guys in the pics. Some photos might be low-quality. It’s hard takin’ them with a shitty phone.”

“That’s alright,” Javi breathed. “I’ll get to it as soon as I get home.” He missed Kevin’s voice. The man hadn’t called since that time in the brunch café. “What’s the lead?”

“Can’t tell you yet, it’s not set in stone, but I think I found a contact that might help us with our rat problem. But Javi, shit, there are conditions. I’m gonna need to… Gonna need to pulls this off. Make ‘em believe how serious I am ‘bout this.”

“What are you sayin’, Kev?” He was losing it.

“I’m sayin’,” Kevin said slowly, holding Javier’s gaze. “Don’t let the kids watch the news the day after tomorrow.”

His breath stocked in his throat. God, they were in so deep, but right now. The evidence, the case, all of it could wait one more second.

 

Javier barely remembered getting Kevin into the large supply closet. One second, they were standing too close near lane seventeen, their familiar locker behind his back, the heat of Kevin’s body setting something off inside him, and the next, he had Kevin by the wrist of his good hand, yanking him past the vending machines, past the neon glow of the arcade, through a door marked Employees Only.

A lanky teen, slacking off by playing on his phone, jumped up with a gasp. “Hey, this is—”

“Fifteen minutes,” Javi barked. “I’ll give you 500 dollars. Just give us fucking fifteen minutes.”

“I didn’t see a thing,” the kid muttered before scurrying outta there.

Kevin resisted, jerking his arm. “Shit Javi, we don’t have time for this—”

Javier turned, shoving him backward, the door slamming shut behind them. “Make time,” he snarled. His breath came fast, his pulse a roar in his ears. He didn’t care how fucking stupid this was. Didn’t care about the risks, about the fact that Kevin had bruises he couldn’t explain, about the blood he could still taste on his lip from the split in Kevin’s mouth. Didn’t care that Siobhan had touched him.

His stomach twisted with it, that ugly, possessive fire burning through him. Kevin never talked about her, never gave him details when he’d gone back as Fenton years ago, but Javier knew. Knew some of the history, knew what she’d once been to his husband. And she’d had him for weeks—her voice in his ear, her hands on his body, pulling him deeper into whatever the fuck this was. And fuck that.

Kevin might be running, but he wasn’t running from this. From him.

“Javi, listen—”

“No,” Javier bit out, shoving him again, Kevin’s back colliding with the metal shelving.

“Just wanna tell you that if I get outta…” He tries to lighten the mood.

“When,” Javi corrects him.

“When I get outta here, we’ll get a new couch.”

“Don’t you dare take that couch away from me,” Javi feels lost, overwhelmed. Something big ‘s spilling over, and he can’t stop it.

“Don’t tell me you’ve grown to care for the couch,” Kevin breathes, searching his eyes.

“The couch?” Javier snots in disbelief before slamming into him. “It’s always been you, you, always, my best friend, my partner, my husband, the father of our children, it’s you, and I’ll not allow you to go to prison for this set-up. You’re gonna come back home with me.”

“What if I can’t?” Kevin sighs, seemingly surrendering to despair for just a moment.

“Then I’ll wait for you however long it’ll fucking take me and the kids. We’ll be waiting. Just where you left us.” His hold tightens.

“Listen, Javi,” his husband pleads, but he cuts him off again, his hands curling around his shoulders.

The man groaned, curling a little forward, his arm clasped around his ribs, but Javi pushed down the worry about Kevin’s health, about his protests, his refusals. “I am listening. I’m listening to the way you’re shaking. The way you need this as bad as I do.” His fingers curled into Kevin’s jacket, dragging him forward, crushing their mouths together in a kiss that wasn’t a kiss at all—it was a claim, it was a demand, it was every goddamn thing Kevin wasn’t allowed to say.

Kevin sucked in a sharp breath, a sound breaking in the back of his throat, and then he was on him, hands in Javier’s hair, yanking, desperate, a little vicious. His mouth opened beneath Javier’s, heat and salt and weeks of missing him. “This is a bad idea,” his husband moaned, high-pitched and desperate.

“Then tell me no,” Javi uttered, his voice gravel.

And Kevin? Kevin just shuddered and fucking surrendered, pushing back just as hard, all wiry strength and raw tension, but Javier was stronger. He drove his hips forward, pinning him in place, swallowing the noise Kevin made when their bodies lined up, the hard press of him undeniable.

Javier’s hands wrenched Kevin’s jacket open, shoving it down his arms, pushing beneath his shirt, needing to touch skin. He scraped his palms up Kevin’s sides, feeling the thinness of him, the sharp cut of his ribs. The scabbed over wounds, the way his chest stuttered, his labored breath. Too fucking thin.

“Fuck,” Javier breathed against his lips, biting down hard, his teeth dragging over Kevin’s lower lip, punishing. “She should take care of you.”

Kevin flinched, his fingers flexing against Javier’s chest. Only now, perhaps, realizing that this desperation wasn’t only from having been missed.

Javier shoved his thigh between Kevin’s legs, grinding up just enough to make him gasp. “She didn’t take care of you,” he repeated, rougher this time, his hands branding themselves to Kevin’s waist, thumbs pressing into the sharp jut of his hip bones. “Did she?”

Kevin swallowed hard, his breath unsteady. He shook his head.

“Yeah.” Javier’s voice was low, furious, claiming. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

Kevin tried to twist his face away, but Javier didn’t let him. Didn’t let him hide. He grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at him, making sure he felt this, understood this.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, grinding forward again, drinking in the way Kevin’s lips parted, the way his hands clenched around the fabric of his hoodie, like he needed to hold onto something or he’d go under.

“Javi, we can’t—”

Javier shoved a hand between them, palming Kevin through his jeans, cutting off whatever argument he was about to make.

Kevin’s head hit the metal shelving with a dull thud. “Fuck—”

Javier kissed him again, deep and demanding, swallowing every noise Kevin made as he undid his belt, shoving his hand into Kevin’s jeans. Kevin was hot, thick and hard in his palm, twitching as Javier wrapped his fingers around him.

Kevin sucked in a breath, body jerking. “Jesus—”

Javier stroked him, rough, unrelenting. “That’s right,” he muttered against his jaw, his teeth scraping down to his pulse point. “Nobody else gets this. Nobody else gets to have you.”

Kevin’s hips jerked into his grip, his hands fisting against Javier’s shoulders, his body caught in that razor’s edge between resistance and giving in. His breath hitched, his thighs trembling.

Javier stroked him faster, tighter, coaxing him into helpless little sounds that made the heat in his gut roar.

“C’mon, baby,” Javier whispered, voice raw, pressing his forehead against Kevin’s temple. “Lemme have it. Give it to me.”

Kevin’s whole body snapped, his back arching, his breath shattering into something wrecked and guttural. Javier felt the pulse of it against his palm, felt Kevin come apart under his hands, under his mouth, right where he was meant to.

Javier didn’t let go, didn’t move, just held him there, feeling Kevin shake through it, feeling the way he went boneless against him, trusting him even now.

Even when he’d have to leave. Even when this wasn’t enough.

Javier closed his eyes, pressing his face into Kevin’s shoulder, breathing him in. Mine.

Kevin’s hands flexed weakly against his back. His breath was a ragged mess.

“…Still fucking reckless,” he murmured.

Javier laughed, rough, breathless, pressing a final, bruising kiss against his mouth. “Still fucking worth it.”

“And you’re an idiot,” Keven shook his head.

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

Javier gets dragged into interrogation not even two hours later. Barton’s a poetic fuck, bringing Detective Esposito in for questioning in his own precinct. Beckett’s eyes burning in his back. Apparently, 500 dollars hadn’t been enough to keep the kid from ratting out the rogue cop, who’s mugshot has been on the daily news.

“We have proof of you meeting with your husband!” Barton wasted no time, slamming screenshots of the security feed of the bowling alley. Javier can feel Beckett slink into the interrogation room, staying near the wall. Behind him. Telling him wordlessly, she had his back.

“Alls I see is me talking to some hooded stranger.”

“We have a witness declaring it’s Kevin Ryan. You were kissing him.”

“Allegedly,” Javi leans back in his chair. Ramona was onto somethin’ there. “Where’s Pierce? Because, if you had anything solid you would’ve lemme have my call. It’s proper procedure after all. Wouldn’t want a criminal to walk free to a stupid oversight like that.” Javier knew that bowling alley. They’ve been regulars for over seven years. He knew there were no cameras in the locker room. Knew that the supply closet hadn’t any. He had an eye for it after that time he and Kevin got caught by their own colleagues in that alley. He knew exactly what footage they had and what they haven’t.

Agent Barton looked like he just had to swallow a nest of fire ants. Javi just smirked more widely.

“If we swab you, I’m sure we’ll find DNA of Ryan.”

“You and what warrant?” Javier snapped back. “Besides, I live in the place where the guy lived for nearly a decade. And ask anyone, I’m notorious for hating to clean. There’s tons of reasons why his DNA is on my body.”

“What if we had a look at your nails?” Barton grinned triumphantly. “Our witness heard some very specific noises coming from the office.”

“Hey, man,” Javi threw up his hands. “If you’re jealous, just ask. I can put you in contact with my mani-pedi gal.”

Barton’s eye twitched. Javier could see the vein in his forehead pulse, a small, telltale sign that the man was barely holding onto his patience. Good. That meant he was rattled.

“Cut the shit, Esposito.” Barton leaned in, his voice a low growl. “We know you made contact with Ryan. You’ve been caught on camera, in the same goddamn room, and—” He gestured sharply at the stack of papers on the desk. “We’ve got a witness who heard exactly what kind of reunion you two had.”

Javier smirked, crossing his arms behind his head, looking entirely at ease despite the table digging into his wrists. “Then why am I still here, Barton? If you had something real, I’d be in a holding cell, not here watching you work through your unresolved sexual frustration.”

Beckett made a sound behind him, something between a scoff and an exhale, but she didn’t step in. That was interesting. She was usually the first to cut through bullshit, but right now, she was just watching.

Barton, however, wasn’t having it. His chair scraped violently against the floor as he shot to his feet, slamming his hands down on the table. “You think this is a joke, Esposito? You think I don’t see right through this smug little act of yours?”

Javier barely flinched. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Barton exhaled sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring. He took a slow, measured step back, composing himself. “You’re protecting him,” he said, his voice quieter now, dangerous. “Your husband. You’re aiding and abetting a fugitive. That makes you just as guilty as he is.”

Javier tilted his head, considering. “Well, technically, if I was aiding and abetting—hypothetically—wouldn’t you need proof that I actually helped him? ‘Cause right now, all you got is some blurry footage of me talking to a guy in a hoodie. Maybe I was offering a stranger some fashion advice. Maybe I was telling my alleged husband to turn himself in. Maybe I was buying a used bowling ball off Craigslist, who the hell knows?” He shrugged. “Point is, you don’t got shit, Barton. And you know it.”

Barton’s jaw ticked. Javi knew the guy hated this. He hated that he didn’t have enough, that Javier was slipping through his fingers.

“You swab me without a warrant, it gets thrown out,” Javier continued, lazily inspecting his nails. “You arrest me without cause, my lawyer has me out in an hour, and then you look like an incompetent asshole on top of everything else.” He finally locked eyes with Barton again, grin widening. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love spending quality time with you. But unless you got something new to throw at me, I’d like to go home and take a nap. My afternoon’s been tiring.”

Barton glared at him, fists clenching at his sides.

Javier could feel the tension in the room shift, the frustration boiling under Barton’s skin. It was the kind of tension that made lesser men slip up, that made them act impulsively.

Then, Barton did something interesting. He smiled.

Javier’s smirk faltered just slightly.

“You’re good, Esposito,” Barton said, straightening his tie. “But I don’t need DNA to get to Ryan.”

Javier’s muscles locked, but he forced himself to stay relaxed. “That so?”

“That’s so,” Barton echoed. He reached into his file, pulled out another piece of paper, and slid it across the table. “You see, you’re not the only person who loves your husband.”

Javier’s stomach twisted as he looked down at the paper.

A photo. Sam.

His kid.

His stupid, reckless, wonderful kid.

Javier’s pulse pounded in his ears as he forced his face to stay neutral, his fingers curling into fists under the table.

“Sam’s been poking around,” Barton continued casually, like he wasn’t holding a fucking nuclear bomb over Javier’s head. “He’s been making calls. Asking the wrong people the wrong questions. It’d be a shame if someone decided to answer those questions with a bullet, wouldn’t it? Let’s say… We pull Captain Beckett’s protective detail of your place because you’ve been so uncooperative?”

Javier’s jaw clenched. “They.”

“What?”

“They’ve been making calls. Figures you’d be the kind of guy having problems with using the right pronouns.”

“You want to play games, fine,” Barton said, leaning down so they were eye level. “But understand this—I don’t need you to give up Kevin. I just need to wait until one of your own does it for me.”

Javier exhaled slowly through his nose. “You threatening my kid, Barton?”

The agent’s grin was sharp. “I don’t make threats, Detective. I make promises.”

Javi stared at him for a long moment, his mind running a thousand miles an hour.

Then, he smiled again, sharp and humorless. “You know what your problem is, Barton?” he said, leaning forward just slightly. “You think you’re the only one who can play dirty.”

Barton frowned, just a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Javier leaned back in his chair, stretching like he wasn’t trapped in an interrogation room, like he wasn’t seconds away from launching across the table and breaking Barton’s nose. “You let me out of this room,” Javier murmured, voice smooth, dangerous. “Or you’re gonna find out exactly how much of a problem I can be.”

Silence.

Then, from behind him, Beckett sighed. “Jesus Christ, Barton. Let him go before he starts quoting The Godfather at us.”

Javier grinned.

Barton’s face twisted, but he shoved back from the table, pacing toward the door.

“This isn’t over,” he snapped.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Javier shot back.

The door slammed behind him.

Javier exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as Beckett finally stepped forward. She stared at him for a long moment, unreadable.

Then, quietly, she said, “How bad is it, Javi?”

Javier didn’t answer. He whistled All The Single Ladies, instead. Beckett’s eyes widened. He needed her.

“Get outta here. Grab some ice cream or somethin’,” she huffed. “I’ve got enough paperwork backlog to gimme a headache for the next two weeks.”

He nodded. Their entire family had a copy of Sam’s drawing of them eating ice cream near the Hudson. It was one of their spots. He’ll meet her there in two hours.

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

“Here,” Beckett handed him a folder. He swapped it for her disgusting potato fudge ice cream favorite. She and Castle were monsters. Leaning against the railing, she watched the Hudson while he skimmed the files.

“Lanie say anything else?” Javier looked up from the victim’s report. “Besides, the obvious. That this was someone coldblooded, cleaning up loose ends.”

“She’s pissed,” Kate shrugged, licking her treat. “Kendrick’s been suspended and there’s an audit. “Said you and Kevin owe her a lifelong supply of your homemade quesitos.”

“Any news on the two guards? Hendricks? Morgan?”

She shook her head. “Their families have gone dark, too. It’s weird. Maybe they’re involved. I have a guy digging into it.”

“If, by any chance, your guy is Castle, he’s already looking through the pictures Kevin gave me on that encrypted laptop of his.”

“I hate that he’s back on the dark web again,” Beckett scowled. Javi remembered it well when they thought the writer had been kidnapped for illegal organ harvesting, when in fact, he’d been following an unexpecting survivalist course in Alaska. “I fucking hate the cold,” she muttered. Castle sure had a strange way of expressing his love for his wife with surprising anniversary gifts.

“Likin’ your ice cream so far?” Javi threw at her, his attention back on the report.

Kate, her tongue licking her thumb clear, scoffed loudly. “Don’t even start,” she rolled her eyes. “What were you thinking? Meeting Ryan like that?”

“We were thinking,” Javier snapped back. “And then… Then we weren’t.” He had to fight down a blush. She’s seen and heard worse by now. It shouldn’t get to him.

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s… Bruised. Exhausted. Thin. His mom will be all over him to fatten him back up when he’s back home.”

“Espo…” Kate slowly started. “What did he say?” Hiding a smile, “Besides the fact he missed you and wanted to have a piece of your ass before he got caught.”

Javier weighed the words in his mouth. He trusted his Captain with his life. But would he trust her with his husband’s life? “Said there was somethin’ going down the day after tomorrow. Told me not to let the kids watch the news.” Apparently, he did trust her with the truth.

Beckett inhaled sharply. “Shit, he’s in deep. That’s Friday. Did he say when?”

He shook his head. “Didn’t say. Didn’t ask. Said he had a lead, but that lead expected some payment in return. Conditions.”

“Fuck, that’s bad,” she scrubbed her fingers through her hair. “Okay, I’ll scrounge up what I can get from Castle’s encrypted files. Let’s meet at… At Alexis’s studio. She’s outta town for some activist-lobby thing. It’ll be safe.”

“I’ll get Jenny and Gwen to watch the kids. 10 AM?”

“Yeah,” Beckett crumpled her napkin and shoved it in her pocket. “And Javi,” she threw over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

He should tell her how grateful he was for risking her career, but he couldn’t make his mouth seem to work. He just watched her saunter off, like it was just a regular lunch break, and the Captain of the 12th Precinct wanted to clear her head with a stroll near the river.

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

He left explicit instructions to his sister-in-law and Jenny. No social media. No TV while he was gone. No opening the door for anyone they didn’t recognize. Food in the fridge, and forcing them to memorize his new number.

Kevin still hadn’t called.

It takes him three times as long to get to Alexis’ studio, navigating the city like a ghost, constantly checking his rearview, every red light stretching out unbearably. His nerves itched. His mind raced.

The studio was small and cozy, filled with the scent of old books, coffee, and a hint of turpentine from one of Alexis’ unfinished canvases. Despite growing up rich, the girl had stayed humble—working hard, traveling across the country, lobbying for women’s rights and political causes most of the country wasn’t ready for. Yet. Alexis always insisted—she only had to change one mind. Then another. Then another. Paying it forward, she called it. One mind would convince someone else, and the snowball would start rolling in exactly the direction she wanted.

Javier barely stepped inside before demanding, “What do we got?” His eyes swept over Castle and Beckett’s setup. Their plan to absolve Kevin from being framed under his alias Fenton.

Police scanner humming in the background. TV blaring. Beckett at the kitchenette, her hands moving frantically over the tiny radio, adjusting the signal.

“I brought the good board,” Castle grinned, tapping a ridiculous electronic, over-the-top, spy-movie-worthy setup. Kevin’s pictures were neatly arranged, connected with red string and highlighted notes.

Javier’s eyes landed on the big question mark. The missing piece. He tapped it, voice sharp. “You found out who this Mikey is?”

“No,” Beckett groaned, shoving the radio aside and joining him. “But his name keeps popping up two years after Kevin’s last stint as Fenton.” She spread out some of the files Kevin had included in the envelope. “We’ve got parking tickets tied to a guy named Jan Wilder—probably fake. Same guy’s been using that alias to order toy soldiers. And get this—”

“Toy soldiers?” Javier raised a brow. That was weird, even by black market standards.

“I have a theory,” Castle lifted his hand dramatically.

Javier crossed his arms. “Hit me.”

Castle clapped his hands together, pulling up an electronic folder. “Okay, so—toy soldiers, right? But there are numerals with each purchase. You’d think, oh, limited edition collector’s items, like Legos, Playmobil. But I tracked these numbers—”

Javier blinked. “And?”

“They match helicopter models.”

“O-kay?” Javier tilted his head. “And this means…?”

“Choppers!” Castle beamed like he’d just cracked the Da Vinci Code.

Beckett sighed, rubbing her temple. “So? Some guys like toys.” She gave Castle a look. “You’re one of those guys. Or do you think I don’t notice all those goblin thingies and paint supplies in Matt’s room? You know he’s colorblind and hates painting. Wait—are you bribing our kid to—”

“Katherine, focus.” Castle interrupted with a sheepish grin. “Besides, it’s Warhammer, and you wouldn’t—”

“Guys,” Javier sighed, cutting in. “Choppers. Castle. Get to the point.”

Castle cleared his throat. “Right. When I was doing research for Blazing Heat, remember the part with the black market undercover op? Nikki has to infiltrate and—”

Javier held up a hand. “Hate to break it to you, but I never actually read any of your books. That’s all Kevin.”

Castle gasped, hand over his heart. “I am insulted.”

Javier rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’ll read ‘em after we get Kevin back, safe and sound in my bed.”

Castle made a face. “Unnecessary detail, but fine. Anyway—black market lingo. You know what they call choppers when they’re selling or buying?”

“AK-47s.” Beckett beat him to it.

Castle slumped. “You ruin all my dramatic reveals.”

Beckett smirked. “You take forever to get to the point.”

Castle muttered something about not hearing complaints last night, but Javier wasn’t listening.

His mind was already racing ahead, the pieces falling into place.

AKs. Black market gun deals. On top of embezzlement and whatever the hell else Kevin was tangled up in.

 

“Just coming in!” The reporter’s voice cut through the air like a gunshot. The three of them turned so fast Javier nearly gave himself whiplash. The reporter’s voice crackled with urgency, barely holding steady against the chaos on-screen.

“We have a caller—she says she can see the entire thing from her apartment window. Please, viewer discretion is advised. The images you are about to see are NOT for the faint-hearted.” The TV screen jumped to shaky footage, cell phone quality.

And then—gunfire.

A brutal, relentless burst. Not the erratic pop of handguns. Not warning shots. This was the unmistakable, merciless chatter of AK-47s.

People screaming, ducking behind cars. Smoke curling into the night air. The distant wail of sirens, too far away to help.

Someone sobbing.

“Where’s the police?!” The girl holding the phone cried out, her voice raw with fear.

And then—out of the smoke, past the gunfire—

A van appeared.

A masked man jumped out, moving with sharp, military precision. Other masked men followed—too coordinated, too quick.

And then—Kevin.

Javier’s stomach dropped like a stone.

Kevin stepped into view, backlit by fire, his posture tense. He wasn’t frantic, wasn’t scrambling to get away. He moved with cold certainty, each step deliberate, precise.

And his clothes. He looked like one of them.

Not his Kevin. Not the man who made pancakes on Sundays, who kissed Javier’s shoulder sleepily in the mornings.

This Kevin—this was Fenton.

A sharp, expensive suit. Dark. Crisp. Tailored like armor. His tie, a muted navy, tucked neatly into the pressed white of his shirt. His hair slicked back, pristine. He moved with cold certainty, each step measured, deliberate. And his face.

Expressionless. Cold. Distant. Javier’s knees nearly buckled.

The masked man barked orders, and more men appeared from the shadows, dragging wounded, trembling captives into the street.

Javier’s breath stilled.

He knew at least three of them from the board.

“The bar’s on fire,” The voice cut through the noise like a knife. Maybe the girl’s boyfriend. Maybe someone in the crowd. Didn’t matter.

Javier’s gaze snapped to the blaze devouring the bar in the background. It wasn’t Siobhan’s old spot, not the Shannon bar. That was O’Sullivan’s turf. Seems like the Donnaghue crew, maybe backed with the Callahan name and Fenton, had decided to expand. A hostile takeover.

Kevin turned to the masked leader. Maybe Mikey. The guy loomed over him, nearly a head taller, but Kevin didn’t cower. Their conversation looked heated—sharp hand gestures, Kevin shaking his head, his fingers curling into fists. A negotiation. A desperate one. Javier’s stomach twisted. Kevin was still talking, still arguing.

Then his eyes slid shut. Javier knew that look. Defeat.

Kevin exhaled, turned away.

Then, Kevin’s eyes slid shut.

The captives were kicked forward. The kneeling men shook, shoulders curled inward, heads bowed. The masked men moved in eerie unison, forming a semi-circle around them.

Then—

A gun raised.

Muzzle flash.

Point-blank execution.

Blood splattered onto the pavement.

Bodies collapsed like puppets with their strings cut.

The girl holding the phone wailed, her sob breaking into raw horror. Someone vomited offscreen. The camera jerked wildly, the image a blur of motion.

On the news feed, the reporter reappeared, pale as death.

Her lips moved, trying to form words, to make sense of what she had just witnessed.

Javier heard nothing. Only static. Like a flashbang had gone off, and the ringing was filling his head. His heartbeat—too fast, too loud, too painful.

Kate’s beeper went off. Beckett checked it, her face going pale as death. “Shit, Javi,” she breathed, her nostrils flaring. “They’re pulling security off your home.”

Javier’s heart stopped. Barton. That fucking bastard. It was public knowledge that Kevin had kids. Retaliation was coming. Javier tore out of there, barely registering Castle shoving his personal gun into his hands.

“Just tell them you stole it if they ask,” Castle muttered.

Jenny and Gwen had to get out. He had to get his kids to safety.

 

As Javier drove, Barton’s voice crackled over the car radio—clear, steady, calculated.

 

“There is a reward of $10,000 for any information on Kevin Ryan.”

“And to Kevin Ryan, I say this—surrender.”

“You have nowhere to go.”

“Think of your family.”

“Your unprotected family. You have six hours.”

 

“That’s not six hours!” He screams when he sees the agents clear up their stuff from the hallway in front of his apartment.

“Agent Barton—” One of them started, but Javier had finally had enough of their bullshit. Castle’s gun tucked in his waistband, hidden beneath his coat, he grips the collar of the man speaking and shoves him against the wall.

“Do you understand what you’re doing?” He growls desperately. “Those are kids you’re leaving unprotected!”

The officer didn’t protest the rough treatment, turning down his face and looking ashamed. “We’re just following orders.”

That’s what they said during them Nuremberg trials, too, you fucking coward.” He dropped the choking man and pushed past his protesting colleagues.

“Sam! Ramona! Gwendoline? Jenny!” He shouted, bursting into his home.

“Javi!” Gwen jumped up, Jenny slowly standing, her hand supporting her aching back, her pregnant belly clearly hindering her movements. “What’s going on?3 His sister-in-law asked. “Those guys, they just up and left a couple of minutes ago. I tried to call you, but you didn’t pick up.”

Javi hadn’t. He’d been too busy breaking every traffic law in New York to get here. “They’re pulling the security. Kevin’s in deep. We have to leave. Now!”

“Pai?” Javier closed his eyes in defeat. Slowly turning, he saw his eldest child, Sam, holding hands with a terrified-looking Ramona. “What’s going on?”

“Pack some of your stuff. We’re gonna stay somewhere else. Right now!”

Sam was smart and quick. They nodded and immediately dragged their little sister with them to grab their go-bag.

“What’s going on, Javi?” Jenny pleaded. “what can we do?”

“You need to go. Stay with Castle. He knows what’s going on. Don’t stop anywhere. Go straight there. Call me when you get there.” A sound at the door had him freeze. “Get cover, he muttered, hiding behind the corner, Castle’s gun cocked in his hand.

“Hello?”

Javier had his gun beneath the intruder’s chin in the blink of an eye. “What are you—Gonzalez?”

“Hey, Espo,” the man chuckled nervously. “Could you—”

The barrel pressed tighter into the man’s flesh.

“I saw the news. Heard they pulling your protection detail. Ryan, your husband, he—” Gonzalez swallowed. “I tried to keep an eye on things. He asked me to. Asked me to do something if things broke bad.”

“What?” Javier hissed. He didn’t know who he could trust, and it certainly wasn’t someone he worked over a decade ago with during is time in vice.

“Give you this,” Gonzalez muttered and held up his hand, Kevin’s wedding band glinting in hand. Javier lowered his weapon and grabbed the ring. “Whatcha gonna do, man?”

“I don’t know. We need to leave. We’re not safe here.”

“You should go to the precinct. No gang is stupid enough to retaliate on blue territory.”

“Thanks, man,” Javier sighed. “I’m sorry about the whole gun-to-your-face thing.” He tucked Castle’s hand weapon back in his pants. He slipped the ring over his little finger. Kevin’s fingers were smaller than his but longer. A fact that he bemoaned on many occasions during some of their late-night shenanigans. Not that he was actually bothered by it.

“Pai?” Sam asked. “We’re ready. Where are we going?”

“Aunt Jenny and Gwen are going to stay with Rick. We…” He glanced at Gonzalez’ determined-looking face. “We are gonna bother Barton at the precinct. That asshole just thinks he can leave us to hang out to dry. Well, we’re gonna bring our dirty laundry right at his doorstep.”

Sam grinned slowly. “I read on his Twitter that he’s allergic to peanuts.” They turned to Ramona and crouched. “Sis, how ‘bout we get some snacks for the road?”

 

Javier strolled into the precinct like he owned the place, Sam and Ramona trailing behind him, Gwen’s van already en route to Castle’s loft. He didn’t bother with the front desk. Didn’t acknowledge his colleagues, who shot him wary glances. Didn’t slow down as officers parted for him like the goddamn Red Sea.

“Esposito, you can’t just—”

Barton’s voice was the first mistake. The guy was, as expected, not happy with Javier using the 12th Precinct as a daycare where he could safely tuck his kids away in Beckett’s office.

Javier didn’t stop. He marched straight past the bullpen, past the cluster of agents who were already scrambling to deal with whatever fresh hell Kevin had unleashed on them, and shoved open Beckett’s office door. The force of it slammed the glass, shaking the frame.

Beckett barely looked up. She’d been expecting them. “Ramona, sweetheart.” She smiled at her goddaughter, reaching out as the six-year-old sprinted over, arms outstretched.

“Aunt Kate!”

Javier pointed a sharp finger at Barton without so much as a glance. “Stay the hell away from my kids.”

Beckett stood, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. “Javi.”

“Nope,” he cut her off. “I am not in the mood for whatever ‘calm down’ bullshit you’re about to pull.”

She didn’t argue. Beckett knew exactly what he was feeling. She’d been in this spot before—watching someone she loved disappear into the abyss.

Instead, she glanced at Barton and tilted her head ever so slightly. A silent warning.

Barton clenched his jaw, eyes darkening. “This isn’t summer camp, Esposito. You can’t just dump your—”

Javier’s smirk was slow, sharp, venomous. “I think you’ll find I can. It’s a free country, after all.”

Sam, slouched against the desk, held up their phone. “Hey, uh, Mr. Barton? Do you mind if I ate something? You pulling our protective detail really threw our dinner plans.”

Barton frowned. “What does that—”

Sam, entirely unbothered, reached into their pocket and pulled out a Snickers bar. They held it up, turning it slowly, letting the overhead lights catch the label. Javier grinned.

Beckett muttered under her breath, “What the hell are they up to now?” But didn’t stop Sam. Ramona giggled against Kate’s shoulder. His little princesa was totally in on the joke.

Barton’s eye twitched. “Are you threatening a federal agent with candy?”

Sam shrugged. “Nah. Just hungry. I mean, peanuts, how dangerous can they really be, right? Enough people claim to be ‘deadly allergic.’ Twitter’s full of liars, you know?”

Javier snorted, trying and failing to suppress a full laugh. The bullpen had gone quiet. Agents were definitely watching. Sam, deadpan, took a slow, exaggerated bite.

Javier actually wheezed. “That’s my kid.”

Barton took a step forward like he was actually considering arresting an eighteen-year-old for sarcasm, but Beckett finally spoke up. “Javier’s kids are staying here.” Her tone left no room for argument. “If you have a problem with that, take it up with the Captain.”

Barton’s jaw ticked. “I—”

“That’ll be me,” Beckett added, and that shut him up fast.

Javier, still grinning, leaned into Barton’s space and very intentionally held out a hand. Sam slapped another Snicker into his hand. “We’d planned to make some frittatas,” he sighed. “Too bad.”

Barton breathed in sharply through his nose.

Sam made a quiet click noise with their tongue as if rating Barton’s level of restraint.

 

Javier leaned closer. “Tell me, Agent Barton,” he murmured, voice low and sharp. “That ten grand? Is it a dead-or-alive situation? Or do you actually want him back breathing?”

Barton’s fingers twitched. “You don’t want to play this game with me, Esposito.”

Javier held his stare. “Oh, buddy,” he said. “I am this game. So game.”

 

Leaving his kids in Becket’s closed-off office, slats open and easily viewable through the windows, Javier took place behind Kevin’s old desk. He was playing with the rubber band ball, eyeing the hushed argument between his Captain and Agent Barton.

“They are children,” Beckett insisted. “I am gonna report this to—”

The argument died when Sam made a loud ‘ahem’ noise from behind Beckett’s office glass. The three adults turned.

Sam, still slouched lazily in Beckett’s huge office chair, held up a piece of printer paper.

In large, bold marker strokes, they’d drawn a cartoon version of Barton, complete with devil horns, dollar signs for eyes, and a speech bubble that just said ‘MONEY GOOD. FAMILY BAD.’

Javier barked out a laugh so loud, it echoed.

Barton’s cheeks flared red. “That is completely unprofessional—”

Sam flipped the paper around, showing off a new drawing.

This time, Barton was a rat in a tiny suit, with a speech bubble saying, ‘MY WIFE LEFT ME BECAUSE I HAVE NO SOUL.’ The things that kid could get from the internet.

Beckett covered her mouth. Ramona, completely unbothered, kept punching holes in paper to make confetti. Javier, hands on his knees, was absolutely losing it.

Sam just smirked and mouthed loud enough to hear. “I call this one: ‘Government Stooge’.”

Beckett turned away like she needed a minute. Barton’s face was doing a fascinating shade cycle between pale, blotchy red, and downright purple. Javier, still grinning like a goddamn menace, lazily leaned back in Kevin’s chair. He spun the rubber band ball once, then twice, then—

Thunk.

He casually tossed it, letting it bounce right off Barton’s stand-in desk. “Y’know, Barton,” he mused, tone dripping with faux sympathy, “if you spent half as much effort on actually doing your job as you do whining, maybe my husband wouldn’t be getting publicly executed by the hour.”

Barton exhaled sharply through his nose. “Esposito—”

Sam raised another sign. This one was a simple, bold-lettered: BARTON HAS THE BRAIN CELL TODAY (AND IT’S LONELY.)

Javier choked on a laugh. Beckett let out a very dignified snort.

Barton snapped his gaze to Beckett. “You’re just gonna let them do this?”

Beckett shrugged. “You’re the federal agent here, Barton. If you can’t handle a teenager with a marker, maybe you should reconsider your career path.”

The agent’s fingers curled into fists. Sam, relishing every second, made a show of flipping their next drawing around.

This one was a stick-figure Barton getting absolutely Eiffel-towered by two peanuts. Above it, a bright red caption: “MAYBE IF YOU WEREN’T A LITTLE BITCH, YOU’D BEAT YOUR ALLERGY.”

Javier slammed Kevin’s desk, howling with laughter. It felt good to be able to let go of all the stress for just a minute. Barton looked two seconds away from an aneurysm. The man’s eye twitched. His nostrils flared like a cartoon bull about to charge.

Sam was not done. With the slow, deliberate pace of a true artist, they flipped up yet another drawing. This one featured a detailed caricature of Barton in an FBI windbreaker, but instead of a face, he had a gigantic, gaping asshole where his mouth should be.

The caption? “BIG TALK, ZERO RESULTS.” This kid would make a fortune making shirts. Javier choked. God, he loved his menace of a kid. Beckett had to clutch the edge of her desk to steady herself.

His daughter, still casually making confetti, finally looked up. “Sam, what’s that one supposed to mean?”

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “It means Agent Barton is talking out of his own ass, Momo.”

Barton actually lunged forward.

Javier kicked back in the chair like he was watching prime-time television. “Oh no, Barton,” he drawled. “Are you about to lose your temper at a child?”

Barton’s jaw snapped shut so hard, Javier swore he heard teeth grind.

Sam, still cool as hell, started furiously scribbling again. Seconds later, another masterpiece went up. Barton, crying, surrounded by red flags and clutching an FBI badge labeled ‘DO-NOTHING CLUB.’

The speech bubble? “MY FEELINGS HURT MORE THAN THE FACT THAT I SUCK AT MY JOB.”

Javier threw his head back and lost it. Kate turned so fast, it was clear she needed to compose herself. Barton looked like he was considering early retirement.

Javier, wiping away a tear, finally had mercy. “I love that kid so much it’s actually unfair to their siblings.”

Sam grinned, tossing up another sign. “LOVE YOU TOO, PAI. I’M DOING THIS FOR THE FAMILY.”

Javier’s pride was immeasurable.

Barton, at his breaking point, spun toward the bullpen, voice sharp. “Someone get them out of here—”

Thunk.

The rubber band ball hit him square in the shoulder.

Barton froze.

Javier grinned wider. “Whoops.”

Sam scribbled something furiously on a new piece of paper. A second later, they pressed it flat against the glass. “BARTON, BLINK TWICE IF YOU’RE A COP WHO CAN’T SOLVE CRIMES.”

The agent blinked slowly, not understanding at first what was on the paper, and Javier doubled over, nearly tumbling out of Kevin’s chair.

Barton looked like he wanted to be swallowed by the earth.

 

The laughter was still bubbling in Javier’s chest when his flip burner phone buzzed.

The sound cut through the air like a gunshot. His stomach plummeted, and the humor vanished instantly. Javier snapped it open, eyes scanning the text from an anonymous number.

 

I’m here.

 

Everything inside him turned to stone. His blood went cold, and his knuckles went white around the phone. Breath hitching, he found Kate’s face. Her eyes darted to him, reading his expression in a split second.

“What is it?” she asked, voice sharp.

Javier, heart hammering, flicked his gaze toward Barton.

“Your fucking job,” he bit out, “just walked through the front door.”

 

Kevin was turning himself in.

 

Agent Barton and his people immediately jumped into action. Beckett’s hand was on his wrist, trying to stop him. Castle burst into the precinct, having used the staircase, sweat beading on his forehead. He leaned on his knees, gasping. “Espo,” he wheezed, barely catching his breath. “Kev—Kev, jeez, I need to work out more—Kev.”

Javier didn’t move. He couldn’t. His body was locked tight, his fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms.

“He knows,” Barton snapped, pointing at some of his burly guys having set up office in the room next to the kitchen.

 

The elevator doors pinged open.

 

Kevin strolled in. Calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made Javier’s skin crawl. That crisp navy suit, smooth, sharp. His hands resting behind his neck like he didn’t have a damn care in the world. But Javier knew better. He knew Kevin’s tells. The flicker of tension in his jaw. The way his eyes—those sharp, blue eyes—locked onto him first, ignoring everyone else. Javier stood so fast his chair flipped over. It clattered onto the floor with a sharp, jarring crash. His entire body was screaming to do something, anything, but he was frozen.

“Ryan,” Barton barked, drawing his gun. Pointing it at his husband. “Cutting it short.”

Kevin glanced at the clock on the wall. Unfazed. Acting like this was just another conversation. But Javier saw it now—the sharpness in his shoulders, the tension hidden beneath the act. “I have six more minutes left to go,” Kevin said, voice even. Then his gaze darkened. “But you still threatened my kids.”

“We don’t threaten kids,” Barton lies easily between his teeth. Javier’s vision went red. His teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. “Our tax money just can’t go to protective details for families harboring a fugitive.”

“He wasn’t harboring me,” Kevin bit out. Another agent, some fed, searched Kevin’s vest and pulled out a phone. He held it up to the air.

“Dial the last number,” Barton nodded.

Javier’s stomach dropped when his phone started buzzing in his pocket, and he closed his eyes in defeat. Shit. Another guy delves into Javi’s pants and pulls out the burner phone.

“Never seen that in my entire life,” he deadpans.

“Guess it’s game over,” Barton grunted. “Slap cuffs on him.”

“Pai!” Sam’s panicked, high-pitched voice rang through the air, followed by the sharp thud of his hands hitting the window. Javier’s heart shattered. Ramona was crying. Their baby girl was crying, her little face streaked with tears, her shoulders shaking as she pressed against the glass.

Beckett jumped in front of the door, turning the lock, barring the entrance with her body. Keeping their kids safe.

“No!” Kevin roared, voice raw, furious, desperate. “I’m turning myself in. Don’t touch my family!”

Javier could barely breathe. He wanted to move, to fight, to rip these bastards apart, but he was drowning in it—rage, fear, helplessness.

“Kevin,” Javier muttered.

“You’re going away for a very, very long time, Ryan,” Barton smugly stated. “You’ll be immediately turned over to federal custody.” A death sentence. Javier felt something in him snap. Fracturing completely. “Your husband will be joining you soon enough.”

“Barton,” Beckett barked. “The alleged phone call isn’t enough to hold in court. You have nothing to hold Esposito.”

Javier barely heard her. His mind was spinning, memories flashing like gunfire.

His partner getting stabbed. Rikers. Their first kiss. The bowling alley, laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. The first time he cried, and Kevin being there for him. Their wedding. Their vows. So many memorable kisses, hugs, Friday movie nights. Visiting his mom. Her funeral three years ago and Kevin holding him through it, his rock. Sam sitting on Kevin’s shoulders. Ramona curled in his lap, listening to Kevin reading about Ferdinand the Bull. Their unborn child. Kevin crying over a box of diapers.

His hand went to his back without realizing it. The cold steel met the palm of his hand.

Bonnie and Clyde it was.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and turned to Beckett’s office. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Sam’s face—twisted, torn, afraid. Ramona sobbing harder. His babies. His whole damn world falling apart. And then he pulled the gun, pointing it straight at Barton’s head.

“Javi!” Kevin screamed.

Javier didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. His hands were steady. His heart was not.

“Esposito,” Beckett pleaded. Even Castle seemed frozen. Barton’s mouth closed with a click, his face paling.

“I can’t let them take you, Kevin,” Javier calmly spoke. No more doubt. His heart. His soul. The decision has been made. Turning to the agent that had made their life a living hell, he added, “Let him go.”

Barton shifted, trying to gauge his next move. Javier’s grip tightened.

“Javier,” Kate whispered like she was afraid to spook him. “This is not the way. Kevin has the right to a fair trial. We’ll get you the best defense money can buy. Just lower your gun. We can all write it off to your shock of Kevin walking in.”

“Kate,” Javi’s voice broke apart. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

“Your kids, Javi,” Castle whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Don’t do this in front of your kids.”

Javier squeezed his eyes shut for a breathtaking second.

“I can’t, I can’t,” Javier shook his head, tears running freely down his face. “I can’t do this without you, Kev. They’ll kill you in prison. Fair trial?” He scoffed. “My ass.”

“Javi.”

Kevin. Right there.

Kevin, who had fought so hard for them. Who had survived everything. Who still believed they could make it through.

His husband wrenched free from his captor’s hold. The agent let him go, knowing—just knowing—there was only one person who could get through to the man holding a gun.

“Javi, baby,” his husband murmured, coming closer. The hands cuffed in front of him, slowly reaching, curling around the heft of the gun. “Let go.”

“Kevin, I can’t,” Javier pleaded, his voice hoarse. The weapon was shaking now in his hand. If he shot Barton, it wouldn’t be clean. He’d be embarrassed to call himself a former special op after this.

“You can,” his husband murmured sweetly. Unwavering. Those baby blues catching his eyes. “Just try.” His firm hand slid from Javier’s shoulder down to his wrist. “I told you. We won’t let hate rule us.”

“Kevin.”

“You’re not a murderer. Let. Go.”

Javier let go. The smooth steel landed in his husband’s palm.

“Right,” Kevin murmured before inhaling sharply, and then he fired a shot into the ceiling, making plaster flutter down and people scuttled out of sight. “Everybody down!” He ordered, his gun trained back on Barton. “Barton, you and I, we’re gonna walk outta here.”

“You won’t get away with this, Ryan,” Barton spat. His voice was sharp, dripping with venom, but beneath it—Javier heard it. The fear. The realization that Kevin had just flipped the game on him.

Kevin’s grin was all teeth, sharp and unshaken. His finger flexed on the trigger, his stance solid, unwavering. “Watch me, asshole.”

For a split second, the room stood frozen. The tension was suffocating, thick as smoke.

Then—

Sam whooped loudly. Pure, wild exhilaration, like a kid watching an action movie play out in real life. Castle echoed the sentiment, throwing up his hands. Beckett turned on them like a storm. Her glare was lethal. The kind of look that could stop a man’s heart mid-beat.

“No? Noooo, no, not good, Sam. Not good,” the writer mumbled to himself.

“Wait!” Javier interjected, stepping forward, voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. For the first time—for a flicker of a second—Kevin hesitated.

Javier saw it. The way Kevin’s shoulders tensed. The way his grip on Barton tightened just slightly.

Like he thought Javier was about to stop him.

Like he thought Javier would take him down.

And maybe, for a second, Javier had thought about it too. But Barton’s short-lived relief at the thought of maybe being saved was enough to snap Javier out of it. He absolutely loathed the guy.

He looked back at Kevin—the man who had held him through his worst nights, who had fought for him, for their kids, for their life together. The man who’d found the broken pieces that made Javi, Javi, and had glued them together over the years. Painstakingly. Lovingly devoted. Like he was still worth a damn, even if he was damaged. Healed him. Kevin was his fucking Chicken Soup for the Soul or whatever, and he knew. He knew.

This wasn’t about right or wrong anymore. This was survival. He reached up, his fingers curling around the chain around his neck. He dragged off his necklace, the cool metal slipping through his fingers. The weight of it hit him hard—every memory, every promise. He removed Kevin’s wedding band and pressed it to his lips.

His heart ached in his chest.

“You know what you’re doing?” he asked, voice raw. Unsteady, but firm. Because if Kevin was walking out that door, Javier needed to know—needed to hear him say it.

Kevin met his gaze. No hesitation now.

“I do.”

Then—that grin again. That sharp, reckless, beautiful grin that made Javier’s stomach twist.

“In that case,” Javier whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his husband’s chapped lips. “I’ve got your six.”

 

Kevin herded Barton out of the precinct.

No one moved. No one dared. Because they all believed Kevin Ryan would pull that trigger without a second thought. If anyone wanted to follow, they’d have to decide—was Barton worth it?

The doors swung shut behind them. Silence crashed down. The weight of what had just happened slammed into the room like a wrecking ball.

Captain Beckett whipped around, eyes blazing. “What the fuck just happened?” she demanded, voice sharp, vibrating with tension.

Castle opened his mouth.

“That’s rhetorical, Castle!” Beckett snapped.

Her husband snapped his mouth shut, and Javier had to cover a disbelieving laugh when his oldest kid threw him a thumbs-up.

“Auntie Katie said the f-word,” Ramona cackled. “Dollar in the swear jar!”

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

They throw him in the holding cell after Beckett reassures him they’ll watch after the kids. They’ll be with Jenny and Gwen at Castle’s place. Alexis and Martha are returning home, reinforcement.

The click of the lock sliding into place feels more final than it should. They take his phone. His wallet. His belt and shoelaces. Even the half-crumpled gum packet in his pocket. Javier stands still, jaw tight, letting them strip him down to a just a man, a citizen, and too much time to think.

The precinct hums with tension outside his cell. Phones ring. Voices rise and fall in clipped tones. Footsteps pound across the tile like distant artillery fire. He recognizes the rhythm of a department in crisis. His crisis.

It’s strange to sit on the other side of the bars he’d shoved closed in countless other people’s faces over the past decade. Javier exhales slowly, pressing his palm flat against the cold steel bars. He should be out there. He should be moving, fighting, tearing the city apart brick by brick until he gets Kevin back. Instead, he’s in here.

They bring him food. Twice. He gets regular bathroom breaks under heavy guards. Their gazes heavy on his back. They don’t say a word. Neither does he. No one wants to talk to the man accused of nearly killing a federal agent.

The precinct is in chaos. He’s kept away from any news outlet. Nobody talks to him when he’s out on one of his escorted breaks.

Hours pass. Slowly. Painfully. He loses himself in old memories—good ones, bad ones, the kind that make his ribs ache. The fake Anthrax alert. Javier huffs out a laugh, the sound sharp and hollow in the empty cell. God, that was ages ago.

Footsteps close in on him, but Javier doesn’t even open his eyes from where he’s sprawled on the cold cement floor. If they want him to talk, if they think he’ll crack and give them something to use against Kevin—then they’ll be sorely disappointed.

“Detective Esposito,” an eerily familiar voice sounded.

Javier cracks open an eye, blinking against the dim fluorescent lighting. His gaze lands on a tall man in a well-tailored suit standing just beyond the bars. “Do I know you?”

“Special Agent Sam Walker, Kevin’s contact when he went back in as Fenton.”

With a groan he sat up, sitting cross-legged, he looked up at the man. Trying to recall. the man’s name had been on the list he’d given Kevin. IT couldn’t be a coincidence that he was here now.

“You were Siobhan and Whelan’s handler.” The words come out sharp, edged in something dangerous. Javier watches the way Walker’s expression remains neutral. “How’s it feel knowing witness protection meant shit, huh?”

“I figure almost the same as finding out your husband is in the middle of it all,” the man replies smoothly. Good poker face. Javier respects that. “Luckily for him, I caught wind of the situation, quickly making sure no one could reach the Shannons or anyone from his old crew to check his story.”

Javier doesn’t respond immediately. He lets the silence stretch, testing. Walker doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t fill the quiet with nervous chatter. That, more than anything, makes Javier start to believe he might actually be here to help.

“Captain Beckett brought me up to speed and is convinced I should let you in on the investigation even if it’s not protocol and there are rumors that you’ve pointed a gun at one of our own.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Walker raises an eyebrow, and Javier rolls his shoulders, standing to his full height. “A momentarily emotional lapse in my control.”

Walker tilts his head slightly. “Will it happen again?”

“Will someone threaten my family again? Deliver my husband an unfair trial?”

“D’ya wanna make sure nobody does?” Walker held out his hand. Javier’s eyes mapped the man from head to toe, slowly returning to his face, and nodded. Their hands clasped through the bars.

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

Seventy-three minutes in, and Javier’s head was fucking reeling.

He scrubbed both hands down his face, groaning loud and long into his palms. His skull felt like it had been hollowed out and packed with static.

Castle had dragged in their electronic board like it was the Ark of the Covenant, setting it up in the middle of the room while he, Walker, and Beckett tore the case apart piece by piece. The red string stretched across the board like a crime scene web, pinning their leads in place. It should be clearer now. It should make sense. But instead, everything just felt heavier. Like they were stacking bricks on his chest with every connection they made.

Gwen had even called in, relaying Sam’s notes on Kevin’s timeline from the last decade. Filling in the last holes. Making Kevin’s case.

Javier leaned back in his chair, rolling his stiff shoulders, his muscles aching from tension he couldn’t shake.

“Okay,” Beckett exhaled, dropping into a seat and pushing aside a framed picture of her family. Her hands trembled from too many cups of shitty precinct coffee. She looked as wrung out as Javier felt. “So, we’ve cross-referenced Kevin’s whereabouts with every major ping we’ve gotten on fake Fenton’s most important online business transactions. That should hold if Pierce looks it over.” She shot a look at Castle.

“Already on it,” Castle muttered, hunched over his phone, fingers flying across the screen. He didn’t even look up.

“And we’ve identified everyone except two parties,” Walker added, stepping up to the board. He tapped the photo of the masked man—the one they suspected was Mikey, the scarred leader of the hostile crew takeover. “Mikey,” he said, voice measured. “And a possible second party. Might be the Callahans. Might be our insider on the force. Hell, maybe they’re one and the same.”

“There’s no way in hell we can draw the connection without—”

A sharp knock at the window cut Javier off mid-sentence.

His head snapped toward the door. Fran.

“I left my phone off the hook for a very specific reason, Francesca,” Beckett called out, rubbing at her temple like she was holding her skull together. Their phones had been ringing non-stop since the news of Kevin’s second escape hit the airwaves.

“Cap,” Fran stepped inside, her expression tight. “There’s a girl here who says she has vital information.”

“Take a statement,” Beckett waved a hand, exhausted. “Same as the twenty other people who said they had vital information.”

Fran hesitated.

“The girl claims Kevin Ryan, the rogue cop, has given her a code phrase.”

Castle chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure, he has. What is it? Javi, I love you?”

Fran glanced down at her notepad and read aloud: “Ass - Sharpie - Buzz buzz - Roadkill Red - Papi.”

Javier was out of his chair before she even finished speaking. “Show the girl in,” he ordered, voice like steel. “It’s Kevin.”

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

The girl they brought in looked barely twenty. Dark, perfectly styled hair cascading to her hips, posture tight with nerves.

“Hi,” she greeted, voice small.

“Hi,” Beckett said, softer now. “I’m Captain Beckett. This is Special Agent Walker, Detective Esposito, and Mr. Castle, our consultant. What’s your name?”

“Chen. Chen Xutong.”

“We heard you might have some information?” Beckett asked, slipping into her friendly, patient voice. Javier didn’t know how she did it. Because he? He wanted to grab the girl by the arms and shake the answers out of her. He was losing it.

“I was eating sushi,” Chen began, carefully. “On my own, at this amazing place—”

“Toy train,” Javier breathed. His heart stumbling in his chest, realization setting gin where Kevin had gone.

Chen blinked, then beamed. “Yeah! It’s great! Anyway, I was just minding my own business, reading a fic on AO3, when the two guys next to me— there’s this long bar, and instead of a conveyor belt, they use a train to—”

“Chen.” Javier’s voice was tight, barely restrained. “We know the place. Please continue.”

She cleared her throat, nodding quickly. “Two men,” she said. “The tall one, a little balding, was getting really upset about something. He went to the bathroom, and then the other guy turned, and I saw his face. I recognized him from the news.”

Javier’s stomach clenched.

“And then what?” Castle leaned forward.

Chen’s fingers twisted in her sleeves. “He must have realized that I knew who he was. He—he pleaded with me to keep silent. Said I was ruining an undercover operation that ran deep. I didn’t believe him at first, but…” She trailed off, eyes darting to Javier. “He showed me a picture of his family,” she admitted. “Said he was doing it for them.”

The room went silent.

“And you believed him?” Walker asked, skeptical.

Chen’s expression hardened. Sharp. Fierce. “I’m a child of immigrants,” she snapped. “Family’s everything. And I know how to spot a lying piece of shit. That guy? He loves them. Loves you.” She met Javier’s gaze, unwavering. “He asked if I could film the conversation and bring it to Captain Beckett of the 12th Precinct.” A small, proud smile flickered across her lips as she glanced at Kate. “I know your name from the Heat books.” She told Beckett, and then her smile lifted, hopefully when she glanced at Castle. “Do you think you could—”

“I’ll sign whatever you want,” Castle winked, making Kate roll her eyes.

“Then what happened?” Javier pulled them back on track. He didn’t have the patience for this.

Chen straightened. “I said okay. Even before he promised me the reward money for information on Kevin Ryan.” She shrugged and pulled out her phone. “I made an audio file. I have it here.” Javier’s pulse spiked.

“Could you play it for us, please?” Beckett asked, already grabbing a notepad, poised to take notes.

Javier leaned in. Walker stepped closer. Castle stood at the board, ready to connect the dots.

 

Chen pressed play.

 

Javier clenched his fists on the table, the cool surface grounding him as the recording began. A faint static hum filled the room, followed by the scrape of chairs, the muted clatter of plates and cutlery, and the high-pitched giggles of children. Somewhere in the distance, a toy locomotive whistled, the sound sharp yet nostalgic.

Toy Train. Their first date. Javier’s throat tightened, but he pushed it down. Now wasn’t the time. Then, Kevin’s voice. “Thought I had to call the cops to find you.”

Javier could almost see him—half-smirk, eyes watching, the casual ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

Another familiar voice followed, low and wary. “Very funny, Fenton.” Beckett’s head snapped up, her sharp detective instincts homing in. Javier felt his stomach churn. That was Barton. “Mikey told you?”

Kevin hummed in response. They could hear him chew, a faint, deliberate pause as if he wanted to control the tempo of the conversation. “I figured there was a reason you were such a pain in the ass.”

Barton huffed. “Yeah, didn’t think you’d have to haul my ass outta there under gunpoint.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” Kevin laughed—breathless, tired, but still playing the part. A sip followed, loud, like he was making a show of it. Javier could picture it. Kevin, in a dimly lit sushi joint, rolling his shoulders like this was just another job like he hadn’t been running for his goddamn life. “Nickie Callahan told me to extract you.” The name cut through the room like a knife. Beckett stiffened, her knuckles white around her pen. “The woman’s been kind enough to take care of my shit while I was undercover.”

Barton scoffed. “Undercover as a cop or as Fenton?”

Kevin chuckled. Low. Knowing. Dangerous. “What do you think?”

Castle murmured, “Jesus.”

Walker leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

“You played both parts well,” Barton admitted. “Guess that’s the true mark of a double spy.”

Javier gritted his teeth.

Kevin was building rapport with the bastard. Playing the game. He knew Kevin had to do it, but fuck if it didn’t make his blood simmer.

“Without Nickie’s help, we wouldn’t be here.” Glass clinked. A toast.

Javier’s stomach twisted.

“She fucked me, though,” Barton muttered. “I’ll have to use one of my contacts to get a new identity.”

Walker exhaled sharply. “He’s trying to disappear.”

“If I return, they’ll know I’m in on it. Helped my old partner hack into the mainframe.”

Kevin huffed. Sarcastic. Mocking. “Natural cause, Mikey told me.”

Barton sighed. “Yeah, well, I didn’t wanna end up the same, so I took the money and shut my mouth.” Javier wanted to punch something. “Didn’t know you were planning on coming back,” Barton admitted. “Thought I had to get rid of you as soon as possible.”

A beat of silence. Too long. Then Kevin spoke again. Cool. Calculated. But there was something else there, something heavier. “I get it.” Javier’s breath stilled. “I would’ve done the same thing.” His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Kevin was making himself one of them. A survivor. A betrayer. He hated how good Kevin was at this. “But you forgot about Callahan. She wasn’t done yet.”

Barton exhaled. “She killed her own family. Took over Donnaghue with your help then?”

Kevin’s voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. “Yeah. That she did.”

Another clink of glasses. Javier felt sick.

“Whatcha gonna do now?” Kevin asked.

A pause.

“I wanna run, man. But the money…” Barton hesitated. “Think there might be a spot for me on her crew after I disappear?”

Kevin didn’t answer immediately. Javier could hear the calculation in the silence. “I’ll put in a good word.” Walker exhaled sharply through his nose. Beckett was scribbling furiously. “For now, I brought you a burner phone, some cash, and here’s a key to a safe location.”

More rustling. Paper. A key sliding across the table. Kevin voice sounded softer, more conspiratorial. Closer. “Nah. We’re good, man. No hard feelings. I’ll get the bill.”

Barton must have said something, but the microphone hadn’t picked up on it.

Then Barton’s voice again, hesitant. “Okay, lemme know if I can help you guys with something else. You sure they won’t trace Lee’s thing back to me?”

Javier’s fingers twitched.

“Nickie took care of your old partner. You kept your mouth shut. There’s no loose ends. You’re safe.” Kevin’s tone shifted. Careful. Measured. “Unless… Do you happen to remember where Lee met Nickie for drop-off?”

A pause. Javier held his breath.

“Why d’ya wanna know?”

Kevin didn’t miss a beat. “We’re looking into locations for our next meet. We need to stay low after the turf war.” Javier could hear the smile in Kevin’s voice.

“Yeah, man, what was that about? Is it because they’re using the Manifest for their business, too?”

Kevin laughed. Soft. Almost amused. Almost. “Right. The Manifest.” He exhaled. “Partially. Also, they were little shits and disrupting business. It was high time Nickie told Mikey to clean them out.”

Silence. Then Barton, slowly. “I see.” More rustling. More shifting. “Well, it’s where they’ve always done business with Lee. He took them the codes and paperwork to set up the pension scheme.”

Javier’s hands curled into fists.

“I would’ve appreciated it if he hadn’t picked my alias to do it with.”

A dry chuckle from Barton.

“Lee didn’t know. I just figured he picked an alias connected to NYPD, so there was a trail in case there was trouble. I never thought you were still active as both Ryan and Fenton until the case dropped on my desk, and then I…”

Silence.

“Got scared,” Kevin finished for him. His voice was steady. Absolute. Javier could feel it in his bones. “Yeah, I know. I’ll deal with it.” A chair scraped against the floor. “You really should go. It’s starting to get busy.”

Barton hesitated. “Ryan. Fenton.”

Kevin. Unfazed. “Barton. A pleasure.”

Another pause. Then softer.

“Ryan… Just tell me one thing. Did Esposito know?”

Javier’s heartbeat slammed against his ribs.

Kevin’s answer was immediate. Sharp. Unshakable.

“No.” Javier swallowed. Kevin was still looking out for him.

“Your kid’s a real piece of art,” Barton huffed.

“Takes after his father.” Which one, Kevin didn’t clarify, but the pride in his voice was obvious.

 

“The other guy just left now,” Chen whispered when it was quiet for several minutes. “But your gu—”

 

Static buzzed in their ears, sharp and unforgiving.

Then, Kevin’s voice.

“Thank you.” It was quiet but firm, an edge of sincerity woven through the exhaustion. A pause, then the scrape of movement. “Just do like I told you, and you’ll get the money. 12th Precinct. Captain Kate Beckett.”

Beckett barely blinked, her gaze locked on the recorder as if willing the voice to tell her more.

Chen hesitated. “Do you want me to…” She sounded subdued, her nerves tightening with each syllable.

Kevin huffed, the sound stronger this time, closer. He must be leaning in toward the phone now, his breath hitting the mic. “Yeah, yeah.” Another pause. A long inhale. Then, measured and deliberate: “Javi, Beckett, if you hear this…” Silence. Javier held his breath.

Then Kevin continued, quieter now, the weight of the words settling into the cracks of the room. “Nickie Callahan’s the new kingpin. A cousin.” Javier’s stomach tightened. “I convinced her I was still working in the background, keeping Lee’s arrangement in place.”

Kevin’s voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—tension, like a rope stretched too thin. “Lee was as good as dead once she decided to start cleaning up.” Walker exhaled sharply.

“Barton and Callahan can never meet, or they’ll discover the jig’s up.” Castle muttered something under his breath. Beckett shot him a look.

“I’m playing both of them.” Kevin’s words hung heavy. Javier’s nails bit into his palms. “She tested me.” Another deep sigh. “I had to show up for that whole gang shoot fest. Told me to show I wasn’t afraid to get my hands dirty.”

Javier felt sick.

He could picture it—gunfire, chaos, Kevin right in the middle of it, pretending like he belonged.

Kevin exhaled. A little sharper this time.

“Siobhan contacted Walker. He should contact you guys soon. You can trust him.”

A voice shouted an order in the background, too muffled to make out.

Kevin didn’t even acknowledge it.

“The Manifest. They’re dealing arms there with the money they funnel from the pension fund.” Javier’s breathing slowed. Christ. Walker sat up straighter. Castle muttered a quiet curse. “I’m gonna find this place and bring proof.”

There was no hesitation in his voice. Javier pressed his lips together.

“I put Barton in room 13 of The Happy Dove, a motel in Brooklyn.” Beckett’s eyes flicked to Chen, already making a mental note. “Bring him in. Make sure he’s not talking to anyone. Keep it under wraps.” Kevin’s voice was low, deliberate. A command. “This recording should be proof enough that he’s involved, even if he didn’t know what he’s gotten himself into, trying to get me into prison to save his own hide.”

Javier’s hands curled into fists.

Castle scoffed. “Serves him right.”

Then, Kevin’s voice shifted. Weary. Mournful. A sigh that sank into Javier’s bones.

“God, Javi.”

Javier exhaled slowly. That tone. That was all Kevin. His husband. Not Ryan. Not Fenton. Just Kevin.

“Know what I’ve been thinkin’ about?”

A pause. Javier didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“Cooking classes.”

Javier’s chest tightened.

“I’m tired of you guys throwing me outta the kitchen.”

The edges of Javier’s lips twitched. And then, he laughed. Breathless, disbelieving, real.

“Yeah, no way.”

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

It’s a love language. Kevin once shoved a YouTube-video under his nose explaining penguins and pebbles, bringing it to their mates to show affection and love, telling him that humans do that too. Well… Javier eyed the napkin Kevin left behind for him. He was pebbling the shit outta this.

They had Barton in secret custody with Walker’s help, and Kevin—Fenton—was on the move. Barely slipping in view of security cameras or getting spotted by people on purpose whenever he was leaving ga place. Leaving little clues for Javi and his friends to find. Little encrypted pebbles.

The first one had been:

 

Near water.

Miss: Haiku

 

So, his husband had figured out that The Manifest was a place near some body of water. Javier eyed the map of NY when a heavy sigh. They had enough of that here.

“What’s haiku mean?” Walker had asked.

“It’s personal,” Javier had snapped, throwing Beckett and Castle a warning glower to keep their mouths shut.

 

A girl bagging groceries had seen Kevin slip out of a nondescript apartment building downtown. Another note pinned to the inside of that place’s door.

 

Manifest → Airplanes?

Fix: 3xA

 

Javier blushed furiously when Beckett handed him the new clue with a frown. “Another personal note at the bottom?” She asked.

He’d nodded dumbly.

Yeah, bottom, Javier swallowed. Kevin had the fucking audacity to pebble their foreplay, apparently. Fixing three loads in your ass. That’s what the guy was thinking about. What he was promising. If the situation wasn’t so dire, Javier might have laughed. Now, he just wanted to kick his husband’s ass for adding inappropriate levity to a high-stakes, dangerous situation. But maybe this was Kevin’s way of dealing with the stress. Of feeling somewhat normal. Connected. Closer to him.

 

Another Irish gang-related fight broke out, and when the cops broke them up, they all told the same. Fenton had come to rattle the cage. Leaving behind a note nobody was allowed to touch, pinned to a dartboard with a knife.

 

East

 

And then—A doodle of a hammer.

 

“Airport, East, near water. I think we’re looking at LaGuardia and East River?” Castle mused out loud. They didn’t even bother asking this time what the second line meant. A promise to hammer him, Javi guessed.

 

He skimmed the new note again, ignoring the way his ears burned. Kevin was getting bolder with these.

 

Manifest → Cargo

Need: Bite

 

He clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of Castle’s and Beckett’s gazes as they waited for his reaction. Bite. Javier knew damn well what Kevin meant, but there was no way in hell he was explaining it here. Or ever. They might get a little creative with the biting sometimes.

Instead, he focused on the first part. “Cargo means he’s doubling down on the warehouse angle.”

“Or shipping containers,” Beckett added. “Still lines up with the river and the airport. Maybe he’s pointing us toward a specific dock.”

Castle’s phone pinged, and he glanced down before raising a brow. “I’ve got a buddy at Port Authority who says some of the Irish crew call a warehouse by the East River The Fest. No official name, just a nickname. It’s not far from LaGuardia.”

Javier exhaled. That was it.

Walker folded his arms. “Seems like a hell of a coincidence.”

“Kevin doesn’t do coincidences.” Javier pocketed the note, pressing his lips together. His husband was leading them there, one cryptic clue at a time.

 

They found the final pebble on the side of an abandoned taxi near the docks, spray-painted in Kevin’s sharp, slanted handwriting.

 

F3 → ⏳

 

Javier’s pulse kicked up. “Fenton. Three.”

Beckett frowned. “And the hourglass?”

“Time’s running out,” Castle murmured. “No cheeky messages?”

Javier stared at the message a moment longer, reading between the lines, the subtle promise wrapped in it—Kevin wasn’t just leaving a trail. He was waiting. And he damn well expected Javier to find him.

“Three days time,” he concludes and flips over the paper.

 

A ring left unkissed,

Fingers ache for the silence—

He dreams of your skin.

 

His breath hitched. Kevin wrote him his first fucking haiku.

“Ring? Does he mean wedding band or…” Castle trails off knowingly, teasing Javier.

He was gonna murder Kevin once he saw him.

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

“Trouble sleeping?” Jenny asked. Javier opened his mouth, eyeing her tired, pregnant figure on Castle’s too-huge couch. “Don’t.” She interrupts him. “Don’t judge, I need this. Your baby has cravings. His friend mutters before diving back into an entire tub of pineapple sorbet. Javi never understood the thing with sorbet.

“Nah,” he admits, throwing himself next to her. She immediately used her free arm to drag him against her side. Damn, Kevin’s entire family and best friends, excluding Castle and Beckett, were huggers. It had taken him years to get used to it, but now he appreciates the physical comfort. The way they manhandled him outside his comfort zone, so he didn’t have to think about it. Her soft scent, roses, and that hand cream she keeps slathering on everything, saying it solves every minor body ache.

“You look like shit,” she muttered into his temple, pressing a firm kiss to his temple.

He grumbled but pressed his face closer to her neck.

She pulled back, smirking. “Touch it.”

“What?” Javier was tired, so nobody could blame him for being a little slow on the uptake.

She rolled her eyes, lifted her Looney Tunes T-shirt, grabbed his hand, and pressed it against her belly. A second later, a sharp kick met his palm.

Javier froze. Something in his chest cracked open, and for the first time in weeks, he actually felt something other than anger or exhaustion.

“That’s your kid,” Jenny whispered. “Kevin’s kid.”

Javier squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

“You’re staying?” he said.

“Like hell, I’m leaving,” she shot back. “Until the very end.”

“Can I…” He nods at her belly, a slight hesitation, but he knows she won’t refuse him. His thumb caressed the dark line stretched thin under her belly button.

“It’s your kid,” Jenny grins.

Javier lets out a shaky breath, pressing his palm more firmly against the swell of Jenny’s belly, feeling the life stirring beneath his touch. His daughter. Their little miracle. His voice comes out rough, thick with emotion, but it softens as he speaks, his words slipping into the familiar cadence of home, of warmth, of everything he longs to give her.

 

“Oye, mi muñequita, mi tormentita, mi chispita. Tú ni sabes todavía, pero ya tú eres candela, ya tú vienes con guerra en la sangre—igualita que tu papi. Me diste una patá, mami? Así es, así me gusta, que el mundo sepa que llegaste.”

“Hey, my little doll, my little storm, my little spark. You don’t even know it yet, but you’re already fire, already fierce—just like your daddy. You kicked me, baby? That’s right, that’s what I like, let the world know you’re here.”

“Tú no vas a ser chiquita, ni en espíritu ni en fuerza. Vas a nacer con fuego en la voz, con ritmo en el corazón, con un nombre que pesa. Y yo? Yo te juro, mi reina, que voy a partirme el lomo pa’ que tú nunca tengas que agachar la cabeza.”

“You won’t be small, not in spirit, not in strength. You’ll be born with fire in your voice, with rhythm in your heart, with a name that carries weight. And me? I swear to you, my queen, I’ll break my back to make sure you never have to bow your head.”

“Tú eres hecha de amor, me oyes? Hecha de sueños que se pelearon a puño limpio, de manos que nunca se sueltan. Las de tu papi Kevin, las mías, las de tus tíos, tus tías, tus hermanos. Todo lo que soy, todo lo que tengo, es tuyo.”

“You are made of love, you hear me? Made of dreams fought for with bare fists, of hands that never let go. Your daddy Kevin’s hands, mine, your uncles’, your aunts’, your siblings’. Everything I am, everything I have, is yours.”

“Pa’lante, mi nena. Siempre pa’lante. Que el mundo se prepare, porque aquí vienes tú.”

“Forward, my girl. Always forward. Let the world get ready, because here you come.”

 

Javier presses a lingering kiss to Jenny’s belly, his throat tight. Jenny doesn’t say anything, just runs a hand over his head in silent understanding.

“Today’s the day?” Jenny asked, offering him a scoop of sorbet.

Javier tried it, his face souring, and she chuckled.

“Yeah,” he sighed. His cheek pressed to her stomach now. “Today’s the day.”

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

The water hit his skin in a relentless cascade, hot enough to scald, but Javier didn’t move out of the stream. He braced one hand against the shower wall, pressing his forehead to the cool tile, breathing through the knot in his throat. He could barely hear the sound of the water over the pounding in his chest. He was gonna bring Kevin home.

Javier had repeated those words in his head a thousand times, like a prayer, like a battle cry, like a promise carved into his fucking bones. Kevin would be cleared. His husband wasn’t lost. He was out there, waiting. Gathering evidence. Readying himself, just like Javi, to take down this Nickie, the Manifest. Waiting for Javier to find him, to fight for him, to burn down the world if that’s what it took. But right now, in this moment, it didn’t feel like Kevin was anywhere except in the empty spaces between Javier’s ribs.

His husband should be here. Should be in this shower with him, warm hands sliding down his back, murmuring something smug against his shoulder. You’re so fucking tense, baby. You need me to take care of you? Kevin would have laughed, pressing his thumbs into the knots between Javier’s shoulder blades, knowing exactly where he ached. His voice would have been low, teasing, the way it always was when he was winding Javier up.

Javier squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling hard. He could almost feel it—the ghost of his husband’s touch, the phantom heat of his breath against his neck. He could almost hear the smirk in his voice, see the way the steam curled in the air between them, the way water ran down that pale skin in rivulets.

It hit him then, sudden and brutal. The ache. The need. Like desire had slammed a fist into his ribs and cracked him wide open.

Javier sucked in a sharp breath, his grip tightening against the tile. His skin felt too tight, too raw. His pulse was a heavy, insistent drumbeat in his ears, drowning out everything except the memory of Kevin’s mouth, Kevin’s hands, Kevin’s voice. “Come on, baby, let me make you feel good.”

Javier’s breath hitched. His other hand slid down his stomach, and he groaned when his fingers wrapped around himself. His knees nearly buckled at the rush of sensation, the sheer, desperate relief of it.

Kevin’s voice was in his head, wicked and low. “That’s it, Javi. Just like that.”

Javier stroked himself, slow at first, the way Kevin would, teasing, dragging pleasure out until it ached. He imagined Kevin’s fingers curling around him, slick and knowing, pressing his forehead against Javier’s temple, whispering filth in his ear.

“Miss me? Yeah, you do. Bet you’ve been wound up for weeks, babe. Bet you haven’t touched yourself like this since I left.”

A broken sound tore out of Javier’s throat. He hadn’t. He rarely felt the need to since marrying Kevn. He spread his legs a little wider, hips jerking forward into his fist. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Kevin should be here, pressing him against the shower wall, sliding his hands down Javier’s stomach, dragging his teeth over his jaw.

“I’m gonna wreck you when I get home, baby. Gonna take my time, kiss every inch of you, make you come so hard you forget how to fucking breathe.”

Javier groaned, his movements growing more frantic, more desperate. He was shaking, chasing the feeling, chasing the illusion of Kevin’s body against his. Heat pooled low in his spine, curling tight, electric. He imagined Kevin’s mouth on his throat, the sharp drag of his teeth, the way he would whisper Javier’s name like it was something holy.

“Come for me, Javi.”

Javier’s body tensed, and then he was shuddering apart, pleasure crashing through him so hard he nearly collapsed against the wall. His breath came in ragged gasps, his head spinning, his skin fever-hot even under the spray of water.

For a long moment, he just stood there, letting the aftershocks roll through him, letting the water wash everything away.

Then, finally, he exhaled, blinking back the sting behind his eyes. Javier swallowed hard, forcing the haze of pleasure out of his mind, forcing himself to breathe, to steady, to focus.

Kevin was waiting. And Javier would move heaven and earth to bring him home.

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

Javier pressed his back against the cold steel wall, his pulse a steady, controlled rhythm in his ears. The dimly lit warehouse stretched before him, the scent of saltwater and oil thick in the air. Shadows shifted between the towering cargo containers, cast by the faint glow of overhead fluorescents.

“Status?” Walker’s voice crackled in his earpiece, sharp and low.

“Clear so far,” Javier murmured. “Moving in.” The familiar weight of his tactical gear grounded him, kept his breathing even, his spine straight, his gaze razor-sharp.

Beckett, Castle, and their trusted colleagues secured the west side, covering their exit. Walker’s handpicked backup waited outside, ready to storm in at his signal. But this was still covert. If they got caught now, they were dead in the water.

A silhouette darted between stacks of crates. Javier exhaled slowly and ghosted forward, keeping to the shadows, his grip tight on his weapon. Then he spotted him.

Kevin.

Dressed in a dark forest-green suit, a slim camera in his long-fingered hands, wedding band glinting in the dim light. He was snapping photos of paperwork strewn across a makeshift desk, moving fast, precise. Always working angles, always thinking ten steps ahead.

Javier crept closer, and Kevin stiffened, subtly shifting his weight before smoothly swirling around, gun aimed at Javi’s chest.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Javier whispered.

Kevin’s face didn’t even twitch before it melted into a smirk. He slipped the camera into his pocket. “I was wondering when you’d show up, babe.”

Javier arched a brow, voice low. “You left me a haiku, Kevin. I didn’t have a choice.”

Kevin grinned. “Yeah? What’d you think?”

“That you’re lucky I don’t kick your ass for pebbling me in front of Beckett and Castle.”

His husband chuckled. Javier let out a slow breath, shoving his gun into its holster. “Are you actively trying to die, or does it just come naturally now?”

Kevin ignored him, holding up his camera. “I got it, Javi. The whole operation. O’Malley’s laundering the pension funds through a network of offshore accounts. Cops on the inside are moving the money through shell companies.”

Javier’s stomach dropped.

If Kevin had proof, that meant—

“We can end this.”

Kevin nodded.

Javier exhaled. “Alright. Then let’s—”

Their relief was short-lived and evaporated as footsteps echoed above. A woman’s voice, sharp and confident, cut through the quiet.

“Where the hell did Fenton go? He was just here.”

Kevin didn’t hesitate. He turned slightly and raised his voice, casual. “Needed to take a piss, boss. Didn’t think you wanted me doing it next to the merchandise.”

Nickie Callahan. The new kingpin. And she wasn’t alone.

Javier ducked out of sight, heart hammering. More footsteps. The heavy thud of boots against metal. He counted at least six men descending from the catwalk. Then, before anyone could say another word, gunfire erupted outside.

What the hell? His backup wasn’t supposed to move in yet.

“Boss!” A thug shouted. “It’s them!”

Kevin turned toward Javier, eyes gleaming when he found his partner in the shadows. “I might have told Siobhan to tip off the O’Sullivans.”

Javier swore. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Chaos ignited. Donnaghue enforcers drew weapons. The O’Sullivans stormed in, bullets flying, shouting curses as they retaliated. Kevin dove for cover, and Javier instinctively threw himself over him, seeing as he was the only one wearing a bulletproof vest, shielding him from a spray of bullets that ricocheted off the crates.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kevin hissed, shoving Javier off.

“Saving your reckless ass,” Javier shot back. “Why didn’t you tip us off about the gang war you planned?”

“Spur-of-the-moment kinda thing,” Kevin huffed, returning fire to keep their position secure.

“Esposito,” Walker’s voice bit into his earpiece. “What’s going on?”

“Turf war. The O’Sullivans have arrived to retaliate. I think it’s time our backup interferes before more people die.”

“Two gangs for the price of one,” Beckett’s voice crackled. “It’s a bargain.”

Nickie’s furious gaze snapped toward Kevin, noticing Javier’s position next to him. She was sharp—too sharp. Her expression darkened, realization hitting her like a freight train. Her lips curled back in a snarl.

“You son of a bitch.”

Kevin smirked, but there was no amusement in it. “I get that a lot. Get in line.”

Nickie’s hand went to her hip, reaching for her weapon.

Javier moved fast. He shot the gun clean out of her grip before she could fire, then closed the distance in a blink, twisting her arm behind her back. She screamed, thrashing against his hold.

The fight escalated. The feds stormed in from the east entrance, taking down thugs left and right. Agents pinned Donnaghue enforcers against cargo crates, zip ties tightening around wrists. The O’Sullivans weren’t going down easy, but they were outmatched. The operation was blown wide open, and Kevin’s deception with it.

Nickie struggled against Javier’s grip, spitting venom. “You played me.”

Kevin tilted his head. “You played yourself.”

Javier rolled his eyes. “Let’s save the gloating until after we’re not actively getting shot at.”

Kevin flashed him a grin. “Fair point.”

 

“Hey! Hey!” One of Walker’s men shouted, but it was too late—Mikey slammed his forehead into the agent’s nose with a sickening crunch. The man crumpled with a groan.

Nickie twisted against her captor’s grip, and the split-second distraction was all she needed. Mikey landed a brutal elbow to the agent holding her, and suddenly she was free. Mikey was pinned again, cursing furiously, but he’d freed his boss and that’s all he needed to do. Javier lunged, but she was fast—too fast. She bolted, weaving through the chaos like a viper, before skidding to a stop at a stack of cargo crates.

Her hands yanked at the metal lid, heaving it open. Javier barely had a second to process the neatly stacked bricks inside before she turned, her gaze locking onto Kevin with sheer venom.

“Just you and me, Fenton.” Her voice was a razor’s edge. “Or should I say, Detective Ryan, you fuckin’ rat bastard.”

Javier barely heard the words over the thundering of his pulse. But then he saw it.

The flicker of silver in her hand. The soft, deadly snick of a cap flicking open. The glint of a metal wheel, poised to strike. A lighter. His stomach dropped.

Inside the crate—dynamite. Neatly stacked. Enough to turn the entire dock into a smoking crater.

“Clear out! Everyone, move! Get the hell out of there!” Walker’s voice barked in his ear, urgent and raw. Panic erupted. Agents scrambled, shoving prisoners toward the exits, ducking for cover. Their backup bolting like roaches.

Kevin didn’t move. Javier saw the tightness in his stance, the razor focus in his eyes.

“Javier, go,” Kevin bit out, jaw clenched. But his gaze never left Nickie’s face.

Javier shook his head, stepping forward. “Together or not at all.”

Kevin inhaled sharply. Something flickered in his expression—something unreadable. They were both thinking about their kids, and Javi prayed they would forgive them, but there was no world he could imagine living in if Kevin wasn’t by his side.

Then he let out a sharp, exasperated breath. “Always with the big gestures.”

Javier smirked despite the pounding of his heart. “Go big or go home, right?” He lifted his gun, steady. “Nickie Callahan, put away the lighter. Now.” He wasn’t gonna order her to drop it, because that would be just plain stupid.

Nickie sneered, her thumb pressing just a hair closer to the wheel. “You think I’m bluffing?”

Kevin’s voice was steel. “No. But I think you like power more than you like dying.” His tone didn’t waver. “You do this, and you lose everything.”

The air pulsed with silence, thick with gunpowder, smoke and sweat. Then Nickie’s lips curled. A predator’s grin. “Seems to me you’ve got more to lose.”

 

The wheel snicked. Flame ignited. And the world exploded into motion.

 

Javier barely had time to exhale before the world turned to fire.

A shockwave ripped through the air, a violent, concussive blast that sent a deep, bone-rattling tremor through his chest. The explosion was a sunburst of white-hot heat, a rolling furnace wave that singed the hairs on his arms before he even had time to process the pain. A deafening roar swallowed the screams and gunfire, turning everything into raw destruction. The scent of burning metal and charred flesh clogged his nostrils, acrid and suffocating.

He saw Nickie for the briefest of moments—her expression frozen in shock, wide eyes reflecting the fireball consuming her world. Her body silhouetted against the inferno—before she was gone. A scream barely had time to leave her lips before the fire swallowed her whole, her form dissolving into embers and ash. Vaporized. The air itself seemed to rip apart, sucked into the vacuum left behind by the detonation. The shockwave took what was left.

Then he was flying.

The force of the blast ripped him off his feet, slamming him through the air like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane. His shoulder crunched against jagged metal, pain detonating through his bones. His head snapped back against something unyielding. Stars exploded behind his eyes, white-hot pain detonating in his skull. He groaned when he hit the floor, hands scrambling. Glass sliced into the flesh of his palms, fiery streaks of agony tracing up his arms.

The ground caved beneath him. The floor buckled, giving way beneath his weight, and gravity yanked him downward. A rain of steel and concrete and shattered glass crashed down, a tidal wave of destruction swallowing him whole. The sound was deafening, a chorus of shrieking metal, breaking beams, and the sickening crunch of collapsing walls. Dust and soot poured into his throat, choking him, burning like acid.

 

Javier’s consciousness swam, a tide pulling him under. Darkness pressed in, thick and smothering, his body sinking into it like quicksand. His ears rang, a high-pitched whine that drowned out thought. A phantom explosion still echoed in his bones, his ribs aching as if they’d been caved in. His body felt… wrong. A deep, throbbing ache radiated from every joint, every muscle screaming in protest. Everything hurt—bruises blooming across his ribs like spreading ink stains, his head pulsing with a hot, sticky wetness that oozed down his scalp.

But he was alive.

The realization came slow, dripping through his fractured mind like molasses, sluggish and heavy. He was alive.

Kevin.

Panic surged through his chest like an electric current. A sharp, visceral terror that clawed at his throat, stealing the breath from his lungs.

“Kevin?” His voice cracked, swallowed by the thick smoke filling the air. He tried to suck in more air, but it was like breathing through wet cement, his lungs burning, raw and desperate. He coughed, lungs seizing against the soot and dust. Each breath was like inhaling shattered glass, the taste of ash thick on his tongue.

“Kevin!” No answer.

Javier forced himself up, his body screaming in protest, fire lacing through his nerves with every movement. He didn’t care. He had to find Kevin. Had to.

He shoved at the rubble around him, fingers digging into the debris, nails cracking against broken concrete. The air was thick with smoke, swirling and oppressive, glowing embers floating through the haze like dying stars. If Beckett and the others didn’t find them soon—

No.

He would find Kevin.

Javier pushed forward, his hands raw and slick with blood, torn open by jagged steel and broken glass. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

“Kevin!” His voice broke on the name, raw, desperate. His throat felt shredded, hoarse from smoke and screaming.

“Answer me, baby, please.”

Then—

A sound.

Soft. Weak.

A broken groan.

“…Javi.”

Javier’s breath caught. His entire body froze, the world narrowing down to that one, fragile sound.

“Kevin!” He scrambled forward, pushing through the debris, his heart hammering against his ribs, a frantic, staccato beat. The smoke made it impossible to see, but he followed the sound, the weak rasp of breath like a beacon in the darkness.

And then—there.

Kevin.

Javier nearly collapsed in relief.

 

Pinned beneath a massive slab of steel and concrete, blood streaking from the corner of his mouth, dark against the pale, dust-covered skin. His face was pale, almost gray, his lips chapped and dry, his breathing shallow. Dust and sweat clung to his skin, tiny rivulets of crimson threading through the dirt.

Javier crawled those last couple of feet, his own body screaming at him, but none of it mattered. Their hands touched—Kevin’s fingers barely responding, weak, trembling.

His husband blinked sluggishly, his eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. His lips barely moved. The words came out slurred, thick with exhaustion.

“I think I broke my leg,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. His head lolled slightly as he tried to move, grimacing. A sharp, pained hiss slipped past his teeth.

“And my arm. Some internal bleeding, maybe. Shit. This hurts.”

Javier was already on him, hands shaking as they ran over Kevin’s dirt-streaked face, his touch frantic, desperate. He needed to feel him, to ground himself in the fact that Kevin was here, that he was alive.

“I got you, baby,” Javier whispered, shushing him, pressing a trembling kiss to his forehead. His lips left a smudge of soot and blood against Kevin’s skin.

“I got you, I got you.”

Kevin huffed a laugh, weak but real. A rasping, pained exhale more than anything.

“Didn’t… think you’d meant to go this big.”

Javier let out a broken chuckle, swallowing down the terror rising in his throat. The sound was rough, strangled, barely laughter at all.

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Your… Ass.” Kevin’s smile didn’t last. His body sagged, his eyelids fluttering, his breath coming shallow, uneven.

No. No, no, no. Stay awake.

His phone buzzed.

Javier fumbled for it, his fingers slick with blood, slipping against the screen. Nearly dropping it before pressing it to his ear. Surprised that it had even survived the explosion.

Beckett’s voice, ragged, urgent, laced with barely restrained panic.

“Javi? Jesus Christ, are you okay? Where’s Kevin?”

 

“Trapped,” Javier coughed, the rasp in his throat like sandpaper and fire, pressing the phone against his ear as he gripped Kevin’s cold, trembling hand with the other. “Pinned under debris, busted leg, busted arm. I can’t get him out on my own. We need extraction, fast.”

“We’re trying to get to you,” Beckett said, her voice tight, strained, the tension cutting through the static like a knife. “Give me your location.”

Javier rattled off their best estimate, his lungs burning, every breath a struggle through the thick, acrid smoke. He wiped at the blood trickling from his forehead, his fingers slipping on the slick warmth of it, his hands trembling uncontrollably. “Hurry, Beckett. He’s not doing great.”

Silence. Then—Beckett inhaled sharply.

“Javi… it’s Jenny.”

Javier froze, his chest clenching as if caught in a vise.

Beckett’s voice wavered. “She’s gone into labor.”

Kevin let out a choked, shuddering sound.

Beckett kept going, voice thick with emotion. “I have Sam on the phone—he’s with her and Gwen at the hospital. They’re okay, but—”

Javier didn’t hear the rest. Because Kevin was crying.

Silent tears streaked down his dust-covered face, carving clean paths through the grime. His body trembled with quiet sobs, his breath coming in short, pained bursts. He was barely holding on, his body breaking, exhaustion pressing into his bones like lead, but still—he was crying.

Javier gripped his husband’s hand tighter, his fingers curling around Kevin’s, feeling the faint, feeble pulse beneath the dirt. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together, feeling the damp heat of Kevin’s skin, sticky with sweat and blood.

“She’s gonna be okay, baby. We’re gonna be okay. Just hold on.”

Kevin exhaled, a shaky, uneven breath, his ribs barely rising. His fingers weakly curled around Javier’s. “I wanna be there.”

“You will be.” Javier’s voice cracked, raw with promise, thick with fear. “I swear to God, Kevin, I’ll get you there.”

Above them, the ceiling groaned, metal screeching in protest, the structure shifting ominously. Smoke billowed thicker, the walls crackling as fire hungrily devoured what remained.

Time was running out.

“Put them through,” Javier swallowed, his throat raw, the taste of blood thick on his tongue. “Let us hear our kid, Kate.”

“Kay,” Beckett’s voice wavered.

“Pai! Pai!” Sam’s voice was panicked, frantic, and breathless. “I heard on the news that…”

“We’re fine,” Javier interrupted their eldest. Lie. But it was what Sam needed to hear. “Jenny? Ramona?”

“Where’s Dad?”

“I’m here, sweetie,” Kevin coughed, spitting out soot, his voice barely above a whisper. “The baby?”

“Dad,” Sam was sobbing now, their breath ragged.

“I’m sorry we can’t be there,” Kevin choked out, his voice breaking, pain and regret thick in every syllable. “Tell us. Tell us what’s happening.”

“Auntie Gwen is with Jenny. Grandma came over to watch Ramona with Alexis and Martha. I’m at the hospital. Jenny’s screaming she regrets wanting to do it naturally. Told me that you owe her a lifetime subscription to free painkillers. Said you guys are cops and can make it happen if you really wanted to.”

“Atta girl,” Javier grinned weakly, wiping the tears tracking through the soot on Kevin’s cheeks away, his fingers leaving smudges in their wake.

“Pai, Dad,” Sam keened, desperation dripping from their voice. “You really should be here.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Kevin sobbed. Javier pressed their foreheads together again, his lips brushing over Kevin’s dirt-streaked skin, clinging to the fading warmth. The phone was clasped between them. The lifeline to their family. “We love you so much.”

“Wait…” Sam’s voice faltered. “The doctor’s here, he…” Unintelligible conversation. A stranger’s voice. Then— “The baby’s here. She’s healthy. I have another sister,” Sam cried into the phone.

Javier kissed Kevin. Tasting blood, tasting salt. Their tears mixed in the dirt, in the ruin around them. Kevin’s shuddering sobs shook his body.

“I love you, mi amor,” Javier whispered, his voice cracking open. “We have a healthy baby girl.”

Above them, the structure screamed, metal twisting, the world about to collapse.

The wail of sirens blurred into the roar of the crumbling building, but for a moment, it all faded—Javier focused only on Kevin, on the shaking phone between them, on the voice of their eldest carrying across the chaos.

“They asked me for a name. What did you guys decide?”

Javier pulled his head slightly back, barely registering the distant screech of metal and the suffocating heat pressing in on them. Kevin gave a faint nod, his grip weak but insistent.

“We decided to let you pick the name, Sam,” Javier murmured, voice steady despite the quake in his chest.

A shaky breath. “I can’t just…” Sam hesitated, realization dawning. The weight of it settled over them both. “How about… Maria Grace?”

Javier’s breath caught. The name landed like a punch to the ribs. His mother’s name was Sam’s first pick.

“Did your grandma put you up to this?” he laughed, but his voice was thick, his heart bleeding. Kevin huffed out a weak chuckle beside him. “Mrs. R. really wants me to say her name, doesn’t she?”

Sam sniffled. “Just wanna call her Mimi.” A watery chuckle. “Mimi and Momo. It’s gonna drive everyone crazy.”

“It’s perfect,” Kevin rasped. His free hand found Javier’s shirt, tugging him close, their lips brushing—more breathing than kissing. Javier inhaled deeply, trying to anchor them both.

“When will you get home?” Sam asked.

Javier met Kevin’s gaze. What the hell were they supposed to say?

“Dad’s in a tight spot right now,” Javi muttered.

Kevin coughed. “And your Pai doesn’t wanna leave me, even if it means risking his life. Tell him he has to go.” The plea in his voice cut deeper than the wreckage around them.

“No,” Sam said, firm. Steady. “I’m not gonna do that.”

Kevin’s body trembled. “Not even if it means he’ll leave you orphans?!” Desperation plain to hear. Javier’s heart breaks. He’s a coward for leaving their kids, but he just couldn’t see him anywhere else.

Silence. Heavy. The kind that suffocated. Javier felt the weight of Kevin’s words like a knife to the gut.

“You’re not gonna leave us orphans!” Sam snapped, voice cracking. “Besides, I can’t imagine this family working if the two of you aren’t joined at the hip. It’s just so not on! We’ll figure it out. Just try… Try to get outta there. Try. I’ll be here. With Mimi and Momo, being a bad influence and everything. Try.”

Javier exhaled sharply. “Okay, Sam. We’ll try.”

“Good.” A sniffle. “And thanks.”

Kevin let out a hollow laugh. “For what, kid? Making you grow up too fast?”

A breath. A pause. Then, quietly but firm, “For making me a family. Giving me a place where I belong.”

Javier’s throat tightened. “It was just the two of us, mi joven. You were the one that made us a family. So thank you.”

A watery chuckle. “I’ll cash in on that gratitude as soon as you guys haul your asses to the hospital and hold my new baby sister.”

“You lil’ shit,” Kevin wheezed, laughter spilling out despite the smoke closing in, the flames creeping closer.

“Yeah, but I’m your lil’ shit.” Sam’s voice wobbled. “I’ll let Beckett back now. I need to check up on Jenny.”

“Okay, go. We love you,” Kevin breathed.

Silence stretched as Beckett took a moment to come back on the line. Maybe she’d been listening. Maybe she was just gathering herself. Javier didn’t care. He filled the quiet with whispered words against Kevin’s temple, with kisses pressed to soot-streaked skin. Letting Kevin feel every ounce of love he had left to give before the very end.

Beckett’s voice finally broke through. “Javi, Kev… You guys doing okay?”

Javier shifted, eyes tracing Kevin’s face. His breathing was slow. Too slow. His skin had gone pale beneath the grime. His eyelids fluttered.

“Kev?” A whisper. “Kevin, don’t do this to me, man.”

The smoke curled thicker, choking, drowning him. He could barely see. Kevin wasn’t moving. He wasn’t—

“Kate,” Javier rasped, his voice cracking. His body shaking. “Clear his name, please. Keep an eye on our kids.”

A choked sob on the other end. “Will do, Javi,” Kate cried.

Javier let out a breath, forehead pressing into Kevin’s shoulder, his hand still wrapped around his. The weight of exhaustion pulled him under.

“Got your six, partner,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Pa’ siempre, corazón.”

 

Oblivion.

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

 

Javier paced the hospital room, his hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. Machines beeped steadily around him, their rhythmic hum the only thing breaking the thick silence. Kevin lay motionless on the hospital bed, his face pale, lips slightly parted as a ventilator helped him breathe. Javier’s chest ached looking at him like this—so still, so unlike himself.

The doctors had said “medically induced coma,” but all Javier heard was helpless. He wasn’t wired for helpless. It had been days. He should have been awake the day before yesterday, but Kevin still wasn’t waking up.

And their daughter—their daughter—was down two floors, with Jenny, while Kevin was here alone. That ain’t happening. No more.

Javier stormed out of the room, his boots striking hard against the linoleum, each step fueled by sheer fury. The nurses’ station came into view, and he zeroed in on the first person who dared meet his eyes.

“My daughter,” he snapped, voice like thunder rolling in. “She needs to be with him.”

The nurse, an older woman with tired eyes, sighed, already bracing herself. “Sir, I understand, but we can’t just—”

“I don’t give a damn about protocol.” His voice was sharp as a blade, cutting through the sterile air. He slammed his palm on the counter, making a nearby clipboard rattle. “He needs her. She needs him. She’s two floors down, he nearly died to protect this city, and he’s never even met her. You’re telling me that it’s against protocol?”

A few other nurses turned their heads. Some exchanged wary glances. One started inching toward the phone, probably to call security. Javier didn’t care.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Sir—”

“Do I look like I’m asking?” His voice was dangerously low now, seething, coiled tight like a spring about to snap.

The nurse hesitated. Javier could see the calculation in her eyes—whether to argue or give in. He doubled down.

“I will raise every kind of hell in this hospital. You think I won’t?” He leaned in, jaw tight. “You really wanna find out how far I’m willing to go? Get. Our. Daughter.”

A long, tense silence. Then, without another word, the nurse grabbed a phone and made the call.

Fifteen minutes later, Javier was settling their tiny baby girl against Kevin’s bare chest. The hospital gown lay in shreds on the floor—he hadn’t wasted time with buttons. His hands were still shaking, adrenaline coursing through him, but the moment he felt her soft weight against Kevin’s skin, it settled into something steadier. Something right.

Her tiny fingers curled against him, her breathing syncing with his.

Javier sat beside the bed, his forehead pressed against Kevin’s arm. His voice softened.

“Come on, mi amor,” he whispered. “Come back to us.”

 

A flicker. The smallest twitch of fingers. They’d removed the tubes when they told him he was supposed to come out of it.

Then, a hoarse, barely-there whisper: “Javi?”

Javier’s head snapped up, eyes wide, Maria softly gurgling. Kevin’s eyelids fluttered, unfocused, his breathing hitching. Panic laced his voice.

“W-where—?” His eyes darted, struggling to make sense of the weight on his chest, the beeping machines, the warmth against his skin. His fingers weakly twitched toward the baby. His other arm wrapped in plaster and a sling.

Javier cupped his face, his own hands shaking. “You’re okay, corazón. You’re safe. She’s here. We’re here.”

Kevin’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, dazed. “Feels… warm.”

Javier let out a choked laugh, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Yeah, baby. That’s your daughter. Meet Mimi.”

Kevin’s bleary gaze dropped down, and when his eyes finally focused, his breath hitched. His lips trembled. “She’s so… small.”

Javier exhaled, relief flooding him as Kevin slowly, finally came back to them.

“She’s perfect,” Javier murmured, brushing his knuckles against his husband’s cheek. “Just like you.”

 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦