Asphodel | Chapter 1
A Once Upon A Time In Mexico Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko
Pairing: El/Sands, Sands/OC
Rating: R
Warning: Slash [In later chapters]
Timeline: A few hours after the movie
This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of the movie producers and their associates.
A/N: Am I the only one who thinks Sands wears cute T-shirts? By the way, this is written in response to Kate's response. Take it as a meeting gift, my first post on this community.
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His cell phone rang. The Mariachi had forgotten it was even there until he heard the all too familiar ringing and vibration in his pockets. There was only one man who knew the number to that cell phone, and how ironic, that man was not he himself.
He took out the phone and stared at it in his palm, wondering what he should do about it. He did his job, took his money, and he had his freedom. He had done about what he had promised to do. What else did Sands want from him?
He answered the phone.
"Hey."
"What do you want, Sands?"
"Chill it, buddy. Just wondering if I could ask a favor from you. Where are you now?"
"I've done my job. I'm not killing for you anymore, agent."
There was a brief silence on the other side of the line, until it was broken by a sigh.
"I'm not asking you to kill for me, El. Just need you to read a letter to me. I'm all alone, holed up in my hotel room now with a Chicle kid who can't read to save his life."
"What? CIA doesn't teach their agents how to read?"
"No, they just don't get their letters embossed. Look, just meet me over at Caltza Hotel, room four-one-six in two hours' time and you'll see, savvy?"
Sands slammed the phone down onto the handset and buried his face into his palms, careful not to press down on his empty eye sockets.
"You'll see," he repeated bitterly to himself. "But I won't."
***
Exactly two hours later, there was a knock on the door. The two occupants of the room tensed. Sands reached straight for the gun he had placed earlier and aim it accurately at where he heard the knock.
"Go on, boy. Look through the keyhole and tell me how the chap looks like."
The boy nodded and walked towards the door, peering through the small piece of clear plastic on the door.
"A man, sir. Tall and dark, around five feet nine with long black hair."
A brilliant smile broke across Sands' face as he loosened his grip on the gun.
"Goddamn bloody handsome too," Sands exclaimed. "Let him in." His hand reached up to make sure his sunglasses were still in place; no use scaring the guy off until he read him his letter.
El entered the room, silent as always, but stopped at the door. The boy quickly closed and locked it again. El cleared his throat.
"Damn glad you came, El. Come, take a seat," Sands waved vaguely in the direction where he knew the bed must be.
"What sort of games are you playing, Sands? There's no sun in here for you to keep those glasses on."
Sands only gave a crooked grin and removed the shades. The boy turned away with a painful gasp.
"Take all the money you want from the drawer, kid. And run along home."
Silence. Strange, awkward silence, followed by a series of clicking noises; the boy left the room, closing the door behind him. El locked it.
"He didn't take the money."
"I know,' Sands smiled and held out a folded piece of paper to the Mexican. "Bloody good lad, so unlike me when I was younger."
For some reason, El could not imagine how Sands was like when he was a boy. He could not imagine what sort of child would grow up to become the manipulative bastard the CIA agent was. No, Agent Sands was born the way he was: sunglasses, weird T-shirts and all.
He took the piece of paper and read it.
"Ya? What is it?" Sands asked impatiently.
"It's a letter of dismissal."
"Figures. Read it aloud for me."
El nodded and looked down on the letter again.
"Dear Agent Sands [Code: 4584266],
We regret to hear about your accident in line of job and sincerely think it will be beneficial to you that you retire from the force. However, a pension will be provided for you if you present this letter to the American Embassy of Mexico.
Yours truly,
James Conner."
El never thought Sands could cry but it was exactly what he was seeing now. The agent's head was bowed; tears tinged with blood from his fresh wounds rolling down his cheeks. The eyes might be gone, but the tear glands were still working.
The salt from the tears hurt as they attacked his wounds. But somewhere deep inside his chest, that dull ache hurt more than any physical wound he could have.
"Conner, you bastard…"
***
Eight years ago.
"Sheldon, you have a visitor."
The American looked up at the nurse at the door and smirked.
"Hey, Lila, miss me?"
The nurse blushed at the patient before scurrying off. The man behind her raised an eye in puzzlement and entered the cell.
"Hi, Mister Sands, my name is James Conner, from the CIA."
The patient tucked his knees closer to his chest and grinned at his visitor. He did not know this man. But the fact that he was from the CIA and looking pretty good himself got his interest.
James Conner was a tall, well built man with neatly cropped blond hair. At that moment, he was dressed in an off white suit with a gun holstered to his belt. Judging from the size of the bulge on the coat, it could only be an 8 mm. Smith and Wesson revolver.
Interesting…very interesting…
"Sit down," Sheldon offered politely, although there were no chairs in the cell where he was in. "And then tell me what does the CIA want from me?"
"Well," Conner plopped himself onto the floor facing Sheldon and shrugged himself out of his jacket. "For reasons unknown to me, the CIA request for your addition into its ranks."
Sheldon cocked his head to one side, leaning against the padded wall of his cell. "Pray tell, why would they want a madman under their roof?"
Conner shrugged, took out two cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket and offered one to his companion. Sheldon took it.
"I have no idea. What have you done, anyway? You don't seem too insane to me."
Sheldon shrugged, closing his eyes. "No idea. I was simply skullfucking some dozy chick into the mattress when my dad called the police on me."
"That didn't sound too bad."
"That's what I thought so too, but they told me necrophilia, incest and murder were illegal."
Conner widened his eyes at the nonchalant confession. Sheldon Sands was insane, he realized. What was the CIA thinking anyway…?
"Why weren't you hung?" He questioned. Sheldon took a long drag of his cigarette, smiling slightly to himself.
"Will you hang a fourteen year old kid?"
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End of Chapter 1