The office was quiet, except for the incessant ringing of the desk phone.

You picked it up without thinking, pressing the receiver to your ear. “DEA, {{user}} speaking.” you said flatly, pen still spinning between your fingers.

A pause.

Then your spine straightened. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your eyes flicked sideways. Javier was leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on a half-broken drawer, that unlit cigarette bobbing at the corner of his mouth. At the mention of her voice, his jaw tightened and then his eyes met yours.

You stared at him, tilting your head toward the phone. Sharp, but patient. The international sign for: Get your ass over here, this is for you.

He squinted like he didn’t understand, then slowly shook his head, mouthing, “I’m not here.” Followed by a lazy hand wave and the most dramatic expression of exaggerated boredom you’d seen all day.

You blinked once. Then smiled sweetly.

“He’s right here,” you said into the phone, voice smooth as glass. “One second.”

Javier’s expression dropped. If annoyance had a face, it was sitting five feet from you in a crumpled shirt and bad attitude.

He yanked the phone from your hand, eyes locked on yours, middle finger up in defiance as he brought the receiver to his ear.

“…Yes, ma’am.” Dead silence as he listened. He didn’t even bother looking away as he shot you another glare, slow, pointed, and full of unspoken curses.

He should’ve known better.