Author's Note: This, I'm sorry to say, is the last chapter. I'll save the big emotional good-bye for the prologue which I'll post in a few days. For now, just enjoy.

WARNING: there is R-rated smut at the end. If you do not wish to read that sort of thing, you'll know where to stop. But pick up again at the end.

Author's thanks at end.


"Dark . . . darkness devours every sh-shining . . . day –"

"Stop talking, custida." God, she was stubborn. Sands could see that every word was agony, but she wouldn't shut her trap. "Just wait. I can see the helicopter now."

"Darkness demands . . . and . . . and will always have its way." He didn't understand at all. She had to say it. Had to. It was her eulogy. "Darkness listens, w-watches . . . waits,/Darkness claims . . . the day and celebrates,/Sometimes i-in . . . silence darkness comes,/Somet-times with . . . with a gleeful banging of drums." Tess coughed, moaning in pain as liquid was forced up her throat. "S-Sands . . ." Blood loss was stealing her vision from her. With her left hand, she groped for evidence that she wasn't dying alone.

"I'm here." Without removing his eyes from the aircraft as it touched down, he took her hand and held it tightly, an automatic reaction to its chill. "Just relax."


It had been the twenty-four hours from hell. The moment the paramedics had arrived and started communicating in their special brand of chaotic staccato, Tessa's fragile peace of mind had been overwhelmed and she had started to freak out. At first the men hadn't been sure what to do, but as her distress caused her to start coughing up blood, they jumped into action. When their proximity to her caused her to struggle in a desperate effort to get away, one of the men asked Sands to climb up on the hood and try to keep her calm while they freed her from the wreck.

Calming Tess was easier said than done though. Any attempt to engage her in conversation left Sands' mind spinning. Words tumbled out of her mouth without rhyme or reason, yet they made sense. Or they would have made sense of everything he defined as reality had been skewed, shaken, and totally reorganized. If her everyday world was truly anything like what she described in the rising and falling tones of runaway sanity, then it was a miracle she was ever coherent.

He had watched her pass out from the pain of having the wire tampered with. I should feel guilty, he thought as he watched her head slump forward and her body still. But I don't. I just feel relieved.

The paramedics cropped the wire as close as they could to her spine, then eased her out of the car and onto a brace board. Sands had dutifully reported that she couldn't feel her feet, and the men were scrupulously cautious. She was strapped down, and a collar was put around her neck to keep her head still. It wasn't until the helicopter had taken off and been in the air for a few minutes that she woke up. Dazed and disoriented, she'd renewed her struggles to free herself, weeping and cursing and pleading to people dead and alive to just let her go. Against their better judgment, one of the men was about to give her a mild sedative when her eyes opened so wide they bulged and her mouth dropped open as she gasped for breath.

Sands later learned that the wire that'd pierced her body had nicked her right lung. As long as she'd stayed immobile and halfway calm, the tear had stayed small. Her last struggle however had stretched her lung too far and the tear had widened. When it did, blood rushed in to fill the void, and her lung had collapsed.

At the hospital, Sands had been taken to the emergency waiting room where he was plied with coffee and forms. Before leaving the States, Tess had handed over several copies of her medical records – in case of an emergency – and Sands had committed the important details to memory, so the forms weren't difficult for him to fill out. The paperwork had been easy compared to the waiting. Even through the emergency doors, he could hear people rushing around and yelling orders.

It wasn't until a half an hour later that a doctor with several streaks of blood on her neck came out to talk to him. She reported the full list of injuries to him – two cracked ribs, broken ankle, sprained wrist, nearly continuous bumps and bruises, moderate concussion. In a monotone she rattled off the complications surgeons would face while trying to remove the spring – severe blood loss, punctured lung, the fact that the wire was pressing against Tessa's spinal cord, mild dehydration. In all, the doctor wasn't optimistic about her patient's chance of survival.

Sands spent the night and a good part of the morning asleep on a couch in the surgical waiting room. It was his own people that finally arrived and woke him, reporting that the Merída's had attacked the Velasquez hacienda an hour before dawn. The only thing that remained of the Barillo cartel was the name and damage that was still being repaired at the Governor's mansion in Culíacan. The Mexican government had followed through on their end of the deal and had taken out the Merída base and arrested most of that cartel's leaders. A few had escaped, but they had AFN on their tails and would most likely be brought in before they could skip the country.

Barnaby, Weyhauser, and Newman had convinced Sands to leave his couch and go to the cafeteria for a bite to eat. He joined them out of common sense but didn't thank them for it. He listened to their reports with one ear, nodded at the rights places, and doled out icy glares to anyone who dared ask more than once about how their civilian agent was doing.

When his people left, Sands returned to the waiting room. Five minutes into his next nap, an exhausted looking surgeon came out and read Tessa's name off a chart. Sands stood and went to conference with the man. Tess had been out of surgery for nearly an hour and was in ICU. Her vitals were weak, but the man though she would pull through. His biggest concern was if they'd missed any damage to her spinal cord, and they'd be watching her closely. She was under sedation at the moment and would remain so until her nervous system had recovered enough to handle anti-psychotics. No, she was not receiving visitors at the time, and wouldn't be for at least 72 hours. The best thing Sands could do would be to go home and get some rest.

The agent's escape wasn't as clean as that, however. The surgeon had clapped him on the arm in grave encouragement, making Sands hiss as he was reminded of his broken arm. That led him back down to the emergency room where a nurse had discovered that the blood on his pants was not Tessa's but his own. He'd felt a dull stab of surprise at that, having totally forgotten that he'd been clipped by enemy gunfire. It was getting to be such a common occurrence that he was growing used to the feeling, or so it seemed.

Patched up and bearing a prescription for pain medication that he'd never fill out, Sands met the small delegation of his team – most were in Cuidad – at the hotel they'd taken rooms in. After stripping out of his dirty clothes, he flopped onto the bed and went back to sleep. His dreams were troubled, but that was only to be expected.


I'm a sap. That was all Sands could think as he walked down the hospital corridor. The small bundle of flowers in his hand seemed cheap and trite. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't be caught dead giving a woman flowers, but the nurses said that Tess was withdrawn and given to bouts of schizophrenic catatonia. She'd improved to the point where they could safely give her small doses of anti-psychotics, but they were only enough to suppress hallucinations, not enough to regulate her behavior. They said that she spent her time staring at blank walls and muttering the same thing to herself seven times in a row before moving to the next. If she had something to look at, they said, then perhaps she'd focus on that and stop her repetitive behavior. Sands thought that was a load of bullshit, but here he was with flowers anyway.

Feeling more apprehension than he wanted to, he stopped in front of the door to Tessa's room and looked in. Due to her condition, they'd given her a single room, afraid that other patients might agitate her. The room, however, was meant for two people; laying in a railed bed on the far side of the room, Tess looked small and alone. It was as if those two of the traits that he'd long associated with her had been inflated so that they eclipsed all others. Even with a nurse there adjusting tubes and machines she looked isolated. If it were him in that room, he'd be pissed enough to ignore everyone too.

Well, this can't be any worse than anything else that's happened recently. With that encouraging thought he stepped into the room.

Agent, the nurse greeted him. Teresa is doing much better today. She even ate some chicken broth this morning.

How nice, he muttered, not particularly caring what she'd had for breakfast. Is she awake?

Her eyes are open. I'm not sure how aware she is of what's going on around her. But what are you going to do? The woman shrugged. Dr. Herera should be coming by in less than an hour if you'd like to talk to him.

Thank you. Sands wished the woman would just go away.

If you like, I can take those and put them in some water. The woman gestured to the bouquet.

Umm . . . yes, please. With a sense of relief that he wouldn't be caught with them, Sands handed the flowers over and watched the nurse leave.

Left alone in the room with Tess, Sands walked over to the bed and took a seat in a chair. He didn't bother to say anything since he'd walked straight across Tessa's line of sight to reach the chair. She knew he was here. If she wanted to talk, that was her business.

"You're pretending," she whispered after a few minutes. Even in her own ears her voice was rough from having tubes stuck down it. Tess knew she should probably try to stay quiet, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"How am I pretending?"

"Being here. It's a lie." Sands must have decided that her mouth was dry because he slipped an arm around her shoulders and held her up as he let her take a drink of water. "That was a lie," she whispered as he lowered her.

"How is it a lie?" Of all the conversations they could have, this wasn't one he wanted. He didn't know what he did want to talk about, but this display of paranoia wasn't it.

"Normality. Normality is a lie."

"Niña, nothing is ever normal between us. You should know that by now."

"I know. You know. I know that you know. Knowing has nothing to do with acceptance. If we aren't normal, why are you here? Being here is normal. We're not normal."

"Yes, we've established that part. Just why are you objecting to my presence?"

"Appearances are deceiving. You're appearing. You're appearing because it's expected by the staff. They're deceived. I'm not."

"I don't give a rat's ass about what other people think. You know that, niña."

"Then why are you here?"

"I think you already know that answer to that, Teresa."

His answer upset her. Her hands picked uselessly and restlessly at the blankets as she weakly shook her head. "No. No. Summer fling, don't mean a thing."

"I think that was meant to be sung, Sandy," Sands drawled, wishing he could light up.

"No. You make a lousy Danny Zuko. No singing." Tess fell silent and turned her face away from him.

The only thing that kept Sands from leaving then and there was his own perverse need to push, and prod, and control the conversation. They'd stop talking when he decided they were done. Folding his hands behind his head, he said, "He waited for the mask to drop, but at the same time he did not question her right to wear it." Tessa's head turned so fast that he was surprised she didn't get whiplash.

"What?" What was he doing? Why was he talking like that? "Don't do that."

"Don't what? Return your quotes? Why does it bother you so much if you're so fond of them? Are you afraid that someone might come to understand your own special language and force to say what you really mean? Or is it just that I'm the one doing it, and we share a history that you can't force yourself to accept or adapt to?"

"Stop it," she whispered, looking trapped.

"Let me tell you something, niña. The only reason my answer was no was because you won't allow anyone to say yes. At least no one who you perceive as a threat."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She tried to evade his questioning and his eyes, but he was relentless.

"I think you do. Tell me, if Carlos had asked you that question, what would you answer have been? Why am I such a threat to you?"

"Don't!" she yelled, her voice cracking.

"Why not?" His question came across as calm and reasonable even if the purpose behind it was anything but.

"Nay, tempt me not to love again:/There was a time when love was sweet;/Dear Nea! had I known thee then,/Our souls had not been slow to meet!/But oh! this weary heart hath run/So many a time the rounds of pain,/Not even for thee, thou lovely one!/Would I endure such pangs again." Stop. Stop making me admit things!

"You know that I was never trying to hurt you, Tessa."

A brittle laugh left her mouth. "Lies. Still lies. Maybe not then, but first. That first night. You did, you did want to hurt. Hurt and humiliate and retaliate."

"And things can't change?"

"If you knew me you'd know the answer to that." No things didn't change, couldn't change. Change was the enemy. He was change. He was the enemy. "If you knew you, you'd know the answer to that."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"The land of my fathers. My fathers can have it." Her eyes moved around the room restlessly as if seeking escape. "I never wanted to be his daughter, and you'll never be able to forget. Ergo, lack of change. Ergo, everything you're trying to convince me of is a lie." If only her head wasn't so fuzzy and the voice quieted. She needed advice.

Well, she had a point there. It was a little difficult to forget something like that, but it wasn't as if necessarily blamed her . . . anymore. Unfortunately, she wasn't rational enough to argue with right now. She was doped up on painkillers and suppressants. At least he'd initiated the conversation, and since it was unlikely that she'd be leaving Mexico at the same time he was, that was all that was going to happen. If she wanted to resume it at some later date, he'd leave that up to her. He certainly wasn't going to degrade himself by chasing after her.

"I'm leaving in a few days," he said, standing up. When the doctors decide you're ready to be released, they'll contact me and I'll make sure you get back to New York."

She didn't answer. Why should she when he was leaving her?

"Alright," he drawled. "I'll see you around."


Tess spent two weeks in the hospital after Sands left, and they were the most miserable weeks in her life. By the time she was released, she felt that if one more person asked, "How are we feeling today?" she'd slip into a homicidal rage. There were two things she'd been glad of though: one, that while in the hospital, she never once had the voice crowd in on her, and two, that Sands wasn't around to disconcert her.

The lack of company however left her with too much time to think, and Sands was mostly what she thought about. He was a difficult man, and not for the reasons most would think. She didn't mind his attitude, or behavior, or habits. What she minded so much was that he refused to bow to anyone, and refused to soften his presences. With everyone else in her life, she had some measure of control over them, either by benefit of her age like with the kids, or her condition like with Cora, or by mutual agreement like the ones she had with her few friends. Everyone else avoided her because she was unfriendly and reserved. But Sands seemed to take pleasure in baiting her just to the edge of her control and no farther. It was exhausting to forever be unsure and uncertain about where they stood with each other, to always have the rules change. She needed rules. Her life was governed by them. Even something as simple as writing with a pen had rules (if the where a logo, it had to be directed away from her) that she couldn't bring herself to break. Sands seemed to enjoy forcing her to look at things through the eyes of sanity instead of through her own. Why couldn't he just understand that it was easier for her to govern her life by her own perceptions instead of by everyone else's? If he could just understand that. . . .

Whenever her mind turned to what was possible if he only understood her, Tess purposely found something to distract her. What was possible didn't matter. What was mattered. The status quo mattered. Tradition and routine mattered. Wishes were not horses, beggars didn't ride, and Sands wasn't going to change. And that was the end of the matter.

Despite what she'd convinced herself though, it was a relief to find all the arrangements for her transportation and lodging taken care of when she left the hospital. Sands – or more likely her doctors – had arranged things so that her trip home would be taken in easy stages over several days. On the first day, she'd traveled from Cuidad Victoria to Cuidad Juarez. She'd spent the night there and then crossed the border into El Paso where she'd boarded a flight to Nashville. After spending the night there, she'd spent her last day traveling from Nashville to Pittsburg, and from Pittsburg to Syracuse. A hotel room had been reserved for her in Syracuse, but by that time she only wanted to get home.

With a feeling resembling that of a child who was breaking a rule and was afraid of being caught, Tess got in a cab and told him to drive to Fairmont. It was an hour's ride, but she was more than willing to pay the man whatever he wanted if only it meant sleeping in her own bed that night.

It was around six in the evening by the time the cab pulled up to Tessa's driveway. For a long minute she simply sat in the backseat and looked out the window. Spring wasn't as advanced this far north as it had been in Guadalupe, but the trees were green and snowdrops were blooming in front of the house. She'd been gone for nearly five months, but everything was . . . it was just as she'd imagined it'd be.

"You getting' out, lady?"

"Yes. Yes." Tess paid the man and grabbed her overnight bag. The rest of her things had either been shipped back or left in Mexico.

The evening air was temperate, the sun just beginning to set. Tess slowly walked up the driveway and front path. The porch was strewn with rollerblades and dolls. The mess would have to go, but she wasn't going to worry about it now.

It took just as much effort as she remembered to open the heavy front door. Automatically she fell into her old routine, taking off her shoes and placing them next to the wicker basket that held pairs and pairs of smaller shoes. Her bag she set down by the small table that held lunches in the morning and mail at night. From the dining room she could hear childish voices calling to each other as the clank of dishes indicated that the table was being set.

"Now remember," she heard Cora say. "Don't mob your aunt when she comes home. Remember that she may still be sore, and is probably tired from her long trip."

"But she's coming? She's coming home tonight?"

"When will she be here?

"Is she bringing presents?"

Tess stood and soaked in the familiar voices and the atmosphere of her house. A layer of worry and guilt slid off her as she listened. Her leaving hadn't ruined anyone's life. Her coming back was something anticipated. There was no judgment.

Needing to see her family, Tess padded into the kitchen. All conversation and movement stopped as she appeared in the doorway. The scene before her was soothing to her raw nerves – the shock and surprise turning into delight. René, the impulsive one, was the first to break the tableau. Despite Cora's warnings to be careful, the boy plowed into Tess, and she had crouched down to greet him. Alma and Carlos soon followed with Selena tottering behind, her steps small but more certain than they'd been before Tess had left. Something inside Tess popped, and she started pressing kisses into childishly flushed cheeks as her eyes teared up.

"That's enough, let your aunt breathe." Cora gently disengaged the children and helped Tess stand, taking note of her walking cast. Overwhelmed, Tess hugged her nurse and friend, allowing herself to lean into the other woman. "Carlos, make sure everyone washes their hands. I'm going to put your aunt to bed."

Tess followed obediently, suddenly exhausted. Bed sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world. As the door to her bedroom open, she sighed as another wave of relief washed over her – everything was just where it was supposed to be. Not bothering to undress except to remove her cast, Tess climbed into her bed and sighed as all lights but the small lamp across the room were turned off. If Cora told her good-night, she didn't hear. It didn't matter. She was home.


Two months later, WashingtonD.C.

The operation in Mexico had been so successful that the CIA bigwigs in conjunction with the Department of Defense had seen fit to not only put recommendations in personnel files and promotions in the right in-boxes, but to throw a big affair where metals would be awarded and promotions announced. Tess had fought going tooth and nail, wanting to have nothing more to do with the people that had sent her into a situation where she'd nearly died, but Cora had talked her into going. Tess had protested that the biggest event of the night was going to be when Sands received a purple heart for quote, "courage under fire or some rot like that. We all know its because he saved my ass," unquote. Cora had countered that if she didn't go, it would be tantamount to running away with her tail between her legs. And that . . . that was how Tess had ended up in a glittering stateroom in a hotel in the heart of the Capitol.

For a majority of the evening, she stood in a corner behind a potted plant, hiding. It didn't matter of her peach-colored silk dress was on par for the other women in the room, or if her hair was swept into just as sophisticated a knot, or if her nails were just as manicured. Tess still felt out of place here, and others seemed to agree with her.

Three times she'd been approached by people who'd been on Sands' team. Each time they greeted her, expressed their pleasure that she was well, and then moved on to talk to friends or colleagues. From her corner she watched as the small group was given medals of honor and toasts were made. From one side of the room, bulbs flashed as the press – who'd also been invited to this in lieu of a press conference – took pictures of the proud heroes. Tess didn't care. She only had eyes for one man.

She didn't know who had done it or how they'd done it, but somehow someone had managed to rope Sands into appearing, and not only appearing, but appearing in a tux. A tux that he'd even gone in to have fitted if she were any judge. The suit skimmed along his lean form, and out of the blue she wondered what he'd been up to since coming back. Not once had he tried to contact her, and while that seemed like a blessing, now she wasn't so sure.

Don't tell me you miss him.

Is it any of your business if I do? The matter wasn't taken any farther. Ever since her release from the hospital, things in her head had been pretty quiet, but then again, she'd been avoiding stressful situations.

As he watched, he was given his awards. He didn't look too impressed.

Probably because he doesn't think that your life is worth this hoopla.

Shut up.

The man who'd been introduced as Assistant Director William Colton waited until the polite applause following the list of Sands' deeds died down before looking around as if trying to locate someone. "We'd hoped to be able to present Ms. Barillo with her own medal, but as of now, we haven't been able to locate her."

And they call themselves an intelligence agency. Tess agreed with that, and hid a smile behind her punch glass.

"We also had a check to present her with in honor of the time she gave up to work for us –"

While Tess watched, amused by their incompetence, Sands eyes found her in her corner. For a moment he looked puzzled, but then he smirked. He twitched he head as if telling her to come up. Defiant, Tess raised her chin. She had no intention of being gawked at like a dancing bear. He raised an eyebrow and she shook her head.

"Well, perhaps we'll locate her sometime over the course of the night. For now, I'm sure you've heard the band tuning in the next room, and I'm being told that they're ready. So, feel free to mingle." The microphone was turned off, the press set aside their cameras and pads in favor of the buffet table, and masses of people moved into the next room.

Tess allowed the crowds to pass her, already planning to make her escape when she could. Before she could anything more than plot, however, the man she'd been thinking about appeared in front of her, a sardonic smirk on his face. They just looked at each other, and Tess felt a longing to talk to him, to touch him, to be alone with him. There had been halfway decent times between the two of them at times, and she had missed him even if she hadn't allowed herself to linger over it.

Sands made the first move. "Is this any way to greet the man who saved your life?"

"Is this any way to greet the woman who saved yours?" she countered.

"Ah, well I can't give you that kind of greeting in a public place. At least not with so many reporters around."

He's still an arrogant bastard. "So, what are you doing wasting time with me when there's undoubtedly flocks of women who would give you the kind of greeting you seem to want?"

"Why would you think that they catch my interest? Once you've tried insanity, you can't go back."

Tess rolled her eyes. "There's a compliment. Now that my evening is complete, I think I'll leave."

"You're not going to stay and dance?"

"You're considering dancing?" Was it just her, or were they being very circular in their conversation.

"Maybe once or twice."

"Bueno suerte." She turned to leave, unable to stand this any longer without going farther, but Sands stopped her by grabbing her elbow. "Can I help you?"

"You can stay."

The look in his eyes made her shiver. "I don't think that's a good idea," she murmured.

"It's never been a good idea, but here we are. Again."

"That's no reason to repeat a mistake."

"Experience enables you to recognize a mistake when you make it again."

"Stop that," she whispered, gently pulling her arm away. "There are some mistakes that shouldn't be made a second time."

"Are you so sure it's a mistake?"

"Are you so sure that it wouldn't be?" They stood separated by no more than a foot, but Tess could feel herself widening the gulf of understanding between them. Being with him was just too hard. He would want all sorts of things from her – trust, flexibility, vulnerability – and wouldn't give those things back.

"Chica –"

"Agent Sands!" The brassy voice broke the world of quiet that they'd managed to slip into. "Agent Sands, wow, I've heard a lot about you." Tess looked away as a tall woman came up. She was a dark brunette with laughing green eyes and dimples. The dress that clung to her fit body was a deep green. "I'm agent Carter. I tried to sign on with you to go down to Mexico, but I was denied. They said I didn't have enough experience."

In or out of the sack?

Stop.

Sands just looked at the hand the woman held out and eventually shook it with an air of resignation. "Pleased to meet you, agent Carter. Now, if you'll notice that I was in the middle of a conversation –"

"Oh, how rude of me." The woman laughed loudly, and Tess winced. "Hello, my name is Amanda. I bet you were talking about how Colton embarrassed himself by trying to give an honorary metal to a woman who's not here. You know what I heard?" The agent didn't wait for anyone to answer. "I heard that the Barillo woman is totally off her rocker. I bet she's in some institution somewhere bouncing herself off the walls."

Kill her.

Before Sands had a chance to intervene – which he should have done long ago – Tess raised her chin and said in an icy voice, "Actually I'm told that I prefer to bounce loudmouthed sluts off the walls. Oh, that was rude. It must be time for my medication. Excuse me."

As she left, she heard the woman mutter, "Well, isn't she the bitch. However did you stand working with her?"

"It was a challenge alright . . ." Distance and talk covered the rest of Sands' reply.

Tess stormed out of the room, leaving the hotel and the fancy ballroom behind. She'd never been so humiliated in her entire life. Never had she felt so . . . stung. So raw. So incredibly, furiously, vulnerable. She gave up. She truly did. If she ever saw him again, she'd kill him. How dare he just stand there and stay silent? One moment he was asking her to stay, and the next . . .

I hate him! Why did I come here?

When she heard the running footsteps gaining on her from behind, she felt adrenaline surge through her body. She reacted, not caring who it was, but hoping it was the man she never wanted to see again. With trembling hands, she twisted just as the person reached her, ducking under any restraining arms and expertly sweeping their feet out from under them. She was on them before they had time to recover, slamming her knee into their gut, knocking the wind out of them; then she was on her feet, racing down the street, ignoring the strange looks she was getting from the pedestrians. She supposed she did make an odd picture, dodging obstacles, running like a bat out of hell in heels and evening wear, but she didn't care. All that mattered was getting away from him.

She couldn't run fast enough though, not when she was in unsteady heels and had tears blinding her eyes and he was in flats. Dress shoes, certainly, but better for running than hers.

His hand caught the sash that'd been tied around her waist. He hauled her into a deserted alleyway, fending off blows and escape attempts alike. Sands hadn't thought that she would have this much energy so soon after the accident, but apparently he'd been mistaken.

Somewhere in the back of her head, Tess knew all this was her own fault. She should have ignored the invitation. The government wanted to 'honor' her for her service? This was a hell of a way to show it. Their darling, their rebellious golden boy got medals and commendations, and she was introduced as the one who'd "helped" him. She didn't mind that. She didn't want the attention. She'd never wanted it. But the fact that she'd been patronized and gossiped about. . . . But Sands. He was a two-faced, manipulative asshole.

"You fucking prick," she hissed, going still in the arms that were restraining her. "What was it? Did I hurt your 'pride' by leaving? Did I destroy your masculine fantasy that you'd mastered me? That I would wait in the background for you to come to my rescue?"

Sands was taken aback by the violence in her voice. He'd followed her thinking to apologize – an act that'd cost him most of his self-respect. She clearly hated him. Why didn't he deck her as payment for the injury she'd inflicted – a few inches lower and he could have given up all hope of ever fathering children – and take off? Mission accomplished. Was he fooling himself by thinking that they could somehow . . .

When Sands didn't answer her, she once again tried to twist free. The need to kill was fading, but the need to run away, to hide, to escape was still strong. She knew it'd take next to nothing to rekindle the desire for his blood though. She had to get away now. "Get your hands off me before I break them."

Sands, never the most patient or polite man on earth, felt himself reach his limit. Yes, he was controlled, but he was controlled for the same reason she was. Because if he wasn't, he didn't want to see the consequences. But now his own temper broke free, fueled by a measure of unwanted hurt.

He twirled Tess around, slamming her back into the wall of the alley.

Tess hissed in pain, lashing out with the one hand she'd managed to free. She swiped at his face with her nails, but he ducked out of the way just in time. "Stop it, you schizo."

He felt her freeze as her mind registered what he'd just said. Her body went completely limp and slid down the wall as her legs folded under her.

He admits it, at long last.

Sands himself was in a bit of shock. He was pissed at Tess, mad that she was striking out at him without giving a reason . . . but that had been uncalled for. And he couldn't apologize, because that's not what they did.

"I'll kill you for that," Tess said, her voice cold and her head turned away from him. "I'll fucking kill you." She looked up at him, and it was if she were wearing a mask. Her eyes were full of animosity and betrayal, but her face was completely composed. "What was it? Has no one ever walked out on you before?" He just watched her, and that made her temper flare even higher. "You know what I think? I think you just found out that no matter how much you've tried to disassociate yourself from the rest of the human race, you've found out that you have feelings, but you refuse to admit first. No, you want me to concede all, but I'm not going to. "

Sands felt her words, and couldn't deny their truth. Yes. Fine. He had emotions, and they were in a turmoil over her – and not a good turmoil – and he didn't know what to do. Tess just stared at him out of accusing eyes, not letting him off the hook for this one.

He ran an impatient and frustrated hand through his hair, looking around at his surroundings. How had things disintegrated into this? He's had her right in the palm of his hand.

Looking up, he noticed a pair of old-fashioned knickers hanging from a fire escape. You've got to be kidding me, he thought. Looking farther down the alleyway, he saw another fire escape, this one covered in potted plants. Somehow, they'd managed to get to his apartment building.

Fine. He could take a hint. Tess was most likely going to carry through on her threat, but either way, things ended tonight.

He took her hand, gently but firmly, noticing that her eyes narrowed at him, but she didn't exactly protest. If he could keep her off-balance a little longer, they could at least get up to his apartment.

Tess allowed Sands to pull her inside the building, not trusting for a moment that he'd simply given up on their argument. Something was running through his head, and if she was smart, she'd leave now. She would pull her hand free of his grasp and take off for her hotel. But she didn't. Some part of her wondered what he was thinking, while another whispered that it was better to commit homicide in private.

Sands felt some of his anxiety fade as she followed him silently. Her mask was still in place, and anger still filled her eyes, but it was quickly being replaced by confusion and soul-deep hurt. By now, his main goal was to make that hurt go away, at least for a little bit. He had no way of knowing that Tess wanted the exact same thing.

He unlocked the door to his apartment on the ninth floor, bringing Tess in after him. Closing the door and locking it behind them, he reached for the small table that was right by the doorway, pulling his .22 from the drawer. He took Tessa's hand in his, wrapping her hand around the gun and her finger around the trigger. He then trapped her with his body, standing close enough to her that the barrel of the gun dug into his breastbone. "What are you waiting for, chiquita? I thought you wanted to kill me. Here's your chance. If you don't take it now, I can guarantee that you won't get the opportunity again."

The voice screamed at her, telling her to go through with it and to drop the weapon at the same time. Her finger tightened on the trigger at the same time her hand started to fall to her side. What was happening? She didn't understand this. This wasn't how people were supposed to react to death threats.

Sands grabbed her wrist in his, pulling it back up. He didn't think she'd really pull the trigger, but if she did, he'd rather be dead than lose some rather vital equipment. "What's wrong? Lost your nerve?"

She started to tremble, overwhelmed by a slew of disparate and conflicting emotions. Yes. She wanted to hurt him for the hurt he'd caused her. She wanted to soothe the raging emptiness inside her – one that was quickly becoming less emotional and more physical. For the first time she could remember, her voice had completely stepped back, letting her make her own choice, letting her deal with her own emotions without help or hindrance. The only advice it offered was this; Amazing how close bloodlust is to physical lust, isn't it?

Tess shook off that thought, shaking her head at the same time she pressed the barrel of the gun more firmly against Sands' chest. She could kill him in a second. She had opportunity and reason . . . but not certainty. Tears were leaking from her eyes from the physical and emotional stress. She could make the immediate problem go away, she could seek temporary comfort and oblivion, or she could leave and sort through all this after taking a tranquilizer.

Sands knew what choice she would make before she did. He saw the different emotions transmuting in her eyes; uncertainty into desire, hate into passion, the urge to hurt into lust. The only emotion that didn't change was the hurt that still cast a opaque haze over all the other emotions. God, he hated himself for it, but he wanted that to go away, if for no other reason than to relieve his own guilt, but he knew he had other reasons. Reasons he was beginning to think were never going to be enough. Not enough for life, but perhaps enough for tonight. Whether he liked it or not, Tess was in his blood and it didn't seem like she'd be leaving any time soon.

With gentle hands he cupped her head, ignoring the sensation of the small gun jabbing even more firmly into his chest. It didn't matter if she did pull the trigger – he now remembered that he'd cleaned the thing this afternoon and hadn't replaced the ammo yet. Tipping her head back, he kissed her softly – sweetly almost – barely even touching her skin.

It was too much. All Tess knew was she had to do something – anything – to quell the emotions rioting through her. Any outlet would do, anything to stop the sensations running through her body and the lie that Sands might actually care about her. She pulled the trigger, jerking herself free of Sands when nothing but a hollow click emerged from the weapon. "You bastard," she hissed, knowing that he'd been planning this all along. Furious and full of desire at the same time, she threw herself at him, again trying to claw him. He caught her arms easily, but was left defenseless as she bit his lip hard enough to make him bleed.

"What the he–" As he tried to pull away, she slipped her tongue into his mouth, silencing his protests, shivering with disgust as she tasted his blood. It was enough to make her pull her mouth from his, but not enough to make her stop. She kissed his neck, biting and sucking as her hands worked on his shirt. Her only goal was to make him as defenseless as he'd left her, to show him how much it hurt to be used.

Despite all common sense, Sands found himself becoming aroused by Tessa's uninhibited response to him. Yes, she was acting this way because he'd pissed her off, but it was just evidence that he affected her just as much as she affected him. He fought to keep his touches gentle, a dramatic counterpoint to her infuriated and confused demands. When she ripped open his shirt, destroying one of the only dress-shirts he had left, he growled, but refused to retaliate. When she stripped him of his belt, he instinctively pressed closer to her, although he didn't make any further demands. When her hands ruthlessly closed in around his arousal, though, he did react, gently pulling her hands away.

Tess wasn't even sure what she was doing anymore. She just knew she felt this overwhelming need to dominate, to soothe the raging demands inside her body in any way she could. Sands had closed one of those options off from her, but that left others. She swept his feet out from under him for the second time that night, following him down, straddling his waist. She heard the slits of her dress rip as she forced more freedom from them than they could give, but she paid it no mind. She twisted her wrists free, ignoring the pain the move caused. With her hands back under her control, she pulled the loop of fabric that held her dress up over her head, revealing the peach colored strapless bra she was wearing. She took his wrists, placing Sands' hands on her chest.

Sands could see just how lost to reason she was, just how lost in desire. Looking up at her, seeing her blue eyes as they blazed down at him, seeing her hair as it toppled haphazardly from its fancy style, seeing her chest as it heaved with her emotionally charged breath, he made a decision. This one night – this one night – he would be what she needed, but that was it. That was all he could afford to give her because it wasn't in his nature to offer more.

When he started kneading her breasts with his strong hands, Sands was rewarded with an almost animalistic keening sound. Tess moved against him, moved over him, seeking pleasure from his body. As she moved, her top slipped even lower, revealing the scar left from the wire spring that'd transfixed her body after the accident. He stared at it, remember that night.

Tess had no time for such reminisces. She adjusted herself over Sands, moving so that her center ground against his hardened length, rejoicing as a groan was wrenched from his lips. This he felt. She could make him feel this way. This was truth – the only truth she might ever get from him, and one any woman could probably get, but truth nonetheless. She whimpered as his hips bucked under hers, matching the demanding tempo she'd set up.

To save himself the embarrassment of coming in his pants, Sands released one of her breasts and jerked on her hips. Raising his knees behind her to give her some support, he delved under her skirt with his hand, seeking her tight, wet, sheathe. Her panties were soaked; he would deal with getting them off later. Right now, he slipped his fingers under them, thrusting in time with her hips.

Tess felt her last link to reality fall away with that. She couldn't remember anything that had led up with this, didn't remember any name except for the one belonging to the man underneath her. She cried out, her lips forming his name as she moved to allow him greater access. The fire inside her kept building, spreading to every part of her body, stealing her sight, her breath, and eventually her tongue. And then it flared suddenly, stealing the frenzied demands of her muscles. She collapsed on top of Sands, moaning as he didn't stop, as he wouldn't let the feelings die. The fire flared again, like a tidal wave, receding before swamping her one last time.

This time the fire stayed in her limbs and head, weighing them down. She could feel her wits returning, but not her voice, not her desperation, and not her anger. The need to be close, to share the only thing left between her and this man remained, but she had no idea how to bring things to completion.

Sands caught his breath and the frail threads of his control as Tess laid on top of him, legs spread and skirt hitched up around her waist. He had to get back control, or he'd burst, and he intended on pleasuring them both for quite a bit longer than that.

When he had shaky control over himself and his impulses, Sands lifted Tess off him, holding her up as he pushed her dress over her hips to the floor. She hung in his grip, still somewhat out of it from her previous orgasm. With a groan, he picked her up and carried her to the couch. He laid her down, stretching out her body. Her eyes looked up at him, confused and asking for direction. Her emotions had run dry, leaving her without recourse. He was glad because he wanted to be in control now, not her. Wiping at his lip with the back of his hand, he found that it'd stopped bleeding; the cut must not have been very deep.

With a sigh, he reached over and pulled Tessa's panties off her long legs, then lifted her torso up to unfasten and remove her bra. Standing, looking down at her the entire time, he removed his pants and boxers, then stretched his own body down alongside hers. She turned towards him and he noticed the goosebumps on her skin. He pulled her close, trapping the way her skin felt against his, the way her long legs entangled with the length of his.

Rolling slightly, he trapped Tess underneath him. She looked up at him with quizzical eyes, wondering what he was doing. For a time he did nothing more than trace her face and skin with his fingers. Then he lowered his head and kissed her, just as gently as he had before. She recoiled a bit, as if she expected eventual repayment for the bite she'd given him, but he had no intention of doing that. As the kiss stayed non-demanding, she started to respond, cautiously, but responding nonetheless.

As his hands started to roam over her body, Tess relaxed even more, pressing against him, moving with his caresses. His legs nudged hers apart and she hesitantly followed his lead. His head moved down her chest, brushing light kisses over her skin. She arched against his mouth, cradling his head just as gently as he was cradling her body with his arms.

Sands kissed, and tongued, and nipped until Tess was moving restlessly under him. Then, with the utmost care, he eased into her, exhaling as he felt her gripping him tightly, as he felt her body pulling him into her. She moved, lifting her hips to accept it all and to make the contact deeper. Her eyes were closed in concentration; Sands leaned down and kissed them gently.

Then, levering himself up over her, resting his weight on his forearms, Sands gently set up a slow rhythm that would bring her to a leisurely but forceful oblivion. And after she fell asleep, he would move her to his bed while he left for the rest of the night. By tomorrow morning she would be gone, and he could attempt to return his life to normal.

Tess, unaware of these thoughts, simply felt. She let the physical sensations of Sands moving over, and around, and inside her overwhelm her until she could think of nothing else. His pace picked up slightly as her head started to toss and whispered pleas started to escape her lips. Finally his fingers moved between their bodies to brush lightly against her nub. The incredible gentleness of it all was what eventually made her come, crying our softly against his shoulder as she pulled her body tightly against his. Once she laid still under him, he gave in to his own needs, thrusting into her with short but powerful movements. He groaned against her neck as his pleasure overwhelmed him, and his arms gave out, finally bringing his body to rest against hers.


Tonight had either been a good-bye or a commitment. Too much had changed since the fall for this level of indecision and feigned indifference to continue. The fights, the silences, the sex – all were symptoms of an unmade decision and Tess couldn't take it anymore. Tonight, something had to give.

"Why did you come find me?" Sands was lying off to her side, his back facing her. He'd taken her to his bed, meaning to let her rest, but she'd refused to let him go and he hadn't put up much of a fight. "I mean, right before we found ourselves in a hand basket bound for hotter climes. Why come find me when I had done everything I could for you?"

Sands was quiet for a moment before answering sardonically, "I told you. You owed me a pity fuck."

Tess shook her head, more for her benefit than for his. "No. I don't believe that. No one travels across an entire continent just for sex. Especially sex with someone as screwed up as I am. There had to other women who were not only more geographically desirable, but had fewer strings attached as well."

"So I'm a sick bastard. You already knew that."

"Sands." She hated how weary her voice sounded, but she was tired of all the bullshit. She just wanted a straight answer for once.

Crap. She wasn't buying it. She was supposed to buy it. Everyone accepted what he said at face value. They may not trust his words, but they didn't go digging either.

He made a decision. Fine. If she wanted truth, he'd give her truth. "You left and I hated you for it. I actually let myself depend on you, for weeks. You saw more of me than anyone has a right to, and you did it without making a single judgment. And then you left. You left me with someone I didn't know, and didn't even come close to trusting. And I hated you. And I wanted you to hate me. But you're so fucking stubborn."

Tess heard the accusation in his voice, the betrayal. She wished she could see his face. Wished she could explain the confusion and panic that had enveloped her after getting to LA the year before. "I had nothing left to give you, no more help to offer. Besides, the way you acted that night when you found out who I really was . . . I thought you'd be glad to never have to see me." She fell silent, judging whether or not to say the next thought that came to her, and then decided to go for it. If she wanted change, this should spur it. "You wanted me to hate you? I'll tell you what will do the trick. Just leave."

In the silence and in the dim light of her bedroom, Tess could feel him weighing his options. She let him think for nearly an hour, too nervous to speak or go to sleep, but finally the words pushed themselves past her lips. "So . . . am I going to find you here in the morning, or am I going to go home and inform my mattress that its going to have to resume its former life of chastity?"

"What do you want to find?"

Tess was tempted to read into his non-answer, but stopped herself. "It's not about what I want. If the world ran the way I wanted, I would be sane, I would have had a family that valued me beyond my worth as a slave, and I never would have met you. But my past happened, whether I wanted it to or not, and the present will happen the same way. What I need decided is my future. And if you decide to stay, it won't be my future anymore." He said nothing. "I can't stay straddled on a fence anymore; a woman who can't make up her mind without a conference sleeping with a man who can't admit to anything. I'm not asking for anything beyond a sign that I can at least rely on seeing you again. I'm not asking for commitment, just . . . just a indication of what I need to expect." Somewhere along the line, this had turned into the relationship talk she didn't want to have. They barely had a relationship to build on. But that's what she needed decided – whether they were willing to work on being something other than bed-partners.

God knows our lives would be easier without each other. He'd never been one to take the easy road before, but the commitment she was asking for was bigger than any he'd ever made in his life. "Go to sleep, niña."

She sighed. "Good-night, Sands."


Long after Tess fell asleep, Sands stayed awake, trying to decide what to do. He had a feeling that he was going to need more than a night to decide. As the sun rose, he quietly got dressed and left his apartment.

When Tess woke, he was still gone.


Author's Note 2: remember, I will be posting a prologue in a few days, so don't go away yet.

Quotes: Dean Koontz; Grease; F. Scott Fitzgerald; Thomas Moore; Dylan Thomas; The Joneses

Author Thanks: for the rants and reviews, I thank Merrie (No chomping on fingernails. You might hurt your fingers, and then how would you write? See? I wrote more. Be content and update something of yours in return. ); Raven (Running into a wall would be bad. It might hurt. Yes, Tess is alive, Sands is being uncharacteristically agreeable, and Carlos is a goner. He won't be around to harass anyone ever again. It was my pleasure to use your idea for Neva, since I was just going to bump her off. For the time being, this is the last of my OUATIM series. I do have a concept for a third in this universe, and perhaps one in a different , but I've got other stories to work on while I develop more OUTAIM fics. And personally, I think your – at least written since I've never heard you speak – English is better than mine at times.); quick29 (Yes, I thought Tess should have the honor of offing her cousin. As for whether you're close or not to how things are going to end, are you? ); CaptainJackSparrowsGirl (don't worry about coming up with a nickname for your screenname. That just seems unnecessarily complex. This chapter is not the end, but the next will be, at least for now. As someone pointed out, I've been writing OUATIM fics for a year now, and I'd like to try something new. Perhaps more Sands and Tess in the future though. We'll have to see.); Dreamgirl21147 (Yes, short, short, short update times. I want to finish this story. I'm ready to move on to a new period in my fanfic life. I hope this chapter made up for the shortness of the last.); Shannon (The Fear and Loathing quotes are all because of a friend of mine. Don't worry about me – just write. Things often come out better than we think they do. If you want to write it out, I'll e-mail you my signature. winks And I could never kill Tess. She's my baby.); SS (heeeeey. Glad you could join us. winks I'm afraid it must end, like all good things, otherwise I'd be breaking the rules. The reasons I left the other chapters where I did was to get people to swear. That was the idea. I'm evil. Yes, you may cry. Abberline and Mort will comfort you as I write their fics.); Isola (wow, until you said how long you've been reading, I hadn't realized how long I've been writing. As for your daily fix, go back and start from the beginning. ); Kontara (Yes, I'm trying to update as fast as I can. I hope this make you want to put down the shovel.); normal human being (You're nice to me because if you're not, then I leave you at the cruel, twisted cliffhangers that torment you. See how well that works? No, it's not sadistic to love Tess being hurt, because I wrote it so have to like it by default, or would if I hadn't wanted to do that for a long time.)