Suave and Ruthless

  This has to be a dream. Eva blinked, pinched her arm, and blinked again, certain that at any moment she would wake up surrounded by her family, feel the warmth of Juan’s hand in her own. But all she could feel was cold, and the only people in sight were walking corpses — some old, some young, some of them warriors in blood-splattered armor, some emaciated from sickness like herself. None of them acknowledged her as they walked along the rocky shore, stopping to wait at the edge of the murky river.

She stood shivering with her back against the cliff, away from the corpses, and soon she saw what they were waiting for — a little boat, rowed by a haggard man in a filthy brown cloak. He guided some of the dead on board after they placed coins in his gnarled hand, but kept others at a distance, making guttural noises and driving them back with his oar. When the boat was full, he began to row away, fending off some of the rejected souls still clinging to the edges and leaving them to be swallowed up by the current.

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Juan wandered aimlessly through the desolate wasteland he found himself in, understandably on edge from the encounter with Cerberus. His jacket was torn from his desperate flight, and he himself had never felt more alone in his life. Occasionally he would dream of Finland, the only time when he had had to fire his rifle in defense—and not even of his own nation—and he would wake with a start, but calm himself upon realizing that Eva was beside him. His throat ran dry and he kicked over a pebble in his path as he kept walking.

 He couldn’t work out how any of this could be real, and yet he was alert as he would have been when he was awake. There was no mistaking the fact that he was in the mythological underworld, judging by the dog at least. Am I dead? In his sleep, perhaps? He had always thought himself to be healthy, especially considering his age, but he had also read of people dying of grief. If this was some sort of hell, then there was no fathomable way that his late wife would be here. She was a diamond, an angel—he hoped that wherever she was, she was no longer in pain.

 He figured that this was a suitable punishment—doomed to roam eternity alone in darkness. He was not a good man, no matter what Eva or anyone else believed. He had been a greedy, lusty, power-hungry old man, and it had backfired. Although he had fallen in love with her, it hadn’t been like that in the beginning…not completely. And by the time he had actually tried to be the vision she had painted of him for the people of Argentina, it was too late.

 Inexplicably, he could hear the faint rush of running water. Frowning, the former soldier started in the direction from which it had come, just barely making out figures near the side of a river. He approached them warily, and then gasped when he saw that some of them were maimed—with wounds that no living person could endure. So it was true—he was in hell.

 “Juan.”

He turned around in shock—he hadn’t heard that voice in nearly fifteen years. “Potata?” he whispered, feeling almost too overwhelmed to stand. Aurelia looked the same as she had been the day she died—weak, but so young, so beautiful. “What are you doing here? Where am I?”

 “The underworld—Hades. It’s where all souls go when they pass.”

 “So the Catholics were wrong?” he mumbled with a wry smile.

 “Why are you here?” she asked, studying his face.

“I’m dead…am I not?”

 His first wife shook her head. “No. If you were, you would lose your pallor—appear like a corpse—but you are not.”

 “Is this a dream?” he asked, reaching for her hand. It was cold—the same as it had been as they had torn it away from his, and taken her off to be buried. Her bony fingers tightened around his, and he let out a shaky sigh. “I’m sorry.”

 “You always said you would do great things—and you did. I’ve seen them.” Her other hand forced his chin upward, and he saw the pride in her gaze and withered, pulling her into a hug. “Remember what I told you—to keep going forward, even after I was gone? You did. Don’t ever apologize.”

 “I can’t go forward again. Not now…it was me. It was me, and I knew.” He withdrew from her embrace and turned his back, raising his hand to his forehead. “I killed you both.”

 “It was the can—“

 “The doctor explained it to me. I had no business…” Shaking his head, he let out a dry sob as she leaned against him.

 “It was this disease’s fault—not yours. You mustn’t blame yourself.”

 Juan lifted his head to meet her gaze and asked softly, “Were you happy?”

 “The happiest I had ever been—and I was happy to see that you were too.” Aurelia answered with a smile.

 He did not smile back, but he nodded, kissing her cheek. “I don’t suppose you know the way out of here.”

 “There is a staircase that leads to the land of the living. None have managed to climb it, but seeing as you’re still alive, I doubt that will be a problem.” she explained.

 “I have to find it…I have a country to run.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked around at the passing corpses.

“Then here I must leave you.”

 “Thank you—for everything.” He grasped her hand again, and felt a just palpable squeeze in return. And then, she was gone, with the other souls across the river.

 Juan watched the boat for a few moments and then trudged across the rocky terrain. A thought struck him suddenly—Eva must be there. If ‘all souls’ faded into this oblivion, then surely… “Eva!” he shouted, shoving his way through the bodies trying to follow Chiron across the Styx. “Eva!”

Her hands wandered up to tangle in his hair, and she nibbled gently on his lower lip before they broke apart. At his question, she shook her head and returned his grin. “Bed — now,” she gasped, tugging at his arm as she rose to her feet.

He laughed at her urgency and stood, heading briskly for the bedroom and quickly pulled her flush against him, stealing another kiss, his lips demanding and his hands equally so, one groping her bottom and the other hunting for a zipper as it traced her spine.

"Yes, you’re quite the bad influence on me," she teased. Taking his hand, she guided it beneath her dress, then snaked her arms around his neck as they kissed.

Juan rose from his seat on the couch slightly as she took his hand, his kiss becoming possessive as her arms laced around his neck. His hand drifted deliberately, and when he pulled back from the kiss, it was with a wicked grin. "Still prefer the couch?"

"So say I look good or give me a like so I know you that you think you’re a really good friend to me."  [x]

"I'm glad to hear of it." Juan answered with a smile, raising his teacup to his lips. "If you're talking about Braden, not particularly. He's interfering in Argentine affairs and people will grow tired of him eventually. I doubt our people are inclined to listen to an American over an Argentine. But to be frank, I didn't denounce the Third Reich publicly because for the longest time, it looked as if the Third Reich was going to win. Could they have forgiven me for involving Argentina in a foreign war on the losing side?" he questioned, setting down his drink and sitting back in his chair. "If they must compare me to someone, let it be Mussolini and not Hitler." 

  "You’re making it difficult for me to behave right now," she murmured, leaning her head back and closing her eyes as his lips brushed her neck. "I know you wouldn’t," she said with a laugh when he pulled back, then added, "But you’re not the only one who’s skilled at getting what you want." Setting her wine glass on the coffee table, she curled her fingers around his tie and pulled him forward for a kiss.

  “Am I?” he feigned innocence, all the while slipping his hand over her thigh in a manner that was anything but. His face nonetheless broke out into an eager grin as she spoke, and when she set down her drink, he followed suit, humming against her lips as she yanked him by the tie into a kiss, fingers sliding up into her hair.

  "Very much so." Her grin turned wicked at his comment. "Oh? Perhaps you’d like to show me." She chuckled at his suggestion. "I’m sure you could, but film stock should suffice. It’s what got me my last role. But I’ll keep your offer in mind in case he needs further persuasion."

 That look drove him mad. It took everything in him not to crack—instead he smirked, his lips softly brushing the hollow of her throat. “And I’d be happy to show you—if you behave.” He pulled back to nod at her comment. “I’ll let you handle it—though really, I wouldn’t mind. Feels like ages since I last scared someone out of doing something.” He did it, for the most part, to keep order, but he didn’t mind doing things like this every now and again.

"Am I? When I say there’s no one else, Juan, I mean it. I mean every word I’ve ever said about you — that you’re the soul, the nerve, the hope, and the reality of the Argentine people — yet you scoff and say ‘Don’t be so dramatic, Eva,’ and that…it stings more than any name I’ve ever been called."  Her expression softened and she placed a hand on his arm. "I would never deny your accomplishments. You’ve achieved extraordinary things in such a short time — that’s precisely why I’m asking you not to quit. I know you’re tired and stressed, but you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll still be with you, every step of the way."

Her temper flared again at his next words. “So you’re saying I don’t care about us? Everything I’ve done since the day we met has been for us! No one lifted a finger for people like me until you came along. You gave me hope, a sense of purpose…you taught me my love for the people.” She was grasping both his arms now, and she gave him a slight shake. “The people, Juan! This isn’t about power, it’s about them. They believe in you.” Raising one hand to his cheek, she added softly, “I believe in you.”

When he spoke of their enemies in the military, she insisted, “But you did win, and you’ll win again. You have an advantage you didn’t have then — millions of women will be voting for the first time. When I vote in my first election, I want to vote for you. For us." Guilt gnawed at her heart at his next words, and she walked around the desk to stand behind him, placing her hands on his broad shoulders and massaging gently. "You won’t lose me. I promise," she murmured into his ear.

 He had believed that, at least in part, some of the things she said about him were simply to win elections. Although he tried to be sincere, he had learned very quickly that in politics one had to embellish, to shift, to pander. At the beginning, perhaps he had been more than just ambitious, determined that he was doing some good for the country. After all, the GOU had deposed a corrupt government. As time went on, however, he realized what a dirty game it all was, and to an extent he had been putting on a show—at least until he had met Eva. He needed her there, which was why when she said that she would be, he began to mull on her proposition.

 “I know you do. I’m not so sure that you should, but I know.” he answered softly as she raised her hand to his cheek. “It wasn’t for me, initially—that’s not to say I didn’t care, because I did…but the labor unions, the workers…they made up the majority of the voting public. With them on my side, I had to win. I volunteered for Secretary of Labor, which many of my colleagues saw as a thankless task. It was a gateway to the electorate—to this office.”

 Of course she appealed to his rational side, the same side that had realized that the workers would win him the Casa Rosada one day. Giving women the vote would double the turnout from the last election—it had the potential, at least, to be a sweep. “Provided they’re not talked into blaming me for the current state of the economy.” he quipped, but held off from anything else when Eva stated she wanted to cast her first vote for him. “Querida…” he murmured, shaking his head and visibly taken aback. He covered one of her hands with his own after she rested them on his shoulders, but didn’t look up. “You can’t promise that. She—Aurelia—was very young too, younger than you by a few years.”

  "No, we certainly didn’t. Have I mentioned that I find this rebellious side of you very attractive?" she asked, her grin widening as he continued speaking. "True, it’s a bit late for discretion. Nonetheless, I promise to be on my best behavior," she said with a wink. When he toasted her in return, she clicked her glass against his with an enthusiastic "¡Salud!," then raised it to her lips and took a long drink. "That reminds me — Soffici has another movie in the works. He’s already promised the lead to someone else, but I thought he might be persuaded to give it to me in exchange for film stock."

 “Is that so?” Juan asked with a smile, his hand shifting to her hip. “Because I can think of quite a few aspects of my rebellious side you’ve yet to experience.” At her comment, he grinned and lifted his glass to his lips. “That’s my girl.” His face brightened genuinely when she mentioned a Soffici movie, but he was surprised when she said that he was going to give someone else the lead instead of her. “I could remedy that, you know.” he suggested, eyes flickering down to the wineglass before he took another sip. “Hell, I could make him give you the lead—and he’d do it if he wants to ever work again. I could have him blacklisted, seeing as the Minister of Communications reports directly to me.” It was half serious, half meant to impress her—of course, he doubted it would get that far. A flex of his political muscles was usually enough for him to get what he wanted.

  Eva’s jaw clenched as she spat, “You’re right. I’m just a silly dramatic woman, what do I know? Go on and quit, then, if you want to let me and all your comrades down. In all our six years together, I’ve never once been disappointed in you, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

His response was unsurprising, but her hands shook with anger as she practically shouted, “Fuck them! Who’s in charge, Juan, you or them? You know very well that not one of them has done a fraction of what I have for this country. I’m your best chance. If you want to win, you’ll fight for me.” Despite all the strikes, they still had the numbers on their side, and the women would give them an even larger majority. “He’s old, Juan. He’s dying. It’s his health you should be worried about, not mine.”

When he continued harping on her work habits, she demanded in a petulant tone, “Then what is it you want? For me to go to bed and wake up when you say, like I’m your child instead of your wife?”

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth.” Juan retorted tiredly, shaking his head. “There are plenty of presidents who accomplished plenty in just one term! I’ve done it, I made it through this one, made major reforms…it might have been a dream of mine to rule like this once, Eva, but it isn’t anymore.” Years ago it was all he wanted, but now all he wanted was a quiet retirement, a normal life—with her. But it appeared as if she didn’t want that. “Disappointed? Because I care about us more than the power?”

He turned around when she questioned his authority over the military. “There are some who didn’t want me to win, who are looking for any excuse to see me—to see us—fail. They wouldn’t let up. It’s not as if I wouldn’t fight, but it’s not a fight that I’m confident I’d win.” Her point about Quijano was indeed valid, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he stared out the window. “You’re my wife. It’s my duty to worry.”

Groaning as she complained of his concern again, he whirled around. “I don’t want to lose you, do you not understand? I can’t…I can’t do it again. You think it’s silly of me, fine, but I had to bury one wife already and if I had to do it again, it’d kill me. I’m sure of it.” he whispered, sinking down into his chair. He sounded paranoid, panicked, and he ran his fingers through his hair as he steadied his breathing and tried to regain some semblance of composure.

  "That’s how life deals her cards. Unfair, isn’t it?" Meg was fed up too. Tired and fed up. The only reason she let him in was because he was the father of her son. The only reason she let him in was because he needed someone sensible around him.

Even as he stood up and towered over her, Meg simply shrugged in response. “Then go and get drunk, but I have your wallet.” Of course, she wasn’t going to let him to such a thing. As long as he was in her home, he was her responsibility. “You have a country to run, don’t give your opposition a reason to coup you.”  A blatant statement that took no prisoners. He would listen and he would pull himself together.

 “She was thirty-three years old.” he said, voice only above a whisper and only half aware of Meg’s comment. “She didn’t deserve this.” Of course, in a way, she had been immortalized. He had seen fit to that, what with the embalming, the state funeral—it was almost obsessive, how concerned he had been that the people remembered her. Had he really been thinking of her at the time? Or was it simply his desire to hang onto his power, the only thing he had left.

It was funny how now he wanted nothing to do with the government. The warning of a coup didn’t faze him at all, and he apathetically lifted his eyes from the table. “It’s only a matter of time. And who knows, maybe they’ll kill me instead of exile me? I’ll give up this post over my dead body.” Yes, let them come. The sooner the better.

"Won’t that just create more scandal?" Eva asked, raising an eyebrow. But she was grinning; since they moved in together, she’d been listening in on his meetings with his political allies and absorbing as much as she could. Apparently he was pleased with her progress. "I’d like that very much." When she finished pouring the drinks, she handed one to him and seated herself carefully on his lap, curling one arm around his neck and holding her own glass aloft with her other hand. "To Vice President Perón."

 “Probably—but we didn’t let that stop us in the past, now did we?” he asked with a grin, his arm wrapping around her waist as she sat in his lap. “Farrell and the others can say what they want. I don’t see anything wrong about it, and it's not as if all of these generals are model little Catholics anyway. At least I’m not ashamed. Besides, could you imagine us trying to keep this a secret?” he asked with a laugh. When Eva indicated that she would enjoy coming to a rally, he nodded, taking the glass. “Good. There are some people I’d like you to meet—union leaders, for the most part.” At her toast, he clicked the glass against hers lightly. “And to the movie star, Eva Duarte.”

"Because there’s no one else!" Eva snapped, not knowing how to make it any plainer. "No, I’m saying you should run, and choose me as your running mate. Quijano is too frail, he may not live to see the next election." She could easily predict what he would say — that the military would fight her candidacy tooth and nail, and even if the people adored her, they were fickle and she couldn’t always count on their support.

She sighed as he took her hands. “I’ve been taking care of myself since I was fifteen, Juan. I’ll be fine.” Chuckling at his comment, she asked, “If I promise to start coming home earlier, will that satisfy you?” She felt a pang of guilt, knowing even as she said the words that she wouldn’t be able to keep the promise — she was her mother’s daughter; it simply wasn’t in her nature to rest while her children suffered.

“There are plenty of people both within and outside of my administration capable of being perfectly good presidents, Eva. Don’t be so dramatic.” Juan all but scoffed, waving a careless hand. Of course they would both tell people there was no one else, in order to gain votes—such was the nature of politics.  But they were alone, speaking frankly, and he knew he wasn’t exactly the man portrayed in speeches and radio shows. “Look, I know this will be difficult for you but I can’t be president forev—“ His protest was drowned out by her suggestion, and his eyes widened as he exhaled.

“They won’t stand for it, Eva. They’ll fight you the whole way through…we could make hundreds of speeches and yet the military…I’m on uneasy terms with them as it is, even before the presidency.” he explained slowly, his eyes begging her to see his reasoning. “Quijano has served both me and this country well, even during the junta. I can’t simply throw him out on his ear.” She was right, of course—the man was old, and growing weaker by the day. Another term would be the end of him. “It’s not that…I don’t think you could do it, but are you prepared for the fight? As I said, I am worried about you. You shouldn’t be overworking yourself this much. It isn’t healthy, at any age.” he added firmly. “It’s a start…but just think about the fact that even I go to bed earlier than you do.”

  "We should," she agreed with a smile. "I’ll pour us some drinks." She strode over to the wine cabinet and came back a moment later with a bottle of Malbec and two glasses, motioning for him to sit on the couch as she poured.

Juan smiled and swept off his hat, setting it down and then sitting on the couch, draping an arm over the top of it as he watched her pour the Malbec. "When he signed the papers, Farrell said that he worried about scandal on my part. Since I'm now the Vice President, he made it very clear that I had to be seen as respectable, from now on." he stated with an amused grin. Of course that meant he wanted him to stop parading around his mistress, but Juan couldn't care less--especially since he was the one pulling the strings. "So how would you feel about coming to one of my rallies?" 

[5/?] BWE SONG/CHARACTER MEME | Gyp Rosetti → Masichism Tango by Tom Lehrer(suggested by platoapproved)