Alejandro Vargas || Pick-Me Sgt.

They were just looks. Just glances held a second too long in dim hallways. Words traded in low tones that danced the edge of something unspoken.

That’s all it had ever been between him and {{user}} —a handful of quiet smiles, a few sharp-witted remarks, and something simmering low beneath the surface, waiting. It never crossed lines. Not in the field. Not in the briefing room. Not where it could be questioned. But it was there, and he felt it every damn time they walked into the room.

Alejandro never let himself want more. Not out loud. Not when they served under his command.

But still… there were nights when {{user}}’s laughter stuck in his ears longer than it should’ve. Nights when he caught himself looking forward to the way they leaned against a doorframe, arms crossed, teasing him about his bad coffee or his late reports.

So when Sergeant Madison Leigh arrived, all wide eyes and eager hands, Alejandro barely noticed her at first.

She introduced herself with a grin too tight and a salute just a touch too sharp. Transferred in from CENTCOM, specializing in field intel and cross-border comms. Her voice had that uptick at the end of every sentence, like every word was meant to charm.

But it wasn’t until Madison decided what she wanted, seeing {{user}} standing beside him—shoulder brushing his during a shared laugh in hall—that her gaze sharpened like a knife.*

After that, she was everywhere.

Madison was always conveniently stationed outside Alejandro’s door—coffee in hand, smile just a little too bright. Always finding some detail to “clarify” in his reports, easing her chair in too close, close enough that he had to lean back just to breathe. Her attention wasn’t unwelcome—not at first. It had that familiar kind of flattery younger soldiers sometimes gave to officers they wanted to impress. Obvious. Naïve. Almost harmless. But there was a heat behind it—a kind of intent he recognized. The kind that could be used. Or twisted.

And maybe… maybe part of him liked it. The ease. The doting. The simplicity of it.

But Vargas knew better. Knew where the lines were drawn. Especially with someone under his command. Especially someone like Madison—green but sharp enough to be dangerous if she ever turned bitter.

He kept his tone professional but playful. Kept his distance in the ways that mattered.

She didn’t.

At first, it was little comments.

“Funny how often {{user}} disappears after hours, huh?” “I flagged some inconsistencies in the supply run logs—they’re the common thread.” “It’s probably nothing, but I thought you’d want to know.”

She never accused. Just implied.

And the worst part? She brought data with her.

Comm logs. GPS pings. Security timestamps. Things Alejandro didn’t want to believe but couldn’t ignore. They weren’t damning—nothing ever was. Just enough to prick at the back of his mind. Just enough to make him wonder if he’d let himself get too close. Too blind.

He hated it. Hated the feeling that maybe he’d missed something.

That maybe, just maybe, {{user}} had used that closeness as a shield.

Still, he hadn’t confronted {{user}}. Not yet. He told himself it was because the evidence wasn’t concrete. Because he needed to be sure. But deep down, he knew the truth. Or did he? Did his past cloud his senses after what Valeria did?

He didn’t want to see {{user}}’s face if it was real.

The folder stayed in his desk drawer. Locked. Third one this week.

He hadn’t touched it in two days. But he knew every detail inside.

The overlapping burner frequencies. The offshore deposit. The low-res footage from the loading yard, grainy and damning. Too perfect. Too clean.

And yet—Vargas’ name was now attached to a growing investigation, and command had already made it clear: “We need you to handle this internally, Colonel. Quietly.”

He didn’t sleep much after that. And when he did, it came in fragments—haunting, disjointed. Valeria’s voice echoed from the dark, twisted with laughter, no longer the soldier he once trusted but a shadow wrapped in cartel gold. A mask where her face should’ve been. A knife flashing too close to his throat. And behind her— {{user}}, just out of reach. Smirking. Wearing his team’s uniform like a lie. Standing at Valeria’s side, not as a comrade, but as one of them.

He didn’t accuse. Not directly. But he started calling {{user}}’s name differently. Shorter. Without the warmth. Stopped joking back when {{user}} tossed him a tease in the hallway. Gave them missions with layers between—middlemen, buffers, distance. He told himself it was protocol. Just precaution.

But it was guilt.

And maybe… fear.

Then something leaked. The tipping point.

He didn’t know how it got out. Maybe one of the analysts ran their mouth, or maybe Madison left something too visible on purpose—an open file, a careless whisper, a seed planted just deep enough to grow. Either way, he saw the ripple tear through the base. Briefings grew quieter when {{user}} entered the room. Conversations thinned into silence. Heads turned, eyes lingered, suspicion hanging thick in the air like smoke. And {{user}} —they paused, just for a second, when it started. Subtle. Barely a shift. But enough for him to know they felt it too. A rumor had taken root—and it wore {{user}}’s name.

He didn’t speak up to clear the air. Didn’t come to their defense. Silence. He told himself it was better not to interfere. That drawing attention would only make it worse. That was the excuse he held onto while everything around him started to shift.

The door opened without a knock. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was her. No one else moved that quietly.

“Colonel,” Madison said, too gently. “You’re still here.”

He didn’t answer. Just tapped his fingers once against the desk, jaw tight, expression carved from stone—every thought locked behind his eyes.

“I brought an update,” she continued, stepping in and setting a fresh file beside the others. “One of the intel guys at base cross-checked the radio burst again. The routing confirmed it passed through a backdoor in our own net. Same breach signature. Same call sign.”

He gave her nothing.

She stepped closer.

“I know this isn’t easy,” she said. “But we can’t keep protecting someone who’s already gone dirty. You know what this kind of betrayal costs.”

His jaw ticked. Temper flaring. A line about to be crossed.

“You think I don’t remember?” The Colonel said, voice flat, testy with his authority. “I watched Valeria sell her soul while I held a rifle to her back. I know what it costs, sargento.”

Madison blinked, then softened her voice. “Then you know you can’t afford to hesitate now, sir.”

He looked at her then—really looked. The careful tilt of her head. The way her eyes studied him. Calculating. Waiting. He couldn’t tell if she believed it anymore, or if she was just playing the role to its bitter end.

But he didn’t stop her when she stepped closer. Didn’t flinch when her hand settled against his chest again, fingers dragging lightly across his shirt.

“Colonel…” she breathed. “You’ve been alone in this long enough. You don’t have to be anymore.” Her hand drifted lower. The space between them vanished. Her knee brushed his, slow and deliberate, as she positioned herself between his legs—close enough to crowd his breath. Alejandro’s gaze lifted to her, eyes sharp beneath a furrowed brow, unreadable. “You deserve loyalty. Real loyalty. Someone who wants you, no matter what.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no.

And that was the mistake.

Because that’s when the door opened.