Asphodel | Chapter 2
A Once Upon A Time In Mexico Fanfiction by Majokai Yukiko
Pairing: El/Sands, Sands/OC
Rating: R
Warning: Slash
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: I thought about Sands choosing suicide as a way to rid himself of his handicap. But then I thought again. Nay, he was too much of a survivor to do that. You notice when he first staggered into the streets without his eyes, what he was thinking was not how painful he was, why he had deserved that and generally absorb himself into self-pity? All he had in mind was, somebody was watching him and he needed to survive. Someone like Sands would not commit suicide. He would fight and not give up until he got himself the last laugh.
"See anything you like?"
"No."
---
El was sitting on the only couch in the hotel room, reading the news report about the attempted coup that happened the day before. Nothing about the legendary El Mariachi was reported. Good. He should remain dead to the world. El Mariachi would never return from the grave again.
He cast a worried look at the American sleeping on the bed. Sands had cried himself to sleep earlier, obviously distraught by the letter CIA had sent to him. Surely he would not expect anything less from the agency. After all, CIA had no need for a blind agent in their ranks.
El never thought the day would come where he would feel sorry, or even worry, for the agent. But now, he found it hard not to, not when said agent was behaving like a lost helpless child.
The mariachi put down the papers on the coffee table, made himself comfortable on the couch, and went to sleep.
***
Sands was dreaming. Correction, he was having a goddamn fucking nightmare. Moving pictures of electronic tweezers, bright lights and mocking smiles, all better left abandoned but had instead clung on to him like an irritating parasite.
Sands wanted to open his eyes and wake up from that horrible phantom. Then he realized. He had no eyes to open or close them in the first place.
He woke up screaming.
Sands clawed at his empty eye sockets in panic. Why was it so bright? How could it be that, even though he could not see a thing, the light in the room could still burn into his vision and slowly gnaw on his damaged nerve ends?
He was oblivious to the pain, to the wounds he had reopened and the blood tears flowing down his jaw lines.
"My name is Sheldon Jeffrey Sands. I've worked for the CIA for the past eight years. I'm born in San Jose, California…" He repeated his mantra over and over again; small useless facts were all he had to ascertain who he was. Who he still is.
He felt a shadow of a man move before his eyes. Desperate, he clung onto the man's arms with all the strength of a drowning man, digging his fingers into the soft leather coat.
"James?"
"No, it's me."
Sands stiffened, and then slowly willed his fingers to loosen their grip, albeit reluctantly, afraid that if he let go totally, it would only be up to him to ensure if he sink or swim. He could either swim till he drown, or he could simply let himself drown in the bottomless abyss of pain, nightmares and despair.
"Why are you still here?"
***
Eight years ago.
"Now I know why the CIA wants you."
Sheldon turned around and gave his trainer a smirk, tucking his gun back into its holster before removing his earplugs.
"What, you mean, reasons other than for my dashing good looks and charming personality?"
James Conner rolled his eyes, taking another look at the results of that day's firearms training. 14 targets, all dead. No regrets, no hesitation, kill the hostages if they get in the way. That was the perfect embodiment of a CIA field agent, one who had no qualms about getting rid of those who interfered with the plans, the one quality no other agents were ruthless or inhuman enough to carry through with.
A madman.
"Funny, Sands. Very funny."
Then, it was Sheldon's turn to roll his eyes at his mentor. He swaggered up to the taller man, casually flicked a wayward bang out of that handsome face and grinned.
"Please, James. You know you have not called me Sands since the day you tied me to that chair and skullfuck me—"
"Sheldon!"
Sheldon removed the hand from his mouth and laughed, nibbling teasingly at the strong wrist. The invitation in his eyes was obvious. Finally, not caring for the cameras located around the firing range, James pressed the smaller man against a wall and captured his lips in a deep sensual kiss.
***
Present"Are you going to the embassy this afternoon?"
Sands shook his head.
"You heading anywhere today?"
Sands shook his head again.
"Aren't you going to get the rest of your clothes from wherever you left them?"
Another shake.
"Want anything?"
Sands mumbled something under his breath. El leaned in closer. "What?"
"Pork with tequila and lime."
El had no idea what had gotten into him when he offered to take the blind agent in. Sands had called it the superhero syndrome. To quote his exact words: "Not to worry, all D-I-Ds (damsels in distress), put up the Bat signal and El Mariachi will move heaven and earth to save your poor Chihuahua from the evil Doctor Mojo Jojo."
El had no idea what he was talking about. Then again, he never knew what Sands was ever talking about. It was as if the man spent his days in a world of his own, talking about things that only he knew, ranting on and on about his obsession with order, knowing that the agent did not give a shit about the law.
But, El suspected, this was even more so after he was blinded.
"Okay, but I'm not going to shoot the cook for you over it."
"Oh no," Sands smiled, a truly amused smile that lightened up the entire room. "I'll shoot the cook, remember?"
El did not reply. The chains at the ends of his pants jingled slightly as he numbly made his way to the door, eyes blank and wide in confusion. He opened the door, walked out of the room, shut it, leaned against its lacquered wood surface and gave a shaky sigh.
God, he never knew how much a smile can affect someone until he saw *that* one. El was flabbergasted, El was taken aback, El was almost shocked into oblivious, El was totally in love with that smile and, he just realized, was talking about himself in third person.
The mariachi shook his head and went on to get his takeout.
***
Eight Years Ago"I can't believe you are making him do this! You simply can't! That guy was his mentor, Goddamn it! He practically taught him all he knew for the CIA!"
"All the more reason for him to do it, isn't it? Sands, get out of the room now. And next time, knock before you enter."
Sheldon Sands cocked his head to one side, giving a one-finger salute at his superior, who was currently caught in a verbal crossfire with his dear Mister James Conner. He took two steps back out, opened the door behind him and took another step backwards, efficiently stepping out of the room. He rapped his knuckles soundly on the wood and walked into the office again, slamming the door shut behind him.
"As you say, sir," he winked cheekily.
The man on the chair threw his hands up in exasperation and brought them back down again. Conner turned around and glared.
"Sands, get out."
Sands rolled his eyes, swaggered over to where the couch was and threw himself down on it comfortably.
"Oh, don't mind me. Go on," he waved nonchalantly, closing his eyes with a smile.
Conner huffed. "Sheldon, didn't you hear what this bastard was about to make you do for your first mission?"
Sands, with his eyes still closed, raised an eyebrow in mock puzzlement. "Put dear Old Misery out of his misery? I heard," he lifted his right hand, two fingers clenched to form the shape of a gun and brought it to his temple. "Right here, bang! And boohoo, no more Misery."
"Don't you care? He taught you your stuff."
"Then he should know this will happen to him, seeing that he taught me what I knew." Sands swung his legs off the couch and stood up, making his way to the door, not before giving his lover a succinct but terribly clear message with a finger: fuck off.
"See, Agent Conner? This is the sort of CIA agent I'm looking for."
James stared furiously at the now closed door, and then turned to his superior, now lounging comfortably in his chair as if he had won his argument.
"The sort of agent you are looking for, sir, is a fucking nutcase!"
And he had found it in Sheldon Jeffrey Sands.
***
End of Chapter 2