Disclaimer: El does not belong to me, and neither does Carolina. I don't own Sands (who isn't even in this fic) and I certainly do not own Mexico. I don't own a car, I don't own Carolina's car (although she doesn't really own it either), and I don't own El's guitar. I do not own an inch of Robert Rodriguez's wonderful world, but I do own this fic.
When it comes to El fics, this site is…lacking. I'm not saying I don't love all those Sands fics, but there's just so much of that and not enough of anyone else. So I decided to write this fic, takes place right after Desperado. I'm trying to be accurate, but if I'm not, just let me know about my mistakes and I'll do my best to fix them.
This is done without a beta, so if anyone wants to volunteer I'll gladly accept.
Before I begin the fic, I would like to take this time to let Miss Becky know that this is still not a Jack/Elizabeth POTC fic, heehee.
The Songbird and the Swan
Endless miles of highway stretched out before Carolina and her truck, the setting sun's rays bouncing off the cement to create those imaginary puddles that disappear just before she would drive through them. Tricks played by the sun, trying to trick the eyes into seeing things that aren't really there.
Her fingers held the wheel in a loose, relaxed grip as she drove far away from where she had come from. Quiet, so as not to wake the man beside her, she placed her mis-matching shoes in the back when her feet started to blister. The truck's gas was good, but there was another tank in the back for when they ran out.
Carolina knew that in going where she was going, she was going to run out.
The man in the passenger seat slept soundly for the first few hours they spent driving, the hum of the engine concealing his light snores. He lay back in the seat with his head tipped back and his hands resting on the guitar case in his lap. The legendary and ironic El Mariachi who carried a guitar case but not a guitar.
The road was wide and empty, so Carolina would sneak a glance at the sleeping mariachi every now and then, just to look at his features as they bathed in the moonlight shining down from above. The change in lighting gave him an entirely different demeanor then how he looked underneath the hot sun. He seemed relaxed, no traces of discomfort left in the wake of a bad dream upon his face. Carolina wanted to reach out and touch him, for her fingers to ghost across his brow, his cheeks, his lips, with hopes that he would feel it and see her in his dreams.
For the sole purpose of letting El sleep, she kept both hands on the wheel and didn't take them off until she stopped for gas. It was three in the morning and the station was abandoned, so Carolina had to get out and pump the gas herself. As comfortable as her car was, she couldn't deny free gas, seeing that she had no money anyways.
Before starting the engine again, she turned to look at El, who was slumped against the door, still asleep. Once they were back on the road, and the car was eerily silent; to solve this problem, Carolina switched on the radio and found a station that didn't pick up static. What first became tuneless humming soon grew into singing in that beautiful voice that she had serenaded El with that morning. Of course she didn't know he had heard her, assuming he was still sleeping.
So she assumed El's words were directed to someone in his dreams when he muttered, "Gracias, senorita, muchos, muchos gracias…"
Carolina wondered what this mariachi was dreaming of; smiling, she turned her head expecting to watch him in slumber, but instead she found him sitting up, pushing his hair back and stretching his arms.
"Your welcome." She responded, glancing back at the road every now and then. "You slept like a dead man."
"I…did not know I was so tired." He admitted, just before the 'Aaaaaaawwwww…' of a wide-mouthed yawn stopped him from saying anything more until he had finished. When he spoke again, Carolina spoke at the same time.
"Where are we?"
"You hungry?"
The road signs answered El's question while a shake of his head answered Carolina's. El silently turned to watch the landscape fly by, but Carolina, always one to speak her mind, did just that. "You look very pretty when you sleep," a pause, "Like you have no worries or cares."
El wanted to tell her how wrong she was, how he seemed to worry even more once he closed his eyes then when he was awake. He wanted to explain that each time he killed a man he would dream about that man's family, the mother having to tell her child that daddy wasn't coming home again, the grief of losing a loved one.
He had lost two, Domino and his guitar. He would never see her again, and he would never play like he used to.
But what worried him the most was the night he had made love to Carolina. El had stayed up late, asking over and over again if he had done the right thing. You're a killer. Since when have you cared about doing the right thing? He had asking himself. He came up with a rebuttal, stating that he wasn't aiming to kill Carolina, so it was different. But it still didn't feel right.
Once he had fallen asleep that night, had had a dream that he was still inside Carolina, but it was now Domino. El's hand left a trail of blood on Domino's back wherever it met skin. Every other time with her had been wonderful, but this time it hurt, and she seemed pleased with El's pain, and when it was over she took a gun and aimed it at El's head.
She had shot him, and he had died.
El had once heard somewhere that no one was ever supposed to die in their dreams; that they would always wake up just before it happened. If one died in their dreams, they would die in real life. El took it in as bullshit, but later began seeing the life he lived a dream, dodging death at the last minute, while in his dreams he truly came alive.
He wondered what Domino would say to him in his dreams if he dared to leave her memory for Carolina. After his night with this new woman, he never dreamed of his old love in the nights that followed. Was she letting go, El wondered, or did she see her time had passed?
As much as he wished it, as much as he wanted Domino back, he knew that no matter how many stars there were in the sky, this wish would never come true.
But could he just move on? You've already moved on, you've already fucked someone else. He would have had some nerve to say having sex with Carolina was meaningless. She saved his ass when no one else would back him up. Yes, he was a lonely mariachi and he didn't have anyone to help him, but as much as it hurt like all hell, it felt nice to have someone taking a bullet out of your arm, stitching you up and then offering a place to rest. Hardly anyone was that kind anymore; Carolina was a god-sent.
El looked up to see that Carolina had directed her dark eyes back to the road again. Her lips curved upwards in a small grin as the wind blew back her hair. She assumed El had gone back to sleep, so she remained silent.
But she had said something kind to El that he hadn't responded to. He was a quiet man, but ignoring a harmless statement was not polite. He was a killer, but he did have manners, as any man would had he grown up with El's family. So he decided to speak again. "Not careless, I still dream."
Carolina nodded. "I had a book that told what different dreams mean. But…" Her smile faded for a brief moment. "But you know what happened with that."
"Yes, yes I do." El didn't want to think about the fire, for he knew it made Carolina uneasy. But who would be content with talking about your entire family history burning down? "If I had money I would buy you another bookstore, with even more books. But right now all I can give you is my word."
He wanted her to know she would have whatever she wanted with El, he would never say no to her.
"You don't need to get me anything," She assured, looking away from the road to the mariachi in the front seat. "But I got something for you, while you slept. It's in the back."
"Carolina-"
"Don't tell me I shouldn't have because I know that. I already took out that hunk of silver. You've already paid for boarding." She laughed, a different kind of music to El's ears, more beautiful then any music a guitar could make. "I felt like getting you something."
With a low chuckle, El turned around to look in the back. His breath caught in the back of his throat. Instead of one guitar case, there were two, his weapons case and then one that held what he could only guess to be an actual guitar. "You bought me a guitar?"
"Open it." She urged, so El did just that, flipping open the hinges to reveal a beautiful guitar made of dark wood with a red undertone. While he slept, he had dreamt of the guitar that he left at Carolina's. He saw it now as a pile of ashes, and he had asked his subconscious how he would be able to make music with ashes.
Now he had a guitar again, he could still play more then jut ashes. "Now you can teach me how to play." Carolina chirped. The slight edge of mystery in her voice made El vow not to ask where she got the instrument, for he already knew the answer. He just ran his hands over the smooth wood, taking in the feel of it, touching the strings, testing their tension.
"Play something for me?" Carolina turned again to see El with his new guitar, but before she could say anything more, El's lips touched hers gently, pulling her in for more. She managed to pull away to slam on the brakes before taking off her seatbelt and sliding closer to El. They kissed like lovers who had just found each other after being apart, kisses so full of passion that the contact would have been painful if other circumstances were present.
Her hands wrapped around his neck, her fingers dancing across his neck. Her lips were smooth, like the guitar surface, a foil to his chapped ones. At first El was afraid to touch her, fearing his rough hands would somehow damage Carolina, but he got over that fear quickly.
She was calling to him without saying a word, her breath warming him like an inferno, her kisses giving him the greatest pleasure he could ever imagine. It was over far too soon. They both wanted it to go on forever, but they also couldn't wait much longer before they got to a hotel room where they would have privacy.
El thanked Carolina, spent a few moments adjusting the guitar and then began to play on it. The song was slow but joyous, a song of life, a song of love.
***