Title: Thwack!
Author: Kaian
Pairing: El x Sands
Rating: PG-13 – language
Summary: Sands wakes El up in the middle of the night to express his frustrations, fears, and hopes.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue. I'm broke.
Feedback: Please and thank you!
Notes: My Spanish is less than adequate. In fact, the only reason I have Spanish in here at all is because Terra was nice enough to give me some phrases to use. I probably fucked them up in some way or another, so be warned!
"El?"
Snore. Grunt. Snoooooooooooore.
"El? El. EL."
Poke.
Grunt. Snort. Rollover. "Uhhhhhh?"
"Hey, El."
"Qué quieres, idiota?" What do you want, idiot? A grumpy, half-mumbled voice. Still not quite awake.
"I never finished my Judy Garland book."
This time, a definite sense of crankiness. "Qué?" What?
Serious. Urgent. "I never got to finish my Judy Garland book."
"You woke me up at three in the morning to tell me that?" Cover rumpled head with pillow, roll over. "Go back to sleep, Gringo."
"El, you don't understand. I couldn't finish the fucking book. I got my fucking eyes taken out!"
Mumble, mumble, grunt.
"What was that?"
"Go. Back. To. SLEEP, Gringo."
"But, El…"
Pull the pillow away from face, squint. "You're always telling me to stop dwelling on the past. Hypocrite."
"Fuck you, El!"
"Sleep. Go. Now." Mumble.
Pick up pillow, thwack against skull.
"Ow! I'd kill you if I wasn't half-conscious anyway!"
"C'mon, El. I don't feel good. I need to talk to someone."
"Talk to Mateo."
"The Kid's sleeping like a fucking baby out there. I'm not gonna wake the little guy up."
Beastly snarl.
"What was that for?"
"Hypocrite."
"Stop calling me that!" Thwack.
"Ow!"
"That's what you get!"
Mutter under breath. "Niño estúpido." Stupid child.
"I heard that."
"I know."
"Motherfucker."
"Go to sleep, Gringo."
"No. I want to talk to you, El."
"Wait six hours. I'll be happy to listen then… if I'll ever get to sleep before then!"
Anxiety. Grab shoulder, shake vigorously back and forth. "El! No, seriously, El. I… I need you. Now. I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to make it through the night if I don't have this talk with you."
Long pause. "You conniving little bastard."
"El…" Voice low, pleading. "El, please."
Another long pause. "Are you really that bad?"
Rapid nods. "Uh-huh."
Yet another long pause. Resigned sigh. Prop up on elbows, run fingers sleepily through rumpled hair. "OK. Tell me again, Gringo. I'm all ears."
Relieved sigh. "Thanks, El… buddy."
"Just tell me already, before I fall asleep."
"I never finished my Judy Garland book. It's sitting in my old bag, you know – the one I keep under the bed? The one with my guns and the arm and that Sesame Street lunchbox?"
One more long pause. "…You have a Sesame Street lunchbox?" Incredulity.
"Yeah, in case I ever had to pay some fucker for info again. What's wrong with Sesame Street?"
Sigh. "Nada."
"Okey dokey. But… yeah. That book's down there. I was only, like… a third of the way through it. It's a biography. Judy Garland. Yeah."
"You woke me up at three in the morning to give me a book report?"
"No."
"Then what's really wrong?"
Strained voice. Almost in pain. "El… I can't see."
"Si…"
"El, I'll never be able to see. Never again."
Silence.
"Yeah, so now you see why I'm depressed as shit, amigo."
Silence.
"It's not just the book… fuck the book. It's just… I'll never be able to read again. I'll never be able to drive. I'll never be able to look into some dumb fucker's eyes and watch him tremble in fear as I get ready to pull the trigger."
"Braille."
"Eh?"
"Braille."
"What the fuck is – Oh. You mean those bumps you read with your hands or whatever?"
"Si."
"I can't do that!"
"So then learn."
"Fuck learning."
"You're starting to sound like Lori."
"Fuck you, too."
Thoughtful silence. "You're not an agent anymore, so you don't have to kill anyone… Not that you ever had to kill in the first place."
"Now who's the hypocrite?"
Ignore. "You could learn to read Braille."
"Not in this lifetime."
"And you get around just fine on foot. If you ever need to go far, I could always drive you."
"You'd drive me, all right. You'd drive me to the middle of the desert and leave me there. A blind man in the harsh Mexican wilderness. Let's watch and see how long it takes for him to walk into a giant cactus and get his balls pecked off by vultures."
Tolerant shrug. "Thank you for the idea, Gringo."
"And stop calling me that."
"Why? You are. Besides, you call me El. What's more degrading than being referred to as a definite grammatical article?"
"For a man known for his silence, you sure do a hell of a lot of talking at three-fifteen a.m."
"I'm barely conscious. Don't get used to it."
"Right."
Lie down, stuff arms underneath pillow, close eyes.
"What're you thinking, El?"
No answer.
"El?"
No answer.
"El?"
Snooooooooooooooooooooooooore.
--
[five minutes later]
Thwack!
"Wake up, El!"
Snort! Flail arms, tumble to floor with a thud. Long string of curses en Español.
Satisfied smirk. "Mornin', sunshine. I trust you slept well?"
"Well, I did. Up until now, thanks to you."
"I'm glad I could've been of service."
Gingerly climb back into bed, rotate shoulder, ouch. "You're not a very subtle man, aren't you?"
"Subtle's my middle name, amigo."
"You're worse than Carolina was."
"I notice that lately you've been able to mention her name without breaking out into a dramatic, angst-filled ballad."
"Demanding, just like she was. Strong-willed. Determined."
"Nice to know that all of my positive traits are shared with a beautiful dead woman."
Beautiful. "Bonita, yes." Wistful longing. "She was beautiful. Unlike you."
"Hey!" Thwack!
"You'd better stop that."
"Be glad it's a pillow and not a two-by-four."
Teasing laughter. "What made us decide to buy a one-bedroom apartment again?"
"I dunno. It could have something to do with the fact that we're a little short on the financial side, being as our only source of income is from a kid who rides a rusty old bicycle around the city, selling chewing gum."
"And who's fault is that?"
Irritated grumbling. "Hey, I don't see you applying for anything… Then again, I don't see much of anything nowadays."
More laughter, quiet, gentle now. Reach out and brush finger along high cheekbones. "I can never tell if those remarks come from acceptance or bitterness."
"We'll one of those options seems pretty accurate to me, and let me tell you, it ain't acceptance I'm feeling right now, amigo."
Silence. Soft caress. "I love you, Sheldon."
"Wow. That was random."
"Shut up, Gringo. Now go to sleep." Shift positions, roll over. Allow soft fingertips feel gentle smile.
Satisfied nod. Snuggle in close, feel the heat, breathe deeply as strong arms wrap around shoulders.
"Love you too, my favorite little gun-slingin', guitar-playin', too-serious-for-his-own-good mariachi."
"What did you call me?"
"Nada, El."
"Goodnight, Gringo."
"G'night, El."
Snuggle, snuggle, sigh.
"Say, El?"
Suppressed groan. Blink, blink. "What is it now?"
"Do you really think I can?"
"Can what?"
"Learn how to read Braille."
"Maybe. Try it and see… later."
"'Kay."
"You okay now?"
"Uh-huh. Goodnight, El."
Breathe slower, deeper. Cuddle together, eyes closed and eyes empty, arms wrapped around each other.
Soundless whisper. "Buenas noches, Sheldon."
-End.