'What the hell is wrong with you?' Sands demanded of himself. 'Why
the **** do you care what happens to her? She's a Barillo, a liar, a
manipulator, she tried to sell you to the highest bidder, and you'll
probably wind up shooting her before the week is out anyway.'
'She saved my life,' he argued silently.
'Yeah, see above!' snapped the first voice, laughing cynically. 'What else have you got?'
'Um... she's hot?' supplied the second voice doubtfully.
'What is this, the fourth grade? Besides, you don't know that,' the first pointed out. 'Thanks to her family, you have no idea at all what she looks like. I suggest you remember whose fault that is.'
'Point,' the second voice conceded. 'How about this then; you're worried about her because you need her to take you to the meeting with Miguel Guerro, and you can't afford to have her die on you now.'
'True,' the first voice agreed. 'So, just how badly hurt is she?'
'One way to find out.'
*
"Are you alright?" Sands asked as she closed the door behind them and locked it.
"Your continued concern for my wellbeing is very touching," she informed him sarcastically. "I'm fine."
"Then why are you limping?" he asked, listening to her footsteps on the tiled floor.
"Mind your own business!" she snapped. She left him and went into another room for a few minutes. He heard water running.
Her step was far quieter when she returned. He listened with his head cocked slightly to one side for a moment, then said, "If you're going to go barefoot, watch where you step. I put a few holes in the floor."
"I noticed," she said dryly. "May I ask why?"
"I was shooting cockroaches."
"Cockroaches."
"Yeah."
"And you came to rescue me because...?"
"People are more fun to shoot than cockroaches."
She laughed. "Tell me, Senor; is there any point or purpose to your life at all?"
Sands shrugged. "I restore the balance. If a dish is too good, I shoot the cook. If a president is too secure, I start a revolution. You get the idea."
"Uh huh," she said skeptically. "But that was before."
"Before...?"
She didn't answer. He heard the click of a key in a lock, and the scrape of a wooden drawer opening and closing.
"Here, catch," she ordered, tossing something to him. He nearly dropped it, surprised by its shape and weight.
He frowned, and buckled his gun belt over his hips and shoulder, checking the four pistols as he did so, half-expecting to find the bullet chambers empty, but they were still fully loaded.
"These also are yours," she said, and pressed his sunglasses into his hand.
"Thank you," he said solemnly. "The sunlight was really starting to bother me."
She didn't laugh. Instead she asked, "What color were your eyes?"
He grinned wolfishly and replied, "You know the color of old blood, how it almost turns black after a while?"
"Si..."
"Well."
He sat down on the bed and went back to checking his guns and adjusting the straps that ran over his shoulders, so that they fit more comfortably.
One of the straps was caught, and try as he might, he couldn't untangle it. Cursing, he gave it a sharp yank, which didn't improve matters- it was now cutting painfully into his shoulder.
Wordlessly, she sat down next to him and untangled it, briskly knocking his fingers away when he tried to help her. "Yo no necesito su ayuda," she informed him. (I don't need your help.)
"No?" He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair.
She stiffened at his touch. "Qué haces?" she demanded.
"I have something of yours," he breathed, and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment she did not respond, and he thought she would pull away, but then she slid her arms around him and kissed him back, fully and deeply.
She drew back slightly and murmured playfully in his ear, "But senor, I don't remember ever giving you anything like that before."
"I'm willing to overlook that for the moment," Sands said, and found her mouth again, drawing her down with him. He kissed her hard, as merciless in loving as he was in all other aspects of his life. He slid his hands under her shirt, and felt her shiver in reaction. Now, he knew, she was his.
************************************************************************
Estrella awoke later that night, and lay perfectly still for a long time, staring into the blackness of the room, listening to Sands' breathing. His left arm, still bandaged, was around her, holding her in the warm curve of his body. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
She licked her lips, wincing as they stung and burned. She could still taste him; tobacco, tequila, and a hint of lime. His kisses had hurt, at first, but she understood that this was how it must be. His anger was too strong for it to be any other way.
Estrella drifted back into darkness, feeling Sands' heart beating.
************************************************************************
A/N: *shudders* You know, I didn't want this to happen. I had PLANS for it eventually, but not just now. But then Sands strolled into my head, and we had words about it. Well, not words exactly. Call it a frank exchange of ideas. By the way, he cheats when he fights, too.
'She saved my life,' he argued silently.
'Yeah, see above!' snapped the first voice, laughing cynically. 'What else have you got?'
'Um... she's hot?' supplied the second voice doubtfully.
'What is this, the fourth grade? Besides, you don't know that,' the first pointed out. 'Thanks to her family, you have no idea at all what she looks like. I suggest you remember whose fault that is.'
'Point,' the second voice conceded. 'How about this then; you're worried about her because you need her to take you to the meeting with Miguel Guerro, and you can't afford to have her die on you now.'
'True,' the first voice agreed. 'So, just how badly hurt is she?'
'One way to find out.'
*
"Are you alright?" Sands asked as she closed the door behind them and locked it.
"Your continued concern for my wellbeing is very touching," she informed him sarcastically. "I'm fine."
"Then why are you limping?" he asked, listening to her footsteps on the tiled floor.
"Mind your own business!" she snapped. She left him and went into another room for a few minutes. He heard water running.
Her step was far quieter when she returned. He listened with his head cocked slightly to one side for a moment, then said, "If you're going to go barefoot, watch where you step. I put a few holes in the floor."
"I noticed," she said dryly. "May I ask why?"
"I was shooting cockroaches."
"Cockroaches."
"Yeah."
"And you came to rescue me because...?"
"People are more fun to shoot than cockroaches."
She laughed. "Tell me, Senor; is there any point or purpose to your life at all?"
Sands shrugged. "I restore the balance. If a dish is too good, I shoot the cook. If a president is too secure, I start a revolution. You get the idea."
"Uh huh," she said skeptically. "But that was before."
"Before...?"
She didn't answer. He heard the click of a key in a lock, and the scrape of a wooden drawer opening and closing.
"Here, catch," she ordered, tossing something to him. He nearly dropped it, surprised by its shape and weight.
He frowned, and buckled his gun belt over his hips and shoulder, checking the four pistols as he did so, half-expecting to find the bullet chambers empty, but they were still fully loaded.
"These also are yours," she said, and pressed his sunglasses into his hand.
"Thank you," he said solemnly. "The sunlight was really starting to bother me."
She didn't laugh. Instead she asked, "What color were your eyes?"
He grinned wolfishly and replied, "You know the color of old blood, how it almost turns black after a while?"
"Si..."
"Well."
He sat down on the bed and went back to checking his guns and adjusting the straps that ran over his shoulders, so that they fit more comfortably.
One of the straps was caught, and try as he might, he couldn't untangle it. Cursing, he gave it a sharp yank, which didn't improve matters- it was now cutting painfully into his shoulder.
Wordlessly, she sat down next to him and untangled it, briskly knocking his fingers away when he tried to help her. "Yo no necesito su ayuda," she informed him. (I don't need your help.)
"No?" He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair.
She stiffened at his touch. "Qué haces?" she demanded.
"I have something of yours," he breathed, and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment she did not respond, and he thought she would pull away, but then she slid her arms around him and kissed him back, fully and deeply.
She drew back slightly and murmured playfully in his ear, "But senor, I don't remember ever giving you anything like that before."
"I'm willing to overlook that for the moment," Sands said, and found her mouth again, drawing her down with him. He kissed her hard, as merciless in loving as he was in all other aspects of his life. He slid his hands under her shirt, and felt her shiver in reaction. Now, he knew, she was his.
************************************************************************
Estrella awoke later that night, and lay perfectly still for a long time, staring into the blackness of the room, listening to Sands' breathing. His left arm, still bandaged, was around her, holding her in the warm curve of his body. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
She licked her lips, wincing as they stung and burned. She could still taste him; tobacco, tequila, and a hint of lime. His kisses had hurt, at first, but she understood that this was how it must be. His anger was too strong for it to be any other way.
Estrella drifted back into darkness, feeling Sands' heart beating.
************************************************************************
A/N: *shudders* You know, I didn't want this to happen. I had PLANS for it eventually, but not just now. But then Sands strolled into my head, and we had words about it. Well, not words exactly. Call it a frank exchange of ideas. By the way, he cheats when he fights, too.