Chapter 10

Talking

Disclaimer: El and Sands belong to Robert Rodriguez, who would probably have a heart attack if he knew what I had done to his beloved characters.

Rating: R for language, mature themes, and sexual situations

Summary: El forces things out into the open.

Author's Note: This one got dark again. I really didn't mean to! I was in mortal fear for both their lives while writing the start of this chapter. But about halfway through things get better. I swear. And after this I can promise things are lighter. I even laughed while writing chapter 11.

Also, readers who don't like slash would do well to avoid the very end of this chapter.

Kudos again go to Melody. I'm running out of ways to thank you, girl.

****

That night, after Chiclet had gone home, El went into Sands' room and shut the door.

Sands was lying right where El had left him. He did not look like he had moved. But El knew he must have gotten up at some point because now Sands was fully dressed, and the quilt was shoved to one side, rumpled and half hanging off the bed.

"Do you want anything to eat?" he asked.

Sands said nothing.

El frowned. He hated this. He could deal with almost any of Sands' moods except this, this depression. "The boy has gone home," he said. Taking a chance, he sat on the bed. Sands stiffened, but did not draw away.

El clasped his hands in his lap. "You said you almost killed me, after Fideo's betrayal. Why?"

Sands said nothing.

"We have to talk," he said. "You know this."

Yes, and about many things. Last night being one. He had never imagined he might one day spend the night with another man in his bed, that he might feel the things he had felt. He was a little scared by his own reactions, and concerned, what they meant about him. He wanted to talk about what had happened, and see if maybe, just maybe, Sands was feeling the same way.

All day long these thoughts had plagued him, making his fingers stumble on the guitar strings, and keeping him cold and distant with Chiclet. He had recognized what he was doing, but he had not been able to stop, even when he tried reminding himself that the boy too had been traumatized two days ago. Yet even Chiclet's pain had not been able to penetrate the daze that had encircled his brain since last night. Nothing had.

Until now. The sight of Sands lying so small and still on the bed enabled him to put those traitorous thoughts aside. They would talk about things later, yes -- he would insist on that -- but for now he had to think of his friend.

"Fuck you," Sands said hoarsely. "Go away. Leave me alone."

"No," El said, knowing that with just that single word, the battle lines had been drawn. "I thought maybe you needed time, but I think now that it was a mistake to leave you alone all day. You need to escape your thoughts, my friend, not wallow in them."

Sands said nothing, but El could tell he was pissed by the set of his jaw.

And he watched carefully, making sure Sands' hand had not crept any closer to the pillow, and the gun beneath it.

"This is not how I want to do this," he said. "It is a nice night out. Come sit outside with me."

"Leave me alone," Sands repeated, in a very cold voice.

El took note of the warning, but he still did not move. "Please," he said.

Sands moved. His hand dove under the pillow and came out with the gun. He fired, and El rolled off the bed to land on the floor.

He looked up and saw Sands leaning over the edge of the bed, leading with the gun, intent on gunning him down. He scrabbled at the floor and shoved himself into the narrow space under the bed. A bullet splintered the floor where his head had been only moments before. He pushed harder with his feet, sliding further under the bed. A second bullet clipped the heel of his boot, digging a groove through the sole but not harming him.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Sands said. He sounded very matter-of-fact. The lack of emotion in his voice frightened El. He had wanted to provoke the agent into some kind of reaction, but this was more than he had bargained for.

The moment the mattress lifted, as Sands got off the bed, El pushed himself out the other side. He got quickly to his feet. "Don't," he said, holding up a hand.

Sands turned around and fired, his aim as good as it had always been. Knowing this, El had ducked the instant the words had left his mouth, and so the bullet meant for his skull instead shattered the window behind him.

"Don't!" El shouted. "Just listen to me!" He drew his own gun, the one he had very deliberately worn when he had walked in here, and cocked it.

Sands went still at the sound. He bared his teeth. "Going to shoot me, El?"

"Only if I have to," El said.

"Oh, I think you'll have to," Sands said. "In fact, why don't I just save you the bullet? Remember that?" he said snidely, referring to the night they had sat in El's house in Villa de Cos, getting drunk and maudlin. "We don't want you wasting any of your precious bullets on me." He pressed the muzzle of the gun to his temple.

"No," El said in a strengthless voice.

"No? Why not? Give me one good reason why not," Sands snapped.

He floundered for something to say. He could think of nothing that Sands would believe.

"Come on, El!" Sands shouted.

He genuinely meant it, El realized with horror. He was asking El to give him a reason to stay alive, and if El could not provide one, he was going to pull the trigger.

Santo Dios, what do I say?

All right. Start with the obvious. "Think how Chiclet will feel."

Sands shook his head. The muzzle of the gun made a deep indentation in the black silk where it crossed his temple. "Try harder."

"Then think how I would feel," El said.

"Oh please," Sands scoffed. "You'll probably do a dance of joy and spit on my grave. Try again."

"I would not," El said.

"I said, try again." There was no mistaking the tremor in Sands' voice this time.

What could he say? Dear God, what could he say that this broken man in front of him would believe?

"Because I want you," he managed.

"What?" Sands demanded.

"I did before," El stammered, feeling heat creep up his cheeks. He felt almost ashamed of himself, remembering how he had begged last night, how he had given himself up to pure sensation. He had let Sands do things to him last night that he had never dreamed of. "And then…last night…" He swallowed hard. "I want you."

"No good, El," Sands said with false cheer. "I'm damaged goods, remember? Try again." He pressed the gun so hard against his temple that his head cocked to one side. "This is your last chance."

He's really going to do it, El thought. There is nothing I can say that will make him change his mind. My silence is only his excuse for doing it. He can blame it on me.

And suddenly he knew. Thoughts of blame had led him to the right answer.

He lifted his chin. "If you do this now, they will win. Your uncle, Barillo, Ajedrez, Belinda Harrison. All of them. They win. Is that what you want?"

Sands went very still. For perhaps the billionth time since meeting him, El wished desperately that he could look into the man's eyes and see what he was feeling. He had often wondered just how much of their past would have happened differently, if Sands had not lost his eyes. How much sooner might they have been able to become friends, if there had been the ability to exchange sincere looks, to judge the truth with just a glance, to see deep into one another's eyes?

"Think," El said, keeping his voice firm, pleased that it did not shake. "This is what they wanted. Each of them, in their own way, tried to make you believe you were nothing. But that is a lie. If it were true, you would not be here today."

Something of what he was saying had to be getting through, because Sands' breathing changed. He became more agitated. The gun at his temple did not lower, however, and that was not good.

"There is a little boy down in that village who loves you," El said.

Sands winced.

"A filthy drug cartel is in ruins because of you.

"Jorge Ramirez was able to find peace during his last few months of life because of you."

El put his gun away. He took a tentative step forward, although the bed still separated them. "And I have found someone for my heart again."

Sands laughed. It was a harsh, ugly sound.

El began to ease his way around the bed. He made no particular effort to silence his footsteps, but he still moved quietly – that was just his way. "We'll leave here," he said. "Together. We'll go somewhere, where nobody knows us. We can start over."

"It's too late," Sands whispered. He was trembling. The gun had begun to sag slightly, but it was still aimed at his head.

"No," El said. "It's never too late. You taught me that."

Sands' face twisted in anguish. "Don't! Don't fucking do this to me!" He took a shambling step backward. Now the gun pointed at El.

El slowed his step, but he kept coming. He felt fairly certain Sands would not shoot him, but he still had to be careful.

"I never," Sands whispered miserably. He shook his head back and forth. "I never."

"I know," El said. He was close enough now that he could have reached out and taken the gun from Sands' grip.

"I never wanted it!" Sands cried. "Oh god, I was just a kid! Oh god…" His knees buckled.

El caught him. The gun clattered to the floor.

****

Later, when the worst of Sands' sobs had subsided, he pushed weakly at El's chest. "Let go of me."

They were sitting on the floor, El leaning against the bed, Sands in his arms. It was just like this morning – God, had it really only been twelve hours since that had happened? -- but with one subtle difference. Now he felt like he was holding a flesh-and-blood man. This morning it had been like holding a doll.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. "Or what you think you should want?"

Sands tensed, then slumped. "Fuck," he muttered. He let his head rest on El's shoulder once more.

He wondered what he should say now. This was new to him, too. "Do you--"

Sands stirred. "Would you just…not say anything? All right?"

El nodded. He closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he had held someone in his arms, but he supposed it had been even longer since Sands had been held. Setting this morning aside, it was entirely possible that this was the first time it had ever happened.

The thought made him want to weep.

So they just sat there.

****

Later, Sands said, "I meant what I said yesterday. I'm not going to tell you about it. You don't get to hear the gory details."

"I don't want to hear them," El said, with complete truthfulness.

"Then that works out well," Sands said.

It was not much, but it was more spirit than he had shown all day. El smiled.

****

He said, "And I meant what I said. I still want you."

"You shouldn't."

He frowned. "I do not think of you that way, what you said."

"Damaged goods? It's all right to say it, El. I know what I am."

"No." He tightened his embrace. "You are not."

Sands sighed. "You can't make me sane again just by wishing for it hard enough, El. Trust me on that one. And you can't make me normal."

El smiled. "I would not want to."

Sands heard that smile in his voice, and stiffened. "Don't fucking mock me."

"I am not," El returned. "I am merely thinking that if you were normal, life would be very boring around here."

Sands was silent for a bit, then he chuckled. The laugh was unwilling, El could hear that much, but it was still a laugh.

It's over, he thought. Oh, there would be more storms in the future, most certainly, but for now, they had survived. The worst was over.

****

Some time later, he gathered his courage and said, "Last night was nice."

Sands was surprised; he could tell by the way the man's body twitched. "Hmm."

He thought about the pleasures he had known with Carolina. What he had felt last night had been completely different, and so very unexpected. He had never imagined he would be in such a position. It was a little frightening, a little embarrassing, and a lot intriguing. "I did not know I could feel that way. Next time--"

"Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" Sands smirked. "Who says there's going to be a next time?"

"Don't you want there to be?" he asked carefully, holding his breath. It might be too soon yet to ask such a thing. There was a good chance he had just ruined everything.

But he hoped Sands would say yes. His friend needed to have something good to hold onto, something instead of the painful memories of his past.

To his immense relief, Sands did not explode. He just sighed. "Christ, El, I'm just trying to get through today, all right?"

"All right."

Silence fell. Sands shifted position slightly, but not enough to make El think he wanted out. "Okay, so next time what?"

El cleared his throat. He felt surprisingly shy, like a kid who had just experienced sex for the first time. Prickly heat suffused his face and neck. "I thought...next time, I want to make you feel that way."

Sands sat bolt upright, all contentment vanished. "No! No way." He pushed at El's arms. "Let go of me."

Immediately El dropped his arms. His heart sank. "What?"

Sands scrambled away. He remained on the floor, but he gave every impression of being ready to run at a moment's notice. He shook his head. "No. If you want me to fuck you again, that's fine with me. But that's it. That's all. You do not get to return the favor."

El was silent for a very long moment, thinking about what had just been said. He felt incredibly stupid for not having thought of this earlier. He sighed. "All right. I can understand that. I had not thought...that is, I didn't realize..."

"Forget it," Sands said tersely. "You've got lots of problems, El, but no one can call you a rapist."

El scowled. "Thanks a lot."

"Oh my Christ," Sands sighed. "You know what I mean."

He was offended, but he told himself sternly that he had no right to be hurt right now. Right now he had to forget everything he was feeling, his own confusion, his worry for Chiclet, his guilt and grief over killing Fideo -- all of it.

Right now he had to be there for Sands.

"All right," he said. He felt absurdly lonely again, now that his arms were empty. "Are you coming back?"

Sands shook his head. "Oh, I don't think that would be a very good idea," he drawled. "If I did that, I'd just be trading one mythic protector for another. Then I would have two sets of voices in my head, one with an accent. So no, I think I'll be staying right where I am, thanks."

El winced. It amazed him, to hear how casually Sands spoke of his madness.

And he remembered, the night before Belinda Harrison had showed up here, Sands shouting at him in the kitchen. Wrong again, fuckmook. I embrace my insanity.

There were too many memories in this house. Starting with the evening he had first arrived here and Sands had tried to kill him; ending with today. Too many nightmares.

"I think we should leave here," he said.

"Oh yes. The big 'fresh start' plan." Sands shook his head. "Grow up, El. Life is not a do over. Do they say that down here in Mexico? Kids are playing and one of them fucks up and cries out, 'Do over!' so he gets another chance. It doesn't work that way in real life, and you are old enough to know it."

"I can't stay here," El said. "I killed my friend in the living room."

Sands' expression turned cold. "Then leave," he said. "No one is stopping you."

You could, El thought. If you asked me to stay.

To his surprise, Sands held up a hand, as if to forestall any protest. "Look, let's not argue, all right? I don't have the energy for it. Not tonight." He gave El a thin smile. "We can schedule a fight for tomorrow though, if you want."

"No," El said softly.

"Good. Then let's just kiss and make up." Sands scooted toward El. "I need to thank you, after all."

"Thank me for what?" El asked. He shrank back against the side of the bed as Sands moved into his personal space.

"I don't know," Sands said. "Saving my life? Saving yours? Does it matter?" He kissed El.

El groaned as he returned the kiss, but he was struck again by a sense of wrongness, even more than he had last night. This was not right.

He tore his lips free. "I don't want your gratitude," he said. "Not like this." He groaned again as Sands' hand reached between his legs.

"It's not gratitude," Sands said. He kissed El again.

With an effort, he stood up, leaving Sands kneeling on the floor at his feet. "No," he said. "Not like this."

Sands' mouth tightened into a thin line. "I see," he said bitterly.

Baffled, El shook his head. "I said I want you and I meant it. But I don't want it to happen again like this."

"Like what?" Sands snapped. He rose to his feet. "You think I'm paying you back for being kind to me?"

"Aren't you?" El retorted.

Sands punched him. El's head whipped to the side. He staggered, but did not fall.

"Fuck you," Sands snarled.

El stared at him, caught between warring instincts. He wanted to stalk out of the room, his head held high. But at the same time he wanted to seize Sands and kiss him until the agent was panting for breath, his body shuddering with desire, the way he had last night.

In the end the choice was easy. He had denied himself for too long. He would not be denied tonight. He stalked forward, grabbed Sands by the upper arms and kissed him.

There was no gentleness in that kiss. It was full of helpless frustration, and violent longing. He took what he wanted from Sands' mouth, and it was not enough, still he needed more. It would have gone on until he collapsed for lack of air, but then the tang of blood filled his mouth, salt and copper, and he jerked his head back, startled.

Sands' lip was bleeding.

Horrorstruck, El reeled backward. "My God."

Sands laughed. He licked the blood off his lip. "Don't worry, El. There's nothing you can do to hurt me."

He spoke lightly enough, but El knew it for a lie. Sands was trembling.

He felt sick inside. Had he not vowed that he would never hurt this man?

"I'm so sorry," he breathed. He stepped forward and took Sands into his arms. He kissed the hurt he made on Sands' lip. "I'm sorry." He pressed light kisses over Sands' face, his cheek, the thin scar there from the day of the drug house, and up higher. Gently, he kissed the black silk where it lay over the hollow where Sands' right eye had been.

Sands flinched back, and immediately El tensed. "Did that hurt?"

"N-no," Sands said faintly. "You just surprised me."

"Good," El said. "I want there to be no more hurts between us."

"You better mean that," Sands said, and his voice shook a little.

"I do," El said.

Sands kissed him. There was passion in that kiss, but no violence. He took charge in that kiss, and El was happy to let him.

He allowed Sands to turn him, and push him toward the bed. The backs of his legs hit the mattress, and he lay down. His heart was pounding. He wanted this. Oh God, how he wanted this.

Questions of right and wrong suddenly ceased to matter.

******