Author's Note: Sincere apologies for the time it took to get this up. I've been terribly distracted. But I'm back, with TWO new chapters for you. :)
Many thanks to my loyal readers and reviewers, and to Quick29 for the PM yesterday that jolted me back around to this. Hugs to all. As always, thanks to Scarlett Burns, who originally convinced me to do this.
Disclaimer- I do not own Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, or any other characters from Once Upon A Time In Mexico. I just let him come over and play, often. ;)
She was no where to be seen on the streets, having already disappeared into the night and he had no clue where she'd have gone. There was a part of him that was glad of this, that wanted to blame her for the argument.
The rest of him was thoroughly disgusted with that little part, knowing that they'd both been at fault, more him then her. That he'd said things he shouldn't have said. But he'd been angry, and he was still angry. And he was going to drink, until he was to fucked to remember they'd argued and what it had been over.
He headed down the street towards a liquor store, that just happened to have been open at that ungodly hour and headed inside, the warm air of the building's heater hitting him hard as the door closed behind him, with the tinkling of that little bell that signaled the coming of a customer.
He stalked up and down the isles looking at all the bottles and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Taking it up to the counter, he paid for it and another pack of cigarettes and left the shop, unscrewing the cap of the bottle to take a long swig as he walked down the darkened streets.
She pulled some coins from the pocket of her leather jeans and fed them to the payphone, dialing his number. She needed the company before she did something she'd regret, and she knew she could count on him to keep her as sane as she came.
The phone rang a few times, before he answered, his voice as sweet as she remembered it.
"Jack Ruex speaking."
"Hello Jack, it's Cerise." She said softly, leaning on the booth.
"Cerise, what's up?" There was concern in his voice.
"I need some company and possibly someone to get drunk with." She replied. "Can we meet up somewhere, PLEASE Jack!"
"Of course! Damn it, you know we can! Swing by my hotel, the Mayflower. Suite 1227."
"Thanks deary, I'll be there shortly." Cerise replied, before hanging up.
She flagged down a taxi and got in. A few moments later, the taxi was dropping her off infront of the Mayflower, one of the richer hotels.
She paid and went inside, up to the customer counter. "Can you tell me what floor 1227 is on?" She asked the man at the desk.
"The third floor. Would you like me to phone ahead and inform our guest of your arrival?"
"No, thank you." She replied simply, before turning and heading for the elevator.
He answered the door, looking for more comfortably then he had at the club. He was only wearing a pair of ragged, bleach stained jeans with holes in the knees. Cerise stared at him a moment, suddenly realizing how much, he very much looked like Sands.
Well, everyone is supposed to have a twin in the world, Jack just happens to be Sheldon's... She thought to herself and indeed, Jack could easily pass very much so as Sands' twin. She noticed the scar under his heart, from a bullet.
Jack tossed her a warm grin, before moving away from the door. "Come on in, Red." He said over his shoulder. Cerise grinned slightly and entered the suite, shutting the door behind her. "So what's up?" He asked, as he went behind a wet bar and mixed up two rum and cokes.
Cerise frowned slightly, flopping down on the plush couch. "Can we put that off for just a couple minutes, and just catch up, it's been so long, Jack."
Jack chuckled as he brought over the drinks and handed her one. Cerise took a drink, before sitting the glass on the coffee table in front of her and motioned to Jack to give her a cigarette as he lit his own, sitting down beside her on the couch.
Jack handed her his pack of cigarettes and lighter. "If we're going to catch up, where do you want to start?" He asked her.
"Anywhere." Cerise said with a sigh. "Where's Winkem, Blinkem, and Nodd?" She asked.
Jack shrugged. "Shane and Shaun are out doing what ever they do after getting shit faced in a club, probably screwing like rabbits."
Cerise laughed, grinning wearily.
"Alex has a lecture at the Museum in the morning, so she's already turned in for the night." Jack added.
Cerise nodded, taking a drag from her cigarette, then looked at Jack. "How are...things between you and Alex?" She asked softly.
Jack took a drink of his rum and coke and shrugged. "As well as can be, I guess. There's still a lot of tension between us, and we're taking things slowly, but." He shrugged again.
Cerise sighed, leaning back against the couch. "She didn't take kindly to the fact you were alive for those two years, did she?" She asked him.
Jack looked over at her with sour look. "She thought I was dead, Cerise."
"I know that." Cerise replied in her defense. And she did know. Jack and Alex had been engaged, before Jack's rival shot and 'killed' him. Jack had stayed undercover for two years, allowing Alex to believe he was dead, to protect her. Alex hadn't taken it well, when she'd discovered he was alive and well.
"That's something you and I have in common, Jack." Cerise said with a sigh.
"What?" He asked her, watching her.
"Deceiving the person we love the most..." Cerise answered softly.
"You and him at it again?" Jack asked.
"You know Sheldon and I." Cerise replied with another sigh.
"Well, I don't know Sands personally, only by reputation, but I'd gladly kick the shit out of him for messing with my Red." Jack winked at her.
Cerise chuckled as she sat forward and began pulling off her boots. "They're killing my feet." She said as she did so.
"So how's your career as a teacher?" Jack asked her as she leaned back.
"It's good." She replied. "I like working with the children."
"Don't miss COs any more?" Jack asked her.
"What about you, Jack, do you miss them?"
"Not a damn bit." Jack replied, grinning.
"So you're happy in...solitary archeology?" Cerise asked.
Jack laughed out right as he leaned back, his hands behind his head. He looked over at Cerise, grinning. "That is a singular way of putting it. But lets call the job what it is. Mercenary tomb raiding. And to answer your question, I don't miss COs one bit."
Jack had once been a Language Officer in clandistend operations, supplying teams and solitary Officers and Agents with translations on nearly 20 languages.
He was also a fully trained CO officer and served as both at times. Until he suffered a break down from losing an extremely close friend, then he retired and be came a tomb raider. Having grown up with an archeologist/professor father, Jack's second passion had always been history and archeology. He was excellent at what he did now.
"Besides, how many times was I pulling double duty and playing Field Agent?" Jack asked.
"More times then you were translating," Cerise answered.
"Exactly. I went in as a Language Officer, I left as a Field Officer." Jack shook his head. "Besides, I see enough action in my present occupation."
"I suppose you would, running around with Shane Li."
"Yeah, but Shane's got NOTHING on Sands. I mean, think about it. If Sands wasn't in the CIA, if he were freelance assassin..."
"He'd be number one of seven, and Shane would get bumped down to probably five." Cerise answered, in regards to Shane's status amung the world's six best assassins. Shane averaged number three. "But then Shane would be all pouty and jealous and never talk to me again." Cerise added. "And where then, would I get my niffty toys?" Jack chuckled. "By the way, thanks for the decor on the Night Eagle."
"Like that did you?"
"Very much so." Cerise answered.
After a moment of silence, Jack asked. "So tell me what happened tonight."
Cerise sighed, finishing off her drink and getting up, going to towards the wet bar. "We got into a horrific argument." She said as she mixed her self another drink.
"About what?" Jack asked. Cerise stopped with a sigh, sagging a bit, resting her hand on the bottle of rum on the counter. She stared at the wall.
Then she answered. "Rather or not I'm capable of doing a field assignment." She looked at him.
"He's just worried, Reese."
"I'm aware of that, but his approach to the subject, is the completely WRONG way. He accused me of endangering Lily's life by going out tonight and seeing you and the other's at the club."
"You didn't tell him, you were going, did you, Reese?"
"I shouldn't have to!" Cerise replied, giving Jack a look.
"Maybe, maybe not." Jack replied, taking a drag from his cigarette
"You're supposed to be on my side." Cerise muttered, taking a swig of rum, straight from the bottle.
"I am on your side. I'm just saying there had to be a reason why he acted the way he did. But I know, you have to cool off before you can ask him rationally, with out getting pissed."
"I have a right to be pissed. He called me a bitch!"
"I don't think it's the first time you've ever been called bitch and I doubt it'll be the last time." Jack pointed out.
Cerise gave him a look, taking another long drink out of the rum bottle. "I don't need to hear it out of his mouth." She replied.
"And what did you call him?" Jack asked, getting up from his spot.
"The usual." She replied as he came over to the bar.
"Ouch, Reese. You know that hurts our feelings." Jack replied with a slight grin, as she took another drink from the rum. He snatched the bottle and watched her pout a moment.
"Oh, so I take it Alex has called you that too?"
"Well," Jack said, pouring more rum in his glass. "We all know I'm a son of a bitch."
"True that." Cerise saluted him with her glass and Jack laughed softly, sitting the rum bottle on the counter. Cerise grabbed it, adding more rum to her own drink.
"But does Sands really deserve that title?" Jack asked her, leaning on the counter.
"Oh, according to him, yes he does. His mother was a bitch, but frankly, I can think of some worse names to call him right now." Cerise answered.
"Oh I don't doubt that." Jack replied, watching her. "But look, I hear he's still adjusting to his...new life style, so easy up a bit, sugar."
"Okay, you know what, that's the one thing right now that's bugging the shit out of me." Cerise said, lighting another cigarette.
"What?" Jack asked lighting his own.
"He likes to take it out on me, when he's pissed."
"I really DOUBT he likes to. I think it's more along the lines of he knows you wont take it so seriously, but obviously, you do, so here's what you do. You TELL him this."
Cerise rolled her eyes. "You should take some of your own advice Jack."
"Yeah, I'm working on that." Jack muttered, looking out the window.
"Besides, I don't know where he's at right now. Probably off getting drunk..." Cerise muttered into her glass before taking a large drink.
"Like you?"
"I'm not getting drunk." Cerise replied hotly in her defense.
"You will if you keep at that rum."
"And you're going to bitch, why?" Cerise asked him with a look.
"Remember Reese, I've seen you drunk, it's not a pretty sight." Jack replied.
"As if you NEVER get drunk." Cerise rolled her eyes again.
"Well I don't." Jack said with a cocky grin.
"Oh, I seem to remember an incident when Shane succeeded in getting you drunk...And we had to haul your ass out of the bar before you started shit."
"Are you sure you're not confusing me with Shane?" Jack asked coyly.
Cerise laughed, leaning on the counter. "Shane's had his moment's too, I'll admit it."
"Best time to beat the shit out of him. He wont remember once he gets over the hangover, who kicked his ass." Jack said, still grinning cocky.
Cerise sighed. "I miss those days..." She muttered. "They seem so long ago."
"We'll have to do it again, so time, for old time sake." Jack said.
"That's what we're doing now." Cerise replied. "I just need one more favor, before I go." She said.
Jack looked at her. "What's that." Cerise relit her cigarette slowly.
"Cerise, what is it?" Jack asked.
"Patients, Jack." Cerise said, not looking up. She flipped the lighter closed and took the cigarette from her lips, giving Jack a very devious grin, in Sands' style.
After half the bottle of vodka, Sands hardly noticed that it was cold outside. And this was late summer. He could hear thunder over head, but wasn't worried about it raining.
He walked along the sidewalk, holding the bottle with the hand that had the cigarette, his other hand thrust into his jean pocket.
He continued walking, taking a drag of the cigarette and a long swig out of the bottle as the heavens above broke out and a heavy cold rain began falling, soaking him down. But Sands kept walking, hardly noticing the rain. His mind jumping from thought to thought.
He finished off the bottle of vodka and tossed it in a trash can as he passed one, looking around the street. On the corner, across from him was a bar that was still open. Sands crossed the street and entered the bar.
The atmosphere was smoky and smelled heavily of liqueur. He paused a moment, casing the joint, before moving towards the bar. He slid on to a stool as the bar tender came over, asking in English, with a heavy Russian accent what he wanted.
"What ever you've got that's the strongest." Sands replied. The man looked at him for a long moment, then turned around and took a bottle off the shelf behind him.
Sands looked at it as the man put it down in front of him. A bottle of Absinthe. He looked from the bottle up to the man. "Tis the strongest." The man said with a shrug, putting a glass on the counter next to the bottle.
Sands watched the man pour half a glass. The bar tender looked up at him. "How do you want to do this?"
Sands scratched his eyebrow. "How's the best way to do it?" The bar tender took a silver spoon with a few holes in it, from under the counter and sat it on the glass, before placing a sugar cube on top of the spoon.
He grabbed a pitcher of ice water. "After I put the water in, I'll light it on fire. You've got to slap the fire off.." The man showed Sands with a motion on the counter. "Then down it in one take. The name's Ivan, by the way, best to tell you now, cause after a few of these, you're not going to remember."
Sands laughed. "Well, there's a first time for everything isn't there?" He asked Ivan.
"Have you ever had Absinthe, before?" Ivan asked him as he poured an amount of water into the absinthe over the sugar.
"Uh...once, in London." Sands replied. Ivan looked at him as he put the pitcher down.
"It's very strong my friend."
"So's bottle of 112 year old tequila, and that sure as hell didn't kill me." Sands replied.
Ivan laughed, taking a lighter from his pocket. "Are you ready for this, my friend?" Ivan asked.
Sands gave him a devious grin. "Light my fire."
Ivan grinned and flicked the lighter, lighting the absinthe on fire. Sands watched the fire for a moment, before bringing his hand down on top of it in a lightening quick motion, extinguishing the flame.
Then he grabbed the shot glass and threw his head back, downing the contents in one quick, fluid motion.
"Whoa!" He slammed the glass back down on the counter and grinned at Ivan.
"Well, you're not smoking at the ears." Ivan said, with a grin.
"Like I said, not as bad as the tequila." Sands said with a grin of his own.
"For someone who's never had Absinthe before, that was expertly done."
"I strive for the best." Sands replied.
"Another?" Ivan asked. Sands was thoughtful for a moment, then gestured. He was already on his way towards drunk, thanks to the vodka.
Ivan began setting up another shot. "So what's your story? We usually don't get foreigners this late."
Sands sighed, watching Ivan prepare the shot. "I had an argument..."
"With your wife." Ivan finished for him. Sands nodded. "Ah, we get guys like you in here all the time. They don't want to buy their wives this or that. Is that what it was about?"
Sands shook his head. "Hardly."
Ivan backed off some, he was a smart man, he knew when to pry and when not to. "So tell me about your wife."
"What can I say? She's everything to me." Sands said nonchalantly, "The woman I love more then anything. She and my daughter...they're my only reasons for living." Sands slapped the fire off the glass and downed it.
Ivan smiled slightly, he knew how this man felt. "Yes...they usually are."
"You married?" Sands asked.
"For 23 years. I have four children." Ivan said with a broad smile.
But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the drunk locals moving towards the bar, eyeing Sands. Ivan knew this local was one who enjoyed starting shit and frankly, Ivan liked this foreigner, he didn't want to see something happen.
Sands sat the glass down, watching the man's shadow, through the mirror behind the bar, as he moved towards him. Sands took out a cigarette and lit it, as he waited. Ivan eased up off the bar as the man stopped next to the stranger.
"Who are you?" The man demanded.
"Now, come on Pieter, there's no need to start anything.' Ivan warned the local. But Pieter ignored Ivan.
Sands took a drag of his cigarette and didn't look at the man. "Just a stranger, passing through." He answered.
The man named Pieter reeked of vodka. "We don't like strangers around here. Stranger's don't last long."
"Is that so?" Sands asked, flicking the ashes off his cigarette.
Pieter was a very large man, with board shoulders. He glared at Sands, before grabbing Sands by the collar of his shirt and jerking him off the stool.
Pieter leaned in close, holding Sands a few inches off the floor, his face close to Sands, their noses almost touching. "I don't like the way you talk. In fact, I don't like the way you look."
Sands regarded the man in a board look. "You get paid for this?" He asked calmly.
Pieter sat him on the floor and back handed Sands. Sands stumbled back into stool, grabbing the counter of the bar to support himself. His hand flew to his sunglasses, righting them, but it was to late for Ivan.
There was a look of horror on Ivan's face, he'd seen what lay behind the sunglasses. Now Sands was pissed. That was the third time he'd been hit in the face.
Still facing the bar, holding on with both hands, his fingernails digging into the wood, his knuckles white from anger, he spoke in that soft dangerous voice, to Pieter. "Ya hit me again, and I'm gonna throw ya a beatin'."
Pieter rolled with laughter, then reached out to grab Sands by the collar again.
Sands came away from the counter in a lighting quick movement and grabbed one of Pieter's arm with one hand, ramming the palm of his hand onto the outside of the elbow, snapping it in half.
Pieter howled in pain, stumbling back and holding his arm. He looked up at Sands, glaring. Then yelled a command at his two friends.
The two men rushed Sands together. Sands struck out at the first one, with a roundhouse kick, knocking the man across the room. As he came back around, he grabbed a bottle of vodka on the counter and brought it down on the head of the second man, shattering it.
Now Pieter was very angry and with a bellow of rage, he lunged at Sands, tackling him into the bar. The back of Sands' head struck edge of the bar and white hot pain flashed through his head. He barely managed to deflect the bottle that Pieter was bringing down on his face.
Taking most of the shards of the bottle in his right arm, slicing numerous places on his arm, he drove his left fist into the man's face, before kneeing him in the groin.
Shoving the man off him, Sands grabbed the back of Pieter's shirt and rammed him head first into the wall beside the bar. Pieter fell over lifeless.
Sands staggered back, breathing hard, and clutching his arm. Ivan looked over the bar at Pieter's still form, then at Sands with awe. "You're the first to beat him..." Ivan muttered.
Sands looked at him. "Yeah? Imagine that." He breathed, with a slight air of sarcasm.
Ivan looked at him. "You're bleeding." He nodded to Sands' arm.
"So I am." Sands muttered. Letting go of his arm, he reached into his jean pocket with his left hand and tossed a few dollars on the bar.
"The absinthe and that little work out, was just what I needed to cool off. If ya don't mind, I'm going to go...home and bandage up this arm and go to bed!" Sands told Ivan, heading for the door.
"Good luck with your wife. I truely hope she wont be upset about this." Sands grinned wryly heading out the door.
The fight had sobered him mostly and he was much calmer after it. But being calm, just made him worry about Cerise. He had no idea where she was.
Word Use and Meaning-
COs- Clandistene Operations.
Field Agent- Agents or Officers of the CIA or other intelliegence agencies who work COs and Field Assignments