A/N: Welcome, welcome. Surprised to see me in this category again? Well, I surprised myself too. Okay, I won't say much. This story takes place a few months after the end of the film. I hope to make this quite different from my previous OUATIM story…Let's see if I can. If you read, please review. Helpful comments are always welcome and needed.
Oh and I don't need to mention that this will be Sands/OC… Right? Well, let's see how I can get to that…;o)
On with the story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time In Mexico. I only own my OCs.
Through fire & Smoke
Chapter 1
If I've done wrong, I'm dying for it.
~Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte
Culiacán, Mexico
"Lo siento, señor!" The exclamation is followed by the wet splash of liquid falling on the pavement and on his damn shoes.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
"Lo siento mucho." Some rustling, a subtle curse and then…
There is a click of a tongue and a soft feminine hand is trying to wipe away the beer that has fallen all over his jacket sleeve. He can feel the damn thing dripping down his fingers and he can smell the flowery scent of…wipes?
Snatching his hand back, he takes a step backwards and forces a tight smile upon his lips.
"Si, si." The reply is emphasized by the jerky shake of his hand. He can feel the sticky drops of the beer adding further damage upon his clothes. Moving to the side and out of the woman's range- really, how difficult is it to detect a blind man when you see him with his trusty cane? - he clanks his long handled umbrella-no, it's not raining- and moves forward. The woman is very obviously still in his way and his arm clashes against hers as he makes his way down the street. He locates the trash bin with the tip of his helpful umbrella and throws the half empty bottle of beer inside, not caring when the glass hits the bare bottom and breaks into pieces.
He can hear the footsteps resume behind him and he allows himself a little smirk when he realizes that for once a little lady did not offer assistance. Good.
Moving forward, he makes his way into the front porch of the house. His nose immediately wrinkles as the smell of roses tantalizes his nostrils. Last night's rain must have brought out the smell he usually missed. He tries to cock an eyebrow, but immediately curses when he realizes how painful it still is. Adjusting his glasses upon his nose, he slams the iron door shut, obviously not in the mood for any visitors. Not that anyone would come. Oh no, no.
He outstretches his hand and the umbrella finds the plant. He pauses next to the thorny flowers and leans slightly closer. Groaning, he shakes the plant, but with not enough force to actually break anything. Sure, a few petals are surely ruffled, but…
"Warned you, Lupita. Nothing flowery." He curls his lip and removes the umbrella from the plant before he turns his head slightly to the left. He can hear moving around in his house. Thrusting a hand into the pocket of his pants, he takes out his key and tries to locate the lock. When he has succeeded with minimal effort, he pushes the door open. The smell of the house is the same, only now there is the distinctive smell of food in the air. Slamming the door shut when he hears the familiar sounds of heavy breathing, he thrusts the umbrella aside, not caring where it lands even though he knows that he will regret it later, and moves forward.
"How many times have I told you not to let the dog in, kid?" He calls and then footfalls echo in his well trained ears.
"Si, señor." The kid's voice is too cheery for him at the moment and Sands stifles an irritable growl.
"Take it out. Now." He points a finger towards the kid's general direction and Andres whistles. The large white Labrador follows like a puppy, pun intended, and hops towards the kid's direction, but not before giving Sands' shoes a good lick.
"I only hope you don't get drunk, mutt." He mutters and the dog gives an accompanied bark before it scampers off with the boy.
Sighing, but not in the mood to complain further, Sands moves steadily into the house, discarding jacket and shoes as he does so. He throws the jacket onto the floor and feels around for a cloth. The kitchen is right next to the small hall. Wiping his hands, he feels around for the chair and smirks when he finds it already pulled back and waiting for him.
He reaches into the back pocket of his pants and pauses when his fingertips encounter his smokes. With a small curse he pulls them out, already missing his rolled cigarettes, and finds his lighter. He lights one up and places it between his lips while waiting for the kid to return. Reaching out, following the smell really, his fingers brush over the warm, covered plate. He smirks a little and can't help but chuckle.
"I guess you're off the hook, Gran Madre." He mutters, not that he intends not to bitch about the fucking roses in his fucking garden. He abandons the plate and focuses on his cigarette. Slowly, the nicotine works its way into his system and he can feel the pain behind the place where his eyes once were shrinking down into a dull throb. Knowing, it is the time for his dose of painkillers, he waits for the boy to return. When he does, he is quick to bark out the order. Hey, he is paying for it anyway.
"Pills."
He can hear the boy pausing and he waits for it.
"No hay píldoras después de una cerveza, señor."
He knows about the beer? Really?
Sands tries hard not to snap, "No shit, Sherlock." Okay that was unnecessary, but the kid doesn't understand the curse words anyway, "I didn't finish the damn bottle, kid. Now hand them over."
"Por qué?" Andres moves around for the pills and Sands for once feels gracious enough to start a conversation.
"Una señora loca." He mutters through the cigarette before he snorts. Crazy for sure. First caused the spill and then tried to wipe it away with wipes. Fucking wipes! On his jacket!
"Mujer torpe?" The kid presses two pills in Sands' eager palm.
Clumsy woman? You bet.
"Yes."
There is a giggle, a damn giggle, and Sands pauses, "What?"
Andres is quick to hand water too and Sands resists the urge to smirk at the kid's punctuality. He was right to keep him around. For five whole months he's proven rather reliable.
"Señorita Lucy. Elle vive cerca." The kid replies and Sands throws back the pills and washes them down with some water. She lives close by? Menace.
"You don't say. Keep her away from me." He warns and he can hear the kid's curiosity crunching on his damn ears.
"Por qué?"
Why? Because. I don't like her. I don't like women. I can't stand women who are clumsy. I hate women who spill my own fucking beer on my jacket, like I can't stand women who drill parts of my anatomy out.
He doesn't say all that. He replies with a simple, "Toallitas floridos." Flowery wipes.
The kid starts laughing again and for once Sands doesn't reprimand him. How long has it been since he has heard laughter? Pure, innocent laughter? Not that he has missed it. No, sir. Nope.
"Fork." He wiggles his fingertips impatiently, but he pauses when he hears two pair of footfalls, "If that is not your mother, then it's out of here." He warns and the kid hesitates.
"Pero, señor…Marcus conoce el camino alrededor de la casa…"
Marcus knows the way around the house…Hit me where it hurts, kid.
Sands clears his throat and leans forward, "You insinuate that I don't, kid?" He taps the fork that is passed over to him against the old wooden table rhythmically, but the kid is not scared, he can feel it. He is just disappointed.
"No." The reply is laced with that tone of agitation that the boy often expresses when Sands is being difficult, but the agent doesn't care.
"Good. Now get him out before he pisses in my shoes." He waves Andres away with a flourish of his lethal fork before he pulls the plate of food closer.
"Si." There is a particularly resigned tone as Andres takes the dog out again.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
There is a flick of a switch and he pauses with his hand on the bottle of water. He closes the fridge and waits for it. If her heavy breathing is clue enough, she'll start…in just about…now.
"Estás loco?"
Crazy? Sure he is.
"Si." He uncorks the bottle and takes a sip, feeling his way around the room for the table where he has his smokes.
A hand, rough and warm, snatches them out of his grasp and he smirks.
"Y ahora qué?" he asks and he can hear her trying to formulate words.
Seriously, what now?
"Roses."
"Si?"
"Destroyed."
Sands snorts, "I am innocent. Check that big old mutt of yours."
"Marcus?" Her voice is laced with surprise.
"Si. You're late." He accuses. Don't ask how he can tell. He just can.
He listens as she walks towards him, "What?" He hates silences.
"No puedo."
"You can't what?"
"This. El bebé."
Sands pauses, "What about the baby, Lupita? Is she sick again? I swear I paid the kid this morning-…"
"Yo no te puedo ayudar mas."
I cannot help you anymore…
"Is that so?" He tries not to panic like a sissy at the news, "Who the hell is supposed to replace you then?"
"No lo se…"
"Who the fuck knows, Big Momma?" He moves forward, "What about the kid? You won't call him off too, will you?"
"No."
Pure relief floods him and he sags in a chair with little effort of locating it.
"It's fine." He mutters as he locates her hand and snatches back his smokes. He lights a cigarette and lifts his head towards the direction of the slightly older woman, "Really. Drop the face." He mutters with irritation because he just knows how she must be looking at him. He can feel it vibrating off of her in waves; pity. He hates, no. He loathes pity looks.
"Te encontraremos otra persona." He hates the cheery tone in her voice. Find him someone else? Fucking hell. Is she for real?
Leaning closer because he just knows that she is hovering, he probes her rounded stomach with a single fingertip.
"Te olvidas de cómo su marido murió, cariño." He hates bringing up her very much dead husband, but he has to get his point though, "El cartel lo mataron hace cinco meses. Por lo tanto, no me digas que no es alguien en quien confiar."
The cartel killed him five months ago, sweet. So, do not tell me there is anyone I can trust. Great way to clarify his point of view…Right? Digging deep into other people's wounds. Oh well…He has his own to take care of too.
He can smell the scent of cooking herbs that is clinging on her and when she sighs, he knows that his words have gotten to her.
"When are you going to forget that?" Her English is broken, but it is an improvement from the first day he met her.
"When I am sure no one, and I mean no one, is looking for me." He clarifies firmly as he removes his finger from her very pregnant stomach. Her hombre left her with, Andres, a two year old baby and with another one on the way. Just…peachy. No wonder she has died out…
Is that pity? Drop it. What happens now? Think about that.
"Y la agencia?"
The agency?
"I'll be alright as long as they think me dead…"
"But you're not." Her tone is amused and he shrugs, jolting the ash from his cigarette on the floor.
"Mi Dios…" She clicks her tongue at his carelessness and he smirks.
"No God in here, precious. Scamper off now. I'll think of something." He dismisses her with ease, but he feels anything but secure. Who is going to make sure his clothes are clean and well matched? Well, stupid point since most of it it's black, but still. He has gotten too used to it all. Clean house, fresh clothes, food…proper switch flicked on for warm water…no fire because of a forgotten stove or frying pan, help with the baths... proper cleaning of his sockets.
Shit. He needs all those things. The kid is great help when he is not talking Sands' ears off, but he cannot be around all day.
His musings are cut off when he hears the distinctive noise of double footfalls.
"Oh shit. No. No." He shakes his head and abruptly stands up as the four-legged animal makes its way into the kitchen through the back door. Suddenly, he misses his guns.
Lupita's warm laughter is enough to make him snap, "Hey!"
"Marcus is here to stay." There are footsteps, human footsteps this time, and then a hand is on his cheek while a tail wraps itself around his left calf. He tenses up, but knows not to move back. The damn Labrador is a menace when trying to snuggle and the woman touching him is probably the only one allowed to go as far as to breathe close to him. Her fingers are warm, but roughened from hard housework. He knows that at least half of those bumpy marks are because of him. She's been too good to him while he…Ahem…Well, at least he tries not to be that big of a jerk. Most of the times he succeeds.
"El escucha las ordenes…en Español." Lupita pats his cheek without disturbing his sunglasses and she is smart enough not to linger much on his face.
"You don't say? Orders in Spanish? Gee, tricky." He huffs as he swats her hand away from the cigarette between his fingers. She sighs, but doesn't try to pluck it from his grasp again.
"You'll die from it." He can hear her moving around, gathering the used plate and glass and placing them in the sink.
"Trust me, Mama, I won't." The dark tone in his voice causes her to pause, but the she clears her throat and speaks.
"Andres will feed Marcus. You don't have worry." He almost, almost, makes a crude remark about the forgotten to in that sentence, but he is too busy trying to dislodge the dog from his leg.
Marcus releases him suddenly and Sands is able to move freely again.
"Finally…" He plops down on his chair again and proceeds to settle his legs on the table.
Lupita's scolding is lost in him. He is too busy moping for his soon to be lost luxuries. Depending on others for every day activities like choosing the correct pill or making sure nothing gets on fire sucks. His life sucks.
"Fuck…I'm not even a people person." He takes a last drag from his smoke and then finds the ashtray and takes it out, pressing on it with more force than necessary out of sheer agitation.
Lupita clears her throat, "Um…it's time." She announces and he freezes right where he is.
Fuck. He has forgotten what time it is. Groaning at that particular thought, he tries to procrastinate.
"I need more pills, Mama."
"No." He can swear he can hear shaking her head, "Sus ojos."
Your eyes…Shit.
"They're fine." He stands, ready to go, but he knows it is a lost cause when she starts trailing after him, huge belly and all.
"Fuck me backwards." He mutters as he sulkily maneuvers his body towards the bathroom without stumbling.
Welcome to the freak show…Again.
End of chapter 1
Author's note: Still here? Thank you for reading. Liked it? If you found this even a little bit interesting then please, please drop me a few words. This is a little bit different for me so…
Next chapter will be up once I know that a few people are interested! Also, do you think we will see more of this Lucy lady from the beginning? Hmm?
Oh and please, forgive any mistakes in the Spanish sections. I know just a few words so I am relying on a translator at the moment…Lovely language though.
Also, Andres is the boy from the film. Just so there is no confusion.
Comments feed the muse!
Until next time. :D
*Translations: Lo siento= I am sorry.
Lo siento mucho: I am so sorry
Gran madre= Big Mother*
Xxx Lina :D