Title: Blessed Be
Rating: PG
Description: New Year's drabble
Disclaimer: not my characters, but they'd surely enjoy it if they were.
Dedicated to coelogyne - hopefully her new year will be better than the past one.
Huge thanks and new year's wishes go out to ruisenora for providing me with the Spanish translation of El's prayer, and offering me future translation help.
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"Sounds like gunfire" Sands found himself thinking, as the loud bangs reverberated against the walls of the small cottage.
The man standing motionlessly in a shadowy corner, gazing out the window with a longing expression on his face, suddenly gave a loud snort, and Sands realized he must have been thinking out loud. Slightly embarrassed, but determined as always not to let it show ("never show weakness") he shifted in his chair, and switched to having his right leg dangling over his left knee. He bent and cocked his head to pinpoint the location of the fireworks being set off: the only enjoyment this type of event permitted him these days.
"I wonder how many kids will have their hands and heads blown off by these things" he mumbled, and again, the man snorted, and added something in Spanish that Sands couldn't quite make out. Cocking an invisible gun, Sands hand pointed two fingers in the direction he figured the back of El's head must be, and pulled an imaginary trigger. Pretending to blow the smoke from the muzzle, he stuck it back into the waistline of his pants, once again settling himself comfortably in the chair, hands joined, thumbs twiddling, sunglasses set firmly upon the bridge of his nose.
Although clearly visible in the reflection of the window, the childish gesture left the other man completely unmoved, as he stood, frozen, eyes and thoughts lost in some far away place. The silence in the room was beginning to annoy Sands. He hated silence - sound was all he had to go on these days, and he'd be damned if he'd let anyone take that away from him. Brows furrowed, he spoke, tone slightly more edgy than he had originally intended it to be.
"What are you thinking about?"
The Mariachi turned slowly from the window. Sands could hear the faint rustle of the curtains as he let them go, and the ka-ching of his spur as he moved towards the center of the room, where a thump and the loud creak of the bedsprings told him El had sat down. He shifted slightly in his chair so he could face him - he knew it always made the other man uncomfortable, having those dark sunglasses, and whatever was underneath, staring fixedly at him. This time, however, El seemed to be looking in another direction, because there was no switch of energy in the room. Sands gave a deep sigh. This was definetly going to be a long night.
"Look, it's New Year's Eve. Could you try to let that brooding Mariachi off for just a second, and give me back my friend El? It's him I invited up here, you know, not Sulky Sulkerson."
There was another moment of silence, and then El moved slightly on the bed, now facing Sands.
"It's nice."
"What?"
"It's nice. What you've done with the place." Sands could hear the bedsprings creak again as El shifted, looking around the room.
"Yeah right" Sands spat at him, and immediately regretted it. He certainly wasn't doing much in lifting the mood either; kind of a tough situation, this, a physical cripple versus his emotional equal. Also, the distance separating them was somehow much more palpable now than it had been ten years earlier, when Sands had first met the infamous Mariachi; sitting on a stool, calmly fingering his guitar, listening to his propositions, in one of the countless haciendas in the dusty streets of Mexico.
"Finished your New Year's resolutions?" he asked, airily, and pretend to be polishing his nails against his shirt. "It's almost midnight you know" he added, looking at an invisible watch on his left wrist, pretending to flick it with two fingers, putting it to his ear to make sure it was still working. The Mariachi didn't even bother to snort this time, and Sands lifted his hands in an only partially mock gesture of exasperation, before letting them sink back into his lap, fiddling momentarily with the hem of his shirt.
Heads bowed, hands clasped together, neither man spoke for a long time. Finally, as if shaken out of a dream, El started reciting something in Spanish, in a voice that was so soft it hardly carried across the room. Sands strained his ears, trying to make out the words.
"Bendíganos todos en este año nuevo
Los que se han ido,
Y los que se quedan.
Bendiga a los que otras veces
No hayan merecido Su bendición,
Pa' que puedan continuar con sus vidas
O lo que les queda de vida.
Bendiga a mis amigos igual que a mis enemigos,
Bendiga a los que he matado,
Y los que he permitido vivir,
Los que me han matado,
Y los que dejaron que viviese.
Y bendiga a este hombre
Que sentado está frente a mí,
A pesar de todos los actos atrosos
Que ha cometido
Contra otros, y contra si mismo
Porque él es, de veras, la única cosa
Que me ata a esta tierra."
"Bless us all in this New Year
The ones who have departed,
And the ones who were left behind.
Bless those who may not at other times
Have deserved Your blessing,
So that they may carry on with their lives
Or whatever is left of them.
Bless my friends as well as my enemies,
Bless those I have killed,
And those I have let live,
The ones who have killed me,
And let me live.
And bless this man
Sitting across the room from me,
Despite all the despicable acts
He has committed
Against others, as well as himself
For he is truly the only thing
Still binding me to this Earth."
El trailed off, mumbling a barely audible "Amen" and crossing himself, before the creaking and following jangling announced his departure from the room. Sands sat, motionless in his chair, head still bent, hollows gaping emptier than ever behind the darkly tinted glass.
"Happy New Year" he mumbled, as the fireworks exploded in cascades of sound.