I might as well make this clear now, and save you all any potential
irritation; I have a thing about people swearing. Namely, I despise it,
but as this is Once Upon a Time, it happens. So you'll forgive me if I *
some stuff out. Some I might leave for dramatic effect, though, so... What
am I saying, anyway?
raquedan: of course it is! LOL, enjoy!
Merrie: emphasis on the 'devilishly handsome' bit, I think!
Gypsy: Helpful and wonderful? Wanna bet? *evil, sands-esque grin*
Erinya: Thanks, as always, for your reviews and support! BTW, "Jack" wants to know where the rum went. You're sure you don't want the little feathery ingrate?
Miss Becky: Thanks for reading! ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
How far, exactly, they walked Sands couldn't say. His arm, leg, and face blazed with agony; every step was torture. Even when in terrible pain, however, he was still an agent, still an investigator.
As the journey went on he put more and more of his weight on the woman's shoulders, but she made no comment, nor did her pace change in the slightest. His good arm was across the back of her neck and shoulders, so he had a good idea of her height- perhaps two or three inches shorter than himself. She was slender, he could tell, and in good shape. Probably beautiful. In fact, she felt pretty good pressed against his body, injuries (and unusual circumstances) or no.
'Maybe I should have kept that T-shirt.'
"Estamos aqui," she announced. "Watch your step."
"Very funny," Sands snarled.
"Lo siento."
They took several steps into a building of some kind that smelled vaguely of something he couldn't quite identify. "Home, sweet home," she said sarcastically, stepping away from him. "Gun belt, please, and any other little surprises you might be carrying. Ahora!"
"Why do I sense there's a gun pointed at my head right now?" he asked wearily, unfastening the gun belt from his hips and shoulders and holding it out blindly. She took it, and he heard the sound of a wooden drawer open and close, and the click of an old-fashioned key.
"Muchas gracias, Senor," she drawled.
"**** you."
"Come now, is that any way to talk to the woman who saved your life?" she teased, taking his hand possessively and backing him up a few steps. The backs of his knees encountered something unexpectedly, and he would have fallen had she not caught him. The wound in his thigh broke open and started bleeding heavily again.
She eased him into a sitting position on what he now was pretty sure was a bed. He brushed a hand over it, and his fingers encountered plastic over a yielding surface.
"What's this?" he asked, turning his head to 'look' at where he was pretty sure she stood.
"That, Senor," she said, giving the impression that she was talking to a slow four-year-old, "Is my bed."
"You don't waste time, do you, Miss...?" he trailed off, hoping she'd give him a name he might recognize.
"You may call me 'ella' for now. Perhaps, later, I will tell you my name." She pronounced the 'll' as a y.
If he'd had eyes, Sands probably would have rolled them. "And the plastic?"
"I can't have you getting it all bloody, now can I, Senor?" she asked sweetly. He heard what sounded vaguely like someone dialing a cellular phone.
"Speaking of blood," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral, "That's what you were after, wasn't it? When you kissed me."
"Hey, very good," she acknowledged casually. "Let's see if you can get two out of two. What am I doing with it now?"
Mockingly adopting the pose of 'The Thinker', he answered slowly, "You'd be accessing the CIA database on some kind of very expensive and highly illegal wireless device, checking the DNA in my blood against the DNA in their files."
He could almost see her smirk as she answered, "I'd give that a 1.5 out of two. Congratulations. Clearly you had beauty AND brains at one point in your life. At least your brains are still intact, mas o menos. My, my," she added coolly, "Not the CIA's most popular agent, now were we? Looks like you were one step away from being fired, doesn't it, Senor? Perhaps that is why your beat was here in Mexico when all your little government agent friends were assigned elsewhere?"
"I'm still with the CIA," he corrected.
"Not anymore," she said coldly. "Now you are with me."
He laughed bitterly. "Confident little ramera, aren't you?"
"Y tu mama tambien," she answered easily, snapping the device closed with an audible click.
"Bueno, Sands, now to business," she said. He heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing once again, and the clink of many small, metal objects knocking together.
Sounding slightly nervous, he asked, "So what was the half a point that I missed?"
"The more obvious of the two, I should think," she informed him. He felt the mattress sink slightly as she sat down next to him. "I wanted to know what the cartel put in your bloodstream before they took your eyes. I wanted to be sure my... treatment... wouldn't kill you." She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, surprising him.
He lunged away from her, but tripped and fell heavily on the tiled floor, trying and failing to bite back a cry of pain. She was at his side in an instant, lifting him back onto his feet. She was surprisingly strong for her size.
She forced him to lie down on the bed, saying, "What did I tell you about trusting me?"
"Just what are you going to do to me?" he demanded, voice rising.
"Those bullets have to come out so you can heal," she said, tapping his arm and leg in turn, making him flinch. "Also I will do what I can for your eyes, such as they are."
"No anesthetic?" he said weakly, grimacing.
"Bienvenido a Mexico, mi amor," she said sarcastically. "I hope you took my advice about saving your strength, because this is gonna hurt like hell."
*
She helped him remove his vest, then she cut the sleeve of his shirt away from the wound in his arm and set about removing the bullet. Sands gritted his teeth, hissing with pain but stubbornly refusing to cry out.
The wound bled some more when she finally got the bullet out, but she quickly disinfected it with something that smelled foul and stung like beestings and bandaged it tightly, stopping the bleeding.
She cut the leg of his black jeans off almost at the hip. The fabric was stiff with blood. He heard her draw her breath in sharply and mutter, "Ay, mierda..." under her breath.
"That bad?" he asked, sounding slightly hoarse.
"It is very near the bone, Senor, very near," she answered, sounding worried.
"You'll be able to get it out, though?" he asked, sounding none too sure himself.
She lapsed into spanish in agitation, replying, "Si, pero será difícil y muy doloroso. Difficult and very painful."
"**** painful," he said stoically, offering a small smile. "I'll be all right."
She didn't reply, but merely set grimly to work.
As it turned out, it wasn't as painful as he expected, because he fainted three minutes later.
raquedan: of course it is! LOL, enjoy!
Merrie: emphasis on the 'devilishly handsome' bit, I think!
Gypsy: Helpful and wonderful? Wanna bet? *evil, sands-esque grin*
Erinya: Thanks, as always, for your reviews and support! BTW, "Jack" wants to know where the rum went. You're sure you don't want the little feathery ingrate?
Miss Becky: Thanks for reading! ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
How far, exactly, they walked Sands couldn't say. His arm, leg, and face blazed with agony; every step was torture. Even when in terrible pain, however, he was still an agent, still an investigator.
As the journey went on he put more and more of his weight on the woman's shoulders, but she made no comment, nor did her pace change in the slightest. His good arm was across the back of her neck and shoulders, so he had a good idea of her height- perhaps two or three inches shorter than himself. She was slender, he could tell, and in good shape. Probably beautiful. In fact, she felt pretty good pressed against his body, injuries (and unusual circumstances) or no.
'Maybe I should have kept that T-shirt.'
"Estamos aqui," she announced. "Watch your step."
"Very funny," Sands snarled.
"Lo siento."
They took several steps into a building of some kind that smelled vaguely of something he couldn't quite identify. "Home, sweet home," she said sarcastically, stepping away from him. "Gun belt, please, and any other little surprises you might be carrying. Ahora!"
"Why do I sense there's a gun pointed at my head right now?" he asked wearily, unfastening the gun belt from his hips and shoulders and holding it out blindly. She took it, and he heard the sound of a wooden drawer open and close, and the click of an old-fashioned key.
"Muchas gracias, Senor," she drawled.
"**** you."
"Come now, is that any way to talk to the woman who saved your life?" she teased, taking his hand possessively and backing him up a few steps. The backs of his knees encountered something unexpectedly, and he would have fallen had she not caught him. The wound in his thigh broke open and started bleeding heavily again.
She eased him into a sitting position on what he now was pretty sure was a bed. He brushed a hand over it, and his fingers encountered plastic over a yielding surface.
"What's this?" he asked, turning his head to 'look' at where he was pretty sure she stood.
"That, Senor," she said, giving the impression that she was talking to a slow four-year-old, "Is my bed."
"You don't waste time, do you, Miss...?" he trailed off, hoping she'd give him a name he might recognize.
"You may call me 'ella' for now. Perhaps, later, I will tell you my name." She pronounced the 'll' as a y.
If he'd had eyes, Sands probably would have rolled them. "And the plastic?"
"I can't have you getting it all bloody, now can I, Senor?" she asked sweetly. He heard what sounded vaguely like someone dialing a cellular phone.
"Speaking of blood," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral, "That's what you were after, wasn't it? When you kissed me."
"Hey, very good," she acknowledged casually. "Let's see if you can get two out of two. What am I doing with it now?"
Mockingly adopting the pose of 'The Thinker', he answered slowly, "You'd be accessing the CIA database on some kind of very expensive and highly illegal wireless device, checking the DNA in my blood against the DNA in their files."
He could almost see her smirk as she answered, "I'd give that a 1.5 out of two. Congratulations. Clearly you had beauty AND brains at one point in your life. At least your brains are still intact, mas o menos. My, my," she added coolly, "Not the CIA's most popular agent, now were we? Looks like you were one step away from being fired, doesn't it, Senor? Perhaps that is why your beat was here in Mexico when all your little government agent friends were assigned elsewhere?"
"I'm still with the CIA," he corrected.
"Not anymore," she said coldly. "Now you are with me."
He laughed bitterly. "Confident little ramera, aren't you?"
"Y tu mama tambien," she answered easily, snapping the device closed with an audible click.
"Bueno, Sands, now to business," she said. He heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing once again, and the clink of many small, metal objects knocking together.
Sounding slightly nervous, he asked, "So what was the half a point that I missed?"
"The more obvious of the two, I should think," she informed him. He felt the mattress sink slightly as she sat down next to him. "I wanted to know what the cartel put in your bloodstream before they took your eyes. I wanted to be sure my... treatment... wouldn't kill you." She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, surprising him.
He lunged away from her, but tripped and fell heavily on the tiled floor, trying and failing to bite back a cry of pain. She was at his side in an instant, lifting him back onto his feet. She was surprisingly strong for her size.
She forced him to lie down on the bed, saying, "What did I tell you about trusting me?"
"Just what are you going to do to me?" he demanded, voice rising.
"Those bullets have to come out so you can heal," she said, tapping his arm and leg in turn, making him flinch. "Also I will do what I can for your eyes, such as they are."
"No anesthetic?" he said weakly, grimacing.
"Bienvenido a Mexico, mi amor," she said sarcastically. "I hope you took my advice about saving your strength, because this is gonna hurt like hell."
*
She helped him remove his vest, then she cut the sleeve of his shirt away from the wound in his arm and set about removing the bullet. Sands gritted his teeth, hissing with pain but stubbornly refusing to cry out.
The wound bled some more when she finally got the bullet out, but she quickly disinfected it with something that smelled foul and stung like beestings and bandaged it tightly, stopping the bleeding.
She cut the leg of his black jeans off almost at the hip. The fabric was stiff with blood. He heard her draw her breath in sharply and mutter, "Ay, mierda..." under her breath.
"That bad?" he asked, sounding slightly hoarse.
"It is very near the bone, Senor, very near," she answered, sounding worried.
"You'll be able to get it out, though?" he asked, sounding none too sure himself.
She lapsed into spanish in agitation, replying, "Si, pero será difícil y muy doloroso. Difficult and very painful."
"**** painful," he said stoically, offering a small smile. "I'll be all right."
She didn't reply, but merely set grimly to work.
As it turned out, it wasn't as painful as he expected, because he fainted three minutes later.