Author's Note: For Sarah and El.
He'd played it for Carolina, now he played it for Sarah. He sat perched, on the windowsill, the last of the setting sun falling behind him. She stood in the door way, hair wrapped up in a towel, wearing on of his shirts and those ridiculous bunny slippers.
El looked at the hot pink bunny slippers with a bemused expression, shaking his head and turning back to guitar, as he strummed softly.
"Spanish Romance." Sarah breathed with a sigh, as she crossed the room to the windowsill where he was perched. She leaned on his shoulder, resting her cheek against his cool skin as he played.
"You know that," He said softly, strumming on. "That music is my first love."
"I have to compete with her then?" Sarah asked with an amused tone, running her fingers through loose hair.
El smiled ruefully. "She's a hard and demanding mistress. Do you feel up to the task."
"Always, siente mi amor." Sarah whispered, kissing his cheek. El turned his head, just in time, stealing a kiss from her and Sarah graced him with a smile. It was peaceful moments like this, El reveled in. Perfect peace...
"SARAH ANN MARIE DARCY!!"
Well, almost perfect peace. Sarah sighed and raised up, looking toward the door. "Now what is his problem..."
'You know Sands." El said softly, shaking his head. The man had a nasty habbit of interfering when ever it seemed that Sarah and El would have just a moment to themselves in this nut house.
"Hold that thought luv and don't go anywhere." Sarah said, stealing another quick peck, before heading out of the room. El watched her going and silently cursed Sheldon Jeffrey Sands.
He stopped playing the guitar, and got up from the window, sitting the guitar next to it. Walking leisurely over to the entertainment shelf in Sarah's bed room, he turned on the tv, putting the local news on, as he started picking up some things about the room. He loved Sarah, with all his heart, but she could leave clothes all over the place. Some times, El felt, if it wasn't for him, the room would never be picked up.
"Its breaking news." The broadcaster said in spanish. El spared the tv a glance. "It has been confirmed from the presidential palace. The presidentie has been attacked!"
El stopped what he was doing and turned towards the tv. "The presidentie is said to be in stable, but critical condition at this time. A composite sketch of the presidentie's attacker, who some how managed to get into the palace and try to assassinate our leader, is being posted."
El suddenly sit down on the edge of the bed. Staring back at him was his own face, with shorter hair. He stared a the image, until it was taken off the screen. He hardly noticed Sarah returning to the room.
"Darling?" She looked at him quizzically, then at the tv.
"El presidentie was attacked." El said monotone.
"Oh..." Sarah muttered sitting down beside, El, biting her lip.
El looked over at her. "You already know..." He stated, rather then questioned.
"Well, um...yes...that what Jeff wanted me for...the company...well they want an Agent of Influence in the media as soon as possible, before this thing gets blown completely out of whack."
"Your words, or his?" El asked softly, still looking at her.
Sarah took his hand. "Mostly his, few of mine." She said softly, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles as she met his eyes.
"And who is the...agent of influence?" El asked.
"They're sending Sammy down...he...deals with this kind of thing better then us." Sarah said, looking away a moment.
El frowned, wondering, not for the first time, if his lover still had feelings for this other man. Sarah finally turned her blue eyes back to El and smiled slightly. "I know what you're thinking, Benito." She used his real first name. El felt himself smiling slightly. "Sammy may still have feelings for ME, which makes it always awkward, but as for me. I love only one man," She leaned close, whispering. "And that's you." She kissed him deeply.
El slid his arm around her waist drawing her closer as he kissed her back. But he broke the moment after a minute. "There are some things I need to take care of." El said, testing the water, so to say, if she knew the attacker apparently looked identical to him.
The only thing that made sense to El was to go out and find this man himself. He rejected, for the moment, the possibility that the man had already left Mexico. He had a sinking feeling this was a man who'd stick around...for the fun of it, if he wasn't threatened by the authorities.
Sarah studied his face for a long moment, with a tiny frown, then muttered. "Alright, darling. Just...just becareful..." She got up off the bed, heading towards the bathroom. Neither would actually say good bye for now. They knew better. Sarah had long ago accepted that El was not always a peaceful man. That there were things he needed to use a gun over. And this was obviously something personal to him.
And as much as El hated to leave his lover, he had to find out who this man was, why he'd done it, and bring the man to the authorities, before they came after him.
"I will." El muttered in reply as she closed the door.
Then El was off the bed, and on the floor beside it, reaching under it. He dragged the black and battered guitar case from the darkness and stood, grabbing a rubber band off the nightstand. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face and put it in a pony tail. Grabbing his jacket, he slung it on, snatched up the handle of the case and left the room.
He reached the front door of the safe house and spared a glance back. He hadn't run into anyone from the team as he'd made his way through the network of apartments. He wasn't really a team member. They put up with him, living there from time to time, with Sarah, because of Sarah. Everyone adored Sarah. And most of the team liked El, so he was free to come and go, as long as he never threatened their operations. He expected not to see anyone behind him.
But he wasn't exactly surprised to see him standing there, in one of the door ways, black as Death himself and just as deadly, from the biker boots, to the sunglasses. He just stood there, leaning nonchalantly on the door frame, smoking. El wondered briefly, if Sands even knew it was El at the door. The only sound in the room was their breathing, and the ticking of the clock on a near by wall.
Then the wayward agent raised his head, drawing a long drag off his cigarette and seemed to looked directly at El. "Don't get your balls blown off out there. I don't want to have to come to your rescue." He said simply.
El bit back the sneer, and replied simply, as he opened the door. "You wont have to." With that El left the safe house, closing the door behind him. Some times Sands aggravated the shit out of him, acting all lofty. The man was no more a saint then El.
He hit the streets in the full heat of noon day, in Mexico City. Every where he turned, it seemed that the entire city would talk about nothing BUT the attack on the the president. And that sketch would have been broadcast all over Mexico by now.
El made an ironic decision. He borrowed a leaf from Sands' book and snatched a pair of cheap sunglasses off a street vender's stand, leaving a few peso's behind in their place. Slipping them on, he crossed the street with his guitar case, walking with ease towards a shady bar, he knew well, for information.
The bar was empty when he entered it. A single occupant at a back table, a young black man, who looked up at the figure that had entered is bar. He took in the sight, from the guitar case, to the pants, to the scorpion jacket.
"Jesus fucking Chirst, man!" The young man snapped, getting up from the table. "Don't you know what the hell is going on in this city?!"
"Indeed." El said, crossing the distance. "It hasn't escaped my notice."
"So you come walking into MY bar? Man, if I were you'd I'd get the fuck out of Dodge!" The man said, cutting the distance, and sliding behind the bar.
El sighed irritably, and turned to the man. "Humor me, Sunny. I need some information."
"So that WASN'T you they were flashing across the screen earlier?" Sunny asked, incredulously.
"Of course not!" El replied, slightly more hard then he'd intended.
Sunny began cleaning the bar top with an old rag, all but ignoring El as the Mariachi stood there. "Sunny..." El called softly, to get the man's attention.
Sunny kept on cleaning. Until El snatched the rag from his hand, getting the young man to look at him. "Who ordered it, Sunny?" El demanded.
"Man, I don't know jack shit." Sunny replied with a shrug. "I'm just a simple bar owner."
"Bullshit, Sunny. Who ordered it?" El repeated.
Sunny sighed, leaning on the bar a moment. "I don't know alright."
"Do you want me to go and get my back up?" El asked with twitch of his lips.
"Sands?! No fucking way! Alright, alright! Head down the street, to the church, there'll be a snitch there, one of my own, who can tell you more..." Sunny said, picking up the phone.
El eyed him. "Are you sure about this, Sunny?"
"'Course I am, man. Trust me." Sunny flashed him a gold toothed smile, waving him on.
El sighed and slid on the sunglasses, picking up his case and heading out of the bar. He turned left and headed down the busy street, sliding anonymously through the people walking.